#tri fold smartphone

[ricisidro]

Forget the iPhones 16 series, Galaxy Flip Fold 6 and Galaxy Flip 6.

Huawei's HuaweiMateXT Ultimate, the world's first tri-fold smartphone is real innovation BUT there is no Google Services. Although there's a work around to get Google Play Store some banking and online gaming apps may not function.

#technology #tech #innovation

[ajleeblog]

(via Huawei Mate XT: World's First Tri-Folding Smartphone with 10-Inch Display and Advanced Camera)

[theblacklewinsky]

Note: I'm feral for this man and this song + struggling w my writing format ( im new to this omg )

JADED | AARON PIERRE.

Toxic!Terry Richmond x Black!Female Reader.

warnings: MNDI!! this story is 18+ with depictions of but not limited to; sexual content ( finger!ng), extreme language (cursing, use of n-word, use of b-word), talking you through it. lil bit of exhibitionism if you squint, mild daddy k!nk.

summary: in which you decide to end the toxic situation-ship you share with Terry— except this man only know how to suck you back in.

tell me that we locked in, locked in, look in my eyes.

tell me that you mine and we ain't just fuckin, ain't just vibin.

Why were you nervous? It wasn't like you'd never been in the very same GMC pickup before—oh you'd been in here plenty times, plenty times. Your eyes flickered to whatever they could, other than him.

The backseat.

The same backseat you'd been folded. flipped, and fucked out on. It was clean now, he'd definitely had some detailing done, the remnants of how he made you squirt only two weeks earlier had vanished, once etched into the seat itself.

And why were you sad about that?

You averted your eyes away from the backseat, firmly turning straight forward in the passenger seat, teeth nervously gnawing at the skin in your jaw. It was way too silent and tense in the truck. Way too silent. "Hi..” you sheepishly muttered, tucking a stray curl from your wash and go behind your ear, eyes darting around the parking lot of your apartment complex. The parking lot was the safest option for you, you knew how incredibly intoxicating Terry was, which meant the more space from your bedroom, the better.

Out of your peripheral, you could see Terry's face contorted into a twisted mix of confusion anger. His brows furrowed together, a mug presenting itself on his face. "What the fuck?" He spat. "Wassup?" He asked, his tone more accusatory than anything.

Where the fuck did he get off acting hurt and confused? That was supposed to be your stance in this whole thing, hurt and confused. And most of the time it was. But tonight, it was a nice change of pace, the hurt and confusion lingered on Terry instead—in which you could finally take on the nonchalant and curt demeanor. It felt so good too. So good to finally not be the one with the lump in their throat, eyes burning from blinking back tears. This felt, good.

"Nothin', just chillin," you simply responded, playing with the smartphone in your lap, acrylic nails tapping at the casing.

"Fuck you mean just chillin?" He asked his brows furrowed as he tried to catch your darting eyes. "You ain't been seein' me text you?"

"Yeah?" You responded slowly in a questioning tone, as you focused on the ASICS on your feet. "Been busy lately."

You seen Terry texts. Shit, the past couple of days he'd been the one blowing you up. It started the other night when he rung your bell and you didn't answer, you knew it was him, and he knew you were home. Lights still on and bright in the kitchen.

Private Ryan: Just rung the bell

Private Ryan: Come out.

Private Ryan: I'm sorry for the way I acted the other night. I ain't handle that situation like a man. Lemme make it up to u

It was so hard ignoring Terry, he made it hard. He didn't text or call often, he wasn't hardcore into his phone like the rest of the generation, maybe the marines played a part in that? Hell, he made sure to stay active in an effort not to get addicted to his cellular device—that's why when he texted it was a big deal.

But no way this nigga thought that you'd be at his every beck and call when he couldn't even solidify a title between the two of you? Casual sex and jealousy gets old—especially when it isn't under the terms of a relationship.

It was fun at first, linking up and sneaking off. Getting folded like a lawn chair when you least expected it, but there was something about Terry that brung the strings to a no-strings-attached situation. You started craving him, wanting him, and you made that very clear, but Terry made his intentions crystal clear from the beginning. How could you fault him for not wanting what you want? But how he could he also fault you for the change in your attitude?

"Busy?" He repeated the word like it disgusted him. His burning gaze tore through you, you could feel the heat radiating from his glare. Terry let out a heavy breath, gently tapping his fist against the staring wheel as he finally averted his gaze to the windshield. Thank Q!

But as he tore his gaze away from you, you centered yours on him. And why the fuck would you go and do that? Knowing how gorgeous he was, especially when he was pissed off? Clenching and unclenching his jaw. He had some nerve coming over here with a fresh cut. Everything so lined up and sexy—

"I came over here, a few days ago," he sternly spoke, the rough edge to his voice only setting off the throbbing in your pussy, "and you know that 'cause you was home, lights on and shit, I'm textin' you and you reading the shit in real time. What the fuck?" He repeated the three words once again. His voice growing rougher by the second.

"Two weeks ago, I'm fillin' you up and today you actin' cold as hell? Fuck is goin on?"

And why did he keep saying all the wrong shit? Filling you up was an understatement, he was stuffing you to the brim quite literally, to the point where he had bottomed out and was still tryna give you more. Filling you up, ha.

"I can't do this anymore, Terry," the words came out of your mouth abruptly, almost like you could trust yourself to say them. Terry sat there unwavering, he didn't speak, he didn't move. This only prompted you to continue. "It's too much, we both want...different things. And I'm tired of feeling like I'm overextending myself to you, being too available for you. I can't do...whatever this is anymore."

"Pea..”

"Don't do that," you firmly responded. The direct eye contact didn't seem to deter you this time. There he went. Playing those mind games. Calling you that nickname. Pea. A shorter version of the popular nickname your grandfather frequently referred to you as, sweet pea.

Terry kissed his teeth. Oh he thought he knew what was up. It'd became clear as a day. "You fuckin' somebody else." The words came out soft, quiet almost as if there had been a realization.

You let out a heavy sigh, your eyes rolling at the comment, " I'm not having sex with anyone, Terry." You spoke truthfully. As if you could. He made that hard enough, he stuffed you perfectly. He knew how to find that spot inside of you so easily, almost like he vacationed there in his spare time. He knew exactly what made your eyes roll back, what made that squeal in the back of your throat come barreling out, he knew your body too well to let anyone else come and have a gander.

"But I am dating," you said more quietly than you anticipated. Maybe it's because the recent dates haven't been anything to brag about. Not that your online dating profile and messages to your homegirl hadn't been highly specific, you've been attracting the same types. Baby daddies and men way too old to still be trying to just hook up. "And I know what I want, and it's not this...anymore. I wanna be able to climb in bed with a man and wake up beside him too, and not worry about him being hot or cold, or when I'll see him again," yuck. Why did you feel that damn lump in your throat again?

"I'm so tired of feeling disposable." You finalized. Flashing your watery eyes to the window adjacent to you. You weren't gonna cry in front of him. Shit, you weren't that tender. But all your feelings hitting you at once in this situation made you more emotional than you gambled for. You knew the nonchalant facade would only last so long on you. Terry was trained in that shit. He had a poker face like no other.

Terry didn't deter his gaze from you, his gorgeous eyes soft and lingering. "I don't try to make you feel disposable, Pea."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to try. You just do." You mumbled quietly. "That's why I don't wanna do this shit anymore."

Terry kept his eyes on you, reaching his large hand out to grasp your smaller one at a failed attempt at interlacing your fingers when you snatched away.

"Stop, Terry!" You frowned folding your arms. "I'm serious. No more calling, and texting, and popping up at my place."

He barely acknowledged you, kissing his teeth and leaning over the center console to rub his hand across your tummy, gripping your sides. "Why you actin' like that? Like you don't miss daddy?" He mumbled softly, pressing soft kisses to your temple.

This man didn't give up. Your restraint was at zero, and just like that you were putty.

You shook your head, arms still crossed as you let out a small whimper in which you claimed to be a protest. Eyes lowering at his wandering hands. "Hm, you don't miss daddy?" He asked in response, his hand sliding back over your tummy, fingers fondling with the button on your shorts.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, that was the whole point of the parking lot. Far away from a bed. But you should've known that you didn't need a bed with Terry.

And yet, just like a dumb bitch you shook your head once again. Playing into his sick little game.

He trailed his soft, teasing lips down your cheek until he reached your neck, leaving a searing trail behind on the skin there. You sucked your bottom lip in, a solid attempt at trying to keep whatever moans he was pulling out of you at bay. You couldn't betray yourself even more than you had already done. You came down here to end things, and instead you were about to get folded in half once again. The circle of life if you will.

"You don't miss me? So why you lettin' me take these off you right now?" He asked. Oh he was soo condescending. He tugged on the bottom of your shorts, and look at you, lifting up to help him earning a chuckle. You were so easy. "Nipples been hard ever since I touched you," he mumbled in between kisses to your neck, his hand busying itself up to your breast while your shorts slid down your legs, rubbing your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your tank top.

You suck in a sharp breath. Your body was on fire. You felt like you were on fire. Every kiss made you hotter, and the way he was touching you had your pussy fluttering. You had to be ovulating, this shit wasn't normal.

"That pussy so wet, I know it," he spoke, his voice lower, lips sucking on the thin flesh on the side of your neck, hand roughly parting your thighs earning another isolated whimper from you. His hand rubbing the inside of your thighs, leaving a lingering tingle behind. He was such a fucking tease sometimes.

He kissed his way back to your cheek, all the while his hands left soft slaps, and grips to your inner thigh. Your eyes fluttered closed at his constant teasing, breathing uneven as hell. You felt like you were swelling with need.

"Look at you, baby," he hummed against your ear, "you a horny fuckin' mess," he tsk'd in your ear, fingers dancing over to your pussy. Fingers lazing dancing over your slit through the thin fabric of your panties. A shaky breath slipped past your lips a soft drawn out moan following. Hell, the betrayal was already done.

"Niggas not treatin' my bitch right, huh?" He rhetorically asked referring to your dates, his own eyes focusing on the lazy dance his fingers were doing on your barely exposed pussy, until he quickly got bored and used those same fingers to move the fabric aside. "Can't be, otherwise you wouldn't be this fuckin' turned on right now." He answered his own questions, fingers immediately doing slow, hypnotizing circles on your clit.

"Fuhhh," you moaned out in response, arms immediately parting so that you could grip onto the sides of your seat for a sense of stability.

"Mhm," he hummed in response, "pussy wet just like I thought," he mumbled dragging his pointer and middle finger up and down your pussy a few times before slowly slipping the both of them in your heated core at once earning a choked out moan from you. You fit around his fingers so perfectly, almost as if he'd molded your pussy to do so.

His brows furrowed as his fingers searched inside of her, knuckle deep, "fuck," he cursed, "look how you suckin' my fingers in you like that. You missed daddy, this fuckin' pussy missed me."

It wasn't like you could respond at all, he was literally pulling your moans out of you with his fingers. His free hand had busied itself with pulling up your tank top and exposing your braless titties.

"Look how you came out here," he kissed his teeth, fingers massaging your slippery insides, the lewd sounds of your pussy squelching on his fingers filled the pickup truck, his other fingers pulling and tugging on your hardened nipples, squeezing softly before quickly pulling away. "Barely fuckin' dressed, you wanted this. You wanted daddy to get you right, huh?"

"Talkin' about' dates, you don't want them fuckin' clowns," he hummed peppering soft kisses on your cheek, his fingers attacking that delicious spot inside of you. "You just want daddy to flood that pussy again? Make you his bitch?"

"Oouu shit, daddy!" You moaned out, eyes squeezing shut as your head lazily fell against his shoulder. Him humming in agreement to your moans followed by a cocky chuckle. "Right there, right there!" You rushed out. Your resolve had slipped away a long time ago.

"Where baby?" He cooed,his tone condescending. "Right here?" He asked his fingers never deterring from the spot, instead he pushed them deeper, faster.

Your eyes rolled back into your head as his fingers continued to work inside of you, he whispered other obscenities to you as he finger fucked you good. Deliciously good. So good that you couldn't decipher or comprehend anything he'd been saying. The sound of your pussy around his fingers was sending you to another bliss you didn't know you could reach.

"Listen to how messy that pussy sound on my fingers, baby," he groaned, his free hand gripping your face firmly, tilting your head up from his shoulder so that he could watch your facial expressions closely. He smiled as he watched you; eyes squeezed shut, lips forming into that familiar frown he knew so well, a long whine following suit.

"Yeah, that pussy wanna cum for daddy don't she?" He asked placing a sloppy kiss on your parted lips.

"Oh my god," you whined your brows furrowing as you opened your watery eyes to Terry looking down right at you.

"Yeah, she do," he mumbled nodding his eyes focusing in on the assault his fingers were doing to your pussy before slipping them out slowly, rubbing the stickiness he accumulated on his fingers onto your clit in slow, agonizing circles earning a whine from you. "You better not fuckin' cum though," he mumbled quietly to you, hand softly tapping against your cheek.

"Don't..cum?" You slurred through a moan for confirmation. You could barely comprehend what he was saying, you were so deliciously close. So close.

"Don't cum," he slapped his finger against your pussy lightly, the wet plaps almost enough to send you over the edge. Only almost though. "Get in the backseat, I wanna get in that pussy." He spoke hand slapping down on your sensitive pussy once again, sending trembles to your already weakened legs.

—

cheers to my first fanfic on here lolz! feedback and criticism always welcome 💗💕 hope you enjoyed xx!

[the-californicationist]

The Advent Calendar

Ghoap TW: anal sex --- MDNI/18+ NO EXCEPTIONS AO3 Link I don't write Ghoap, but this was a request from a friend, so please don't be mean to me.

Summary:

Soap gave Ghost an advent calendar this year. Every day was a new surprise - socks, hard cheese, the usual. Everything was normal until Christmas Eve rolled around and Ghost opened the last box to find it empty. He calls up the muppet to chastise him for his mistake, only to hear the phone ringing outside of his door. 

Day one had been a sensible pair of socks, day two was a simple pocket knife, and day three had been a flint striker — all very practical and well-intentioned. Ghost had been chuffed to even receive such a gift from Soap, and every day he pulled another token from his advent calendar, he felt a little closer to his favorite sergeant. But, there was a small, minor, not-worth-mentioning dilemma: Ghost was falling in love with him. 

Johnny’s flirtations had started off so unassuming, so bland, even, that it had been relatively easy for the Lieutenant to maintain a low profile with his crush. When he first met the sergeant, he’d been more annoyed than anything, thinking he would have to train the loud-mouthed Scot in the field. But, Johnny had proven himself ten-fold. His demolition expertise was top-notch, and he was as brave as a soldier could be.

Then, they had been trapped together in a Russian bunker for a night, and Ghost had seen… all of him. He was beautiful. His wide chest, the broad expanse of his strong back, those thick thighs leading up to his ass. Fuck, it was all so delicious. Ghost wanted to bury his face between those legs for days and days and days. But, he was the man’s superior officer, so he tried to restrain himself. 

However, Johnny was dangerously flirty. He’d started to tease Ghost about his mask, sneaking a thick finger under the edge of the fabric, touching his cheek through the cloth. Johnny would even start undressing in front of him now, claiming that he’d seen it all already, and there was no harm done. He would bend over just enough for Ghost to see the flushed outline of his hole. The lieutenant had even caught Johnny staring at his cock in the showers, looking like he was starving for it. 

Johnny’s advent calendar had started the same way… misleadingly safe until it wasn’t. A knife is nice, but it was no rose bouquet, so it was easy for Ghost to shrug it off. However, day thirteen had been… naughty. 

“What the fuck is this, Sergeant?” Ghost asked. 

He’d brought the gift into the locker room on base and held the thick, silicone ring between his fingers, peering one masked eye through the hole. 

Johnny had turned beet red, glancing over his shoulder,

“Christ, mate! It’s a wee cockring. Dinnae go flashin’ tha’ around.”

After that, Ghost had been a little more careful opening the gifts. However, he’d been using the cockring regularly, and now he craved it; jacking off without it seemed… bland somehow. It was a great gift for him, and one he never would have tried on his own. 

Day fourteen had helped provide some inspiration, though, as it was a very artistic nude Polaroid of Soap in nothing but a pair of reindeer antlers. 

Day seventeen was the last, and largest, of three anal plugs. Day twenty was a tingling bottle of lube, and day twenty-three was a smartphone-controlled dildo. 

Now, on the last day, when Ghost opened his twenty-fourth gift, he was shaking a bit. Johnny’s advent calendar had worked him up to a froth, and it was clear that Johnny was making sure Ghost knew how he felt about him. The prospect of being with Soap in any real sense was pushing Ghost beyond the pale.

There was a sudden and deadly disappointment, however, when twenty-four turned up… empty. 

Ghost dug through the other boxes, making sure he didn’t miss it in the pile. He checked the truck, and he even went out to the mailbox. He couldn’t understand why there would be a 24th box with nothing inside of it. He flipped through his contacts until he landed on Soap’s name.

The phone rang, and Simon thought he could hear it out in the hall of his apartment.

It rang again, and sure enough, it was ringing just outside of his door. 

“What the fuck?” Simon grumbled, yanking open the door. 

Johnny was standing there in a slutty Santa costume, complete with hat and suspenders. He had his phone in his hand, looking like he was ready to pick it up until Simon surprised him. 

“Hey, LT. Lookin’ for number twenty-four?”

Johnny turned to the side so Simon could see the glittery gold number 24 painted on the ass of his tiny Santa shorts.

“Thought you didn’t know how to count,” Simon quipped. 

Johnny rolled his eyes and pushed his way into the apartment, shutting the door behind him.

“It’s me. I’m twenty-four.”

Ghost’s heart skipped a beat. The look on Johnny’s face was deadly earnest, and he could tell that his pupils were blown wide with desire. Simon stepped closer to him, running a long finger under his fabric suspenders, the only thing holding the shorts on his body. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and so every time Ghost rubbed the strap, the backs of his knuckles would graze across Soap’s soft nipple, making it peak for him. 

Johnny swallowed hard, staring up at his lieutenant,

“Aren’t you gonna unwrap your present, sir?”

Simon pulled down the suspender straps, and that was all it took. Soap was fully nude in his foyer except for a bright red Santa hat, smiling up at him. All the air had rushed out of the room, and all that was left was Johnny. Ghost put his hand back at Johnny’s nipple, teasing him gently, stepping forward into his space. 

Johnny blushed a beautiful shade of pink and closed his eyes to heighten the feeling, 

“Fuck, LT. Been wantin’ you for so fuckin’ long.”

“Been wanting you, too, Sergeant. Had me worked up to a bloody fuckin’ fever with these gifts of yours. Tryin’ to kill me?”

“Didnae expect you to hold back for so long, Si. Thought we’d get to the middle somewhere before you jumped me,” Johnny smirked, knowing he had gotten under his lieutenant’s skin. 

“Shouldn’t be doin’ this. I’m your lieutenant. It’s not right,” Ghost’s tone was serious and a little sad, but he rubbed his warm palms across Johnny’s chest as adoringly as a lover would, so Soap knew he was still on board. 

“Dinnae care, sir. I want you, and I’ll do anythin’ to get you.”

Ghost pressed his face into Soap’s pouty lips, kissing him deeply, forcing his tongue into his mouth. His jaw worked on him hungrily, and every kiss brought with it a tingling sensation, warm and bright, that filled Simon’s body with excitement. He felt his blood rush to be put to use, filling his cock and making him hard. 

Before Simon even knew what he was doing, Soap’s cock was in his hands, being rubbed and massaged to full length, swollen and ready for work. Then, tired of waiting, he bent to lift Johnny under his luscious thighs, and carried him to the bedroom, kicking in the door with a loud bang. 

“Christ, Johnny. Don’t you know what you’ve been doing to me?”

“I can feel what I’m doin’ to you, LT,” Johnny was kissing his neck and grinding his hips against Simon’s hard length. It was fighting to get through his gray sweatpants, his cockhead threatening to pop over the waistband. On every thrust up and down, Ghost felt the warmth of Johnny’s fat dick as it rolled over his belly, drooling wet on his skin. 

“Johnny…” Simon pleaded, laying his sergeant down on the bed while he stood at the edge of the mattress, thrusting above him, palming himself through the fabric to relieve some of his tension. Johnny looked well-fucked already, and Ghost was just getting started. He was rubbing his hands all over his own body in the bed, like a cat preening himself, dragging his fingers through the fur on his chest and abdomen, curling them around the thick hair at the base of his cock. 

“Give it to me, Si. Don’t make me wait.”

Simon obeyed. He found the cockring and the lube in his nightstand and looped it over Johnny’s cock and balls, listening to him moan as he felt the pressure. Then, he dropped to his knees, eager to taste his lover’s pretty hole. 

As Ghost’s tongue found his core, Johnny grunted with hot pleasure,

“Fuck, don’t.. sir, please…”

Ghost stopped, looking up at him while he played with the sergeant’s throbbing head, 

“You want me to stop, Johnny?”

Soap chuckled softly, 

“Just dinnae wanna come too soon, sir.”

“So, come. I’m not stopping at one, Johnny. You’re going to count them for me, all fuckin’ night. There’s a long time until I’m finished with you, mate.”

“Oh, fuck!” Johnny ran his hand down his face in anxious joy, fretting over his roiling pleasure. 

Ghost returned to his task, fucking Johnny with his long, wriggling tongue, trying to fit it deeper and deeper into his hole, feeling his muscles shake and tremble from the anticipation. Then, when he was satisfied with the delightful keening noises coming from the Scot, he added a finger to his efforts, listening as Soap’s moaning changed pitch. 

“You like that, Johnny?”

“Yeah, Si. I do… holy fuck.”

“Gonna let me taste your come, hm, pretty boy?”

“Yessss…” Soap’s face was wrenched shut, his eyes and mouth locked in a frozen state of wonderful agony, like a band ready to snap. 

