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marengogo · 1 year

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5: Marengo & The Rainbow Avengers

Take Two - by BTS

[Music is a very big part of my life and I’m MOSTLY INCAPABLE of writing without music, so I just thought I'd share what I am listening to while writing this]

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I meant to post this yesterday, in honour of their birthday, but, 24 hours never seem to be quite enough do they? So, here it is, the SUPER-LONG-DETAIL story of how Marengo was unexpectedly saved by 7 Rainbow Avengers, also known as BTS.

CHAPTER 1: MY HEART WAS BROKEN

The date was January 27; 2019. ARASHI japanese boy band that debuted in 1999 got together and in front of a well organised, and somewhat serene, press setting, televised to their fans all over the world including myself, announced that they would go on an indefinite hiatus starting January 1, 2021. Not sure why I wasn't expecting this. This was the first time they every did something like this, and the tell-tell signs had been plenty, but still, had I been ready, it still would have hit as hard as it did.

I remember silently crying, as Ohno their leader and my bias, who is the one in the middle of the above picture spoke and told us how, basically. he was tired and just wanted to spend his time on his boat fishing his days away. Fishing had always been his passion, but he also always dreamed of becoming the captain of his own ship Monkey D. Luffy watch out!. ARASHI had quite a few of their own shows and in one of them (Arashi Ni Shiayagare) we the fans, and the other members, got to cheer him on as he studied to get a licence to drive a boat. He succeeded, got his boat and for the rest of that year’s show he’d take us on adventures with his boat, fishing with famous Japanese celebrities as guests it was still a show after all. Every time he was on his boat he looked so fucking happy. So when he finally made the announcement, yes, I was shocked, yes, I was distraught, but ultimately I was happy for him. Just a whole STORM arashi means storm of emotions really.

You need to understand, at that point, I had been their fan since 2009. If my Japanese is at the level it is right now, 1/10 of it is definitely thanks to them, since I used to regularly translate all their songs, dramas, shows, etc. To imagine I only started listening to them as a fun way to help me study Japanese … Anyways, back on track … their announcement happened on my 10 year anniversary (their 20th) and I remember the following day coming back from work, with their music in my ears, stopping at a traffic light wanting to cry as I kept thinking about them and right in that moment, I looked up at the big screen and so the following ad:

That evening was the first time I actually EVER seen the boys. Before that evening I had only heard about them, A LOT, and now in hindsight I know why. The first time had been some time in 2017, while I was looking for japanese articles to translate, I happened upon one that was about ARASHI, obviously, I got super excited and decided to read it. Only to find out how this journalist was basically describing why according to him ARASHI stood no comparison against this 7 boy band sensation “called BTS”. I was so irritated by that article I didn’t even bother to read their country of origin and for the longest time I decided they were Chinese 🤡. Mind you, I never once thought of BTS even after reading that article, my mind was ARASHI ARASHI ARASHI FOR DREAM! but that evening when I saw that ad I hated them. So I walked away, sad and angry O THE DRAMA! 🤡 but just like the first time I heard of them, I never thought of them again.

2020 rolled in, and just right before COVID, I started exploring new things on the internet amongst which I discovered a certain at the time budding actor and become a big fan not about to give myself out, so I won’t tell you who 😜, Let's call them X. What does a fan with extensive editing knowledge do? Why fan-edits of course! So I started making edits of X, and one day, as I was helping make X trend on Twitter for an event they were attending, on my timeline a particular video kept reappearing. So I clicked:

CHAPTER 2: I WAS LITERALLY SPEECHLESS AND MESMERIZED

Within ARASHI, only Ohno could actually dance, but these boys ... these boys could ALL dance and apparently they also sang, some holding one hell of a tune, and that beat, ooh the entire production…: JUST WOW. I must have watched the video another 10 times at least and all the while it never got old, in fact it only got better with every listen; so I then ended up adding ON to my playlist.

This day was February 25, 2020 and this is the date I unknowingly became ARMY and also the day I celebrate my anniversary on. Now you need to understand, my COVID days were mostly making edits of X, supporting X, trending for X on twitter so at this point I didn’t have the thoughts of wanting to find more about BTS. In my head, I found a song I liked, and thought "cool, I guess I don't necessesarily have to hate them ..." I quickly looked up JUNGKOOK because you don't belt a not like that and act like it didn't happened and kept it moving.

Couple of days later, I’d start working on my first edit of X which blow up. This edit was was made using this one song I heard on a compilation which was circulating on twitter, it had a “certain dancer named Jimin” doing high kicks. The background song they used was named; UGH!. Sure, the dancer was hella skilled … but that song, I couldn’t stop playing the clip and though it was probably because of Jimin, my brain decided that it was the song can’t believe I found the exact edit!!! 👇🏾

Did I realise that UGH! which took me forever to find as I didn’t understand it was the name of the song at first 😂😂😂 was sung by BTS; as in THE SAME BTS I apparently didn’t hate so much anymore? NOPE. It didn’t even occurred to me because THAT BTS was a 7 member boy band not a hardcore 3 member rap group 😬😬😬. Anyways, I became obsessed with UGH! And as one does when in confinement, I started looking for people who would share my same enthusiasm, and since I had already fallen into the world of reactions on youtube for TV series THANKS A LOT COVID 🙃I thought I’d look to see if there was anyone who would react to songs, in this case, UGH! By the rapper group named BTS still to this point I had NO CLUE that they were the same people… I had to download an mp4 version from the internet in order to do the edit, so I didn't even know if it came from an album or where else and what I found was:

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They were hella excited and I really could relate with that because that song always made me wanna turn the fuck up, but most of all, they were black people interested in something asian, and that for me was something I could heavily appreciated. Everyday I kept coming back to watch that reaction because it just made me so happy, and gave me so much energy, so I decided to see if they had any more songs from this rapper group. The first video that came up was their reaction to ON KINETIC MANIFESTO. THE AMOUNT OF DOTS THAT STARTED CONNECTING IN MY HEAD WERE SO MANY YOU’D THINK I DISCOVERED THE THREE LAWS OF EINSTEIN!

You should have seen my face when I discovered that UGH! was on the same album as ON: 🤡. This also made me want to look up the one member whose features really appealed to me the most, not gonna lie to y'all, it was love at first sight: RM. Wanting to know who he was I went on wikipedia, typed BTS and kept clicking every members name until I found him wikipedia has them ordered by age. I started reading about him and chuckled when I found out he was the leader what can I say, i seem to have had a type! aaaand he thought himself english and that made him even sexier in my eyes. When I tell you I spent a couple of days being obsessed with Namjoon 😬😬😬 ...

Anyways, I think a part of me wanted to start being invested, thus, before continuing watching more reactions with FoSquad I decided I wanted to listen to MOTS7, in its entirety, by myself and aside from ON and UGH! The only other song that I absolutely adored was Filter. AND SO began my search for the uncredited female singer that sang Filter, whom I couldn't find anywhere, NOT A SINGLE GOOGLE PAGE HAD THE NAME OF THE FEMALE SINGER THAT SANG FILTER ON ONE OF THE BIGGEST ALBUMS OF THE YEAR. For a couple of days this is what my google search looked like “What is the name of the female singer that sings Filter with BTS”. … 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

CHAPTER 3: A THREE MONTHS BLINK

Not finding an answer with regards to the mysterious Filter Singer and also concluding that the internet was still so lacking on proper representation of Asian artists, rather than me being the one who was dumb AF, I went continued my supporting X life, while constantly listening to ON, UGH! and Filter. Eventually, it was time to make another X edit, meaning I needed to search for new songs and since X was obsessed with BlackPink I decided to give them a chance and at the time the most recent song was SOUR CANDY feat. Lady Gaga. It was very Gagaish I just so happen to really like Gaga and the beat was perfect for editing, so I used it. On top of that, I joined X's I don't remember how many days countdown to the premiere of “How You Like That”. As I said, X was obsessed with BlackPink, hence, I became a Blink for 3 months.

The day How You Like That dropped I was just as excited as X and at the time I was staying with my directors at their place and they became my "covid bubble". The 3 of us were trying to save our company during COVID inactivity, which meant that during the mornings it was an incessant string of calls with lawyers, with rightfully desperate landlords chasing for money we didn’t have, third parties also needed money we didn't have ... basically, just a whole lot of heavy grinding. But in the evening, we'd cook dinner and we’d all watch a movie once we had quickly gone through the most recent Queer Eye season, even Queer Eye in Japan! and after they’d go to bed, I’d step up, talking with my X Twitter GC, while watching other shows and right before going to bed I'd watch How You Like That to get my spirits ready for the next day.

This was my routine at their house, every day from the release of that song, for a good 2 months. When August rolled around I decided to go back home, as the situation with the company seemed at least a bit stable. So it was back to self-distancing by myself and to my own surprise I didn’t feel the urge to listen to BlackPink at all. X was all that really mattered after all, and they had stopped talking about them, for the time being. So one early ass morning on August 21, 2020 I just so happened to be awake and twitter was buzzing with people waiting for a new BTS song to drop. As I was already awake and had another hour waiting for X to appear at their interview event, I decided to silently wait with ARMY; I did like ON after all. Thus, came Dynamite

CHAPTER 4: LIKE AN ECHO IN THE FOREST

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It was nothing like ON. So at first I was a bit confused and didn't know what to think, as it was clear that I hadn't understood their genre. Yet, somehow, that boy winking at me at the end of the MV kept making me want to replay the song and before I knew it I was “shining through the city with a little funk and so-oul!”. Eventually, I looked him up and found out that the cute boxy smile boy with the light blue outfit’s name was V. Just as easy a name to remember as RM. By all means, he wasn’t RM, but that smile just was the cheekiest thing I had seen in a while.

But there was another person that was also FINALLY "introduced" to me through this video, the one who was my mysterious female voice and "UGH! dancer": JIMIN. Not sure why it didn’t connect with ON but the second I heard his voice in Dynamite DOTS WERE CONNECTING LEFT AND RIGHT, AND IT WAS FINALLY CLEAR IN MY MIND THAT SHE WAS ACTUALLY A HE, WHO WAS PRETTIER THAN A SHE AND SANG & DANCED LIKE AN ANGEL 🤯🤯🤯. ... Basically Dynamite introduced me to VMIN.

It goes without saying, my queer-senses were all over the place with Jimin. So, as i usually do, not at all knowledgeable of the South Korean culture, I dove into the internet to ask and see if JM was part of the community: nothing came up. In fact, it was full of people going to a great length to explain why there was NO WAY IN HELL THAT JM WAS QUEER. Funnily enough, as I kept trying to look for connections between JM and the community, all that came up with connections between RM and V and the community (as they had made posts and connected with queer people, music, etc). The strong denying of any sort of connection between JM and Rainbow nation did discourage me a little, NGL. I had spent a year trying to not fall for queerbaiting and I didn’t want it to happen again. However, as I didn’t want to jump the gun since I didn’t quite know them at all, I decided that even though he wasn't a Fred Mercury he perhaps was a Bowie or a Prince. I was okay with that and decided to close that rainbow chapter at that AT THE TIME, BECAUSE WE ALL KNOW WHERE I STAND NOW 🤡.

The weeks following Dynamite things around X’s management start to look very dodgy and fishy. As a fan you want to be positive, hope for the best, but as more and more evidence was brought forth I had to start to at least dissociate X from their company. This really made me and my X-friends incredibly sad and pretty disenchanted I will admit. Day by day we tried to look at the bright side but, it kept looking rather grim and right about that time somehow I was exposed to STAY GOLD and LIFE GOES ON. Thought Stay Gold wss the one in Japanese, the one that stuck with me was Life Goes On. I remember walking around the still empty studio we hadn’t been able to reinstated none of my colleagues with Life Goes On playing rather loudly. The comfort that song provided me in that moment I will never be able to explain. Is probably the same feeling older ARMY have with Spring Day. Life Goes On came to me in a moment when I really needed to hear those words, gently and promising, like an echo in the forest.

As it started to become clearer that X was just as cowardly as their company I took a break from my Twitter page, which also just so happened to fall around Xmas time, so I got to actually have a real break with my sibling away from all that nonsense and into a different more secure looking world.

CHAPTER 5: WHO IS BTS?

I spent a good deal of my xmas break watching people's reaction to BTS, their story, their struggles, their MV. Through these reactors and “BTS experts” I was introduced to SOPE. In my baby ARMY experience they came as a set, Ying&Yang, one the opposite of the other, at least this was how majority of the old BTS edits and explaining videos would portray them luckily we now have many updated and more extensive videos out there. While watching all these compilations I also eventually learned all their names and started watching RUN BTS from episode 1 when I figured out tha utmost of the edits were from there I thought “Let’s go straight to the source, if I want to learn really what they are like”.

The first thing that became pretty clear to me was that for example HOBI and YOONGI weren’t quite exactly like the compilations had been describing them all of them in fact. And it wasn’t like all the boys tried to act reserved or hide certain parts of themselves, they seemed so open that if people paid even just the smallest amount of attention they would know. So for the first time in a long time I found a group that wasn’t giving me doubts, worries … I really didn’t have to think too much but at the same time I knew that if I ever fell back into being depressed from my post-COVIDic environment, they’d also be able to find me down there, because they didn’t seem to shy away from those situations either.

Going back to RUN BTS real quick, the one thing that it did for me, was introducing me to none other than KIM SEOKJIN. Before I knew it I always found myself following jin on the screen, waiting for him to talk and say a pun or dad joke, or just wanted to see and hear him laugh … I developed a crush for Jin and a small pointy edge every time someone would leave comments on youtube like “why is jin even in this band”, “ there is a reason why Jin dances in the back”. “Jin is not even handsome”. GURL/BOI/ENBY. Taking a break from X meant I would stay well away from Twitter, so I had no idea about BTS proper solos, antis, etc and like a moth to a flame, I’d fall for any troll and start defending Jin against the world. MFers … how dare they disrespected him like that! AND IN FRONT OF ME!

That being said a person called me a Jin-solo in a comment and the second that happened I was about to reply that "Yes I love Jin-" the implications of being a solo, COMPLETELY lost on my Baby ARMY ass but the second i started typing I immediately thought of Namjoon, and then Jungkook, and Jimin ... eventually I thought of all members and realised that I liked each member for different reasons and I couldn't choose one. Further research would eventually teach me that meant I was 0T7.

On my way back from my Xmas break I decided that I would stop associating with X and just move on with life. On my journey back home we were told we had to be Lockdown again, which really depressed me, but as if it was second nature, I played Life Goes On and tried to think of any positive thing. So I got back home wanting to watch more BTS reactions, while listening to BTS and wondering what Jin was doing. And from that moment on for a good month I’d go into my still empty office but this time knowing we could start calling back at least 2 of my colleagues, which made me so ecstatic sit down with my coffee and say “Alexa, play BTS” and Alexa would reply “Shuffling songs from BTS” and ALWAYS the playlist would start with a familiar whistle …

And the rest is history 😜.

So who is BTS? They are the 7 boys that came to my rescue when I felt heartbroken. The 7 boys that had so much skill and love to share with the world and wanted for me to join and not be left out. They are the boys that never pressured me into needing to like them, but somehow were always there when I unknowingly needed them. They are the 7 boys who reminded me that it was okay to not be okay and just go with the flow of things, even if it is against the flow of all. They are the 7 boys that keep trusting us with their everything and all they ask in return, if possible, is to be there, at end of this gigantic rainbow. And that is exactly where I plan to be. I am so grateful for all 7 of you and words could never describe how much I love you.

HAPPY 10TH ANNIVERSARY MY RAINBOW AVENGERS.

Always incredible respectfully yours,

Marengo.

#Youtube #BTS 10th Anniversary #Marengo World #I LOVE YOU SO MUCH BANGTAN

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wiypt-writes · 4 years

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination.

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby.

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end.

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

#murder he wrote #j's haunted house 2020 #dark ransom #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

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Have you ever done like a high school aged au except Levi and Hanji are penpals?

so levihan here aren't exacty penpals and it's a high school!au, but this idea has been living in my head ever since i received your ask so i hope you enjoy this fic, anon, because i dedicate it to you <333

As cliche as it sounded, but Hange never thought that her life was gonna be this way.

When she finished her journalistic degree, when she graduated from university on top of the class, everyone kept saying, "A bright future is ahead of you, Zoe. The whole world is at your fingertips..."

And Hange had believed them, Hange had expected it too. Uncovering the truth, saving people with the might of her words, making the world a better place one article at a time. Hange couldn't wait to get started and make her dream come true.

And then...

And then every serious newspaper turned her application down, not ready to give a chance for someone with a lot of skills and even more brains, but not enough experience, and then her pride got in the way, and so she didn't wish to settle for some local, small newspaper, refusing to waste her degree and years of hard work on some mediocrity.

And now, here she is - working as an advice columnist for Sina's Gossip.

Not a place Hange ever thought she'd end up at. Not a place she would have ended up at, if she had a choice. But she didn't have that choice, had taken it away herself when she refused offers from more respectable newspapers and didn't get a job at the place she had aimed for.

The magazine isn’t large, small enough for Hange not to know about it at all prior to receiving the job offer. She wouldn't have looked at that job offer twice, would have dismissed it immediately after seeing the name Sina's Gossip written on top, but as chance had it, she scrolled through the letter and saw the name at the end.

Erwin Smith.

The Erwin Smith, a local star who had disappeared from public eye some years ago. And now Hange knew where he had gone to.

He was only in his thirties, and already made a name for himself after he uncovered a conspiracy at the local pharmaceutical company. Just like Hange, perhaps even more so, he had a bright future ahead of him. But suddenly he quitted his job and founded his own magazine.

Hange would be lying if she said she wasn't at the very least a little bit intrigued at Erwin's sudden change of course.

That's why she agreed to a meeting with him. And that was her mistake.

Because Erwin turned out to be handsome, intelligent and charming to the point of ridiculousness. He smiled, spoke a few flattering words and next Monday Hange was already on her way to Sina's Gossip, where she started off as a mere copy editor.

It's been three years since that fated meeting, and Hange is still here, now promoted to an advice columnist. And, despite it not being what she dreamed of, despite working at a gossip magazine she used to despise... She likes it here.

She likes the people she works with, and she likes people she works for.

The letters people send her, asking for an advice or sharing their grievances, Hange likes them too. Enjoys reading them again and again, mulling over each word, looking at presented problem from each angle and doing her best to come up with the best advice possible.

Perhaps it's a simple wishful thinking or whispers of an ego she still hasn't lost, but Hange likes to think she helps these people. Solves their problems, guides them through trying times. Or brightens their day, at least.

She's not saving the world like she dreamt of, but she's making it a better place - or strives to, at least. Sometimes people she helped write her again, thanking for kind and wise words. Hange takes huge pride in that. The job pays well, enough for her to rent a small apartment and live comfortably, but it's these sincere words of gratitude that she treasures the most.

And what makes her hold onto her position in Sina's Gossip even more is the people that work alongside her. Erwin is a kind, if a little dorky man. And he gathered a team of similar people. They're all experts in their respective fields too, Erwin went through great lengths to get them all aboard.

When Hange just started working, the prospect of meeting new people made her more than a little bit nervous. As much as she liked other people and enjoyed getting to know them, getting along, truly belonging somewhere was always a problem for her. Too loud and too weird, she was usually an outcast.

But not at Sina's Gossips.

There, almost right from the beginning, ever since she walked through the glass sliding doors and met a tall man who started sniffing her, she knew she would feel right at home.

In the end, she wasn't wrong. The employees of Sina's Gossips became colleagues, then friends and then family.

She loves them all, even the grumpy midget who opens the door to her office without knocking, his face showing no ounce of friendliness or joy.

But— he's holding a cup of coffee in his hands, and even if Hange were truly annoyed, she'd forgive him just for that.

"Four-eyes," he says, a greeting and complaint at the same time. Hange lets it slide too. Levi hands her the paper cup with coffee, and it's still hot, almost burning her fingers. Lifting the cup to her lips proves that the coffee is black with three sugars, just as Hange always takes it. For that, she's ready forgive Levi any possible sin. "Are you neglecting your work once again?"

"No," that is an offence worth pouting, and Hange does exactly that. She wasn't neglecting anything, how could he even think about it. She's just been staring in the distance for... Hange glances at the clock on her computer screen... For almost ten minutes now.

Alright, maybe, Levi wasn’t completely wrong about that one. Not that Hange will ever admit it to him.

“Did you check the letters I send to you then?”

Hange blinks, a little startled. Letters? It’s the letters day already?

Another quick glance to her computer screen tells her that yes, it’s Tuesday and the letters day already.

Levi takes a seat at the other side of her desk with an irritated grumble. “I sent them to you last night, you ass.”

Hange snickers at the profanity. For an editor, Levi possesses a surprisingly foul mouth.

“I’m checking them now,” she bites her lip, opening the mail. Right beneath advertisements and notifications from her social media, there is a letter from Levi, just as he said there would be. Hange opens it, downloading the archive. As soon as she clicks on it, her eyes light up in anticipation. She starts scrolling down, swiftly going over each letter.

A father who doesn’t know what to give his estranged son for his tenth birthday…

A woman who is worried that her sister is dating a gangster…

A strange man who lost his pet lobster…

A teenage girl who isn’t sure what she wants more – to move to another city to the university of her dreams or stay at her hometown with her best friend and boyfriend…

Hange greedily drinks in every word, hurrying to get to the bottom. What if there is a letter from him…

Levi interrupts her by kicking her leg under the desk.

“I’m glad you finally decided to pay attention to your work,” he pauses, his scowl deepening. In her head, Hange finishes his sentence for him – but now, I want you to pay attention to me. God, Levi is just the cutest. So endearing and precious, and he tries to hide it so hard. Nothing gets past Hange, though. “But I didn’t come here to stare at your deranged smile.”

Obediently, Hange shifts her gaze from a screen to Levi, staring at him with a hand beneath her chin. “Why did come here then?”

“You have a meeting this Friday, remember?”

A meeting, meeting… It takes Hange a long moment to catch up with what Levi is talking about.

“A meeting!” she yells, when it dawns on her at last. She snaps her fingers, grinning at Levi. “Of course, a meeting, with that guy from, mm…” she frowns, tapping her forehead. “From Monkey Island?”

“Money Island,” Levi corrects, but he does so with a hoarse chuckle, and Hange mentally pats herself on a back.

After all, who doesn’t enjoy making their attractive co-workers laugh? Especially if they’re just as broody as Levi?

“Do you remember his name at least?”

“Zeke Yeager, right?”

“Right,” Levi nods, and it could be Hange’s imagination, but his face becomes just a little darker, and his voice just a little gruffer.

Hange’s senses start tingling…

“Do you know each other?”

And, yep, there it is – Levi purses his lips, turning his head to the side to mutter a quiet curse. “We’ve graduated from the same university.”

In what world that is a reason enough for such apparent dislike? Hange longs to know more, find out every possible detail.

Levi sees that desire reflect on her face, and sighs. “He’s an asshole,” he reveals. “Who loves his asshole little brother.”

It doesn’t explain much anyway, but Hange feels like it’s the best she can get out of Levi. She decides to surrender and quell her curiosity, just this once.

“This is the only reason why you came? To remind me about the meeting? I have an assistant for that, Levi.”

Lifting his thin eyebrow, Levi gives her a long look. Hange struggles not to fidget under it. What has gotten into him?

“You really don’t remember,” Levi shakes his head, his disappointment more than transparent. “Four-eyes, Berner is on a sick leave. Had been for three days already.”

Oh, right… that’s why no one answered when she yelled a greeting upon entering the office. That’s why she forgot about the letters day. And that’s why she was staring in the distance for almost ten minutes.

She awkwardly giggles, rubbing her neck. “It just slipped my mind.”

“Lots of things do,” Levi rolls his eyes. “Don’t forget about meeting with Yeager, though. He’s an asshole but—”

“But an important man,” Hange finishes for him. She knows that, can hardly forget about that, since Erwin is so adamant at reminding her every time they cross paths at the office. “I know, I know, that interview is important just as that Zeke is. It can make our magazine more popular and blah, blah, blah.”

“Not only our magazine,” Levi sharply retorts. “It’s a chance for you too, Hange. Don’t ruin it.”

There is an uncharacteristic intensity in his voice, one that turns Hange speechless.

It’s a surprise that Levi knows about her ambitions at all, of course, she told him same as she told practically every person she came across. One day, I’ll show you, I’ll show you all just how great I can be. But it’s a surprise Levi not only knows, but remembers about it. It’s a surprise that he seems to care whether she truly achieves her dreams or not.

“Do you wish to come with me?”

It tumbles out of her lips without a second thought. But just as her mouth starts moving, Hange realizes that she truly wants it, wants to have Levi there with her. As a moral support, if nothing more.

Levi doesn’t answer her right away. His eyes narrow, as he mulls it over with his hand on his chin.

“Zeke doesn’t like me,” he mutters. “I will only make it worse.”

“Or you will make it better,” Hange winks, pressing her elbows into the desk to lean closer to Levi. Now that she knows what she wants, she doesn’t hesitate to apply a bit of pressure. “Maybe, he secretly likes you.”

Levi scoffs, crossing hands on his chest. “I doubt it.”

Despite his curt answer, Hange knows that she is close. Levi is almost ready to break. To ensure that, she decides to play a little dirty. “Levi,” she tilts her head and pinches her eyebrows, sticking her bottom lip out. Her puppy eyes aren’t that impressive, not nearly as good as Nanaba’s, but, for some reason, they seem to always work on Levi. “Pretty, pretty please, will you go with me?”

Levi curses, and that’s how Hange knows that she won. “If I end up destroying your whole career, four-eyes,” he points a finger at her. “That’d be your fault.”

“If you ruin my career, that means I’ll stay here with you forever. Won’t that be splendid?”

He doesn’t say anything, but his face seems pensive, thoughtful. Something in Hange’s heart pangs at that.

“Are you going to Nanaba’s place this Sunday?” she asks to change the topic. And distract herself from the strange feeling Levi’s expression provoked.

“No,” Levi answers. Hange grins.

Levi always says no, always tells them that he won’t let them pull him into their shitty shenanigans again, always swears that this is the last time he dragged their drunk asses home.

And yet, he shows up time and time again. He complains, calls them idiots, drunken fools and disgraces to society, but he still shows up. If that’s not a sign of true friendship, Hange doesn’t know what true friendship is.

“Can’t wait to hang out with your broody mien, shorty!” she exclaims, laughing when Levi flips her off. “Don’t forget your gloomy attitude!”

“And don’t you forget about letters I sent to you,” Levi stands up, throwing his paper cup in a trash bin next to Hange’s desk. “You have two days to answer them all.”

“I know, I know,” Hange waves him off. “I don’t need you or Moblit to tell me how to do my job.”

Levi raises an eyebrow at that, looking overly skeptical. “Two days,” he dryly reminds her before leaving her small office.

For a moment more, Hange continues staring after him with a fond smile on her lips.

Back to work, Zoe, she shakes herself and returns her attention to the computer screen. Her mail is still opened there, and Hange scrolls down to the end, searching for a username she hopes will pop out.

