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delicrieux · 4 years

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☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 23: PRETTY BOY

emotions run wild when everyone is drunk and hardly coherent. quackity is always loud, but tonight is a full on assault on the senses (the ears, in particular). bretman simps for corpse too much for your liking. rae is happy for once. there’s a confession of love somewhere in there. sister james makes a very good impostor, but that’s old news, the real question is who gave you a knife? a new persona emerges that leaves the roaches quivering in their boots.

─── corpse husband x reader, a lil bit of everyone x reader (because she’s a queen) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: a lil over 7k.

author’s note: it’s the way i can’t follow a fucking calendar for me. sorry guys, i swear to god i thought i had one more day before thursday . the idiot award goes to me and i accept it with pride. anyway, i was excited to write this for a while! quackity is in mexico, that’s why he drinks, too. my fic, my rules, he’s too funny not to include. im also working on an extra w dream and mr quack so look forward to that, too! hopefully u like this part ily xx and as always lmk wat u think!!

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

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The outfit for today was picked with care and consideration. Hot, as always- you had forgotten your roots, your hoodie and sweats lay hidden in the bottom of your drawer never to be worn on stream again. You’ve changed. Clout really does that to people. Some viewers, naturally, find your hotness near insulting: how dare you rub your beauty in their faces, and so unabashedly, too?! If only you had a twinge of self-awareness, perhaps you would tone it down. But you don’t, and whether that’s by choice or not is the mystery the whole internet tries to solve (ARMY has been working diligently, and you admire their effort, though in the end their tireless labor brings no tangible results).

You went from hot to hotter. In all truth, the fires eating away at California can be blamed on you. You carry this burden in stride, in your platform overpriced shoes some girl scammed you on Depop with, in your fishnets, in your skirt, in your corset, in your rings and necklaces and chains. You woke up today and chose violence. Decided your existence will be a plague to the rest of the populace, and meant it (that, maybe, you took inspiration from a certain faceless Youtuber that so happens to be your boyfriend or whatever). You feel powerful. Like you could step on the world and the world would let you. You decide that it’s the way it should always be.

The smile on your lips informs of nothing good to your quaint, small audience of 40k. You change the lighting in your room from the soft cherry blossom pink to menacing violet. As fitting for a villain.

Perhaps California’s hellish sun has finally purged you of your bubbly, docile nature (arguably, you had never possessed it to begin with); perhaps it’s the forth mimosa you’re mixing as people slowly trickle into the lobby. Who knows?! Not you, definitely. What do all of those boring dead white European philosophers say? Embrace the unknown? Cheers, you’ll drink to that.

In stark contrast to your appearance, your room is a fucking mess. A war-zone of epic anime scale. Everything is scattered, well, everywhere. A perfect representation on what’s going on in your mind, always. You don’t like how people focus on your surroundings-- you’re the main attraction, hello? Are you not enough to sustain them? Must they beg for more?! Totally ungrateful. You shake your head in disappointment, as if a mother scolding her children.

noooooo! mom pls forgive me i will never ask abt anything ever again T_T

yall looking at the room? lol couldnt be me

feels like im five and my mum just told me i cant eat a pretty rock i found on the pavement:(

You can’t contain your sly grin. Eyes twinkle with a purplish hue, appearing all the more menacing. You tricked them once again, oh how absolutely evil of you. In your blind delight you accidentally spill champagne on your lap.

“-Oop, fuck.” You snort.

why does she sound like goofy

The scandalous drunk Among Us stream is about to start. You had been eerily silent through the greetings, and those that chose to approach you were met with a cold shoulder and minimal replies. All on purpose, of course. You wish to plant a seed of unease within them, and so far, it’s working. There are questions unanswered, jokes unsaid, Quackity unteased. It breaks your heart, but it must be done. You look into the camera, all vulnerable and devout, as if to say: I’m doing this for you, all for you.

pack it up yandere simulator

idk whats going on but i think im into it?

villain arc villain arc villain aRC VILLAIN ARC

“Hey, guys,” Corpse’s voices rings in your headphones, and not a blink later his astronaut appears in the lobby in a cloud of smoke, “Hi, Y/n.”

