#especially now that I can somewhat separate the music and voice to clean things up a bit

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

I have been exporting the audio wrong this whole time I- anyway. All posts from here on will have the correct setting :)

*edit. The post right before this does have the correct settings and the new equalizer stuff. If it sounds slightly better, that’s why.

[eldritchqueerture]

Hello! This is a project for @summer-in-the-archives-event that I worked on with @horizonindigo! We came up with the idea together and based our individual works around the poem I wrote, included in the fic. You can find their absolutely amazing art here!!

I freaking loved working on this one and I got more and more excited as we progressed. I also surprised myself with the poem itself a bit, definitely didn’t expect it to end up quite as cool, if I may say so myself. It was incredibly fun to write.

Big shoutout to @sunflowers-and-frogs for beta reading, I love you bestie <3

I would like to thank all the mods that made this event possible! It’s my first time taking part in anything like this and it was really, really fun, so THANK YOU <3 Love you guys :3 Anyways, enough of my rambling kdfjgkjsdfg

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Relationship: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical The Lonely Content (The Magnus Archives), Kissing, Excessive Tea-Making, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Poetry, Love Confessions Warnings: self-esteem issues, typical Lonely content, discussions of free-will and determinism, graphic kiss

Summary: As Martin fights the remnants of the Lonely's influence on their ride to Daisy's safehouse in Scotland, he focuses on his feelings for Jon to keep him tethered to reality. He watches Jon be himself in the safety of the cottage, share these small intimacies of domesticity and the words come to him as a poem weaves itself into the pages of his notebook...

He feels the taste of salt in his mouth, as he looks out of the car window at the rapidly falling away landscape, covered in the darkness of the night. He feels Jon’s presence next to him, focused on driving but glancing every so often at him with concern. Martin feels like he should say something, somehow fill the silence that has befallen them, but no words ever find their way to his mouth. He stays quiet, watching the trees pass them by, trying to ignore the anxious churning in his stomach. He’s always been pretty good at filling awkward silences with chatter; at least before the Lonely. Now… he can’t help but feel bothered by Jon’s presence, even though he did all of this for him, even though this is what he’s wanted all this time; it’s like a splinter, prickling at his mind, almost causing him physical discomfort. He swallows and feels the salty taste on his tongue; he discards the thoughts and tries his best to breathe through the discomfort, instead focusing on the sensation of Jon’s warm hand on his.

Martin used to be the warm one; he’d always been generating heat and his mind goes back to the early days in the Archives when the basement was cold in the winter and both Tim and Sasha used to gravitate towards him with their respective cups of tea during breaks. Now his whole body is cold, the chill of the ocean breeze and fog having settled in his bones so deep he thinks he’ll never feel warm again. The thought isn’t sparking any emotions in him though. It’s just a thing that he’s learned to accept, just as the fact that he’ll always be alo—

“Do you want me to put on some music?” Jon asks with another one of his glances. Every time, he raises his eyebrows a bit, and tilts his head to the side; Martin expects the concern in his eyes, but he sees something else there as well. He’s been afraid to put a label to the expression for the fear he’s reading him wrong, but the bolder part of his mind tells him it’s fondness.

Jon’s hand is warm, and his thumb grazes the skin of his palm just a little, as if not sure he’s allowed to. Martin looks down at their hands and feels warmth spark in his stomach; he smiles.

“I’m sorry I’m—I’m not really good at the whole, uh… small talk thing,” Jon adds with a flush, turning his head back to the road. “I should probably be talking about something, though, to, uh… to keep you here. I suppose.” He visibly cringes at his words.

“It’s—It’s fine, Jon,” Martin chuckles, and Jon relaxes, fixing him with a quick smile of his own. “I’m just… you know.” He looks down at their hands again and has a brief feeling they belong to someone else. Not him. Never him. “I’m not quite… out of that. Yet.”

Another look of concern. Martin feels heat prickling at his cheeks and he’s a little bit glad, because at least it’s a feeling. He interlaces their fingers and looks out the front window.

They spend the ride in relative silence. Jon tries a couple more times to start small talk and fails; they stop at a gas station at one point and Martin takes out his notebook when Jon disappears inside the station to pay for gas. He flicks through it and his eyes stop at an unfinished draft; he started writing it shortly before Peter took him down to the Panopticon, but he’d only managed to get a few first lines down. Despite still feeling the cold in his bones and his mind being clouded by the remains of the fog, words come to him, and he starts scribbling. He continues to do so even when Jon comes back with tea and an assortment of snacks, blushing just a little bit when Jon shoots a curious look at the notebook. He doesn’t ask and Martin is thankful for it. He’s not the sort to show his drafts to anyone, especially to the subject he’s writing about.

It’s 1am when they arrive at the cottage; they’re both exhausted and they quickly take their bags inside and lock the door. The cottage is small and practical, just Daisy’s style; it’s also quite dusty from months of abandonment. Martin yawns as he opens one of the bags to get the essentials. They should leave unpacking and cleaning for the next day.

He hears Jon’s footsteps on the wooden floor coming back from the initial run of the house and he turns to tell him that, but the somewhat sheepish look on his face stops him in his tracks. Has he ever seen Jon look sheepish before?

“So, uh, obviously this was Daisy’s safehouse when she was, well… Avoiding people,” he says, not meeting Martin’s eyes.

“I hope ‘avoiding people’ doesn’t mean killing them in this context,” Martin snorts, not sure if he’s entirely joking. The humour is lost on Jon, however, as he looks at him confused for a moment before he processes Martin’s words.

“Oh, no, no, I-I don’t believe she, uh… She just slept here.” Jon shifts awkwardly. “And that means there’s uh, there’s only one bed.”

Martin’s eyes widen and his lips form a little “Oh”.

“Of course, if you’re not comfortable with sharing, I can just take the couch, you need some proper rest and I’m used to running on low sleep” —Jon averts his gaze as he speaks. He grabs his bag and walks over to the couch, and Martin wants to stop him talking and just say that they should share the bed, but his voice seems to have left him at this crucial moment. He just stares as Jon places the bag on the couch and looks back at him, aware of the silence. “Martin?”

Martin swallows, a familiar cold freezing his toes. He feels the damp sand underneath his bare feet and a chill runs down his spine. He blinks and tightens his grip on the bag he’s been holding. This is real, he is real, Jon is real.

“You need good rest too,” he finally manages to say, and he’s surprised by how clear and normal his voice sounds; it makes Jon relax a bit. “We should share the bed, if-if you are comfortable with that.”

A small smile appears on Jon’s lips and a warm feeling fills Martin’s stomach again; he knows the smile is for him.

“Okay,” he says softly and picks the bag up.

They manage to keep the awkwardness of it to the minimum; they’re both very tired and at one point it just doesn’t matter anymore. Jon hands Martin a separate blanket and he pushes the disappointment down into a void inside him where he keeps feelings to come back to when he’s alone. It would be foolish of him to hope for cuddling since they haven’t talked about anything yet.

He expects to fall asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow, but he finds himself awake in the darkness after goodnights are said (Jon’s voice sounds so soft and tender Martin has forgotten all about his earlier disappointment). He’s laying on his back, eyes closed, and he feels Jon’s presence on his right. His breathing is steady, not yet slow enough to indicate sleep, but calm and relaxed. Martin peeks out through half-lidded eyes – he hasn’t gotten used to the darkness as much yet, but he can see Jon laying on his side, facing him, his eyes closed and his hair loosely framing his face. One of his hands rests close to his head on the pillow. Martin blinks, fully opening his eyes now and smiling softly. As his vision clears, Martin notices Jon frowning ever so slightly, and he wonders if the faint lines between his eyebrows smoothen when he’s asleep.

“Is watching people sleep a usual activity for you?” Jon whispers with amusement as he opens his eyes and Martin gasps with surprise and looks away, feeling heat prickle at his cheeks.

“Wha—uh, no! No, of course no—Sorry, I—” He rambles, and he thinks he might just die from embarrassment when he hears Jon laugh quietly.

“It’s fine, Martin.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Really. I-- Sorry, I thought a joke would, um… lighten the mood somewhat.”

Martin risks a look at him and wonders if the red on his cheeks is visible through the darkness. Jon looks at him with that expression again, something Martin would very much want to classify as fondness if it didn’t feel so impossible. But now that he thinks about it… Would it really be thatfar-fetched? Jon had gone into the Lonely just to get him out. Would he have done that for anyone else? Martin rolls his eyes at himself in his mind, of course he would. He did go into the Buried, and it was for Daisy, a person who has threatened him multiple times, kidnapped and almost killed him. If Jon was ready to lay down his life for her, out of all of them, it shouldn’t be surprising he would do the same for his assistant; it says nothing about his feelings on the matter.

Martin’s memories of the Lonely are hazy. He remembers the cold, the dampness, and the loneliness. He remembers his thoughts, the lonely ones, and how they felt both alien and familiar at the same time. He remembers the comfort, the feeling of fitting in, but also the pain and the fear, just before they were numbed by the cold and the fog that made him forget. And then suddenly, Jon was in front of him, looking at him with desperation on his face, tears in his eyes glowing with a green light. Was it Jon calling for him, or just the Beholding?

“What are you thinking about?” comes Jon’s voice and Martin realizes he’s been staring into the air for a while. He blinks and looks back at Jon.

“Uh…” He searches for words before he gives up on trying to come up with an excuse. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “Why did you do it?”

Jon blinks at him a couple times and rises to lean on his elbow, to better look at Martin.

“What do you mean?”

“The Lonely,” Martin says, not meeting his eyes. Jon is wearing a blue t-shirt with a logo of a band Martin doesn’t recognize; the shirt is loose and it uncovers one of Jon's shoulders which would probably be distracting if Martin’s mind wasn't chilled by the remnants of the fog. “Why did you come for me?”

Even without looking at him, Martin sees Jon’s forehead ripple. A while passes as Jon searches his face and the thought that he shouldn’t have asked starts creeping up to Martin’s head. Shouldn’t have brought any attention to the subject, he should just be glad, he should—

“I care about you, Martin,” Jon says in a very gentle and quiet voice, like he’s afraid anything louder would take away the meaning of his words. Martin looks up at Jon and the hint of that intense blush from before makes it back to his face. “You’re… You matter to me. You will always matter to me.”

Martin can’t stop a small smile appearing on his face and Jon mirrors it.

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, feeling a warmth settle in his chest, finally driving the cold away.

“Anytime.” Jon lays his head back down and settles back with the right hand near his face. “Sleep well, Martin.”

Martin closes his eyes contentedly and he curls up on his right side, facing Jon, as if trying to keep this warm feeling from escaping his chest too soon.

“You too, Jon.”

---

Martin wakes up alone in an unfamiliar bed, the smell of foreign covers filling his nostrils and for a second he panics. He opens his eyes and the memories come back to him; their late arrival at the safehouse and laying down to sleep next to Jon.

He sits up, looking at the space Jon had occupied. It’s vacant now, just the curled up covers he left behind, but it manages to bring a blush to Martin’s cheeks, nonetheless. It feels so… intimate to know that they slept next to each other. It makes him feel warm and cosy.

Martin gets up and goes to the bathroom before he finds Jon in the kitchen. He’s humming quietly as he finishes cleaning the table and he looks up when Martin enters.

“Good morning, Martin.” He smiles and Martin’s afraid he’s going to melt. He takes a quick look around and notices that their sparse kitchen supplies are mostly unpacked, and the kettle is already on the stove.

“How long have you been awake?” He asks; some of the shock must have made it to his voice because Jon looks amused.

“Two hours or so. I’ve always been a morning person.” He shrugs and finishes cleaning the table. “Tea?”

A smile lights up Martin’s face and he gets swept up by the familiarity of the activity, while Jon busies himself with fixing up some breakfast. As both of them work in the kitchen, Martin notices the casual brushes of their skin and touches of the shoulders. He doesn’t know if he’s doing it consciously or if it just happens naturally, but he knows that Jon’s open demeanour is drawing him closer than before. He wonders if he’s been like this ever since he woke up from the coma, and there was just no one to appreciate it.

The morning is relaxed, the casual conversation flowing a lot smoother than the day before, and after breakfast they set out to clean the whole cottage and go down to the village to buy some actual supplies. The village is small, but the local shop provides all the essentials they need; for a moment Martin forgets about everything outside of that village and shopping for groceries with Jon, as if this is their life now, in the Scottish Highlands, living together in a cottage. They talk about cooking dinner, and the cows they passed on the way, and Martin thinks he could get used to that.

The bubble bursts when they finish up and Jon decides to call Basira. She picks up after a while and updates them on the absence of both Jonah Magnus and Daisy. Basira says she’ll send some statements up to them when the Institute stops being an active crime scene, and a shadow passes over Jon’s face. Wrapped up in a conversation about their taste in dinner dishes, it was almost too easy for Martin to forget food isn’t the only sustenance Jon needs. He finds it easier to forget things ever since the Lonely. They walk back to their cottage in silence, Martin grabbing Jon’s hand as soon as he lets go of the phone.

When they get back, Jon declares he’s going to take care of unpacking and cooking, and even though Martin knows Jon to be stupidly stubborn, he’s surprised by the strictness with which Jon insists he sit back and relax. Martin doesn’t really complain; he’s spent his entire life caring for others and, to be honest, it does feel rather good to be on the receiving end for once. He watches Jon from the couch for a while, before he takes out his notebook and looks over the poem he wrote in the car.

Wisps of mist conceal my eyes

A lone indulgence to lose one's face

And soothing a part inside that cries

With chilling sadness and numbing grace

The steadfast rhythm of waves ashore

As ocean breeze leaves a taste of salt

The words forgotten, erase what I swore

Until I hear your voice once more

I wondered many times what it might be

That we finally took to calling "us"

What would be left if we broke free

Of dread and horror's eternal grasp

The Eye looms aloft, ever-present dread

Watching all, eternal lids apart

You made your choice unaware you were led

By strings of web, against your heart

Jon starts humming under his nose in the kitchen as he cuts something on the board; the water in the kettle boils slowly and fills the air with a quiet whistle. Martin smiles while shooting a subtle glance at Jon; he seems to notice his gaze and falls quiet, but a smile lights up his face when he sees the fondness on Martin’s face. For all this talk about Jon “losing himself” in the role of the Archivist, this seems as human as you can get. Martin never favoured the approach the other archival staff took to the knowledge of the significance of Jon’s position, and he often wondered how they could look at him and see a monster. Of course he made bad decisions, but so did everyone. They’ve seen or read about so many avatars giving into the powers that fed them and yes, maybe Martin is biased, but Jon was nothing like them. They’ve all been caught in this huge web of statements that turned real; the more they struggled to break free the more tangled up they became, and it wasn’t Jon’s fault that he ended up in the centre of it. He knows Jon tried to make right choices every step of the way. Can you really blame a human being for failing to completely resist something that’s beyond mortality and human reality? One way or another they ended up here, together, and yes, maybe the Eye and the Lonely are still looming as very tangible threats, and Jonah Magnus is nowhere near being stopped, but at least they’re together now. Martin remembers thinking the Unknowing was the endgame, the last chapter of this horror for them, and he remembers the hopelessness of their story getting a bad ending that essentially pushed him into the Lonely; now he feels a different kind of an end approaching – he dares to be hopeful. Maybe everything works out in the end? Maybe, if they were safe and happy, it wouldn’t actually be the end of the world.

Martin looks down at his notebook and starts writing, sticking the tip of his tongue out in concentration.

What is a monster? Where is the line

That would separate us from the world

All I know is our paths align

And we together can battle the cold

You cut through the curtains of mist and See

The green glow fades when our eyes meet

My lips form a soft and quiet plea

To be loved has never felt so sweet

To be loved is a new feeling for me

I only know how to love from one side

But with you I hope we can once be free

Maybe ignore the whims of the tide

Although I know we're not nearly through

I taste and savour your voice, your breath

If only for a moment, we can start anew

And I will follow you even to death

As he stares at the last word of the finished poem, his hand with the pen hovering over it, he registers that his eyes have watered a bit. He blinks the tears away quickly as Jon sits down on the couch next to him, looking at him with a gentle worry. Martin looks up at the two mugs of tea he’d placed on the table.

“Did you make tea?” He asks with mock bewilderment, and Jon scoffs at him.

“I know how to make tea, Martin.” He nudges him with amusement, that gentle worry not quite gone from his eyes. “What are you writing about?”

Martin falls quiet, pressing the notebook to his chest in a knee-jerk reaction.

“Thought you didn’t like poetry,” he huffs out a laugh that’s only a little bit self-conscious. Jon shrugs, reaching out for his mug and taking a sip.

“I don’t understand it. And yes, I have been known to dislike it at times, but… Maybe I could be swayed to give it another shot.” Jon rolls his eyes fondly and looks at Martin out of the corner of his eye, a look that says ‘for you’. Martin grins, heat pricking at his cheeks once again.

“You see, i-it’s all about emotion.” He places the notebook gently on his lap face down and reaches for his own mug. “You w-want to put all of your emotions into words in a-an artistic way, that has a rhythm and, uh, and feels alive. And you want your, uh, your readers to feel that, that emotion through your words.”

Jon listens attentively and his eyes aren’t leaving Martin’s face; at one point Martin gets distracted by it and forgets where his explanation was going. Jon’s gaze has always been intense, in different ways throughout the time they’ve known each other. At first it was judgemental, the gaze of his boss, full of unmet expectations; then it was piercing, watchful and suspicious; as time passed, it seemed to gain more and more weight of the Beholding, something Tim always complained about. After Martin had joined Peter Lukas, the rare glances he got from Jon were full of yearning that Martin didn’t understand at the time; didn’t want to understand. Now, it’s that gentle fondness, interweaved with something intangibly sad and Martin feels an urge to hug him, to bring him close to his chest and never let go; to bury his face in Jon’s hair and protect him.

They move to place their mugs at the table at the same time and snort, amusement quickly turning into a fit of laughter. Jon throws his head back a little with it and Martin wonders if he has ever seen him laugh so openly before. He didn’t think it was possible for him to fall in love with the man even more, but once again, his heart proves him wrong. He stares at him with a lovestruck expression and thinks they should really talk about it. Martin doesn’t know where to start though and Jon seems to be thinking in a similar direction because his expression shifts into gentle seriousness.

“Martin, I…” He starts and bites his lip. “I need to apologize.”

Martin straightens a little; it’s not exactly what he expects.

“I—The way I used to treat you…” Pain and guilt flash through Jon’s face as he looks away for a moment to gather his thoughts. “It was not okay. None of it was okay. And I’m—I’m really sorry for that. It doesn’t—I know it doesn’t change anything that happened, but I” —he sighs. “I really am sorry. I hope I can, somehow, uh… somehow make it up to you.”

Martin reaches for Jon’s hand, and he looks down in surprise; Martin sees his eyes start glistening.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened to you.” He continues in a whisper and his eyes are locked on their touching hands. “I’m so sorry about the Lonely. I’m sorry that you’re trapped in all of this with me, and I would understand if you decided to leave—”

“Jon.” Martin squeezes his hand and Jon’s eyes shoot up to look at him.

“I’m sorry, that’s not an apology,” he sighs again. “I just… I’m sorry, Martin. About everything.” His other hand grips Martin’s. “I’m glad you are still here. I’m—I’m so glad, you d-don’t even know,” he laughs.

“I think I do.” Martin smiles gently. “Thank you for saying that. I’ve—I've forgiven you for a lot of it a long time ago. A-And the rest just isn’t your fault.”

Jon frowns.

“The Lonely was always there,” Martin shrugs. “Peter Lukas was just… a catalyst, I think. But now I have you.” His finger grazes the outside of Jon’s palm and his heart flutters in his chest when he sees that small smile appear on Jon’s face. “And you can’t be blamed for Elia—Jonah’s games. We’re all just… a bunch of people who didn’t know what was going on until it was too late.”

Jon’s eyes fall as he nods slightly.

“He’s still up to something,” he says quietly.

“Figures,” Martin laughs bitterly. “But we’re here now. And frankly, I don’t really want to think about him when we’re finally…” The word ‘together’ gets stuck in his throat, as if it would breach this fine line of ambiguity they’ve drawn between themselves. Jon seems to fill it in and his eyes land back on Martin.

He’s never wanted to kiss him more than he does right now. Jon's eyes are wide and glistening with something that looks suspiciously like hope, and his fingers gently graze the outside of Martin's palm. Warmth spreads in his chest and his eyes flutter a little, not breaking the eye contact. He wants to pull Jon close to his chest, to run his fingers through his hair and feel his breath on his own skin. To really feel like he's there, next to him, with him.

Before he can follow through with any of that, something sizzles in the kitchen, loud in the silence, startling them both.

“Food!” Jon chuckles slightly before he jumps to his feet and rushes to the kitchen, while Martin snorts and follows him. Jon stirs the pan with curry and sighs with relief when he sees it's not burned. He turns down the heat anyway and checks on the rice.

“Jon, this smells amazing,” Martin says, peeking into the pan with cheese and spinach. “I didn't know you could cook.”

“Well, contrary to the popular belief I was a functional human being. For a while,” Jon snorts and leans against the counter to look back at Martin. “It's Palak Paneer, my grandma taught me when I was a child.”

“It looks fantastic,” Martin grins, and Jon rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.

Even though the moment's lost, the remains of the feeling can be felt between them as they prepare the plates and take the food to the table. They easily fall back into usual chatter and, as soon as they’re finished, Martin jumps to wash the dishes. Jon relents after extensive affirmations from Martin that he's alright and he can definitely take care of a couple dishes in the sink, and he drops onto the couch with a content sigh instead.

Martin finishes up with the dishes and dries his hands on a towel.

“Do you want some tea?” He asks and hangs the towel back on the rack. When there's no response, he turns to the couch. “Jon?”

Something sinks in his stomach when he sees that the object that consumes Jon’s attention is the poem he’s finished; he scratches his neck, as his cheeks take on a pink tinge. “Oh…”

He walks up to the couch, unsure, trying to gauge Jon's reaction. His face seems tense, he squeezes the notebook in his hand so hard his knuckles go white, and his eyes are focused at one point on the page.

“Um... Jon?” Martin asks weakly, his heart drumming in his chest so loud he's sure both of them can hear it.

Jon jumps to his feet, startled, and looks up at him with eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights. Martin instinctively raises his hands in a placating gesture, as Jon registers his presence, looks down on the notebook in his hands, and quickly puts it on the table as if it stung him.

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look, it was just there and—”

“Hey, Jon, it’s alright!” It’s maybe a little not alright, since the poem is nothing short of a love confession and a wish Martin had no right to assume would ever be true, so Jon reading it is less than ideal. Martin rushes to gently place a hand on Jon’s shoulder but when he recoils from the touch, Martin withdraws his hand, cursing everything about himself.

“No, I, uh…” Jon runs his hand through his hair, eyes darting between Martin, his hand, and the notebook frantically. “I shouldn’t have— uh, it’s—it’s your private business, what you write about, so—”

Martin is sure he’s tomato red on the face by this point and hopes against hope that the afternoon light filtering through the curtains obscures it just a little. Jon, on the other hand, doesn’t have the embarrassed blush that usually darkens his cheeks; instead he breathes fast, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Martin sees him hunch just a little, making himself smaller.

“Um, yeah, I, uh—” He starts fidgeting with his fingers. Did the idea of—of love frighten Jon so much? He was stupid to leave it out in the open and now Jon knows, and it’s not how he feels, so he hates him… “I’m sorry.”

Jon’s eyes snap to him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“For what?”

Martin huffs out something like a pained laugh.

“Th-That’s not exactly how- how I wanted to tell you.” He wrings out his hands and shoots Jon a pleading look. What’s done is done and the only thing he can hope for is for Jon to let him down easy and never speak of this again.

“Tell me?” Jon looks down at the notebook again and there’s the worry again, stark on his face. He breathes out, slowly, and looks at the floor. “I don’t—I don’t even want to think this is a possibility…”

Martin doesn’t need to imagine what it would be like to be stabbed, if he wanted to - he’s pretty sure the acute pain of his heart shattering in his chest is close enough. His mind tries to catch up to the emotions, slow them down just a bit, because something seems off, and isn’t this a weird way to reject someone you must have known had a crush on you? But his throat tightens with the swell of pain and shame and Martin blinks away the tears welling up in his eyes.

Jon sighs and plops down on the couch, hiding his face in his hands and pushing his glasses up to his forehead.

“We d-don’t have to talk about it, if—if you don’t want to,” Martin says quietly. He sits down next to Jon, careful not to touch him in any way, and puts his hands between his knees.

Jon lets out a bitter laugh.

“Isn’t that what they—the Web would want? Just… mindlessly follow, go with the flow until something… irreversibly bad happens?”

Martin turns to Jon with a frown.

“Wh—What?”

Jon looks at him with something glistening in his eyes and Martin can see the lines of pain and misery written on his face like they belong there.

“The web,” he says faintly. “Strings of fate. I—” He lets out a breath. “Was I just being manipulated this whole time? Was I ever really—Did I ever have a choice?”

“Jon... what are you talking about?”

“You—You said I was...” He reaches for the notebook and points at a verse with his finger. “’Made your choice unaware you were led by strings of web against your heart.’ How—W-Why did you say this?”

Martin stares into Jon's green eyes with concern, yet parts of his heart start to weave themselves back together. However confused and worried Jon seems to be, none of it is directed at Martin; he looks at him with desperation, almost pleading, and he realizes they’ve been having two different conversations at the same time.

“Oh-Oh, God, Jon, I-I didn't mean—I just, it's a-a metaphor, just that, you know,” he takes a breath. “It does remind me of a web, the-the way we got caught up in Elias' plans.” He looks down, his cheeks burning as he remembers why Jon would get caught at this specific phrase. “I'm sorry for, uh, using that, it was just the first thing that came to my mind and—”

Jon exhales next to him and Martin risks a look up. The uneasiness isn't gone from his face but he relaxes just a little bit, enough to stabilize his breathing.

“I'm sorry for this… this whole thing, Martin.” He gestures at nothing in particular and it's his turn to look at the floor, as if it's all of a sudden the most interesting thing he's ever seen. He starts fidgeting with the notebook. “I'm just—What if it’s true?” His voice goes higher at the question and he closes his eyes. Martin squeezes his arm. “What if I am just... Just a puppet? An inhuman, helpless puppet in the hands of—Of some spider pulling the strings?”

A tear rolls down Jon's cheek and Martin grabs one of his hands. It’s small and still shakes a little; he tries to put all the protectiveness he feels into this small gesture. Jon doesn’t recoil this time, instead taking a moment to watch Martin’s hand clasp around his.

“Jon,” Martin starts softly. “You're still you. You're not some—Some spider puppet that can't make choices.”

“But what if—”

“You've made a choice to go into the Lonely for me.” Martin bumps their knees together lightly and Jon looks up at him. “I don't suspect any webs would need me alive to push you into it. It was You.”

Jon looks him in the eyes and Martin barely stops himself from reaching up to his face to wipe away his tears.

“Or it just makes us think that we have a choice but are ultimately helpless against fate and everything we do is determined by intricately crafted circumstances,” Jon whispers. “Maybe free will is a lie.”

Martin blinks.

“Jon...”

“Maybe I was never able to stop it. Any of it.” Jon’s voice grows more horrified and even though his eyes are directed at Martin's face, he seems to be looking somewhere past him. “Maybe nothing we try to do really matters.”

“Jon.” Martin’s voice gains a bit of force, even though he feels all but sure. “What do you see?”

Jon frowns. “What?”

“Look at me and tell me what you see?” The force is gone; the sentence sounds more like a feeble suggestion than a request, but Jon's eyes refocus on Martin's in a frown of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“We're here now,” Martin says quietly. “And yeah, maybe our decisions are all predetermined or whatever. I still think it matters that we try. I think our experience matters. And you're not a-a monster without free will, Jon. You care about people, and you’ve sacrificed a lot for other people. You've made your own choices and, no matter if they were good or bad, they were still yours. And I think that matters.”

Jon blinks at him for a moment, then his shoulders slump with a sigh and he interlaces their fingers. Martin doesn’t miss it and he feels warmth in his chest.

“I've always been afraid of—of my will not being my own anymore,” he confesses quietly. “Of, uh... of not knowing the difference.”

“I get it,” Martin nods. “If it’s any consolation, I see a lot of Jon in you still.” Jon looks up at him with surprise and Martin gives him a half smile. “I see a very changed Jon but it's still Jon.” He strokes Jon's palm as his heart picks up the pace. “The same Jon I've first fallen in love with.”

Jon exhales softly, his face caught in a soft surprise, and Martin smiles around the dull ache in his chest.

“You don't have to say anything. I'm sure you've known for a while, but I just... I wanted to say it.”

With every second that passes in silence, however, Martin's cheeks grow hotter, and he concludes that this might have been a mistake.

