#2018 wrap ups
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icantalk710 · 11 days ago
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Zohran won (first-round 9pt lead notwithstanding) Zohran won (first-round 9pt lead notwithstanding) Zohran won--
#ore no kao#(also i guess this is a two-week-late haircut reveal i've been too distracted to post about lol)#(may still post what i intended to for that lol)#honestly wild to see that Cuomo even conceded to him??? (will he renege on running indie in the general? doubtful)#but knew Zohran could do it and overcome all the nonsense right-wing smears billionaire money threw his way#i last felt political hope after Bernie won NH and NV in 2020 and before that AOC's primary win in 2018#(thoughts on her time in Congress aside)#and that feeling's back--hopeful for an NYC that actually cares about its people#and Democrats and their stalwarts should note it didnt require him to compromise and move to the right on his values or on being a socialis#it's the economy stupid#(also total sidebar but i ended up seeing this cute redhead at my local results party who i could swear i'd seen before#[i'd messaged him on grindr a month or two ago and didnt get a reply]#and after a bit near the end after Zo's speech i finally asked if we'd seen each other before and got his name/talked a bit#was a quick convo as the night wrapped/a day of canvassing took its toll and he probably didnt remember me messaging him#but would be nice seeing him around the area or we end up chatting on the App who knows lol#[i would like a cute socialist in my life as a treat])#but anyway zohran win cuomo world in shambles chris matthews worrying about beheadings in central park if socialism wins all is nice tonigh#do wish i was able to canvass more for him but even just doing this afternoon and having some good convos with fellow latinos was nice#[for non-NYC/US-ers our Dem race for mayor uses ranked-choice voting and he didn't clear 50% this first round so RCV votes now get tallied#...starting next Tuesday lol]
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dustedlilac · 1 year ago
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Woman who struggled all her life to make a living and god forbid get things she actually wants winding up with a Princess who potentially spoils her rotten and gets her anything her wounded heart desires.
Vaggie is very normal about Charlie (she is not).
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gobbluthbutagirl · 2 years ago
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2022 was actually my favorite out of the past 10 years. Like yeah it was really fucked up for me but in a really funny way
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theinvisiblemuseum · 2 years ago
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54 - 100
oh to see without my eyes...
54. mystery of love - sufjan stevens
100. famous prophets (stars) - car seat headrest
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invisiblyvisiblejay · 2 years ago
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this is so funny
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have i ever mentioned i like fob
this is also funny guess what happened in april 😭😭😭
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if u guessed that's the month my ex broke up with me and i listened to conan gray like nonstop u would be correct
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potential-fate · 2 years ago
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like a month ago I got tagged by @pixelatedpanic as well, anyways I forgot it in my drafts. oops. Here's 5 more songs I've been listening to recently.
Horror Show - Hot Milk (music video)
Casualty - Mothica (music video)
Always Tired - Weathers
Anomaly - I See Stars
Suburban Legends - Taylor Swift
no tags cause I'm behind the curve.
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deathsmallcaps · 6 months ago
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Replying to tags but then I ran out of room and I think i was if not cooking then at least microwaving
#dude when I was in 6th grade I read #the veldt #and at the time it disgusted and genuinely scared me because I was #just so surprised that people - children! - could be raised to be so heartless #idk if I read it for the first time as a 23 year old it would scare me so much #but goddamn
#I think we're both people who are *at least* good at literacy but we're both a little too STEMmy #to look at it the way some English teachers want us to? #like they want people to go from 'damn that's fucked up → what themes are the authors trying to explore here → what about the world #made them think of that and perhaps what are they trying to get us to consider and think about and perhaps change' #obviously not all writing is a fable with a moral at the end #but a lot of good writing has some sort of central belief that it wants the reader to consider
#(I struggle in creating that with my fiction ugh and I think a lot of booktok books do too and it bugs me that we have that connection)
#but anyway #I think you and I'd first reactions are like #’that's horrible → how can we prevent that specific problem from occurring again' #like take the lottery. my (and maybe your?) first reaction is like 'that's horrible → they should ban the lottery' #but the English teacher is going to want us to think 'oh gee okay so this is a commentary on traditions. why would this tradition be started #/necessary? does the lottery reflect the overall morals and sensibilities of the overall society (aka fond of the death penalty etc). #what sort of tradition might this mirror today? connecting to historical events and the fact that the person stoned and the author were #women. aka the gender commonly stoned for witchcraft in New England #do you think that's related?' etc etc etc wrapped in metaphors and shit. and tbh that's how I learned a lot of my religious and political #philosophy as well as history. I really like Thomas swift's 'a modest proposal' (satire) for that reason.
but that was NOT my initial #thought process for English class. I had to be heavily trained into thinking that way and often my first instinct is to not engage with the #metaphor an just go straight to the logic/sensible answer. blah blah blah. I really respect lit and history teachers as a profession but boy #do I not want to teach it because I would be so slack on writing the kinds of questions that would get the kids to engage with the meta. #once I got a piece I got it but it was a struggle every damn time. because I had to get over my feelings of well why didn't they just not #do that'
the biggest one I can think of is 'song of Solomon' by Toni Morrison. I think my senior AP English teacher wanted us to really #consider authors and characters of color (he was white but it was 2018-2019 aka Trump era) so he taught us othello and TM. othello is a #little easier to understand because iago is just being a little bitch about a Black foreigner getting a promotion and a hot wife and no longer being able to convince himself that he was better than Othello
But TM’s main character Milkman? Unlikeable, spoiled little shit who doesn’t give a damn that he’s the 1 percent of his marginalized community and he’s frittering his privileges away so hard that it literally induces suicidal and murderous tendencies into the people around him. Among other things.
It took me foreverrrrrr to engage with the text beyond GOD I HATE THIS GUY but once I was able to examine his psychology and the mean flip side of ‘if you want to fly, you have to get rid of earthly attachments’, which he does at the end of the story.
Was it a chore? Absolutely. But have I ever forgotten the story or the literary tools it gave me? No.
Maybe I’m just speaking for myself in this longass response - you and I usually talk animals and men not books 😅 - but yeah every English class is full of these annoying stories that are meant to rattle one’s brain and I REALLY avoid rattling lmao. Tbqh again I respect lot classes but I’m glad they’re over lmao
But anyways I listened to Levar Burton’s podcast ‘Levar Burton Reads’ from start to finish, and he once read (as a three parter) Toni Morrison’s Recitatif. It’s the story of two girls, one Black one white, who grew up around and with and against each other during the mid 1900s.
I didn’t know what the story was getting at, aside from the surface ideas of the American Civil Rights Movement and privilege and stuff. But LB usually asked questions or briefly mentioned the author’s main idea at the end. And when he did? HOLY FUCK.
If you ever decide to listen to it (I’ve never gotten my hands to a print copy so idk if they usually have some sort of author’s note at the end to ask the reader this question)(I love LB’s voice he’s a pleasure to listen to if you listen to Recitatif) please @ me and tell me if it also blew your mind and made you consider how you viewed the POV character of the story.
Because it blew my mind and made me really consider why I assumed things about the pov character. Im not going to say anything further because I feel like I’m spoiling the point but yeah.
Anyways again this could be just me but I’ve always had trouble moving on from the straight solution mindset. When I was 12 I was in a model UN and I was told to write a report about Togo and its healthcare issues. I took this to mean that I had to research the common issues there (such as unclean water and mosquito bite diseases) and then come up with solutions.
It was incredibly embarrassing to do all that and then hear every other group explain their countries healthcare issues and WHY (historically, monetarily, etc) their countries struggled with such things. And my ass went up there and talked about affordable mosquito deterrent changes to water sources and cheap water cleaning services.
I didn’t realize it then but like. It perfectly exemplified my lack of instinct to subtextually interact with instructions and prompts.
And the thing is. May the universe bless and boost the fucking lit teachers out there because my poor students are entering math class with lit skills 6 grades under where they should be and are genuinely unable to interact with straightforward STEM instructions. My college had every ed major take a ‘teaching literacy’ class and sure I passed but the thing is. I’m not really the person that’s supposed to catch these kids on that subject. I’m supposed to be a secondary math teacher. So a lot of the advice in that class simply wasn’t applicable and I wish it was!!! I’d be happy to help in that subject but also I WAS TRAINED TO BE A MATH TEACHER. AND MOST LITERACY AND LANGUAGE DIFFICULTY COURSES ARE NOT DESIGNED WITH STEM IN MIND. (Which is why I want to learn enough Spanish that I can teach kids learning English math as well because that’s an area that doesn’t get a lot of crossover and a lot of kids fall through).
Well this turned into a ramble goodnight lmao. I’d say this was a decently microwaved thought track lol
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#dude when I was in 6th grade I read#the veldt#and at the time it disgusted and genuinely scared me because I was#just so surprised that people - children! - could be raised to be so heartless#idk if I read it for the first time as a 23 year old it would scare me so much#but goddamn#I think we’re both people who are *at least* good at literacy but we’re both a little too STEMmy#to look at it the way some English teachers want us to?#like they want people to go from ‘damn that’s fucked up -> what themes are the authors trying to explore here -> what about the world#made them think of that and perhaps what are they trying to get us to consider and think about and perhaps change’#obviously not all writing is a fable with a moral at the end#but a lot of good writing has some sort of central belief that it wants the reader to consider#*I struggle in creating that with my fiction ugh and I think a lot of booktok books do too and it bugs me that we have that connection*#but anyway#I think you and I’d first reactions are like#‘that’s horrible -> how can we prevent that specific problem from occurring again’#like take the lottery. my (and maybe your?) first reaction is like ‘that’s horrible -> they should ban the lottery’#but the English teacher is going to want us to think ‘oh gee okay so this is a commentary on traditions. why would this tradition be starte#/necessary? does the lottery reflect the overall morals and sensibilities of the overall society (aka fond of the death penalty etc).#what sort of tradition might this mirror today? connecting to historical events and the fact that the person stoned and the author were#women. aka the gender commonly stoned for witchcraft in New England#do you think that’s related?’ etc etc etc wrapped in metaphors and shit. and tbh that’s how I learned a lot of my religious and political#philosophy as well as history. I really like Thomas swift’s ‘a modest proposal’ (satire) for that reason. but that was NOT my initial#thought process for English class. I had to be heavily trained into thinking that way and often my first instinct is to not engage with the#metaphor an just go straight to the logic/sensible answer. blah blah blah. I really respect lit and history teachers as a profession but bo#do I not want to teach it because I would be so slack on writing tbe kinds of questions that would get the kids to engage with the meta.#once I got a piece I got it but it was a struggle every damn time. because I had to get over my feelings of ‘well why didn’t they just not#do that’. the biggest one I can think of is ‘song of Solomon’ by Toni Morrison. I think my senior AP English teacher wanted us to really#consider authors and characters of color (he was white but it was 2018-2019 aka Trump era) so he taught us othello and TM. othello is a#little easier to understand because iago is just being a little bitch about a Black foreigner getting a promotion and a hot wife and no
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sillimancer · 8 months ago
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amazing how one shot of dopamine and a hot meal can do for one's spirit. I ate scalloped potatoes and went on a little drive and now I've got the pomodoro timer out. who is she.
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shastafirecracker · 1 year ago
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big money, big money 👏
Augustine, Vienna Teng
ahaha it's time for another D&D main character playlist moment. Tomoe Sugano is my grave domain cleric who is half and half based on Sabriel from the Garth Nix books and Sailor Saturn (name stolen from Hotaru Tomoe). she's serious and pragmatic, capable of silliness and dry humor, burdened with a family curse and task she grew up feeling like she had to bear alone (but of course she found family with the rest of the party), and she's technically aasimar because she's god-touched by a god of nothingness, of absence, of negation. she's my most powerful character but she doesn't want to use that power. she's full of heartbreak and longing and duty and loss. she's also lesbian and one time she freed a trapped spirit by dancing with her and I think she still loves that silent ghost-woman deep down. anyway this song is where the title of her playlist comes from
faith is both the prison and the open hand
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cressidagrey · 24 days ago
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Didn't come up
Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)
Summary:  5 times another driver/teammate of Oscar found out about Felicity or Bee. 
Warnings and Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂
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Logan Sergeant - 2016 - Formula 4 UAE 
Oscar Piastri had just finished reviewing telemetry with his engineer when Logan Sargeant flopped down beside him on a folding chair like he’d been personally wronged by the concept of humidity in Abu Dhabi.
“You guys always this sweaty in Melbourne?” Logan asked, swiping at his forehead with a water bottle and missing.
Oscar smirked. “Not unless you’re karting uphill in January.”
Logan leaned back, rocking the chair onto two legs. “You’re weirdly calm for someone who just overtook half the grid on turn three.”
Oscar shrugged. “Had to. The inside line was open.”
Logan whistled low. “You Aussies are built different.”
There was a beat of silence, filled with the clatter of wheel guns and distant shouting from a team manager on the other side of the paddock.
Then Logan nudged him. “You bringing anyone to the next round? Girlfriend? Family?”
Oscar blinked. “Uh, no, she’s in school.”
Logan perked up. “So you do have a girlfriend.”
Oscar nodded. “Her name’s Felicity.”
“Oh, fancy,” Logan said, smirking.
Oscar just shrugged again, but this time it’s a little more self-conscious. “She’s smarter than anyone I’ve ever met. Like… scary smart.”
Logan laughed. “Dude. You’re literally doing physics problems between sessions.”
“Yeah, and she’s the one who checks them.”
That got a double take.
“Wait, how old is she?”
“Fifteen. Same year as me.”
“And she checks your work?”
Oscar looked at him, deadpan. “She once rewrote my entire MATLAB script for a school project because the code was inefficient.”
“...I don’t even know what a MATLAB is.”
Oscar finally cracked a grin. “Exactly.”
Logan leant back on his palms, looking vaguely awed. “Damn. Is she into racing too?”
Oscar’s face softened. “She watches every livestream. Even the janky ones that lag and buffer every five seconds. Says she likes seeing how I figure things out under pressure.”
“Supportive and a genius?” Logan whistled. “You’re punching, man.”
“I know,” Oscar said without hesitation.
And that’s the thing — he said it without irony, without doubt, like it’s just fact. Like Felicity  was a fixture in his life the same way racing is. Like even here, on the other side of the world, in a sport designed to chew you up, she was still his anchor.
Logan watched him for a moment, then grinned. “Alright then, Piastri. Guess I gotta step up. You’re out here with a rocket science girlfriend and a podium finish.”
Oscar shrugged again, but there’s a glint of pride in his eyes. “She’s not into big shows. Just… likes when I try hard.”
Logan nodded slowly. “Sounds like she keeps you grounded.”
“She does,” Oscar said. “She’s the reason I remember to eat lunch most days.”
“Bro,” Logan said, mock serious. “Marry her.”
Oscar didn’t laugh.
He just sips his water, quiet for a beat.
Then: “I might.”
Logan blinks. “You’re fifteen.”
Oscar shrugs. “Still might.”
***
Max Fewtrell - 2018 - Formula Renault Eurocup
Max Fewtrell had exactly three things in his race day ritual:
Complain about the weather, regardless of what it was actually doing.
Eat like he hadn’t seen a carb since Wednesday.
Steal food off anyone who had a better lunch than he did.
So when something absolutely divine — chili, soy, sesame, and maybe the faintest whiff of wok hei — drifted across the Renault Eurocup paddock, Max paused mid-wrap-unfurl, frowned at the damp tortilla in his hands, and began scanning the area like a bloodhound on a mission.
He didn’t have to look far.
Under one of the team canopies, Oscar Piastri was seated like a picture of tranquility. Legs crossed, back straight, Tupperware open on his lap. And, insult to injury, the kid was using actual chopsticks, not a spork like the rest of the peasants.
Max narrowed his eyes. He knew that smell.
“…Is that char kway teow?” he asked, tone already accusatory.
Oscar didn’t look up. Just plucked another glistening noodle from the box like this was a tea ceremony and not a war crime.
“Yes,” he replied, bone dry.
Max was already halfway to him. “Where did you even get that? We’re in France. I’ve had nothing but beige food for a week. A week, Oscar.”
Oscar finally glanced up, entirely serene. “My girlfriend made it. Sent it with me.”
“Wait, you have a girlfriend?”
Oscar nodded. “Felicity. She’s in school back in Britain. Singaporean-Chinese. Makes the best food I’ve ever had.”
Max stood there in silence for a beat, the betrayal setting in.
Oscar, sensing it, took another elegant bite.
Max’s mouth opened. “Does she—”
“No,” Oscar cut in, flat as a carbon fiber board. “I’m not sharing.”
Max stared. “That’s not very sportsmanlike of you.”
Oscar didn’t even blink. “Neither was that last overtake into Turn 4, but here we are.”
Max scowled, reached into his sad lunch wrap, and hurled a bit of limp lettuce at him.
Oscar dodged it with the kind of slow ease that made it worse. “Also,” he added, “she packed chili crisp and garlic oil in the bottom layer. You’d cry.”
“I’m already crying,” Max muttered, slumping into the folding chair next to him. “Mate’s got a literal food goddess and refuses to share. Unbelievable.”
Oscar, not even looking up from his noodles: “Get your own Felicity.”
***
Frederik Vesti - 2020 - Formula 3 
Frederik blinked blearily across the team truck as Oscar Piastri walked in looking like the ghost of someone who used to sleep.
His hair was sticking up at odd angles, his hoodie was inside out, and there was a faint stain on his jeans that looked suspiciously like dried milk. He held a coffee cup like it was an IV drip.
“You okay, mate?” Frederik asked cautiously, watching as Oscar shuffled toward the breakfast table and missed the toaster by a good six inches.
Oscar made a sound that might have been “fine” or might have been “fire,” but either way it came out in a low rasp and was not convincing.
“You look like you haven’t slept in a week.”
“Six days,” Oscar muttered, blinking like he was trying to reboot.
Frederik laughed — and then froze.
Oscar didn’t laugh back. He just stood there, buttering toast in slow motion, like a man trying to remember what gravity was.
“…Wait. Are you actually serious?”
Oscar nodded faintly. “She sleeps during the day. But at night she just…screams. And if she’s not screaming, I keep checking to see if she’s breathing.”
“She?”
Oscar blinked again and finally looked at him. “Bee.”
Frederik stared.
Oscar seemed to realize something. “Oh. Right. You didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what, exactly?” Frederik said very slowly, like he was trying to diffuse a bomb.
Oscar sipped his coffee. “That I’m married. Or that I have a baby now. Probably both.”
Frederik dropped his spoon. “YOU’RE WHAT?”
Oscar looked vaguely apologetic. “Yeah. Sorry. It wasn’t exactly a press release moment.”