Almost near the end, it does, and Hange can’t keep in a quiet squeal of delight.

[email protected]

The username is a bit ridiculous, pompous even, so Hange opts for a shorter and, in her opinion, more accurate one – lover boy.

Every two weeks without a fail, that same user sends Hange a letter, asking for an advice. They all wary in everything, but the subject – a person the lover boy has a crush on.

What do I do to become closer to her, what is the best way to make her smile…

Each and every letter, without a fail, brightens Hange’s day, no matter how shitty it was. The care, affection and love that radiate from these letters melt her heart and strengthen her belief that the world is truly a wonderful place if kind-hearted people like him still live here.

Apparently, romance isn’t quite dead yet.

Gripping the edge of her chair to at least try and conceal her excitement, Hange eagerly opens the letter and starts reading.

Thank you for your last advice, as always, it helped.

We’re growing closer, at least, it feels like we do. However, there is another problem that I hope you can help me with.

Admittedly, I’m not very good with my words. I never know what to say to tell the others how I feel, and sometimes I can come as rough and rather rude. It’s a fault of mine I had ever since childhood, and, truth be told, it never bothered me much.

But with her… it’s a bit different.

She can take a joke, and I know she doesn’t really mind my manner of communicating, but, still, I wish I could show her just how much she truly means to me. Sometimes it seems like she doesn’t quite realize it. Doesn’t really understand just how amazing and wonderful she is.

I know that the subject is not exactly ordinary, but your advices helped in the past, and I believe it will help this time too. Even if it wouldn’t, it’d be interesting to read your opinion on that.

Thank you in advance.

After finishing the letter, Hange starts rereading it, rubbing her forehead in thought. The lover boy is right, the subject isn’t easy at all. The lack of details and context complicates things even further.

A lot of people struggle at communicating what they feel, and it’s especially true about romantic feelings. But different people struggle in different ways.

Someone like Moblit, for example, is open enough with his affection, but he’d stutter to death sooner than confess to someone.

Someone like Erwin can charm pretty much anyone. His carefully crafted words and easy, handsome smile do all the job for him, but his words are crafted just a little too carefully and his smiles come a little too easily, and, as a result, he only rarely comes off as truly sincere.

And then there is Levi, whose walls are higher than skyscrapers and mightier than a fortress. But once you get past them, once you invest enough time and effort to break them down, you’ll find a gentle, caring man, who just isn’t used to showing his true feelings.

Hange can only guess what type the lover boy is.

Sighing, she decides to leave his letter for now and deal with it after she finishes with the rest. Somehow she feels that finding a lost lobster would be much easier than dealing with that particular dilemma.

***

A couple of busy days, filled with Erwin's warnings - Hange, remember the reputation of our agency rests on your shoulders, Nanaba's cheerful encouragements - you can do it, Hange! you'll charm the guy in no time, I know you will, Mike's horrible jokes - if you can't charm him, just ask Levi to punch him, that might do the trick too, and Moblit's frantic remindings, spoken over the phone in a throaty voice, later Hange and Levi arrive to the café Zeke had chosen for their meeting.

“It looks fancy,” Hange whispers to Levi, eyeing the entrance with a slight pout. “I didn’t know it’d be so fancy.”

“That’s Zeke for you,” Levi grunts. “Fancy asshole.”

“R-right,” suddenly every single precaution Erwin had told her come back, more frightening than ever. “Let’s just get this over with.”

The inside of the café seems even fancier, and Hange spares a longing look at her attire – an over-sized yellow pullover thrown over a light green plaid shirt with a brown khakis and worn-out converses. It’s not something one would call professional or stylish, not that she owns anything much better… but now Hange wishes she at least combed her hair.

She doesn’t know what Zeke looks like, hasn’t bothered with looking him up, since Levi is accompanying her, but she easily spots him even without Levi’s help.

Just as the café’s entrance, just as its interior, Zeke looks fancy. He’s not overdressed, in his dark green shirt and light cardigan he is all but casual, but damn, he is one of the leading journalists at the magazine called Money Island, and it clearly shows.

Levi wasn’t wrong about the fancy part, but he also failed to mention that Zeke is handsome. Extremely so. Blond and bearded, he is not exactly Hange’s type, but, well… there are exceptions to every rule.

Not just attractive, but, apparently, Zeke is a gentleman too.

He rises from his seat as soon, as he sees Hange, a blinding in its brilliance smile curving his thin lips.

“Hange Zoe,” he greets and eagerly shakes her hand. “I’m so happy you’ve come.”

The smile doesn’t leave his face, doesn’t even diminish, but his eyes narrow ever so slightly, when they land on Hange’s companion.

“I didn’t know you’d bring a friend.”

His voice is friendly, if only a little surprised, but his eyes are colder than they’d been before.

“It’s our editor,” Hange pats Levi’s back. “Levi—”

“We’ve met before,” Zeke’s still showing that same smile, but there is just enough frost in his voice to tell Hange that there is no secret affection between him and Levi.

“I’m glad Hange invited me to trail along. It’s nice to see you again, Zeke.”

Levi doesn’t bother hiding his sarcasm or schooling his expression in something more amicable. Hange rolls her eyes and kicks him as soon as Zeke turns around.

Will it kill you if you try to act a little friendlier? her gaze asks him.

I warned you about this, Levi’s huff answers.

Oh, well. At least, he didn’t call her four-eyes in front of Zeke. Clearly, that’s an improvement.

Hange sighs and sends a quick prayer that this meeting won’t turn into a complete disaster. She sits down in a booth across from Zeke and hopes that her smile will be enough to counter any possible tensions.

“The strawberry cupcakes are exceptionally good here,” Zeke notes, when a waitress bring them menus.

Without looking up from a menu, Hange nods. The prices in this café are much higher than she is comfortable with. She’d never bring her friends here, but, well… Zeke isn’t a friend, so Hange swallows down her discontent and orders herself a coffee with a strawberry cupcake.

She doesn’t even like strawberry cupcakes.

“Let’s start, shall we?” Zeke says after three of them receive their orders.

Hange takes a sip from her coffee – it’s honestly not that good to be so pricey – and tries to look composed and professional.

Truth be told, she doesn’t know why she is here. An interview, Erwin told her, but why would anyone want to interview her? She’s not a celebrity – not an actor or an artist, she’s a journalist, who works for a small, local magazine.

Why would a person like Zeke and a magazine like Money Island be interested in someone like her?

“I’ve prepared a small list of questions…” Zeke takes out his tablet, turning it on. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes,” Hange says, smiling when she feels Levi’s calf press to hers in a silent encouragement.

“So tell me more about yourself – your hobbies, talents outside of work…”

It starts easy like that, and Hange loses herself in her ramblings so much that she doesn’t notice that Zeke isn’t taking any notes.

But after a few trivial questions – what do you like about journalism, what made you choose this career path, what are subjects you’re most passionate about – everything gets just a little bit stranger.

“What are your greatest strengths?” Zeke asks, then follows it with, “What are your greatest weaknesses?”

Where do you see yourself in five years? What’s your dream job? Do you consider yourself successful?

One question after another tumbles out of his lips, and soon Hange realizes.

It’s not a simple interview, it’s a job interview.

A confused look Levi sends her confirms her suspicion.

“Mister Yeager?” Hange calls after a question about how she prefers to be managed.

“Call me Zeke,” he retorts charmingly.

“Zeke,” she forces a smile and hopes it doesn’t look too fake. “I don’t wish to appear rude… but what is the meaning of this? I thought you wanted an interview for your magazine?”

“It’s more for me than Money Island,” Zeke confesses. “I wish to get to know you better.”

Beside her, Levi tenses. Amongst the noise and clutter of the café, Hange can almost hear the sound of his teeth gritting. She doesn’t spare a glance in his direction, too busy gawking at Zeke.

“May I ask…” she clears her throat, feeling too far away from her comfort zone. “…Why?”

“Sina’s Gossips is a fairly small magazine,” Zeke begins, his voice as sugary as a strawberry cupcake before Hange. “But it became ten times more popular after you started working there. Clearly, you have a lot of potential, and something tells me that advice columnist is not your dream position. So I thought you’d be interested in my offer.”

“Your offer?”

“To change your workplace.”

“But I have no experience in the finance area.”

“I’m willing to give you a chance,” Zeke says graciously. “You’ll have to be approved my by superiors first, of course, and then you’ll need to undergo a bit of training...”

Hange can’t help but frown. “I can’t just abandon my previous position like that.”

“I’m not asking you to. Not now, at least.”

“So what exactly it is that you want?”

It’s Levi who asks, and his low, almost menacing voice startles Hange. She turns to look at him, but his face is as guarded and neutral as it always is.

Zeke raises an eyebrow, his expression curious as he studies Levi. But when he shifts his attention back to Hange, the same handsome smile is already plastered on his lips. “I want to offer a collaboration project. We can use your platform to let people ask things, not about their everyday struggles, but to ask you for an advice about their finance related problems. Our magazine can advertise it, and this will help to expand both yours and ours audience. And…” Zeke pauses, lowering his voice just a fraction. “It will give us a chance to see if you’re up to the job at Money Island or not.”

“I…” it’s a lot to take in, and, naturally, Hange struggles to find her own words. That’s why she’s so grateful when Levi decides to step in.

“We have to discuss with our boss first. Then we can give you a definite answer.”

There is an edge to Zeke’s smile that tells Hange exactly what he thinks about Levi’s interruption. However, it disappears instantly, in a blink of an eye. With his features much more relaxed, Zeke waves a waitress over and asks to bring them a bill.

“I’ll be waiting for your answer,” he says as he stands up. “I enjoyed our time together, Hange Zoe. And I know our companionship will bring me just as much pleasure. I hope we’ll keep in touch.”

He leaves after that, but Hange isn’t yet ready to go. She pushes the cupcake around the plate, mulling it over.

“What do you think?” she asks Levi after five minutes of silence.

“What do you think?” he shoots back, and Hange scoffs, kicking him under the table.

“I asked you first.”

Levi doesn’t answer immediately. He stares at her for a long moment, and there is something in his eyes, something Hange can’t quite understand the meaning of. She wants to know, though, almost asks him, but then Levi breaks the eye contact and slumps back in his chair.

“You’ve always wanted to do something more, right? It’s your chance, Hange.”

“And…” she swallows a heavy lump in her throat and briefly wonders where it had come from. Levi is right, that what she always wanted. Then why she is so hesitant to even entertain the idea? “Do you think I should take it?”

“It’s your chance,” Levi repeats.

He stands up and wraps his hand around her elbow to push Hange up too. His touch is too careful, almost gentle, and the confusion inside her continues to grow.

“Let’s go back to work,” he says, and adds in a voice so quiet, Hange almost misses it. “You did well, Hange.”

***

Hange goes to find Erwin as soon as they return to the office. She doesn’t tell him about the second part of Zeke’s offer, about the possibility that she’ll soon leave Sina’s Gossips and all of its employees, and focuses only on their future collaboration. Erwin listens to her frantic retelling with a calm, attentive face. He agrees to Zeke’s offer without much thought.

“That is,” he hastily adds, “if you wish to proceed with it, Hange. I don’t wish to force you, so if it’s not something you’re interested in...”

“No, no,” she shakes her head and hopes that the smile she forces on doesn’t look pained. “I’ll be happy to work on this project.”

Is she truly happy, though? Hange isn’t sure anymore.

***

She spends the whole evening and most hours of night thinking about it.

She goes to the Money Island’s website and reads most of their recent articles. She googles the most prominent employees and reads about them too, every bit of information she can get her hands on.

When the sun is starting to peek out from the horizon, Hange looks up Zeke. She finds out he has his own youtube channel, where he talks – no surprise here – about finance.

Being rich is easy

God, even the name of the channel reeks of arrogance.

But Hange has to admit – Zeke is good at what he’s doing. His pretentious manner of speaking and his apparent habit of scratching his ear is a little irritating, but he talks with confidence and ease that shows just how much knowledge and experience he has.

His videos are engrossing and his articles are, without a doubt, extremely well-written.

Hange likes Zeke, finds him interesting enough, but what he talks and writes about… she can’t help but think that it’s a bit too dull for her taste.

And it’s ironic, it’s foolish, she should be on a cloud nine from the opportunity presented to her. Hange feels like she would have been on a cloud nine… Three years ago.

But now she has a job she loves and people she loves working with. Should she really leave it behind just like that? Can she?

Then again, can she leave behind a dream she nurtured for as long as she could remember? Can she forget about every ambition and desire?

She doesn’t find an answer to that in the evening, it doesn’t come to her during the night.

And Hange can only hope that she’ll be able to answer it when the time comes.

***

But, instead, Saturday comes, and Hange forces these thought out of her head.

She wants to forget about her doubts, and with Nanaba’s fingers in her hair, a bottle of cold beer in her hands and Mike’s deep voice in her ears, forgetting about everything else is surprisingly easy.

They’re at Nanaba’s summer house, gathered around a brightly-lit brazier. Hange is warm, relaxed and content. Mike’s story about some fisherman from his hometown is a little boring, but Nanaba remedies that fault by whispering sarcastic comments to Hange.

When Mike’s thrilling tale is finally over, Erwin clears his throat, attracting everyone’s attention.

“In case some of you didn’t know, Hange had a very peculiar meeting yesterday…”

“Right,” Nanaba’s grin is too wide and gleeful for Hange’s taste, and when Nanaba fixes her eyes on her, Hange involuntarily squirms. “Very peculiar indeed.”

Knowing but not liking where this is going, Hange leaves the warmth of Nanaba’s lap and moves away. This action brings her to Levi’s side, and he tenses, but doesn’t protest which Hange takes as a sign that she can become a little bolder and lean on his shoulder.

Perhaps, he’ll shield her from Nanaba’s curiosity. Although, Hange has to admit that it’s highly unlikely. No one can stop Nanaba if she gets curious about something. Hange always admired that about her. Not now, though.

“So tell us, Hange,” Nanaba slowly begins, her eyes glinting in the light of the fire. Hange takes a quick survey, and confirms that, yep, everyone is looking at her. Apparently, Nanaba is not the only who is curious. “Did you have a good time?”

“Well, Zeke’s offer looks promising, and that project certainly is intriguing…”

“God, leave that boring stuff to Erwin,” Nanaba rolls her eyes.

Mike agrees with her by adding, “Not everyone here is as nerdy as you two.”

“Exactly,” Nanaba nods. “We want to know more about Zeke. Is he handsome?”

Perhaps, it’s the beer or the warm atmosphere or the fact that everyone – including Levi – is looking expectantly at her, but Hange chuckles and says, “Very much so. Not in the way our fearless leader is,” she salutes Erwin with a bottle, enjoying the slight blush that appears on his cheeks. “But he’s still attractive.”

There is pure wickedness in Nanaba’s gaze, when she leans a little closer to Hange and asks, “Is he as handsome as Levi?”

Hange chokes on her beer. Her eyes water as she coughs it out, her throat is sore, but with the help of Levi’s gentle pats, Hange manages to get her breathing back under control.

She glares at Nanaba as soon as she straightens out, but then remembers the stupid question and feels color rise to her face. She can blame it on a coughing fit. Probably. Hopefully.

“It depends on one’s preferences…” she mumbles, hating how weak her voice sounds.

Nanaba is merciless, though. “What’s your opinion then?”

It takes Hange more than a moment to gather enough courage to sneak a glance at Levi. Their eyes meet, but for no more than a heartbeat. Levi looks away instantly, his hands clenching into fists.

Hange decides to be honest then. Her gaze still fixed to Levi, she murmurs, “No, Zeke is nearly not as handsome as Levi.”

Nanaba coos, Mike guffaws and Erwin simply smiles, like that is exactly the kind of answer he expected.

Levi doesn’t react at all, but Hange is still pressed against him and so she feels – he relaxes considerably.

Hange relaxes too, and moving closer to his ear, she whispers, “Hey, help me get revenge on Nanaba.”

The look in Levi’s eyes is positively evil, wicked enough to send a shiver down a spine. Hange feels that shiver acutely, but… not because it scares her. Truthfully, it has a diametrically opposite effect on her.

“With great pleasure, four-eyes.”

“Oi, Nanaba!” Hange calls. She doesn’t know what to say next, finds it hard to concentrate with Levi so close to her, but she trusts he’ll back her up.

As always, he doesn’t disappoint.

“Is that your lipstick on Mike’s neck?”

There is no lipstick on his neck, Nanaba isn’t even wearing one, but they both panic and they both exchange quick glances. It’s enough of an evidence to make everyone laugh.

Mike is smiling, as he pulls Nanaba closer, tucking her under his arm. “We really suck at being discreet, aren’t we, Nana?”

“That we are,” she agrees with a smile as gentle and loving as Mike’s. “I guess there is something we want to tell you then.”

“About damn time,” Erwin shakes his head. “Do you know how many times I’ve caught you making out in the supply closet? I was getting tired of keeping quiet about it.”

“You didn’t keep quiet about it,” Levi grumbles. “Every time you caught them you ran to tell me.”

“And then me,” Hang gleefully adds.

Nanaba and Mike groan in unison, their faces red as tomato.

“We have the worst friends ever.”

Hange laughs. She very much begs to differ.

***

Beers and constant laughter very soon make all of them sleepy. That’s how Hange finds herself sandwiched between Erwin and Mike on a bed in the guest room, and though there is enough space for another person to fit in, Nanaba claims the master bedroom, and Levi takes one look at them and retires to the living room, sprawling over the couch.

In Erwin and Mike’s arms Hange feels safe and content. Her previous doubts take a seat back and let her enjoy the night with her friends. Thankfully, sleep comes to her that much easier than it did last night.

It doesn’t last for long, though.

The sun still isn’t up, but the world isn’t dark anymore, when Hange wakes up from her slumber.

Erwin is snoring into her ear, but there is a vacant place to her left, where Mike used to sleep. It’s not hard to guess where he had disappeared to, and Hange allows herself a small smile at the expanse of her friends’ happiness.

She doesn’t feel like sleeping anymore, so she throws one blanket over Erwin and snatches another one, wrapping it around her shoulders. With her feet bare and still dressed in a pajama shorts and Mike’s t-shirt that almost reaches her knees, she leaves the room and goes downstairs, walking outside. She takes a seat at a porch swing and draws a slow, deep breath, taking in the beauty around her.

The world is only starting to wake up, and grey color is more prominent than anything else, but there are just enough soft shades of purple, blue and pink to make up for it. Nanaba’s house sits just at the edge of a clearing that leads to a small lake, and the morning brings thick streak of fog that spreads over crystal surface.

It’s beautiful enough to take her breath away, and Hange loses herself in the calm, gentle feeling that finds its way inside her.

That feeling is strong enough to hide the sound of soft footsteps that approach her. Hange notices someone else’s presence only when the swing starts moving. She startles, her head darting to the side, but relaxes instantly, when she sees Levi’s sharp profile. He’s holding two cups of steaming tea in his hands, and hands one cup to Hange.

“Thank you,” she smiles, inhaling the sweet aroma of tea. It tastes just as sweet as it smells, she realizes after taking the first sip. Then, she turns her attention back to Levi. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?”

“No, I usually wake up at this time. Insomnia,” he says, and, right, now Hange remembers something-something about Levi sleeping not nearly enough for a normal human being. “Heard that you woke up and decided you might want a company.”

“How did you know that it was me who woke up?”

Levi gives her a short glance before shrugging and returning his gaze back to the scenery in front of them. “Your steps are different,” he answers, like it explains everything.

It does explain everything for Levi, Hange muses. He works in a strange, obscure way, so very different from other people. That’s why Hange likes him. That’s why she feels so comfortable with him.

Perhaps, it’s a fault of a dim, morning light or, perhaps, it’s her own sleepiness that changes her perception, but Levi looks a little different, softer around the edges. Because of it, Hange allows herself a small indulgence and moves close enough for their shoulders to touch.

Just a fraction, barely an inch, but she feels Levi move closer as well.

All of it – the colors merging on a horizon, the fog that makes everything look almost ethereal, the sweet tea made by Levi, Levi himself – fuse together to create an impossibly light, gentle feeling that very rarely visits Hange.

In that moment she feels happy, so happy that not even a brief thought of what’s going to happen if I leave is enough to ruin that mood. She simply drowns that pesky doubt down with tea and turns to look at Levi.

“I’m so lucky to have met you all,” she reveals to him in a quiet voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy before.”

Levi stares at her, and there is something in his eyes, something fierce and at the same time vulnerable that Hange can’t quite understand. She isn’t sure she wants to, not now, at least.

“Let’s stay like this,” she says, almost a plea. “At least, for a little while.”

“As you wish,” Levi agrees easily as though… as though whatever is it that she wants, he’ll get her.

The thought is both comforting and terrifying. Comforting, because it means he cares about her, because it means she’s not alone anymore.

And terrifying, because it makes her happy, and Hange isn’t sure she’d be able to part with that happiness, when the time comes.

***

No matter how much Hange wants to prolong that fuzzy feeling and stay in that small bubble with her friends, all too soon the weekend ends. Monday comes and with it arrives a new wave of responsibilities.

But not only responsibilities return – Moblit does too, and as soon as she sees him, Hange hugs him close to her chest, laughing when he starts complaining that she squeezes him too much.

“It’s been too quiet without your nagging!” Hange pats him on a back, smiling from ear to ear. “And you’ve missed one hell of a party! We’ve been sleeping so peacefully without your snores.”

“You like my snores,” Moblit argues, and he is right to do so. Moblit’s throaty snores lull her to sleep better than any lullaby. Besides, cuddling with him is always a delight, his tummy softer than any pillow. “And I’ve heard about that party already,” he continues with an almost sly look. “Nanaba told they found you and Levi getting cozy on a porch.”

Hange huffs, turning away from his knowing look. “I see Nanaba’s obsession with gossips is infectious.”

“It’s Sina’s Gossips we’re working at. Love for gossip is the requirement to get a position here,” Moblit jokes, and Hange shakes her head with a low chuckle.

Moblit’s been absent for just a week, but it was enough to make her miss him like crazy. She’s glad he is back. And more than anything, she wants to chat some more, but the work doesn’t wait.

She contacts Zeke as she drinks her first cup of coffee, and not even five minutes pass before he schedules another meeting with her.

There is no need for your editor to join us this time :)

Hange isn’t sure what irritates her more – Zeke’s apparent dislike of Levi or the stupid emoji.

However, Erwin’s words ring in her ear, yet another reminder that this is important, Hange, we can’t afford to blow this off, especially not with a man like Zeke on board. So she replies him with a stupid emoji of her own, and, gritting her teeth, adds that she is looking forward to their meeting.

Then, not wanting to repeat her last mistake, Hange checks the place Zeke has invited her to. This time it’s a restaurant, and a flashy one at that. The time he sets the meeting for – seven pm – is another hint that it is not a casual meeting, and therefore she needs to wear something better than her usual clothes.

She isn’t sure she can pull it off all by herself, though, and she isn’t sure there is at least one item of clothing in her closet that can be classified as fancy, so Hange asks Nanaba to help.

Nanaba agrees instantly, her eyes brightening up at the prospect. She promises to come over at the evening of the meeting with Zeke, bring some new clothes for Hange and pick up something classy.

At five pm sharp, just two hours before her meeting, Nanaba shows at Hange’s place, holding two large packages.

She doesn’t come alone, and with wide eyes Hange watches how Mike, Moblit and Levi trail inside her apartment after Nanaba.

“Erwin couldn’t make it, because he’s old and boring,” Nanaba cheerfully informs her. “But he asked to send him pictures of every look I’d pick for you.”

“Has anyone told you how wicked and vile you are?” Hange asks her with a glare that could almost rival Levi’s.

“Mike makes sure to tell me this regularly,” Nanaba flippantly replies. “Now go and get changed! We don’t have all evening.”

It takes five changes of clothes to finally find something that satisfies Nanaba’s fashion sense and doesn’t make Hange feel like she’s out of her element.

She is dressed in a dark brown suit with a black shirt underneath, and after Nanaba makes a controlled mess out of her hair, Hange has to agree – she looks very good.

“Let’s show you to the boys,” Nanaba whispers before taking a quick photo for Erwin. She pushes Hange into the living room, where Mike, Moblit and Levi are already waiting for her, all of them nursing a bottle of beer. “We’ve got yes from Erwin!” Nanaba cheerfully announces after checking her phone.

“That’s a definite yes from me too,” Mike nods in agreement.

“You look so handsome,” Moblit says earnestly, despite his shy smile.

Levi doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t tear his eyes away from Hange either. As she waits for his verdict, Hange wonders if the desire to change her look, because Levi obviously doesn’t like it, is simply stupid or downright pathetic.

“Levi,” Nanaba glowers at him, when the silence stretches for far too long.

Hange wants to deflate the tension with some joke, but then Levi clears his throat. “Not bad, four-eyes,” he says, making her heart stumble. “Go get that stupid monkey.”

Hange wants to hug him, so, so much, but she’s afraid to ruin the suit, so she settles on thanking him with a bright, happy smile.

Levi’s expression softens like that is all the thanks he desires.

“Continue making heart eyes at Levi, and you’ll miss your little meeting, Hans,” Nanaba whispers.

Hange hopes the red on her cheeks will be interpreted as anger, but Nanaba is right – she has to hurry, all this effort would be in vain if she arrives even a little too late.

“C’mon,” Mike wraps an arm around her shoulders. “We’ll give you a lift.”

Hange smiles, feeling so grateful – to all of them. She wouldn’t be ready for this evening if it wasn’t for Nanaba, she probably wouldn’t get that deal with Zeke if it wasn’t for Levi, her column wouldn’t be so successful if it wasn’t for Moblit’s assistance and Mike’s constant help, she wouldn’t have this job, this family if it wasn’t for Erwin who decided to hire her.

They all wish her luck one last time at the entrance of the restaurant. Nanaba and Moblit fruitlessly try to peek inside and get a glimpse of Zeke, when Levi wraps his hand around her wrist, dragging Hange aside.

“It’s Tuesday,” he says matter-of-factly.

More than a little confused, Hange blinks, then nods in affirmative, she knows it’s Tuesday, she’s not that disorganized.

“It’s Tuesday,” he repeats, tilting his head just so.

It is only then, to Hange’s shame, that she finally understands what he means.

“The letters, right?” she grins, proud of her own quick-wittedness. It took her only a moment to guess.

“I sent them over already. If you won’t be too exhausted after the meeting…”

“I’ll check them out as soon as I get home,” she promises.

There is nothing else to say, nothing else to do but walk away from Levi and inside the restaurant, where Zeke is probably waiting for her. Still… Hange is reluctant to leave. There is something between her and Levi, something almost tangible, and it keeps her glued to his side.

This feeling, it grows bigger, harder to ignore, until—

Until it disappears, when Nanaba tugs at her hand. Hange allows her friend to pull her away from Levi, stopping just for a second to turn around and wave him goodbye. Levi’s face is set in the usual scowl, but his gaze softens, and it fuels Hange with determination and resolve.