Ghost added another finger and began to pound his hand against Johnny’s body, forcing him to feel the stretch and the intruding pressure on his prostate gland, reaching high to find it. He curled his finger, making Johnny cry out, With his free hand, Ghost began to jack him off, focusing on his rosy head, turning his wrist in teasing circles to draw out his pleasure. 

“Fuck! I’m – oh, fuck.”

“That’s it, Johnny. Come for me. C’mon, love.”

“I’m –” Johnny stared up at Simon, his blue eyes wide in disbelief, and his come painted his belly with a beautiful splatter, shooting out of Simon’s hand and soaking his skin. 

When he was finished, Ghost began to lick his come off of his hand, and then he turned his attention to Johnny. He sucked it off of his cock, cleaning him from his recent elation. But, as he moved to lick it from his abdomen, Soap stopped him,

“Sir, you dinnae need to…”

Ghost grabbed Johnny’s hips with a renewed fury, and he glared at him as he replied,

“You can’t stop me, Sergeant. Now, be a good boy and give me another.”

Simon pulled his dick out of his sweatpants and rubbed it down with the lube, using some on Soap’s hole as well, and fed himself inside. His crown popped into Johnny’s flushed body, and the man made a whole new symphony of sounds for Ghost to enjoy. 

Ghost finished licking him clean while he thrust into him, feeding some to Johnny on his hand as well, kissing him through it, tasting him inside of himself. 

Each thrust was like a dream. It was as if Johnny's warm, pulsing asshole was made for his cock, and Simon felt like he was on the edge of coming himself. While he was fucking his aching cock into Soap, Ghost returned to jacking him off, giving him the best of both worlds, and edging him within an inch of his life. 

“You enjoying your gift, sir?” Johnny smirked up at Simon as he asked the question, cock-drunk and overwhelmed by the pleasure.

Simon smiled back, kissing him softly as he slammed himself deep into his tight little present, 

“Aye. But, I'm puttin' you on the naughty list this year.”

[ladymunson]

The Boardroom 18+

Fic Summary: After your encounter with Bucky in his house you’re surprised to find out he’s your new boss. His assistant Mary is about to retire and he’s looking for a someone new to take the position. Another co-worker has her sights on the job but Bucky only has eyes for you, much to her chagrin.

A/N: Thank you for the support for part one and sorry it’s taken so long to post part two. I really wanted to get this right.

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral sex (m & f receiving), unprotected sex, sex in the workplace, unequal power dynamic, drama.

Word count: 2803

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Dividers made by the wonderful @firefly-graphics

“Y/N wait!” Bucky calls out as you leave the meeting room. You stop and turn around as everyone else files out. Angela gives you the evil eye as she walks past.

“Yes sir?” You say, not making eye contact.

“Please don’t do that. I’m so sorry, I had no idea you worked here.” He says.

“What happened between us will not happen again.” You say in a hushed voice. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m getting special treatment. I’m also going to invest in some blinds, it’s not appropriate for that to continue.”

Six weeks later

“Hey there y/n” your college Mary, Bucky’s personal assistant says as you’re pouring your morning coffee. “Do you have a minute to talk in my office?”

“Of course!” You say as you follow her. Her office is decorated in florals and pastels, very feminine but homely.

“Please shut the door hon.” Mary says, your stomach drops. Are you in trouble? You shut the door and proceed to her desk. “Take a seat.” You oblige and sit down, your heart pumping wildly and your palms beginning to sweat.

“Is everything okay?” You ask.

“Everything is wonderful actually, no one knows this yet but I’m retiring at the end of the month.” Mary says with a smile.

“What?!” You say open mouthed. “Why? And why are you telling me before anyone else?”

“Well… someone needs to replace me as Mr Barnes assistant and I wanted to offer the position to you before I announce.”

“Me?!” You ask, shocked.

“I’ve seen how much of a hard worker you are, even though you’ve not been here long. I see you take great care and pride in everything you do and that’s exactly what this job needs.”

“Doesn’t this need to go through HR first?”

Mary sighs. “I’d rather not, I already know that everyone who applies will get turned down.” You raise your eyebrow in question. “Angela set her sights on James the moment she found out he was taking over from his father. She would instantly put herself in the position, and attempt to put herself in his bed. He’s like my nephew and I just couldn’t let that harpy get to him.”

“If he wanted to bed her, then that‘s his decision.” You reply.

“He doesn’t want to y/n but she won’t take no for an answer, she’s tried to get her claws into him for the past three years when he’s attended company functions with his father. I really want you to take this job, not just because you’re a great worker but you’re also professional.”

“Can I think about it?”

Five days later

“Why did you pick her for the job? What has she got that I don’t?!” Angela pouts as she confronts Mary in her office after the announcement of her retirement.

“I would say it’s nothing personal Angela but that would be a lie. I made my decision, you need to respect it.” Mary replies as she folds her arms across her chest.

Angela scoffs, “We’ll see how long she lasts, Bucky can be SO demanding.” She smirks before exiting Mary’s office.

Mary let’s out a sigh before picking up the phone and dialling Bucky’s number.

“Barnes.” He answers.

“James we have a problem.”

“Let me guess, Angela?” He responds.

“She’s gonna make y/n’s life miserable…”

“Don’t worry, I have a plan.”

The next morning

“What’s this?” You ask as Bucky hands you a brand new smartphone.

“I’ll need to be able to get ahold of you at all times and all instructions and duties will come from this new number. If anyone tells you I’ve asked you to do something, you can ask me on this number. And don’t tell anyone about it, except Mary.”

“Why would…? Ah. Angela?” You ask. Bucky nods and leaves your office.

One week later

Bucky- I’m gonna need you to stay late tonight, we have a meeting.

You- How late?

Bucky- Meeting is at 8pm.

You’re thirty minutes early for the meeting, training as Bucky’s assistant has been gruelling but tonight, you have to set up the conference room. Having this meeting at 8pm means you skipped dinner to be here, it’s that important. If you can land this contract it will be a huge thing for the company, there may even be a pay rise in it for some of us.

You place your bag on a chair and get to work. You use the key to open the supply cupboard and take out a brand new pack of note pads and a new box of pens. You open the note pads and place one on the table in front of every chair and a pen on top of each pad. Next are the water glasses which you place around the table, the refrigerator in the corner of the room is stocked with bottles of water which will be distributed when the meeting begins.

You hear Bucky come into the office, so you quickly grab your bag and run into the ladies room. In the bathroom you change from flats into heels and check your hair. The elegant chignon from this morning has lost its setting so you decide to remove the clips, letting it loose and cascading around your shoulders. You grab my brush out of your bag and run it through your hair, the chignon has left your hair with a bouncy curl which looks really cute. You check your dress, making sure there are no stains on the white of the fabric. Once satisfied you grab a lipstick out of your bag and apply the dusky rose colour to your lips. You usually wear nude lipstick to the office but changed your bag this morning, leaving this colour as your only choice. The colour isn’t very bold which is great so it will do.

You exit the bathroom and head back to the conference room, passing by his office quickly. “Y/N?” You hear him call.

“Yes Mr Barnes” you reply from the conference room doorway.

“Can you please make sure there are note pads and pens around the table? And make sure you set out a place for yourself, I need you to stay and take notes for me.” He calls from his office.

“Pads and pens already set out sir and I’ll add a place for me.”

“Thank you!”

You head to your office and grab your iPad, taking notes on that will be much easier. Then you head back to the conference room and place it at the end of the table, opposite his place. You also get yourself a glass.

He walks into the room, looking at his phone “Y/N they’re arriving now, is everything...?” He trails off as he looks up at you, his mouth slightly gaped. “I’ve never seen you with your hair down at the office... pretty” That last word sounded like it should’ve been a personal thought but you don’t draw attention to it.

“Thank you sir. Is there anything else you need before the elevator arrives?” You ask. He shakes his head as you hear the ding and the doors open.

“James...” the first man exiting the elevator says, extending his hand to him.

He shakes his hand. “How are you Bob?” Several other people get out of the elevator behind Mr Kellerman, he always travels with an entourage.

“Can’t complain. Let’s get this show on the road shall we?” Mr Kellerman walks into the conference room and takes a seat in the middle of the table with his back to the window. His assistant Ms Deacon sits to his right and the other members of the party take seats around the table. You get up from your place at the table and get the bottles of water out of the refrigerator, handing them out.

You can feel someone looking at you, like their eyes are boring through you. You ignore it before taking a seat and opening the notes app on your iPad.

The meeting gets underway, you follow everything that’s being said, writing in code so you can interpret them later.

As you listen to Bucky speak, you realise how incredibly sexy his voice is, shifting slightly in your seat and noticing the dampness in your panties. You close your eyes and take a deep breath as you try to erase the thoughts of him slamming you up against the wall and taking you hard and fast out of your mind. You open your eyes and look up straight into his baby blues, you feel the dampness grow as your eyes lock, the small moan he lets out causing you to soak your panties.

You stand, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, may I be excused?” You ask.

He licks his lips and nods his head. You head to the bathroom, stepping into the stall and locking the door behind you. You lean against it, “fuck!” You whisper as you shimmy out of your underwear. You have no spares in your bag so you’re gonna have to go without underwear.

You throw the panties on the floor behind the toilet to collect later and flush, stepping out of the cubicle and washing your hands.

When you get back in the conference room, they all have beaming smiles. “What did I miss?”

He smiles at you. “We reached an agreement to combine our companies!” You smile and clap.

“That’s fantastic! I’m looking forward to working with you Mr Kellerman.” You respond as you shake his hand.

“I might have to steal your new assistant away from you James, she’s marvellous. And may I say very easy on the eye!”

“Y/N will be staying here Bob” he chuckles and waves goodbye, his fans following suit. The elevator doors close and Bucky lets out a huge sigh.

You’re already clearing up the table when he comes back in. Gasping at the sight of you bending over it. You hear footsteps behind you but you don’t turn, thinking he is going to help clean up.

He stands behind you, eyeing up your ass bent over the table. You move slightly on your feet and he moans. Thoughts race through your mind, should I? You take a deep breath and move back ever so slightly until your ass grazes him, you feel his erection straining through his pants. He groans and reaches out, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him. You gasp.

“Mr Barnes!” He thrusts his hips forward, jerking you upright. He spins you around and grabs the back of your head, possessing your mouth with his.

Your arms wrap around his neck as he kisses you, his tongue invading your mouth. You return his kiss as he grabs your ass, lifting you onto the table, opening your legs and moving between them. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and continues the kiss, loosening his tie before removing it. Your fingers fumble with his shirt buttons, undoing them quickly, eager to get him shirtless. You pull his shirt off of his shoulders and throw it across the room. Then unbutton his pants, pushing them down, freeing his raging hard on. He steps out of them and moves them out of the way.

Bucky’s hand slips up your dress, he moans as he finds you bare pussy, wet and ready. He pulls you to your feet and reaches around to the back of your dress to undo the zipper, slipping it down your arms and watching it fall to the floor below you. He lifts you back onto the table and kicks the dress away, his hands caressing your breasts as he kisses you again.

He pushes you onto your back and kneels, coming face to face with your dripping cunt. He blows gently, making you sigh in pleasure, then kisses your inner thighs. Before placing his entire mouth over your mound, sucking hard. You moan and groan, your head rolling side to side as you play with your breasts.

Bucky releases your pussy from his mouth and licks his lips. He opens you up with his fingers and flicks his tongue over your hard bud. “Ohhhhh... fuck!” You moan out, as his tongue continues it’s relentless flicking over your clit. You can feel an orgasm building deep inside you, your pussy creaming at the thought of an orgasm. He takes your clit between his lips and sucks, gently flicking his tongue over your bean. Your hand reaches down and grabs the back of Bucky’s head, grinding your pussy on his face, chasing your orgasm. It hits hard, making your hips jerk involuntarily and your toes curl. You ride the waves of pleasure, body convulsing in climax, his tongue still licking as the spasms subside.

Bucky stands, evidence of your orgasm running down his chin. You sit up and pull him to you, kissing him passionately, tasting yourself on his kiss.

You jump down off the table, your juices running down your legs as you kneel in front of him. Licking the precum off of his cock, then lifting his cock up to lick from his balls up the underside of his cock to the tip and back down again. You repeat that three times before taking his cock in your mouth, taking it to the back of your throat. His hand grips the back of your head and holds you in place as he shoves his cock in and out of your mouth. He groans as you suck his cock, he grabs ahold of your hair and pulls you to your feet.

Bucky spins you around, bending you over the table and wets the tip of his cock with your slick before sliding inside you. He grabs your hips and begins moving in and out. Your breasts are pressed against the table, hands splayed out in front of you as his hips thrust hard, he grunts as you use your inner muscles to squeeze around his cock.

That releases Bucky’s inner beast and he reaches out with his left hand to grab your hair, pulling you back into him hard. His right hand spanking your ass, leaving red hand prints as his relentless fucking almost splits you in two. You moan again and again as he pounds you, he reaches around to grab you throat making you cum hard around his cock. He chokes you as his fucking becomes primal, you can tell he’s seconds away from coming.

“Fuck me Sir!” You shout, he growls as his orgasm hits and he shoots his load into you, before it drips out and onto the conference room floor.

He turns your head to kiss you, breathing hard. “Well... that was unexpected”

You giggle. “Yes it was Sir” He spins you around and pulls you close, wrapping his arms around your back. Compared to how he just fucked you, this was intimate, sweet.

“I’d like to do that again if you’re interested.” He says as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“Now?” You ask.

“No not right now, but again. And again.” He says as he bends to pick up his pants and your dress. He throws your dress onto the table next to you.

“We really shouldn’t!” You reply, “Even if I really want to.” He smiles and get begins to get dressed. You sit on the table and watch him before starting to get dressed yourself.

“I’ve changed my mind...” Bucky says. You sigh, disappointed. “Yes now” You look confused. “I’m going to fuck you again, right now!” He grabs the dress out of your hands and throws it to the end of the table and steps between your legs. He grabs your head and kisses you deeply as he spears your still dripping pussy with his cock.

You let out a moan, he grabs your arms and wraps them around his neck, then your legs around his waist.

“Hold on tight!” He says as he begins thrusting his hips hard, making you bounce off the table. He kisses you passionately as he pounds into you, chasing his orgasm...

TO BE CONTINUED

Tags: @jobean12-blog @eddiesprincess86 @bettyfrommars @pattiemac1 @jadeylovesmarvelxo @existenciosa

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

games, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader

summary: You don't have a crush on Min Yoongi. You two are just fucking. Yup. You ignore him for two weeks because of Pokémon. Sorry. Twelve days. He's mad about it (and drunk?). Oh, shit.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; OT6 are nosy so now it's somehow crack???? this always happens idk how; friends-with-benefits; soulmate vibes(?); ft my obsession Pokemon Scarlet / Violet; feels + smut (fem reader, penetrative sex, scratching, m-receiving oral, mutual masturbation, choking); non-idol!AU; switches between your POV and Yoongi's POV

--

“Yoongi?”

Wow, that was loud and unexpected. Knocked you right out of your very pleasant dream of stuffing your face at a buffet with thick, juicy slices of prime rib, complete with flakes of premium sea salt.

“YOONGI?!”

You could still almost taste it, but, like all dreams, the savory delight slipped away from you rapidly as you groggily blinked and realized you were resembling a croissant folded into this couch.

“You have a crush on Min Yoongi of all people?!”

Similar to the flaky buttery pastry, you had no idea what the fuck was going on. Unlike the product of a baker’s pride, sentient life required you to reorient yourself into humanity, hazily taking note of the MapleStory mushroom-printed blanket draped over you and your empty hands. Your hands had been holding your phone before you passed out. You were obsessed with mobile puzzle games recently. It was nice to have games on the go to occupy yourself instead of, bleh, socializing. It was awesome. When you figured them out too easily though, they made you sleepy.

Anyway, where the hell was your phone?

“Really?! Yoongi-hyung? Oh my gosh, he texted a human being all in his own? Wow!”

That kind of excitement could only be the voice of…

“Come on, guys, hyung’s been better about such things recently. He’s surprisingly sentimental, you know.”

And that sensible voice was none other than…

Someone snorted.

That was Kim Seokjin.

You rubbed your eyes to see a familiar man holding your very expensive Samsung smartphone with your customized Rotom phone case, poking at the screen as if he was his own.

“What kind of illegal activity are you doing over there?” you hummed as you sat up, knowing full well he did not possess access due to the fingerprint scanner. One time you snuck up on him as he tried to snoop on your phone. He had flung it, so this time you calmly stayed on the sofa as your longtime friend on the armchair jumped, thoroughly scaring himself and the lean, tan drink-of-sunshine standing behind him.

“You’re awake!” Seokjin blurted. Tall, gangly if you squinted, absolutely handsome, somehow always dancing on the edge of endearing caretaker and walking disaster, Kim Seokjin threw himself out of the plushy white armchair and shoved your phone into your face accusingly as if you were the one responsible of wrongdoing. His chestnut-brown poofy hair bounced as he relentlessly poked you in the head. “You’re texting Min Yoongi! Is that the one you have a crush on?!”

“Er, technically all hyung asked was when the group was meeting up…” Jung Hoseok squeaked, radiating apologies while Seokjin continued poking you in the head with his free hand. “I tried to tell him not to touch your phone.”

“I’m sure you did,” you replied. “I’m also sure he didn’t listen.”

“Hey. Answer me.”

“Hyung…” The concerned, deep voice was coming from the barstools in the kitchen behind you, in the don’t-annoy-her-that’s-rude-but-also-it's-not-my-place-to-scold-since-I’m-younger tone. Kim Namjoon, who was probably reading a book and drinking tea at the counter. He must have been banished there. The last time he had done the same activities in the living room, he had spilled tea all over Seokjin’s white rug. That had earned him a good yelling.

You glanced at Hoseok’s rueful expression and half-smiled, waving your hand to indicate you weren’t that bothered.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me.”

Kim Seokjin believed he needed to know such information about you because he had been your friend since your accountant mother started dragging you to house calls to a very specific home (mansion) in hopes of child you falling in love with the dashingly handsome son of one of her clients (she told his parents that it was because she couldn’t afford daycare, but even child you knew better). Instead, Seokjin and you became inseparable hopelessly addicted gaming fanatics that could not imagine each other naked without puking.

You did end up becoming inseparable. Just not in the way your mother wanted.

Oops.

“I don’t have a crush on Min Yoongi.”

“Oh yeah?” He said it in a high-pitched, disbelieving tone. You swatted his hand and snatched your phone from him, peering at the message preview. “Why is he texting you then, huh? HUH?”

Your phone vibrated.

Sorry to bother you. I would have texted Seokjin-hyung, but he’s annoying.

“He says you’re annoying.”

“Ex-cuse ME?”

“Here’s the proof.”

“EXCUSE HIM?!”

-

“What.”

“Let me in. It’s cold out here.”

“What are you doing here?” Kim Taehyung sputtered, obediently opening his apartment door to the slightly shorter, much more imposing figure of Min Yoongi. His long black hair was wild and windblown, puffy black parka zipped all the way up, hood out but useless at the moment. Light denim jeans and black boots crusted with snow. Nothing but his serious, intense demeanor made him imposing. Yoongi carefully kicked off the white ice before stepping in, slowly raising an eyebrow at Taehyung’s askew brown locks and rumpled gray sweat set.

“You’re not leaving like that are you?”

Taehyung frowned. “I’m not, duh. Jimin’s taking ages to use the bathroom. I think he fell in the toilet.”

“Hey! I heard that! Who’s out there?”

“You won’t believe it,” Taehyung shouted back to the disembodied voice coming from inside his apartment. He pushed his hair back from his eyes like he himself couldn’t believe it, revealing his classically handsome sharp features and stunned frown. “It’s Yoongi.”

“YOONGI?!”

The Min Yoongi, of the hour it seemed, rolled his eyes.

“What are you doing back there?” he called to the voice inside from the front hallway, not moving.

“Fixing my hair!” Park Jimin yelled back several decibels louder.

“I’m surprised,” Taehyung said, looking scowling Yoongi up and down like he was some kind of unidentified foreign object. “I thought you weren’t coming. Didn’t you say you were busy?”

“I made myself unbusy,” Yoongi grumbled back, pulling out his phone.

“You don’t make yourself unbusy for no reason.” Taehyung persisted, sticking his face in between Yoongi and his phone, making those cat-like eyes above narrow in annoyance.

“There’s alcohol.”

Taehyung wiggled his dark eyebrows. “I thought you were cutting back.”

Deadpan.

“Life’s shit, man.”

The younger male broke out into his boxy smile and booming laugh, pulling his head of brown curls back to double over. It was the combination of Yoongi’s dead-inside expression and monotone reply that was making Taehyung snort, that and Yoongi’s immediate return to his phone as if nothing was happening. Yoongi still made no move to actually step further into the apartment. He simply continued standing in front of the closed front door, on the welcome mat next to the shoes thrown about because Kim Taehyung couldn’t be neat unless he was impressing someone, and those people were not his best friend Park Jimin and unexpected-guest-but-still-friend Min Yoongi.

“You’re so funny, hyung.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

Yoongi raised his eyebrows as he stared at his phone and gave Taehyung absolutely fucking nothing to work with to continue the conversation.

“I guess you intend to drink since you stopped by here,” Taehyung chattered on, bored and unbothered about Yoongi’s lack of communication. “I’m closest to the train station and in between the karaoke bar. Plus sharing a taxi with us is cheaper than paying on your own.”

Silence.

Taehyung prodded Yoongi’s arm.

“Uh huh.”

Innovative answer.

“I think everyone is going to be there then,” Taehyung continued on, smooth baritone voice calming as he listed the people. “Namjoonie-hyung, Seokjinnie-hyung, Hoseokie-hyung, Jimin, Jungkookie, you, me…”

“Where’s Jungkook?”

“He’s asleep.”

