#Do you think they got that loan approved? I mean I would probably just give him anything he asked for right away... 😅

[densi-mber]

The Squid and Dagger Returns

“To the second grand opening of The Squid and Dagger. May it be her last,” Deeks toasted, raising his glass above his head. Kensi stood next to him, and surrounding him in a semi-circle were their former team. Eric and Nell had even made the flight in to celebrate the occasion.

“Amen!” Nell called out, whistling loudly. Deeks grinned at her enthusiasm. They all drank, Sam pausing to sniff his first.

“Hey, that’s actually really good,” Eric commented in surprise. He took another drink, as if to double check.

Still looking mistrustful, Sam took a tiny sip, and nodded in reluctant approval. “It’s not bad.”

“Why on earth would the beer taste bad?” Kilbride wondered, looking bemused and slightly out of place in his three-piece suit.

“You’ve never heard the saga of Deeks and Callen’s microbrew ventures?” Rountree asked in surprise.

“No. And I’m beginning to think that’s a good thing.”

“It involved a series of increasingly terrible beer,” Nell explained. “Squid being a memorable one.”

“No, no the seaweed and salmon was definitely the worst,” Sam said firmly. “The flavor is ingrained in my brain.”

“Three years with this team, and I still fail to understand any of you,” Kilbride commented, downing the rest of his beer. “Which means I need something stronger.” He wandered off to the bar, muttering to himself.

“Nice to know some things don’t change,” Kensi said dryly.

The rest of them gravitated towards each other, forming a small group as they sipped at their drinks. Nell had somehow acquired a large red drink with a cocktail umbrella.

“You know, contrary to popular belief, Callen and I are capable of crafting normal beer—remembered the orange and nectarine?” Deeks said, nodding to Kensi. “We just choose not to.”

“I still maintain that none of our stuff was that bad,” Callen insisted. He frowned, holding up his glass, tilting his head to examine the light amber liquid inside. “Though this is kind of bland.”

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?” Sam said in exasperation. He gave Callen a slight shove towards the bar. “C’mon G, let’s go get you some more skunky beer.”

“Mmm, it almost feels like we never left,” Nell said, watching the two fondly bicker.

“It does. Especially with having the bar back,” Deeks agreed. “Speaking of which, I can’t thank you guys enough for helping buy it back.”

“It means a lot to us,” Kensi added, sliding her free arm through Deeks’.

“You’re welcome, but guys, I told you before, I literally would not be where I am without the money that you loaned me for years. Especially Deeks,” Eric replied. “I probably owe you about 10 bars at this point.”

“I think we’ll call it even with one.” She glances at Deeks and he nodded in agreement.

“We’ve got everything we need.”

“Ooh, speaking of needs,” Nell paused to take a healthy gulp of her drink, her Christmas themed had shifting precariously. “When do I get to see my nieces and nephews?”

“Well, I’m guessing the sitter already put the twins down for the night, but we’re free tomorrow. And I’m sure Rosa would love to see you when she’s done with classes,” Kensi replied.

“Awesome! That’ll give us time to get all their gifts together.” Eric nodded enthusiastically. “It’s amazing what they’re doing with kids toys these days.”

“I’m not sure I want to know.”

“He’s teasing, Deeks.” Nell rolled her eyes at Eric, lightly tapping his shoulder with the back of her hand. She giggled, adding in a couple pats lower down on his chest.

Beside him, Kensi hastily stifled a snort, and when Deeks glanced at her, she had her lips tightly pressed together.

“Oh, I love this song,” Nell announced, as the playlist running in the background switched to the next selection. “Mr. Beale, may I have this dance?” Bending at the waist, Nell waved her hand in an elaborate flourish.

“My lady awaits,” Eric said with a shrug as he let Nell tug him away.

“I missed this,” Kensi said wistfully.

“What, Callen and Sam arguing over beer and the Wonder Twins drunkenly dancing on our non-existent dance floor?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

Kensi swayed into his side, wrapping both arms around his waist. “I’m glad we have this back.”

He watched Nell and Eric put on a two-person act to “Santa Baby”, giggling the entire time, and couldn’t help but agree.

***

A/N: Once again bringing back the Squid and Dagger as well as Callen and Deeks making beer of dubious quality.

[nottapossum]

Hi I just found your story on Ao3 and I love it so far! I really think it fits Blitzo and Fizzarolli having to grow up fast in the circus and under Cash. I really look forward to reading more chapters.

Plus I also really like the first part of “Father knows best” I think Moxxie also tends to fit the whole little space as we’ve seen in other episodes Moxxie had to grow up fast and has many insecurities but also can be a brat demanding things to go his way or wanting attention.

I really look forward to reading more and would love to chat and exchange ideas/perspectives cause I really love this take you have in all your stories with Blitzo and Fizzarolli 💜😊

TYSM! ❤️❤️ I’m so glad you like it! 🚧(Warning for those reading who haven’t read it, This post will contain spoilers to chapter 1 of the next book father knows best. Had to post it on Ao3 early to avoid the draft getting deleted. You can find it here )⚠️

-I found the flashback scene to be very sad for Fizz and Blitzø. Even though in the scene we see them actually being kids, i did notice a few things I wanted to express:

1: Fizz and Blitzø are playing with the balloons from their act, I don’t think they had many toys when they were young (maybe why Blitzø collects horse figures and plushies as an adult) I know they were low on money, but I’ll bet even after Blitzø helped steal from Stolas, Cash would not see the kids having something to play with as a priority.

2: They had to play after the show and their fun was immediately interrupted by cash forcing his son to do a job he was clearly uncomfortable with.

3: Cash even went so far to casually threaten his son with: ‘Scarier things’ and guilt trip him with the mention of his mother- a child should not be responsible for helping their parents with finances.

4: You can also see the resentment and fear in Blitzø’s eyes.

I started this fic questioning if I even wanted Moxxie to be a little. But, after watching Exes and oh’s for the 2,345th time I realized it’s practically impossible for Moxxie to be anything but!

-Moxxie needed attention as a kid, he went through some horrible trauma. And probably never had someone to truly help him through it.

-I think Moxxie’s mom babied him a lot, making him very dependent on her (as shown in the flashback where instead of showing Moxxie how to cut his steak, she does it for him.)

-Then there’s Crimson who was strict and didn’t seem at all connected with Moxxie. (I expect Moxxie practically raised and educated himself, he would have had to in order to survive.)

-Moxxie gives off socially awkward homeschooled kid vibes. (I would know, I was homeschooled and I’m socially awkward.)

-Moxxie wants everyone to be proud of him! and I mean everyone! Even Millie’s toxic parents. (I said what I said. Idc. Linn and Jo need to shape up. Just because they’re the best ones does not excuse their behavior!)

-He calls every father figure in his life ‘sir’ including his own father, I think Moxxie is unaware as to why he feels like he has to, especially after Blitzø told him to call him by his name, but I think he’s trying to get the approval he always craved from Crimson.

-I find it funny that Moxxie didn’t like when Blitzø referred to their company as ‘family’ even though he totally sees Blitzø as a sorta father figure. I think for him, it felt too close to home to mix employees with family. (Loan sharks = employees = family)

“We are not a family! You’re the boss, we’re the employees!”

mhm.

-Moxxie is very submissive and does what others tell him, but he’s also extremely sassy, rude, and as you said bratty. -We definitely got Moxxie at his brattiest in the newest episode. This is why he really needs Millie, she’s supportive and kind, she thinks the world of him- but she is firm when she has to be as seen in both: Seeing stars and unhappy campers.

-I think Moxxie is trying to be less needy and bratty, but it’s gonna take some time for him to heal that inner child who was never listened to, only shortly felt loved, never was properly disciplined (punished, yes. But not disciplined in a loving way that made him feel safe and cared for. At least, not by his father.)

sheas. That was a long analysis on everything. Sorry about that lol 😅

had a lot of thoughts on this apparently. I love talking about this stuff so feel free to message me anytime! Rants and analyzing random things is totally welcome lol

Taglist: @todayimfour

[anchanted-one]

"Is Tywin Lannister Evil?"

I saw this question as a poll on YouTube a fee hours ago. I should've taken a screenshot, or at least noted the number of votes, but I didn't think much of it, and now I can't find it.

But I was a little surprised by the ratio. 75% instead of 95+. It's been eating at me.

So I wanted to talk about it. TW: Song of Ice and Fire stuff below the cut.

So here are some of the evil things Tywin has done, with possible "justifications" that aren't really an excuse when you look at the crime.

The background.

Tywin's dad Tytos was an incurable people-pleaser who never said no to his vassals and peers. This led to a marked drop in prestige of House Lannister. Tywin grew up with everyone mocking the family to their faces, and being unable to do anything about it. It was his childhood trauma. Perhaps the biggest insult was the prostitute his father took as a lover once Tywin's mom died. She acted with the full confidence that she was Lady Lannister, with all the power and prestige that brought her. And Tytos got mocked for it. Savagely, and perhaps deservedly.

So this upbringing shaped Tywin's outlook on life, and made him obsessed with projecting power and punishing all offenses. Here are the best ones.

1. The destruction of the Tarbecks of Tarbeck Hall, and the Reynes of Castamere.

These were among the houses that took loans from his father, but refused to pay. Tywin and his brothers, fresh from the war if Ninepenny Kings, made one demand for the repayment, then ended both Houses so thoroughly that the most iconic song from the series was born: "the Rains of Castamere." But he didn't just punish the guilty ones. No, to quote Anakin, "Not just the men, but the women and children too!"

2. The penance of his father's mistress.

The mistress' name is unknown, but her deeds were recorded. Despite not even being married to the Lord, she didn't hesitate to act as Lady; ordering Knights, dismissing servants, sitting on his seat and handling affairs of Casterly Rock, wearing Lady Jeyne's jewelry (Tywin's mom). Naturally, when Tytos died and Tywin took the throne, her doom was sealed. She was paraded naked through the streets for a fortnight before being exiled.

She is the reason why Tywin keeps telling Tyrion to be discreet with his prostitutes, and not give them any power over him... though this is often interpreted as a warning to not have them at all. In A Dance with Dragons, his brother Kevan reflects that Tywin might never have guessed his daughter would suffer the same fate.

3. The Sacking of King's Landing.

The Lannisters stayed out of the war until the very end. Until Rhaegar was killed, and the Rebels were headed for the capital. Tywin appeared at the gates, saying he was going to help the king. Instead, his forces sacked it so badly, they're still hated by the small folk. His henchmen, led by the infamous Mountain, killed Rhaegar's wife Elia Martell of Dorne and their daughter, and probably their son too (conspiracy at work here), and Tywin claims he "forgot" about Elia, though many find this unlikely.

In his "defense" the king was mad as a hatter infected with the Joker toxin. He did a lot of highly cruel and stupid things that lost him all of his allies. Many Lords were clearly just waiting for him to die so his nice son Rhaegar could take the throne, but that ship was bashed in with a hammer. But was that a reason to sack the capital? And kill thousands? Nope.

3. The Red Wedding.

Unable to defeat Robb Stark in the field, Tywin Lannister approved of his murder at a wedding. His justification was, "Explain to me, how it's more noble to kill 1000 men on a battlefield, than 10 at a wedding." And while I see his point, it's the principle of escalation. He invited anarchy by behaving in a sleazy manner. All of his allies came under siege almost right away. There's a saying here in India, "Those who protect dharma (which can mean righteousness, duty, or the law) are protected by it." And while it's not always true that a righteous man is protected by the law, the unrighteous are definitely looked down upon. People are always waiting to take them down. And it happens. The moment Tywin dies, Jaime tells Cersei that the people aren't waiting outside to mourn their father, but make sure he's really gone. By contrast, Robb Stark is very much respected. People are still willing to die in his memory.

4. The treatment of Tyrion.

While not exactly a crime, Tywin has always treated his youngest son badly. He half-believes that Tyrion isn't his son, but is unable to prove it. Even if his suspicion is false, a lot of his hatred for his son actually stems from two facts: Tyrion is a dwarf, and Joanna Lannister (Tywin's wife, whom he did love) died giving birth to him. We see this trend a lot, where a family hates the child who "took their mother's life," and this is also the major reason Cersei cites for hating him, but it's really sad for poor Tyrion, who grew up feeling their resentment at every turn in his life.

5. The treatment of Tysha

Tysha was a girl whom Jaime and Tyrion saved on the road, about Tyrion's age. Tyrion quickly fell in love with her and married her in secret. But his dad found out the second the Septon sobered up. He instantly remembered his dad's second mistress.... maybe. His punishment of her was severe. He forced Jaime to lie that he'd hired her to make Tyrion happy, then ordered everyone in his barracks to gang-rape her, before forcing Tyrion to do so himself. He paid her a silver coin for each of his guards, and a gold one for Tyrion, then banished her. This incident was the main reason for Tyrion really flying off the rails and killing Tywin, and swearing the harshest of revenge on his family. They--Tysha and Tyrion--were no older than Sansa was in A Storm of Swords, and very innocent to boot, which makes this the worst crime in my eyes.

So why are 25% voting he wasn't evil? Probably because of his portrayal onscreen, which is a lot more sympathetic to most of the characters (except Stannis). And also, perhaps, because of the nuance in his character, his backstory. They might find it understandable. The ends justify the means. But that's really not so to me.

[wack-ashimself]

2008 Financial crisis dumbed down.

Watched 'The Big Short' (again), and I wanted to sum it up for people who didn't get it (cuz I did NOT the first time around).

About 2 years-ish before this all went down, a super smart guy noticed inconsistencies in what the banks AND (eventually) the government claimed about subprime (another word for weaker credit) home loans. He noticed that the weakest that were most likely to default were packaged up so they seemed more appealing, but they were way worse than the government was rating them at (in the movie, rating approval standards and practices lady basically says if we do not give them good ratings, they'll <the banks> just go down the street to a competitor, which is NOT something you want said by a government sanctioned organization.) The banks & the raters were approving everyone cuz it made them money right then and there. Both the banks and the rating's agency which answered to the government. That means THREE different organizations set up the dominoes. Big banks, the ratings board, and the government for not keeping either in check. Maybe not knocked them down, but set them up.

The smart guy realized: the lower ones rated we will call them a C, were actually closer to E's, and thus, also brought down everything above them. AAA goes to A. AA to C. Etc. (something like that). Loss of rating, loss of money. But with the banks getting higher ratings, they would look like they had stronger assets. Thus more money. More to wager. And how did they inflate this? The casino. They took those low level packages, and took bets on if they would rise or fall. THEN they took bets on THAT bet. Seriously; it is as fucking stupid and crazy as it sounds. As the movie said, it's highly complex and hard to understand BECAUSE they want you to feel like they're the only ones who can operate/navigate it. They make it difficult so you have to come to them.

So smart guy (and a few others) convinced the banks to do the stupidest thing I have ever heard: the banks created this whole new thing for them in which they bet, HARD, that these super low level home mortgage packages would utterly fail (and some mid/top level. Because remember, if the bottom falls out, everything above is then lowered. So you can bet on all of it going down, which is what happened.) Like 25 to 1 odds. And it did take 2 years, but eventually, it did fall, and create new billionaires.

The movie exaggerated a lot, but some of the main themes are:

1-the bankers NEVER cared if they failed cuz they ALWAYS knew they were 'too big to fail' (to which I've always replied: Should have failed. And gone to the locals.)

2-the bankers were not SMART, just greedy and careless.

3-banks are casinos. I mean, the complexity yet stupidity of that whole betting scheme. And then creating a WHOLE NEW casino game without checking the odds? Geez. The House lost. Banks should not be able to gamble with YOUR livelihoods. Clearly, they have nothing to lose, but WE DO!

4-Banks do control the government. Probably the federal reserve too. That's never discussed.

5-Again, how much money was lost AND created from NOTHING but...bets? That is creating nothing.

6-The movie said a fact (I think) that fucks with my head. 2 of the younger ones just got good news about their bet. Cheering, dancing, etc. Brad Pitt's character gets PISSED, and tells them to stop it. He points how many lives are going to be ruined. Jobs lost. Homelessness. Then says 'Did you know for every 1% in the rise of unemployment, 40,000 people die?' WHAT!? Everything should be locally owned and controlled. Every business worker owned. FUCK that shit.

7-The government changed nothing to stop this from happening again. IMO-about to drop hard, same way, but with student loans and car loans. I know more people who have car loans than house loans...you think they learned? Fuck no. It's a casino, and they will never stop playing the game till we check if their games are rigged (they are.)

8-When this all started to fall apart, the shady thing banks did was take these worst of the worst low level packages, sell them off, THEN report the actual numbers they were rated at, fucking whoever just bought them. AND they initially refused payout on the MASSIVE bets they just lost until they could get the money.

I just...what bugged me was for how many people placing billions on the line, losing multi millions in losses in the 2 years till it actually occurred, why NONE of the banks looked into these people's backgrounds, histories, etc? Like, if a guy comes up to me and says 'I want to give you money for two years on a stupid ass bet', if that same guy got stupid rich predicting the market, HE FUCKING KNOWS SOMETHING. Intentional negligence.

Solid movie. A little showy in places it didn't need to be. But I think I just dumbed down banking for you, and we are dumb for allowing this to continue to exist. If we bailed them out, we own em'. That's it.

tl;dr: the banks acted LITERALLY like casinos, and lost big. So the USA government bailed them out and the banks KNEW it was going to happen which is why they could operate like a casino. And still do.

Update. 1-here's the best scene to sum up their scam part 1 (taking bets on their low levels rising/falling, and bets on THOSE bets). This is what started everything. The ratings technically did, but this made that 10x worse.

part 2 on how standards and practices rigged the ratings:

and finally part 3 explaining how it set up, and how to bet against the banks.

ps-fun note. I forgot a HUGE bombshell they GLOSS over practically. Absolutely NO LAWS saying you can't go work at a big bank after working in standard's and practices. In other words, you give them good ratings, they give you a couchy job 5 years later with a stupid big bonus. EVERYTHING IS CORRUPT! But it makes sense. If you run the country and have inside info, you can still operate in the stock market...it's a big circle jerk.

[calestialmusings]

The shit show that is changing your first & last name

Back when I was in my PhD program, before I quit (unrelated: I do love being a 4.0 drop out tho), I had a friend we’ll call G. G was real cool and honestly the level of progressive that I was hoping to get to but couldn’t quite reach then.

 Anyways, while we were in class one day it came out that G had changed their name years ago. I knew very little about the world, nor what “clocking” met and how that was what I had been doing. He didn’t look Trans or whatever [obviously what I thought Trans looked like in my early 20s] so I just thought he changed his name because he wanted to. Because he was cool and wanted to be his own person. I tried to pry a bit but could quickly tell that he was becoming uncomfortable and that i was doing that to him, so I dropped it. I figured he was just being mysterious and interesting and I was envious that him and his partner decided to do something so “progressive.” Not to mention, people change their last names all the time so first names must have been just as easy. 

Fun fact #1: First name changes are not as easy as last name changes and changing your first name is confuses a looooooot of people and breaks so many fucking systems. 

In a system that is heavily designed to have women be property of men and join their husband’s identities (The number of times I was called Mrs. Partner first & last name oof), society is really well adjusted to handling those changes in a quick and simple way. When I got married and changed my last name it wasn’t even a thing. I put it on my marriage license, went to the SS office to get a new card, new license without much questions or required paperwork. If something had the wrong last name, it was pretty chill. 

This gave me a super unrealistic idea of what a “full name change” would be like. The first thing that happens is that people don’t actually hear what you have to say. If you give them your name, or say that your name changed most people will automatically just think “last name.” Meaning they will just kind of do a hybrid of your birth first name and your last name. Even if they heard what your name was when you first talked. They just kinda throw that name out the window. It’s fucking stupid but becomes a huge issue when its things like medical records or medicine. Especially if your shit is controlled. 

Buying a house was also a huge thing. My partner and I bought a house about 8 months after we changed our names and that was a whole ass thing. The mortgage companies loved our wonderful credit attached to our previous names but our new names had no credit 🙃 Though everyone knew we were the same people, their systems were ONLY designed to handle a new last name. So we were denied a loan until we could get the name change worked out with the credit bureaus. 

Fun fact #2: the credit bureaus honestly don’t seem to do shit lmao. One of which denied our requests for changing our name three times because there wasn’t any documentation provided, that note was attached to the documentation that we provided. 

Getting our mortgage became the carrousel of hell and it only ended when I forced them to submit the request to the ACTUAL people who approve/deny loans (can’t remember their title rn). They happily accepted our request and just required everything be done in our previous names which sucked but was a win-win for both parties. 

It’s a frustrating situation though and only worked out for us because we were financially privileged. Would they have agreed to approve this mortgage if we didn’t have such good credit, or if my partner wasn’t a tech worker, or if we didn’t live in a place where houses were so expensive? No, they probably wouldn’t have. If I hadn’t worked at credit union for 6 years, didn’t know how mortgages worked, and didn’t have a parent who had been a CEO of a credit union things would have not worked out well in my favor just because I had the audacity to change the birth name I had been given. 

Fun Fact #3: Organizations that you are associated with will get real nosy about why you changed your name. They will require legal paperwork showing the name change happened but also want you to walk them through why. 

I’m very open about my gender and sexuality but it rubs me the wrong way when questions seem invasive and irrelevant. You are legally required to provide paperwork showing your name is changed. To get that legal paperwork you must talk to the courts about why you want to get your name changed and the courts decide whether or not to grant you with the name change. So for an organization to require that paperwork AND still have a client/customer discuss their name change is really invasive. Knowing why I changed my name will not impact the fact that my name was changed and that you have the document showing that. Having that information on record is just unnecessary information that can open up your client/customer to discrimination- and that is why one of those fucking places has my “reason for name change” as “because.” The customer representative then laughed and said “just because?” and I was like “yep.”  

[merakiui]

hello!!<3 can i request an angst scenario (it can have a happy ending it's up to you!!) childe x fem!reader where they are together for some time and she didn't know he's fatui (she hates them bc her parents were in debt and overall they ruined her life and he's too scared to tell her) but she finds out and wants to broke up?? THANK YOU

In which you discover Childe’s ties to the Fatui.

cw: angst, debt, small mention of depression as a result of debt, female reader note - I woke up and chose pain with this one. >:) it also got long;;; oops!

You hate the Fatui. And although that’s such a strong, hurtful word it's your true feelings. You’ve never experienced their wrath firsthand, but you have witnessed what it can do to people. Your sweet, loving parents, who took loans out of the bank in order to pay for repairs to their shop, were reduced to frightful messes at the mere mention of that harrowing F-word.

It’s horrible to see them in such a state, especially since a few agents had come by once and practically demanded the money. As a result of such a distasteful discussion, you refuse to go into any sort of monetary career: trader, merchant, and even a wandering saleswoman. You’ll find a way to make things right by getting a job that will bring in lots of riches for your poor parents. Then the Fatui will have no choice but to leave your family alone.

Your own funds have dried up, having gone into another Fatui agent’s gloved hands. You can’t even argue because you have an inkling as to what will happen when you finally run out of money to give. Ever since this entire debt charade, your parents have become hollow shells of their former selves: paranoid, depressed, and starved of the happiness that comes with being in a regular, debt-free family.