She looks around and, encouraged by her friends’ unwavering support, steps inside the restaurant.

***

Just as Hange predicted, Zeke is already there. When he notices her approach, he stands up and with a dazzling smile and pulls a chair for her.

“Hange Zoe,” he all but purrs. “You’re absolutely ravishing tonight.”

His words are too sweet, Zeke himself is too sweet to seem genuine, but Hange gives him a smile nevertheless. His compliment doesn’t succeed in making her heart race like Levi’s quiet ‘not bad, four-eyes’ did, but it still pleases her.

She doesn’t believe he truly means it, knows that Zeke uses flirting to get something out of her, but, oh well… if a man like Zeke Yeager wants something from her… isn’t it already fluttering?

“I took a liberty to order for you myself, if you don’t mind,” Zeke says.

Hange does mind, not that she can express it now, after Zeke already ordered. That’s exactly what he was counting for, Hange can very well see it – in the slight curve of his mouth and an amused shine in his eyes.

“As long as the meal is delicious,” she murmurs slyly.

Zeke laughs, and Hange mentally congratulates herself. Erwin would be so proud.

Speaking of Erwin…

“My boss agreed to your offer, he’s very interested in it and hopes…”

“Hange,” Zeke cuts her off with a wave of his hand. “We have work email to discuss things like that. Delicious food, beautiful night… why don’t we simply enjoy it? We can talk about work later.”

Hange frowns, looking at the man before her intently. For the life of her, she can’t comprehend what does he want from her.

“You’re a journalist with bright future ahead of you,” Zeke says, like he knows what exactly Hange is thinking about. “I want to help you succeed, but, aside from that, you’re an intriguing person. I simply wish to get to know you better. Is it so bad?”

Either she really sucks at reading people, or Zeke is that good of an actor, but… he seems genuine enough. Hange struggles with keeping her suspicion.

Before she can give him an answer, their food is brought in. The plate before Hange looks more expensive than she could probably afford, and she is pretty sure she won’t be able to even pronounce the name of a dish, but she takes a first bite, and… can barely resist a moan.

It’s good, really good – spicy but not bitter, and just crunchy and juicy enough.

“Is it delicious?” Zeke quirks an eyebrow, smug and amused.

The dish is so tasty, Hange can’t find it in herself to snap at him. “It’s perfect,” she confesses, sending another slice into her mouth.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, to be honest, I was quite nervous about your reaction.”

Zeke doesn’t look nervous in the slightest, but if he’s so dead-set on playing a gentleman tonight, Hange can indulge him.

“So what exactly do you want to know about me?” she asks, pouring wine in both of their glasses.

“Ah, right,” Zeke pushes the glasses up his nose. “The first thing I’m interested in…”

***

They spend the whole dinner talking, jumping from one topic to another. Despite his arrogance, Zeke is an interesting man, he knows how to entertain and engage his companion, and so very soon Hange loses herself in conversation with him.

Time flies fast, and when they stand up from the table, Hange is shocked to discover that it’s almost ten in the evening.

Zeke remains a gentleman till the very end, and after paying their bill, he drives Hange home. He stops just outside of her apartment block, and when he turns off the engine, Hange knows she is ought to say something.

“I had fun. Thank you for the evening.” She says, and she means it. She doesn’t feel nearly as happy as when she is with her friends from Sina’s Gossips, but Zeke proved to be a good company. Hange is looking forward to working with him.

“I should be the one thanking you,” Zeke tilts his head, ever the charmer. “I’ll see you again?”

“Sure,” Hange agrees and gets out of the car. “Good night,” she yells into his open window and then hurries up the steps to her apartment.

Exhaustion sips into her bones the moment Hange crosses the threshold. She kicks off the shoes and takes off the suit, trudging up to the shower. Once she is clean and fresh, she falls onto her bed and gets under the blankets. Only then, Hange remembers her conversation with Levi.

With the last bit of her energy, she takes the phone into her hands and unlocks it, going immediately to the mail. She isn’t awake enough to read all the letters, so she just quickly scrolls through them. A thank you message from a man who found his lobster… a distraught mother who doesn’t know how to communicate with her son… a middle-aged teacher with a mid-life crisis… Hange scrolls further down, until she sees a familiar username.

She smiles and opens the letter.

Good day, and thank you again for the last advice. Admittedly, I was a bit skeptical about it, “trust that she knows you well enough” seemed just that side of too easy, but I think she does know me well enough to see through my rude exterior. What’s more, I think she knows me well enough to see things I don’t even wish to show her. I can’t yet decide if that’s a good thing, or a terrifying one.

Alas, there is another problem, one that bothers me constantly.

Without getting too much into details… there is a chance she might leave the company we both work for. I know it might not seem that awful, we can still remain friends even if we don’t work together, but… I’m afraid we’ll drift apart when she leaves. Without common ground, without our friends bringing us together, she wouldn’t have a reason to talk to me. Maybe, she wouldn’t even want to.

But that’s not the thing that bothers me the most. She hasn’t yet decided if she wants to leave or not, and, as much as I am reluctant to let her go, I… I wish she follows her dreams, even if they tear us apart. But she’s perceptive, and, as I’ve mentioned before, she knows things about me that I very well try to hide. So what if she learns about my reluctance? What if it somehow influences her final decision?

I don’t wish for that to happen, whether she stays or she leaves, I don’t want to be her reason for either.

Because if she grows to be unhappy about that decision… I don’t think I’ll be able to take.

I… don’t think I’ve explained my point clear enough, maybe, because it’s not clear enough in my mind too. However, as always, I put my trust in you.

You haven’t left me down before, after all.

Thanks for bearing with me. Hopefully, it’s not the last time.

Hange groans in frustration, as she comes to an end of the letter. Here she was hoping to receive some sweet news from her lover boy, but he presented her with another dilemma instead. And one that is so similar to hers too. Maybe, it’s a sign, a way of universe telling her… something. The message is not yet clear enough.

Perhaps, with a little time, she’ll be able to decipher it. But as for now, Hange decides, putting the phone on top of the bedside table, the only thing she really, really needs is sleep.

And, thankfully, it comes to her easily.

***

The next day Hange dives deep into work and stays in the depth of articles, lectures, textbooks and letters from readers for entire two weeks.

In almost everything, Zeke is the one to assist her. Email exchange, video calls, personal meetings… because of all that, Zeke seems to be constantly by her side.

He invites her to his company, organizes the tour around the offices, introduces her to every employee. They’re nice, Hange supposes. Overly politely and unnaturally friendly, but that’s to be expected from total strangers.

Zeke shows her his office – a big room with glass walls and large window that overlooks the city. It drives to a point just how different their newspapers are. It almost makes Hange self-conscious about inviting him to her own office. Thankfully, Levi is there to chase away any discomfort.

As soon as Zeke gets inside their office, Levi is there, glaring at him like he’s trying to burn a hole in his head.

“As Hange’s editor, I’m here to oversee your work with her,” he explains, and proceeds to critique everything Zeke does.

Zeke’s habit of scratching his ear makes him look like a monkey and his beard makes him look like a homeless person, his voice makes Levi’s head hurt, his cologne stinks, he talks too much and works too little, his jokes aren’t funny and his remarks are unnecessary. Levi finds a way to insult everything about Zeke.

Hange would have reprimanded him, she did a few times, but she can’t deny that Levi’s hatred is… kind of funny. It’s petty and childish, but at the same time hilarious to the point that Hange has to constantly bite the inside of her cheeks otherwise she’d be laughing at his jabs like a mad person.

Still, Zeke is an important business partner and her possible colleague, so…

“Please forgive Levi for his… lack of professionalism,” she tells Zeke when Levi leaves to bring them tea. Just moments before Levi had called Zeke ‘an insufferable snob who doesn’t give a single fuck about people around him’, so naturally, Hange feels that apology in an absolute necessity this time.

“Don’t worry, I’m not offended,” Zeke smiles, and it looks just that side of arrogant, reminding Hange about Levi’s words and making her feel like maybe, his assertion of Zeke isn’t entirely wrong. “His reason for acting like that is perfectly understandable. When one stands between a man and his… well,” Zeke trails off, staring at Hange enigmatically.

His what? Zeke is standing between Levi and… what? Is it the reason why they don’t like each other so much? Is it something that happened in the past? Or is it a recent development?

Hange wants to ask, but the moment for this is lost, when Levi comes back, holding a trail in his hands.

“I spat into your coffee,” he says to Zeke with the most deadpan expression. If Hange didn’t know Levi a little better, she’d believe that he actually did it. But Zeke isn’t fooled so easily, so he just wolfishly grins and thanks Levi in a sweet voice. Levi swears under his breath and then turns to Hange, murmuring, “Yours is with three sugars.”

“Just as you like it,” Zeke sing-songs, and Hange can’t stop laughter from bubbling out of her throat at the sight of pure hatred on Levi’s usually indifferent face.

“Let’s get back to work,” she says, still chuckling.

Thankfully, they both listen to her.

***

When Zeke leaves to return to his own office, Hange breathes out in relief. She stretches her arms and sprawls out her long legs beneath the desk with a pleased hum. Working with Zeke is satisfying enough, but with just Levi around, she feels much more at ease.

“So,” she nudges his foot with her leg. “What’s up with you and Zeke? What is the source of a drama?” and, remembering Zeke’s previous comment Hange adds, “Did he steal your crush or what?”

Levi looks affronted. He glares at Hange, hands crossed on his chest and a slight pout curving his lips.

Hange thinks he’s going to tell her to fuck off, almost expects him too, but this time, Levi surprises her.

“Remember my cousin? Mikasa?”

Of course, Hange does. How could she ever forget Mikasa, the only person in this world with a scowl as scary as Levi’s?

“Well, Zeke has a little brother, a brat named Eren.”

Hange nods, she vaguely remembers Levi mentioning some brother, and, more than once, Zeke had bragged to her about Eren, his darling sibling.

“He and Mikasa are friends, and my idiot cousin has been pining after him for years.”

Hange has some troubles imagining a pining Ackerman, and she briefly wonders what Levi would act like, if he had been pining after someone. Can he even pine?

“Eren had been an asshole to her, even made her cry once, so...”

“So?” Hange prompts, practically at the edge of her seat.

“So I decided to teach him a lesson. I wanted to scare him a bit, but it kinda backfired when Zeke spotted the two of us. I wasn’t going to punch him or anything, but apparently that’s how it looked.”

“And?”

Levi sighs. “And Zeke did what he could to protect his little brother.”

“He punched you?” Hange’s eyes are wide, as she tries to imagine that particular scene. Zeke is so much bigger than Levi, if he had punched him… Hange suddenly feels very angry.

“No, although I wish he did. It happened just outside of our university, and so Zeke had me reported to the dean. Something about assaulting a minor… it almost got me expelled.”

“What a fucker,” Hange growls, her fist clenching involuntarily. She knew just how hard it was for Levi to get into that university and pay for the classes, and to think that he nearly got expelled because of something so stupid…

“It was an asshole move, I agree. But a part of me actually understands him.”

“Huh? Why?”

Hange can’t even fathom a reason to defend what Zeke did. She knows she would never forgive him for that. It doesn’t seem like Levi has forgiven him either, but he understands him? Hange doesn’t think she would be as gracious.

“Do you have a sibling, four-eyes?” Levi asks. “Or a cousin?”

“No.”

With a thoughtful expression, he hums. “That’s why you don’t understand.”

His answer confuses Hange. And at the same time, it intrigues her. She knows that a bond between siblings is a special one, and as an only child, she can’t grasp the meaning of it. Levi seems to cherish his relationship with Mikasa, even if he always calls her a brat and complains about her bad manners. It must be nice to have someone, a friend that lives with you in the same house. Hange can’t exactly imagine it, but she acknowledges the importance of it anyway.

“But enough of this,” Levi says, bringing her out of her thoughts. “Your collaboration with Zeke is almost at its end. Your article will come out in a few days, have you decided what are you going to do next? Have you already told Erwin that Zeke offered you a place at his newspaper?”

“I haven’t.”

She doesn’t quite know how to approach this conversation. What’s more, she doesn’t quite know what her decision is. Money Island is an opportunity that shouldn’t be ignored, Hange doesn’t want to ignore it. A resignation letter that is hidden inside the desk's drawer is a testament to this. It will give her career a boost she always dreamed of, and Hange can’t let it just slide past her. She isn’t going to, probably, but… she is reluctant.

“We still don’t know if our collaboration will turn out to be a success or not,” she adds, an attempt to justify her indecisiveness. “Maybe, Zeke wouldn’t want to do anything with me, if we fail.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Levi rolls his eyes, apparently refusing to even entertain this idea. “The article will be a success. And you’ll do great at that job.”

Hange snickers in an attempt to lighten up the mood, to distract Levi from her unease. “Sounds like you just want to get rid of me.”

“It’s your decision,” Levi doesn’t deny, not confirm her comment. It sets Hange just a little further on edge. “What I want doesn’t matter whatsoever.”

His words sound familiar, strangely so, but Hange refuses to think about it any further. The words might sound like those from the lover boy’s letter, but the context is different. Levi and him are different. And whoever lover boy is devoted to, Hange is sure that she and that person are different too.

“I’m starving,” Levi stands up, a bit too abruptly, but Hange is too lost in her thoughts to take note of it. “Let’s steal some food from Mike.”

Hange smiles, grateful for the offer, and stands up to join Levi. “I saw Erwin bring yoghurt today.”

“We need to hurry then,” he grabs her hand, quickening her stride. “Otherwise Nanaba will steal it before we even have a chance.”

Hange laughs and eagerly follows after him.

***

When the article finally comes out, it turns out to be a glaring success. Both newspapers gain new audience, a number of newcomers bigger than Erwin had anticipated.

Everyone is happy and proud of Hange accomplishment. No one is surprised at her success.

Mike, Nanaba and Moblit all but run into her office, interrupting each other in their haste to congratulate her.

Levi is the last one to approach her. He wears an unusually open, almost happy expression.

“Told you’d do great,” he murmurs.

Hange knows she shouldn’t do it, knows that Levi won’t enjoy it, his aversion to invasion of his personal space is proverbial, but… Hange accomplished a lot, right? She deserves a little celebratory gift.

With that in mind, she shortens the distance between them and goes in for the tightest, squishiest hug she had in a while.

Levi grunts his protest, but doesn’t object further. In a move that sets Hange’s heart ablaze, he wraps his arms around her too.

Hange likes hugs, receives lots of them – at parties, she often cuddles with Nanaba and Mike, sometimes falls asleep with Erwin holding her close, and Moblit always gets too clingy when he has a little too much to drink. She enjoys embracing her friends, but a hug from Levi – perhaps, Hange tries to reason, because it is such a rare occurrence – makes her brim with unbridled happiness.

***

After the short, but very much enjoyed celebratory hug, Hange invites her friends to get celebratory drinks.

The evening is great, it is filled with pleasant conversation and so much laughter that Hange’s stomach starts to ache from it. The evening is great, could have been perfect… if Hange could forget about the resignation letter that is hidden inside her desk’s drawer.

It is a little after midnight, when they leave the bar and call it a night. But while everyone else heads to their homes, Hange decides to come to the office.

Almost wistfully, she turns on the computer. The first thing she sees is the time and the date, displayed at the bottom of a screen, that tells her it’s the early hours of Wednesday.

The second thing she sees is a notification that Levi sent her a letter.

Right. It’s letters day. Perhaps, the last one for her.

Hange opens the mail, her eyes instantly searching for the familiar username. She doesn’t find it.

She goes through the whole archive again, this time much slower. Still nothing. Then – what if third time is a charm – she scrolls down to the bottom once more. And…

No luck.

It’s the first time in a while that Hange doesn’t receive a letter from the lover boy. It can be a good thing, she supposes. Maybe, the lover boy finally confessed and his beloved stayed with him. Maybe, that’s why he doesn’t need her advices anymore. Or, maybe… Maybe, she left. That will explain the absence of the letter too.

It’s just a letter, from a total stranger at that, but Hange feels sad. Her eyes water as she stares at the computer screen.

She can’t help but wonder – did lover boy’s beloved know about his feelings? Did she decide to leave anyway? Or was she none the wiser about the extent of his affections towards her? If so, did she regret leaving him behind?

Would Hange herself regret leaving her job and friends?

She’s not sure. The worst thing about regret is that it doesn’t appear until after you’ve already done something.

Maybe, she will regret it, maybe, she won’t. The only way to find out is to keep moving forward.

With a heavy heart and tear-streaked face, Hange takes the resignation letter out of the drawer.

***

When she breaks the news to Erwin, he is not at all surprised. He’s not even angry or disappointed, he doesn’t ask to reconsider. A part of Hange wishes he did. That would give her an excuse to stay.

His smile is sad, but at the same time it’s proud. He thanks Hange for three years of hard work and wishes her the best of luck.

“When you’ll get rich and famous,” he says as he wraps his arm around her. “Think of us sometimes, even if briefly.”

Hange’s answering laugh sounds more like a sob. “How could I ever forget all of you?”

Erwin chuckles and wipes away her tears. “You’re a star, Hange, don’t you ever doubt it.”

***

Her last day at work ends with Hange getting shit-faced at their favorite bar. Everyone else is just as drunk as she is – Nanaba refuses to let go of her arm, Mike keeps asking her to call him every day, and Moblit has already cried for three times.

The only semi-sober ones are Erwin, who has to show up to shareholders’ meeting tomorrow morning, and Levi, who is an abnormal human being that alcohol holds no power over.

In the end, he is the one tasked to bring Hange home.

For the entire of their ride to her apartment complex, Hange does her best to behave. She breaks down as soon as they get inside.

Apparently thinking that forcing her to shower would be too much of a bother, Levi leads her straight to the bedroom.

Hange doesn’t fight it, too exhausted to do so, but when Levi starts tucking her in, she grabs his wrist.

“Levi,” she says, and the amount of alcohol she consumed earlier makes it easier to not give a fuck that her voice sounds almost pleading. “Levi, what do you think about me leaving?”

Levi has said nothing on the topic throughout the whole evening. And, while he has given her a hint about his stance on it before, and it probably wouldn’t matter at all, since she is going to leave anyway, Hange still wants to know.

“I told you before,” he doesn’t pull his hand away from her grasp, if anything he moves a little closer, sitting at the edge of her bed. “My opinion doesn’t matter.”

“It matters,” Hange assures. “To me, it matters.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Do you want me to stay?” she looks deep into his eyes, but be it the influence of alcohol or the absence of her glasses… she can’t read him at all. “If you really do, maybe—”

“No.” Levi cuts her off sharply. “No, Hange, there is no maybe. It’s your decision, and my feelings can’t become your reason.”

Again, the words are familiar, but Hange is drunk. Hange is filled with alcohol and conflicting emotions and lingering doubts. Besides, she’s too lost in the intense look inside Levi’s eyes to make sense of anything else.

“Good night,” Levi whispers, pressing his lips to her forehead in a feather light, achingly gentle kiss. “I hope you will be happy.”

He leaves just before Hange thinks of asking him to stay.

***

Hange swears to stay in touch with everyone at Sina’s Gossips, and she fully intends to keep that promise, but then— then the work gets in the way.

Her first week at Money Island is all but a blur. There is so much to do, so much to learn, and Hange gets lost in it almost immediately.

She stays in the office after hours, she works during weekends, every waking moment is essentially spent on trying to make sense of it all. The employees of Money Island help, which Hange is immensely grateful for, and she is no stranger to working after hours, but… what made her power through it before is not there anymore.

After two weeks she spends on her new job, Hange can’t deny it anymore – her new position is boring.

All these numbers, charts, net worth, stocks options, so on and so forth… it’s so dull and tiresome, it sucks all of Hange’s enthusiasm and inspiration.

That thrill, that excitement, it isn’t there anymore, there is no passion to fuel her, no purpose worth pursuing.

At least, her new colleagues are nice enough. However… Hange can’t help but compare them to her old ones.

Pieck is funny and kind, but not nearly as kind as Nanaba. Porco’s jokes, no matter what he thinks about them, aren’t as hilarious as Mike’s, and watching the development of his relationship with Pieck doesn’t give Hange the same thrill as Nanaba and Mike’s relationship did. Onyankopon is so polite, and he’s always ready to help, but he isn’t as endearingly awkward and cute as Moblit. Her new boss, Magath, isn’t half the man Erwin is. And Zeke… Zeke doesn’t even begin to compare with Levi.

Hange wants to like them, she really does, but all this work leaves little to no time to hang out with her friends, and their absence makes her more unwilling to connect with the new colleagues.

Out of sheer stubbornness, Hange continues working for another two weeks, hoping that maybe, with just enough time, she’ll get her spark back.

She is in the middle of writing another article, something about yet another failing company, when her phone pings, announcing a notification. Taking it a sign from above that she needs to take a break, Hange looks away from the computer screen and redirects her attention to the phone.

The notification announces a new letter, to her personal account. Intrigued, Hange opens it and almost squeals when she sees the username.

[email protected]

Hange stares at it for a long, long moment. The letter isn’t redirected as it usually was, meaning… the lover boy knows her personal mail address, or…

The lover boy is someone she actually knows.

Not sure which one is more improbable, Hange opens the letter. It’s an unusually short one.

It’s been almost a month since she left. I still miss her every damn day. Do you have any advice how to stop it?

In that moment, everything clicks. Every coincidence and conjunction, every moment she felt like she could connect to the lover boy, every time his dilemma perfectly reflected her own. The fact that he knows her email address and the fact that he mentioned one month, precisely the amount of time that passed since she left Sina’s Gossips… there are too many seemingly random things that together create a clear enough picture.

Hange rereads the letter again, just to make sure that it’s real, just to make sure that she isn’t imagining it, that it isn’t wishful thinking.

It doesn’t seem like it is, Hange doesn’t believe it is, and a realization forces a surprised, happy laugh out of her throat.

It takes her but a moment to set her mind, and then, Hange closes the word document with an article, not bothering to save it. She opens another one right after that, and starts writing what will be another resignation letter, this time addressed to CEO of Money Island, Theo Magath. When she finishes, Hange opens powerpoint and proceeds to make a presentation that consists of almost eighty slides.

Perhaps, not her best work, but Hange is confident it will suffice.

She doesn’t bother waiting for Magath to come back from his meeting to give him a letter. She bumps into Zeke just as she exits the small office they gave her, and she thrusts the resignation letter into his hands before he can pull her into one of his endless, mostly one-sided conversation that serve mainly to stroke his ego.

When he takes a look at the letter, Zeke seems regretful, but— not at all surprised.

“I hoped you’d stay with us for a little longer…” he confesses with a slow shake of his head. “But I guess we can’t do what we don’t love.”

“I’m sorry,” Hange says, a small compensation.

“Don’t be,” Zeke waves her off, as easily and smoothly as he does everything else. “However, if you ever decide to go on a date with someone taller than a middle-schooler…”

Really, even Zeke knows? Is she that oblivious?

“You’ll be the first one to know,” Hange laughs, feeling lighter than she did in weeks.

Without wasting anymore time, Hange ducks into her office, grabs what little things she brought here and then rushes to small, not at all impressive, but so dearly loved building of Sina’s Gossips.

Just before entering, she stops and looks up at the front door. Finally… she feels at peace.

A moment is all she allows, before she walks inside.

Her first stop is Erwin’s office, where Hange plugs a USB and starts her presentation before Erwin can even ask what she’s doing here. It takes absolutely nothing to convince him to give her position back, but it does take the whole eighty slides to make him at the very least consider her new proposition – a new segment where Hange will be observing local news. It’s not much, but it’s a start, and a promising one at that.

“But I still need you to take care of the advice column,” Erwin warns just after he surrenders to Hange’s enthusiasm that slowly starts to come back to her. “Mike is quite terrible at it.”

“Consider it done, chief!” Hange exclaims with a quick salute.

Erwin smiles and stands up to embrace her. “Then, Hange Zoe, welcome back to Sina’s Gossips.”

Hange is smiling so much, she worries that her face might break.

After Erwin, she runs straight into Nanaba’s arms. As they embrace, Nanaba laughs, then cries, then laughs again.

“God, Hange, I’m so happy you came back,” she says, wiping her tears. “I was this close to dying of boredom.”

“You don’t know boredom until you’ve worked in finance, Nana.”

They laugh in unison, and Hange’s heart is full of affection, when Nanaba wetly kisses her cheek.

Just before stopping at Moblit’s desk, Hange heads to break room and is lucky enough to find Mike eating a sandwich there.

Hange steals it with a delighted laughter, instantly taking a huge bite.

“Never thought I’d miss someone stealing my food,” he shakes his head with a big smile. “But here we are, I guess. It’s good to have you back, Hans.”

At first, Moblit doesn’t actually believe she is real. He rubs his eyes and squints at her, tentatively touches her arm, gives her another once-over, and whatever he noticed – perhaps, it’s her mismatched socks – convinces him that he isn’t seeing things.

And then gathers her in his arms.

“They made me work with Levi,” he whispers into her shoulders. “Please, don’t leave me again.”

Hange laughs – she does it a lot today, compensating for that month she spent feeling sorry for herself – and pats Moblit’s shoulder.

“Speaking of our favorite shorty, where is he?”

“In his office, probably brooding as always. Since you left, he’s been doing it more often. ”

Hange thanks Moblit with a quick peck on his cheek, and then she is moving again, now heading to her final destination.

The inside of Levi’s office is dark, and awfully quiet. The only sound is the click-clack of the keyboard and the only light comes from the computer screen. It further highlights the dark circle under his eyes and the overall paleness of his face.

Hange clears her throat to get his attention.

Levi’s eyes snap to her, widening almost immediately. There is an ocean of questions, ready to spill from his lips, but Hange doesn’t give him a chance to voice any of them.

“So there is this guy, he’s been sending letters to me since forever. He’s so sweet, a true romantic, and, well, his letters were kinda the highlight of my week,” she pauses to take a quick breath, and continues. “And I’ve been rooting so hard for him, you know? I wanted him to get together with that sweetheart of his, but I also felt like she was kinda oblivious, if you get what I’m talking about. Perhaps, not completely blind, but with a vision poor enough to miss what is right in front of her. Or, perhaps, she always has her head up in the clouds and the guy is a little short, so it’s easy to miss him? And-”

“So you’ve figured it out then?” Levi interrupts her. His calmness makes Hange more nervous.

“I have.”

“Only now?”

“Yes.”

“Hm,” a ghost of a smile dances around his narrow lips. “Completely blind then.”

Hange huffs, but she can’t resist a smile of her own. She takes a step towards his desk, hopping right on top of it.

“Just so we’re clear,” she touches his forearm, slowly moving her hand up to his shoulder. “You weren’t my reason to leave, Levi. And you aren’t the reason I’m staying. But,” she leans in, hoping that Levi is not as stupid and she is, and he gets the hint that she wants him to lean closer too. “You’re the reason I decided to come back. And for that, I can’t thank you enough.”

Hange closes her eyes, when Levi gently cups her cheek. With bated breath, she waits to feel his lips on hers.

Her lover boy doesn’t disappoint, and the gentle, loving kiss makes her head spin.