Frederik gaped. “How do you have a wife? We’ve been teammates all year. You’ve literally never mentioned her.”
Oscar shrugged. “We’ve been married since I was 18. Felicity. She’s private. Doesn’t like attention.”
Frederik opened his mouth. Closed it again. “Okay. Wow. But… a baby? When? How?”
“She was born two weeks ago. Her name’s Bee. Emergency C-section. Heart surgery twenty-three minutes after birth.  NICU for a bit. My wife nearly died.  They’re home now. I’m… here.”
Frederik stared.
“You’re telling me that over break, you became a dad, your baby had surgery, your wife almost died, and you just—what? Came back to work like it was fine?”
Oscar ran a hand through his hair and yawned so hard it looked painful. “Felicity told me to. Said she wanted something to feel normal again.“
Frederik sat down heavily next to him. “And you’re just here. Like it’s nothing.”
Oscar stared blankly at the table. “It’s not nothing. But if I stop moving, I think I’ll fall apart.”
Frederik nodded slowly. Then slid the entire plate of toast in front of Oscar and said, “Alright. First of all, you’re eating. Second, I’m buying you a real coffee. And third—what the hell do you mean your baby had open heart surgery?”
Oscar’s voice was quiet, but steady. “She has a congenital defect. Total anomalous pulmonary venous return. They caught it late. If they’d waited ten more minutes, she wouldn’t have made it.”
Frederik swallowed. “Jesus.”
Oscar looked down at his hands. “She’s so small. But she’s alive.”
And for the first time that morning, Oscar smiled—just a little. Not smug, not tired. Just real.
Frederik exhaled hard, then clapped a hand on his teammate’s shoulder. “Okay. That’s a lot. But… Bee, huh?”
Oscar nodded. “Yeah.”
“…Short for anything?”
Oscar finally laughed. “Beatrice Nicole. I call her Bumblebee.”
 “And your wife? Is she okay? ”
“She’s… alive. Still recovering. Scared the shit out of me.” Oscar’s voice cracked a little, not enough to draw attention unless you were really listening. “Bee’s okay too. She’s so small. Looks like her, though. Stronger than both of us.”
The silence that followed wasn’t awkward — it was heavy, with the weight of things too big to say.
Finally, Frederik said quietly, “You could’ve told someone.”
Oscar just shook his head. “Didn’t want anyone to look at me different. Didn’t want it to be a thing. I just… wanted to drive. And go home to them.”
Frederik swallowed. “You’re completely mental.”
Oscar let out a soft, tired laugh. “Yeah.”
Another pause.
Frederik: “Do you… have pictures?”
Oscar blinked at him, surprised. Then, slowly, he reached for his phone. “Yeah. I do.”
He opened the gallery and held it out.
Frederik stared at the screen. A baby, impossibly small, swaddled in tubes and wires, and then later — the same baby, wide-eyed and soft-cheeked, curled up against a woman who looked tired but alive. Felicity.
Bee.
“Holy shit,” Frederik said softly. “She’s beautiful.”
Oscar smiled — faint but real. “Yeah. She is.”
Later that night, Frederik found an unopened tin of Danish butter cookies in his suitcase — his mum’s habit. He wrapped it in a tea towel, walked down the hotel hall, and left it outside Oscar’s door.
There was a note on top:
For Bee’s dad. You’re doing great. Also: eat something that isn’t caffeine and stress. – F.
He didn’t expect a reply.
But the next morning, Oscar showed up to the track with a new glint of determination — and crumbs on his race suit.
***
Robert Shwarztman - 2021 - Formula 2 
Robert was halfway through complaining about the catering — again — when Oscar, staring down at his phone with the vaguely amused look of someone reading a text that was either romantic or absurd, said casually:
“I’ve gotta head off soon. I’m having dinner with my wife.”
Silence.
Not dramatic silence. Not shocked silence. Just the stunned, mechanical silence of Robert’s brain hitting the brakes so hard it metaphorically flew through the windshield.
“…your what?” Robert said, voice slightly higher than normal.
Oscar glanced up, blinking innocently. “My wife. Felicity. She flew in this morning.”
Robert stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You’re married.”
“Yeah.”
“Since when?”
Oscar just shrugged. “2019.”
Robert’s brain promptly short-circuited. “You’ve been married for two years and you’re telling me now? After how many plane rides? How many post-race meals? You didn’t think to mention, ‘Hey by the way, I have a wife?’”
Oscar shrugged, annoyingly calm. “Didn’t come up.”
“Didn’t come up,” Robert echoed, scandalized. “You once spent forty-five minutes explaining tire degradation to a hotel receptionist, but telling me you’re married ‘didn’t come up’?”
Oscar made a mild face. “She doesn’t like the attention. We keep it private.”
“And what? One day you’ll just casually mention a kid and expect me not to die on the spot?”
Oscar, very blandly: “I have a daughter too.”
Robert actually choked on his water. “YOU WHAT—”
Oscar patted him on the back like he wasn’t the cause of the sudden respiratory emergency. “Bee. She’s a few months old.”
Robert’s eye twitched. “You’re twenty. You have a wife. A baby. You’re leading the championship. What the hell, are you trying to speedrun adulthood?!”
Oscar shrugged again. “I like being married.”
Robert stood, flailing slightly. “I’m going to dinner alone with my phone and my disappointment. And you’re going to dinner with your secret wife. Which is apparently a normal Tuesday.”
Oscar smiled faintly. “You want to meet her tomorrow? She bakes.”
Robert froze.
“…What kind of bakes?”
Oscar’s smile deepened. “Everything.  Banana Bread. Muffins. Cookies. Sometimes Russian tea cakes, too. She made kuih lapis once.”
“…Okay,” Robert muttered, sitting down again like he wasn’t suddenly plotting to steal baked goods from this phantom wife. “But I’m still mad.”
Oscar nodded, texting again. “She says hi, by the way.”
Robert groaned.
***
Arthur Leclerc - 2021 - Prema Racing
Arthur was late.
Not by much — just ten minutes — but enough that René had already scolded him and a camera guy gave him the “we’ve been waiting” look as he jogged into the main corridor. He adjusted his team jacket, made a face at his reflection in the nearest window, and was mid-yawn when he nearly collided with someone in the hallway.
“Oh—sorry—"
Then he stopped.
Because Oscar Piastri — reigning Formula 3 champion, king of emotional neutrality, man who once did an entire sim race in silence — was standing in front of a wall of sponsor boards, holding a baby.
A real, actual baby.
A little girl with soft wispy curls, round cheeks, and a pale pink hoodie with a cartoon duck on the front. She had one hand gripping Oscar’s suit collar and the other stuffed into her mouth, wide eyes peeking curiously over his shoulder.
Arthur blinked. “Uhh… Oscar?”
Oscar looked up like this was entirely normal. “Hey.”
Arthur pointed at the baby. “Is that… Are you… Is that yours?”
The little girl turned her head toward the sound of Arthur’s voice, then immediately buried her face in Oscar’s neck like she’d seen enough. Oscar just patted her back gently and said, “Yeah. This is Bee.”
“Bee,” Arthur echoed, stunned. “You have a secret kid?”
Oscar blinked. “She’s not a secret. I just don’t usually bring her to work.”
“Right,” Arthur said faintly. “Of course. Naturally. And the mother?”
“My wife,” Oscar said casually. “Felicity. She’s finishing her finals this week. We couldn’t find a sitter. Bee’s very well-behaved, don’t worry.”
Arthur blinked so hard he lost a second of vision. “Your wife. You have a wife and a child. At twenty.”
Oscar glanced down at Bee, who had gone back to watching Arthur like he was a strange bird. She was perfectly quiet. Just blinking with wide dark eyes, cuddled into her father’s chest like she’d been born there.
Arthur lowered his voice. “She’s… really cute.”
Oscar’s whole face softened. “Yeah. She’s the best.”
Bee made a little hum and patted Oscar’s jaw with one tiny hand. Then Bee let out a soft, babbly coo, and Arthur’s heart actually melted.
Like. Melted.
He wasn’t even a baby person, but this one? This tiny, polite, shy creature who clung to Oscar like a koala and looked like she might cry if anyone but her dad so much as waved? She was precious. Immaculate. Possibly the best-behaved human he’d ever seen.
“Can I say hi?” Arthur asked, voice softening instinctively.
Oscar glanced at Bee. “Bee, you wanna say hi?”
Bee peeked at Arthur again from the safety of Oscar’s shoulder. Considered him. Then blinked, solemn, and shook her head no.
Arthur laughed. “Okay, that’s fair.”
“She’s just shy,” Oscar said. “She’s been great all day. Napped during media briefings. Didn’t touch anything. I think she thinks she’s undercover.”
“Mate,” Arthur said, stunned, “if I ever brought a baby into this building, she’d be on the pit wall with a wrench in her mouth in five minutes.”
Oscar just smiled faintly, brushing a hand over Bee’s curls. “She’s used to being around cars. I think the engine noises soothe her.”
Arthur had so many questions. So many.
But instead, he stayed a respectful distance away, and said, “Hi Bee. I’m Arthur. I drive too.”
Bee blinked at him. Then, very quietly, said, “Papa drives fast.”
Arthur’s jaw dropped. “She talks?”
Oscar nodded, utterly casual. “She’s started picking up words. Mostly about food and racing. Priorities.”
Arthur put a hand to his chest. “I’m gonna cry. Why is your kid so perfect?”
Oscar just bounced Bee gently in his arms and said, “Because she’s her mother’s daughter.”
Bee gave a soft coo, and when Oscar shifted her gently into a little carrier wrap on his chest, she snuggled in like this was her natural state of being: attached to Papa and silently judging anyone else in the room.
Arthur just shook his head and muttered, “I’m still not over this. You’re not allowed to be this good at racing and parenting. It’s unfair.”
Oscar looked down at his daughter, kissed the top of her head, and said simply, “She’s the only trophy that matters.”
And Arthur, who had come to media day ready to talk about tyre degradation, now had to pretend he wasn’t this close to tearing up in front of the marketing team.
***
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no-144444 · 10 months ago
Text
the grid reacts: getting caught making out!
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featuring: Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Daniel Riccardo, George Russell, Alex Albon, Lewis Hamilton, Max Verstappen, Lando Norris
-------------------
Oscar Piastri 
It was just meant to be a small peck, but then he wrapped his arms around you, and it escalated. It had all started with a tiny peck, just before you left his driver’s room to leave him time alone before the race, but Oscar had very persuasive lips (and a very persuasive tongue). He lifted you into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as he deepened the kiss, holding you impossibly close. Then he sat down on his physio table, making you straddle him as you got as turned on as he was. You two had time, right? His hands grabbed anywhere and everywhere, exploring your body, despite knowing it so well. You whimpered into his mouth as he squeezed your ass, making you jolt forward. He smirked as you pulled back, throwing him a look of annoyance. 
“Let me kiss it better?” he smirked and you playfully hit his chest, and he pulled you back in for another kiss. "I love you."
“Oscar! We’ve been calling you for-” Lando’s voice rang out as you scrambled to get off of him, but Lando had already seen. You buried your head in your hands, embarrassed and trying not to laugh as Oscar pulled his cap off of his head and covered his bulge. Lando burst out laughing, nearly falling to the floor as he realised what he’d walked in on, and you got up to leave, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and giving Lando a kick on your way out. 
You: We are never doing that again. Top 10 most embarrassing moments of my life. 
Oscar: Ok WatchMojo. 
You: Sassy man apocalypse. 
-------------------
Charles Leclerc
Charles was a horny man after races. No matter how tired he was, he had to have you. That’s how you ended up in his driver’s room with his lips on yours. He was intoxicating. His sounds, his lips, his tongue. Everything. 
“Mon coeur,” he bit down softly on your collarbone. “Tu es trop belle pour être vraie-” (you are too beautiful to be true)
“Shut the fuck up and fuck me Charles,” you said, out of breath. He had a habit of trying to take things slowly, especially in risky places. You were almost sure he had a thing for doing it in public. He smirked down at you and pressed his lips to your again, using one hand to start to undo your trousers. 
Suddenly the door flew open and you both sat up, hitting your head off of the other’s head, both of you groaning out in pain. 
“Connerie,” he hissed, holding his forehead. 
“Motherfuck!” you groaned as Arthur stared at the two of you dumbfounded, his cheeks red. 
“I’ll just… come back later,” he said, then closed the door behind him. 
“We’ve just traumatised your little brother,” you sighed, hiding your face in the nape of his neck. 
“He will survive,” he chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 
“Too bad my pride didn’t,” you added, making him laugh. God, you loved his laugh. 
-------------------
Daniel Riccardo 
He was a slick bastard. One ‘I need help with my suit babe’  and there you were in his driver’s room, your shirt being pulled off and new hickies being left over the fading ones. It had been 2 weeks since you’d seen Daniel, too busy to come to the last race, and then you were travelling for a friend’s wedding. Now you were back, and Daniel was planning on showing you just how much he missed you, 40 minutes before the race started, aka, when he was already supposed to be in the damn car. 
“Daniel, we should stop just-” You started, thinking about someone walking in on you two. Sadly RB didn’t give their driver’s fucking locks on their doors, probably because of Baku 2018… yeah, you and Daniel weren’t exactly quiet, and he wasn’t exactly happy after that race. “Slow down.”
He pulled back, smirking up at you. “Baby, come on, we have a bunch of time, and I haven’t seen you in 2 whole weeks, who’s going to walk in?”
You nodded and pressed your lips to his again, allowing your conscience to fall away with the way he was kissing you. Kissing Daniel was like nothing else. Everything else fell away, there was only him. 
But who would walk in? Yuki, probably. 
“Daniel- WOAH! LOCK THE DOOR!” he screamed, alerting the entire motorhome of your actions. You quickly pulled your shirt back over your head as he ran out. As Daniel laughed for a solid minute, you tried to get over your loss of dignity. Yuki sure did make things interesting.
“I have no lock arsehole!” Daniel laughed. 
“You do! It’s the weird thing above the handle!” One of the mechanics shouted back. You walked over to the door, turning the thing above the handle, and the door locked. Daniel laughed even harder. 
Once you finally stopped Daniel from laughing, you both walked out to the whole team clapping and whooping. 
Yeah, not your finest moment. 
-------------------
George Russell
His stupid dumb pretty face. He just looked so kissable, and you couldn’t help yourself. He was covered in champagne, and he was supposed to be using these 5 minutes to shower and change, but you had other plans. You ran him to his driver’s room, started kissing him, and didn’t stop. He didn’t seem to mind, even if it meant he wouldn’t get to shower and he’d just be champagne-y all night. He pushed you against the wall, his hands on your waist as you ran your fingers through his hair. His soft, gorgeous hair. 
His hands travelled up, taking your top with them and you smirked. 
“Getting handsy?” You smirked. 
“Never,” he shook his head and pulled your top off, beginning his assault on your neck. 
“George! Get out of the fucking shower, you can condition later- OH FUCK OFF!” Aleix, his trainer shouted and ran back out the door. George did the gentlemanly thing and covered you, but not without laughter. 
“George!” you hissed as he laughed. “Give me my top!” 
He handed you your top and quickly changed into a new suit, spraying himself in deodorant. He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek with one last chuckle. “It's a good story for the grandkids,” he shrugged, leaving you with a smile as he went off to do interviews.
-------------------
Alex Albon
Alex had finished in the points again, and you were just so proud of him. Since he’d gotten out of the car you’d kissed him many a thousand times, but he wasn’t complaining. Actually he’d started making out with you about 3 minutes ago, and something in his kisses told you he wasn’t planning on stopping.
“Your mom will be here any minute,” you reminded him, pulling away. He rolled his eyes. 
“Did you seriously just mention my mom while I had a semi?”
“Had?”
“You mentioned my mom!” 
You chuckled and pressed another kiss to his perfect lips. He pulled you back in, kissing you deeply as his hands ran through your hair, messing it up, but you didn’t care. It felt too good, he felt too good. He nipped at your lips, coaxing them open so he could push his tongue into your mouth. His hands slowly went further down, dangerously close to where your top zipped. 
“Alex,” You warned, breathless. 
He smirked up at you. “For a minute?” 
“Alex-”
“Alex? Are you in here?” George asked, walking in. The Brit was stopped in his tracks when he saw you on his lap, hiding your face in his neck as you tried to contain your embarrassment. He hadn’t even seen anything, but your cheek heated and you wanted the floor to swallow you up.  “Oh, sorry for cockblocking, chat later.”
You both started laughing when he left. 
“We need to start locking the door,” he sighed. 
“I think I’m in shock, I thought that was your mom!” you cried, your breath finally going back to normal as Alex laughed at you. 
-------------------
Lewis Hamilton
It wasn’t fair how good he looked in his media day outfits, and he knew it too. He knew you’d pull him to the side and tell him to meet you in his driver’s room, he knew he’d come, and he knew he’d get to fuck you. 
So there you were, in his driver’s room, his lips on yours as you both desperately pulled each other’s clothes off. 
Too bad you forgot to lock the door. 
“Lewis have you- HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK MY EYES!” Lando immediately covered his eyes, turning around as you dressed yourselves. Did you feel guilty? Yes. Did you care at all? Not really. As soon as he left, would you two continue? Probably. “HAVE SOME SHAME AND HUMILITY PLEASE?”
Lewis laughed. “What do you need now?” 
“Bleach for my eyes, maybe!” Lando’s voice cracked and he turned back, his cheeks red. “I need an extra ice pack if you have one.” 
Lewis nodded and got one of his ice packs out of the freezer in the corner of his room. “Here.”
Lando took it and left without another word. You looked at Lewis, shaking your head. 
“I thought you locked the door,” you smirked, allowing him to wrap his arms around your waist and kiss up your neck. 
“That’s funny, I thought you did,” he smirked. 
“You’re going to get us caught,” you whispered. 
“I don’t really care.”
-------------------
Max Verstappen 
He’d won (again), and he was horny afterwards (again). As soon as he was done with the podium and the main interviews, he ran to his driver’s room and called you to meet him there, needing some ‘support’.
“Max,” you hissed as he cupped one of your breasts in his hand, kissing down your neck. 
“Yes?” ��he answered innocently, pressing his lips to yours again. 
“You have interviews-” 
“Fuck the media,” he whispered. “I want you.”
“Max this is a bad idea-” 
Just then, the door swung open to reveal Daniel, holding a camera. 
“You two need to keep it down, we can hear you down at RB!” he laughed as MAx started blushing, pushing his friend out of the room. They fought for a moment, but Daniel eventually left you two alone. Max sat beside you, letting you lean into him. 
“He’s going to post that, isn’t he?”  You asked. 
He nodded. “Yeah.”