“I-I'm sorry. M-Maybe I shouldn't have said that, I… I don't want things to get weird or anything, so, uh, we can, we can just forget—”

“Martin.” Jon says his name in a soft and kind of inquisitive way that makes his heart bounce around and transforms the ache in his chest into swirling butterflies again. Martin looks up and Jon’s head is tilted to the side, his face still wet with tears, but he notices something hopeful glitter in his eyes. “I love you too.”

Martin frowns, suddenly wondering if he isn't dreaming. Is Jon really saying what he thinks he is? Did he hear correctly? Maybe he misheard—

“I have for a while,” Jon's voice is still quiet and soft. “I didn't want to say anything because I thought it was too early after the Lonely and you might not feel this way anymore, but...”

Martin swallows, acutely aware of how loud his heartbeat is. He squeezes Jon’s hand and smiles slightly.

“I... I didn't know,” he whispers, not trusting his voice to cooperate.

“As soon as I woke up from the coma, I wanted to tell you,” Jon says. “I thought I was too late; that it took me too long to stop denying the feelings I had because I didn’t know how to deal with them, and I'd missed my chance.” He laughs bitterly.

“So that’s what it was about,” Martin whispers, as Jon's actions towards him throughout his time as Peter Lukas’ assistant start falling into place. Jon looks at him with a frown, so he adds, “The ‘let's gouge out our eyes and escape'.”

Jon scrunches up his nose and clears his throat.

“Yes, well. Yeah.”

Martin chuckles quietly.

“I don't think I would have lasted in the Lonely if I understood then. But then again. It didn't really matter in the end. It didn't help.”

“But it was your choice,” Jon echoes Martin's words from before and their eyes meet again.

“Yeah. It was my choice.”

They stare into each other's eyes for a moment, losing track of time, before Jon smiles slightly and looks back at the notebook.

“I really am sorry for not asking your permission, though,” he says. “I got so caught up in the metaphor I didn’t even finish it.”

Martin blinks, the warmth from his chest spreading to his cheeks again.

“D-Do you want to?”

Jon smiles softly, this new smile that Martin has only seen in the past couple of days, always directed at him.

“If you’d let me.”

Martin needs to look away, unable to handle the affection in Jon’s eyes. He mumbles an ‘okay’ with a smile that’s not entirely under his control and gets up.

“But I am making that tea whether you want it or not, waiting for someone to finish reading something is a torture.”

He hears Jon laugh as he heads back to the kitchen.

When he comes back with two steaming mugs, Jon is waiting for him with a smile and his nervousness dissipates with his next words.

“I like it,” Jon says. “Apart from the, uh, web metaphor, obviously. It's hopeful.”

“Y-You do?”

Martin swallows; the pleasant tingling in his stomach is back. He places their mugs on the table and reaches out to join their hands again. Jon intertwines their fingers immediately and caresses the outside of Martin’s palm with his thumb.

Jon looks down at the verses again and smiles softly, almost sheepishly, a familiar blush darkening his cheeks.

“I—I don't know if there would be anything for us outside of. You know. The fears and all that,” he grimaces. “At least, for me. But, uh…” He looks at Martin again with a hopeful expression that makes Martin melt a little, and he gently caresses Martin's cheek with his free hand. “I really like the thought of it.”

Martin's brain might be short-circuiting at this moment and all of his thoughts take form of fuzzy static.

“Me too,” he says, suddenly breathless. Jon's hand rests cupping his cheek and, are they a bit closer than they were a second ago? Jon's gaze slides down Martin's face to his lips and he feels he might faint right there and then. He doesn't, instead gathering up his courage to take a breath.

“Can I kiss you?” Jon asks first and Martin feels his lips form a grin.

“Please,” he breathes out; the next second their lips meet, soft but urgent, desperate and sick of waiting. Martin's hand dives into Jon's soft hair, fingers scraping the delicate skin of his head and earning him a low sound from Jon's throat. They pull each other closer and find a rhythm to lose themselves in for just a moment; the sensation of Jon's tongue swirling in his mouth, of his slender fingers on his cheek and his neck, the pressure of his body against his chest; all of it making Martin dizzy with happiness.

Martin pulls away when his lungs painfully remind him breathing is still a necessity and he opens his eyes to look at Jon – His soft lips, his nose, his pockmark scars, and his eyes, green yet with no trace of Beholding in them. He takes him in whole, with all of his flaws and all of his virtues, and he feels seen in return, seen by the man he loves and who loves him. The weight of it all hits Martin like a crashing wave and he pulls Jon in for a tight embrace.

“I love you,” he whispers against his shoulder, and he feels Jon's arms tightening around his torso.

“I love you too, Martin.”

[hualianff]

ASMR/Streamer AU

Thinking about an AU with video-game streamer HC and ASMRist XL. Both have huge followings on Youtube and other social media; both never show their faces.

On his channel, MantouASMR, XL uses audio from everyday things like cutting fruit or typing at his computer. Other times, he plans out a general script to help his viewers sleep or motivate them for the day. XL writes and reads his own poetry, as well as sings on his channel too.

XL strives to be the most attentive and considerate content creator. He is constantly reading his viewers’ comments and taking up their suggestions for future videos. Anything to help his viewers get through their day or lift their mood.

(One time, XL read a comment from the parent of a child who was MantouASMR’s superfan. XL’s voice apparently helped their son sleep when he’s scared of the monster under his bed. In his next “Time to Sleep” video, XL iterated a short thank you message for the son and his parent for listening and watching his videos, and he hoped he could continue helping in the future.)

(Another time, XL read a comment from a student who said his voice helped her concentrate on her maths homework—though she mentioned she still doesn’t understand integrals and derivatives. The following day, XL uploaded an ASMR math lesson.)

XL’s voice is known to be very soothing, his whispers as airy and delicate as a spring breeze. His lower register is smooth like honey, and anyone who happens to hear his melodious laughs on a live stream instantly falls in love with his character.

On the other hand, HC’s voice is enticingly deep but has a deadly edge to it. He has no shortage of vulgar language, especially when it comes to playing with other streamers. When HC posts an occasional video that’s not video-game-related such as a rare Q&A, he’s somewhat more pleasant.

Of course, HC is incredibly grateful for his followers’ support. He just finds himself involved in too much internet bullshit even when he respectfully minds his own business. HC supposes that it comes with being China’s number one video game streamer—Crimson Rain Ghost King—watched by millions all around the globe. However, this doesn’t stop HC from being vocal about his opinions and expressing himself without giving a fuck what others thought.

Naturally, HC and XL are in completely separate circles on the Youtube platform. As far as their fans are concerned, a mellow ASMRist and a brash gamer don’t interact with each other...

Here’s the catch: Hualian are secretly married.

XL and HC have been together for over ten years now—married for just under three years. They felt no need to disclose their full relationship when HC began gaining popularity as a streamer, nor when XL’s channel tripled in size a few years later.

In his lives, XL often mentions his mysterious husband a lot. For the third anniversary of his channel, XL retells his wedding day. The picture for the video is of HC’s and his intertwined hands with a red string attaching their middle fingers.

HC was the first one to subscribe to XL’s channel (from a side account). He never fails to remind XL that “Gege has many gifts to share with the world.”

Out of nowhere, a trashy review journal bashes XL’s videos, calling them unoriginal and lowkey creepy because XL is “...a full-grown man whispering random shit that people love for some reason.” HC tries to keep XL from reading the article, but he’s too late. What’s worse is that other media sites speculate XL’s identity after, trying to expose him.

XL has experienced media backlash in the past. This event has him revisiting trauma where he nearly lost everyone in his life. He also went through severe depression and has developed major anxiety since then. One of the main reasons XL started his Youtube channel was because he wanted to be the person of comfort he wished he had had during those dark times.

Witnessing how affected XL is by the article and online hate, HC’s already-thin patience is close to snapping. That specific journal does nothing but writes drama-seeking shit about creators with a notable platform–HC included. Not that he gives a fuck about it.

Except they made XL their next target, and that is unacceptable. HC promptly makes a video grilling the hell out of the journal and the writer who published the article, making it very clear that, “Whoever reads and supports this bullshit are the scum of the Earth.”

HC uploads the video, then proceeds to make a XL-care-burrito. He feeds his husband, keeps him warm, and cuddles him all day. After dinner, XL feels renewed with energy, thoroughly enjoying his Saturday with his biggest, most devoted fan. XL decisively unwraps himself from the burrito and goes to make that sewing tutorial ASMR video he planned for the weekend.

HC’s viewers are once again curious as to if he has connections to XL. They begin digging up evidence but after the short investigation, it seems not to be the case.

Of the two instances XL couldn’t edit out him saying his husband’s name on live, no one seemed to agree on what the two muffled syllables were. XL never shows above his chest (he wears a facemask in case of a slip-up) or goes into too much detail with his stories. Both XL and HC’s other social media accounts are squeaky clean. Plus, you can count on one hand how many times HC has mentioned anything about his personal life.

Their fans stop their analysis, for the most part; XL’s viewers adamant about protecting his privacy and HC’s viewers not wanting to piss their idol off.

With Youtube being an important and time-consuming side of their life, XL and HC make sure to balance their personal, professional, and romantic lives as best as they can, or re-evaluate priorities when things begin to go downhill.

In addition to streaming, HC works as an animator for a respectable company. He has flexible work conditions and schedules.

HC during his stream debuting a new popular game: “I helped make this game, of course I know what I’m doing.” XL watches from the side wearing an adoring and proud smile.

XL is an open and free-spirited soul, so he switches side jobs often such as a barista, salesman, model, etc.

HC’s other hobbies include photography, music, traditional art, and bowling. (He has impeccable aim for obvious reasons.) XL enjoys seeing his friends (SQX, MUA; MQ, lawyer; FX, lawyer), cooking, reading, and skateboarding.

Extras:

-HC often streams with XL in his lap.

-Hualian create NSFW ASMR for themselves.

-(HC in their bed, listening to one of XL’s ASMR videos...

XL, smiling like a minx and slipping into bed shirtless: “Why watch my video when you have the real thing right here?”)

-Someone edits a comedic video with XL and HC’s voices, comparing their styles and approaches to speech. It garners lots of attention for their respective channels, the hashtag #mantouxcrimson ??? trending for a few days.

Video title: You’re friends with both Mantou Gege and Crimson Rain

(In the video)

Situation 1: You haven’t started your homework and it’s already midnight.

XL’s voice: “Whatever you do, don’t put too much pressure on yourself. You can’t do things well if your mind is unwell. Try to finish the things that need to be done, but be kind to yourself~~”

HC’s voice: “You little fucker, what have you been doing this whole time!? If you don’t do your job in the next five seconds, I’ll make sure to bury your worthless dead body where no one can find you-“

(Brainchild with @no-one-says-hi)

[ladykissingfish]

Dining Out with the Akatsuki

Pein

The Pein-body doesn’t need food to sustain itself, but Nagato has made it so that he can taste and experience eating through the body. Surprisingly his favorite dish is a simple fish stew, which he enjoys several bowls full of, paired with a beer or two and a few pieces of delightfully crusty bread. But more so than the food, Nagato enjoys “being” with the others, especially Konan. When they were younger he and the blue haired beauty were often on the brink of total starvation, so to be able to afford the luxury of eating prepared foods in a nice establishment, and to do so with FRIENDS, is a dream that he’d never have dared to dream. Is a very tidy eater, and constantly makes sure the others are keeping their areas clean, so as not to make too much work for their waiter/waitress. The type to, if he thinks the server has too many empty plates and glasses to take back, will get to and help that person carry the empties back to the kitchen. Also makes sure everyone tips, even Kakuzu.

Konan

When going out to eat, Konan will always order a salad. That’s it. And it’s not because she’s a dainty eater; it’s because she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that every other member of the Akatsuki will be sharing large portions of THEIR food with her. Even Kakuzu will push whatever cheap dinner he’s bought across the table to her and gruffly tell her to take some of whatever’s there. The waiter or waitress will come back to the table to refill drinks and be confused that the delicate-looking salad girl is elbows deep in fries, ribs, steak, and anything else the group has pressed on her. And dessert is another matter entirely. ALL of them (with the exception of Kakuzu because he feels sharing his dinner was more than enough) will fight over who gets to buy Konan dessert. Usually settled with spirited games of rock-paper-scissors, and the winner gets to pick (and buy, of course) what sweet treat Konan gets. Also she never ends up paying for the salad she initially ordered, either, as the one buying her dessert will usually go ahead and spring for that, as well.

Hidan

Hidan is a big meat-eater, so when they go out to eat will typically order several pork, chicken, or beef-based dishes. His favorite is spare ribs, and he’s such an aggressive eater that the sauce will ruin whatever shirt he’s been made to wear for the evening. Watching him eat things like steak is always a bit gross, as he orders it cooked as rare as possible and always makes a big production out of licking the excess blood from his arms/the plate. He isn’t really a fan of sides, though, in particular vegetables; and will always push off the undesirables on his plate to whoever’s sitting closest to him (most often Kakuzu who will take whatever’s offered because hey, free food). He’s also one of the few who won’t order any sort of alcoholic drink with his meal, as he claims Jashinism prohibits the consumption of such things. Sodas or sweet fruit punches are his thing, and he drinks so much of this that he’ll end up rushing to the bathroom to pee a bunch before the meal is over. Is the fastest eater in the bunch so will try and start arguments or have arm wrestling contests with the others to pass the time along. If the waitress is pretty, he’ll flirt shamelessly and leave a big enough tip to make Kakuzu faint.

Kakuzu

It takes a LOT to get Kakuzu to go out and eat with everyone; he’s the epitome of the “we have food at home” mantra. When he does, he’ll always go for the absolute cheapest meal on the menu, even if the dish isn’t something he particularly likes. Also isn’t shy about using his advanced age to his advantage, to make use of senior specials and coupons. Always requests for there to be no salt in his meal because “too much sodium raises blood pressure which is bad for the heart”, and after all he’s got several hearts to take care of. Doesn’t really partake in the conversations at the table except to occasionally comment to the others about food being left on their plates; yes, even with the others paying for their own meals, he’s still hyper concerned about wasting money. The only time he likes going out to eat is his birthday, when everyone else will chip in to buy his meal for him. A big Sake drinker and will have almost an entire bottle ((of the cheapest kind)) with his meal, but he holds his liquor so well that he never seems drunk.

Sasori

Doesn’t eat but going out with the others is one of the few things he enjoys. He is someone who prefers elegant, quiet atmospheres, therefore favors going to smaller, somewhat exclusive restaurants. Since his attention isn’t focused on food, he’ll get up and wander from the table a lot, taking in the artwork (if any) on the walls. Has a special (and unexpected) talent, in calming down the fussy children of other diners. Because he’s curious about everything, he’ll ask Deidara or Itachi to describe their meals to him in heavy detail.

Deidara

This guy can eat. He, Hidan and Tobi are the biggest eaters in the company, so when everyone goes to a restaurant or cafe together, separate checks are a necessity ((Kakuzu: All I had was tea! Why should we split the bill when those fucks had 12 plates each?!)) Shares a slight commonality with Kakuzu in that his favorite meal is fish-based, and Kisame has taught him well in regards to knowing whether a fish is fresh or not. He isn’t the neatest diner, and will constantly be reminded by Pein or Konan to tidy up his area before the waiter/waitress comes back to the table. Will ALWAYS ask the server about the specials of the day, even though 9 times out of 10 he already knows what he’s going to order. Deidara has the ability to taste food through his hands, and will sometimes make a show of eating with all three mouths at once (which fascinates the other diners but leaves his own team disenchanted, to say the least). Can easily be goaded into eating “competitions” with Hidan, which almost always results in severe stomachaches and a need to be carried back to the hideout by their respective partners.

Tobi

What’s an entree? This guy will always go straight for the dessert menu. At first Pein and the others tried to stop him, telling him dessert was only to be had after a balanced meal; but Tobi’s tendency to eat a single bite of an expensively-priced steak quickly convinced the others to mind their own business. Whether at home or out to dinner, meal times are the only times he removes his mask; he still wears a rough black cloth over his eyes but without the mask everyone can see the (slightly scarred) bottom half of his face — and his smile. Which he does a lot; it’s obvious that spending time with the others means a great deal to him. His voice changes just slightly too — he still says the most out of place, goofy things, only in a much deeper tone of voice. Deidara especially is completely thunderstruck by how calm and quiet and NORMAL Tobi seems without the mask, and comes up with the (correct) theory that Tobi literally becomes a different person with that orange monstrosity on. Can be goaded into eating contests with Deidara and Hidan, although his food tolerance isn’t as high as these two and will more than likely spend all night in the bathroom.

Zetsu

Never ever joins the others when they dine out. Like never. Will occasionally use his exceptional scouting skills to scope out new venues for the group, but that’s as far as it goes.

Kisame

Restaurants aren’t really his thing, so (as in many other circumstances) will only accompany the others if Itachi goes as well. Like Pein and Deidara, goes mostly for fish-based meals, although he does enjoy an extra rare steak on occasion. Doesn’t drink alcohol but will order many cups of tea or, in the winter, cocoa. Is one of the few in the group who knows just how bad Itachi’s eyesight has gotten, so will always lean close and quietly whisper to him things on the menu that he thinks he’d like to eat. Enjoys eating establishments where they play soft music; it always puts him in a relaxed state of mind. Kisame is like Pein in that he abhors rudeness towards servers and restaurant staff, and will jump in quickly (and often very harshly) to “reprimand” anyone he feels is being an ass, whether it be another customer or his own team mates. Has gotten into a fistfight with Hidan twice over some of the more lewd things he’s said to waitresses, one of which got the whole group banned from that particular place. Doesn’t like desserts but will ask both Itachi and Konan what THEY would get for dessert, orders both things, and gives it to them.

Itachi

Like Kisame, dining out isn’t really his deal, but will go every now and then when the “persuasion” of the others wears him down (Deidara: You antisocial asshole; are you too good to spend time with us or what, hm?!). Prefers places that are small and dimly lit; bright lights hurts his eyes immensely and he’s never been comfortable in large crowds of people. A trick his father taught him when he was younger was that, when eating in a public place, always go with somebody you can trust to keep an eye on the entrance for possible enemies; so Itachi will always sit in a spot where he’s facing the door, to protect the rest of the group. Eats his food slower than the others (everyone thinks it’s because he savors his meal but really it’s because he has trouble seeing it), and, like Tobi, is a bigger fan of desserts than the entree. Also has a thing with napkins; will sit and tear one napkin up into dozens of tiny strips while the others talk to each other, or sometimes shows off Konan’s origami lessons by turning them into little flowers or birds. Hidan gets easily annoyed by him because Hidan flirts mercilessly with every female in sight — but Itachi simply sits there quietly and has every female in the restaurant staring at him with wide eyes and lovesick faces. Hasn’t once left a restaurant without being asked out by at least 3 women (all of whom be very politely turns down, but still).

[kendrixtermina]

If you're doing tritype comparisons, I'm not sure of my heart fix. I'm a 6w5 with a 1 fix and probably not a 2 fix.

im not sure i have acecss to any sources that you havent already seen but I'll just do my usual thing

General 3 vs. 4 fix

4 fix

more guarded compared to others of same core type (though other 4 fixers may read this as "lack of forced friendlyness")

stresses their tastes & preferences (ie, rant about music they really don’t like)

suspicious of hype & overly popular things - some tedecy to be the contrarian voice in a conversation

peoples characteristics, including one's own, are seen as more "fixed", so imitating a celebrity seems pointless because you are you, not them. You don't have their particular talents (-> "envy") & having a second copy of the celeb "adds" nothing to the world.

3 fix

especially if it’s the 2nd fix this can show as being more positive and/or better at self-motivating and a tendency to follow trends or fads

but it’s just as likely to show as just less obvious emotional coloration, or just adaptiveness/ social perceptiveness, or even ‘icyness’ - so you’ll often arrive at this by principle of exclusion.

An observation from reddit type me threads is that these will use the phrasing of wanting to be/ become certain things. - Sensors say they "copy cool traits from cool people " intuitives use more flowery terms like they "envision what is needed to accomplish ones goals & then become it." - reading life stories of enterpreneurs or celebrities & trying to work out "their secrets" etc.

wanting to live up to people's expectations, might repeat (or at least feel tempted to repeat) what got them praised in the past.

a 3 fixed artist, even if they have, say, a bigass double 4 wing, might be apologetic about no longer being "the old version" of themselves, like it's hard to not react to people's trope version of you even if you eventually move on/ disown it.

Whereas 4 fixed ones may make the second album completely different to the first - "can the posers who liked us only because of hype please go home now?" basically. you want ppl to see you but in the specific way that you want to be seen & if its not that then its existential crisis time. If the fans don't like the Insane Asylum Aesthetic then eff them we're gonna do Insane Asylum as long as the person feels like it because theyre primarily doing the art for themselves...

in 2 the performance is strictly for others and in 3 for both self & others and sometimes those needs conflict.

Each fix has its own separate version of the Mortifying Ordeal Of Being Known, basically.

613 vs 614

despite being 1 number off the alchemy of how it combines it somewhat different.

6+4 -> Lots of raw negativity & then the overlap with the 1 is Yet More Criticism. So 614 is really negative skewing.

Whereas 613 is a lot more neutral. It's still way more fiery/temperamental (& more "human"/"everymannish") than the triple competency trifix but still pretty  efficiency focussed.

Plus without a "bad" identifying component like the 4 the combined moralism of the 6 and 1 are going to be more apparent.

But the biggest overlap between 6,1 and 3 is work orientation. If you slap a 7 wing on the 6 and sprinkle on some sx you might still get a "work hard play hard" person with a bit of a fun capacity but generally these are very focussed on hard work & morals, & maintan a clean wholesome image. They'd want others to admire the goodness & sucess, though a core 6 would maintain claims of humility.

i know one specimen irl who hasnt got a single bad grade in his life, spends his vacations taking doctor courses to get yet more qualifications despite already having a ton, & really likes volunteering for humanitarian causes.

whereas 614 with the 6 and 4 put together there wouldnt be an aversion to the "controversial" esp. when morally justified. This trifix would punch a nazi basically. (So basically my guess would be that one.)

[hobidreams]

The Early Shift | Last Cup {M}

the last sip of coffee is always the most bittersweet.

pairing: barista!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst, sprinkling of fluff words: 9.5k contains: coffee shop au, enemies to lovers, jealous/awkward yoongi, condomless sex, softness (ish), dirty talk, spanking, oral (f), hair pulling, the truth index: first sip - second taste - last cup

“H-Hyung?” The word is foreign on your tongue as you swivel, catch sight of Yoongi’s face. He’s gone ashen, stony as he barrels towards you two, abandoning the inventory checklist with a clatter onto the counter.

Yoongi’s hands dig into your wrist as he forces you behind him, taking your place instead right in front of Jiwon’s still smiling face. Except the grin is now somewhat plastered in place on his handsome lips. “Jiwon.”  Yoongi drops the familiar term, his eyes more combative than you’ve ever seen them. Combative, yet not with the fires of passion he usually turns on you. Instead, a chill so cold, so empty you hardly recognize it.

“Ahhh...” Jiwon exhales, covering his mouth with a broad palm, scratching the skin just beneath his lips with a groomed fingernail. “It’s been a while… I’m still your hyung, you know.”

“Bullshit.” Yoongi whips the word at him, but Jiwon doesn’t back away.

“I thought you hated the night shift.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Is that why you’re here then? To ruin something else for me behind my back?”

The tension is so weighty it settles in the pit of your stomach as you look from man to man, neither one offering any explanation. Deadlocked in a standoff of stares or glares depending on the man. Their only weapons are their words, which could cut just as deeply as any blade.

This isn’t good. Especially because there’s still a customer left in the store.

So you throw yourself into the fray. “Yoongi, what’s wrong?” You ask in what you hope is a calm voice. “How do you know Jiwon?”

The second Jiwon’s name comes out of your mouth, Yoongi jerks towards you. “I don’t. Nothing’s happening. He’s just leaving.”

“Yoongi, you can’t just kick out a customer.” You feel bad – Jiwon is starting to look like a kicked puppy with his lips drawn down, somber.

“Can and will.”

“Yoongi…” Jiwon clenches his coffee. “Listen—”

He’s cut off when a blare of familiar song whips through the café. “I KNOW, we don’t talk together!” Volume turned up to the max, the music reverberates off the walls themselves.

“Sorry!” The only customer squeaks, the ringtone obviously hers as she answers the call. “Hello?” She hurries out the door, leaving awkward silence in her wake.

You didn’t think it was possible, but Yoongi’s scowl deepens further. It just had to be this song, the damn reminder of what he’s lost. The lines carved into his face are so hardened and painful you wish you could offer relief. Instead, you swallow that look and all its implications. Then something clicks in your brain.

“Wait, Yoongi...” You gesture to Jiwon, hands slightly shaking, “is he…”

Yoongi grunts, irritated that he can’t hide it any longer. “It’s your lucky day. Meet DJ Alex.” His voice is deadpan. “Or should I say, Do Jiwon.”

“Do… Jiwon.” You repeat in a whisper. “DJ.”

“Yup.”

Another silence, but this time it covers you in its heavy grasp. This Jiwon. This charming, handsome Jiwon that you almost asked out, imagined yourself possibly dating. This Jiwon that’s actually nothing but a thief.

Said man rakes a hand through his dark hair. “Yoongi, let me explain myself, please.”

With another scoff, Yoongi breaks the stare-off. He turns. His eyes find yours of all things and he just exhales as if it’s all too much. “Jiwon. Just… Just go.” He steps away from the counter, tensed fingers finding your wrist. He means to drag you both into the backroom. Running away from this mess like he always has.

But you’re not done yet.

Your mind is exploding with questions, with emotions bolstered by the absolute fatigue in Yoongi’s eyes. Why isn’t he defending himself? He so eagerly goes head to head with you but here? Here is where he loses his nerve? He’s just going to let Jiwon get away with it all without so much as a scolding? When Jiwon took his best chance away from him and his inspiration with it?

No. No damn way are you going to stand there and take that.

You jerk your hand free. Before Yoongi can grab you again, you storm back to the counter. “What the fuck, Jiwon?”

Some carnal part of you relishes the shock in Jiwon’s eyes when your voice whips at him, respectful honorifics dropped.

“What the actual fuck? You just come back here just to offer excuses about what you did?” Your finger jabs at the air over his chest. “If you want to call yourself his hyung, then you should make yourself fucking deserving of that name!” Your volume raises with every word you sucker punch at him. “But no, instead, you betrayed him! Just abandoned him!”

Jiwon’s mouth flaps but nothing comes out.

“How dare you come back into his life and remind him of all that? Of the shitty thing you did and are still enjoying now?” You’re on a roll, apparently. You didn’t even know you had it in you to defend Yoongi so vehemently when you usually spend your time doing the exact opposite. But the resignation in the way he bites his lip scrapes at your heart.

“Yoongi trusted you. You were his partner!” Jiwon shrivels with every syllable. “The only thing worse than a coward, which you are for dodging him, is a goddamn liar.”

You’re left slightly breathless at the end of your tirade, tense hands splayed across the bar You glare at Jiwon, but he refuses to meet your expression, your anger. Instead, he burns a hole in the counter for half a minute before he dares to looks up. Then his eyes flicker to Yoongi. You stiffen, ready for an explosion.

“…You’re right.” When Jiwon finally speaks, his voice has lost all flirtatious flair. It sounds small, pathetic. “I did a shitty thing. A shitty, selfish thing.”

What an ass—

Wait.

Wait, what?

“Y-Yeah!” You can’t quite hold on to the full amount of anger in your tone when he’s not feeding your fire. But having Yoongi in your peripheral vision keeps you from moving an inch. “Damn right it was shitty!”

“The producers, they just. Fuck.” Jiwon sighs, gritting his teeth. “Fuck, I know I can’t take back what I did. But. But Yoongi…” Your hands clench into fists, ready to counter whatever excuse he comes up with. Or his anger, which would be apt considering the venom you’ve thrown his way. “Yoongi, I’m sorry.”

You actually take a step back.

“I’m sorry. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

This is… Not what you were expecting. And judging by the way Yoongi’s mouth just falls open, he hadn’t predicted it either. He just keeps blinking as if he figures he’ll wake up at any minute.

Jiwon stutters something unintelligible as he fishes in his jacket for a wallet. It’s much fumbling before he drops a white card onto the table, his name embossed on the front. “I-If you want, I can introduce you to some connections and we can get your music out there, Yoongi. Let me help you! Please.” He pushes the card across the counter. “Call me. Let me make up for this.”

Oh, hell no.

You take one look at the flimsy card stock and snatch it up. “He doesn’t need your pity!” You scrunch it up in your fist. Whip the paper ball towards the door. “Just get out!”

Finally, Jiwon gets the point. He gives Yoongi one last look (regret? sorrow? who the hell cares) before he whirls around. Even leaves his coffee behind in his haste. The chime goes off and now, you are left alone together.

You both stare out the door for a long minute, neither of you sure how to proceed. Eventually, your fingers stitch together, oddly flustered as you slowly turn to fully face Yoongi. He seems to have recovered from the initial jolt. He’s closed his flabbergasted mouth, opting for a thin-lipped glower instead. Except this one seems directed at you.