Childe tunes into your rant as if someone had just turned on the switch that designates his listening skills. The two of you are sitting on a lovely hilltop, watching the stars twinkle in and out of focus. Liyue Harbor can be seen from afar, glittering in warm colors of gold and red. If Childe remembers correctly, another festival should be right around the corner. He’ll have to take you when he finds time to slink away from his work.

Speaking of his work, he’s never actually told you about it. When you asked, he simply said it was a job that allowed him to travel. It sounded like a traveling merchant to you—perhaps even a fishmonger specializing in exotic types—considering he was seemingly loaded with Mora. It made you jealous that he was so well-off with his finances, but you couldn’t complain when he so readily emptied his pockets for your sake.

“And then that stupid agent shows up at our door right when I get home! It’s the worst timing ever. My parents were pretending to be out of the house and I showed up and ruined their plan.” A heavy sigh tumbles from your lips as you flop back onto the grass, where Childe fixes you with a lopsided, sympathetic grin. “I hate it. They’re not even themselves anymore. It’s like they lost all sense of life. I’m picking up as many commissions as I can, but it doesn’t even help. The Fatui just take it all faster than I can save it.”

“They’re the worst, aren’t they?”

“And the sky isn’t blue. Of course they’re the worst!” You inhale softly. “No use getting mad about something that already happened, though.”

“You’ll just give yourself more stress and you don’t need that.” He joins you on the plush grass, turning his head to look at you rather than up at the inky night sky. “I can help with your commissions, you know. I’ve been itching to smash some hilichurl camps.”

“I can handle it myself. It’s fine.” Only it’s not and you’ve started realizing that. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Funny. I was going to ask you something, too!”

“Oh. Uh...”

He chuckles, staring at you with blue eyes that don’t sparkle. “There’s this festival coming up and I wanted to take you. It’ll be just the two of us for one night. You can forget all about work and money—”

“What about you? You said your job has you traveling all over the place. That’s why we’ll rarely see each other in the future. Once you’re done here in Liyue, that is.” You move onto your side, holding yourself up on your elbow. “I don’t think it’ll work.”

“Well, my boss doesn’t have to know. It’ll be our tiny secret!”

You roll your eyes, smiling a little. Deep inside you’ve always felt like something was off about his story. For the past few months, he’s remained in Liyue and once you even caught him slipping into Northland Bank when you were running some errands. You hope he isn’t in a similar situation concerning debt and poverty. No, he wouldn’t need to be. He’s shown you just how many lavish things his funds can afford. Why would he be in debt if he has a stable job?

“Are you...doing something bad?”

You could’ve phrased that better, but it’s already out in the open now. Sheepishly, you avoid his befuddled stare, opting to watch the moon as its light becomes obscured behind a dark cloud. An airy chuckle escapes him, but he doesn’t say anything. His silence confirms your fears and it dawns upon you that he hasn’t been truthful this entire time.

“This mask.” It’s in your hands before he can stop you. You’re tapping at it with a finger, equal parts curious and apprehensive. You refuse to beat around the bush; your doubtful gaze catches his and it hardens at once. “You’re Fatui, aren’t you?”

He sits up calmly, holding out his hand. “That’s quite the accusation, my dear. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not jumping to any conclusion. I’m right, aren’t I?” Now you’re sitting up, staggering to your feet to find some sort of leverage over him. He’s taller than you and far more powerful than he once let on. “Childe, why would—“

He sighs, lowering his hand out of defeat. “I suppose there’s no point avoiding it now. You were bound to find out one of these days.”

“One of these days? What? Like, when my family’s on the streets because the Fatui took our house?”

It hurts that he wasn’t honest and it hurts even more knowing that he has the power to help. He could’ve spent his time working out ways to get you out of debt, yet he decided to shower you in affection and useless trinkets! Trinkets that are only good for selling and receiving money to pay off the debt. You could cry; that’s how much it hurts. And when he makes no solid effort to comfort you, the tears begin to form.

“Of course not. I’d never let that happen!”

“Then why would you lie about it? Why not help me? Why can’t you just be honest? You always avoid questions you don’t want to answer and I hate it! I’ve been with you long enough to know that that mask is bad news. I was just waiting for you to confirm it, but you didn’t.”

You think it’s selfish for wanting his help—for wanting help from a Fatui agent, no less—but you’re too upset to care.

“(Name), you know that’s—“

“What else haven’t you told me? What else have you lied about? I don’t care if you’re trying to protect me. I’m already on a list. The Fatui still show up to my house and you just...let them. Why?”

“If I interfered, it would look bad in front of Her Majesty. You know I can’t go against her orders. I want to help you—I do. But...”

You’re fumbling for new words, at a complete loss with yourself. No matter how many questions you spout, he’ll evade them like they’re optional. And even if you want answers and honesty more than anything right now, you know he’ll fail to provide it. You shove the mask into his hands, shaking your head in disbelief. A swell of emotions overcome you: sadness, anger, and regret. You feel utterly betrayed. The sweet Childe, whom you once thought was your perfect match, is working for the Fatui—the people who have turned your life into misery.

And that’s probably not even the half of it.

“Let’s break up,” you say before he can spin another false tale. Another easy excuse to avoid this downfall. Childe stops short to stare at you in surprise and it’s weird to see that emotion scrawled across his face. He’s usually smooth and collected; he always knows what to say and how to act. Not this time, though. “It’s not going to work if we’re together while the Fatui are hounding my parents. And they wouldn’t approve of our relationship either.”

“Now, (Name), wait a moment. You’re not thinking straight. You’re just—” He struggles to find the correct words and in that small moment between foggy clarity and paralyzing uncertainty he plasters another plastic smile on. “Look. I know you’re upset, but I didn’t mean to lie to you. I was going to tell you eventually. Just had to find the right time to do it, you know?"

“I know. And that’s why we should go our separate ways.” Like Childe, you also put on a faux show, building up your walls as high and strong as his are. You don’t think you’ll last another minute in his presence, as you’re far too close to tears. “Thank you again for tonight. I’ll take my leave now.”

Rather than pain, it’s bitter when your lips fall upon his soft cheek. And the gesture stings harder than a slap on the wrist. 

The searing pain returns when you pull away and begin the descent from the hill as fast as your trembling legs will allow. You refuse to look back and fall into his arms in hopes that he’ll reassure you. The fact that he doesn’t chase after you—doesn’t even call out—stabs your conflicted heart and it’s more than enough confirmation. Childe isn’t exactly boyfriend material. He’s callous when it comes to a battle and he’s driven by his own ulterior motives. Surely this relationship was just a means of spending his extra time when he found himself bored and lacking a fight. Maybe he thought of his work when the two of you were on secretive dates. Maybe his heart was empty when the two of you were intimate. Maybe you were just the glue holding this crumbling bond together.

Childe remains on that hilltop, watching you disappear into the distance. And it’s then when realizes he’s lost you. The feeling is different from the battlefield and it’s far more real than when he’s snooping around as a Harbinger. You’re just a normal, good-natured citizen and he...ruined that part of you. With his ties to an enemy that has crushed your family. He’s partly, if not fully, responsible for what transpired just now and for the first time in a while real guilt gnaws at him. He’s left wondering why he did all of that—why he couldn’t just face your questions head-on.

It’s his fault, isn’t it?

On that windy hilltop, under the silent, disapproving darkness of the sky, he’s left to pick up the pieces of a fractured relationship. And it’s all because he couldn’t admit the truth to his precious girlfriend.

In a way, the Fatui have taken something from him, too, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to patch it up with honeyed promises. 

Looks like we won’t be going to that festival anytime soon...

[floofs-headcanons]

Hello hello! Both of your have such awesome writing! I had so much fun reading the headcanons and scenarios of the bodyguard AU! Could I request either college AU or a soulmate AU or your choosing for Zoro? Whatever you feel like writing! Thank you!!

College & Soulmate AU; Scenario

Character; Zoro

Word Count; 1,718

Thank you so much, we’re glad you liked it !! But no, but let me tell you how we screamed at each other for literally half an hour when we saw this request. There were too many good soulmate AUs we ended up using a generator aksjdhas.

The first time you and your soulmate touch you get stuck together for a while.

December is when you find him sleeping on campus grounds. He’s resting on one of the outdoor tables, book open, with arms covering the pages. Snow is falling, and you’re cold even with a heavy fur coat and umbrella keeping the white specs from melting into your hair.

You’re not sure if you should wake him up despite the fact that he was wearing nothing other than a T-shirt and some jeans, but he doesn’t seem very bothered. Well, that is until he sneezes. It’s followed by some incoherent grumbling and nearly scares the shit out of you, but it’s enough for you to decide to help.

“Hey,” you poke his cheek with the butt of your umbrella, not too fond of touching strangers. “Hey!”

He doesn’t stir, and you’re left wondering if anyone else has tried to help him before you showed up and ended up leaving it be because he wouldn’t budge.

Still, you couldn’t leave him here in this type of temperature; so you decide to leave your umbrella behind. It’s long enough to lean against the table and shield him from the ever piling snow without directly touching any part of his body and possibly bothering his rest- not that you think it would. He didn’t flinch even when you yelled at him.

December is when you’re working at Shakky’s bar late into the night to pay off your college tuition.

Those loans wouldn’t pay themselves after all and the salary was good. 

The company at the bar itself was interesting to say the least. You could never truly say you had a dull night while working there. Be it the slurring drunks and their awful attempts at pickup lines, to the terribly sobering tales that would be shared across the counter; it was an eye opening experience. 

Tonight would be much like any other- at least, that’s what you had thought until a familiar man comes through the door. 

He seemed well- that was good. You didn’t give it too much thought, after all, you were on the clock and this was a rather popular bar for the student body to frequent. From the way Shakky greets him, he must’ve been a regular long before you had begun working here.

Setting down the glass you had been mindlessly polishing, your attention is drawn towards a customer sitting near the back of the bar. He’s a bit louder than the other customers, but you were pretty used to that. Eustass Kid came in all the time and drank until he either passed out or his blonde haired friend carried him out forcefully. At the very least he wasn’t bothering anybody.

“Excuse me,” the green haired man raises a hand, successfully catching your attention. It seems he was done talking to Shakky by now.

“Yes?” You make your way over, an award-winning customer service smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “What can I get for you?”

He ends up getting a few, maybe more than a few, beers. This man sure could drink.

December is when your car decides it needs its own break from the cold winter snow. It thankfully doesn’t break down anywhere too traffic heavy, and there’s an auto-repair shop not even five minutes away.

“Oh, hello,” you greet, surprised to see a familiar face working here. He’s wearing a tank-top and some slacks, and this time you think the attire is appropriate given how much he was sweating.

The owner, Franky, had more than generously came to pick up your mobile and gave you a ride along the way, saying it would be done the same day. I have a reliable repairman, he said more than just a bit too loudly for comfort.

The male glances up at you for a second before going back to finish up on the vehicle he was already occupied with. “Hey, there.” You’re not too sure if he recognizes you- it’s a hard to not recognize him- but that’s fine, you just needed your car fixed.

It doesn’t take him very long to finish up on his current project before moving onto yours. He thankfully doesn’t ask any questions, it seems like the owner had already filled him in, and just starts working.

“You know,” he spares you a glance, picking up another tool. “He said it’d be done the same day but it’s still gonna take a few hours. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Unfortunately not,” you sigh. The only plans you had were to go back home and take a long, long nap, but there was no way you were going to walk back in this type of weather. For a while, you’re standing around a little awkwardly, fiddling with the fluffs of your sleeves before he speaks up.

“If you want you could sit inside where it’s warmer. There’s a TV and some magazines you could read to keep you occupied.” You debate that for a bit, looking through the glass door to the waiting area, but ultimately decide to stick around for a bit longer.

“It’s fine,” you say with a smile. You could wait inside later, for now you’d want to wander a bit. It’s not every day you’d get to go to an auto-repair shop and you’ve always been a bit curious with how often Kid yells about it in the bar. “Would it be alright if I take a look around?”

He gives a grunt of approval and you make yourself comfortable, roaming the workshop. It’s quite big, and you hadn’t noticed ‘til now that the walls were painted in vibrant blues, red, and yellow. It matched the owner’s eccentric personality.

“Oh,” a stand hidden to the back of the shop catches your attention; a lone umbrella resting on its handles. Yours- to be more precise. “You use an umbrella during snow time?” You hadn’t bothered to ask for it back, the thought never really occurred to you. Considering they weren’t that expensive buying a new one wouldn’t be much of a hassle. If anything, you were more surprised he’s kept it around.

The male clears his throat, stopping whatever it was he was doing to your car and wipes his hands down with a towel. “Actually,” he admits sheepishly, “I’ve been meaning to return it to you. I just kept forgetting.”

You raise a brow, “You knew it was mine?”

“I’ve seen you use it around campus before,” he admits. “Not a lot of people use an umbrella while it’s snowing, and the color’s pretty vibrant so it’s hard to not notice. I had wanted to give it to you when I visited the bar, but you were constantly busying yourself so I never got the chance.”

A chuckle escapes your lips at his little confession. He seemed like such an intimidating guy, with the furrowed brows and scar over his eye, but he was a lot more awkward than one would expect. “Well,” you catch his attention. “I’m working there again tomorrow night if you want to come give it to me in person.” December is when you’re sparing hopeful glances at the door every time the bell chimes.

“Expecting someone?” Shakky teases, coming behind the bar and pouring herself a glass.

“Something like that,” you mutter before making your way past her to attend to someone in the corner of the room. It’s the same person from around two weeks ago- he’s louder this time, but there were also less customers tonight and no one seems to be complaining any so you let it slide. “Yes? How may I hELP-?!”

What you can’t let slide is how he forcefully grabs your wrist and essentially drags your body to lean over the table. “Ah, damn,” you’re used to drunks, not idiots. He has a permanent grin plastered over his lips and his grip on your wrist tightens. “I can’t let go! Guess we must be soulmates!”

There is no explaining the disgust that washes over your face. “Sir, I’m asking you politely to let go.”

Everyone who goes here knows that it’s simply an unwritten rule to not fight unless you wanted to be beaten half to death. Not by you- dear lord no- Shakky on the other hand was ruthless and you’d never want to end up on the other side of her fist.

Ever.

“Huh?” He slurs, “didn’t I just tell you that I can’t let go?”

“I’m telling you-” before you’re able to get anymore words out another hand wraps around the older man’s wrist, successfully shutting you up. For a second, the dread of it being one of his friends rises, but it’s quickly crushed by the voice that follows.

“I’m sure you’re not deaf. She said let go.”

The bar is dead silent for a few seconds before the man roughly releases his grip on your arm. A bit gentler would’ve been nice, you internally grumble, rubbing the sore area.

“Hey there, could I ask exactly what you were trying to do with my precious barkeep?” Your boss comes over, leaning against the table. She gives you a wink and a slight nudge of her head towards the break room and you don’t think twice before leaving the scene, your green haired friend following close behind.

“Is your wrist alright?” He questions as soon as the door closes. “My bad for being late, I got held back by some work Franky wanted done.”

His hand reaches out to gently hold your wrist and a spark of electricity shocks you both. Usually, your first instinct would be to flinch and pull away, but he has a firm grip.

“Uhm,” you glance down, then back up at him. “It’ll probably bruise tomorrow but it’s nothing to worry too much about...”

His face is unreadable, and after a couple seconds his ears turn a faint shade of red. “I can’t let go.”

You chuckle at his poor attempt of a joke. “C’mon now, we just went through this.” You lift your free hand to pry his fingers off your wrist only to feel the same electric shock as earlier. It doesn’t hurt, only stinging enough to really initially surprise anyone, but you quickly realize he wasn’t trying to pull your leg.

Oh.

“So,” he awkwardly lifts his other hand. “I brought your umbrella.”

[xjoonchildx]

danger | ksj x reader chapter one: good girl

summary: kim seokjin is a rich asshole. you are an ambitious attorney. smut ensues when he just won’t leave you alone.

pairing: seokjin/reader word count: 8.6K (Part 1 of 2)

rating: 18+

genre: smut | pwp | okay fine, porn with a thin plot | but it’s really thin

warnings:  hate sex, language, terrible ethical decisions, blatant misuse of office furniture

Chapter 01 | 02

**************************

Are you fucking kidding me? What am I to you? Am I easy to you? Are you playing with me? You are in danger now Why are you testing me? Why are you testing me? Don’t get me twisted

-- BTS, "Danger"

******************************

“Excuse me, Miss?”

You look up from your phone to the bartender who’s just walked up to you. He’s holding a bottle of champagne. 

“Yes?”

“The gentleman sitting just over there sent this for you.”

Your gaze follows the direction of his nod and immediately your blood warms to a boil.

The man who’s just finished wiping the floor with your ass in court has just sent you a bottle of champagne. Champagne is for celebrating, not for self-medicating after a brutal trial with a shitty outcome. But of course, that’s kind of the point, isn’t it? 

You’d spotted the hint of a smile on Kim Seokjin’s lips in the quick moment you’d looked his way.  He was seated at a table -- surrounded by his adoring lackeys -- who were no doubt high-fiving themselves into a frenzy after this afternoon’s verdict. You’d been so busy drowning your sorrows in wine and furiously texting with Nari that you hadn’t even noticed his entire group’s arrival.

The absolute nerve of this man.

“I don’t want it,” you say. “Please send it back.”

The bartender looks flustered for a moment, glancing at Seokjin and then back to you.

“But Miss, this is a very expensive bottle of champagne,” he protests kindly.

“I know that,” you reply quickly, which is bullshit because you don’t know anything about champagne but you’ll be damned if you let this server or Kim Seokjin know that. 

“I still don’t want it.”

“Alright then, I’ll take it back,” he says nervously, clearing his throat. No doubt he’s not looking forward to telling the pompous prick you’ve turned away his selfless gift. “If you’re sure, that is.”

You make certain to give the bartender your warmest smile because you know he is looking. 

“Oh, I’m sure.”

************************************

Kim Seokjin has never had to think about concepts like student loans and overdue rent. He’s never had to lie awake at night praying for an opportunity to get ahead.

Status and success are his birthright.  

If you had to guess, you’d say those broad shoulders come from weekends spent lugging a bag of golf clubs across manicured greens. Those muscular legs are probably the result of hours of vigorous tennis at his family’s estate.  And the face? Word on the street is that his mother was a beauty queen which fits quite nicely into his rich boy trifecta.  

Truly, you can’t stand the sight of him.

But if you’re being honest with yourself, the worst thing about Kim Seokjin -- the thing that really sets your teeth on edge --  is that he’s a damned good attorney. 

Maybe daddy’s money got him into the best schools, but he clearly paid attention. So instead of spending his days playing polo or drinking manhattans or doing whatever it is obscenely rich people do all day, he spends his days in court litigating circles around some unfortunate opponent.

Just your luck that his last two opponents happen to be you. 

Kim Seokjin has single-handedly put an end to your personal hot streak. You should be celebrating a big win right now but instead you’ve run straight into a brick wall. 

A tall, broad, well-dressed brick wall.

***********************

“Do you think he’s gay?”

“What?”

“Kim Seokjin, dammit. Are you paying attention to me at all?”

You pull a face when Nari mentions he-who-should-not-be-named. 

“Gay? How the hell should I know?” you grumble, stabbing a fork full of salad with more force than is necessary. 

“I’m just saying. Everyone knows everything about everyone at the courthouse, right? But you never hear about Kim Seokjin hooking up with anyone. Anyone. And I mean, he’s -- you know, gorgeous.”

“I guess,” you say flatly. 

Nari tuts at your unenthusiastic response. Gossip is her specialty and you’re usually game to hear what she’s been able to dig up but just the mention of this man’s name is enough to put you in a mood.  

“Listen, I’d be salty too if I’d lost that case, but that doesn’t change the fact that the man is a four-alarm fire.”

“Two cases,” you correct. “And he’s two-alarm. At best.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Nari laughs.  “Anyway, I picked up something super slinky for Judge Park’s party tomorrow so by then I’ll know one way or another which way he’s batting.”

You roll your eyes. 

“Hope that works out for you. Either way, I really don’t want to talk about Kim Seokjin’s sex life.”

“Okay, fine,” she concedes.  “But what about his professional life? Cause word on the street is that his firm is probably going to make him a partner. Like very soon.”

You chew on that for a moment. 

He’ll probably be the youngest partner in his firm’s history or in any firm’s history, for that matter. It would be the only logical next step in the progression of this man’s obnoxiously charmed life. 

“Good for him,” you grind out, silently willing Nari to drop the subject of the infuriating man entirely. 

She smiles with satisfaction at having dropped a very juicy piece of information, but all you can do is frown into your salad.

****************************

You’ve been staring at this piece of art for a solid five minutes and at this point you are questioning Judge Park’s sanity. It’s objectively hideous. 

“So you do drink champagne.”

The fine hairs at the nape of your neck stand on end at the sound of the deep voice that comes from behind. You’ve just lifted a flute of the aforementioned drink to your lips when he sidles up to you. 

“When I’m in the mood,” you say tightly.

The low chuckle you get in response is very, very annoying. 

You catch a glance of Kim Seokjin out of the corner of your eye because you refuse to acknowledge him with your full attention. As expected, he looks perfectly groomed, impeccably dressed, and irritatingly confident.

“So this is...interesting,” Seokjin says, gesturing at the art piece. 

“Interesting,” you repeat. “Yes, well -- it’s definitely that.”

You know you’re sending him every signal that you’d rather be anywhere but here talking to him but he ignores the hostility pouring off of you in waves.

“I’ve been meaning to catch you,” he says, pausing to take a drink from an ornate highball glass. “I think it’s a shame we haven’t had the chance to speak one-on-one yet.”

Oh, please.

“Yes, what a shame,” you reply sweetly. “So glad you’re finally getting the opportunity to take your victory lap in person.”

“Ouch,” he laughs, tone light despite your obvious irritation. “I came in peace. I’ve had the pleasure of facing you in court but not the pleasure of a formal introduction. So I thought I’d make a point to get acquainted with the woman who’s had me up against the ropes in my last two cases.”

You lift an eyebrow at the thin compliment.  

“I have to say,” he smiles, “I’m impressed.”

A flare of indignation ignites inside you at his casual condescension. As if you give a single solitary shit what Kim Seokjin thinks of your litigation skills. 

“Well now that I know I have your stamp of approval,” you say, body rigid, “I can truly go on.”

You hear his faint huff of laughter as he takes another drink.  A few uncomfortable moments pass before he seems to accept your silence as a sign that this conversation is over.  

“Well it was nice to meet you anyway,” he says, and you hate that you can hear a smile in his voice. “I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

He leaves you fuming in front of that monstrosity on the wall.

************************

“He’s an asshole,” you say when Nari drops a to-go box at your desk.  “I mean, I always knew he would be, but now I know firsthand.  A self-important, super-inflated asshole.”

Nari laughs. “Kim Seokjin, huh? I saw you two talking at the party and wondered what that was all about.”