After a short moment of bliss, Levi pulls away, and Hange has to forcefully stop herself from chasing after his lips. He smirks at the dazed look in her eyes, and Hange just has to retaliate.

She strokes the skin of his cheek with the most tender of touches, shortening the distance between them with tantalizingly slow speed. Just when they’re less than a breath apart, Hange whispers, in a quiet, endlessly soft voice, “You know, Levi, wings of freedom is a really stupid username.”

Levi pushes her off the desk for that, but it’s still worth it. Even more so, since he catches her right in his arms.

And then her lover boy kisses her again. And again, and again, until her heart is so full of love that she can’t even find it in her to get angry at Mike, who snaps a picture of them and runs away to tell everyone the news.

“They’ll be gossiping about that for weeks,” Levi grumbles.

Hange laughs, smoothing the crease between his eyebrows. “Well, it’s Sina’s Gossips we’re working at. And didn’t you know? Love for the gossip is the requirement to get a position here.”

#basically yet another silly romcom from me :)#levihan

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just2bubbly · 3 years

Text

Sometimes Love Stays

Masterlist

TLC Ship Week 2021!

*written for tlcshipweek2021- kaider for the prompt 'In another life'

@kaiderforever

Summary

"Hmm.."

"Do you?"

"Wish you happiness? Yeah, Kai, I do- with all my heart."

"I wish you were happiness!"

Sometimes love becomes stronger overcoming the obstacles thrown along your path, but when the obstacles never end and you become tired enough to want to stop, will 'Love' help overcome the new problem or would it be succumbed to obstacle?

When their future doesn't play out as they want to, will they dare to take a chance or lose everything without trying?

Reading an article, Cinder is thrown back into the past, trying to figure out if the choices she made were right.

A look at Kai and Cinder's relationship through newspaper article fragments.

Ship: Kaider

Words: 3.2k

Genre: Angst

Prompt: 'In Another Life'

Note: A Canon Divergence AU from Winter- major character/ relationship reflection. Bold contexts are newspaper articles!

Cinder's Perspective:

"Sometimes love stays."

The article read and Cinder could not bring it upon herself to understand the implications of those three words. She considered it was the most preposterous sentence to start a piece of news informing about a break-up. Her mind could only fathom that a hopeless romantic had written this article, one who most certainly believed in unrequited love and stuff- That she could be sure from the very first line. "Many times love seems to not reside in a relationship as the lovers struggle to continue to live together after years of togetherness, but this does not appear to be the case in the infamous royal courtship that lasted for over 10 years but was suddenly called off 2 years ago- Yes, we are talking about no one but The Emperor of Eastern Commonwealth and The Queen of Luna- " Cinder seemed to convince herself that she was only reading it because it was the most trending news on Earth. Yet it was no new news to her or even anyone on Earth and the saint forsaken rock Luna as well. The article had become famous only for its illustrating language and artistic words that seemed to give the entire ordeal a new look. Hence, after having ignored, overlooked and unseen the article, its rumours and the stink eye that her aristocrats sent along her way. She finally decided to read it and fucking get over it- just like she got over him. It was fucking simple until it was not. "The infamous break-up of The Emperor of EC and the Queen of Luna happens to be no news to us. It has been two years since the two royals called off their relationship in the name of diplomatic and personal reasons. However, it appears that the years apart have done no good to their awkward and unresolved heartfelt tension." She wondered which newbie journalist had decided to write about this- about them, the two lovers madly in love with each other, stubborn enough to put others above themselves and naive enough to let it all go. She could feel her body going stiff as she tried to muster up the courage to continue reading. Her mind going numb just like it always did when thoughts of Kai resurfaced. The memories and the murmurs, their banters, his adoration all seemed to drown her with misery- one where she could not shed a single tear but only carry the overwhelming weight of the past of what they had- of what they had lost. It had been good- going at first with the frequent comms in their free time, flying kisses from literally two different worlds, exchanging gifts thanks to the Rampion, jumping at the first chance to meet each other. They were happy and yet they were not. With near to 10 years into being the Queen of Luna, she had thought that maybe she had given her bit to the moon, and now she could step down from her role and convert Luna into a republican state. She had planned her future, their future, the future of thousands of people and had acted accordingly to liberate Luna from the clutches of a single person, forgetting about what the people would have to say about it? Apparently, Lunars loved royalty more than equal representation! Consequently, when she had put the matters of 'abolition of monarchy' to vote she had been made a fool in her own court with the outcome - her vote against all of them. When she had demanded an explanation out of Iko for such a bizarre scenario. She had acknowledged, "They seem to like you as their Queen. It is clear they don't want you to step down!?" "But what about equal representation?" "Cinder you are already giving it to them!" "And what about the aristocrats- Don't they want more say in the administration?" "They do want it but not with the responsibility. Thus they have started preaching about royalty and stuff..." she trailed. Dumbstruck, she had thought how can one gift someone freedom when they don't want it? That's where things started looking down. This made all her plans go downhill. Because hadn't she planned that she would step down, abolish the monarchy and turn it into a Republican government? Hadn't she decided she would be free to live her own life on Earth?

Hadn't she wondered how she would travel with Thorne on Rampion- be truly free for once in her life before having to settle down? Before having to go to New Beijing.

Hadn't they planned that they would stay together- and with every passing day weren't they coming near to achieving their intention to constantly stay together and make up for all the physical affection they had been deprived of over the years? Wasn't it what their future was going to be off? With this new hurdle, plans had to be changed and when she had mentioned this to Kai, he was grief-stricken. Even then, they came up with alternatives, for at that time it was clear- they wanted to spend the rest of their together. They had discussed spending their time between Earth and Luna, tackling the barriers of distance and royalty. It's not like they did not try, it's just that every time they strived harder to stay together- fate made it impossible to. A year later, the realization dawned upon her. It had really taken a long time but it had finally crashed- the full reality of their long-distance engagement relationship, that maybe it was taking a toll on them. That maybe they would not survive through all the distance separating them. She had been avoiding thinking about it lately but she knew even if they tried it was not going to work out, that sooner or later they would have to call it off. 'Call what off?' She had asked herself, wondering how things were going to change. 'All of it' a tiny voice in her mind replied. The engagement, the relationship. Everything. That night she decided against comming Kai, instead, she confronted Iko speaking of her troubling thoughts aloud and from the dark blue, somewhat grey colours of her eyes, Cinder understood how truly sorry she was.

She sat in the arms of Iko, wanting to whine, yell and cry. However, the cruel fate left her with a throbbing sensation in her head and an itchy feeling in the throat. She wanted to see Kai, but she had not the heart to tell him the truth. She presumed he already knew what was troubling her- troubling them. She had not the courage to see the sorrow on his face, so she pretended that everything was fine even when it was not. She smiled and teased him at all the opportunities she could possibly get knowing very well that one day that they would have to stop. One day he would have someone else do that to him. Therefore the next time she had gone on Earth she had confessed it to him. He had listened patiently without a word and had calmly accepted it. The unforgettable silence that followed would haunt Cinder forever. She thought they had fooled themselves enough trying to make the impossible happen, justifying their actions as a result of love. In the end, he had sighed, tears reflecting in his copper-brown orbs and croaked, "I guess this is the end?" She had nodded failing to meet his eyes. "Sorry, Kai", she had uttered, feeling every ounce guilty and sorrowful. They had stood like that for a long time, feet shuffling- gazes never meeting each other until he was called. He did not shed a single tear before her. On her last night at the Palace, she felt a sort of Deja-Vu for all the things around her. Her thoughts roamed around only a single thing- 'After today, this place would no longer be home'. He had come to her room that night and once they had gotten over the awkward small talk of the breakup, he had launched at her and hugged her till her bones crushed. "I love you," he whimpered. "Don't forget it- don't forget it, Cinder. Even when you go to that fucking rock in the sky." And Cinder could feel something warm- not inside her but on her shoulders.

Kai's tears had been falling on her shoulders and she had chanted sorry all the time they stayed like that.

'What do you do to calm two heartbroken souls?'

He was in her arms hearing her speak, though her words were not soothing, they did not reduce his grief like they ought to. They were bitter truth of their future, their fate. They were apologies for what they had lost. Her words were not comforting. She was not going to tell him how they will be fine when she knew they would not. There was no point lying- telling him nicely painted lies of their future when their present was broken like that. She had no idea how but they fell asleep together, a mess of tumbled limbs on the carpet for the last time. And when the streaks of sunlight fell over their sleeping forms, it was not out of hope.

"It seems that it's over for the two royals, one of them the Queen of Luna and the other The Emperor of Eastern Commonwealth. Queen Selene, 26 and Emperor Kaito, 28 called off their relationship yesterday. Emperor Kaito in his latest press speech stated that "Myself and Queen Selene are no longer together- we have parted ways on good terms. However, we are no longer involved," when one of the reporters asked if there was any wedding to be expected soon. The Queen of Luna also addressed this in one of her official posts, saying "It's been great 10 years with Kai but we can no longer stay together," with a bittersweet smile. The two refuse to brief about this. It just seems like just yesterday they were THE happier and attractive couple dancing at the Annual Peace Ball and -well now they are not, we are sure their fans all around must be heartbroken but worry not you can catch up on their relationship through the years-" Two months later, they formally announced their break-up. They called off everything- all of it just like she had thought. The world did not know- they did not know how Kai had gone down on his knees and she had said yes before he could even ask. How she had pieces of her never- going to happen wedding vows drafted somewhere in her brain. It was only them, Torin, Iko and their friends who knew the disaster of grief they had unrolled in their life. He had refused to take the ring back, "Keep it to remember me by." He had insisted and she had not-so jokingly replied, "I don't need jewels to remember you by." Returning to Luna had been the harder task, She-They had cut off all ties except maybe friendship (?) but things were going to be different- they are different.

It felt hollow for months later, she drowned herself in work to forget about the messy-haired boy, to forget that there was no one waiting for her comms now, that she did not have someone to whisper 'I love you's too', to kiss him and be found by someone, no reason for Thorne to shout 'Get a room.'

She had for the first few days been hopeless- locking herself up, both metaphorically and literally only to realize that Kai had been an integral part of her daily schedule and world even from thousands of miles away. The breaks that she once looked forward too, taunted her of what she had lost- so she was hell-bent on working the day without breaks. She forced her mind to not stray around to the boy on Earth. The only moment she had let her guard down was when Thorne was visiting- because he was her BFF and wasn't he the one who teased her all along about Kai and his heavenly copper-brown eyes? Wasn't he going to be her rock where she had lost her anchor? At the sight of his friend's dark circles, thinner than the usual frame, Thorne and Cress had bear-hugged her and the only thing that she felt was it felt good to be embraced by someone other than Iko. 'I'm so sorry, Cinder', Thorne had said and she had croaked, "Don't be sorry." She had cracked that day.

"I DON'T WANT PITY THORNE, I DON'T WANT TO HEAR HOW PEOPLE THOUGHT WE WOULD GET MARRIED AND LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER. I DON'T WANT THE MEDIA TO TELL ME HOW WE LOOKED GOOD TOGETHER. I FUCKING HATE LUNARS TELLING ME THAT THEY HOPE I FEEL BETTER. AM I NOT IN THIS CONDITION BECAUSE THEY CHOOSE TO BE SELFISH? THORNE, I WANT TO CRY AND MY STUPID CYBERNETICS WOULD NOT EVEN ALLOW BE TO CRY FOR MY EX-FIANCEE." She might have been a bit tipsy to blow up like that but she was past caring. She had been pretending that everything was fine while she was falling apart inside. "What sort of cruel joke is this? Haven't I already endured enough? I don't want anyone's fucking apologies. I don't want that crap, I- I want K-Kai."

She yelled as her face echoed pain. "Do I not deserve love, Thorne?" She had demanded, looking very vulnerable. She never said a word after that. The next big blow came when she had attended the world leader summit. Thankfully, it was a virtual thing or she could not have gone through the entire ceremony without a mental breakdown. She had felt the air knock out of her lungs at the sight of Kai after six whole months. He looked paler than normal, his always messed up hair looked neatly fixed in place with layers of hair gel. And his ever blinding grin present at even stupid meetings like this was now merely his lips pressed together in a thin line.

How was Kai who was her joy in human form suddenly became the picture of grief? She wondered how she looked to him if even he was out of breath at the sight of her- realizing how she was drifting away from the main reason she was attending the summit, she forced herself to look at anywhere but him. That night she slept thinking about how she was not the only one suffering. "-The Emperor of EC starts a new journey in his life at 30. However, there are no wedding bells in the air as of now, making the world and the EC anticipate the future of their Emperor and their nation. At 30, the Emperor not committed to anyone nor having any living heir had caused multiple questions to be unanswered about the legacy after him. Hopefully, he will find his partner to secure their future until then we wish him a Very Happy Birthday!" Marriage. Wedding. Love. Hadn't it been what they had lost? She knew this was going to happen. Then why did she feel like drowning all over again? Why did her heart shatter yet again? He was no longer hers to worry about...Was he even part of her world anymore? She knew it very well that he was supposed to marry someone. He must marry someone and have an heir to the Commonwealth. Cinder was asked to do the very same thing. They were monarchs who had to keep their legacies alive. The next time she was invited for the Annual Peace Ball, Kai had cornered and said, "They want me to get married." "Tell me you are saying this because you want the ring back." She had jokingly said, swallowing the sadness and jealously that threatened to submerge her. Her mind asked if he would go down on his knees at the Ball just like he had done for Levana. But that was just her stupidity, misery and desperation mixed together. How was her tyrant aunt going to manage her marriage with Kai by living on Luna along with her sinister motives?! "Cinder" "Kai", she pleaded, underlying the please without saying it. She averted her eyes and nonchalantly asked," Have someone in mind?" "No", he replied without a beat, making her at ease but what he said next crushed her healing heart again. "But I have someone in my heart." She could not stand around him without wanting to kiss him senseless. Therefore, she said, "I wish you happiness, Kai." And tried to walk away until he questioned, "Do you?" "Hmm.." she replied, looking back at him. "Do you?" He repeated. "Wish you happiness? Yeah, Kai, I do- with all my heart." "I wish you were happiness!" Looking at his lean frame dressed in the colours of EC she dared to speak, "I wish that too." She had not returned after that episode but maybe she would have to. Soon. "The Emperor has been sighted with Chen Daiyu, daughter of Chen Zian, the Chief Commandant of Light Chariot, she is an activist working towards the liberation of perils faced by cyborgs in modern society, along with being a psychotherapist by service. It's not the first time that they have been seen together making people hope that it's not the last. There are rumours about their courting with no confirmation from any one of the two-It appears the Emperor has finally moved on from his last date with Queen Selene. Only time will tell if the Emperor has found his Empress or not." She could not blame anyone. They were just pressing time trying to avoid some inescapable future- yet why did her mind ask if he had learned Chen Daiyu's favourite flowers? or Did he hold her as he had held her once? Wondered if he explained to her why there was a cyborg's foot in his room? She was cursing goddamn every star because it was not just him but even she was looking into suitors!? She had gone on dates with a few, noticing how one of them grinned like Kai with a dimple on his left cheek, how someone scratched their necks when they were flustered or how some of them had a struggle keeping their hair in place- without wanting to she was searching for Kai everywhere in them. None of the two was married yet. It was okay to imagine about him for a while. It was okay for grief to overwhelm her. Maybe that's what she needed to

move on from her past.

Had they moved on? Had they stopped loving each other? 'NO!'- she shook her head violently to no one in particular.

She loved him even now. There will always be some part of her mind that will love him. Maybe it was treasuring their memories while making new ones. Two years later reading an article about them, she thought if maybe she had tried harder, would they be together? Alas, there was no point fantasizing when both time and distance had separated them? Could they start from where they had left? Or would they be two broken pieces no longer fitting?

"Sometimes love stays," The article read again. "But lover's don't." Maybe if distance, time and qualms of royalty were not preventing them then things could have been different, their lives could have been different. Perhaps in a life with different circumstances, they would have been together unlike this one- where they had briefly touched, in another life possibly their tale could have had a happy ending. Maybe if she was Cinder and not Queen Selene Channary Jannali Blackburn of Luna, and if he was just Kai and not Emperor Kaito of the Eastern Commonwealth then they would have made it till the end.

But they were not and that's what mattered. __

A/N: We are done! :)

I know you would likely want to hit me right now since I promised certain someone that there would be no angsty fics for at least a few months and yet HERE I AM!

I have kinda portrayed Iko in this really bad, so sorry about that! And you have no idea how much frustrated I was that Cinder could not cry, like crying is such a essential part of human behavior and having to describe her grief without tears was certainly a challenge. I hope I did her character well- You guys have no idea how much break-up articles I have read just to get the news articles right. I might as well do a course on journalism later ;)

Was that a bit too much angst? and yeah in this fic they are secretly engaged!

This was written for the TLC Ship Week, the word prompt for this one was 'In Another Life'. However, I had already planned it beforehand with no idea of how the ship-week was going to give me the perfect opportunity to post this. I know I'm cruel right?

This idea had been going a lot in my mind since I made @salt-warrior write her fic 'Anyone Else', and read the fic 'After' on AO3, along with 'Once' by @/betaluz. I just thought that maybe Cinder failed to get past the boundaries of royalty on Luna and converting it into a Republican, wondering if that happened what would happen to her relationship with Kai. Hence, this sudden angsty take.

Tell me which is your favorite part from this?

And don't worry I have more angst lined up for you! <3

Taglist: @cinderswrench @gingerale2017 @linhcinder686 @shellyseashell @ladyvesuvia @shelbylmkaider @levanariddle @cindersassasin @kaider-is-my-otp (Tell me if you wanna be added/removed)

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize” you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath.

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

And now she was all his.

*****

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand.

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

And you knew then, you were in for it.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter @this-is-serenaa @alexakeyloveloki @perplexed3001 @twittytelly @kelbabyblue @maan24

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

#halloween challenge #j's haunted house 2020 #jshauntedhouse2020 #dark ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #knives out fanfic

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x--daughters-of-darkness--x · 3 years

Text

Life Is Proud: Life Of Agony’s Mina Caputo: “I don’t like being called transgender or transsexual… I’m a beautiful human being”

Pioneering Life Of Agony singer Mina Caputo opens up about letting go of the past, spirituality, and the Pride movement during the third instalment of Kerrang!’s Life Is Proud campaign.

“You’re setting off landmines inside of me!” says Mina Caputo. We’re 35 minutes into a filmed interview which we are conducting as part of Kerrang!’s Life Is Proud campaign in celebration of Pride Month.

Our conversation thus far has embraced everything from the work of psychologist Carl Jung and his study of the dark side of the mind through to the disinformation of modern media, and on to the liberating impact of artists such as Robert Plant and Freddie Mercury.

The “landmines”, though, consist of a few questions about Mina’s remarkable career and her own journey to find herself. They do, indeed, trigger explosions – delivered with her customary frankness and forays into deeply emotional territory.

Mina’s story starts in Brooklyn where she was born in December 1973. At the age of one, she lost her mother to an overdose. Her father was also an addict – “I grew up pulling dope needles out of my dad’s arm,” she told Kerrang! last year – and when he OD’d she had to identify his body. Both moments, she says, armed her to face the real world, providing her with “spiritual juice” as she also began to seek solace in music.

Raised by her Italian-American grandparents in a brutally traditional atmosphere, Mina experienced a sense of gender dysphoria from a young age – something she carried with her when she formed alternative metal band, Life Of Agony, in her teens. Her sense of alienation increased as the band’s popularity grew and she continued to feel at odds with the bristling machismo, muscle-flexing and sheer violence within the East Coast scene.

“Life Of Agony were a very different band from the jump,” she says. “But that time taught me to protect my neck. It taught me how to be afraid of my own unique authenticity. The first five or 10 years of my career, we were abused. There were lots of comments, like I’m a gay junkie, because I looked differently and I sang differently. We were left out of scenes and we were left off bills. But I knew why: because were bad-ass and we rose to the top really, really fast. People didn’t like that. Other bands didn’t like that.”

For Mina, her quest to find herself had become a key issue which she had to address. In a conservative scene, her experimentation with her image and sense of sexual exploration came at a price.

“I started painting my fingernails and toenails with Jonathan [Davis] on a tour with Ozzy Osbourne and Korn [in 1996], and that was seen as rebellious!” she smiles. “And I started going onstage wearing a big women’s fur coat and getting so much shit for just being different – and for being someone unlike the scene had ever really seen. I was a trendsetter, a physical trendsetter. And being in that scene, it was horrifying.”

Things came to a head following the release of Soul Searching Sun, Life Of Agony’s third album, in 1997, when Mina finally decided her only option was to leave the band. Against all odds, LOA would reform in 2003 and continue to release a string of acclaimed albums, their story documented in the no-holds barred documentary The Sound Of Scars.

“I felt afraid, I felt like dying,” reflects Mina on the struggles she endured as she quit the band. “I felt like my cellular structure was continuously dying and I wasn’t alive or living, I wasn’t sharing my true self. I was definitely afraid. It took me to quit the band because I wasn’t being true to myself. I had to get away from my band, the label, everyone I worked with.”

A hugely varied solo career spanning over 10 albums and endless collaborations followed, but Mina still feels that history weighs heavily on her.

“No-one wants to let go of my past story. Every lame rock journalist starts of the article in the same way because there’s no more creative writing anymore. Everyone’s cutting and pasting. ‘Mina Caputo – once Keith Caputo’,” she snorts.

“Everyone has to keep reintroducing the fact that I’m a freak, born anatomically a boy. No shit! I’m a different creature. I’m not trying to be a boy, or trying to fit into your dickhead masculine world! Nor am I trying to fit into the genetic female world. I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a fuck about fitting into your marginalised soulless, fear-based spiritually bankrupt world. I’ve gone my own world, my own internal world. I’ve got my music. I’ve got small selection of friends. I’ve got my money. I’ve got my divine protection. I’ve got my studies. I’m not a stupid motherfucker! I study quantum physics! I study Hopi American prophecies! I study philosophy. I’m well-equipped for this fucking world!”

Mina’s bravery in the face of adversity remains inspirational. Experiencing the distrust of ‘otherness’ during her childhood, she has battled against prejudice most of her adult life. And, yet, she admits that her decision to come out as transgender in 2011 was far from easy.

“It was very, very scary,” she reflects. “I didn’t tell a lot of people until my body started to change and I couldn’t hide it anymore. For the first year of hormone therapy, I kept it hidden.”

She is also honest enough to admit that, even a decade on, she still suffers from moments of self-doubt.

“It’s not like, ‘I’ve arrived! I’m fucking whole!’” Mina says, triggering another explosion. “I battle with things every day. Some days I think about going back to living as a guy. The pressure of the world, of politics, of the garbage surrounding me – if I let it get to me, I can get sick. My immunity will collapse if I let the world fuck with my power and who I am. And it’s a good thing that I’ve been doing yoga for 30 years. I’ve been meditating for just as long. Thank the ancient gods and that I’ve downloaded the wisdom codes to give me the strength to carry on.”

Mina’s self-preservation and spirituality is evident in most of her interviews, and yet her quest has also contributed to her ongoing sense of frustration with the world she sees around her.

“I think I am a gentle and considerate human being and I believe in true equality. I want everyone to be in love with their lives and the planet itself,” she nods. “That’s what life is about, but there are people and organisations that try and get in the way of that so I get frustrated and angry about that.

“Society, the political paradigm, all of it – it’s one big farce, one big façade! It’s very inorganic and anti-life. I don’t care if you’re Democratic or Republican, nobody is leading with love. Nobody!” she continues. “Even in Britain. Your policies around trans people – and it’s the same in America – they’re trying so very fucking hard to continuously disempower the human species!”

The idea of codification is something that Mina frowns upon, so how does she view the Pride movement as a whole?

“Pride is a very ego-driven ideology and I work really hard to cut the strings of my ego,” she explains. “Pride means different things to different people. The LGBTQ community wants love from the outside world, but I think the LGBTQ community needs to start loving on one another. We’re never going to get respect from the rest of the world if you don’t do that. You have gay guys constantly coming down on trans girls, you’ve got trans girls coming down on trans girls, you’ve got a new fucking word every day and you can’t say this or you can’t say that.

“If Pride gives people a feeling of wholeness, then it’s a good thing. I know it makes a lot of people happy. But you’ve got to create your own circle in a sense rather than be defined by someone else’s narrative.”

Describing herself as “a lone wolf”, Mina concludes our conversation by pointing out her issues with the labels ascribed to individuals by society.

“I don’t like being called transgender, or transsexual, or trans-this or trans-that. I’m a beautiful human being. I’m a gender-creative child. I’m very different. I don’t subscribe to these one-dimensional ideas. My mind is too vast, my mind is like the Dao, you know? I wear my heart on my sleeve all the time and that’s what being genuine and authentic is all about,” she offers as one of her parting shots. “But if you’re asking me how I am? I’m full of love, full of harmony and thankfulness. What else do you want?”

#Mina Caputo #Life of Agony #2021 interviews #pride month

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moondustaeil · 4 years

Note

If your moots (or blogs you want to be mutuals with) were fanfics, what would they be? I personally think you'd be a 'royalty au, protective brother king!Kun × princess/prince!reader × suitor!Sangyeon' fanfic! 📚

You just seem very mature and put-together to me.

hihi, my love!! This was so nice to do even if it took a long time, I loved it so thank you. Also thank you for saying what fic I would be, I wish I could live in that fic 🥺💙

If you’re not in here, I’m so sorry, I’ll still add you if you want or next time someone asks me this, I’ll add you!

you can find the fics and moots under the cut! I didn’t go in any particular order, just who popped in my mind at what moment and émi last bc she’s my world yes. This is way longer than expected

@sunhyuck

Au: soulmates

Pairing: wanderer!Haechan x Kei

Backstory: ever since Donghyuck accidentally met eyes with a stranger on the street, he is greeted with sunflowers scattered along his path. Young sunflowers dance under the sun, turning to the source of warmth and light. Just like the sun is all you've been gazing at ever since you walked on the same path as your soulmate.

Why: because I truly think of Kei as one of the people I'll always go to and when thinking about soulmates, I think of people who find each other and accept each other despite different lives. That I will connect to the weird variety of subjects we talked about. I love you, my angel (if you're reading this).

⠀

@neo-cult-ure

Au: demonic entities , haunted house , roommates

Pairing: composer!Taeyong x journalist!Ley

Backstory: Taeyong has been shouting over his music to you for over half a year, almost begging you to dedicate a column to him and his music. When his equipment starts picking up the strange noises coming from the house, it becomes clear that the clock hasn't been stopping at 3:19am for nothing. With Taeyong discovering the entity living among you, you decide to dedicate the article to Taeyong and your invisible roommate.

Why: do I even need to explain, this queen owns horror and the horror concept. She's the one I'll bow to because I owe her a lot and she's freaking talented.