Taehyung pointed to the couch. There was a blob of gray, black and white, too much fabric and face-down into the couch pillows. A poof of wavy black hair the only indication the pile was a human and not forgotten laundry.

“What is he, a newborn infant?”

“I don’t know. He said he was tired. If we don’t let him nap now, he’ll pass out during karaoke and we’re not strong enough to carry him out. Remember last time?” Taehyung sighed.

The monochrome blob that was supposedly the man named Jeon Jungkook suddenly snored, as if on cue.

“Yeah, I don’t know what he’s is doing in the gym but he’s unmovable,” Yoongi muttered.

The phone vibrated.

“Oh, is that me?” Taehyung immediately felt around his pockets and looked around. “Ah, where did I–”

But it was not him. Yoongi looked down. Unfortunately, you’ll bear witness to my awful singing. I apologize in advance. The corner of his lips ticked as he read the message. He breathed out. One, two, three, four seconds, and typed back. That makes the two of us then. A part of him thought he shouldn’t have started this conversation. He wasn’t good at this small talk thing, but one had to make some kind of effort in getting to know someone. And, anyway, he knew himself.

Do before getting carried away.

And, yeah, he wanted to know this one.

“I knew it.”

Yoongi slowly blinked, sensing an ominous presence staring at his phone screen, most certainly reading the name there. Sigh. He pulled his arm back and put his phone in his pocket, looking up to see the grinning, scheming, falsely-angelic face of Park Jimin looming into his peripheral view.

“Oooh, Min Yoongi has a crush.”

Yoongi said nothing, because saying nothing was better than reaching over and strangling Jimin. The latter would require physical effort. Oh, and perhaps land him in jail for murder. But that was only because Taehyung was here as witness.

“Huh… I thought I got a notification,” the latter commented, emerging from his bedroom with his uncased smartphone. Yoongi often wondered how Taehyung never cracked it, but perhaps he just bought new ones when he did. Taehyung often chose aesthetics over practicality. “Oh, finally, you’re out of the bathroom. Do I have to open a window to spare myself?”

“Tae, Yoongi-hyung has a crush,” Jimin sing-songed, bouncing around the older male teasingly as Yoongi remained statuesque. “He’s texting Seokjinnie-hyung’s lady gamer friend.”

Yoongi did not confirm or deny this information as Taehyung’s brown doe eyes went wide.

“OH?”

“Hyung’s flirting.”

Yoongi felt his right eyelid twitch.

“Jungkookie! Jungkookie, wake up, I have news!”

The blob trembled, suddenly alive, shaken violently by a hyper-excited Taehyung who couldn’t believe his ears even though he did not fact-check Jimin and had zero proof if his best friend was telling the truth or not. Apparently, he was filled with too much glee to relay this sudden revelation to the youngest, sleepiest one of the soon-to-be-drunk-as-fuck-karaoke group.

“W... Wuh?”

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook was not that articulate when barely roused from the dead.

“Yoongi-hyung’s flirting!”

Those big peepers snapped open.

“He’s WHAT?!”

-

“Mmm.”

The night smelled like smoke and someone’s delicious dinner.

“I should, ah, head home now that you’re safely at your door and all that.”

The winter night framed his figure. A halo of streetlamp light caught the gloss of his wavy black hair. Long and dark and shadowy, strands curling around high cheekbones and fair skin. He caught your gaze as you turned to face him. Black-brown eyes and unreadable expression. Half-zipped parka, black sweatshirt, and blue jeans with gray paint splattered onto one knee. No scarf. Strange, because you knew this man was the kind of guy who always wore a beanie and prioritized sensibility over aesthetics, and yet.

Min Yoongi raised his hands and exhaled into his curled palms, warming his nose at the same time. He looked away from you to do so.

“Cold?”

He shrugged. “It’s winter.”

You half-smiled, lifting your ungloved left hand. “My hands are always warm. My face always gets cold first before my hands.”

He eyed your fur-lined leather jacket. A chocolatey faux fur, softness peeking out from the tougher black fabric. Then his eyeline shifted. Intently observing your face. If you were younger, you might have thought you had to react differently. Been shy like the movies or some shit.

You simply waited, keeping your touch hovering in the winter night.

Slowly, you lowered your hand.

Something fluttered in the darkness that was those eyes. You had seen it before, maybe even spied it earlier this night. It was only a get-together between friends, drinks and karaoke, neither activity you particularly enjoyed which led to your original decision of not going. One small detail changed your mind, and he was standing right in front of you. Your singing was awful, but Yoongi was still polite enough to say that you were better than he was. I’m only good at rap. Sure. You heard what he said and his singing voice proved to contradict it. So Min Yoongi was that kind of liar, huh.

You didn’t say goodbye yet.

You could see Yoongi was waiting for you to say it first. You removed your other hand from your jacket pocket. Empty, purposefully leaving your keys behind. Calmly stared into those dark eyes as he stepped forward. You could feel it. The fire beneath the waves. Felt it all night. In the stolen glances, in the way he spoke to you, polite with piqued curiosity, in the way time stopped when your eyes connected.

You smiled.

His cold fingers touched the back of your hand.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t need the conversation to be with words. His hand on yours, chills wrapping around the warmth. Experiential. Testing the feeling between you and him. You didn’t need to wonder what he thought of you. He had reached out and touched your hand and you let him, reaching between you and him to softly rub the back of his knuckles, silently speaking to those dark eyes and parted lips through touch. His other hand raised and laid above your joined hands.

Black strands curved around his cheeks as Yoongi lowered his head.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he whispered, smokey and dusky.

Bodies closer, breath mixing. Your head tilted. Lashes lowering. Cold night air disappearing because of the fire under the water, breath to breath, hot, almost burning, the desire to break the surface rising, rising.

“Is it this?” you murmured, barely audible.

You could tell a lot from one kiss. He did not hide his hesitancy or his want. Honesty from the very beginning of his lips on yours, surprised at the way you pressed back against him and inhaled, imprinting the moment to your memory with his scent. Your grip tightened and his did too, telling you everything you needed to know, kiss after kiss, pulling him to you, away from the winter night and memories of a friendly get-together, about to change them into something…

Else.

Yeah.

Fuck it, you were already pushing his parka down his shoulders before your front door finished closing. It was dark but that didn’t matter when you remembered where everything was, flicking on low lights and bringing his face close to yours again, creating the magical moments on your own, not waiting for Yoongi for do so. He was enough magic in his breathless gasps and the way he seamlessly followed the fervor of your kiss, his shallow sighs saturated with lust. There was very little talking except the conversation of bodies. Not much to say when you collided him into the wall and slid your hands under his sweatshirt, skin to warm skin, kisses turning to hot breath and flicks of tongue against his neck, shivers under your lips, and then he flipped the situation, strong hands on your shoulders and rolling against the wall, pinning you with his body.

Hair all over his eyes.

Shaking inhale.

A hall lamp lighting the left side of his face.

“Too fast?” you asked softly.

Dark orbs flickered to yours.

“… No.”

Closer, his air becoming your air.

“I just don’t want you to think this is the reason I walked you home. I didn’t want you to get hurt. Walking at night alone isn’t safe. People are crazy.”

You half-smiled. Alright, more of a smirk. “Maybe I’m one of them.”

A light chuckle, impressed and amused at the same time. “I was trying to sober up too.” Giving excuses.

“Heard you have a high tolerance.”

“Alcohol is alcohol.”

“So, does the alcohol wanna fuck me or do you?”

No one ever called you subtle.

Yoongi closed the distance, his hair falling against your forehead. You could tell he was struggling with himself whether or not to be swept up in the waves of your fire, or maybe struggling with what was wrong and what was right, or maybe he was hesitating once he felt your relentless energy under his hands, but you could also feel something pressing against your crotch and it wasn’t one of his legs.

He was very calm once he made his decision.

“What do you like?”

Your hands in his hair, his ear between your teeth, and his moan into your pillows. Clothes all over the floor, body to body, so much heat that you both seemed to forget it was winter. His hand on your breasts, your hard nipples between his fingertips, your mouth opening and extending your tongue, teasing him, tangling your legs in his. There was some irresistible about his smile and his smirk. You chased both, running your nails over his back and ass, his hard cock pressed to your thigh and his hiss against your neck, do you have condoms, we shouldn’t, but he didn’t need to finish since you were already prepared.

“I’m not irresponsible.”

“Oh?” Yoongi cocked an eyebrow. Glanced at your rumpled sheets, his naked body as he rolled down the condom, and then at your naked body. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

You just smirked.

You were often careful after the first time, following the energy of the other person rather than your own desires. But this time, something was different. Your hand would press to his chest, fingernails curling in, and, slowly, centimeter by centimeter, his length filling you, contented sighs mixing, raking your nails down, lines of pain in your wake, listening to his hitched breath, his eyes flashing.

He didn’t say it, but his voice was in his racing heartbeat and throbbing cock.

More.

Not quite competitiveness but more like pleasure from pushing the limit. There was a certain measure of reservedness, like how he waited patiently for you to lift your leg up onto his shoulder. First one, and then you tapped his other arm. Yoongi raised his eyebrows, but he lifted his other arm, hand back to your mattress once you were folded under him.

You lifted your hips up and rammed into his crotch.

He sucked in a growl and winced, screwing his eyes shut. Probably to avoid you seeing anything too embarrassing. You let your muscles slowly close in around him, squeezing his hardness, letting yourself feel him inside you. Appreciating. He didn’t move right away. You did, steadily fucking him from below, his chest against your thighs, keeping the smirk on your face to stay as infuriating as possible.

“Fucking… Are you enjoying this?”

Low and dangerous, sweet chills up your spine at his deep voice.

“Do you fuck without the intent of enjoying it?” you countered.

He narrowed his eyes and fucked you into your mattress. Merciless and hard and deliberate. Good rhythm, which you expected. Intensity over speed, which you did not expect. Yoongi knew what he was doing. He was not just chasing his own pleasure. There was no need to with the way that you were nearly sending him over the edge with the control of your own muscles. He slowed down for a moment, lifting a hand and tracing your jaw with his fingertips, whispers under his pants, you have nice lips, you know, the perfect shape, and you licked the air, the tongue is better.

Cocked eyebrow, open-mouthed smirk.

“I’ll have to find out next time.” He ticked his head downward. “You wanna get off with me?”

“I will if you fuck me hard enough.”

“You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not. You’ll feel it, trust me.”

You thrusted with him to get that depth you liked and he did, in fact, feel it.

“F-Fuck!”

You bit your lower lip and grinned, throwing your head back and feeling your moan vibrate in your chest, lengthening your high with the containment. Eyes closing, no more talking, your arms up and hands clutching the pillows, fucking him as he fucked you, his swears turning into moans as he felt your orgasm convulse around him, honey wetness sticking to your inner thighs and his, chasing a higher high, cutting off every one before the final crescendo, not letting yourself fully let go, not yet, almost there, not yet.

Saturating every second with vicious, hot pleasure.

Somehow Yoongi knew. Felt it, chased it with you, his muscles tense, rigid, holding back too, building the higher high, harder, steady, fuck, so good.

Your name tumbling from his throat, the warning, and his from yours, the moment, orgasm so intense you forgot to breathe for a second, suspended, and then the crash, gasping as you felt him twitch inside you and your walls pulse, electricity shooting through your nerves, tingling and euphoric, gripping your pillows covered in your hair as Yoongi leaned forward and covered you in his hair and hot breath, colliding kiss matching the escalating beats of racing hearts.

Yoongi stared into your eyes much later, all his clothes back on.

“What?” you asked.

“Just memorizing your eyes.”

He kissed you.

-

“Love is more circumstance than fate.”

“I always thought so, too.”

These kinds of things came up in conversation around others. These were moments that happened by happenstance. For instance, in the middle of Taehyung’s tirade about how true love was definitely fate between two beings who had a connection unique to themselves that could not be replicated, and he deliberately ignored Yoongi when he pointed out that every connection one had with another was unique because it was between two individuals.

You and Yoongi shared a look of faint amusement in the midst of Taehyung’s abrupt soapbox speech.

Hoseok blinked and repeated his question of whether or not he suited the acorn-shaped pouch that was slightly overpriced despite being on sale. Namjoon injected and said that if he has asking then it meant that he was hesitating. Seokjin told him who cares, just buy it, it’s cute. That was enough convincing for Jung Hoseok. He brought it on the spot.

You found Yoongi afterward, waiting for you around the corner.

“Oh. I thought you went home.”

He looked at you, lowering the hood of his parka.

“I thought about it, but it had been a while since I appreciated the night.”

Then there was silence, until you were close, and then those dark eyes stayed on you, tendrils of black between you and him. Your fingertips touched the button placket of his coat. His head lowered. His breath had a little sweetness to it because of the Korean liquor. You kissed him.

You closed your eyes when you did.

You didn’t say much more.

You didn’t really look at his apartment when you arrived. You were too entangled in the lip lock and pinning his wrists to the wall. Heat pressed to heat. His tongue thrusting between your lips. The cold rapidly defrosting once skin was against skin.

Your nails down his chest.

Heavy exhale, burning anticipation.

You didn’t need to ask yourself, why am I like this. People spent years wondering on their own, but those years were already behind you, in lonely nights of both your parents working overtime and you alone at the table doing homework, cooking your own meals, cleaning up after yourself. If you wanted the video games to distract your brain, you had to be a good daughter. Being a good daughter was not that hard. Do all the things you were supposed to do and take up as little mental space as possible.

Something like that.

You ran your tongue along the inside of Yoongi’s thigh and savored his shudder.

The only detail that slightly annoyed your mother was that you weren’t interested in marrying Seokjin and Seokjin was clearly not interested in marrying you. Not much she could do about that. She gave up on asking for those kinds of details after that, mostly to avoid her own disappointment.

You wrapped your tongue around hot, taut skin, controlling the pressure of your tongue and lips. Up, down, tongue moving independently along the underside of the head, so precise that you saw his fingers sink into his sheets, surprise rippling over his features. Raised an eyebrow at him, letting the amusement show.

Yoongi smirked, a look that suited him very much.

All the way down, hitting the back of your throat. Easy. Guess a lot of people could call you a whore for that but, then again, the ones who actually knew were probably too busy pining over the fact that they would never feel it once more. Didn’t help that you acted as if it never happened once you were done.

You had dedication to games, but to people?

Not really.

It was fun to figure out people. It was fun discovering Yoongi. His sounds, every sigh, the tone of his moan, the way his breath shook when you took him deep and slow. He became very hard every time you went as deep as possible, past the point of breathing. He didn’t try to push your head or interfere with your pace. It was as if he trusted your movement, which was what he should do, because you knew what you were doing.

You swirled your tongue around the head as you went down.

He sucked in a gasp and closed his eyes, visible tension over his chest.

There was a strange familiarity to his movements. That was the only way you could describe the ease of reading his body language. Sometimes you let yourself feel the extent of the pleasure and sometimes you let the pressure build in your body to wallow in the torture of the buildup, like what he was doing now. He wanted to last, so you made it last. Not too fast. Tongue all over his hard, pulsing length, slowing down at the right moment of his hips shivering, layering the intensity again, stroking his balls as you sucked him, spreading the dripping saliva all over.

You hadn’t been having sex with Yoongi for very long, but it felt like you already knew his body.

You let him consider the possibility of you not letting him cum and then you continued the intensity, pushing him over the edge.

“… F-Fuck…!”

Rammed the throbbing head down your throat and felt his thick, salty orgasm spurt into the confines, leaking over your tongue and the roof of your mouth, breathing in to push it back. His hips involuntarily jerked and you immediately reached up to grip them and shove him back down, swallowing around the harsh pulses.

You heard Yoongi moan, low and sweet and erotic.

People were like games.

Only few had replay value.

-

He thought about saying something, but there wasn’t much to say.

It was his policy to not make something out of nothing. Grander, more general things, sure, he kept those ambitions. But, day-to-day, he learned it was better to go with the flow. You didn’t have disappointments if you didn’t expect much to begin with, so Yoongi didn’t expect much and let himself feel what he wanted to feel.

Like his hands on those thighs and pressing delicious legs to his chest as he sank in.

He tended to enjoy the fucking on top simply because it was easier for him. Most of the time, he didn’t feel much need to experiment or be creative. Most of the time, they weren’t worth it. Her? He fucked her in every position he could think of. This time, he felt the urge to fuck with most of his clothes on, with her holding up his shirt as he thrust into her on the edge of the bed. Not the most optimal position for maximum pleasure, but the arousal in the unnatural movement was enough to get him off.

Her too.

He could tell by the unforgiving clenching around his cock and the sopping wetness that was sticking to his balls, which was causing him to last minutes. You would think the human body would last longer if it felt better, so the pleasure could be felt more extensively, but his dick was much more interested in the instant gratification it was getting.

Oh, well.

He would have to fuck multiple times then, to prolong the pleasure.

She was the one to ask him first. Meeting without the false alibi of just happening to be at the same gathering at the same time. He went with the flow. Their fingertips touching. Her leaning in and kissing his collarbone, lips so soft that they made his nerves spark and muscles shiver, tilting his head back as her tongue traced a thin line upwards, wet heat against his pulse, her hand falling from his hand, tracing his neck.

“Choke me,” he whispered.

Yoongi liked doing things for the sheer curiosity of it.

She sucked on his ear when she choked him and electrified his whole body with lust, his hands finding her hips and slamming them down on his crotch, moaning into her ear shamelessly.

Yoongi knew he got himself into moments like this.

It wasn’t anyone’s fault but his own.

His fingers buried into her wet, warm pussy and he inhaled, drinking in the sweet scent of her juices, in, out, so good, the feeling of power and pleasure at his fingertips, tactile and visceral and intense. Staring into those piercing eyes with one hand around his neck and the other around his hard cock, choking both until he came on her thigh and hip, but not before she came onto his fingers, pushing himself to the brink with his forearm vibrating. Ended up being sore the next day.

Worth it.

Yoongi told himself to do before getting carried away.

He was getting carried away, especially when he was alone.

His shaking breath, breathe in, breathe out, high on the bliss, their lips colliding, covered in each other, salty, sweet, sticky, closer but not, and it was nobody’s fault but his own, because he always thought about saying something, but didn’t.

There wasn’t much to say.

He looked into those eyes, and he didn’t want to say anything. Just wanted to appreciate their shape, their color, the feeling they gave him when he gazed into them, like he could live million lifetimes but recognize those eyes every time. A strange kind of familiarity that didn’t have an explanation. He had known Kim Seokjin for a while, but Seokjin was protective of his female friends, especially his most important one.

So, Yoongi stayed respectful until his brain started getting carried away because his dick wasn’t doing enough.

Well.

He tried.

-

“I gotta ask you something.”

“You can ask me after you press A, you dimwit.”

“I am pressing A. It’s lagging!” Seokjin growled, bopping you on the arm. You continued leaning against his broad shoulder as the Pokémon raid loaded up. “Are you dating Yoongi?”

“Mmm,” was your reply as you pressed the buttons in order. Battle, Swords Dance, on your Ceruledge. Had to get the setup going to do the most damage before your stats become nullified. The raids in Pokémon were meant to convince players to participate in online play, but math and logic could help you solo or duo them quite easily. You needed Seokjin there so you had one less idiot AI. In fact, Seokjin only purchased this generation of Pokémon to help you out in certain things. Raids and completing the Pokédex. He wasn’t as attached to the series as you were. He played so he could understand what you meant when referencing it, but he wasn’t that invested.

He was a good friend.

“Are you or not?”

“Don’t think it’s any of your business,” you responded absentmindedly, reaching over to command his statistically-perfect Arboliva that you gifted him for this very purpose to perform Helping Hand. You might as well have been doing this raid alone. Seokjin was basically simply a spare console accompanied by a warm body.

For now.

Kidding… unless?

Nah, he was too much fun to tease.

“It is my business. You’re my friend, he’s my friend and, if you two are dating, it’ll make the group all weird.”

“Your friend group is already all weird.”

Seokjin prodded you in the head as you selected Bitter Blade for your attack move. “Be serious.”

“Ask him.”

“I did. He said to ask you.”

“Huh.”

Silence.

“… I’ll kill him if he abandons you.”

You couldn’t pause the raid. It was timed and the raid Pokémon had to be defeated in that time, or you would get kicked out. You didn’t say anything. Just kept pressing buttons, turning automatic.

“Well, I won’t kill him. I’ll make Jungkook kill him.”

Reaching over Seokjin, who did nothing to help you. He just held the Switch as you selected the correct moves and thought about who you needed to raise next. Maybe a Gardevoir. You needed more special attackers to avoid Abilities like Cursed Body and the Burn status condition.

Seokjin was suddenly quiet.

“… You think he’d do that?” you finally said, not quite sure what you meant in asking that.

You felt a hand on your head, bringing you closer to broad shoulders and his game.

“I don’t know.”

One thing about Seokjin was that he always told the truth.

-

“Are you getting your dick wet or what?”

Yoongi blinked slowly.

“What?”

“Jimin, you can’t ask that,” Hoseok scolded, whacking Jimin’s chopsticks with his own to punish the younger male because the walking sunshine was too pure-hearted to physically strike Jimin. “Eat your food.”

Jimin thinned his plump lips and gave Yoongi the side eye instead of eating his meal like Hoseok told him to. “I think you are. I feel it.”

Yoongi made the executive decision to ignore Jimin and continue serving himself the soup, adding plenty of vegetables. “Hoseok, haven’t you been working a lot lately? You need to eat more meat. You’re getting too thin.”

“You sound like my parents, hyung,” Hoseok laughed jovially as Yoongi added extra slices of marinated beef onto his plate. “Thanks, thanks.”

“Don’t avoid the question,” Jimin continued, buzzing away like a determined bee.

“I get it wet every day. It’s called a shower.”

“You know what I mean.”

“And I answered you.”

Jimin squinted under his fluffy auburn locks. “You’re sussy.”

“Huh?” Hoseok blinked rapidly, cocking his head. “Sussy?”