More sharp, excited hellos follow after. You merely hum, though give no further reply. As Corpse strays to your side, Charlie steps in in front of him, “BDA access only. You have a permit, bitch?”

“Y/n is being quiet-she’s being quiet, guys!” Quackity helpfully informs, as if the rest failed to notice your cryptic silence, “Don’t be sad Corpse, man, Corpse don’t be-she didn’t say shit to me either.”

“Y/n has decided to not waste her breath on the SDS.” Charlie voices, “And you know what? I actually agree with her for once.”

“SD-what now?” Dream questions.

“The Small Dick Society.” Charlie explains, noting Dream’s whine of protest, “Oh no, don’t give me that shit, weren’t you bitching about not being invited and not belonging to exclusive clubs? Congratulations, you’re finally part of one.”

“Wait!” Quackity interjects, “Am I part of it too?”

“Guess, Sherlock.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Corpse says. You nod to your audience, like he just spoke the God honest truth, and follow in his example. Your tentative sip unexpectedly turns into a greedy gulp, but you’re not complaining. The only slightly coherent thought that rings in your mind is drink tasty.

“Ignore them,” Rae chimes, “Y/n’s probably plotting something and using Charlie as a cover up.”

“I’d never.” The words slip past your lips before you can stop them.

“Well you sure are very quick to deny it.” You can hear her smirking, can hear the proud lilt in her voice, like she caught onto your silly little scheme, like she has you all figured out. Your eyes narrow dangerously. The night behind your window pools dark, with far away city lights glimmering before they, too, seem to dim.

Your roommate is back on your shitlist. How her name was missed among the rest.

“I’m defending my honor.” You yelp, the playfulness back in your voice along with your sunny smile, “I can’t have my wifey slandering me online. At least do it in private, geez.”

If Rae’s such a good detective, you’ll give her a good chase. Perhaps you’ve been laying it on too thick. Made her too suspicious. She can’t out you yet--not when your plans are so grand, so fun. It would be a waste.

“Why weren’t you saying anything then?” Quackity questions.

“Do I need a reason not wanting to talk to you?” You shoot back. Your friends laugh and he tries to shriek something past their cackle. You lean back into your chair, the tension from Rae’s confrontation finally easing. You wink at the camera and bring a finger to your lips. The roaches swear to secrecy, elated by your wickedness. As appropriate, they spam devil emojis and various renditions of evil hohohos and hehehes. The apple truly does not fall far from the tree. You had raised them well. You raise your glass in solidarity. A few donations fall into your pocket, easily summed up as: make them suffer.

Muting the discord call, you give a single response, “Oh, I intend to.”

i hope this doesn’t awaken something in me

^already too late for me bro

As caught up in wreaking havoc among your viewers as you are, you miss Sykkuno’s entrance, though from what you can tell, Charlie gave a stern warning to back the fuck off to him, too. He’s playing into your plan so beautifully. Truly, you couldn’t do this without him. Back to stalking the chat you go.

Your eyes flicker to the game upon Bretman’s signature drawl and “Hi, daddy.”. You have no time to get offended at Corpse’s sweet “Hi, honey” back, because the next person to join the discord call and the lobby leaves you speechless. You knew, of course, you had been informed of the line-up, but still, you had never expected yourself to be so close to Jomes Chorles himself. You make a weird gesture with your hands, half wave half excited wiggle, as if you’re telling the audience to calm down, when, in fact, it is you that needs calming.

He goes saying his hello’s like doing a public service, name by name, before, lastly, uttering, “Hi, Miss Y/n. Loooove the vids.”

He’s a roach in disguise, who could’ve known?! Your audience is so diverse and unexpected, gosh, you’d shed a tear if the mascara wasn’t so expensive.

“Hi!” You reply with a grin, and it’s genuine this time, a glimmer of your old self, “Hi, I love your videos, too. It’s like, really cool to finally meet you.”

“Oh my God, you too!” Is his enthusiastic reply, “Okay, the energy in the studio today? Love it.”

“Is this all of us?” Quackity asks.

“Sadly.” James says with a note of disappointment.

“HEY!”