⠀

@ceruleanskies

Au: secret relationship

Pairing: soloist!Yuta x stylist!Kai

Backstory: ever since Yuta appeared on the red carpet with a short haircut, fans hunt for the person that made the decision to get rid of his mullet. All fingers point towards you, stylist of Nakamoto Yuta, from each finger a new opinion flows into your ears: too short, not the right colour, better looking with the mullet. Though one finger shoots the arrow right in the heart "they're dating."

Why: because I truly adore Kai even though I'm way too scared to actually tell, I don't want to mess up and make her think that I'm some kind of weird person. In my eyes, she sparkles through my screen.

⠀

@neonun-au

Au: dating app

Pairing: photographer!Johnny x Mads

Backstory: just like he with a button alters between the different pictures on his camera, Johnny alters between the different profiles, swiping them in his desired direction. That's how you strand in his life and mostly his camera roll: the pictures he takes, one by one, capture you.

Why: because even though we don't know each other well, I truly want to capture her in my memory and think about the smiles I had on my face when reading her messages.

⠀

@flowerhyucky

Au: arranged by fate (you can call this soulmates but I'm calling this arranged by fate)

Pairing: Hendery x Ana

Backstory: one day, the flowering plant amaranthus caudatus settles itself in the middle of an empty field. Another day, someone else's birth flower is planted next to the amaranthus caudatus. The young miracles of nature grow just as their owners do, however, they don't bloom until the love between you and Hendery starts to bloom.

Why: I really like Ana and her URL actually inspired the story, I could write so many adorable aus to fit her but nothing would compare. I truly like her vibes and her personality is so beautiful, like wow.

⠀

@smileyjaeminies

Au: university , writer

Pairing: writing student!Jaemin x student!Alex

Backstory: exam season is closer than expected for you, with only a few days to go until you scribble your knowledge down on the exam sheet and a week to go until you need to hand in your paper. However, someone is willing you help you with that paper. Na Jaemin, student and writer who seems to have more control over his life than the earth has over global warming. As the word document increases in pages, so does your liking towards the young writer.

Why: I met Alex thanks to thesunnyshow that we're both co-admins of, and it immediately felt as if we were friends. Alex helped me through the screen when I fell off my bike (yes haha, a 21-year-old one took the wrong brake) and I try to make it work when she's busy with uni but we have a shift. So I think we're a great team and that's why I picked this au.

⠀

@fruityutas

Au: broken relationship

Pairing: Taeil x Emily

Backstory: "Can I go on?" Taeil asks himself every morning, gazing upon your sheet-covering body as you drown in the world of sleep. The wind howls outside the window, and Taeil wishes the wind would push you towards him, but the soft blowing only pulls you further away from him. You feel a soft breath against your neck, the soft lips murmuring "without you, there's no way."

Why: I don't know why I chose this particular plot, maybe it was because I was listening to a song and based it on that. Initially, I wanted to go for a cheerful and happy plot that reminded me of her URL, but I ended up with angst. I remember we had this talk about angst and went from that. Also, I adore her so much, I probably expressed that once in a gc already but I'm saying it again.

⠀

@afishcalledfatin

Au: friends to lovers

Pairing: Jungwoo x Fatin

Backstory: for as long as you can remember, you've been friends with Kim Jungwoo. In your childhood and teenage years, the term BFFs would be engraved in each object you gave to each other, but now that you two are adults, life is different. You want to give him the world because he deserves everything, he wants to give you love because his heart is longing for yours.

Why: because she feels like a friend that I've had for years, we don't always talk but when we do, it just feels like we've been friends since forever. I love that a lot about her and I love how easy she is to approach and talk to, she's a true darling.

⠀

@heartyyjeno

Au: strangers to lovers

Pairing: Sungchan x Alesha

Backstory: trainee life is tough for Sungchan, even thinking about having to walk for over half an hour to get to the dance studio is something Sungchan stopped looking forward to. However, he meets you on his way, walking along the same path to get to a different location. One step a day with you along his side is all it takes for him to look forward to it again, to walking with you and getting to know you better.

Why: because Alesha is a great friend and we, unfortunately, don't talk as much as we used to, but that doesn't take away I'm always there for her and she's always there for me. Sungchan's walk resembles the many different talks that we had together and not all of them were fun, but we walked the path together.

⠀

@jimjamjaemin

Au: youtuber , vlogger

Pairing: vlogger!Mark x vlogger!Mona

Backstory: Mark and you have been a couple for over a year, with the growing interest in your relationship, you and Mark start a YouTube channel. From a look in the life to fun challenges, you and Mark take over the crown of cute YouTube couples.

Why: Mona and i didn't meet in the best situation, we started to talk when there was quite some drama in the fandom. But I love Mona and the thing she made me for my birthday reminded me of an editor which led me to a youtuber au!

⠀

@chaoticdeobi

Au: bakery/coffee shop (bc how can I not, she kicked me out of the coffee queue)

Pairing: soft-spoken!New x coffee shop owner!Bea

Backstory: the coffee quote that hangs inside your coffee shop, is something that Chanhee cites every day. With a soft voice, he orders his coffee and then flashes you his smile when you proceed to tell him that the cookie is on the house. As you bring the coffee to his table, the last minute of your shift ticks by, and when you sit with him, you start your shift as girlfriend.

Why: I literally love love love Bea, sometimes she reminds me of a soft-spoken person and other times she reminds me of a chaotic deobi. I still laugh to myself thinking about our talks, thinking about having fun together. We don't get to talk as much as I'd like, but when we do, I wish we could talk forever.

⠀

@juyeonzz

Au: criminal , badass , something chique

Pairing: criminal!Jacob x partner in crime!Qiu

Backstory: pointing the gun at his future victim, Jacob awaits your return. You explore the house: tugging at knobs of money-filled drawers, opening jewellery-clad treasures. But you are looking for the key to Jacob's heart, a golden key dusted with scratches, poisoned with old blood from when someone else locked his heart and pulled the key out harshly.

Why: because Qiu really gives me chique and sad vibes, when I think about her, I think about a longing feeling described with poetic words. Qiu wasn't my first mutual but if I need to mention my first mutuals, there's a big chance I'll include her because it feels like she was one of the first people I got close to.

⠀

@atbzkingdom

Au: dream

Pairing: Haknyeon x Dee

Backstory: if Haknyeon were to have one more day on this earth, how would be spend it? He would make a timetable of which you are the only returning factor, because he would like to drown himself in time with you. Twenty-four hours in which he is the sun that illuminates each part of the world, the world that is you, rotating until the sun is replaced by the moon.

Why: I don't know Dee that well because we haven't talked overly much, but whenever I think about her, I think about references with the earth, sun and moon or natural things. She's just a sweet person, and it seems really natural to talk to her!

⠀

@127-mile

Au: muse , painting

Pairings: Ten x Émi (but there's also Renjun in here)

Backstory: from the brush that Renjun manoeuvres, droplets of paint colour the blank canvas in a self-made story. Ten, the master that learned Renjun how to portray his muse, is now standing next to Émi, the young woman returning in each painting of Ten. Never had they stood next to each other: artist and muse. Never had they consciously smiled at each other. Never had they been real. Until now. Immortalised on the canvas, Ten hugs his Émi, they might both be droplets of paint with a shadow, but behind the canvas Renjun bids farewell to his last painting. His tear streaks the painting, blurring the line between reverie and reality

Why: because Émi and Renjun are both my muses in life and writing, creatively but also in daily things. I proclaim my love for Émi a lot but that never takes away how genuine it is, because I genuinely love her and sometimes it seems so surreal that she's in my life. Sometimes I'm afraid that she's a dot, a droplet of paint that will fade by time until I have no more remains of her. But however long we have left, I will cherish and love her each day just like she loves Ten (isn't that a sad love story, I literally cried for like five minutes after this 😂)

#Seashell telephone 🐚 (ask)#Don't have a tag for my mutuals whoops but I'll make it one day

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smoochkooks · 5 years

Text

—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.

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neighborhood-merc · 4 years

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Guys !!! I am back! First of all, I hope all of y’all (your friends, family, pets! too) are doing alright. Keep safe! Wash your hands! Don’t go out if not necessary! Kisses! Kisses! Kisses! Alright, alright, let’s do this shall we? Same shit applies. [Here is Part 1 & 2 btw ]

The themes of the stories on this list varies, I’m either into something heart-warming, fluffy, domestic that sort of stuff or into some really really heavy and dark messed up ones. (READ THE TAGS) It always depends on the mood am I right? *wink wink*

It’s always gonna be smutty though lol

As long as it’s tastefully written, whatever kinky shit, I can be into it, I don’t judge the writer (they give us free content y’all, who are we to judge??) With that being said if I add something straight up messed up here now/or in the future, don’t come for meh, just mind the tags of the fic, for your own discretion if anything.

this list should be Wade Wilson/Peter Parker - Spiderman/Deadpool pairing only. I kinda like my babies greedy/possessive for/of each other.

READ THE TAGS.

I don’t care who tops or bottoms. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Summaries are taken directly from the fanfic’s summary.

Read the tags first!

Deluge (this is such a good boi, this fic is a good boy!) Weapon X chose Wade Wilson because of several factors in his life. He was a preternatural. He had extraordinary abilities that could be expanded upon. The cancer just made him desperate enough to agree to whatever they wanted to do with him.They didn't just turn him immortal. They destroyed his very soul, tearing him apart and shaping him into something new and never seen before. They took everything he had been and left him with ashes and bones. Soulless.He killed his creators and went on with his life.Then he met Spider-Man.Things started to change.Something inside him, something that had come out of the ashes and was a nightmarish, terrible thing, sat up and took notice. An intense, single-minded notice.

The Perks of Working Third Shift An AU in which Wade is wandering the globe and ends up in NYC where he meets the absolute most perfect man he's ever seen who's working third shift at a quick mart. Even better, the man seems happy to flirt back. Wade makes it his mission to score a date.Peter stopped dating a long time ago, but Wade's flirtations, energetic attitude, and hilarious comments make it hard for Peter not to enjoy the attention. But will all of that be ruined if Wade finds out his secret?

Better Like This (Listen, NotEvenCloseToStraight’s Spideypool works are amazing, read all of em, honestly just check out ALL the works of the writers on my list because if I list everything, this is gonna be a long ass list) No one knows Spider-Man is an Omega. Not the newspapers, not the NYPD, and certainly not the overly loud, definitely obnoxious, sort-of-a-good-guy, completely Alpha, Deadpool. And Peter would like it to stay that way. But when he drops into an unexpected heat, Deadpool is the only person he can call to help, and how quickly the Alpha switches from shouting dirty innuendos to whispering comforting things really throws Peter for a loop. After sharing a heat, Peter is convinced that Wade is his Alpha, and is ready to take him as his mate, but Wade rejects him. Wade knows that a man like him wouldn’t make anyone a good mate, much less a perfect, pretty Omega like Peter. So he says no, pushes the Omega away and unable to even work together anymore, they go their separate ways. Peter is devastated, heartbroken, seeking comfort in the arms of another Alpha, and all Wade can do is watch from a distance, and keep telling himself that he is doing the right thing, sparing Peter a life of disappointment and pain. Peter deserves better than him as a Mate, and one day Peter will understand. It’s Better This Way. But is it really?(Peter is Andrew Garfield)

Use Me Peter wants to help Wade. Wants to make him feel beautiful, wants to make him feel wanted... Wants to put out the fire in his own gut whenever he sees the merc for what he really is. He does.

Double Mint Gum Wade decides that only one of his fine-ass self just isn't enough

Spider Spidey (SPIDERY SPIDEY!)

Bleed the Water Red Peter and Deadpool are held captive by a super-villain that has an inclination for torture. After she boasts her untarnished record at never having hurt a child or teenager, Peter is forced to break the truth to both her and Deadpool.“Did you know I have a perfect record?” The villain collects a rusted pocket knife, tracing it up Peter’s arm, over his shoulders, down to his collarbone, as though considering where to cut. Peter focuses on controlling his breathing, fear twisting awfully in his belly. “You may look down on me, Mr. Spider-Man, but for all the righteous suffering I inflict, I’ve never hurt a child. Not once.”“Y'know, I don’t think you do,” Peter blurts. At his words, Deadpool's stare intensifies. “Have a perfect, non-child harming record, that is.”

Don’t Keep Me Waiting Peter's 90% sure Wade likes him. Or at least he was sure. When you almost jerk off in front of the friend you're definitely not pathetically pining for and they never mention it again, it makes you doubt yourself. Peter knows he should probably just ask what the fuck is going on, but where's the angsty fun in that?

Sometimes When We Touch Peter answers a Craigslist ad for someone who is willing to pay for some unspecified physical contact/sex because he's just that broke. He's surprised to find out Wade Wilson is the one who posted the ad, but thinks he can still manage just fine even when the man explains he'd like him to wear a special costume for the occasion. Of course things become a little more complicated when Wade reveals the outfit he's chosen: a shockingly accurate Spider-Man suit

Sunflower 26 and standing at the head of Parker Industries, Peter feels young in every way. He doesn't know himself, he lacks a lot of experience, and he's struggling to get a grip on what he thinks of the merc with the mouth, an absolute force who has starting pushing his desires in a direction that terrifies him.He desperately tries to come to terms with sexuality, even when it means dragging Wade flat on his face.Takes place after the dance scene in Spider-man/Deadpool, with important plot details omitted. Follows these two through extreme character growth.

Two Thirds of a Whole (I honestly felt weird about this one, but eh, maybe someone who’s into it would appreciate it) Peter Parker and Wade Wilson, finding Vanessa dead and having never met, assume the second body is their other soulmate. When they meet in a market ten years later, they both have a chance they never thought they would get again-- a chance at love.But can they find a way to be happy as two thirds of a whole?

Holding Back The thing about not being able to die is that it makes everything so dreadfully boring. Seriously, immortality's a bitch. So, you gotta keep things interesting. How else are you supposed to get through the day without going insane? Well, more insane.Wade wants to be a hero, but fighting bad guys isn't enough to keep things interesting. Wooing Spider-Man might help, though. And exploring his kinks definitely will. Of course, he never thought anything would come of either of these things. Boy, was he wrong!

Missed You (Imagine me covering me shyly covering my face for this ehehe) “Wade,” Peter whines, pulling off Wade’s mask and catching his lips in a deep kiss. All he can smell is leather and sweat and gunpowder, and he’s already embarrassingly hard. Wade comes home from a mission. Peter missed him. A lot.

Big Peter can't stop looking at and thinking about Wade's great big arms and shoulders and hands and back. He's fine. (He's not fine.)

Slip of the Tongue Sometimes Peter can forget how big Wade is, how much presence he has. Right now is not the time. His heart rabbits in his chest as he swallows, looking up. There’s always something there when Wade’s looking at him, something predatory, that makes Peter nervous and wanting, shivering hot all over.

Wade The Cat “Aw don’t be afraid little buddy, it’s okay, he’s gone”Wade almost cringes at how someone is talking to him, what the hell?! He’s not a defenseless animal. Wait. No, yeah, he is.Wade looks a little alarmed, stepping back as the man crouches next to him, smiling sympathetically “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you. You okay?”Wade holds his breath, gives an once over at the guy, beautiful chestnut eyes, the adorable smile, the red face probably resulting from the cold and the brown humid hair stuck to his forehead as he holds his umbrella for both of them and yep, ladies and gentlemen if he wasn’t before, Wade is right now a defenseless animal because “Meow” Wade says wiggling what should be eyebrows “Honey, I’d let you take care of me all night long” Wade purrs.

Gonzo Journalist (It belongs to a series “We fell in love in October) A young photographer working for The Daily Bugle hears about the tragic fate of an ex-soldier and decides to write an article about his cause to help him out. Maybe more than in one way.

The Man in the Mask When Wade is unceremoniously dropped off into the custody of one Dr. Parker, he assumes the man has only the worst possible intentions for one of the world's last remaining mutants. But it turns out, the universe still holds plenty of surprises for them both.

You Wear My Name Over Your Heart Like It’s Invisible "Why don’t you ever let me see it? If you have the name already, why can’t you tell me whose it is? I thought we were best friends."Everyone gets their Name when they turn twenty-one. It isn’t their own name either. It’s the name of their Soulmate. When Wade Wilson wakes on his twenty-first birthday, he looks down at his chest and sees Peter Benjamin Parker. He stares for a moment then shrugs, gets dressed, and doesn’t think about it for another six weeks.

Parachute, Please Peter unexpectedly goes into heat after an Avengers mission, which could have been fine, but the ride back is 2 hours and he's stuck on a plane with his closest friends and family.At least there's one person he can call at times like these for relief. And in comes Wade.

Peter Parker’s Home for the Wayward Villain A really long redemption story.

And Words Are Futile Devices Peter doesn’t think he’s lonely. He’s too busy to be lonely. He’s twenty-two, working on his PhD and holding down a shitty job at the Daily Bugle, not to mention his nightly extra-curricular activities. He’s too busy for friends, and he’s certainly too busy for romantic interests. And yet, shockingly, apparently everyone in his life thinks he needs to stop being an anti-social recluse and get laid.So Peter enters the wide, wonderful world of online dating. He doesn’t expect to find his soul mate, or even a friend, and he’s definitely not looking for hook ups. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for, really, until one Wade W. Wilson catches his eye and captures his heart with risqué dog pics and a concerning obsession with cannibalistic serial killers.This is a love story. A sweet, inevitable journey towards each other. There is humor, and melancholy, and a touch of both gravitas and levity to the weeks that trickle by. But really it’s just an account of the slow, magnetic movement of Peter towards Wade, and Wade towards Peter.

Strays Wade finds Spider-Man unconscious on a roof top. Score!Or: Spider-Man has lost his memories, some of his vocabulary, and all of his social conditioning. Wade is losing his mind.

The Inverse Deadpool doesn't have to try very hard to hide his second gender anymore because ever since Weapon X, no one in their right mind would ever believe that Wade Wilson was an omega. It doesn't matter anyway, because Wade knows no Alpha would keep a male omega. No alpha WANTS one, much less one that's as scarred and unstable as he is. Apparently, Spiderman was born to break every rule Wade has ever known.

The Body Remembers When the Mind Forgets When people need a mate in their life, it isn't usually because they've forgotten they already have one.

Half Your Age (Plus Seven) In which Deadpool has oddly specific and frustrating morals, Spider-Man has excellent friends, his lab partner has an opening for a bassist, Johnny Storm has the warmest feet, and everyone has had enough of hearing Peter talk about Wade Wilson (except Aunt May: she’s always glad to hear he’s back in town).

#fanfic #fanfiction rec #fanfic req #fanfiction #spideypool fanfic rec #spideypool #Peter Parker/Wade Wilson #spiderman/deadpool #Peter Benjamin Parker #peter parker #spiderman #spider-man #spider man #wade wilson #deadpool #fic rec list #fanficrec

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butsomeofusarelookingatthestars · 4 years

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Forgotten: Part 1

During one of the BAU’s most difficult cases, Luke meets a dedicated journalist who is committed to fighting for the underdog. Reluctant to trust the authorities at first, she finds a friend in the compassionate FBI agent. But as they draw closer, the challenges only grow with fear, hostility and a relentless unsub whose attention turns to her…

AN/ I actually did it! Here’s Part 1 which hopefully sets the scene. I’m hoping to update this fortnightly on a Sunday evening. Big plans ahead! I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think x

A heavy sigh escaped your lips, your back aching as you leant back in your chair to survey the empty room. The warm glow of your desk lamp was oddly comforting in the dimly lit office. Darkness pressed up against the windows and you could hear the bustling street outside, cars beeping and late-night revellers bristling with delight as they poured into the local bars.

A part of you wished you were alongside them.

Ping!

You glanced at your computer screen, your lips curving into a small smile as you scanned the email that had just come through. Another piece of the puzzle.

Questioning and investigating had always been interests of yours. Even when you were young, your childhood games had consisted of mystery solving. Every school report had highlighted your natural curiosity and ability to challenge authority...or ‘backtalk’ as the teachers had put it. But journalism hadn’t even crossed your mind until your English teacher had encouraged you to take a work experience placement at a local paper.

You hadn’t looked back since.

The long hours at university, the endless reports and tiresome essays had all been worth it to achieve your goal of becoming a fully fledged journalist at an independent news association. It wasn’t as glamorous as the movies made out. Most days were spent crammed into tiny offices with colleagues, chasing dead-end leads or struggling to piece together articles in time to make deadlines.

Pressure came with the job, but you had increasingly found yourself addicted to the thrill of uncovering secrets, holding the powerful to account and sharing truth with others. If you could make a difference in your own little corner of the world, you had to do it.

It gave you a purpose.

“Shouldn’t you be out with your friends?”

You almost jumped in surprise, too caught up in your emails to notice your boss staring at you in amusement from across the office. He gave you a knowing grin.

“Another late night Y/N? I admire your determination, but you have to take a time out sometimes.”

“I’m just finishing up a lead.” You explained, gesturing at your computer. “I’ll be done soon.”

He flashed you a disbelieving look. He really did know you too well.

“I promise.” You told him, smiling softly as he nodded in agreement.

RING

You glanced down at your phone, your heart sinking as you recognised the Caller ID. Apparently your boss sensed your change of mood straight away.

“I bet I know who that will be.” He said, gazing at you sympathetically. “Make sure you call it a night afterwards. You need some time to yourself sometimes Y/N.”

You nodded in agreement, your fingers already itching to take the call. “Will do.” You gave your boss a small smile as he waved goodbye, flashing once last concerned glance behind his shoulder as he disappeared into the elevator.

You took a deep breath before accepting the call. “Hi Anne, how are you doing?”

The familiar guilt began to build up as you heard her strained voice. It never got easier talking to victim’s families. In fact, with each one it got harder to accept that yet another family was experiencing unimaginable pain.

“I know. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you.” You spoke softly, pausing for a moment as you heard her begin to cry. “Have you spoken to the support worker I put you in touch with?”

Luke stifled a yawn, rubbing his eyes furiously in an effort to stay alert. It was late even by his standards, but he desperately wanted to finish writing up his reports for the day. For some reason, despite being a member of the BAU for the past year he still felt the need to impress.

To go above and beyond had always been part of his job. Besides it was nothing compared to the 75th Ranger Regiment. At least this job didn’t involve warzones. Sometimes he felt himself missing the action of the military, but soon after joining the BAU he had realised how rewarding it was to work closely with his colleagues.

Hunting down criminals was something that came naturally to him. Protecting others was something he felt like he had to do.

He let out a sigh as his gaze fell upon his file. The victims’ names appearing to loom out at him. The downside to the job? At times, it did also mean getting too close for comfort with unsubs. Getting inside their heads became increasingly uncomfortable the more he got to know victims and their families.

“I know why I’m here...why are you?”

He jumped at the sound of Emily’s voice, flashing her an amused grin. Trust his Unit Chief to be the only FBI superior complaining about their team working late.

“I just wanted to finish up before heading home.” He told her, chuckling as she shot him a disbelieving look.

“Well, consider it an order from me to go. Linda Barnes can’t force us all to stay chained to our desks.” She joked, rolling her eyes sarcastically at the mere mention of their troublesome superior. “Besides I’m sure Roxy will be happy to see you!”

Luke let out a bark of laughter. The sound of his mum complaining about him settling down popped into his head. When will you have someone other than Roxy to return home to mi hijo?

He nodded in agreement. “I’m sure she will.” He replied, holding his hands up in defeat. “Just let me finish this update for one of the families first.”

Emily’s eyes softened at his words. She gave him an understanding nod. She knew how much it meant. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

Luke gave her a small smile of appreciation before he turned his attention back to his work. It was important to him to communicate with families - whether it was an update about court proceedings against unsubs, appeals information or just to check in with them at difficult times.

It wasn't as if he were addicted to his job. But it could at times be all consuming. After all, it was difficult not to think about the dark nature of the BAU and the suffering of victims.

Perhaps it had been what had happened to Phil that fuelled his pursuit? He knew what the pain of losing a love one felt like. So, he wanted to do everything in his power to ease the suffering for others.

He understood. It would never be enough.

“I bring spoils of victory!” You sang happily as you entered the newsroom, a box of delicious smelling doughnuts in hand. “I got the best of Maxine’s freshly baked goods.”

Cheers rung out and you laughed softly at the sheer delight on your colleagues faces. It was always appreciated to have a special pick-me-up in the office. The job could feel overwhelming at times and, despite the pressure, you all pulled together and worked closely to help one another.

Showing your affection with sugary goods was always well received.

“You’re the best Y/N!” Your friend Jennifer exclaimed, grinning widely as she eagerly picked up a doughnut from the box you offered her. “Anything you need help with this week, just give me a shout.”

“Careful, I may take you up on that.” You replied, flashing her a teasing smile. The two of you had always been close friends and, as colleagues, you worked together well. You were there when she needed a push and she was there when things got tough you...which seemed to be happening more recently.

“Please never move jobs Y/N.” Archie, a fellow journalist who covered local politics, joked as he enthusiastically tucked into his selection. “This office wouldn’t last a minute without you...or the doughnuts.”

You rolled your eyes playfully before taking a seat at your desk. A contented smile crossed your face as you took in the jubilant atmosphere. It was nice to have days like this.

Unfortunately, it didn’t last.

Your phone rung out loudly prompting Archie and Jen to flash you nervous glances. But you ignored them, taking a deep breath before answering the call.

"Y/N Y/L/N speaking...”

“There’s a breaking story.”

It was another early start for the BAU team as they sat around the bullpen. They had all gotten the dreaded message from Emily earlier that they’d received a new case. However, she seemed to have been trapped in meetings with the FBI higher-ups for the past thirty minutes...which meant there was something much bigger at play than a regular case.

“I’m just saying newbie, if you insist on wearing shirts like that? Expect it to be noted.”

Luke rolled his eyes holding up his hands in playful surrender. “Ouch! I didn’t realise my fashion taste would be such an offensive to you Garcia.”

The trendy blonde surveyed him with curiosity, flicking her fluffy pen at his chest teasingly. “You call a grey plaid shirt fashion taste newbie?”

JJ flashed Luke a sympathetic glance, but still joined in with the rest of the team’s laughter as Luke merely shrugged his shoulders in defeat and chuckled warmly. Even when he was being teased for his lack of interest in clothes, it felt nice to be part of the team.

Sadly their good news didn’t last as Emily approached them, glancing in concern as her FBI superiors filed out of her office. Linda Barnes flashed them an icy glare before moving towards the exit.

“We have a case. It’s a bad one.”

AN/ There you have it! Spoiler: their paths will cross haha! Sorry for the delay. This was meant to be up on Sunday, but I’m still working full-time so by the time I get to the weekend I’m usually too exhausted to write. Thanks for sticking with me. I know there’s not much going on, but please let me know what you guys think - storyline, characters, length of chapter (I’m agonising over this haha!), whatever you want to share. x

Taglist:

@aimzonicles97, @reidsstudies, @exceptionallytiredzombie, @illegalcerebral, @captaintightpants58, @abitofeverythinggg

#criminal minds #luke alvez #luke alvez x reader #criminal minds imagine #luke alvez imagine #emily prentiss #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #matt simmons #david rossi #tara lewis #miniseries #forgotten

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exploring-in-space · 4 years

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Summary: Robert, an aspiring journalist, lands an interview with England’s budding band, Armour. Aaron is the band’s guitarist and songwriter, and the attraction between them is immediate. A one night stand quickly becomes something more, and leads to a tumultuous relationship throughout the years.