“Suspicious. Taehyung taught me.”

Hoseok’s lips curled into a round ‘o’, seemingly filing away this new lingo. “Man, sometimes I feel so old around you and Taehyung even though I’m only a year older.” The bustling restaurant complimented his cheerful voice, warm smells and fragrant conversation mixing with the clinking of plates and glasses. He reached over the table, patting Yoongi on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re talking to someone though. I thought you were going to die alone.”

Those cat-like eyes shifted away.

“… Thanks.”

Nothing more.

“Uh oh, there’s trouble in paradise already.”

“Is something wrong?” Hoseok asked, frowning slightly at the older male’s reaction.

Yoongi sighed, and shook his head.

“It’s nothing. There’s not much to say about it.”

Hoseok caught on right away, nodding intently. “Right! Speaking of, Jimin, I heard you are leading a theater production all on your own.”

“A-Ah, just the choreography for the songs…” A small hand attempted to wave away Hoseok’s sudden unwavering excitement. “Really, it’s not that serious…”

“Yes, it is! A musical! With weeks and weeks of shows…!”

Yoongi avoided looking at his phone all night. He kept his eyes forward and focused on the conversation with his friends. If he didn’t, he would be stuck in his thoughts, wondering what all those nights really meant if all he had now was silence and a loveholic’s hangover he didn’t ask for.

-

“Oh, shit.”

Those were the first words you had spoken to a real, physical, in-the-flesh human being in a long time (Seokjin didn’t count). First words you had spoken all day, actually. Wait. Maybe you exclaimed out loud, you little fucker, get in the damn ball, earlier. Highly probable. No need to censor yourself when you were at home.

“You have left me on read for two weeks.”

“Oh… shit.”

After the shock had set in, the cold suddenly became apparent. It was winter, after all. Extra obvious by the snow on the ground and the big black parka the person outside your door was wearing, although the red flush around his neck and cheekbones was not from the icy breeze.

“Two weeks,” the man at your front door repeated with a growl, and he started advancing which, in most cases, would be a sign to call the police.

“Surely,” you sputtered, fumbling with your phone in your other hand, letting go of the knob because the screen was tab after open tab of various Pokédex entries of the Pokémon you were considering spending your previous in-game money on to make statistically perfect. Ahem, anyway, you hurriedly changed apps to your Messages app, your eyes widening as you saw the dates of your last messages.

Oh shit.

“Actually, it’s only been twelve days–”

“Twelve days of nothing,” he snapped, slamming closed your front door that you were honestly slightly grateful for. It was fuckin’ cold out there. “And what do I hear tonight? Just yesterday you were speaking to Jeon Jungkook on the phone.”

And, at this point, Min Yoongi got in your face.

You held your phone close to your purple sherpa pullover and stepped back as a stern, gracefully annoyed expression confronted you. Wild long black hair, furrowed eyebrows, and flashing dark eyes. Flushed pink lips twisted into irritation. Open jacket revealing his black sweater and light blue jeans, strange for such a cold night.

“Have you been drinking?” you observed, catching a whiff of his exhale.

“I’m not drunk,” Yoongi countered, backing up and scowling. “I was at Namjoon’s and then I remembered you lived nearby. So, I walked.”

“You… walked?”

“Yeah.”

You blinked slowly.

“Kim Namjoon… if you’re walking… that’s about an hour away….”

The scowl straightened out, leaving a stoic profile as Yoongi refused to look at you.

He grunted.

You were surprised.

“I… Jeon Jungkook called me.” You felt the sudden urge to fill the space of silence as the man before you kept his gaze at a firm ninety-degrees to the wall despite your face being right there. “He was worried about Seokjin, because he kept trying to call him. Seokjin had sent him a box of grapes from his uncle’s farm and Jungkook was trying to thank him via call because his mom told him he couldn’t simply text, but Seokjin wasn’t answering the calls and then Jungkook got worried so he called me since I have Seokjin’s family number but then I reminded Jungkook that that rich guy and his family went to a luxurious mountain resort to go skiing and wouldn’t be back until next weekend,” you finished in a jumbled mess of oversharing.

Silence.

You were highly aware that your Nintendo Switch was loudly playing the classic, cheery jingle of the Pokémon Center in your bedroom, echoing the bright notes throughout your apartment as, er, your possibly-soon-to-be-past fling? current interest? situation-ship? continued staring at the wall as if the paint was the one speaking to him.

To reiterate, you were surprised.

“I… I didn’t think you cared,” you explained, looking up at Yoongi.

He turned his head.

Looking down, black hair around his cheeks. Lashes lifting, slow motion, dark brown orbs raising, then the darkness was on you, and there was no anger, no malice, the heated air of his rash imposition fizzling out once your eyes connected.

His lips parted.

Nothing came out, as if he was about to say something emotional but then stopped himself. His brows knitted together, a moment of recollection, and then.

“Namjoon said I should be honest, so I’m here to tell you that you pissed me off by ignoring me,” he mumbled.

You blinked. Slowly, once again.

“O… Oh. I apologize.”

Silence except heartbeats.

Yoongi looked away.

You could piece the entire picture together now. Your eyes shifted, side to side, to his hands shoved in his jacket pockets, to the faint tint of pink around his ears and neck, to his relaxed shoulders and that tense heart, and you were surprised because Yoongi had always held himself with a devil-may-care attitude and straightforward bluntness. Not that you didn’t think there was more, but rather it seemed as if he didn’t want to address that under any circumstances and you had no need for more when you were your own happiness, and so you asked him another question.

“Is this you or the alcohol talking?”

Yoongi clicked his tongue and frowned, flickering glare meeting you. “Alcohol doesn’t make you a different person. I’m not someone else just because I had a few bottles with Namjoon. I have a high tolerance anyway.”

You smiled.

“I know. Wanted to make sure you were thinking the same thing I was.”

That was why Yoongi and you ended up in this situation. Because he seemed to always end up thinking the same thing you were. There wasn’t much discussion or mystery. There was you and there was him in the same place at the same time. Multiple times. Overlapping interests, but not all the same. Kept things interesting. Discovering you had the same core values and then the same kind of comfortable silence that turned into his hand on yours, experimental, are you thinking what I’m thinking, bodies closer, breath mixing, heads tilting, is it this?

Playing the game.

The Pokémon Center music faded out and then picked up again, always aggressively joyous, always ready to nurse your team back to full health.

You rubbed the back of your head sheepishly. “Hah… I’ve just… been playing the new Pokémon game came out recently, so I took time off to play it… thought I said…”

“You did say,” he interrupted.

Awkward pause.

“You did say,” and this time Yoongi sighed, suddenly smacking his palm into his forehead and rubbing it, mussing up his own hair. “You did say, and I believe everyone should enjoy something with the kind of passion you exhibit for your interests. I just wanted you to involve me even though I know nothing.”

You stared at him.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why would I involve you in something you don’t care about?”

“I don’t care about it yet.”

“Why would you care about it?”

He flung his hand away from his face and scowled. “Are you an idiot?”

“Depends, are you confessing?”

Again, no one ever called you subtle.

Frigid embarrassment, and it wasn’t from you. Shocking. Suddenly your wall became irresistible to Yoongi’s eyeballs once more. You patiently waited.

“… No.”

“Ah. I see.”

You did see, straight through his bullshit.

Yoongi pursed his lips and gave you the side-eye. “I don’t want to play games.”

You shrugged. “Well, I do, because I’m a nerd, and I could make you a nerd too if you take off your shoes and come to the bedroom.” Chewed on your lip and felt that you should go back to being serious, at least for a moment. “I am sorry. I thought you would call me a kid, and I like you enough to not want you to be so ignorant, so I especially avoided speaking much about playing Pokémon. Honestly, I would rather hear you say that you don’t want to see me anymore than hear you talk shit about my cute pocket monster friends.”

Yoongi surprised you again.

He rolled his eyes.

“I don’t hate Pokémon. I used to watch the animation as a kid. I somewhat regret not being more into it, because then maybe you would have let me in a lot more if we had that common interest.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

“Putting your dick in my pussy is not letting you in a lot more?”

He raised an eyebrow back.

“You’re right. That was the alcohol talking,” he replied in a deadpan voice.

You smiled.

He smiled back. It did not seem like he wanted to and it did not seem like he could help himself either. What a predicament. You couldn’t relate.

“Do people like to tell you you’re difficult?” you asked with too much glee, unable to hide your amusement any longer.

The corner of his lips twitched. “All the fuckin’ time.”

You nodded knowingly. “Did you know we have that in common?”

He ticked his head at you, messy black hair over his cheeks and open-mouthed smirk. “Strangely enough, I seem to have learned that tonight.”

“I’m about to teach you a lot more, this time about Pokémon and not about how deep I can throat dick.”

“Consider giving me a supplemental lesson about the latter in the morning when I’m completely sober.”

“Hmm, I accept if can you listen without falling asleep.”

Yoongi eventually did fall asleep, but he did last three hours and retained most of the information in the morning despite being a drunk, ahem, not drunk (according to him) man confessing his feelings at your doorstep. In the future, once he had purchased his own game and was playing alongside you, he would insist that moment was not the one when he confessed, that he definitely confessed later (sober, mind you), and that he definitely did not purchase a Nintendo Switch and start studying the Pokédex more because of you (he had simply found the game a good way to wind down).

Games were just more fun to play now when he had a player two.

Yeah.

We know better.

--

masterpost

[ladyvlolypop]

Bucky Barnes Headcanons

these are both dating and overall head canons, if you think the writing is a little out of my usual type it's because I wrote these while

My Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x gn!reader; sfw

Very gentle, his touches are very soft and he tries to avoid being harsh with you, knowing he’s way stronger than you(and because he’s unsure of his metal arm).

When he passes you he gives you subtle touches, his hand on your hip or waist for a brief moment.

He used to smoke when he was a soldier. Heavy smoker and drinker but he never touched a cigarette again after he became the winter soldier, not because he didn’t want to but he just didn’t want to be addicted to anything.

He can definitely speak and understand bits of german and italian because he was stationed in Austria and Italy during the war. He speaks french as well but much better(we love a multilingual king)

He understands russian perfectly but struggles to speak or write/read it. He understands bits of other slavic/balkan languages as well(if you speak russian freshen up his skills a little pls)

He sometimes still stares in awe at modern things, he imagined the world differently in the 30's. Will sometimes tell you how certain spaces changed and how they used to look like back in the day.

He likes to tell you about his childhood, liking to compare how you two grew up

Has lots oft things to catch up to

Has a flip phone w a loud ass ringtone

Jumps a little when hearing his ringtone

He has a smartphone for work but he barely uses it

Loves fantasy shows/movies and reading

LOTR and GOT fan honestly

Likes baking and cooking but he’s not good at it, he’s thankful for microwaveable meals and your cooking

Can’t ride a bike

Can’t drive, learned it just before infinity war happened

He probably let his his metal arm get hot in the sun and cracked an egg on it with sam

It fried

You only call him 'James' if it's serious or if it's to tease him

will use nicknames like "Doll", "Babygirl", "Honey","Darlin'(g)" or "Dear" for you

Uses lotion for his scars

would fold if you did it for him, def will offer to do the same for you(he gives really good messages let him)

Has a routine for his beard when he lets it grow out, likes to keep himself groomed

Same for his hair

Has insane home remedies

Pulls out chernobyl broth when you have a feet ache(boils sprite)(He read about it on facebook)

Doesn’t trust italians

He’s such a dad

Dad jokes all the way

Enjoys shopping for home gadgets

Knows how to haggle and will show his skills when he can

Will often come home with surprise groceries or gifts, things or snacks you like or some other stuff he got on sale

Likes to go to flea markets

Sometimes comes home with large amounts of certain products

Man will come home with 3 boxes of fruit because there was a sale

Love language is definitely gift giving and acts of service

Carries your bags or groceries for you without asking, pretty good at fixing things around the house

He’s good with kids, wants his own but unsure when the right timing for it would be

He sometimes shows them tricks with his metal arm

He’s not much of a talker unless you two are alone

Often rants about work

Good listener though, very attentive listener

He sleeps like a bear, very warm and keeps close to you, his arm cools down at night though and you might wake up with the feeling of cold metal against your belly

He started sleeping better when you were with him, still you will sometimes find him sleeping on the floor in the mornings, old habits die hard.

He’s very stubborn, especially if it's about your safety but he hates arguing with you

He hates the possibility of you getting hurt in any way

You're on his mind all the time

walks around with the thoughts of "would Y/N like that? Should I buy them that?"

first thing he does when coming home after missions is give you a tight hug

if it's really bad all he wants to do is hold you closely and cuddle for hours

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

if you think the writing is a little out of my usual type it's because I wrote these while on a call with my bsf and she was poorly singing lana del ray songs in my ear, some of these hc were even here ideas

[clefaiiiry]

From the Airwaves to your Viscera

i wasn't kidding about finding a way to get lux into every fic ya know

not sure if this should be mature or explicit but hwei does have cannibalistic fantasies so ya know

now i can stop tormenting you all with incessant fic posting! for now :)

Read on AO3

Read on Tumblr - Under Read More

-~*~-

There’s a crick in Hwei’s neck, as there often is.

Before him, his canvas stares back, blank as it had been hours ago. His inspiration is a rusty old tap; when it flowed it was a raging tide, the only problem was unscrewing the damn thing.

Hwei spins his chair away from his easel and lets out a long, gravelly whine as he rubs his face. How long has it been dark for? He hadn’t really noticed. Hwei forces himself to his feet to switch on a lamp and stretches his fingers upward to the ceiling.

When he turns, his canvas is still empty. Even when he tries really hard to force paint to magically appear, it stays empty.

He’s exhausted, but sleep won’t come so he might as well paint. But if he can’t even paint, then what is he good for-

He needs a drink. He doesn’t have any alcohol so he’ll settle for something warm. Maybe it would do him some good to pour the boiling water straight onto his wretched hands-

His kitchen nook beckons and his heavy feet drag across the splotchy floor. It certainly needs a good scrub, but he’d have to shove everything off to the side for that.

While the kettle, he paces around his apartment, and makes a vague effort to fold away some clothes, but only makes it through two shirts before he decides the laundry chair is good enough. He fumbles to make his bed, a mattress on the floor with a duvet and a pillow without a case, but that plan too rapidly falls apart as he instead flops onto it facedown with a huff.

Hwei catches his gaze in his mirror, just a little desk one he uses when he can be bothered to do his makeup, and finds he doesn’t recognise himself. His skin prickles in apprehension of his unfinished piece. He has all the tools he could possibly need, all the technical know-how, so why do his hands not work? Why can his mind conjure nothing of merit? 

Soon enough his sulking is interrupted by the whistling kettle and he pours himself some tea, sipping much too early and burning his tongue. Rain is pattering against the window when he returns to his chair, mug left too close to the edge of the desk to be safe.

Hwei switches on the radio. He’d gotten it from Lux, an old thing probably due for the bin rather than his windowsill. It sounds about ready to blow every time he turns it on and cooperates only when it feels like it, but he likes it all the same. Hwei had only upgraded to a smartphone once his old brick had finally packed in and he couldn’t find a new battery for it.

Static crackles as he switches through frequencies, until finally a voice comes through,

“-much appreciated. We’re just now approaching- two-thirty in the morning, and those of us with sense may seek to retire for the evening.” Static rumbles with the man’s chuckle. “But sense is vastly overvalued in my humble opinion.”

The voice is deep, almost melodic, its warmth burrowing its way deep into Hwei’s bones. This would do. He leans back, pulls his feet up onto his chair, and braces his mug in both hands.

The host continues, “I do hope you are all satisfied with the playlist this evening, but if you aren’t then I’m afraid your other options are lacking. I don’t believe anyone else in the area runs this late anymore, so you’re stuck with me, poor thing.”

Hwei hums, lips twitching in a little smile as he goes for another attempt at his tea. It’s still not quite cool enough, but he doesn’t scald his lips this time. He leans forward to listen,

“Now, I’d like to let these next three play in their entirety. Now, if you’re a returning listener you’ll know I prefer instrumental pieces, but I can be persuaded to tolerate vocals.”

The host’s chuckle draws one from Hwei, like sharing the room with him.

The host goes into particulars regarding the upcoming songs before he lets them play. First is a gradual build of a quiet piano and strings that eventually crescendos in a resounding tidal wave, the next carries the intensity with strings and light synth, before the final song returns to a gentle lull with soft male vocals.

Together the songs feel like a journey, an adventure to the highest peak of a forgotten mountain. Like he’d trudged through sleet and snow to reach the very top, then slowly worked his way back down to earth.

A climb to the divine… and a fall back to mortality.

Hwei drops his mug on the desk with a loud thunk. If it had spilt, he didn’t notice, there were more important matters to focus upon. His hands move of their own accord, colours vibrant on the canvas. Jagged cliffs pierce the sky, a tattered hand breaking through to claw at the horizon, a single beam of heavenly guidance reaching back-

At least, that’s what they could be, what he intends for them to be. Art is rarely so straightforward.

He steps back and takes it in, tilts his head, is amazed to find he doesn’t hate it after staring at it for more than ten seconds. It’s still rough, needs a touch up on the uglier lines, but it’s progress, more than he’s had in weeks. 

Something rumbles at his ears and he realises the radio has died into static. The show must be over. Hwei stares at it for a moment longer before he takes note of the frequency on a little scrap of paper, then finally switches it off.

-~*~-

The moment he sees it again, Hwei hates his canvas.

In the light of morning he picks apart every stroke and smudge of paint he’d subjected upon that poor thing and finds a potent nausea bubbling in his stomach. The image is too bleak, too morbid, torn flesh shattering upon sharp blades of stone.

He considers shattering his fingers, placing them in the window and slamming it down until they’re broken and just as useless as they feel.

Suppressing the thought, he removes it from the easel and leans it against the wall, facing away. If he had to look at it any longer he was going to vomit. No, that was a bit dramatic, but he would certainly fantasise about tossing it out of the window. But what if it hit someone on the way down? He’d never forgive himself.

Once again, Hwei entertains the idea of cleaning his apartment and makes it as far as taking out the rubbish before he realises how late it is. He fumbles to scrounge up a full outfit from his floor, grabs his bag, and almost forgets to lock the door on the way out.

Not like there would be anything worth stealing.

-~*~-

The Crownguards come from the sort of old money Hwei could only ever dream of. While Hwei had got Lux a new plant pot for her succulent, her older brother had casually bought her, among other things, a new car. The way she said the make made it sound important, but he didn’t really know enough about that sort of thing to judge.

“You know,” Lux says as she turns the little pot over in her hands, “I prefer this.” It’s a little ceramic cream one shaped like a sheep with big shiny eyes and pink cheeks.

“You don’t have to say that,” Hwei says. She pouts.

“I’m serious! Larry looks so sad in his current pot, he needs a spruce up! This is perfect!”

She places it in the centre of the table and stares intently, as if another plant might sprout up if she wills for it hard enough. She’s deep in thought when she suddenly jerks and clasps her hands together.

“Oh! I got you something too!”

“Now hold on,” Hwei says, “it’s your birthday. You’ve got this backwards.”

Lux rolls her eyes. “Well, my birthday present to me is getting a treat for my friend! Ta-dah!”

The wrapping paper is almost too nice to tear, done up with a little ribbon and bow. Hwei mourns it before he begins to carefully peel from the taped edges. She’s bouncing in her seat by the time he finally folds it back.

Within the paper is a little wooden box, reminiscent of the sort one would expect to find a ballerina dancing inside. A golden crest adorns the lid, one that makes his stomach drop.

“Lux, I can’t accept this, it’s too much-”

“Don’t be silly! I insist!”

People are starting to stare so he accepts defeat and cradles the box in his arms like a wounded animal. He feels like crying.

“I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it! Hopefully this helps with the ol’ art block!”

A cold, heavy rock lodges itself into his throat. She’s staring at him with that huge, toothy grin and bright eyes, like she sees something he doesn’t.

Like she doesn’t see what he sees when he looks in the mirror.

A part of him wants to throw them back at her, as if it could ever be that simple! A darker part is tempted to throw it into the street just to make a point. But he doesn’t, because he knows she doesn’t mean it like that, that she’s just trying to be supportive and helpful.

The cold spreads downward into his lungs and he stares into his cup. Besides, why couldn’t it be that simple? He has sparks of inspiration all the time, why can’t he just create without second guessing himself? Without creating something hideous?

“Oh,” Lux says, breaking him from his stupor, “so I met up with Quinn the other day and-”

He’s grateful for the change of subject, especially since he isn’t expected to say much beyond the odd, ‘oh really?’ or ‘that’s nuts.’ She does try to prompt more of a contribution at first, but quickly realises it’s one of those days so lets him listen in peace.

Then she starts to fidget, her gaze lingering through the window. Lux purses her lips and taps an arrhythmic pattern into her cup with her nails. She’s had them done recently. They look nice, better than Hwei’s. His are still chewed and chipped, due a fresh coat of polish.

“What’s wrong?” Hwei asks and she nearly jumps out of her seat.

“Well, I- So urh, my aunt is running an art show between Christmas and New Year?”

“Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah!”

The silence that lingers between them drags on for much longer than he’d prefer. Lux finally sighs and sits up straight. She’s taller than him, but only because of how appalling his posture is, puffing up her chest to earn that extra inch or two.

“I think you should enter.”

Yep, about what he expected. Hwei shrugs. “I’m not sure…” he lies. He knows damn well what is stance is regarding such things-

“I like your stuff! And I’m sure other people would too, if you gave it a chance. It’s really great!”

He knows his work holds objective quality, on a technical level at least, but that stands for naught when it’s about as shallow as a child’s paddling pool. Not like he can help it; he can’t best the part of him which dreads what he’ll find if he digs any deeper.

Hwei finds his feet are suddenly deeply fascinating as he struggles to meet her intense stare. She deflates.

“Look, I don’t want to pressure you or whatever, I just- I really want more people to see your work. To really see the stuff you can do!”