“Okay, guys!” Ash chimes, “Let’s do this! Proximity Among Us, round one, go go go!”

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Luck does not shine upon you during the first round- you are stuck as Crew Mate, your life cut short by Bretman who had the audacity to bite your head off. You’re positive Ke$ha wrote her hit single Cannibal about him, and if she didn’t, she definitely had a That’s So Raven moment and predicted it. It’s also insanely suspicious as after you are eliminated he sticks real close to Corpse, feigning innocence (and this is a controversial opinion you do not endorse) better than even you. It wounds your pride, having been picked off so casually, so quickly, and now stuck a ghost you roam the halls of the dying spaceship, lost, confused, heartbroken.

Charlie runs past you, not once even glancing in your direction. “Brother...” You mutter sadly, “Do you not see me here? Do you not feel... the loss of your twin’s heartbeat...?" Damn, these mimosas really are making you emotional. You sniffle and take a sip to calm the storm within you. No rage, just sadness. You are still processing your own tragic demise.

Suddenly, a meeting is called. There’s a horrible red X on your astronaut. You are the only one dead so far, and of course the rest won’t vote out the fucker. How bitterly you sit! With your arms crossed over your chest and your glare sharp enough to cut through glass. Fuck the sad shit, now you’re just angry. At the very least, the second Impostor could’ve given you some company!

“I knew something felt off.” Charlie is first to speak.

“Who the fuck killed Y/n?” Corpse questions, and his voice ignites a whole discussion that lasts much too short. The others skip, having no suspect yet. It’s much too soon to start pointing fingers, but you still feel like they should have at least tried. Pouting, you fix yourself another drink.

“Stop drinking!?” You gasp, exasperated at your chats demands, “I’m dead! What else should I do, the tasks?! Nah, fuck that. I’m done. I’m out. Charlie better employ his fucking detective skills because if the Impostors win, I will literally quit the game--yes I will, no I’m not bullshitting, fucking watch me.”

Thankfully, Bretman was caught venting, and you didn’t have to end the stream prematurely. The second Impostor, your roommate (oh, the betrayal, Rae, how could you?!) was voted out due to Corpse’s suspicion. Victory to the Crew Mates! The game restarts and you find yourself back in the lobby.

“Miss Y/n,” Bretman says, “I am sooo sorry for killing you first, baby. It was just too easy. I couldn’t pass it up.”

Giggling, Quackity chimes, “Sister slaughtered.”

“Oh my God,” James groans, “shut up!”

“Yeah, Y/n.” Charlie speaks, and there’s an accusatory note in his calm voice, “Why the fuck did you allow yourself to be eliminated first? Real noob shit, I expected more of you.”

“HUH?!” You frown, “What’s with the victim blaming?! I literally was doing my task and Bretman snuck up on me. It’s not like I had a weapon to defend myself!”

“You have been avenged,” Corpse states, “and that’s all that matters.”

“Thank you, Corpse!” You say, “At least someone cares.”

“Hey, I helped, too!” Dream pipes up.

“No, you didn’t.” Corpse shoots him down, “I was the only one.”

“You were not--”

“Literally was. Isn’t that right, Sykkuno?”

“Uhhhh-” Sykkuno trails off, “Well, we-we all helped!” You can hear his shy smile, and you just know he’s bobbing his head up and down at this exact moment, “We all helped. Team work!”

“Team work!” The rest echo, save for yourself, Corpse, Charlie, and the two Impostors. Silence speaks more than a thousand words or whatever. You pray to any higher power willing to listen to finally assign you the role of the villain, the one you were born to do.

Sadly, higher powers must have either shitty customer service or are in need of hearing aids, and you almost scream in frustration when your astronaut appears along with the others, the bold CREW MATE title chipping away at your master plan.

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“Hey, Y/n, hey! Hey, Y/n!” Rae finds you in Cafeteria, where you, metaphorically, are eating your feelings. Not that she needs to know, of course. She sounds chipper, a bit ditsy, and that must mean she’s sufficiently tipsy. You store that information for later, and forget about it as soon as you notice Dream and Sykkuno, like her very own personal bodyguards, trailing after her, “Wanna play a game?!”