You’d never have a day of peace with him, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.
-------------------
Lando Norris
He was a sly bitch. It started as small pecks on your neck and the top of your head, then it was kisses on the lips, and now he had his tongue down your throat as you ground down on him, even though you both knew he was needed elsewhere.
"That's it," he whispered, loosing himself in the feeling of the both of you. "Feels so good."
You nodded, in pure ecstasy as you felt his hands and lips on you. "So good Lan."
His hands pulled you closer (if that was even possible) and you smiled into the kiss. This was the perfect moment-
"LAN!" Zak brown's voice pulled you both out of it, and you scrambled to get up.
Lando sighed as you left his lap and groaned out a simple "What?"
"We need you for a marketing thing, come on, chop chop!" Zak was as oblivious and cheery as ever and you could barely contain your laughter at Lando's 'annoyed teenager' face, as you and Oscar had started calling it.
"Bye baby," you pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he fought back the urge to ignore his duties and just go back to the hotel and spend the rest of the day with you.
-------------------
navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)
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lockefanfic · 24 days ago
Text
Translate - Part 2
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Part Two of Three. Part One. 12k words.
---
You steal glances at her from across the venue. 
Sometimes a passing waiter or attendee blocks your line of sight; sometimes another copied-and-pasted investor steps in between you, hand extended, wishing to introduce him or herself; sometimes the woman next to you steals your attention, usually with a laugh that sounds like music in the cool Seoul evening.
The woman next to you is Taeyeon Kim - Vice President, Strategy, 2024-present and also ex-girlfriend, 2018-2021 - but tonight she’s a celebrity, investors and staff members and junior analysts alike all clambering over themselves for a moment of her time, for the opportunity to introduce themselves to the brightest star in the industry. She looks like one too, in her smoky eyeshadow and little black dress with its daringly low cut and short hem, wrapped almost too tightly around a slim body that is thirty-six but looks a decade younger.
Taeyeon laughs, smiles, and places her hand affectionately on the shoulders and forearms of colleague and investor and intern alike when they make a joke or interesting anecdote. She’s magnetic, almost, the way she draws the entire gala to her. She knows how to play a crowd, and is all smiles, a definite contrast from the cold, calculating businesswoman she was during the day. She knows what mask to wear and when - experience hard won by long years in the corporate world.
But on this night, her charms are only half-effective on you. You stand next to her and laugh and smile along with the crowd but most of your attention, when it is freed from nosy colleagues and investors, is focused not on the charming Vice President but on the lonely Marketing Lead across the venue. 
Ryujin Shin takes short sips from one of the two champagne flutes present on her stand-up table. She talks softly to Yuna, who is standing next to her. There is a blank expression on her face, unreadable. Every now and then she forces a smile. Yuna reaches out and squeezes her wrist, as though to comfort her. Not once does Ryujin lift her eyes to even glance in your direction.
She is not more than a hundred metres away but she may as well have been on the other side of the city. With Korean being amongst the half-dozen languages Taeyeon was fluent in, there was no need for a translator as she holds court with the Korean and international investors surrounding her.
“...rumor has it that she runs a small sushi joint in Vancouver, and just had a kid. She had him and her father at gunpoint, and the Senior VP convinced the cops to let her go! Crazy story, isn’t it?”
A hand, hers, grasps your arm. You turn to find Taeyeon looking at you, eyes expectant.
“Crazy,” you stammer, catching on quickly. “I still don’t believe any of it actually happened.”
Taeyeon smiles a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, which are still locked on yours. “Anyway,” she continues, turning to the crowd gathered around your table listening intently to her every word. “He’s married to another Senior Vice President now - his former colleague. And she’s pregnant. Not sure what he’s up to. Maybe he’s off on some new daring corporate adventure involving car chases and the Tokyo PD?”
The crowd oohs and aahs at Taeyeon’s story - some with a slight delay as the Vice President translates it into flawless Korean, the foreign language giving her voice a pleasant, melodic tone. She continues to work the crowd. For a moment you listen, and for a moment you see why they were so enraptured by her. For a moment you remember why you-
-your phone vibrates. You reach into your pocket to retrieve it, finding a message from Ryujin. She tells you that she’s going to call it a night and head back to the hotel first. She reminds you of your early flight to Tokyo the next morning.
She says she’ll meet you in the lobby of the hotel at 7am.
You turn your gaze to her table to find her, but she’s gone. Her empty champagne flute sits on the table next to the one she never got the chance to give you.
---
Taeyeon made for an exercise in material contrasts - her tight, tiny black Prada dress beneath the cheap suit jacket you’d draped across her shoulders to ward against an evening chill you weren’t sure was actually there; the glint of the Cartier watch on her wrist as she poured cheap, convenience store soju into two paper cups; the 1,000 won lighter she held in her thin, slim fingers to light the artisanal cigarette she plucked from a slim titanium case in her purse.
She takes a long drag. When the smoke leaves her nose it almost clings to her. She wears it as much as she wears her dress, or the suit jacket of yours she was currently swimming in. Like the smoke she’s ephemeral, ethereal, beautiful - but her presence stung when you breathed her in. 
You’d left Vancouver on good terms with her - warm, friendly, joking - but something about her surprise appearance tonight, and what it might have meant, rubbed you the wrong way.
“You two together now?” she asks, voice flat and direct, now that the melodic charm of the social gathering was no longer needed in her words.
On the bench next to her, you look away with a scoff. You knew who she was referring to, even if she never said her name. You bend forward, elbows on your knees, hands clasped together. You play with your thumbs and rub your nails, as though you could wring an answer from between your fingers.
“What’s her name again? Soojin? Yujin?” she continues.
You shake your head. A smile with no warmth in it bends the corners of your lips. The gall of this woman.
“Ryujin,” you state, firmly.
“Hmm,” she murmurs, giving Ryujin’s name as much attention as the ash she flicks off the end of her cigarette, as though it were beneath her somehow. She takes another drag, leaves another layer of smoke floating between you filled with all the words you’ve never said to each other. “Are you two… real?”
You don’t look up at her. The faux-smile leaves your lips.
“I’m not sure,” you answer, slowly. “But I want to find out,” you add, hoping that it would send her a message.
A few moments of silence. Taeyeon takes one of the paper cups and downs her shot. You do the same, before re-filling both of them. Neither of you look at each other. The alcohol does nothing to ease the tension between you.
“You’re never sure about anything,” Taeyeon says, softly. 
Her words trigger you - more than she did when she showed up unannounced at the event, more than when she forgot Ryujin’s name, more than she did when she slid her hand into yours as you both left the event in full view of your colleagues. 
You stand up, suddenly angry, suddenly upset. The words rush to your mouth and leave your lips before you even know you’re saying them. “I was sure about you.”
---
Friday, May 14th, 2021. 8:19pm.
She’s twenty-six again. Still beautiful - but in a bright, fresh-faced way. The kind of beauty that is found only in youth, in the features of a young woman yet to be truly hardened by the realities of life.
An image of her flashes on the screen of your phone as it lies on the table. She’s wearing a cheap Uniqlo sundress and the oversized circular eyeglasses she needed because she was blind as a bat before the Lasik surgery she’d get years later after a promotion. A cheap silver ring you’d bought her hours before from an artisanal market - a pre-engagement ring, she’d called it - glimmers on her left ring finger as she waves awkwardly at you, the photographer.
She’s in London, in front of Big Ben, where you’d both been sent on your first overseas business trip together. She wasn’t ready for the picture and has an odd, crooked smile on her face. You remembered her protests when you set it as her contact picture, insisting you replace it with a better one, perhaps one of the two of you together - but you kept it nonetheless, partially because you wanted to tease her about it, and partially because the picture reminded you of your first few weeks together. 
You were in love with her - there was no mistaking it. It was there in the way your heart leapt when she walked in the door of your apartment, there in the way you brushed hair from her face as she snored fitfully next to you, there in the way you made her coffee as she rushed out the door in the morning and a quick dinner when she got home late at night.
It’s still there now, as you pick up the phone and raise it to your ear.
“Hello?” you answer.
“Baby,” she says, stress already apparent in the way she said it. “Another long night for me today. I’m so sorry.”
You sigh, a sharp exhalation from your nose. You feel a sharp pain in your chest - not physical, no, another kind of pain, the kind that leaves you feeling empty.
“When will you-”
“I don’t know,” she answers, before you can even finish. In the background of the call, members of her team mumble. Someone is clacking away entirely too loudly at a keyboard. A voice is speaking sternly in Japanese. “I’ll get home as soon as I can,” she continues amidst the din of the busy office behind her, “but… you shouldn’t wait up.”
Your eyes drift closed. The pang of pain in your chest was becoming all too familiar. It started with her taking phone calls and drafting emails during meals, before escalating to missing dinners and forgetting important dates. Work had always been important to Taeyeon, but these days it had consumed her - and your relationship. Nights like these were becoming common. 
You loved her, still loved her, even when those lonely nights became lonely months. Your head tilts back. A headache begins to form in the front of your skull, and love could only dull so much of it.
She must’ve heard the sigh that leaves your lips.
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “So, so sorry. But Hirai’s on my ass and you know how she is if I don’t meet these deadlines. If I want to make director I need to-”
“I know, Taeyeon,” you say, the words leaving your lips in another sigh. “I know.”
A few moments of silence pass. The background murmur continues on her side of the call, filling the line with ambient noise, but the silence between you is deafening.
“I’m sorry,” she says again, but the sound of paper shuffling and a keyboard being typed upon tells you her apology is half-hearted. A warm rush of anger pulses in your chest.
“So am I.”
You hang up. You stand and leave your table, apologizing to the waitress as you leave and making up some excuse about how your date had become ill and couldn’t make it.
Taeyeon finally arrives at your apartment at 2:21am. When you both wake the next day an argument begins. When she storms out of your apartment at 1:15pm, she leaves her ring behind on the kitchen counter.
---
In the present, your words create the slightest quiver in Taeyeon’s lip, but she hides it by bringing her cigarette, by now almost a stub, to her mouth. She takes a last drag before crushing it beneath a Prada heel.
“Send her ahead,” she begins, reaching for the paper cup of soju and cradling it with both hands as though it were something precious and not cheap convenience store liquor. “Send her ahead to Tokyo and tell her you’ll follow her later in the week. I’m here for three days. You can stay with me.”
You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. The sheer audacity was hilarious, in a way.
“Why, Taeyeon?” you snap, finally looking at her for the first time, “so you and I can spend a couple of days drinking and fucking in your suite?” 
Her eyes meet yours for the first time, and there is ice in them.
“Is that so different from what you’ve been doing with your translator?”
Your hands ball into fists. You want to snap, shout and yell at her.
“Her name is Ryujin,” you snarl. 
“I wasn’t sure then,” she replies, not sparing Ryujin’s name even a scrap of her attention as she returns her attention to the soju in her cup. She smoothly downs the shot, before pouring herself another, ice in her veins. “But I’m sure now.”
“About what?”
“About us.”
The anger pulsing through your chest explodes into something dark, something ugly.
“No,” you spit, taking a step toward her. “Fucking no, Taeyeon. You’re fucking hilarious, you know that? You walked out on us. You ended us, and managed to sucker me into staying friends. I leave Vancouver making jokes like we’re two best buds, then you show up out of the blue wanting to get back together after seeing me with another girl? Please, Taeyeon.”
Taeyeon’s lips purse into a grim line. She looks away. Her silence spurs you, gives you license to vent your anger.
“You don’t get to just have me again now that you’re done climbing the corporate ladder and can spare some free time in your Outlook calendar for a boyfriend,” you state, words leaving your mouth with the intention of hurting. “And you sure as hell don’t get to have me again just because you’re fucking jealous.”
You don’t take any pleasure in the way her eyes close, the way she flinches and turns her head as though you’d slapped her across the cheek.
“You’re right,” she admits, softly, the tiniest hint of a tremble in her voice. Her head is lowered, as though she were speaking to the concrete beneath her thousand dollar heels. “You’re right. I fucked things up when we were together. We broke up because of me.”
She takes her last shot of soju before standing, crumpling her cup in her hand and dropping it next to the full shot you never took. She slips your suit jacket from her shoulders, carefully folding it lengthwise. In the chilly Seoul evening, clothed with little more than a scrap of silk and wisps of smoke, she suddenly looks very small.
The look on her face as she steps close to you is carved from ice - but her eyes glisten, and her lip trembles.
“But maybe,” she begins, “-maybe it took me seeing you with her before I realized how badly I fucked up by letting you go. Maybe I needed to see it to make me realize how badly I need you. How badly I’ve always needed you.”
Words fail you, and you can do nothing but accept your suit jacket. Anger, pain, some small lingering remnant of your feelings for her - it all warred within you, and none of them dominated long enough to manifest into words.
She presses your suit jacket against your chest, and for a moment she’s the twenty-six year old version of her again, standing in front of Big Ben with her phone in your hand, asking you to take a photo of her.
“Go to her,” she continues. Her eyes bore into yours, searching, even if you could tell that there were tears behind them being held there by the force of her will. “Fuck her. Love her, if you do. But if… when she fucks up-”
“Taeyeon,” you say, resistant but helpless.
“-I’m here,” she finishes.
You watch, helplessly, as she turns and begins to walk to the curb, where the sleek black sedan that picked you both up from the event has been waiting the entire time. Its driver notices her approaching and exits the car to open the back door for her. She steps inside without looking back. 
The car pulls away from the curb, leaving you alone.
---
Ryujin is in the hotel lobby when you see her next, leaning on the extended handle of her luggage with one hand and scrolling her phone with the other. She is dressed casually, in a sleeveless white button-up that hugs her slim figure and rimless, oversized glasses.
“Ryujin,” you say, approaching her, cautiously. You’d thought of texting or calling her last night when you got back to the hotel, but by then it was in the early hours of the morning and you didn’t want to disturb her. You’d spent the next few hours tossing and turning, processing what had happened between you and Taeyeon and doing what you could to prepare yourself for this moment.
Would she be upset? Would she be furious at you for having ditched her for your boss, who just happened to be your ex-girlfriend? Would she not care at all? Would she-
“Did you fuck her?” she asks, not bothering to look up from her phone.
Her question catches you off guard. You hadn’t expected her to be so straightforward, although in retrospect she was nothing if not that.
“No,” you reply. Ryujin locks her phone and tosses it into her pocket.
“She still loves you,” she says. She turns to look up at you for the first time and while she clearly tried her best to hide it with makeup and glasses you’d never seen her wear before, the dark rings beneath her eyes betray the similarly sleepless night she’d had.
There is an awkward pause that stretches out for far longer than either of you were comfortable with. But you weren’t sure how to answer. You knew that Taeyeon still loved you - she’d more or less confessed as much last night - but what were you supposed to say?
“The way she looks at you…” Ryujin continues, her eyes straying to the handle of her luggage as she fidgets with the button that retracts the handle. “Do you still have feelings for her?”
The answer comes quickly. Quicker, you realize, that you thought it would.
“No.”
There is a short pause. Ryujin’s eyes find yours again. Her look disarms you. You can feel her look past your own eyes and into your soul.
“Do you still want to be with me?” she asks, firmly.
“Yes, Ryujin,” you answer. The words came quickly, but you meant them - and last night with Taeyeon convinced you of it. “More than ever.”
Another few moments pass. Behind her glasses Ryujin’s eyes search yours for any hint of deceit. There is the slightest quiver in her lip, as though she wants to say more.
In the end, she gives you a small nod. She considers the feelings and thoughts running through her head - suspicion, confrontation, anger - but chooses none. She chooses to trust.
“Okay,” she says, finally, before taking your hand in hers and heading to the airport.
---
“Do I… taste like her?”
She squirms and writhes under you. You hold her down with a palm on her core. You feel the toned muscles beneath your hand flex and tense as she struggles atop the bed.
“Better,” you hiss into her inner thigh. She’s slick and wet on your tongue, lips, and chin. You close your lips around her clit again. Inside her, your fingers arc upward, and her back arches off the bed as if to mirror your movements.
“Fuck, Daddy-”
“Mmmmph,” you mumble against her clit. The vibrations send another pulse of pleasure up her spine. She’s right there, right on the verge, right on the edge. 
Only five minutes have passed since you both entered your Tokyo hotel suite. She wouldn’t make it past minute seven before her first orgasm.
She goes almost rigid on the bed, back arched in such a way that causes her small, round breasts to jut forward and out. One of her hands claws at the sheets and the other digs sharp furrows into your scalp, but you keep going - mercilessly - and soon she’s cumming on your tongue.
Her voice cuts out mid-moan. Her nails are spikes digging painfully into your skull. Her cunt spasms around your fingers. She drenches your tongue, mouth, and chin in her juices.
Eventually her back lowers tenderly back onto the mattress, and her nails retreat from the painful, reddened scratches they leave on your scalp. You give her trembling clit a few more tender licks, before pressing your lips against it in a soft kiss. Your fingers slide out of her cunt, saturated and glistening with her.
You raise your face from between her legs and find her watching you, cheeks flushed, hair messy around her face. She trembles and quivers, as though her orgasm had taken everything solid out of her and turned her into jelly. She reaches down with both hands on either side of your face and you rise from between her legs. She pulls you to her face.
You kiss - her tongue quickly slipping between your wet, slick lips and chin to taste herself on you. Her lips leave yours and you feel her lick her own juices off your face.
“Come fuck me, then,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours - needy, vulnerable, raw. “Forget her.”
Without breaking eye contact you reach down with one hand to pull your pants the rest of the way down your hips - she hadn’t gotten far in undressing you before you’d pushed her onto the bed and started devouring her. Your cock springs free, hard and hungry.
You slide inside her in one swift thrust that punches the air from both of your lungs. 
You’d fucked her dozens of times by now in the two weeks you’d been together. But this one felt different, meant more. The other times had been about claiming and ownership - this one was about affirmation.
She is slick and wet and tight. Her legs wrap themselves around your hips, heels - with her socks still on - digging into your lower back.
Without knowing it you’d closed your eyes, the feeling of sinking into her tight little cunt shutting them involuntarily - but her hand on your cheek causes you to open them. 
Her eyes are wide, flushed with pleasure but glassy with emotion. They stare up at you and there is nothing there but naked need - no games, no hidden meanings. She needs you, both for pleasure, lust, and validation.
“Look at me,” she begins, although you already were. Perhaps she wanted you to see more than what your eyes were showing you.
“Ryujin…”
“I… I-” she continues, voice a light hiss. Her cunt pulsates around you as she squeezes you tight. “Me. All of me. This pussy. This is what you want.”