She drops into the chair on the other side of your desk with her own to-go box.

“For the record, I can’t get a read off of him. And believe me, I tried,” she sighs.  “So what did he say to you?”

“He was so damned patronizing. He told me I ‘had him up against the ropes’ in his last case,” you hiss. “That I’m talented.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Nari says, and you don’t miss her thick sarcasm. “Acknowledging your skill and whatnot. You’re right -- total jerk.”

You are immediately impatient with her lack of sympathy.

“You weren’t there, Nari.  He wasn’t passing along some heartfelt praise, he was saying ‘close but no cigar.’”

“He’s professionally competitive, girl.  A shark. What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Manners, maybe?”

“Ugh, you’re such a baby,” she teases. “I think your sudden success has gone to your head. He’s not about to bend the knee just because you’ve got a great record.”

You narrow your eyes at her.  “No one’s asking him to bend the knee, Nari.”

She smiles.

“Okay, princess, I’m gonna let you believe that. But I will admit that you might be right about the goading thing,” she says. “Last night, Sang Yejun told me Seokjin took over that last case from a junior attorney. Stepped in and snatched it right up and no one thought it was even on his radar.”

Well that catches your attention. 

You’d wondered yourself why the great Kim Seokjin had stooped to take such a minor case. 

“See what I’m saying, Nari? It’s like he’s purposely trying to get under my skin.”

She snorts. 

“Girl you know I love you, but you really need to get a grip. Not everything is about you.”

*************************

Nari was dead wrong. Apparently everything is about you.

Three days after your cringeworthy exchange at Judge Park’s party, you have the displeasure of seeing Kim Seokjin again. This time, he walks right into one of your open hearings and helps himself to a seat.

Your entire body goes rigid when you spot him. He has nothing to do with this case, his firm isn’t involved in any way and yet here he is, taking time out of his precious day to sit in your hearing. You silently simmer over his unwelcome presence and the anxiety that comes with it.

Just what is he playing at?

Your second chair elbows you.

“You ready?” he asks and you nod.  

You take one last look at your notes and will yourself to focus.  The last thing you want to do is screw up this line of questioning and you certainly don’t want to screw it up in front of him.

*************************

You assume the coast is clear when court adjourns and everyone scatters. You look around for any sign of Seokjin while packing up your files and come up empty. You hate to acknowledge the tiny feeling of relief that blossoms inside at that observation.

That feeling of relief doesn’t last long. 

As soon as you round the corner into the hallway you spot him leaned up against the wall, scrolling through his phone as you walk past. You stride quickly, praying he won’t look up in time to see you but no such luck.

“Hey,” he calls after you.  You grit your teeth.  

There’s certainly no way to avoid speaking to him, not without causing a scene.  The hallway is packed with attorneys and paralegals from firms all over the city. You’d hate to give any of them the impression that this man has rattled you.

You stop and round on him.

“How can I help you today, Mr. Kim?”  

He smiles, refusing to be intimidated by your acid tone.

“I got a chance to sit in on your hearing,” he says, as though you didn’t already know that.  ”Not bad.”

You are in uncharted waters right now. If Kim Seokjin was just another asshole in a bar, you’d throw your drink in his face and leave him sputtering.  But he’s a respected colleague and you can’t make a scene -- not here. You’re still trying to figure out how to respond to that gem when he makes another observation. 

“You did miss an opportunity to pin your witness on that last question, though.”

You catch your jaw before it has a chance to drop.

“I thought you were going to go for the jugular for a minute there,” he says, lips pursing to suppress a smile. “But then you backed off.  It surprised me.”

He’s baiting you. And you know he’s baiting you. And you still can’t stop yourself from reacting.

“So are you billing me for these hours or do I get to enjoy all this unsolicited legal advice for free?”

“For you?” He shrugs casually. “Totally free.”

He slips his hands into his pockets and turns to walk away, but you are the one to stop him this time.

“Why?” you call after him.  

He turns back to face you. 

“Why do you care? Why are you here grading me like this is some kind of performance review?” you ask, unable to keep the astonishment out of your voice.

The slow smile that spreads across his face is downright smackable. 

“It’s my job to keep an eye on talent.  Even if the talent is overly confident, bad at taking direction, and just a little…” he stops for a moment to appreciate the look of absolute outrage on your face, “...bratty.”

“Bratty,” you repeat numbly. 

“Bratty,” he confirms. 

He shoots you a wide smile before sauntering away.

***************************

“He said you were…” Nari pauses for effect. “Bratty.”

“Yes.”

You wait through a full thirty seconds of Nari’s laughter before you interrupt.

“You --” you say, pointing an accusing finger at her, “are supposed to be my friend.”

“Oh, I am your friend, sweetheart,” she says, chuckling between words. “And as your friend I have to tell you that’s the most accurate take a man has had on you in a minute.”

You ball up a piece of paper on your desk and throw it at her.

“Seriously,” she says, breathless from laughter. “That is the funniest shit I’ve heard in a while.”

“Glad you think so,” you mutter.

Nari finally manages to collect herself after a moment.

“Okay, so Kim Seokjin thinks you’re bratty. And he’s definitely toying with you. And it’s working. So what are you gonna do about it?” she asks.

You say nothing for a moment. This is the internal debate you’ve been having since your embarrassing little encounter the other day.

“I’m gonna tell him to go fuck himself,” you say, finally.  “Whatever little game he’s playing — I’m done.”

Nari’s sly smile around a fork full of noodles indicates she can’t wait for the gossip that will no doubt come out of this showdown.

*******************************

You have to wait for the right opportunity to confront Kim Seokjin.

You’ve crossed paths with one another a few times in the courthouse in the past few days, but the last thing you want to do is have this conversation in front of the prying eyes and sharp ears that always mill about the halls.

So you stew in your anger and wait for the perfect moment to strike.

The moment comes when you spot a box of files in the lobby of your office, with a large note right on top.

ATTN: Kim Seokjin

Lee & Kang Law Firm

“What is this?” you ask the receptionist, pointing at the box.

“That’s a load of files that has to go over to Lee and Kang.  I’m having them delivered,” she replies.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say quickly.  You check your watch.  It’s end of business already, but you’re certain he’s still at his office.  He’s far too ambitious to be the type to pack it in early.

You pull out your phone and shoot a quick text to Nari. Her response is immediate.

you: going to give seokjin a piece of my mind tonight [ 5:49 PM ]

nari: i expect nothing less than a detailed play-by-play [ 5:50 PM ]

The receptionist quirks an eyebrow at you, waiting for you to get off your phone.

“You don’t want me to call for delivery, then?”

“No,” you smile. “I’ll be happy to hand-deliver them myself.”

She shrugs.  “Suit yourself.”

******************************

The offices of Lee and Kang are opulent. 

Marble and glass and shining fixtures all paid for by hours of top-dollar billing.  It’s one of the best firms in town and they clearly spared no expense in decorating the massive space.

When you walk through the heavy glass doors in the lobby there is no receptionist on duty. The main lights are down, leaving only accent lights and the glow coming from a few open offices. 

You spot one lone woman still working at her desk in the common area. 

“Kim Seokjin?” you ask, as you carry the box past her desk.

For a moment, it looks like she is going to ask you who you are -- because clearly you’re not a deliveryman -- but she sees the note taped to your box and points you in the right direction.

A corner office.  

Of course the pampered asshole would already have a corner office. 

You take a deep breath before knocking and immediately you hear Seokjin’s deep voice responding to invite you in.

The first thing that strikes you when you open his office door is that he does not seem surprised to see you. 

At all.

The man’s beautiful, infuriating face stays entirely neutral as he looks up from the papers on his desk. His total lack of a reaction is unnerving.

The second thing you spot are the massive windows. Seokjin certainly gets to enjoy the perks of his high-status, high-rise office because the backdrop to his workspace is stunning.  The sun has already set and the city is lit up behind him, a stark contrast to the night sky.

The last thing that you notice is that his office is a mess. You’d expect someone as anal-retentive as Kim Seokjin to be a neat freak, but there are boxes and papers all over the floors and even his pictures and degrees are leaning against the walls instead of hanging on them.

“Doing some redecorating?” you ask finally, when he does absolutely nothing to end the awkward silence.

“Something like that,” he answers smoothly.  

“We owe you these documents,” you say, motioning to the box.  You drop it unceremoniously on the floor in front of his desk.

He stares at it for a moment before finally deciding to speak.  

“You --” he starts, “ -- hand-delivered a box of documents to my office? Can your firm not afford couriers anymore? You guys going out of business?”

“That’s a lot of questions at once, Mr. Kim,” you fire back. “Have I walked into a deposition? Am I being videotaped?” 

“Would you like to be videotaped?” he counters evenly.

You search his face for any hint of humor -- any indication of teasing --  and come up empty. The look on his face suggests he’s just asked a serious question that deserves a serious answer.

Alarm bells begin to sound in your head.  

“You seem to be at a loss for words tonight,” he says, finally. “Which from what I gather is a bit unlike you.  So I’ll ask you again, what is a gifted attorney doing playing errand girl with a box of files?”

You stand silent, irritated at your sudden inability to string a simple sentence together.  Moments ago you’d walked in here ready for a confrontation, ready to read this man the riot act.  In a matter of seconds your momentum has died. You can almost feel the power shift in the air. 

“I -- “ you start and falter.  

Seokjin raises one perfect eyebrow.

“I am not bratty,” you say finally, lamely, and it’s laughable because it sounds exactly like something a brat would say.

“Not bratty,“ Seokjin repeats dryly. “Noted. Anything else?”

“Don’t do that,” you hiss. “That dismissive thing you’re doing right now.  I don’t know who you think you think you are, or who you think I am -- but you are all wrong about me.”

He stands up from behind his desk, long fingers moving to loosen the tie around his neck and somehow the simple act comes across as painfully intimate.  You very nearly look away.

“All wrong.”

“Yes,” you repeat firmly.

“Oh, I somehow doubt that,” he demurs, moving slowly around his desk to step closer.  Not once does he take his eyes off of you. 

A flutter of panic spreads across your chest.

“Just...leave me out of whatever game you are playing, Mr. Kim,” you say, the words spilling out in one nervous breath as you turn to make for the entrance of his office. You register the sound of his footsteps but don’t realize he’s made up the distance between you until it’s too late.  He reaches past you to push the door closed.

It slams shut with a heavy thud and for a second all you can do is stare at it.

Slowly you turn to face him.  

“What do you want from me?” you say after a moment, breathing a bit harder than you’d like. Your tongue slips out to wet your lips, a nervous gesture that his eyes follow with keen interest.

“You,” he begins slowly, “are in my office. You came to me.”

He’s crowding you with his body, guiding you both so incrementally you barely register movement until the door is nearly flush against your back. 

“So why don’t you tell me what you want?” 

You stare back at him dumbly.

What you want at this moment is to find the choice words that will take him down a peg. You’d love nothing more than to deliver some scathing, elegant takedown but you fail to find the words. You fail to find any words, in fact.

“You are obstinate,” he whispers, so dangerously close you can smell his aftershave. “Haughty. Smug.”

Your mouth falls open in silent protest.

“And clearly in need of a firm hand.”

Heat floods your cheeks. 

It’s embarrassing, being spoken to like this. It’s humiliating to have Kim Seokjin of all people dress you down in this way . But the most mortifying thing about this bizarre exchange is the way your body warms immediately, blood humming in response to his words. 

“Fuck you, Seokjin,” you whisper back, but the words come out thin and weak.

He leans forward, bracing his palms on either side of the door -- on either side of you, dipping his head low to bring his gaze level with yours. 

“That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” 

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. 

“Ask me for it. Better yet --” he leans close to whisper in your ear, “Beg me for it.”

He hasn’t touched you but that doesn’t stop the pang of arousal set off by his words from hitting you like a slap. The sensation that starts at the apex of your thighs spreads into your legs and across your arms, into your fingers like a current. 

Seokjin continues speaking in that same even, unsettling tone.

“Go ahead.  I’ll wait.”

He is too close, too warm, too aggravating, too tempting.  You have to shut your eyes for a moment to block him out and give your brain a moment to catch up. No one has ever spoken to you this way, and this -- your body’s immediate, damning reaction to it -- is something new.  

Something scary.

You’re certain he can see it all over you, the beads of sweat at your temples, the high color in your cheeks. Nari was right — Seokjin is a shark — and he’s looking at you right now like he smells blood in the water. 

You stare back at him, conflicted and incensed and aroused beyond belief. 

“I’m leaving,” you say finally, voice brittle.

He gives you one long look before reaching behind you for the handle to the door.  He pulls it open and waits for you to walk through, but you just stand there for a moment, dazed.

“Get home safe,” he murmurs.

You nearly scream.  He’s maddening like this, in complete control while you feel ready to fall apart at the slightest provocation.  You look from him to the door and back to him.  

You know you have to make a decision. You can walk out that door on trembling legs with your entire body on fire or you can swallow your pride and submit to the most infuriating man you have ever met.  

He quirks that eyebrow again.

“Wait,” you say after a long, tense moment.

“For what?”

“Do it,” you whisper, barely meeting his gaze.

“Do what?”

You want to slap him for feigning ignorance but instead take a deep breath in and out before speaking again.

“Fuck me,” you say quietly into the narrow space between your bodies.

For the first time tonight you see a tell --  a tiny giveaway that Seokjin is as affected as you are by this charged encounter. The look of heat that flickers in his eyes is hypnotic. He shuts the door again and rubs his fingers across his lips before speaking.

“Fuck me, what?” 

You grit your teeth -- irritated with him, irritated with yourself for being in this position.  For not telling him off and leaving with your head held high. Your feet feel rooted to the floor.

“You are an asshole,” you whisper tersely.

“I am,” he admits in that infuriating placid tone.  “And I’m still waiting to hear you say it.”

You take a deep breath, then swallow the taste of humiliation that makes your tongue feel heavy and thick.

“Fuck me, please.”

It’s damned near painful to choke out those words and the second they escape you expect him to gloat. You expect him to dangle your submission over your head, to weaponize it and use it against you.  What you do not expect is the eerie calm when he reaches behind you again to cut the lights to his office.  

His voice is low when he leans close to your ear.

“Good girl.”

***********************

[luninosity]

Okay, some The Falcon and the Winter Soldier episode 1 thoughts! This one will be spoilery, so I’ll tag it and put it under a cut and all of that!

Thoughts not in any real order, just as I think of them, the morning after (we stayed up to watch at midnight, and then went to bed!):

-okay, action-y opening, I’m neutral about that

-on va voir! :D :D

-I like seeing Sam struggling with the idea of the shield and his heroic identity and what being Captain America means...would’ve liked to see him try it, once, before giving it up; I feel like he would try, because it’s what Steve asked of him (and there’s a difference between doing it for that reason and doing it because he chooses to, which would’ve been an interesting tension!)

-mmm, gorgeous museum exhibit shots, and such a good backdrop, thematically, for Sam and Rhodey discussing what it means to be Captain America (also: yay Rhodey!)

-spectacular Bucky nightmare scene, recapturing the menace of the Winter Soldier; oh, so many Bucky feels, and, oh, that moment of him waking up, sleeping on his floor...ow, my heart

-on a shallower note, I miss Seb’s longer hair; it was so distinctive as a look, versus all the short-haired clean-cut Marvel Men (but I also get why they’d have short-haired Bucky in this series: distinguishing then and now, visually and symbolically)

-Bucky’s therapist is genuinely terrible (like, wow) and I’m glad he got to call her out on it (also a good nod to the Winter Soldier having some knowledge of psychology/strategy)

-good to see a character (who very much needs it) getting therapy, on screen, though!

-also nice that we’ve established that Bucky’s been officially pardoned; good to know, and he deserves that recognition that he’s not at fault

-what’s with the weird super-close-up shots? Not that Sebastian isn’t pretty, but the camera’s basically sitting on his cheek. I’m not exactly complaining but it’s distracting me from the storytelling, mostly because I’m wondering who thought this was a good stylistic choice. Those’re some lovely Seb eyelashes, but, like...pull back. Pull that camera back. Back up. Space, please.

-ooh, competence porn! Yes please. (This goes for both Sam and Bucky.)

-Torres might be my new favorite. He’s adorable. Which means I fully expect something terrible to happen to him any second now.

-both Seb and Anthony are such good actors - they’re both so good at micro-expressions, emotion in the shift of eyes or a change in stance

-I love Sam’s sister Sarah!

-more specifically, I love that it’s obviously an affectionate relationship, but not necessarily an easy one, and she has more of an understanding of how the real non-superhero world works than he does, and she’ll tell him so - I’m liking the nuance and emotion here; it feels very real, and it’s not like Melodramatic Resentment for him being busy hero-ing, which they could’ve opted for; no, it’s a genuine sort of weariness and love

-why no video games, for the kids? are they being punished? weird anti-video-game prejudice? (as someone who grew up in a household that didn’t approve of video games, I was at a *distinct disadvantage* when everyone else had this cultural touchstone and I didn’t! and because their mom doesn’t give a reason or a time limit, this blanket ‘no’ line comes off as weirdly restrictive to me - I’d’ve gone with “...until you finish a chore or read a book or do x thing first” - and of course the kids don’t listen, because why would they? idk, probably overthinking this one, but I was also always that kid who needed reasons for things - I never responded well to “because I say so” or “that’s just how it is,” but if you told me why, then I’d totally listen! anyway, this one’s just a weird personal ?? in my head!)

-love love love the bank scene - the sheer awfulness of the juxtaposition of the hero and fanboy emotions, and the harsh reality of loans and denial and Sam’s realization that he can’t help, and also his sister’s body language all through this scene

-I have questions about how the world’s working here: like, I totally believe the banks, government, etc, would be dicks about *not* helping people! yes, agreed! but on the other hand, surely, surely, there must be some provision in place for people who got snapped. Especially now that some time has passed. Like...it’s too big a thing for there to not be some sort of policy or help. The “you’ve had no income for the last five years” line reads oddly to me as justification, because...well...he was snapped! so...of course not! but then again, of course banks would have a lack of compassion. I don’t know, maybe it’s just clunky dialogue, but I kind of want more explanation of this

-also nice that they’re addressing the concept that simply being a superhero doesn’t pay, and not everyone has Tony Stark money! (side question: does Bucky have money? I know we have fandom “canon” about this, but will the show and official canon address it?)

-please don’t let anything happen to Torres, I love him

-Bucky’s trying so hard, and it’s so heartbreaking! And, oh, Bucky...stepping in to defuse problems, wanting peace, trying to care for people...the core of his character, from protecting skinny!Steve to being a good sergeant to saving Steve in The Winter Soldier...okay, show, you’re winning me over. Partly that’s Sebastian’s acting; again, just phenomenal, nuanced and subtle and complex.

-Bucky versus Lucky Cat! I’m laughing but also ouch, the swinging arm reminder.

-I appreciate a Bucky Barnes who is genuinely a soft awkward old-man dork

-I also appreciate Bucky being sweet and old-fashioned and charming - the flowers! - he’s trying so hard. Oh, my heart. (On the other hand...is dating...really a good idea? Then again, he’s a polite awkward dork and couldn’t say no to being set up...)

-how can Sebastian put so much emotion into the simple act of closing and opening his eyes?!

-I do very much want to know where Steve is and if he’s alive

-also, both Sam and Bucky speaking multiple languages! again with the competence porn and also linguistic porn, mmm, yes

-not much known about the Bad Guys yet, but that’s okay; I’m good with spending 50 minutes on character development, yes, fine by me, show me more Bucky caring for people and Sam being Uncle Sam (heh), I live for this

-it’s an interesting choice of Bad Guys, because to some extent you can see why it sounds appealing: no flags, no borders, no countries, etc - I hope we also get some more exploration of this

-I’m glad Torres is okay but I fully expect him to be a sacrifice at some point

-US Agent time! Oh, Sam’s expression(s) - just perfect. Oh, Anthony Mackie’s just great here - every reaction, jaw-clench, his posture - so compelling.

-now go get your shield, Sam!

-how are we going to wrap this all up in 5 more episodes?! Sam and Bucky haven’t even shared screen time yet! and what about Zemo? and Sharon?

-ooh, pretty credits!

-okay, I’m actually really pleasantly surprised! I went in with low expectations because I really disliked all the trailers and all the bits of dialogue they were giving us, and now I’m...cautiously optimistic!

-I’m still worried that once we get Bucky and Sam together we’re going to devolve into that specific “someone thinks that two people insulting each other is the same as humor” type of writing (and I cannot begin to tell you how much I hate the “that girl kicked your ass!” line from the trailers)

-but this first episode is such a good character-driven exploration - unhurried, deep, thoughtful, grounded - that it’s giving me hope. I actively want to see the next episode, with some excitement, so that’s promising!

[atlafan]

Hii ok u dont have to write this if it doesnt inspire u but I’ve been watching Selling Sunset on Netflix & I’ve been waiting impatiently for the 3rd season cuz it’s just so good lol but i was wondering if u could write something about rich real estate agent H? Maybe helping the MC buy her first home and they hit it off? Ur the only 1 who writes these diverse Harry’s & I can’t stop thinking about real estate H showing her expensive houses & like doing NaughtyStuff with her in an empty 1 lol xx HC

a/n: this has been in my inbox for a while and I’ve been wanting to get to it, so here it is! there is smut, but it’s more tame than you requested. Hope you still like it! 

Sold

You weren’t sure how you were able to do it, but you finally had enough money for a down payment on a home. You scrimped and saved for years as best you could, you paid off the majority of your student loans, you built up your credit, and now you felt ready for this very adult step. 

Your parents weren’t sure why you weren’t content with just renting. “What if you meet someone?” They’d ask you. “Then they could just move in with me, or we’d find another place. It’s an investment!” You’d reply. They had this vision in their head that you’re supposed to buy a home with a partner. It was the twenty-first century, you didn’t need anyone to help you...or so you thought. 

The pre-approval process at the bank was lengthy, but thorough. They’d need to see your W2′s from two years prior, they needed to know how long you’ve been at your current job, and basically just how much money you had altogether. The mortgage specialist at the bank was very kind. 

“So, you’re doing this all on your own?” 

“I am.” You smile.

“Have you got real estate agent yet?”

“No.” You shrug. “You don’t really need when you’re the one buying do you? I can just call whoever’s showing the house and work with them.”

“Maybe in small towns, but in larger areas like this you’ll want a realtor, trust me. It doesn’t cost you anything either way. They can top shop, help you negotiate, all those kinds of things.”

“They also like to show you houses out of your price range.” You scoff. 

“Not the honest ones. I get it, at the end of the day, they’re out there to make a quick buck, and the more the house is, the larger the cut they get. But I know a guy, he actually helped my son buy his first home. He was absolutely wonderful, and he’s a shark.” She goes through the many business cards on her desk. “Ah! Here it is, Harry Styles, he works for Greenfield Real Estate.” 

You take the card from her and scan it over.

“Don’t they sell, like, really nice homes? They work with people looking for mansions.” 

“Just give him a call, and tell him I sent you. You won’t regret it, trust me. Your pre-approval is only good for ninety days, so you’ll want to contact him soon.” 