“Is this Saw?” You inquire, somewhat lazy. You’d be lying if you said the alcohol wasn’t affecting you, it’s just instead of making you bubbly, it makes you mellow. This was supposed to be fun, you were supposed to terrorize everyone and laugh as they perished by your hand, yet here you are, wallowing in self-pity. The roaches start worrying. The donation jingle chimes.

BEATINGS & SLUTATIONS yns_fishnets donated 5$ mom just wait it out & dont worry youll get your vengeance soon lead them on!!!!

Your fishnets have a point!

“Saw?--No, no, haa, no it’s a drinking game.” Dream sounds like he has had one too many rounds of this mysterious game, and naturally, you are intrigued.

“Where we drink!” Sykkuno clarifies. Right, well that explains everything! If you had any questions, you surely have none now.

“Okay, so, name a category, and you have to, like, say a word associated with it...Or something along those lines.” You hadn’t even agreed and Rae is explaining the rules already. She knows you too well. It’s both a blessing and a curse, “Can be anything! Okay, Y/n, Y/n, Y/n start!”

“Uhh--” If only your brain computed as fast as she spoke! “Song lyrics! Wait--who drinks?”

“You fail, you drink!” She hurries, “Choke me like you hate me but you love meeeeee. Syk, go, go go!”

“Uhm, ah, I don’t wanna feel like this, uh, fuck?” He laughs--it’s a raspy, embarrassed little sound, “I don’t...wanna look like this? Dream, now you!”

“Wait, we’re singing Corpse’s songs?”

“Any song!” You urge him quickly, “Hurry! Or drink!”

“She say I kill her cat like I'm Luka Magnotta--”

“Hey! That’s cheating! You can’t use my song!” Rae protest.

“That wasn’t in the rules!” He counters.

“Y/n! Time’s running out!” Sykkuno exclaims.

“Oh, uh, will-will the real Slim Shady please stand up!”

NOT EMINEM WHAT THE FUCK

MOOOM WHT THE HELL THIS ISNT 2008 T_T

“Ra-Ra-Rasputin, Russia’s greatest love machine--”

“All...All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better, uhh, run better run, faster...-faster than my gun?”

“Uhh, shit--fucking hell.” Dream laughs, and Rae practically screams at him to keep going, “Alright! Okay! I’m singing--uh, you’re so golden, na na na na?”

“I tell you what a woman loves most,” You chime gleefully, “it’s a man who can slap but can also stroke.”

finally, the mother mother representation we’ve all been waiting for

i aint exactly gay but i aint exactly not gay >:)

the bis won

“I steal a few breeeeaaaths from the woooorld for a minute--”

“Mitski?!” You question, eyes bulging, “Baby, who hurt you?”

Even if you can’t see her, you know she’s waving her arms around and shaking her head, “Not the point! Sykkuno!”

“Uh, I-I, uhm, I don’t--”

“Drinnnnk!” You all chorus.

“It was a good concert,” You say, “Syk, I’ll drink with you.”

“Thank you, Y/n. That’s very kind of you.” He says softly, with a smile lining his lips. You grin.

“Oh, fine. Everyone, bottoms up!” Rae decides, and no one protest. A moment of silence passes, then, “Well, GG, GG, let’s do some tasks?”

Your enthusiastic Ariana Grande-esque “yuh” is cut short by the second meeting of game two being called. The first one to go had been Ash, voted out during a bathroom break as a joke, and you still feel a bit bad about that. Now, you notice Charlie has been eliminated. A sense of righteousness fills you--while you mourn for your brother from another mother and father and family tree, you feel like this is divine punishment for slandering you before the start of this round. Karma. Nothing much is discussed, and the meeting ends shortly with everyone skipping.

You spend a good ten minutes wandering around with Dream, who’s mission appears to be convincing you to join his Minecraft server, and really, there was no need for him to try so hard. You failed to provide him with a concrete answer only because it would've been to humiliating to admit that you agreed instantly upon hearing the word Minecraft.

That’s when things get fucking weird. Another meeting is called whilst you’re in the middle of fixing lights, and once the board with the members appears you audibly gasp. There had been 8 living, breathing astronauts rushing around the map, and now only 4 remain. You, Corpse, James, and Alex.