You slide out of her half way, before her heels on your lower back pull you back inside her. You both let a gasp escape your lips before you slide back out and soon you’re fucking her slowly, the both of you feeling and savoring every entry and exit.
Ryujin grasps your right wrist, pulls it down between your bodies. She places your palm flat against her lower stomach, right above the neatly trimmed patch of hair above her cunt.
“See how I… See how I take you? How I need you?”
You gasp. She holds your gaze throughout it all, through every sigh and moan and gasp, even as the pleasure overtaking her brain causes her eyelids to quiver but never truly shut.
“Feel how tight I am for you,” she continues as the pleasure builds. Her brow furrows, as though she is worried about something. Her eyes are needy now, wanton, as your cock continues to drill in and out of her.
“So fucking tight, Ryujin,” you say through gritted teeth. “Always so fucking tight for me.”
For the first time her eyes shut as her neck arches, casting her head back for a moment, mouth open in a silent moan, as a particularly deep thrust steals the sound from her lips. Her back arches off the sweat-soaked mattress. Her hips move against yours, meeting your every movement. Her body does everything it can to increase the warm, hot pleasure building between you. 
Her eyes find yours again. 
“Feel how wet I am, Daddy?” she continues, the words leaving her lips half-moan. “So wet around your cock. You’re stretching me out. I’m your good little girl, your good little fucktoy. So wet, wetter than-”
“Ryujin-”
“Just fuck me, Daddy,” she spits, interrupting. Her eyes open fully, staring, re-energized by lust and an emotion that was closer to jealousy and anger than she’d ever admit. “Just fuck me. You’re my Daddy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Ryujin. Fuck, you feel so good-”
“Mine,” she hisses. “Mine, only mine.”
Her eyes are too much to take. It was all too much - her body, her cunt, the words leaving her mouth - all too much. You break eye contact, eyes shutting out of some involuntary defensive response. You bring your head next to hers and hiss in to her ear-
“I’m yours, Ryujin. Only yours.”
“I’m yours too,” she repeats, and she says your name - no title, no pet name, your first name - and it leaves her lips in a soft, wistful moan, directly into your ear. You think, for a moment, that she’s crying.
You sigh into her neck. She is close again, and so are you. Her cunt tightens. Your cock stiffens even further, and you feel that telltale tingle at the base of your shaft that tells you this beautiful, terrifyingly intimate moment is nearing its end. Too quickly. Too soon. You want it to last-
“Deeper, Daddy, please,” she sighs. “You’re mine, right? Cum inside me, breed me, make me yours-”
You tear your face from her neck, propping yourself up on your knees for a moment. She whimpers at the loss of your closeness, but only until you hook your forearms beneath her knees and lean forward planting your hands flat on either side of her head. Her knees brush against her breasts. You fold her in half. 
You fuck her deep, as deep as you can.
There are no words now, because you’d both already spoken them, and because the pleasure nearing its boiling point within both of your bodies has robbed you both of the mental capacity needed to form them. You fuck Ryujin Shin deep and hard because she is the only thing that exists, the only thing that matters.
She is yours. You are hers.
Every thrust brings you closer and closer to that edge, the same one you want to reach but don’t really because it would mean the end and suddenly you tumbling, falling uncontrollably over it and the fall from that edge is all, everything.
You bury yourself as deep as you can inside her and fill her cunt with long, thick streams of warm semen. The feel of your cum pooling inside her triggers her own orgasm, and you become two moaning, sighing bodies, bound and glued together by the wet slickness between you.
When your eyes open some time later your forehead is pressed to hers. Her eyes flutter open. There is a vulnerability there that you hadn’t ever seen in them before. Her hand finds your cheek, holds you close, as though afraid you would leave.
Her lips tremble, but eventually turns into a soft, warm smile. 
“I’m yours. And you’re mine,” she says, claiming, as though she’d pulled the sentiment directly from your heart and turned it into words.
---
“...Honda Hitomi, Marketing Lead. Yabuki Nako, Legal Counsel. And Uchinaga Aeri, HR Lead. They’re all looking forward to working with you.” Each of the Tokyo office’s leads turn sharply in your direction as their name is called, offering you a polite bow and what you assume to be a basic corporate-approved greeting. A slim smile perks up the corner of your lips as you realize Ryujin didn’t bother to translate the greetings until the very last one.
There is an awkward pause as all eyes turn to the two empty seats at the head of the table. Several of the Tokyo team members fidget awkwardly.
Just when you are about to ask Ryujin to inquire as to where the two missing members are, the large double doors behind you burst open.
Framed by the stark light of the hallway are two figures - one a tall, slim woman with straight hair, a perfectly tailored pantsuit, and ramrod-straight posture. The other, judging by her unkempt neon pink hair and ill-fitting blazer and pencil skirt, had just rolled out of bed.
The tall woman bows sharply, her waist bending easily at an exact ninety degrees. The pink-haired girl, seeing her colleague bowing, lets out a scoff out of her nose before also offering a bow that was neither as deep nor as precise. The loses her balance for a moment as she bows a little too deeply and has to right herself.
Head still bowed, the taller woman speaks quickly and sternly in Japanese. Ryujin, translating at your shoulder, explains that the pink-haired woman had slept in and had to be dragged out of bed. She offers her sincere apologies on behalf of herself and her colleague.
Without further word, the two women make their way to the two empty seats. The tall woman moves with the poise of a ballerina and the precision of a soldier, clutching her tablet like her issued rifle; the shorter, pink-haired woman moves with the sluggishness of a newly-turned zombie. Like the rest of the Tokyo team before them, they introduce themselves.
“She’s Nakamura Kazuha, Associate Director and Operations Lead,” Ryujin says softly at your shoulder. “The pink-haired one is Miyawaki Sakura, Director of the Tokyo office.”
Sakura’s name rings a bell - one you’d heard from the stories. You turn to Ryujin. “Is she-?”
“Yeah. It’s her. She was former Tokyo PD, If you can believe it. One of the SVPs brought her into the company two years ago.”
Kazuha offers the same corporate greeting as the others, delivered with another crisp bow; Sakura gives you a wink and shoots you a finger gun before quite literally falling into her leather chair. You watch as she reaches into her blazer’s chest pocket to retrieve what was clearly and obviously a Nintendo Switch, which she places none-too-discreetly beneath the folder of briefing papers on the conference table.
Kazuha marches, swiftly and precisely, to the podium at the front of the room. The light in the conference room dims as the projector throws the title slide of her presentation against the wall. 
Out of the corner of your eyes, you watch as Sakura stands her briefing folder up in front of her like a makeshift wall. You could’ve sworn you hear a certain handheld console’s startup chime not soon after.
On the screen, a different chime heralds Taeyeon’s arrival into the meeting. From her hotel room in Seoul, she waves a good morning greeting to everyone in Tokyo. The smile on her lips is proper, precise, and calculated. 
Taeyeon is wearing the oversized circular glasses she wore a decade ago - a message sent only to you.
---
The meeting is mostly introductory, surface-level fluff on the Tokyo office’s last financial year. Kazuha leads most of it from her podium at the front of the room, every gesture and sentence measured and precise. Her tone is matter-of-fact, without any attention spared to personal anecdotes or jokes to shake things up or lighten the mood. Even without Ryujin’s whispered translations in your ear, you could tell that the young woman was all business, all the time, and essentially ran the entire Tokyo office on her own, despite technically being one spot from the top in the office hierarchy.
She made for a stark contrast to the actual Director of the Tokyo office, who spent almost the entire meeting engrossed in whatever game she was playing on her Switch. 
Kazuha pays her boss’ disinterest in statistics no heed as she continues her presentation. Taeyeon, from a thousand kilometers away, interrupts her with a question in perfect Japanese. Kazuha is shaken for only a moment before informing Taeyeon that yes, the Q4 results did in fact take into account the company’s recent supply chain changes in Seoul.
Taeyeon listens intently to the younger woman’s answer, a measured look on her face - a predator sizing up prey. The Vice President asks a series of pressing questions, and for the first time the young Associate Director appears frazzled, shuffling her papers at the podium awkwardly as she frantically searches for answers amidst them.
“A 13.4% dip in profit from the Tokyo office is a disappointing result,” Taeyeon continues, arms crossing in the way it did when she smelled blood in the water. “One that may call into question the competency of your office’s logistics and leadership team.”
Ryujin translates the interrogation from Japanese into English with an even, calm tone - but out of the corner of your eye, you watch as her grip tightens around her pen.
Kazuha scrambles for a response. You glare up at Taeyeon’s image in the corner of the projection - some mixture of disappointment and anger flaring up in your chest. 
This was unnecessary. You saw why Taeyeon was pressing her - the Vice President of Strategy doing things a Vice President of Strategy should do - but this was neither the time nor the place; there was no need to put the younger woman on the spot and embarrass her in front of her subordinates and colleagues the way she was doing. 
A part of you wonders if she was doing it because she knew you and Ryujin were in the room. You are moments from turning to Ryujin and having her translate an interjection when-
“Recent tax-related developments in international trade have introduced some unforeseen obstacles to meeting our Q4 goals,” comes a clear voice, suddenly, in perfect English - Sakura’s. “In addition, we’ve experienced considerable difficulties in our transportation chain between Osaka and Tokyo, which have resulted in lesser than expected stock levels and a corresponding dip in revenue.”
On the Tokyo Director’s face is a look of intensity you hadn’t seen before, one that you had no idea she was even capable of. She makes a show of pausing her game before continuing, as if having to actually participate in the meeting was somehow offensive to her. Neither her hands nor her eyes leave the poorly-hidden handheld. 
“The goals set for this financial year by your Strategy department were exceedingly optimistic, Miss Vice President,” Sakura continues, tone carrying a slight edge beneath the thin veil of corporate jargon. “-And my team did our best to meet them, but fell just short due to forces beyond our control. We have several initiatives in our pipeline which we feel will deliver improved results as we move into the next financial year. I’m sure these results will match and exceed your high standards, Vice President Kim.”
Sakura spares a moment of attention from her Switch to glare up at the screen, and Taeyeon’s box in the corner of it. Taeyeon was older and may have been a rising star amongst the company’s leadership, but Sakura’s exploits a few years ago in Tokyo and Seoul were legendary, and had earned her a near-mythical status amongst its employees.
Despite being a thousand miles apart, the two women have a short, tense standoff - neither blinking, neither backing down.
After a heavy moment of silence that felt much longer than it actually was, Taeyeon offers a token acceptance of Sakura’s explanation in terse Japanese before reluctantly returning her attention to the slides on her laptop screen, teeth clearly gritted behind her perfectly applied lipstick. Kazuha awkwardly and hesitantly continues with her presentation, confidence visibly shaken. 
Sakura returns to her game, all trace of seriousness fleeing from her face as quickly as Mario was no doubt fleeing from the goombas chasing him on her Switch.
When the meeting eventually concludes, Taeyeon signs off with a stern, unimpressed look on her face, staring directly at her camera as though she were passing judgement on everyone in the room. You don’t miss the plain look of disdain Ryujin gives the Vice President’s projection before her image disappears.
The afternoon passes relatively uneventfully, with presentations from the other Tokyo Department Leads that must have been beneath Taeyeon’s interest, if her absence was anything to go by. The spat between her and Sakura had cast a pall over the rest of the afternoon, an elephant in the room that the Marketing and HR Leads’ presentations on Gen Z marketing trends and Japan’s shift in workforce demographics did little to dispel.
At least Sakura was making decent progress in collecting the six Royal Seeds needed to reach the evil Bowser and free the Flower Kingdom, if her poorly-hidden fist pumps and smirks of triumph were anything to go by.
---
She made for quite the sight. She made it hard to concentrate.
Ryujin crosses her legs every few minutes as she lounges on a chair by the floor-to-ceiling window reading a book, feet drawn up on a footstool, those long, bare legs and full thighs on full display. After your room service dinner she’d made a show of choosing the same button-up shirt you’d worn to work that day as her sleepwear for that night, draping it around her naked body and doing up a single button before plopping down on the chair and putting her feet up.
You try to turn your attention to your laptop and the document open on it, but try as you might, the half-naked woman by the window was proving too much of a distraction.
“Are you reading, or putting on a show?” you ask, wryly.
She lets a huff leave her lips, and a small smile perks at the corner of her mouth as she turns her attention from the pages in her hand to look at you. The gold of Tokyo’s sunset paints half her face in warm yellow and orange.
“Maybe a little bit of both,” she answers with a wink, before returning her attention to her book.
Minutes pass. You get through precisely one slide of the two dozen that made up the presentation you were giving tomorrow. You’re tired and drained, and you feel it in your shoulders. It had been a surprisingly long, difficult first day at the Tokyo office, made even harder by the drain of constant travel. 
The little spat between Taeyeon and Sakura would no doubt echo throughout the two weeks you were going to spend here. You sit back on your chair and sigh, the presentation slides suddenly becoming a Herculean task that you had neither the energy nor the willpower to overcome.
Ryujin stands abruptly from her chair by the window, dropping her book on the footstool and staring out at Tokyo’s skyline for a moment before turning to you.
“Bored,” she says, before beginning to walk toward you. “Entertain me, boyfriend.”
The title stirs you, and the fact that she says it while wearing your shirt and nothing else ignites a warm feeling in your chest that bends the corners of your lips up into a smile.
Ryujin steps between you and the laptop and straddles you on your chair. Her stolen shirt parts as her legs spread, revealing the well-kept patch of hair between her legs and the inviting flesh beneath; but she makes no effort to cover herself. Ryujin Shin was nothing if not confident with her body.
She gives you a soft kiss, hands cradling your cheeks before sliding down to softly massage the tense muscles at your neck. Your hands caress her full, round thighs as they bracket your waist. The warmth of her next to you was already doing much to ease the exhaustion of the day.
“You look like a mess. What are you working on that’s made you so tense, anyway?” she asks, turning to glance at the laptop on the table behind her.
On it are your presentation - and the comments Taeyeon had left on them. Front and center: “Don’t forget to make sure you’re consistent with your use of the Oxford comma, dummy! Either use it for all of your sentences, or don’t! Wouldn’t be the first time your grammar’s fucked up a presentation (see 2018 Taiwan acquisition notes) --<3 ;)”
You see the near-instant effect it has on Ryujin - the way her shoulders slouch slightly, the way her lips curl into a barely-perceptible frown. 
“I sent her the presentation I’m giving tomorrow,” you say, eager to address the worry that was no doubt already worming its way into her head. “She wanted to see it first.”
Ryujin turns back to you. The frown remains.
“She’s still my boss, Ryujin,” you add.
Taeyeon was a thousand miles away, and yet she was still somehow still in the room, lingering, ever-present. The ghost of her seemed to haunt every facet of your lives since her appearance in Seoul; one neither of you knew how to dispel.
Ryujin’s eyes find yours, searching, the way she did at the airport the day before. You wonder what she sees in your eyes. You wonder what she feels, what thoughts are running through her head.
“I’m yours,” you say, because you knew it was what she need to hear. “And you’re mine.”
Her lip quivers for a moment, before she nods to herself. 
“I believe you,” she says, seemingly satisfied, at least for now. She plays with your t-shirt, fingers searching for her next words in the cotton strands. The silver chain on her wrist that you never saw her without catches the light of Tokyo’s dusk, turning it into gold.
Her eyes are still on yours, but they lack the playfulness that was present in them just a few moments before. In its place is uncertainty, and she struggles to turn that feeling into words. “But I… but she-”
“She’s a million miles away, Ryujin.”
“Is she?” 
Silence for a moment. A long moment, the latest in a long line of them.
“Tell me why you’re not with her,” she says, eventually. Her voice is small, the way she suddenly is. Your button-up begins to drown her in white linen as she slouches further and she sinks even further into it. “You have so much history together. She knows everything about you. She’s successful. Smart. Charismatic. Almost forty and gorgeous. She’s a fucking vampire in Prada.”
A moment passes. You breathe in, knowing what you are going to say, but steeling yourself enough to say them.
“She chose a promotion over me,” you answer, the words coming quickly, because they were true, and because it was a truth that had spent the last few years looming over you. “She chose a title over love, and it broke me.”
The word hangs heavy in the air. Ryujin’s entire body tenses.
“Did you… love her?”
Another long moment. Another long silence.
“Yes,” you admit. “I did.”
Ryujin’s lips curl against each other as she sucks her lips into her mouth. She nods to herself again, processing your words and the sharp pain they suddenly create in her chest. She’s suddenly unable to hold your gaze and lets it drop to your shirt, where her fingers have stopped the path they were tracing. The chain on her wrist loses its golden lustre as she moves her wrist away from the sunlight, returning to plain silver as though mirroring the emotional state of its owner.
The look on her face breaks your heart. You want to say something. 
“Past tense,” you manage, offering her a small smile she doesn’t see. Ryujin smiles softly, but her eyes don’t lift. You bring a hand from her hip to her cheek, raising her head. When her eyes find yours again they are glassy with tears she refuses to shed. You suddenly feel an overwhelming need to comfort her, reassure her, make sure she knows she’s yours and you’re hers-
“You’re my present, Ryujin.”
A smile appears on her lips - warm and raw and real. A moment passes. Her lip quivers again. Emotion dances behind her teary eyes. Eventually, she lets a scoff escape her nose.
“That was corny as shit, old man,” she says, wiping at her eyes quickly with the sleeve of your stolen shirt. Her eyes find yours again. The tears are gone, absorbed by your stolen shirt before they had the chance to be shed. The smile stays. 
Your hand is warm on her cheek. She turns her cheek and nuzzles softly into your palm, places a soft kiss on the underside of your thumb.
“Tell me why you’re with me, then,” she says, almost a whisper.
Her skin is warm against your palm. Your thumb caresses the soft, flushed skin of her cheek.
“You slipped a power bank into my bag because I keep forgetting to charge my phone,” you begin, wrestling a small, reluctant chuckle from the young woman on your lap. “You order real soju and not that shitty sugar water they sell back home, but take your fucking venti iced caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream and extra caramel drizzle like a psychopath. I watched you give that kid his rubber ball back after it bounced in front of us at the mall and the smile on your face broke me. I like the way you brush your hair behind your ear when it comes loose. I like the way you haggled with this ajummas in the market last week to save a couple thousand won like you were a local. You think the Canucks should have won the Cup in ‘11 if Hamhuis was healthy and Rome didn’t get suspended. You always ask me if I want the last french fry, even though you love them and know I’ll let you have it anyway. I like the way your pinky hooks into mine when we walk down the street. You hate olives. You chose Verso’s ending in Clair Obscur. You don’t care that don’t fold my clothes before I toss them in my luggage-”
“-they get so wrinkly, though! Look at this!” she interjects, slapping your chest playfully and pulling the wrinkled sleeve of your shirt in front of your face, “and you almost burned this fucking hotel down when you tried to iron it this morning. And you only ironed the collar and the front of it! I didn’t even know fabric could get this wrinkly.”