“I-” He’s about to argue when he sees her face again and curse his humanity. Hwei rubs the bridge of his nose. “Let me see if I can finish something, and I’ll think about it.”

“You’re the best!”

Lux’s grin should be comforting, but it only twists the cold knife in his stomach even deeper.

-~*~-

When the radio crackles to life the following evening, Hwei can finally put a name to the voice.

Khada Jhin.

The music is pleasant enough to fill the silence and Hwei very rarely finds himself disapproving of the song selection. There are duds, of course, albums Jhin will sing the praises of while Hwei frowns through the set, but they just make him appreciate the good ones all the more. If anything, the alternative perspective is refreshing.

Jhin isn’t live every night, only Monday through to Thursday from one o’clock till five, but Hwei diligently listens to most of his shows. He doesn’t even do it consciously after a while, simply finds himself huddled by his desk with the soothing static. His sleep schedule is royally, completely screwed, but it’s not like he’d sleep even if he weren’t listening, and the routine is… nice.

Who was he kidding, the reason he kept tuning in was to listen to Jhin’s voice. That warm, comforting cadence has thoroughly imprinted itself into his soul and he’s shamefully addicted to the sound of it.

Hwei wonders if this is how a cosmonaut feels while they’re up in space, observing life below from afar. Out of reach but so very real. He also ponders on how long he’ll stay adrift before he runs out of air.

Jhin doesn’t talk that much, probably a thirty-seventy split on talking and music if Hwei had to put a number on it, but he listens to every word. Jhin speaks like an old friend one hadn’t seen for years, regaling tales of his life with all the theatrics of a playwright, and Hwei wants- needs to discover every piece of who this man is. And he does, piece by piece.

Jhin used to work as a composer, Jhin has a cat named Yuumi who he loves to death, Jhin is at least forty years old, Jhin prefers red wine over white, Jhin’s favourite flowers are lotus blossoms-

Hwei too could appreciate the beauty of lotus blossoms. He wasn’t particularly knowledgeable about flowers as a rule, but the lotus typically represented purity or rebirth, sometimes divinity depending on who you asked.

His mind wanders, stuck on the thought of how hard it would be to weed flowers blooming from one’s own skin. He feels itchy afterward, unclean.

It’s been a month since he discovered Jhin’s show. Tonight he’s playing some tracks by an artist Hwei had never heard of, but had recently gone mainstream after joining a boy group called Heartsteel. He had heard of them, but only because Lux was totally obsessed with their debut single.

“I did meet him before he lost his voice, back before he was forced into purely instrumental work,” Jhin says, almost melancholic, “a shame, really, his vocal talent was quite special. At least he’s finding success in other places.”

Hwei spares a glance to his canvas, staring back as blank as it had been hours ago. He bundles his blanket closer around his shoulders.

“Now,” Jhin’s voice guides him back like a candle in a storm, “as we are into our final hour, and because station management are getting quite particular about engagement- Urgh, we shall be opening requests again this evening. However, if any of you ask for some top forty schlock again, those privileges shall be revoked, management be damned.”

As he reads out the number, Hwei glances to where his phone is perched on the edge of his desk. He had considered ringing in at least a dozen times. What would he even ask for? He wasn’t particular, the type to say, ‘oh, I’ll listen to anything.’ It was a small roadblock, really, for an opportunity to talk to the man whose voice had kept him company for so many nights.

Hwei covers his face with a groan, his heels thumping onto the floor as he kicks his legs out.

Just pick something! Anything!

But what if he picked something Jhin didn’t like? 

Then I’ll just have to run off and start a new life in the forest-

Alright, now he really is being dramatic.

Hwei looks at his phone again, reaches out and strains his fingers across the desk until he can fumble it into his hand. He knows the number, even without Jhin repeating it. It’s so easy! Just dial it in and-

Hwei slams it back on the desk, face down, and hugs his knees up against his chest.

Another listener requests a song named The Turning of Our Bones. It’s a slow build of guitar with a gravelly vocalist, visceral in a way that tempts brush strokes from his idle hands.

A chest being torn open, ribs cracked and blood spilled. Hands carve their way into the cavity and clutch the heart within. The blood is purple, the heart is gold-

It’s only when the song ends that Hwei is struck by how morbid his creation is. Morbid, but oddly… beautiful.

He places it against the wall with the others.

-~*~-

Another few weeks pass before Hwei dials the number again. The dim screen illuminates his even darker room, thumb hovering over the call button, then he locks it and rubs his face. Jhin’s already had a few callers this evening who wanted to chat as well, so he’s probably sick of it anyway, Hwei reasons.

He spins on his chair and entertains the idea of adding to this piece, but he’s already sick of this one. It’s placed against the wall like the rest. He replaces it with a blank canvas.

The neighbours across the street have their Christmas decorations up already, the tacky LEDs making him squint every time he turns to the window. They’re not so bad, they’re a suitable excuse not to switch his own lights on.

He’s struck by how morbid it would be for someone to choke on them, be hung by them-

“I hate Christmas,” Jhin says with a sigh, “I know, I know, ‘how could I possibly?’ Yes, call me Ebenezer Scrooge. If you ask me, everything is far too loud and bright this time of year. Or perhaps I’m showing my age.” He laughs and Hwei feels the tension bleed from his shoulders.

But then he finds himself wondering, does Jhin have anyone to spend Christmas with? He’s never mentioned a partner or any family, other than Yuumi. Maybe his distaste is more personal than he lets on.

Or maybe Hwei is just projecting.

Lux would probably be going home for the holidays and, even though she’s always extended the offer for him to come with, he can’t think of anything more uncomfortable than surrounding himself with someone else’s family. He barely even knew how to act around his own.

He looks at his easel again, still blank, then to his phone, still on the desk.

Jhin continues, “it’s partially why we haven’t queued up any seasonal songs. I get sick of all of them after the first week of November. Perhaps that’s why I find myself in a rut at the moment.” Jhin gives a wistful sigh. “Nothing I put to paper passes my standards these days. My fellow creatives can relate, I’m sure.”

Did Jhin spend hours staring at his sheet music too? Wondering how to create something beautiful, something meaningful? He always seems so natural, the admission is a chip in the mask. It strikes Hwei as impossibly human.

A reminder Jhin is not the sun keeping him warm in the vastness of space but a fellow cosmonaut left adrift.

Hwei sits up and, before he can reconsider, he takes his phone and dials the number. His fingers tremble around the device as it rings, pressing it harder to his ear.

Then there’s a click.

“Hello?” he says.

“Good evening. May I take your name?”

“I- Hwei.”

“And how are you this evening, Hwei?”

His composure is rapidly depleting. “Oh, I’m…” Hwei gives a breathy little laugh, “surviving.”

Jhin chuckles and suddenly Hwei’s throat feels very dry. “A sentiment I’m sure many of us share. Now, what can I play for you, my dear?”

“I- I’d actually like to ask for your opinion on something, if I may?”

The beat of silence lasts a little too long before Jhin says, “Is that so?”

“Yes. I- I just… How do you decide if a piece is… good enough?”

His voice is so irritating, perhaps he should do everyone and favour and cut his tongue out-

Jhin hums, a low sound that seeps through his skin. “That is truly an impossible question to answer,” he says, but he doesn’t sound disappointed or, god forbid, bored. He maintains the casual tone as he continues, “what I might find valuable in a piece will certainly be different than what you do. Now, tell me, Hwei, what do you truly love about the art that speaks to you?”

“When… When I can feel how the artist has poured their soul into their work. So I suppose… empathy.” His chair creaks as he spins on it to look at his canvas. “How else can we find meaning, without empathy?”

Jhin is quiet for a moment, just long enough that Hwei nearly slams the phone down, but then he hums. “What an interesting perspective. How fascinating. Though if we limit ourselves purely to the artist’s intent, doesn’t that also limit the piece itself? A parent may have good intentions for their child, but they may also be that which suffocates them, no?”

“Y-Yes, that’s true. I’ve lost count of how many times a piece hasn’t turned out the way I planned.”

“That I can certainly relate to.”

Jhin laughs and Hwei does too. He feels a little dizzy.

“Now, as much as I would love to continue, we’ve not much time left.” Before the shame can take hold, Jhin continues, “What can I play for you this evening, Hwei?”

Hwei blinks, stares ahead blankly. The lights across the street glow green. “I… didn’t think about that part, I’m sorry to waste your time.”

Jhin tuts through his teeth. “Now, now, time enjoyed is never wasted.”

And oh, how his heart flutters. Words die in his throat before he can embarrass himself and he’s grateful that Jhin continues without pause,

“What if I pick something for you, Hwei?”

“I would like that.”

“I hope I don’t disappoint. Take care now, my dear.”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.”

In the moments following, the dial tone is deafening. It takes him far too long to put his phone down. My dear, it feels much too tender. Jhin uses pet names for listeners all the time but for Hwei, it just felt-

Through art, connection-

As the song starts, Hwei slowly stands and turns to his easel. He opens the box of paints from Lux and takes a long, deep breath. His brush dances with the music, a quiet build of strings and flutes. In Cold Light is the title of the song, and the way the notes flow leaves him adrift in the cosmos.

Just him and his canvas, Jhin’s voice resonating in his skull.

The colours flood together, blue and gold and flecks of purple. Each brush stroke feels intimate, purposeful. He’s missed this, to simply be as he creates.

Soft petals bloom from his brush, a blanket of stars, two little figures adrift in the abyss between, reaching out to each other, outward to a blooming lotus above. Reaching for divinity, as one-

Or perhaps a new beginning? Rebirth, a cycle beginning anew-

Hwei paints through the rest of Jhin’s show, even as the music changes and the night grows older. Only when Jhin signs off and the station goes quiet is the brush finally set down.

He takes a step back and wipes his sleeve across his forehead, damp paint smudging across his skin. The canvas that stares back doesn’t disgust him, doesn’t horrify or torment.

It warms, it comforts, it inspires-

And in the quiet of his apartment, slowly growing orange in the sunrise, he wonders if Jhin would like it too.

-~*~-

“It’s beautiful.”

Hwei shuffles awkwardly as Lux marvels at his work. 

Whether or not his piece was beautiful wasn’t the point, is what he wants to say. He knows the objective quality is sufficient but what does it say? What does it mean to her eyes that it couldn’t mean to anyone else?

“You… like it?”

“I love it! It’s like a narrative, right?” She points but keeps her hands a respectable distance from the canvas. “These little blobs are being rejected by the flower and falling out into the black. Well, okay, that’s what I think is happening, but I could be totally wrong.”

Hwei only shrugs. The surface level analysis isn’t necessarily incorrect it’s just-

He needs something else.

“Seriously, though, it’s really amazing!”

“Thank you. Do… you think your aunt would find it satisfactory?”

She whirls on him, eyes huge and grin even brighter. “You’re submitting?!”

“Do you think it’s good enough?”

Lux opens her arms, an invitation one he takes. He likes her hugs, they’re always warm and slightly too tight. Hwei squeezes back just as hard.

Wonders how hard he’d have to squeeze to crack her bones. The thought is an ice cold blade straight into his skull and he swallows the tide of nausea that follows.

“Alright, mister,” Lux says as she finally pulls away, “Just because you’re casually making masterpieces doesn’t mean I’m going to forgive this!” She gestures wildly around the room and he blinks. 

“What?”

“Your place is a mess! C’mon, we’re gonna clean up, right now! I don’t care if you had plans-”

-~*~-

Would stepping out into traffic be more tolerable than the knowledge that people would see, and by this point had already seen, his art? Probably, but Hwei hadn’t seen a big enough truck on his way over so that plan was a bust.

Lux is waiting for him when he finally arrives at the gallery, grinning ear to ear, and Hwei is made painfully aware of how underdressed he is.

It’s his own fault, really, Lux had said it would be formal dress, but he didn’t own anything that could even be considered close to formal. Got rid of most of it when he left home. Formal for Hwei usually meant brushing his hair and tossing on a jacket. He tugs at his collar and tries very hard to stand up straight, ignoring how his spine cracks and pops with the effort.

“How are you feeling?” Lux asks as she holds the door for him.

Terrified, queasy, disgusting-

“Tired,” he settles on, nodding his thanks as he scurries through.

Lux snorts. “You’re always tired.”

Well, she’s not wrong.

The walls are pure white, floors a perfectly polished hardwood, and both so spotless that Hwei keeps looking behind him to ensure he hasn’t left any blemishes behind. When he isn’t obsessively inspecting his own trail, he finds it hard to pick just one piece to admire.

How can he possibly when each of them is such a pure representation of the creator’s soul?

He’s happy to have Lux there, if anything for the different perspective. She lingers for longer at pieces he only gives a minute of time, enamoured. They only voice their opinions occasionally for a particularly striking work, but it’s nice to have her by his side as they stroll through the exhibits.

Occasionally, there’s the sudden urge to plunge a blade through the canvases, to topple over the sculptures, but he stifles them, covering his mouth and swallowing the bile that threatens his throat.

They’ve made it about halfway through the exhibition when an elbow suddenly jabs into his side and Lux waves a hand. “Hwei, look, look, look!” She whispers, dragging him across the hall to-

Ah, that’s his.

It’s different under the artificial light of the gallery. Hwei isn’t fond of how it reflects on his shades of purple, but it does bring out the gold- it’s not bad, just different. It feels a little surreal, seeing his work somewhere other than his own apartment. There’s a layer of disconnect that feels… weird in a way he can’t place. Lux doesn’t say anything, simply lets him be in the moment, but it’s impossible to miss her blinding smile just in his periphery.

Shoes click against the hard floor behind them and they both turn to the approaching man. He’s quite a bit taller than Lux, and even she isn’t short by any means, with shoulders so wide that Hwei wonders how he hasn’t knocked over any sculptures yet.

Okay, that was a little mean-

The man rights his posture once he reaches them. “Lux.”

“Garen!”

“Inside voice, please!” The man, Garen, jabs a finger toward her and looks around frantically. “And no running! If Uncle Eldred catches you, he will have a fit-”

“Oh, pish-posh,” Lux says with a wave of her hand, “Uncle Eldred will have a fit if the centrepiece is half an inch to the left.”

Garen stiffens and clears his throat. He finally pays Hwei a glance. “Ah, are you- you must be Mr Lukai. Lux- Luxanna has told me a lot about you.”

The emphasis on his title strikes him as a little odd, but he tries his best to ignore it. “Hwei is fine, thank you. Garen is it?”

“Urh, yes. I’m Luxanna’s brother.”

He takes Garen’s offered hand and tries not to think about how clammy the larger palm feels around his. Hwei is sure his smile looks as awkward as it feels. 

The silence that follows is so unbearable that Hwei is sure plucking each of his fingernails one by one would be less painful.

“Garen,” Lux says, mercifully breaking it, “this is actually Hwei’s piece! What do you think?”

Garen’s mouth opens and closes a few times, reminiscent of a fish in a filthy aquarium. Finally, he says, “It’s certainly- abstract.”

“It's actually impressionist,” Lux says, beaming a grin to Hwei, “right?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess so.”

“Ah. It’s… well,” Garen fumbles, rubbing at his chin, “it’s very… urh…”

His jaw clenches as Lux’s grip on his arm tightens like a tourniquet. “It’s very…?” she prompts, her smile bordering on manic.

Even though he’s standing there in his family’s gallery wearing a suit that probably cost more than Hwei’s monthly rent, he can’t help but feel a little bad. All this stuff is very clearly not Garen’s forte, eyes darting about as he finally forces out a,

“It’s um, colourful?”

Lux blinks once, twice, then she turns to Hwei. “Could you excuse us?” she says with one last smile before she drags her brother away.

Once they’re just out of earshot, she bombards him with a tirade, every word shrinking him back further as he attempts to form apologies.

Hwei watches for a moment longer before he sighs and steps back-

And crashes straight into the man behind him.

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s my fault, I thought you’d heard me.”

Hwei scrambles to stand back, ensuring the man is unscathed. He brushes himself off as his eyes crease with a smile. The man has a medical mask over the lower half of his face, not an uncommon sight with flu season at its peak. His right arm is kept under his jacket, his left holding a metal cane. Part of him wonders how long he’d be able to walk without it and Hwei scolds himself again.

“Are you alright?”

“Quite fine, I assure you.”

His voice sinks into his bones like falling into a hot bath at the end of a long day. A voice that’s been so intimately familiar over the past two months of his life.

Hwei realises he’s staring and swallows another apology. “Have we, um, met?”

The man tilts his head. “I don’t believe so. I feel as though I’d remember your face if we had.”

“No, I mean- are you Jhin?”

Recognition flashes behind those eyes. “What’s your name?”

“Hwei.”

“A pleasure. I see you’ve escaped your rut,” the man- Jhin says, gesturing with his cane, “And my, I’m glad that you did.”

“Do you like it?” Hwei cringes. Could he be any more needy?

Jhin takes a few steps past Hwei, never taking his eyes away from the canvas. He does put a little weight onto the cane as he walks, so it seems to not just be an aesthetic choice. He taps it on the ground, four times in all, the sounds reverberating through the hall. “Like is a little simplistic, but I suppose so, yes.”

From the corner of his eye, he spots a blonde head and a frantically waving arm. Hwei glances over and Lux is grinning back, gesturing toward him and shooting him a pair of thumbs up. All he can manage in return is an awkward little wave.

“Though I don’t love it,” Jhin says plainly, “There’s potential here, but something is missing.”

Hwei bristles. “And what would that be?”

“Even I’m unsure,” Jhin says, still not paying him a glance, “Tell me, how did you feel when you made this?”

Hwei shrugs, because he isn’t sure what else to do. He twists his hands into the fabric of his jacket and tilts his head so more of his hair covers his face. “Oh, you know.”

“No. I don’t.” The cane taps against the floor again, once, twice, three times, four times. “Explain your thought process.”

His head is throbbing, pounding. Pressure builds behind his eyes as Hwei wracks his brain for an acceptable answer. Is there anything he could say that wouldn’t be utterly pathetic? I projected my own insecurity onto a person I’ve never met. I thought of the two of us ascending to divinity, reborn in a form that could comprehend us as we are. 

“I felt… Inadequate,” Hwei says, an admission that leaves something dark coiling in his gut, “I’d been trying to create something, anything that wouldn’t disgust me for months. I- I figured if anyone would understand, it would be you.”

He can’t bring himself to look at Jhin, so he just stares at the two little figures. There’s no discernable features, he only sees them as humans since that was his intent when he painted them, just two blobs on a sea of black.

“I see. How fascinating.”

The voice jolts him from his thoughts and when he looks up, Jhin is gazing back.

“I do wish to learn more of how that mind of yours works, Hwei, if you don’t mind.”

Hwei smiles. “I don’t.”

Perhaps he is dreaming, or perhaps only adrift. 

-~*~-

Having a second contact in his phone makes the whole thing feel very official. They aren’t friends, it doesn’t feel right to call their relationship that given they’ve technically just met, but they’re connected. Somehow that feels… intimate.

Hwei still listens to his show, but the dynamic is different. There’s the knowledge that there’s a part of Jhin that’s his, that none of his other listeners will ever see. A selfish part of him that his parents and teachers wish they’d stripped from him, the part of him that wants and yearns.

For companionship, for understanding, for warmth, for viscera-

So Hwei, selfishly, texts Jhin quite a bit, though he vastly prefers when they get to call. Jhin tells him more about his compositions, his ever fitful muse, what sort of tomfoolery Yuumi has gotten up to. Hwei in turn offers what he thinks could be interesting; the progress of his own work, his schooling, any sort of gossip from Lux he thinks Jhin might find amusing.

It is not lost on him that neither of them broach the topic of family.

On New Year’s Eve, Jhin has no show planned for later so Hwei takes the initiative to call him first.

“How is my little starling this evening?” Jhin says through the receiver.

It’s probably a blessing that they haven’t met in person again, since it gives Hwei some time to desensitise to all the pet names he’s been showered in. “How did you know I’d be at home?”

“Hwei, don’t make me laugh. You don’t go out.”

He’s right, and it should probably be concerning how well Jhin knows him already. Hwei sighs. “What about you? Don’t you have any plans?”

“My plans are to be in bed by eleven.”

Hwei laughs. “Those ambitions are certainly admirable.”

There’s a little shuffle as Jhin presumably settles onto his sofa. Or maybe it’s an armchair? Hwei can just picture Jhin having a cosy little nook by a grand fireplace. 

“What about tomorrow?” he asks. Hwei frowns.

“What about tomorrow?”

“Have you any plans?”

Hwei pretends to think, so as not to seem too desperate. “No, nothing really.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to join me for a walk. Nothing too strenuous, I assure you.”

“You- Yeah. That… That sounds nice.”

“Do try to sound a little more enthused.”

“I’d like to!” Hwei quickly clarifies, “I just wasn’t really expecting it.”

Jhin chuckles. “I have to get you out of your cave somehow, darling.”

Hwei rolls his eyes at the teasing, suppressing the heat in his cheeks at that blasted endearment. “I would love to go for a walk with you.”

“Excellent. I’ll send you the time and place. See you tomorrow, my dear.”

After they hang up, Hwei smothers his face into his pillow and kicks his feet like he’s twelve again. It’s not a date, he reminds himself, just a walk with his not quite friend.

Just a walk-

-~*~-

Hwei’s only been waiting in the park for a minute before uncertainty rears its ugly head. Is he overdressed? Underdressed? It’s just a walk, after all, it’s not anything more serious. Just a walk!

A stroll, a saunter, a-

Hwei has to find the nearest bench to sit down before the blood rushing to his head makes him keel over.

He takes a long steady breath. It’s fine. Is his hair okay? He’d brushed it and pinned it back this morning but does it look like he’s trying too hard? Maybe he should take the pin out- No, then it would look too messy, like he hadn’t even bothered. What about his face? He’d put too much makeup on trying to hide his dark eyes and sallow skin. He probably looks like a clown. What if-

“You look rather out of sorts, poor thing.”

