#keyboard and propeller

[agentark]

Remember when phones cost like $70 max and had real buttons

[chanelrolls]

kneel, caleb.

synopsis. your subordinate, caleb, has always been the ideal employee. but appearances deceive, don't they? there's no way your perfect junior is a massive perv... spoiler alert: he is.

content. afab!fem reader, office au, caleb pov, creepy & obsessive behavior, gaslighting, unsactioned spying, perverse actions, workplace malpractice, masturbation, p in v, oral (f!receiving), mouthspitting, desk sex, caleb is just an overall gross stalker, could be dubcon.

READ AT UR OWN RISK !

a/n. hi! just wanna give a heads-up that caleb might be a liiiittle ooc here since i wanted to try a powerplay dynamic between him and you, with caleb formerly being the bottom. basically, a pathetic yearning submissive!caleb :3 (but he'll dom in the end)

wc. 4k

The hum of the office printers and the soft taps of the keyboards were the routine background music to Caleb's workday. It was a monotonous cadence that had long since stopped to register in his head.

Today, though, those sounds felt like a mocking grate.

He sat at his desk, trying to silence the pounding of his heartbeat. His crisp khaki shirt clung to his broad shoulders down to his back from a sheen of sweat. Then, his fingers, usually so precise, trembled over the keyboard.

He had meant to print the latest client proposal for his superior, you, to review. Such a simple request, and yet, he had fucked up. In a catastrophic lapse of his usual meticulousness, a single, misplaced keystroke had sent his most lewd and explicit writings to the communal printer. Pages upon pages of detailed smut that featured him splitting you wide open on his cock. The printer that everyone, including his manager, used. Sheet by damning sheet were now spilling out for the entire world to see.

Fuck. How could I mix up the damn files? Why didn’t I double-check?

He berated himself internally for the slip up. Propelled into action by sheer panic, Caleb shot up from his chair. His typically measured stride broke into an uncharacteristic sprint, each urgent step towards the printer room amplifying the dread that clutched at his throat.

Throughout, his mind was ablaze with the potential fallout; the scandal would be career-ending, soul-crushing. His perfect professional image, the one he had so carefully constructed, was on the brink of shattering.

All because of a fucking misclick.

As he neared the doorway, time seemed to contort, stretching the seconds into lifetimes. His only hope was to snatch away the filth before any eyes, especially those of his superior, could take it in.

But as fate would have it, the universe conspired against him. Just as he was about to lunge for the papers, a silhouette appeared in the doorway.

You.

Oh, fuck me.

With no time to think and everything to lose, Caleb settled for a risky plan. His stride slowed, attempting nonchalance. "Ah, Y/n, just the person I was hoping to catch," he blurted out, his voice a strained mimicry of casualness.

"There's been a slight hiccup with the proposal I was printing for you. It seems the printer has pulled the wrong file from the queue." The lie was a gamble, a last-ditch effort to deflect from the horror of the situation. "I'll sort this out and bring the correct one to your office shortly. My apologies for the inconvenience."

His plea to the deities was silent, desperate: Take the bait. Please, for the love of God, take the fucking bait, don’t question it, and walk away.

There was just no plausible explanation for why he had multiple pages describing you as his pathetic cock sleeve, stupid cum rag, bitch in heat, and other similar obscene names.

Caleb refrained from allowing his eyes to dart towards the incriminating evidence hanging from the printer tray like a sordid tapestry, not wanting to draw further attention to it. Standing rigidly, every fibre of his being willed you to accept his words, to leave the room without a second glance. His future, his reputation, his very sanity hung in the balance, suspended by the slender thread of a hastily conjured lie.

You paused at the doorway, brow furrowing slightly as you take in Caleb's flustered state. His shirt was a bit rumpled, hair slightly disheveled, and his eyes had an oddly unusual stern look. It was a far cry from his usual put-together demeanor. You couldn't help but notice the way his gaze darted nervously to the printer and back to you.

Something's not right here.

"A hiccup?" you asked, arching an eyebrow. "I don't have time for printer malfunctions, Caleb. I need that proposal on my desk within the hour." Your voice came firm, a subtle undercurrent of warning beneath the professional tone.

Caleb swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your gaze like a physical pressure on his chest. Fuck, she's not buying it, he panicked internally.

"Of course, I apologize for the delay. I assure you, it will be resolved shortly," he replied, his voice strained. He was wracking his brain for a way to salvage this situation. He couldn't let you see the depravity spilling from the printer, the explicit details of his obsession with you splayed out for all to see.

Desperate, he took a step closer to you, his hand outstretched in a placating gesture. "Perhaps we could discuss the changes you wanted to the proposal in your office? I have a few...notes I jotted down earlier that I think you'll find useful," he said, his tone a careful balance of deference and subtle manipulation.

If I can just get her out of here, away from the printer and those fucking papers, I can contain this disaster.

You hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowing as you studied Caleb's face. You couldn't shake the feeling that he was hiding something, that there was an undercurrent of desperation in his manner. But the mention of the changes you had requested gave you a pause. You did need the proposal, and if Caleb had the notes, then perhaps it was better to hear him out in the privacy of your office.

"Very well," you said finally, turning on your heel. "But make it quick, please. I have a meeting in thirty minutes that I can't miss."

As you walked out, Caleb felt a wave of relief wash over him. That was too fucking close. He turned to the printer, his hands shaking as he gathered up the incriminating pages, stuffing them into his briefcase. I can't let her see this, I can't let anyone see this, he repeated like a mantra.

You settle into the plush leather chair behind your desk. You watched as Caleb hurried in after you, his movements hurried and frazzled. He was acting even stranger than before, eyes darting around your office nervously.

He's up to something. But what?

"Alright, Caleb, let's see these notes you mentioned," you hold out your hand expectantly. You leaned forward, elbows on your desk, and fixed him with a penetrating stare.

Caleb swallowed hard. His mouth suddenly felt dry. Think, you fucking idiot, think. He berated himself. He couldn't show you the real notes, not with the depraved shit he'd written about you splashed all over them.

"Ah, yes, of course," he stammered, fumbling with his briefcase. In truth, he was buying time, trying to come up with a plausible lie.

I can't let her see those pages, I can't let her know how I've been fantasizing about her, he thought desperately. But I need to give her something to keep her off my trail.

In a moment of inspiration, he pulled out a sheet of paper, scrawling a few generic notes about the proposal. It was thin, but it would have to do.

"Here," he hands you the sheet. "I thought we could lead with the data analysis section, highlight the key insights that drive the strategy. And perhaps emphasize the cost-saving initiatives on the next page to frame the financial benefits..." He droned on, his voice taking on a professional cadence. But inside, his mind was becoming a whirlwind of panic and lust.

Even during such a moment, Caleb couldn't help himself but to trail his eyes down the perfect curve of your neckline, and then to the flawless skin of your cleavage that had let itself expose through a few undone buttons. I just want to bend her over this desk and fuck her until she screams. Show her who the real boss is. His gaze continued to rove over your form, before swallowing. He couldn't act on those urges, not now. Not ever. He had to keep up this charade, had to maintain the illusion of the perfect, dedicated employee.

Play it cool, Caleb, he told himself. Don't let her see how crazy you are about her.

You listened to his suggestions, expression inscrutable. You, again, felt like he was holding something back, that there was a hidden agenda behind his words. But the notes, flimsy as they were, could work.

You lean back in your chair. "Those are...adequate," you set the single sheet of notes down on the desk. "But I seem to recall you mentioning you had more than just this. Hand them over please." your tone left no room for argument, and you fixed him with a stare that dared him to disobey.

Caleb felt his stomach drop as you demanded the rest of the notes. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She's not letting this go.

He knew he should refuse and make up an excuse, anything to keep you from seeing the depraved writings that filled the rest of the pages. But the words stuck in his throat, and he found himself reaching into his briefcase once more, fingers brushing against the paper.

Maybe if I just give her a little taste, she'll be satisfied and wouldn't question further. Maybe she won't look too closely.

With a shaking hand, he passed some of the papers to you, his heart hammering against his ribs while you took it from him. He watched you flip open the cover and began to read.

At first, your expression remained impassive, eyes merely scanning the lines of neat lines of words. But as you turned another page, he saw a flicker of confusion cross your face.

You blushed.

Oh god.

Cute.

But, wait, fuck, she's seeing it, he thought, a wave of nausea rising in his throat. She's seeing all the filthy things I've written about her!

"Caleb...what're these?"

No.

Kill me.

"Did you write these...?" You breathed, holding up the paper with trembling fingers.

No, I didn't. Well, yes, I did. But, no.

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He was frozen, paralyzed by the sheer, gut-wrenching terror of being exposed. He had crossed a line, and he knew there was no going back. His career, his reputation, everything he had worked so hard to build, was about to come crashing down around him.

I'm fucked, he thought, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. I'm so fucked.

Just as the tension between you reached a fever pitch, the office door suddenly swung open, and a co-worker pokes her head in. "Excuse me! I have that report you asked for," She announced, oblivious to the charged atmosphere. She breezed in, setting a folder on your desk. "Sorry for the interruption, but this is really urgent."

You blinked, startled by the interference. Then, you glanced at your watch, cursing under your breath when you realized the time.

"I have to go," you stood up from your desk, not sparing Caleb a glance. The papers were already slipped into one of the compartments of your worktable.

Caleb stood frozen as the two women exited the office, leaving him alone with his racing thoughts.

Later that night, as you sat in your dimly lit condo, unwinding from the stressful day, Caleb was hunched over his laptop in his own apartment. His fingers trembled as he clicked through the surveillance feed, and watched you.

He had installed a small camera inside the teddy bear he had gifted you months ago, a "joke" present that you had accepted with a polite smile and a strained laugh. At the time, he had told himself it was just a harmless prank, a way to make you smile. But deep down, he had known the truth - it was a way to invade your privacy, to make you his in a way that you could never know.

Now, as he watched you move around the room, the soft glow of the lamp casting shadows across your face, he felt a thrill of excitement and fear. You were so close, so real, and yet so utterly unaware of his presence.

He zoomed in, the image blurring slightly once he focused on your face, on the way your lips moved as you read a book, oblivious to his gaze.

Mine.

Caleb shuts his eyes for a second.

You aren't here for that, Caleb.

He still couldn't forget the look on his manager's face upon stumbling over the depraved fantasies he had long since kept hidden. He swore he saw a blush forming across your cheeks when you did. Did she like it? Could there have been a chance?

No, weirdo.

He had been told by you to talk in your office by tomorrow morning, and he didn't need any further explanation. Because he knows he's about to get reprimanded for what he had done. But watching you through the camera, fingers resting against the philtrum of his mouth, a flicker of hope sparked in his chest.

You wouldn't dare fire him. You needed him.

As Caleb watched, transfixed by the scene unfolding on his laptop screen, you suddenly paused in your reading. Caleb curiously leans back. You reached into the leather bag on your nightstand, your fingers rummaging around before emerging with a familiar-looking set of pages.

Oh.

Caleb's heart leapt into his throat as he recognized the documents, it was the very same set of perverse writings he had given you earlier that day, the ones you had left in your desk before being called away to the meeting. Somehow, you had taken them home with you, and now you were reading them in the privacy of your own bedroom.

Caleb studies your reactions. She must think I'm a sick, twisted freak.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, crossing your legs and biting your nails while you scanned the lines of his obsession. The expression on your face was hard to decipher, but it didn't show any hint of revulsion nor disgust. If anything, you looked quite... interested. And it made Caleb squint his eyes into a pair of half-lidded ones. Or could she be enjoying what I wrote for her?

He knew he shouldn't do this, especially when his career is already on the line. But he found it hard to resist when you're there.

You're there, sitting cross-legged on the bed while being confronted by the true depths of his desire. Showing the skin of your legs by wearing a pair of short shorts, showing that supple fucking skin he had been longing to touch.

Caleb reached down.

Your hair is so perfect, it falls on all the right places. Your neckline, one of his favorites, seemed to tease him a little more right now than usual. Not in a dramatic, romantic way, no. In a suffocating, painful way, as if his ribs constricted each time you tucked a strand behind your ear. Your lashes, long and curled like they belonged in oil paintings, cast shadows over your cheeks that Caleb studied too often. He knew the exact angle at which the light struck your skin to make it glow. He’d memorized it, hoarded it.

Caleb's breathing grew ragged palming himself through the rough fabric of his pants.

You weren't just beautiful. You were specific. A kind of cruel perfection stitched together from his glances, the curve of your shoulder in a nightgown, the slight press of your lips as you read. Hell, your voice, too. Your voice wasn’t just soft, it was a sound that haunted him long after meetings. It echoed inside him with maddening clarity.

She's mine. Caleb unbuckled his belt, adam's apple bobbing down out of guilt. Guilt and excitement. She doesn't know it yet, but she's mine.

With a strangled groan, he kept his eyes on you, stroking himself faster, stroking himself with urgent movements.

"Fuck," He sighs, rolling his head back. One hand squeezing the base of his cock, the other folded above his forehead. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, just like that..." It was so wrong. He knew he was gross for acting like this, but the indecency of it all only seemed to heighten his arousal.

Leaning forward, Caleb opens the first compartment of his table, grabbing something from the inside. He quickly pushes it back close, holding up the item in his hand before bringing it to his nose. Your red, laced panty.

Smells so fucking divine.

He takes his time sniffing it, eyes shut. How and where'd he get it? That's a different story. Right now, the focus lies on how Caleb brings the piece of fabric in the other hand he used for stroking, wrapping it around his shaft. And then, he jerks himself off with your panty.

Caleb moaned.

"Fuck me." He stares at you on his laptop screen through half-lidded, lust-filled eyes. You had already stopped reading, standing up to do your self-care routine that Caleb had gone used to by watching it every single night.

First, serum. And then, moisturizer. Then, face gel.

You dropped the tube on the floor, and you had to crouch down and bend over to reach for it when it rolled down your bed.

Caleb tensed. Shit.

He picked up the pace, grunting and moaning, a sheen of sweat forming in the pits of his clavicle, rolling down to wet the neckline of his shirt. "I'm gunna cum, baby—" And he did. He came hard, his body shuddering as he watched the juices spill out from the tip, shooting out to the laptop screen, to the keyboard, everywhere.

He lets his head finally fall back in a dramatic swing, chasing his breath.

Even as he masturbated to your panty every night, to you through the camera, he would never be able to satisfy himself entirely unless it's your pussy squeezing his dick.

Caleb sighed. Now that you've found out about the smut that he'd been compiling, he wonders how long would it take before you find out the categorized files in his USB drive, filled with pictures he'd taken and stolen of you without consent. How long would it take before you see the altar of your printed photographs across his wall, scribbled by a red marker of hearts. And to the lockbag of your hairstrands he'd find when he cleans your office.

There's no way you'd suspect him further. After all, Caleb had always been the model employee. Everybody in the corporate looked up to him, admired him.

There's no way he was actually a massive pervert who stalked you and obsessed with you to death.

Caleb felt like a man walking to his own execution as he crossed the threshold to your office. He adjusted his tie, then smoothed his shirt. His hands were sweating, so he wiped them down on his slacks before stepping in furthermore. And every step felt like a countdown to combustion.

There you were, a figure sculpted by dominance and grace. You didn't look up right away, just gestured toward the seat across your desk, as you slowly closed a folder in a deliberate manner.

Caleb sat frozen.

He could barely feel the chair under him, only the thundering echo of his heart in his ears. Somehow, the room felt too warm. No, maybe, it was you. The way you moved around the desk, unhurried, and impossibly close now.

He kept his eyes down.

Don’t look at her. Don’t make it worse. Don’t ruin this.

But his body betrayed him, as always. Every sense strained toward your presence- the soft scuff of your heels, the faintest trace of your perfume- it pulled at something in him that he had tried to suppress for months. No, years.

She knows.

God, she knows.

The fantasies, the language he used, the devotion pressed into every word of those wretched pages. You had seen it all. There was no salvaging his image now. Not the image he had so carefully constructed. The polished, respectful, reliable subordinate. The ideal employee who never overstepped, never strayed, who served you with silent loyalty.

Tch. As if you didn't jerk your cock off to her last night.

A fraud.

And yet, even as shame licked at the edges of his chest like fire, part of him thrilled in it. Because you knew, and you had read it. And you called him here.

"Did you enjoy writing them?" You finally spoke.

His throat tightened. "…Yes."

God, he hated himself for it, but he meant it. Every line was a prayer. Every fantasy was a cathedral built in your image. He’d written them in the quiet of the night, behind locked doors, whispering your name in a confession. And now, he sat like a sinner at your altar, awaiting judgment.

"Do you fantasize about me often, Caleb?" Your voice came quiet- careful not to pique any curious ears from outside your office- but it pierced right through him.

He looked up, and it was a mistake.

Because one look on your ravishing beauty was enough to make him feel his pulse throb in his neck, enough to give him the bold will to admit everything he had ever kept.

"I—" he tried, then paused. Of course, he couldn't lie. Not to you. "Yes."

Caleb dropped his gaze once more.

Say something. Apologize. Beg, Caleb!

But his mouth wouldn't open. His thoughts were nothing but swirled, messy, undignified: Touch me. Destroy me. Just don’t send me away.

What frightened him most wasn’t your punishment, but the possibility of your indifference. That you might turn cold, dismiss him, begin to look at him like he meant nothing.

He would rather burn than having to endure such a thing.

"I understand if I need to be...reassigned," he said at last, breaking through the silence like glass. "I’ll submit the request myself." But even as he said it, his chest screamed don’t go. Don’t let her push you away. Please.

Caleb didn’t move when you circled back to your desk and sat down slowly, with all the calm of someone entirely in control. You reached into your desk drawer.

Instantly, he recognized the sound of the papers before he saw it. Those cursed, damning papers. The one that held every word he'd bled onto the page in a haze of desire and delusion. You placed it neatly on the desk, right in front of you, then tapped it once with your finger.

"Read it."

What?

Caleb’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He blinked. "I’m sorry?"

Your gaze didn’t falter. “Out loud. All of it.”

Silence expanded like smoke. He couldn’t breathe.

The humiliation hit him first- a visceral, gut-wrenching kind. His entire body recoiled at the thought. Every word in that set was an exposure and a betrayal of all the control he tried so hard to keep. The fantasies weren’t gentle. They weren’t clean. They were obsessive and creepy and dirty.

But beneath that terror...

Oh god, he wanted to obey.

To surrender.

To give you everything you asked for, even this.

His hands moved slowly, hesitantly, before he took the set of pages. Caleb licked his lips. “I…”

Your voice cut through him like a blade. “Begin.”

He inhaled shakily. The words clung to his throat. "...'I don’t remember the last night I slept without h-her shadow on my ceiling. I think about her every morning before I put on this mask. The perfect subordinate. She doesn’t know I would burn this entire company down for five minutes alone with her in a room where I’m not beneath her title. Where I-I’m not just her assistant. But that’s just fantasy... isn’t it?'"

His voice cracked on the last line, hands gripping the paper tighter. Don’t stop. You can’t stop now. She asked for this.

“…‘I watched her pour coffee in the break room once, and my hands clenched so tight I left nail marks in my palm. Because I thought, uhm- what if she told me to... kneel? I would, without shame. I would even thank her for it.” He could feel his own face burning, chest tight with breathless exhilaration.

You still hadn’t interrupted. You were listening intently.

And that, somehow, was the most unbearable part.

Caleb swallowed again. “…‘S-Sometimes I pretend she’s already mine. In my head, I undo her buttons. One by one. I trace the hollow of her throat with the same precision I use to format her spreadsheets. I press my mouth to her skin and whisper everything I’ve never said aloud.’”

The words hung in the air, and Caleb's voice had stopped trembling. Rather, it had settled into a lower tone, as if he had crossed an invisible threshold and found himself oddly unafraid.

You sat back in your chair, as if reclining into a throne you��d claimed without effort. You let the silence stretch, then reached for it like a violinist would a bowstring. “Well,” you began, “That was almost poetic, Caleb. I wasn’t expecting you to be such a romantic.”

No response.

So you talked again. "But that was only the second page, wasn’t it?" You gently tapped your nails on the papers. "There are more. Many more, much more explicit and... less reverent."

Caleb's eyes finally lifted, cautiously, like the weight of them had to be managed.

Gone was the nervous boy you summoned into your office. Because in his place stood a man unraveling at his own pace.

"I wonder," you mused, tapping a finger to your chin, "were those written before or after the one where you wrote about bending me over my own desk with your belt around my wrists?"

To your surprise, Caleb didn't flinch.

Instead, he reached forward, closed the pages with a definitive sound, and slid it across your desk- never once breaking eye contact.

Fine. If you want more, I'll give you more.

Then he smiled.

But you won't come out of your office untouched.

Not the polite, warm smile he usually shows you when you walk past each other, no. It was something colder, sleek. Like the moment a knife catches light. "Would you like me to read that one too, Y/n?"

You arched a brow, mildly amused by the sudden shift. But you didn't speak. Not yet.

Caleb moved to stand up, a single deliberate action that suggested something had changed between the two of you. "I can recite it from memory," he says, "If you prefer."

It was your turn to swallow.

"I wrote those pages to survive you," Caleb lowered his lashes. "To avoid myself from doing something... irresponsible." and then, he stepped forward. "Now, you're asking me to read them and revisit every word. So if this is what you want, Y/n-" he rests both of his hands against your desk, leaning forward. "Then you don't get to act surprised if I stop playing the nice guy."

There was a long pause, and you didn't fill it.

But Caleb noticed the way your throat moved when you gulped, the way your hands began to clench themselves.

You were wavering.

And he, who had once trembled under the weight of your attention, now stood taller. Still bound by his shirt and tie, yes- but no longer leashed by fear. "I won’t read them."

Your eyes narrowed a fraction. "Excuse me?"

"I don’t need to," Caleb slowly began to circle your desk, approaching you closer, and it made you unconsciously back away. "The ones you’re thinking of… I know those by heart."

He had grown into his obsession.

Into yours, apparently.

This was utterly inappropriate and absurd. You knew better. And yet, you stared up at him like you were the one caught, like you were the one awaiting permission. And Caleb... Caleb merely looked down at you, head slightly tilted.

With a measured grace, Caleb dropped to one knee, eyes never leaving yours.

And you, to your own horror, didn't look away. Because you should've stood up, said his name in a warning. You should've reprimanded him in a professional way. Not whatever this is. But instead, you sat still.

Caleb's palms slid, languidly, up the length of your calves. He inhaled softly. God.

"I rememer writing about this one," His fingers paused just below your knees, and you could feel how long they were through your stockings. The sheer audacity of him, touching you with that same calm he used in reports and presentations, made you pick up your breathing. "You leaned back in this very chair, and you parted your legs. Just a bit. Enough to make me desperate and beg."

You stopped breathing.

"You watched me as I touched you," His index finger teased the hem of your thigh-high. "Slower than I wanted to. And when I couldn't take it anymore..." He smiled faintly, cruelly. "I took your skirt off, I took your panties off, and I took your virginity."

Then, he presses his lips against your knee, inhaling your scent once more. I want to fuck this woman already. God, please let me. He shuts his eyes, then slowly, made his way to the upper area of your thigh with his mouth.

You almost whimpered, fingers gripping tightly on the armrests of your chair.

"I went with eating you out. I licked your pussy, sucked your clit, and you moaned, Y/n, you grabbed my hair and-" Caleb opens his eyes, and looks up at you. "You came right into my mouth."

You grabbed his necktie and pulled him closer, which catches him off guard.

He stared at you, stunned- for once, without something ready to say. His chest rose and fell with the quiet force of someone whose fantasy had just collided, violently, with reality.

Caleb swallowed.

Nonetheless, his voice returned low, strained with a trembling thrill. "Do you want me to recreate it?"

You didn't respond.

So he reached out, his hands trembling slightly as they slid up your thighs, pushing your skirt up to reveal the lacy edge of your panties. He leaned in, burying his face against the soft fabric, inhaling deeply the scent of you, a heady mix of your natural aroma and the faint perfume of your lotion. Fuck.

Unable to resist any longer, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly dragged them down your legs. As they fell to the floor, he tossed them aside carelessly.

You told yourself it's just this once, and though you knew that it's a weak attempt of justification, you repeated it inside your head. Just this once. Then you'll end this madness.

Caleb seemed to sense your hesitation, and he pressed his advantage, bruhing his lips against your bare folds in the lightest of kisses. The touch was electric, sending a jolt of sensation shooting up your spine. "Please," he breathed, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your pussy lips, teasing the sensitive flesh. "Let me taste you."

Just this once, he thought, just this once and then I'll end this. I swear I will.

"Then do it," you commanded. "Show me what a devoted servant you are."

Oh.

Caleb didn't hesitate. He immediately buried his face between your thighs, his mouth covering your most intimate area as he began to eat you out with desperate hunger. His tongue delved between your folds, stroking and probing at the slick, heated flesh.

"Mmm, s'good-" he groaned into you, the vibrations of his voice sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your core. God, she tastes even better than I fucking imagined.

He sealed his lips around your clit and suckled hard, his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud. His hands gripped your thighs while at it, pulling you harder against his face as he feasted on you, his moans growing louder and more wanton by the second.

God, help me or I'm going to lose control.

Caleb's cock throbbed almost painfully in the confines of his pants, the intense taste of your arousal making him harder than he had ever been in his life. He ached to free himself, to stroke his aching flesh while he pleasured you, but he resisted the urge. This moment was about you, about worshipping your body and bringing you to the heights of ecstasy.

That's it, baby. Come for me.

When Caleb looked up at you, he looked like a boy lost in a dream, looking wholly out of place in his loosened tie and undone collar.

You had come into his mouth within a blink of an eye.

Thick vanilla streaks now clung to the corner of his mouth, a smear just beneath his bottom lip, the pale sheen catching the lights of your office.

His lips parted slightly, face flushed. He looked up at you like he wanted you to see how the haze within his eyes strayed farther from innocence. Like he knew exactly what he looked like, mess and all.

Your fingers reached out and brushed lightly against the corner of his mouth. One soft sweep. Then another, slow and deliberate, catching the trail that had slipped down toward his chin. Your thumb dragged across his lower lip last, then paused at the center.

Caleb didn't move.

He only exhaled shakily, lashes fluttering once as he stared into your beauty. His mouth stayed slightly open, as if daring you to go further. Then, in the heat of the moment, he rises up to gently grab your chin with all of his fingers. "Will you let me do anything to you?"

You nod, wordlessly.

"Open your mouth then." He whispers, and when you did, he spits into it. You shut your eyes, breath hitching. Caleb sighed at the sight of his own saliva pooling in your mouth, this time he's the one wiping away the drool with his thumb. "You're gonna be the death of me, woman."