You feel like you should say something, but what? The tension nips at your mind, begging to be shattered. Needs to be, if you are going to move forward.

“Yoongi—”

He beats you to it. “You know what? I don’t need your pity either.” Then he disappears into the backroom, door slamming decisively shut.

He just leaves you standing there like a fish caught on a deadly hook, stuck with bleeding thoughts, hands numb, trembling. You weren’t expecting gratitude, no. Still, you didn’t think he would react like… this, either. Not when the other option was to let Jiwon go.

But you don’t see Yoongi again until an hour has passed. Those two lines, spat like poison, become the last words Yoongi says to you for the rest of the night as he stalks, still mute, to the OPEN sign. He whips it CLOSED precisely one second after the proper time and begins the mopping duties without even so much as a glance your way.

You can’t muster the courage to even try knocking on the wall he’s suddenly re-erected between you; all you can do is look down at the change you’re counting and try to not let it get to you.

You finish the evening in this same solitude. The cleaning gets done. The store is locked, shuttered. Eventually, you go your separate ways in the darkness without so much as a wave of acknowledge. Yoongi’s hands remain stuck in his pockets, closed off, while you pick at your nails in nervous habit as you walk away from him.

Tomorrow, Yoongi is back on his regular shift. Meanwhile, you still have two weeks of your night shift trade left to go. That means your paths don’t have any opportunity to cross.

And so, they simply don’t.

To your credit, you try your best not to think about Yoongi. But your mind just keeps playing that scene over and over again, determined to force you to analyze every word, every gesture. And that song is making a comeback on the radio, if only to serve no other purpose than to antagonize you.

Perfect. Just freakin’ perfect.

You make it all of a week.

“Hey Jungkook… Can I ask you something?”

“Always! Shoot.” Jungkook leans against the bar, letting his adorable, earnest smile shine through.

Here goes nothing. “H-Have you spoken to Yoongi at all?” You’re trying your best to keep your voice casual, not wanting to betray the hours of contemplation spent pondering whether or not you should be asking this question in the first place. Clearly, you’ve been real productive these past seven days.

Jungkook doesn’t look surprised at your query. Or maybe he just hides it well. Either way, he nods. “Not much. Just a little bit when our shifts overlap.” His huge eyes may look innocent, but there’s a gleam of mischief as he deliberately refuses to elaborate any further than that.

Brat. He’s not going to make this easy on you. “Is he… Is he okay?”

Jungkook shrugs. “No injuries. He hasn’t gotten into any fistfights.”

“Yah, you know what I mean.” You smack him on the arm.

He laughs, infuriatingly carefree. “Sorry, sorry. But seriously, he just looks normal, maybe a little tired. Then again, I only see him for like half an hour. Not a lot of time to have deep, soul-searching conversations.”

You don’t know what answer you were hoping for, but it still leaves you disappointed. “Hm.”

Hm, indeed. He looks fine, while you’ve been replaying last week over and over again in your mind like a broken record. Cool. That’s totally cool.

“So he hasn’t… talked or asked about me or anything?”

Hoseok, coming up from behind Jungkook, is the one to answer instead. “Well, actually.” It’s comical how your heart soars at that, leaping bounds and valleys from just two words. But you come crashing down when he ultimately ends up shaking his head. “Wait. Sorry, shit. I… can’t tell you.”

Your eyes narrow. “You can’t? So he has said something?”

Hoseok casts his gaze downward. “It’s really not for me to say.” He purposefully smooths out non-existent wrinkles on his apron.

Jungkook’s doe eyes turn on you. “Noona, have you tried just asking him yourself?”

…Kind of. The text you sent a few days, the careful ‘Hey, Yoongi, are you there?’ had gone woefully unanswered. You eventually had to archive the conversation altogether, to prevent your obsessive checking over whether or not he had replied. Altogether, a disaster.

“It’s… It’s fine. It’s whatever,” you end up muttering. Thankfully, the door sounds and you vehemently turn towards the new customer that’s just entered the shop, grateful for the distraction.

You know your coworkers are much too clever to believe your stammered words. But at least they’re kind enough not to probe any further.

It is on a Friday, the last night of your month-long shift swap, that reality smacks you in the face.

Reality is this: you will be forced to face Yoongi in three days, and things remain extremely awkward between you. He is still ignoring you. Not that you can really blame him, after these two weeks to contemplate that decisive moment. While you don’t regret what you said to Jiwon, you probably shouldn’t have stuck your nose into Yoongi’s issue and taken over for him. Should have respected his decision to back off, no matter how unjust.

Which means you should probably apologize.

Just one problem. You hate doing that. Especially to Yoongi.

But you were the one who committed the wrong, so you have to be the one to extend the olive branch. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, nothing like the lattes you prefer but more like a dark roast: rich, full, and awful. That’s how Yoongi had tasted too, his tongue sliding against yours so feverishly like a man possessed. You hadn’t minded the flavor then.

“Hobi, how do you apologize to someone?” You rest your hands on the top of the mop, then your cheek on top of that.

Hoseok tilts his head to the side, a cute “hm?” coming out of his heart-shaped mouth. “Depends on how bad the situation is, I think!”

“Pretty bad, I guess?”

He hums, as if he knows exactly what this is in reference to. Then he raises a finger in triumph, like he’s just discovered the secret to the universe. “Go with a gift! You can never go wrong with a present!”

Hm! You nod approvingly. That’s a perfect idea.

Thus, your Saturday becomes dedicated to making a gift for Yoongi.

Yes, making, because you can’t exactly afford expensive music equipment. You don’t think Yoongi would appreciate a bag of coffee beans from his place of employment. Somehow, a stuffed animal doesn’t seem to fit his aesthetic either; you also really don’t want to add to the clutter of his place. So, your genius mind has settled on creating a mixtape. A playlist full of songs you hope can express how sorry you are, and how you hope to move on from this.

There’s one surprise at the very end of the CD: a piece that’s self produced. It’s just two minutes of you, a shitty phone microphone, and some heartfelt rambling. Look, apologizing is hard, okay? You don’t think you have the gall to do it in person, so this is the next best thing.

The sun is just beginning to set when you reach Yoongi’s apartment, finished present in hand. You’re contemplating whether to knock or just leave the tiny bag you have on the handle. One of these options is easier than the other. But maybe you owe it to him to at least ensure it gets to him.

Your knocks go unanswered.

Eventually, you have to accept that he’s out, a fact that has relief pouring over you. You loop the bag straps around the door. He’ll get it whenever he reaches home, you suppose. And if he chooses to snap it in half without listening to it, well, that’s his prerogative too. You’ve done your part. You’ve been the bigger person.

You manage to get all the way back to your apartment without thinking of the package, blasting music from your headphones to drown out your thoughts. You eat your dinner, watch an episode of the latest KBS drama, water your plants. Hell, you even start actually doing the research for your paper due in three weeks. But throughout it all, you can’t shake the listlessness that sits beneath your skin like an unwanted visitor, ever so often poking you with a sharp stick.

You know too well why it’s there: your damn curiosity that won’t leave you alone.

You want desperately to know if your gift has been received, and how. Will he understand what you’re trying to say? Maybe you should have put your apology at the beginning instead of the end. Maybe you shouldn’t have gone with Super Junior’s Sorry Sorry, even though you needed something in the middle to break up the torrent of sappy songs. Oh god. The what ifs threaten to drive you stark wild for the utter lack of answers. (Though judging by your current state, perhaps they already have.)

“Uggggh, that’s it!” You announce to your succulent, desk chair clattering as you shove viciously to your feet. “I’m going to bed!”

With great, groaning creaks, the elevator doors open on the floor of Yoongi’s apartment. Yoongi drags his exhausted body through them, reeking of smoke, stale cologne, and alcohol, courtesy of the bar he just left. His head is still a little fuzzy, but it’s not too bad. A nice haze. The walk here in the cool night air has already sobered him up some. He just needed to get out of the house. Needed to stop thinking for a while.

But the pressure lingering in his system had refused to budge even after the second shot, fifth drink in total, which was what finally prompted him to get his sorry ass back home. He’s desperate for something to relieve what’s been pent-up, the ugliness building and bubbling uncontrollably inside him these past weeks. Sex distracts him, usually. But a meaningless hookup… that would erase the memories of your pretty mouth on him, the heat of your body tangled up with his. He can’t bring himself to do that. Not that he can admit this, even in his own mind. So, he resigns himself to another night of his fist wrapped around his own length and a mediocre climax.

Yoongi sighs as he rounds the corner, digging in his pocket for his keys. Just as he pulls the ring out, he spots the conspicuous bag tied to his door. Who would be sending gifts like this? Jimin? No, his friend from college is currently out of town, he remembers. But nobody else would leave—he peers inside—a CD of all things, with his name scribbled upon it. This handwriting is familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

He grabs the bag and enters the darkness of his place. He drops his jacket on the couch, then makes his way to his computer. Slides the CD inside the console. Waits.

The first song is something indie, something sorrowful. Yoongi doesn’t recognize it but he gives it a listen. It’s not bad. But the next song is even slower, even sadder. Most definitely not his usual type of music, and for good reason. He cringes at the third piece.

The songs just keep coming, all playing off the same apologetic theme. Whoever put together this playlist has no idea what they’re doing, he thinks. The genres are all over the place, with no coherent flow like a proper mixtape should. They all just happen to contain the word ‘sorry’ in the title or lyrics. “The hell is this,” Yoongi mutters, laughing at the absurdity as he stands up halfway through, deciding to take a shower without even bothering to turn the music off.

Yoongi takes his time beneath the hot water – lets it wash away the grime of the night. It helps remove some of the buzz from his mind. By the time he steps out of the bathroom, he feels almost completely sober. He’s distracted with towelling off his hair; he doesn’t even notice that music is no longer playing until he hears speech.

“...eah, so, I guess what I’m trying to say...”

He freezes.

But that’s your voice.

The voice he hasn’t heard in weeks but could pick out of a crowd in a second. The voice that once hammered on his brain on a daily basis but now douses it in undeniable relief, comfort.

Yoongi is glad no one is around to witness him rushing to the desktop, hurriedly replaying the track that’s currently on. He plugs in his headphones, dragging them over his head even though his hair drips with water.

“Hey, Yoongi.” You sound so uncharacteristically quiet it makes his chest tight. “I-I know you’re trying to avoid me, and I don’t blame you.” He gnaws at his bottom lip as he listens to you explain your thoughts. Even though your tone wavers at certain moments, you just keep pressing on. It makes his chest feel inexplicably tight.

“Yeah, so, I guess what I’m trying to say is I’m sorry. I won’t interfere with your business again. And I won’t cross the professional lines between us anymore. I hope we can still work together. Okay. That’s, uh, all from me. Goodnight.”

Yoongi sits in the silence for all of three seconds before he hits the back button. Plays it again. Then again.

“God damn it!” He rips off the headphones, surges to his feet. “You’re so damn silly. It’s not your fault! How could any of this be your fault?”

But then whose is it?

Jiwon is the easiest culprit. But he’s apologized. He’s trying to move on, even trying to help Yoongi, even though that’s just salt in the wound. The only person still mired inside this self-made prison is Yoongi. He made his home in these concrete walls, punishing himself, thinking it was the easiest way out. Still bitter and trying to pretend like he can just stay angry forever because the only person it fucked up was himself.

But now it’s affecting you.

Hearing your voice like this, it’s all laid out for him. Reality and truth stab him in the gut, forcing him to finally acknowledge how he’s hurt you, the one person who has nothing to gain from helping him, yet continues to do so again and again.

Yoongi rubs at his temples, regret radiating through him in waves. He should have realized it earlier, if only he could have pulled his head out of his ass. Hearing this, hearing your voice with that undercurrent of worry is like a punch to the gut and to his mind, blasting out any residual hesitancy.

You don’t deserve to sit in this uncertainty and pain of misunderstanding any longer.

A text isn’t enough. Nor is a call. He needs to see you. He needs to see you right now and tell you face to face just how sorry he is. How grateful. And maybe he just wants to see your face, because he kind of misses the way you scold him.

Haphazardly dressed, Yoongi rushes out the door, almost forgetting his keys in his haste. His slides slap against the floor as he frantically dials Namjoon, hoping he’s awake to get the address he so desperately needs. He jams his finger into the elevator call button, silently willing it to come faster.

No more, Yoongi thinks. No more running away from the hard shit, from his feelings. This time, he’s running right towards his future.

The clock blinks 1:00AM when you check it next, still as wide awake as when you shuffled beneath your covers two whole hours ago.

Damn it. It’s a good thing you have tomorrow off, because there’s no way in hell you could wake up at the crack of dawn otherwise. Counting sheep has proven to be useless, especially after you get up to Sheep #482 (it’s a cute one. Okay. They’re all cute.) Doing math equations in your head usually gets you conked out pretty quickly from sheer monotony, but it’s also futile tonight. Your mind is much too alive, active, overactive to let you doze off.

Then you hear the knocking.

Well, it’s more like a clatter. The sound of something hard slamming against your door, followed by a few wimpy taps. Yikes. Are you going to get murdered?

You slip out of bed, pick up your baseball bat. Weapon in hand, you creep towards the entrance, forgetting you’re not even wearing any bottoms. You press silently to the thick wood, maneuver your eye over the peephole to see what crazy bastard is here at this hour.

What you see has you yanking the door open, the bat clattering uselessly to the ground.

“Y-Yoongi?!”

It feels like a lifetime since you’ve last seen him. You didn’t know how much you missed that stupid, irritating, attractive face until it’s in front of you. Doubled over and breathless, hair a wind-blown mess.

“How the hell did you get my address?”

“Namjoon.” Yoongi is panting so hard he can hardly breathe. You swear he’ll keel over in the next minute. You don’t look forward to cleaning his body off your carpet. “Namjoongaveittome.” That’s all he can get out before he takes another gulp of air, face red with strain.

“Jeez, come in so you don’t bother my neighbours with your dying.” You usher him in, watch him stumble to your couch as you flick on a lamp to cast a glow over the room. He’s wearing a plain tee and sweatpants, but it’s the slides on his feet that probably explain his current discomfort. In his hands, he clutches the same bag you left on his doorstep. You try not to think about the implications of that. “Why didn’t you drive or take the bus or something?”

“Bus broke down… halfway. Had to run…”

You shove a glass of water into his hands and he gulps at it. A few droplets leak from his mouth. He wipes it away with the back of his hand. Classy.

“Thanks,” he finally says as his heart seems to stop threatening to jump out of his chest from fatigue, then speeds up again for another reason entirely.

You stare at each other wordlessly for a few beats.

“What’re you doing here, Yoongi?” It comes out in a harsher tone than you’d intended but your heart beats a drum in your chest, a rude rhythm that is mirrored in the trembling of your fingers.

“I should be saying that to you!” Yoongi reacts to the perceived animosity in your voice, lifting the bag and shaking it. “What is this supposed to be, huh?”

You force yourself to focus on fiddling with a loose thread on your shirt. Quelling the unease in your veins. “…Did you listen to it?”

“Yeah, I did.” Yoongi sets the cup on the coffee table with a smack. “First of all, you have awful taste. Secondly, this CD is completely unnecessary.”

“Oh.”

This squeak of a noise is accompanied by the sudden skydive of your heart, right towards the floor. At least that you can hide. But, against your will, disappointment and exhaustion create a cocktail of tears that prick at the corner of your eyes, threatening to spill over by the next second. No, no, no, you scold yourself but the lump swelling in your throat refuses to be swallowed down. You hate that more than anything, hate that it makes you look wimpy and weak.

When you turn your head, Yoongi catches sight of the glimmer of wet tears. “Oh, shit.” He throws the bag behind him. Scooting towards you, he puts a warm hand on your shoulder and his voice is right beside your ear and god damn it, why is he getting closer? But even you can hear the panic in his voice when he says, “no, no, oh god. I didn’t mean it like that.” He brushes your hair back to expose your downturned face. “Shit. Please don’t cry. Please.”

“I don’t want to cry either, Yoongi!” Your words sound waterlogged, but you force them out. Hope it’ll make him back off.

Instead his thumb comes beneath your eye to catch the stray tear that leaks out. He wipes it away as he murmurs your name so softly you can scarcely believe the noise came from his lips. “Look at me. Please.”

What can you do but obey? Min Yoongi will be the death of you, you swear it. That sentiment is doubled when you find his eyes and see nothing but sincerity in their darkness. He’s never studied you this way. It steals your breath, renders you in silent anticipation for what comes next.

“Look, I’m a fucking idiot.”

That actually makes you laugh, though it’s somewhat strangled as you wipe away the last of the tears. “Well, we both knew that. But why this time?”

“I… I shouldn’t have ignored you.” He drops his hand from your cheek. It sits against your bare thigh, the skin growing hot where you’re connected. “But I was scared. I felt ashamed and more than a little pissed off that you stood up to Jiwon when I couldn’t.” You say nothing. But that seems to make him even more jittery as he bursts out with, “E-Especially since you’re so god damn perfect all the time!”

“Perfect?” You repeat, bewildered as it couldn’t be further from the truth. “What the hell are you going on about?”

“You know… You just. You have your shit perfectly figured out! It just reminds me that I’m a mess.”

“No, I really don’t. Trust me.” Is that what he’s thought of you this whole time? No wonder he was so irritable. It’s almost laughable. “But Yoongi, why didn’t you confront Jiwon?”

He sighs at that, long and deep. “Just… After the whole incident, I had trouble writing. I had all this anger inside me. I didn’t know what to do with it. I wrote diss tracks but they all sounded unoriginal, whiny. Pop songs were the same. Generic and boring. I kept trying to write something better than ‘We Don’t Talk Together’. I was obsessed.” Yoongi is babbling faster, like a dam finally broken and flooding. You’re not afraid of the waters.

“It was easier for me. Easy to just blame everything on Jiwon, say it’s his fault the songs weren’t coming to me. So when he apologized…” He gives a laugh, but it’s a self-deprecating one. “I’ve spent the past weeks getting to this point, I guess. Of accepting that this shitty thing happened. I think I’m finally ready to move the fuck on. I hated that you made me confront that at the time, though.”

“You’re welcome,” you whisper, unable to resist the opportunity to poke at him. Hey, he made you cry. He deserves it.

“Uh huh.” Yoongi reaches behind his back to find the bag he threw momentarily aside. “So that’s why this CD is unnecessary. You don’t need to apologize to me.” He hands it to you. “Thank you. For helping me out. Even though I don’t deserve it.”

You set the bag on the table. “Of course, Yoongi. I wouldn’t just abandon you.”

“I know.” He actually smiles, eyes waning as your heart gives an extra loud thud.

The conversation peters out. You sit soaked in tension, unsure what the hell to do now. Especially because you’re hyperaware that his knee is right against yours and it feels like a million degrees, but neither of you are moving away. Your eyes are still locked to his, unfathomable and unyielding as you awkwardly hold wimpy grins. Even in this situation, your mind won’t stop running to inappropriate places, urging you to lean forward and kiss those pink lips.

But how does Yoongi feel?

“I, uh...” Yoongi gives a start as if he’s read your mind, but he doesn’t finish his thought.

“Anyway...” He hangs his head, cuts himself off again. “I was going to say...” Another trailing, unfinished sentence.

“You okay?” You murmur, his apparent nerves soothing your own.

“Agh, damn it. Okay. Here. Just – listen to this, okay?”

Yoongi whips out his phone, taps on the screen a few times before he places it on the table. Seconds later, music starts to play, a song you’ve never heard before. You tap your foot along to the opening synth, feeling the jazzy beat. Then a familiar voice comes on.

“Yoongi, is this you?!” You cry out, immediately reaching for the phone to turn the volume up.

Yoongi nods, saying nothing but his grin grows at how excited you are. You see the flash of gums, recognize it as the smile usually only reserved for customers. God, how your heart continues to flipflop at the sight.

You lean forward, trying to catch the fast-flowing rap. It’s poetic, weaves a story of a couple around the metaphor of a seesaw. A constant back and forth that ends in heartbreak, a dissolving that’s ultimately better for both parties in the end. When it ends, you instantly want to listen to it again – it’s that addicting.

“This is the song I wrote for the competition. I wanted to show you, since… Yeah.”

“Wow, it’s so good, Yoongi. I swear, you’re going to win.” You want to put this song in your music library and play it on repeat until you know every line. You play it again, listen silently as you really absorb the piece. “I really love the lyrics. And how it progresses. Also, how the singer leaves in the end, alone. I think too many songs out there promote the exact opposite message, even if it’s a shitty relationship, ya know?”

Yoongi nods, cheeks slightly flushed, but he looks so pleased. “Actually, this song,” his breath hitches, “I wrote it about you.”

“Me?”

At first, you’re flattered, beaming even. Then you remember the song’s contents.

“Umm... Wait...” You frown. He’s not saying... “You want to ‘put an end’ to us?” Hell, you didn’t even know there was an ‘us’ to be had!

“Ah, no!” Yoongi’s sleepy eyes blow wide, almost comically so with panic. “No. Definitely not.” His hands clench his knees tightly, as if to stop them from shaking. “I... wanna stop this ambiguous back and forth. This seesaw that we’re on. Of not being just coworkers but not really being anything more than that either.”

“...You want to be more?” Your voice comes out in a whisper as if you can scarcely believe it.

“Yes.” He exhales. “I want more. I want to be with you. Try things out with you. See where they go.” He drums his fingers against his leg. “You make me a better person. And I want to be there for you too.” His lips quirk up, not sure what expression to land on in his nervousness. “That is, uh, if you’ll have me.”

He’s adorable. So freaking cute. You never thought you would see Yoongi like this, and it’s just about the most endearing thing you’ve ever seen.

You lean forward and press your lips to his in answer.

Yoongi is soft.

You feel him hesitate for all of a second before he’s kissing you back, really kissing you back with all of his might. It’s sloppy and your rhythm is all off, but the passion that radiates from him pours the sweetest honey into your system to douse you in heat. He scarcely breaks away to breathe as he tilts his head, searching for a better angle to move against your mouth, to reaffirm this is truly happening and not just some fever dream.

His arms wind around your frame, tugging you closer as if he can’t bear to have any space between you while his tongue traces the outline of your lips. You open for him instinctively, unable to refuse any of his silent requests to taste. You’ve both been denied for too long, but time has not made you forget the curve of his mouth, the nibbles he loves to inflict. His breath tickles your skin as you finally find your pace together. A wild beat you thought you’d lost forever but now roars back to life.

That’s why you’re practically scrambling into his lap, shoving him backwards on the couch in your urgency. Having him against you, tongue flicking against yours, wipes away all thoughts save for him and how incredible this feels, how he feels. It makes you greedy for more, especially more of the muted groans of need that you coax from his throat and swallow.

It’s only when you scrunch your fingers around the back of his neck and come away slightly damp that you finally pause. “Ew, you’re all sweaty,” you tease with a cheeky grin.

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up and kiss me, damn it.” There’s the Yoongi you know so well.

“Rude.”

“You like me rude.” Just to prove his point, he shifts his hips, grinds his bulge against your needy core. Separated only by thin layers of fabric, you can feel him so well you can’t help but get wetter from the mere promise of him.

“T-That’s a damn lie.” But you’re flustered, distracted by the desire surging through your veins at the danger in his tone. It’s all too easy for you two to bring out the sass in each other, but now it keeps you on your toes, thrill in your system.

“Oh? So you don’t want me to throw you onto the bed and spank you until you come?” He accents his filthy words with hot, open-mouthed kisses down the side of your jaw, down your neck. This feels right. So fucking right, he wouldn’t stop for the world. He guides your loose top away, sucking wetly at the skin he exposes. Promising much more in the way of dark violet marks, but not giving it just yet.

“Well, I-I’m not saying that...”

That makes him laugh as he digs both hands beneath your ass and hauls you into the air. “That’s what I thought.” Your legs wrap around his hips, arms around his back. Hold him like he’s yours.

Though it’s a short few steps from the couch to bed, Yoongi keeps his mouth on your skin as if he’s mapping – every bit as desperate to know your body as you do his. He runs his tongue along the curve of your shoulder, obeying his instinctual desire to test your tolerance with the occasional bite. He grins at your yelps. You repay him by tugging at his scruff of hair, nails scraping the skin.

When his leg knocks against the bedframe, you expect him to fling you onto the sheets as promised. Instead he bends, lets you tumble down softly before joining you on the mattress with one knee. Yoongi glows in the dim lamplight, fair skin glistening with lingering sweat as he tugs off his shirt. You’ve never seen anything sexier in your life as he crawls between your legs, forcing them to spread with the hands that slide up your thighs.

“You look like you want something,” he utters in a low tone, toying with the seam of your panties. They are unfortunately plain, but he drinks them in as if they’re made of gold. Touches them with none of that delicacy though, as he hooks fingers under the band and threatens to rip.

You shift your hips, needing friction but he just teases you, lets the cotton drag across your skin only for him to pull it infuriatingly back into place. “Are you going to give it to me if I say yes?”

“Maybe, if you’re a good girl.”

Oh god. You’ve never been called that in your life but when he growls it out in that languid, devil-may-care way, you think you might just be whipped. You’d thought Yoongi devastating before, but that was nothing compared to the intimacy dripping from his fingertips as he removes them from your panties, begins the torturous ascent up your waist. Your whines of protest melt into moans when he eases your top over your head, exposing your naked body to him for the first time.

“Oh, fuck.” Yoongi goes blank. He swears every ounce of blood in him rushes to his swollen cock at the sight of you laid out like this, ready and wanting for him. The fantasies he’s conjured in his mind are nothing, crude sketches of the masterpiece that is your body, your smile, you. “Fuck, you’re so gorgeous.”

The honesty in those whispered, reverent words bolsters the flush creeping beneath your skin. It’s with a smile that you arch into his mouth when he wraps his lips around your nipple in a perfect fit. He sucks hard, noisy and lewd, forcing gasps that make you glad your apartment walls are somewhat thick. But when his tongue swivels amidst the bites he lavishes on your peak, you are reduced to whimpers in his hands. He’s an expert at combining pain with absolute pleasure until your mind is in utter shambles. Shattered even more so when his fingers find your neglected breast, his remaining free hand cupping greedy handfuls of your behind.

When you shift your knee to rub against the pronounced bulge in his sweats, he smacks his palm against your asscheek to a satisfying crack. “Patience is a virtue,” he warns, trailing his tongue to the valley between your breasts. Slathers wet heat on your skin, the curves of your chest even though you’re already burning up from his touch.

But you’re more than willing to play his game. You prove so when you grope his fabric-swaddled cock, massage until you hear the music of his hitched breaths. “I’m not trying to be virtuous.” Then you steal his smirk for your own use while you run fingers along the side of his shaft. His frenulum is sensitive as ever beneath your persistent hand; he bucks when you grind your thumb into the nerves.

“A-Ah!” You yelp when you feel the fresh sting, looking down to find that Yoongi has left his first love bite at the swell of your breast. It blooms in deep, sinful red. Damn if you don’t want him to leave five, ten, twenty more. You want that damnable mouth on you anywhere he can reach until you ache with the reminder of him.

“Thought I told you to be good.” He stares down his nose at you. The act is not nearly as intimidating as it had been in the backroom of the café, but still every bit as arousing. Especially when he pairs it with a sly finger trailing down your slit, the sensation frustratingly dulled by your soaked underwear.

It’s a miracle you can summon the strength to talk back. “Oops. My bad,” you reply in a voice that tells him you’re not sorry in the slightest. Goading Yoongi is a form of art that you have perfected.

Amused and more than a little turned on by your disobedience, he rocks back onto his knees. “On your stomach. Now.”

Oh, yes please. You obey without hesitation, pressing your chest to the warm sheets. You shiver when you feel his hands fit along your waist, as if testing his grip for later use. How hard would he squeeze as he fucks you? As he feeds you every hot inch of his erection, the skin taut and hard for want of your cunt? You tense your thighs in longing, not wanting to wait a second longer to feel him inside you.

But you don’t have a choice.

You lunge forward when the first smack lands on your ass. You cry out, face half-buried in the pillow as pleasure radiates from your burning cheek. Yet you’re still raising your hips for more. You love the pain, addicted to the visceral reaction it beckons from your body.

But your squeal gives Yoongi pause. “Is that too hard?” He asks, breath brushing across your skin.

You throw a coy glance backwards. “Never.”

Your answer is accepted with a second slap, a punishment that makes your body shudder further into your mattress. “My little slut,” Yoongi snarls, enjoying the way the possessive words feel on his tongue. “Bet you’re ruining those panties of yours.”

Smack. Fuck, you swear he’s leaving imprints of his palm behind. You wish you could see.

“Totally soaked.” You rock onto your elbows, push your sore ass into his palm. Hope you can convince him to lose control and just fill you up. “So ready for your cock, Yoongi...”