Hwei jumps to his feet with far too much haste and sways for a moment. Jhin reaches out but Hwei, foolishly, waves him off, staggering until he can steady himself on the back of the bench.

“I’m okay! I just- I’m a little under the weather.”

Jhin frowns. “If you felt poorly, we could have rescheduled.”

“No!” He blurts out, then just as quickly reigns himself back, “I’ll be fine, really! The fresh air will do me some good.”

A sceptical brow is raised. “If you insist, but do let me know if you need to rest.”

Jhin isn’t dressed overly formal by any means, but he’s effortlessly stylish in a way Hwei can’t help but envy. He also isn’t wearing a face mask today, Hwei realises, and tries not to focus too much on that. Though given how perfect it is, that’s definitely a tall order. 

But it isn’t perfect, not really. Jhin has laugh lines, he has a few odd grey hairs, crows feet. Yet another chip in the armour, yet another weight dragging him back to earth with the rest of humanity.

It would all rot the same as Hwei.

They set off not long after. The park is quiet, they only encounter a few odd people walking their dogs or joggers. Otherwise, they’d be undisturbed if not for the cool breeze and chirping birds.

They talk about all manner of things, art and music and literature. Their conversation flows as naturally as ever, from one subject to the next like a steady forest stream. The pretence of shyness is quickly abandoned, Hwei no longer reigning himself back to normalcy as they chatter away.

On occasion, though, he catches Jhin whispering to himself, counting his steps. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four. Hwei makes a point to only broach conversation in the breaks between, otherwise he’s met by a momentary look of confusion. Jhin is quick to push it away, but it bothers him all the same, as does how Jhin is leaning heavier on his cane than he had last time. He needs to stop every so often, though does so under the guise of gesturing to something or to check on Hwei’s ‘illness,’ but Hwei can see how his expression shifts, how he clenches his jaw.

“Can we sit for a while?” Hwei asks as they approach another bench, “I’m a little tired,” he lies.

His suspicions are confirmed when Jhin accepts without even a playful jab.

As they rest, Jhin tilts his head back just so and furrows his brows, breaths coming in quiet little pants. When he catches Hwei staring, he sits up properly and smiles, all semblance of vulnerability discarded like a costume.

“Ah, I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so cold,” he says casually. Hwei doesn’t believe him, but nods anyway.

“Not to worry. We could get a coffee or something instead if you prefer?”

“No, this is nice.” Jhin shifts his weight a little, taps with his cane, one, two, three, four. Hwei wants to ask about that, but decides now is not the time.

He’s not sure when there will be a good time.

“Does that help you focus?”

Jhin blinks, takes a moment to compose himself, then clears his throat and holds the handle in both hands. “In a sense, yes.”

“That’s good. That- you have a way of calming yourself, I mean.”

Jhin is still staring at him, jaw set. Something flashes across his eyes and he finally relieves Hwei from his intense gaze. “Yes, I suppose.”

“So,” Hwei says, desperate for a reprieve, “how do you know the Crownguards?”

“Hm? Ah, I unfortunately know Eldred through prior business. Thoroughly insufferable man, but it pays to have connections.” Jhin’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “And yourself?”

“I’m friends with Lux- Luxanna, sorry. She recommended I submit a piece.”

Jhin hums. “Then I have young Miss Crownguard to thank for your company.”

That leaves his breath stuttering and his lips slightly agape. Hwei takes a moment to still his pounding heart. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Jhin tilts his head. “Then let us enjoy the peace.”

He does, and there they stay in their corner of the world. Just for a little longer.

-~*~-

It’s Jhin’s birthday at the start of February. Now Jhin hadn’t exactly told him that, Hwei just remembers him mentioning it during one of his shows and had made note just in case.

Because that was a normal thing to do.

Though it does leave him with a conundrum; what on earth could he get Jhin as a present?

“Well, have you asked him?” Lux says as they stroll down the street, window shopping for ideas. She nestles her chin further into her jacket, breaths rising in little clouds.

Hwei turns to her. “I can’t just ask him. I’ll look like I’m trying too hard.”

“Urgh, fine. Does he have anything on his wish list? Mentioned any retro vintage album he’s been looking for or…?”

“No, he wants for nothing.”

“Great! So get him something he needs!”

“He already has everything he could ever need and the money to get the few things he doesn’t.”

Lux tugs off a glove with her teeth to send a quick text to someone before she replies. “Okay… so we need something that only you could give him…”

Oh, don’t-

She snaps her fingers. “You should paint him something!”

Hwei looks at her like a deer in headlights. “No, absolutely not.”

“Why not? I’m sure he’d love it! He loved your piece at the exhibition, right?”

“Well, no. He said he liked it.”

Lux waves a hand. “Same difference.”

No, Hwei thinks, there is a very real distinct difference.

“What would I even paint?”

“Well, why not just paint how he makes you feel?”

Lux probably expects sweetness and rainbows and a dozen other cheesy things from romcoms. As if his feelings about Jhin would ever be so straightforward.

The idea is nice, but there’s that constant coil of doubt. It’s all well and good pouring his heart onto the page, but what if Jhin hates it?

Or, worse, if he doesn’t love it?

-~*~-

When Hwei looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, he finds he doesn’t really recognise himself. He knows the person he sees is him in a physical sense, but it still doesn’t feel like his body.

His body is… practical. It carries him dutifully to wherever he needs to go and only breaks down when he doesn’t sleep for three days or tries to subsist purely on caffeine. He’s never really considered himself ugly, or beautiful for that matter. He’s always just existed, in a body that doesn’t quite feel like his.

He showers, the water too far hot, dead skin flaking away when he scrubs. It leaves him tender and raw, blotchy and red all over. His hair is getting too long, maybe he should cut it himself again, the option becoming more and more attractive the longer he grumbles around his knots.

Then he looks down and is struck by the most obvious reminder that he isn’t a man. Not really.

It’s never really bothered him that much before. They’re just part of his body, same as the rest of it. He trails a hand downward, cups his breast and wonders if he should be disgusted.

He is a man, in theory and mostly in practice. Lux knows him as a man, but did Garen see a man too? Or did that confuse him as much as the art on the walls? What of the average person on the street? Not that their opinions held much weight against his friend’s.

But what of Jhin?

“Shame is the crutch of creation,” Jhin had said once during their late night phone calls, “if you waste your time worrying about what someone else might think, you’ll never make anything.”

Couldn’t his own body be an act of creation? Melding it into a shape that suited his needs? Couldn’t it be made into something beautiful?

What did beauty matter if the underbelly was rotten?

His jumper is only an afterthought as he emerges from the bathroom, hands aching, skin prickling. The radio crackles as Jhin’s voice surrounds him, his head pounding.

He claws at his chest, wishing his fingers could pry the skin from muscle, muscle from bones, spill his blood and guts onto his canvas. Desecrate the body that the divine had blessed him with, because how could a holy being possibly understand a wretched creature like him?

Maybe he could free his soul and find it a new vessel, one that was more whole, more appealing.

Or maybe, he thinks as he takes up his brush, he could paint one.

-~*~-

“It’s… different,” Lux says slowly, fingers tapping at her chin. She’s not had the chance to take off her coat, her nose and cheeks still slightly red from the teeth of winter.

Hwei picks at a loose thread on his jumper, watching her through his hair. “Different in a good way?”

“I’m… I’m not sure.”

Even he isn’t sure how he feels about it. The canvas is black, a humanoid shape taking centre stage. It claws its back open, bloody wings erupting from the wounds as it weeps golden tears.

An act of desecration to achieve freedom from the self.

Maybe a bit on the nose, but-

Lux looks at his canvas, then back to him. “Are you alright?”

Hwei falters. He doesn’t like her expression. “What do you mean?”

Lux’s frown only deepens and she takes a step back, away from the canvas, away from him. “I’m really sorry, I don’t understand what would drive you to make this.”

Hwei lets out a deep, long sigh. “There’s something wrong with me, isn’t there?”

“No, no!” Lux says, “Of course not!”

She’s lying. Hwei sighs and shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks at his piece again. “What do you see?” he asks softly, hoping his voice is steady.

Lux looks at his canvas again, brows furrowing. She rubs at her chin and stares at it, even though her lips quiver and her shoulder sag. They’re both quiet for a long moment before she finally turns to him.

“I see someone hurting,” she says.

“Do you think I’m hurting?”

“Yes, and I want to understand how to help.”

“Understand?” His voice doesn’t sound like his own. Would it be easier to laugh or cry? They both bubble in his chest and threaten to breach his defences as Hwei swipes his dirty sleeves over his face. “I’ve laid it all before you, I don’t get what else there is to understand.”

“Explain it to me,” she says, though the effect is dampened by a lack of her usual enthusiasm, “is painting creepy stuff like this an outlet?”

Hwei blinks. “Creepy?” he repeats, the word bitter on his tongue.

Lux is still staring at him, so sickeningly perfect and pretty and free from blemishes. It must be nice, he thinks, to have a body already in the right shape instead of having to carve it yourself.

“Do I unsettle you, Lux?” he asks slowly.

Lux stiffens. “When you ask questions like that, yeah.”

Hwei laughs, but the sound is strained. “You know, art is most effective when it can invoke an emotional response.”

He doesn’t miss how her eyes dart to the front door.

“You’re terrified,” he says simply.

“Of course I am when you act like this and paint freaky stuff like that! Don’t try to scare me, it’s not funny!”

It’s like a thread has snapped. Hwei closes the space between them and lunges for her, grabs her arms and digs his fingers in until he feels bone.

“Is that what you truly think of me?” he breathes.

“Hwei, let go-”

“Did you always think of me as a freak? Or are only now being enlightened?”

“Get off me!”

“I don’t understand!”

“I said get off me!”

Lux shoves his against chest, hard. So hard that he lands on the ground in a graceless heap. She scrambles up backward toward the door, heaving desperately.

Hwei reaches out. “Lux. I’m so sorry, I-”

“I think you need to- to calm down,” Lux says, sniffling. She’s shaking and Hwei feels sick. “I-I’ll call you later, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for a reply, slipping her shoes back on and slamming the door hard enough to shake the walls. The sound rings in his ears, pounds in his skull as he gradually finds himself on his feet again. 

Hwei stares at the door, his head filled with cotton wool and lead. He rubs his face, the dry paint on his sleeves scratching against his skin. He sways, vertigo assaulting his senses. He wants to vomit, claw his eyes out, peel off his skin.

What is wrong with him? What isn’t?

Then he catches a glimpse of his easel. Hwei tosses it over with a heavy crash, no doubt further infuriating his downstairs neighbours. He gasps and wheezes as he stares at it. Maybe he should burn it? In this enclosed space it was extremely dangerous, but maybe then he’d burn too.

He’d deserve it, to burn alive-

Hwei stumbles back until he trips and lands on his mattress. He can’t breathe. He curls over on himself and clutches his chest, his mouth, drool escapes his lips as he pants and gasps. Tears scorch his eyes and scald his cheeks. His chest burns, his throat threatens to close in on itself.

His hand moves of its own accord, straining for his desk and closing his shaking fingers around his phone. He calls before he can even realise what he’s doing and crushes the phone against his ear.

It rings, and rings, and rings-

Then Hwei throws it away. It clatters across the floor, disappearing to some unknown corner. He curls in on himself even further.

His phone starts ringing. He crams his hands over his ears until it stops.

There he stays, until he goes numb.

-~*~-

A rhythmic tapping at his door jolts Hwei awake. He wasn’t even aware he’d drifted off, but he can’t bring himself to extract himself from the cocoon of blanket he’s found himself in.

He waits, for what he isn’t sure.

After a pause, there’s another series of knocks on his door, then,

“Hwei? I know you’re in there.”

Jhin’s voice should have been a comfort, but right now? In the state he’s in? Hwei hugs his legs impossibly closer, his other hand pressing over the ear that isn’t crammed against the pillow.

Even so, he still hears him, “I’m coming in. Even if you’re indecent.”

The door groans as it swings open, clicking shut shortly after. Jhin’s shoes and cane click against the floor with every step until they come to a stop beside his mattress.

“Hwei. Look at me.”

That voice which led him through many sleepless nights now forces him out from his duvet barrier, just enough to poke his head out and peer upward. Jhin’s stare is intense, cold and hard, but perhaps it’s the hopeful idealist within that sees something else.

Hwei sniffs and wipes his face. “Why-”

“You rang me,” Jhin says, “I was in the middle of something but by the time I could reply you wouldn’t answer any of my calls or texts.”

Hwei blinks up at him, then cold shame surges in him again. “I’m sorry.”

Jhin only hums, tapping his usual one, two, three, four with his cane before he places it against the wall. Somehow, the rhythm seems to steady Hwei’s own thundering heart as well.

Jhin crouches in front of him. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Do you think I’m dense?”

The speed at which Hwei sits up leaves him swaying. “No! Of course not.”

Jhin huffs through his nose. “Then don’t lie to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He can’t show Jhin. Can’t stand the thought of someone else pulling back his layers and being disgusted at what they see beneath. Can’t he just be low maintenance? Make everyone else’s lives easier? They already have their own problems, they don’t need his on top of everything-

Hwei glances up again.

“I… I made something awful.”

Jhin appears near serene at the admission. “Show me.”

That putrid bile in his empty stomach lurches again. “I can’t-”

A hand seizes his jaw hard as iron, the eyes that gaze down upon him just as cold. Jhin could squash him under his shoe like an insect if he really wanted to, but his grip is only barely on the side of painful.

He leans closer. “Show me.”

Hwei nods as far as he can and, once he’s released, he wobbles up to his feet. Wading through tar would have been easier than his trudging steps to the overturned easel. It takes some fumbling, but he sits it upright again, stalling for the canvas as it’s finally propped back into place.

His shoulders sag inward as Jhin’s shoes click on the floor behind him. Heat radiates from him, the sun in Hwei’s dark, endless expanse.

Of all the sounds he expected, a chuckle was certainly not one of them.

When Hwei works up the nerve to look, Jhin is standing with his arms stretched outward. “Yes,” he sighs, “this is the sort of thing I craved from you. A truer glimpse into your soul, not the sweet nothings you hide behind.”

There’s something about his voice, the way his words flow, it feels-

Wrong.

Hwei bristles. “What are you talking about?”

Then Jhin turns to him again, his eyes brimming with- something. His grin is just a tad too wide, the hand that finds a perch on Hwei’s shoulder holding just a little too tight. “You stifle your potential to make yourself palatable. I’ve been there, grovelling in mediocrity just to feign pleasantry.”

The fingers on his shoulder trail upward, digging into his collarbone hard enough to make him flinch. Hwei wriggles free. “Is mediocrity really so bad?”

A scowl creases his face. “Why would you want to subject yourself to a lifetime of never being good enough, when you’re capable of so much more? What are you afraid of?”

It’s so hard to maintain eye contact, especially when they seem to pierce straight past every wall of defence. To the shadows he tries so hard to huddle away, to keep all packed up tight and safe. The very concept that someone could not only see it, but look upon it and not cower is-

Exhilarating.

“I’m… afraid of the part of myself that stays in the dark.”

Jhin only shrugs. “It’s there, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not. Why not nurture it into something more?”

Hwei isn’t really sure what to say. The proposition seems so self-centred and conceited, so unlike him. No, he won’t- can’t feed the part of himself that dreams of tearing his own skin, of shattering Lux’s pretty bones, of slicing apart Jhin’s handsome face.

He would never- could never-

“What do you desire?”

The question is expected, somewhat, but it causes Hwei to stumble all the same. He looks out of his window, but he can’t see the stars tonight. It’s started to rain, fat drops running down the panes. For a split second, they seem red until he blinks. Hwei takes a shaky breath and wraps his arms around himself, a puny, self-pitying mockery of a hug. Maybe if he digs his nails in hard enough he could tear the ligaments free-

“Things I can’t act upon,” he finally says.

“And if I allowed you to act upon them here, and told you that it wouldn’t leave this room, would you still deny yourself?”

Hwei takes a step back. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Jhin follows. “Oh, I hope you do.”

Hwei hits the wall and his breath stutters. Jhin slips a hand under his chin and tilts him upward, their lips a breath away.

“Pain is such an intimate thing, isn’t it?”

I want your blood to soak into my floor so it will never scrub out. I want to shatter your bones so you can never leave me. I want to eat your heart so it will always be mine.

Hwei lunges for his throat and shoves them backwards, collapsing into a heap on the ground. There’s a dull thunk as Jhin’s head hits the floor, but Hwei doesn’t have it in him to care. Hwei’s fractured, chipped nails dig into Jhin’s throat and a hand comes up to take his wrist. Jhin doesn’t try to move them, or even resist, just simply holds.

“I- ah, I promise this will be much more entertaining if I’m conscious, my dear.”

“Maybe I don’t want you conscious.” Hwei tightens his hold and revels in the wheeze it dredges up from Jhin’s lungs. “Or breathing.”

Jhin is still smiling, even as he gasps uselessly. Hwei hates it, loves it. “You wouldn’t- ah, kill me like this, would you? It’s far too- simple.”

“Oh, but it’s so very intimate, don’t you think?”

If he squeezes a little tighter, maybe that would be it. Then he really could do whatever he wanted.

Even so, his grip eases and as Jhin heaves the air back into his lungs he trails his hands downward, nails scraping along the firm muscle beneath. He feels the minute quivers below his fingers, the heat of his skin, wonders how it would feel to peel it all back and marvel at the flesh.

Eyes follow his every move and Hwei wonders how easy it would be to gouge them with his fingers.

How does his blood taste-

Hwei doesn’t stop to reconsider, to doubt. He sinks his teeth into the junction between shoulder and throat. He breaks the skin, sighs at the copper on his tongue. Jhin hisses above him, a hand sliding into Hwei’s hair and tightening enough to draw tears.

It takes a particularly hard yank to force Hwei off, red staining his lips. He blinks a few times, dazed. Then realisation, as stark as a bucket of ice water.

“I’m so-”

But Jhin cuts him off with another harsh pull, forcing his back to arch so beautifully. He whines, a hand instinctively reaching to close around Jhin’s.

“I’m sick of you apologising for breathing,” he says, his tone neutral in a way that makes Hwei shudder.

“Sorry.”

“Now you’re just being facetious.”

He wheezes out a laugh. “You’d be prettier if you stopped breathing.”

Jhin only hums, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Keep going.”

Their position tips, Hwei ends up in Jhin’s lap, one hand on Jhin’s shoulder to keep him steady. Hwei ghosts his thumb over his previous mark, smearing the blood and admiring how Jhin shivers at the sensation. His other hand sneaks up to the back of Jhin’s neck and pulls him down.

The initial kiss is soft, like school sweethearts uncertain and petrified. Hwei isn’t sure who breaks the calm first, but then it’s all teeth and sharp bites and blood- He’s not even sure who’s blood he can taste-

He dearly hopes it’s a mix of both.

Jhin doesn’t pull away so much as he hauls Hwei back once he finally needs to breathe and leaves him to gasp like a fish above water.

Once he recovers though, Hwei tugs at the hem of Jhin’s shirt. “Take this off.”

Jhin tuts through his teeth, but compiles all the same, though not without making it an agonising trial of patience. Each button might as well be a mountain to best or beast to slay.

When the fabric finally falls to the floor, Hwei momentarily forgets how vital it is to breathe.

“Have I ever told you how charming you are when at a loss for words?”

Hwei shoots him a scowl and considers slapping him, but the contact would only be temporary, it wouldn’t be enough.

Logically, Hwei knows Jhin is not God, but that doesn’t make it any less sacrilege to look upon him like this, perfect in a way that leaves Hwei so desperate to claw and bite and scratch. He wants to tear Jhin’s ribcage open, devour what is his and his alone to always keep Jhin with him.

The only blemishes that mar his skin, save for Hwei’s previous efforts, are two scars beneath his pecs. Part of him wants to reopen them, drink in the blood that spills, but another lucid part screams-

He’s like me, he’s like me, he’s-

Then Jhin’s larger hands slide under his sweater and peel back his shield. Hwei freezes and squeezes his eyes shut, anticipation clawing up his throat like bile. There’s a sigh and Hwei feels the gaping maw of the abyss open beneath him.

“Let me in,” Jhin says, as if uttering a secret.

And the rest of the universe might as well not exist.

Hwei lets out a long, quivering breath, chest impossibly tight as he lets Jhin peel back his defences like the petals of a flower. He expects to miss the safety, but instead only the warmth. Warmth which is quickly replaced by Jhin’s hands.

Hwei so desperately craves for them to pry deeper, to carve out a place inside him. Perhaps he could offer his own heart, but what good would that wretched broken thing be to anyone?

He catches Jhin’s wrist and draws it upward, his fingers coming to rest at his neck, thumb brushing his lips.

“Destroy me,” he whispers, “and build me anew.”

For the briefest of moments, it is Jhin’s turn to lose his breath. Then he leans closer, and murmurs as a prayer, “Nothing I could create would ever compare to you as you are.”

-~*~-

When Hwei wakes, everything aches.

He groans and tries to curl inward only to bump into a warm weight at his side. It takes some convincing for his eyes to finally peel open and the memories of the previous night come flooding back.

Jhin looks so different when he’s asleep, his brow at ease and his lips slightly parted. He’s snoring, though only softly, hair rumpled and sticking out in odd directions. Hwei wants to reach out and brush it back down, but touching him might just break the tranquillity of the moment.

Though that’s when he realises they’re both still very naked.

With as much grace as he can muster, Hwei shimmies from under the duvet and down to the floor, fumbling about for his sweater and underwear. It’s almost suffocating to have them back on again, the fabric rubs against his healing bruises and cuts, but they’re stabilising, they tether him back to earth.

Still, it itches. This one never usually does, he’d hate to get rid of it. Lux had got it for him and he’d kept it till it was nearly threadbare. He twists his hands into the fabric and holds them there, staring into nothing.