“What the fuck--what the fuck?!” You screech alarmed, noting Dream being among the perished crew, “I was just with Dream fixing the lights, I was just with him, what the fuck--”

“Okay, no one panic.” James says, “Let’s figure this out. Okay? Okay. Who else is close to Electrical?”

“I’m at Nav.” Quackity says.

“I’m at Cafeteria, but Y/n--” Corpse starts, “kinda weird that Dream died when you were with him?”

“I didn’t fucking kill him, I swear to God, Corpse, why are you accusing me?”

“Don’t be so defensive.” He says smoothly, “I’m just pointing out the obvious. We all have a reason to be sus, no? Considering you were right with him.”

“...It is suspicious.” James agrees, and a part of you dies inside. You understand their hesitance to trust you, but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating!

“Guys, I didn’t kill him, I swear. He invited me to play Minecraft, I wouldn’t do that to him, not after that!”

Corpse merely hums, and it brings no comfort what’s so ever. The situation is spiraling, and not in your favor. Trying to salvage your chances at freedom, you try again, “Wh-James, James, you called the meeting, right?”

“Yeah, I found Rae’s body near Medical.”

“So I couldn’t have killed her and Dream at the same time!” You latch onto that piece of information, hoping it will save you.

“You could’ve vented.” Corpse points out, “Plus, there’s no telling how old the body is.”

“Killing five fucking people? It’s the work of one person, or else the game would have already ended. As it stands, I am no way sober enough to think all of this out.”

A brief silence hangs in the air; your lungs constrict from tension, from spilling words so hotly. You grasp your glass, as if for emphasis, and take a shy sip. It taste sweet, a bit too sweet for your liking. Must be your nerves. You drink again to wash the taste out of your mouth, which, surprisingly, doesn’t work. You whine a little, stomping your feet like a child about to throw a temper tantrum.

“...I believe her.” Quackity says. You breathe out a sigh of relief.

“Alex, thank youuuuuu!” You gush, batting your lashes as if he could somehow see you and that would somehow portray your innocence, “I knew I liked you for a reason!”

He mutes his mic, his spill of words lost to your ears, but chat helpfully informs that he’s screaming because you don’t hate him.

y/n out here collecting men like pokemon cards

Now all that’s left is to convince the others. You start with the one you know will work, “Corpse,” You address him in your sweetest voice.

“Y/n,” James warns, “don’t you dare--”

“Baby, I didn’t kill anyone, I’m crew mate, you gotta believe me.”

“She's innocent.” Corpse declare, thoroughly convinced.

“Oh my fucking God, you fucking simp!” James laughs, “She’s obviously manipulating you!”

“No, no, she isn’t. She’s innocent, I agree with Quackity. Now, it’s either you or him.”

“Could be you for all we know!” Alex accuses.

“Guys, time’s running out.” You mutter fretfully, noting the seconds tick by from white to red.

“I’m voting Alex.” Corpse says.

“What?! Fucking traitor! Fine, I’m voting for you.” Alex hisses.

“Ugh, hate agreeing with Quackity, but I’m also voting Corpse. Sorry, hon, nothing personal.” James says. The VOTED icons pop up beside their characters and you panic, pressing your mouse idly but it’s too late, there wasn’t enough time, and you cry as Corpse is thrown into lava. The chat spams F, and it feels like salt on a fresh wound.

In a second you’re back in Cafeteria, shell-shocked and trembling, and Quackity cusses because the Impostor is still among you. His frustration doesn’t last long as you watch in horror as Jams Chortles, beauty guru supreme, murders the only other crew mate in cold blood and all you can do is gape and let his cheerful laughter fill your ears. The screen bleeds red, informing of Impostor victory, the second one being Ash. Looks like you voted her off for the right reason, but little difference did it make.