You don’t see how he squeezes his eyes together, biting back the surge of hormones; they bid him to throw all restraint away to sink into your heat. “Not just yet.” Your undies are tugged down, rendered useless and tossed somewhere onto the floor. Chills run through your spine as you’re bared for the second time tonight. He forces your hips up and before you can even breathe, licks a long stripe across your cunt.

“Oh, fuck.”

You cannot stand Min Yoongi and that devil’s tongue he curls around your clit. He drags the tip across your sensitive bead, understanding where you’re too sensitive and then deliberately stimulating that very spot to make your knees buck. Pleasure floods your body, makes your every limb white hot and weak, a mess for one man. You knew he was dangerous from the very start, but that never could have stopped you. Your body reflects just how hopelessly you’ve fallen, pushed to the brink of climax faster than you’ve ever been before.

“So fucking sweet.” His fingers dig dimples into your ass, spreading you wide so he can have his fill. His tongue glides along your curves, taking his time instead of being so focused on chasing climax as he had that first time. Now he’s hungry for knowledge, for intimacy he can only find with you as his landscape. And if he makes you cum a thousand times in the process of that quest, well. You’ll survive somehow.

When his tongue slips into your heat, you almost lose it. He thrusts it like he fucks: ruthlessly, flawlessly. As if you’re the only thing that matters right now, and his only desire in the world is to have you quivering on his lips. A wish he’s getting twofold.

“Close, so close, Yoongi, ah—”

“Yeah, I can feel it.” He sounds utterly entranced, the drawled words thick with longing. “Want you to cum around my tongue. Can you do that for me?” He poses the question as if you have a choice. As if you can do anything against the onslaught of bliss tangling themselves in your veins, demanding that you release.

All because of that accursed mouth that has you at its mercy, whether between the sheets or out. Too compelling for your weary nerves to resist when his hand whips across your skin and without warning, you’re cumming. Tears prick, rolling down your face as he spanks you again, this time even harder, and your climax becomes unbearable in bliss. You were not prepared for the tsunami it is, crashing onto you, sweeping you away.

“Yoongi!” The name is muffled by the pillow you stuff your face in, muscles screaming at you to stop tensing but you can’t, you goddamn can’t. Crest after crest of sensation radiate through you in time with the throbs of your sodden walls. You swear he grins against your pussy as you rock your hips like you’re in heat. Your skin is so sensitive it almost hurts but you couldn’t care less.

“Fuck me, Yoongi, please, god, I need your cock in me right fucking now.” Your voice is desperate and begging and any other time, you would be mortified but all you can think of now is how you need to be filled. To have every crevice of your throbbing pussy stuffed with Yoongi’s cock so he understands just what he’s done to you. Wrecked you, ruined you for anyone else.

“Oh fuck.” He was not expecting you to turn the tables but here you are, fucked out and still so needy for more. His sweatpants join your panties, cock springing free, the deep-red tip leaking from all it’s been denied. God, how he wants to fuck that pretty whine in your voice into moans.

“All of you, Yoongi. Wanna feel the stretch.” He’s taking too long; you’ve always been impatient.

Yoongi will never forget the sight of you spreading your own cheeks to show him, seduce him with how your cunt drips from anticipation. But it’s the look in your eyes, the affection mingled with the heat that has him plunging half of his cock into you in one stroke.

“So tight for me, h-huh? What a good girl,” Yoongi growls, trying his best not to cum instantly from the way you take him. Just swallow him with such ease, yet still squeeze him like a vice. He’s missed this pussy so much, hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it since that night. He’s finished himself countless nights to the memory but now you’re really here; now you cry for him in that tremulous tone that drives him wild.

One of Yoongi’s hands goes as promised on your waist, but the other weaves into your hair to grip at the roots. He doesn’t tug yet, testing your limits, careful to respect them. He’s rewarded with a moan as he bottoms out at the same time he gives his first light tug. Now every thick inch of cock is finally swathed in you, and you are filled to the brim, just like you craved.

“This okay?” He asks, massaging the crook of your perspiration-dotted back with his thumb.

“Mhm...” You slur it like you’re drunk but it’s just the moment, the pleasure forcing you into submission. You love the juxtaposition only Yoongi brings out for you, how he instinctually knows exactly what you seek.

“More?”

You rut into him, feel that friction kindle something indescribable, deeply carnal in your core. “Always.”

It is here that Yoongi realizes how gone he is for you.

You’re incredible. Fucking incredible. He tries to tell you this with every pump he sends into you. So damn hungry but still careful not to pull too hard on your locks even though he thinks you might like that, minx that you are. The gasps just continue to fall from his mouth as he just feels himself drown in you. You fit around him like you were made to take his cock and then some. He wants to give you everything. But first he’ll start with pleasure. Pleasure so intense you’ll forget even your own name.

You’re closer to that goal than he knows. You’re falling into the rough staccato rhythm he sets, bodies slamming together again and again until your mouth feels dry for all the moans you can’t staunch. It sends you soaring: the ache of his fist in your hair, the burn of the stretch that you know will stay with you for hours after. It’s all in service of the inevitable crash that will ruin you.

Yoongi’s thighs have started to burn with strain but he doesn’t dare stop, doesn’t think he could. Not when you’re both teetering on the cusp; ready to fall, not apart, but finally together.

“Y-Yoongi...!” On one particularly hard thrust, you rear up, back pressed firmly against his sweaty chest. He lets go of your hair to curl his arms around you, clutching you as he thrusts upwards to hit your core. You focus on the sole task of breathing. But you fail even that when his fingers find your clit, rough and imprecise in his animalistic movements. It’s still enough.

This is how you cum – speared and full and deliriously sated.

He can’t hold out any longer when you find your peak. His teeth scrape your shoulder, but you can only register pleasure as he grinds out his own orgasm against your ass. You feel him spill deeply inside; it feeds some innate need you didn’t even know you had. Reaching behind, you hold him close as he does you, heartbeats pulsing to the same beat as you let the noises speak for you.

When the high relents, you collapse onto your palms, practically faceplant into your pillow as the aftershocks shudder their way through you. It’s a good few moments before you can roll onto your side, to face Yoongi who has done the same on your right. You feel like a mess, but he looks at you as if he’s never seen anything more stunning in his life.

“I... Wow.”

“Yeah...”

For a minute, all you can do is grin at each other, silly smiles stretched wide across your kiss-bitten lips.

Eventually, Yoongi flips onto his back, chest still heaving. “That was actually meant to be gentler,” he mumbles, staring pointedly at the ceiling. “Since our first time was me getting carried away. And the second.”

“Looks like you just can’t help yourself around me, huh?” You tease, hoping you’ll make him blush, or hit you back with something equally sarcastic.

“Yeah. I really can’t.” He says it so honestly, you melt a little into the sheets.

You shuffle closer to him; he automatically raises his arm to let you in. “Stay over tonight, okay?” You say, kissing his bare chest as you cuddle in. Relish the fact you can just reach out and he’s there. Solid, warm, there. “Not like you have work tomorrow, right?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want.”

He kicks the light covers up with a foot, pulls it over your body so you don’t feel the chill even though his body keeps you running hot. You hum as he runs his fingers down your back, rubbing at that sore spot just right. You fall into cozy silence, tracing the contours of his damp torso, running over the curves you couldn’t before.

“On Monday, I’m going to give Mina my two weeks notice.”

Whoa.

You shove up from Yoongi. Turning with utter surprise on your face, you cry, “What?” You unintentionally crush blankets in your fists. “Why?” When you’ve finally worked things out between you?

“As much as I want to stay, I’m… I’m going to try to produce full time.” His eyebrows furrow together. He sucks in a breath. “Being at the café took up all my spare time and while it was a good distraction after the whole thing, I... I don’t need it anymore. I’m going to chase after what I really want to do.” The relief that soaks his voice tells you he’s finally figured it out. “And I’m going to do it on my own. Without Jiwon. Without his help.”

“Oh, Yoongi...” Your heart floods with nervous excitement. You are not really a fan of change, but this is different. This is a step in the direction he was always too afraid to take. You flop back beside him, let him eagerly draw you back into his arms. “I’ll support you as much as I can. I know you can do it, babe.”

“Babe?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t like it?”

“Mmn. Like it... more than I thought I would.” His voice is practically a mumble by the end as he hides embarrassment with a nuzzle into your head.

You’re grinning as the most welcome thought strikes. “Hey, maybe whoever replaces you will finally be on time!”

Yoongi smirks. “Unfortunately, your boyfriend may sometimes still be a little late.”

You tap his cute nose, his squishy cheeks. “Oh, is that what you are now?”

“Yup.” He proceeds to bury his face into your hair, pressing kisses and inhaling the scent he doesn’t think he’ll ever get his fill of. “You’re stuck with me.”

You chuckle as you snuggle further into his warm embrace. it just feels right to be here somehow. Ironic, that ‘here’ is pressed up against the man who can get under your skin like no other. Maybe you’re a masochist, but you can’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

Lying here, listening to him slip into slumber, the apprehensive energy in you just melts away despite the feeling that you’re about to embark on a journey that you’re sure will be anything but easy. But as long as you’re with him... You smile. Then you let the anxious thoughts go, finally surrendering to the sleep that his steady rise-and-fall brings.

Turns out, Min Yoongi isn’t the absolute worst after all.

a/n: yeah, i know, who still makes CDs in 2019? :p but sending over a Spotify playlist isn’t nearly as romantic. hehe. thank you for sticking with me until the end of my first series. i learnt so much through writing it and had a ton of fun! please let me know what you think of the ending, yeah? ;) i hope you all enjoyed TES ♡

huge, enourmous thank you to my betas: @hoseoksdior, @sweetlyseokjin, @jiminspjm, @mypurplelamp, @bigtiddiejoon! 💖 this fic would not have come through without their efforts!!

special shoutout to MISS ARI @flowerymoonlight who hyped me TF up & had to survive the snippets i sent her at 2 in the morning. ily babe, you have a special place in my heart ALWAYS.

p.s. you can find more minis of this couple on my masterlist!

[elsewhereuniversity]

When I first started here, I called myself Ada, because my wordpress as a teen was adamantiumhalfdragonx523 and it was the first thing I thought of when they said I should pick a nickname.

...I know, it’s kinda ridiculous, and I was hoping to present a somewhat more mature persona at college. But at least Ada is an actual name, and I could claim it was after Ada Lovelace instead of my RP blog.

Anyway, I dove into class quickly. Engineering, with an accidental minor in physics: I liked the required courses so I took a few electives, then realized I was only like nine credits away from qualifying for a minor so I went for it. Got immediately bogged down by homework as usual, barely scraping C minuses through humanities requirements and getting extensions wherever I could. I’ve never been good with time management? It’s the adhd.

There were always rumours of strange things happening on campus, but I mean, it’s college. You get drunk larpers and people hallucinating moving shadows from lack of sleep and old buildings with confusing layouts and it’s enough for weird rumours to be spread for months.

There was this weird girl who moved in a couple doors down from me: she turned up around March, I think she was a transfer? Her roommate literally burst into tears and ran away down the hall when I mentioned her, so I didn’t push it. It was a bit weird but I guess they were close with their previous roommate? Don’t know why they left, maybe they dropped out. Anyway, near the end of the semester the girl — she went by hazelnut, I think — invited me to this pre-finals rager out in the woods. I think it was late April, maybe the first of May? Mysty (my roomie) said not to go but I was feeling pretty prepared for my exam so I figured I’d go check it out. She kept, like, tutting at me, and made a big show of pouring salt lines at the window and door and around her bed? I don’t know how you can pour salt sarcastically, but she managed.

It was a pretty decent party, honestly, all through the woods. There was obviously much wilder stuff happening deeper, bright lights and screams and music and stuff, but I met up with a group I vaguely recognized from some class or other, spent a good couple hours playing, like, a music-based chase game around this awesome spiderweb of a slackline rope course someone had set up in the trees, falling off laughingly as we got progressively drunker. Also Cuttlefish (trans dude, marine bio major) with the Bluetooth speaker started skipping erratically between songs with dramatically different genres and beat structures until we all ended up tackling him to make him stop. I was just thinking of heading back to dorm when this girl with really cool dark-fantasy makeup stumbled out of the trees, obviously in distress.

She was dressed in this kinda ragged-but-flowing translucent robe thing over incongruous muddy cargo shorts, barefoot, exhausted-looking, and screaming about being chased. Lark (short girl, I think geology major?) immediately grabbed some big hoola hoops I’d been ignoring (I mean, when there’s a huge multi-tiered rope course with ladders and slack lines and trapezes, hoola hoops don’t stand out) and threw one over Spider-makeup-girl immediately, who kinda collapsed to the ground sobbing in apparent relief, and Lark yelled for everyone else to sit in one as well. Something something salt circles? So we did, kinda bemusedly, two to a hoop.

Spider-girl’s chasers burst out of the trees a moment later, and, like, I had figured Elsewhere must have a pretty substantial cosplay community, considering the larping I’d heard people talking about, but damn these guys’ costumes were good. One had to have been like six and a half feet tall, but they were on tall digitigrade stilts that raised them closer to eight, if you included the mask, and the other had this really clean 4-arm rig and I swear the arms were moving separately. Like, I’m an engineer and I couldn’t figure out how either had put the costumes together, the movements were so smooth they looked practically natural. I hope they get into whatever film studio or props company they want, the prosthetics were definitely movie quality.

Anyway, they came bursting out of the woods, making growling sounds, but they both stopped abruptly when they saw the probably-ridiculous sight of nine twenty-somethings sitting in plastic circles on the grass. I expected them to start laughing, but they were really deep in character.

They kinda circled around us for a moment, sniffing the air. I wanted to comment on their costumes, but everything seemed super serious all of a sudden. Then one of them spoke.

“Have they trapped you, weaver? Do you take salt chains over calm oblivion? Do you think they can hold you against the hunt?”

Their voice was kinda deep and raspy, oddly resonant in the chill night air, like I was only hearing part of it. This was obviously part of some scene, but I dunno. Spider-girl was curled into a ball, shaking, and I felt these guys were taking it too far.

There were a couple moments of tense silence, then Lark spoke up.

“Our bargain is with her, not with you. Leave, or wait out the dark. We aren’t moving.”

The four-armed one literally hissed at that, raising up this ragged crest along their back and flexing all four of their clawed hands.

“If you take her, human, then you take her debts. How certain are you, that you believe yourself capable of filling them? Do you think her gifts worth the cost of her entrapment?”

I still couldn’t tell how the rig was working, there wasn’t much space in their costume for complex pneumatics or anything, which was kinda annoyingly obscure. Was it just puppetry? How the fuck did they get the arms to DO that? And the tall one’s mask, were those articulated eyelids AND ears?

“She is ours, human, hunted and caught. You mettle in affairs of what you know not.”

The big one was circling faster now, striding long-limbed on those stilts. They sounded ominous, but I saw a loophole there, so I spoke up.

“You obviously didn’t catch her? She escaped long enough to find us, and if I understand the setting of your game well enough, we count as scenery or props, not players on the same level as you. So it sounds like she got away on her own and found a hiding place she can wait out the sun, which means you lost and she’s free. Go bug someone else.”

They both roared at that, making charging motions towards us, but thy kept pulling up short about two feet away from the hoola hoops. I’m not gonna lie, it was super intimidating, but they didn’t seem like they were going to get any closer? After like five minutes of this, the tall one broke and ran into the trees and the four-armed one followed, both shrieking.

We stayed in the hoola hoops after that. I would have liked to go back to the dorms, but any time any of us moved Lark started shrieking at us to stay still because it was “dangerous” or whatever. Cuttlefish turned the music back on and we ended up playing a trivia game someone had on their phone. It was super uncomfortable but it could have been worse, especially since I was still pretty drunk, so it was all a kinda pleasant foggyness. I must have dozed off at some point because next thing I knew it was a bit brighter and spider-girl was standing over me.

Her makeup was even better in the twilight, extra eyes and weirdly-textured skin and everything.

“If you are, as you said, merely scenery in which I have found my own escape, then I owe you nothing.”

She looked around at all of us, then at Lark, who was getting up with a murderous expression, then back to me. Up close, I could see my reflection in her eyes, including the six fake ones. They looked intimately real.

“Your words unwind me altogether, even from your would-be friend,” she whispered, just to me, “and I owe you, gift for gift.”

Then, suddenly, she was gone. I saw her bolt to the rope course and up one of the support ropes, much further up than I’d noticed it went, until she disappeared into the treetops. It was impressive.

Lark yelled at me a bit, something something she could have made us all rich? I don’t know, I don’t understand the larp setting well enough to understand the context. And then I went back to my dorm and collapsed into bed. I only got three hours of sleep before I had to get up and take my exam, but I did pretty well on it anyway, got a solid 83%.

Couple days later I heard a sound at the window, and when I went to investigate I found a bundle of fabric on the sill. Unwrapping it, i found a hooded knee-length asymmetrical vest thingy with this really cool greyscale-geometric pattern on it, made from the same flowing material as spider-girl’s robe. It fits perfectly. Mysty made a bit of a fuss when she saw it, but calmed down a bit when I told her the context. I’ve been wearing it ever since, it looks really good over jeans.

Anyway, yeah. Probably the weirdest story I have, though there are some solid contenders, actually....College, you know. Stuff happens.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21751201 (wrote this back in December, forgot to submit it)

[aggressive-almond-cookie]

I think I have glimpsed enlightenment twice this morning.

I know better now than to try to hang onto it, hope for it, chase it, or force it, nor do I feel like it's some well-deserved result of some hard labor or discipline. It is just a thing that happens, sometimes, perhaps when you're open enough to it, perhaps when it's the only option left.

I'm not a therapist (or spiritual teacher) and I honestly don't know how much of this is the new meds, how much of this is the heat, how much is the result of everything I have learned so far and how much is dumb luck of these colliding elements.

I do know that during a recent meditation session something loosened in me and rinsed away, like some crusty scale buildup on the inside of a tea kettle, and since then, I've felt like I actually have the capacity to separate, almost completely, my view of myself from the view that I believe others have of me.

I know, of course, have known my whole life, cognitively, that we "shouldn't" compare ourselves to others and "shouldn't" worry so much about what others think about us. I think that's something most of us know, but that doesn't mean we can just Stop Doing It. It's so natural to us on a biological level-- we're social animals; a concern for our place in society is embedded in our DNA. There is very little that can actually undo or prevent us from doing that.

But I think what we can do is learn to separate ourselves from it, the emotions associated with it; instead of identifying with those emotions, we can learn to observe them and acknowledge that they are happening, watch how our bodies react to them, accept them, accept ourselves and what is here without judgement, and hold and nurture ourselves through it.

I don't know how to teach you that and I'm not entirely sure how I learned it, either, because it's just not something you can cognitively do, at least it wasn't for me. It seems to be something that happens on a less than conscious level, something akin to muscle memory but for your brain and neural pathways, maybe. I do think that extended periods of mindfulness are probably a prerequisite for it.

I feel like it's hard to teach mindfulness too, especially if you are a person traumatized into viewing everything through a lens of success or failure, of achievement or falling short, because the act of wondering if you're Doing It Right (which is a constant backing track to our thoughts) pulls you out of it. I wish I could offer any advice beyond keep practicing, as frustrating as I know that is to hear. Don't trust anyone else's idea of right. Your mind and only your mind knows what's right, but it has to find it, and if you keep practicing, I think eventually it will.

I think the meds helped, because they seem to have awakened my ability to just physically feel things, to have sensory experiences, to savor them, and a key factor in mindfulness, I think, is paying attention to your body and how it is feeling, without thinking about it, just feeling it and observing those sensations without judgement. Following your breathing is the most common form of this observation, I think, but really, you can follow any sensation at all.

I think the heat helped because it forced me to slow down even more than I usually do. It added to the heightening of sensory experiences because I was continuously either feeling the heat or feeling a relief from it. I wasn't moving a lot. I wasn't thinking a lot. I felt slow and tired and lethargic, but somehow also borderline euphoric and alive in a way I can't even describe. I felt like I had the choice to resist and hate and complain about the heat and chose to just feel it instead, and what it is to be a living breathing being that feels things like this, that this is what life is, that this is what it is to be alive and experience things.

There's also just a sense of the greater whole of the world and one-ness that I experience subjecting myself to nature, open windows and breezes, watching the tree sway and the grass ripple and the sun hide and emerge sporadically behind the clouds. I could hide from all that, in the comfort of the living room downstairs with the air conditioner, but somehow I found the discomfort to be preferable, stimulating in a way that I needed, in a way that was somehow healing me.

The thing behind all of this that is almost, no, undoubtedly alarming to my mind, struggling for control over my identity, is the near complete absence of thought or planning, and how somehow that makes everything easier. The cognitive brain fights for its voice to be heard, claims it is reason and truth and that you cannot make a single choice without consulting it first, fully analyzing the best and most optimal way to approach anything. Being able to separate from that is still terrifying, I can observe my stomach tightening as I consider it, and yet, the benefits of not letting the cognitive brain, the mind, have full charge of you, are so immense and perspective shifting that I cannot even begin to explain them, in large part because there aren't words for viewpoints outside of the mind itself.

But this morning, as the best example I can provide: after meditation, I had fully planned to spend the entire day relaxing and mindfully healing, as I did yesterday. But I looked around I had the smallest urge to clean my room. I knew it would make me feel immensely better to be in a cleaner space. Of course, with any amount of labor comes some amount of mental resistance to it, and my usual response to this is to tell myself, 'just 20 minutes.' So my mind starts working, and I start to think I need to set a timer, need to find a podcast to listen to, or some music, what am I in the mood to listen to? What would be the most stimulating to me and help me zone out and forget that I'm cleaning?

And then instead, barely consciously making the choice, I started cleaning. Without setting the timer, without putting on something to listen to, without even planning what order I was going to plan to clean things in for the greatest optimization, I just started cleaning, barely even deciding what to do. And I became completely immersed just in what I was doing, things I was moving around, surfaces I was wiping down, cleaning up things as I saw them, no huge decisions, just one small task after another, the whole time my mind quiet and only aware of what was happening in the immediate moment.

Of course the cognitive mind is important, an immense and critical part of our humanity. But it is not the best tool for solving every problem. And it most certainly is not the whole of who you are.

I don't know how long I spent cleaning, maybe an hour or so, but it all felt completely timeless, painless, enjoyable. Afterwards I went downstairs and did a few dishes and made some iced tea, sweetened, oversteeped, with vanilla soymilk. It's hot and I'm sticky and have a glorious amount of gratitude for my floor-standing air purifier that doubles as a fan, that I can awkwardly straddle so the breeze blows right up my shirt and dries everything out in the most refreshing, if somewhat hilarious way.

The room is clean and organized in new and wonderful ways and I just felt like sitting down and writing about this, even though I had no idea where it would go or what all I would cover or if I would even post it. I didn't intend for it to be this long or for it to necessarily be short. It just is, and I just am, and there is no need for anything to be more or less.

[ddaenghoney]

chapter seventeen

masterlist link in blog description.

As a successful songwriter, you want nothing more than the acknowledgment that the chart-topping musical pieces are your own creations. But contracts, relationships, and the difficulty of facing the stakes involved head on, keep your mouth shut until pressure builds too much.

Pairing(s): Park Jimin x Y/N, Min Yoongi x Y/N

disclaimer: any characters depicted do not represent the actual personality of the respected idol in real life.

Series warning(s)/genre(s): Chapter-based written fic, Slow-burn relationship(s), Fake-dating, Unrequited love, Songwriter/producer!oc, idol!Jimin, idol/songwriter/producer!Yoongi, friends with benefits, drama, romance, smut, angst, fluff (updated as needed)

Chapter warning(s): quite a bit of unsettling/paranoia themes around the middle of the chapter (again in regards to stalking from fans). Also, some making out that alludes to more after it ! 

Word count: 5481

if you enjoy please, please let me know!

Headlines of multiple news sites, trending hashtags, and seemingly hundreds of threads in online forums center around the topic that goes viral the day after. With SoundWave wasting no time to act subtly, choosing to take a blunt rebuttal of the independent release of music, they announce a separation of SUGA from the label. Without offering much other than the central reasoning in the official statement attributing a lack of loyalty, and openly rebellious attitude in the way of involving his personal relationships into his music without consent of the company, Yoongi’s public reputation takes a giant strike.

The primary attitude of his fanbase is startled confusion, as is similarly the feelings of pop culture commenters, who all agree that this action made by SoundCloud seems incredibly rash considering how high of status the title SUGA has in the music industry. A threshold of rumors contaminate social websites, all trying to gauge underlying motivations for the company’s decision to completely drop Min Yoongi from the label, feeling like there has to be more words each side could make but holds back.

With slowly passing weeks of conversation stirring faster from the sensationalized wonder that accumulates in the silence of both involved parties, fandoms grow impatient. A future tour scheduled to begin early next year is obviously squashed, and the subtle hints of new music thrown far from any burner of focus. Worry holds a multitude of loyal fans who are eager for clarification from their favorite idol, but no answers are clearly given. Blurry images of Yoongi to and from SoundWave only serve to prove that there are talks going on, especially when sightings of him and Taehyung begin growing consistent as well as thought to be moving vans relocating assumed sound equipment.

Naturally, frustration builds. Latching in tight grips onto every instance your name or image appears on the internet, angry shouts question your involvement with this entire ordeal. Confused as people are, they have little doubt that you deserve the bulk of blame for this dissent between Yoongi and SoundWave. After all, everything had always seemed steady in growth for SUGA’s career before your public involvement with him.

You realize this isn’t true. So much of the situation still lingers in the darkness, far from cameras and microphones to state the severity of everything that led the sequence of events to this point. You know that this whole problem isn’t entirely your fault, but it feels like it. Words cling to your psyche every time you try to peruse even the filtered social media feed of those you follow on instagram, but the comments still remain and grow on every one of your own posts, making you delete the app after only three days into the chaotic situation.

Apologies become common, though usually squashed within your reply to whenever Yoongi tells you them. Worry brims in his eyes just as well as his chest every time he notices anything off in your expressions that relate to all of the responses online. You’re quick to state that this isn’t his fault either, and not to worry about the silence he’s forced to keep while legal affairs are being handled. You’ve already settled yourself with the high chance that he won’t ever be able to make a statement that gives out the picture, just like you won’t ever be able to without losing every royalty you have.

While the online response does burn on your nerves, you can calm yourself by remembering it will eventually blow over to a new topic. It could take a lot of time, but eventually you’ll be able to not be the villain in every assumed narration of Yoongi being fired from SoundWave. Instead, concern wraps around any thoughts you have towards a new job.

With your work history visibly clean of any ink on your resume, you don’t have much to say to combat the fact. And as such you simply use your degree as well as projects from when you were a college student to talk yourself up. But you aren’t naive-- you realize that the gap of time from you receiving your diploma to the current date unease potential employers.

At this point, you’re no longer surprised. The man sitting across from you sits tapping his pen on papers in front of him. They’re spread in a controlled mess on a folder you brought. His eyes scan the words over, but because of the minute hand on the clock behind him reaching a new number, you’re inclined to believe the silence so far isn’t favorable.

Answering the initial questions isn’t usually difficult. In fact, you believe you win over a few uncertain glances in the way you speak with experience, but any opinion gained usually diminishes at the skinny portfolio you present. Every time you’ve passed it, you also feel underwhelmed by the humble sight of it, garnering none of the weight you should have the thin wings filled with. All of that is within your mind.

All of the tension in your mind fills more and more, contemplating what there is to take away from your meager showings of visible experience. This tension comes to a throbbing disappointment when the majority of those who have looked at the portfolio mention Yoongi’s name under their breath.

A large part of you becomes increasingly defensive from these tiny comments. Controlling your mouth from blurting questions in reply to their intentions is a difficult task, especially when the issues have been consistent. Multiple misinterpretations veil over the actual situation underneath the media’s depictions and what your residual contractual obligations to SoundWave will let you fix.

The man’s eyebrows furrow, his head tilting as something he sees perplexes him. You don’t openly react, simply sitting in the chair, legs not particularly tensely poised on the floor and your back only erect enough to be formal. Posture forgot a few interviews ago in favor of knowing glances at the employers body languages when reading through. This subtle confused realization on his face is familiar, but you smile politely as he gets up stating he needs to step out for a moment. As though he’s the first one to go ask questions about you to other people.

Walking into the lobby from the small meeting room, you do little more than sigh, reaching to rub your shoulder as you contemplate your next action. The man’s voice when he came back to the room and stated you’ll get contact in the future if they’d like to explore job opportunities was entirely monotone, and you can’t even be offended by the fact at this point.

Still, reality weighs on your shoulders, growing uncomfortably nagging, and at quickening paces when televisions like the one hanging on the opposite wall post pop news stations with Yoongi’s pictures and titles of dissention between himself and SoundWave.

“Oh,” A voice from the side disrupts the settling glare in your eyes. Softening your expression to one of surprise you turn your head as a figure comes to you. A smile on her face that seems disingenuous, but fitting when matched with the consistent brand name on each article of clothing apparent. “It was Y/N, right?”