It didn't take long before the two of you agreed on fucking in your office.

You're bent over your own worktable ridiculously, struggling to get a better grip on the edge while you could feel the cock of your subordinate incessantly piercing through the slit of your pussy. "Caleb, slow down-"

"I can't hear you." He slams it deep that it pounds against the flesh of your womb. The pleasure elicits a whiny moan out of you, and in response, Caleb behind you grabs your face to cover your mouth. Of course, you wouldn't want your co-workers hearing you. You wouldn't want them exposing a scandal between the manager and her own subordinate, right? "So goddamn tight."

Like she was made for my dick.

And then, he increases the pace.

Caleb lifts your ass up higher to angle himself better, before repetitively pounding you down the table with a mind of a machine that focused on an objective to cum in your sex.

He pulls out, and in again. Again, and again, and again, and again.

Faster, deeper, harder, he shuts his eyes and rolls his head back at the feeling of being squeezed by your very walls. Oh, he could get used to this sensation for decades. He could feel your body tensing, your walls fluttering around his pistoning cock while he fucked you with wild abandon. He knew you were close, because he could hear it in the desperate, keening cries that spilled from your lips with each brutal thrust.

With a sharp cry, your body convulsed beneath him, your pussy clenching down on him like a vice when you came undone. He felt your juices gushing around his shaft, soaking his cock and balls as you rode out the waves of the intense orgasm.

I can't stop.

But even as he felt you spasming around him, he didn't let up. He couldn't bring himself to stop the relentless assault on your pussy. He was driven by a primal need to keep you in a state of constant, mindless ecstasy, to make you forget about everything except the feeling of his cock splitting you open again and again.

I can't seem to stop.

Caleb hooked one of your legs over his elbow, the new angle allowing him to plunge even deeper into your still-quivering pussy. He could feel your slick walls fluttering around his pistoning shaft, trying in vain to adjust to the relentless invasion.

Fuck, I'm so deep inside her...

He could hear the obscene, wet sounds of your coupling filling the room, the slap of skin against skin and the squelch of your arousal with each brutal thrust. I'm going to fuck her hard like this everyday. He bit his lip, then opens his mouth to exhale desperately. So hard, and deep, that she can't look at another man without thinking of me.

He could feel his orgasm building to a crescendo, his balls drawing up tight as he slammed into you faster, the force of his thrusts shaking the desk beneath you. He could tell he was close just from the telltale tightening in his gut that signaled his impending release.

I'm going to cum.

With one final, savage thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside you. I'm cumming in this perfect fucking cunt. His cock pulsed and throbbed as he exploded inside you. He could feel his hot seed gushing forth that painted your insides with thick, virile ropes of his essence. "Take that all."

Caleb collapsed against you for a moment, his sweat-slicked chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. He could feel the aftershocks of his intense orgasm still rippling through him.

You weren't sure anymore if you could resist seeing this man each day.

You feel his fingers tucking the wet strands of your hair behind your ear, before placing a kiss on your temple. "You think we're done already?" He chuckles deeply, rising back up and grabbing your hips. "I'm still about to fuck you against that window."

And after that, in the elevator. Then, in my car. And then, in the public restroom. All of those, in one day.

[yeostinys]

My Dear Darling

Chapter 5

Pairing: Frat OT8!ATEEZ x Female Reader

Genre: Smut 18+, Fluff, Angst, Polyamorous Relationship!

Notes: NonIdol!AU, CollegeAU. Explicit language. Polyamorous Relationship, (if you are not into that just pls ignore)

Word Count: 8k

Synopsis: someone finds out about your relationship with ATZ. And the boys made an agreement amongst themselves?

Previous >>> Next Chapter

_____________________________________

The evening sun poured through the large window of your studio apartment, casting a warm golden glow that danced across the room. You sat on your soft, plush couch, surrounded by a chaotic array of notebooks, crumpled papers, and the persistent hum of your laptop. With a weary sigh, you leaned back, your shoulders heavy with the weight of the past five hours spent wrestling with a report for your internship.

You had always been the type to overwork, driven by an insatiable desire to excel in everything you undertook. Balancing school, work, and your social life had never been a challenge for you—until now. A sense of dread settled in your chest as you approached the report’s conclusion. You longed for relaxation, for a moment to breathe, to escape the demands of your responsibilities. Above all, you yearned to see your boyfriends, their laughter and warmth a distant echo in your mind.

But they were busy too, their own schedules packed with classes and commitments. You admired their relentless dedication to their studies, how they managed to immerse themselves in their work while still carving out time to enjoy life’s fleeting moments. As you thought of them, a swirl of emotions tugged at your heart—admiration mixed with a pang of guilt. You realized you hadn’t spent any real time alone with some of the ATZ boys lately, and the thought nagged at you.

Determined to push through, you glanced at your report, the words blurring together. Each sentence felt like a barrier between you and the fun, light-hearted evenings you craved. The idea of wrapping up your work propelled you forward. You could almost envision the laughter, the playful teasing, the joy of being with them. With renewed focus, you typed furiously, your fingers flying across the keyboard as you worked to complete the report, each keystroke a step closer to the moment you could finally leave the stress behind and reconnect with the people who made your heart race.

*Buzz*

The sound of the doorbell buzzed through the apartment, pulling you from your focus. You looked up from your laptop, curiosity igniting as you turned toward the door. Setting your device aside, you sprang from the couch, excitement thrumming in your chest.

Approaching the door, you peered through the peephole and felt a wide grin spread across your face. There was Jia, her eyes sparkling with mischief, balancing two cups of soda and a large takeout bag in her hands. Without a second thought, you swung the door open, unable to contain your joy.

“Jia!? What is this!?” you exclaimed, a delighted shriek escaping your lips as you pulled her inside, enveloping her in a warm hug.

“Aren’t I the bestest friend ever?” Jia struck a playful pose, her eyes dancing with energy as she handed you one of the drinks. You couldn’t help but giggle at her antics.

Together, you made your way to the kitchen island, sliding onto the barstools with a sense of camaraderie. The familiar sounds of wrappers crinkling and soda fizzing filled the air as you began to feast on the fast food spread before you.

“Okay, to be completely honest…” Jia turned toward you, a fry poised between her fingers, her expression suddenly serious yet playful. You leaned in closer,

“This is in celebration of me. I couldn’t tell you through text…” She paused, her grin widening as if about to share a great secret. You raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of your soda, anticipation building.

“Okay…? What is it?” you prompted, eager for the scoop.

“Wonho and I… ARE OFFICIALLY DATING!” Jia shrieked, her voice ringing with glee. She playfully grabbed your legs, shaking them in excitement. Your eyes widened in surprise, a radiant smile breaking across your face.

“Shut up!?” you gasped, covering your mouth in disbelief. “YES!”

Jia burst into laughter, her joy infectious as she jumped in her seat, the sheer happiness radiating off her.

“Holy shit, finally! I’m so happy for you!” You beamed at her, your heart swelling with joy. “After who knows how long of you two messing around with each other, you finally made it official.” You stuffed a fry into your mouth, savoring the moment.

“Ugh, I know,” Jia sighed, her eyes dreamy. “Honestly, it was my fault. I was crazy scared of commitment. But something about Wonho changed me.” She giggled, a soft smile playing on her lips as she lost herself in thought.

You watched her, a fondness growing in your chest. “I’m happy for you Jia” you said with sincerity.

In that moment, your phone buzzed, interrupting the laughter between you two with the sudden notification. You glanced down, your heart skipping a beat as you saw a message from the group chat with ATZ.

Hongjoong: We are watching a movie tonight. Want to come over?

Yuyu: I’ll pick you up if you want, Y/N.

Mingi: Please come, we are watching a scary movie. I need you to hold me!

A warm smile crept across your face, and you quickly typed a response, excitement bubbling inside you.

Y/N: Jia’s over right now. I’ll try to come by later.

You looked up just in time to catch Jia eyeing you, her brow raised in curiosity as she took a sip of her fizzy soda. She leaned forward slightly, trying to peek at your screen, but you swiftly closed your phone, feigning innocence.

“Who’s got you smiling like an idiot?” she teased, squinting her eyes with playful suspicion.

“What? No one…” you replied, hastily shoving a fry into your mouth as a distraction.

“Nice try, Y/N. You’re hiding something,” Jia declared, her playful glare intensifying.

“I know when you’re lying. Who’s got your attention?” She reached for your phone, but you instinctively snatched it away, your heart racing.

“You are hiding something!” Jia exclaimed, her tone half-joking, half-serious. Without missing a beat, she jumped to conclusions. “Oh my god, is it Wooyoung?!”

You froze, stunned into silence.

“IT IS! I remember, I literally saw you two grinding on each other at the party!” Jia grabbed your shoulders, shaking you in excitement. You scrunched your face in defeat, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Or is it Yunho? I remember you had a crush on him a few summers ago, and you two have been talking a lot again,” Jia continued, her excitement bubbling over as she pulled back, tapping her chin in thought.

“Jia, please!” you exclaimed, pinching the bridge of your nose in exasperation, though amusement danced in your eyes. You couldn’t help but laugh at her ability to connect the dots, despite her notoriously short attention span.

“Okay, okay… I’m sorry,” she said softly, pressing her lips together as she stared at you expectantly.

You bit your lip, contemplating how much to reveal. “We’ve just gotten really close, that’s all,” you finally said, taking a sip of your soda to buy time.

“We?” Jia’s eyebrow shot up. “Who’s ‘we’?” She leaned against the counter, clearly intrigued.

“All of ATZ…” you mumbled, unable to meet her gaze.

“All of ATZ?!” Jia’s voice rose an octave as she covered her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. “Wait… is that why you’ve been hanging out with them so much?”

You nodded, trying to suppress the nervousness bubbling in your stomach.

“I’m confused, though. Why so suddenly?” Jia pressed, her brow furrowing in genuine concern.

“Uh… I’ve just recently become their Fraternity sweetheart…” you confessed hesitantly.

“Really?” Jia sounded unconvinced, her eyebrow arched.

“Yes,” you insisted, trying to sound confident despite your nerves.

“Y/N, ATZ never had sweethearts before! And you’ve been asked by so many other frats to be their sweetheart but always declined—until now. So what’s really going on?” Jia’s tone turned serious, her concern palpable. You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of her scrutiny.

“Jia…” you began, meeting her gaze. She could see the distress in your eyes. “I need you to keep an open mind about this, and… promise me it stays between us.”

Jia nodded, her expression earnest as she took your hands in hers. “Yes, of course.”

“I’m… dating…” you paused, heart racing. Jia’s eyes widened, and she gasped dramatically.

“SAN?!” she shouted, her voice nearly shrill. “I THOUGHT YOU HATED HIM?!”

“Jia! Let me explain!!!” You threw your head back in frustration, feeling the rush of emotions bubble over.

“Okay, okay… I’m sorry,” Jia said, her voice softening as she pressed her lips into a thin line.

“I’m dating… all of them,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jia’s eyes widened further in disbelief. “You’re messing with me,” she said, laughing nervously.

“I’m not, I’m serious…” you replied, looking down, unable to meet her incredulous gaze.

“Since when?” she asked, her tone shifting to calm curiosity.

“We’ve only been dating for a few weeks. They all confessed their feelings and wanted a polyamorous relationship. I was just as shocked as you are. I didn’t think I’d ever be in a relationship like this, but I really do like all of them…” Your voice trembled as you spoke, fear of judgment gripping you. Jia blinked in surprise, then broke into a chuckle.

“Wow… eight boyfriends. How fucken lucky are you”

Relief washed over you, and you leaned in for a hug, closing your eyes as you let out a sigh. “Oh my god, I thought you were going to judge me and dump me as a friend.”

“Me? Oh, Y/N-ie. You’re my best friend, and I support you in anything and everything you want to do.” She pulled back, smiling warmly. “Your secret relationship with them is safe with me.”

Holding out her pinky, Jia grinned. You chuckled at her gesture and interlocked your fingers.

“Thank you, Jia…” you said, feeling a wave of gratitude.

“So, I’m going to need all the details on this. Because damn, ALL OF THEM WANT YOU?!” she exclaimed, her witty self returning. “That’s actually so crazy because now that I think about it, you have liked almost all of them at least once!”

You laughed, the tension from earlier dissipating as you launched into a detailed account of how your relationship with ATZ began. The two of you migrated to the couch, popping a bottle of wine and filling your glasses with the rich red liquid, as you sipped and shared everything—their dynamic, your feelings, the whirlwind of emotions that had led you to this point. You appreciated how open-minded Jia was, her laughter ringing true without a hint of judgment.

“Wait, Y/N, I just realized,” she interjected, holding up a hand to pause your story. “I thought you and San had beef since high school?”

You bit your lip, the memories flooding back.

“It’s complicated… I was confused too when I found out he liked me.” You took a sip of wine, gathering your thoughts. “I can’t deny I’ve always had feelings for him. There’s obviously something unresolved between us, but he cares for me—I can see it when we’re together. He’s just so confusing.”

Jia raised an eyebrow, sipping her wine thoughtfully.

“Hmm, interesting.” She glanced at her phone, a smile breaking across her face. “Oh! Wonho’s off work!”

Jia set her glass down, bouncing with excitement. “I’m going to head out.”

You stood up with her, laughter bubbling between you as you walked to the door. She turned to face you one last time.

“My Y/N~ thank you for opening up to me about this. Everything is safe with me. I’m so happy for you. But if any one of them hurts you, I will kill them,” she said, her eyes serious as she held your shoulders.

You nodded, laughing at her fierce loyalty. “Thank you, Jia.”

“Bye now! Love ya!” she called as she stepped out, waving enthusiastically.

“Love ya!” you shouted back, chuckling as you closed the door behind her.

———

After bidding Jia farewell, you turn and stroll back to the couch, the soft fabric welcoming you as you reach for your phone. Your fingers tap the screen as you open the group chat with ATZ, a familiar wave of excitement washing over you. You quickly type a message, letting them know you're on your way, then glance at your reflection in the nearby mirror. A few swift touches—smooth hair, a quick spritz of your favorite fragrance—make you feel a little more put together. Slipping into your shoes, you feel a tingle of anticipation, ready to step out into the evening.

Just as you’re about to grab your bag, your phone rings, the sound slicing through the air. You glance down to see San’s name flashing on the screen. Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but smile as you press the green button to answer.

“Hi, San,” you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“I’m almost at your place. Just wait for me. I’ll come get you,” he replies, his tone calm and reassuring.

“You didn’t have to—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“I was at the convenience store near your apartment getting snacks when you texted. It’s no big deal,” he explains, the warmth in his voice easing your initial surprise.

“Okay…” you say, feeling a mix of gratitude and a hint of annoyance that you didn’t get to argue your point.

“I’ll let you know when I’m here,” he adds, and before you can respond, the line goes dead.

Settling back onto the couch, you keep your phone close, glancing at it occasionally as the minutes tick by. Time seems to stretch, the anticipation building until you hear a firm knock on your door. You leap up from the soft cushions, your heart racing as you rush to the door. Peering through the peephole, you catch sight of San, you quickly open the door.

“San, you didn’t have to walk all the way up here. I could’ve just met you down in the lobby,” you say sheepishly.

“It’s alright. Let’s go,” he replies with a smirk, playfully ruffling your hair. The gesture sends a flush of warmth to your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile back.

As he turns to walk away, you follow behind him, still nervous as ever.

———

The walk to the ATZ house was enveloped in a serene quietness, the kind that felt both comfortable and charged with unspoken words. The air was thick with familiarity, as if the very atmosphere had normal between you and San. He strode slightly ahead of you with a long, effortless gait, his tall figure casting a protective shadow over your smaller frame. San’s hand slipped into the pocket of his jeans, while the other grasped a crinkled black plastic bag filled to the brim with an array of snacks and drinks. His focus was fixed on the path ahead, but you found yourself stealing glances at him, lost in admiration—his strong jawline accentuated by the late afternoon sun, his perfect nose. Just as you began to lose yourself in those thoughts, his voice cut through the silence.

“Is there something on my face?” he asked nonchalantly, an eyebrow quirking up as his eyes flicked toward you. Your heart raced, and you felt your cheeks warm as you diverted your gaze forward. San chuckled lightly, and you both continued your walk.

With your eyes cast forward, you recalled your earlier conversation with Jia—a conversation that now felt like it held the weight of the world. She now knows your relationship dynamic with ATZ. You should have talked to the boys first, but Jia was your best friend, and the pressure to keep such a vital piece of information under wraps had been intense. The thoughts loomed over you as you continued walking in silence.

Suddenly, the tranquility of the moment shattered as you felt a sharp tug on your arm. Before you could comprehend what was happening, you found yourself enveloped in San’s arms. Your heart pounded as you looked up, only to see a biker whizzing past, careening dangerously close to you.

“What an asshole,” San muttered, his face darkening with concern as he glared at the cyclist. The unexpected warmth of his embrace took you by surprise, and for a moment, you were frozen in place.

“Are you okay?” San asked, his voice dropping to a serious tone as he looked down at you, instinctively releasing his hold. Nodding in response, you remained silent, feeling the lingering effects of his touch.

“Did you not hear the biker ringing his bell? You looked so lost in thought; I had to pull you aside,” he noted, his gaze steady and penetrating, eyebrows raised in a gentle challenge.

“Sorry… I didn’t hear,” you murmured, guilt creeping into your tone.

“What’s on your mind, Y/N?” San inquired softly, his voice inviting you to share your burden. You felt caught in his gaze once more, the intensity of his attention forcing you to look away.

“Sannie…” The nickname slipped from your lips before you could stop yourself. It shocked you, yet it felt so natural—a small sweetness in the tension of the moment. San’s heart quickened at the sound, and he bit his lip, attempting to regain some semblance of composure.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked, his tone gentler now, reaching out to grasp your wrist, sending a rush of warmth through you. The endearment made you blush, and your eyes widened at the unexpected intimacy.

“I told Jia about our relationship,” you admitted softly, looking down to hide the uncertainty in your eyes. His expression shifted, surprise flitting across his face before he smiled, easing the knot of tension inside you.

“Is that it?” he lifted your chin, compelling you to look at him. You nodded, feeling small under the weight of his gaze. “I just couldn’t keep it from her any longer. She’s like my sister and deserved to know. I’m sorry…” you let the words tumble out, a sense of shame creeping into your voice.

“Why are you sorry?” San asked, his brow furrowed slightly with curiosity.

“I felt like I should’ve talked about it with you guys first before telling her. It’s your guys relationship too. But she swore not to tell anyone! Regardless, I’m sorry if I crossed the line,” you explained, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N, it’s okay.” San chuckled, the sound warm and reassuring. “It’s just Jia. If you trust her, so do we. Plus, we told you before—whenever you're ready to let anyone know, we will be ready too.” He ruffled your hair playfully, and relief washed over you like a cool breeze on a scorching day.

“Okay…” you replied, staring at your feet for a moment before hesitantly meeting his gaze again. “Can you help me tell the others that I told Jia?” You clasped your hands together, looking at him with hopeful, doe-like eyes. He raised an eyebrow, wearing a bemused expression as he nodded.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” He resumed walking, and you hurried to keep pace at his side.

Your heart swelled with warmth at the softness of your interaction, something that felt rare and precious between the two of you. How unexpectedly sweet it had been. It was as if a curtain had lifted, revealing the deeper elements of your relationship—elements that were often obscured by playful teasing and banter.

Yet, beneath that sweetness lingered confusion. With the other members, interactions had flowed naturally and easily, but with San, everything felt more complex. He held an alluring mix of playful charm and guarded distance. You wanted to understand him better—the man who could swing between being aloof and tender. You recalled that lingering moment from that night not long ago when San had cried, clearly from being too drunk. His constant words of “hurting you” was a statement that lingered in your thoughts, especially when paired with the memory of his endearing, clingy demeanor due to too many drinks. A quiet giggle slipped from your lips as you remembered drunk San, and he turned to you, curiosity piqued.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, an eyebrow raising in question.

You couldn’t help but smile wider at his genuine interest. “Sannie, do you remember anything from the night of XIK’s party?” You tilted your head, batting your eyelashes innocently at him.

“Yeah, why?” he replied, sounding a bit suspicious but intrigued.

“Well, do you remember anything from when we got home?” Your words danced in the air, teasing him playfully.

“Just tell me, Y/N. I don’t want to play guessing games,” he insisted, crossing his arms and facing you.

“Hm, drunk San is much nicer to me,” you retorted, giving a light roll of your eyes as you looked away, feeling confident in your teasing.

San released his crossed arms, his exasperated sigh punctuating the air. “Just tell me what I did, please,” he pleaded.

“Nothing much, you were just super clingy and kept asking for me,” you teased, walking away from him. “And you were a cry baby” You laughed as you picked up pace, the small distance between you growing with your mischievous retreat.

San’s eyes widened in shock as he followed behind you. “I what?” he called out, a mix of disbelief and genuine curiosity in his voice.

Just as you approached the front door of the ATZ house, you could hardly contain your laughter as you felt the exhilaration of the moment. Before you could even reach for the door handle, San gripped your wrist and pulled you back toward him, his eyes narrowing with playful intensity.

“What do you mean I was a cry baby?” he asked, his expression a mix of faux annoyance and genuine concern. You looked up, your heart thudding as you found yourself caught in the intimacy of his gaze.

Flustered, you glanced away. “You tripped over yourself, causing both of us to bump into the wall. Well, mostly me, since I hit my head,” you recounted, your tone casual. “Then you started crying when you saw I was hurt, and you kept saying, ‘Why do I keep hurting you?’” You looked at him with your eyebrows raised in amusement.

San’s face shifted from incredulity to a flustered blush, the color flooding to his cheeks. He dropped your wrist, his shoulders tense as he turned away quickly, clearing his throat. The playful banter you had expected dimmed into a sudden seriousness, and confusion washed over you.

“What?” You nervously chuckled. You had expected laughter, maybe even some playful rebuttal, but instead, his sudden shift to seriousness left you frowning.

“It’s nothing” His lips tightened, and without another word, he hastily opened the front door and stepped inside, leaving you standing there, bewildered. You followed him into the house, feeling a sense of confusion from him like always.

———

Following closely behind San, you step into the dimly lit living room, where the flickering glow of the television casts elongated shadows across the walls. The boys are already engrossed in the horror movie, completely unaware of your presence.

In the corner of your eye, you spot Mingi, his form hunched over a pillow as he shields himself from the on-screen action. A smile spreads across your face, as you position yourself behind him. With a sudden burst of energy, you grab his shoulders and shout, “Boo!”

Mingi lets out a high-pitched scream that echoes through the room, nearly tumbling off the couch in his shock. Seonghwa and Wooyoung, caught off guard, join in with their own shrieks, creating a cacophony of startled yelps. Jongho and Yunho who were clearly unfazed, barely contain their laughter, while Hongjoong and Yeosang flinch, their faces a mix of surprise and confusion.

You can’t help but burst into laughter, the sound infectious as you reach out to Mingi, who is still wide-eyed, his face flushing with a mix of embarrassment and relief.

“Y/N!~” he whines, clutching his chest as if to calm his racing heart.

The rest of the boys are doubled over with laughter, their joy contagious. San rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile as he places the bags of snacks onto the coffee table.

“I’m sorry, Min! I didn’t think you’d actually get scared,” you manage between giggles, gently running your fingers through his hair, trying to soothe him.

“Well, hello to you too, baby,” Wooyoung says with an exaggerated drawl, clutching his chest as if your scare had truly wounded him. A playful giggle escapes your lips as you glide around to his sitting figure, his dramatic flair only adding to the moment’s hilarity.

“I’m so sorry, Woo,” you reply, laughter bubbling up again as you lean down and wrap your arms around his neck in a warm embrace. He responds instantly, his arms encircling your waist, pulling you closer as he snuggles his face into your chest. You can feel the warmth of his breath, and it makes your heart swell with affection.

Turning your attention, you notice Seonghwa watching you, a shy smile gracing his lips, his cheeks slightly flushed. “Did I scare you too, Hwa?” you ask, releasing Wooyoung’s hold and moving toward him. You can’t resist brushing your fingers through his hair, a gesture that always seems to ease any embarrassment he might feel.

“I was scared too,” Yunho pipes up, raising his hand as if he’s in a classroom, a teasing grin plastered across his face.

“Me too!” Yeosang chimes in, his big, doe-like eyes wide with mock innocence as he looks up at you, adding to the playful atmosphere.

You laugh at their playful banter, shaking your head in disbelief. “Alright, alright! I’m sorry for interrupting the movie,” you say, feigning seriousness as you gesture dramatically toward the screen. “Let’s get back to it!”

With a bright smile, you plop down between Mingi and Seonghwa, feeling the comfortable warmth of their presence. The room settles back into a cozy atmosphere, laughter still echoing softly as you all turn your attention to the flickering screen.

Your head nestled against Seonghwa’s shoulder, the warmth of his presence a steady comfort as you both sat engrossed in the flickering glow of the screen before you. The soft light illuminated your faces, casting gentle shadows that danced across the room. A cozy blanket was draped over your legs, its fabric soft against your skin, partially overlapping with Seonghwa’s and Mingi’s.

Seonghwa's arm hung casually around your shoulders, his presence a protective anchor that made you feel at ease. You could feel the gentle rise and fall of his breath, a rhythmic reassurance in the quiet space. Meanwhile, Mingi sat on the other side, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh.

As the movie droned on, the initial thrill began to fade, replaced by an almost comical absurdity that made the horror elements feel more ridiculous than terrifying. The once-terrifying scenes now elicited only faint chuckles and eye rolls from you. You felt your attention slipping away, a dull ache of boredom creeping in.

With a slight huff, you shifted your position on the couch, gently lifting your head from Seonghwa’s shoulder. The warmth that had enveloped you receded slightly, but Seonghwa’s arm stayed firmly around you, a comforting presence that anchored you even as you sought a better angle to see the screen. You leaned back, glancing at him with a soft smile, but his focus remained on the movie, his brow slightly furrowed as if trying to will the story to become engaging again.

Mingi, sensing your shift, let his hand slide higher on your thigh, a subtle gesture that sent a wave of warmth through you. The light touch was both casual and deliberate, igniting a spark of electricity in the air between you. You couldn’t help but steal a glance at him, his eyes still glued to the screen, yet there was an unmistakable teasing glint in them that made your heart race.

You gazed around the room, the flickering glow of the television illuminated the faces of the boys. Some of them were completely absorbed, their eyes glued to the unfolding drama, while others started scrolling through their phones, just as equally bored of the movie.