“No one sees the sleeves under my jacket, as long as I keep it on. Good thing the Tokyo office has great AC.”
She chuckles again, but does her best to suppress it. She lets out a little unintentional snort as she does so, and you both laugh at it. You think it’s the most beautiful thing she’d ever done.
Your free hand reaches for her other cheek, until you are cradling her face in your hands.
“You’re my present, Ryujin. And my future, if you’ll have me.”
A long moment passes, but unlike the others, the silence is not unwelcome. Ryujin smiles again, raw and real and true, and so you do too.
“That was the cheesiest shit ever, ohmygodstop--” she sighs, rolling her eyes and making an exaggerated show of peeling your hands off her cheeks in disgust - even as her smile pulls at her full, flushed cheeks.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” you admit, playing along. “Ugh, I fucking knew I should’ve stayed with the whole ‘you’re my present’ thing, but I fucking had to push my luck with the ‘...and my future,’ fuck, what was I thinking, so cringe-”
Ryujin laughs, unguarded and real, until suddenly she’s kissing you. Soft, passionate. Intimate in a way that the words just shared between you were. 
“You didn’t say anything about how great the fucking is,” she says, teasingly, between kisses.
“Yeah, no, it’s pretty great,” you manage. Your hand finds the single button keeping her shirt closed, and undoes it. Your hands slide under the shirt and around her sides. She’s warm and soft beneath your palms. Her naked hips pull closer to yours, the heat between her thighs sliding over the stiffness quickly appearing beneath your pajamas.
Ryujin breaks the kiss but maintains eye contact as her hands slide between your bodies and into your sweatpants. Your eyes shut as her fingers wrap around your length. She drinks in the sight of you, sees what she’s doing to you, and it sends a little thrill up her spine.
“Your future’s looking real good right now, huh?” she asks, the sweet smile on her lips turning wicked. In response, you reach up and pull the halves of her shirt apart and over her shoulders. The shirt falls around her elbows, draping her in the gold of Tokyo dusk. Your right hand drifts to her breast, giving it a firm squeeze and feeling her nipple stiffen under your palm - her turn for her eyes to shut, your turn to drink in the sight of her.
You open your eyes and look at her - all of her.
“Future’s bright,” you answer.
---
The meeting stops for a moment when Hirai Momo joins it.
“Sorry I’m late,” she says as she waddles into the meeting room in downtown Vancouver, patting her round tummy. “Little one’s being a bit of an asshole. Gets it from his dad, I think.”
From an ocean away in Tokyo, you watch as Taeyeon half-rises from her chair to help Momo, only to be waved off. Momo plops into the chair opposite Taeyeon.
“You look like you’re about ready to pop,” says Sakura, sparing a glance from her Switch to shoot Momo’s image on the screen a smile. That fact that she was able to speak so casually to one of the most senior people in the company spoke volumes as to the relationship and history that existed between them.
“Almost,” Momo agrees with a sigh. The Senior Vice President of the company probably should have been getting ready for her clearly imminent delivery, but considering her reputation as a workaholic it probably shouldn’t have surprised you that she was working up until the day she was due. After she has settled into her seat with a huff, she looks up at the camera and offers an awkward but warm smile to the other participants in Tokyo.
“Please, continue, Director,” she says, motioning for you to proceed.
“Thank you,” you reply, before continuing. “As I was saying, the Otensoto deal and the merger with Anon-JY Corp. have alleviated some of the concerns regarding the last financial year, which is a credit to the Tokyo team’s efforts. While there is some room for improvement, the numbers are, on the whole, acceptable and within the lower parameters of our projections.”
Across the conference room table, Kazuha listens to a mumbled English-to-Japanese translation out of the corner of Sakura’s mouth - who was at the moment more engrossed in the plight of a certain Italian plumber rather than that of her office. Kazuha straightens and offers a response in Japanese.
“She admits that there have been significant challenges with regards to moving goods from the port of Osaka to Tokyo, where they make their way to North America,” Ryujin translates at your shoulder, “Trucks are breaking down, gas is expensive, and traffic’s a bitch between Osaka and Tokyo. And that all costs money. Moving shit’s getting expensive.”
You finish your part of the presentation with a recap of your review on the Tokyo office - while income didn’t quite meet Taeyeon’s lofty expectations, the underlying business was still doing well despite external, uncontrollable factors. 
“Thank you, Director,” Momo states with a smile, “and thank you for your work reviewing the Tokyo and Seoul offices. I trust you’re finding time to enjoy the sights in between your meetings and site inspections. You deserve it after the deal we worked on last year.” You find yourself smiling softly in reply, and out of the corner of your eye you watch Ryujin do the same - the Senior Vice President’s pregnancy had given her a glow that only amplified her already considerable charms.
“The Strategy team has several initiatives that will address the Tokyo office’s numbers moving forward,” Taeyeon pipes up. “The Tokyo office’s leadership has assured me that they have several internal initiatives in their pipeline that should assist us in meeting the goals we’ve set for the next quarter. Tokyo’s Operations Lead will provide an overview of those initiatives now.”
At her cue, Kazuha shares her laptop screen, where she’s prepared a meticulous, thorough presentation of the various initiatives she no doubt prepared herself. She begins with outlining the challenges - increased costs of fuel, labor, and maintenance associated with trucking - and moves on to the initiatives she hopes will address them.
Throughout it all Taeyeon needles the young Associate Director with question after question. Kazuha does her best to answer them, and even Sakura is forced to actually pause Mario’s journey at several points to interject a defensive comment or snarky retort. It begins with insinuations and implications, and slowly escalates into thinly-veiled accusations of incompetence and negligence.
The bright glow surrounding Momo seems to have dimmed somewhat as she watches her underlings squabble, but she watches and listens intently nonetheless, as though measuring each participant in the meeting and noting how they were reacting to the ongoing debate.
Fifteen minutes pass, and then half an hour. Taeyeon, Kazuha, and Sakura go back and forth, the logistics of moving goods between Osaka and Tokyo their chosen battleground. As an outside observer your duty was done and it was up to your colleagues to choose how to move forward, but even you thought that the meeting had moved past discussion and into petty squabble. An interjection forms one your lips-
“Trucks to trains.”
All eyes turn to the speaker - Ryujin. An odd, awkward silence falls over the meeting. “Trucks to trains,” Ryujin repeats, a little louder this time. She looks, for a moment, like a tourist speaking a foreign language that no one around her understood.
You watch as she gives her head a small shake, as if to center herself. Her brow furrows. She takes a glance at Sakura and Kazuha on the opposite side of the table, and then up at the projector, where Taeyeon and Momo watch virtually from across the ocean, puzzled. Finally, she glances at you. You offer her a reassuring smile.
She sees her moment, and she takes it.
“Our Seoul office recently made the transition from light and heavy trucks to light rail in order to move goods from the port of Busan up to our Seoul office before distribution to the rest of Asia,” she states, her voice gradually increasing in volume and confidence as she continues. “They experienced a notable savings in shipping costs thanks to the switch, amongst other benefits.”
Ryujin’s fingers fly on the keyboard of her laptop. She shares her screen with the meeting and on it are the charts and graphs from the Seoul office.  When she speaks again, her voice is firm, self-assured.
“Seoul experienced an eighteen point nine five percent increase in shipping savings thanks to this transition. Not only did they save costs - they also experienced a higher on-time delivery rate and shorter expected delivery time overall thanks to the generally higher reliability and speed of rail as opposed to trucks. This resulted in a cascading series of benefits - our distribution staff in Seoul received more goods faster and more reliably, meaning they could distribute them throughout Asia faster, which meant our distributors throughout Asia were receiving more reliable supply, etcetera. A transition to rail would come with several upfront costs, meaning it would take several quarters for the savings to take effect, but…”
The room falls silent for another moment, before Sakura leaps into action. You’d heard the stories, and saw glimpses of it in her verbal duels with Taeyeon, but until that moment you didn’t fully believe in them. 
Sakura moves like a woman possessed. Her fingers are a blur on her laptop’s keyboard - which, to that point, had really only been used as a makeshift screen to poorly hide her Switch. She gestures sharply to Kazuha at several points, barking orders in sharp, terse Japanese which her younger subordinate scrambles to follow. She scribbles wildly on a nearby legal pad, although whether they were words or numbers or something only she could understand, no one else in the room seemed to know.
On the screen, you watch as Taeyeon is taken aback by Sakura’s transformation, shocked into silence. Momo leans back in her chair, fingers interlaced crossed over the fullness of her tummy. She’d seen this before, and knew what was about to happen.
A minute or two passes. Eventually Sakura raises her head from her laptop, a fiery intensity in her eyes that is almost frightening.
“A transition from trucking to rail in order to bring goods from Osaka to Tokyo would result in a twenty two point six percent improvement by the end of the financial year,” she states, slamming her pen down atop the legal pad for emphasis.
Taeyeon is the first to object, as you’d assumed she would. “We can’t just jump into such a drastic change so quickly without the necessary due diligence,” she states, hurriedly. “We’ll need to upstaff and delegate a project manager. We’ll need to do a feasibility study and ROI report on the whole idea, not to mention putting together a business case for Board approval and then eventually RFPs and a competition for any possible rail providers-”
Momo stops her with a raised hand. When she speaks, it is firm and decisive.
“Make it happen, Sakura,” she says to the camera, before turning to Ryujin. “Excellent idea… Miss-?”
Ryujin clears her throat. There is a new confidence in her features that wasn’t there minutes ago.
“Shin. Ryujin Shin,” she states, straightening her posture and giving Momo a confident smile. “From the Vancouver office’s Marketing department.”
“Ryujin Shin,” Momo repeats, an approving look on her face. “I’ll remember that name. And you’re in Marketing, huh? With ideas like that, I think there’s a place for you in Strategy. Well done.”
You don’t miss the loaded look she gives Taeyeon before she continues.
“Sakura, I trust you’ll keep me updated on the transition. Good meeting, everyone.”
If Sakura heard Momo sign off, she made no indication of it. She and Kazuha are suddenly a flurry of activity and hissed Japanese, the former already setting into motion a series of plans with an almost frightening intensity that the latter struggles to keep up with. Across the ocean, Momo does her best to get up from her chair and hurry to her next meeting. 
Taeyeon seethes, and Ryujin glows.
--
It doesn’t take her long. Ryujin slips into the spare executive office the two of you have been using for the duration of your visit to the Tokyo office, and the sly smile on her lips and mischievous look in her eye tell you exactly what she’s intending.
The smile that finds itself on your lips mirrors hers.
“This is a place of work, Ryujin Shin. One that we shouldn’t defile with your-”
“Office is almost empty,” she says, voice low and conspiratorial. She closes the door behind her with a click, eyes still locked on yours. “I just saw the HR team duck into a meeting room and the tablet on the door says it’s an hour-long videoconference with Vancouver. Plenty of time.”
“Miss Shin,” you begin with a smile, returning your gaze to your laptop even as the click-clack of her heels signalled her approach, “this office isn’t for lewd, profane acts like the ones that are no doubt running through your head. And to think you’d want to engage in such acts with our colleagues in Human Resources a mere few rooms away? Unthinkable!”
She spins your chair around to face her, placing her hands on the back of your wrists, pinning them to the armrests. The smile on her lips is wicked - in a way you’d never seen before.
She bends to kiss you and it’s almost violent the way your lips and teeth clash. Your lips grind against her teeth at one point and you’re pretty sure she’s literally cut you open with a kiss - or maybe it was a bite - either way, the slight metallic tang on your tongue was most definitely blood.
“Don’t tell me you’ve never fantasized about me riding you on that couch,” she says, pointing with her gaze toward the two leather couches that sat opposite each other in the rather lavishly furnished office, “or maybe you’d prefer bending me over it?”
“Miss Shin,” you say, mockingly. “Those couches are for important client meetings-”
Another kiss. She drags her tongue over your cut lip, then pulls away. Her tongue slides over her cherry-glossed lips, as though she is savoring the taste of your blood on her palette.
“Come on,” she says, suddenly pouting. “Don’t you think I deserve a reward for how well I did in that meeting today, Daddy?”
You smirk, despite yourself. Ryujin’s idea to convert the company’s transportation from trucking to trains on the Osaka to Tokyo route was just what the Tokyo office needed to meet Taeyeon’s lofty expectations - to say nothing of the personal satisfaction she gained from Momo’s dismissal of Taeyeon’s objections and subsequent compliments. Maybe it was one of those things, or some combination of them - either way, the events of the afternoon’s meeting had clearly awakened something in her - a side of her you hadn’t seen before. 
“You did well today, baby girl,” you say, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “A reward is definitely deserved.”
You knew how the next few minutes would turn out. For all her self-confidence outside of it Ryujin was relatively submissive in the bedroom. 
But today she flips the script on its head. She flashes you a sinful smile before she pulls you to your feet by your tie. She drags you in front of one of the couches and pushes you onto it with more roughness and strength than you were expecting, or even knew she was capable of.
Before you know it she is straddling you. Her lips find yours and the kiss is as violent and needy as the ones previous - a clash of lips and teeth and tongue that was more a single-sided display of dominance than a mutual display of affection.
Your hands find their way to that tiny torso of hers and the waistline of her grey pencil skirt - only for her to grasp them both by your wrists and pin them to the seat of the couch.
“No touching this time,” she hisses into your ear. “No doing anything unless I let you. This time, you’re mine, Daddy.”
“Fuck, Ryujin-”
She silences you with a kiss again, this one only slightly less aggressive. You feel her lips smiling even as she continues it, and even as her hands reach between you to quickly get your belt and pants undone.
You let a sharp breath leave your lungs as she slides her hand under your boxers and finds your mostly-stiffened cock. Her hands wrap around your length, teasing it to full hardness. She takes her time, her fingers moving at a glacial pace, fingers sliding up and down your shaft and making your eyes shut involuntarily as the first few spikes of pleasure work their way up your spine. She stops for a moment with her fingers tight around the upper half of your shaft, her thumb catching and spreading the bead of pre-cum she finds leaking from you, smearing it over your tip.
“Did you like it, Daddy? Did you like how I did?”
“Fuck yes, Ryujin,” you hiss, even as she begins to pump her hand up and down your length, the added lubrication of your pre-cum making her every movement that much more pleasurable. “You did so well, baby girl. You made Daddy so proud.”
Your praise ignites something in Ryujin, and for a moment there is a flush of warmth on her cheeks. “Thank you, Daddy,” she says, softly. With her free hand, she is undoing the buttons on the tight white blouse she is wearing, until it is undone to her waist. She untucks it, pulling it free from the waistline of her skirt.
Her fingers play with the halves of her blouse, pulling them apart, revealing the simple white lace bra she is wearing beneath it.
Her fingers grasp the left cup of her bra, before pulling it down slowly. Her small, round breast pops free with a small, teasing bounce, nipple already tight and stiff with need. She does the same to the other cup, relishing the sight of you following her fingers and taking in the sight of her bared chest.
“Do you like them, Daddy?” she asks, voice low and needy. “Do you want to touch them? Or wrap your lips on them and suck? You know how wet I get when you suck on my tits-”
She is interrupted for a moment when your hands leave the couch to fondle her - only for her to catch them by your wrists and pin them against the seat once more.
“Uh uh,” she teases, smile sinful. “This is my reward, remember Daddy?”
“Fucking hell, Ryujin.”
Satisfied that you weren’t going to resist, Ryujin’s hands leave your wrists. She raises her hips slightly, until her cunt is hovering less than an inch from your aching tip. With one hand she pulls the hem of her skirt up, revealing her drenched panties - with the other, she pulls them aside. She is glistening and drenched and you can almost feel the heat and wetness of her on the tip of your cock. It twitches with need.
Your eyes find hers and you have never seen such a wicked, devilish look on her features. 
The hand at her skirt leaves it, and reaches down for your cock, aiming it at her cunt. She slides down your length. You both sigh, the breath leaving your lungs in a sharp exhalation of sharp, pure pleasure.
“Fuck, Daddy,” she hisses into your ear as her arms wrap themselves around your shoulders and neck. You bottom out inside her, and for a moment she sits fully impaled on your cock. “Fuck, always so big inside me, stretching me out. Making me take you.”
A breathless “Mmmm” is all you can manage. She begins to move, and for a few moments neither of you are able to do much more than simply process the pleasure that begins to course through your bodies.
In, out, up, down, nothing else mattered aside from the feel of your cock and the way it felt in Ryujin’s tight, wet little cunt. Not the fact that you were fucking at the office and literally anyone could walk through the door; not the fact that this relationship would probably end up ruining one or both of your careers; not the fact that you were entering the final week of your trip and you’d found yourself wishing more than once that it would never end.
No, none of that mattered. All that exists are her sharp gasps of pleasure in your ear, the slick, wet sounds her cunt makes as it takes your cock in and out between her drenched lips, and her warm, hot breath against your cheek.
The minutes pass, but time soon becomes an abstract, foreign concept. It’s a lot. It’s overwhelming.
Your hands, unable to remain motionless, move to her thighs. Ryujin grasps them again and pins them to the backrest of the couch - forcefully.
“Mine,” she growls. “You’re mine, Daddy.”
It had been a recurring theme during sex, and in your relationship as a whole - ownership. Often it was used in passionate context; sometimes it was softer, more intimate. But it was different today. Darker. More intense. More real, more aggressive in a way it hadn’t been up to this point.
You watch as she rides you, hands pinning your wrists to the couch, hips and thighs and core moving to throw herself against your cock over and over again with increasing speed and tempo. You could’ve easily overpowered her, ripped your hands from the couch and done what you willed with her - but the sight of her pinning you down, the feel of her taking what she wanted from you, heedless of your own wants and needs - it was a new kind of pleasure, a new kind of power over you that she hadn’t shown before.
Her gasps raise in volume until she realizes, for a moment, where she is - at work, in an office, just a few empty rooms apart from a room full of colleagues - and the bite she gives her own lip in an attempt to stifle her moans drives you crazy.
Her small breasts bounce with each movement of her body, peaked nipples begging. She sees it, sees the need in your eyes. Mercifully, she bends forward - just far enough for you to capture one of them between your lips.
She slows her pace slightly, grinding against you now rather than bouncing atop you, squeezing her cunt in a well-practiced rhythm with each entry and exit of your cock. You feel her juices drip down your shaft and onto your balls. She’s so wet, so very wet, and she’s making a mess of the couch that you’d have to clean up afterward. 