In the medley of companies you set out to try landing jobs at, you didn’t take into consideration their current idols. More interested in just getting a place to continue working. But as Seulgi approached you from the way of the elevators, there’s a piece inside of you somewhat glad you’re likely to be rejected from this one. “Yeah.”

“What a coincidence to run into you here.” She says as she places her phone in her handbag. “Looking for work? Heard that you’ve taken a chance at the music production world.”

For the sake of pleasantry, you don’t irritably sigh from having to deal with this immediately following an unsatisfying industry. Instead just shrug your shoulder, “Something like that.”

“Guess it hasn’t been going well,” You’re unable to stop your eyebrows from narrowing at her, but Seulgi is unhindered from your evidently growing annoyance. “It’s a hard thing getting through scandals, especially when you don’t have anything to show for yourself.”

“Such a hard thing that you didn’t mind shoving your boyfriend into it.” You roll your eyes, head shaking as you start to walk away.

“Well, actually,” She catches up to your pace, overlapping you to cut off your trec to the front doors. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Hoseok could use a hand, right? If you want to try to get some work, why not ask him? Independent work is good to help build a resume-- though, I guess Hoseok’s reputation and Yoongi’s current one don’t make companies feel comfortable-”

“What are you trying for here?” Your tone causes a falter of expression in Seulgi’s face, shifting it into a muted shock. Her smile replaces itself with pursing lips, then eventually the picturesque way she poses her shoulders also deflates. Appearing much less superficial, though now openly tired with frustration from the little act she tried to play with you.

“What? I can’t try and do a nice thing for my ex?”

“Ex that you threw under the bus.” Unhesitant. You cross your arms. “Why in the world would I think you’re not trying to gain something right now too?”

“You’re just like Yoongi--I get the relationship now.” She sighs, playing with her hair as her eyes trail off to nowhere. “Well, the relationship you ended up getting yourself after all.”

Your arms tense over your front, quietly startled that she seems aware of the false beginning with your relationship with Yoongi, and even acknowledging that it’s currently real. Part of you wants to question how she’s found out the tidbit of information, though it’s not a top concern of yours. The small fact that she has methods to get information throughout the industry is odd, but you doubt it needs to be a worrisome issue.

“Anyways, I was just offering a suggestion. Three songs aren’t going to cut it to get top companies like this one to let you in.” As if you needed her to say that when the past week has only been proof of that. Seulgi adjusts the hoodie she wears so that it no longer falls off a shoulder, and her eyes appear introspective for the moment of silence before speaking again. “You’re not going to get anywhere without stepping on a few people along the way. You can’t play along with all the rules and expect to succeed.”

If her tone remained snarky, you would have shot a comment in return, as the instant thought in your brain relates Seulgi’s words to her actions against Hoseok in the past. However, the simplistic way she spoke was calm, almost bordering into a somber timbre hidden beneath the surface. At that moment you feel like you see something inside of that shadow, but you don’t have the liberty of pondering it.

“Seulgi, I thought you were using the big dance studio right now.” A voice enters into the conversation, making Seulgi’s head turn back towards the entrance. Looking beyond her, you see a face you again would have expected if you took any consideration to the companies you were skipping through for interviews. “Oh,” Jeongguk’s eyes widen, catching sight of you, a smile forming as he speaks on in happy surprise, “Y/N! It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”

“Hi, Jeongguk.” You give a little smile and nod as a greeting.

“Yeah, I’m late.” Seulgi speaks up while she takes a step to begin a smooth leave, eyeing Jeongguk then you in curiosity of how there’s a mutual connection. But her final words have nothing to do with questions. “Sorry about that whole thing at my party, by the way. Taking your date and all. Just getting a conversation Yoongi owed me.”

Her vague insinuation makes your eyes narrow, following her figure as she casually goes. Already knowing the content of the conversation she had with Yoongi, you’re left to assume that she speaks in a way to ingrain seeds of uncertainty or jealousy under your skin, but all the needless comment does is further you from any positive opinions of Seulgi.

“Something about that seemed hostile.” Jeongguk states as the two of you watch Seulgi disappear down a hall. Instead of screaming out intelligibly from the frustration of your day so far, you just exhale a long sigh, turning your head back towards Jeongguk. His mouth curls into a slightly uneasy smile, not sure of what he just stumbled in on, “Everything okay?”

“I can’t wait to go home and sleep, to be honest with you.” You admit, trying to get humor into your voice, but you’re sure your expression betrays any chance of a joking ambiance as Jeongguk slowly nods bouncing his long locks of soft, warm-toned pink. “Your band is going to be performing at the river festival this weekend, right? Saw online.”

“Yeah, we have a set in the late evening. You going?” His demeanor is wholly casual, pronounced further in the relaxation of his shoulders and lazily situated hands in the pockets of his big hoodie.

“I would, but now’s not really the best time for me to be doing much out.” You smile as your eyebrows furrow a bit. For a moment you consider the fact that he may not know anything, as you recall him not being one to peruse comment sections of social media sites. But as Jeongguk’s lips cast into a frown, he recalls the news your words refer to,

“Oh, right; I heard about that all.” He bites his lip, while removing a hand from the confines of his pocket to push back hair from his face. “Actually, I’ve been out of the country with my group for almost six months now, and, it’s not really my place to ask, but have you been okay since,” He pauses, quickly taking a scan around the area like others may be listening in. “Well, you know.”

You nod your head, understanding that he means to inquire about your state of mind since breaking things off from Jimin at the beginning of the year. “For awhile I really wasn’t,” You admit, but find yourself able to smile as you continue on with full assurance, “But I’m more than okay now. My career may be sort of crazy, but I have people that care about me, so I’m fairing a lot better than I would’ve ever thought.”

“That’s good.” Jeongguk smiles, and parts of you are sure that perhaps he’s even the smallest bit sad that there isn’t hesitation in your voice because his friendship with Jimin would likely root for the fact. But he’s not unfair in that regard, always having been a supportive, close friend of Jimin, but not to the extent of harboring ill sentiment about things like this. “If you’re looking for song writing work just let me know; my band liked the three tracks you and Yoongi released, and I always thought it’d be cool to work with you on lyrics anyways.”

“What?” You blurt in surprise, eyes widening from the easygoing proposition, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Jeongguk grins in return, wondering silently if the offer is odd because of your reaction. “I mean, why not, right?”

“Even if I’m not an employee here?” You question, still in disbelief at how simply he’d asked for even bits of collaborative work in the future. Where you have been learning to anticipate a lot of hesitation, and even flat out refusal from all of your interviews so far, Jeongguk breaks the cycle out of nowhere. Perhaps you should not be as excited from the simple prospect as you are, but you’re unable to stop yourself from the little success making you vibrant with joy.

“You don’t need to be an employee of any company, Y/N, your skills already speak for themselves to me.”

When you step outside of the building, Jeongguk’s words remain at the forefront of your mind. You type a location on the map digitally showing on your phone screen, unconsciously setting up a call for a taxi, but you think only of the small piece of hope given to you from the offer. The more you consider it, you believe there exists a deeper lesson from that small interaction. It’s like he said to you; the company isn’t as important as your own skills.

You bite your lip, thinking of any contacts made throughout the years. Frankly, not many people beyond SoundWave met you because of your job, but there were still some small acquaintances you’ve gained. Some friends as well, though fewer than you could count with your fingers perhaps. It’s unlikely many would jump at the opportunity to work with you in light of the current news, but perhaps there’s something to consider down that avenue.

Your spine tightens slightly, and suddenly you feel overly aware of the area around you. You lift your eyes from your phone screen to across the street beyond cars going along to wherever. People walk normally as the beginnings of evening traffic occur as they would any day of the business week. With a small shake of your head, you ignore the suspicion in your nerves, letting yourself check notifications on your phone instead as the taxi descends towards you from a few blocks away.

Alerting Yoongi that you’re going to head to his apartment to help him move around items delivered from the company, you eventually press the lock on your phone screen and turn your attention down the road to see if you can spot your taxi’s license. In the same direction is the stairwell into a subway station with its constant flood of people in and out that never remain in the area longer than it takes them to walk. But perched with their elbows on railings overlooking the descent into the subway is a small group of three similar in age to the ones assumed to follow you to Namjoon’s cafe.

Your eyes linger on their figures for a noticeable amount of time, and you don’t believe them to care that they’ve been spotted. You bite your inner cheek, and look back to the taxi app for the time of arrival. Your stomach knots, but you try not to focus on it, because of this occurrence being more regular in the past couple of weeks. If you kept your mouth shut and thoughts from roaming frantically, it would be over just as soon as you stepped into the taxi.

A bump on your shoulder startles you, shaking your heart around in the ribcage, as your throat assumes the worst by trapping air. A businessperson continues along, however, simply going up the road as they chatter away on their phone, completely unaware of the tiny collision. You swallow the air back down, squeezing your phone tightly as it vibrates a tiny series of beats to signify the taxi is soon to arrive.

As you look on at the back of the random person, you notice more eyes in your direction. These ones from a college-age duo, you think. But they’re clearly focused on you, walking on the sidewalk in your direction. Your leg muscle tightens, becoming highly alert of the phone’s they have clutched close to their chests with the camera lenses evident.

The abrupt stop of brakes in front of you brings you back to your current position as does a quick honk from a car bothered by the stop of your taxi as it drives around. Without hesitation you enter inside, stating an affirmative as the driver asks if you were the one with the given destination on his GPS. You can’t contain the sigh of relief flooding out of your lungs as he merges into the flow of traffic and away from the individuals whose walk stopped to stare at the leave of the taxi.

You have high doubts that if the people were truly fans that they would berate you or angrily yell, but nonetheless you didn’t want the onslaught of questions they more likely had prepared to be said in civil voices. You already had the displeasure of weaning along a forceful and awkward conversation on a subway train days earlier. Leading you to start avoiding that means of transportation entirely now.

Arriving at Yoongi’s front door, your finger presses to ring the bell. Listening to the muted sound on the inside you feel your shoulders jumping ever so slightly at the sound, but you shake your head to rid away the sensitivity. Really no one had been belligerent towards you, you were overthinking any of the things that could have happened. Another twitch in your shoulders induces with the knob twisting and with it the door opens to reveal Hoseok whose face eventually slips into a pout,

“Wow, don’t look so disappointed.” He teases you as you roll your eyes and walk inside. “You should be thanking me since I did most of the heavy lifting before you got here.”

“Thanks,” You smile at him in an overly polite manner that causes Hoseok to scoff and shake his head in amusement. “I’m sure you were more than willing to since Yoongi offered to get you a fancy dinner as payment-”

“Wait, don’t tell him that; I was going to avoid it.” You turn towards the way of the bedrooms as Yoongi walks into the living area from it, hair tousled from moving furniture and a loose t-shirt hanging off his shoulders comfortably. You watch him grin as Hoseok shouts an irritated rebuttle about Yoongi’s deflection of payment for helping. As Yoongi comes to a stop a mere couple of feet from you his eyes look towards you and before you know it the teeth peeking from his joke drift away while his brows furrowed with concern, “Angel, what’s wrong?”

You shake your head, trying to disburse the worry in your shoulders that you apparently had not been successful to not think about. Wordlessly Yoongi steps closer, initiating a hug that you finish by clinging your arms around his torso.

Hoseok frowns in confusion since you had seemed fine when he opened the door, but glancing up at Yoongi whose eyes are just as unsure of the problem Hoseok decides it’s probably the result of some kind of build up. “‘m going to get that last box unpacked.”

“Thanks.” Yoongi says as his hands rub trails on your back, waiting for Hoseok to leave the room before speaking up again, “Baby, do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I’m just overthinking something.” You mumble against the cotton soaked in the familiar scent of laundry detergent. With a small sigh you adjust yourself to look up towards Yoongi whose attentive gaze meets yours. Gently he presses a small kiss against your forehead, settling his hands on your sides to give a little comforting squeeze.

“Was it more people following you around?”

“Yeah,” You hide your face against his chest again as you put the problem in the air. “It really, really wasn’t anything much. I just want a hug. It’s been a long day because of the whole job interview session parade I went on too.”

“I can do hugs,” Yoongi nods before perching his chin atop your head. The moment lingers on, granting a warming comfort as you remain encapsulated in Yoongi’s arms. But he can’t help a final, quiet question that is likely the reason for the rate of his heartbeat in your ear. “Did anyone do anything to you, angel?”

“No.” You squeeze your arms around him. “I doubt any of them really would. They probably just want to get information. It’s just uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, it is.” Yoongi’s chest fills from the breath of an inhale as he thinks of all the other instances since news of him being let go from SoundWave released. “I’m sorry, angel, once all the paperwork is done, I’ll try and figure out something to say to the press about everything.”

“It’s okay, Yoon.” You pull away to press a pecking kiss against his lips. He notes your expression to be considerably calmer than minutes earlier. “Really, it’s okay. It’s not your fault anyways. But besides that all, I do have some good news.”

“Oh, yeah?” He keeps his hands on your waist while your arms drop from their gentle encapture of his frame. Your quick nod matching the beginnings of a smile on your lips give Yoongi more cheerfulness as well, “Tell me then, sweetie.”

“I saw Jeongguk earlier and he said he’d be willing to work on songwriting together sometime.” You explain, allowing the excitement you felt then to take over the bulk of your tone. Inquisitively Yoongi’s head tilts,

“Jeon Jeongguk? Where did you see him at?”

“His company after I got interviewed--oh, right, I don’t think I’ve mentioned to you I know him.” You ramble along earning a chuckle from Yoongi as he nods to that fact as well. “Well, I met him through Jimin a couple of years ago, but he’s really nice. It was just an innocent offer on his part.”

“Yeah, I believe that-- he’s really easygoing.” Yoongi nods, turning his head to the hallway as yours looks in the same direction at the sound of Hoseok cursing as he hops on one foot into view while his other foot stays clenched between his two hands.

“I hit my toe on the corner of the door into the room-” He says with a wincing voice, “Didn’t mean to interrupt the emotional fest-- it just really hurt, and I think I should be owed more than just a fancy dinner because of it-”

“If it keeps you from suing me.” Yoongi shakes his head and refrains from laughter like the kind leaving your mouth as you listen to their conversation. Yoongi goes back to resting his head on yours, this time pressing his cheek on top of your scalp when you hug him once more. “But I’m picking the place to eat at.”

“That doesn’t even make sense if it’s supposed to be a payment to me.” Hoseok scoffs as he dramatically hobbles to the couch where he collapses himself onto it. “Y/N, if you asked your best friend to help you move your heavy equipment and this same friend stubs his toe doing it-- and this best friend and you are also getting into a partnership, would you just give him a dinner as payment?”

“Partnership?” You repeat as your eyes narrow, honing in on the one word that slipped into Hoseok’s monologue. “And no I’d buy my friend at least a house.”

“See!”

“A house,” Yoongi murmurs through pouting lips as Hoseok claps his hands to your method of penance. “He already has a nicer apartment than mine-”

“Wait, what did you mean about a partnership, Hoseok?” You ask, poking Yoongi’s stomach to get him to quiet from the tickling sensation. Hoseok actively twiddles his thumbs instead of a verbal. He glances towards Yoongi who responds to his antics with a sigh as he tugs himself off the comfort of hugging you.

“He and I were thinking we’d start our own label.”

“What!” Your eyes grow wide glancing towards Hoseok then back to Yoongi. “Your own music label? Like an idol company too?”

“Well, yeah.” Yoongi says without a lot of conviction as he shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know how many people would actually want to become an idol through us, but at least for Hoseok and I it would be a good way to keep doing music. And on our own terms.”

You stand looking at him awestruck, not at all anticipating the two of them to come to this type of business plan for the future. Frankly, you weren’t sure at all what Yoongi intended to do without SoundWave, but you would have sooner assumed he would simply relocate to another company. The requests for him to do so would no doubt flock after a month or two of the current news becoming history.

“Hey,” Hoseok gets up from the couch, phone in hand as the two of you look over to him. “I’m meeting a friend in a while, so I’ll get out of here. Don’t forget that you owe me a really fancy meal-”

“I get it, I won’t.” Yoongi rolls his eyes as he follows Hoseok towards the front door to see him off. You simply watch, still in a stupor from their casual way of telling you that their idea is to create their own fucking company. You wave at Hoseok as he shouts out a goodbye to you and walks out the door. Yoongi turns towards you as it shuts with an electronic click, finding you still baffled by the news. He rubs the back of his neck as he returns towards you. “We sound crazy?”

“No,” You shake your head and let it tilt as your imagination takes over to see an outcome where the two of them operate a successful idol company. With their production skills and overall talent with music, it didn’t seem far fetched that they at least make a small company that runs well. “I think you both should do it.”

Yoongi smiles gently at the hopeful gleam in your eyes. His hand falls from toying with the small hairs on the back of his neck to find itself entangling your own appendage with a delicate hold. “You’re free to do anything you want, angel, but I was thinking--and Hoseok agreed-- that you could join us and be a producer if we make a company.”

“Me?” Your voice barely mumbles the response, eyes struck wide in surprise at his offer.

“You don’t have to at all--I really understand if you don’t want to take the risk of it instead of finding a place that’s already settled, but,” Yoongi bites his lip, fiddling with your hand as he holds it. He finds your eyes as he sweetly smiles “It can be an option for you.”

With the two happy surprises of the day swimming in your chest, you stand in a stunned quiet as you take them in. For Yoongi and Hoseok, despite their respective scandals, you don’t have any doubt that they could definitely make something out of this idea for themselves. Especially happy about Yoongi being able to do as he wants for himself if they start a company. He’d be completely in control of his representation in the way that he hasn’t had ever since his debut.

And his offer gives the same freedom for yourself to create songs like you’d always wanted as well.

“Of course, I’m sure there’s a lot we have to do to get everything going, so really don’t feel bad about saying no-”

Interrupting his sentence by pressing your lips onto his chattering mouth, You let your arms wrap around his neck, silently grateful for Yoongi's hands steadying the two of you by finding a firm grip on your hips. “I say yes.”

Anticipation and excitement ricochets throughout your chest, exuding outwardly in your smile that you find Yoongi quickly returning with a growing grin. Running his hips in lips trails along your sides, he keeps silent in favor of kissing you again, practically bruising your lips with his own. Your hands mesh into soft locks of black hair, keeping Yoongi held in place as the kiss deepens into an oxygen depriving attachment.

Allowing time for air only when your mouth gasps as Yoongi’s hands find your backside and with a squeeze pulls your waist against his own, your eyes open along with his as you both take in quick sips of air, momentarily frozen from continuing action. Yoongi’s jaw clenches shut as you very obviously allow your hips to grind friction. He watches the beginnings of a smirk take over your expression, and stops the teasing attitude to dip his lips down to your neck.

There his trails tiny molten kisses along the skin, searching until your fingertips curl against his scalp and a small whimper casts out of your mouth. Attaching to the spot, his mouth blisters in a garden meant to flourish red and purple by next sunrise, and his hands continue to press into your ass riding up the fabric of your skirt as a moan escapes your lips, “Yoongi-”

“Do you want me to stop, angel?” He asks with a rough timbre the contrasts the soft ministrations he trails from the love bite to reach your mouth once more. Kissing the outline of your jaw, he hums against the skin waiting for your reply which comes as your hands remove from his hair to cup his face and bring his lips back to yours,

“Not at all.”

if you enjoy please, please let me know via ask, comment, rb with tags– however ! i’d just really appreciate feedback 🥺 i hope you enjoy the series, i’m working really hard on it! : )

also yes ik this chapter cuts off right before the smut lsjkdfkfdghg it’s also not going to be continued into the next chapter sO lkjdsffgdsfjkfg if it’s something you’d like to read as a blurb on its own lmk while commenting on this chapter hehe shameless incentive and i’ll try to write it as an additive piece to the story!

tag list (send an ask to be added): @jaiuneamesolitaiire​ @tsvkino-usagi​@xionysus​​ @baebyjoonie​ @honeyoongles​ @betysotelo18​

[submissivekpop]

[8.02 pm]; lee taeyong

Requested: yes

Words: 1400+

Warnings: smut, sub!taeyong, dom!reader, toys, pegging, orgasm denial, (somewhat) public sex, kinda vanilla tbh

A/N: combined two requests into one fic, hope you like it!

[8.02 pm]

Watching Taeyong squirm as he desperately tries to keep his composure has to be one of the most fun and interesting things you've ever done. The way his hips move in such a subtle way – or, at least, he hopes it's subtle – as he takes the melon dessert the waiter is handing to him – his own fingers shaking as he does so.

«Thank – ah – t-thank you» he stutters, blushing profusely when he notices a loud moan escaping his lips. You can't help but grin at the embarrassed expression painted on his face as soon as the waiter leaves, as if he were worried the man knew what was going on.

«Can y-you turn it off, p-please?» he asks, but you know he doesn't actually mean it. Sure, you might lower it a little bit, just to give him a break, but that's not what he wants – and neither do you.

You shake your head, watching as he bites his bottom lip, his puppy eyes widening at your words.

«It was your idea, love» you remind him. «Deal with it.»

It was his idea indeed. Not the kind of idea you'd expect him to have, but you have to admit it pleasantly surprised you. To spice things up a little bit – not that he felt like your sex life was dull or boring, as he made sure to repeat at least a thousand times, in fear you might misunderstand him – he asked you to take control outside of the bedroom in quite a peculiar way. Handing you a bullet vibrator and a small remote, he explained how he intended to wear it before going out, leaving the remote to you and allowing you to turn it on and off as you liked. He didn't even need to finish his sentence before you agreed – after all, who could have said no to such an offer?

«I-It's good» he says, swallowing a bite of food – but the both of you know it's not that what he's referring to.

«Oh, is it?» you coo, and he nods, taking another bite into his mouth.

«I just hope it d-doesn't stain my p-pants.»

His voice is as soft as a whisper, but you can hear him anyway. You don't need to ask him why he'd bother with such a thing to know what he's talking about. The way he desperately grinds onto the chair, the redness on his face and the soft pants leaving his lips are enough to tell you how close he is. That's why, when you notice his hips moving more frantically, you decide to turn the vibrator off, not allowing him to reach his high.

«W-Why?» he whines, and you wonder if he has already forgotten where you are. Luckily, the table you're sat at is quite hidden, but that doesn't mean no one would notice – especially if he were to go around with a wet stain on his pants, right on his crotch.

«Finish your dessert, we're going home» it's all you say, before focusing on your own dessert.

The ride home seems longer than usual and, judging by Taeyong's expression, more unbearable as well. The bumpy road that separates your apartment from the restaurant you've just been to doesn't help at all, but the moans that leave his lips every single time you hit a pothole – the vibrator moving slightly inside him – are music to your ears.

When you finally do arrive at your apartment, he frantically moves around you, eager to get inside, knowing exactly what is going to happen – or, at least, hoping it would. You, on the other hand, take the chance to tease him even more: everything you do, you do it slowly, so slowly that it starts to get on his nerves, but he knows better than to complain. His eyes follow your every move intently, watching as you take what you need from the drawer, before slowly undressing right in front of him. A part of him would like to whine, hoping it would get you to speed thing up a bit, but the other part knows it would be useless – in fact, it could have the opposite effect. He tries to control himself when you start undressing him, his own heartbeat so loud and fast he's afraid you might hear it too, his skin hotter than usual.

Slightly pushing him down, he falls down on the mattress, his legs spreading without the need for you to tell him to. A reflex action, maybe, or maybe he's just so aroused he can't wait anymore. In any case, it doesn't take long before your cold, lubed finger starts teasing his hole, a soft moan echoing in the room as you slowly push it inside – the vibrator still inside him.

«More, p-please.»

«Patience, love» you coo,  your finger only a knuckle in and moving in an agonizingly slow manner – enough to drive him crazy. Then, once you're satisfied with the number of whimpers leaving his lips, you add another finger, his mouth forming an “O” shape as soon as you do so.

«Do you like it?»

Not able to form any word, he frantically nods, trashing his head right and left on his pillow a few moments later. In less than two minutes, he's ready to take a third finger, but you have no intention of giving it to him. Instead, you remove your fingers, take the vibrator's control once again and turn it on on the lowest setting, a loud whine following your actions.

«I'm going to fuck you with this still inside you, love, how about that?»

His eyes widen in surprise, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

«W-Won't it be dangerous?» he asks.

Shaking your head, you lightly pull the string attached to the vibrator – something he apparently forgot about – to prove him there's no way it could get stuck.

«We don't have to do it, if you don't want it» you remind him, softly caressing his thighs to reassure him.

«N-No, it's fine. Let's do it.»

Falling back on the pillows, he does his best to relax – knowing that being tense would only slow things down once again, and that's something he absolutely wants to avoid. He can hear you fiddling with your strap-on, his cock twitching in excitement as he feels you climb onto the bed once again, and even more when he feels the cold tip pressing against his hole.

«Ready?» you ask, wanting to make sure he hasn't changed is mind in the meantime.

Nodding, he hums in response, holding his legs up to make it easier for you to push it inside. The groan he lets out when you do is sort of animalistic, but it turns you on more than you'd expect it to. You want to take things slowly once again, but you know you won't be able to – not only he wants to be fucked hard and fast, but so do you. You can't wait to make a mess out of him, make him beg and cry as you give him so much pleasure that he's close to completely losing his mind. Putting the vibrator on the highest setting, you start thrusting inside him, his hips moving according to your pace, clashing against your body as he tries to get as much friction and pleasure as possible.

The sounds coming out of his mouth are enough to wake the entire neighbourhood, loud and high-pitched moans mixed with low grunts whenever you hit his sweet spot, the toy sending strong vibrations inside him, enhancing his pleasure even more.

There's precum leaking from his tip, forming a small, sticky pool onto his stomach, and you use it to lube your fingers before jerking his cock off.

«F-Fuck, Y/N!» he curses, his hips now trying to move according to your hand's movement as well. «S-So g-good.»

He's close and far more aroused than he was before, and you don't feel like denying his orgasm once again. That's why, when he does cum, you do not stop until you're sure he's let out every single drop he had in his body. Then, slowing down your pace, you allow him to come down from his high, caressing his body as you stop moving. Taking out the toys, you toss them on the other side of the mattress, before grabbing a few napkins from the night-stand and cleaning him as best as you can.

«W-Wow» he says, once you're laying next to him. «That was so hot.»

«Glad you liked it, love» you answer, your hand drawing imaginary patterns on his naked chest. «Even though I kinda went easy on you.»

Raising his eyebrow, he turns around to look at him.

«You... did?»

Humming, you nod.

«H-How is it, when you don't go easy on me?» he asks, honestly curious about it.

«Do you wanna find out?»

Feedback is always appreciated!

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

It’s Too Late For That

Police Captain!Steve Rogers X Reader Past Cop!Bucky Barnes X Reader Cop!Bucky Barnes X Detective Natasha Romanoff Natasha had slowly filled the hole in his chest, making space for herself.  It still wasn’t enough.

a/n:this shit is angsty, AF, so be warned warnings:excessive drinking, bad habits, destructive habits

The gala that Tony was throwing was stuffed to the brim with people, it was mostly a party to announce that Steve was being promoted to Captain of the police force.  Bucky was excited for his friend, to see what the future had in store for him.  He was a great officer, and being able to do more for the world filled Steve with pride.

Steve had mentioned that he was going to stop by for a couple of hours, and that he was bringing a date along with him.  Bucky wasn’t stupid though, Steve was probably going to beg Sharon to come as his date so he didn’t so alone.  He’d admitted it during one of the times they’d been out in the field together, how he’d asked her to come along so Tony would stop asking questions.

“Tony’s making his rounds, try and look a little friendly.” Natasha’s smirk was playful, only joking partially.

“Can’t make any promises there, he likes to get under our skin too easily.” Bucky chuckled to himself, watching as the man in question stepped up.

Tony stepped up, tux looking crisp as ever, glass of scotch held loosely in the hand that wasn’t shoved deep in his pocket.

“Nice to see you cleaned up for once, enjoying the party?” Tony took a slow sip, glancing around the room as if he was also expecting someone.

“Nat convinced me it wouldn’t be so bad, you have her to thank for all this.” Bucky glanced over to the red head, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

The door opened to let in a slew of guests, Bucky immediately recognized General Ross, Steve was close behind him, who was that on his arm though..? Oh, was she really here with him?  That arm didn’t look friendly at all, so there was no way that Steve asked her to come as his friend.  Bucky’s lips pulled into a scowl, glaring a hole into the blonde.

“I was wondering when he’d finally show, took him long enough.” Tony headed off, slipping into a conversation with such ease it astounded Bucky.

Steve was laughing, it sounded like Y/N had made a joke, nose scrunching as she laughed along with him.  This wasn’t fair, how could Steve move in on his girl like that?  Except, Y/N wasn’t his anymore, he’d let her go over five years ago.

“Y/N, we can’t keep doing this, one of these days I could end up getting killed when I’m out in the field, and where does that leave you?” Bucky pulled on his leather jacket, looking at the small duffel bag of things he’d left at her apartment.