Tags: Alternate universe, drug use, overdose, make ups and break ups, angst with a happy ending

For @some-mad-lunge, truly one of the most talented authors in this fandom. I took the alternate universe and angst with a happy ending tropes and ran with this. This ended up being longer than I had anticipated, but I really hope you enjoy this! xxx

Thank you @robronengagementgiftexchange for organizing!

Robert hates his job with a burning passion. He dreams of reporting news that truly matters. When he first stepped foot at uni, bright-eyed and full of hope, he knew what kind of news he wanted to report, news worth risking your life for.

His mother, Sarah, was one of the hardest hitting journalists of her time - following the story where it took her. That passion eventually led to her downfall when she got trapped in a crumbling building. But the story had to be told and she pushed past every person and barrier to tell it. Robert used to wonder why her passion for journalism meant more to her than her own life. But then he would remember the evenings when she would tuck him in and tell stories of her life as a news breaking journalist. Robert had always worshipped the ground she walked on and hearing her stories made him want nothing more than to follow her footsteps.

Robert’s career was first buoyed by both being the son of Sarah and his own merit. He started writing for his university’s newspaper and had a job offer for a local paper upon graduating. Things were progressing smoothly and predictably for Robert up until he got hired by White News. White News is one of the newest but leading news publications across the country. Robert got hired to do fact checking and minor researching with the promise of moving on to ground coverage. He was headquartered in London, moving on up in the journalism world, hoping he was making his mother proud.

But Robert, being the man he was, couldn’t help himself when he met Chrissie. He wined and dined her, slept with her, fell in love with her, proposed to her, and cheated on her by a year's end. Lawrence repaid that kindness by sticking Robert in the music section of the news - the section of news Robert had the least passion or knowledge about.

It’s why Robert’s at some divey nightclub in the west end watching England’s hottest new band, Armor. Not the most creative name, if Robert was honest, but they have gotten big in the past couple of months and have slated to be a household name soon. Robert did his due diligence in listening to their music and reading about the members - there’s four of them: a singer, Adam, guitarist, Aaron, bassist, Ellis, and drummer, Matty.

Adam commands the room with high energy, knows exactly how to work a crowd. The way he steps into the crowd and everyone clammors to hold onto him as he sings a song atop everyone is something Robert had never seen before. As impressive as Adam is with his energy, Robert’s eyes are on Aaron, who looks like he would rather be anywhere but on that stage.

Watching him is the most captivating thing he’s ever seen.

The crowd goes completely mad when they perform their last song. Armour is kind enough not to make them work hard for the encore. They’re walking back onto the stage shortly after all the screaming and perform three more songs. Matty tosses his drumsticks into the crowd when they play their final song and Robert has to smile at the way the crowd goes crazy.

Everyone seems to filter out of the club pretty quickly after the end of the show. A couple of people putter around for a bit, and Robert jumps off his barstool to meet the band in the backroom.

Security recognize Robert’s badge and let him through with no fuss. He knocks at the door, and is striding into the back room before Ellis can register who it is knocking.

"Nice show, boys," Robert says when he comes into the

"You Sugden?" Adam asks, eyeing Robert up and down.

Robert lifts his press badge and dangles it up and down for a few seconds with a confident smirk, “Mind if I ask you a coupla questions?”

Robert is old-school and brings a recorder and flips it on as he interviews each member individually. He likes to break them up in his interviews because he feels he gets to suss out the dynamics of the bands that way. At the end of each interview, he asks each of them to give him a quick summary of the band in five words or less.

As he interviews each member, they flit about the room for a bit before leaving. Aaron is the last one, and Robert did that on purpose. He had been watching Aaron out the corner of his eye the entire time he’d been in the room. Aaron fidgeted a lot throughout the time, picked at his skin, got up and paced for a bit. It was like he couldn’t sit still while Robert spoke to the others.

When it’s finally Aaron’s turn, Robert goes and sits down next to Aaron, who had folded his legs underneath him on a battered couch.

“And you? Want to give me a summary of the band in five words or less?” Robert asks, giving him his most winning smile.

Up close, Robert notes the way bits of Aaron’s hair is curled, most likely from sweating when he was on stage. Something about that thought makes Robert swallow. Aaron is studying Robert’s face for a bit, and the intensity in his gaze makes everything else around them seem to disappear. At this moment, only he and Aaron matter. Eventually, Aaron breaks the spell by giving a half disinterested shrug.

“Nah, I’m sure your arrogant ass will think of something,” Aaron’s voice is soft and enticing.

“Oh, so you’ve noticed my ass?” Robert can’t help but flirting, it’s hard not to when in the presence of such a fit bloke.

“Smooth. Teach you that in journalism school?”

“Only once I graduated,” Robert is quick to say back. Aaron just rolls his eyes, but in an indulgent way.

“What do you want from me that you didn’t get from everybody else?” Aaron asks.

“You’re the songwriter, right? Why don’t we talk about the composition of your songs?” Robert suggests and he can’t help but feel smug about the way Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up. The silver lining to Robert’s jobs is that growing up, Robert learned to play the piano. He understands classical music and music theory and tries to keep his articles related to the fundamentals of music theory and how bands incorporate it. It’s made him surprisingly popular for someone who hates their job.

They speak music theory for a bit, and Aaron gets really animated and excited as he breaks down some of his favorite songs. It’s more than Robert thought he would get out from the closed off guitarist. But it’s thrilling, and Robert knows he needs to spend more time with Aaron.

“What do you say to going out sometime?” Robert dares to ask, once the interview finds its natural end. It’s just the two of them left in the room and he can’t resist asking Aaron out. He grins and waves his recorder in Aaron’s face, “I’ll even leave my recorder at home.”

“Ask out all the band members you interview, do you?” Aaron asks, chewing on his lip trying to hide the smile that’s fighting onto his face.

“Only the grumpy fit ones.”

Aaron doesn’t so much as roll his eyes as he looks past Robert’s shoulder for a moment before looking at Robert, “You’ve got cheek.”

“My finest quality,” Robert declares confidently. He takes a step closer into Aaron’s space and can smell the faint smell of sweat and clean laundry. “So?”

Aaron shakes his head, but finally allows the fighting smile to dance on his face, “Sure, let’s go.”

“What, right now?”

“Think you’ll fall asleep, old man?” Aaron’s quips are just as quick as Robert’s.

Robert takes a moment to deliberately check Aaron out. Running his eyes up and down, before he’s smirking, “As if.”

There’s not much open when they finally leave the night club. There’s a chip stand where a lot of people who had been out drinking are lining up in front of. It’s good enough for the pair of them to queue as well and get some of their own. Aaron gets some with curry sauce but Robert is boring and simply gets ketchup with his.

They walk down the streets, talking about each other and eating their chips. Robert tells Aaron about how he got into this field despite not loving it. Aaron tells Robert how he wrote his first song when he was fifteen but it wasn’t until he met Adam that he got to compose more songs that were meaningful. But he tells Robert of his fears that they’re riding a fad wave and people will forget them soon enough.

“Sometimes, it feels a little like everything we’ve done has been by accident. And one day, everyone is going to know it. That we’re not good,” Aaron confesses softly, munching on one of his chips.

Imposter syndrome. Robert is familiar with it more than he cares to admit, especially given who his mother was. He doesn’t want to say it, in case he’s off the mark or offends Aaron.

“Well for what it’s worth, I think you’re good. And I’ve been to hundreds of concerts to interview bands,” Robert tries to encourage with a soft smile. It seems to work - Aaron smiles back and steps closer to Robert.

“You know how to make a fella feel special,” Aaron says, swaying in place. Robert can’t help but mimic his movement. “You don’t strike me as a person who loves good music, especially rock ‘n roll music.”

“Oh yeah? And what do I strike you as?” Robert prompts.

“Like someone who would get his heart broken from rock ‘n roll,” Aaron says and there’s something piercing and intimate that Robert didn’t think he could feel, especially by someone who barely knows him. But Aaron doesn’t give Robert a chance to say anything back, already moving onto another topic.

“I think I have some beer at my place, if ya fancy something to chase those chips,” Aaron quirks a quick smile, and that soul searing moment evaporates when Robert understands what Aaron is implying.

“Yeah? Might have to take you up on that,” Robert says, but neither one of them are any delusions that they’re going to go back to Aaron’s for beers. Aaron proves that when he pulls Robert into a heated kiss. They kiss in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious to anything around them.

Aaron is pulling Robert by the hand, and tugging him towards his flat, which is ‘just a few blocks away’. They probably would’ve gotten there quicker, but they keep stopping to kiss or grope each other like they’re some kind of teenagers.

By the time they get to Aaron’s flat, Robert is delirious with want. Yet he still takes a moment to take in Aaron’s flat. It’s a loft - there’s a spiral staircase that leads up to the bedroom. The loft is painted in cool dark colors and it feels so impersonal to the person Robert has spent a few hours with.

“Interesting choice of decorations,” Robert remarks calmly despite how wired up he feels.

“Did you come here to critique my decor, or did you come here to fuck?” Aaron asks with a huff.

“Can’t a bloke do both?”

“You’re lucky you’re fit, I would’ve chucked you out a long time ago,” Aaron says with an indulgent smile. Robert has a response on the tip of his tongue, but Aaron doesn’t let him say it because he gives Robert a toe curling kiss.

They’re shucking clothes as they kiss and try to get up to Aaron’s bedroom. The bedroom isn’t enclosed - the staircase leads them straight into the bedroom loft. Robert lands on his back and Aaron follows, giving frantic kisses that miss Robert’s lips most of the time, but neither seem to care.

Afterward, Aaron is rolling off of Robert and they lay next to each other and they just silently try to catch their breaths. Robert is thinking about how they should probably clean up, but he’s also thinking he needs at least one more performance. Just as Robert is fantasizing about what they can get up to next, Aaron rolls to face Robert and grabs his arm.

“Those things I told you earlier, that’s off the record,” Aaron says rather urgently.

“Of course it is,” Robert says back, slightly offended. He lightens the mood by leaning in and kissing Aaron deeply, “I’ll even leave out the part of what a good shag you are.”

“Fuck off,” Aaron laughs, curling into Robert.

“Give me a few minutes,” Robert murmurs, flipping Aaron on his back and this time climbing atop him.

Robert wakes with a slight start in the middle of the night. Aaron’s not in bed next to him when he wakes, making Robert panic for a bit. He wonders if this was Aaron’s way of kicking him out. There’s noise coming from downstairs, piquing Robert’s curiosity.

He goes down the spiral stairs and finds that it’s Aaron who is making the noise. He’s sitting on his couch, holding an acoustic guitar. He’s still shirtless from earlier, but he threw on some pants. As he strums the guitar strings, his eyes are closed and he rocks his head backward and forward, trying to find the right note.

He feels like he’s intruding on something intimate, which is absurd given what they were up to only a few hours earlier. But Robert stands back, just watching as Aaron has his eyes closed, trying to find the right chord on the guitar. He hums a couple of times and then bends over to write something down.

Robert must have made a noise, or Aaron might have just felt him standing at the foot of the stairs. But he opens his eyes, and when he spies Robert, he smiles and beckons Robert to come.

“Come here,” Aaron says softly with a smile. The smile feels tacky and it doesn’t reach his eyes, but Robert comes over without a word.

“What are you doing?” Robert asks when he reaches Aaron. Aaron’s got half scrawled music notes on a notepad, some crossed out, others are circled. There’s a large stain of liquid on the bottom corner, making some of the other written notes bleed together.

“Mapping the stars,” Aaron mumbles, and this should have been an indication then that there was something amiss with Aaron. Instead, Robert brings a hand up and trails a finger down Aaron’s spine. Aaron leans into Robert’s touch and continues to strum out chords and notes that only make sense in Aaron’s head.

“Come on, let’s go back to bed, spaceboy,” Robert coaxes gently, curling his fingers around Aaron’s left wrist - the arm that holds the neck of the guitar. Eventually, Aaron relents and they go back up the stairs, kissing and laughing against each other. It’s the most meaningful one night stand Robert’s ever had and he’s not sure what to make of it all.

The next morning, Robert wakes to a cup of coffee streaming in front of his face, Aaron’s eyes are bright and alert despite Robert feeling like death.

“What if I prefer a brew like a proper Englishman?” Robert asks, taking the coffee and inhaling it. It’s not the best roast he’s smelled before, but beggars can’t be choosers, he’s gasping for caffeine.

“You’re not a proper anything,” Aaron teases, settling himself back into bed next to Robert. They cuddle against each other as Robert takes sips of the coffee. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Aaron to kick him out. But strangely, it never happens.

After Robert finishes his cup, they trade coffee-laced kisses as they tumble and fumble against each other. The morning is spent as hedonistically as possible, and Aaron is the most gracious host, as he wraps his mouth around Robert and he’s writhing and shouting Aaron’s name. It’s the only name he ever wants to say.

They are both slow to end this morning, but eventually Robert’s stomach starts to growl quite loudly, causing Aaron to laugh into Robert’s stomach, “Let’s get some food in you.”

Aaron is pathetic at cooking, Robert learns. His idea of ‘food’ is just some toast and another cup of coffee. Robert’s stomach is growling too much to be picky on the menu so he helps himself to the toast and slathers the jam that Aaron put out. Aaron doesn’t really eat - he picks at the toast and takes a few bites, but his hunger is nothing compared to Robert’s.

Robert reluctantly starts to get ready after finishing his toast. He drags his heels getting the rest of his clothes on and even when he walks to Aaron’s front door. Aaron watches on with an amused smile the entire time. Robert realizes he’s being mad, if he wants to see Aaron again, then dammit, he’s going to see him again.

“When can I see you again?” Robert asks, turning around to face Aaron instead of leaving.

“Who says I want to see ya again?” Aaron asks with a teasing smile, but before Robert can be too disappointed, Aaron pulls him into a kiss. “You know where I live.”

Robert smiles and can’t help but steal another kiss. Which leads to another and another, until Aaron is dragging Robert back upstairs.

Eventually, Robert leaves with Aaron’s phone number, a top notch orgasm, and a spring in his step. He gets home and with a flash of creativity he’s not felt in months, Robert writes the article about the band.

Robert learns about Aaron’s drug use by accident. They had been texting each other constantly, flirting, talking about what they were up to, the article which everyone in the band loved. Finally, after a week of not seeing each other, they agree to meet up at Aaron’s flat. Robert had been banging on about his cooking abilities and Aaron had finally had enough and challenged him to cook him something that would impress him.

The front door is ajar when Robert gets to the flat. He thinks it’s probably just Aaron being courteous, since Robert arrives carrying brown paper groceries bags for tonight’s dinner. Robert doesn’t think when he waltzes into the flat and sees Aaron knocking back a pill.

“Headache?” Robert asks stupidly, setting his bags down. But the way Aaron scrambles to put the container away clues him in that something a little more sinister is at play. “Aaron?”

“It’s nothing. Just- ah...some, you know...speed,” Aaron says after opening and closing his mouth a few times. The blase way he speaks makes Robert feel like he’s in some delusion, where talking about drugs is just so cavalier.

“Amphetamine?” Robert is floored by Aaron. He feels stupid and naive.

“Don’t be so surprised. It’s rock ‘n roll, innit?” Aaron’s flippancy makes something turn unpleasantly in his stomach.

Robert thinks about what Aaron had told him the first night they met, about how rock and roll would break his heart.

“Hang on, have you been on these the whole time I’ve known ya?” Robert demands. When Aaron gives a brief shrug, the pieces start slotting together. Robert doesn’t know too much about amphetamine, but some of the strange behavior Robert hadn’t thought much of start to make sense. The fact Aaron was up in the middle of the night and energetic in the morning, why he didn’t eat much breakfast.

“Is that going to be a problem?” Aaron bluntly asks, crossing his arms, almost defensively.

Robert tells himself it probably should be a problem. But...despite the fact drugs may have contributed to their time together, Robert really likes Aaron. He doesn’t want to cut this off and spend time wondering what could have been. Plus, it’s not like Robert doesn’t have his own self-destructive behavior.

“No, not a problem. Can I ask you questions about it, though?” Robert, ever the journalist, can’t help but ask. Aaron seems to deflate, as if he had been expecting Robert to cut his losses and leave. He hangs his head and breath in and out for a moment before looking up at Robert and giving a minute nod.

Robert decides to play it cool by starting to cook their dinner as he asks his questions. That way it feels less like an interrogation and more like two people still trying to get to know each other.

“How long have you been on them?” Robert asks as he chops some bell peppers.

“Since I ran away from home.” The statement surprises Robert, but instead of opening that can of worms, he just nods and starts to season the cut vegetables.

“Why do you do it?”

“It helps clears me brain. Sometimes, all this shit clogs it up and I just...need to focus. Write music and think of nothing else.”

It’s the imposter syndrome rearing its head again. Insecurities and doubt are no stranger to Robert and he can feel them radiating out of Aaron. It’s most likely the stuff Aaron wants to clear.

“Also, it doesn’t hurt when I’m up on stage performing,” Aaron adds, breaking Robert’s thoughts.

“Does anyone else in the band do it?”

“No, but they know I do,” Aaron says, gulping slighting. As if this was the admission that would break Robert and end this conversation. It doesn’t. But it does annoy Robert. He’s come to be protective of Aaron and knowing his bandmates don’t do anything to stop Aaron enrages Robert.

“I don’t do it often. I’m-I’m not an addict,” Aaron declares, and it’s filled with a defensive tone.

“Okay,” Robert just shrugs and tosses the bell peppers into an oiled pan to sear them.

“Okay?” Aaron repeats, his voicing growing louder over the sizzling vegetables.

“I’m not your keeper, Aaron. Your answers work for me. I want to continue this, if you want,” Robert tries to act blase, not like his heart is hammering in his chest.

“Yeah, I do,” Aaron answers softly and they exchange tentative smiles. It doesn’t take Robert much longer to finish up their dinner and they sit at Aaron’s table laughing and swapping stories about inane things that happened during the week they hadn’t seen each other. As if they hadn’t been speaking to each other constantly throughout the week.

Robert thinks the discussion of Aaron’s drug usage is over for the evening. That is, until later in the evening, Aaron looks at Robert with such urgency.

“People don’t stay with me, when they find out,” Aaron tells Robert after they finish putting the dishes away and they’re settled on Aaron’s couch. Aaron has his head in Robert’s lap when he makes his confession.

“Well don’t worry,” Robert threads his fingers in Aaron’s hair, “You’re going to be stuck with me for awhile.”

Maybe it's too soon to say something like that when they've only known each other a week. Maybe it's dumb to say something like that when Aaron has a minor drug problem. But the way Aaron just smiles and closes his eyes after Robert's declaration, makes Robert hope that maybe Aaron feels the same as him.

Robert doesn’t want to think such stupid thoughts, but he thinks he could probably fall in love with Aaron.

Okay.

So Robert is an optimist. At least when it comes to his and Aaron’s budding relationship. He tells himself that the occasional drug use isn’t going to ruin their relationship. Because Aaron is right: he doesn’t use very often. He had been coming down from a leg of concerts and needed to withdraw in a way that wouldn’t hurt him. Since then, Aaron doesn’t use it very often and they start to spend more and more time together. It starts to feel, for the first time ever, that Robert was meant to be in a relationship. He’s much too much of a romantic and poet, and can’t help but start to refer to their relationship as the raining romantic spring. Aaron laughs in his face when Robert tells him of the nickname, calling him a soft lad but the smile on his face is a dead giveaway.

Mornings when Aaron is clean, Robert puts his piano talents to use as he plays piano chords on Aaron’s back and Aaron tries to guess the chord by humming it. Then they’ll talk late into the morning until it’s time to eat. Aaron is like a vacuum whenever he’s clean, the way he cleans food up. And Robert won’t lie, he prefers this version of Aaron than when he tosses back a few pills.

The times when there’s substance pumping in Aaron’s blood, he’s still soft and loving to Robert but there’s an urgency to everything. Quick fucks, quick kisses, quick everything. When Aaron’s high, Robert just wants to shake Aaron and tell him he doesn’t need that garbage. He’s talented enough without it.

Aaron rarely does indulge in the drugs. Tells Robert he only uses it when he’s inspired to write music and he wants to get it all out of his head before it escapes him. Robert is helpless to do anything about it, but it feels like enabling Aaron.

Unfortunately, as the spring starts to blossom into summer, it starts to feel less like an occasional drug use and more of a growing problem. Their soft mornings of playing the chord guessing game starts to happen less and less. Robert watches and feels more helpless than ever before, it makes his fingers itch for a pen so he can try to get his thoughts out of his head and onto paper.

He learns from Adam, Matty and Ellis that they’ve tried many times to get Aaron to stop, but no one has ever been able to convince Aaron to get off the pills.

Rainy romantic spring only lasts a few weeks more before Robert can’t stand idly anymore.

“You don’t need this junk!” Robert shouts, throwing the capsules at the wall. Aaron is high and he quickly jumps up to start picking up the mess. It’s more because he always needs to occupy his hands when he’s high than him being an addict, but Robert can’t help but twist the knife by taunting Aaron, “Look at ya! You’re pathetic, can’t afford to lose a single pill. It’s pathetic!”

“I’m not addicted!” Aaron shouts back. “If you can’t handle my creativity, then maybe you need to clear out. I’m not going to compromise who I am for a good fuck.”

The words feel like a slap to the face. They’ve never put words to their relationship but Robert has always fellt it more than the pair of them fucking. He thought Aaron felt the same.

“Look,” Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut, “We’re going back on tour next month. Maybe we should give ourselves a break and revisit us when I get back.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Aaron. If you want to end this, just say it. I’m not going to be some pathetic groupie holding out on hope you’ll give me attention,” Robert grabs his keys and storms out of Aaron’s flat.

He buys himself cheap bourbon that night, ignores the multiple texts from Aaron and passes out listening to Armour’s music.

Rainy spring dries out and the next period of Robert’s life is a hot and lonely summer. He ends up being a groupie from afar, despite what he had told Aaron. He reads about every concert they perform, and the reviews from other journalists. He tells himself it’s just research in case he has to write a follow-up article.

His article about Armour is his most popular by far. The personable aspect he added was different than his other ones and it even gets Vic calling him and shouting at him.

“You met Armour?” She shrieks down the phone, making Robert pull his phone away from his ear. “And you didn’t tell me!”

“I’ve met a lot of bands,” Robert tries to play it off like it doesn’t matter. Even though his heart is racing and he misses Aaron more than he’ll ever admit.

“I don’t care about other bands. I want to know more about Armour! Everyone in the band is so fit. What are they like?” Vic’s voice sounds dreamy.

“I think they’re a bunch of prats. You’re best not meeting any of them,” Robert says and he knows he’s being unfair. It’s not like they sit idly by while watching Aaron do drugs. But he can’t help but feel bitter that they get to enjoy their fame and money while Aaron destroys himself.

His conversation with Vic doesn’t last much longer, her disappointment palpable after Robert’s bitter comment.

Robert watches an interview Armour has with some local news station later in the week - he only has access to the station because he’s doing research, okay? - and Robert stews in his resentment as he sees Aaron’s pupils are dilated and he’s shaking his leg up and down. Someone could chalk it up to nerves, but Robert knows Aaron.

He hates that despite their break up, it’s not enough to convince Aaron to stop. Robert shuts the tv off before he does something stupid like call him.

Summer continues to be a hot and lonely season and fall comes blowing in sooner than Robert would’ve liked. Armour’s summer tour comes to an end, and Robert turns his phone off for a week, trying not to be tempted.

He dives head first in his articles, writing them in a fervor he had never felt like doing before. He hasn’t had any interview gigs lately, but he writes reviews on albums and peppers in his commentary of music theory in it. These articles start to become more and more popular, and even Lawrence remarks on Robert’s newfound drive and success.

“Good work, Sugden,” Lawrence frowns as he says it, as if he was not expecting himself to compliment Robert of all people. Robert wants nothing more than to gloat in Lawrence’s face but decides to take the higher road and just nod.

Robert eventually breaks and turns his phone on one evening, but he places it face down and goes to sleep so he doesn’t look at any of the notifications that he might have missed whilst it was turned off.

Of course, it’s tonight of all nights that his phone wakes him in the middle of the night. He squints his eyes and sees that it’s Aaron who’s calling at ungodly hours.

“Robert,” Aaron’s voice is slurred and faraway. It wakes Robert up instantly.

“Where are you?” Robert starts pulling on a shirt and panicking, thinking there’s probably something so very wrong.

“Outside your flat, let me in,” Aaron gruffly says and hangs up. The initial panic that lined Robert’s blood turns to annoyance as he stalks out his room and flings the front door open.

Aaron...is nothing short of a mess. His eyes are lit up and glazed over, and there’s bags under his eyes.

“Fuck, Aaron. When was the last time you slept?” Robert exclaims, pulling Aaron through his door.

“Dunno, a week ago?” Aaron guesses. His voice sounds distant and it worries Robert. He leaves Aaron to get some water and prays that it’s enough to get that shit out of his system.

Aaron had moved to one of Robert’s windows when he gets back.

“I still want to map the stars,” Aaron gazes out the window, squinting at the light polluted London sky. As if he even has a chance of seeing stars.

Robert touches his back softly, and Aaron turns around to bury his head into Robert's shoulder.

“Oh yeah? And why is that?” Robert decides to humor Aaron, despite it all. He hands the glass of water to Aaron and Aaron takes a couple of sips of it. It’s a small victory.

“So I can give them to you,” Aaron mumbles into the cup. Robert pauses, heart clenching in the most painful way.

“I only want them when you’re clean,” Robert tells Aaron firmly.

“I’ve just...missed you so much. I won’t...I won’t choose the drugs over you again,” Aaron promises and maybe he’s daft, but Robert actually believes him.

It lasts for about two weeks, Aaron being a perfect charming boyfriend (they defined their relationship the morning after Aaron’s unannounced visit). But of course, despite Aaron’s reassurance, the fact of the matter is, he’s addicted to the amphetamine, and he slowly crawls back to it.

The self-destruction relationship becomes a toxic pattern. They fight. They break up. Aaron promises he won’t put the drugs above Robert. They make up. Aaron starts back into his addiction.

The issue of their break ups is always Aaron’s consumption of drugs. He’s started to dabble a little in coke and Robert wants to shake Aaron until he’s silly. Aaron never seems to understand what the problem is. Complains that it’s his life and he can do whatever the fuck he wants.

Robert knows he should cut his losses and just leave Aaron for good. Even Vic, when she first found out they were dating was ecstatic, has started to resent the holding pattern Aaron has put Robert in with his refusal to quit.

He starts to forget what Aaron is like without poison in his blood. He doesn’t remember those soft mornings when they played music together. Everything starts to feel like ash in Robert’s mouth, but he just can’t stop. He loves Aaron.