You try to bring your focus back onto the screen, but it was difficult with the feeling of Mingi’s fingertips sliding gently against the soft fabric of your tights, a feather-light touch that sent a shiver coursing through your body. Your heart raced, and your breath hitched as you sensed a shift in Mingi's intentions. His pinky finger—light and teasing—traced a line just below your hip, hovering between casualness and something far more intimate. The sensation of his touch resonated through you, igniting a warmth that crept up your spine and spread through your entire being.

Seonghwa glanced at you, his gaze sharp and teasing, as he caught the flustered expression on your face, cheeks painted a deep crimson. A playful smirk crept across his lips as he detected Mingi’s hand moving persistently beneath the soft fabric of the blanket. Seonghwa’s eyes followed the trajectory of Mingi’s fingers, and he couldn’t help but study the way your body responded, the gentle rise and fall of your chest betraying the electric sensations coursing through you.

A wave of envy washed over him—the way Mingi seemed to effortlessly elicit such reactions from you. Unable to resist the urge to convey his own affection, Seonghwa shifted closer, his hand brushing against your shoulder. He let his fingers gently knead the delicate muscles there. He leaned down, planting a soft kiss on your temple before allowing his hand to drift down to the nape of your neck. His fingertips began to massage you, sending unexpected shivers racing through your body like wildfire.

Mingi, ever perceptive, caught the way you instinctively reacted to his touch. He could feel the heat radiating from between your thighs, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. Suddenly, you let out a soft gasp—a sound that cut through the ambient noise of the television—as Mingi’s fingers brushed against you again, teasing and exploring the warmth hidden beneath the blanket.

Both men exchanged looks, their eyes locking for a moment, an unspoken understanding passing between them. They shared a smirk, one that held the promise of continued teasing, before their gazes dropped back to you.

Your face was a striking shade of red, as if you were caught in a sunset, and you bit your bottom lip in an attempt to focus on the screen, fighting against the distractions pulling you under. Mingi leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, his deep voice low and teasing. You nodded shyly, refusing to turn your head to meet his gaze, a gesture that only fueled the fire of their amusement.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening as he observed your reaction.

“You sure, darling? You keep moving,” he teased, his voice vibrating through your core, making your blush deepen as you diverted your gaze down to your lap.

“Mm, I’m okay…” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, desperate to avoid drawing attention from the others in the room.

“Okay…” they both echoed back, their voices a perfect duet.

They admired your side profile, the curve of your jaw, the flutter of your eyelashes, and, without a second thought, they leaned in closer. Their lips brushed against your cheeks at the same time, a tender, simultaneous gesture that sent your heart racing. Your eyes widened in surprise, your breath hitching at the unexpected contact. Heat flooded your entire face.

Seonghwa pulled away slightly, his chuckle a low rumble that vibrated in the air, a sound that only made you flush more. Mingi, with a devilish glint in his eye, peppered a few more playful kisses along your cheek and down towards your neck, each one igniting your skin with warmth before he finally turned his head back towards the screen. Seonghwa followed suit, his gaze returning to the flickering images in front of you, but not before stealing another glance at you, admiration written across his features.

Without noticing, the film reached its conclusion. The screen faded to black before the end credits began to roll, accompanied by a sudden, loud exhale from Jongho. As he stood up from the couch, a sweeping wave of disappointment washed over him. “What a dumb ass movie,” he declared, flicking the light switch on and flooding the room with dim illumination.

“I agree,” chimed in Yunho, stretching his arms above his head, his voice resonating with an air of relaxed camaraderie. “It was good for the first thirty minutes, but then it just started getting weird.”

You shifted on the couch, pushing yourself upright as you cleared your throat, feeling a warm flush creeping up your cheeks, a remnant of Seonghwa and Mingi’s earlier teasing. Their playful banter had left you flustered and disoriented.

“You okay, Y/N?” Yeosang asked, concern etched in his features as he turned his gaze to you. Your eyes widened at his inquiry, and a nervous laugh slipped from your lips. “Oh, yeah! I’m okay,” you replied, forcing a smile, hoping to mask the storm of emotions swirling within.

“You sure, baby? Your face is all red,” Yeosang observed, leaning in closer to get a better look at you. The softness of his tone sent a delightful shiver down your spine.

“Ah, I’m just thirsty,” you stammered, grasping at the excuse like a lifeline, desperate to sidestep the palpable tension that had been lingering between Seonghwa and Mingi and you.

As if sensing your unease, Yeosang rose from the couch, adopting the grace of a gentleman. “Let’s go get you some water,” he suggested, extending his hand toward you. You felt your cheeks heat even more as you reached out, taking his hand. A soft thrill coursed through you as warmth enveloped your skin.

As you stood, you felt Seonghwa's and Mingi's hands brush against you, a reminder of their earlier closeness, but you stepped away, allowing Yeosang to guide you toward the kitchen. The cool tiles beneath your feet contrasted with the heat still lingering in the air.

———

Yeosang moved purposefully, grabbing a glass and filling it with water before handing it to you.

“Thanks, Yeo,” you murmured, taking a few sips, the cool liquid refreshing against your lips. After handing the glass back to him, Yeosang smiled, and without a moment's pause, he finished the remainder, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race.

Yeosang placed the empty glass on the counter behind you, ruffling your hair playfully as he moved closer. You suddenly found yourself against the sleek marble table, trapped in the warm orbit of his presence. “You still flustered from Mingi and Seonghwa kissing you?” he teased, his husky voice wrapping around you like an intoxicating melody. Your blush deepened, and you turned your head away, feeling exposed.

“You saw?” you asked softly, catching a glimpse of his playful yet serious expression.

“Oh baby, all of us saw,” Yeosang chuckled, tenderly pulling your chin back until your eyes met his. His hands slipped to your hips, thumbs drawing gentle circles on your skin. The intimate gesture ignited a flurry of butterflies in your stomach, and instinctively, you wrapped your arms around his neck, finding comfort in his embrace.

“You know, I’d never thought you’d be this much of a teaser,” you remarked, your fingers finding their way into his hair, playing absentmindedly. “You’re such a gentleman, yet you tease so much” you add with a giggle.

He lowered his head slightly, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he looked back up at you. “I’m only like this towards the people I really like.” The sincerity in his voice wrapped around your heart, and his hands traveled higher on your waist, his caresses sending electrifying tingles through you.

“So, are there other girls that get to see this side of you?” you pretended to pout, a playful challenge that earned a bright smile from him.

“No, no. You’re the only girl that gets to see this side of me. I was just talking about the guys… my family. I’m more comfortable with you all, and I can be myself,” Yeosang continued, his gaze scanning your face before lingering on your soft lips.

“I’m glad I can be one of those people, then,” you whispered softly, feeling an undeniable connection with him.

“May I?” Yeosang asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Your heart raced as you nodded in response. And before you could fully process what was happening, his warm, soft lips were pressed against yours. The kiss was tender yet deep, an exquisite blend of passion and sweet affection. Each movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were crafting a work of art, and you felt yourself melting into him, intoxicated by the moment.

When he finally pulled away, you whimpered softly, reluctant to break the blissful intimacy. Yeosang chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips, before planting gentle kisses along your cheek. He trailed down to your neck, eliciting a gasp from you as you surrendered to the sensation of his warm breath and soft kisses.

“Y-Yeo…” you stuttered, your eyes fluttering shut as you surrendered to the pleasure coursing through you. He continued to explore your skin, moving from your neck to your collarbone, his touch igniting your senses.

“Damn Yeo, are you trying to devour her?” The teasing voice of Jongho interrupted the sacred moment. You gasped, turning your head to see him standing in the doorframe with a smug smirk.

“Fuck off,” Yeosang muttered against your skin, refusing to let his lips leave you even for a moment.

With a playful glint in his eyes, Jongho ventured further into the kitchen, a mischievous smile on his face as he approached you. “You enjoying this, pretty?” he asked softly, brushing his fingers through your hair, sending currents of warmth spiraling through you. You nodded, unable to form words, your breath hitching in your throat. The sound of chuckles vibrated around you from both boys—Jongho’s and Yeosang’s—as Yeosang’s lips continued their descent lower.

Jongho cupped your cheek, tilting your face toward him before pressing his own soft lips against your forehead. His kisses trailed down your skin, lingering on your cheek before finally finding your lips, weaving a tender yet fervent kiss that made your heart race.

As desire swelled within you, you whimpered into the kiss, overwhelmed by the sensations wrapping around you like a warm embrace. The knowledge of what you had signed up for in this polyamorous relationship danced in the corner of your mind, but nothing could prepare you for the heady rush of being kissed by two of your boyfriends simultaneously.

Yeosang shifted slightly, giving Jongho room to deepen the kiss. His hands found their way around your back, holding you close, anchoring you in the moment.

“O-oh God,” you gasped, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it all as Yeosang smiled against your skin, playfully biting you.

“Alright, enough, you two” A new voice broke through the haze, and you turned to see Hongjoong grinning at the scene before him, his smirk playful yet admonishing. “Let Y/N breathe,” he added, stepping forward to pull Yeosang and Jongho off you gently.

Both Jongho and Yeosang exhaled in exaggerated sighs, their lips glossy and flushed like yours, a mirrored reflection of the intoxicating atmosphere you’d been engulfed in moments before.

“Fuck, if you wanted a taste, you could’ve just joined us,” Jongho joked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he caught Hongjoong’s gaze. Yeosang chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement as he took in your flushed face, still reeling from the whirlwind of emotion.

“For you two being the most quiet members, you’re so perverted,” Hongjoong laughed, rolling his eyes in exaggerated exasperation. He reached for your hand, a soft smile brightening his features. “Come on, let’s go. I want to show you something.”

Despite the heat still radiating in your cheeks from the flustered makeout session, you managed to nod softly, curiosity replacing the dizzying warmth in your chest as Hongjoong pulled you out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of lingering whispers and shared glances behind you.

———

Hongjoong's hand slipped into yours as he led you up the staircase, a warmth spreading between your fingers. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated the narrow hallway, painting everything in a cozy light. You felt a flutter of excitement in your chest, wondering what he had planned. Suddenly, Hongjoong turned to you, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“What did you want to show me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, curious yet hesitant.

He leaned closer, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle hug, pulling you snugly against him. “Hm, nothing much,” he replied, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I just wanted you to myself.” As he buried his face into the crook of your neck, you could feel the warmth radiating off him, mingling with your own. Laughter bubbled up from within you as you pressed against him, enjoying the closeness.

“I don’t like sharing,” Hongjoong mumbled into your skin, his breath tickling you. You pulled back slightly, confusion etching across your face as you searched his gaze.

“Joong… what do you mean?” you asked, furrowing your brows in curiosity.

Hongjoong chuckled softly, tenderly cupping your face in his hands. His thumb lightly stroked your cheek, a calmness washing over you. “Not like that, baby,” he assured you, his voice a low murmur. “I just meant that I want us to be alone when it comes to being more intimate”

You tilted your head, pondering his words. “But you always hug and give me kisses in front of everyone?” you pointed out, slightly baffled.

“Yeah, I know…” He leaned in ever so closer, his warm breath washing over your face as he spoke. “…but those are quick hugs and quick kisses.” His voice dropped to a whisper, intimate and charged. “This time… I want to take my time.”

With each word, his lips hovered tantalizingly close to yours, barely brushing against your skin. A hitch caught in your throat at his teasing. His nose nudged playfully against yours, leaving you yearning for more. The anticipation made you whine softly, a plea for him to deepen the connection.

“Joong, don’t tease me,” you whispered, feeling a heat creep up your cheeks at the thought of everyone’s earlier teasing. “Everyone has been at it today…” The complaint tumbled from your lips, desperate for his touch.

"Okay, okay, sorry," Hongjoong chuckled, pulling away with a sheepish grin. "But on a serious note, there’s something I want to show you."

You raised an eyebrow, curious. "What is it?"

Hongjoong’s eyes lit up with a spark of excitement as he gestured toward his desk. He stood, walking around to your side and guiding you gently to the cushioned chair in front of his computer. "Sit here," he said softly, his voice warm as he pulled the chair closer to the screen, making sure you were comfortable.

He hovered for a moment behind you, his arm gently resting across your shoulders as he reached for the mouse. You could feel the weight of his touch, warm and reassuring, as he moved the cursor across the screen with careful precision.

"Do you remember that song I was working on in the library?" he asked, his voice filled with an almost shy anticipation.

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze, your eyes briefly flicking from his face to the screen before responding. "Yeah, I remember."

Hongjoong smiled, a soft, almost secretive curve of his lips that made your heart flutter. "I finished it," he murmured, his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a moment before he clicked open a file. "I want you to listen to it."

He grabbed a pair of headphones from the side of the desk and gently placed them over your ears. His hands lingered there for just a moment, his fingers brushing your skin so lightly it almost felt like a whisper. You tried not to think too much about it as he clicked the spacebar to play the track.

The soft hum of music filled your ears, and immediately, your body relaxed into the melody. The beat was gentle, the lyrics intimate, drawing you in with every note. Your heart seemed to sync with the rhythm, beating in time with the music. There was something about the song—something in the way it made you feel like the world had momentarily slowed down, like you were wrapped in the warmth of his sound. The lyrics spoke of love, of longing, of dreams and promises, and as the final verse came to a close, you felt a lump in your throat.

When the song ended, you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. You pulled the headphones from your ears, turning toward Hongjoong with a bright, genuine smile.

He was looking at you nervously, his lips pressed into a tight line, waiting for your reaction. "How was it?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability as he took the headphones from your hands and set them on the desk.

You didn’t hesitate. "Joong, it’s beautiful. I love it so much," you said, your voice thick with sincerity, as your heart swelled with emotion. "It’s incredible."

Hongjoong let out a small, nervous laugh, his cheeks turning pink as he rubbed the back of his neck and glanced away. "You can be honest, Y/N. If you didn’t like it, it’s okay."

You shook your head, leaning forward a bit. "Hongjoong, I’m serious! This song is so good! I need it on my phone—like, right now," you said with a playful giggle, reaching out for his hands, desperate to hold onto some piece of him, some connection to the music that felt like it had touched your soul.

Hongjoong’s smile softened, and he reached for your hands, his fingers interlacing with yours. "I’m submitting this for my final project," he said, his voice now a little quieter, tinged with something deeper. He looked at you, his gaze both tender and earnest. "And I just wanted to tell you... thank you."

You blinked, confused. "Why are you thanking me?" you asked, your voice a little breathless from the intensity of the moment.

Hongjoong’s smile grew even more gentle, and he leaned in slightly, his voice barely a whisper. "You helped me finish it. You’re my muse." His words hung in the air, simple yet profound, and your heart skipped a beat.

You felt your cheeks warm, a flush creeping across your face as his words settled into your chest. "Hongjoong..." you whispered, the weight of his sentiment making you feel both overwhelmed and cherished all at once.

Without thinking, you stood up from the chair, your legs suddenly feeling unsteady as the emotions swirled inside you. You stepped toward him, closing the gap between you, and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a gentle embrace. The scent of him—a mix of clean cologne and something distinctly him—filled your senses, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"What did I do to deserve you guys?" you whispered, your voice shaky with a mix of awe and gratitude.

Hongjoong’s arms immediately encircled your waist, pulling you closer, his body warm and solid against yours. His grip was firm, as though he never wanted to let go. You both stood there for a long moment, the world outside the room fading away, leaving only the two of you wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the space you shared.

You rested your forehead against his, your breath mingling with his as you looked down toward his lips.

“Kiss me,” you whispered out, longing for his touch. He smirked, the mischievous gleam in his eyes igniting a flame deep inside you, as he finally devoured your lips.

The connection was electric—soft yet maddeningly intense. The room filled with the wet sounds of your lips moving in a passionate dance, your breaths melding together in the heat of the moment. Hongjoong’s hand found its way to your waist, pulling you closer, as your own arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

You stumbled backward, your legs brushing against the soft edge of his bed, collapsing onto the plush mattress with a soft 'thud.'

“Fuck, Y/N,” Hongjoong murmured against your lips, eyes glazed with desire. You responded instinctively, deepening the kiss, refusing to let go. His knees pressed against your waist, pinning you down as the two of you continued your heated exploration of each other's mouths.

“Baby, wait—” Hongjoong panted, caught off guard as your kisses trailed from his lips to his cheek and down his jawline. You ignored him, your lips marking their path towards his neck—inviting and tempting.

“Y/N…” His voice was a strained whisper that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel his control slipping as he groaned, quickly catching your wrists and pinning them above your head. The confusion in your gaze made him gulp.

“I said wait, darling.” His voice was softer now, leaning down to place a gentle peck on your lips. “Let’s not move too fast…” The sincerity in his gaze made your heart flutter, but you felt the throbbing heat of desire coursing through your veins.

“No… it’s okay, Joong… I want to,” you replied softly, uncertainty mingling with determination as you pouted.

“Fuck, baby, I know. So do I.” He sighed, the weight of the moment evident in his expression. He released your wrists, his hands resting on the mattress beside you as he tried to collect himself.

“Then let’s do it…” you whispered, leaning closer. The raw yearning in your voice hung heavily in the air.

“We can’t, baby… not yet,” he hissed, shifting away from you. Panic surged deep within, and you sat up, the distance between you feeling unbearable.

“Why?” you asked, your voice barely breaking the silence. Hongjoong gazed at you, concern etched across his handsome face, as he cupped your cheeks—his caress gentle and reassuring.

“I don’t want you to think I’m just trying to sleep with you. As much as you may think I’m not, it’s just as important for me. I— We, want to show you that we really care for you.” He pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his affection creating a comforting bubble around you. “The boys and I agreed to not do anything just yet, okay baby?”

His genuine honesty struck a chord in your heart, the ache of warmth spreading through you. You nodded, a soft smile emerging despite the lament of pent-up desire.

“Okay…” you said softly, and Hongjoong smiled back, capturing your lips once again in a gentle kiss, his hands finding their way to your lap.

Then, without meaning to, his fingers brushed against the fabric of your tights, and an immediate awareness rushed over him. The dampness beneath his fingertips sent shockwaves through your system. He paused, pulling back to assess you, his eyes widening with realization.

“Fuck, you got that wet just from kissing?” His voice was thick with surprise, as his fingers tapped against the moist fabric, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

“Joong~,” you gasped, embarrassment flooding you. Heat rushed to your cheeks.

“Remind me, who kissed you tonight?” Hongjoong began drawing lazy patterns against the damp patch, teasing you relentlessly. Your tongue felt tied with embarrassment, and you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

“Tell me, baby,” he whispered, the smirk on his lips telling you he wasn’t letting you off the hook.

“Mingi… Hwa… Jongho… and Yeo…” you whimpered, the confession rolling off your tongue. The teasing darkness in his eyes flared with satisfaction.

“And?” he pressed, his lips ghosting over yours.

“And you…” you admitted, your voice barely a breath.

“I can’t leave you all pent up like this, huh, baby?” Hongjoong murmured, his voice low and sultry, teasing with intent.

“Wouldn’t be very good of me as your boyfriend, now would it?” he continued, playful yet serious.

“I thought you said we can’t do it…” you whimpered, the confusion heating your cheeks even more.

“Yeah… but the boys and I only agreed to actual intercourse.” His lips found your neck, planting soft kisses that sent tingling shivers down your spine. “Never said anything about touching you… with my fingers.”

He pulled away just enough to whisper against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Want me to touch you, darling?”

Your heart raced at the tenderness in his voice as you felt the thrill of anticipation rush through you. “Y-yes, please,” you breathed, tilting your neck instinctively to give him more access. You could barely contain the yearning, the desperate need building inside you, and as his fingers danced along the fabric of your clothing, you knew this night was far from over.

end of chapter 5….

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Author’s note: FINALLY! I know I’m sorry for the super long wait 🥲. I was so busy this past month! Anyways I hope you all like this chapter😝✋. Chapter 6 will be out soon!

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[hqbaby]

nineteen — different

mess it up — gojo x reader & sukuna x reader

⁀➴ when i told you i’m fine, you were lied to. when the love of your life falls for someone else, you decide to move on—by pretending to date your best friend, the campus fuckboy.

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.9k content. profanity, angst

“Fucking finally,” Maki groans, rolling over from her place on your bed. She raises the beer that she’s holding and clinks it against yours. “We did it.”

Nobara, head buried in a pillow, makes a sound that’s halfway between a wince and a sob. “Barely made it out alive,” she says, voice muffled. “But I guess it’s pretty cool that it’s over.”

You reach over and pat the back of her head. “You did good, babe.”

She grunts in reply and you laugh, leaning back into the pile of pillows behind you.

Now that your exams are over and done with, there’s only one thing left for you to do: Pack for the ski trip and get the fuck out of here.

You look around your room, at the mess of it all, at the empty cans of Monster littering the floor, at the wads of tissue paper strewn across your desk and your dresser—it both embarrasses and annoys you to know that you can cause such a mess.

You hear a quiet snore and look to your side to find Maki sleeping with her head on your shoulder.

At least you didn’t make the mess all on your own.

With the smallest of movements, you manage to slide yourself out from under Maki and prop her head up with a pillow. You check on Nobara, find her sleeping as well, and quietly walk out of your bedroom. You grab your phone and propel yourself onto your couch, sighing as the soft pillows embrace your body.

You love your friends, you really do, but sometimes you find that you just want to be alone. Just need a moment to yourself.

You’re lying on your side, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram when the text pops up.

booger: how’s the finals recovery going?

You smile to yourself as your eyes linger on the notification. You and Sukuna have barely seen each other since things between the two of you became official… or, well, as official as they can get after fucking each other a few times and proclaiming your love for one another over the phone. While you know steering clear of each other was the best choice for your grades, you can’t say that you haven’t missed seeing your best friend.

you: it’s going

you: they zonked out

booger: oh? so can u sneak out to the parking lot?

You frown, fingers hovering over your keyboard as you read his text. What does he have planned?

you: be there in 5

You head back to your room, careful to not make any sudden noises as you change out of the t-shirt you’ve been wearing for who knows how long. You glance at yourself in the mirror, hardly looking presentable, but you decide it’s good enough. You suppose there’s some benefits to dating your best friend, the one who’s seen you through all states of grossness and undress.

You walk out of your apartment, locking the door behind before sprinting down the stairs. You stopped using the elevator after that last incident. While the results were pretty great, you’re not exactly keen on getting trapped in a metal box again.

As soon as you step outside the building and into the cool night air of the parking lot, you see him.

Sukuna, leaned against the hood of his car, smiling as you walk up to him.

“Hey, tiger,” he says when you stop in front of him. He reaches over to cup your face, rubbing his thumb over your cheek as he studies your features, as if he’s trying to memorize every part of you. You’d be shy if anyone else looked at you this way. But it’s Sukuna, how could you ever feel shy in front of him?

You nuzzle into his touch, placing a hand on his hip and drawing him closer. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs, still lost in your eyes. “Just wanted to see you,” he says. “I missed you.”

His words make you want to melt. You figured this was what Sukuna would look like in love, you’d never seen it before—not with the girls he used to go out with—but you always knew there was potential for him to be this gentle with someone he cared about. This sweet. This good.

You wrap your arms around his neck and bury your face in his chest. “I missed you too.”

He holds you by your waist, closing his eyes as he breathes you in, lets himself succumb to your touch, to your warmth. “Don’t think I can ever be away from you for that long again, tiger,” he whispers, pressing his lips to your hair. “Nearly drove myself crazy.”

You chuckle against him, pulling him in tighter. “You’re so needy.”

He pulls back a little and catches your eye. His forehead comes to press against yours. “I meant what I said,” he whispers.

You raise your brow teasingly. “Remind me, what did you say again?”

“Such a brat,” he says, eyes softer than his words. He holds your face in his hands, his touch featherlight. “I love you.”

You swallow. You can’t tell if it’s because of the tension between the two of you, the tiniest sliver of space between your lips and his, they way he’s looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky. Or something else.

You nod and draw him closer to you. “I love you too.”

There’s a strange expression that passes over his features. You can’t tell what it is, but you catch it. The subtle pursing of his lips, the slight hardening of his gaze. He snaps out of it before you can point it out.

“I’ll walk you back to your apartment,” he says, finally moving away from you. He holds you at arm’s length, grinning as he gives your cheeks a squeeze. “You’re so fucking adorable.”

You roll your eyes, swatting his hands away. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well, you love me so… too bad,” he says, swinging his arms over your shoulder and leading you back into your apartment building. “You better pray that your friends are asleep because they’re gonna think we fucked again if they see me.”

“They’ll have your head,” you laugh, leaning into Sukuna’s touch.

You try to relax as the two of you make your slow way to your apartment, but you can’t seem to let yourself do that. This whole thing between the two of you feels so new. So fragile. You’ve never been more afraid of ruining something in your whole life.

You reach your apartment door and fish your keys out of your pocket. “Have you packed for the trip yet?” you ask him as you unlock the door.

“Packing’s for losers.”

You lean against your door frame and stick your tongue out at him. “Not packing is for losers,” you tell him. “If you forget to bring anything, I’m not letting you borrow my shit.”

He gives you a look of faux offense. “I thought what’s yours is mine?”

Grinning, you press your nose against his. “We’re not married, asshole.” You lean forward and kiss him. A quick kiss, but soft and sweet. When you pull back, he has a goofy little grin on his face.

“Is that your way of asking me to marry you?” he says. He wiggles his brows playfully, obviously just teasing you. “Because it might just work, tiger.”

You can feel your smile drop at his words. You don’t intend for it to, but it does. Your whole body seems to grow cold.

Sukuna’s expression shifts into concern as he holds your shoulders, tilts his head to the side. “Hey, are you okay?”

You blink. “Yeah,” you say. You shake your head, letting out a laugh, “Sorry. I don’t know what that was.”

“You sure?” he asks. “You looked like you were gonna be sick.”

“No, no,” you reassure him. You place a hand on his arm and squeeze it. “I’m just really tired.”

Sukuna nods slowly, still unconvinced. But he doesn’t question it, doesn’t force you to tell him something you might not want to. He’d never want to force you into saying anything you were comfortable saying.

“Okay,” he says. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

You nod, offering him a smile to placate his concerns. “I will, ‘Kuna,” you say. Then, “As long as you do the same.”

He leans down and kisses you one last time. “I promise.”

“Maki!” you call out. You’re in the kitchen with a garbage bag in each hand. The three of you have spent most of the morning running around your apartment like headless chickens trying to tidy it up as much as possible. You’re all feeling pretty disgusted with the people you become when you’re busy with finals, so you’re trying your best to hide the evidence.