She didn’t say anything, tears welling up in her eyes as she watched the man she’d loved for almost two years break her heart.

“Buck, we’ve been making this work just fine, what happened?” Y/N knew deep down that nothing she said would convince Bucky to say.

“We’re not right for each other, you should be with someone you can actually spend time with.  I’ll see you around.” Bucky picked up the duffel, leaving the apartment one final time. Y/N could hardly believe the words that seemed to seep into her skin, Bucky was truly gone, and it was all her fault.  How could she be so blind to all of this?  It was obvious they weren’t going to work out together, not with who he was. Bucky hadn’t realized the glass in his left hand shattered until the smell of alcohol floated into the air.  Natasha had watched it happen, unsure of what exactly had caused the action, Bucky had seemed alright for the most part.

“Rogers!  Y/L/N!  It’s about time.” Sam was his usual hyper self, something that was slowly getting on Bucky’s nerves. “Sorry, traffic was an absolute nightmare, we even tried to leave early to avoid it.” Steve smiled, pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek in the process.

“Of course, I actually drove with Maria, and Peter so we could help avoid the awkwardness of taking three separate cars.” Sam rolled his eyes, as if ignoring what was happening right in front of him.

How could he be so calm about Steve and Y/N being so chummy together?  It wasn’t right!

“Buck, you just have to understand where I’m coming from, she deserved better than that kind of break up.” Sam had been trying to help play therapist for a while, seeing as Bucky refused to see an actual therapist.

“She knows the type of work we do, I can’t promise her that I'll be able to come home every time.” Bucky ran a hand through his hair, sighing softly.

“And she still chose to date you, and you threw it all away because you were scared.” Sam wasn’t afraid to tell him how it was though, and Bucky was somewhat grateful for that.

Bucky ended up spending more time in the gym than what someone would consider healthy, it was his own coping mechanism.

He wanted to apologize, to tell Y/N that he was truly and utterly sorry for the heartbreak he was putting her through, but he couldn’t.  She needed to find someone that wasn’t like him, someone that could give her everything she’d ever ask for without having to sacrifice her own life in return. 

Bucky was selfish.

Steve had his arm wrapped around her waist, lower than he’d ever done on any of their other female friends, and especially on Y/N.  It made Bucky’s blood boil, eyes glaring a hole into the  side of the blonde’s head.  She wasn’t his to be around, to cuddle into during this event.

No, she didn’t belong to Bucky either.  Y/N was her own person, who could very well make her own decisions, even if it meant hurting Bucky in the end.  And Steve!  How could he do that to Bucky, knowing what it cost him?

“James, you can’t be mad at her for moving on, not when you did the same thing.” Natasha was right, he had no right to be angry.

“I know.” Bucky kept his voice low, afraid to attract any unwanted attention.

So why does it feel so wrong to see her with someone else?  Someone he trusted with his life on more than one occasion?

“Steve?  Where the hell are you right now?” Bucky could hear what sounded like club music in the background, bass booming loudly over the phone.

“I had to pick someone up, they had a little too much to drink.” Must’ve been Sam, he had mentioned he was going out earlier in the day. “Oh, alright, let me know when you get back.” Bucky hung up and set his phone back on the nightstand, resting against the pillows as Natasha laid beside him, sleeping peacefully.

Steve wasn’t going to tell him the truth, that Y/N had called him, voice overly cheery and words slurring as she struggled to remember the name of the club she’d found herself in.  There was a guy that wouldn’t leave her alone, and she’d begun to feel unsafe.  She wanted to call Bucky and beg him to come get her, but he wouldn’t answer her calls anymore.  So she called the next person in line, Steve.

He arrived not even five minutes after she called, keys clutched loosely in his hand as he looked for the woman in question.  Surely it couldn’t be that hard to find her, then again, this place was pretty damn crowded at the moment.

“Stevie!  I knew you’d come rescue me!” Y/N threw her arms around his neck, giggling into the softness of the shirt he had on.

Most of the club goers didn’t even so much as glanced towards Steve, assuming he was just a friend of the girl who was much too drunk.

“I told you I was coming, just had to get dressed was all.” Steve smiled softly, wrapping his arms around her waist carefully.  

Her dress was much shorter than he’d seen her wear in the past, and he knew that judging her based on her outfit was downright rude, but something unnerved him.  Was this her way of trying to move on from Bucky?  Find someone to fill that void he’d left inside of her heart?  An open wound that would forever bleed.

“How about we head out and get some pizza, I know how much you like Giovanni’s down by the tower.” He’d taken her there a few times whenever Bucky was out on a mission, Sam usually tagged along just for the free food.

“Just don’t drop me Stevie.” Y/N kept her arms around his neck, waiting for Steve to pick her up.

He caught on quickly, picking her up in a bridal carry before heading out to where he’d parked his truck.  Y/N reached down idly, struggling to pull down the hem of her dress as not to flash people that were walking by.  Surely Steve had a pair of sweatpants somewhere in the car, something she could wear so she felt more comfortable.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Steve set her into the passenger seat, reaching into the back and plopping a pair of black sweats onto her lap.

Y/N stayed silent, eyes lost somewhere even Steve wouldn’t be able to reach her.  “Bucky’s been staring at you two since you guys got here, does he not know?” Sam sipped from the champagne glass in his hand, eyebrow slightly raised.

“I tried telling him back when we got together, but it’s like he blocked me out entirely, wouldn’t listen to a word I said.” Steve shrugged, pulling Y/N closer to his side and pressing a kiss to her hair.

Bucky had resorted to drinking, constantly.  He was afraid of what the consequences were going to be if he ever got caught drinking on the job.  Steve would most likely have him fired, or at least force him to go to rehab until he’d learned his lesson.  He just couldn’t forget the way she looked at him, tears in her eyes as she begged him to stay. 

Natasha had slowly filled the hole in his chest, making space for herself.  It still wasn’t enough.

“Buck, you alright?” Clint stepped over to his desk, looking at the papers messily strewn about.

“Yeah, just a little tired I guess.” Bucky was being sent on a six month undercover mission, he wasn’t really ready for it.

“I think we all are, I heard Natasha’s going with this time.” That seemed to catch his attention, she was joining the mission? 

“What are you talking about?  I thought she was pursuing something else?” Bucky’s blood ran cold, if Nat joined him, she’d know he wasn’t alright.

Bucky was admitted into a rehab the moment they got back from the mission, successfully taking down a drug lord that was running rampant through most of New York.  While the win was great, Bucky couldn’t ignore that he truly did have a problem.

“You started drinking because you left her James, you can’t blame her for finding someone else.” Natasha shrugged, heading off to talk with Clint.

Sam was animatedly talking with Steve about something he couldn’t really understand from being too far away.  They’d been close back when Y/N and he were dating, and then things got tense.  Bucky couldn’t really blame everyone for taking a break from speaking with him, he would have done the same exact thing if he could’ve.

“Is this thing on?” Tony tapped against the mic, chuckling when his voice echoed throughout the open room.

“Alright, I know you guys are all here to join us in welcoming Steve in becoming Captain, so get on up here before I send someone down to pull you up here.” Tony stepped away from the mic, watching Steve head up to the stage.

Bucky clapped along with everyone else, afraid that if he didn’t, someone would notice and word would end up getting back to Steve.

“I can’t begin to say how much of an honor it is to be chosen to be a leader to all of you fine men and women, it’s something I’ve thought about for a while now to be honest and I’m grateful you chose me.  I didn’t become a cop right away though, I joined the army when I was barely eighteen, ready to fight for my country and make the world a better place.  Unfortunately, the world’s always going to have tragedy, and death, and that’s not something even I can prevent.  So instead of making the rest of my speech horribly depressing, I’d like to call someone up onto the stage to join me in this endeavor.” Steve glanced down to where Y/N was, Bucky watched the shock cross over her features.

This wasn’t happening, there was no way he was going to do what was currently running rampant through Bucky’s mind.

Y/N fixed her dress as soon as she was up on the stage, a bright smile on her face as she stepped over to Steve.

“We’ve known one another since we were teenagers, kids dumb enough to know better, but still willing to do some stupid things along the way.  We had our ups and downs like everyone does, even spent our time dating other people who saw the good in us, but didn’t think we were right for them.  I just have one thing to ask, will you marry me?” Steve knelt down, pulling the small velvet box from his pocket.

Even from nearly twenty feet away Bucky could see that the ring was beautiful, the stone was bigger than the one that Bucky had personally picked out for Natasha’s ring.  Had he gone to the same jeweler that Bucky had?  Custom made a ring that would only ever be perfect for Y/N?

“Yes!” Y/N threw her arms around his neck, laughing happily as she pressed their lips together.

Bucky felt sick, stomach twisting as he watched the happy couple announce their new engagement to everyone in the room.  People were cheering, that much he could gather even though it sounded as if his ears were blocked.  Sam ran onto the stage to hug them, laughing as he told everyone he’d helped Steve pick out the ring, how nervous the blonde had been.

Y/N deserved this though, someone who was going to guarantee her a happy life for the rest of her days.  Steve was going to be her person, just like Natasha was going to be his.  They would get married, have children, and grow old together, whereas Bucky, and Natasha couldn’t have that.

Would he be able to go to their wedding?  Watch the love of his life marry someone else without letting greed control his movements?  His words?  

“You need to let her go, she deserves someone that won’t abandon her when things get tough.” Tony’s voice, although quiet, sounded much angrier than he’d ever heard before.

“She already has someone else, she’s not mine anymore.” Bucky turned and left the room, effectively leaving behind the woman he loved, and the best friend he’d had for so long.

3 Years Later Bucky had told himself he couldn’t go, he’d make up a lie as to why he wasn’t able to attend when it came down to it, but in reality he couldn’t hurt her like that again.  So here he was, almost in the front row as he watched Steve take a few slow breaths.  Sam stood behind him, whispering encouraging words to keep the other man calm.

When the music changed indicating that Y/N would be making her way down the aisle, Bucky stood slowly.  He knew not to hold onto the chair in front of him, for fear of breaking it with his metal hand.  It had always been too strong for him to properly handle, and today would be no different.

She looked breathtaking, from the way her hair had been pinned almost effortlessly, to the way her eyes glistened in the soft lighting.  Steve hadn’t taken his eyes off her, smile brighter than the sun even on the clearest day.  They were meant for each other, and Bucky wasn’t going to stand in their way.

The ceremony was quiet, peaceful almost as Bucky watched Y/N slide the ring onto Steve’s finger, and he do the same to hers.  The bands were simple, it almost reminded Bucky of his own that sat upon his left hand.  Their kiss wasn’t so simple and sweet, Steve dipped her low, pressing their mouths hungrily together.

Bucky couldn’t even do that for Natasha during their own wedding, pressing their lips together gently as if he would break her otherwise.  He hadn’t held back during the honeymoon, showing Nat that he had married her for a reason.  Except now he was unsure if he’d truly made the right choice.

They’d sat him, and Natasha with their other friends, place cards sat neatly as he headed over with an arm around Nat’s waist.

Sam was already at the table, along with Clint, Tony and his wife, Pepper, and someone he didn’t much recognize.

“Hey, long time no see you guys.” Sam hugged him carefully, stepping around to hug Nat as well.

That was how they went around the table, greeting everyone until it was time for the new bride and groom to head inside.  Bucky tightened his grip when Y/N looked over, glowing smile on her face as she stepped onto the dance floor with Steve.

It was obvious she’d helped teach him how to dance, the man was a disaster on the dance floor, no matter the occasion.  Watching them though, brought a small smile to Bucky’s face, even if his heart was screaming violent obscenities at him.  Natasha made him happy, it’s why he’d asked her out on a date, it’s why they got married, Bucky was happy. It was also a downright lie.

[interesting-blog-name]

SLIGHTLY NEW ALBUMS I LIKED (Little Simz - GREY Area; Monsune - Tradition; Backxwash - God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It)

More loose reviews that I write and instantly want to get out of my Word document and into Tumblr without much of an overlaying theme between the albums or any planning as to which ones I’ll be releasing at which point, but it is what it is. This time I’ll be compiling some recent-ish albums I’ve enjoyed, two of which I’ve come to know from TheNeedleDrop (I try not to watch reviews before writing down my opinion btw), and one EP from an artist I like. Here it is.

Little Simz – GREY Area

Little Simz, the 26-year-old British rapper, is an artist I’ve loved the first time I heard her, when I listened to Selfish for the first time and saw her cover of Feel Good Inc. in triple-j’s Like A Version. Today, May 30th, I was planning on listening to White Chalk by PJ Harvey, but from what I read, it’s a pretty depressing album, and I’m not in the mood for that right now, so I picked GREY Area from my future listening list.

It’s really nice to hear a rap album like this once in a while. The instrumentation is organic and well thought out, her flow is amazing, and her lyrics have so much substance and personality to them, ranging from the happier, more reminiscent tone in 101 FM to the much more aggressive tracks Offence, Boss, Venom and Pressure, she’s always giving her take on life, telling the experience of what it’s like being a black person with big dreams in England, seeing friends die while she tries to go somewhere in life through music.

The main tone she picks for her self-narrative is an unapologetic view of the world around her; she tells the listener: “’til now I ain’t ever been the selfish type, ‘till now I ain’t ever told nobody no, don’t get it twisted. This shit ain’t happen overnight” in the biggest song off here, Selfish, featuring the most calming and lavish pianos and violins in this album, and an amazing feature by Cleo Sol on the hook. Pressure features an amazing batch of verses all about. Same thing with the intro, Offence, with its bold, empowering chorus; although the track comes off more playful with its cartoonish sound effects nearing the end than the raw message of the track mentioned previously. A great, high-spirited track to start off the album.

What isn’t as high-spirited is the next track, Boss, or, to be fair, almost all the other tracks in the album. Boss is a big fuck you to anyone you might dedicate the song to: the hook has Simz’s most aggressive delivery in the whole record, and the entire message is about getting over those who hurt you and coming up.  The second verse is something else.

Wounds, featuring Jamaican singer Chronixx, deals mostly with the gun/crime problem ever-so-present in marginalized communities all around the world, and she tells the story from the perspective of both herself and as a companion of the “gun man”, repeatedly mentioned in the song (“When a gun man only knows self-hate, them bullets show no love”). I’m not super crazy for Chronixx’s hook, or the much slower tempo of the track, but it fits well with the groovy instrumental. Venom, on the other hand, is a super exciting, menacing song. She goes all out over the violins playing in the background, but unfortunately, the track burns twice as bright to last half as long.

To lighten the mood a bit, 101 FM brings the most electronic instrumental, with cheerful, banging 808s and synths, and lyrics about her come up as a rapper, probably the verses where her British accent and slang dominate the most, giving them a more personal feel somewhat. Pressure doesn’t feature the most compelling instrumental or hooks in here – the Little Dragon refrain is mixed very poorly and the vocalist just doesn’t do a great job -, but the verses compensate for that, especially the first one, probably one of the most heartfelt and important ones in this album. Therapy talks about Simz’s struggles with finding comfort in therapy. The instrumental is average for the project, but still slaps, so that’s nice.

Sherbet Sunset is an ode to a broken relationship, and a theme that could be handled so poorly by other artists is handled masterfully by Little Simz. In three verses, she displays so many sides to what I assume is one relationship, so many emotions and thoughts that she shares, it really feels like she’s transcribing something of a focused, bright mind rush over the track, and it amazes me how she can reveal her feelings so well on a track like this, progressing from the regret of not seeing how it’d go wrong, to the anxiety that comes from spending all that time for seemingly nothing, to coming to terms with it in the last verse (although not quite). It’s a stunning song now that I listen to it again.

To close it all off, we have Flowers, mainly a tribute to various artists from the 27 club, with mentions of Jimi Hendrix and Amy Winehouse in the verses, trying to relate to their struggles with drug addiction and quick fame. It’s incredibly powerful and a great finisher.

I don’t dislike one track in GREY Area. It’s well conceived, a great statement, it really feels like she gives her all to make every track memorable, and even though her delivery is mostly monotone throughout the whole album, that also works to her favor, as she has a very unique and recognizable voice. So the lyrics are extremely well written, and the only reason I don’t give more examples of that is because I got a whole lot of school shit to do, the instrumental work is clean and precise, and I don’t have a whole lot to complain about. Check this shit out if you haven’t.

 FAVORITE TRACKS: 101 FM, Venom, Selfish, Offence, Boss, Pressure

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: lol nah

 8.7/10

“Why you wanna all dress lies as truth? Have you ever seen what silence do? I don’t wanna see no violent troops putting out fires that haven’t been started”

 Monsune – Tradition

Damn I did not expect to like this as much as I did.

Monsune is a Chinese-Canadian singer who has recently been gaining some popularity from his amazing song OUTTA MY MIND, which features a funky bassline and high-pitched guitar playing that some have compared to Childish Gambino, specifically his album “Awaken, My Love!”. I decided to check out this short EP by him to see if he had anything more to offer, and it’s safe to say, he does.

The first track off Tradition already shows what this guy can do with his production. It starts off with the same vibe off of his previously mentioned biggest track, but on steroids: a prominent bassline, pitch-altered backing vocals, sunny guitars, and drowned out drums. His voice is also reaching higher notes in this song than in OUTTA MY MIND, but then in the middle of the song it all slows down for a very welcome beat change that shifts the song from this summer anthem to a very chill R&B tune. It’s amazing stuff, although I don’t understand why he chose to put some very noticeable autotune in this part.

CLOUD is my least favorite from the EP, but it’s still a very solid song, it’s just not amazing. The bass is still very strong, and the bridge later on in the song is addictive as shit. After that track comes OUTTA MY MIND, and then his style completely switches in MOUNTAIN, which starts off with some solo guitar and his low, beautiful singing. It’s actually really moving for some reason lol. It then picks up in the hook, the drums kick in along with what I assume is a keyboard, and his voice reaches the top of his range for the backing vocals, it’s a very well-made song.

JADE finishes Tradition off extremely beautifully, with a smooth acoustic guitar intro over a nice-ass bass, some ethereal, trippy scenes of Monsune floating over the ocean and appearing out of thin air in front of you (probably not you, the listener). And then all of a sudden this madman screams off the top of his lungs in the middle of the track and I fucking love it.

The flaws this EP has are mostly related to the mixing, which I think can be a little too harsh in some sections such as the big breakdowns in JADE and MOUNTAIN. Plus, I know lyrics aren’t a focus on a project like this, but it would be nice to get something more than love songs in the future perhaps. Still, loving this EP, so glad I checked Monsune out. You should too.

 WORST TO BEST: CLOUDS, 1998, JADE, OUTTA MY MIND, MOUNTAIN

 8/10

“Don’t you wanna come down? Cause I’m so bored of walking on the same old sky”

 Backxwash – God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It

God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It is an album by American rapper Backxwash, who received a new wave of attention after Anthony Fantano reviewed this album in his channel and gave it a decent 8. I haven’t watched the review yet, but I was interested in checking it out because of the high score, and especially since when I looked it up on Spotify, the songs only had around 8000 views.

Dark subject themes and the whole dark trap aesthetic are the core of this album. I, personally, have always been a fan of aggressive, heavy rap music, from more underground names like gizmo and Fukkit, to the more mainstream variant of these sounds, like XXXTENTACION. This album, however, operates in somewhat of a separate lane.

Many of the dark, edgy rap I used to listen to religiously back in the day was borderline mindless. Shit about ripping someone open, hollow flexing, except separated from mainstream rap only because the rapper in question is screaming their brains out when talking about designer clothes, instead of mumbling like your average Lil Baby, and, of course, personal problems, depression, being mad about whatever it was. Unlike its other contemporaries, however, it seems Backxwash has much more thought and elaboration into what she wants to yell about. Instead of hiding behind bass-boosted rather formulaic instrumentals, she takes the more scenic route, with still very dark, but more intricate gothic beats, sampling various religious speeches and implementing them into songs about black magic and overall unhappiness. The Black Sabbath sample that opens up this album should be enough for any listener to immediately understand what they’re about to get into, as the title track brings heavy percussion and some of the most graphic lyrics in the album, which it already doesn’t lack. Lines about downing pills and vodka, contemplating suicide, and blank vocalizations of anger (“I want war with these bitches, I want corpses and weapons”).

The track that resembles an average edgy Soundcloud rap song the most is Black Magic right after, with its own interpretation of the “ay” flow, shouted with a tone reminiscent of someone like Craig Xen. The big difference comes with the much grander production, especially the growling guitars that get introduced halfway, reminding the listener of Backxwash’s skill as a producer. From what I could tell, she was responsible for the production of the tracks in here, and considering there are no vocal guests except for Malldate’s quick appearance in Into The Void, I’m assuming the features listed in the tracklist are all producer credits as well, the feature in this track being Ada Rook, providing the amazing guitar work for this song.

Spells is mixed for me. I don’t enjoy the attempted singing in the chorus, and it falls completely flat to my ears; the beat is hard as ever, but the lyrics feel slightly disconnected with each other. At one point, she’s talking about going to Hell to her mom, at the other she mentions doors opening and closing in an office and how there’s no one in some corridor, and it doesn’t go anywhere from that, with lines such as “heart is so dead with tissue” not exactly evoking any sort of emotion or imagery.

Black Sheep is the most effective song out of the first four; it seems to filter all the positive aspects of the other tracks and package them into one quick serving. The beat is chaotic and in a constant state of unrest, the lyrics are centered and aimed at various of Backxwash’s problems in life, such as her father, people who want to bring her down and put her “in line on the X and O’s”, and overall venting. After that comes a brief interlude, the first of two that don’t have much use in the album except as pallet cleansers. It’s followed by Into The Void, a track that mentions her paranoia of being harassed and possibly killed when walking around in the streets and the deli. It’s haunting, and definitely the best song in here; it is laser-focused in the exact way I wished the previous tracks would be. Her vocal delivery is extremely expressive, and she tells the story in a way that gives the listener a brief, but at the same time immense glimpse of the reality that trans people face and have to go through, in a morbid fashion.

Adolescence is very short and eases the pace a bit after the intense emotions of the last. It’s a message to her younger brother that quickly descents into a confession of her inner struggle, mentioning possible overdoses and being too old for the 27 Club and fearing going to therapy. What’s great about this song is the fact that, even in such a short amount of time and with a less explosive instrumental, Backxwash manages to evoke her emotions so well; this is definitely what she does best in this record, and it overcomes the times where her delivery is flawed and her words are slurred and hard to understand. After this comes Amen, and holy fuck is this an angry song. Criticizing the hell out of the church, Backxwash comes at greedy pastors and their irresponsible spending when the churchgoers who support him are in need. My big problem with this song is the fact that the hook, as impassionate as it is, doesn’t do much for the subject, and the verse is way too short to have any impact with its theme. Lines like “these politicians politicking” don’t help much either.

The very distorted second interlude, Heaven’s Interlude, takes us to the last track, Redemption, the least intense song in here, which is appropriate as a sendoff. She expresses her frustrations towards her dad’s frustrations towards her being trans, and while the entire sentiment of the song is great and well formulated, I can’t find a way around the lines “Fuck these fucking boomers, fuck these fucking losers. Fuck theses motherfucking fuckers in their fucking two truck. Fuck these fuck(sic)abusers, and fuck these fucking rumors.”, they just emanate Limp Bizkit energy.

God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It is a very passionate, real, well produced and well-conceived album; it bears themes that are immensely important to be brought to the music scene, and by mixing that message with its explosive and polished production, it amplifies it a ton. However, as powerful as her deliveries are, I believe Backxwash can go much further with her songwriting and song structuring in the future, as well as her intonation, because that was really all that was keeping this album from being legendary. If she can do more of this in songs that are longer and super focused around whichever topic she decides, she can make something legendary. And thank God she got reviewed by Fantano, I hope she can take this opportunity and make something huge out of this.

 FAVORITE TRACKS: Into The Void, Black Sheep, God Has Nothing to Do With This Leave Him Out of It, Adolescence, Black Magic

LEAST FAVORITE TRACK: Spells

 7.7/10

“Chosen one, sad bitch, lowest scum. Coldest, huh, black sheep talk to ‘em. If the situation changed I would have said the same shit, exactly the same.”

[ephemeral-writings]

Everything I Need // 03

oh sehun x reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 3.3k

Everything I Need // oh sehun teaches you a thing or two about life. but falling for the boy who lived across from you was not what you had anticipated.  

Part 01 / Part 02 / Part 03 / Part 04 / Part 05

//////

Thankfully, there wasn’t another letter from your father found in your mailbox. Weeks passed before the anxiety in you finally let up, and you were back to your old self, a sleep deprived student with a sack of stress, but nevertheless, relieved that the non-existent communication with your father ceased. It was like the letter never existed.

However, the idea that he could possibly find you once--if-- he gets out on parole chips little pieces of sanity you still have within you.

“Let’s meet when I get out, okay? Appa will try his best to get out early so we can start over again.”

But you didn’t want to start over. You had to restart your life the minute you walked out of that house, and you will continue as so. Alone. You had managed three years without him, and if he had any thoughts on leaning on you for help, he was better off staying in prison.

It was Saturday night, and though you’d usually avoid all social events that forces you to interact with people, you had agreed to go to Jongdae’s birthday party since he did personally stopped you after class on Wednesday just to invite you. The least you could do was show up and wish him a happy birthday. Also, the better part of you decided that for your sanity, you needed to be somewhere that wasn’t your apartment.

You warned Jongdae beforehand that you’d be late since you were working, but he waved it aside, assuring you that the party wasn’t going to end at 11pm, the time you told him you’d finish work. So you rushed home after your shift, managed to squeeze in a quick four minute shower and apply the bare minimum of makeup just to look somewhat like you’ve made an effort. Your hair styled itself once you released it from the bun you had on for work, natural waves falling just below your elbows.

Jongdae had texted you the address earlier that week, but you didn’t think about checking it out first. Looking at the outside of the club now, you physically felt inclined to hop back in the cab you took and go home. The music was loud even from outside, you couldn’t imagine how wrecked your ears would be by the end of the night.

Here goes nothing.

There was a short line to get in, and you didn’t even wait five minutes before it was your turn to flash your ID and the bouncer finds your name on the clipboard he’s holding, and allows you through. Inside, it was loud, to say the least, but bearable. There are minimal tables floating around the circumference of the dance floor where small groups stood around, conversing with their drinks on the small round tables. Booths were elevated on a platform that wrapped around the whole club, some filled to the brim, others deserted as patrons found entertainment on the dance floor. The only thing that separate the dance floor from the tables were gold metal bars with red velvet detailings to match the floors. Somehow, even through the music, you heard your name being called out by someone. That someone being the birthday boy himself. He extricated himself from the large group of people, some of them peering at who Jongdae was running over to.

“You made it!” Jongdae gave you a one-arm hug, his other hand homing a cup with clear liquid.

“Yeah, I did,” you chuckle lightly and wish him a happy birthday to which he smiles gratefully.

“You look amazing. Was your hair always this long? How was work? Can I get you something to drink?” You could see that he was already tipsy from how warm his body was, and his hyperactive nature seemed tenfold as he fired questions at you before you could even open your mouth to answer.

“It’s alright, Jongdae. Why don’t you rejoin your friends? They’re looking for you, hmm?” You spoke to him as if you were speaking to a child. He gives you another hug before doing so, reminding you to have a good time. You weren’t too sure how to do that, but nodded in response.

You made your way to the bar which was on the opposite side of the club. A whole right wall made up the bar with a long mahogany island that separated the club go-ers and the bartenders. You found an empty seat easily, settling on it and trying to make yourself more comfortable in the unfamiliar setting. One look around and you noticed that everyone was around your age, some you even recognize from class. You guessed that Jongdae might’ve booked the whole club for his big day, and invited everyone he knew. You weren’t necessarily close to Jongdae, but he was the nicest person you’ve ever met and somehow made you feel like you were old friends. It was just too bad you don’t know anyone else at the party.

“Can I get you something, miss?”

The voice came directly from over your shoulder where your back was facing the island. You spun around to see a familiar face.

“Sehun?”

“Y/N?” Your neighbor looked surprise but not as much as you. A club was the last place you’d think you’d meet Sehun at, especially with the man standing behind the bar, asking to get you a drink. Speaking of which, you took a moment to appreciate his get-up. A striped button down with a small logo of the club embroidered on the right tip of the collar hugged his frame a little too perfectly. Around his neck was a velvet red necktie that matched the club’s red interior. Over his shirt was a neat, plaid vest also stitched with the club logo on the left breast. He cleaned up considerably well.

“Y/N,” Sehun called, snapping you back to reality. The tiny smirk on his face tells you he had caught you staring, and you flushed. “So, something to drink? It’s all on the house.”

“Um, I- I don’t know.” You really didn’t since it was your first time. All you knew about alcohol was beer and soju, the standard. “Surprise me, I guess.”

Sehun took a few seconds to think. As he leans on the granite top from behind the counter, you tried hard not to be distracted by the way his forearms taut and literally put out on display for you to drool over. His fingers tapped on the counter while he thinks, enticing you to follow the rhythm of it. Finally, after what felt like hours being under his spell, he moved to start making you a drink.