But she doesn’t care. Her hands tighten around your wrists as she tries to ground herself against the pleasure coursing from her pussy and the suckling of your mouth on her breasts.
“Fuck, Daddy-” she hisses, breathless, onto the top of your head. “Soon, gonna, oh god-.”
You’re surprised by how quickly she’s approaching her first orgasm. But the danger, the aggression, the powerlessness - you would’ve been lying if you’d said you weren’t almost as close as she was. It was intoxicating. Overwhelming.
“Ryujin, fuck, me too. Let me cum in you, baby girl-”
“Do it, Daddy, please-” she hisses, voice rising in pitch as if to mirror the level of pleasure coursing through her veins. “Make me drip you, Daddy. I’m gonna cum too. Are you… are you going to breed me today? Are you going to breed me, here in this office? Put a baby in my belly? Look at me, please, look at me, just me, look at only me--”
She pulls your mouth from the sore, reddened peaks of her nipples. Her eyes find yours and they’re just as lost in pleasure. Her lips part-
“Fill your girl.”
Her cunt tightens and pulses rhythmically as she cums on you. You are unable to fight the pleasure any more than she is, and you let yourself go, burying yourself as deeply as you are able inside her before you follow her into bliss. Your eyes, by some miracle, remain locked on each other the whole time as you watch each other cum.
Your cock pulses as it fills her, paints her cunt white. She trembles and quivers with each spurt as though she felt each one hit the most vulnerable part of her. Her eyes twitch with each rope. They quiver and tremble but she manages to keep them open, locked on yours.
You both sit there for a while, breathing heavily, two sacks of boneless, powerless flesh. Eventually she breaks your gaze to drop her forehead to yours. It was a quickie in almost every sense and you both probably spent more time recovering than you did actually having sex - not that it mattered. Not when the high was so high.
Some amount of time later her head lifts. Her eyes find yours again. You both want to say something - perhaps repeat the pledging of yourselves to each other the way you had so many times before in a post-sex haze - but this time neither of you felt the need.
Perhaps somewhere along the way you’d both realized that this was more than just a business trip fling, more than just two lonely souls seeking companionship while away from home. Perhaps it was because you both knew it by now, and it didn’t need repeating, because the truth of it was already right there, plain to see, in each others’ eyes and in the language spoken with soft lips and gentle touches. 
She smiles, she kisses you, and nothing else matters.
---
You’re wandering the streets of Shimokitazawa on a day off in Tokyo when the email arrives.
The day is warm, but thankfully the wonderful sugar and salt water concoction of Pocari Sweat did well to keep you hydrated and cool in the mid-summer Tokyo heat. The small bench opposite the vintage store Ryujin had hopped into provided a suitable place for you to take a well-deserved break from all the shopping and sightseeing. Transportation and logistics be damned; touristing was the hardest work.
You’re scrolling your phone for a suitable dinner location, debating between the tonkotsu ramen place in Ginza that had been recommended to you by your assistant and yet another visit to the local branch of CoCo Curry. 
The email banner notification steals your attention. The email itself isn’t even addressed to you - you’re just a copy on it. An afterthought. An FYI. The email itself is simple, business like:
---
To: Shin, Ryujin
From: Bae, SuzyCC: Hirai, Momo; Kim, Taeyeon; Miyawaki, Sakura; Nakamura, Kazuha
Subject: Employee Transfer/Relocation Approved - Shin, Ryujin, EE# 2113 - Vancouver -> Tokyo
Hello Ryujin,
Please find attached a completed and approved Employee Transfer/Relocation Form detailing your transfer and relocation from the Vancouver Head Office to the Tokyo Regional Office, effective immediately. 
As a part of this transfer you have been seconded from the Marketing department to the Strategy department for the duration of your project in Tokyo, which is expected to last 24-36 months. For the duration of your project you will report to Sakura Miyawaki, Director, Tokyo office.
In recognition of your efforts and to ensure a smooth transition into the Tokyo office’s reporting structure, you have been promoted from Marketing Lead to Senior Operations Lead.
Please also find attached resources and guides that will assist in your relocation to the Tokyo office, including visa, accommodation, and other related relocation forms and documents. One of our Relocation Specialists will be in touch shortly to assist you further with this process.
Reach out if you have any questions or concerns. Congratulations on your promotion, and best of luck in Tokyo!
Sincerely,
Suzy Bae
Director, Human Resources
JYP Inc.
---
It takes you several reads before you can even begin to process it. Surprise, pain, rage - it all battles inside you, all at once.
Ryujin emerges from the store, a new shopping bag in hand. Her smile is bright, unaware of the heartache that awaits her the next time she looks at her phone.
She's wearing your shirt again, that white button-up - one that probably needed a wash, but she'd picked it out of the pile of clothing you'd draped over a chair in your hotel suite and worn it because it smelled like you.
She reaches for you, pulls you up off the bench, and threads her fingers in yours. You stare down at your intertwined hands. The silver chain on her wrist catches the Tokyo afternoon sun, turning it gold again. 
Still in shock, you let her lead you down the street to your next destination, unable to say or do anything more.
Oblivious, she turns to you and smiles.
---
Author’s Note: Tomorrow comes.
839 notes · View notes
strawberrysohn · 3 months ago
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“quite an impression” | taste — jjk (pt 1)
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series summary: your best friend (with benefits) has a new girlfriend...little does she know, you were and would always be there first.
what to expect for this part: fuckbuddy! jk, y/n is kind of a bad person (sorry), cheating, fingering, slight degradation (m receiving), doing it in a public restroom stall (ew!) you guys can also imagine 2018/2019 jungkook for this whole series tyvm!!
no word count...it's just a lot of words ok!!
enjoy!
"you're gonna wear that to meet my girlfriend?"
y/n turns around to greet her friend with a smile. "jungkookie, you told me to look nice," she pouts before doing a little twirl. "you don't think i look nice?"
jungkook shakes his head quickly. "no, no," he sticks his hands in his jeans pockets. "no, you look nice. so nice. it's just..." he purses his lips trying to find the words. "don't you think it's kinda..."
"revealing?"
jungkook nods sheepishly. "yeah," he looks down at the ground momentarily before he perks up again. "i mean, it shouldn't be too bad. we are going clubbing afterwards, right?"
y/n hums in response. "mhm, that's right," she looks at herself in the mirror again. she runs her hands over her curves, seeing the way the leathery fabric clings to her. the swooping neckline of her dress not leaving much to the imagination. "where did you say she works? waffle house or something?"
the male laughs, running a hand through his neatly brushed hair. "no, it's just a diner. you know the one...by jimin's old place?"
y/n stifles a laugh. "geez, really?" she recalls the old, dumpy looking diner on the corner a few streets down. "how much does she make, two dollars a week?" she looks through the mirror at her friend, who's no longer smiling.
"you don't have to make fun of her, you know," jungkook's voice was quieter. "you haven't even met her yet."
feeling "empathetic", y/n mimics his frown and approaches him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. "oh, jungkookie..." she looks up at him with big, innocent eyes. "it was meant to be a joke. i'm sure seyeon is really nice."
"siyeon."
"hm?"
jungkook clears his throat. "her name is siyeon."
"what did i say?" y/n cocks her head to the side.
"seyeon," jungkook fiddles with his fingers, his hands ghosting over their familiar home of y/n's hips. "it's siyeon."
y/n forces a laugh. "oh, silly me!" she shakes her head at herself before looking back up at him. "my mistake, jungkook." she boops his nose teasingly before pulling away from him and grabbing her purse and phone. "all ready to go?"
jungkook stands still and stares at her for a little longer before blinking and nodding, turning towards the door. he opens it for y/n, trying his best not to watch her as she walked out.
"bye, minah!" y/n waves goodbye to her roommate, who barely acknowledges the two leaving. "i'll be back after midnight so leave the door unlocked, okay?"
jungkook opens the door again for her, sending a polite smile to minah, who rolls her eyes.
"i don't think your roommate likes me."
"it's not you yourself..." y/n trails off, her heels clacking on the pavement as they approached the diner. "she's just a stickler for morals, you know?"
"oh." jungkook gulps. "well, i don't know what she's upset about...it's not like we've fooled around recently. i'm with siyeon. i haven't cheated on her."
y/n smirks, but jungkook doesn't see it. "yeah, well, she probably assumes that you will," she shrugs. "i mean, she's plenty familiar with you."
"how? we haven't met?" jungkook tries to recall actually being introduced to his friend's roommate, but can't.
"i'm sure she knows your name from me moaning it nonstop last semester," y/n speaks, nonchalantly letting the words fall from her mouth. she looks up at jungkook with innocent eyes. "maybe that's it."
he gulps, his throat feeling dry. "y-yeah, sure," he calms himself down by force as they get to the diner where siyeon works.
he pulls open the door for y/n, who walks past him closely, "accidentally" rubbing herself against him on the way in.
jungkook leads y/n over to the counter, where an average height woman is wiping things down. she has dark brown hair, tied into a tight low ponytail. she looks up when jungkook approaches, her tired eyes lighting up just a little. "hey, babe," she smiles as he leans in for a quick peck. her eyes fall to y/n, giving her the once over, her eyes widening slightly at her outfit. "who is this?"
jungkook smiles and gestures to y/n. "siyeon, this is–"
"hi, i'm y/n!" she takes the chance to introduce herself. she holds out her hand for siyeon to shake. "i'm jungkook's best friend, i'm sure he's mentioned me."
"he has," siyeon replies, tentatively shaking y/n's hand. "it's, um, nice to meet you. i'm siyeon."
"so i hear," y/n stifles a small chuckle as she looks around the place. still as dumpy as she remembered. "so, you work here, huh?" there was a hint of a demeaning tone in her voice that she tried to mask as much as she could.
jungkook steps closer to the counter. closer to siyeon, who instinctively places a hand on his arm, almost possessively. y/n almost laughs again at that, the small gesture showing more insecurity than she bet siyeon wanted to show.
"siyeon, y/n and i are hanging out tonight," jungkook explains to his girlfriend. he glances back at y/n who continues to watch siyeon with a gleam in her eyes. jungkook continues, "we're going clubbing. it's tradition."
"tradition? what tradition?" siyeon looks at jungkook with big, confused eyes.
"it's the anniversary of when we became friends," jungkook replies quickly. so quickly that y/n can't help but giggle, earning a quick glance from siyeon. "we celebrate every year since sophomore year of high school."
siyeon nods, understanding. her boyfriend was just so kind and considerate. she knew she didn't have to worry about him. to be fair, it wasn't him she was worried about...
y/n checks the time on her phone. "jungkookie, we should get going," she flips her phone screen around so he can see the time, making sure that the photo of her and jungkook on her locks reen was visible to siyeon.
the photo was of the two of them from two summers ago on the beach. in the photo, y/n was hoisted up by jungkook, her legs wrapped around his waist. it was quite the precarious photo for a pair of friends, because from the outside, that's all they were.
jungkook nods. "yeah, the club should open soon," he leans in to kiss his girlfriend again, this time in a parting gesture. when he pulls away, siyeon pulls him back, kissing him deeply. it was clearly a message, yet y/n just watched, unfazed.
when siyeon breaks the kiss, she glances at y/n, who is checking her nails, unbothered. she looks up, impatient. "ready?" she glances at jungkook, who rubs the back of his neck nervously.
the male nods, smiling at y/n. "yep!" he glances at siyeon again. "bye, baby. see you tomorrow sometime."
y/n waves enthusiastically to siyeon. "bye, siyeon! it was lovely meeting you!" she gives the girl the once over again, her expression still polite, though if you looked long enough, you could see the hint of a smirk on her face as she looked at the other.
“yeah, nice meeting you,” siyeon replies to y/n. “you sure leave quite an impression.”
y/n grins at her words, then looks to jungkook as they head out. once again, he holds the door for her and she slides out past him. jungkook lets the door of the diner swing closed, the bell above the doorway dinging.
“the anniversary of when became friends?” y/n asks him, a hint of amusement evident in her tone. “quick thinking on your part, jungkookie.”
“forgive me for not wanting to tell my girlfriend that today is the anniversary of when we had sex for the first time,” jungkook retorts, waiting until they were far enough from the diner to walk closer to y/n, his hands in his pockets as he nudges her with his elbow. “feels hard to explain that, don’t you think?”
y/n shrugs. “i thought honesty was important in a relationship,” she teases. “but if you want to keep secrets from your partner, that’s your choice.”
jungkook rolls his eyes as the neon light marquee of the club comes into view. “you’re so annoying, y/n,” he smiles through his words. “you know that?”
“i’ve been told,” she shrugs, before laughing as she shakes her head. “god, did you see the way she got kinda possessive over you? that was so pathetic.”
“she has a right to be concerned about you, you know.”
“no duh.”
jungkook sighs. “y/n, let’s not do anything stupid tonight,” he speaks, his voice serious. y/n glances at him, an amused gleam in her eyes. “okay?”
“holy shit,” y/n looks at him in disbelief. she stifles a laugh. “you really like that girl, don’t you?” she teases, watching the small blush appear on his cheeks.
“this is my first actual girlfriend,” he explains. “i’d like to keep her, if you don’t mind.”
y/n nods in mock understanding. “yeah, sure,” she looks up at him one last time before facing forward again. "whatever you say..."
they get to the front doors, present the bouncer with their fake id's, and head inside the club.
the music pounds through the whole building, the floor shaking. y/n turns to jungkook immediately, tilting her head at him. "come on, jungkookie," she pouts. "dance with me?"
the male smiles and grabs y/n's hands, leading her towards the big mob of people. "i know you love this song," he watches as she starts to get into the music, really feeling herself.
"i know you love watching me dance," she speaks above the music. her eyes locked on his before she turns around, dancing against jungkook sensually.
he hisses as her ass rubs against him. "y/n, what did i say—" he's cut off as she turns around, placing a finger on his lips.
"shh, jungkookie..." she smirks up at him. "relax! have a little fun, yeah?" she drapes her arms over his shoulders again, this time his hands find her hips quickly.
"y/n, i can't tonight, okay?"
"can't what?"
jungkook grits his teeth. "can't have sex with you," he keeps his voice low, directly in her ear. "we can't do it."
she nods. "i know," she reminds him. "i didn't say we should. you're the one that keeps telling me."
jungkook's face hardens. he knew they shouldn't—no, couldn't. he had a girlfriend now. he vowed to be a loyal partner to siyeon. he knew that nothing could happen tonight between he and y/n—his best friend. it couldn't.
but he also knew that it very well could.
jungkook pushes y/n up against the door to the bathroom once they're both inside, his lips immediately crashing onto her neck. she can't hide the victorious smirk on her face.
"you really had to—" he sucks on her skin. "—flirt with that guy, huh?" jungkook pulls his lips away to stare her in the face, his eyes bouncing from her eyes to her lips. she could smell the faint scent of alcohol on his breath.
"he flirted with me, jungkook," she explains. "what was i supposed to do? not take the compliment?"
"it's this outfit," jungkook's shaky hands find her hips again. "god, you look so hot." he practically groans as he buries his face in her neck again. he was breathing hard and heavy, his control finally having snapped.
she hums as one of her hands slides down to teasingly rub his growing hardness through his pants. he lets out a whispered sigh right in her ear, his possessive grip on her hips loosening. "y-y/n..."
he decides to return the favor, his hand slipping under the short skirt of her dress. he lifts his head to look at her, pupils big and eyebrows furrowed. shit, he already looked a mess. "n-no panties...?"
she shakes her head, biting her lip. "it's tradition," she smirks up at him, seeing the way his eyes roll back slightly. his internal (and external, at this point) struggle was so arousing to her.
"shit..." his fingers find her wet folds and he slides past them with his pointer finger. her hand continues to tease him through the denim fabric of his jeans, the friction making his vision a little blurry. without another thought, he enters one finger into her wetness, feeling her free hand grip his bicep tight.
"mm, jungkook," she moans his name softly, once again unable to hide the satisfied grin on her face. she had won, of course. to be honest, she didn't have to try hard. jungkook had been a ticking time bomb since he saw her dress earlier that evening. she grips his bicep as his finger fucks into her, shortly joined by a second.
the sound of her wetness, his soft groans, and her moans fill the luckily empty bathroom, the bass still booming through the heavy door. he pushes his middle and ring finger into her faster, the squelching sounds heightening in volume.
"jungkookie, ah—" she exclaims, her eyebrows furrowed at his movements. "mm, fuck, baby..." she whines as she digs her nails into his arm, something he'd probably have to cover up.
jungkook leans in to kiss her, her lips happily welcoming his. the kiss is messy quickly, both of their tongues fighting for dominance. y/n's wins as jungkook whines into the kiss, his free hand shaky against her hip. it really was so fun to watch him break.
y/n pulls away from the kiss, reaching down to pull his fingers out of her. he watches her with a puzzled expression. she lifts his slick covered fingers to her lips and sucks them dry, her eyes locked on his. she sees the way his eyelids flutter halfway closed and he has to fight to keep them open so he can keep watching her.
"w-why did you...?" is all he can muster as she pulls his fingers from her mouth.
"i'd rather cum around your cock."
jungkook feels his head start to spin. the power she held over him should be researched, truly. the magnetic pull towards her he felt whenever she appeared...it wasn't healthy. it wasn't good for his relationship with siyeon, and it definitely wasn't good for his health.
"you're unbelievable, y/n," he tells her and she shrugs. nothing she didn't already know. "i don't know how you do it...i don't care how i just..."
she knew what came next.
he looks down at her, his eyes with that usual desperate gleam in them. "i need you," he's pleading, pathetic and needy. how could she say no?
"mm, i bet you do," y/n smirks. she grabs the back of jungkook's neck, pulling him in for another kiss. he sighs happily against her lips before she pulls away. "want you inside me." she whispers against his lips and he whines like a hungry puppy.
she grabs his hand and pulls him into the nearest stall—not the handicap stall, they couldn't be so lucky.
as soon as the lock is on the door, jungkook toys with his jean buttons and zipper, fumbling a few times due to his rushing. he was already sweating. his shaky fingers finally get his pants undone, and he glances at y/n, who watches him, trying not to chuckle at his clearly frazzled and desperate state.
he grabs her waist and pulls her on top of him as he sits down on the toilet, y/n immediately straddling his hips. she hums at the position and reaches down to pull her dress up enough to where her core is exposed. she finds his open jeans and slips her hand in, pulling his aching length through his boxers and through the opening in his pants. god, he was so hard and leaking precum. his cock was desperate for her too.
clearly given up on his own morals by now, jungkook grips his length, watching as y/n lifts her hips up, aligning herself with his tip. she teases a little, sliding past his tip a few times, hearing him groan in distress.