“Maki!” you say again, louder this time. “I need help over here!”

When you don’t get a response, you groan, dropping the bags by the door and walking over to your room where you know Maki is.

She’s standing in front of your bedside table, her back turned. Her head is crouched and you assume that she’s holding something, studying it with intent.

“Maki, I need help with the door,” you tell her, heading over to where she is. “Nobara’s downstairs, can you lock the door behind—”

You freeze when you finally see what she’s looking at.

She doesn’t look at you, eyes focused on the thing in her hands.

“Ma—”

“Why do you still have this?” she asks. Her voice is soft, not judgemental, not harsh in any way. It’s genuine curiosity if anything. “And why is it right beside your bed?”

You look away when she finally turns to you. “I just haven’t gotten around to throwing it out,” you try to explain. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

Maki says your name quietly, putting the paper ring back down on your bedside table. “You don’t have to hide things from me,” she tells you. “I’m not gonna criticize you or anything. I just want you to know that you can tell me these things.”

You glance at the ring on the table. Satoru, written inside. “I don’t think I’ve been honest with myself.”

“Okay,” Maki says. She guides you to sit down beside her on your bed. This is clearly not a standing type of conversation. “What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know,” you say, staring at your hands in your lap. “Everything with Sukuna is just going so great, and,” the next words come out all strangled and weak, “I’m just so scared. Because this is exactly how it started with Satoru too.”

She rubs your back in a soothing manner, leaning the side of her head against yours. “It’s gonna be okay,” she tells you. “Sukuna’s not Satoru. And… you know even that was more complicated than it should’ve been. I wouldn’t expect the same thing to happen again.”

The night of the party flashes in your head, little bits and pieces. You think of the way it all started out so nicely. You think of how you felt like you were walking on air for the first few hours, surrounded by friends and full of nothing but joy. Then, you think of walking past the bedroom. Their laughter. Their words, cutting into you. Tiny cuts, but cuts all the same.

You think of what happened after. What you did.

And it makes you want to hurl.

You grab Maki’s hand, trying to ground yourself. “This is gonna be different, right?” you say, more to yourself than to her. “Right?”

Maki squeezes your hand. “Yeah,” she tells you. “It’s gonna be different. It’s gonna be okay.”

You can only hope that she’s right.

notes. i think it’s so poetic how this is the chapter i’m posting after finishing my own finals. like it wasn’t planned at all it just kinda happened. so glad i’m not dealing with the same scary feelings as reader though 🥲 we also got a little more insight on the breakup in this chap 👀 what could’ve happened 👀

[seat-safety-switch]

What separates your average skinflint from a true cheap-ass is the commitment to optimizing every relationship. Can you truly be called frugal unless you exploit everyone around you for even the smallest, barely-perceptible benefit? Not in my book. It's a false economy, though. The relationship that people undervalue is that with nature.

Sure, I hear you saying that private industry has already ravaged and exploited nature, stripping it of all its divine beauty and charm in exchange for filthy lucre. Yeah, but look at how much money they spent to get there. You probably have a job because of it. If I went around paying people to do work, I'd have to spend money. That's not what I'm about.

Nowadays, we are becoming more aware of the abundance around us. "Abundance" is a French word (or something, I won't buy a dictionary or wear down my keyboard trying to search it) that means "free stuff." Ever wondered where wind comes from? Me neither, but I know that I'm not opening my wallet every time it blows.

Free energy is all around us. Smart folks are popping up solar farms to grab sunlight before it can hit ungrateful grass. They're making weird little wheel things and sticking 'em in waterfalls. And they're building enormous pinwheels to capture the might of Earth's gentle autumn breezes. Again, all those things cost money. That makes them less of a good deal.

I'd like to introduce you to my new product. CarSails™. We make these suckers out of old parachutes that get thrown out behind the military surplus stores. Even though they have too many holes in 'em to safely support a paratrooper, they work really well to propel your car down the highway. Simply unfurl it and you'll be on your way in seconds, spending absolutely no money on propulsion.

Sure, once in awhile the wind isn't going to be blowing in the proper direction, but you have some time to wait for it to come around. If you're not spending any money, then you don't have to show up on time for a job, now do you?

[puckingeccedentesiast]

| Bleeding Hearts, Bleeding Scars |

a/n this one hurt, i really enjoyed writing it though. i hope you enjoy reading it just as much! i am sorry for not writing heaps, i am trying to fix that. Kudos to @cupidbedsy because i showed her a snippet and she told me it was good so i finished it.

warnings: hospitals, but not super bad. angst, angst, angst. a little bit of toxic!quinn at the end maybe??

Their sirens sounded simultaneously, one symbolic of achievement, a known sound tethered with a joyous moment of redemption or extending the winning. The other siren, widely known as well, everyone knew the wailing of this siren and parted ways for it to pass with ease, emotions crashing in a tumultuous wave behind it.

His sirens were flashing blue and green, spiralling around him beautifully. Her sirens flashed blue and red, then her everything went black.

~/> </~

Quinn Hughes had spent his life moving at an electrifying speed – on the ice, everything made sense. Every pass, every shift, every calculated risk no matter how detrimental was measured and precise. Off the ice however, life had its way of digging an edge in, causing things to hurtle out of control.

The call had come obscenely late at night, just after another hard-fought game. Quinn was exhausted, his body was bruised, but none of that mattered when his phone screen lit up with an unfamiliar number. He looked at the number but picked up regardless, he was greeted with a young feminine voice, "Good Evening, this is Maddy from the Vancouver General Hospital am I speaking with a Mr. Hughes?"

The room around him blurred, the air rushing out of his lungs before the words even registered. "Yeah.. uh- yes that's me. Mr. Hughes, well Quinn is easier but- why are you calling?"

"A miss Y/N L/N had you listed as her emergency contact, are you of any relation to her?" the attendant's voice was methodical, almost as if she'd done this thousands of times before. News flash – she had.

"Yes. Not by blood but I'm her boyfriend of four years." Quinn's brain was turning, almost as much as his stomach. The panic induced nausea along with the large pizza and cheese bites he previously consumed were doing nothing to help with his clarity.

"She was in an accident. We need you to come in immediately please."

~/> </~

He couldn't remember how he got to the hospital. He wasn't sure if he even stopped at red lights or if he simply drove on autopilot, propelled by pure fear. When he arrived, it was almost surreal. Bright fluorescent lights hummed overhead, an artificial sterility, accompanied by fuming cleaning chemicals filling the space. The waiting room smelt like antiseptic and coffee, but Quinn barely noticed.

He approached the desk slowly, a young attendant in maroon scrubs sat behind the desk, tapping away at his keyboard boredly.

"Excuse me, I got called my girlfriend was in an accident." Quinn was ninety percent sure he fumbled over half his words but that didn't matter right now, not when you were potentially hurt.

"What's her name?" The young male asked, continuing the tacky chewing of his gum.

"Y/N L/N."

"Room four, just through those doors and down the hallway, second door on your right."

Quinn wasted no time, pushing through the large wooden doors, the metal hand plates cold on his already numb hands. Quinn found the first doctor he could, who was conveniently stood outside your room, he had a thousand questions to ask. That was before that doctor looked at him, face solem and voice measured. The words were a foreign language – brain injury, severe concussion, amnesia. Quinn shook his head, almost like he was shaking off the truth, as if denying it would rewrite the narrative.

"She doesn't– she doesn't remember anything?" His voice cracked, and he hated the vulnerability that seeped into it.

The doctor hesitated, adjusting the stethoscope sitting around his neck. "It's hard to say the extent of memory loss just yet. She has retrograde amnesia, meaning she doesn't recall recent events. Long-term memories might still be intact, but we won't know until she wakes up and begins cognitive assessments."

Quinn swallowed hard, the saliva feeling like a brick sliding down his throat, his breathing was shallow, hands clammy. He had spent the past few years building a life with her – countless nights spent wrapped in whispered conversations, shared laughter, stolen longing kisses before road trips. And now? Now she might wake up and not know who he was at all.

When he was finally allowed in, his breath caught in his throat. She looked so small in the hospital bed, tubes and wires hooked up to her, surrounding her like a web. Her face was pale, a stark contrast to the deep bruising along her temple. He took a shaky step forward, then another, then another until he was close enough to reach for her hand.

"Hey," he whispered, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. The silence stretched between them, thick with uncertainty. He squeezed her hand gently. "I'm here."

For a moment he held his breath, his heart hammering as she blinked up at him in confusion.

Her lips parted, her voice hoarse when she spoke. "Who... are you?"

And just like that, the world he knew shattered beneath him.

Quinn felt the breath he had been holding escape in a sharp exhale. His grip on her hand loosened slightly, like his body had momentarily forgotten how to function.

Who are you?

The words echoed in his head, louder than any goal horn, driving sharper than any loss.

She was staring at him, waiting. There was no recognition in her eyes. No warmth. No flicker of familiarity.

Her swallowed against the lump in his throat and forced himself to speak. It's me. It's Quinn."

She blinked, her expression blank. "Quinn..." she tested the name like it was foreign, like it meant nothing. And maybe right now, to her, it didn't. His heart clenched painfully.

Before he could find the words to say something, anything, the doctor stepped forward, placing a firm but gentle hand on Quinn's shoulder. "She just woke up. It will take time for her to process things. Try not to overwhelm her."

Try not to overwhelm her?

Quinn wanted to scream, his entire world had just unravelled and he was supposed to act like it was fine.

But it wasn’t fine. Nothing about this was fine.

“I’ll step out for a few minutes,” the doctor continued, giving Quinn a knowing look. “Take it slow.”

As the door shut behind them, an uncomfortable silence settled between him and the girl who used to know everything about him. The girl who used to be his home.

Now, she was looking at him like he was a stranger.

Quinn forced himself to sit down in the chair beside her bed. His hands rested on his knees, fidgeting, like he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “You, um… you were in an accident,” he said carefully, as if the wrong words might send her slipping further away. “You hit your head pretty bad. The doctors said it might take time for everything to come back.”

She furrowed her brows slightly, as if trying to make sense of his words. “How long?”

Quinn hesitated. “They… they don’t know for sure.”

She exhaled, her shoulders slumping. “So I just… forgot?”

He could see the frustration creeping into her expression, the fear she was trying to hide. He wanted to reach for her, to hold her the way he always had, but now—now, he wasn’t sure if he even could.

“Not everything,” he tried to reassure her, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “Your long-term memories might still be there. It’s just… recent ones that are missing.”

Her gaze flickered back to him, studying him. “And you’re… my boyfriend?”

Quinn let out a soft, almost bitter chuckle. “Yeah. For a while now.”

She bit her lip, looking away. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Quinn’s chest tightened. “Don’t. You don’t have to be sorry.”

But God, he wished she remembered.

He wished she remembered the nights spent tangled in his sheets, whispering secrets neither of them had ever told anyone else. He wished she remembered the way he would pull her into his arms after a tough game, how she always knew exactly what to say to quiet his mind. He wished she remembered the road trips, the laughter, the way she used to look at him like he was her favorite thing in the world.

Instead, she was looking at him like he was nothing more than a stranger sitting beside her hospital bed.

“Can you…” she hesitated, before meeting his eyes. “Can you tell me about us?”

His throat felt dry, his heart aching in ways he didn’t know it could.

But he nodded.

Because even if she couldn’t remember their love, he would remind her.

No matter how long it took.

~/> </~

Quinn took a slow breath, steadying himself. Tell her about us. The words felt heavier than they should have, because how could he possibly condense years of love into a single conversation?

But he had to try.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “I can do that.”

She watched him expectantly, waiting for him to start, waiting for him to give her pieces of a life she couldn’t remember.

“We met three years ago,” he began, his voice laced with nostalgia. “It was at a team event. You were there with a friend, and I was… well, I was awkward as hell.” A small chuckle left his lips, but she didn’t laugh—she only tilted her head slightly, listening.

“You had this ridiculous habit of calling me ‘Mr. Hockey Superstar’ because you said my name sounded too serious. I pretended to hate it, but I didn’t.” He swallowed hard, his fingers gripping his jeans. “You were smart. Funny. You made everything feel lighter, like nothing was too big or too overwhelming.

“You hated hockey at first,” he continued, a small smile playing on his lips. “You thought it was all fights and chaos. But then you started coming to my games, and suddenly, you knew more about my stats than I did.”

She let out a quiet breath. “Did I really?”

“Yeah,” Quinn nodded. “And you made it a habit of roasting me after bad games.”

Something flickered in her expression—maybe amusement, maybe a whisper of familiarity—but it disappeared just as quickly.

He pushed forward.

“You were there for every milestone. My first season, my first playoff run, every high and low.” He hesitated before adding, “And I was there for yours. Every late-night breakdown, every dream you chased, every moment you thought you weren’t good enough—I was there.”

She was silent for a long time, her fingers twitching slightly against the sheets. “It sounds… nice,” she murmured finally.

Quinn let out a soft, shaky laugh. “It was more than nice.”

She blinked at him, her brows knitting together. “I wish I could remember.”

Quinn’s chest tightened. “Me too.”

The days that followed were an excruciating mix of hope and heartache. Quinn spent every free moment by her side, trying to reintroduce her to their life together. He brought photos, videos, little things she used to love—a battered hoodie she always stole from him, her favorite snacks, even an old playlist she had made for long road trips.

Some days were better than others.

Some days, she would smile at something he said, and for a split second, he swore he saw a glimpse of the girl he loved. Other days, she would stare at him with quiet frustration, as if trying to force the memories to return, only to come up empty.

The worst days were when she looked exhausted, when her eyes were filled with something close to guilt. “I feel like I’m letting you down,” she admitted once, voice barely above a whisper.

“You’re not,” Quinn assured her immediately, but the words felt hollow. Because no matter how much he tried to be patient, no matter how much he reminded himself that this wasn’t her fault—he couldn’t deny the ache in his chest every time she failed to recognize a piece of their past.

It wasn’t fair.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to think that way, but he did. It wasn’t fair that he remembered everything while she remembered nothing.

And he was terrified—what if she never did?

A month passed. Then two.

She was healing, physically at least. The bruises had faded, the stitches were gone, and her doctors had finally cleared her to go home.

But home wasn’t the same.

She was staying in their apartment, but it didn’t feel like hers. She walked through the space carefully, like a guest, like someone trying to find their footing in a house full of strangers. Quinn tried not to let it get to him, but it did.

She didn’t wear his hoodies anymore.

She didn’t instinctively reach for his hand when they walked side by side.

She still laughed at his dry humor, still scrunched her nose when she concentrated too hard on something, still bit her lip when she was nervous—but she didn’t remember that those were all the little things that made him fall in love with her in the first place.

And then, one night, it all came to a breaking point.

“I think I should get my own place,” she said hesitantly over dinner.

Quinn froze, his grip tightening around his fork.

She bit her lip, playing with the hem of her sleeve. “I just… I feel like I’m taking up space here. I know this used to be our home, but—”

“It still is,” Quinn interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended.

She winced. “Quinn—”

“No, I get it,” he said quickly, pushing his chair back and standing up. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t keep pretending this didn’t hurt like hell. “You don’t remember me. You don’t remember us. And now you want to leave. I get it.”

She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Quinn ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I just—” He swallowed. “I don’t know how to do this.”

For the first time since the accident, her face softened in a way that almost resembled the girl he used to know. “Me neither,” she admitted.

Quinn let out a breath, shaking his head. “I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t want to make you feel like you have to remember just for me.” He looked down. “But I miss you. I miss us. And I don’t know how to be around you when you don’t even know who I am.”

The room was quiet for a long time.

Then, slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing over his hand.

It was tentative. Small. But it was something.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.

Quinn let out a bitter chuckle. “Too late for that.”

She frowned, her hand tightening around his. “I may not remember… but I know that I don’t like seeing you like this.”

He met her gaze, something fragile and raw settling between them.

And then, in the softest voice, she whispered, “Can we start over?”

Quinn blinked. “Start over?”

She nodded. “I may not remember how we fell in love the first time. But maybe… maybe you could help me do it again.”

Quinn’s breath caught.

And for the first time in months, something like hope flickered inside him.

He exhaled, squeezing her hand. “Yeah,” he whispered. “We can do that.”

Over the next few weeks, they did exactly that.

Quinn took her to the places that had once been theirs—a late-night drive to the spot overlooking the city skyline, the tiny coffee shop tucked away in a quiet street where they used to sit for hours, the pier where she once made him ride the Ferris wheel despite his protests.

He told her stories.

About the time she pranked him by putting salt in his coffee. About the way she would steal his hats just to annoy him. About the night he first realized he was in love with her, when she was singing off-key in the kitchen, twirling around in his hoodie like she didn’t have a care in the world.

Some memories made her laugh. Others made her tilt her head in quiet contemplation, as if trying to pull something from the depths of her mind.

And then, one night, as they sat on the couch watching a movie, something changed.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, so naturally that it caught him off guard. His heart pounded, but he didn’t move, afraid that if he did, she would pull away.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she murmured, “I don’t remember everything yet.”

Quinn swallowed. “That’s okay.”

“But I think…” She hesitated, then lifted her head to meet his gaze. “I think I’m starting to remember how it felt to love you.”

Quinn sucked in a breath, his eyes searching hers. “Yeah?”

She nodded, a small, tentative smile forming.

It wasn’t everything.

But it was something.

And maybe—just maybe—they could build something new, together.

[sylusonychinus]

Coming in for a Landing

Summary: Caleb and plane you get it

Pairings: Caleb x Reader

a/n: came up with this headcannon while talking to @jinwoosbabyboo <3 this is specially for you sweetie

Chibi Caleb who treats the house like his personal airspace. He has designated "no-fly zones" (like the bathroom when someone’s using it) and "high turbulence areas" (any room with a ceiling fan on).

Chibi Caleb who gets stuck in the ceiling fan at least once a week. He flies too high, miscalculates, and—bonk—his tiny plane spins out of control, leaving him dangling by his seatbelt, yelling, “Ground crew, I need an emergency rescue!”

Chibi Caleb who kamikazes into cups of water. He’ll zoom across the kitchen, lose control, and—splash! His tiny plane nose-dives into my drink. He then climbs out, shaking off water, muttering, “Hydraulic system failure… need repairs.”

Chibi Caleb who steals snacks mid-flight. He flies low over the counter, reaches out of his cockpit, and yoinks a cookie before speeding away. If I try to stop him, he yells, “Aerial refueling complete! Returning to cruising altitude!”

Chibi Caleb who parks his plane on your keyboard while I’m working. He’ll roll up, set the parking brake, and say, “This is my new gate. Please do not disturb the aircraft while passengers deplane.” Then he just sits there, eating a tiny bag of peanuts.

Chibi Caleb who plays air traffic controller when his plane is under maintenance. If his plane is "broken" (aka he’s just resting), he’ll make me do hand signals before he lets me touch anything. If I don’t do it right, he refuses to let me "fix" his aircraft.

Chibi Caleb who does dramatic crash landings on pillows. If I’m sitting peacefully, he’ll suddenly scream, “ENGINE FAILURE! BRACE FOR IMPACT!” before nose-diving into my lap. Then he’ll just lay there like a ragdoll until I "tow" his plane back to the hangar.

Chibi Caleb who uses your backpack as a makeshift hangar. If I leave it open, he’ll taxi inside, shut the flap, and call it his maintenance bay. If I try to take my stuff out, he’ll yell, “Unauthorized personnel! Security breach at Hangar 5!”

Chibi Caleb who treats my cat like an air marshal. He’ll land his plane next to the cat, salute, and say, “Welcome aboard, Officer Whiskers. You’re in charge of security.” The cat just blinks and walks away while Caleb takes off again.

Chibi Caleb who insists on having a control tower. If I stack some books into a tower shape, he’ll fly past and ask for landing clearance. If I don’t respond immediately, he yells, “Tower, do you copy?! I’m running low on fuel here!”

Scene 1: The Coffee Spill Disaster

I’m sitting peacefully, sipping my morning coffee, when I hear the faint sound of tiny propellers whirring. Before I can react—

Chibi Caleb: "Diving in for an emergency water landing!"

His miniature plane zooms straight toward my mug, and before I can move it, he skims the surface, sending coffee sloshing over the rim. He pulls up just in time, avoiding a full crash, but the damage is done.

Me: "Caleb! You just splashed coffee all over my desk!" Chibi Caleb: "The rescue mission was a success! The crew survived! Minor turbulence, but we’ll recover!"

He shakes off a few coffee droplets and taxis away like nothing happened.

Scene 2: The Ceiling Light Incident

Chibi Caleb is on a high-altitude mission, circling the living room at full speed. He climbs higher and higher—until suddenly—

Bonk.

His tiny plane smacks into the hanging ceiling light, sending him spiraling into an uncontrolled descent.

Chibi Caleb: "MAYDAY! MAYDAY! CONTROL SYSTEM FAILURE!"

I rush forward just in time to catch him mid-air. He blinks up at me, a little dizzy.

Chibi Caleb: "Phew… good thing I had a parachute."

Me: "You did not have a parachute. I caught you."

Chibi Caleb: "Same thing."

He gives me a thumbs up before wriggling out of my hands to take off again.

Scene 3: The Unscheduled Cat Landing

Chibi Caleb is doing low-altitude maneuvers over the couch when suddenly, my cat leaps onto the armrest—directly in his flight path.

Chibi Caleb: "Oh no! Uncharted terrain ahead!"

He tries to pull up, but it’s too late. He belly-flops onto the cat’s back, clinging to his tiny plane as the cat freezes in place. For a moment, there is only silence.

Then—

The cat rockets across the room, shaking wildly, trying to dislodge the surprise "passenger." Caleb yells in delight.

Chibi Caleb: "Unexpected turbulence! Hold on to your seatbelts, folks!"

After a few wild spins, the cat finally manages to fling him off onto a pillow. He lands with a soft thud and sits up, grinning.

Chibi Caleb: "That was the best ride EVER!"

The cat glares at him and storms away. Caleb simply dusts himself off and gets right back into his plane.

Scene 4: The Sneaky Midnight Flight

I’m lying in bed, about to drift off, when I hear the faintest little whirrrrrr from above. I crack one eye open to see a tiny silhouette zipping across the room.

Me: "Caleb… what are you doing?"

Chibi Caleb: "Shhh… this is a top-secret night mission. Just routine patrols."

He swoops under my blanket, loops around my pillow, then lands gently on my nightstand.

Chibi Caleb: "Refueling break."

He climbs out of his cockpit, grabs a stray cracker from my snack stash, and munches quietly. Then, as if nothing happened, he hops back into his plane and takes off again, flying low to avoid my swatting hands.

Me: "Go. To. Sleep."

Chibi Caleb: "Sorry, Captain, I have a strict flight schedule."

I sigh, roll over, and accept the fact that tiny planes will be buzzing through my room for the rest of the night.

[eclairsnme]

♡ POV: Being The Itoshi Brother’s Elder Sister ♡

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4

More trouble and very dilf (prick) boss and yandere kaiser!!

tags: idol!you, crack comedy, reunion, familial love, sfw, somewhat of a brat (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎), lack of common sense, dilf boss, kaiser is giving me psycho killer mannn (✦థ ｪ థ), red flags!!

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

A few years ago,

You picked up the phone and read a message.

It’s a punishing journey here.

It was from Sae, your younger brother.

After reading the message, you flipped the phone to your manager.

You could not be bothered to reply to him as... well, you are in a middle of a scandal.

A rival company is trying to sue you for plagiarising their music.

I mean like ew? (¬､¬)

You debuted in the music industry one year ago and had already gathered a massive fanbase and caused a wave in the industry.

Many were hailing you as the pop star of the century. Recognised not only domestically but also worldwide.

The songs were written by you and with the collaboration of acclaimed song producers.

When all of your songs dominated the Billboard chart, you solidified your status as the youngest and most celebrated star of this era.

You know what they always say, behind every success has its own trials and tribulations, and yeah you were now experiencing that exact phenomenon — a scandalous scandal, a bad suing kind.

The rival company had been trying to produce their very own pop star using you as the manual, however, it was to no avail. Obviously.

You snorted at that. No one could compete with you, naturally.

Therefore, they had to resort to underhand tactics. Such as, wrongly accusing you of plagiarism without any ounce of evidence and trying to sue you to boot?

Huh! The audacity.

More absurdly, he annouced all that mumbo jumbo on the stupid bird app! That hellhole of an app.

It goes without saying that the news spread quickly like lighting speed! Both fans and haters became aware of it and rumors and negative comments began to circulate rapidly. They really popped off there.

What else popped off? Keyboard warriors. They came and showed the heck up. They have never typed their opinions so quickly.

Before you could defend yourself from such an outlandish claim, they had already painted you a bad reputation. You cracked a displeased smile.

It appears that your followers and supporters have left you abruptly and without any hesitation.

And they call themselves loyal fans. You pouted. People’s minds sure do sway rather quickly. That bandwagon sure has lots of passengers.

Today, a crowd gathered outside your studio to protest against what they perceive as your "sinister" conduct.

How very rude!

Prior to your debut, you had anticipated that your first scandal would involve a dating rumour with a super hot man. However, the current scandal being circulated is merely a laughable joke and not the kind you had expected.

The music you made was definitely yours last you checked. It was unquestionably from this absolutely talented brain of yours.

“Pest,” you grumbled.

Oh and what a pest he definitely is. Actually, he was more disgusting than those creepy crawlies. He had a greasy face, greasy hair and an incredibly bad breath.

You shivered. Yucky.

“That bastard!” The boss of your company slammed the table.

Your boss was a tall and well-dressed individual in his mid twenties. He was an efficient and smart, young man that had personally scouted you and propelled your career (well, that is a little too much credit to him but yeh yeh).

This company had a few B-listers if you squint... hard enough. You were his first pop star and damn, you exceeded all his expectations. Not to toot your own horn, but yes you are quite literally The Best.

After learning of the absurdity, he was absolutely furious. He was frothing in the mouth like how baristas froth them age-old milk. You found it quite funny to see his handsome face contort to such comedy.

You hid your giggle behind your hand.

He stopped and knelt down in front of you, "I understand that this situation is difficult for you right now, but I assure you that we will find a solution and overcome this obstacle together."

Even the dumbest person would know that refuting the so-called "claims" was a simple task. However, the bigger issue at hand is the individuals who have already turned their backs on you. Unfortunately, you are currently considered the most disliked public figure.

Can you believe that? Me!

To that, you grunted and took a heavy whiff of the musky meeting room.

Gain back their support?

You suddenly stood up, causing your boss to fall back onto his buttocks.

An idea crossed your little noggin. Your idea is truly exceptional, with a level of creativity that is almost unparalleled. Some people might even dare ask, "From that brain of yours?"