You watched, slightly amazed at the fluidity of his movements as he maneuvers behind the counter, walking to and fro and grabbing ingredients without even checking twice. He measures each component at a speed that wasn’t rushed nor lagged, just at a pace that showed off his expertise. It showed how comfortable he was, how confident he is in his work. He didn’t say a word as he worked, and it made you slightly self-conscious that maybe he wasn’t keen on talking to the girl who lived across the hall, nevermind serving her. Sehun finished off with some garnish, a thinly sliced orange and sprig of mint, and slid you the highball glass filled with a pink-orange gradient mixture.

You’re left staring at the piece of work in amazement before Sehun motion you to try it. You hesitate to mix the liquid, not knowing if you were suppose to drink it as is or blend the two colors. Sehun, noting the look of uncertainty on you, instructed, “Mix it, so that the flavors combine.”

You did as told, and took your first sip. It was a burst of flavors in your mouth, mostly citrus, and you barely tasted the alcohol you had seen him put in.

“It’s delicious,” you complimented, taking a few more sips before asking, “What is this?”

Sehun, though still ever expressionless, eyed you with mirth swimming in his eyes as he answered, “Sex on the Beach.”

You choked mid-swallow. “Excuse me?”

Sehun looked down, feigning wiping down his near-spotless station, as he attempted to conceal his grin. “That’s the name of the drink, Y/N.”

You flushed even deeper now that you’ve had something in your system. Mildly blaming the alcohol, you shut your mouth and continue nursing the drink. Sehun excused himself while he tended to two girls who appeared at the other side of the island. It was dim, you couldn’t make out the faces of the girls, but their body language said everything. If you could tell they were hitting on Sehun, you knew for sure he had an inkling as well. You could only see his back from where you sat, and you saw his shoulders bobbing up and down from something the girl in an all-black ensemble said. Maybe a pick-up line. And from the girl’s giggle, you figured she got the reaction she wanted.

The wonders of intoxication, you thought as the tension in your body begins to expel. You’re finding it easy to forget your worries and stray towards thoughts concerning your neighbor. Granted you’ve never seen a girl around his place, you couldn’t rule out the fact that he may have a girlfriend.

You’re far from drunk, tipsy maybe, at midpoint, so when Sehun came back after accepting something the girl slid on the counter, you request another drink. “Can I just get a shot, please, if I may?” Your words were beginning to blend, so you prayed Sehun understood you over the music and everything.

“So, you’re friends with Jongdae?” Sehun asked as he bends down to grab a bottle of Hennessy. He pulled a shot glass towards him as well, but he doesn’t pour the liquor in. Sehun wordlessly motioned you to finish your drink which you had a few sips worth left.

You play with the orange slice in your cup, stabbing it with the straw to release it’s natural juice compared to the cartoned juice you saw Sehun poured in earlier. “We’re classmates, yes, but I wouldn’t necessarily call us friends.” Your lips fell into a natural pout as you think about how nonexistent your social life was. “Jongdae is just really, really nice. He’s friends with everyone, so I guess that’s a yes to answer your question. Do you know him?” You asked, cocking your head sideways as you looked at your neighbor slash bartender.  

“Sorta,” he grunted, assessing how talkative you were in your intoxicated state. “He’s my boss’s cousin. Comes by too often, if you ask me.” You made a sound of acknowledgement followed by a loud slurp that indicated the end of your cocktail. Sehun quirked a smile when you shyly peeked over the rim of your now empty glass, silently asking him for another fill.

“You here alone?” Sehun questioned as he pour you a shot of the brown liquor. He traded you it for the empty glass when he was done. You made a face that Sehun couldn’t read, and downed the shot, morphing your expression from one of dejection to disgust.

“I didn’t choose to, y’know?” Your abrupt statement only made him more confused, but he continued listening, silently, intently.

“Jongdae, like I said, is really nice. He’s friends with practically everyone on campus. He talks to me in class even though I sit all the way in the back, and he sits in the front with his friends. But does that mean I’m not? Am I secretly a bitch?” You whispered the last bit, burning holes in the mahogany wood. You’ve lost Sehun, you think, but to your surprise the shot glass in front of you disappeared and you redirect your gaze back to your neighbor. Sehun poured you another shot, though significantly less than the first.

He placed it back on your coaster, making sure you’re looking at him and listening when he tells you, “You’re far from one, Y/N. You might be...a little difficult to approach but you don’t bite.” He shrugged, “At least not the first time we met.”

“Oh, yeah,” you agreed animatedly, assuming he was talking about the day you had locked yourself out. “I was really tired and stressed that day.”

“As you are every day, it seems,” Sehun mumbled with his arms crossed. “But that’s not the day I was talking about.”

You plopped your arms on the counter, too quickly for your reflexes that weren’t top-notch functional at the moment, and you end up hitting your funny bone. You pouted while cradling your elbow. “Then what day are you talking about? We’ve never talked before then.”

Sehun prepared to explain when another tender, one of equal build and dressed identical to him, appeared behind him, tapping him on the shoulder to gain his attention.

“Thanks for covering my station, man. You wanna go on your break now?” The guy offered to take over Sehun’s station as well. You noticed the hesitation in Sehun when he glances at you, so you quickly spoke up.

“Go! Don’t mind me! I have to look for Jongdae, anyways,” you urged. You slid down your stool without falling on your face, downing your third shot as you go, before shooting Sehun a thumbs up in thanks for the service. You didn’t hear when the other bartender asked Sehun who you were, and Sehun replied with, “My interesting neighbor.”  

You were more than buzzed, you weren’t dumb enough to not know that much. Though you were the one who told Sehun to leave you, you were regretting it already. You had to admit that talking to him came easy, or maybe it was liquid courage that made you spout all those sentences the way you weren’t used to. Not long after departing the bar, a man, evidently drunk, attempted a move on you. You don’t recognize him, even when you sobered up for a second when his hand went for your waist. The guy was eventually pulled away by his group of friends when he came a little too close to your face, invading your personal bubble. They apologized on his behalf, but you ignored them, walking the opposite direction to avoid further contact with them.

You spent fifteen minutes looking for Jongdae but to no avail and gave up. It was nearing 2:30am. You texted Jongdae, letting him know that you tried searching for him to say goodbye and thanking him for inviting you. You doubted he’d respond but at least he would know you’d left on the off chance that he goes searching for you later.

You were surprised that the party was still going strong. The dance crowd had simmered down, and instead of the loud head-banging kind of music that you had walked in on, the DJ had turned it to a more chill, house-party kind of vibe. Meanwhile, your feet ached from all the walking around you had done at work and just wished to be home, sleeping. In your haze, you stumbled out the wrong door. Instead of the main entrance, you had opened the door next to it. It led to an alleyway, one that separated the club’s building from the next one over. There was a metal fence cage that blocked loiterers on the streets from coming up on the property, but the other side of the fence was where you needed to be.

And boy, did you wished you could revert back in time and chosen the right door.

“I’m so sorry, excuse me,” you stammered, and you hated that you did.

The same girl that Sehun conversed with earlier sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes at the intruder, ruby red acrylics detaching from the man’s pecs when she steps back from Sehun’s frame.You were so sure she could claw your eyes out with her manicure. You ducked your head, refusing to look at Sehun or the girl directly in the eye to save yourself from embarrassment.

“Yah, Y/N?”

You stood paralyzed in dread when you heard the voice. Unwillingly, you looked at the girl standing in front of Sehun. You remembered her eyes being cold, black coals, but when your eyes met, you saw a piercing blue that made your blood run cold.

“It really is you,” she scoffed in disbelief. Jung Liah was your ex-roommate, the girl who made your first year of university a living hell. She’s changed her look. Before, her style didn’t matched her attitude, you suppose it took time to figure out her true colors. Her black on black matched perfectly well with her black coal of a heart.

You remembered dreading going back to the dorm because you knew all it held was her wrath, unwarranted and unrelenting, and the malicious remarks she made would torture you day and night. You never figured out why she hated you so much, but you had your assumptions.

“I see you haven’t changed one bit,” she sneered. “Always the nosy little mouse, you are.”

You knew exactly what she was referring to. One day, without any ill-intentions, you had decided to tidy up the room. It was a shared space, but Liah never thought twice about leaving her stuff strewn about, taking up your space as well. You had just bent down to gather the scattered pieces of paper when she came in after one of her lectures. Peeking through her belongings, she claimed, invading her privacy, she preached. You had muttered barely two words to defend yourself before she had kicked you out for the night.

After she blew up on you, it was never the same. She began to nick and prod at every “flaw” she found in you. If you didn’t shut your alarm after the first ring, she called you deaf. If you didn’t answer to her belittling, you were a mute and a coward. If you didn’t have weekend plans to party, she labeled you a loser.

Presently, you rolled your eyes. You noted a clear shock in her expression because no matter how many times she had put you down, you had never fought back. For her information, you had changed.

“Good seeing you, too, Liah,” you replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. You turned to Sehun, barely, and nod your head once, before turning back to where you came from.

“Fuck. Shit,” you cursed under your breath. Your hands clenched at your sides, willing the tingles of alcohol to wash away in your blood.

A brief thought crossed your mind, hoping you hadn’t ruin the moment for Sehun, he was so nice to you, he doesn’t deserve to not get laid tonight because of you. But you suddenly remember the hell that Liah put you through, and you’re glad to have interrupted. More profanities left your lips. Your mind went haywire with thoughts that shouldn’t be in your head but are, like how Sehun looked so disarmingly handsome, and how unfair that girl who was so nasty to you is to be able to have someone of Sehun’s caliber.

You were so busy with your internal turmoil you hadn’t notice the grip on your shoulder until you were turned around, faced with the man plaguing your mind with unwanted thoughts.

“Are you leaving?” He asked, face expressionless with the slightest wash of anger.

You took two steps away from him. “Yes. Look, I’m really sorry, about interrupting. It was a mistake, honest.” You look side to side, up and down, everywhere to avoid staring at him smack dab in front of you. “I’ll see you around, Sehun. Thanks, for the drinks.” It took way more effort than necessary to look at him and smile like you meant it. Before he could stop you a second time, you bolted. You ignored the burning gaze behind you, ignored the buzzing alcohol in your system, and skittering of your breath.

So much for suppressing your worries. You might’ve unlocked a new case full of troubles.

[darringauthier]

Bad Times At The El Royale (2018)

Genre: Thriller/Mystery/Drama

Who’s In It: Jeff Bridges, Cynthia Erivo, Jon Hamm, Chris Hemsworth, Cailee Spaeny, Lewis Pullman, Dakota Johnson

Who Directed It: Drew Goddard

Plot:  Circa 1969, several strangers, most with a secret to bury, meet by chance at Lake Tahoe's El Royale, a rundown hotel with a dark past. Over the course of one night, everyone will show their true colors - before everything goes to hell.

Running Time: 2 Hours  21 Minutes 

Rotten Tomatoes Score: Critics 75%   Audience 73%

Why I Watched It: The trailer was good and mostly cause of the cast.

How I Watched It: iTunes, I got it on sale for .99 cents

Random Thoughts: One of my pet peeves with movies is long running times and I complain about it a lot in my reviews but I want to make myself clear I don’t dislike movies over 2 hours but for me and my money and time they better have a reason for it.  Here’s the best way to say it, if you have a 2 hour story to tell then take the 2 hours and tell it but if you have a 90 minute story and you tell it in 2 hours then I have a problem.  Padding a story or not editing it can not only hurt the movie but also the audience might loose interest and check their phone or check out, or worst fall asleep.  For me now the first two things I do is check the plot and then the run time, if they match up then cool now I bring this up here because I almost didn’t watch Bad Times At The El Royale because of that running time, go check it I’ll wait for you.  This is a story told in one night so why would it take almost 2 and half hours to tell it maybe because the director wrote it, just saying.

What I Liked: The set up of the film is cool because honestly you have no clue where this is going, strike that as a movie fan you can see about five or six ways it could go so that’s always cool, who’s good, who’s bad, who’s story is it.  So the first 30 minutes or so have you paying attention and also kind of trying to figure out where this is going, now watching this it did remind me a lot of Lost the TV show and yes Drew Goddard did write on that show and you can tell, this film is full of flashbacks and every character has a story, so in theory that’s good cause fleshing out characters is something Hollywood doesn’t usually have the time or patience for.  Now doing the story like this you rely on two things, the script, this is a very talkie movie and the cast and here they have a good cast the standout for me is Jeff Bridges, there are times you have to love a veteran actor they bring baggage yes but i good actor uses that and here Bridges shows how good he is, he’s the most interesting character cause he plays it down the middle he could be bad he could be bad but he plays him human, he’s not a cliche and this character feels lived in.  Almost everyone here is good I want to give Cailee Spaeny a shout out, she’s very good and very creepy for a young actress this is a tough part and she’s so good, watch for her she could become a very good actress.  

The plot is of course very convoluted in telling but the story isn’t really,  the thing that makes it dense is we have basically three things going on and the trick is to figure out what characters are really important and who’s not, the thing I’ll give the movie is that it took me almost half the running time to figure what the A-Story is.  I get the way they told it, Goodard told it messy instead of clean cause life as we know and are told by movies all the time is messy.

The other thing I want to praise is the tone and the atmosphere, the film reeks of sadness and dread we don’t always know why but we feel it, we’re suspicious of some characters and we fear for others and that changes during the film, good storytelling.

What I Didn’t Like: Let me get it out of the way the freaking movie is too long, some of the flashbacks mean nothing even character wise most of them have no pay off, a spoiler of sorts here some characters die and when they do sure we got to know them somewhat but it doesn’t serve the story and let’s be honest here it’s the plot that is moving this story but we have a couple of characters that have at least two separate sub-plots that require flashbacks. It does really hamper the flow of the movie, here’s a good example Cynthia Erivo plays a singer and she has a great voice and that’s great but she sings a lot and you combine all her singing, flashbacks and the soundtrack this thing easily good be a musical and that really doesn’t matter to the movie sure it helps with mood but we didn’t need it.

Lets talk Chris Hemsworth, he’s not in it a lot but he’s a major character and it’s a great example of casting to type and against type, the character has to be charming and charismatic but also dark and scary and even though he’s good he’s trying to hard as is a lot of the actors, like I said this is a very wordy script and some characters go on and on and you can tell they’re aiming for the fences but it ends up feeling very forced and at the end of the day there’s a few characters I just didn’t buy, Hemsworth’s is the biggest fault here as he could only exist in a movie.

The grand finale is very dragged out and way more violent than it needed, the film especially by the end had a tone problem, this film is very dark and disturbing, it deals with some horrific subject matter but it still wants to be flashy and quippy.  The ending is also very bloody and it didn’t completely work for me, the violence just didn’t fit the story well for me.

Final Thoughts: It’s a watchable movie and at times it’s engrossing but it didn’t work enough for me, that being said if you don’t mind the running time and some of the subject matter it’s worth a watch.

Rating: 6/10  

[beca-mitchell]

Aubrey Posen's Guide to Using Social Media Effectively

summary: Aubrey learns that knowledge isn’t always power. In fact, she’d like to forget that she ever believed that.

aka this is an Aubrey-centric fic in which Aubrey learns that Beca and Chloe are seeing each other through various social media and how she deals with this.

word count: 6.5k

author’s note: Happy birthday @velmster!!!

Thank you for keeping me somewhat calm when we met bsnow. Thank you for helping me write my Pitch Perfect lectures. And thank you for being an incredible friend. I know how much you were looking forward to this story, so I really wanted to make sure it was finished for your bday! 

For everybody else, this story is based on a true story about how I found out my roommate and best friend were dating each other. Some embellishments here and there, but otherwise, yes I am crazy.

Also on AO3.

“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Aubrey Posen dislikes social media.

It’s not that she’s old, it’s more that she just doesn’t get it. Every day, it seems like a new social media network is created and Aubrey has pretty much only just figured out how to make a Bitmoji for her Snapchat account.

It’s mildly irritating that Chloe spends most of her time on one social media platform or another, flitting between her laptop and phone and persistently attempting to show Aubrey cute photos of corgis.

Well, she doesn’t dislike the content, it’s just that social media seems like a really difficult thing to keep up with and she has to worry about not flunking out of her MBA program.

Her buzzing phone jolts her out of her musings.

Instagram: chloebeale has sent you a video.

Knowing Chloe, it’s probably a meme, a topical video, or just a cute fluffy video of a corgi or a pug. Somehow, Chloe still manages to suss out when she’s feeling down because the videos tend to be on point with everything she’s going through at the moment.

She supposes just one more Instagram video of a corgi lying on its back won’t hurt.

Living with Chloe after Barden only makes sense. By the time Chloe finally graduates from university, Aubrey is done with managing the lodge and wanting to pursue something a bit more prestigious again.

They somehow both end up in New York, though Chloe has started working for an advertising agency and Aubrey has started school at NYU. Aubrey recalls that living with Chloe for their first year of Bellas co-captaincy had only been natural - as much as it had been a necessity. They weren’t allowed to have the Bellas house all to themselves because their entire team would be primarily first years. Without the allure of having a full team, student government had elected to allocate their treasured house to yet another sorority on campus.

Back then, Aubrey immediately shot down Chloe’s idea to join the sorority. Instead, she got to work and found a cute two-bedroom townhouse, small enough for the two of them and yet large enough that she doesn’t necessarily have to see Chloe’s things encroaching on her personal space.

If Aubrey’s being honest, Chloe’s ‘things’ might be a misnomer.

The absolute parade of people she’s seen (and heard, on many occasions) leaving Chloe’s room in previous years? That might be more accurate. It had admittedly stopped when Chloe set her eyes on one Beca Mitchell in the fall of 2011 and Aubrey saw significantly less people leaving their comfortable little townhouse. Instead, she saw more of Beca Mitchell than she would have liked back then, absolutely pestering Chloe with her latest music innovations or whatever the hell she called them.

And the next year, Chloe stayed back at Barden for another year with Bellas (read: Beca), she helped Chloe wrangle their treasured Bellas house back from the sorority and the rest is history.

Now, in New York City, freshly graduated, Aubrey has a little trouble finding something as cozy considering rent prices in New York City and the budget they’re both working with. She finds a nice two-bedroom (read: two-closet) apartment in East Village, with a functioning bathroom, kitchen,and , thank God, a working dishwasher. It’s a steal, even if Aubrey had flirted a little with the landlord and his wife to get a good price.

It’s a steal and she doesn’t have to share a bedroom with Chloe. She won’t have to hear Titanium for the millionth time.

Ultimately, Chloe is a good roommate. She picks up after herself. She cooks. She cleans.

(Aubrey has heard nightmarish stories from Chloe about what it had been like when Beca and Fat Amy shared a room in the Bellas’ house.)

The thing about Chloe is that she really has no sense of personal space. She enjoys shoving her phone into Aubrey’s face to show her a funny text or a cute image. She’ll ask Aubrey loudly and inappropriately whether she needs more tampons halfway down the aisle in the supermarket. She tries to braid Aubrey’s hair sometimes when they’re both lazily waiting for their laundry in the dingy laundromat - emphasis on tries . She sets Aubrey up on about five blind dates only their third month into living together in Manhattan.

In fact, Chloe’s fairly infuriating because she does all these things without asking and never wants anything in return. She never talks about her own feelings - the ones that Aubrey has to draw out of her with painstaking precision. In fact, Aubrey sometimes worries that her obsession with Beca Mitchell might be getting out of hand. Aubrey tries to remind Chloe that Beca isn’t so bad without her ear monstrosities and that maybe Beca just needs time to see the light (read: Chloe), like she did with her ear piercings.

Chloe just smiles and asks her whether she wants to get McDonalds for dinner.

Aubrey would never ask for another best friend.

“You know what you should do? Download Tinder, Bree. I’m sure the selection here is much better than Georgia.”

“No.”

(She downloads Tinder.

It is admittedly not horrible.

She ignores the smug look Chloe shoots her.)

Aubrey should have seen it coming, in retrospect. There’s something about Beca Mitchell that makes Chloe completely lose her mind whenever they come within touching distance of each other. Aubrey can’t recall Chloe ever being so touchy with anybody else, especially not when she vehemently reassures Aubrey that they’re “just friends, besides Beca is seeing Jesse.”

It’s weak and they both know it, but Aubrey supposes that the fixation on Beca means that Aubrey will get some peace and quiet in their apartment for the time being.

Until one day, Beca is very much single. It’s not even news that comes directly from the woman herself since Beca pretty much moved immediately to Los Angeles after graduating to pursue the first label that offered her a job. No, the news comes from Fat Amy who actively updates their group’s Facebook chat with whatever gossip she can find...usually about the Bellas themselves.

It’s actually kind of deja-vu, seeing the hurricane that has seemingly gone through her home. Aubrey comes home to a mess of crumpled-up pieces of paper and about five empty cans of cider.

“Oh, Chloe,” she murmurs, reaching for the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

Sitting with Chloe on the couch while she sleeps restlessly? That’s kind of deja-vu as well.

Instagram: chloebeale has sent you a photo.

It’s a photo of Jesse with his arm around a woman’s shoulder.

chloebeale: i can’t believe he moved on already!!!!!

Aubrey scowls, typing back. She doesn’t understand how she has five separate conversations going on with Chloe. Can’t she stick to just one account?

aubreyposen: You’re literally in the living room. You couldn’t have shown this to me in person?

aubreyposen: why don’t you message Beca if this is bothering you so much?

An hour later, Aubrey notices the Seen receipt and suspicious lack of reply from Chloe.

Aubrey finds out that Beca is actually living in New York before Chloe does. It’s only because she bumps into her at their local Trader Joe’s and is about to berate Beca for not knowing how to use her eyes when she realizes-

“Beca?”

“Aubrey?”

Aubrey is pleased to note that Beca looks mildly terrified of her in that moment, but she can’t quite dispel the warmth that rises up when she sees her friend. She had missed Beca, despite all her original reservations about her.

“I’m going to hug you now,” Beca states, somewhat awkwardly before proceeding to do so. When she pulls back, she looks equally  astounded. “Wow, what the hell? This is crazy. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“In this Trader Joe’s?”

Beca laughs at that, shaking her head. “No, I just meant...here, I guess. Manhattan.”

“How would you? You never message us.”

The mild terror is back in Beca’s eyes, alongside a glimmer of genuine regret and sadness.

“I thought I knew what…” Beca trails off, looking absently at her full cart. “How is Chloe?” she asks, lowering her voice. “I never…”

In a sympathetic streak, Aubrey shakes her head, stopping that difficult line of thought. “Why don’t we set up a kind of reunion dinner or something? Get more Bellas down here.”

Beca brightens and relaxes at that. Aubrey takes the opportunity to critique Beca’s choice in fresh produce.

There’s nothing quite like a Bellas party, even if the entire evening had been hijacked by Fat Amy. Somehow, she manages to wrangle them all into a party near Columbia.

“Do you go here?” Aubrey asks. She realizes that she’s not exactly sure what Amy is doing in New York. They had kept in contact sparsely over the years, but Aubrey knows stuff about Amy mostly through Chloe’s updates over the years.

“No, not really,” Amy answers vaguely. Aubrey doesn’t bother pursuing that. “Hey, do you think Beca and Chloe will finally figure it out?”

“Figure what out?” Aubrey asks absently.

There’s a long silence while Amy drinks from her cup, watching her carefully.  Aubrey waits, raising an eyebrow in response to Amy’s silence. Amy finishes her entire drink first before saying “never mind.”

Aubrey shrugs and squints through the darkness. She still feels a protective streak flare up in her at the thought of her teammates, even though she’s long been off the Bellas’ team. She takes in how far they’ve come - how distant and precious their years at Barden seem now, compared to everything. She is so grateful for the experience. Even though these are mostly Chloe’s friends, if anything, Aubrey feels like there’s definitely a connection and bond with this set of Bellas - one that’s stronger than ever before. She begrudgingly attributes it to Beca’s hand in reshaping the Bellas, and though she’d love to maintain that she finds Beca irritating about 90% of the time, she knows how untrue it is and how much she considers Beca a friend.

Looking back up, Aubrey scans the crowd again, relaxing against the cushions of the couch, which she has deemed the perfect vantage point.

She pauses.

She thinks she sees Chloe grabbing Beca’s hand and pulling her out onto the makeshift dance floor and Beca’s expression indicates mild protest and discomfort, but she follows obligingly. Aubrey thinks she sees this because they disappear as quickly as it happens.

She actually doesn’t think too much of it until much later. She sees what appears to be Beca and Chloe in a heated argument on the couch she had once been sitting on, now haphazardly pushed to the side. They are angled towards each other with a familiar comfort emanating from both of them.

“-didn’t mean it! God, Beca,” Chloe is exclaiming - loud enough for Aubrey to hear as she passes on the way to the kitchen.

She wonders if it was a mistake, introducing Beca back into Chloe’s life so soon after her break-up with Jesse. She stops walking and hovers near the doorway, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

Aubrey watches the tension rise and fall in Chloe’s shoulders, the way she turns her body towards Beca. She can no longer hear their conversation, but she watches anyway because a part of her kind of wishes they’d figure it out and - oh , that’s what Amy meant.

Aubrey wonders if Chloe will finally leap at this very perfect opportunity to reveal her ever-growing feelings for Beca. It’s a constant back and forth between them. Aubrey had been mildly interested in this fixation back when they had first met Beca, but now she’s kind of tired and wishes they’d just get their crap together.

Aubrey doesn’t see them for the rest of the night, but she might have been fairly distracted by the competitive karaoke game going down between Flo and a few other students.

“I think you’re right,” Aubrey tells Amy the next day. She hands Amy a bottle of Advil and a water bottle. “About Beca and Chloe.”

“Of course I’m right,” Amy mumbles. “Hey, can you go grab me a burger from Shake Shack?”

Chloe (4:41 p.m.) I’m gonna be visiting my parents this weekend in Portland! Don’t wait up ;)

Aubrey (4:50 p.m.) Say hi for me! Also, we’re rescheduling movie night.

Chloe (4:51 p.m.) Totes!

It’s not uncommon for Chloe to visit her parents. She did fairly frequently while they were in school together. The quiet weekend means Aubrey can tackle that case study that had been evading her focus for the past few days and she can work on a few other assignments she wants to get out of the way.

She’s about a quarter through an assignment when she gets a text.

(Fat) Amy (5:29 p.m.) the big bm is away for the weekend. Want to hang?

Aubrey considers that heavily. She waits an hour before replying.

Aubrey (6:34 p.m.) Sure.

Aubrey (6:34 p.m.) Also, stop calling her that

Hanging out with Amy is kind of fun, Aubrey supposes, so long as she takes everything with a grain of salt. She lets Amy tell her about her part-time job as a mail courier and makes it a point to ignore her stories about her more peculiar clients and their oddities. She tuned out after the story about a man with long toenails and tries to ensure her dinner stays down.

Aubrey finally focuses when Amy says, seemingly out of the blue, “So, how are we getting Beca and Chloe to admit their feelings for each other?”

She considers denying it or feigning confusion.

It’s tempting because Aubrey has always enjoyed a good scheme, but she doesn’t want to interfere too much, knowing that Chloe will likely want her privacy on this front. “Aren’t they figuring stuff out themselves?” she asks.

Fat Amy scoffs. “Please. Your hair is going to be grey before they actually sort everything out. We need to give them that little push.”

It’s already sounding better than working on tedious assignments, but Aubrey’s still cautious. “We shouldn’t meddle,” she says half-heartedly. “We really shouldn’t.”

She receives a glare in response. “We definitely should,” Amy retorts.

Well, Aubrey doesn’t know how to disagree with that. “What’s the plan? We need a plan.”

Instagram: @becamitchell has posted for the first time in a while. Check out their post!

Aubrey frowns at this very specific notification. Why has Instagram deemed this as important material? That seems invasive - both to her and Beca. She opens it regardless and tilts her head, trying to suss out what exactly it is that Beca posted. It’s a photo of Coney Island with the sunset in the background.

She notices that Chloe has already liked the post. She shakes her head. Chloe’s addiction to social media will always evade her understanding.

(Fat) Amy (2:57 p.m.) SHE LIKED HER POST!!!!

Aubrey (2:57 p.m.) Calm down, she likes everybody’s posts.

That is true, as far as Aubrey is aware. Chloe likes everybody’s Instagram posts. It’s not really that which is most interesting to Aubrey. There is something more interesting about the fact that Beca had apparently been at Coney Island all day, especially since Aubrey distinctly recalls that Chloe mentioned she had been planning to go over the weekend.

Aubrey (3:01 p.m.) Do you know if Beca went with anybody to Coney Island?

(Fat) Amy (3:03 p.m.) No, she never tells me anything.

Aubrey (3:03 p.m.) understandable.

If Aubrey knew that scheming with Amy meant reactivating her Facebook account, she would have declined immediately.

“Do I just create a Facebook group or something?” Aubrey asks, frowning at her phone. “Why can’t we just text them and tell them we’re having a movie night at our place?”