"please, baby, no more teasing," jungkook nearly whines. "just let me—oh, shit..."
she had cut him off, of course, by finally sinking down on him, his cock instantly stretching her. her arms find his shoulders, draping her arms around them. "mm, there we go..." she hums as she sinks down further, his whole length inside her now.
"g-god, y/n, i—" jungkook's mouth goes dry as his hands find familiarity on her hips, gripping tightly this time. "you feel s' good..." he slurs his words, already drunk on her pussy.
"mm, yeah?" she teases verbally as she begins to ride him, her eyes locked on his. "you feel good too, baby..."
jungkook groans lowly, watching as she moves up and down on him. he couldn't tear his hooded gaze away from her face, the way her brows were furrowed in pleasure and her lips—her beautiful lips parted in a perfect 'o' shape.
he lets out a small yelp as y/n begins to bounce quickly on his cock, his grip on her grips tightening. "s-shit–"
she chuckles at his disheveled, desperate state. "hah, should've known you'd crack so quickly," she moves her hand to grip his chin. "always so weak in the knees for me, jungkookie...it's so pathetic."
jungkook whimpers at her change in demeanor, his big doe eyes wide as he stares up at her. his throat was dry, words failing him. his face heats up, the soft pink blush on his cheeks quite obvious.
"look at you...you're blushing," y/n pouts in faux sympathy. she hears the whimpers that follow every bounce on his cock, the sound music to her ears. "face it, you'll always come crawling back to me, huh? you can't help it, can you?"
jungkook gulps and shakes his head. "l-love being inside you..." he speaks, his hips bucking up slightly, thrusting up into her.
she moans at the feeling, smirking. "you wanna fuck up into me, jungkookie?" she raises a brow and he can't nod fast enough.
"w-wanna...so bad, y/n," he whines again and she chuckles at his desperation. he bucks hips up again, this time in a rhythm with her bounces.
the mix of her moans, his whines and groans, the skin slapping, and faint sound of music playing fills the bathroom. anyone else who might have walked in wouldn't have to guess what was happening in that stall.
"fuck, jungkookie," y/n moans his name, his cock hitting her spot perfectly with every thrust. her head lolls back for a moment, his grip on her hips tightening. "you feel so good inside me, baby..." she whispers the praise in her ear and he lets out a mix of a growl and a whine, his noises growing more needy by the minute.
"holy hell, y/n, i can't—" jungkook bites his lip as his thrusts grow more sloppy. "...can't hold for much longer..."
"cum for me, jungkookie," y/n speaks, her words mixing with a moan as her sounds heighten in pitch. "fucking fill up my pussy with your cum."
"i'm gonna—i'm—oh my god..." jungkook's eyelids flutter and he leans his head back, his load shooting into her, the milky substance filling her up. y/n's own release follows, her cum mixing with his as they both groan from the pleasure of their release.
as they both catch their breaths, y/n chuckles in success. she eyes jungkook, the way his neatly combed hair had since stuck to his sweat covered forehead. the way he looked completely spent, his chest rising and falling. she looks between them, the mixed cum that leaked out of her pussy to pool around the base of his cock.
she leans in to whisper in his ear, her voice low, sending a shiver through his body. "happy anniversary, jungkookie."
jungkook blinks, looking down at the mess, the up at y/n, who eyes him with a knowing smirk. he takes a deep breath, leaning his head back as he regains his train of thought. one word can sum up how he feels.
"fuck."
tags:
@ttanniett
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shepscapades · 1 year ago
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Thanks to artfight, I’ve finally finished a detailed, official dbhc cub reference! :D
(I’ve put his Artifight description below the cut, which has a more detailed explanation of his timeline, lore, and aesthetics! >:3)
-ˋˏ ༻ ❁  OVERVIEW ❁ ༺ ˎˊ-
Name: C.B.F.N.4000 (Cub) Pronouns: He/Him Species: Android Height: 5’9’’ Associated Visual Themes: vex, ghosts, explosions, mischief, scientist aesthetic, potions, potionmaking, sleepy/tired aesthetic, conspiracies
-ˋˏ ༻ ❁  ABOUT ❁ ༺ ˎˊ-
CBFN4000 is an au version of MCYT Hermitcraft’s Cubfan, set in my DBHC (or Detroit Become Hermitcraft) AU! This au is inspired by the 2018 game Detroit Become Human, but not because it really has anything to do with DBH—I simply yoinked the android mechanics and incorporated them into the world of Hermitcraft. It began as a S8 au, and has roughly followed the hermitcraft timeline up to the present! 
Cub was the last android made during Season 8. While many of the hermit androids were made at the beginning of season 8 and a few were made for season 9, Cub was finished and activated mid-late Season 8, around the time when Hermits started noticing the Big Moon. Cub’s model ended up being a sloppy experiment in deviation, as Doc suggested they try to transfer deviancy to an android upon activation to try and avoid traumatic situations that might cause an android to deviate violently or upsettingly, such as Etho’s, Tango’s, or Mumbo’s experiences. While this went relatively well initially, it clearly wasn’t very thoroughly thought out, as Xisuma (who is normally so adamant and detail-oriented when it comes to assuring the androids’ safety with experiments like this) wasn’t truly himself due to external manipulation and mostly left a relatively young-deviant Doc to carry out the project himself. 
Cub, though adjusting to sentience rather well at first, very quickly became wrapped up in the Big Moon happenings on the server, new personality and inexperience to emotions like fear and ignorance completely overwhelming his young system. He became obsessive over the implications and consequences of the Season 8 Moon Apocalypse, joining the Mooners and spreading his conspiracy theories religiously throughout the server as he descended into madness. The insanity was like a virus to his programming, pervasive and all-engulfing, and Cub’s final attempt to free himself from the Moon’s impact with the Earth—to launch himself on a llama into space via potion-powered TNT(insane btw)— left his hands and feet singed and cracked to ruin.
The experiment, considered a horrific failure by a deeply shameful—and more awake—S9 Xisuma, left Doc and Xisuma with the decision to reset him for the new season, and they ended up pairing him with a hermit like they had done with the other androids, to give him a chance to find deviancy on his own terms. So, at the start of season 9 and fresh after a reset, Cub was paired with Scar. Naturally, because Scar is… Scar, Cub deviated almost instantly after being given to him, and very quickly adopted the iconic lazy, stoic, amused attributes normally associated with Cubfan. Scar’s tendency towards mischief and general shenanigans grew instantly on Cub, and the two were an immediate inseparable pair. So much so that when Scar began rambling one day about his Season 5 Hermitcraft Shenanigans (where deals with the Vex may or may not have been involved), Cub immediately stated he was interested in being in on it. Whatever “it” means. It’s unclear if Cub also made a deal with the vex or became connected to them in some other way, but… well, he got Doc’s help to trick out his eyes, hair, and back to best fit the part. Scar is very jealous that he can't magically make himself have the same features to match.
Cub is closest with Scar (there's something there, I think), but he gets along just as well with any of the other hermits! He’s close with Jevin and many of the other redstoners like Etho and Doc, who are the other two androids I’ve put on artfight!
-ˋˏ ༻ ❁  EXTRAS ❁ ༺ ˎˊ-
Cub's eyes can light up in the dark, and he’s the only android who has edited his programming so that the default state of his LED is white, not blue. It still will go yellow and red if his processors are working particularly hard, but he’s replaced the blue setting on his LED with white to better match the Vex vibe. Cub has all of the vibes of a fae. If that’s anything <3
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cjjohansson · 5 months ago
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i remember.
natasha romanoff x reader - angst, fluff - 6.2k
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You don’t know what’s happening. That’s the first thing you think of when you wake up in an alley, gloved hands covered in blood. Confusion filters through your head. 
What happened?
Where are you?
You stand up slowly, your body swaying as you look down at what you’re wearing. You’re in a pair of black jeans, with rips throughout both legs and as you look closer you only notice how the rips have been made from slashes of a knife as your blood is dry underneath them. Your hoodie is soaking wet, your hands going into the pocket to be met with a gun and a knife. 
None of this makes sense. 
Standing there confused you try your hardest to remember anything. Anything at all. 
Red hair. Piercing green eyes. 
Death. Destruction. Pain. Loss. 
Memories whip through your brain as soon as your hand wraps around your gun. But still, none of it makes sense. 
What year is it?
You stumble down the alley, hand still wrapped around the gun resting in your pocket. You stare up at the buildings surrounding you. New York. You’re in New York. 
You watch as people pass by, words fading in and out of people’s conversations. You feel a pull, your body trying to get you to move in a certain direction but you have no clue why. 
You decide to give in, allowing your body to move. You stumble into someone muttering a sorry as they tell you to watch where you’re going. 
“What year is it?” You ask them, panic and confusion filling your voice.  “2018…” Panic feels you all over again. No that doesn’t make any sense. That’s not the year. 
Red hair. Piercing green eyes. 
A name to match the features. It echoes around your head in confusion. You know her. You can feel it. You can feel it with everything inside of you. 
Your breathing picks up, and you need to hide. You rush down another alley, hiding behind a dumpster as your head falls into your hands. 
It hurts. Your brain hurts. 
Everything is rushing through you. A place called SHEILD, the Avengers. Red hair and piercing green eyes. 
But then that stops. 
Memories of your hands hurting people now rush through you. People hurting you.
Cold. Dark. Wet. Pain. Agony. 
Then it all hits you at once. You can remember it so clearly. 
The mission, your arm getting trapped under rubble, telling her to leave. The building exploding. All you can remember after that was black and then it’s the pain. 
5 years. How, how has it been 5 years? 
Natasha? 
Natasha. Red hair, piercing green eyes. 
Her face is now so clear in your head. 
You’ve been gone 5 years. You need to find her. 
You stand up again. Walking out of the alley, taking in your surroundings as you try to get your memory to cooperate with how to get to the tower. 
She will be at the tower. 
She is the only person who makes sense. 
Everyone else is a blur. 
You find yourself walking so fast down the street, people staring at you as you practically start running. The route becomes clear in your head as you finally stop outside. 
Your hand grips your gun, you can’t be too careful, not until you find her. They could still be looking for you. 
As you walk in, alarms go off behind you as you pass through the door. Confusion fills you as you hurry to the desk. 
“Natasha. Where is Natasha?” Your hand is gripping your gun so tight.  “We need you to step back.” Voices surround you. You turn slowly, people with guns ready and raised. Your hand now lifting out of your hoodie, gun in hand like it would even match theirs. 
“NATASHA. WHERE IS NATASHA!” You shout, frustration coursing through you, why won’t people answer you?  “PUT THE GUN DOWN!” You don’t. You move closer towards the man who is shouting. Before you can reach him he shoots. 
You feel the bullet lodge into your shoulder. But you don’t stop, no pain registers. 
“I need Natasha! Listen to me!!!” You beg, you plead. Why won’t they listen?  “Natasha, who?” You wrack your brain for an answer, you try so hard, your hands finding your head as you start to hit it to try and remember. 
“Red hair, piercing green eyes!” The men around you turn to each other, murmuring as they continue to look at you.  “Come with us.” Sirens go off in your head. You aren’t leaving unless it’s with her.  “No. No. You bring her here to me, NOW!” You raise your gun again. Everyone raises theirs to face you, matching your stance. 
“We need you to drop the gun.”
“Not until she is here.” You don’t give up. If you’re leaving it’s with her. 
She is the only thing clear in your head. Your body calms with the thought of her. Memories of whispered confessions, secret nights lying beside one another, her laugh, the way your body reacted to hers, and vice versa. She is the only thing clear. You need her here now. 
“Y/n?” A man’s voice has you turning around. Your gun now facing him. His face seems familiar but you can’t place a name. It’s so frustrating, having that familiarity, but none of it makes any sense. “I don’t, I need Natasha.” You stumble over your words, tears filling your eyes at the pain going through your head. 
“Okay, okay. Do you remember me?” The man asks you, you close your eyes, trying so fucking hard to remember but you can’t. You shake your head at his question, opening your eyes to see him moving closer. 
“No, stay back! Don’t, don’t come closer!” You shout at him. His movement instantly stopped at your words. “Ok, I’m sorry. I’ll stay right here. Everyone clear the room!” He shouts his last sentence your body tensing as you watch everyone start moving around you, hurrying to the doors. You’re left in the lobby of the tower, just you and this man standing opposite each other. 
“Natasha.” Is all you can get out of your mouth once everyone has left. “She is coming, ok. How about we lower the gun and take a seat?” You shake your head no. You can’t sit down. Your hands find your head again. Your gun hits the side of your head as your frustration builds. You’re pacing around now. Even more, memories spiral around. 
The man with you, his face shows in some of the memories, but his name is still so far away. It frustrates you to no end. All of this is so confusing and you’re becoming tired. 
“Clint? What’s going on?” You turn around at the voice. Your arm lowers as your body sags in relief. Her voice is the same, she is the same. 
“Y/n?” She asks in shock, your body shaking as tears build in your eyes. She is real, you remember her. She starts rushing towards you and you hate how your body’s reaction is to raise your gun again. But she doesn’t stop moving. She keeps coming closer. 
“Stop, stop.” 
“Y/n, it’s okay. I’m here.” No, no. This could be a trap. 
“Tell me something only you would know.” Her eyes widen, you can see her wracking her brain for anything. 
“You have a birthmark that looks like a giraffe on the inside of your left thigh.” She smiles shyly at you but it only breaks you more. 
“No, no, they…they’d know that now!” You shout at her, gun gripping so tight as you move your aim to her head. If you pulled the trigger it would hit right in between her eyes. 
“Ok. Ok. Let’s calm down. It’s fine. Your favorite time of the year is winter, and it’s because it means we have longer nights in bed where we can just cuddle and be us. We can make hot chocolates and watch films in the comfort of each other arms. With no one else annoying us because they know it’s our time. Your favorite color is green, but not any green but the green in a forest when the sun hits it just right, it’s your favorite because you always said it reminded you of me. You only like marshmallows when they're toasted over a fire, other than that you hate them, they have to be gooey. You only like peanut butter with apples, anything else and you hate it. You used to hum songs in the shower no matter your mood. You would always wake before me and pull me closer to you and let me sleep for a little while longer before we had to get up to train-”
“Natasha…” You sob out, dropping the gun as you fall to your knees. Natasha finally approaches you properly now. Her arms surround you as she brings you so tightly into her. You hesitate to put your arms around her, but you grip her thighs so tightly you’re afraid you’ll leave bruises. 
“I remembered you. Only you. It’s taken me too long. I’ve been gone. I got taken. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Five years. Natasha. Red hair, piercing green eyes. I remember you. I only remember you.” You can’t stop crying, your face pushing harder into her neck and finally, you allow your arms to surround her as you take in the scent of her shampoo. 
“You’re ok. You’re here now. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” Natasha whispers into your ear. Her hand comes up to the back of your head, holding you where you are, not letting you out of her arms. It’s like your body reacts to her now exaggerated breathing, her silently telling you that you need to calm down, you need to breathe. You take yourself out of her neck, your forehead finally resting on hers as you stare into her eyes. 
“I remember you.” You mutter. A smile and tears grace her face as she cups your cheek. 
“I’m glad you did. Let’s get you home, okay?” Confusion fills your face. Moving back and looking around you. “This is home?” You’re confused and rightfully so, it has been 5 years. 
“We moved a few years ago, somewhere bigger, more private. Come on, let me and Clint take you home.” She starts to stand up, her hand reaching out for yours. “Who’s Clint?” You whisper, holding her hand gently as she starts to walk towards the guy who called your name earlier. “This is Clint.” She points to him, he offers you a gentle smile, your face staying straight as you take him in. You know his face is familiar and you know that you do know him, the earlier memories of him popping up but everything else is blank. You hate it.
You stay silent the whole car journey, your hand fiddling with Natashas as she sits in the back with you. You keep trying to remember, but nothing is coming through, memories rifle through your head but they're all silent. Only she is clear, her voice is clear, her laugh. Nothing else. You can feel Natasha's eyes on you, moving between your bloodied gloved hands that she hasn’t said anything about, to your face, and then the blood seeping from your wounded shoulder. 
You pull up to the ‘compound’ as Nat called it, people rushing out of the doors have your body tensing, your hand instantly going into your pocket to grab your gun but come up empty remembering that you dropped it at the tower, but your hand wraps around the knife still present in the pocket. 
“Hey, it’s okay. They’re good, they’re safe. You know all of them but 3, it’s okay.” Natasha turns to you, her hand finding your cheek as she tries to reassure you. 
You step out of the car slowly, Natasha staying close to you as you finally approach the people standing in front of you. 
“Y/n?!” You meet eyes with another tall man with blonde hair and blue eyes. He was in your memories. He seems shocked, relieved, and also kind of scared. But you’re not shocked, they must have thought you were dead for the past 5 years. You go to reply but stop short when you take in the person coming up behind him. That’s another face in your memories but they’re not good. 
You take a glance at Natasha, her gun in a holster on her side, you reach towards it before anyone can see what you're doing, aiming the gun at him. Everyone stands still, no one talks, no one breathes as you stare at him. 
“You said it was safe.” You say out loud, your words aimed at Natasha, but you can’t look at her, you can’t take your eyes off of him. “It is. Put the gun down.” Natasha steps in front of the gun but you aim it higher, moving your body a fraction so if you shoot it will still hit him. 
“It’s not safe if he is here!” You try to tell her but she shakes her head. “He is good, whatever memories you're thinking right now, he is good. He was taken too. He was brainwashed, he is Steve's best friend, think back more, before the Avengers, think!” You close your eyes when you feel Natasha’s hand touch your chest, your arm lowering as you allow her to take the gun. You try to think, pushing away the bad, you try to think of anything and then it happens. The guy's face coming up next to the blonde man, both wearing army uniforms. It hurts, it’s confusing, and nothing makes sense.
“You’re safe here, I wouldn’t lie to you. Would I lie to you?” Natasha whispers between you both, your eyes opening and meeting hers, your body relaxes again as you shake your head no. She wouldn’t lie to you, she never would. She sends you a small smile as her hand finds yours again, walking you towards the compound, towards the people who move out of the way for Natasha and you. Only one person goes to speak, but Natasha shakes her head and pulls me along with her, the person instantly silencing themselves. 
You take in your surroundings. Counting every step you take, remembering the way to where Natasha is taking you. She places her thumb on a doorknob, the door clicking open, and she takes you into what looks like an apartment. You walk through yourself stopping just after the door not knowing what to do with yourself.
“Let’s get you cleaned up, then we can talk, okay?” You nod your head, words seeming like they can’t come to you right now, the confusion lingers, and nothing makes sense. Everything is so quiet. 