Two years into this madness of breaking up and going straight back into each other’s arms, they have the ugliest fight. It’s the anniversary of Sarah’s passing and Aaron doesn’t show up to her grave despite telling Robert he’d be there. When Robert finds him, he’s in his flat, half-passed out and watching Top Gear.

Robert starts shouting and Aaron shouts back and it’s all downhill from there. There is not one constructive thing about their fight - they yell for the sake of yelling and Robert storms out of Aaron’s flat, believing he will never see Aaron again.

And he doesn’t.

For two weeks, Aaron doesn’t ring him and Robert feels relieved that maybe he’s finally out of this cycle. But the part of him that loves Aaron also worries that something bad may have happened to Aaron.

Robert gets his answer on a chilly evening, when some unknown number is calling him.

“Robert Sugden?” An unfamiliar voice asks as soon as Robert answers.

“This is he.”

“We have you down as Aaron Dingle’s emergency contact. We’ve brought him in for a suspected cocaine overdose,” The man’s voice continues, but it’s just white noise. The thing Robert feared the most has come to fruition and he’s glued to his seat. The man tells Robert which hospital Aaron’s at, but he can’t find the motivation to get up and go.

It’s Robert’s fault. He let Aaron’s addiction get worse and worse and did nothing to even try to help. They both have been so selfish, but Robert is the worst. Aaron has a problem and Robert just made it about himself without even trying to understand Aaron’s addiction.

He gets up and he’s filled with so much anger at himself and he throws an old mug to the wall, ceramic shattering everywhere as he shouts. He falls to the ground and he can’t help but start crying. Cries for Aaron, whose stomach is probably getting pumped at this moment. Cries for himself, all the heartbreak he’s felt for almost three years that they’ve known each other. He cries for a good while before he realizes how foolish he’s being. He has to get to the hospital now.

Robert hadn’t realized how much time he wasted feeling numb, but it’s well into three am and there’s no traffic to stop him from getting there in record time.

The nurse’s station directs him to Aaron’s room, and he’s not surprised to see security standing outside the door. Most likely to stave the blood sucking paparazzi. They nod at each other but Robert can feel some sort of judgement from the security guard when he goes into Aaron’s room.

There’s beeping noise from the ekg, but it’s steady and regular. Aaron is actually awake when Robert comes in. When he notices Robert, he sits up straighter in the bed.

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” Robert breathes out when he reaches the edge of the bed.

Aaron briefly smiles before frowning, “Dunno know why I’m even here. It wasn’t any more than I had before.”

The dismissive way he says makes Robert’s blood boil, “You could have died tonight and you don’t know why you’re here? You’re going to kill yourself one of these days. Is that what you want?” Robert exclaims. “Don’t you care about your life? Your bandmates?...Us?” Robert dares to curl his hand around Aaron’s hand.

“No one is asking you to stick around. This is your chance to run a mile,” Aaron whispers and it breaks Robert’s heart all over again.

“What makes you think I’d want to?”

Aaron looks away, pulling his arm out of Robert’s loose grip. “Where were ya before you got here?”

The question hangs in the air uncomfortably, almost as if Aaron knew of Robert’s reluctance to come here. Robert moves between his feet a bit, and tries to figure out what Aaron is getting out, “Does it matter? I’m here now.”

Aaron still doesn’t look at Robert, his face flushing as he adamantly stares at the blank wall. Suddenly, Robert realizes what Aaron was trying to imply, “Aaron...I wasn’t with anyone. I was working.”

“At four am?” Aaron scoffs.

“Isn’t that how you and I met?” Robert tries to remind himself the paranoia is just a side effect to Aaron’s detox, but he still can’t help but feel hurt that Aaron doesn’t trust him. He’s been nothing but loyal to Aaron these three years.

Aaron doesn’t say anything, just shifts in the bed miserably and they sit in tense silence afterwards. Robert thinks of their rainy romantic spring, when silences were comfortable and there was trust between them.

“I miss you, Aaron,” Robert ventures to say. He feels like he might be skating on thin ice, but decides to say, “I guess you were right. Rock and roll broke my heart.”

Aaron closes his eyes and of course tears fall out when he does that. “I was going to map the stars for you.”

Robert’s heart aches in a way he had never felt before. It feels as if his heart is literally breaking right now. Aaron has his hands crossed over his stomach and Robert aches to touch him again. He feels like there’s a million miles between them right now and it hurts Robert. It hurts that Aaron thinks this is the end.

“Why can’t you still?” Robert whispers, and it feels like he’s at his most vulnerable asking this. “Why can’t you get better and map them?”

“I never wanted this...to hurt ya,” Aaron says brokenly. “I’m sorry I ruined your mum’s anniversary.”

“You didn’t,” Robert is quick to reassure, placing his hand atop Aaron’s, despite their fight. “I just want you to get better.”

“I want to get better, too,” Aaron whispers, and it’s the first time he’s ever voiced it. They’re both crying and smiling, perhaps the most joy they’ve felt around each other in months. Somehow, maybe because Aaron is quasi-famous, no one comes to kick Robert out of the room.

They spend the night cuddling and crying against each other, Robert keeping vigil by Aaron’s bed as he falls asleep. And in the morning, a nurse comes to take Aaron. Robert probably smells rank and his morning breath even worse, but he doesn’t care as he pulls Aaron into a tight hug and they sway against each other for a while.

Eventually the nurse clears her throat and she begins to usher Aaron out of the room.

To healing, finally.

A year and a half after Aaron goes into rehab, Robert publishes a Pulitzer winning article about the reality of family members who have someone who suffers from a drug addiction. Robert uses his own personal experiences but never names Aaron by name, even though most of the media know who he’s talking about, despite all the precautions they tried, the media of course learns of Aaron’s stint at rehab. But Robert doesn’t just write about his own experiences, he also also interviews other people who have been in the same position as him.

He’d like to think Sarah is absolutely proud of him for finally carving his name in the literary world.

Aaron and Armour release their most highly anticipated album ever, Milky Way. The album elevates the band into near stardom as everyone goes crazy for the songs and especially the lyrics. They’re nominated for a BRIT music award and Aaron invites Robert.

They don’t win, but Robert holds Aaron’s hand the entire time and his heart sings more than he could have ever imagined. Aaron has been clean for a year, after six months in rehab, and he’s not looked back once. If possible, their love for each other grows stronger and Robert starts looking into buying engagement rings.

Robert never would have thought in a million years that going into an interview he would meet the love of his life. There had been bumps along the way, but watching Aaron grow out of the shackles of his drug abuse was almost worth it.

There’s glitz and performers and everyone is looking at the stage, but Robert just watches Aaron. So grateful that he’s alive and they’re here. He could watch Aaron for the rest of his life.

“What?” Aaron whispers as some artist is thanking people.

“Nothing. I just love you,” Robert says, squeezing Aaron’s hand.

Aaron rolls his eyes but actually leans his head on Robert’s shoulder, “I love you too.”

“Good, now shut up. Taylor Swift is about to perform,” Robert teases and sneaks a quick kiss to Aaron’s temple.

The rings he had finally decided to buy sit comfortably in Robert’s pocket. He’ll ask Aaron tonight, after they go home and it’s just the two of them. Because when it’s just the pair of them, they’re unstoppable.

#robron #robron fic #aaron dingle #robert sugden #some-mad-lunge #robron engagement gif #my writing

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smol-and-grumpy · 4 years

Text

EUPHORIA - Chapter 17

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: NSFW, sweet fluff

WC: 3823

A/N: This chapter fills my ‘topping from the bottom’ square for @spnkinkbingoPlease share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons <3

This series is more than two weeks ahead on patreon!

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

Y/N’s still wobbly on her feet, so Dean has to steady her for a hot minute. When he sees that she can stand on her own, he leaves her and walks back to retrieve her coat from the floor, letting her slip back in.

He presses his lips into a thin line, the corner of the lips curve up a little, he’s grinning, “Cover yourself, I don’t like people seeing what’s mine.”

What’s mine.

She gets flustered at that. It’s not the first time Dean drops the remark. The thought that Dean fucking Winchester calls her his is kind of exciting and scary at the same time. She can’t quite place her feelings about his possessiveness, but she can’t lie that she likes the sound of it.

Because yes, she thinks she is his. She doesn’t want to be anybody else’s. But if she’s his, he’s also hers, isn’t he? This should explain her jealousy and reaction to seeing some other woman in his apartment.

He is hers. Period.

My god, she never felt anything like it before. She’s terrified that she could lose something that’s so good. That she’ll never find anything like it ever again.

But now’s not the time for such thoughts, so she pushes it out of her head. She can go back to sulking when she’s alone. Not when she’s with Dean and her pussy’s still throbbing. His dick is still hard, she can see it, and it baffles her that for him, she always comes first — quite literally.

Dean ushers her through the hallway of the rooms, his grip tight around her middle, fingertips digging deep as they make their way up the stairs to his office.

Inside, he lets go of her and walks to his desk to open a drawer. Dean takes out a black box. It’s leather bound and it looks expensive.

He grins when he notices her watching, “Just arrived this morning,”

Arrived this morning? What does that mean? Did he order something with her in mind?

Y/N couldn’t dwell on it because Dean is already walking over, sneaks a hand around her waist and walks her to the back of his office to slip out through the back door. They take the elevator up to his loft.

Sam and Jessica are gone, but she notices that both their perfumes still lingered in the air. She feels bad for accusing Dean of something that he didn’t do. It’s all Jody’s fault really. She really did let the words of that woman get to her head.

“Come on,” Dean’s quick to walk her over to his made bed and shrugs off his jacket, letting it drop to the floor carelessly. She can see that he’s still hard, “Do you want anything to drink? Food?”

“No,” She shakes her head, smirking a little because she thinks it’s totally cute that he puts her well being first. That’s how it should be, no? Mutual respect and knowing set boundaries. She never experienced that before.

“Good,” He grins. His hand reaches out to cup her chin with his thumb and forefinger before he bruises her lips with a hard peck, almost like he has a hard time keeping himself in check. Dean kisses her once more, and looks into her eyes.

His eyes are green. A shade darker, more lustful. And he’s still hard because she can feel his bulge prodding against her lower stomach, can feel his hot breath on her.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, with a little frown and there’s a glint of nervousness in his eyes.

“I do,” She replies and feels him exhaling.

She does. It’s true. Trust is a hard-won thing given her history with men, but she can say that she genuinely trusts him. She should follow her heart and not her head, and her heart says with all its being, that she trusts him. Trusts that he only wants the best for her, sexually and otherwise.

Dean’s smiling but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he kisses her again, rough and hard. His tongue fills her mouth and she melts against him. His hand hooks into her panties that she’d carefully put on over her suspenders, because she likes to think ahead too. Dean chuckles when he notices that she doesn’t even have to take off her suspenders to get out of her panties and looks at her with playful eyes, raising one eyebrow to which she shrugs.

He lets the fabric pool around her ankle and tugs at her bottom lip with his teeth before he crouches down to let her step out of them. His hands work on her shoes, helps her get out before he comes up again, and it’s her who kisses him this time. Can’t fucking wait because she’s still tingling between her thighs and he’s just taking his fucking time!

Y/N’s fingers work on his shirt buttons but she gives up quickly. She pauses the kiss to groan out in frustration, because they won’t come off and her face is attached to his so she can’t see what she’s doing. Dean laughs into her mouth. His hand swats hers away only to tear at his shirt, making the buttons pop out. She can still hear some of them rolling away.

“Dean!” She gasps, the shirt is probably not cheap.

Sucking in her bottom lip, he shrugs, speaks with his teeth nibbling at her, “I have more shirts,”

Dean’s hands are kneading her ass, pulling her closer and she feels his hard cock straining in his pants. He picks her up, throws her playfully onto his bed. She giggles upon landing.

“I want you on all fours, baby. On your elbows, ass in the air.”

She watches him watching her. His gaze is so intense, the air thick with sexual tension. Nodding, she turns around, moves up the bed a little more and props herself on her elbows, sticking her ass up in the air just like he asked her to.

Of course she’s ashamed. Dean practically sees everything now and even though he’s seen it before, she can’t help but be a little ashamed about it.

Laying her face on the mattress between her elbows, she waits.

Finally, she feels the mattress dipping behind her, feels him dropping something next to him too, before she feels his hand on her ass, fingers span wide over her cheeks as he pulls them apart, groaning as he goes.

“Fuck, look at you,” He thumbs at her folds, spreading them, “So pink and pretty,”

God, he has no shame and she feels blood rushing to her head.

Dean threads his fingers through her slick, curses under his breath, “Baby, how could you even think that I want to look at another pussy when yours is the only one I want, huh?”

He lowers his head and then she feels it. Feels his wet and warm tongue lapping at her clit, his nose is rubbing against her rim.

“Oh fuck,” She moans out, grabbing at the sheets for purchase.

The slurping sound is lewd and loud in the room, and she wriggles with her hips, trying to drive her ass further against his face. God, she’s so desperate, can’t really help it.

Dean’s humming at her wriggling, his hands gripping her tight, holding her steady, “Needy little thing,” He groans into her cunt, and yeah, she can’t say that she isn’t. He’s fucking right.

His hands smack down on both her ass cheeks, making her arch her back and yell out at the sting, “Hold still,” He growls and she does. Is a whimpering mess as she lets him eat her out.

She’s so close, so fucking close again and she calls out for him, “Dean, fuck I’m—”

“—Not yet, baby,” He abandons her clit to slap down on her ass again and it stings, oh it fucking stings.

Y/N hears him rummaging around behind her, hears the opening of a box and then she hears clatter.

“I need you to remember the safe word, baby,”

“Tomato,” She says without having to think.

Dean places a kiss on her ass cheek, chuckles and drags his teeth along her skin before he pecks it again, “Good girl. I’ll put a harness strap on you, okay? It’s a collar that goes down your back and they hold your wrist together behind it.”

Oh my god . The thought of her being tied up turns her on. She’s all giddy, not even scared about it. Eagerly, she pushes an “Okay, please,” past her lips.

She thinks that there’s something highly erotic about being dominated by a man who cares about her.

He chuckles before he begins to place the collar around her throat, secure her wrist in the cuffs and tighten them on her back.

“Good girl,” He praises her again and her insides tingle upon hearing these words.

It’s weird, she thinks, she always liked praise. That’s why she’s so nerdy. She likes to feel that she’s doing something good, since she never got any praise at home. Hearing it from Dean is something else, but still it makes her want to be good. She wants to be a good girl with every fiber of her being.

Y/N feels a tug at her wrist, tries to move her hand but they’re locked onto her lower back. She’s really and truly at his mercy. It should scare her, it should, but strangely, she’s more turned on than scared.

Dean secures everything, his hand tugging hard against the strap, almost sending her on her side and he chuckles as he rights her back onto her knees.

“Christ, you’re so fucking beautiful like this,” He whispers before he dives back into her cunt, warm tongue lapping at her already wet folds, breathing into her ass crack and god, it feels really good.

He licks a wet stripe up her rim to her puckered hole and she keens and arches her back, because that certainly feels wonderful too. Should she be ashamed? She doesn’t know because she just can’t find it in herself to care.

His tongue toys with her asshole before he exchanges his tongue with one of his fingers, the pad of it ghosting over the opening of her asshole, rubbing circles around it, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, winces at the feel.

“You like that?” He asks, kissing along her ass and she hears a bottle cap opening.

“Y-yeah,” Her voice is broken, it’s barely a whisper.

“I think you’ll like what I have in mind,”

His finger leaves her hole and Y/N hears a squirting sound.

Her body jerks when she feels his now cold and slick finger at her hole. Dean’s other hand goes to her clit, rubs her there while he probes at her back door.

“Oh god,” She moans, her fingers intertwine and she scratches herself at her back because there’s nothing to hold on to.

“I’m Dean,”

He snickers behind her and she’s about to roll her eyes when he sinks in a finger to his first knuckle, making her close her eyes instead.

“Fuck,”

“You know the safe word, baby, say it if you want me to stop,” He whispers deep.

“I know,” She mumbles into the bed sheet, opens her eyes again, and she’s a little sad she can’t see his face.

Dean goes deeper, pushes his finger in to his second knuckle and his breathing is ragged, “Jesus, you’re so tight and warm, fuck,”

Y/N arches her back a little, driving her ass against his finger, all shame she had is gone because he’s also still rubbing at her clit and the sensation is just fucking perfect.

“My god, you love this, don’t you? Fucking needy little thing,” Dean lowers his mouth to her ass cheek, takes a generous bite at it and she yells out into the mattress.

He takes his hand out and she actually fucking whimpers at the loss. Dean’s right. She’s fucking needy and god, she doesn’t know herself anymore!

She feels something metallic, something cold at her lips and blinks her eyes open to him holding out a freaking buttplug.

“Take it in your mouth, warm it up,”

Greedily she parts her lips, opens them up wide, and Dean smiles at her enthusiasm. She actually never had someone play with her ass before and thinking about it, she should have tried it sooner.

The metal feels hard and heavy in her mouth. Cold at first but it warmed up quickly and she yelps up around the thickness of it when she feels him squirt more lube onto his hand and is now sinking two of his thick fingers into her asshole. He still rubs at her clit with one hand while he finger fucks her other hole.

And the sensation, oh god the sensation, it makes her tremble.

Dean’s breathing hard behind her, and he lowers his face, his scruff scratches at the delicate skin on her ass while he sucks and licks at her flesh, “Wanna fuck you with the plug inside, wanna see how you can take me,”

It is not actually a question and Y/N knows that she doesn’t have to answer. She also knows that she can say stop anytime. Maybe that’s why he isn’t bothering asking. And honestly, there’s no objection from her because fuck, if she doesn’t want to feel that too, she’d be straight out lying.

After a while Dean pulls his fingers out of her again and reaches around to take the plug out of her mouth. Her drool comes with it, and he chuckles before he leans down to where her head is, presses his nose to her cheek and claims her mouth, kisses her sloppy and hard. It’s a weird angle but he makes the best out of it. He leaves her with a tug of his teeth to her bottom lip, and begins to thread the plug around her hole. His other hand squirts some more lube into her ass crack and slicks it up real good.

“Incoming!” Dean shouts, giggles at his own joke.

And she should maybe roll her eyes at the stupidity of it but she’s actually grinning like an idiot herself.

The stretch, oh god, the stretch. It’s more than Dean’s finger and she feels like she’s taking a dump, which is really embarrassing but once he pushes past the thick of the plug, it goes in easy and it actually isn’t uncomfortable at all.

Dean places soft kisses on both her ass cheeks before he sits back on his heels, admiring his work while his fingers spread them apart.

She hears him move, feels him jump out of bed and there’s a clinking of his belt, fabric being pushed down and it happens so quick because Dean’s back behind her in no time, threading his hard cock through her slick, along her pussy lips, groaning as he goes.

“My god, fuck me already, Dean,”

Wriggling her hips, she tries to push back onto him when she feels the head of his dick catching the rim of her pussy and Dean clicks his teeth, “Jesus, you gonna make me come early if you keep talking like that,”

“Please please please fuck m— oh my god!”

Dean breaches her entrance and slams in, has to work harder to get in because of the plug, “Fuck, you were tight before but now— fuck— so good, baby, you feel so fucking good,”

He begins to fuck her harder, picking up his pace and his hand reaches for the strap on her back, pulling at it so she has to lift her head because she’s being fucking chocked by the collar. She’s so full. So fucking full. And it feels amazing.

While one of Dean’s hand is still around the strap, he sneaks a hand around her waist, and toys with her clit, his hips still fucking into her.

“Dean, harder,” She chokes out.

“Fuck,” He curses behind her and starts to slam his hips harder into her while tugging more at the strap.

Y/N’s a whimpering mess and there’s not enough air in her lungs, but she manages to push something past her lips anyway, “Fas— ah— faster,”

She doesn’t recognize her own voice, doesn’t recognize the desperate pleas coming out of her mouth, but she’s so fucking close with his fingers flickering against her clit.

He growls loudly, “Christ, your pussy is creamy, looks fucking beautiful,” His hips slamming against her in a maddening pace and he tries to get in deeper too.

With a breathy cry she comes and it’s powerful, her knees buckle and Dean’s hand leaves her clit to hold her up. Her juices gushes around his dick and the wet sound of his balls slapping against her pussy is obscene and loud.

Quickly, he pulls himself out of her, releases her wrist from the strap and manhandles her around onto her back before he slams back in again. She’s still coming, and oh god, he fills her right up again.

Dean rubs at her sensitive clit, making her squirm below him. He trails his other hand up her body, caressing her tit and alternating between them. She grabs at his forearm, needs something to hold on to. Nails digging into muscled skin.

“Come again, can you, baby?” His words are smooth, coaxing her to the edge.

“I don’t know,” Y/N shakes her head, it’s too much, too fucking much.

“Do it for me, baby. Be a good girl, come with me,”

God, he can really make her come with his words alone and that’s not fucking fair.

“Come,” He’s thrusts are harder and she watches him, watches the sweat beading on his forehead, his whole body glistening in the light. She watches his muscle flexing in his chest, watches the bulge of his biceps. Dean is freckled all over and my god, the sight does things to her. She watches him watching her.

She comes. Her eyelids flutter as much as her cunt does, but she tries hard to keep her eyes open.

Dean grunts out. His face contorts in beautiful agony as he lets himself fall down on top of her and her hands scramble at his back, nails digging into his flesh. He continues to groan into the crook of her neck and she buries her face into his, breathes in the scent of him, his musk and it makes her head spin.

He came so hard he saw fucking stars.

When he composes himself again, Dean kisses at the junction where her throat meets her shoulder and moves to lay beside her. His dick comes out with a squelching sound, which makes both of them squint their eyes. He starts to peel his damp body from hers but pulls her right into his chest as he spoons her from the back.

Dean rains kisses on her shoulder, nuzzles his nose against the back of her neck.

He likes that, likes it a lot. The moment after. Likes sharing intimacy.

It’s after a while that he says, “Come on, I’ll draw you a bath,”

Kissing her on her cheek, he tears himself away to walk to the bathroom on wobbly knees.

When he comes back, she’s still laying in the same position and Dean scoops her up, walks her to the bathroom.

Dean takes off the collar and strap, throws it carelessly onto the floor. He thinks that she’s still in some kind of blissed out state, so he lowers his face to kiss her cheek, whispering softly to her, “Bend over, baby,” He helps her as she reaches out her hand to brace them against the bathtub.

Kneeling down, he looks at the plug, groans a little at the sight of his cum still dripping out of her cunt and the plug still deep in her ass. Jesus, he feels his dick stirring again, which is basically unavoidable.

He pushes the thought aside though, his fingers grip around the plug and she whines, “Hold on, alright? This might get uncomfortable,”

“‘K,” Y/N breathes out.

Slowly, he pulls at it and it comes out with a squelching sound too.

Dean throws it into the sink, will deal with that later. He gets into the bath first, sits her down in front of him and makes her lean her head on his chest. She turns on her side and he wraps his arms around her, strokes her body, kneads out the knots and tension.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers, kisses the top of her head.

“‘M tired,” She says and nuzzles her nose into his chest.

After the bath, he gets her into the shower, and dries her off with a towel. Y/N’s barely here, her eyelids are heavy.

Dean pulls one of his shirts over her head, and sits her down, pouring her a coke to drink to get her energy level up again.

He sits beside her, having dressed himself in something comfy too, “I’m gonna tell Cas that I’m not in tonight, okay?”

“No,”

Raising an eyebrow, he looks at her, “No?”

She grins a little, “No, I mean, I’m not staying. I have to go home because I have a meeting early tomorrow,”

Dean texts Cas anyway.

“Come on,” He says. He gets up and holds out a hand for her to take. When she’s up, he picks her up and she wraps her arms around his neck, “I’m driving you home,”

He carries her up to her apartment, sets her into her bed and she already turns on the TV. Dean quickly undresses himself.

“What are you doing?” She frowns mid-zap.

He shrugs, “Spending the evening with you,”

They decide on ordering a pizza and eat it in bed too. And Dean thinks that everything feels fucking right.

She breaks a new toothbrush out of a brand new pack for him. And he knows that it’s no difference to what he did for her but still, his heart’s thumping fast at the little gesture.

When she’s settled into his arms at night, Dean tilts her chin up, kisses her soft and tender. His tongue gently nudging against hers. He absolutely loves to kiss her. Not because he wants more, but kissing her for kissing’s sake. That’s a first for him too.

Y/N’s so tired that she nudges her face into the crook of his neck and he strokes her hair, tucks them behind her ear.

“Is it okay if I want to keep you?” His voice is barely a whisper and he doesn’t even know if she heard him.

“Huh,”

“Now that I found you, I’m not letting you go again,” He says, a little louder but still soft.

She already has her eyes closed and her breathing evens out, but there’s a soft mumble, “‘K,”

Chapter 18

#euphoria #spnkinkbingo #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester series #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #nathalie writes

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jjbakaloskaiagathos · 4 years

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Once-Upon in Morioh-Cho: 1999 Summer Flashback 🚨

In the previous chapter:

Sophie has approached the house, wiping sweat from your face.

- Higashikata-san, welcome me to Morioh-Cho!

Chapter 2:

Stand name: [Mrs. Brightside]

Stand master: Marmalade Sophie

Ability: observing areas as if they are a hologram and transporting into them. Attack “Light Splash” allows to blind enemies and leaves small burns on their bodies. If Sophie is not focused, she will not control an area.

The girl is sitting at the table, putting her leg under a hip, and correcting the notes on the sheet. The room is lit up with one small lamp which stands on the chest. Sophie looks at the watch and notices that it has already been 1 a.m: the time, when many people go asleep. She has taken a glance with boredom at the crumbled paper, trying to formulate her thoughts and aims. Suddenly, the girl breaks into a tricky smile and starts write something fast.

- What will you say about that, Higashikata Josuke? It seems that our interview is turning into a quite interesting thing, is it?

Sophie has giggled and has attempted to imitate a serious face, imagining that she wears narrow glasses, a long black dress and ugly old shoes. She has begun to read out the questions and has burst out with a loud laugh, not reached the last one.

- No, no, I need to focus myself on the content. I must cross it out.

• Who inspired you to go through the police?

• How do you cope with your feelings at work?

• What is your dick size?

• Have you ever pissed at the street corner?

• What secrets do you use when you catch a criminal?

• What porn genre do you like?

• Do you want to fuck me?

That day had become a key to cope with assignment which was sent to the girl. When she used [Mrs. Brightside], she did not expect that the police and ambulance had just dealt with the cruel robbery. Sophie was struck by the officer’s great work, imagining how it would be if she interview him.

- I absolutely don’t remember his face… I guess Higashikata-san may be strong, intelligent and brave man, who devotes all the spare time to protecting Morioh-Cho. I suppose it will be gold experience, - says Sophie and with these thoughts she lays a bedsheet, grabs a blanket which covers her and has fallen asleep.

The police station is located near the center of a bed town. It is a modern two-storied building with sophisticated layout, distinguishing among various insignificant constructions. To reach this place was not a difficult mission for Sophie because the police station represents as an important part of Morioh-Cho’s protection. Standing in front of the designated point and crossing out today’s uncomfortable questions, the girl confidently has entered the large glass door.