A true visionary of the century you would say. You snickered to your own delight.

“What’s going on?” Your boss asked in confusion.

“I know just the way to make him eat his shit!” You bellowed, lightly brushing the nonexistent dust from your Miu Miu garb.

Oh yes, eat shit he will. Bet, his shit would be the best-tasting shit he will ever consume.

-

Present day

You, the top idol, stood in front of the screen fake crying your heart out for your dear little brother.

“Do you not love me anymore?!” You dramatically placed your hand over your face, wiping away the fake tears.

Rin covered his ears at that infamous phrase coming from you.

As the situation “escalates”, even Rin’s teammates started to catch on to your act. As in, they actually fell for your poorly executed acting.

“Oi, Rin your sister is calling for you! You bastard of a little brother making her cry,” his teammates and Karasu collectively shouted at him, accusingly.

This was too much for Rin to handle, the embarrassment was too excruciating. He was so close to believing that you were not his sister. Heck, did you hear his internal thoughts? Because he could vaguely hear you crying louder. He shuddered.

To Rin, this was the equivalent of having his mom unexpectedly appear in the classroom and announcing every speck of mole on his body to everyone. Yet again, he shuddered.

You, on the other hand, were just about to tease him more when Mr Manager tapped on your shoulder.

“Your next schedule is in an hour, you need to get ready.”

Ah, talk about getting blue balled. You frowned. You were just about to have fun with Rin.

"Schedule? I thought I was done for today?" You gave him a look of disapproval, with your lips tightly pressed together.

"I-it's the meeting with the boss!" He spread his arms wide in disbelief, brows downturned and mouth gaping like a goldfish.

"That person would not mind," you turned away from the screen and shrugged your shoulders, "no big deal missing one or two meetings."

"You mean, multiple (all) meetings?"

Wow, talk about being unnecessarily observant. You rolled your eyes. If your eyes could roll to the back of your skull that will be great.

So, your boss has this thing where you have to meet him and then goes on to lecture you on your bad public image blah blah blah. A broken record. That is what he is. He needs to learn how to shut up.

"Please you need to attend the meeting or else," your manager took a deep breath, "he will be really angry at me. Since he also specifically mentioned the severity of your behaviour this time around."

"Andddd?" You nonchalantly glance over, not sure why you should care.

Your boss sure is a pain in the buttocks. You can handle yourself well without him. What about the severity of your behaviour this time around? This was not your first rodeo.

"Wait!" You yanked the collar of his shirt, "What do you mean by the severity of my behaviour this time around."

He miserably clutch onto his shirt to ensure he would not die to accidental asphyxiation.

"T-he paps!" He released himself from your grip and whispered into your ears, "They took a photo of you smooching a man! Boss was super - and I mean super duperrr - angry! Since this morning, he has been attempting to hide the entire situation from the public."

Smooch? The only thing you smooched was...

Oh!

Oh?

OH!

Ohhh?

OH!

So, someone did catch you getting first base with that German guy.

"Smooch?" Anri gasped, a little too loudly. Actually, loud enough for the entire Blue Lock facility to hear.

Smooch? The Blue Lock players repeated after Anri.

Anri clasped her mouth shut.

Erm oops. (Ŏ艸Ŏ)

Turns out, the screen was still on for everyone to witness.

"End of today's entertainment — hope everyone feels motivated by the special appearance of the wonderful idol," with a click of a button, Ego had the screen turned off to the disgruntlement of the players behind the screen and to the joy of Rin.

"W-we have to go!" Panic filled Mr Manager's voice as he tried to drag you out of the room.

"But my Rin!"

"You are welcome here anytime," Ego interjected.

"Really?" Your teal eyes lid up.

"Reward for work and work for reward. It is widely acknowledged that when individuals receive recognition for their diligent efforts, they tend to exhibit improved performance and exhibit a more optimistic outlook. As a result, it is imperative to provide incentives that are based on performance. By the way, I must take a moment to express my genuine gratitude for your presence here today, Miss."

You blinked at his response, "I don't know what you just said, but I will be back for my little brother, Go-go!"

Ego briefly reflects on his nickname and then lets a faint smile appear on his face, "Hope to see you very soon too."

"Ah, the boss is already calling me! We have to go!"

"Bye-bye, big melon woman!" You did not forget your manners, as you made your way out.

Anri shyly waved back at you.

Damn, I really want big boobs.

-

His sharp eyes met yours.

You gulped.

You felt like a deer caught in the headlight. It was just a smooch — a very normal German etiquette. No biggie. Right?

Your boss held a photograph of what you believe is the source of this man's frustration.

You took the photograph out of his hands, "I spy with my little eyes a man and an exceptionally drop-dead knockout woman engaged in - you know what? This is actually a really good photo! We could hang it-"

"For goodness sake!"

"-on the wall."

He ruffled his neatly tousled coif into a slightly messy one.

"It is just an old friend," You fidgeted with the ends of your dress.

"Friends do not eat out each other's face!" He exasperated, loosening his tie.

"I-"

"I don't think you get it. This photo shows very clearly, the nation's biggest star and the German prodigy footballer exchanging salivas! This is big big news! And it will be a scandal if people catch wind that you are going around smooching high profile people! What would people think of you? We have been through so many ups and downs together but this is your first relationship scandal. I can already imagine the looks of your fans-"

"Aren't you being a tad bit dramatic? Isn't it normal for a pretty girl like me to have relationships?"

"You are an idol!" He shouted, a little too loud that you flinched, "And what is this thing that your Manager told me? Regarding your desire for a boyfriend, please keep in mind that as an idol, you have a certain image to uphold."

You stood up and slammed the table, a little too hard — you felt your palm throb underneath. You took angry steps towards him and placed your still throbbing palm on his face ever so not gently.

He stared into your teal eyes and you saw the big gulp he took.

Taking another step closer till your head was right beneath his chin, you stared up at him and squeezed his cheeks with all your might. He groaned and grabbed your wrist.

"What is that for!" He softly clasped onto his tender, reddened cheeks. You harrumphed back at him.

"HA! Idol this idol that." You snorted, "what if he is actually my boyfriend? Have you thought of that? Plus, my fans are mature enough to understand. We've practically grown up together. Don't be delusional, old pal!"

Ah, I am really digging my grave.

"You know very well-" You eyed him sharply, his mouth clammed shut.

"Kaiser and I are super in love and so what if some paps caught us? Is it really possible for someone like me, a young and attractive woman, to remain celibate forever? I am certainly not a nun." You let your mouth run, nervously.

Wow, my grave has been dug real deeeep, very spacious if I say so myself.

To be honest, you were not even too sure what you were even saying. Your boss was being such a prick. Prickly prick. Ugh.

"When did you even meet that guy with your full schedule?" He asked, hands still on your wrist.

"Our love needs no words. Whence our eye meets, we are in love," You physically cringed at your words. Seeing the goosebumps rising from your boss's arms, you were not the only one who thought so it seems.

Great. Just great.

"Let us set this straight. So you are telling me that you are in a relationship with that football player?"

"Why do you act so surprised? C'mon, I have two fine brothers who are also football players. What can I say? I just love a man who can treat the ball right. It is all bound to be. Therefore this is no scandalous scandal you should be worried about."

He releases your hands and stuffs his hands inside the pocket of his suit, reaching for the cigarette pack. He let out a deep breath and then proceeded to light a cigarette. With a shaky breath, he exhaled the thick smoke, his head throbbing from pent-up exhaustion and frustration.

You almost felt sorry for him, almost.

"Sooner or later, the news will explode. I will have a statement prepared for the media. Get ready."

Oh jolly, will you look? My grave is the size of an Olympic pool! How spacious. Sorry, big man.

Your boss was a good man that cared for you. But sometimes it gets overbearing. Very red flag. Do you think maybe that's why he's still single? I mean, he's got a lot going for him - eligible bachelor, CEO, and let's be real, he's pretty good-looking. But there's gotta be a reason, right?

Ladies, if you need a man you can call me.

ヾ(о-ω･)ﾉ⌒★

-

Kaiser smiled to himself.

The brightness of his phone deepened his smile into one of a Cheshire cat.

On his phone was a picture of you helplessly holding onto him as he savoured your lips.

"Aren't we cute together?" He said to no one in particular as he caresses the rose tattoo on his neck.

Oh, how the world so nicely revolves around him that fate has brought you back to him.

It would be wonderful if you could be in his embrace at this moment.

He puts down the phone and closed his eyes.

Be patient. Mein göttin.

-

"You should go back to sleep," Sae's soothing voice nearly put you to sleep as you struggled to stay awake.

You heard rustlings on the other end of the call, pretty sure he was in the middle of his training.

Oops.

"I made a fool out of myself today!" You lamented, snuggling deeper into your silky covers.

"Aren't you always a fool? What did you do this time? Lo siento. Estoy hablando con mi hermana-" You could hear another feint voice conversating with him. Must be his teammates. You yawned.

"- I am sure it is nothing too serious as always. You are tired, go sleep," Sae returned to the conversation.

"It is really really bad..." you spoke softly, rubbing your face onto the silk.

"Did you kill someone?"

"My boss looked like he almost died but no," You stretched your aching body, "I think I just got myself a boyfriend, more like I just told my boss a big lie that is about to be publicised...That guy is not even my boyfriend and when he hears of this garbage - oh boy is he definitely going to have a heart attack. I am in big trouble."

"You dug your own grave," Sae said, cooly.

"I know right, the grave is swimming pool sized."

"Who is the unlucky guy?"

"Kaiser Mikel?" You attempted to recall his surname.

Sae paused for a second before he replied, "Michael. Michael Kaiser?"

"Oh, you know him?"

"I do. He is a... good player. Sister, how did you even get involve with him?" This time, Sae sounded genuinely curious very unlike his usual disinterested self.

"You see," you hugged your bolster tightly, "some bugger quote on quote took a photo of us exchanging salivas."

"Excuse me?" Sae choked, "Exchanging salivas? Mierda-" You could imagine your brother's incredulous yet icked face right now. Well, he wanted to know and you delivered. ｢(◔ω◔「)三

"You heard me right."

"I wish I did not just hear that. But Kaiser and you?" Sae did not fail to exaggerate the last part almost in a manner you did not enjoy.

"Why did that sound like you are mocking me?" You grumbled underneath your soft duvet.

"I don't think that guy will mind being your boyfriend if that helps," Sae shook his head thinking about the German prodigy.

"Really?" you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with sleepy excitement.

“Yeah. He- Dame un momento. I have to go now. I'll send you a text message. Go to sleep now," he paused briefly, "and have a good night."

There the phone line goes. Silence.

As if Sae had actually cast a sleeping spell on you, your head sank back onto the plush pillow and you succumb to silky sheets pulling you into a dreamy languor.

A boyfriend sounds nice... right?

-

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The sound of incessant phone ringing filled your room, grumbling under the sheets, you unwillingly pick up the phone.

"Who is it?" You drawled on every word in a drowsy stupor.

"Guten morgen, mein engel!"

You ended the call.

When did you fall asleep? You were having such a nice conversation with your brother too.

As you glance towards the window, you notice that the sun has barely even risen. Feeling lethargic, you let out a groan while still in bed.

Five more minutes...

Your dark lashes fluttered shut as you inhaled the fresh scent of cedar from your sheets. You sank softly into the mattress as sleep slowly envelopes you-

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You moaned softly.

"Five more minutes..." You spoke quietly to the spirits in your room.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"Five just five-"

Ring. RIng. RIng.

Your eyes snapped open, half awake and half annoyed.

"What is it?" Mouth still dry as you tried to sound as harsh as possible to the rude morning caller, but it came out sounding like a meek, saddened mouse.

"Is mein liebling still sleepy?" The timbre of the caller's voice sent chills down your spine.

You know this voice! You rubbed your sleepy eyes and cleared your dry throat, "Kaiser?"

"Yes, Liebling." He purred.

Your bare arms prickled, sending you chills.

You were still sleeping, right?

"Er- wwie komme ich zu Cologne (*how do i get to Cologne)?" You spouted a random German phrase you so happen to remember from your travels.

"You are very cute," he lightly chuckled.

Oh damn, maybe you were half asleep but that was a pretty nice-sounding chuckle. Still, you did not understand what he just said.

"Someone reached out to me and said you are very much in love with me and that we are in a loving relationship," he continued softly, clearly enunciating each and every word you did not understand, "I am very very flattered, Liebling."

You feigned laughter in response, not sure what you are laughing at but he was laughing too so you are safe.

"Yes, it is a joyous occasion," Kaiser laughed in tune with yours.

Seriously, what is this man saying? You thought to yourself between laughs.

☆〜（ゝ。∂）the end (for now) ☆〜（ゝ。∂）

sike! Extras!

Sae is very unimpressed by Kaiser's courting of his sister. He does not know much outside of soccer but he sure as hell knows that Kaiser's method was, to say the very least, strange. He just hopes the German fella does not hurt his sister. That would be extremely troublesome.

<thank you, darlings for your endless love of reading this! My heart is full SMOOCH SMOOCH ଘ(੭ºัᴗºั)━☆ﾟ*:.>

<also, how would you react if you met someone like Kaiser irl, because girlfriend he is screaming red flag to me>

[jimpagne]

hello! in the past you have written and translated about some moments from Are You Sure? (which i thoroughly enjoyed, thank you) and i wanted to ask if you could make a post about how you started learning korean? as a native english speaker it is a bit intimidating to me but seeing how you were able to succeed in the language, it gives me a bit of courage. i know that is not your usual content but i wanted to send an ask anyway. hope you are having a lovely day! and thank you for your response.

Oh, I would love to talk about this topic! Thank you so much for sending in the ask ;p

Also fair warning... this will be a REALLY long post.

In the Beginning...

I began "learning" Korean waaaay back in 2017 (holy shit, that was EIGHT years ago??), back when I was still a high schooler and setting alarms to wake myself up for Mystic Messenger chatrooms. I grew up in a very diverse area with a considerable Korean population, and I had a lot of Korean friends who decided to share their language with me. First, they spelled out my name in Hangul, and in my free time, I decided to learn the rest of the alphabet.

The rest is history, really.

Of course, throughout this time, I felt really intimidated. I mean, where do you even start? There were so many Korean resources online, and it felt like I was entirely lost and overwhelmed by the huge responsibility of taking on a language like Korean, one that is drastically different from the ones I know.

So despite starting my journey in 2017, I really didn't start making a breakthrough in my learning until 2021, where I enrolled into a formal Korean class at my local university. I researched a few things here and there, knew some pretty basic grammar and vocabulary, but again, I was entirely scrambled in the directions in which I was acquiring the language. So finding a professor to steer me into the right direction was incredibly helpful.

But, what do you if you can't afford or have the time for private lessons or university classes?

Even though I have had the immense privilege of going to university, I still found that the burden of learning Korean mainly fell on myself. Language classes are one thing, but you need to have the drive outside of the class to learn as well. If you only become familiar with your textbook, you'll never learn. So, outside of an academic environment, I've learned many things when it comes to teaching myself the language.

Obsessions, Interests, and... Autism?

One of the main things that really propelled my Korean learning journey was integrating the language into almost every relevant facet in my life. I have autism, so I hyperfixate on things to the point of annoying my relatives and close friends. I don't really think they care about the linguistic harmony of Korean characters as much as I do, but I can't help but fall in love with the language every single day.

I made it a goal to learn as much as I could about Korean culture, and through this I picked up a lot of vocabulary. In my personal opinion, I think what really stumps a lot of learners is that they get stuck on the "pop" culture part of Korea. It's nice and all to like K-pop and K-dramas, but if your heart is not in it beyond that, you might find yourself struggling to stay motivated. If you're going to learn Korean, you're going to need to delve into the culture, history, and every day life itself, because a lot of the language will start to make more sense.

You don't need to become an expert in those things, but you'll find that Korean people appreciate this a wholeeee lot more. I speak Korean at my workplace with Korean customers, and they'll usually ask if I learned because of K-pop. However, when I tell them otherwise, I watch just how much brighter they become.

I also enjoy writing (fics and other personal projects), and a lot of my research could not be found on western websites, so I had to start googling IN KOREAN to find what I wanted. Through this, I also mastered the Korean keyboard and I don't need to look at it to type anymore.

I started documenting Instagram captions and comments from my favorite idols, made song diaries, read children's short stories, and watched Korean YouTube channels. In my opinion, I think having physical books or physical notebooks are better than virtual ones when it comes to learning a topic.

I also made plenty of personal flashcards, and if I was using a virtual set, I would make the quiz option entirely in writing. The more you practice spelling a word, the more likely you are to remember it. I would do these quizzes over and over and over again until I could spell and remember every single one of the words in the set.

Now, if you give me a set of 50+ new Korean words, I can have it memorized in less than 10 minutes.

Resources I Personally Like

Spoiler alert: It's not Duolingo. Duolingo is probably one of the worst resources that you could use. I hate that green bird.

I would also like to preface that I use an adblocker, so I'm not sure if any of the websites have ads or how invasive their ads are. So, if there's like ten billion ads on one of these websites, I didn't know! I would marry my adblocker if I could.

The reason why I put emphasis on the word personally is because at the end of the day, how people learn language is entirely a customizable process. What works for me might not work for you. People just have to find what works.

How dependent you'll be on these resources that I'll list also depends on your current Korean level. A lot of what I will provide will be more beginner friendly, but eventually you'll find yourself doing your own research or making your own resources.

Also, it is incredibly important to note that language learning is not one skill. As someone who also studies language acquisition, imagine Korean Fluency itself to be an empty box with different shaped cut outs. There's a star cut out, a circle cut out, a square cut out... etc. You need to fill the box, but in order to do that, you need to fill it with different shaped pieces.

Speaking is a separate skill. Reading is a separate skill. Listening is a separate skill. Writing is a separate skill. Your mastery in Reading won't always bleed over into your mastery of Speaking. These are muscles that must be exercised separately. Of course, they can help each other, but you need to know that just focusing on one facet, or one cut out shape of the language will not be enough to fill that box.

How To Study Korean 한국어를 공부하는 방법

First of all... this person is incredible... The person who made this website is a foreigner who learned Korean, and I think that's an incredibly valuable perspective to take on when you're also a foreigner learning Korean. Their explanations are very precise (they've saved me during so many of my Korean exams), and they also grouped many grammar concepts into digestible levels, so you can start from level 0 and progress onward in a way that makes sense.

I honestly almost feel offended that all of this is free. Thankful, but offended. It's seriously such an incredible resource. If you're looking for a clear roadmap, this is your website.

GO! Billy Korean

Again, if you're looking for a foreigner to explain it in a way that makes sense to your English brain, this guy has some pretty good videos. If you go to his playlist section, he has clips from his livestreams where he teaches Korean grammar and concepts in depth. Some people might not learn that well from just reading, so a video format is perfect for those craving a more personal touch from a teacher.

Talk To Me In Korean

You probably saw this coming. There's a reason why these guys are the best! I know a lot of their options have recently become paywalled, but they still have a lot of valuable lessons on YouTube and they also offer free podcasts on Spotify if you'd like to take a listen. You can also take a level test on their website to determine which course might be best for you. I have a couple of their physical books, some of my favorite being....

Easy Korean Reading For Beginners: this book really introduces you to easy concepts and basic vocabulary, but it also showcases Korean sentence grammar in a very clear way.

My First 500 Korean Words: This book is exactly what the title is. However, in addition to the 500 words, they give related vocabulary, crossword puzzles, reading exercises, and they also break up the words into a weekly manner, so you don't feel overwhelmed to learn everything in one go. Vocabulary is so, so, so important. And anyone learning Korean will tell you that usually its not the grammar that's the issue, its the sheer amount of WORDS that you have to learn...

KoreAnt

Incredibly underrated but very good, especially for beginners trying to expand their listening practice! KoreAnt has cute little visuals where they showcase real Korean scenarios, and they also explain the grammar and vocabulary used in their videos.

Integrated Korean (3rd Edition)

This is a traditional university textbook for English speakers, so you can buy it from multiple different platforms other than the one I linked. It's produced out of one the best university's in the United States for Korean language learning. The entire Integrated Korean series is very well put together and the main meat of the course is separated into four textbooks, Beginning 1 & 2, and Intermediate 1 & 2. Like I said, it's a university textbooks that many of my American friends use (and they all like it), so it might be on the more expensive side. Also, this textbook has sound files on SoundCloud where you listen to workbook or textbook conversations and narrations.

Since it is a textbook, it also has a workbook to pair with it, so if you want to quiz yourself or do additional exercises, you can consider looking into that as well.

그냥 한국어 Just Korean

Now this isn't super beginner friendly, as it is a YouTube channel that teaches Korean concepts... in Korean. It's a great listening resource, however, and she does provide English captions that you can turn on. So you can learn Korean grammar at the same time as listening to it be taught to you in Korean. I think that's pretty cool.

Korean Wiki Project

This is a big hub of archived information and they have a lot of fun wiki pages that you can go through. They also have some pretty solid yet concise explanations on the Korean language, and they also delve into some more colloquial topics (like common slang/texting forms). A little bit of a warning on this one, not everything is super detailed, so if you're looking for a full on lesson other than a quick overview, this is probably not the source for you.

Technical Resources

These are the resources that I recommend for like... typing, general help, or dictionary usage. Things like that.

Naver Korean-English Dictionary

I just really like this dictionary. There's something about it... Something that soothes my soul. They have conjugation settings in there and also you can add stuff to a personal list on this dictionary and quiz yourself over it. 10/10 gets me through school.

Papago

I like to use Papago for quick translations when I'm on the go and don't understand something immediately. It's far more accurate than Google Translate, however it does have its pitfalls. After all, you shouldn't be using Papago as a means to speak/learn Korean, it's just a quick resource -- and since it's artificial intelligence, it can definitely mess up and it will mess up. But if you need to translate something quickly for whatever reason, this is a better resource.

Hancom Taja

I discovered this after I mastered Korean typing! It's a typing website that a lot of Koreans actually use to practice English typing, but they also have Korean options for Korean learners. You can play fun games and select the length of the words/sentences. Fair warning, it sometimes hates working for whatever reason, but when I do get it up and running, I find the overall experience to be a lot of fun.

Language Reactor

This is a Google extension that allows you to have both the Korean and English subtitles running together at the same time over your favorite K-dramas. You can hover over words for instant dictionary translations, get full excerpts of television shows, and you can save/add words to your personal dictionary. I'm not a big TV fan, but I find this resource to be incredibly helpful whenever I am studying Korean off of a drama.

Korean Reddit

I know that the word Reddit might send chills down the spines of many, but in all honesty, you can find some pretty good help on this subreddit. Have a question? Just type up something and get some pretty good feedback.

How I Take Notes in Korean

Do you feel like you're back in school again? I remember I always hated sitting through those "useless" lectures about how to take notes... but in actuality, how you take notes can easily help you understand a topic much better.

I know you already got a taste of my note taking style from my 이게 맞아?! post, but I thought I might explain it a bit better here. Korean, in my opinion, has a lot of solid foundations, and once you work yourself up from those, learning other parts of the language become almost like second nature.

Let's do a quick example:

You might come across a 100 Common Phrases in Korean post, which great! We all love posts like that. However, when you're taking down the notes for what you've learned, you might not be getting the most of what you can get from the content.

Ex) 좋아해요 - I like you.

This is pretty standard, right? Well, how can we expand on this very simple phrase?

좋아해요: I like you

좋아하다 (verb: to like) conjugated in the polite present tense form (~어/아요). Both the "I" and "You" can be inferred due to the high context nature of the Korean language (aka, as long as the speaker and the listener both know what it's about, you can omit pronouns).

You don't need to take it exactly like that, but we've now classified the root verb, how it's being conjugated, and how the cultural behavior/structure of the language impacts its usage. These small changes can really make a difference when you're taking notes.

Also, like I did in the post I mentioned above, I went outside of the material and connected it to other forms that I might've known about. So if you were looking at 좋아하다, you might think of 좋다 (adjective; to be good), or 사랑하다 (verb; to love). Maybe you'd think of Korean pet names and you might want to do more research on Korean couple practices and vocabulary. Make connections. Build your web. It's very important to keep practicing concepts you might already know.

When you are taking notes in Korean, I think it's VITAL that you classify something as a verb or an adjective. Multiple Korean forms change based on this factor, so it's important to label it accordingly. Actually, I'll tell you a quick hack as to how you can master every single Korean grammar point (even if you don't know it yet). I'm not kidding.

To master Korean grammar, all you have to do is ask yourself these four questions.

Is it an adjective, verb, or noun? for particle usage & forms that might use ideas of continuity (adj. do not have continuous states)

Does it end with a vowel or a batchim (final consonant)? for forms that might connect with ~(으) or ~아/어 conjugations, general connectors like ~(이)라...etc

Does it end with a bright or dark vowel? for forms that might connect with ~아/어 or have irregular forms like 으 & 르 verbs.

(if writing) What tense is it going to be in? for general forms that follow the basic ~았/었 & ~(ㄴ/는/ㄹ) rules

If you know the answer to all four of these questions and you know the behavior of these forms, boom, you've mastered the general science behind several Korean grammar points!

Most Importantly...

Don't be afraid to make mistakes.

I know this is a common phrase you've probably heard a million times, but it is incredibly true. Actually, the reason why adults struggle so much in learning foreign languages in comparison to children is because of this concept of shame. Children (other than having advantages in cognitive freshness and free time) often lack this idea of having to be perfect. They make spelling errors, they jumble up their words. But they still communicate. They still try.

Adults often have this feeling that they need to be perfect, so they often shy away from the idea of potentially messing up. You are learning something new, you are meant to mess up.

And that's okay.

(Most) Koreans don't really care how GOOD you are at their language (unless you're trying to work at some formal company in Korea... sorry guys, the concept of Emily in Paris is just not realistic...), they mostly care about the effort that you're putting into learning it.

So don't be afraid to ask a lot of questions. I mean A LOT of questions. After my class time, I would go up to my Korean professor with a whole new list of words/cultural contexts/grammar points that I wanted to ask her about. She never saw it as a burden, and she was more than delighted to educate me about her home country and tongue.

But before I go, I just wanted to say that I was thinking about doing more Korean posts, but I'm not exactly sure what to focus on. I was thinking about doing a fun Linguistic-centered post about Korean, but that might not be super beginner friendly. If you have any topics you might be interested in or you might want me to cover, I'll look into it and see if I can make a proper post about it.

That's all I have for now... if you have more questions, just shoot me an ask!