He wonders where his phone is, if Lux would even want to hear from him after the night prior. She had said she would call him, hadn’t she?

A ruffle of fabric behind him returns him to the waking world and he glances back to see Jhin sitting up, blinking the remnants of sleep away and rubbing his face. It’s a spare moment of graceless fumbling that Hwei wishes he could bottle and capture on a canvas.

It’s gone just as swiftly as Jhin pushes his hair back from his face and raises his gaze.

“We really must get you a proper bed,” he grunts.

Hwei only shrugs. “I don’t mind it.”

Jhin pouts, honestly pouts. “Well, I mind very much, thank you.”

It makes Hwei chuckle. “Sorry it doesn’t meet your standards.”

“It’s a little novel for one night, but I understand fully why your posture is in the state it is.”

It takes a smidge more effort than Jhin would likely admit, but he does manage to rise to his feet with all the grace he desires. Hwei goes to grab his cane but Jhin waves him off.

“I can manage without,” he says, then adds a slightly softer, “though your concern is not unwelcome.”

Hwei huffs. “It’s the least I can do.”

It’s only then Hwei realises he has nothing to offer for breakfast other than instant coffee. He fully expects Jhin to turn his nose up, but he accepts the offer.

While the kettle boils, Hwei can’t help but stare. It’s not his fault, he reasons, as Jhin is adverse to putting his clothes back on it seems. He’s lounging back in Hwei’s desk chair, admiring his easel in the golden morning light, fingers tapping his usual rhythm on the desk.

One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four-

Hwei wishes he’d had the forethought to close his blinds, not to protect Jhin’s modesty or some similar ridiculous notion, but to hide away what should only be a sight for him.

He shakes his head as the thought crosses his mind and he returns to searching for a clean mug.

The morning drags with little urgency, as if the outside world has ground to a halt just for them. Hwei perches on the end of his mattress. Jhin is probably right about getting himself a proper bed, but he just keeps putting it off…

“Is it despair or catharsis?”

Jhin’s voice rouses him once again and Hwei has to take a moment to understand what the question means. Ah, his canvas.

“Can’t it be both?” he says.

Jhin’s lips pause at the rim of the mug, then he lowers it back down to glance at Hwei. “Do elaborate.”

Hwei peers down into his own mug, feels a twinge of displeasure when he spies a hair floating and picks it out. Gives him a moment to compile his thoughts into a coherent sentence,

“Despair because the life it knew is gone forever, there’s no going back to what it was before. Catharsis because it’s finally free to spread its wings and become what it was always meant to be.”

Jhin hums, his gaze drifting back to the canvas. The moment drags, but it isn’t painful nor even unpleasant. Hwei finds he quite likes watching Jhin think.

Finally, he places his mug onto the desk and says,

“I’d like to see some of your other pieces, if you don’t mind.”

Hwei blinks. “They’re not very impressive.”

“Show me.”

It’s not a demand, but a request. For once, Jhin’s smile is pure and Hwei thinks if he does not tear his gaze away he might cry.

“I have a few…”

[somefanchick]

-Deuce’s Winter Break-

(This story is from Deuce's perspective during the events of book four. I only know information from the English server story and events so sorry if anything is terribly out of character. This fic is platonic and is cannon for my female Yuu-sona, but I do just call them Yuu in the story. Yuu uses she/her pronouns. Hope you enjoy! Ps. There is a little bit of cussing. Found the pictures in a post by @ naruryun, they are not mine.)

“We should trade Magicam IDs now that you've got a smartphone,” Ace pulled out his phone and began typing out Yuu’s account in the search bar, “Y'know, in case something comes up.”

I smiled as I pulled up the app on my own phone, “Oh, good idea. I'll share mine, too.”

Yuu’s ID was a play on the fact that the headmaster called her “Beast Master” after we got back from the dwarf’s mine. I could always tell she was secretly proud of that title. 

Ace finished adding her, “Feel free to hit me up if you get bored over winter break.”

She smirked, which was her form of a smile, “Thanks, I'll do that.”

“Man, you take everything I say so seriously Yuu,” Ace chuckled, “I was joking.”

I glared, “Then it was a lame one,” I then turned to smile at Yuu as I added her, “Anyway, feel free to reach out if you need anything at all,” I quickly tucked my phone in my pocket and grabbed my bag, “My mom's probably waiting on me, so I'd better go,” I began walking towards the Dark Mirror, “Happy holidays guys.”

I could hear Ace behind me, “Yeah, I'll do the same. See you next year!” I could hear him running to catch up with me, but I was already whispering the name of my street and stepping into the murky abyss.

It was hard to see my mom among the other kids meeting their families. Children cheering as their older siblings came home from their schools, parents hugging their grown babies and fussing over their bags of laundry, and the students basking in the attention that coming home brings. 

I looked through the crowd and found my mom. My grandmother always said I was the spitting image of her. She had straight, navy blue hair cut into a bob, blonde streaks weaving into a larger mass of hair.  Her eyes looked gray in the afternoon sun, but I knew they were really cyan. 

She caught my eye and lit up, “Deuce!”

I ran over to save her the trouble, “Hey Mom.”

“Let me get a look at you,” Mom gently grabbed my face and moved me around, “I can barely believe that’s my son.”

I pulled back and put my hand behind my neck, “I guess I’ve changed a bit since I left.”

She smiled, “You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

I flushed under her gaze, “Let’s head on home.”

She giggled, “As long as you tell me all about school.”

I gathered my bag under my arm, “Fine.”

Home was the same as it had been when I left. A small apartment with blankets piled on every chair and letters piled on the kitchen counter. I set my bag in my room and then moved to the kitchen, where Mom had begun fixing dinner.

“I’m making folded egg sandwiches,” Mom had her back turned to me, “Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” I sat down at the dining table, “So what do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Mom moved to the stove, “I haven’t heard anything from your teachers.”

“Well I’m doing okay in class, but that might just be because Trey, Riddle, and Yuu help me out.”

“Who are they?”

“Well, Trey and Riddle are in Heartslabyul with me. Trey’s the vice-housewarden and he’s like the dorm mother hen. He’s done most of the tutoring, but Riddle helps him sometimes. Riddle’s the housewarden and he’s ridiculously strict.”

“Oh really?” Mom started grating cheese, “And who’s this Yuu person?”

“Yuu is one of my-” I tried to think of the right word. Our group never calls ourselves ‘friends’, but that seems to be the only word to describe how we are. Yuu calls us “Dumbass Beasts”, but I don’t want to tell my Mom that.

“She’s one of my best friends.”

I could hear Mom’s eyebrow raise, “‘She’? Isn’t Night Raven an All Boys school?”

“That surprised me too, but Yuu’s an exception to a lot of rules,” My phone vibrated with a message, I spoke as I went to pull it up, “She doesn’t have magic, she’s only half a student, and she isn’t even from this world.”

Mom grabbed the bread from the breadbox, “I’m going to need you to explain all of that.”

“I wish I could.”

The message was from Yuu; Cater has been tagging me in his old photos for the past two hours. How did he even know I got a Magicam account? I couldn’t help but laugh. 

Mom scooped the folded eggs onto the bread, “At least explain the ‘half a student’ comment.”

“Well,” I sat my phone back on the table, “Since Yuu doesn’t have magic she and this monster named Grim share a single enrollment. But Yuu’s in charge of him since she’s the Ramshackle dorm prefect.”

“Ah,” Mom set the plate down in front of me, “Is that all your friends?”

“Nah, I’m friends with Ace too,” I got up to get something to drink, “He’s one of my roommates.”

“Ace Trappola?” Mom began making her own egg sandwich, “I think his father works at your grandfather’s company.”

I poured a glass of orange juice and made my way back to the table, “The four of us have done a lot in one semester.”

“Like what?”

“Well Ace and I challenged Riddle for his title.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” I took a sip of my juice, “Ace got in trouble for eating Riddle’s tart and then it became a huge deal. Riddle ended up overbloting.”

I swear Mom’s eyes bulged out of her head, “Overblot!?”

“Yeah. Yuu led all of us into battle to keep the other student’s safe and to keep Riddle from destroying himself. But that was only the first overblot.”

“The first?”

“Yeah don’t worry about it,” I took a large bite of my sandwich, “Yuu always has it under control. Even if she’s just directing us. It’s amazing.”

Mom sat down next to me, “Do you have a picture of your friends?”

I picked up my phone, “Not unless you count pictures Cater took while we weren’t expecting it. And then posted on Magicam with a dozen hashtags.”

“Maybe you could ask Yuu and Grim for a picture? I’d love to see them.”

“Sure,” I opened up Yuu’s message, “It’s not like they have much else to do at school.”

“At school? Did they not go somewhere for winter break?”

“They didn’t have anywhere to go.”

Mom set down her food, “Invite them to come here in spring. I’d be happy to host them.”

I chuckled, “Alright,” I texted Yuu; Hey my mom wants to see a pic of you and Grim. Mind sending one?

It took a moment for Yuu to respond; Yeah sure. Just let me get the weasel.

I set my phone down, “She’s gonna send a picture of her and Grim.” 

“How sweet,” Mom took the moment to begin eating. 

Our conversation dissolved into specific stories and the basics of our lives apart. It was weird how I felt so at home, while only feeling like a guest in the apartment. My Mom gushed and worried in waves as I talked about the Spelldrive tournament and the final exams. It was sweet to see her so happy about my actions. About who I was. I had given her a son to be proud of.

I spent the next day with my mom, meeting with other family and shopping for the holidays. But that night my phone lit up with a message from Yuu; Trapped in Scarabia, I’ll explain later. 

I was up all night, waiting for my phone to buzz again, but the only notification I got was Ace messaging me to ask if I had heard anything else from Yuu.

Eight AM came around and I chugged two cups of coffee before heading out on a walk to keep my mind off of Yuu’s vague and semi-terrifying message. 

“Hey Deuce!” I froze in my tracks, turning to see my old ‘pal’ Hatter, his lackey Coney trailing behind. 

Hatter was the leader of the delinquents I hung out with in middle school. He called me his equal until I went straight. His appearance hadn’t changed; hair bleached a platinum blonde, green eyes that constantly had a crazed look as they dashed from victim to victim, a trailing black jacket with copper buttons, and of course his iconic evergreen tophat with the price tag sticking out the brim. 

Coney matched the jacket, but he had his own brand of insane to portray. His hair was bleached to a honey blonde and his brown rabbit ears stuck out of his head with copper piercings along every furry edge. His black eyes always seemed to be watching Hatter, as if he was waiting for the signal to attack. 

“How have you been, man?” Hatter wrapped his arm around my shoulder as if we had only been apart for a week or so, “Coney here was just saying how much he missed seeing you on that blastcycle of yours. Right Coney?”

Coney nodded like his life depended on it, “Yes! Yes!”

“Look guys,” I made an effort to move out of their reach, “I’m not-”

“Aw,” Coney stopped nodding, “Are you not fun anymore?”

“What?”

“Sounds like you hit the bullseye Coney,” Hatter began messing with his brim, a signal to change their approach, “I guess you were serious about that ‘going straight’ thing.”

“I am,” I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, “And I have to go.”

“Go?” Hatter came closer, backing me into an alleyway, “But we just reunited!”

“I’m not like you guys anymore,” my hand gripped my phone in my pocket, praying that it would buzz again, “I have friends who need me right now.”

Coney’s hand drifted towards a bright blue dumpster, “You think you're better than us?”

“No way mate,” Hatter smirked and whipped his own magic pen out, “Tea Party!” My arms went flying up, my phone and other valuables making a mad dash for Hatter’s and Coney’s open hands. Hatter caught my phone and looked at the message, “This ‘Ace’ fella is.”

My heart sank, the message wasn’t from Yuu.

Coney looked over, “Oh what’s this? You and this ‘Ace’ are talking about a girl?”

“What did he say?”

Hatter smirked, “Oh? So this ‘going straight’ thing is for the eye of some lovely lady. I’m hurt.”

“No,” I marched forward and grabbed my wallet from Coney’s hand, “I’m becoming a better person for myself. I want to be an honor’s student and I’m doing a damn good job. Yuu is just a friend.”

“Sure,” Hatter rolled his eyes, “I’ll believe that,” he changed his voice to mock mine, “‘Look at me, giving up my freedom for some stupid dream of being an honor’s student.’ No way. You’re not built for that Deuce.”

My phone buzzed in his hand.

“I used to respect you Spade,” He put my phone in the ribbon of his tophat, taunting me, “Now look at you. You’re a fucking chump.”

My phone buzzed again. Something inside of me snapped like a dry twig. I could feel my body heat from the inside out, old mussels returning to their place. I didn’t reach for my pen. I just punched the bastard.

Hatter went flying back into the wall, clearly expecting to have to taunt me longer before I took action. Coney didn’t hesitate to pounce on me, knocking me to the ground under him. He fired off punch after punch, leaving the taste of blood on my lips. I kicked him off and into Hatter, aiming to get my phone back. I had to see if it was Yuu. 

It all turned into a blurr. A barrage of fists coming from all directions. All I focused on was Hatter’s stupid tophat.

I got the phone back and backed away. No one followed me.

All of the messages were from Ace.

Yuu hasn’t explained. What does her text even mean?

Should we go back and check on her?

I’m going. I don’t know what’s happening but it sounds like trouble. Meet me at the bus stop in town in two hours if you’re joining me.

I cleaned off in a park restroom before running home to pack a duffel bag. Mom was immediately understanding and packed me a few sandwiches for Ace and me. She smiled and reminded me that Yuu was welcome to come back with me, as well as telling me to text her when I was coming back. I nodded and gave her a hug before running out the door.

The two hours were up and I met with Ace at the bus stop.

Ace was pacing, waiting for the noon bus, “Who just messages that they’ve been kidnaped and then doesn’t respond for twelve hours!? Yuu’s going to be the death of us.”

“Calm down,” I hid my own anxieties, “This is Yuu we’re talking about. If anyone can handle being ‘trapped’, it’s her. Plus, Grim should be with her.”

“You say that like that’s a good thing.”

“Fair enough,” I kept going, “But despite the fact that it’s Grim, he can still fire off spells. Plus he’s pretty good with fire magic. Maybe we’ll arrive to see Scarabia in blue flames.”

“Again, you say that like that’s a good thing.”

“It’s the best thing I can think of.”

The PA system cracked to life, “Bus to Night Raven terminal is now boarding on platform three.”

“Come on,” I grabbed my bags and began walking, “Our friend needs us.”

[chrisairgames]

Time to Play Curios: Albrecht Manor

When it's Halloween, I like to play creepy Halloweenie games. Ok, well I might like spooky games all year-round, but for the horror season it's time to pull out all stops. When I received this package in the mail last month, I knew it'd be perfect for the weekend before Halloween:

Curios: Albrecht Manor is "an epistolary horror mystery experience" by Seb Pines, the first in the new Curios series from Good Luck Press. There is no single person who runs the game. No one knows what they're about to open, other than what you see on the blurb.

The notion of the game is that the players are "Researchers" of "The Archive" who receive evidence and ephemera leftover after the appearance of supernatural phenomena. The details on the Archive is sparse, but you an unbothered dayjob vibe oozes from the tone. This manila envelope is all you're going to get, and your job is to make some declarative statements by the end of the research.

It's a fun space to play. I could see the experience of play spanning the spectrum between a total LARP and completely player-facing. For our game, we were closer to the player-facing end of that spectrum, and had a fabulous evening.

What's inside?

The Albrecht Manor manila envelope contains 11 letters and two postcards, along with a short mailing notice and the "Archive" report card. Like any good horror story, the letters start off tame with bits of weird, yet quickly start including photos, newspaper snippets, blueprints and administrative papers.

From tearing open the letters to the difference in paper textures, styles and handwritten bits were thrilling to handle. We were surprised how each piece, and sometimes innocuous details at first, came back to have us rifling back through what we'd read before.

Play Experience

With the stack of letters in the center of the table, without prior discussion, we naturally began to play by each picking up a letter/postcard, and circling, writing notes, and sharing weird details. This created a fun, anachronistic revelation of details, as sometimes one bit would go unremarked earlier would pop up in someone else's letters.

When an important detail came to the forefront of this developing narrative, I appreciated how the spotlight would pass around each of us adding more context or details or asking questions we weren't sure how to answer. But it's extremely difficult to discuss direct details without spoiling the contents of the letters. The discovery of certain documents and finding the inter-connectivity is the fun of this game.

The game comes with a single paragraph of instruction, which can seem daunting, but I was in awe of how the physical presentation made space for our own curiosity to define the bounds of how we approached the mystery. We examined photos under different types of lamplight, tried using the zoom on our smartphones as impromptu magnifying lenses, and folded paper in all sorts of ways. Most importantly, we were enraptured by this game for nearly three hours and were astonished at how fast the time passed.

We all appreciated how there is no direct, singular answer, and that we the players were the ones to define the story from our collective interpretation. It's not a good mystery, especially a ghost story mystery, if you're not left with more questions by the end.

Spoilers at the next heading!

Three specific moments literally gave me chills. I don't want to spoil those here. After the photo and line break is the report that was sent to the Archivist at curiosarchive.net. I realize now that we didn't "even "formally" discuss how we would classify the Albrecht Manor phenomena, but the classification is hinted at.

While I don't intend to spoil specific details in the letters, the submitted report has major spoilers. So if you haven't played this game, don't read any further!

Submitted Report to the Archivist

29/10/2023

Dear Archivist,

The first sentence on the first postcard, unwittingly, says it all, "the house is a dream."

This group of Archive researchers have deemed this household, built by one Damian Albrecht, to be a spiritual machine. This trap inhabits the mind of its occupants, and grows and shifts according to its creator's and past occupants' hopes and dreams of a warm household. The researchers are even hesitant to call this a haunting, but agree the house appears to be a spatio-temporal machination propelled by the spirits it is required to consume to keep operating. The fire, in this interpretation, is a convenient excuse for the house to re-enter its slumbering stasis. The researchers' consensus is that there must be only one true fire, but could not access WHEN that may be.

The researchers agreed, though without substantial evidence, the purpose of this machine is to sustain not only long life to its creator, Damian Albrecht, but also to impose HIS dream onto others, and subsume their dreams to feed his own. Again, the fire is a convenient cover-up for the displaced spirits Albrecht has trapped.

The researchers were divided on several facets, foremost questioning the actual existence of the principal figures: Alex Dunn and Anne Wilson. Could it be that Alex Dunn is in fact Albrecht? Has the persona of Alex Dunn created the character of Anne Wilson to represent the inhabitants of St. Ann? Will there be an all-consuming fire that destroys the town, and this house (and letters) are calling the community to action, as a sort of warning? Does Albrecht Manor's machinery twist and channel the powers of the Catholic Saint Ann, whose emblem is a Door, to imbue itself with supernatural power? If Alex Dunn is/was a real person, were they drawn to the house due to past trauma involving Anne and the implied kitchen fire that took place in the past? Did this oft-alluded-to fire kill Anne?

Many loose ends remain, but these Archive Researchers remain confident that the initial readings of the Albrecht Manor as deviating from the traditional haunting are correct. The "ghosts" are most likely Albrecht himself, and the temporal echoes of the Manor's past occupants. We put forth that through mechano-spiritual insights, "Damian Albrecht" built Albrecht Manor to trap people into its/his dreams of a perfect home. As a single household can never be "perfect" in his madness, the Manor and its master yearn to consume more ideals to feed this imperfect spiritual machine.

Thank you for reading, dear Archivist.

All best, Chris Air & Friends.

[cutecipher]

I can't wait to see usamerican phone companies blow up trying to one up this (tri-fold smartphone by Huawei)

[tomyo]

What phone I think each Soul Eater character I would assign them but one 2008ish Japanese phone, one 2008ish American phone, and one modern phone for each. I’m kinda mashing this out based on the vague memory I wanted to make this a zine a few years back.

Maka

SoftBank Pantone

LG Dlite

Samsung Smartphone that’s a few years old, if I made this list earlier it’d be a Samsung Note. Spirit might splurge and get her a Samsung Fold so she can take notes whenever.

Soul

Toss up between a swivel flip and a smartphone

Toss up between an LG chocolate and an early iPhone (iPhone 4 if we let my looseness with time period go)

Whatever new iPhone is released, he is juggling those out yearly

Blackstar

A badly damaged black flip phone that he only uses to call other people

One of those rough tough phones

He has a different mid to low range phone monthly because even the otterbox can’t save it

Tsubaki

That bean shaped smartphone

LG Dlite

Google Pixel

Death the Kidd

Black flip phone

It’s too tempting to say he has a blackberry but the design makes him cry, maybe early iphone

The most premium iPhone in the most boring standard color

Liz

Fashion collaboration flip phone but like it has a gemstone look (gotta find it)

Either a razr but god if she didn’t want the baby phat phone

Samsung Zflip with tons of different cases

Patty

Kids Japanese flip phone

Firefly

Mid range Samsung

Crona

It doesn’t matter where or what year, it’s a terrible ancient phone and they never see it because Ragnarok hogs it and gets them in trouble on the plan expenses

Kim

I willingly ignore how much she intentionally tried to be less cute in NOT, she got the cocolulu collab phone

Sidekick, she has so much going on.

Samsung Fold Ultra but maybe an iPhone depending on if the colors nice. Going back and forth between if Apple UI could frustrate her or be the only thing she knows

Jackie

AU Gratina

Some htc phone like the desire or a palm pick

All that matters is she wants to do that trend where you switch out SIM card trays with your partner but she keeps not asking

Killik

Known to have gotten sponsorships so I wanna say like a really nice swivel flip phone like the Aquos

Classic Droid Phone

Let’s be so real, him and Soul bond over their iPhones.

The twins

See Patty

See Patty

Killik’s old phone

[twistedminutia]

A Million and One Minutia: Dinosaurs

The freshmen crew learns about dinosaurs. (Read previous chapters here: Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, and crossposted to AO3 here.)