“Corpse!” You yell past the cacophony of voices, all in varying forms of excitement or anger, beelining for his in-game figure, “Corpse, I’m so sorry, I panicked, I tried pressing the button but I wasn’t quick enough--”

“It’s alright, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He’s so calming, so gentle, you might burst into tears again. What did you do to deserve him? You wish he was with you so you could smother him in a hug. Alas, all you can do now is say “I kith you, mwah!” and rush to the other side of the lobby, as if to hide from such a bold display of affection, even if it was a joke (it wasn’t).

yall say corpse simps for y/n but the reality is y/n simps for corpse harder

queen stop its embarrassing

bhaddies can simp!! i wouldnt but its her choice <3

More deliberations, commentary, and short breaks. Once everyone has returned, the countdown starts. You’re still reeling from the chaos of emotions, the five stages of grief you experienced in 1 second upon Corpse’s unjust demise, that it takes you a moment, a single heartbeat to realize what you’re seeing on screen.

The letters IMPOSTOR hang above your astronaut, with Dream standing just behind you as your newly appointed partner in crime. And suddenly, all the sadness and the tenderness and sympathy vanish with a curt exhale. You slowly turn your head to the chat, muting the Discord call, your soft chuckle of disbelief turning into a full blown laugh.

it’s happening!!!!

omg omg omg omg

VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC VILLAIN ARC

You slap your palm over your lips, trying to contain your wicked smile, to tone down your broken giggles, “N-No, I can’t laugh yet,” shaking your head softly, you look into the camera, “they’re all going to die.”

pack it up light yagami

this has awoken something in me.

^ same

The crew mates go their own ways, rushing to do their tasks like the diligent little workers they are. How adorable. Their grim fate is still miles away from them. The shit you’ll pull will be for the history books. Much like your outfit, which you picked keeping in mind your newfound thirst for blood, you had devised your plan of action with care and consideration. You had been mulling it over all day, drawing on paper like the absolute madwoman you are; hell, you even made sticky notes on who to go for first and what to say. Sure, being moderately drunk hinders your memory slightly (an understatement of the century), but you got a feel for what you’re going to do. It’s nothing short of evil.

Dream and you don’t exchange words, you merely nod at him-- which he, of course, can’t see-- but your criminal bond enables telepathic communication. You can hear his thoughts, ones that strangely sound like drink drink, drink drink. And really, who are you to refuse such an enticing offer?! As he fucks off to stalk his victims, or play pretend, you take a sip. The cocktail is still sweet, but this time it’s not the icky sweet you had tasted prior. You glance at your sticky notes, ones the roaches can’t see, and nearly spill your drink for the second time today as you jerk.

“Fuck!” You exclaim, shoving your headphones off and spinning in your chair. You hastily stand up, wobble -- the world is pleasantly funny right about now -- and giggle. Stepping past the mountains of abandoned clothes and pillows and blankets and anime plushies, you maneuver your way to your bedside table and yank it open, nearly taking out the whole drawer with you. In the mess of old diaries and bad drawings, pencils, jewelry, and stickers, you fish out something you should not be wielding in your inebriated state.

It’s a knife.

In midst of teenage angst you had ordered it off of Amazon with your mom’s credit card, all the while whining that it’s not a phase, mom, and it’s what all of my cool kid friends with fried hair have, and don’t you want me to fit in, don’t you want your daughter to be happy?! You think it’s about that time, the time of too much uneven eyeliner and black eye shadow, that she took to calling you little raccoon. Trash rabbit was your personal favorite, but she used it sparingly. When you presented your Macy’s outfit, holding up a fucking butterfly knife, to your dad, asking if it was a look, he glanced up from some boring business magazine all boring business dads read and said, with a bright smile might you add, “It’s a something!”.

Oh, how it gleams in the lilac light. You used to do tricks with it, back in eight grade maybe, and--what the fuck? Why did you parents allow you to buy it in the first place? Well, because you’re the only child, the only one important, of course they got it for you and clapped enthusiastically at your performances, because why wouldn’t they? The whining they’d face otherwise would’ve been harder to endure than a whole dance number to Panic! At The Disco’s greatest hits. Broadway looked so fucking shabby in comparison. Your mom said so, so it must be true.