The interior has been completely predictable: gray walls, a small number of plants on the windowsills, simple white lamps and many other things indicate that the place reflects a serious purpose. Near the entrance, Sophie sees a big metal detector and a man, representing as a security guard in the dark-blue uniform. He takes a glance at the girl and starts to come up.

- Who are you? You’re not allowed to come in.

- I’m Marmalade Sophie who works at Morioh-Cho radio station. I create an article about the police’s work of the town that’s why yesterday I reached an agreement to interview the officer Higashikata Josuke. I can show you my identification and then you let me through, do you?

- I don’t care about your personality because my work is to protect the building and people who are here. Take off any metal objects and open your bag.

- Wanker.

- What?

- Oh, never mind.

The girl has just put her earrings, bracelet and necklace, which is made of gold, on the table. When Sophie did these movements, she realized that it looks like checking before the final exams at school in Russia. The girl’s mood is gradually getting worse that is why she starts to get nervous and sweat.

- Oi, lady!

Sophie has turned around, seeing a stranger. It is a man of tall height and stocky build, wearing a dark pompadour and light hair on the sides, densely combed back. His face has small and irregular features that are complemented by two long intersecting scars. His amiable smile does not calm down Sophie that is why her armpits and hands start to sweat more. The girl is thinking about how she can reach Higashikata’s office without unpredictable meetings, but today it has turned out to be impossible.

- Mademoiselle, may I introduce myself? My name is Nijimura Okuyasu, a senior police officer. I hear that you’re a practicing student who works at Morioh-Cho radio station, and today you have come to find out some information about our work, don’t you?

- Nice to meet you, Nijimura-san. I’m Marmalade Sophie, you’re absolutely aware of my business. Don’t you help me to see Higashikata-san? I need to interview him.

- Of course! I can take you to the first floor.

Climbing up the stairs, the senior officer told Sophie some special points. It turned out that Nijimura-san has close relationships with Higashikata Josuke who remains a total mystery for the girl. Eventually, the couple has reached an important room.

- Good luck and don’t be afraid.

- Thank you!

When Sophie has opened the door, she can observe big windows which are skipping sunlight to the office, including beautiful furniture. There is a large desk which is made of real wood, a cabinet is full of books and folders, a board hangs on the wall, covered with photoshoots, a black matte sofa and a coffee table in front of it. The girl is more interested not in the interior but in the figure, sitting on the armrest of the chair.

It is a man with large features, especially his deep-blue eyes and full lips. It is funny the thick arched eyebrows match his relaxed and kind face. Sophie can only see this sitting pose but she can guess his height exactly because of the frame. Higashikata-san looks stunning: dark hair represents as a wild pompadour, gold circle-earrings get the girl’s attention and uniform with expensive decoration suits perfectly. There is no reason to doubt that he is so handsome.

- Good morning, Marmalade Sophie. Have you reached the police station without any problems? I’m waiting for you, - says the man, standing up from the armrest.

- Good morning, Higashikata-san. Yes, I have. Thank you.

- Perhaps, you want to drink, do you? If it is, I will be able to ask a secretary about a cup of tea or coffee.

- Thank you but I don’t. And now the closer: your colleague told me that you’re aware of my visit. I was really inspired by your great work when you catch a robber. It was so fantastic! Can I ask you some questions about the police? The town and Japan must know the heroes which will be described in my article.

- I ask the questions here, not you.

Instantly, there is awful silence. Sophie did not expect that she would embarrass herself like that for the first time. The girl looks at him, starting to get nervous again, choosing the right words to continue this awkward conversation. Sophie often takes everything personally that is why in the school times she was always crying about little things. One day the girl broke her leg and had a decision to visit a doctor. At hospital a haughty woman shouted at her, accusing of breaking the queue. Sophie burst into tears in front of the doctors, sobbing every minute. Now she feels the same.

- Oh, what happened to your face? It’s a joke! My stupid joke…

It does not help.

- So… You seem pretty young, you’re a student, aren’t you?

- Yes, I am. I’m a sophomore and my department… Whatever. May I start an interview?

- Of course. There is no need to stand, sit down.

The conversation started with simple questions about the police and its definition in the officer’s eyes. Higashikata Josuke told Sophie many interesting facts and accidents which had to face. He answered that the reason, why the organization operates as a single well- set mechanism, is because of industrious people who work there. The main aim of Morioh-Cho police is a protection of the town.

- You said the organization is good at coping with difficult and confusing criminal cases and that’s right: there are no unsolved ones but I have found out some information about Kosaku Kawajiri. This man vanished about ten years ago and the wife and the son still have been waiting for…

- I won’t be able to answer your question.

- Why? It’s general quest…

- I don’t like to repeat: I refuse to answer this question, - says the officer, taking his eyes off.

It is getting dark outside. From this room it can see how street lamps have started to light up a full road. The officer is sitting against the window that is why his face is covered with a mysterious shadow, which can admit only the perfect features.

- You have a secret, in which you don’t want to involve me and my readership, do you?

- Marmalade-san, you’re pushing a line.

- A true journalist never pushes a line, he tend to think real information. If I write wrong things in my texts, I will mislead many people. Please, tell me about this per…

- Do you hear me? The conversation is over.

- Higashikata… Josuke, is it your name? The part “ske” can be read like “jo”. What an interesting one, - says Sophie, teasingly looking at his face.

- What are you up to?! - asks officer, getting furious.

- Exactly, the interview is over. Goodbye, JoJo.

The girl has stood up and shut the door roughly. Sophie is thinking about how she can get an archive, where definitely there are important notes about citizens. Perhaps, can the girl use [Mrs. Brightside] to find a direction? But at this time, she is being mad at Higashikata-san and at the thought that her mind treats him as a lovely man. Suddenly, someone grabs her elbow in a sharp way.

- What’s wrong with you? No need to become Dale Cooper in a skirt.

- Harry S. Truman, immediately, let me go.

- One more move and I will speak differently with you.

Sophie sees his eyes. She cannot believe that this kind and pretty face may hurt her. The girl is not surprised that Higashikata Josuke turned out to be very tall and upper-body. Their glances have met for a couple of seconds.

- To hell with it, I'm off! It’s a torture being here! - shouts Sophie, approaching the entrance, - Just so you know, this guard made me to open my bag and show my personal stuffs! He knows that girls keep spare pants and sanitary napkins, such a pervert!

Two men are standing against the wall and watching how Sophie goes out, ignoring the metal detector.

- Higashikata-san, I can…

- You can’t. Let her go.

⬅️ To be continued

#jojo bizarre adventure #jjba #our own story #sophie #josuke higashikata #okuyasu nijimura

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the-desolated-quill · 5 years

Text

Why Spider-Man Leaving The MCU Is The Best News I’ve Heard In Ages - Quill’s Scribbles

Oh frabjous day! Callooh! Callay! Did you hear the news? I’d be surprised if you didn’t. EVERYONE has heard the news by now. A couple of days ago it was reported that the deal between Marvel and Sony that allowed the two studios to share custody for the rights of Spider-Man has fallen through. Spider-Man is no longer going to be part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe.

Speaking as someone who is not only a big Spider-Man fan, but also a very vocal critic of the current state of Marvel and Disney’s cynical and convoluted ‘shared universe’, this caused quite a reaction when I first heard the news. I’m as happy as a man who just found out his high school crush likes him back on the same day he won the lottery. Happy, but not surprised. In fact I’m more surprised that other people were surprised by the news. The deal Marvel and Sony managed to strike was almost unheard of. Two rival movie studios in mutual cooperation. Never thought I’d see the day. But if you thought this was going to be the new norm, then I’m afraid you don’t understand this industry. I knew, or at least suspected, that once Sony had a hit on their hands, they’d cut ties with Marvel and Disney. It was only a matter of time. Now that Spider-Man: Far From Home has made over a billion dollars at the box office and now they have found success with their own non-MCU films, Venom and Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse, the simple fact of the matter is they don’t need Marvel or Disney anymore. So they’ve flown the coop. Yes it’s possible they could renegotiate the deal, but given how unlikely the prospect of the initial deal was in the first place, I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you. It’s more likely they’re going to take their ball and go home. Sony’s Universe Of Marvel Characters (despite its incredibly clunky name) is now going to be firmly built upon and expanded, and I for one could not be more excited.

Of course not everyone shares my excitement. Disney, for one thing, aren’t happy. Nor are the cast. Jeremy Renner has made his views clear, begging Sony to give the rights to Spidey back. (Perhaps he should focus more on his own character Hawkeye, considering what a mess he’s become). Die hard MCU fans aren’t pleased neither. Same goes for ‘celebrity’ fans like Kevin Smith, a filmmaker who preferred to be called a comic book expert on the Venom Blu-Ray bonus features presumably because he hasn’t actually been relevant as a filmmaker since the 90s. (it’s worth reading his thoughts just for a laugh. He honestly thinks Disney aren’t greedy, corporate bastards. ROFL). And of course the so-called ‘professional’ critics, who for years have deluded themselves into thinking the MCU is actually good, have been writing their own little think pieces about what all this means. Can Spider-Man possibly survive without Iron Man and pals to prop him up? To which the answer is obviously yes. Sony had the rights to Spidey for fourteen years before the Marvel deal. They made five Spider-Man movies, four of which were massive box office successes. They also released Venom and Spider-Verse last year. Both hugely successful and the latter even won an Oscar, which is one more Oscar than Marvel Studios have ever won (sorry Black Panther. You were robbed).Can Spider-Man survive outside the MCU? Gee I don’t know. I guess somehow Sony will find the strength to soldier on without them.

Although, that being said, there’s not as many journalists siding with Disney as I thought there would be. There are quite a few articles explaining how this split could help Spidey in the long run, which is both absolutely true and refreshing to see. Hopefully this is a sign that we’re finally turning a corner and critics are starting to use their brains again. Like how everyone worshipped the ground Steven Moffat walked on until Sherlock Series 4 where everyone realised that he’s actually shit and has always been shit.

Spider-Man leaving the MCU is the best thing you could do for the character at this stage. The way he’s been treated since joining the Marvel clusterfuck has been nothing short of appalling. I’ve made it no secret how much I detest this version of Spider-Man and some might dismiss what I’m about to say out of hand, perhaps claiming I’m biased because I’ve said numerous times that I love The Amazing Spider-Man films starring Andrew Garfield. Two films I will go to my grave defending because they were bloody good movies. People were just butt hurt because it wasn’t Spider-Man 4. Never mind the fact that the original Sam Raimi films were never that good to begin with (seriously, have any of you actually watched Spider-Man 2 recently? Trust me. It’s not as good as you remember it). No, I promise you that if MCU Spidey existed in a vacuum, I would still hate him just as much for the simple reason that he has absolutely nothing in common with the source material. Under the watchful, Orwellian eye of Marvel, they took Spider-Man, a character most famous for being a working class everyman, and turned him into the most spoilt and privileged little bum-balloon I’ve ever seen.

Spider-Man: Homecoming was a terrible movie. Plain and simple. A cynically produced, written by committee, pile of wank that gets so much of Spidey’s character and story completely wrong, it’s almost impressive. No longer a teenager/young adult struggling to balance his superhero life, his school work, his career and his social life, instead we got a groomed Mary Sue who doesn’t have to fight for anything because everything is basically handed to him on a silver platter courtesy of Iron Man. We never see him struggle. He’s not relatable. He never has to face consequences for his actions. He misses God knows how many classes and debate group meetings and yet he never gets punished for it. Sure he gets sent to detention a couple of times, but we see him leave whenever he bloody wants to. It’s just boring. If there’s no struggle, where’s the tension? And the less said about the villain, the better. Taking an eccentric antagonist like the Vulture and turning him into the stereotypical blue collar dad trying to provide for his family has got to be one of the most uninspired and blatantly lazy bits of characterisation I think I’ve ever seen. And that’s not to mention the supporting cast. Aunt May is youthed for no reason other than to make sexist jokes at her expense with every man that comes within her general vicinity staring at her with their tongues hanging out and eyes as large as saucepans. Minor villains like Shocker and the Tinkerer have their characters reduced to unfunny comedy sidekicks. And then there’s Peter Parker’s gang of racial stereotypes. We have Peter’s best friend, the fat and nerdy Ned who has no real personality other than being fat and nerdy (and is without a doubt the most annoying character in the damn film). Flash has been racebent so now he’s the stereotypical arrogant Asian prick. Michelle has no character other than being the same sassy black teenager who don’t give a shit, a caricature so old now it’s practically been fossilised. And then there’s the love interest Liz, a character so bland and one dimensional that I had to look her name up. Oh and lets not forget that the majority of this Spider-Man’s story was nicked from Miles Morales because people are only going to empathise with his story if it revolves around a white kid, am I right?

You know, I get so frustrated whenever people slag off the Amazing Spider-Man movies and claim that these new movies are better because... well... WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! I’m sorry, but I was much more invested with Peter and Gwen than I ever was with Peter and... what’s her face? Or Peter and Michelle (who I categorically refuse to call MJ because she’s not MJ, is she? They just used the initials to pander to gullible fans. They didn’t have the guts to just make Mary Jane Watson black, did they? Of course not! We don’t want to alienate the casual racists, do we? They’re our main demographic after all). The reason why Peter and Gwen worked is because they’re well-written, three dimensional characters with great chemistry and whom we actually spend a significant amount of time getting to know. So when Gwen dies at the end of The Amazing Spider-Man 2, it becomes a heart wrenching moment because we’ve grown invested in this character and this relationship. If Michelle were to die in a future movie, I honestly wouldn’t bat a fucking eyelid. Even Tobey Maguire and Kirsten Dunst had more chemistry than those two, and that relationship was a total shambles from start to finish.

It also helps that Peter and Gwen felt like real people. I loved the scene in the first movie where Peter awkwardly asks her out because it reminded me so much of how I asked my first girlfriend out. And that’s why I love the Amazing Spider-Man movies. Because out of all the Spidey films we’ve had over the past 17 years, the Amazing ones are the only ones in my opinion that manage to capture the humanity of the character. As fantastical as the world is, the characters, their relationships and their dilemmas are grounded firmly in reality. Homecoming on the other hand is just embarrassing. Despite casting teenage actors, none of the teenagers actually act like teenagers. They act like five year olds. It’s painfully obvious that the filmmakers are trying to pander to young kids and they clearly don’t know how to write them. Again, this is where the Amazing movies stands head and shoulders above the others. They’re not treated like kids or teenagers. They’re treated like people. Real people. Same goes for the villains. (Yes, even Electro, despite wonky execution).

But the main criticism people have with MCU Spidey is that these films aren’t actually about Spidey. They’re really about the MCU mascot Iron Man.

Now to be clear, I don’t necessarily have a problem with the idea of Iron Man being a surrogate father figure to Spidey. It could work. Captain America: Civil War, despite the clunky and contrived way in which Spidey was introduced to the MCU (oh you just happened to know about a masked vigilante we haven’t seen or heard of until now Tony? Okay. What about Daredevil and Luke Cage?... What do you mean they’re not in the movie?), did a good job of setting up the dynamic. Namely that Tony doesn’t actually care about Peter or his well being, merely using him for his own ends. Unless Americans have some kind of ‘Bring Your Child To A Warzone Day’ I don’t know about.

Despite its flaws, Civil War was good because it gave us an unsettling look at the characters we’ve been watching for years. We see Captain America consumed by his own naivety and idealism to the point where he can no longer see the bigger picture and we see Iron Man go from being an industrial capitalist to an authoritarian fascist. Homecoming could have followed up on that. Have Spidey realise that Tony doesn’t have his best interests at heart, reject him as a father figure and grow into his own man. Instead the movie seems to go out of its way to undo all the interesting things Civil War brought to the table. Of course Tony cares about Peter! Oh and his relationship problems with Pepper Potts have been magically fixed off screen and now they’re getting married! Relax people, it’s okay! Nothing morally complicated going on here! We apologise for assuming you’re actually intelligent and promise never to make you think about anything ever again!

Not only is this quite insulting to the audience, it also negatively impacts Spidey’s arc. Turns out the movie isn’t about Spider-Man becoming his own man. It’s about him proving he can be an Avenger. He’s constantly in the shadow of Iron Man and, more to the point, we’re supposed to be happy that he’s in the shadow of Iron Man.

Again, this is where the Amazing Spider-Man gets it right. The first movie is very much about father figures. Uncle Ben, Curt Connors and Gwen’s dad all play a role in Peter’s growth and development over the course of the film. He’s able to take all the lessons and advice he gets from the three and use them to become his own man. As director Marc Webb so eloquently put it, ‘it’s a story about a kid who grows up looking for his father and finds himself.’ Compare that to the current iteration of Spidey where Uncle Ben doesn’t even appear to exist in this continuity because he’s been completely supplanted by Iron Dad. Remind me again why people think the Amazing movies are shit?

The latest film, Spider-Man: Far From Home, is no better. Same problems as before only this time Mysterio gets MCU’d to death. Instead of the pathetic loser trying desperately to receive recognition for his talents, we basically get a rehash of the plot from Iron Man 3, which in turn was a rehash of the plot from The Incredibles. Mysterio is basically trying to supplant Iron Man because he got screwed over when he used to work for Stark, and it’s up to everyone’s favourite wall-crawler to stop him because there’s only room in this universe for one Iron Boy. Even when Iron Man is dead, he’s still front and centre of the fucking narrative. Here’s a bright idea. How about we make a Spider-Man film that’s actually, you know, about Spider-Man? (Oh yeah, spoiler alert, Iron Man dies in Avengers: Endgame. Not that it’s really spoiling anything because Endgame is a big piece of shit).

Here’s the thing. Everyone is blaming Sony for the deal breaking down, and okay, I’m not going to pretend that Sony aren’t cynical. As much as I love The Amazing Spider-Man movies, I’m well aware the only reason they exist is because Sony desperately wanted to keep the rights. They spent a stupid amount of money on The Amazing Spider-Man 2 to the point where it needed to make a billion dollars at the box office in order to make a decent profit (a feat only achieved at that time by Batman with The Dark Knight and The Dark Knight Rises) and they crammed loads of characters and plot points into an already overstuffed movie in order to rush out their own shared universe to compete with Marvel. When that didn’t work, they went crawling to Marvel and Disney in the hopes that the MCU could bail them out of the shit. I get it. There’s plenty to criticise. But for the likes of Kevin Smith and other idiots to only blame Sony and defend Marvel is really quite galling to me because Marvel and Disney are just as cynical, if not more so.

Does anyone here actually know what the deal was? Basically the agreement was that Kevin Feige would get lead producer credit for any solo Spider-Man films and Marvel and Disney would get five percent of the cut. Meanwhile Spider-Man would be allowed to appear in any MCU film. Also, because Sony still hold the rights to the character, they get the final say on any creative decision regarding Spider-Man. Or at least that’s the theory anyway. In reality that wasn’t the case. Reportedly Marvel and Disney were so anal about keeping the plot of Avengers: Endgame a secret that they didn’t tell the screenwriters of Spider-Man: Far From Home what happens in the bloody film. And considering that the film follows directly on from Endgame, that’s quite a problem. Sony may have creative control over Spider-Man, but Marvel and Disney can still call the shots, deliberately sabotaging Sony in order to boost hype for their own films. Also Sony are actually worse off in this deal because Marvel and Disney are the ones making all the money. Spider-Man has appeared in three MCU films. Captain America: Civil War, Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame. All three of these films made Marvel and Disney over a billion dollars at the box office. Sony meanwhile have only made two Spidey movies, Homecoming and Far From Home, only one of which has made over a billion and both of which Marvel and Disney get five percent of the profit. Now that Sony have finally got their billion dollar Spider-Man movie, Marvel and Disney had the cheek to propose that Sony share fifty percent of the profits with them. Because it’s not enough for Marvel and Disney to be making shit tons of money off their own films. No. They also want as much money as they can get out of films made by other studios that are only tangentially related to their’s. God forbid a movie studio should be allowed to keep all the profits from their movie.

So yeah, I’m glad Sony have split and are free to make their own movies again. Because Disney have got such a strangle hold on the entire industry that I’m always happy to see any studio or IP slip through their fingers. And I’m not the only one who thinks this. Do you know who else agrees with me? Stan Lee’s own daughter.

In an interview with TMZ, Joan Lee slammed Disney for their lack of compassion when her father passed away:

“When my father died, no one from Marvel or Disney reached out to me. From day one, they have commoditised my father’s work and never shown him or his legacy any respect or decency. In the end, no one could have treated my father worse than Marvel and Disney’s executives.”

She then went on to support Sony’s decision to break the deal with Marvel, saying ‘whether it’s Sony or someone else’s, the continued evolution of Stan’s characters and his legacy deserves multiple points of view.’

And do you know what? She’s right. She’s absolutely right.

While people were celebrating when Disney bought 20th Century Fox because the X-Men and Fantastic Four were finally going to be part of their precious shared universe, I was watching in absolute horror because nobody was actually talking about the ramifications of this. Disney serves as a cautionary tale of what happens when capitalism goes unchecked. Seeing this mega-corporation consume and absorb other major studios like some Lovecraftian monster is both frightening and heartbreaking for me because the industry is going to be so much lesser for it. Less studios means less movies are going to be produced. It also means less variety in the entertainment we consume. Marvel and Disney have already done their utmost to homogenise and dumb down every MCU film to the point where most of them all feel the same, look the same and have nothing unique or creative about them whatsoever. And now we’re on the cusp of seeing that potentially happening to my most favourite superhero in the whole wide world:

Thanks to the Disney buyout, plans for X-Force and Deadpool 3 have been placed on indefinite hold with people reckoning we won’t see the Merc with the Mouth again until Phase 5 (Christ, give me strength) of the MCU so that Marvel and Disney can work out exactly how to fit him into their shared universe. Naturally the R rated nature of the character makes him difficult to integrate into the PG-13 MCU. Some have suggested toning down the character. Even David Leitch, the director of Deadpool 2, said they could make a PG-13 version of the character, which just feels like such a massive betrayal. After literally years of Ryan Reynolds, director Tim Miller, screenwriters Rhett Reese and Paul Wernick, and the fans fighting tooth and claw to get an R rated Deadpool movie green-lit, it sickens me whenever I see people discussing how a PG-13 Deadpool wouldn’t be so bad and that they just want to see him pop up in an Avengers movie.

Here’s a suggestion. If you can’t make someone like Deadpool fit into the MCU, STOP TRYING TO FUCKING DO IT! Let him be his own separate thing! I’ve got no problem with that! But no. Everything has to be connected to this idiotic shared universe, but here’s the thing, I really don’t fucking care. I couldn’t give two shits if Deadpool and Captain America were to meet in a movie. I just want to see X-Force and Deadpool 3. I just want some good fucking movies. Is that really too much to ask?

The MCU, and by extension Disney, are slowly ruining the industry with this shared universe crap and I’m getting so bloody sick of this. Not only does the premise have absolutely nothing new to offer at this point, it’s also ruining the quality of standalone movies. Instead of telling compelling stories with likeable characters, they’re just adverts for more movies to come with nothing unique to offer. Oooooh, can the Avengers stop Thanos and unkill everyone who we know aren’t really dead because they all have fucking sequels planned? Tune in next week to confirm what you already bloody know! I don’t give a fuck what you’ve got planned for me down the road in ten or fifteen movies time. Right now I’m stuck here at a service station and I’ve got no fucking sandwiches.

Off the top of my head, the only MCU films I can think of that I’ve watched in recent memory and I’ve actually enjoyed are Captain America: Civil War and Black Panther. And do you know why? Because they actually have something to say. They’re not focused on teasing the next bullshit spinoff movie. Black Panther in particular has little to no connection with the rest of the MCU. It works as its own standalone piece and has its own unique voice, commenting on how black people are viewed in society. Civil War takes elements from previous films and goes in an entirely new direction with them, exploring the faults in our beloved Avengers and questioning their role as superheroes. It offers something beyond a tease for the next film. It poses thought provoking questions about the characters and forces us to confront some harsh truths about them. But in an environment like the MCU, where everything is pre-planned by committee, there’s no room for creativity or expression, which means the few good movies get stifled. It’s impossible to continue the themes of Civil War because Homecoming exists to contradict everything. Black Panther is an amazing and impactful movie, but its impact is lessened thanks to Infinity War where we see the Wakandans reduced to little more than cannon fodder so that the real heroes can fight the baddie.

It’s frustrating to see people blindly accept and support the poisonous business model of Marvel and Disney because it’s not normal, it’s not benefiting the industry at large and it’s not even financially viable in the long term. Marvel Studios’ success revolves around one franchise. What happens when the shared universe/comic book movie bubble bursts and people eventually stop watching these films? (and it will happen because it always happens. That’s how trends work). They’re going to be up shit street, aren’t they? At least Warner Bros have Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings to fall back on. Their future isn’t entirely dependant on the success of the DCEU (thank God, some might say).

Also it’s worth noting that studios are slowly starting to move away from the shared universe format. Before the buyout, 20th Century Fox were taking risks with smaller budget, standalone movies like Deadpool and Logan. After the disaster that was Justice League, Warner Bros and DC have recently started focusing more on standalone movies to great success. Aquaman and Shazam, while still part of the DCEU, work as their own independent films. We’ve also got Joker being released in a couple of months time, which I think everyone should be paying really close attention to, because if Joker is critically and commercially successful, it could very well serve as the death knell for the concept of a shared universe. Definitive proof that you don’t need twenty movies and interconnecting stories with massive budgets to be successful. All you need is a very good idea.

Even Sony have finally learnt their lesson. They’ve taken a risk with Into The Spider-Verse and received an Academy Award for their trouble. As for Sony’s Universe Of Marvel Characters, they’re already off to a strong start with Venom. And mercifully they’re not making the same mistakes they did with the Amazing Spider-Man 2 or Ghostbusters. They’re not spending ridiculous amounts of money with unrealistic expectations of success and they’re no longer putting the cart way before the horse. They’re focusing on making a good movie first and worrying about potential expansion later. Venom may not be a masterpiece, but it’s a hell of a lot more entertaining and fulfilling than the majority of MCU films because it tells a complete story with a beginning, middle and end and it has well developed characters that we actually like and grow attached to. And if worst comes to the worst and Sony’s next film, Morbius, doesn’t do well, then they have Venom 2 to fall back on. And if that doesn’t work, they’ll still have Spider-Verse. They are no longer putting all their eggs in one basket and that’s good. That’s the smart thing to do.

Can you imagine something like Venom in the MCU? Of course not! Because Venom has its own unique tone and vision. That’s why it was so successful with audiences. Its mix of dark comedy and campy sci-fi horror made it stand out from the crowd. Marvel and Disney want us to believe that there’s only one way to make a superhero movie, when that’s simply not true. And now that Spider-Man is free to find his own unique voice again, hopefully people will begin to see just how creatively limiting and damaging the MCU truly is.

#spider-man #sony #anti marvel #anti disney #quill's scribbles

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