[chopinski-official]

Chopin's Funeral

By Benita Eisler

Funeral at La Madeleine, 1868

On a sparkling Paris morning, Tuesday, October 30, 1849, crowds poured into the square in front of the Church of the Madeleine. The occasion was the funeral of Frédéric Chopin, and for it, the entire facade of the great neoclassical temple had been draped in swags of black velvet centred with a cartouche bearing the silver-embroidered initials FC. 

Admission was by invitation only: Between three thousand and four thousand had received the black-bordered cards. Observing the square with its crush of carriages, the liveried grooms and sleek horses, the throngs converging on the porch, Hector Berlioz reported that "the whole of artistic and aristocratic Paris was there." But another who surveyed the crowd, the music critic for the Times of London, suspected that of the four thousand who filled the pews, a large number had been admitted just before noon, strangers to the dead man, mere bystanders even, "many of whom, perhaps, had never heard of him." 

Facades of La Madeleine, 1840-70

If death is a mirror of life, Chopin's funeral reflected all the disjunctions of his brief existence. The most private of artists, his genius was mourned in a public event worthy of a head of state. Canonized as "angelic," a Shelleyan "poet of the keyboard," Chopin seemed to personify romanticism, and before he was buried, its myths had already embalmed him: a short and tragic life; an heroic role as Polish patriot and exile; doomed lover of the century's most notorious woman; and finally, his death from consumption, that killer of youth, beauty, genius, and of courtesans foolish enough to fall in love. 

Chopin's Last Chords by Józef Męcina-Krzesz

In reality, he was the least romantic of artists. While the generation that had come of age just before his own in France, including the Olympian Victor Hugo, had defined romanticism as a holy war of the "moderns" (themselves) against the "ancients" (their literary elders), setting off riots in theaters to make their point, Chopin clung to the past. His musical touchstones were Haydn, Mozart-but especially Bach. He harbored doubts about Beethoven's lapses of taste, was incurious about the music of Schubert, and generally contemptuous of his other contemporaries: Schumann, Berlioz, and Liszt, towards whom his feelings were further tangled by rivalrous friendship. In art, he preferred the marmoreal neoclassicism of Ingres and his followers to the radical inventions in color and form of his friend Delacroix. Socially and politically, he was still more conservative. 

The same aristocratic circles that had embraced Chopin the child prodigy in Warsaw were waiting to welcome the twenty-one-year-old sensation of Paris. Chopin arrived in France in 1831. One year before, revolution had replaced the Bourbon Restoration with the Orleanists swept in by Louis Philippe and his July monarchy. It was still a world of fixed hierarchies: of titles, birth, and breeding, buoyed by a flood tide of fresh money coined by the financiers and industrialists whose entertainments outshone the Sun King in splendor, if not in style. Chopin made some friends among the professional middle class-a less grand banker or diplomat, a few fellow musicians. He had a horror of "the People" as a force of upheaval or even change (which he dreaded in any form), and he was suspicious of those who championed their cause. He was appalled by that quintessentially romantic belief, whose most ardent proponent was George Sand, that art must serve the cause of social justice-or, indeed, any other cause except itself. 

Like many who have thrived as "exceptions," propelled by talent from modest origins to a place among the privileged, Chopin was repelled by marginality: by poor Poles, by Jews, by the ill-dressed and ill-mannered, by coarseness or slovenliness, in art or life. 

Chopin’s hand and death mask

Most likenesses of the composer suggest that he was far from handsome. He had pale, colorless hair, a thin, hooked nose, a pursey mouth, and rabbity, lashless eyes. In these images, Chopin bears only a glancing resemblance to his famous portrait by Delacroix-the portrait of romantic genius itself, with his tousled chestnut mane and burning inward gaze. Chopin's famous dandyism, then, must be understood as another labor of creation, like his music an imperious quest for perfection. The dandy enlists distinction-in dress, speech, manners-along with distance, to create a masterpiece: himself. 

What appeared to many-then and now-as the snobbery of a provincial, self-invented aristocrat and aesthete, had deeper sources. Chopin needed the reassurance that a fixed social order provides. Dependent and childlike in many ways, he clung to the security of protective institutions-the monarchy, the Church, and the family-which defined themselves proudly as patriarchal, stern but loving fathers keeping watch over children, dedicated to exalting an ideal past and to keeping present chaos at bay. 

Two years and only two public concerts after his arrival in Paris, Chopin ranked among those few artists who moved in every circle that counted. Ignoring protocol, older, established musicians called upon him. He was a fixture at the grandest houses, where, arriving in his own carriage, he was welcomed as a lionized guest who never failed to charm and amuse; if he could be prevailed upon to perform, he hypnotized every listener. The musically knowledgeable drew close to the piano to study the wizardry of his technique and his famous inventions in fingering, third finger crossing the fourth, that made his impossibly difficult compositions appear effortless. Fellow exiles heard laments for a homeland in the languorous rubato of the mazurkas, with their heart-catching drop from major to minor keys, but the mood of elegy was as often shattered by discordant salvos of unleashed rage. Even those guests whose attendance was simply an occasion to wear the new diamonds, to remark casually at the bourse that the reception last evening at Baron James's had been more than usually delightful, stayed well past midnight, straining to hear the final note, when the pianist, pale and exhausted, rose wearily to take his bow. It was uncanny how Chopin's music spoke so intimately to their most private, long-buried thoughts and memories, evoking childhood happiness and lost love; innocent, nobler selves trampled by the harsh rules of life. 

Seventeen years later, he died, destitute, in an apartment paid for by friends at the most fashionable address in the most expensive quarter of Paris.

A drawing by T. Kwiatkowski of Frederic Chopin on his deathbed, 1849

Now, at the funeral, emissaries from the world of music were outnumbered by mourners from the ranks of the rich and titled. The Polish émigré aristocracy and its French counterpart among the old noblesse were in turn outshone by new money: bankers and speculators whose wives and daughters had also been among Chopin's pupils. Certain of the fashionable, one reporter noted, appeared indecorously attired in brilliant colors, glittering with jewels. 

While the crowd filed through the portal, the closed casket was carried from the sanctuary and placed under an elaborate catafalque ("utterly pretentious," in the view of Paris's leading music critic) at the transept. Chopin's embalmed body had lain in the crypt for almost two weeks since his death on October 17, aged thirty-nine. His dying had been long and terrible, the disease that killed him still not diagnosed with certainty: tuberculosis of the larynx, cystic fibrosis, mitral stenosis, or a rare viral infection? 

Interior of La Madeleine, 1845.

With a dandy's discipline, in his final agony of slow suffocation, Chopin had planned the musical program whose principal offering was to be a performance of Mozart's Requiem. Unknown to the dying man, women were not permitted to sing in the city's parish churches; it had taken days of pleading on the part of Chopin's most powerful friends before a special dispensation was issued by the Archbishop of Paris. The decree allowed female participation provided it remained invisible; thus the women singers, including Chopin's friend Pauline Viardot among the featured soloists, were hidden from view behind a black velvet curtain. 

As the mourners took their places, the organist played the funeral march from Chopin's own Sonata in B-flat Minor. Then, the choir of the Paris Conservatory sounded the opening notes of the Requiem's Introitus, followed by the first solo — "Te decet hymnus, Deus," Viardot sang, her glorious mezzo-soprano soaring above the chorus and orchestra. Then, voices and instruments were stilled while the priest chanted the High Mass for the Dead.

Modern day interior of La Madeleine

The pallbearers emerged from their pews. Two princes, Adam and Alexandre Czartoryski, represented the community of Polish exiles. The painter Eugène Delacroix mourned the friend he had both loved and revered, calling him "the truest artist among us." From the world of music, the composer Giacomo Meyerbeer, decorations glinting against his dark mourning attire, appeared the personification of success. He had been the merest acquaintance, but Chopin, passionate for opera, had been a fan, like millions of others who had made Meyerbeer a rich man. In contrast, cellist and composer Auguste Franchomme was known to few. But the modest, scholarly professor at the Conservatory had been the inspiration for the only music Chopin would ever write for an instrument other than the piano. Franchomme was followed by a collaborator of another kind, Camille Pleyel, manufacturer of the pianos that Chopin, more than any other composer who ever lived, had made the instrument of genius. 

Shouldering the massive coffin, the six men moved up the nave to the sounds of the organ playing Chopin's Preludes in E Minor and B Minor. Many of those now leaving had heard the composer play these pieces-his favorites-in their own houses, in the salons of friends, or in Pleyel's concert rooms. The familiar notes on the somber instrument spoke of the voice they would never hear again, and they wept. 

Sick Chopin at Piano. Illustration on postcard by A. Serkowicz

Outside the church, the mourners gathered around the corbillard, the wagon hearse particular to Paris. Drawn by black plumed horses, it aroused shivers of dread, but also of excitement: Parisians loved a funeral. By this time, most of the mourners had dispersed; Chopin had forbidden any graveside ceremony. With the exception of the pallbearers, freed now of their burden, those who remained were women. They surrounded the small figure of the composer's older sister, Ludwika, summoned from Warsaw by the dying man at the end of June. "Please come, if you can," he had begged, even if she had to borrow the money, of which, he, alas, had none to advance. "Apply for a passport immediately," he urged, and lest he should sound like his familiar hypochrondriacal self, he invoked the advice of others close to him and concerned for his health who had agreed that no medicine would help him as much as the sight of his sister. At the same time, he tried to deny the urgency of his condition. "I don't know myself why I yearn to see Ludwika," he wrote, with a wan coyness, to the rest of the family. "It's like those whims of pregnant women." 

Ludwika Chopin

Chopin might have spent the last twenty years in the most emancipated company of Paris, but it was still natural to him to ask permission of his brother-in-law for Ludwika to make the journey: "A wife must obey her husband," he wrote. "Thus, I am asking you as the husband to accompany your spouse." With the intervention of the czar's ambassador to France, whose wife was Polish, the endless passport process was hastened and Ludwika, accompanied by her husband, Józef Kalasanty Jedrzejewciz, and fifteen-year-old daughter, arrived in Paris in August. But the grumpy Kalasanty returned to Poland in September; it was only Chopin's sister and his little niece Louisette who remained with him to the end. 

Another young mourner, Adolf Gutmann, thirty years old, was one of Chopin's few pupils training to be a professional musician. Others, including pianists said to be just as talented, could not have performed by virtue of birth; they were women and aristocrats of title or wealth; indeed, the most gifted of all Chopin's students was a princess, Marcelina Czartoryska, who had walked to the cemetery accompanied by Countess Delfina Potocka. Sumptuously beautiful of face and body, her golden hair as bewitching as her soprano voice, Delfina, long separated from her husband, was so prodigal with her sexual favors that she had been crowned "the Great Sinner"-no small distinction in the Paris of the July Monarchy. Chopin was rumored to have been one of her many lovers. She had rushed to Paris from her villa in Nice at the news that he was dying. With only hours to live, he had begged Delfina to play and sing for him. A piano was moved to the open door of his bedroom. But the sounds of the voice so dear to him or the music she played or sang caused spasms of choking and he motioned for her to stop. 

Death of Chopin by Félix-Joseph Barrias. Showing Potocka singing to Chopin.

Sending their carriages ahead, the Polish noblewomen walked the distance, east along the grand boulevards, skirting the slums of Paris to Père Lachaise Cemetery. Others, arriving earlier in hired cabs, stood waiting by the open grave: a brawny red-haired sculptor, Auguste Clésinger, and his young wife, Solange, daughter of George Sand. Clésinger had been summoned to the dying man's bedside to mold the death mask, but the resulting likeness-bald head, drooping eyes, mouth contorted by agonized efforts to breathe-was rejected by the horrified Ludwika. Working swiftly, the sculptor had applied another layer of wet plaster, which, after removal, he reworked, smoothing away all evidence of struggle and pain until the dead man's features were composed into an expression of Christian peace. Clésinger's reward was the commission for a funerary monument, and he now surveyed the site where his marble tribute, featuring a Muse holding a lyre, would rise above a small oval profile of the composer. 

Chopin’s Grave, All Souls’ Day.

Towering over the Clésingers, Ludwika, the priest, the Polish nobles, and the pallbearers was the angular figure of Miss Jane Stirling, a Scottish heiress, Chopin's pupil and patroness, who had supported the composer in the last year of his life. It was Stirling who had paid the bill for the funeral-five thousand pounds-of which two thousand were spent on the orchestra and chorus alone. 

In the silence ordained by the dead man, his coffin was lowered. The mourners pressed closer together for a last look. But they also seemed to close ranks, filling an empty place among them.

[skwangmbyul]

rusted [pжавый] - captain america: tws (2014) pt 2 - bucky barnes x tony stark's daughter

summary: steve and henny don't agree on everything, they just like each other too much to insist

<<< Previous chapter rusted masterlist

The insistent crackle of the comms broke through the rhythmic hum of the ship's engines. Rumlow's clipped voice, urgent, cut through the din. “Hostages en route to extraction. Stark missed the rendezvous point; Cap. Hostiles are still in play."

Then, Steve's voice, sharp with urgency, cut through the comms once more. "Hennessy, Batroc's on the move. Circle back to Rumlow and protect the hostages."

With precision, Hennessy kept her fingers light, dancing across the console, setting the parameters for the data transfer. She ignored the subtle pang of concern. She knew Steve. He'd handle it.

"Hennessy!" Steve's scream was louder this time, tinged with frustration that she knew well. He stayed silent for a little while after that, and she had to ground herself to avoid asking for mission news.

Her gaze was locked on the progress bar of the data transfer. If she answered, he'd start giving orders, and she couldn't afford to be pulled away. Not now, because the file was copying, line by agonizing line, and every second counted.

Hennessy’s agile fingers continued their work, a flurry of motion against the cold steel of the keyboard. The file she was copying was deeply encrypted, its contents hinting at something far more sinister than standard SHIELD intelligence. This wasn't the usual tactical data or field reports. This spoke of world order, of shadow governments, of assassination missions. It sent a cold shiver down her spine, conjuring fragmented memories of Natasha's hushed stories about the Red Room and the KGB. Fury had a lot to answer for, and she knew he couldn't expect her to keep silent after this.

A sudden, jarring noise to her side ripped Hennessy's attention from the screen, just as Steve Rogers came smashing through the engine room door, Batroc's body propelling ahead of him. The impact shuddered through the floor. Steve didn't waste a second, following through with a brutal, efficient punch to Batroc's face that sent the mercenary unconscious, amidst the wreckage.

— Well, this is awkward — she said, a wry half-smile playing on her lips. She didn't flinch under his gaze, her hands still resting casually on the console.

Internally, Hennessy braced herself; she knew a scolding was in line for her.

— What are you doing? — Steve demanded, approaching her, his voice a low growl, clearly annoyed that she hadn't responded to his calls.

— Backing up the hard drive — Hennessy replied, her gaze meeting his steadily. She gestured vaguely at the screen with a tilt of her head. — It's a good habit to get into.

— Rumlow needed your help. What the hell are you doing here? — The Captain took a decisive step, moving past her to peer over her shoulder at the screen, his posture tense. Henny had the decency to look momentarily ashamed when his eyes finally comprehended the lines of code and data.

— You're saving SHIELD intel.

— Whatever I can get my hands on — Hennessy nodded, her eyes coming back to the screen.

— Hennessy — Steve said, dangerously low, his gaze flickered from the screen back to her, a hint of accusation in his blue eyes. The girl gulped. — Our mission is to rescue hostages.

— No — Stark countered, pushing herself off the console, her expression hardening. — Rogers. — The name, cold and formal, hung in the air between them. She never called him by his last name, reserving it only for moments of extreme seriousness. As she spoke, her agile fingers finished the transfer, and she swiftly pulled the flash drive out. — That was your mission. And you've excelled in it, as always.

She moved to step past him, her body language suggesting, and deep down, expecting, the conversation was over.

— You put people at risk for your data, is that how you do things now? — Steve's hand shot out, catching her arm just above the elbow. His grip was firm, stopping her cold.

Hennessy pulled her arm free, her posture stiffening.

— I think that's overstating things. And frankly, it shows a deep lack of trust on your side, Captain.

— I trust that you’re going to be on my team and be transparent with me, Henny. That’s what you agreed on. — Steve's voice softened, his deep care for her showing clearly in his gaze. His shift in tone, from accusation to hurt, only strengthened her guilt.

— Then trust me to handle it when I say it’s not a big deal — Hennessy insisted, waving a dismissive hand, though her shoulders remained stiff. — It's a few files. — Her tone was a subtle plea, masked by her usual confidence.

— Don’t go and jeopardize everything again. That’s an order — The tension thickened, suffocating the air between them. Hennessy opened her mouth to retort, a sharp comeback already forming on her tongue, but a sudden, guttural groan cut through the argument.

Batroc rose from the floor, his eyes blazing with fury. With a desperate snarl, he lobbed a grenade directly at them before scrambling for the exit. Steve reacted instantly, deflecting the explosive with his shield. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Hennessy by the waist, pulling her tight against him, and lunged for the window, smashing through the glass just as the room erupted behind them in a deafening, concussive roar.

They landed hard on the deck below, amidst twisted metal and shattered debris. Hennessy cried out, disoriented, the ringing in her ears almost drowning out Steve's heavy breathing.

— Okay — Hennessy shot him a wry, self-deprecating glance. — You can pin that one on me.

— You're damn right — Steve retorted, his voice rough with adrenaline and exasperation. He was already on his feet, eyes sweeping the surrounding area for any further threats, shield instinctively raised. Once he was sure they were clear, he turned back to her, reaching out a hand.

— Come on — he said, his fingers tightening around hers as he pulled her up, his other hand instinctively going to her back, steadying her. His gaze was searching, worried. — Did you break anything? Don't forget, not everyone has a super-soldier serum keeping them in one piece.

Hennessy rolled her eyes, pushing a stray lock of hair from her face. —— Show-off — she muttered, shaking her head. — Doesn't help that you just jump out of planes without a parachute.

They started walking towards the exit, their footsteps crunching on the scattered debris. Hennessy turned her head slightly to catch his eye, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

— Last time I went to your apartment, I saw a hot blonde in there. Why don't you ask her out?

Steve let out a dry chuckle, a sign of relief that she was still her usual teasing self, showing no signs of a concussion.

— Then we can go on a double date. You, Sam, me, and her — Steve's proposal dripped with sarcasm and the absurdity of the situation made him laugh, a genuine sound. The last time he'd been on a double date was in the 40s, with Bucky. For a fleeting second, he could almost imagine Hennessy in that era, her sharp wit and playful smile charming one of his old companions, perhaps even Bucky himself. The thought, bittersweet and wistful, vanished as quickly as it came.

____________________________________________________________

The automatic doors of Nick Fury's office hissed open, revealing Steve Rogers, his posture rigid, his face a mask of barely contained fury. He didn't bother with a greeting, his eyes, cold and blue, fixed on Fury, who remained unmoving behind his desk.

— You just can't stop yourself from lying, can you?

— I didn't lie. Agent Stark had a different mission than yours. — Fury didn't flinch. His single eye met Steve's, unreadable.

— Which you didn't feel obliged to share — Steve retorted, taking a step closer, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

— I'm not obliged to do anything, — Fury countered, his voice hardening, a subtle challenge in his gaze. He leaned back in his chair, a silent dare.

Steve scoffed, humorless.

— Those hostages could've died, Nick. You know what this would've done to her? — His voice dropped, laced with concern that cut through the professional veneer. He wasn't just talking about a mission, but about the young woman he'd grown to care for.

— I sent the greatest soldier in history to make sure that didn't happen.

— Soldiers trust each other, that's what makes it an army. Not a bunch of guys running around and shooting guns. — Steve paced, the rhythmic thump of his boots echoing the pounding in his chest.

— The last time I trusted someone, I lost an eye. — Fury’s gaze flickered, a momentary vulnerability. — Look, I didn't want you doing anything you weren't comfortable with. Agent Stark is becoming comfortable with everything. — There was a subtle emphasis on "everything.”

Steve stopped pacing, his head snapping up.

— Is that what you're turning Henny into? Is that what she wants to become? You're taking all her potential to be something better. — The words were laced with a desperate plea, a stark fear for the woman.

— You'll soon find out, Captain, that Agent Stark's potential is way further than what you imagined.

Next Chapter>>>

[creativesnek]

The Chat really loves Bowser

Luigi sat by his desk, getting his cameras and headphones ready for a live stream. The soft glow of the studio lights illuminated the room, creating an atmosphere of anticipation and excitement. His heart with a mix of nervousness and exhilaration as he prepared to connect with his audience.

As he adjusted the angle of his cameras, Luigi couldn't help but reflect on how far he had come. What started as a simple hobby had now transformed into a full-fledged career. His passion for gaming and technology had propelled him into the world of live streaming, where he could share his experiences and connect with like-minded individuals from all corners of the globe.

He still can’t believe he acquired such a huge fanbase.  A lot of people seemed to like his personality and actually liked his commentary; even his videos on mushroom foraging garnered thousands of views within the hour. It made Luigi very proud of himself; plus, his interactions with his fans have been nothing but enjoyable. 

The door to his room opened. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at Bowser. The red-haired Koopa stepped into his room, then kissed his forehead. “I’m going to go pick up Junior,” he said. 

“Okay, be safe!”

He reached up and scratched his chin, earning some happy chirps from him before he walked out again. Luigi smiled softly at his boyfriend’s retreating back before returning to his previous activities. As soon as he sat down, he switched into his streamer mode. The screens came to life and the cameras started recording. Luigi grinned, “Welcome back everybody! Tis I, WeegeBoard9000!” he said while laughing. The chat immediately started rolling with comments as people greeted him and made donations.

With a swift motion, Luigi's fingers danced across the keyboard, skillfully navigating through the game menus. As the game loaded, he took a moment to acknowledge some of the comments popping up on the screen.

"Hey WeegeBoard9000! Long time no see!" one viewer exclaimed.

"Luigi, you're my favorite streamer! Can't wait to see what you have in store for us today!" another chimed in.

*Peach_hime donated 30 bits! Hi, Weeg! Gimme ten minutes and I’ll hop on.*

“Ew, the gamer twink’s back.” said the very obvious account of Wario.

Luigi sneakily kicked him out before moving on with his stream. He delved into the game, he skillfully maneuvered through its challenges while simultaneously keeping an eye on the chat. He responded to questions, shared tips and tricks with fellow gamers, and engaged in lighthearted banter with his audience.

*King donated 2500 bits! Stay hydrated darling ;)*

Ohh~ his highness has made an appearance!

Man, i wish i had a stream daddy 😔

Where iz this mf getting so much coin??!

Comments of similar caliber followed. Luigi tried to hide his blush, recognizing his boyfriend’s account. Bowser always makes it a personal mission to donate something during his streams. Luigi couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth in his chest as he read the comments praising Bowser's generosity. It was moments like these that reminded him why he fell in love with Bowser in the first place. Despite his tough exterior, Bowser had a heart of gold.

*prince donated 100 bits! HiWEEGIE!”

OMG IT’S DA BOIIII

The lil man’s here too

Baby boi, protecc the bean

Luigi chuckled and thanked Junior for the donation; he probably asked his dad to donate for him too. With the chat taken care of for a bit, the streamer continued his game for several hours, tuning out the outside world.

.

.

.

The stream was in full-swing now as Luigi and a few online friends were collecting items to fight a boss. Luigi was so engrossed with preparations that he didn’t hear the noise of the front door opening or the familiar pitter patter of feet on the wooden floor. The door opened a bit as Junior yelled a greeting before closing the door. The man glanced back at the noise, smiled, then proceeded with the game. 

Without him noticing, Bowser went into his room. At the sight of him, the chat went absolutely ballistic. 

HELLO???

Hunk alert, hello🥵

NO SHELL? FOR FREE??

Ayo, who dat 🫦

Luigi glanced at the last comment then swiveled his chair around; Bowser wrapped his bulky arms around him and kissed the top of his head. “Dinner’s gonna be ready in a few minutes, so don’t stay too long,” he whispered into his hair. Luigi’s face and ears reddened at the gesture, considering Bowser was, in fact, shell-less and basically pulled his face into his chest. He thinks he replied… Probably. The donations going off was what called his attention.

DILF 🥵

Muscle man and he cooks? Luigi, bag him.

dilfdilfdilf

Weeg has that unspoken rizz

Luigi looked up. “Whoa, whoa. Calm down everybody,”

His subscribers didn’t listen, sending many sporadic comments and blush-inducing questions. The donation bell kept blowing up.

*BooKing donated 500 bits! Luigi, u have all of dat to urself?!*

*BadBitchPrincess donated 1500 bits! L ultimate rizzlord😌*

Can he come back pls?

Bring back the dilf, ty.

Glory o glory, what a helluva way to die 🫡

🫡

Luigi nervously snorted and pulled his hat over his head, giving up on taking back control. Guess the chat really likes Bowser.

[vodika-vibes]

Another request. Physical Romantic gestures that make me weak prompt. Wait for it… with Captain Howzer. He’s super sexy too.

kissing you against a wall/door, legs intertwined around their waist.

Only if you find time to write.

Thank you. 😊

Take a Break

Summary: You're working late, and Howzer has a suggestion that might help you relax.

Pairing: Captain Howzer x Reader

Word Count: 1184

Warnings: Uh...spicy? Not smut but only just not smut. A side effect of the prompt, I think.

A/N: Hm...I'm not sure I'm happy with this one, but I think it's about as done as it's going to be. Honestly, I got distracted while writing this, cause my cat is ripping her fur out.

Divider by Saradika

You stare at your datapad blankly. More specifically at the cursor that’s blinking, tauntingly, at the top of the blank document. 

Join the GAR, your family said. Fight for the Republic, they prodded. It’ll give you something to do, they cajoled.

You really, really need to learn how to say no.

Because if you had said no, you wouldn’t be here, in some backwater base on Ryloth, hours away from the nearest city, staring at a blank document, trying to come up with a professional way to say that the situation’s fucked.

Hell, you’re not even sure you work for the GAR anymore. You’re pretty sure you’re not an employee of the Imperial Army.

You rest your elbows on your desk, and your hands slide into your hair.

“Think. Think. Think.” You mutter under your breath, “You’ve written reports before. You know how to be professional.”

You drop your hands to the keyboard, and nothing comes to mind.

How do you write a report listing the loss of half of your base's munitions because the manufacturer decided to skimp on the weather protection, and they were exposed to extreme weather before anyone knew there was a problem?

There’s a knock on your office door, and you look up as it opens and Captain Howzer steps into your office, a mug of caf in one of his hands, “Captain,” You greet with a tired smile, “You’re working late.”

“So are you,” He replies as he sets the mug in front of you, “You still working on that report for the higher ups?” Howzer sits in one of the chairs across from you, and stretches his legs out.