“What era are you from?” Amy demands. “Just make a Facebook event. I know Beca needs her entire life scheduled or she’ll never show up to anything.”

Aubrey grumbles and sets up a Facebook event. “It’s literally just going to be the four of us,” she mutters. “This is so unnecessary.”

“Fine,” Amy exclaims. “Let’s invite the rest of the Bellas.”

“Amy, no!”

Her cry is to no avail as Amy immediately invites the Bellas and a few other people whose names Aubrey can’t quite recognize at first glance. Aubrey’s first thought is how their landlord is going to receive a few complaints over the weekend because of course Amy would somehow turn a small gathering into an impromptu party.

She sighs, mentally doing calculations in her head as to how much food she should buy as well as how many drinks she’ll need to get.

“This is going to be amazing, Aubrey. I’m so happy you agreed to this.”

She tacks on a couple extra drinks to her mental list because she’s sure she’ll need it.

Leading up to the movie night in question - an event that once only belonged to Aubrey and Chloe - Aubrey tries to figure out if Chloe and Beca are still talking to each other.

Chloe has been quieter and more reserved recently, though she cites stress from her job as the primary reason.

There’s a part of her that knows instinctively that Chloe likely had some kind of falling out with Beca, or maybe she’s mulling over her own feelings, but Aubrey just wishes Chloe would open up to her.

“Chloe?” she tries tentatively one evening while they’re scarfing down take-out from their favourite Chinese restaurant.

Chloe glances up at her from where she’s reading text messages on her phone. It’s a bit too far that Aubrey can’t quite see who she’s texting. “Yeah, what’s up, Bree?” Chloe asks, clicking her phone off casually.

“You’d...tell me if you were seeing somebody, right?”

There is a very brief pause, but a pause nonetheless.

Then, Chloe, as quiet as Aubrey has ever heard her, murmurs “yes,” softly. “I would.”

“That’s good to know.”

Aubrey lets it go for the moment. She has assignments to worry about and this damned Bellas party.

Chloe is ridiculously excited about the movie night extravaganza Aubrey and Amy planned. They somehow manage to wrangle 12 women into their tiny apartment, with enough seating (most of it improvised) for everybody.

They opt to watch horror movies, starting with It . Aubrey is not sure whose brilliant idea this is, but she feels like it could be either Lilly’s or Amy’s.

Aubrey grumbles as she retrieves another roll of paper towels from underneath the sink. Amy has somehow spilled her third drink of the night - none of which have been her own drinks.

Aubrey notes that Chloe isn’t being particularly helpful either because she’s immersed in a conversation with Beca on the loveseat - the most comfortable seat in their apartment currently. Chloe has her arm casually draped around the back of the couch to play with strands of Beca’s hair and Beca seems to either not notice or not care , but it’s then that Aubrey realizes that it’s neither . Beca is enjoying it if the smile on her face is any indication.

God, they’re dating, Aubrey thinks, resisting the urge to point at them and yell out her triumph.

Instead, she tilts her head, observing in silence.

They’re sharing a blanket too, which Chloe brought out from her room. Neither of them notices anything about the movie that’s playing and it’s dark enough that Aubrey only catches glimpses from time to time of their expressions.

It’s enough to see that Chloe has never quite looked so happy and Beca has never quite looked so relaxed.

The next time Aubrey glances at them, Beca has seemingly fallen asleep, completely pressed into Chloe’s side with her head tilted onto her shoulder. Chloe isn’t bothering to watch the movie at all even though her conversation partner has knocked out. Instead, she watches Beca, eyes trained on her the whole time.

Aubrey can’t help but smile even if it briefly hurts her that Chloe evidently didn’t bother telling her about this little development at all.

Mostly because it’s such a significant development in her best friend’s life.

(Aubrey is ridiculously happy for her. And Beca too.)

While sitting next to Chloe on their couch, Aubrey tries to focus on reading her textbook, but she finds her eyes drawn to Chloe’s phone because it continues to vibrate with a new message every two seconds.

Chancing a glance at her best friend, she sees the slow smile spread across Chloe’s face - a smile that is so smitten and grossly cute that it makes Aubrey shudder because she knows who Chloe is talking to without having to see the messages.

When Chloe gets up to retrieve their mail from downstairs, Aubrey bites her lip before pressing the button on Chloe’s phone. She sees a slew of messages from Beca. Except, it’s not just ‘Beca’. Chloe has changed her name on messenger to read as “grumpy becs” followed by three emojis: a blue heart, a raincloud, and a star.

The messages themselves are all the more incriminating, if the display name change weren’t enough.

Beca I miss you

Beca Just thought you should know or whatever

Beca When can I see you again?

That alone is enough to make Aubrey sit back firmly and contemplate. She vaguely wonders how long this has been going on - how long Chloe has been hiding this from her.

She wonders when Chloe will just tell her.

Her plan evolves.

Aubrey attempts to set Chloe up on a few dates, just to test the waters. She does so right in front of Beca. She’s really just testing the limits of Beca and Chloe’s strength because she still can’t quite believe that they’ve been hiding this from her for so long.

It was kind of cute at the beginning, now Aubrey is wondering how long it’ll take for either of them to crack. It’s like a fun game, sometimes.

Today, they’re enjoying brunch in Brooklyn. It had originally been Aubrey and Chloe’s pre-arranged brunch, but Chloe had tentatively asked Aubrey if Beca could come along because she was “feeling down from her job” and “we should totally show her this brunch place, Bree!”

Aubrey had agreed because she kind of just wanted to put Beca on the spot again. It’s a little fun to watch them both squirm.

“Chloe,” Aubrey states, primly folding her napkin. She waits until both Chloe and Beca have taken sips of their mimosas. “I would like to set you up on a date with one of my classmates.”

Chloe looks mildly curious, which is fine.

It’s Beca’s reaction that almost cracks Aubrey’s facade. She chokes on her drink and turns to Aubrey with wide eyes, like she can’t quite believe what she’s just heard.

“You would?” Chloe asks at the same time Beca asks, rather loudly, “Why?”

“I would,” Aubrey agrees, ignoring Beca. “I just think you’ve been single for so long. Not that you need somebody to make you happy. Just. Something to take your mind off things because I know how stressed you’ve been at work.”

“You’ve been stressed?” Beca asks, so softly that Aubrey momentarily forgets that she’s sitting across from Beca Mitchell. The amount of tenderness in Beca’s eyes directed straight at Chloe is kind of alarming if Aubrey didn’t already know they were in some kind of relationship.

“No, just,” Chloe sighs. She directs her attention fully to Beca. “A little. It’s just some personal things going on right now.”

Aubrey decides to let up on her line of questioning and drinks some water, watching them carefully. She decides not to bring it up again, feeling only more certain that they are dating , like officially.

When she gets up to go to the washroom, she can hear Chloe and Beca begin to whisper to each other, catching the tail end of their conversation: “-tell her?”

Aubrey smiles triumphantly.

“What made you bring that up today?” Chloe asks quietly, when they’re doing some weekend cleaning.

Aubrey frowns, focusing on a coffee stain plastered on their counter. She is sure she didn’t see this just a week ago and Chloe doesn’t drink coffee.

(Aubrey also knows that she always uses coasters and cleans up after herself.)

“What did I say?” Aubrey murmurs.

“About setting me up with somebody.”

Aubrey straightens, eyebrow rising slowly. “Chloe,” she starts.

“I’m happy right now,” Chloe says, not allowing her to finish. She fiddles nervously. “I can tell you that much. I appreciate the offer, but no.”

It warms Aubrey’s heart somewhat, when she notes the sincerity in Chloe’s tone. She can’t help the smile that rises on her lips and she nods encouragingly at Chloe to continue.

She wants to hear all about it - she wants to hear how happy Chloe is and how far they’ve come.

“Okay,” Aubrey says slowly. “You’re happy.”

Chloe bites her lip, looking like she’s about two seconds away from spilling everything. Aubrey restrains herself from excitedly wringing the cloth in her hands.

“I’m happy,” Chloe says after a moment, shrugging a little.

When she catches Aubrey staring at her, she smiles, a little apologetically and hurriedly returns to vacuuming.

Aubrey sighs.

She’ll accept that for now.

(She is so happy for Chloe.)

Amy sighs, stretching out completely on the couch and leaving a little place for Aubrey to perch herself at the end. “If only there were a way to see where they were at all times.”

Aubrey agrees absentmindedly, feeling like there’s something that she’s missing - maybe something that she has completely overlooked.

“Oh, hey, look. Beca’s in DUMBO.”

“That’s nice,” Aubrey replies. Something buzzes through her body. It feels like excitement. Maybe anxiety. Maybe indigestion from Amy’s food.

Vaguely she recalls that Chloe said she’d be away all weekend for an office retreat in -

She pauses.

In Brooklyn.

She latches onto it because she had given Chloe a little shit for it when she heard about it. She hadn’t understood why Chloe opted for separate lodging in Brooklyn when she had a perfectly good home in Manhattan, but now ...

Aubrey scrambles for her phone, nearly leaping clear over the couch and dislodging Amy in the process.

“Where are you going?” Amy calls, peeking over the couch. “Washroom?”

“No,” Aubrey says briskly. “Even better.” She swipes open her phone, navigating to Snapchat like Chloe once instructed her.  Opening it, she sees missed notifications from a number of people, including Chloe.

It takes her about an entire minute to click through all of the missed photos and videos from Chloe when she finally gets to one from just half an hour ago. A vague photo from somewhere that looks like it could be Brooklyn, but it’s not quite discernable to Aubrey.

She furrows her brow before pinching her fingers on the screen, enabling the map function.

She’ll never get over how creepy this is, but she’s is suddenly immensely grateful for it.

She notices that Chloe’s Bitmoji is back in what Aubrey assumes to be her Airbnb.

“This is the most useful thing that Snapchat has ever done,” Amy mutters as they stare at the little circle enclosing both Beca and Chloe’s tiny figures in the same space.

“They’re together!” Aubrey yells. “They’re in the same place! That’s what that means, right?”

Amy is nodding vigorously. “Yeah! Should we go over there now?’ She’s already grabbing her shoes from the front door.

Aubrey’s arm flies out. “No, no. We should…” She can’t stop the grin that stretches across her face. “We should send them a Snapchat.”

“Uh, what? Why?”

“So we can be sure. Amy, you don’t understand. She was so close to telling me. Maybe this will be the exact guilt trip she needs to finally tell me!”

It had not been the guilt trip Chloe needed.

She sent back a few selfies. Beca ignored Aubrey’s Snaps mostly, but at least it updated their locations frequently enough that Aubrey could tell exactly where they were all weekend.

Aubrey diligently keeps track of all their movements with this newfound power.

On Saturday, they spent most of the morning inside, before Chloe seemingly met up with other friends or coworkers for a few hours while Beca wandered around DUMBO again.

Then, they went for dinner at a place Aubrey had been dying to try.

Then, a movie.

Aubrey is shocked at how much information she suddenly has at her disposal. She feels simultaneously torn between continuing to keep this information from Chloe or just revealing all her cards at once.

She discusses this properly with Amy while they’re at Pinkberry on Sunday evening. Aubrey is expecting Chloe to return home soon, but her action plan has yet to be completed.

“Do we tell them we know?” Fat Amy asks as she continues piling toppings in her cup. "Oh, this is like that episode of FRIENDS. Excellent.”

“We?” Aubrey questions.

“Yeah, we’re partners in crime. Practically sisters.”

Aubrey shrugs at that. “Well, I’m thinking of just asking Chloe if she’s hiding something for me.”

“How well did that work out for you last time?”

Aubrey scowls at her friend. “She’ll tell me. I have all the evidence I need.”

“Ah, so you’re going to ambush her. You're an amazing best friend.”

“I’m going to gently nudge her,” Aubrey says delicately. She turns on her phone, navigating to her notes. “I have proof that she and Beca have been going on secret dates for at least the past three months. Maybe more.”

“Well, how are you going to bring it up?”

“I’m going to casually bring up all the places she was today.”

“Casual,” Amy agrees.

Aubrey opens Snapchat, wondering where Chloe is at the moment. Her eyes widen and she splutters, dropping her spoon.

“What is it?” Amy demands excitedly.

“Chloe’s home,” Aubrey says stiltedly. “And Beca’s with her.”

She has barely thought about talking to Beca about all of this. She obviously has to go through her whole spiel as Chloe’s best friend.

Amy is already standing and holding out Aubrey’s purse for her. “Let’s go.”

Aubrey stands, chair scraping back loudly. “Let’s get them.”

By the time they end up reaching Aubrey’s apartment, she is primarily trying to slow her breathing and put on an air of unaffected nonchalance. She makes extended eye contact with Amy before sliding her key into the lock.

Beca and Chloe are sitting on the loveseat again, though they’re not sitting close together. They’re chatting casually, facing each other. Both turn towards the door when it opens all the way.

“Hi roomie,” Chloe greets.

“Hi Aubrey. Amy,” Beca says, waving a little.

“Chloe. Beca.”

They all stare at each other for a moment before Amy breaks the awkward silence by moving to sit on the other couch, stretching out.

A million things run through Aubrey’s mind as she stares at Chloe and Beca. There are so many ways to go about this - so many opportunities for embarrassment and amusement.

Also, so many ways that they could continue to lie to her.

Chloe coughs, standing up quickly. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom. One sec, guys.”

Three pairs of eyes swivel to watch her leave.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Aubrey asks Beca once Chloe has disappeared to the washroom.

Beca stares back at her, a little insolently, a little nervously. “I don’t know. Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she fires back.

Aubrey is surprised at how easily Beca placed the ball back in her court. She practically handed it to her. Aubrey gracefully accepts.

Staring at Beca, Aubrey watches the way she seems to wither under her gaze. Aubrey’s not sure why it comes out exactly like this, but it does: “Not really,” she says slowly. “Except, maybe - Beca, please leave smaller hickeys on Chloe’s neck.”

Her voices rises a little at the end and her arms cross as she stares her down. Beca flushes deep red. Aubrey grins triumphantly when Beca squeaks "what?"

Beca seems to shrink into herself and she gapes, sinking into the couch a little. Amy unhelpfully laughs - or shrieks - and contributes nothing more to the conversation.

“You know, it was one thing when I thought you two were just trying out a friends with benefits thing, because God knows that you’ve both needed to get this fixation with each other out your system, but -” she holds up a finger when Beca opens her mouth. “-My roommate , Beca Mitchell? My best friend? How could you?”

Beca’s brow furrows. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re upset about, but I’m...I’m sorry-?”

“You two,” Aubrey says, sighing. She pulls out her phone, consulting the list of places they went all weekend. “All weekend, while Chloe was supposed to be away for work, and instead, you went to the movies, went to DUMBO, went for a nice stroll in the park,” she continues listing off places and Beca looks increasingly freaked out with each item.

Aubrey can hear Chloe rushing back down the hall. She heaves a breath when Chloe skids into view, eyes wide as she takes in how traumatized Beca looks, how delighted Fat Amy looks, and how pleased Aubrey looks.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice rising nervously in pitch.

Amy grins. “How long do you have, Chloe?”

Aubrey is about to settle down for bed after finishing off a bottle of wine with her friends. After all the drama, they had laughed it off - Beca more hesitantly than everybody else - and drank some wine, reminiscing on Barden and everything in between.

Chloe and Beca had cuddled immediately on the couch, limbs tangling, pleased smiles on their lips.

Now, Aubrey hears a quiet murmur of voices from the hallway.

“I tried to tell you,” Chloe whispers, hushed. “I knew she had an idea.”

“I really thought she didn’t,” Beca mutters back. “You didn’t tell me she’s fucking crazy. I felt like I was on episode of Maury or something. I've never been screamed at like that before.”

Aubrey scoffs. Beca is a baby. She had only raised her voice once. Hardly screaming.

Chloe laughs. “Hey, that’s my best friend you’re talking about, babe. I know her better than almost anybody else.”

“And I’m your girlfriend,” Beca says, in a voice that is so foreign to Aubrey. It is tender and affectionate.

Chloe giggles in response. “Well, I did try to warn you.”

“Chlo!”

Aubrey smiles.

Now that Beca and Chloe feel like they don’t need to hide anymore, Aubrey sees more of Beca than she ever did before, especially with how often she stays overnight. Especially on weekends.

Aubrey hears more of Beca’s music everyday. She also hears Chloe happily humming to herself whenever she’s making dinner.

Aubrey huffs, bumping into Beca on the way to the bathroom.

“Sorry,” Beca says, a little too cheerfully for Aubrey’s taste.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” Aubrey mumbles, blinking to make sure she’s not imagining Beca Mitchell in one of Chloe’s old oversized shirts in the middle of her hallway.

“Here I am,” Beca parries back.

“Bec!” Chloe’s voice calls from down the hall.

“Coming!”

Aubrey makes sure to take her time in the bathroom, hoping against hope that Beca and Chloe are going to sleep in.

She is very wrong.

Aubrey stares wide-eyed up at the ceiling, regretting her decision to forego the earplugs while she was in line at the check-out today.

This is her third traumatizing weekend in a row.

It is only 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

That’s early, even for Aubrey.

She doesn’t even want to think about whose idea this is.

Aubrey has had enough.

She barely resists the urge to just smack her hand against Chloe’s door to tell them to keep it down.

Aubrey (7:29 p.m.) Chloe Beale. Get out here. I have to tell you something.

She sends it off and doesn’t bother waiting for a reply considering she had just been freshly traumatized.

Aubrey privately wonders how Beca finds energy considering how much time she used to spend trying to make Bellas’ rehearsals difficult for everybody. Aubrey assumes Beca spends more time figuring out ways to annoy her than humanly possibly.

“Hey,” Chloe says, startling Aubrey out of her hypnotic trance by the stove. She turns to lower the heat on the stove before facing her friend. “Whatcha making?” Chloe asks, grabbing two - Aubrey’s eyes zero in on the action - water bottles from the fridge.

“Chloe, I have something to tell you,” Aubrey says briskly. She wants to get it over with. Chloe nods, uncapping one water bottle and taking a swig. Aubrey tries not to think about it too hard. “Chloe, you...I -” Aubrey tries to think about what Fat Amy would say, or even do. Chloe continues to stare at her, growing more concerned by the second. “I...no longer wish to have surround sound to your…” Aubrey puts her hand on her chin, tapping contemplatively. “Your...activities,” she finishes delicately. She mentally congratulates herself on her word choice.

It’s interesting, actually. Aubrey kind of wishes she had a secret camera set up somewhere because the next progression of events is simultaneously mortifying and hilarious. Chloe tilts her head in confusion, taking in Aubrey’s words. Aubrey only narrows her eyes further, willing her roommate to just...get the point, so neither of them have to be subjected to this awkward silence any longer.

“Oh,” Chloe says, finally. Quietly. Her cheeks grow red. It’s only temporary while Aubrey thinks that she can maintain the upper hand. Unfortunately, Chloe’s lack of boundaries means that she often bounces back from embarrassing moments with lightning quick reflexes. “I mean,” Chloe says, maintaining a hesitant tone. “It wasn’t me, right? I tried to tell Beca you’d be able to-”

Aubrey drops her spatula in the sink in horror. “No!” She wants to die. “I don’t want to - Jesus Christ, Chloe. Just, I’m letting you know that I can hear you, okay?!” Then, quieter, after a brief pause, “it was definitely you this morning,” she mutters.

Chloe blushes again, though she seems less embarrassed. “Oh, right.”

About an hour later, Aubrey finally settles back in bed with her laptop, determined to watch a movie and just relax for the rest of the night. She quickly stuffs her headphones into her ears, wary of the fact that both Chloe and Beca are still in the apartment.

Her phone buzzes just as she’s about to recline further into her pillows.

Chloe (8:47 p.m.) Oh, haha, I just saw your message.

Chloe (8:47 p.m.) gotchaaaa

Aubrey (8:48 p.m.) I hate you. And I hate Beca, too.

[silvertonguedslavicwitch]

Πειρασμός | Peirasmós

Chapter 4 : Series of Betrayal

After so many months of residing in Kattegat, serving as nothing more than a thrall to the princes of the household, this was finally the first time she had the treatment she once received before. The other thralls were careful not to braid her hair too tight as she wasn't a viking like them. She was a foreigner, a princess who just so happened to hold a high price and value to some. They had a mild practice of braids back in her homeland, but none like them. However, she grew to be enthralled by their braids, seeing the numerous variety they were able to weave through.

After washing herself up, she leaned against the chair that was placed before a mirror that she found sorted somewhere in between the chest that she received earlier. She noticed, the people of Kattegat did not possess such trinket. They used the water for reflection purposes instead. Which was quite dangerous, if she had a say in it. Throughout her time there, she was always surrounded by dirt and had to clean herself twice more than she was used to. Now, she was returning to her former flair. She decided to wear the proud green coloured dress that symbolizes her defiance, somewhat. It wasn't that bright of a colour but nonetheless, brighter than anything she's seen they wore. The jewelries and crowns that laid before her was arranged neatly. Her hazel hues never left its gaze, as she watched the emerald stone gleam in the late evening. As soon as the crown rested comfortably on her head, was when she blinked after a while of being in a daze.

Donning herself decently with the previous preparation, she glanced at her reflection one last time before walking out. Erika looked like herself again. But she didn't feel it. Which came to her as an entirely vague feeling, because she saw the small void left behind. She felt empty. Walking out from her room, she almost bumped into Margrethe, who just came out of Hvitserk's room. She paid her no attention as she ignored her presence before gliding towards the main hall. The affairs between the two brothers and the blonde thrall wasn't unknown to anyone in Kattegat. They weren't exactly masters at being discreet. By the time she arrived, everyone was already there, with the exception of Hvitserk, who no doubt came sauntering a few minutes later with his disheveled state.

“You cleaned up well.” Sigurd noted, a genuine smile playing by his lips. Sigurd was sometimes rude to Ivar but it wasn't without a reason. He was neglected as a child whereas Ivar was dotted upon. It wasn't as if Ivar was the golden child there, so the raven haired princess understood his clear distaste towards his youngest brother. He was, perhaps, the only brother who bothered to learn more about the art and culture of the world. He played music and was highly fascinated by her stories that she told regarding her homeland, and even Wessex.

As a child, she didn't stay in one place for long due to the frights of being assassinated by those who wished to overthrow their family's dynasty. Her parents left the world early, both killed by their trusted advisor, leaving a 6 year old Erika caring for her younger brother, Alek. They probably would have not survived the day if it wasn't due to a loyal minister who sneaked them out and reached out to their contacts. She was given to King Ecbert, the current King of Wessex and Mercia, who raised her up well with no expense spared. Her younger brother, who is now the current King, was given to their mother's sister in Sicily. However, he returned with large forces as a child, led by their minister to retook their home and has been ruling it ever since. Erika never had a desire to rule over their kingdom, not once. She doesn't see herself as a leader, nor a follower. She was a warrior, a fighter. Who will live her life accordingly to what she believes.

While waiting for her brother's arrival, she was pushed into her own memory lane. She remembered being spared by Ragnar when she was 10, because King Ecbert sent her to King Aelle in Northumbria to preside her growth while he was away. He had covered her with a blanket and came back as soon as the other vikings emptied the house. She asked for a name and he gave it to her. Ever since then, she saw herself as an individual who was given a second chance at life. Which was why she intends to make the most and best of it. It was until then, that her brother had graced the room with his presence. A smile adorning his handsome features as he embraced his sister. “Brother.” It has only been months but she has missed him dearly.

Before her departure to Algeciras from Wessex, when he visited her in England, was the first time she saw him in person after being separated for 20 years. They had to grow far from each other, for reasons she now understood. After their brief reunion, both Russians took their respective seats by the table. “I heard you wish for me to spare some of my soldiers at your expense. In return for my sister's safe return.” Despite being younger than her, the 21 year old prince was very mature and wise when needs to be. It was supposedly a given since he has governed over their kingdom since a young age.

The nod he received from Bjorn made him raise his eyebrows. “I have another proposal to adjourn, instead. A better outcome for you Northmen.” She wasn't sure what it was that he was planning but she trusts her brother to do the best possible thing. Which was a huge mistake on her side as what comes out from his mouth was not what she expected. “An alliance.” Bjorn lets out a strangled laugh, but Alek didn't seem to be laughing alongside his brothers. The fact that both siblings had the gift on speaking their language made it easier for both sides. Soon, the eldest Ragnarsson stopped his jest and beckoned for her brother to proceed. “Alliances can break any time. It has been broken even before the dawn of time. Why would this one be any different?” Erika just had to voice her opinion on this matter, because she just had to.

“It depends on both sides of the party, sister. If both could offer the same stance, it should withhold.” While she could not disagree with his words, she disapproved greatly. The difference between the alliance they had with the Saxons and the Northmen would prove to be very distinct. “I will give you aid in going after King Aelle of Northumbria, to avenge your father. However, this alliance should not die as soon as both of us has no need for each other no longer. And so, I will offer you the one I hold dear most, in return for none of you will go raiding our small lands in the East no more, and what comes next of it if you followed your father's dream on conquering other kingdoms.” She didn't know where this direction was going but stood silent despite her inner self threatening to bust itself there. The brothers seemed to be interested in this said proposal, especially Bjorn and Ubbe. “And what is it that you hold dear most, your Highness?” His answer caught her off guard.

“My sister.”

What?

“Before you ask why I would give her away so easily, I will tell you my reasons. My sister is the eldest child, despite being a daughter and not a son to both our parents, inherited the privileges given to first borns, in our custom and tradition. She relinquished her claim to the throne, in favor of me. As of now, she is only the Princess of Novgorod and Sicily, befitting her current status. She also holds command over our Rurik army as their commander. But, I do not wish to marry, thus making my sister my successor to the throne, after my departure. She will then hold control over everything that governs our rights. Her children will be the future successors after her. If you were to marry her, one of you would be prince to both kingdoms we have now. That is more than you could find yourself wanting. Even greater, when one of you will end up becoming King after my death when Erika becomes Queen. And your children will be heirs to more than what you could imagine having now. Isn't that much more valuable than one or two army?” She cannot believe what was coming out from her own beloved brother's mouth. Was he selling her out just like that with no regard of asking?

“Am I allowed a say in this?” It comes back to a conversation- or argument, where none but the two of them were able to understand. They were conversing in their native tongue. “Yes.” The fuming royal gripped the steel knife on her right hand, which would have been dangerous to anyone who walks over her temperament, at the moment. “You said you would never force me to do something I don’t wish to do. You said you would never force anything upon me.” Through her gritted teeth, her jaws clenched itself tightly as the scowl masked over her delicate features. “I did. But did you not swear to do anything in your power for our kingdom? Did you not swear you would lay your life for Novgorod?” Erika hated that her own flesh and blood brother was using her words against her. “I did. I would gladly die for Novgorod.”

“Then it should not bother you to marry.” Sighing in aggravation and frustration, she loosens her grip onto the knife. “But this is another thing, Alek.. Marriage is a sacred duty. A duty I would not mind taking up upon if needed, but to a Varangian? Is that even possible? Would our Lord not be angry with me? To spite such hatred for me?” She knew she could not fight her brother, if not as a sister, she would never be able to pull a weight down on his words as King. A King she swore her fealty to in all perpetuity. “Their uncle, Rollo, the Duke of Normandy married Princess Gisla of Frankia. They also had 3 children together.. Is that not a sign for their prosperous life?” The Russian had heard of them but it was different. She could not accept this will. “He renounced his Gods and became a Christian. That alone is different.” With no more argument to throw, she found herself slumped against her seat, a sour look present across her face.

“It is settled. Now which one of your brothers will marry my sister?” She could already calculate the chances. Bjorn was already married. Ubbe was going to marry Margrethe, if she heard correctly. And Ivar was not an option, not that she thought so, because her brother wanted confirmation on heir, or heirs, soon. Their viking tradition might be different from their own, but a married man can never marry a second legally, before an annulment. Which can only be reached by the spouse's death or unconsummated marriage. Both which she was sure not abided by the likes of them. “Why not her favourite person.” Ubbe suggested and she stopped herself playing with the knife in her hand. She knew exactly where this is going. Her most ‘favourite' person would have to be a war in between two people but one of them were already out of the equation, in impotency issues, so there could only be one left. “You can't be serious..”

The third prince did not look so thrilled on being tied down so early in his life, but knowing well what he'd get in return, he wasn't really complaining. “Your wedding will take place after your quest to Northumbria. Under one condition, my sister will lead the Rurik army.” Though they find it hard to believe that, especially Ivar, who was not liking the fact that his brother is marrying a Christian, and that a woman like her will lead a large army, Bjorn made sure they were voted on and it was settled.. Unanimously. It has only been a few hours since she thought she got a grasp of her freedom and now it was taken away. Not only is she forced to wage a possible war with her ward, King Ecbert who is King Aelle's ally; who no doubt will come to his aid. But she is also forced into a marriage she did not wish for, with an individual she was sure she scorned over. Who said being a princess is easy.

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