A knock at the door has you gripping your knife again, Natasha pauses and moves back towards it being met with the guy called Clint. He hands some clothes to Natasha, sending her a smile before she closes the door again and meets you back in the middle of the room. She walks you through into a bedroom until she opens another door and you're suddenly in a bathroom. 
“Do, do you want or need help cleaning up?” You stare back at her, you don’t want her to leave, she is the only thing that makes sense. You nod, accepting her help as she places the clothes onto the side, moving to another cupboard taking some towels out, and placing them onto the same side. She stands opposite you, her eyes still filled with tears as she takes a deep breath. Her hand moves slowly to your jacket, peeling it off of your body gently, her hands then go to the bottom of your hoodie, lifting it over her head. When it hits the floor she steps away from you, her tears falling, her mouth hanging open as she stares at you. 
You don’t understand why until you look down on yourself. Your left arm is…it’s metal? Shock feels your face as you take off the gloves covering your hands, your flesh arm moves to touch the metal, it’s freezing. You spot a mirror on the wall moving quickly to stand in front of it, you try your hardest to ignore Natasha's gasp as you stand with your back to her. You take yourself in, your metal arm, scars littering your whole torso. 
You close your eyes again. 
Your left side was trapped in the explosion. You open your eyes suddenly, more memories coming to you as you hurry to take off your trousers pushing them down your legs. Your left leg is metal too… You suppose it makes sense, you were trapped, they were probably ruined, and whoever got to you knew you’d be useless to them without anything replacing them. You flinch slightly when you feel hands slowly gliding up you're back. You look into the mirror your eyes spotting Natashas as she looks back at you through the mirror. 
“You were trapped…” 
“I know.” 
“I shouldn’t have left.”
“I told you to.”
“I shouldn’t have listened.” 
“You’d be dead if you stayed.” 
She doesn't say anything to that, because she knows it’s true.
Her hands surround your waist as she buries her head in between your shoulder blades. 
“I missed you, every day, I missed you so much.” You hear her mumble. Your back starting to get wet from her tears. You don’t know what to say, the past 5 years don’t make any sense, you can’t tell her you missed her too when you don’t even know if, in those 5 years, you even remembered her. And it breaks your heart when your silence makes her sobs echo within the bathroom. 
You don’t move, allowing her to get out what she needs to. This can’t be easy for her either. She thought you were dead for 5 years just to show up all over again. The years of bent-up anger and grief spilled out of her. 
You only then move when you feel her arms losing their grip and her sobs only seeming to get louder, if that was even possible. You turn around just in time to catch her, her body giving out to her emotional turmoil. Bringing her head to your chest, while holding her so tightly just so she can feel that you're real, feel like you are truly here after all this time. And secretly to remind yourself of the same things. She is still here too, she is also real, she isn’t something your mind has conjured up in your state. 
It isn’t long before she pulls away again, turning her back to you as she subtly wipes her eyes and cheeks before moving towards her shower. She doesn’t say a word, she doesn’t make a single sound while she focuses on her task at hand. And when she is done, she stays with her back to you and leaves the room before you can even utter any more words to her. 
You let the water completely engulf you as you try to focus on everything flowing through your head. You need to remember everything, every single moment, every single name and memory. The bad, the good, the ugly, you don't care. You lean over to grab some body wash on the side and the smell seems to trigger everything. 
Memories flood through you, names, faces, voices, everything. Your whole life flashes before your eyes and it should overwhelm you. But all you feel is relief. Relief of remembering, regardless of the bad you remember after being taken, that somehow fades away when Natasha’s face sits at the front of your mind. 
You're drawn from your thoughts when you can hear shouting echoing through the sound of the water hitting the sides of the shower, rushing out and throwing on the clothes Natasha left you before stepping out of the bathroom. 
Natasha is standing with the door wide open as Fury stands opposite her. They both stop talking when you slam the bathroom door to draw their attention away from one another.
“Nicholas.” You say clearly, shock filling Natasha's face as you move closer to them. 
“Y/n.” He echos right back, a smirk filling his face when you finally approach him, your arm winding around Natasha's waist to bring her closer to you, needing to feel her body heat against your cold skin. 
“Why are you both shouting, I could hear you both in the shower.” Natasha stays silent, her eyes furrowing as she looks up at Fury, his face having the same expression as hers. He doesn’t answer you and neither does she, he simply looks between you both and then speaks to Natasha, “10 minutes, meeting room.” And then he walks away. 
Natasha gets out of your grip, closing the door when Fury moves away. She stays quiet again, her back facing you as she stays with her back to you. The coldness confuses you, it hurts just as much. 
“We should head to the meeting room.” She finally says, her back still to you. “Nat, what’s, what’s wrong?” You whisper, placing your hand on her shoulder but you're met with her shrugging it off and moving away from you. 
“You were dead, for 5 years, to me, to all of us, you were dead. I grieved you, I put flowers on your empty grave every week. Every week since your funeral. For a whole year, I couldn’t go on missions, I couldn’t work. I didn’t leave the tower until your funeral, and then after that, I didn’t leave my room for 3 months. I then didn't go on missions for 6 months either, because you were dead. And I, I hated you for that, I hated that you made me leave, I hated that you radioed Tony to come and get me and I hated that we were forced to leave without even looking for your body. I hated that when I finally found the strength to pack your stuff away, I found a ring in your shoes. And right now, god I am so fucking happy and relieved you're alive but…” She breathes, she wipes her eyes and she meets your eyes, and the look in them breaks you. 
“But, I have now lived 5 long years without you and I’m not the ‘me’ you remember or know, Y/n. I’m not.” 
“I remembered you, Natasha, I woke up in an alley not even knowing what year it was and all I could remember was you. I remember YOU. I can- let me get to know who you are now, let me, let me remember you for who you are now.” You beg her, you need her. Especially now.
“You remembered the old me, Y/n. I’m not someone who you can love anymore. I’m not, that’s gone, that person died the day that you died.”
“Natasha…”
“We need to go to the meeting room.” She tries to deflect.
“I want to talk to you more than talking to Fury.”
“I can’t do this right now, please. Just please, let me take this in, you're here and you're alive and I don’t, I can’t process this right now.” She opens the door and walks out, the conversation over with. 
She leads you down to the meeting room, walking in front of you the whole time, every time you try to match her pace she only walks faster to get further away from you. You hate the distance between you both but you do understand it, as much as it hurts. She needs to process this, you’ve been gone, a lot has happened in those years and you can’t force her to stay if she doesn’t want to. So you’re not shocked when she walks you into the meeting room and leaves immediately after. 
---------------------------
You tell Fury everything. How you somehow survived the explosion, and how you remember your body being pulled from the rubble, thinking it was SHEILD but it wasn't. You tell him about the months of tests completed on you, the super soldier serum that now floods through your veins. You tell him every mission you remember, the dates, the countries, the kills. He takes you to the med bay next, and more blood is taken from you as you show them your new leg and arm, they pay close attention to the scars covering your body and you try not to cower away at that. After he is done with that he takes you to the gym, making you run the fastest you can, lifting the heaviest weights you can. You ignore the looks of shock on his and Marias faces as they write everything down. 
When you finally land back in the meeting room, you all sit in silence. Fury and Maria, continuously look at each other and then back to you. You sit back twirling your thumbs as you wait for them to say anything. And Maria is the first one to choke. 
“How do you feel? You couldn't remember anything but Natasha 5 hours ago.” I shrug my shoulders trying to find the right words to say. 
“Honestly, I feel okay. At first, it was overwhelming not remembering anything, but then when everything hit me, I was just relieved, relieved that I could actually remember. Yeah, my time at Hydra was shit, but it happened, and I’m here now. And there is only one Hydra base left which I just gave you the location too and within days that will be gone too. So I feel relieved because I won’t go back there. Because I am here, with people I know and remember. I may be different now, I know I’m different and in a week I could be feeling completely different, so if and when I do feel different, I will come straight to Maria. I promise, I am here and I am present.” I lay my hands on the table as I finish talking, Fury and Maria nodding their heads at my words. 
“I’ll sort out your death certificate. I’ll sort out your bank account and ID, all of that stuff. You’ll have it within a day. Oh, and all of your pension that we owed you for being dead I guess.” Fury tells you, standing up and leaving, but not without placing his hand on your shoulder and saying, “I’m glad you're back Y/n.”
Maria stays sitting for longer, her hands fiddling with paperwork as she gets it all together. You know she wants to say something, but you know she won’t. “So, Natasha kind of hates me, I guess.” You try to break the silence, but Maria's sighing makes her stop her movements. 
“It was rough. She wasn’t Natasha anymore, any trace of her was gone and it took a while to try and bring her back but she didn't, not really anyway. I’ve seen Natasha be so many different people, around different people but around you, that was Natasha. How she was with the guys, it wasn't how she was when you were here. But no one could do or say anything because we all knew it wouldn’t matter. Because you were gone and because of that, she wasn't ever going to come back. Especially after she found the ring. She used to wear it you know. All the time, no one said anything, worried about how she would react and then one day she stopped, and we all just thought, she had accepted it. That you were gone and wasn't coming back. She doesn’t hate you, I know she doesn’t, but right now, those 5 years of grief and loss, she is hating herself for giving up when you were out there all along, alive.” Maria, sits herself down next to you, leaning against the table as you furrow your brows, trying to process her words. You get it, like you already said, you understand. You can’t even begin to imagine what it would be like if the roles were the other way. Honestly, you would probably react the same way she is. 
“It wasn’t her fault.” You whisper, tears building in your eyes.
“To her, it is, was her fault. So what are you going to do about it, super soldier?”
------------------------------
You had been at the compound for a week now. It had been good, fun even. You knew most people, that is the original 6 of the Avengers. It was nice to be with them again, joking and laughing like you did all those years ago. It also helped that some new additions to the team were also nice.
It would have only been perfect if Natasha was there too but she wasn't. She had disappeared when you finally came out of your meeting with Fury and Maria, and it didn't surprise you when Clint was also gone. You knew where they were, at Clint’s farm. She needed space, you understood that but you wished she at least told you she had left, but you had to realize she didn't owe you that at all. 
It was by the second week at the compound that it then started to feel like you were now intruding into Natasha's life without you. She still hadn't come home. The constant thoughts of just leaving so she could come back were always floating around your head but another part also kept telling you that she just needs to process this and then she will be home, she will be back and it will all be okay. 
It was so conflicting, the constant back and forth. You wanted, no needed to call her but knew you shouldn’t. It kept you up most nights, resulting in you ending up falling asleep on the couch instead of in your cozy new bedroom, courtesy of Tony, it felt weird sleeping in a bed without her. It might have been 5 years, but in those 5 years, you hadn't even slept in a bed. It just never felt right, you didn't know what to do with your arms, and you didn't know how to lay. It was as if you could only exist with your arms surrounding her and it was tearing you apart.
By the third week, you were begging Maria for permission to use a jet. Natasha hadn’t answered any of your calls, texts, or even emails. Neither had Clint. Everyone could see it was affecting you, they all kept trying to tell you she would be back when she was ready but at this point, it didn't feel like she was coming back. Clint showed up in the middle of the third week, you tried speaking to him about Natasha but he wouldn’t budge. He wouldn’t answer any of your questions, but he could hear and see the distress. You felt erratic, you didn’t feel like yourself and it was making it all worse. He wouldn’t let you see her or speak to her, he wouldn’t even say her name. He wouldn’t even tell you if she was safe, and that’s when you lost it. 
You had him pinned against a way, Bucky and Steve on either side of you trying to pry you off of him but even with their strength, you didn't move a muscle. And finally, when Clint realized you weren’t going to let go that’s when he muttered that Natasha was safe, something he could have done 30 minutes ago when you had asked in the first place. But you continued to hold him. Maria walked into the room then, coming up by your side and telling you to let him go. You could hear it in her voice that she wasn't going to ask again and you dropped him, walking away and out of the door without turning round. 
It got to the point where the weeks turned into months. Still no sign of her, still no word from her. It was breaking you apart. You completely distanced yourself from everyone, only coming out of your room in the middle of the night to go to the gym and then taking as much food and drink as you could back up to your room. You hadn't slept, and the bed still didn’t feel right. It was exhausting. 
And that’s when it suddenly felt like you were being punished. 
That this was only a fraction of what Natasha felt. And that she was doing this on purpose.
It all turned to anger. 
You didn’t expect to get taken. You thought you were going to die. It wasn’t your fault you lived, it wasn’t your fault you didn’t look for her. You didn't remember anything until waking up all over again in an alley 5 years later. 
She was punishing you, even if she didn't realize it. 
You called her again. Her answerphone breaks you. You cried down the phone, begging for her to come home, to talk to you. To stop acting like you had died. That you have both already lost 5 years, you don’t need to lose more. 
---------------
Tony was having a party, you don't know what for. Something about it had ‘been a while’. You wanted nothing more than to stay in your bedroom, but Bucky and Steve wouldn’t let you. They forced you up, made you shower and get dressed. 
The party was boring, Thor had gone back to Asgard so in turn had taken his mead, which was the only thing that could even get you the slightest bit drunk. It felt pointless drinking when it didn’t do anything. 
The night seemed to go too slow, people coming and going as they pleased. People greet you for one minute and then say goodbye. It felt pointless. It felt like maybe 5 years ago you should have died instead. It felt like life didn’t have a meaning anymore. 
Everyone tried to get you to stay, the party still in full swing but you felt so dejected and so far from everyone it just seemed so pointless. All of it seemed pointless. They could see it too, the light in your eyes was gone, the lingering thoughts of Natasha affecting how you carried yourself every day. They saw the similarities from when Natasha lost you. It started to feel like Natasha definitely wasn’t coming back and everyone else finally started to agree. 
The party had been over for a few hours now, the clock reading 3:23 am. The room was still a mess but it felt fitting that it was the only place that would stop your thoughts from flying all over the place. You were no longer in the clothes you wore to the party but were now sporting an oversized hoodie and sweats. You got yourself comfortable on the couch. Throwing the rubbish on top of it onto the floor, someone else will deal with it tomorrow. 
You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You needed to sleep. It had been days since you last slept, you were well and truly exhausted. You just needed to sleep to get your head straight again. 
----------------
You felt a weight on your chest, your body going tense instantly, wanting to sit up. But a hand on your cheeks stops you. You keep your eyes closed, afraid that if you open them it won’t be real. That the familiar touch and smell isn’t Natasha, that she is a fragment of your exhausted and emotional mind. Her whole body lay on top of your own. Her head is tucked into your neck. Her hand tangled in the hair on the side of your head. 
“I know you're awake.” She whispers, her breath tickling your neck. 
“You’re real.” You sigh out, opening your eyes and wrapping your arms around her back. Holding her tightly against you. Her body fits perfectly with your own.
“So are you.” She whispers again, not wanting to ruin the quietness that surrounds you both. 
“I’m sorry, I left, I just…”
“I know, I’m sorry too.” You move your body to lay on its side, Natasha's body falling beside you, trapping her between yourself and the back of the couch. You move your hand slowly to run through her hair, her breathing slow and gentle. She stares at you so intensely, and you can’t help but stare back. 
“You remembered me.” She whispers, moving closer despite the very little space between you both anyway, resting her forehead on yours. 
“I think I will always remember you, Natasha.” You breathe out, a small smile gracing her lips as she opens her eyes after taking a deep breath. 
You feel her head moving again, so slowly and subtly but you know her, even if it has been so many years, you know her. Her lips meet yours slowly, and your body starts to shiver from the action. 
The kiss is slow, but hard, every unspoken word flowing between you. 
“I will always love you, whether I am dead or missing, or simply just alive, I will always love and remember you, Natasha Romanoff, that will never change, I promise you that.” You whisper against her lips as you both pull away, a smirk now lying on her lips. She presses her lips against yours again, short and sweet just like her. 
“I will always love you too.”
You remembered her, and you always will. 
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hoovesandfloorpaws · 5 months ago
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Louis' award corner masterpost (Feb '25)
as promised, i went down the path of becoming rectangle-eyed and have googled pictures of every single award One Direction, Louis and Harry have ever received during their careers and studied all of them to try and match all the awards to the ones in the pictures we got today -- and sweet gay jesus, the awards we see in the photo are only like 10% of everything they've won.
Still: even after 6 hours of research, 3 of the awards plus the surfboard furthest back remain kind of a mystery to me, so if you know which award they are, please drop me a message and I will add the info in a reblog! 🙏🏼 (more info below)
Pic from today:
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Awards corner overview: (click to enlarge)
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Let's zoom in:
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DONE!
TL;DR: there are (just like in 2021) at least 2 of Harry's awards in this shelf - the 2 Brit Awards! 😌 husbands are still being husbandy. Also given their history with bears🧸, I love that they have one right there 🏳️‍🌈
❗️If you have any idea what that award marked with "???" and the glass one next to it is (what I put there I am not super sure about), please let me know and I will add this in a reblog! And also if I have made a mistake somewhere. About the NRJ Award, I also am only like 50% sure about. If any of you have a better fit, please let me know. I know the matte gold award with the 1 kinda reminds one of BBC Radio 1, but the BBC Radio 1's Teen Awards look very colourful, like so:
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and they have never looked any different, as far as I researched.
Re: the surfboards - honestly, I also thought maybe they are not awards, but for some reason he stores regular surfboards in that corner. We know he likes to surf. But it would make so little sense if they are not the Teen Choice Awards. One of them is clearly wrapped. And I think the middle one might also be thinly wrapped and is perhaps the 2016 one with the palm leaves. But the one in the back I really can't match to any of the surfboards won. Just to give you all the details - here is an overview of all the Teen Choice Award surfboards One Direction, Louis, and Harry have won:
2012: (including 2 pictures with the entire boards, front and back)
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2013:
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2014:
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2015:
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2016 (One Direction weren't there to pick it up and there was no video message with them holding it / Harry won 1 solo, as well):
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2017 (Louis won, but I wasn't able to find a picture of him holding the board. Harry won 3 as well, but he didn't attend):
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2018 (Harry won 2 as well, but he didn't attend):
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2019 (showing both sides of the board):
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on a final note, here is a pic of Louis' 2016 Brit Award, which is missing from the collection on the shelf - you know, just in case it'll pop up ~somewhere else in the future 😌 (maybe with the rest of Harry's Brits 🤭)
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liam 💖
more resources: • this fantastic post from Sep 2021 of Louis' Brit Awards shelf in Away From Home (2021) by @skepticalarrie • this post is what inspired me to make this - i love when we all come together for research! 😌💙💚 @twopoppies @daisiesonafield-blog @srldesigns6277 @vampirenicotine @anchorandrope @fookinhellcurlyy - love you all x • One Direction awards / Louis' awards / Harry's awards • the Berlin Buddy bear
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