“I’ve written a grand total of zero words,” You reply with a sigh, “I have all of the information to pass on, but-” You shake your head with a sigh.

Howzer frowns, “Are you okay?”

You sigh and bury your hands in your hair again, “I never wanted to join the GAR, Howzer, I was pressured into it. And now I can leave even less than I could before.”

“It’s not all bad, mesh’la.” Howzer offers quietly.

“How? The Jedi are dead. And the Imperial Army is committing genocide across the galaxy-” You stop and your lips press together in a thin line, “You didn’t hear that.”

Howzer folds his arms, “Didn’t hear what?”

You smile at him, “Good man.” To pick up the mug he brought you and take a sip of the warm caf. It’s not good, but it’s caf, so you’ll take it. “Thank you for the caf. Maybe it’ll wake up my brain enough to let me write this report.”

“Or…maybe you need to take a break.” Howzer offers.

“And do what?”

“Well, there is a club not far from here,” Howzer points out.

“I’m not really dressed for a club, Howzer,” You counter as you motion to the regulation pants and blouse you’re wearing.

“You look fine,” He gets to his feet and offers you his hand, “Come on. You need a break.”

“Howzer, I’m not going to a club just to watch other people dance.”

“Of course not, you’ll dance with me.”

You pause and look up at him, there’s a glimmer of hope on his face, and mischief glitters in his eyes, and you sigh and take his hand, “Fine. But only for a little bit. I need to finish this.”

“Oh, yeah. Of course.” He agrees, unconvincingly.

You don’t even have time to grab your jacket before he’s propelling you out of your office, and then the office building. 

The club is Nameless, which is a rather depressing name all things considered, but the music is loud, the lights are dim, and it’s packed with people. 

And Howzer, immediately, drags you onto the dance floor and pulls you flush against him. One of his hands settles heavily on your lower back, while the other cups the back of your neck.

“You seem rather eager to dance with me, captain.” You breathe into his ear.

“Guilty as charged,” He replies against your ear and then his lips attach to a spot just below your ear and you release a quiet moan, which makes him grin against your skin, “You seem just as eager,” He teases.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had someone to dance with,” You admit, as you roll your hips against his.

There’s a glimmer of something on his face as his hand slides from your back to your hip, and he holds you tight enough that you’ll have bruises, “Good,” He purrs out.

You shoot him a surprised look, but he doesn’t clarify. Instead he pulls you closer and angles your head so he’s able to catch your lips with his own. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, absently tracing random shapes against the back of his neck.

He groans into the kiss, and pulls away, which pulls a needy little whine from your lips. And he laughs under his breath. His gaze is heated, and you watch as he comes to a decision. 

Howzer walks you through the crowd, and into a hallway, where he presses you against the wall, and crashes his lips against yours again. It’s not private, not at all, people are passing behind him, though you don’t care. 

And judging by the way his hands are burning a path down your body, neither does he.

You let out a breathless moan as his lips attach to a spot on your neck and he bites down. One of your hands slides up into his hair and you grab a fistful, trying to ground yourself, but all that accomplishes is pulling a broken moan from his throat.

He pulls away from you, his gaze heavy. He lightly pulls your hand out of his hair, and he guides you further down the hall. He pushes the door to the storage room open, makes sure that it’s empty with a glance, and then he drags you into the dark room.

Howzer locks the door with a touch of the door panel, and then he has you pressed against the door. He kisses you deeply, and helps you wrap your legs around his hips, and he presses himself firmly against you.

A moan falls from you and he laughs breathlessly, as he breaks the kiss and brushes a strand of hair out of your eyes, “Are you feeling relaxed yet?” He breathes out.

“I feel like there’s a million bees under my skin, Howzer,” You reply, breathlessly.

He laughs, “Well, I suppose I better help you with that.” He kisses you slowly, sweetly, “And then I’d like to take you to dinner.”

“Aren’t you kind of going backwards?” You ask.

“Makes it interesting.” Howzer replies as his lips move to your neck again, “Unless you have a problem with it?”

“I don’t,” You reply quickly, another moan falling from you as he presses hot kisses over the mark on your neck.

“Good.” Howzer grins against your neck, “I have plans for tonight, mesh’la. Don’t worry, I’m going to take good care of you.”

[goldenponcho]

Milkbones

So I finally got my first chapter done! And I had a BLAST writing all the Prime Assets interacting. They’re all such fun and hilarious characters to write; they practically tell you what they wanna say themselves!

Chapter 2

Chapter 1: New Pet

Light swirled in nauseating, arrhythmic pulses, and the amorphous movement before his eyes created the feeling of tumbling in a laundromat dryer. Confusion and disorientation was all he knew, hardly a thought capable of forming in his head.

Floating…tumbling…weightless…as if consumed by water. The first full thought he could conjure was ironically typical of his deep-seeded fixations:

‘Am I bein’ born?’

Consciousness rushed over him in an overwhelming wave as he willed his arms to grab onto something.

‘No… Stop! FUCK! I don’t wanna GO yet, mommy!’

Paralyzed, he was helpless to the rippling contractions that propelled him forward.

‘Fuckin’ STOP, momma! I don’t wanna LEAVE!’

Just as there was no stopping birth, there was no stopping the staggering tide of awareness, and before his burning eyes could open, he compulsively jerked to brace himself from the sensation of falling.

Lights seared his vision as Franco Barbi returned to the waking world with a yelped “FUCK!” Appropriate. He liked to think it had been his first word.

The murmur of an unknown number of voices was the next thing he could make out, followed by blown out figures behind the light stinging his eyes.

“The fuckin’ shit did you cunts DO to me?!” He squinted his bulgy eyes to adjust to the light, but he couldn’t pin a face. Instead, a male voice addressed him.

“Relax, Mr. Barbi, the sedative will wear off shortly.”

“Who is’at?!” he snapped, “You want my Berluti up your ass, ya son of a whore?!”

His threats were ignored as his quadruple vision became triple vision which slowly became only double. He also realized he was not only currently deprived of his “Berlutis”; he was also entirely naked.

“Hey! Where the fuck is my SUIT!”

“Vitals are returning to normal.” That voice was different. Definitely female. Franco struggled to escape the surgical table he was strapped to, breath coming in heaving snarls.

The male surgeon finally came into view, but didn’t give him even a glance through his protective goggles as he spoke, “Do you know who you are, sir?”

Franco wrinkled his brow in an enraged sneer, “Do I- motherfucker, do YOU fuckin’ know who I fuckin’ am?! I’m FRANCO FUCKIN’ BARBI!! Do you KNOW what happens to bitches who-“

“There’s no need for a fight, Mr. Barbi; we will be finished soon enough,” the surgeon never took his line of sight from the clip board where he was jotting down notes.

“Ooh, there’s ALWAYS a need for a fight, asshole! Get me the fuck off this table before I make YOU as fuckin’ ugly as ME!!”

The surgeon looked at him for about two seconds, any expression going unknown as his face was entirely covered, then he was back to the clipboard. Franco finally took note of the female doctor to his left who was typing on an odd looking keyboard.

“Do you know WHERE you are, Mr. Barbi?” the surgeon continued.

“Same place I’ve been for TEN FUCKIN’ YEARS, ya piece a SHIT!!” The veins in his oversized temple were nearly throbbing, and he violently shook against his restraints again with a snarl. Neither doctor gave any indication they were at all affected by his outbursts.

‘Cunts! They’re all even more fucked in the head than I am!’

“You may take him to examination, Miss Warren.”

A blond nurse Franco hadn’t known was there came into his view with the click of heels, a medical mask over her mouth the same as the doctors. Her eyes exuded a clear sense of boredom, and the smacking sound and movement of her jaw suggested she was chewing gum.

“Urine sample?” The monotone confirmed her boredom.

“Not necessary,” the surgeon shook his head, “We’ve already acquired a sample.”

Franco jerked to raise his upper half from the table, “The FUCK’d you say?!”

“Cooome on, Mr. Barbi, let’s get this over with…” The nurse stepped around the table above his head and began to wheel him out of the room and into the hall.

Franco growled with one last thrash. When he finally dropped back to the slab with panting breaths, he found the only consolation to this humiliating ordeal. The most prominent thing in his line of sight when he looked up were the nurse’s boobs. His crooked teeth clenched into a sinister grin.

“Nice bazooms, sweetness! Hows about a little sip?!”

The nurse released an exaggerated sigh. He couldn’t see from his perspective, but she rolled her eyes. “They told me you’d act up…”

“Ohoho! I’m actin’ up, alright! Maybe you should help baby BEHAVE…”

“You’ll behave, Mr. Barbi,” she finally glared down at him, clear disgust in her voice AND her eyes, “What other choice you got?” The look he gave her was a half sneer, half pout as they finally entered another very similar room. “And you wouldn’t be giving me much to work with, now would you?” She glanced to his crotch.

There was a second of silence in which he followed her gaze to the tragically flaccid cock that rested against his leg before Franco thrusted himself up towards her in a rage. “You bitch WHORE!! I’ll blast your fuckin’ TITS off!!”

But she was out the door before his threats had even left him, and he was now alone in the now noticeably chilly room. Cold. Just what he needed…

Wait…”blast”?!

“Lupara…” his bulgy eyes bulged wider, “LUPARA!! Where the FUCK is my LUPARA?!!!” His yells echoed in the nearly empty room. “LUPAAARAAAAAA!!! WAAAAAAH!! EEEEAAAAAAAAAAH!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!” A gasp and rasped breathing. “AAAAAAAAAAAH!!!”

“O-KAY! Mr. BARBIIII! Let’s get you all checked out, here, huh?!” A male doctor with large glasses grinned down at him as he entered the room. This man was MUCH too jolly, and Franco personally found it revolting.

“The FUCK are you so peachy keen about, LECCACULO?! WHERE’S my fuckin’ Lupara?! What did you fucks DO to ‘er?!!”

“It’s a nice morning, wouldn’t ya say?!” The man’s lower face was, as usual, covered with a mask, but the shit-eating grin was beyond obvious. “Don’t you worry your little…” he glanced over Franco’s cranium, “…HEAD about it. Your gun is in saaaafe hands.”

“SAFE HANDS, MY DICK!! YOU get my Lupara back in MY fuckin’ hand, or I’ll make RAGU out of your FACE!!!”

“Hohohoooh! Little feisty, there, CHAMP!” The man flipped a switch, and the table Franco was on began to tilt upward, “You’ll have your precious Lupara soooon enough.”

Franco liked being baby-talked to by WOMEN, but the tone this MAN had with him was more infuriating than he could endure. Plus, he pronounced “Lupara” as “Loo-pair-a”.

“Noooow,” the doctor blew into the wrist of a latex glove before stretching it over his hand, “I’ll be needing you to COUGH for me!” *SNAP!*

The quantity of expletives that exited Franco Barbi’s snaggle toothed mouth within that room alone must have set a record for himself, never mind anyone else on the planet.

The man was nearly hyperventilating to catch his breath after cursing the doctor out for the thoroughly invasive examination. The shit-eating grin was still on his face as he was once again wheeled out to another location by a new brunette nurse, who he couldn’t even be bothered to sexually harass. He was FINALLY put in his old suit, which had been cleaned, but still had plenty of blood stains smattered across it. The shoes had cleaned up surprisingly nicely, and his bandolier and pacifier were also returned to him.

He had bitten down on the nipple of the pacifier, sorely needing to calm himself, then immediately threw it at a guard on the other side of the bars he was behind.

“S’fuckin’ hard as a ROCK, motherfickin’ COCKSUCKER!! GET ME A NEW ONE!!!”

The death stare showed the guard’s annoyance, but he took the thing and left him to himself.

“AND IF IT AIN’T HERE IN TWO HOURS, YOU’LL GET A LUPARA UP THE ASS AND YOUR GUTS IN YOUR LAP!!!”

He huffed, pacing restlessly a couple of times before releasing a strangled roar of outrage and front kicking the cell door with a deafening clatter.

“YOU CUNTS CAN’T LEAVE ME HERE!! I’LL SUCK ALL YOU BITCHES DRY AND THROW YOUR RANCID HUSKS OFF THE DOCK!!!” He stepped back slowly, grunting and huffing before dropping to the bench along the back wall.

As he was finally left for a while with no doctors or guards to pester him, the situation finally truly set in. Ten years of this shit, and NOW they decided to fuck with him like this? What was the purpose? To see when he’d finally off an actual staff member?

Left inside his own mind, anger quickly turned to self pity, and then to depression. The horrible tightening in his chest and throat quickly gave way to genuine, hiccuping sobs. “Fuckin’ laughin’ at me like I’m some kind a’ JOKE!!” He wiped at his bloodshot eyes, voice shaking with emotion that he DESPISED that he felt, “FUCK you!!!”

He had completely lost track of time. It could have been five minutes or it could have been forty five before there was a click and a loud, piercing squeak right next to him. He jumped at the sudden break in the silence, jerking his head from his palms to see a doorway he hadn’t known was there open to his left.

He thought about just remaining seated where he was, not going through that door simply out of spite. He knew where that choice ended. The guards would come in, poke at him with sharp prods or beat him with something blunt and heavy. It wasn’t that beatings weren’t par for the course through his life, but a fight he had no chance of winning wasn’t worth wasting his time. He sputtered a sigh and stood.

Before he could even take a step, an abrasive screech ripped through his eardrums.

“GYAWD DAMN DEMONOLOGIST SHITS!!! YOU HEATHEN, MOTHERFUCKIN’, PINKO BITCHEEEEEEESS!!!”

Franco’s stomach sank. Oh, fucking shit…not THIS guy! ANYTHING but THIS fucking guy!

“Oh, officer! Those nice scientists are only doing what’s best to help us protect the CHILDREN.”

“Yeah, think of the children! Watch your fuckin’ LANGUAGE, JEEEETTTHHH!!”

Momma milkers and her goose dad too. What fun…

Franco rounded the doorframe. The space looked like a living room or perhaps a lounge. There were upholstered chairs and a couch, and a MASSIVE television set was against the side wall, so big it sat directly on top of an ornate, oriental rug.

Franco straightened himself, smoothing out his stained suit before strolling into the room as if the day had been just hunky-dory.

“Afternoon, SLUTS!” He took great pleasure in the growl from Leland Coyle as he saw who else he’d be stuck with. “What’s a guy gotta do ta get a drink around here, eh?!”

“AW, fuckin’…HORSE SHEEIT!!” Leland bellowed, “What BITCH let this ugly, little, midget WOP in here ta shit on my day AAAGAAIN?!!”

“Hey, PIG!” Franco pointed a stumpy, gloved finger at the sergeant, “That’s MR. TOP Wop ta yous! I ain’t exactly CRANKED to be here EITHER, so why don’cha shove a BOOT in it?!”

The two began a back and forth as Phyllis Flutterman could only watch.

“A cop and a baby havin’ a DICK measuring contest…that’s just patheeetic.”

She was about to reply to her “father” when she noticed a light flash above the door she had originally walked into the room from. There was a long, black sign the had lit up “MOTHER” in red LED lights. She noticed for the first time a symbol on the door. A rubber duck with large, human teeth.

“Daddy? Is that supposed to be…YOU?”

“If it is, it’s SHIT! It ain’t got ya HAND up it’s ass! HaHA!! HaHA!! HaHA!!”

She continued to the door next to it she had seen the sergeant come through. The LED sign read “SARGE” in blue, and the image was a bolt of lightning with a downward pointing arrow on the end, like what one would see on an electrical hazard sign.

On to the small man-baby’s door, lit up in white was the word “BAMBINO”, and the symbol was the pink pacifier he normally wore but was mysteriously not present today.

There was a fourth door…

Phyllis stared at that door as she tried to get the other two Prime Assets’ attention. “Um…excuse me? Boys?!”

She heard their continued screaming match and turned to see Leland lifting Franco by the collar, Franco’s foot planted roughly into the larger man’s thigh and kicking at his ribs with the other.

“Gentlemen?!”

It was no use.

“EVERYBODY, SHUT the FUCKUP!!!”

The two froze, heads turning to where Dr. Futterman had erupted from.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your discussion, gentlemen,” Phyllis spoke calm and sweetly, “but there are FOUR doors here.”

Leland’s nose scrunched in annoyance, “What hysterical pig shit are you on about, WOMAN?!”

Franco turned his head to take in the previously unnoticed details of the doors. Slowly, realization came to him.

“No, she’s right!” He pointed toward the symbol on his door, and Leland finally released his grip on Franco’s lapels, who stumbled to stand in front of it.

“Fuckin’ Bambino…” he spat the name and pointed to the pacifier on it, “That’s my door. “Mother”…”Sarge”…” His finger hovered to point to the fourth door.

The symbol was clearly the face of a dog; pointed, perked ears; sharp teeth; and a spiked collar at the neck. But the rectangular sign at the top was currently blank.

“Aw, Lord A’mighty! All we need is ANOTHER sick sonuvaBITCH ta defile this fine establishment!”

Franco’s large forehead wrinkled, “Makes sense, I s’pose. S’been a New York minute since they nabbed ME for this shithole. Surprised they hadn’t added some sorry bitch to their collection sooner.”

“Bitch is right…” Leland removed the cigar stub from his mouth, breathing out smoke, “Symbol’s a DOG!” He put the stub out over the orange image, leaving a black circle where the nose would be.

The corner of Franco’s mouth contorted into a smirk, “Looks like WE’RE gettin’ a new PET!”

He couldn’t help be a little happy about it. Finally, a change of pace! Poor bastard probably had no idea what was COMING to him.

“If I have to clean PISS of my dentist chair, I’M gonna be PISSED!”

The buzz of electricity interrupted Dr, Futterman, and the three Primes fixed their gazes on the blank sign as it flashed and lit up in purple.

“Beethoven?” Phyllis read the label aloud.

There was a moment of silence as the criminals attempted to make sense of it.

Franco gave a shrug, “Guessin’ our new puppy likes classical music…”

Leland snarled, “Uugh! An ARTSY FARTSY type. Pinko TRASH in its most pesTIFerous form…”

“Well…this is just SPLENDID!” Phyllis placed a hand to her overly endowed chest, “The children will just ADORE a new puppy!”

Leland and Franco locked eyes for a moment, Leland’s face SIGNIFICANTLY more vexed than Franco’s, and Leland sighed raggedly.

“Well where IS the pussy pooch?! We’re gunna have ta put a SHOCK collar on ‘im so ‘e knows who’s BOSS!”

The grin on Franco’s face was sadistic, “Baby ain’t ready ta give up his MILK just yet…but he wouldn’t say no to some fresh MEAT!”

Franco’s prayers were answered as the locks to door number four clicked. The three assets stood transfixed as the door unlatched and slowly opened with a metallic screech.

The door widened ajar and gaped into nothingness. The three didn’t move, squinting to make anything out in the inky black inside. After nearly ten seconds of tense stillness, a dark silhouette crept forward.

Italian translations:

Berluti - expensive, Italian shoe brand

Leccaculo - ass licker

Also, as I was writing, I pictured the jolly doctor with the glasses as Phil Hartman in Jingle All the Way.

[wildbluesorbit]

London: Holiday Prelude || JTK

18+MDNI

Paring: Jakexreader(f)

LONDON SERIES MASTERPOST

A/N: Howdy! Here to interrupt your regularly scheduled programming with twist on the London menu: A TIME JUMP! This is how I envision the first meeting between Jake and the reader unraveled. This one is very fluff (which is a bit off brand for this series) and is my gift to all readers who have remained loyal amongst the endless angst. I'm aware, holiday editions are normally posted before the holidays, but I have chronically delayed holiday spirit that doesn’t spark until about a week before Christmas which is when I started this. My holidays got a bit more hectic than I expected so I didn’t finish till just now, but I figured I’d pos. Also, know that my particular style of writing is shaped by an editing process of which requires time I did not have, so baby this is ROUGH. Anyways, I am very open to criticism so pretty please let me know what you think.

Summary || Before the storm, there was a calm. Your first interaction with Jake is less than ideal, but you give him a redeeming chance only to spark something more.

Content Warnings || holiday [stress], workload stress, slight verbal aggression, holiday party setting, depictions of affectionate displays

Word Count || 6.6k

– December 24th, London, UK –

Your arduous typing is disrupted by the groan of your office door as it’s hesitantly eased open. You rigorously resume your work, not even averting your eyes to make note of who has disturbed you. You already know it's your colleague. You know they have trouble for you. And you know it's a problem you don’t currently have the attention span nor time for. 

Eyes still pinned to the numbers on your computer screen, you address the damsel in distress dawdling in the doorway behind you, “Is it urgent? I’m on a deadline.”

“Um- There’s a customer out here who I have tried my best to help with the knowledge I have,” she remorsefully squeaks.

You mellow your tone as you can hear desperation shrouding her every word, “Tell them I’m unavailable.” 

“I did- He insisted he speak to some form of management,” she huffs exasperatedly.

You come to a stopping point in your numbers game and begrudgingly pry your hands from your keyboard. You spring from your chair and propel yourself through the doorway, already eager to crawl back to the stillness of your office. Your footsteps echo against the hallway of dark offices and storage rooms in a unison stride to your coworker a pace behind you; two valiant knights on their quest to the front of the store. 

Preparing yourself for battle, you dig for your finest customer service armor as it's buried beneath all the enervating adversities and blows of running the shop; a duty you normally carry so effortlessly and gracefully, but this year you had been the only manager who volunteered to work the holiday week. Your workload alone is enough to spook the average person, but the extra weight you foolishly decided to take on this year is a different beast. You have half a heart to gift yourself hair dye this Christmas as you’re already convinced the New Year would find you prematurely gray. 

“Alright, let’s see the prick who is harassing my-,” your finishing thought never arrives as you swing the door open to reveal the store.

Any and all resentment is momentarily tamed by the endless sight of musical paraphernalia. Every last inch of the walls are shrine to the greats; posters, pins, buttons, stickers, clothing, books, CDs, tapes, cassettes, and of course aisles and aisles of record vinyl LPs; all seem to celebrate your great escape from the confinement of your office. 

Your eyes adjust to the warm lighting that coats everything and everyone bustling about isles, faces beaming with joy as they discover new treasures to call their own; treasures you ordered and stocked the shelves with yourself. 

You take a deep inhale of the healing sight in front of you. You never tire of walking through this door after a long day; a portal to your favorite realm. Your spirit beams as you recognize the classic rock sonic of The Dire Straits pouring through the speakers at way too loud a volume. You find it almost impossible to be upset within these walls. Almost.

Though you want nothing more than to idly wander around the store, you redirect your focus to the task at hand; eyes scouring the floor for the customer that so desperately needs your attention. Within an instant, you undoubtedly deem a man within your gaze responsible for your unnecessary ordeals; no guidance from your coworker is required to know exactly who summoned you from your hideaway. 

He is an ornate scene; one that confiscates and pleases your attention all at once. He stands, bare chest proud and puffed, fingers fidgeting with the facial hair that roofs his protruding pout as he devoutly scans through titles of the nearby books. His narrow shoulders are cloaked by long chestnut waves that frame delicate facial features and a prominent nose. He’s rather small in stature, yet strong in physique. 

The pretty man is bewitching in the way he seems to have just hopped out of some antecedent reality; a walking, talking antique. Doused in all black, he wears a blazer and waistcoat with nothing underneath to properly clothe his tan skin except chunky chains weighed down by a ridiculous amount of pendants; all silver to match his oversized hoop earrings, reflectively gleaming as he saunters through trespassing sunlight. His torso is paired with black pleated trousers and seasoned black boots. This man looks as if he woke up and couldn’t decide whether he wanted to be a pirate or a rockstar. 

“You know, Halloween was almost two months ago,” you heedlessly blurt as soon as his golden brown eyes collect yours.

“Real original,” the customer retorts with a smirk and a slight shake of his head, “definitely never heard that one before.”  

His American accent nearly startles you; his features certainly tell an origin story of Central Europe, yet his phrasing is not harsh enough to miss the hint of something not quite American in his raspy tone.

You quickly steer away from your cheeky dig and towards a more professional rapport.

“What can I help you with today Mr.?”

“Jacob Kiszka,” he extends his hand to shake yours, “but you can call me Jake.”

The Jake Kiszka. You have definitely heard his name before. A guitarist whose discography is infamously compared to and even deemed gross appropriation of classic rock legends; and whose romantic track record has an even worse stench. 

You prematurely take the sincere offer of his hand before weakly falling back to your satirical ways, “Wow, lucky me- I’ve only heard stories of The Illustrious Jake Kiszka.”

He is not oblivious to your sarcasm but decides to take the cocky route anyway, “Oh- A fan, huh? Glad to know my reputation precedes me.”

“I never said they were good stories,” your hand repels from the guitarist’s calloused grasp and attaches to your hip, “but what brings you to my store?”

“This is the only place in town not playing Christmas music,” his eyes flit around the store trying to commit every last detail to memory as if his knowledge might be tested later and questions you with an intimacy he hasn’t yet earned, “So this is your kingdom, huh?”

“I don’t own it, just run it, but yes- this place is my baby and I’m its sales manager,” you briefly answer out of the scarce supply of decorum you currently possess and efficiently reroute to the reason for his visit, “but I doubt you came all this way just to escape the holiday spirit.” 

“Well, I am currently in town and in dire need of a last-minute Christmas gift, and you came highly recommended as far as rare LP sets go,” his features stretch into a ponderous tightlipped smile. 

The musician either isn’t receiving your assertion of pace or blatantly holds no regard for it as he digresses once again.

You aren’t certain whether his narrative is spoken to you, himself, or some unseen force, “But this really is some marvelous little store you run here. I have to admit I'm a bit envious. Somedays, I swear I would trade it all in for a simple quiet life like this.”

Simple? Quiet? Who the hell does this man think he is to come in the day before Christmas and casually spend your time and patience, only to then reduce your entire world to simple and quiet?!

Your fists discreetly curl behind the secrecy of your back as you scrupulously monitor your highly explosive tone, “Thank you kindly, Mr. Kiszka, but maybe we can hurry this along. I have lots of work in my simple quiet life to return to.”

Instantly, his entire physique cowers to a posture of mortification and regret. If your composure hadn’t already been so far spent, you might have even felt a strand of empathy or reprieve for him.

His face takes on a shameful shade of pink as fragments of an apology trip over one another, “No- No- That’s definitely not what I meant- Of course, the work you do here is very important. The responsibility of granting access-”

You wave him off, bestowing him clemency in hopes of ending this interaction as fast as possible, “It’s fine, but I really do have lots of work to return to, so just follow me.”