//

Your head was swimming, but you knew she had a point. Half the houses you favorited on realtor.com or zillow were sold already. It was a seller’s market for sure. Maybe you would need someone to help you negotiate...but did it have to be a man? Couldn’t you find a female realtor? You spent years becoming the strong, independent woman you came to be, and now it felt like you’d be surrendering to some stereotype. 

However, after perusing on the Greenfield website, you see a picture of Harry. You bite your bottom lip, swallow some pride, and dial his number. 

“Greenfield Real Estate, this is Harry.” You weren’t expecting the British accent, or the deep voice and drawl that came with it. “Hello?”

“Um, hi! Yeah, Doris at Hills Bank gave me your card...I’m a first time home buyer.” You want to smack yourself for how stupid you sound. 

“Oh, I love Doris! I’ve worked with her a bunch. I actually helped her son buy his first home last year.”

“That’s what she told me.” 

“Right, so, picking a realtor is sort of like dating, you wanna make sure you pick the right one. Why don’t we meet up for coffee somewhere locally so we can get to know each other a bit.” 

Pushy, he was already wanting to meet you. Probably to have you sign your life away to be his client. 

“Sure, we could do that.”

“Are you local? There’s a place on Bleaker Street that has great coffee.” 

“Is it Monte Alto?”

“Yeah! That’s the one. When are you free?”

“I could meet you Friday during lunch my break.”

“Sounds great, I’m assuming noon?”

“Correct.” 

“By the way, you didn’t tell me your name.”

“It’s Y/N.”

“Alright, Y/N, I’ll see you Friday at noon at Monte Alto.” 

You take a huge breath after you hang up. 

//

Friday rolled around, and you weren’t able to step out of the office until nearly 11:50. It would take a little more than ten minutes to get there, and you hated being late. You were happy you had at least looked up what Harry looked like so you’d be able to spot him once you were there. 

Once you’re there, you see a man sitting on one of the cushioned chairs, looking out the window. It had to be him. 

“Harry?” 

He looks over at you and smiles. He stands up to shake your hand.

“Y/N?”

“Yes, hi, sorry I’m late, I’ve had meeting after meeting this morning. Fridays aren’t usually this busy.”

“No worries at all. Tell me, what’s your order?” 

“Oh, I can get it myself. I’m gonna grab a bagel too.”

“Good idea, I’ll do the same. Now, what’ll you have?” 

“Really...I can-”

“I know you can, but I invited you here, it would be rude to have you pay. Do this with all my perspective clients.” 

“Well, don’t I feel special.” You say sarcastically. He chuckles softly as you both get in line. 

You both order your drinks and food, and wait awkwardly for your names to be called, then you sit back down. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re more than welcome. So, tell me, what’s your dream home?”

“Oh god, um, nice big kitchen, I love to cook when I actually have time. A room for entertaining. I’m usually the one to host friends. Two stories, a garage, three bedrooms would be ideal, but I’ll settle for two-”

“No settling.” He smirks. “Go on.” 

“Um...well, so, three bedrooms, ideally I’d like a master with an en suite, but who doesn’t?” You watch as he makes notes on a little pad of paper. “I’d like a yard, but it doesn’t need to be huge. Bonus points if there’s a deck or patio, maybe even a pool, but I can live without those things.”

“And you’re buying this just for yourself, correct? No husbands or boyfriends I need to know about?” 

“You know, I could have a girlfriend.” 

“Shit, I’m sorry you’re right, um-”

“Relax, I’m teasing.” You chuckle. “But to answer your question, I am doing this alone. I feel like I’m ready for a house, so I want one.” 

“Thought I put my foot in my mouth for a second there. I need to learn to just say partner.” He picks up his drink to take a sip, and that’s when you notice he has perfectly manicured nails. Interesting. “So it seems like you know how to be realistic about what you want, and you also have a dream list. What about projects, do they scare you?”

“I’m good with painting or even having to put new flooring in, but I’d like to stay away from any major reno.” 

“Gotcha.” He makes another note. “And what price range are we working with here?” 

“Let me just make a note on my phone, I’d rather not say out loud in case someone tries to rob me.” 

He smiles and nods. He squints at your screen and makes a note. 

“Great, good for you. What do you do for work?” 

“I’m a physician, I work at a doctor’s office not too far from here. I’ve been there for two years, and I love what I do.”

“That’s great. So, Doris talked with you about balancing a mortgage and paying down your student loans?”

“They’re mostly paid for, actually. I got a lot of scholarships for my undergrad, and during med school I was awarded a pretty decent grant.” 

“Perfect.” He scribbles some more notes and then puts his pad and pen down. “What do you want to know about me?” 

“How long have you been a realtor for?” 

“Six years, been with Greenfield since I started.”

“What made you get into it?”

“Love seeing people happy.” 

“What about when someone buys below the asking price?”

“Doesn’t happen with me, not when I’m selling anyways. However, when I’m helping someone buy a home, well, let’s just say I’m pretty good at negotiating.” He smirks. “You’d be in good hands with me, but if you wanna shop around some more I’ll understand.” 

“Do you work with first time buyers a lot?”

“Sometimes, it depends. I know a lot of them like to work with me. They’re usually young, I’m young. Makes for a more relatable experience.”

“Okay.” You look outside and think for a moment. “I think I’d like to work with you.”

He smiles big at you.

“Are there any homes you’ve had in mind that you’d like to start looking at? I can definitely see what open houses are out there too. People tend to make offers fast, but don’t let that scare you. The home has to feel right, if you want it, I’ll make sure you get it.” 

“There were a few I’ve seen on realtor...” You take your phone out to show him. “I’d like to not have a super long commute either if I can help it.” 

“Are you looking to grow into this home or is it more of a starter space for you?” You give him a funny look. “I just mean, like, would you be open to a condo or something like that.”

“Only if it was detached and didn’t have a high HOA.” 

He nods and looks at some of the other homes you had favorited.

“So what I’m gonna do is go back to my office and run a few searched. Then I’ll text you a link to the home I find, and you can tell me which ones you like. Don’t be afraid to tell me you hate them either. Then if there’s a couple you wanna see, we’ll set up a time that works for you, and then I’ll contact the other realtor, sound good?”

“Sounds great.” 

You shake hands again before leaving. As you make your way back to the office, you feel relieved. You had someone you could ask questions to, and someone basically on your side. Harry was nice, a salesman at heart, but nice.

//

Saturday morning you get a text from Harry.

Harry Styles - Hi Y/N, it was great meeting you yesterday. Here are some places I think you might like. Let me know what you think! 

You liked how formal he was. You tap the link he sent you. The first couple were duds, but there were a few on here that actually peaked your interest. 

You - Could we three of the home? The bottom three on the list. 

Harry Styles - Sure! When would work for you? 

You - I don’t work on Mondays, so that would be easiest. Timing doesn’t matter. 

Harry Styles - I’ll contact the realtors and see what we can put together. 

You - Thanks so much!

You felt really excited. You wondered if maybe you should invite your parents to come look at the houses with you, but maybe you would save that for a second look through once you actually find something. A house can look much different in pictures than it does in person. 

//

Monday morning, around 9:30, you meet Harry at the first location. His car was parked in the driveway. He gets out when he sees you pull in. He had two coffees in hand. 

“Morning.” He says to you. “Got you a coffee, I remembered your order.” 

“Oh! Um, thanks.” You take it from him. 

“I’ve already gone in and unlocked the doors and turned the lights on. The other realtor isn’t here, which is perfectly fine. Take your time, feel free to walk around outside before heading in too.” 

You smile and nod. The front was beautifully landscaped, and there was a gate leading to the backyard. He follows you out that way. You listen as he explains when the home was built and why the people were selling it. There a nice deck that had been recently put on, no pool though, but there was room for one. You go up the stairs of the deck and go in through the sliding glass door. 

“Kitchen was recently renovated within the last five years. All appliances come with the place.” 

“It’s beautiful.” You run your fingers over the nice granite counter tops. 

As you scope out the rest of the house, you’re not as impressed as you were with it when you first walked in. The bedrooms were small, and barely had any storage. The basement wasn’t in the best condition either. 

“Definitely a no, but a good first experience nonetheless.” 

Harry looks down at his watch as he nods. 

“Wanna follow me to the next place then?”

“Sure.” 

Same thing happened at house number two and three. You just weren’t wowed. You sigh heavily as you lean against your car. 

“Don’t get discouraged, Y/N. It’s better to know what you don’t like. We can keep looking. When I go into the office tomorrow I can run another search. Maybe we can look at some condos.” 

“That might be good. Maybe somewhere with people my age? It would be cool to be in a little community.”

“Definitely.” 

“Thanks...I hope I haven’t been a pain with the things I don’t like.”

“Not at all. This is a really big purchase, you should get what you want.” 

//

It took three more weeks of meeting up with Harry on various days to find a place you liked. On a Saturday evening, he brought you over to a condo that was detached, had a garage, a community gym and pool. It had three bedrooms, and two and a half baths. One being an en suite for the master bedroom.The kitchen was gorgeous and flowed into a dining/living area. You were thrilled. 

“Harry...” You look at him. “It’s perfect.” 

“Really, you like it?”

“I love it!” You squeal and hug him without thinking. “Sorry.” You blush.

“It’s fine, it’s exciting.” 

“I’d like to put an offer in. The price is rate and the HOA is reasonable. It’s not too far from work. I’d be able to entertain, the backyard is fenced in. There was even security at the gate! This is my home, I can feel it.” 

“Fantastic. The paperwork can take some time. Would you wanna fill everything out over dinner?” 

“Um...sure...” 

“Plus, it gives you a chance to see what places nearby are like. We passed some nice restaurants on the way here.” 

You follow him to a nice pizza place a couple of miles away. He bring a large packet of paper and a couple of pens in with him.

“On the way here I called the other realtor to let him know an offer was coming their way.”

“Thanks.”

You both get seated and are given some water. He takes the papers out and explains what you would need to sign, and what your offer would mean. Harry said you could definitely low ball the sellers, so you asked for about $15K less than the asking price. 

“They probably won’t accept, but most people don’t on the first offer. This just gives us a good starting point.”

“And you think the six grand in closing costs is good?”

“Yeah, totally reasonable. That’ll be about half of it. Sometimes, you can get more money off after the home inspection. Once a price is settled, you’ll want to schedule that right away. I have some names of some great home inspectors.”

“Would you be there for that?”

“I would. I’m there for all of it. The other realtor will be there too.” 

“Okay good. I’d feel better with you there.” 

As you begin to sign the documents, a waiter comes over. 

“Good evening folks, can I start you off with anything to drink?”

“I’d love a glass of rose please.” You say. 

“Just a Corona for me, thanks.” 

The waiter nods and leaves you be. 

“Did you want to just split a pizza?” Harry asks looking down at the menu. 

“Sure, what do you like? I usually just get green peppers and mushrooms.”

“Works for me. Would you mind this cauliflower crust?”

“Not at all! I prefer that, actually.” 

‘Perfect.” He smiles. 

When the waiter comes back, Harry orders your pizza. He watches as you finish up all the paperwork. He checks over everything to make sure you signed everything. 

“I’ll get this all scanned and sent over tomorrow.”

“Do you ever take a day off?”

“Yes and no. The realtor world is funny. Sometimes I’m in the office all day and then I wont hear from a client until 8PM. I’m not helping someone buy, I’m helping someone sell. I’m always busy.”

“Sorry to take up your Saturday night...”

“No, don’t be. I’d just be home working.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. “It’s your Saturday night I’m more worried about.” 

“Oh please.” You laugh. “My friends know I’ve been busy with this, they understand. Besides when I showed them who you were...” You stop yourself from finishing the sentence. 

“No, please, go on.” He smirks.

“They just, they saw your picture on the Greenfield website, that’s all.” You blush. 

The waiter comes over with the pizza, and thankfully it breaks a bit of the tension. You each take a slice and dig in. 

“This is delicious.” You say. 

“Yeah, never been here before, I’ll definitely have to come back.” He takes another sip of his beer. “Once that condo is yours, I fully expect an invite to your house warming, by the way. I like to know my clients are good to go.”

“I definitely won’t be a stranger.” 

When you and Harry are done, he walks you out to your car. He gives you a small hug goodbye as well. You felt like you just had a date, but there was no way you did. 

//

After going back and forth twice, your offer was accepted. You set up a home inspection with one of the names Harry had given you. He meets you at the house when it’s time, and you’re able to meet the other realtor. A woman, who was a little too delighted to see Harry. You felt jealous when they hugged. However, he stayed close to you and took notes while the inspector was talking. 

You made sure to ask a lot of questions. There were no major things that alarmed you. All of the information was just a lot to take in, and you were feeling slightly overwhelmed. You should have brought your parents, or another friend. Was Harry a friend at this point? As the inspector was putting together a full report for you, and getting your email, the other realtor was talking to Harry.

“So, I thought you were only in the selling game right now.” She smirks at him.

“Once in a while I take on a buyer.” He shrugs. “It’s good commission.”

“Yeah, thanks, can’t wait to split it with you.” She rolls her eyes. “But I do love when our paths cross.”

“Mhm.” He looks over at you and then back to the realtor. “The previous owners took great care of this place.”

“Yeah, they did. The only reason they moved is because they’re daughter had a baby and they wanted to be closer to her.”

“Ah, classic.”

“Are you doing anything later?”

“Um…well…Y/N is probably going to have questions and stuff, so I’ll probably be busy with her for a bit.”

“Okay, but, like, tonight, are you free? We could grab a drink.”

“I…”

“Harry?” You say, walking over to them. “Everything’s all set. He said I should have the radon and water tests by next week.”

“Perfect. You’ll be able to make a final decision and add anything to an addendum then.”

“It was nice to meet you.” You shake the woman’s hand.

“Same to you. Look forward to hearing from you soon.”

“Y/N, I took a lot of notes, is there anything you want to go over?”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“See ya Margaret, we’ll be in touch.” He shakes her hand and leaves her standing there, shocked.

Harry walks with you outside, and you agree on a bar to meet up at. You both grab drinks and Harry goes over his notes with you. He gives you the name of a good plumber since you mentioned you’d want to update a few fixtures.

“What about a painter? Know of anyone that can help with that?”

“You don’t need to waste your money on a professional. Painting’s not that hard.” He chuckles.

“Well, I am not very skilled when it comes to that kind of stuff. Plus, I won’t really have the time to do it myself, and I’d wanna get it done before I move.”

“You could get all done in a couple of weekends no problem, you just need some friends that know how to paint.” He puts a toothpick in his mouth and fiddles with it. “I know how to paint.”

“You do?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “Sometimes sellers need to fix up their houses quickly. I’ve come to the rescue on more than one occasion.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“I don’t make any money if I don’t. No one wants to be an ugly house.” He takes a sip of his drink. “I guess what I’m saying is, I could help you paint. You’re about to have a mortgage payment on your hands.”

“Pending the inspection report.” You smirk.

“Right.” He smiles.

“Did you offer up the same service for Doris’ son?”

“No.” He says smugly. “He already knew how to paint.”

“That other woman before, what was her name? Margaret?”

“Yeah, what about her?”

“I heard her ask you out…”

“She didn’t, she wasn’t…uh…” He scratches the back of his neck. “Sometimes we go for drinks if we end of working on the same house. Nothing more than that really.”

“So, you’re not, like, seeing her.”

“God, no. That would be a major conflict of interest.”

“Do you always go out for drinks with your clients?”

“Sometimes…I know some people have clients over to their home to do paperwork, but I didn’t think you’d feel super comfortable coming over to some guy’s house you barely know.”

“How considerate of you.” You giggle.

“Did it bother you that she asked me out tonight?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“What? No, why, uh, why would it have bothered me?”

“Because…if someone had done the same to you in front of me I would have been bothered, but to be fair, I’m a pretty jealous guy.” He finishes his drink and orders another one.

“How many times does this happen?”

“What?”

“You hitting on your clients.”

“Is that what I’m doing?” He fake gasps. “And no, I don’t usually do this. I’m a little embarrassed, actually. Not very professional of me to have a crush on your client.” Your eyes widen and your jaw drops slightly. “Sorry, I hope I’m not making you uncomfortable.”

“No! I…I’m just a little surprised that you’re into me, is all.”

“Why? You’ve got a great career, you’re super independent, and you’re really funny.”

“How do you not already have a girlfriend?”

“I’m really busy, like, all the time. I’m able to take vacations here and there, but you see how much I work. Any time I date it doesn’t last because people don’t understand the job. You’re a doctor, you get it. You must be busy going to classes trying to stay up to date on everything.”

“I am, I’m definitely busy a lot…but I make time for friends.”

“So do I. My friends don’t get offended if I have to cancel or reschedule, or they at least don’t take it personally.”

“I get what you’re saying…dating is hard when you have a demanding job.”

“Exactly.”

“So…are you going to ask me out?”

“Can’t, not until this is all done at least. Conflict of interest.”

“Oh.”

“But when I do, are you saying you’ll say yes?”

“I guess we’ll find out when you ask, won’t we?”

//

Harry helped you go over the inspection report once you got it. You asked for some money towards getting the furnace serviced, and the previous owners thought it was a reasonable request. You were able to close a couple of weeks later. Typically the realtor comes to the bank with the buyer on the big day.

“Harry!” Doris squeals as she hugs him. “Great to see you.”

“Same to you.”

“Love when we get to see each other like this.”

“Same here, how’s your son?”

“Oh, he’s great. Y/N, have a seat. We have lots of things to sign.”

You sign what you need to. Doris gives you a gift bag with some wine glasses. Harry hands over a bottle of champagne to you as well. It was very exciting. You were officially a home owner.

“Thank you so much.” You shake Doris’ hand before leaving the bank.

Harry grabs your wrist once you’re both outside.

“Congratulations.”

“Thanks, I literally couldn’t have done it without you.” You give him a quick hug. “My parents are gonna meet me there soon so they can check it out. I think they wanna take me out to eat to celebrate.”

“That’s great.” He clears his throat. “What, uh, what are you doing tomorrow?”

“Continuing to pack.” You laugh. “But, um, I could make myself available in the evening.” You smile.

“I’m having a little pool party tomorrow. Bunch of my friends are coming over, I’d love to have you over too, if you felt comfortable.”

“That sounds amazing! Can I bring anything?”

“Just your beautiful self.”

//

Your parents were very impressed with your new purchase. You did well. Saturday morning you continued your packing adventure, trying to make sure you properly labeled your boxes. You needed to make sure none of your medical journals got lost.

Even though Harry had offered over and over to teach you how to paint, your parents offered to pay for a painting crew for you, just to make things go faster. Once that was done you’d be able to move. You search your dresser for a suitable bathing suit. You weren’t sure how much skin to actually show.

“Ah ha!” You find your green, strapless one-piece that had a cute cut out in the upper part of the stomach. You’re also able to find a cute cover up dress to throw on over it.

In the latter part of the afternoon, you drive over to Harry’s. You were impressed by the neighborhood he was able to live in. All of the houses were huge. When you pull up to his house you wonder what he needed such a big house for. Maybe he entertained a lot too, just like you did.

You – just pulled up!

Harry Styles - come right around back!

You walk around to where you can hear music playing and people laughing. There were plenty of people already in Harry’s large in-ground pool.

“Y/N!” Harry waves over to you.

Damn, he has a lot of tattoos. You think to yourself.

“Hi, Harry!”

He comes over to you and kisses you on the cheek without really thinking.

“Glad you could make it. Make yourself comfortable. Plenty of food, plenty of pool.” He chuckles.

Harry’s friends were really nice and welcoming, you didn’t feel too out of place. His eyes couldn’t help but scan over your body the second you took your coverup off. Turns out Harry was a master on the grill. He made sure to pay attention to while still being a good host to his friends. It was a fun party. As the night dwindled you wanted to make some sort of move.

“You know, I’ve seen your entire backyard, but I’ve yet to be given a your of your home.”

“You’d like that?”

“It’s only fair, you’ve seen mine.” You wink at him.

He leads you inside.

“Well, you’ve seen the kitchen, obviously.”

He takes you through the first floor and then leads you upstairs. He explains that he has all the extra rooms so his family has their own space for when they come to visit.

“And this is my room, but you don’t have to-“

“No, let’s see it.” You smile.

He smiles back and opens the door. Your jaw drops when you see how much space there is. There were two closets, both filled with nice clothes.

“Come check out the bathroom. I had some work done to it last year.”

“Why do you have a double vanity?”

“For guests.” He blushes. “My last girlfriend actually, she liked having her own sink. Apparently I have too many products and they can get in the way.” He clears his throat. “Anyways, I had everything redone last year. I know a great bathroom guy if you ever wanna update anything.”

“You have a guy for everything.” You giggle. “And you do have a lot of products, two sinks makes sense.” You walk out and back into the bedroom. “So…”

“So…”

“What date number would you consider this to be?”

“Legally, the first…not legally…” He grins. “Think I’ve lost track.” He steps closer to you. “My friends liked you.”

“I liked them.” You wrap your arms around his neck. “And I like you.”

“I like you too.” His hands move to your hips. “And I really like this bathing suit. Haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all day.”

You both smile and continue to make eye contact. Harry looks down at your lips and leans in. He presses his lips to yours, and you find yourself grasping at him to pull him closer. You couldn’t remember the last time you were intimate with someone, but it had definitely been too long. You were ravenous. You open your mouth him and he groans into you. You both shuffle back to the bed and fall on top of it.

“If this feels too fast, just let me know.” He breathes as you move to straddle him.

“Harry, I want you.” You cup his cheek and he moves to kiss your palm. “But, if it feels too fast for you, we can cool it.”  

“I want you too, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel pressured or anything.”

“I don’t, but thank you.”

You lean down to kiss him again. His hands move to the back of your bathing suit.

“Gotta get this off you.” He grunts.

You get off him to stand up.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Seems to be our little theme.” He smirks.

Harry stands up and takes his trunks off. Your eyes grow wide when you look down at his hard cock. He steps towards you and helps you out of your swim suit.

“I have a fun idea.” He says as he kisses down your neck. “We’ve been in the sun all day, let’s go hop in the shower.”

You smile at him and nod. He leads you into the bathroom and gets the water in the shower going. He yanks you inside and gets you under the warm water. He backs you up to the wall and press you against it. His hands roam your body as his lips find yours again.

“I’ve thought about this so many times.” He says.

“You have?”

“Mhm, there were so many times in the houses I showed you that I just wanted to take you right then and there.”

He nips at your jaw as his hands knead your breasts. You wrap your arms back around his neck. You feel his hard cock press against your hip and it makes you whimper. One of his hands slides down your stomach. He looks at you to make sure it’s alright and you nod yes.

Your head rolls back against the tile as his fingers slips between your legs. His thumb works your clit while he works two of his fingers inside you.

“Oh my god.” You gasp and grind your hips toward his hand. You reach for his length and start to pump him.

You both were panting. You have to let go of him to clutch onto his shoulders as you release around his fingers.

“Please.” You moan. “Fuck me. I have an IUD.”