I never had a study group at school before I came to Twisted Wonderland. No reason for it, really- I didn’t get straight As or anything, but I coasted relatively easily in all my classes. Here, of course, it’s different- A lot of concepts to catch up on means a lot of studying, and it’s not like I have anything better to do, with no smartphone and no money to spare for entertainment. Plus, all the people I know live on campus, instead of in different towns, so getting everyone together is as easy as stepping through a mirror portal.

It’s become something of a routine now- after school every Thursday, we gather in a quiet corner of Ramshackle and buckle down. Initially it was just me, Grim, Ace, and Deuce, but Jack and Epel joined up as part of our little ‘first year gang’ not too long after we met them. Though Epel might be using this as a convenient excuse to duck out on Vil’s lessons, and I can’t tell if Jack actually wants to be here or not. He grouses about not needing a study group, but he never misses one either.

Still, the atmosphere of the group is nice, and we can all help each other out. Somehow, I’ve manage to get consistently among the best grades of the group, along with Jack, which I suppose makes us unofficial leaders. It suits me fine- teaching the others helps reinforce the information for me, and I need all the help I can get to really learn the practical information.

But there are parts of the group that I can’t really participate in at all.

I watch as Epel magics a paper bird through the air, its wings twitching in simulated life. Ace’s paper plane zips and weaves through the air like a stunt pilot, even completing a barrel roll before veering wildly off course and nearly taking out Epel’s bird. “Hey! Watch where you’re flying!”

“I didn’t actually hit you,” Ace protests, trying to get his plane back under control. It zips sideways and comes to a crash landing amid several books. “Aw, man.” He picks it up, tugging at one of its wings. It’s a little crumpled, but not unusable.

Deuce frowns in concentration as he directs his plane, smaller and less flashy than Ace’s, through a series of loops and down into an unsteady landing. “Jack, how are you getting your turns so sharp?”

“You have to manipulate the wings separately- if you try to tilt the whole plane at once, the turn is sloppy.” Jack’s bird is orbiting his head lazily. He mastered the makeshift obstacle course set up over our study table after a few tries. I wonder if being skilled on a broom helps, since Epel picked up the task pretty easily as well.

Grim huffs, trying to lob his folded craft into the air. I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be a plane of a bird- it’s got something resembling wings, at least. Perhaps I should have helped him make it, since the whole lack of opposable thumbs scenario must make it hard to fold, but he would also have probably insisted he could do it on his own. “How come we even have to practice this sort of thing in the first place? Making paper fly around isn’t the sort of thing a great mage does!”

“Vil said it helps develop fine magical control that helps with later spells,” Epel sighs as his bird drifts down in front of him. Grim frowns, but launches his bird/plane into the air with a little too much enthusiasm. It nearly hits the ceiling before taking off like a shot toward the other side of the room.

I watch the group toy around with practical magic. There’s a sort of irritating niggling feeling in my chest, one I don’t quite want to acknowledge. Instead, I continue doodling absently on my notes page.

I get lost enough in the doodles that I lose track of what everyone else is doing- until something warm leans against me and goes “What are those supposed to be?”

I jolt sideways and nearly send Ace sprawling to the ground next to me. My path, however, is blocked by Deuce on my other side and Ace just ends up leaning across us both. “What’s the big idea?” Ace complains as he shoves himself back upright.

“You startled me!” I shove myself up and look back at Deuce. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he says. “Thanks.” Epel is snickering across the table and Jack’s just looking at us like we’re the three biggest idiots in the world.

“I just wanted to see what you were drawing,” Ace complains. “You didn’t have to freak out about it.”

“You leaned all over me,” I protest. Ace rolls his eyes. Jack ignores the exchange and just turns his attention to the notebook in my hands.

“You can draw?” he asks.

“Not really. I can doodle, a bit.” I don’t think I’m being particularly humble here- my sketches are fine, but definitely wonky.

“Could we see?” Deuce asks.

“Sure, but it’s nothing to write home about.” I place the notebook faceup on the table, showing the little sketch I’ve made. It’s supposed to be a velociraptor and a triceratops, but they’re both a little goofy looking, and the perspective is so off they look almost the same size.

Epel moves in to get a closer look, tilting his head at the image. “What’re they supposed ta be? Some kind of dragons?”

A surprised laugh bursts from my mouth. “No. They’re dinosaurs.”

There’s a bewildered silence from the rest of the room. A noise I’m getting all too used to. Ace seems used to it too, because he takes it in stride and asks, “What’s that? Some kind of creature from your world?”

“Sort of. More like they used to be from my world.” There are more quizzical stares. “Dinosaurs were the creatures that ruled the planet before humans evolved.”

There’s a longer pause. Epel and Jack look at each other, as do Ace and Grim. “They ruled the planet?” Deuce asks after a moment. “Like… they were the kings?”

“They say there was an age of gods before the age of mages. Maybe they ruled like that,” Epel says. “Humans had to be careful not to provoke their wrath. Beastmen and merfolk, too,” he adds with a glance at Jack.

“What about the Fae?”

“They’re not in most of the stories my grandma told me,” Epel admits. “Eventually they say mages came about, but the stories differ on whether the mages fought back the gods or if the gods lost power and faded away.” He taps his chin with his magestone. “I think some stories actually say the Fae came from the last remnants of the gods and that’s why they’re so skilled at magic.”

“But Gray’s world doesn’t have magic,” Ace says.

“That’s true,” Jack says. He looks back at me. “How’d you beat these guys, then?”

“Nobody beat anybody,” I say. “Humans hadn’t evolved when dinosaurs went extinct. I just said that.”

“There weren’t any humans on the planet at all?” Ace asks, eyes wide. “No beastmen or merfolk or anything?” I shake my head.             “Sounds like paradise to me,” Grim snickers. “Monsters must have been in charge of everything!”

“That’s not totally inaccurate,” I say. “Some people referred to the period of dinosaurs as a time ruled by monsters. But I was more using ‘ruled’ as a metaphor- they didn’t have kings or anything. They were all just animals.”

The looks I’m getting have shifted a little, from curiosity and disbelief to something like alarm and uncertainty. Jack rubs a hand against the back of his head. “The entire planet just had animals? Nothing intelligent?”

“Some of them might have been intelligent- we never lived at the same time, so we don’t totally know how they behaved. But I don’t think it would have been anything more complex than simple tool use, like monkeys. We never had any evidence of complex societies or technology.” None of the guys look scared, per se, but they all look vaguely unsettled. Like the information is somehow sacrilegious. “Surely you guys must have learned about what your planet was like before there were people.”

There’s an uncertain moment where they all exchange glances. I feel sort of left out- what am I missing? There’s no history of the world or biology class here. Ace finally just comes out and says it. “There’s no such thing as a time before people. People have always been here.”

“What?” I glance at the others, but they don’t seem to be pulling one over on me. “Then where did people come from?”

“No one knows,” Jack says. “There are old folk tales about beastmen coming from animals due to magic, but I don’t know if anyone thinks they’re true.”

“My grandma told me humans were created in the age of the gods,” Epel adds.

“I heard humans were formed from magic due to the dreams of lonely spirits in the stars,” Deuce adds, though no sooner does he finish the sentence than Ace starts snickering.

“Dude, that’s an old kid’s tale.” Deuce’s face goes an alarming shade of red.

“Oh yeah? Then where do you think people come from?”

Ace’s mouth quirks into a shit-eating grin. “When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much-”

I elbow him in the side. “Do none of you know how people came into existence?”

“It’s not like it’s something anybody knows,” Jack huffs. “Epel’s right- our records only go back as far as the age of mages. Anything from the age of gods is pretty piecemeal. We’ve only got scraps.”

Somehow, I expected a world of magic to have more of an idea of what the past was like than my world- haven’t they figured out time travel or something yet? But maybe the presence of magic makes things worse, too. If you’ve got spells that are massively destructive or can overwrite physical laws… well, maybe more things get lost.

“Hang on,” Ace says. “How did humans come about on your planet? You talk like you know what happened.”

“I mean, we kind of do,” I say. “Like I said, dinosaurs got wiped out, humans evolved from the mammals that were left over on Earth after a lot of stuff went extinct.”

“All dinosaurs?” Epel asks. “They look so tough.” He indicates the picture of the triceratops.

“Oh, that’s not even the best one.” I sketch out another shape beneath my first two. It’s a little more complicated, but I get it down in convincing enough detail. I’ve been drawing these guys since I was a kid, after all. “That’s a Tyrannosaurus Rex.”

Epel’s eyes, already big and blue, get even bigger. “Woah. It really looks like a dragon. But without wings.”

“It can’t breathe fire, either,” I admit. “But it didn’t need to. It was the apex predator where it lived. And it was huge. Its teeth were six inches long.” Epel’s eyes are practically sparkling as he looks at it.

“But you said they all died out,” Ace said. “If it’s so awesome, then what killed it?”

“A meteor. Big ol’ rock from space. It hit the planet and wiped out all the big land mammals, including the dinosaurs.”

“A rock from space killed everything on the planet?” Jack sounds… not skeptical, but sort of incredulous.

“It was a really big rock,” I say. “Like, bigger than this island, probably. And, in fairness, there’s some debate over whether or not the meteor alone would have actually killed them all off. Some people say it was the finishing blow after a bunch of catastrophic environmental changes that were already happening, some people said it kicked off a chain of environmental changes that eventually culminated in the dinosaurs going extinct. All we know is that the dinosaurs ended up not existing anymore and then eventually people evolved from the mammals that were left over.”

There’s a pause while the rest of the group takes that in. “Your world’s weird,” Ace finally says.

“Don’t say that,” Deuce protests.

“It’s true!”

“Your world’s weird too,” I say midly. “You’ve got magic.”

“Magic’s normal,” Ace insists. I roll my eyes.

“Hey,” Epel says, still gazing at my drawing. “You said humans evolved from mammals after the dinosaurs died out. But evolution takes a long time- even stuff like birds getting different beaks or bugs becoming resistant to pesticides takes generations. How could humans have come about from totally different mammals?”

“I mean, I didn’t say it was fast. It took, like, upwards of sixty million years to get from dinosaurs to humans.”

There’s another round of stunned silence. Epel’s jaw drops. Jack blinks rapidly. Ace and Deuce just stare. “Sixty…” Epel says. “Sixty… million years.”

“Yeah. I mean, life itself was around on the planet for like, over a billion years, so sixty million is kind of small fry in comparison.” Epel’s eyes go rounder and wider. Deuce’s eyes are also the size of dinner plates. Even Jack looks stunned. Ace, however, looks only startled for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter.

Everyone turns to look at him. “What’s so funny?” Deuce asks.

“C’mon!” Ace casts his gaze over everyone in the group. “She’s clearly pulling our leg.”

Deuce fixes me with a questioning stare. “Are you?”

“No! I’m not!”

“Come on, Gray. You don’t have to keep it up. A world ruled by monsters, fine. I can buy that. But you’re just making those times up. No way anything’s been around that long.” Ace smirks. “But hey, you did have me going there for a bit. Try not to make your stories so crazy next time.”

“It’s not a story,” I insist. I look over at Epel and Deuce for help.

“Well…” Epel says, not quite meeting my eyes. “It does sound a little far-fetched.”

“But it’s not like I have a reason to lie about it,” I point out. “Deuce, come on. You trust me, right?”

“I don’t think you’re lying,” he assures me. “But maybe you got the times or the numbers mixed up? That happens to me in history class a lot.”

“I didn’t. I loved learning about dinosaurs and early life on Earth when I was a kid. I never would have gotten it mixed up. And even if I didn’t have the numbers exactly right, I know the planet’s been around for billions of years.”

“Cool it, all of you,” Jack grumbles. “Gray wouldn’t lie about something like this. If she says it’s true, then it’s true.”

I smile at him, relieved. “Thank you.”

“Doesn’t it sound ridiculous to you?” Ace prods. “I mean, billions of years?”

Jack shrugs. “Maybe it’s true. Maybe it isn’t. I don’t know. But Gray says it’s true, and I don’t think she’d lie to us, or tell us something she thinks is wrong.” He turns his steely gaze to me. “Right?”

“Of course not!” Jack nods once, satisfied, then turns back to his textbook.

“Fine, whatever. It’s not worth fighting over.” Ace slumps back against his seat. I can’t help but feel a little rankled that he thinks I might lie, but it is also something he would totally do. I can’t blame him too much for believing I might do it too. Epel goes back to his work as well, but he still takes sideways glances at my little dino drawings. I don’t know if he believes me or not, but he seems to want to.

Deuce, on the other hand, is more direct. “Sorry, Gray. Jack’s right. We shouldn’t have doubted you.”

“Thanks, Deuce.” He smiles at that, relieved, and goes back to his work.

The little birds and planes lift off once more, having been grounded during out short conversation. I felt a little uneasy watching them before, but now there’s a yawning chasm in my stomach. Ace wasn’t disagreeing with me about timespans just for the heck of it- it’s something he would do, sure, but it’s not what he was doing this time. He genuinely didn’t believe me. He genuinely didn’t believe a world could be around for that long.

Our worlds feel so similar most of the time. But they’re really not the same at all, are they?

Epel’s bird glides through the little obstacle course with ease and he turns to give Deuce some directions. Ace has found his own fun in dive-bombing Grim’s bird/plane and is egging Jack to get in on the action, despite Jack’s solemn refusal. I watch them, retreating further and further into the cushions of the couch as I do. They look like they’re all having fun. We’re all friends here. I know we’re all friends. But sometimes it feels like I’m sort of superfluous. Crowley let me in as a part of Grim’s attendance, but Grim could probably attend on his own. He's a troublemaker, sure, but not any worse than plenty of other people here. Most of the time, it feels like I’m just here because I have nowhere else to go.

Ace’s plane misses its dive-bomb on Grim’s and wheels around, plowing straight into Ace’s face. There’s a burst of laughter, and I join in, more half-heartedly than the rest. It’s stupid, but I really wish I could be part of their antics like this. Playing with them instead of sitting on the sidelines and watching.

Sassy picks that moment to wander in from wherever she was sleeping and immediately takes all the flying birds and planes as toys for her. She tackles Grim’s straight out of the air and shreds it before taking off after Ace’s. The entire group descends into confusion trying to stop her. The chaos lasts for only about two minutes, in which she manages to snag everyone’s flying objects and even drops Epel’s bird at my feet, like she’s presenting me with a kill. Then, completely oblivious to the damage she’s wrought, she curls up and starts bathing.

“Gray!” Ace protests. “Look what your cat did to my plane!”

“She’s not my cat. She just lives here.” I shoot back. It’s technically true. I don’t feed her- she just kind of hangs out. I assume she’s hunting down whatever rats or mice hide out here for her meals. “I’m sorry, but I don’t control her. I guess she thought maybe they were real birds or something?”

Ace looks ready to rip me a new one, but the click, click, click of heels down the hall gives him pause. Vil, Rook practically skipping along behind him, appears in the doorway. “The study group is over. Dinner is ready, and then we’re going to run song rehearsal afterward. Gray, as our manager, I expect you’ll straighten things up.” He sweeps his searing gaze across all of us before turning and heading back toward the kitchen, only briefly nodding at Jack in acknowledgement. I guess he’s more polite to guests than to the people under his command.

“I’d better get going,” Jack says. “See you all in class.” He gathers his books and heads for the door. Epel groans, quietly, before standing up as well. Ace and Deuce follow him. I cast a glance around at the stuff scattered everywhere, including the scraps of plane and bird that litter the ground. I’ve been doing a lot of cleaning up after people since the VDC boot camp started.

“You know, you should help,” I tell Sassy. “Some of this is your mess.”

She peeks her head up and meows at me. I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah. You get started while I get dinner.”

She meows again and hops up after me as I head toward the kitchen. Probably aiming to beg for food again. She’s silly. But cute. “Just don’t try to crawl up Vil’s legs for chicken again, okay? He’s going to make you into a scarf.”

[moonfurthetemmie]

Untitled.MP4

Previous | Next | First (with warnings)

Part 3

June 10, 20XX

Mercury is the only one in the office. He seems calm, but anxious.

"Jasper is out getting samples for me, so I'll try to update the record quickly. The stranger-"

A sudden banging from off camera causes Mercury to jump, and turn. He grabs something from under the table. The banging continues, with voices that sound like they're coming from the other side of a door, but Mercury doesn't move. Eventually the noises stop, and after a few minutes Mercury turns back to the camera.

"Fuck, they've been doing that all day-" His voice is quieter than before. "Okay. The stranger is gone. We haven't seen hide or hair of them. None of the others have said a word about them; not that we've tried asking. They all try to attack us and get us out of the hazmat suits, to 'join them', if they see us. Also, we've discovered some vectors of transmission, as well as...symptoms? Yeah, fuck it, I'll call them symptoms, this is definitely a fungal infection."

Mercury pulls out a smartphone.

"Firstly, transmissions. The main vector seems to be air. These mushrooms give off a number of spores that will attach to and grow on just about anything. So far no one's been infected this way, but looking at the state of the manor, I'm sure it'd only be a matter of time without our hazmat suits."

He holds up the phone, waiting for the camera to focus. It's a picture of a hallway, covered in reddish-orange film. Large mushrooms sprout from the darkest corners, and mold creeps along the floors and walls. Along the walls are square-shaped areas of mold, spaced regularly apart, that seem to be letting through a smidge of light. Presumably, these used to be windows.

"We think blood is also a likely vector, as well as skin contact," Mercury says, lowering the phone. "Before Paraiba was infected, she said Silver and Koroit went in a room alone together; and that was before Koroit start growing mushrooms. Paraiba wasn't sure what had happened, but she said Silver also came back with bite marks on their shoulders that were bleeding. Silver apparently said that Koroit had similar marks that weren't from them. Fungal STD! Isn't that fun."

Mercury shudders again. "And as mentioned previously, Koroit had some interest in Zircon prior to all of this starting. Most of us were pretty sure they'd had--" Mercury does a few fake coughs. "--Intimate relations. It wouldn't surprise me if that's how Zircon got infected. All of that, plus the fact that the stranger had gotten Koroit alone for a while prior to her acting weird, it's likely that the stranger is the one who infected Koroit."

Mercury leans back in his chair, arms folded. "But if that's the case, and blood is a transmission vector, why hadn't Obsidian shown any symptoms? The stranger got to him well before they did Koroit, and it didn't take long at all for Koroit to start growing mushrooms on her. Obsidian was fine, though. I'm almost tempted to find him and ask."

He is silent for a moment, then shakes his head.

"Eh, whatever. He can rot. He deserves it."

Mercury picks up the phone again.

"Now, symptoms. The symptoms of an initial infection appear to be white, itching patches on skin, lack of coordination, and confusion. After that the coordination improves, the white patches spread and begin to grow fruiting bodies, and what seems to be an all-consuming desire to spread their sickness. Which is even scarier when one of the transmission vectors is blood, and you already live with someone who’s known to force himself on people.

“Honestly, I'm praying to whatever gods are out there that Obsidian actually is immune, because if he suddenly decides he wants to spread this nasty shit, my office is not going to be safe no matter how much we reinforce the door."

Mercury sighs and sets the phone down, tapping his finger on the desk. "Let's see...I don't think there's much else to report on. We've made progress with an airlock, but neither Jasper nor myself are engineers, so we can only hope it's enough. But I can rig up a shower thing to decontaminate our suits when we come in. I've already created a solution that can kill the fungus--which, mind you, is incredibly toxic to all things and is in no way to be used as a cure or treatment--so all I need to do is make a little shower thing. I might have it drain out into the hallway; the fungus and mold isn't quite as bad right out there just yet, so it shouldn't make too awful a sludge. Right? Right."

The video ends.

[todaynewspakistan0]

📱 Xiaomi’s Tri-Fold Patent: The Future of Smartphones is Here

Xiaomi is taking foldable tech to the next level! A newly published patent reveals a tri-fold smartphone design that offers users an adjustable continuous display. With rumors swirling about a potential debut at the 2025 Mobile World Congress, we can’t wait to see this innovative device in action. 🛠

Read more at: https://todaynewspakistan.com/xiaomi-might-be-work-on-tri-fold-phone-too/

[instructionsnotincluded]

State of Grace

Chapter XVII

Excerpt:

Victor Shoupe stood in front of a map of Kildare County, arms folded as he stared blankly. It had been almost five days since Audrey sat in his office. Four days since they filed the missing person report. Four days since his deputy was last seen. Four long, long days.

Shopue had no idea where she was—he wasn’t even convinced she was on this island anymore, which frightened him more than he wanted to admit. Max had basically disappeared into thin air. His apartment was empty, his cruiser in the parking lot that they’d since towed back to the station. Shoupe even tried tracking his department issued smartphone, but his deputy had left it in the car, the device reset to factory default. None of Max’s neighbors ever talked to him and the few people he was friendly with in the department didn’t ever do anything with him outside of work—so it was just dead end after dead end. Shoupe knew that all eyes were on him and he could feel the tension coming off the other deputies, everyone walking around on eggshells now that the State Bureau of Investigation was involved, all of their work under an even larger magnifying glass.

Moving away from the map, Shoupe took a seat at his desk and glanced down at the evidence bag of items they’d taken out of Deputy Whitehall’s locker. There wasn't much—a fresh pair of white gym socks, a tube of deodorant, a thing of hand sanitizer and a photo of him and an older man taped to the door. But what really interested him in the bag was a small, beat up looking ring attached to a silver chain. It was far too small to fit Max’s fingers, looking more like it was made for thinner, smaller fingers. If Shoupe ran his thumb across it over the plastic of the Ziploc, the ring itself changed colors, but only slightly. It’d been awhile since he saw a mood ring, and even longer since he wore one, but it was definitely the kind kids got out of machines for a handful of quarters. It didn’t fit with Max’s clean and tidy appearance, and Shoupe couldn’t help but keep looking at it, as if it had all the answers to this horrific situation.