You hastily string him to the glass cases in the back of the store, a stream of clicking and clacking trails behind you with every heavy-footed step of his boots. His footsteps gradually sound less and less, his pace a relaxed rhythm compared to yours. You impatiently arrive at your destination of high-valued items and turn to see he is only leisurely tracing your path, still gazing about the store as if he is in an art gallery.  

You inhale. You’ve dealt with worse. Today would not be the day you lose your patience with a customer. 

Once he finally rejoins you at the display case, you begin the tour of each LP, explaining its contents, history, value, rarity, and your favorite details about it. Showmanly, you set a scene of necessity for each set as to speed his decision process along by targeting his obvious lack of impulse control. 

You’re about done appraising almost five sets when a lack of opinions, theories, and questions registers from his silence. You transfer your vision to learn your audience had not at all been concentrating on your dissertation, those amber eyes studying you right back; eyes reflecting not a strand of cognizance for your vain words, pronouncing your breath wasted.

Your abrupt eye contact seems to burst his trance, clearly not expecting you to break from your sale. 

“Are you hearing a word I’m saying or-,” you fuss, condemning any remaining attempts at professionalism. 

His features reveal comprehension, your confrontation certainly registers but his ample lips only vacillate in a dumbfounded silence.

You flatly attempt to jumpstart his verbal reflexes, “Mr. Kiszka?”

Pressure-buildup from every imprisoned word rattling around his head with no escape, erupts all at once, “I’m sorry- I’m sorry- I heard you- It's just- When I asked for help today- I didn’t expect someone so-”

A brittle tone emerges before you can even take the time to contemplate what he is trying to articulate, “Young? A woman? A different stigma that probably has nothing to do with my knowledge of music or ability to manage a business?”

“No it's not that- It's just- you-,” he hesitates to catch the breath he forgot to take and decidedly abandons his current thought to expedite his next, as if they might trample over each other if he doesn’t, “This is very inappropriate but I seem to keep putting my foot in my mouth and I would appreciate it if you let me make it up to you over drinks tonight. Also, please call me Jake.”

His unanticipated proposition hitches your breath and widens your eyes, “You’re right, that is very inappropriate.”    

He quickly shrinks yet doesn’t withdraw his offer, “My brothers will be there too if that makes you feel a bit better, but your expertise so far fascinates me, and I would love to discuss more with you.”

Asking you out. After insults. After disrespect. After no regard for your time-poor schedule. He is asking you out.

You take it back. You have not dealt with worse. This is definitely the worst. 

Panic and indignation concoct a bitter climb in pitch, “Unfortunately, Mr. Kiszka, there’s still so much that requires my attention before the year’s end. I’m as busy as someone with a simple and quiet life can possibly be. That leaves no time for idle pints with random guys in pubs. So will you be purchasing anything today?”

“No- of course- you’re right- I’m terribly sorry- I do need to get something,” his attention finally converts to the vinyl with an oncoming frown, “but nothing here stands out to me. I know you certainly don’t owe me any favors but is there any way you can show me anything else? You know- the good stuff?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you blatantly feed him a white lie, “Excuse me? I have no idea what you’re referring to.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to. However, the thought of sharing another second with this infuriating stranger threatens to ignite fire to your dwindling composure. So, you tuck away all opportunities that would admit him to take any step that isn’t towards the door. 

He drives his agenda one last time, “You know? The treasures that never see the shelf? Surely, you have a secret stash. Every great store has one.”

“I guess we’re just not that great of a store then,” the shit-eating grin that smears across your face wards off any other inquiries he might probe for, “I can assure you this is the best we have. Maybe next time, do all your Christmas shopping before Christmas Eve.”

You are immediately pricked by a pang of guilt. Even you can admit you are being impudently cruel; for which you expect at least a return of assailment. Yet it never arrives. 

Instead, his eyebrows turned upwards just above a sheepish smirk and a diffident man takes the place of the obnoxiously charismatic rockstar once before you. He just might genuinely grieve the score of your transaction. As if he knows something you don’t. As if he knows in some other time or place this narrative was supposed to take a different course and he is now mourning a great failure.

“Okay- well, I can take a hint,” he meekly forfeits, “I apologize for wasting your time. Thank you so much for your help.”

You can’t seem to wrap your fingers around any response, lost somewhere amongst the spate of regret that you might have misjudged him based on presumptions. Your mouth runs dry and you’re only able to blankly stare back at him.

In your silence, he impulsively shoves his hand into his coat pocket and shimmies out some small notebook. He flips through pages and pages of scattered notes and highlights and even some light sketches before he finds the first blank sheet. He materializes a pen from the same pocket that had been sheltering the notebook and quickly scribbles before tearing out the page, folding it in quarters, and gifting it to you. 

You’re not sure why, but you find your hand an open landing for the paper. Unconvincingly, you reassure yourself it's because you know little resistance will only usher him out of your store sooner. 

As soon as he successfully rids himself of the note, you witness a bashful movement emerge upon his face in what you swear is the biggest and prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You aren’t allotted time to admire or commit it to memory as its life spans less than a second, quickly shrinking till it's gone.

He bids you a rushed, “Take care, Merry Christmas,” before he turns on his heels and rapidly weaves his way through the isles till he disappears past the glass doors without so much as another word or last glance. 

Your eyes gravitate back towards the paper in your hand. You inspect the folded thing before you decide reading its contents would hold no worthwhile benefit and absentmindedly place it in your own pocket. 

— December 26th —

You mentally file through your checklist: The doors are locked, the drawer counted, and the lights turned off. Your colleague took care of the floor prep portion of closing duties before she left; you stayed way too late to finish your end-of-year reports. But you can’t seem to shake the feeling that you are forgetting something.

Your phone! You realize as you pat down your pockets you don’t have your phone. 

You race to your office through the dark void store to see your abandoned device sitting on top of your desk. As you grab your phone, the little forsaken folded paper you forgot you had placed on the work area earns your attention. Whether you set it aside for two days in a veto or for safekeeping is beyond you.

Now having endured your irrationally aggravated haze that always shrouds end-of-year stress, the only thing that remains is a flare of burning curiosity. 

You resist your own inquisitive demands and desert the mysterious note once more to hesitate towards the door, each step becoming more burdensome the further you trudge from your office.

Did you misconstrue him, seduced by mere whispers floating in the wind? Did you indignantly vilify him deceived by your own occupational duress? Despite being verbally clumsy, he was endearingly unconventional, and he clearly carried some remorse for your interaction.

You’re even baffled by the rumination this small piece of paper has conjured. Customers come and go, but you can’t seem to justify why he has become an unwelcome stowaway in your mind.

For the past two days, you’ve been choking on the bitter taste of rueful pining that you can’t seem to wash down. Suffocating under abrasive waves of what might have been if you’d only had patience to spare, till you can no longer deny your craving. 

You find your limbs and retrace the progress you’ve just made. You restively unfold the note to read confirmation of the exact information you imagined was inked into the little white sheet.  

Please, please, call me Jake.  And pretty please reconsider those drinks. (248)434.5508

You are alarmed by the giggle that sounds past your giddy smile, penetrating the silence of an otherwise lifeless building. Your chest is ambushed by an aching weight as your sight darts across the hall to the storage housing the “secret stash” as he put it.

You suddenly have no idea why you’d been so hard on him; just that you’re now certain of your looming resentment. You’re not sure if it’s this reasoning, or the way he looked stunned by you, or even the shape of his giant childish smile you can’t seem to recall, that drives your thumb as you dubiously dial the phone number on the paper. 

Each ring of another number entered descends you further on your fall from professionalism and floods your head with panic. As soon as the dial tone begins to ring against your ear you’re immersed into a fit of denial, convincing yourself his answer is an unlikely outcome; despite this being his phone number and you are, in fact, calling it. 

“Hello,” his vaguely familiar rasp becomes one of undeniable recognition.

Neglecting to even consider what you might say if he did answer, you awkwardly blurt, “Hey, Mr.- Jake-,” it occurs to you that you never properly introduced yourself, “It’s the girl with a simple quiet life.”

You possess no control over your hand as it impulsively smacks against your forehead amid your poor choice of words.

You’re mortified he might have heard your reflex as he giggles through the line, “Hey, pretty girl. I was hoping you might call.”

— December 31st —

You aimlessly pace about the bathroom, your platform loafers suctioning with every sticky step on the tile. You survey the sting of your angry nail plates, red and visible from an anxious nail-biting fit. 

A jiggle of the doorknob and a harsh knock on the door interrupts your examination. 

“Just a minute,” your voice shakes trying to overpower the blaring music.

You possess no concept of how long you’ve been hiding out from the party just beyond the bathroom door. You had been wading through a sea of strangers for almost an hour looking for Jake before you finally became overwhelmed, retreating to a random bedroom and locking yourself inside its bathroom. You’re beginning to question Jake’s attendance at the very party he invited you to.

Another bang at the door.

You squeak in panic, “One second!”

You run your hands against your dress to wipe the sweat from them as you shuffle over to the mirror to perform a last-second evaluation. You straighten the collar of your little black button-down dress and readjust your pantyhose so the hem isn’t visible from your dress’s high-thigh split. You quickly retrieve your wine-red lipstick to featherly dap it over your lips in reapplication and sloppily attempt to recoil any broken curls before you're startled by another thud on the door.

You growl as you stomp over to the entryway, “Who the fuck?! I said hold-”

You swing the door open to gather those wide honey eyes framed by pretty chestnut waves.

The weight lifted from your chest is quickly chased by the embarrassment of your reaction, “Jake?!” 

The both of you, relieved to see the other, spill your words out in unison, “Where have you been? I was looking for you!” 

You aren’t sure whether the uncontrollable giggle you let out is induced by amusement or nerves. Jake only gives you a peculiar smirk while scanning you up and down. 

He slightly tilts his head and tries to interrogate you through a chuckle, “How long have you been hiding in here?”

You’re only able to bat your eyes at him, clueless as to how to save yourself. The way he reads the situation with such accuracy makes you question whether you have the words “socially celibate” written on your forehead; which isn’t true about you at all. You are usually a social butterfly but something about Jake makes you want to gasp for air. 

“I’m not hiding,” you blurt the lie straight through your teeth. 

“It's blatantly obvious you're hiding,” he playfully rolls his eyes and leans against the doorway, listing the factors that clue him in, “this is not the most accessible bathroom. There’s a bit of wandering you have to do in order to end up here.”

You attempt to redirect his heat back on him, “Well, what are you doing in here?”

His brows draw together in confusion, “You mean…in my bedroom?”

If your face wasn’t beaming pink before it certainly is now.

That night on the phone he had apologized profusely. After you reciprocated the remorse, he insisted on making up for the misunderstanding in person and invited you to a New Year’s Eve party. You spent the hours of that night learning bits and pieces about each other over the phone, yet not once did he make you aware it was his party. 

“I mean you invited me, but you failed to mention you own the place,” you shake your head and light-heartedly chide.

There’s a lot of attention that comes with being the host; attention you couldn’t compete with being that you have known Jake for all of five minutes. You have half a mind to make up some excuse to escape now and be done with this. 

Jake’s words soothe your storming thoughts, “I’m just glad you’re here and I found you. It's almost midnight and I was starting to think you flaked.”

From where your abrupt banter appears you’re not certain, just that you’re pleased with its arrival, “Wow, all these guests and those pretty eyes were searching for little old me? I’m flattered.”

“I was only concerned you might be hiding in a bathroom somewhere,” he teases back.

You roll your eyes and exit the bathroom. Only now do your inhibitions hush, admitting you to espy Jake dressed essentially in the same ensemble as your first meeting, the sore difference being the color palette. However, this single change is not one of subtlety, as you discover navy blue is certainly Jake’s color.

Jake instructs you to reenter the party and he’ll come find you in a few before disappearing into his own bathroom. 

You almost scoff out loud. There is no way you are subjecting yourself back to that lion's den alone. You instead idle about his room. 

You presume this bedroom is the master due to its excessive space and height. Two walls of a deep timber green meet one of exposed cobblestone, where the head of the bed is positioned, and another wall that is made completely of bookshelves. Mounted on these walls are frames of various historic maps and sketches and what you assume to be sailing routes. The decor is accented by espresso wooden floors and leather furniture; everything within your line of sight could certainly tell stories of a life dating well before your own. 

You wonder how it hadn’t occurred to you before, this room might belong to him; Jake is almost the room personified in its rustic aesthetic.

You saunter over to the wall of books, extending your reach to them. The pads of your fingers ridge against the embroidered spines of various vintage books as you skim through their titles; from which you determine the wall displays are most likely of a piratical lore. 

As you scale the bookshelf you run into a bar cart. Surely, he won’t miss a sip of liquor as much as you’re in need of one. You grab a cocktail glass from its rack and start with an easy pour of sparkling water. You aren’t sure which liquor to choose as they are all top shelf but land on tequila, mixing in an extra shot to take off the edge. You dress your drink with the squeeze of a lime and drop it in with a plop of ice, the residual juice left on your fingers begins to sting at your bitten fingernails. You take a moment to admire the symphony of each bubble fizzing its way to the top while ice chimes against your glass; the mere song of a tequila soda already easing your nerves. 

As you sip on your elixir and further snoop, you notice there are not many pictures in the room. The few you do find tell the story of four siblings. Although, you struggle to pick Jake out amongst the bunch, having it narrowed down between two in every photo. 

A whisper from somewhere just beyond your shoulder shatters your sleuthing trance, “Nosy little thing, aren’t you?”

Your drink nearly escapes your glass from the jolt his ambush sends through you.

He further teases you, “Ah, now you’re going to spill stolen liquor on my floors too?”

“It’s not stolen if you owe me a drink, sir,” you quip, referring to his offer of your first encounter. 

He playfully reclaims your drink from you while declaring, “Let’s see how good of a cocktail you can mix-,” he takes a swig and speaks through a stifled cough, “whoa, bit stiff there! I suppose you may just be able to keep up with me.”

You are on the verge of investigating the family pictures when his phone rings. He frowns, yet still retrieves the device from his pocket to read the notification. However, his eyes break from their summon within a second, elated to receive yours once again. 

Jake almost pounces on you, giddy to usher you back to the party, “Come on, I want to introduce you to some people!” 

You tail him down the hall to the main part of the house until you reach the outskirts of crowd congestion. He shifts his lead to your side, his arm still extended to precede you, parting the way through traffic. 

Parading through the guests, almost everyone attempts to greet their beloved host, stepping in front of or trying to walk between you. 

You feel Jake’s broad hand lightly rest against the small of your back in an attempt to stay tethered, your skin waking to the sudden warmth and weight of his touch. 

As you travel deeper into the heart of the crowd, it only multiplies in its density. Jake's fingers delicately travel from your back, over your hip, and wrap into your waist. He tugs you into his side, practically walking hip to hip; a measure taken to make certain you remain by his side.

Ordinarily, touch from any stranger is an unbearable concept you desperately flee from, but Jake’s hands are ones you’ve never known. He grabs you like he is certain your skin is his to touch. Simultaneously, it's assertive and amenable and affectionate. It grants status in a house full of strangers. You know you’ll only grieve its absence. Yet, you fear how you already crave more. 

Your buffer’s escort sees you into the kitchen and immediately draws towards a group of three men: two of a tall lean stature and the other petite like Jake. He walks before you and seizes their attention from whatever concentration previously held it.

You shadow Jake, shifting behind him so there is as little space as possible without physically touching him; weary of your new appetite. 

Even inches away from the men’s huddle, you can barely hear over the roar of the overcrowded house and the blaring music; your only indication of Jake speaking is the wave of his hands and the three boys’ responding laughter. 

You lean as an attempt to hear their conversation when someone stumbles past you, knocking you straight into Jake’s backside and sending him into a light stumble. 

Like some bashful toddler hiding from scary stranger danger, you stand straight and peek over Jake’s shoulder to see three wide-eyed men gaping at you. Jake loops his hand around your arm and casts you dead front and center as if you are a surprise gift he’d been concealing behind his back this whole time. 

He lightly rests his hands on your shoulders and leans towards your ear, you gauge he’s close not by sight, but by the warm sensation of his words tickling your skin, “These are my brothers,” then reverts his attention to the other men, “guys, this is who I was telling you about.”

You formally introduce yourself and one by one they do the same: Sam, whom you recognize from the pictures and assume is related to Jake, Danny, whom you’ve never seen before but seems to possess the same familial chemistry, and finally Josh, who you now identify as the other face you couldn’t differentiate from Jake’s in the photos; you know they must be brothers. 

You turn to confirm your suspicions with Jake and find he is no longer behind you. Eyes apprehensively detailing the scene, you scour till you recover him at the bar topping off your drink. You know he means well but the last thing you want is to be stranded.

As if he can access your thought flow, the man who earlier introduced himself as Josh is standing next to you now and gingerly places his fingers on your bicep to reassure you, “Don’t worry, you're in good hands.”

As your insecurity is driven away, curiosity remains, “So, what has Jake told you exactly?”

“Well- really, only that he came into your store and bugged the shit out of you-,” across from you,  a slightly tipsy and loose-lipped Sam is silenced by Josh nudging him, “ow?!”

“He told us that you hold an interesting perspective and a vast knowledge in the world of music,” Josh earns the title of damage control, “in addition to your immunity to his charms.”

When Josh laughs, it is a grand thing, his whole body participating in his colossal giddy smile. You can’t help but receive the glee he is emitting.

Only now does it occur to you, that pretty smile has graced you once before. It's the same one Jake wore for a mere second, of which the imageless memory has been bugging you for a week. Their wide smile seems to exist in exactly the same shape yet live in different lights: Josh’s a bit more generous and Jake’s a bit more significant.

It isn’t until now that you’re able to delineate all the same features about their face, noting now that they aren’t similarities at all but replicas. Only now can you see they’re twins. 

“Stop scaring her,” Jake’s voice rasps from behind you as a fresh drink is placed in your hand. 

“If you haven’t done that already, I’m not sure what will,” Josh collects Jake’s warning with a banter of his own. 

Suddenly, the boys’ are uprooted by a slow bluesy ballad sounding throughout the house; not a conventional party tune but after all it’s not your party. One after another, each brother’s face lights with recognition of a happening and disappears from the kitchen to the heart of the house, dragging along a someone as their chosen company. You witness every bystander in the kitchen mimic the strange migration. You never imagined a change of song could so dramatically alter the behavior of a room. 

Immediately, consciousness of an unknown tenses in your muscles. Your eyes storm Jake for clarification, yet the coy grin that he produces does nothing to soothe your skies. 

“So it's kind of a Kiszka New Year’s Eve party tradition,” his hand finds the back of his neck as if he is trying to thread together bad news, “to have a last dance just before midnight.”

“Oh,” your chest drops at a much less severe diagnosis than you anticipated. 

Jake distances himself a step from you to offer his hand and bashfully beams, “Care to be my final dance in these last fleeting moments of a year’s dying life?”

“I- um- actually,” you panic grasping for any declination, only to find a confession in reach, “I can’t dance. Well, not slowly anyway.”

He feigns shock, “A beautiful girl of your musical knowledge and you don’t know how to dance?!”

Despite the urge to run far and fast the moment Jake calls you beautiful, you charge to your own rescue, “No one ever taught me!”

He raises an interrogative eyebrow, “You promise that’s the only reason?”

You give Jake a confused nod while also averting your eyes in shame, so you aren’t aware when he lunges to snatch your hand from its comfort zone by your side. 

“It’s never too late to learn,” Jake chimes while tugging you from the kitchen.

The unforeseen tow renders you almost tripping over your own feet, docking your sweating glass of courage on the nearest counter. 

You’re dragged into a tempest of strangers waltzing about until Jake decides your destination in the eye, a center spectacle accessible for anyone to gawk at. 

Jake plants you in position by steading your shoulders. You pay him no mind as your consciousness is currently employed by the surrounding cloud of people. He lifts your arms by the wrists, resting them around his shoulders before drawing in close to place his hands on your waist. You’re once again consumed by the warm weight of his heavy hands that spell you starving for more. 

“Jake-,” you begin to fret, suddenly feeling like you might burst into tears. 

“Shh- It’s okay- Look- Look, it’s simple,” he consoles you like an eager child. 

Jake motions your sight to follow his to the floor as he steps out with his left foot. Paralyzed by your own nerves, Jake doesn’t give up when you completely miss his cue to mimic his movement. You barely process the light chuckle that leaves him as he retraces his step back to starting stance.

Nimbly, his palm delineates your pelvis as his grip runs from your waist to your hip. Jake then replicates his previous action, this time firmly swatting your right side to follow; the slight impact sends an unsolicited shudder down your spine that you pray goes unnoticed. 

Hesitantly, you pursue his step. Then again with your left. Retrace. Repeat. Again. Then again. And again. Until you are swaying along with the rhythm.

Jake's eyes have since left the floor, amused at the sight of concentration you are. He allows you a moment of beginner’s peace before disturbing your count.

“I think you’ve pretty much got it,” his finger lands under your chin to lift your hanging head back to eye level again, rejoining his honey-brown gaze, “you can look at me now.”

You recognize something perennial in his tired eyes and all at once you’re aware the road to unwind is undoubtedly a long one, but whether it routes through pleasure or pain is beyond your discernment; the only thing of which you're certain, is at this moment he became ineradicably and irrevocably undeniable. 

After a few confident strides, you courageously let your head fall to Jake’s shoulder, only tripping over your instructor’s feet a few times but he doesn’t appear to mind. If you were rhythmically inclined you suppose you might even enjoy slow dancing, swaying about solely to remain blissfully close to your pretty dance partner as the rest of the reality seems to wane from existence. 

You swear hours pass before the melody finally fades out, yet Jake and you take your time to rejoin the rest of the world, lingering in your bubble; a countdown to midnight being the hammer that eventually breaks your glass.

TEN! NINE!

You hastily revert back to your own, excusing yourself from any rejection or inquiry by joining the chant. 

EIGHT! SEVEN!

Rather than dwell, your abrupt modesty strikes Jake endeared. He simply restructures himself, respecting your space, with a regaling smirk as he now jumps into the sequence. 

SIX! FIVE!  

Achingly aware that you’re the one who broke it, you’re assailed by a twinge of loss, fighting the appetite to feel him pressed against you once more. 

FOUR! 

That is until you feel Jake’s slight caress against your wrist. At first, you assume it’s an accident. The remaining life of the current year dwindling provokes the roaring crowd to compact, dancing and hugging, in hopes for a better year. 

THREE!

Yet, Jake’s touch doesn’t retract. His fingers dawdle about your skin, dancing down till he climbs into your palm. 

TWO!

His vast hand is extensively more than you’re able to hold, so his calluses tickle as he swiftly rakes them against your skin to interlock his fingers in yours; the bond devoted and interminable.

ONE!

You expect a confession from Jake as he cranes his head to fall in close to yours, but instead, feel a pink blaze rise to your cheeks as he delicately places his pretty plump pout just before the corner of your mouth; the sensation of his facial hair, prickly against your skin, being one you’d like to know further. 

As he pulls back to revel in your bemusement, you’re finally caught in that beautiful beaming smile for the second time. Your ache to witness the entrancing sight again hadn’t registered until it surfaced long enough for you to savor it this time; your hope for the year to come instantly blossoms from Jake’s smile. 

“Happy New Year,” his blessing is barely audible over the cheers of a new era.

Some unseen and unfamiliar force greater than lust, commandeers your limbs diminishing all conscious control as you impulsively cling onto his lapel and yank him back into your orbit.

Recklessly, you devour those pompous pink lips into your own. Jake doesn’t hesitate to consume the small of your back and dip of your waist within the swallowing grip of his palms. His mouth emulates your hunger, letting your kiss flourish and thrive against your lips. You give into your need for an air supply only when you feel the shape of that giant ass smile break the seal of your embrace. Nimbly, you press a small pucker to Jake’s dimples while they exist. 

You remain within the gravity of your shared breaths, giggling your wish against his smile, “Happy New Year, Mr. Kiszka!”

pretty please let me know what you think🫶🏼

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[midnight1nk]

I will draw heterochromia!4 with a propeller hat if you tell me a random theory that you’ve had in your back pocket… like something you never got the opportunity to share maybe..

oh man, now I GOTTA bring something to the table. for heterochromia 4 /silly

Ok, I got one for you, and it's actually related to heterochromia 4. Well, "theory" bc technically I don't have any evidence to back it up, but here's what I call the "glitch theory":

We all know SMG4 stands for "Super Meme Guardian 4" but it wasn't always like that, before being "Super Mario Glitchy 4". Ofc it's the Team trying to retcon the name into the cosmology lore. But if we're just looking into their universe by itself, would be strange for both 4 AND 3 to assume it was the glitchy version? Where did they get that information? it certainly didn't come from the USBs bc they would've been given the real title in the first place.

The "Super Mario" part is justifiable, they were Mario recolors after all. But what about "Glitchy"? I suppose you can connect it that 3 & 4's arrival affected the world to reprogram itself, the "glitch". But other than that? There's not really an in-universe explanation.

Now, we gotta talk about the logo. You'd think that the Team would abandon the "glitchy" idea bc of the retcon and they technically did for a bit for post-lawsuit arc model for 4 with his logo being a silly "S". But when IGBP comes around, exactly when 4 gets possessed by the keyboard, we got a logo redesign, now with the cyan and magenta glitch effects added in.

Maybe the designer wanted to pay homage to Glitch Productions?

I mean, that's fair. Then, what's the in-universe explanation? The Team is very careful about design details, and they wouldn't add it in unless there's an absolute reason, both in-universe and irl. There's always a reason, and I think it has to do with "Super Mario Glitchy". If it truly is the reason, then it can't be ignored in favor of a retcon.

And ofc, you know me, I gotta have a sprinkle of goop!4. It's interesting that the logo redesign just happened to be revealed in the IGBP announcement. Not at the beginning of the arc, not when the Castle is revealed, but there in the announcement. Exactly when 4 is shown to be possessed by the keyboard. They could've had the redesign but not included the glitch effects at the time. They could've given 4 a whole different symbol than "S". But why the glitch effects? I already have my suspicions, and that's going to take days to fully explain it, but I will say this: I think the "glitchy" part from their past would come back bc of IGBP, and since the probability of getting a sequel is growing every week, it's going to be a part of 4 somehow.

Welp, this was a doozy. Again, I wouldn't call this a "theory" per se, please don't take it too seriously. This was something silly that I thought of (and somehow keeps haunting me), so you can think of this more as an AU/hc. Yall know I would never post a theory without proof. I did want to share this tho. It would be cool for 4 to have glitch powers ngl. Plus, it fits his fighting style as support and healer.

thanks for the ask!