Harry kisses you and hooks one of his arms under one of your legs so he can push in at a better angle. You bite down on his bottom lip, causing him to groan loudly.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He says into your ear as he thrusts in and out of you.

“You feel so good, Harry, fuck.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and presses back inside. His chest was flush with your back. You claw at the tile as he rocks in and out of you. One of his hands snakes around to rub your clit and the other works one of your breasts.

You feel a flood of things wash over you, but mostly it was another incredible orgasm. You could get used to this.

“Shit, I’m gonna come. Where do you want it?” He grunts.

“Inside me.”

“Jesus.” He groans and releases inside you. You moan out at the warm feeling.

//

“This is the softest robe in the world.”

“Glad you like it. You can wear it anytime.”

You both were cuddled up in his bed, munching on some fruit while watching TV.

“Do you have parties like this often?”

“Only when I’ve finally told a tougher home.”

“You were working with someone while working with me? How did you find the time?”

“Babe, I was working with like six other people.” He smirks.

“Doris was right, you are a shark.” You laugh.

“Gotta be able to afford this place, right?” He tucks some hair behind your ear. “You’ll stay tonight? I’m a cuddler.”

“Of course.” You giggle. “I’ll have to have you over for my next game night, you can meet all of my friends.”

“Like I said, I fully expect to be invited to your house warming.”

“That too.”

“But I’d be happy to meet your friends. Are they doctors too?”

“A couple of them are, yeah. We met in med school. Wouldn’t have made it through without them.”

You two stay up for hours, legs tangled in each other, telling each lots of things about one another. It was easy to talk to Harry, it had been since you met. He felt the same about you too. You both knew it wouldn’t be so easy to just get together. Harry’s schedule was unpredictable, and your days were long and tiring. But, neither of you really cared because you both felt like you found your person.

Harry loved game nights with your friends. He was a tad competitive, but it just made for more laughs. You both liked having your separate spaces, but you enjoyed when he could actually spend the night, or when you could spend the night at his place. Neither of you took it personally when the other was too busy or too tired either. Once you felt truly settled, you wrote Doris a thank you note for setting you up with the best realtor and the love of your life.

[falseroar]

Dog Days Part 22: Very Important Person

((Y/N, Chase, and Jameson visit the local TV studio in search of Wilford Warfstache, looking to find out what his connection is to Abe.

Warning: Shooting/someone shown getting shot, no gore/details.

Links to the masterlist with every part, and to Part 21: Coffee with a Dash of Honesty.))

The building that Chase parked near was completely new to you. From the street name, you guessed this area used to be that stretch of small businesses that in your memory tended to come and go before they made much of an impression, although it looked like they had all been torn down to make way for the tall building and its attached lawns and parking lots.

“Honest John Loans,” you murmured when you got out of the car, and when Chase and Jameson looked at you, you felt the need to explain, “Used to be a loan company around here, went out of business after the owner—wasn’t around anymore.”

“Yeah, I think there used to be a few stores around here before the studio bought them up,” Chase said. “That was after DE Studios got super popular, started streaming even in other countries instead of just the local broadcasts. Before that, they were running out of a little place over in between all the warehouses on the harbor.”

“You seem to know a lot about this place,” Jameson pointed out as the three of you walked toward the set of glass double doors under a set of enormous letters spelling out “D.E.S.”

“I looked up some stuff last night. Plus, I…kind of wanted to work here when I was a kid. I applied for an internship, even got it, but my parents vetoed that idea.” Chase shrugged. “Wasn’t the kind of work experience they were hoping for, not that it really mattered in the end.”

“Did you ever get to go on a tour here?” you asked as Jameson pulled open one of the doors and waved the two of you in before him, but Chase shook his head. “Then maybe we can still have some fun even if Wilford isn’t here.”

An idea shot down not even two seconds later by the man standing behind the front desk, who took one look at you all and said in a dull, lifeless tone, “No tours today.”

“What?” Chase asked, unable to hide his disappointment. He shared a look with Jameson, both thinking their plan to keep you distracted and away from home wasn’t looking too great. “But there wasn’t anything on your website about them being canceled, and the sign right there says—”

The man behind the counter flipped the tour sign so that it was lying face down and said, “We are also not filming today, so there is no need for a studio audience. If you wish to apply to be a guest on one of our shows, the application form can be found online.”

You frowned at the man, but it wasn’t because of the abruptly canceled tour. There was something strange about his voice, a faint static under his stilted words that probably only you could hear, a hum coming from his chest in place of a heartbeat that seemed to pulse in time with the lit up ‘G’ on his gray shirt. And, when you breathed in, you could smell Chase and Jameson on either side, but there wasn’t a scent coming from this man.

Or at least, not one that you would associate with a person, but the faint whiff of magic and oil made you sure that you were in the right place.

“Who are you?” you asked, stepping forward to the counter.

“I am a Google unit, designed to answer questions and perform tasks quickly and efficiently,” he answered, tilting his head to match your stare while his eyes studied you behind his black-rimmed glasses. “Currently, I am filling in for the receptionist who has taken an early lunch break.”

“Wait, unit?” Chase stared at Google for a moment and then his eyes lit up with understanding. “You’re magitek! I heard the Institute bought out a lab that was working on something special, but I never got a chance to see it. That’s so cool!”

“Yes, I was the initial prototype from that line,” Google answered. “The head of this studio was able to purchase me before the buyout.”

“That feels a little…not right,” Jameson signed, only to put his hands behind his back when Google fixed him with his unblinking stare next.

“Magitek is, well, what it sounds like, a blend of magic and technology,” Chase explained to you and Jameson. He gestured at Google as he said, “This though, it’s leaps and bounds ahead of anything else out there right now though. I mean, look at him!”

Google smirked. “Your excellent taste is both appreciated and entirely correct. The tours will resume next week, on schedule, if you would wish to make an appointment.”

Next week. It was possible he could still be here by then, but the idea of waiting that long and missing your chance didn’t sit well. Especially not when you felt so close to something for once.

“We were actually hoping to see someone who might be here,” you said. “Do you know if there’s a Wilford in the building?”

Google paused and then said, “Are you on the approved visitor list?”

“Uh,” you hesitated and looked at Jameson and Chase, who didn’t really have an answer. “If you could just tell me if he’s even here—”

“Names?” Google asked.

“…Y/N,” you said, reluctantly. “But I just—”

“Y/N,” Google repeated, with a different tone. “You are on the approved VIP list.”

“I am?”

“They are?” Chase asked, and Jameson signed.

“And your names?”

“That’s Jameson Jackson, and I—I’m Chase Brody,” Chase said slowly.

“Understood. Please wait for your visitor badges to be printed.”

Google turned away and you took a step back to be closer to the other two. Once you were sure the magitek unit wasn’t watching, you signed, “It must be a mistake. Someone else with my name.”

“Doesn’t mean we can’t take advantage of it,” Chase signed back.

“But what if we get caught?” Jameson asked.

“Then we tell them there was some kind of misunderstanding.” Chase shrugged. “Worst that happens is we get a slap on the wrist for trespassing, and even then, it’s still iffy. It’s not like we lied about who we are or why we’re here.”

“This might also be our only chance to meet this Wilford guy,” you pointed out. “There’s no guarantee we would run into him on a tour, assuming he’s even still here next week.”

Jameson nervously moved his hands, as though trying to decide whether to give in or stop this here, but before he made up his mind Google spoke again in that same not quite emotionless tone.

“Your badges are ready. Please do not lose them, or you will be immediately escorted from the building. Forcefully.”

You turned around to find three badges lying on the corner, just cards printed off and slipped into plastic envelopes hanging from DE Studios branded lanyards.

“As a VIP, you are welcome to a more permanent card,” Google added. “But that would require your picture to be taken. Please stand still.”

“What?” you asked, but a bright flash came from the magitek unit before he lowered the camera and plugged it into the computer.

“Your card will be available by the time you leave,” Google said, ignoring your protest which was quickly cut off by Jameson and Chase.

“…Thanks, I guess,” you muttered, even if you didn’t like the thought of a picture of you being on that thing. Better to play along for now. “Wait, why did you just take my picture and not theirs?”

“Because you are the only one on the VIP list,” Google answered. “The other two may enter as your guests for this visit.”

Your card did seem to be a different color than the other two, or at least you guessed it was based on the different shade of gray, but it was Chase’s turn to pause when he saw the names on the cards. Specifically, the one labeled “Charles Bronson.”

“That’s…not the name I gave you,” Chase pointed out slowly.

“It is the name that is in the system,” Google said. “Attached to one internship application that was accepted and then turned down by the applicant. Do you wish to update your file?”

“Why do you still have that?” Chase asked. “Yes, I want to—I mean…”

“The process will only take…45 minutes.”

Chase sighed. “No, I guess it’s fine…”

“Give or take 3 hours, depending on length of time spent on the questionnaire—”

“It’s fine, I’ll wear the stupid badge,” Chase said, grabbing the lanyard and pulling it over his head. He tried to at least turn it so that his name faced inward, only to discover that the names were printed on both sides of the card. “…Sure, why not. Now can you tell us where this Wilford dude is?”

“Once all phones and other recording devices have been handed over. I am also required to ask you to sign our terms and agreements, which is standard for all visitors in the building.”

Chase and Jameson sighed as they pulled out their phones, but you pulled the stacks of paper Google tried to hand them out of his hand and studied it for all of two seconds before saying, “We’re not signing this.”

Google dropped the phones into a bin behind the counter, Chase wincing at the sound of his phone hitting the plastic and said, “Understood.”

“Wait, that’s it?” Chase asked. “You’re not going to make us sign it or leave?”

“I said that I was required to ask, not that I actually need any signatures.”

You stared at the magitek unit as he walked out from behind the counter and asked, “Then why bother asking? The first page alone is absurd, who in their right mind would sign this thing?”

Google smiled. “Most people don’t even question it. And no one wants to be the one to hold the tour group up because they’re actually reading it.”

You picked a paragraph at random and started to read aloud, “’Dark Entertainment Studios is not liable for any accident or the consequences of any event on its grounds or during filming, up to and including death, injury, mental or emotional trauma, existential crises’…’Contestants lacking a living will may be assumed to give DE Studios power of attorney’—”

Google’s smile was gone now. “As you have not signed, these terms do not apply to you. So, if you could please stop reading those out loud—”

“Who the hell wrote this?!”

“…Permission to answer that question has been denied,” Google answered, his eyes twitching and his head briefly jerking to the side before he recovered. “Please try again later.”

Jameson pulled you to the side and signed, “I understand you’re angry, but perhaps this is a battle for later? We’re here for Wilford, not a legal kerfuffle.”

“Fine,” you muttered, before holding up the document for Google to see, “But I’m taking this, and I will have a lot of notes for whoever’s in charge here when I come back.”

“Understood. I will make a note for a future appointment,” Google said, his gaze fixed on some distant point for a moment before it returned to normal. “Follow me. According to his schedule, Wilford Warfstache is currently in Studio 3.”

Google paused to put up a sign saying that someone would be back in 15 minutes and added under his breath, “…Not that he seems aware of what a schedule even is.”

“What exactly are we going to say to this Wilford fellow once we find him?” Jameson asked as the three of you followed Google into the short hallway behind the counter which ended at a set of elevators, one of which opened with a soft “ding” as soon as he pressed the button.

“I didn’t think we’d actually get this far,” Chase admitted once you were all in the thankfully spacious elevator, which looked big and tall enough to hold an elephant inside. He was signing again, you guessed to keep Google from listening in, but your attention was on the directory above the buttons.

There seemed to be a floor for each studio, of which there were five, and a few floors dedicated to various departments such as production, marketing, etc. Human Resources had its own floor, but the button for that one wasn’t lit up like the others, leaving you to suspect that it was broken. Then there was the top floor, which didn’t have a label or any other indication of what was there on the directory.

Before you could ask Google any questions, the elevator came to a stop with another ding, the automated voice overhead announcing that you were now at Studio 3.

“Studio 3 is generally used for our game shows,” Google said. “On our current schedule, the first half of the week is used to film Menagerie of Insanity, and then we switch over the set to film episodes of Monstrous Love for the rest of the week, or at least those portions that take place in studio.”

“Staci loves that show,” Chase said, craning his neck to look in the open door to a room full of monitors and other equipment you didn’t understand. “She was a big fan of what’s-his-name, Herla.”

“Ratings were very high during his time on the show,” Google answered, leading the way to the left and toward the set of double doors at the end of the hall.

“Yeah, shame it didn’t work out with that centaur. Are they filming more episodes of that show then?”

“Chase!” Jameson shook his finger at him.

“What? No, I didn’t mean—”

Chase’s face turned red and he stumbled over his denial, not helped when Google said, “We are currently interviewing potential candidates. If you wish to apply, please speak to the receptionist before leaving or fill out the online form.”

“What are all of these other rooms?” you asked, partially to save Chase from this conversation.

“Storage and janitorial services for this floor, the production control room, the central apparatus room, both of which are dedicated to Studio 3, and rooms for our employees that I am required to refer to as ‘talent,’” Google answered, pointing to each door in questions as you passed. “There is also a green room attached to the studio, with refreshments for our guests and contestants. Each studio floor has the same basic layout, except for Studio 5, which has an additional area for recording and voiceover work, with the master control room on its own separate floor.”

“Master control room?” Jameson asked.

“It’s basically where they choose what signal goes out,” Chase answered. “What shows up on the TV or on the online feed, like reruns or commercials.”

“Correct. We are currently on a…hiatus, from broadcasting live content at the moment.”

He had also mentioned they weren’t filming today, which might explain why the whole building felt quiet. Your ears caught the hum of motors and fans whirring in the rooms full of equipment and monitors, and the faint sound of a chair squeaking that suggested someone was in there, but if you had to guess all of these other rooms were empty of people. That is, except for the studio he was leading you toward, whose doors appeared to be soundproofed because even you could just barely make out the sound of voices as the four of you approached.

As soon as Google opened the door though, a crowd of people began to cheer and clap their hands. Or at least, that’s what it sounded like, but the room was almost empty. Past a row of dark cameras pointed toward the set, where a semicircle of row upon row of empty seats looked down on a large spinning wheel that was clattering to a stop next to three occupied podiums.

And, in the center of it all, stood a man holding a microphone who was almost dwarfed by the large creature sitting next to him, which looked like a massive lion with a set of black wings that matched the hair on his human head, or at least one that was large enough to suit his body. Said sphinx was also holding a (much larger) microphone in one paw, and for some reason appeared to be wearing a shirt and jacket on the front half of his body with a tie that dangled down from his neck.

“Excellent spin!” The man standing next to the sphinx spoke in a loud, booming voice that carried through the room, and you felt like you had just had all of the breath knocked out of your chest. “Tell me Bim, what did our lucky contestant land on?”

The sphinx grinned and said, “Looks like Billy won a very special bonus: ‘Take a shot!’”

“Well, if you say so,” the man said, pulling out a gun from behind his back where it had apparently been tucked into his waistband before pointing it at the first contestant.

“Wilford, wai—” The sphinx reached out a huge paw only to sigh when the man fired off three rounds in quick succession, each blast an assault on your hearing even when you pressed your hands against your ears. The contestants shrieked and Chase shouted next to you as the shot contestant collapsed, but the sphinx just rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, don’t be such a drama king, Billy. We told you from the start we remembered to put wax bullets in Wilford’s gun this time.”

“They still hurt! Why couldn’t we have just used blanks?” came the groaned response from behind the podium as the contestant slowly dragged himself back up onto his feet. A splatter of colored wax marked his chest, but he was clearly…maybe not okay, but mostly uninjured, at least. A chorus of laughter came from speakers set up around the room, and he glared at one of the other contestants who had a board full of switches in hand and a guilty expression.

“What’s wrong with seeing how my aim is holding up?” the shooter asked, still waving his gun around to emphasize his words. “Besides, you told me to take another shot!”

“We’ve been over this, not everything is literal. More importantly, the game isn’t fun if you kill off the contestants for no reason,” the sphinx explained. “It’s like…you know music, right? That used to be your thing. A game show’s like that, there’s a rhythm, a pattern to it, and you shooting one of the contestants out of nowhere is like someone pulling the plug and cutting the song off early. Get it?”

“…Not even a little bit, no.”

“You know, maybe we should just go ahead and take a break. I’m starting to think your…talents might be better suited for somewhere else.” The sphinx looked at the “contestants” and said, “You can get back to whatever you were doing, just don’t forget my lunch!”

The last words were shouted after them, as the three sprinted out of the room as fast as they could, bumping into you and the others in their way.

The sphinx rolled his eyes again and muttered, “Interns. Probably should have kept one of them behind, I’m feeling a little—oh, hello! And who might you all be?”

His eyes lit up at the sight of your group and he gave a smile that might have been friendly, if it hadn’t shown off a lot of teeth that looked more at home in a lion’s mouth.

“These are guests,” Google answered. “Here to see Wilford Warfstache.”

“Hm?” the man holding the gun looked up and gave you all a smile that held no kind of recognition.

Even though you knew exactly who he was. Even without the uniform and helmet, even after all this time, you knew the Colonel’s voice, his mannerisms, the gun in his hand. The same gun, that he had carelessly fired at that intern like it was nothing.

Suddenly you knew exactly why Abe had been looking for him, understood the hunter’s strange behavior at the disco, his anger and despair. All this time, spent looking for the man that nearly killed him, who up until the night before last you thought had killed Abe.

All that time in the mirror, all that anger and rage of your own, and you had never thought about what you would do if you found yourself here, face to face with the Colonel again.

If you had imagined this moment, you don’t think it would have included the way he looked at you now, with a clueless smile like you were as much a stranger to him as Chase or Jameson. Or the other detail that your mind latched onto, until the sphinx moved in between you and the Colonel.

“Hello, my name is Bim Trimmer. Host of Menagerie of Insanity, or you might remember me from other hit shows that I’ve done.”

“Of course, who doesn’t know you?” Chase said, his voice higher and cracking slightly as he stepped in front of Jameson and tugged on your sleeve as though to encourage you to take a step back. “We, uh, didn’t expect to see you here today, or we would have, uh…”

“Brought something to sign?” Jameson suggested.

“Yeah, autographs,” Chase muttered. Clearing his throat, he continued, “But yeah, didn’t mean to interrupt, we can just—”

“Not at all, a distraction sounds lovely right now. Besides, we can’t be rude to guests.” Bim gestured toward your nametag, but you swore he sniffed before his pupils widened into two black discs. “Very special guests. How do you know our Wilford?”

You hesitated, aware that Jameson and Chase were waiting on you to answer, but your mind was still a blank, and your voice caught in your throat with nothing to say.

“Why, fans from the club, I’m sure,” the Colonel, or you guessed you should call him Wilford now, answered. He beamed as he stepped forward to Jameson and said, “I’ve seen you hit up the dance floor, I know!”

“I think you might be mistaken, sir,” Jameson signed, and Wilford laughed as though he had just said the most hilarious thing that he had heard all week.

“It’s actually through someone we know,” Chase said, now that it was becoming clear that you weren’t about to say anything. “Wilford, do you know an Abe Lincoln?”

“The car salesman?” Wilford asked.

“Uh—no, he’s a…he’s a hunter,” Chase said, trying very hard not to look at Bim when he said it. “Do you know why he might be looking for you?”

Wilford rubbed his chin, thinking for a moment. “I don’t owe him money, do I?”

Chase didn’t really know how to answer that, but while Wilford threw out a few more equally unlikely suggestions, you became aware of someone else talking in the studio, speaking low and fast.

“Here we see the automaton has brought three new victims into the clutches of the monster. See the way his tail is thrashing? That suggests a hunting state of mind, a predator considering the problem of his prey, and at any second he’s liable to pounce on our unsuspecting—”

You realized the voice was coming from somewhere under the rows of seating, but you were distracted by Bim lowering his head until you were eye-level and saying, “I would love to have you on the show sometime. I feel like you would be fantastic for the new season we’re lining up. Of course, we’ll have to do something about your wardrobe. Those rags you’re wearing just scream secondhand comfort wear, and aren’t doing you any favors.”

“And wearing those rags?”

The memory of the butler’s comment felt like it came out of nowhere, clashing with the Colonel’s presence, and you realized too late that it was happening again. Your unwanted awareness of too much going on at once: the running commentary going on in the distance, Bim’s overwhelming presence, the scent of the sphinx battling it out with whatever cologne Wilford seemed to have doused himself with, Wilford’s still talking away to an increasingly confused Chase and Jameson, just…Wilford in general, here with no warning, no chance to prepare yourself.

“I—no, I don’t think I could handle…all that,” you said, gesturing toward the set behind him. You tried to find something, anything to focus on, but doing that and holding a conversation at the same time was just too much. After a long second, you remembered to add, “Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Hm? Oh, not for this,” Bim said, waving a paw in the direction of the game show setup. “I mean for Monstrous Love. We like to keep things fresh, make interesting matches happen that wouldn’t otherwise, and I don’t think we’ve ever had a were—”

“Sorry, who is that?” you asked, pointing toward the seating in a deliberate attempt to distract the sphinx before he blurted out what you think he was about to, and maybe just a little to get him to stop talking at you. Your head was already spinning without the self-conscious realization that he knew, how did he know? Could he smell that you were a werewolf? Or had you said or done something to give yourself away already?

Bim looked in the direction you pointed, his head tilting before he sat back with a sigh. “Come on out, you fools. We know you’re over there.”

“We’ve been spotted, Jim! Quick, feign ignorance, we’ll go with Plan B,” stage whispered the voice under the seating, before two men climbed out. They both looked identical, even wearing the same white shirt and light gray pants, but one was holding a camera pointed at the group of you while the other had a microphone similar to the one Wilford was still holding in the hand not gripping his gun. “Hi there, I’m Jim, and this is Jim, and we’re here with Jim News.”

“Slow news day?” Bim asked, with a knowing look.

“The Jims are not scheduled to be in Studio 3 at this time,” Google announced. “Perhaps an escort back to their assigned floor is in order? Again?”

“Just working on a new potential segment,” Jim said. “Learning more about the people who come and go here at the studio. A behind the scenes kind of look, if you will.”

“Has anyone signed off on this segment?” Google asked, in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer and was just itching for an excuse to tell them.

“Uh…” Jim looked at Jim, who shrugged. “We were hoping to get some raw footage to start with, you know, something to show with our idea?”

“Unauthorized filming is strictly prohibited,” Google said. His eyes seemed to take on a strange gleam as he continued, “This activity will be reported and considered by the appropriate departments. Until then, hand over your camera for proper disposal.”

Jim whimpered, holding his camera close to his chest and Bim cleared his throat.

“It’s still studio property, Google. Pretty sure you can’t do that.”

Google frowned before settling on, “Then allow me to access the recording and wipe it.”

“Or, we could let one of the producers look at it first and decide whether they want to keep it?” Jim suggested, stepping in between his brother and the magitek unit. “Isn’t there something about management having final say in all, uh…projects?”

Google sighed, something he absolutely didn’t need to do considering he didn’t even breathe, and the glow faded from his eyes. “You people never let me have any fun.”

“Can you have fun?” Jim asked, his microphone suddenly pointed in Google’s direction. “Do you experience any emotions? Say, of the homicidal rage kind or desire for vengeance against your human oppressors?”

“My programming specifically allows me to disregard stupid questions,” Google answered. “For now, no more filming without clearance or I will take it upon myself to act accordingly.”

Jim sighed and motioned to his brother, who turned off his camera and protectively tucked it under his arm. “Fine. But we still need content of some kind, after the Institute cancelled on us again.”

His brother tapped him on the shoulder and whispered in his ear, causing you to wince at even the small sound. Had the studio lights always been this bright?

“Now there’s an idea, Jim! What about an interview for our podcast? No filming involved!” Jim looked around the room and said, “Any volunteers?”

“You’ll have to talk to my agent first,” Bim said, studying his claws.

Jim glanced at Google, whose scowl told him to keep looking, and Wilford, who was casually cleaning his gun with the bottom of his shirt, and decided to keep going before settling on your group. “What about you three? You look like the kind of people to have a story to share.”

You took a quick step back when Jim stepped forward, panicking as you said, “No, I—I’m nobody, we’re just—”

“Balderdash!” His booming voice combined with the weight of Wilford’s arm around your shoulders nearly knocked you off your feet, never mind the way your heart stopped when you braced yourself for what he would say next, only for Wilford to continue, “Nobody’s nobody. Look at your nifty little badge, says right there, VIP Y/N.”

You hissed slightly, trying to force your brain to behave as you said, “Either way, I don’t…”

“You okay, Y/N?” Chase asked, Jameson right there with him. You noticed that Chase was keeping a hand over his badge to hide his own name, that Jameson was signing something, his hands moving too fast and slow at the same time, that too many people were looking at you—

“I just…need a minute to sit down,” you muttered. Dimly, you were aware of someone showing you to a nearby folding chair, letters on the back of it jumbled together but maybe a name or something. You breathed out, and back in, forcing yourself to tune out Jim and Jim persisting in asking Chase and Jameson what they did, Bim and Google discussing plans of their own, everything until you could find just one thing to focus on like the Host said.

You opened your eyes to find Wilford, sitting in a similar chair to your own in front of you and leaning so far forward that he practically filled your vision.

“Glitz of showbusiness getting to your head a little?” he asked, his voice thankfully not quite as loud this time.

“…Something like that,” you muttered, eyes searching his face for any sign of recognition, anything, until they latched on something you had noticed before, something you couldn’t help but focus on until you found yourself saying, “Pink.”

“Hm?” Wilford reached up and brushed his mustache before smiling. “Do you like it? I had an afro, same color, but apparently it wasn’t the right ‘look’ for this place. I wonder where I put that...”

It was the first color you had seen since regaining your eyesight, the fluorescent pink of his mustache absurdly bright in the otherwise gray-scale world around you. Once you saw it, it was almost impossible to look away from until you realized that he was watching you, the expression in his eyes familiar enough that, for just a moment…

“Wilford, Google and I have been talking, and we think this could be the perfect opportunity to get—I mean, see if you’re a little more…suited for your own kind of segment, a talk show with your own spin on it. I’m sure the Jims would be happy to take you off my paws, er, only to show you how they go about it sometime. Maybe once the Jims are done with their interview with the boys over there, they can give you some ideas on how to do your own thing?” Bim asked, and you looked up to see him and Google standing nearby.

“Hm?” Wilford looked around as well, as though just now realizing who Bim was talking to, and said, “Sure, sure. It’s what I said from the start, I do have a way of getting people to open up.”

“Preferably without knives,” Bim muttered, but behind him Jim called, “No promises!”

“I will take the idea to Kathryn and see what she has to say about it,” Google added.

“I don’t suppose you could leave out the part where I shot one of the interns?” Wilford asked hopefully.

“No,” Google said without a trace of hesitation, causing Wilford to deflate a little. “This should not take long. Please commit only the minimal amount of mayhem in my absence.”

This last comment seemed to be directed at Wilford in particular, who beamed at him and said, “No worries, Googs, I’ll keep a close eye on Y/N here. They do look like the troublemaking type, don’t they?”

Google frowned but chose not to continue this conversation, instead turning and walking out of the studio. Bim, however, moved closer to your chair and smiled as he said, “Do keep an open mind about the show, okay? Here’s my card…”

He reached toward the strangely fitted suit he wore, only for his paw to fail to find the breast pocket. After a few attempts, he looked at you and you reluctantly let him get close enough for you to reach into the pocket and pull out a business card with his name and number on it that probably would have been impossible for him to handle on his own with those claws. This close, you definitely heard the sphinx sniff again, as well as the way he swallowed before he said, “Right. Just…anytime, uh, Y/N. If you all will excuse me.”

He stood and walked through the double doors, whose size alongside the large hallways and spacious elevator now made a little more sense, even if he still had to duck his head to keep from hitting the top of the doorframe.

“He has good taste, that fellow,” Wilford said, with a smile that left you second-guessing his words. “Are you even looking for a special someone, Y/N?”

“I’m…looking for someone,” you said, choosing your words carefully. “But I’m not interested in going on some dating show.”

“Ah! Still, you should keep the card, just in case,” Wilford said with a wink. “Never know when you’ll change your mind, eh?”

“Never know what Marvin would do if he found out I let you get on some monster matchmaker show, either,” Chase said as he walked up. “Feeling any better, Y/N?”

“A little,” you answered, but judging by his expression, he knew that was a lie.

“Could you…?” Chase asked Wilford, who stared at him for a moment before he realized what his gesture meant.

“Right, I’ll just give you two a minute,” Wilford said, leaping up from his chair and walking a short distance away, where he started whistling.

Chase shook his head before crouching down next to you, keeping his voice low as he said, “We don’t have to stay here, Y/N. If this is too much, we can just go. I’m not even sure if this Wilford guy knows anything about Abe anyways.”

“He does,” you said, sounding a little too forceful before your confidence washed away. “At least he should, but it’s like…”

“Like nothing’s going on upstairs?” Chase asked, glancing at Wilford. He studied him for a moment before saying, “Jim wants to interview me and Jameson, get our perspectives on entertainment from ‘nontraditional points of view.’”

“I’m sure Jameson has a lot to say about that,” you said, and Chase grinned.

“Believe it. Point is, we can keep them distracted and give you a chance to talk to Wilford on your own, if you think you can get something out of him. Or, we can leave right now and call this a dead end.”

“…I might know something I can try,” you said softly. You knew you should tell Chase who he was, but you also knew that there would be no arguing when he and Jameson insisted on getting you out of this building, now, once they knew. Maybe that was the right thing to do, but you had so many questions, starting with why Wilford was pretending not to recognize you. How did he even end up here, of all places?

“Okay,” Chase said, placing a hand on top of your own as he added, “We’ll be in the recording studio on the Studio 5 level, so don’t hesitate to come and get us if you don’t feel comfortable or just want to get out of here. And please, just…stay away from Bim Trimmer. Like, really far away. There’s rumors and maybe it’s just anti-monster stuff, but I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not about to become the next star of Monster Love. And you and Jameson be careful what you say in front of those guys, too,” you said, indicating Jim and Jim with a tilt of your head.

“Monstrous Love, and yeah, we will.” Chase sighed, and you could tell he was second-guessing whether this was a good idea or not, even as he said, “Good luck, Y/N.”

“See you soon,” Jameson signed behind him, before the Jim twins ushered him and Chase out the door.

Leaving you alone with the man who shot and, technically, killed you all those years ago.

((End of Part 22. Thanks as always for reading! Just a couple of notes here that I couldn’t put up top for spoiler reasons.

Things I learned for this part: just enough terms to make it sound like Google knew what he was talking about when he was showing them around, and that wax bullets are a thing that illusionists used to use for tricks involving guns. They can also hurt people, so maybe letting Wilford keep the gun is still a bad idea. Also, in case it wasn’t clear, this Google isn’t wearing a gray shirt, it’s just what Y/N can/can’t see color wise.

Link to Part 23: Almost Too Easy.

Tagging: @silver-owl413 @skyewardlight @withjust-a-bite @blackaquokat @catgirlwarrior @neverisadork @luna1350 @oh-so-creepy @weirdfoxalley @95fangirl @lilalovesinternet-l @thepoolofthedead @a-bit-dapper @randomartdudette @geekymushroom @cactipresident @hotcocoachia @purple-anxiety-blog @shyinspiredartist @avispate @missksketch @autumnrambles @authorracheljoy @liafoxyfox @hidinginmybochard ))

[bytemycupcakes]

Trans-mity in the Oracle track

Hehe Trans-mity? Like it? It’s silly but it makes me happy >:3c

Obviously this post mostly applies to my Trans!Amity interpretation, but some bits can extend to normal Amity too :p

It’s also.. More than just why the oracle track, I got on a roll and now it includes how he joined the track and a bit of how he figured out he’s trans :3 (It also has a bit of enby!Luz cause... Yes.)

btw, sorry I’m still calling him Amity through the post, I have a replacement name idea, but I wanna think about it more before I put it anywhere ;3;

Sorry it’s so long TwT

-

Okay first off, why I think he is dual-tracking in the first place.  (and tbh why Canon Amity should in the future)

Amity is a Blight. Blights are successful. Blights strive for the Emperors Coven, and access to all magic. It only makes sense to study as much magic as possible in preperation for that.

Though Amity is completely fine only doing one track before Luz came along and bent the rule, once multiple tracks became open, his parents likely had him consider it, or he brought up the idea with his parents and/or siblings. Discussing how useful it could be for his future, ect.

The Blights are obviously on board with that, cause if Amity is top student in multiple tracks? Well thats certainly something to brag about.

Why the Oracle track though?

In short: Amity always had a fascination for Oracle magic. Infact its the coven he intended on joining upon entering Hexside, but his parents needed successful children.

Principal Bump talks about “trying out” for a track when placing Luz, so it seems that theres requirements for entering one. Though with him just slapping Luz in potions, they seem to be lose or optional requirements. Suppose it all depends on the grades you want.

Thus, Amity’s parents only wanted him to join a track he was successful at, one where he showed promise. Thats what the twins did, it’s what he’ll do to. Consider it Blight Tradition. So for Amity, the “trying out” isn’t much of an optional thing.

Amity really wanted to do Oracle magic. He had already started teaching himself some of it, and seemed to be decent enough at giving Ed and Em vague predictions on their days, so he thought getting into the track would be easy.

And on paper it was, all you had to do was bring up an image of your adult self on a crystal ball, a small glimpse into your own future. Afterall what kind of Oracle can’t predict his own future?

Amity can’t apparently. Sure he hadn’t tried the spell before, but it’s such a simple one, cast and say the name of who you want to see. It’s basic oracle magic so why can’t he do it?? He sits there trying to do the spell for a good half hour before the teacher pushes him to go try some of the other track tests. And with a sinking heart, he does.

He doesn’t think too hard about what to go try next, just wanders and ends up ploping down in abominations. Ends up passing the test with no effort. Guess he’s an Abominations student now... Even if Ed and Em tried to push him to join the Oracle track anyway

At least he never quite gives up Oracle magic. He Continues to study it on his own, and gets better at giving Ed and Em daily fortunes. All while excelling in Abominations. He toyed with the idea of switching tracks once he could pass the beginning test, but every time he tried it with the library’s loan crystal balls, he still couldnt do that basic spell.

Well- Okay he could do the spell, he tried it with his siblings, classmates, teachers, every person he could think of. And most of them worked! But that didn’t matter since he needed to bring up himself.

It didn’t matter that he would easily get passing grades in the track, because according to his parents, if he couldn’t do the basic test, then there’s no promise. He supposes they’re right. Besides, his grades would probably suffer if he couldnt do any predictions about himself.

So he pushed it out of his mind, pretended he always strived for Abominations, and started showing fake pride at his achivement. Besides, nobody wants to hear Abominations top student has been half assing his classes and really doesn’t care much for the track.

Though it grows on him, he finds uses for the spells, and ends up growing fond of the creation process. And having an abomination follow him and do basic tasks was certainly an ego boost. He accepted his fate, and decided he could achieve his goals in this track. He’s a Blight, happiness comes far after success.

But then Luz comes along. Befriends Amity and pulls him out of his shell. Her openness about how humans navigate gender and sexuality fascinates Amity... He’s sure that’s just a human appreciation thing. He’ll take note to talk to the H.A.S about it.

Not that he hasn’t heard similar things around the boiling isles, it’s certainly not unheard of, Willow has two fathers for petes sake. But Luz talks about it more than Amity has ever heard... He could listen to them go on and on for hours... About- The gender stuff. Yeah. Otherwise he’d be so annoyed by Luz’s blathering... Yup. Definitely.

Well that falls through, Since Amity and Luz start dating.... Woops, guess he isn’t straight- Shit.

Luz and WIllow eventually point out how... Interested... Amity seems in Luz’s gender rambling, and Amity tries to play it off that he just likes listening to his partner talk! Is that a crime? The two back down, but Amity certainly takes note of how.. Defensive he had gotten.

He’s left thinking. A lot. And through that thinking, he reaches a state of denial. He’s already dissapointing enough now that he isn’t the perfect straight daughter his parents wanted, he can’t be.. not a daughter too! Maybe his parents were right and Luz is a bad influence- Perhaps he’s just making Amity think he’s all these things- Besides, Amity didn’t mind wearing a dress to Grom, or to other social events.. Sure he whined about how uncomfortable they were, and he makes a conscious effort to wear pants as much as possible. But that doesn’t mean he’s a guy. That’d be absurd-

Again, his denial falls through... Some deep talks with Luz certainly opened up some things... Damn Amity is just chock full of parental dissapointment.

But that doesn’t matter, because he can still be successful without their approval. Amity is still a Blight. And will always have the sway of power that it comes with.

Back on track with the tracks.

Amity had already moved past and shoved down his want to join the Oracle Track quite some time ago, so when he mentions it in passing when helping Luz with her Oracle homework... He’s caught off guard when they shove the crystal ball into his hands.

Luz encouraging him to try again, now that he’s figured himself out, and has a new name. Their professor said names are very important when it comes to some forms of fortune, so maybe thats why he couldn’t do the spell!

Amity blinks.... Then smacks his head. GOD why hadn’t he thought of that?! He already knew that from his own private studying, but just never connected those dots!

He takes such a deep breath, head swirling with excitement and even more fear. Afterall if he still can’t do the spell, then that means he really isn’t cut out for Oracle magic... He’s not sure if he can face that reality... But even if thats the case, he supposes he’ll always have Luz, he can help her with their oracle homework without doing the spells himself.

He casts. He says his name. He and Luz are staring at the ball, neither breathing as the few milliseconds start to feel like hours while they wait for any image to show up.

And sure enough... One does. A simple image of a much older Amity walking through a town appears on the ball, and the two teans squeal. Amity doesn’t even remember a time he was this happy, he’s rendered to tears. That he can do a spell thats been alluding him since middle school. All because Luz had put the pieces in place for him to learn about himself and figure it out.

When he takes the test again next semester and does it first try, the oracle teacher grins and ruffles his hair, “I suppose there was no future Amity Blight, hm? Welcome to the Oracle track, [name]”

[peacedolantwins]

Resentment (G.D)

When you and Grayson first got together, it was like a dream come true. He was your prince charming ready to be everything you ever wanted, but instead of a horse and carriage, it was with a baby blue porshe.

He would pick you up and take you out just about anywhere. Theater, movies, fancy restaurants, anything. You weren’t in the relationship for the money and fancy things, you would have been just as happy watching netflix back at the house or just sitting in a park talking, but he always insisted on going out.

“A beautiful girl deserves beautiful things,” he would always say.

And while you knew the truth, any time the fans saw you two out somewhere expensive or going shopping, they were quick to call you a gold digger.

Grayson would see the comments and tweets and at first he just ignored them. But after a while, he started thinking.

Were you just with him for the money?

So he stopped.

He stopped buying you gifts, he stopped with fancy dinners, he stopped just about everything,

And you didnt mind. You didnt need fancy jewelry or clothes he would get you. As long as you got to spend time with him, the man who you loved, you didnt care.

But then things started to change.

When you two would hang out and you offered to go to the mall and walk around and maybe do some shopping he looked at you like you just offended him.

“Not Rodeo?” he raised a brow.

“I mean, if there was something you wanted to buy there, we can go.” You really werent a fan of going there since everything was way more than you could afford on your own. But if he had planned on buying something, you were okay with going with. You could go to the mall later.

So you two went and he was quick to head straight to the designer stores. You two separated while in the store. While he was picking out things he could actually afford to buy, you were simply window shopping.

You lost track of time when you felt Grayson reach out and touch your arm. Thats when you noticed he already paid.

“You already paid?” you glanced at the bag.

“Yeah, you didnt buy anything?”

“No?” you were confused about why he was asking. You never bought anything when you came to stores like this. You werent about to drop your rent check on something that honestly looked kind of ugly in your opinion.

“Hm figures,” he rolled his eyes at you.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, lets go,” he walked ahead of you, leaving you to follow after him.

It went on like this for over a month, him making small remarks when you wouldnt drop an insane amount of money for something. But you got used to it. You didnt let it get to you. Until he did something you thought he would never do.

You woke up late after having spent the night with Grayson in your apartment to find your jewelry box open. You figured you must have forgotten to close it the last time you put something in and you shrugged it off and got ready for the day.

But as you did your makeup you couldnt help but feel something was wrong. You walked over to the box and thats when you noticed it.

The box was nearly empty.

A few of your earings and a few bracelets were there but all of the jewelry Grayson had gotten over the course of your relationship was gone.

And so was your grandmothers ring she left to you.

You started looking around, thinking maybe Grayson might have knocked the box over this morning and everything just fell out, but there was nothing on the floor anywhere. You were starting to panic when you heard your front door open and saw Grayson come in.

“Grayson did you knock over my jewelry this morning?”

“You mean the jewelry I paid for?”

“Sure, whatever, yeah, but did you knock it over?” You didn’t even care about the remark about him paying for it all, you just needed to know what happened.

“I pawned it,” he said casually.

“You what?” you felt your heart drop.

“Its not like you wore it anyway.” While that was true, its not like you didnt wear it because you didnt like it. You had a tendency to lose everything and you werent about to risk losing a bracelet over a thousand dollars while going to the grocery store.

“Did you take my ring?”

“Which one?”

“Grayson this isnt funny! Did you take my ring? The one with the diamond?” you were scared to hear his answer.

“The one I got you? Yeah.”

“You didnt get me that one, Grayson! That was my grandmothers ring! You have to get it back!” you were beyond upset right now.

“So you seriously want me to go buy you the ring now?” he asked annoyed.

“It wasn’t yours to sell! Why would you even take it!”

“Well you better get to it before someone buys it,” he shrugged.

You looked at him in complete shock. You couldnt care less about the other jewelry, but that ring was important to you. It was the one thing you had left from the woman you spent the majority of your childhood with since your parents were always working.

“Grayson, I cant afford to buy it back!” you had gotten it appraised when you first got it and when you found out how much it was worth, you never wore it.

“Then figure it out!” He couldn’t believe how you were acting about it. Hes worn a full outfit that costs more than that ring so he didnt understand why it was such an issue.

You looked at him in complete shock.

“Unbelievable.” you muttered as you slipped on your shoes and you were out the door as soon as you had the address to the store he took it to.

You quickly found it, driving probably more than the speed limit and parked. You walked in and the man behind the counter asked if he could help you find something. After describing the ring to him he motioned you over to one of the cases.

“Yes! That one, how much is it?” you tried to mentally prepare yourself for the price he was about to say.

“That one is going to be $7,899.”

You closed your eyes and did your best to stop the tears from forming. You knew you couldnt even put it on your credit card because you had a $2,500 limit set.

“Would you be able to hold it for me? Just for today while I go to the bank,” you pleaded with him.

“The most I can give you is until four today,” he explained.

You quickly glanced at the clock behind him and started to panic. It was already twelve, and you knew the bank was closed until one, which meant you had two and a half hours at the most to go and get the loan you needed to buy it back.

“Ill be back in by then,” you gave him your information and you started your drive to the bank.

Once you arrived you sat in your car and did your best to keep your composure as you waited for it to open back up. As soon as the clock hit one you practically ran in and waited for one of the employees to tend to you.

A kind looking woman came from the back rooms and called your name and introduced herself as the person who would be helping you.

She had you fill out paperwork and once you were done she put all the information into the computer. She said it would take a little while for the credit report to come in and she left you sitting there in her office while she went elsewhere.

It was already 2:15.

It was three o’clock when she came back in and told you it all went through and you were approved. You rushed through the final paperwork with a few signatures where needed and you were out the door and driving back to the pawn shop.

You quickly found the same man who helped you from earlier and you bought back the ring.

When you got to your apartment building you sat in your car with your head resting on the steering wheel.

Looks like you were back to living the same way you did through college. Ramen noodles and cereal for every meal from now on.

You glanced around the parking lot and noticed the stupid baby blue car was no where around. Good, because you didn’t want to deal with him right now.

The next few days you found yourself at the restaurant you worked at picking up every shift you could. You had been ignoring calls from Grayson and Ethan too once he started calling you.

You didn’t have time to deal with any of them. You had an eight thousand dollar loan to pay back.

It wasn’t until the two of them walked into the restaurant and got seated in your section when you had to finally deal with them.

“Hi my name is Y/n, I’m gonna be your server today, can I get you something to drink?”

“Y/n? It’s us you don’t have to be all hospitality with us,” Ethan was confused as to why you were being so formal with them.

“We have water, tea, and pepsi products,” you placed the menus in front of them.

“Um, just water, babe-“ Grayson looked up at you and for the first time in days he noticed how exhausted you looked. You were running on fumes and he could see it.

“Great, I’ll be right back with your drinks,” you quickly walked off to get the drinks.

“Dude what’s up with her?” Ethan asked his brother.

“I don’t know, I know we had a fight a few days ago but I thought she’d be over it by now,” he explained.

“Here you go,” you placed their water down in front of them, “and did we need more time to look at the menu or are you ready to order?”

“Y/n, stop it-“ Neither of the boys liked how you were acting towards them.

“Don’t worry, take your time, I’ll be back in a few minutes,” you walked away again.

“Gray, what did you do?” Ethan had never seen you this way. You were being so cold and lifeless despite the fake smile and cheery voice you had slapped on.

“I accidentally pawned one of her rings,” Grayson explained.

“Why did you… what ring? Doesn’t she only have the one her grandma left her?”

“I didn’t know,” Graymuttered more to himself.

“You didn’t…” Ethan stared at him in shock. “Are you serious! That would be like her pawning the ring dad left us! Did you get it back for her?” Ethan knew how much that ring meant to you. And from the few times he saw it, he had a general idea of how much it cost.

His brothers silence was all he got but it was enough to let him know the answer.

“Where did you sell it? Fucking hell Grayson! Why wouldn’t you get it back!” Ethan was ready to walk out of the restaurant right now and go buy it back for you since his idiot of a brother didn’t do it himself.

“I went back later and it was already gone okay! I tried!”

“How much did you get for it?” He questioned.

“About six and a half thousand.”

“Well you gave her the money right? Maybe she went and bought it back,” Ethan was trying to be hopeful of the situation.

Silence again.

“Grayson you didn’t even give her the money?” Ethan knew you weren’t made of money and knew how much you made. Which meant he knew there was no way you could have afforded to buy it back yourself.

“Have we made a decision yet?” You appeared out of what seemed like nowhere.

“Just a salad for both of us, babe talk to me please,” Grayson knew he fucked up and he didn’t know how to make it better.

“I’ll go ahead and send that in, any appetizers while you wait?”

“No, Y/n please,” Grayson covered your hand with his.

“I’ll be back with your order,” you pried your hand away gently, not wanting to cause a scene.

What you didn’t know was that your manager was standing close by and saw someone touch one of his employees. And most restaurants didn’t care much about the workers being hit on or made uncomfortable, but he cared about his employees.

Once he saw you leave to take the order to the kitchen, he went up to the table.

“Excuse me,” he crouched down next to the table, “I’m the manager here and I’m not going to have you harassing my employees. If I see anything like that again, you’re out of here. Enjoy your meal.” He patted the table and went off to find you.

“Y/n, I’m giving your table to Erin, take one of hers,” he gestured to the two boys in your section.

“No it’s okay, I can handle it,” you would much rather deal with the twins than the group of kids who looked like they were coming in for homecoming.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve had worse than someone trying to hold my hand, I’ve got it,” you assured him.

“Okay, you let me know if he tries something again,” he looked at you.

“Yes sir,” you mock saluted him at which he rolled his eyes.

You went and checked on the other tables in your section and felt Graysons eyes on you the whole time. You eventually went and took them their salads and asked if they needed anything, but you left before they could answer.

Eventually they asked for the bill and you brought it out, more than happy to have them gone. You returned their card and waited for them to leave before going to clean up the table.

It was then that you saw the giant tip they left.

$500 in cash.

They carried more on them then you made in a week.

You grabbed it and passed by your manager and quickly explained they left something behind that you were going to return to them before following them out the front door.

“Grayson!” You called after him.

“Y/n, look I’m so sorry about-“ he started.

“Can I see your keys really quick?” You cut him off

He handed them over, confused as to why you were asking for his keys. But then he saw you sliding your key off the key ring.

“Y/n no, please don’t,” he knew what this meant.

You tossed him back his keys before you took the money out of your apron and slamming it to his chest.

“That should be enough for the price of my key back.”

With that you walked back into the restaurant and slapped the fake smile back on your face. While you really could have used the five hundred dollars, you were not going to let him try to feel better about what he did.

No amount of money he tried to spend on you now could fix the damage already done.

Pls like/comment/reblog I need validation

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[smoochkooks]

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst 

⟶ word count: 14.5k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Money is the reason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

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

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

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

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

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

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

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

“What do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Taehyung can you please–”

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

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

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

Interesting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Miss Y/N?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And may the God help you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

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

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

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

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

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Seoyeon,

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

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

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

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

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

 May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

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

Sent.

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

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

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

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

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” you breathe out.

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

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

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

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

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

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

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

A true sin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

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

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

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

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

“What about me?”

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

“I feel offended.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need a dick!”

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

“Shut up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, fuck it.”

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

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

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

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

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

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

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

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

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

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

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

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

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

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

 Park Jimin

 Editor-in-chief

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

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

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

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

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

Strange.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

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

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

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

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

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

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

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

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

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

May the God help you.

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

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

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

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

You at least need to try.

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

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

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

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

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

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel hollow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

[hecohansen31]

Royally Screwed

Ivar+Princess! Reader (Modern AU)

(Secret Project: Happy Birthday Gabi!)

(A/N): Hello there lovelies!

We are all joined here together to celebrate @flowers-in-your-hayr​‘s birthday! 

So be sure to give the most beautiful and most talented moodboard creator ever a huge hug and wish her ‘Happy Birthday’ because she thoroughly deserve it.

We thought that to celebrate it writing you a few stories based on a few of your most beautiful moodboards (although it was rather difficult, because... I mean... THEY ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL).

I really really hope I have made justice to your beautiful creation!

Also this was a project created by the lovely @maggiescarborough​​ give her a round of applause for her magnificient planning!

WARNINGS: Corny Stuff, Light Mentions to the ‘90s/00s, Not Correct Princess Etiquette and Ivar Just Being a Sassy Asshole).

Moodboard was created and is owned by @flowers-in-your-hayr​​

It had been a simple Friday night when a princess had entered in Ivar’s life.

But he hadn’t known it, in the slightest.

In the end, he wasn’t anything more than a store clerk at the Blockbuster his uncle Floki owned, since he needed money for college, because not only he had to deal with the absence of his father, but also his mother had recently passed away from a terrible illness, battling with addiction and its hold.

Any guy of his age would have been out, probably hooking up with somebody or taking part in the usual things that boys did when they were carefree and normal.

But Ivar had never been normal.

So, on Friday at 10 p.m. he was looking at the black and white screen of a security camera as he observed the last client of the night, before the typical porno-lovers came crashing in during his night shift.

Honestly, working at a Blockbuster taught you much more about people than a pyschology major could.

And Ivar who was graduating to become a psychanalyst certainly needed all the human expertise he could gain.

Usually at this hour, it was unusual that people entered the store, even more a pretty girl with everything that made her resemble Cher from ‘Clueless’, as she moved across the many sectors, sometimes pushing forward an hand to get a movie, before pushing it back in its place, as if the cover wasn’t what it promised from the plot, noted on its back.

He knew that he was a big creep for checking her out, but he didn’t trust pretty girls like you.

He had caught a few trying to slip DVDs, under their jackets, and it had been awful trying to confront them as they played the ‘dumb blondes’ act, meanwhile he sweated through his shirt because they had this look in them that made him feel beneath them.

It was always like that with pretty girls, for him.

Whether it’d be their pity or disgust, Ivar had never felt himself being treated like an equal.

Which had been all he had wanted, his entire life.

Luckily you didn’t slip anything in your jacket, and he was glad to see you exiting empty handed, probably having been called by your bootie call, at the last moment, because it honestly made no sense for you to be there, alone.

But she didn’t move to the exit door.

No, she moved to him.

Stopping right in front of the cash desk.

In front of him.

“Can I help you with something?” he kind of expected her to ask him some kind of dumb question, because of her entire material girl appeal, but he couldn’t help but notice the slight blush on her cheeks, clearly at unease.

Something the camera hadn’t caught.

“I have been…” she bit her lips, drawing them inside of her mouth, before releasing it in some kind of vapid gesture that would have made everybody else look like an old hag “… I was browsing through the movies and… I might need a hand to choose one”.

He kind of expected you to push him in front of the eternal dilemma of watching for the umpteenth time ‘Spice Girl-The Movie’ or watching some awful corny romantic shit that was so ‘en vogue’ these days.

“… I am more than happy to help” he knew his face said the opposite of what he had told her, but he just wanted to go back to the paper he had been filling for a college class, before you had come there.

Floki had once told me that he should have tried ‘to be nicer’ to clients.

But they all took a good look at Ivar’s legs and they’d be bought.

‘Of course, he is an asshole and shit store clerk…’ they’d say exiting the shop ‘… with those legs… poor him’.

And it just made him be meaner towards clients.

But he was in for a surprise.

Because behind your material girl attitude you exited two movies: ‘Notting Hill’ and ‘Dirty Dancing’, not exactly something that completely distanced you from his initial thoughts of you, but he couldn’t deny that the vintage options definitely surprised him.

“I have never watched either of them” she commented, softly, almost ashamed and Ivar couldn’t help but lower lightly his harsh glare trying to soften its edges.

It was obvious that as much as he hated ‘party girls’, he had misjudged you.

You didn’t seem the type who’d make Ivar life a living hell, if he refused to accept back DVDs smeared with lipsticks.

“Can’t take them both?” he simply blurted out because you seemed loaded from your wardrobe.

“Ahem… I…” she blushed so graciously that Ivar honestly hadn’t the heart to keep the teasing, and lowered his harsh gaze “… my brothers think that I am already a nerd for coming here, if I came back with more than one movie, well they…”.

“I do know something about brothers teasing you” he muttered, as she smiled so openly that it made him smirk lightly and he then proceeded to shift his attention away from your pretty naïve expression, because it was making him feel lightly sweaty…

… and blushy.

“I’d tell you that ‘Dirty Dancing’ is a classic, undoubtedly one of the trashest things to pass a night…” he couldn’t help but adore the light giggle she let out, as she moved a finger in her hair, lightly twisting a strand of hair against it, and ok…

… Ivar had always hated it when girls did, but Gosh… you were adorable.

“… but?” you asked, softly, understanding that he was stalling, as he grabbed ‘Notting Hill’ from you.

“But this is the real shit” he commented.

He knew that he didn’t seem the type who enjoyed those movies, but one some days of his job he was left with nothing to do and he had watched an awful lot of movies, starting to develop a certain passion for a few of them.

Some even that certainly wouldn’t have been approved by the Lothbrock clan.

But she was a stranger, somebody he wouldn’t have ever seen again.

So, he could confess her all the qualities of Notting Hill, meanwhile she looked at him truly enthralled by what he said.

“… boy meets girl, except she is just a superstar actress, and then… they meet again and they fall out and… it certainly gives you a lot of reasons not go out with a public celebrity” he muttered, seeing that tic of biting her lips return, as she grimaced lightly at his words, but eventually she smiled at him, getting the money from her pockets to rent it.

“Ok, you got me hooked up on it”.

He moved to take the money as he registered the loan, but he caught her looking at the ‘Dirty Dancing’ DVD, as if she was extremely sad that she couldn’t take it home, alongside ‘Notting Hill’.

He damned himself for pretty girls and their twirling fingers, having everything wrapped around them.

“What if I push ‘Dirty Dancing’ aside for you?” he asked.

It wasn’t against any policy, but he usually didn’t do any favor to the clients, preferring to simply register their loans or what they had bought.

But he knew what it meant to ache for a little comfort, in life.

For a soft and free gentleness.

“Oh… is that possible?” she seemed honestly surprised he’d do it for her, as if people had never been selflessly gentle with her “Because if it is, I’d love that”.

“Don’t worry” he muttered, as he moved to push the DVD of ‘Dirty Dancing’ under the cash desk, taking a small piece of paper “… just give me a name and phone number”.

She seemed unsure, and he couldn’t blame her: he could be a creep simply asking for a phone number.

But she ended up giving it to him, as he registered it quickly, under her name and he then added the small paper inside the DVD box, again hiding under the cash desk, so that Floki would know that it wasn’t simply a mismatched edition.

“Thank you very much” her tone was again damnably genuine, and Ivar couldn’t fight against the small smirk that appeared on his face.

“Ahh don’t worry, everybody these days, is just interested in the umpteenth rerun of Beverly Hills 90210, so you haven’t made me lose any money” he replied, trying to seem the most detached he could “… just come back next week, letting me know how much your brothers enjoyed it”.

She erupted in a little giddy laughter and he honestly swore that there and then, his heart had stopped for a minute beating, before she took in the bag from his hand, after he had eased off the security measures and given her the small piece of paper with the return date.

“I do think that they’ll cry more than me” she muttered softly before she turned towards the door and Ivar felt like he could breathe again.

And then she twirled another time, the movement lightly making her skirt raise a bit, as he stole a sneaky glance at your thighs.

Gosh, Hvitserk was right, he had a problem.

“Have a nice night!”.

Hadn’t he been smitten with her, already, he’d just have replied something torturously awful, such as ‘thank you, I’ll enjoy having to deal with couples looking a way to spice up their lives with awful porn videos’.

But he simply smiled, the creepiest smile he could deliver since he could see it on the reflecting surface of the glass doors of the shop, as he simply waved slowly his hand to salute her, and then she rushed outside, to an awaiting car.

An awaiting expensive car.

And Ivar fell back on his chair.

And thought about why the heck his heart wouldn’t stop beating that fast.

A few days later he was watching TV with that fucktard of Heahmund, his college roomie.

They hadn’t exactly chosen to be roommates, but Heahmund had been kicked out by too many religious confraternities to have the luxury of a choice.

So, Ivar had been assigned to him, because of his perfect behavior during his college years, hoping it’d influence the other man.

They had begrudgingly set up some rules, and although Ivar hadn’t still got used to Heahmund’s silly faith, they hadn’t killed each other in their sleep yet.

He was watching TV, as he tried to compile an email for his brothers to let them know that they should have worked harder to get back their legacy from Lagertha, who had screwed over their father and mother, and then he saw her, the girl from the store, on TV.

It was definitely because he recognized her thighs.

Gosh, he was a fucking pervert.

She was dressed in an elegant suit, with a tube skirt and an elegant white shirt, matched perfectly with the light blue of the entire ensemble and with your hair brought up in a rather royal hairstyle.

Perfect for the crown nestled on top of her head.

A glimmering tiara on it.

“Turn the fucking volume on” he muttered at a very stoned Heahmund, who was looking half-mindedly the TV, just shooting a confused look at Ivar, who just stole the TV remote from his hand to switch on the audio, catching right when a journalist moved to ask you in the secluded area of what looked like a non-American talk-show with subtitles.

And even your voice corresponded.

“So, you are going to America next week, am I right? Aren’t you excited?” the interviewer asked as if she was the more excited about it of the two, meanwhile the girl from the store (or maybe it was better to say ‘the princess from the store’) smiled awkwardly, definitely not at ease with the affectionate tone of the journalist.

“Yes, of course! I mean it’s America!” the laughter of her reply sounded so fake, that Ivar couldn’t help but be embarrassed at the awkwardness of the situation “… I am just glad to leave home for the first time”.

The last mumble still was sincere, and pretty quickly the interview was cut, bringing it to a more general scheme, which said it all about the mysterious princess of some strange country he had never heard of.

Born and raised inside of a palace, she had two older brothers to whom the crown wouldn’t have been passed down, since the line was transmitted through mother-to-daughter, and she’d be taking the crown at the age of twenty-five, replacing her father’s regency, after her mother’s death.

Why did it have to sound so much like ‘Cinderella’?

Unlike her brothers, she was known for being private about her life, having graduated in a private university in England, early, and being involved in a few humanitarian projects.

She’d be staying in America for a few weeks both to explore the country and to talk about modern matters with a few of politicians, to also expose the openness of her native country.

And Ivar had met you in the shithole of his uncle’s store.

He had always thought that Hugh Grant was a fucking idiot in ‘Notting Hill’ after he had met Julia Roberts’ character, but Gosh… he was glad he hadn’t you in front of him, in that moment, because he’d have probably asked her too if you wanted ‘peaches with honey’.

The focus of the reportage was now onto her again, changed in much more comfortable clothes, although they undoubtedly looked expensive.

She smiled at the camera and then bit her lips, lightly, but definitely showing she wasn’t used to this kind of attention on herself, and he couldn’t blame her, since he had the same problem with barely his family.

‘I really hope to find a second home in America” she closed the interview, waving softly her goodbyes with a soft kiss.

And then Heahmund had to ruin his fantasy.

“You know where you can find a new home? On my…” and before he could complete the awful phrase, Ivar hit him in his head with the remote “… ouch, what the fucking hell?!”.

“Next time be a gentleman” simply mumbled Ivar.

“Is that what your mommy taught you, Ivar dear?” grimaced Heahmund in a sickly sweet tone but Ivar didn’t accept the provocation, simply ignoring his roommate, who went back to his observing of the screen without no noise, as if he was trying to communicate with it.

He should have seriously thought about renting an apartment with Hvitserk, as his brother had suggested.

And he should have thought about having to face her again, with the knowledge that you were a princess.

That Friday night he had been secretly praying she wouldn’t show up, that the phone number was fake and that it was just a big trip of his stupid mind.

But she did show up, this time in a different mise: something like a mixed version between Madonna in her videoclip of ‘Like a Virgin’ and some grunge aesthetic mixed up with the inevitable touch of her ‘material girl’ appearance.

She immediately approached the cash clerk, saluting him as if he was an old friend.

And he, like an idiot, did the waving right back.

‘C’mon, Ivar it isn’t going to be so bad’ he tried to calm himself down ‘… just start a normal conversation, avoid mentioning that she is a princess and give her the damned DVD’.

“Hi” she mumbled softly as he moved to promptly grab the DVD “Thank you for the suggestion! I loved it… the entire interview thing… and ‘I am just a girl…’… but I am blabbering”.

“Ahem no no” he reassured her, shaking his head, as he tried to shake himself out of the stupor of having a princess in his store “… I am glad you liked it”.

“Well, thank you for the suggestion” she shot back, definitely not at ease with awkward silence “… now can I get ‘Dirty Dancing’?”.

“Of course, your highness” it might have passed off as a simple sarcastic joke, but his tone went suddenly serious, and her eyes rushed to his, nervous, obviously even more at unease, after she had been discovered.

“… Gosh… you have seen the shit on TV, haven’t you?”.

He didn’t know whether to be more impressed by the fact that she had read through him immediately or that she had said ‘shit’.

Were princesses even allowed to say that?

“… yeah” he muttered back, as she looked up at the roof, before she uttered down a big huff.

“Please do me a favor and just… don’t tell anybody that I was here”.

“I don’t think that anybody would ever believe me” he shot back, wondering whether he should have respected any etiquette and curtsied to her.

But if she was trying to hide her true identity it probably meant she didn’t want to be treated as a princess.

And she smiled at his comment.

“Thank you, not that I have anything against this place, I honestly like it, and wouldn’t want to move away, again…” she explained calmly, her hands again going to her hair.

“It must be hard” he commented, lightly sarcastic, as he passed the ‘Dirty Dancing’ DVD, unloading the safety on it “… Gosh, don’t you have a better way to pass a Friday night?”.

His tone was harsh, but she didn’t back down, as she held his gaze.

Her tenderness definitely had a limit.

“… I am not one for the parties my brothers attend” she smirked sadly, as she pushed back herself from the counter, lightly adjusting the leather jacket she was wearing over her shoulders “… and every diplomatic event I was supposed to be at, either was too boring or people assumed that I was the waitress”.

“Certainly not because of your impeccable sense of style” he complimented her, a light dash of blush immediately on her cheeks, as she set her eyes on her heeled mary-janes.

“I do have to say that if I walked in dressed like this, they’d probably call security” she mumbled, again giving him a twirl of her skirt “… but thank you for having taste, one of the few things that I like doing in America is dressing as crazily as I want to”.

“If you think that it crazy, sweetheart, you haven’t seen nothing yet” he replied tightly, raising his eyes to meet hers, finding them truly amused, before a sudden light appeared in her eyes, a mischievous light.

“When do you end your shift?” she asked, pushing herself on the rubber tips of her mary-janes as Ivar tried to calm himself down from the fact that a pretty girl, a princess actually, had just asked him out… or so he thought.

“In an hour” Floki had given him a shorter shift, due to the fact that he had told him he’d need a bit of time to study for an important exam, which would be happening on Monday “… but I wouldn’t suggest you hanging out with me, I suck at the conversation stuff”.

“But your taste in movies is good” she retorted as one of her hands moved on the cash desk.

“I could be a psycho”.

��A psycho wouldn’t say that”.

He couldn’t understand the reason behind why she’d want to hang out with him.

She was a princess.

He was a store clerk with a genetic disease and an awful personality.

Things like this only happened in movies and fairytales

“… but if you don’t want to hang out with me, I get it…” she seemed low key used to it, as if it wasn’t unusual for pretty princess like her to get rejected “… just forgive me, I’ll go back and watch ‘Dirty Dancing’, alone…”.

“Don’t make me feel guilty” he muttered under his breath “… I’ll hang with you, but you have to promise me that you’ll watch a few good movies”.

“I have an hour to kill”.

Her smile had him by the balls.

And he knew he was royally screwed.

After waiting for an hour, watching ‘Dirty Dancing’ on the store TV, Ivar finished his turn and he locked the shop beside him, as she waited for him outside, smirking.

She hadn’t seemed too fazed by Ivar’s legs, as she had seen them, and if she was, she didn’t  show it on her face and  she looked completely at ease, outside, although she pushed the hood of her hoodie over her head, to hide her face.

“Aren’t you seriously worried that I might turn out to be a psycho?” Ivar asked, sure that there would be more behind all of this.

She could actually be the psycho.

And yet he couldn’t push himself away from her.

“I don’t get those vibes from you, and no offense…” she shot a quick look at her legs “…but I was on the run team”.

“Gosh, are you even real?” he threw back, as he led her inside to the nicest fast food chain, still open.

“My brothers say that I am from another era” she joked, as she sat down in front of him meanwhile he busied himself from the menu, more to hide himself than because he needed to check it out, since he basically lived in this place “… one where girls hid behind folding fans and wore petticoats”.

“What the hell is a petticoat?” he mumbled, but they were interrupted by the waitress asking their orders, sending Ivar an impressed look, as he hid further in the menu.

They spent a few more minutes in a comfortable small talk, talking about whatever ran around their mind, in a strange and natural chemistry that flooded, as she muttered of everything in the least princess-y style.

But her impeccable manners immediately came back, as she tried to cut through a burger with her knife and fork, making Ivar inevitably laugh, and he had to explain her that in America ‘eating with your hands is proper’.

“… America is strange” she mumbled lightly.

“You can say so”.

But he was soon distracted by the way she moved to eat the burger, very very much surprised that a princess could be so disgraceful.

“… don’t laugh… please” she mumbled as soon as she realized that he was staring “… my brothers bullied me for it”.

“Something that we have in common” he replied directly.

“You also were bullied by your brothers?” she asked surprisedly.

“Yeah and I hadn’t simply two… but four”.

“Wow, your mother deserves an award”.

“She would have loved that” a slight ghost of pain appeared in his eyes as he shielded them away from her, but she caught it just in time.

“I am sorry” she seemed honestly moved by what he had just said, sending him a soft look.

“Thanks” he muttered, before rushing to shift the attention away “… so do you have any weird habits that I should know of, uptown girl?”.

“Now you are being a psycho” she replied, as she pushed herself up from the drink she was gulping down.

“I told you”.

They both erupted in laughter, which kept happening also after they left the fast food restaurant so Ivar could accompany her back to her hotel.

‘You don’t have to’ she had tried to persuade him, again that expression of surprise at him being nice with her ‘… I’ll just get a taxi’.

‘I do think that you’ll take more to call a taxi than to arrive by feet’ he had shot back ‘… and also, as the true psycho that I am… I have to see where you live so that I can send you black dahlias, each day’.

She had just told him that if he wanted to send her anything, he should have thought about sunflowers.

‘They are my favorites!’.

At the entrance of the expensive hotel, they both were stalling, as if neither of them wanted to leave.

“It was nice…” he muttered, looking down at his doc martens “… I mean…”.

“I totally get it” she stopped him softly “… tonight I had the most fun I have had since I came in America”.

“Gosh, then you seriously had a shitty experience!”.

Again laughter, and then an obnoxious sound trilling through their soft awkward laughs, making her reach out in her pockets and get out a small bedazzled cellphone, making Ivar laugh, as she shushed him with a quick look, before she moved to reply.

“… yeah yeah, I am at the hotel” she muttered quickly in English, before she moved in a softer tone and in a different language, although from her voice, she was annoyed with whoever had called her, eventually ending the call as the other person was still talking to her.

She just sent him a quick look, before shaking her head.

“… my brothers just got back from a party and didn’t find him inside”.

“Don’t you have bodyguards?” he had been surprised by how freely she was allowed to go outside.

“Ahem… I might have sent them to get me food and then escaped the room” he sent you an impressed look “… that is what happens when people think that you aren’t some kind of ‘rebellious party girl’ “.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me” he smirked lightly, making her giggle.

That sound honestly would have lulled him to sleep, that night.

“Thank you…” her mutter was so soft, that he was sure that the light nightly breeze would have swept it away from him “… not solely for keeping the secrets, but also for the good night”.

“It was my pleasure, your highness” he retorted with a haughty look, as she just shot him light smirk before she pushed her shoulder straighter in a truly royal pose.

And she commented before slipping inside.

“It’s your Brilliance, actually”.

And Ivar wasn’t sure if he had just imagined it or it was real.

Either way, he went to sleep with a smile on his face.

She kept on showing up to his work, to the point that Floki asked him, if ‘his crippled ass had finally gotten himself a pretty girl’.

But he had simply replied that she was just somebody who had started sticking around him.

‘Whatever you say, asshole’ had replied Floki with a wink, before she came to gain a few movie suggestions, and as soon as his turn was over, she’d be already waiting, either a leather jacket or a denim one on her shoulders, for them to discover the newest and greasiest fast food, America could offer.

He had once muttered about how he never thought that princesses enjoyed ‘that shit’.

‘I have been feeding on broccolis, since I was five’ she had retorted with a stern look ‘… I’ll take “that shit” over everything else’.

He had discovered that being a princess wasn’t in the slightest as amazing as he had thought, but still she couldn’t deny that many of the chances she got in life were because of her titles.

Which just made it all worse.

‘I never know if people are truly nice with me because they truly like me or if they… do it because I am a princess’ she had been playing with her food, suddenly sated, as she hid her eyes from him ‘… and they want something from me’.

He knew that she was examining him still, almost as if to see in which one of the sections he fell in.

‘Yeah, you know, it’d be nice, if her royal Brilliance paid for her burgers’ he had retorted, as she had giggled lightly, before she had gone one step further and paid for the all the fast food clients of the night, getting a crazed look from their waitress, meanwhile Ivar’s open mouth fell almost to his feet.

They then had to rush off, since it wouldn’t undoubtedly attract curious eyes.

Some days they’d just crack up jokes and talk about movies and sometimes they’d sit in comfortable silence, needing simply a look to be understood.

It took Ivar a whole week to fall in love with a princess.

He couldn’t deny that whenever she’d smile at him, his heart almost wanted to jump out of this chest.

And whenever they’d have to separate, because she had to go back, he’d be left almost dealing with the side effects of it.

But although his feelings were as evident as ever, he had to hide them from her.

Because, although she might have found a perfect jester in Ivar, she wasn’t the type of girl that went for the cripple.

And she had a crown to keep on her head.

So, it was fun while it lasted.

But when it wouldn’t, anymore…

… it’d break his heart.

That day he had noticed that she didn’t look as comfortable as the previous nights, her mind pushed off away from him, almost as if she was hiding it from him, because she knew that her eyes would reveal all the truth.

And her replies were as weak as your laugh.

And he had had enough.

“… did you lose your crown, in all your designer clothes?” he had harshly commented, although he knew that she wouldn’t take it personally.

“I am going back tomorrow” she revealed, finally raising her face, her lips pushed in a grimace, almost as if the words tasted sour in her mouth “… I have nothing more to do, and I’ll go back, since I have more etiquette lessons to attend”.

The joke didn’t sound half as funny as it should have been, almost being choked in her mouth.

And Ivar couldn’t help but say nothing.

He knew that it’d happen…

… but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon.

And so abruptly.

“I have a flight at 5 p.m., tomorrow, so I don’t think that there’ll be any other nightly rampages” again nothing in her tone sounded as joyful as it should have been.

He was glad he wouldn’t be the only one feeling like shit.

In the first days, he had simply believed that after she’d be leaving him, everything would go back to how it was.

It’d be just ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’.

But right now… he didn’t know if he could go back to a time before her.

If he wanted to go back

Because although it hurt, the thought of having lived those moments.

They almost warmed up his cold and dark heart.

“I’ll miss you” it was the closest he could come to admitting his feelings

And before he knew it, she was bringing him in a tight hug, something wet staining his stupid work uniform, but he didn’t care as he held her tighter

There weren’t many words as you said ‘goodbye’, in a light and soft way, almost as if they both didn’t believe it.

But it had to happen.

And yet, as he woke up that morning, with the beautiful sound of his awful roommate bumping in the coffee table, he couldn’t help but think that he wouldn’t see her lounging annoyedly by the cash desk, asking him with her fluttery eyes whether they’d be leaving soon or she had the time to watch ‘Grease’.

He wouldn’t have anybody to tease, because she could ride horses but still was scared of dogs, hiding behind Ivar.

And he wouldn’t have anybody that truly understood him.

But what was truly eating him inside was the fact that she’d go without knowing truly how he felt about her.

He had hated the main character of any rom-com, who did amazing but stupid things, because they certainly didn’t work in real life.

There were a few thousands reasons why he might have trouble getting past the security measures at the airport, just to tell her ‘I really like you’.

And to be rejected in front of anybody?

He wasn’t Jerry McGuire.

Although you were prettier than Reneé Zellweger.

One more reason not to run at the airport and get dumped there.

And then he heard a knocking on the door.

He hoped it wasn’t Ubbe with his monthly check, because his house smelled like pot and he had some girl’s underwear on his sofa.

But it was worse: it was you.

“Before you accuse me of stalking, Floki gave me your address, yesterday” she commented promptly, decked in definitely a more elegant assemble than the ones you usually wore, with a long trench-coat hiding a lilac sweater and a checkered skirt.

“… I… I’ll kill Floki” he would have definitely.

And then set fire to the fucking store.

“Oh c’mon, he seems a nice boss” she replied, biting her lips, a dash of natural blush on her adorable cheeks.

“… he gave my address to a stranger”.

“A royal stranger” she reminded him “Not that I don’t love talking here, but my heels are killing me, so can I move inside?”.

He took in a deep breath, before pinching his hip, to assure himself this wasn’t a dream, and he ducked his head, inside to see if Heahmund had passed out on the floor or he had reached his room safely.

“Yeah, but just… close your eyes, I’ll guide you”.

“You went back to the creepy questions” but she still closed her eyes as she stepped inside, immediately sniffling the air around “… nice smell”.

“Thank you, it’s pot” he mumbled, rushing in his room, as she giggled beside him.

And when they were both inside, he couldn’t help but realize that he had his own Anna Scott, in his own house.

And he wasn’t acting any better than Hugh Grant.

As he sat down on his bed, she circled his room, curiosity shining in her eyes, as if it was a completely different and exciting world for her.

“Not that I don’t mind seeing your royal ass, but… what are you doing here?” he asked, a bit harsh, because he couldn’t help but feel insecure about this entire situation “… don’t you have an airplane to take?”.

“I couldn’t” she mumbled, almost as if it was the most natural thing “… my brothers are going back, I have… I have asked around and I’ll stick here to be a diplomatic”.

This time it was Ivar who bit his lips, nervously.

‘Don’t think that she has done it for you!’.

“Good! I can give you a proper education on cinematographic masterpieces”.

They both erupted in an awkward laugh, but then she moved closer to him, sitting down beside him on his bed.

That was the closest he had ever come to a woman.

“… I was hoping… but maybe… I got it all wrong…” she stammered through her words “… but I really like spending time with you, and it makes me feel normal…”.

He looked at her as if she was revealing him some universal truth.

“… and that isn’t something that many people have made me feel like…I always… I’d just like to maybe get to know you more than simply for your favorite movies…”.

That still didn’t mean anything.

“Ok” he mumbled “… but we can do it over emails”.

She looked up at the roof of the room, as if she was exasperated that he wasn’t simply getting it.

And finally, she smashed her lips against his.

And his body was definitely faster than his mind, gently bringing him closer as their mouths met again and again, till they were breathless, but she still uttered.

“Can you do that through emails?”.

Five years later, a crown on her head and a ring on her fingers, Ivar was standing at the other end of a big altar in a meek and private church of your native country.

It wasn’t exactly private, if he thought about all the cameras carefully set up everywhere to broadcast the royal wedding live.

But he had married a princess.

So, what could he have truly expected?

His princess had stayed in America for a year, before being called back to your country, but Ivar had moved back to your native country with her, having converted his degree into one that could be followed online.

Except that he hadn’t much to leave behind, starting a great adventure, with her.

His brothers? They would have been fine without him, even better.

His grudge against Lagertha? He could still operate better from another country.

Floki? He, himself, had told him to move the fuck away and get himself the princess.

In the end, there wasn’t anything holding him back and certainly his mother would have just approved.

She would have greatly approved his princess.

Who didn’t approve of this marriage was… her father.

He hadn’t said much when she had come back with a common boy, even more… a cripple.

But he hadn’t been truly problematic till you had mentioned your willingness to marry Ivar, after he had asked you the faithful question.

He hadn’t expected your father’s resistance, although he should have predicted it.

But in a few days the question had moved from a simple ‘no’, to a question of power and dynasty, since her father had stopped her from legally marrying Ivar.

And then she had told him that if he did forbid her from marrying Ivar, she would have gladly forsaken the crown.

Ivar had then told her to just forget about him, almost booked his travel back to America with a heavy heart, but he had thought to make the right choice, the brave one.

And the following day he had found her with her suitcase done and a ticket back to America, with him.

Then her father had started seeing the light, even more because her brothers, who teased Ivar endlessly, had pushed back their own right to the crown, forsaking it, if she ended up being dethroned.

And in the end her father had allowed the wedding.

‘You’ll regret it’ had mumbled her father but she had just smiled.

And Ivar now felt horridly stuck between two fires.

At unease in his elegant designer suit, as Helga held him close, since she had insisted on supporting him, alongside Floki and his brothers, who had come there for it, meeting his soon-to-be-bride a few days before the wedding.

It was useless to say they had all been impressed.

Although his family was more wanted by her, than actually him.

It just made him feel more nervous.

And he had to admit that he had been having a bad case of cold feet since the previous night.

It just…

He wasn’t used to be under the scrutiny of thousands of thousands of people.

They were probably thinking ‘look at this idiotic princess, falling in love with a cripple with anger issues’.

And then she walked in, hand in hand with her father.

He knew that she’d wear something that would look amazingly on her, some tulle atrocity, but in the end, it turned to be even more stunning than he had thought.

The dress didn’t make her seem like a cake, but instead elegantly slid down her body in a long and elegant trail, decorated with trims of lace that hid her face.

But he could still see her energetic smile.

Her honest smile.

And the cold feet melted with the floor under them, as he smiled right back at her, sure of what was going to happen.

Sure, that he wanted this royal wedding.

As she came by his side, silence following him, he finally breathed.

Loudly.

Making her laugh lightly, as she joined their hands, although it wasn’t protocol.

But when had she ever cared about it?

“We are here reunited to join princess (Y/N) of (N/C) and Ivar Lothbrock for the prosperity of the reign”.

Ivar couldn’t listen anymore to judge of peace you had chosen, since Ivar wasn’t catholic, another break in the protocol.

And he did another, as he gently whispered in your hear.

‘You are lovelier now than you have ever been’.

“Don’t be corny” she mumbled keeping her head straighter, as she faked listening to judge.

“I was just quoting Notting Hill” he replied, pouting lightly and faking of being perfectly still for the camera.

“After all... I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her” she retorted, and he cracked up a light laugh.

“Will you leave the ‘don’t put baby in a corner’ for the vows?” he joked, gaining an enormous side-eye by his father-in-law.

“Just you wait, prince Ivar, just you wait”.

---

(Ivar Taglist)

@youbloodymadgenius​​ @alexhandersenx​​ @peaceisadirtyword​​ @fckingdiva​​

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Thirteen

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

June 13th, 1998

“You need a real job, Remy,” his mother told him, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Remy felt crushed. He had just gotten his first job as a barista at a local coffee shop, shouldn’t Mom be happy for him? “This is who was hiring, Mom,” he said. “No one wants a summer intern who’s not even out of high school.”

“Well, I suppose it’ll do for now,” Mom said. “But you can’t expect to do that forever.”

“I know,” Remy said, nodding. “But this is a good start. It’s something to put on my resumé and it’ll give me a little cash to spend, so I don’t have to ask you and Dad for a loan.”

That worked just like Remy hoped it would, and his mother nodded in approval at him. “Good for you, then,” she said with a smile. “This is a big step for you.”

“Thanks,” he said with a smile, even as he thought, Why couldn’t you see that in the first place?

  December 16th, 2000

“It’s official!” Remy exclaimed, walking up to Emile and hugging him. “I dropped out of college!”

Emile laughed and hugged Remy back. “Now that you’re not going to school, what will you be doing?” Emile asked.

“I’m working at a second coffee shop now,” Remy explained, “It’s something I’m good at and if I’m good enough I could get promoted to manager.”

“That’s great, Rem,” Emile said. “I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah, I just feel...freer, you know? Like I could do anything! I knew all the stuff they were teaching me in business school, so maybe if I get good enough at making coffee I can start my own shop. That’d be cool, don’t you think?”

Emile smiled. “That sounds exactly up your alley,” he agreed. “Especially the manager part.”

“I know. Like, that would never happen at Starbucks, but this is a slightly smaller, local chain. Like, only really in this state sorta thing. Still big, but not huge, you know? If they like me, if I can make them like me, I could get paid more with the promotion and quit the Starbucks job entirely.”

“And the paperwork came through in the mail today, huh?” Emile asked, rounding Remy to get a closer peek at the letter Remy was holding.

“Yeah,” Remy agreed. “They told me I didn’t have to go to class after Monday, which was a relief because there was supposed to be a huge test yesterday and it no longer impacts my grade, because I have no grade anymore! I’m free!”

Emile laughed, and Remy grinned. “Well, then, Mister ‘Free Man,’ what are you going to do to celebrate this occasion?”

“I want...to go clubbing,” Remy said. “There’s a club on the outskirts of town I’ve wanted to go to for weeks, but I never got around to it. But tonight, I have a little bit of spare money and no worries, and I want to go clubbing.”

“Sounds like a plan, I guess,” Emile laughed. “You can have fun with that.”

“I’m dragging you along, you know,” Remy said. “It’s eleven, we can have dinner and then head out.”

Emile blinked in shock, and Remy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, of course I’m taking you with me, you have the car.”

“Oh, you want to use me for my car. Nevermind, I completely understand now,” Emile said, words dripping sarcasm.

Remy shoved him playfully and Emile grinned. “You seriously want to go to a club, you’re gonna need a fake ID, you know,” Emile said.

“Nah, that’s the great thing about this club: they allow people under twenty one, you’re just not allowed to buy alcohol. I can get all the cute boys to buy me drinks,” Remy said with a wink.

“Right, because that will end so well,” Emile said, rolling his eyes and wrapping an arm around Remy’s shoulders. “I’ll make us both sandwiches and then we can try the club, okay?”

“Sure. Hey, where were you all day, anyway? You never arrive home after ten,” Remy said.

“I was visiting my parents, remember?” Emile asked. “Just took the day to drive down there, and headed back here starting at like...I dunno, nine? I didn’t eat a whole lot at dinner, though, and you’ll need food in your stomach when you decide to get pretty boys to buy you drinks, so sandwiches it is.”

“Cool. Also, you’ll need to change,” Remy said, guiding Emile inside the house. “I don’t care how cozy your sweater is, you’re gonna get hot, and you’re not gonna get in if you wear that. We’re getting you some new threads.”

“Okay,” Emile said in that voice that Remy knew meant Emile was just humoring him.

Nevertheless, while Emile made sandwiches, Remy raided Emile’s closet and pulled out an outfit that would actually pass for cool. Skinny jeans, and a faded white band T-shirt. Remy tossed a pair of plain socks on the bed and placed Emile’s sneakers at the foot. He walked out. “I’ve got an acceptable club outfit for you on your bed,” he said, smirking. “And it involves those skinny jeans you insisted you’d never find a use for.”

Emile groaned but passed Remy a sandwich, which he immediately tore into. “I’ll get changed,” he allowed. “But you had better be ready for me to whine.”

Remy just grinned and waved Emile onward. When Remy’s sandwich had been finished and Emile came walking out, Remy stood there shocked for a moment. He hadn’t anticipated Emile looking hot in the outfit he’d picked out. Cute, sure. But hot? Completely out of left field. “You chose my socks for me? Really?” Emile asked.

Snapping back to life, Remy shook himself. “Yeah, I didn’t need you ruining your look with cartoon socks.”

Emile pouted. “What’s wrong with my cartoon socks?”

“They’re not exactly the kind of socks you would want to wear at a club, Emile. They won’t score you any points with the guys. Or the gals, for that matter.”

Emile just sighed, ate his sandwich, and then they were on the road. Remy had his chair tilted back and his fingers were laced together behind his head. “Today is a good day,” he said.

“I’m glad you think so,” Emile said. “Were you waiting for me to come home to share the news that you dropped out?”

“Eh, only a little,” Remy said. “I wasn’t, like, watching the window, but I didn’t want to go to sleep before I shared the news.”

Emile shook his head. “And you call me the nerd in this friendship.”

“You are the nerd in this friendship,” Remy said.

Emile laughed as they pulled into the parking lot. “You keep telling yourself that,” he said.

They got out of the car, flashed their IDs to the bouncers, and were let inside with minimal fuss. Remy felt the bass of the music thrum in his chest, and he grinned. He turned to Emile, who was already looking around the crowd, no doubt trying to spot someone he knew. Remy tapped his shoulder and almost-shouted, “I’m gonna go have some fun. Meet by the bathrooms in two hours to see how we feel?”

Emile nodded and Remy started moving through the crowd until he was on the dancefloor. Now, Remy didn’t know the specifics of dancing, but he knew how to sway his hips in just such a way that it would attract attention. He worked his way through the crowd doing just that, catching the attention of several girls, until he noticed one muscled man standing on the edge of the dancefloor, watching him. Remy put on a flirty grin and crooked his finger a few times.

The man offered a smile of his own and walked over. He was about as tall as Remy was, and the second he came over, he said, “Name’s Chris.”

“Remy,” Remy said, offering his hand. “Care to dance?”

Chris took Remy’s hand and they started to dance together, the beat of the drums matching their movements around the dancefloor. Remy noticed that several of the girls who were watching him before were now giving him dirty looks, but he didn’t care. This wasn’t a gay club, but it had the best reputation for being gay-friendly. And no one could kick him out for dancing with a man.

As one song bled into the next, Remy and Chris continued to dance, until they were near the bar and Chris asked, “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure, why not?” Remy replied with a laugh.

Chris went to the bar, and came back with two beers, passing one to Remy. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Chris asked. “You could certainly go to any gay bar and be the star of the show.”

“You flatter me,” Remy said, taking a sip of his beer. “I just dropped out of college. Figured I’d have a little fun on one of my off days before I start up my second job, to help with rent around here.”

Chris whistled. “Special occasion, then,” he said with a sly grin. “Here with anyone, or did you come over by yourself?”

“Friend drove me over here, but he’s nobody,” Remy said looking around. He pointed to where Emile was at the edge of the dance floor, talking to a girl. “He’s actually getting some action of his own, by the looks of it.”

Chris laughed. “You think he’d be okay if you went home with someone else?”

“I mean, I’d probably have to tell him, but I doubt he’d really mind,” Remy said. He arched an eyebrow. “You offering?”

“If I am?” Chris asked.

“Meh. I’m not looking for anything serious,” Remy said, waving a hand. “We finish our beers and still get on, we can dance more, and if I like you we can go to yours.”

“Sounds fun,” Chris agreed.

The two of them talked as they finished their beers, and when they were done they headed back out onto the dance floor. Remy could feel a buzz settling in, but also just a tad bit of exhaustion. It had to be around midnight by this point, and usually he’d be asleep soon. But he couldn’t be bothered to care about being tired.

After a particularly quick song, which left both Remy and Chris breathless and laughing, Chris kissed Remy softly. Remy kissed back, enjoying the sensation. This wasn’t his first kiss, but it had been a while, and he forgot how good it felt. As Chris pulled back, though, something or someone caught his eye from behind Remy and his eyes widened and he cursed.

Remy turned to find a girl stalking over and fuming. “Chris?! You said you were hanging out at a friend’s tonight?!” she shrieked.

“Bianca, you said you weren’t going to be back until tomorrow evening!” Chris said.

“Is this what you do every time I leave? Go to some club or another and convince someone to come home with you?!” she demanded.

Remy looked at the scene with horror. “You have a girlfriend?!” he asked Chris.

“Not for much longer, he doesn’t!” Bianca exclaimed. “And who exactly are you?!”

“Uh, Remy. Picani. I just wanted to have a little harmless fun, I didn’t realize that Chris might be taken,” Remy stammered out.

Bianca snarled at him. “Sure you didn’t,” she growled.

“I didn’t!” Remy insisted.

“He genuinely didn’t know, Bianca, leave him out of this,” Chris said, putting an arm between Bianca and Remy.

Bianca turned back to him and grabbed him by the bicep. “You and I are going to have a very long talk,” she growled, leading him off the dancefloor.

Remy felt like he needed to take a shower after that realization. He felt like filthy scum, even though he didn’t know that Chris had a girlfriend. He stood there on the dancefloor in shock before deciding to head to the bathrooms. He kinda had to pee, and anyway, that’s where he and Emile were supposed to meet up when they were going to check in.

After doing his business, but before he was done washing his hands, Emile came into the bathroom. “Hey, how are you faring?” Emile asked.

“The guy I was flirting with apparently had a girlfriend,” Remy said.

“Ouch,” Emile said with a sympathetic wince.

“Yeah,” Remy said, sighing. He still felt a little buzzed, but his mood was significantly dampened after learning this new information. “I kinda want to dance more, but dancing’s no fun without a partner, and I don’t know if any other guys here are interested in men.”

“There’s always me,” Emile joked.

Remy huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. No offense, though, Emile, but uh...I think I’d rather dance with someone who isn’t my best friend. I don’t want people thinking we’re an item.” That thought made Remy uncomfortable in ways that he couldn’t quite articulate. He hoped that Emile wouldn’t try and read into it, though.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to. “Yeah, I guess not,” Emile said. “No way to get some people interested in you if they think we’re already a thing.”

“I mean, we could always say we’re not exclusive, but I do agree that it would be easier to just avoid that beast all together,” Remy said.

“Wanna go home?” Emile asked, tilting his head to the door.

Remy considered. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready to sleep.”