Stumbling back to your extremely confused viewers, you take your seat, feeling a bit more grounded now that you’re not standing on your platform shoes anymore. Putting on your headphones, you grin at the chat that starts swimming, and not from too much drinking either. You do a quick flick of your wrist, one that thankfully doesn’t end in injury, and the sharp tip of the exposed knife points upwards, glimmering. It’s a rainbow colored one, because one, it’s pretty, and two, you weren’t hardcore enough for the jet-black or straight up military ones the other emo kids had. Cute and dangerous, just like you.

So you just sit there, holding it up, looking somewhat sly as the roaches capture this momentous moment with screen-caps. Someone definitely clipped you trudging past the obstacle course to obtain a weapon of mass destruction. You must be already trending on Twitter, though you can’t exactly log on and confirm your suspicions. You just feel like you might be, like you should be, because your audience wouldn’t let this slide. Thankfully, your friends don’t have time to check social media, or you’d be outed in an instant.

“Y/n?” Your roommates voice booms from your headphones, and you perk up with a stupid realization that you completely forgot about Among Us. Stuck at the start, at the lobby where Dream had left you, you see her astronaut waddling to you, “What are you doing here? Wait--Have you not moved from the beginning?” She can barely finish the sentence without giggling.

You grin, “I was looking for something.”

Your voice is soft, too calm for your usual frantic spill. You gently set the knife down, hand coming to rest on your mouse, fingers idly, slowly, bouncing on the buttons.

“...What were you looking for?” She’s none the wiser, the numerous drinks consumed tonight numbing her sharp mind. She would have noticed. Your eerie composure would’ve given it away in a heartbeat, or at least hinted at something being objectively wrong. But she sounds curious. Poor girl, hasn’t she heard? Curiosity killed the cat.

“A knife.”

“A knife?!” There’s something about her tone that implies a mental clicking, the puzzle pieces falling together, “You have a knife?!”

“Yes.”

“No!”

You think it would only be appropriate that the random sequence of killing animations renders the backstabbing one. You grin, biting your lower lip with a quiet snicker.

i love women

if evil bad...why seggy?

You take your time leaving her there -- in true serial-killer-to-be fashion, you stick around for a bit longer, admiring your handiwork, or more like the chat singing your praises. You joined today with the intent of making an interesting stream. You have no doubt in your mind that now it will be legendary.

You move down the hallway, and you let your imagination wander: you can almost feel the stuffy air of your helmet, can almost hear your loud footsteps echoing in all this hush, can almost see your reflection in the spotless tile floor. It’s not long before your second victim makes an appearance, running circles in Cafeteria. You hear his voice first before you see him, recognizing Alex by his unhinged screech of “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!”

“And what’s got you so excited?” How cool and collected you are, gosh, you barely contain the quiver of excitement that threatens to slip out.

“Y/n!” He exclaims, rushing to your side like a lost puppy--he’s really making this easy for you, he’s not even trying, “You just missed--Oh my fucking God, you just missed James, he-he called me tall, he called me fucking tall! Let’s go, let’s gooooo!”

“Well, you are tall, aren’t you?” You chime sweetly, almost as sweet as the drink that lingers on the tip of your tongue, “Real 6′3 energy, no?”

“Yes, yes, exactly! You get it, you fucking get it--” Once again, his mic goes mute, and you glance at the chat for help.

hard to transcribe what hes saying but hes taking shots and yelling that he loves you good job mom

hey, queen! girl, you have done it again, constantly raising the bar for us all and doing it flawlessly

mom plz dont kill alex hes too cute hes all uwu rn

Oh, how you’re about to break his poor little heart. If you had any good left in you, you’d spare him. You don’t, and you’re not taking requests at the moment, so all you do is smile at your chat and they know. They just do. Hive-mind shit, you’re all two-faced little fuckers.

You giggle, and it sounds a tad fake, “You’re so weird, Alex,” You start, and he’s back in the call, a sound of confusion echoing in your ears, “but I get it, you know. You’re weird. You’re a weirdo. You don’t fit it, and you don’t want to fit in. I mean, really, has anyone even seen you without your stupid hat?”

“...Do--” He sputters, bellowing a laugh, “Do you have that whole fucking monologue memorized?!”

“Is it because you’re bald?”

“I’m not fucking bald!” His giddiness is quickly replaced by anger.

You hum, pretend to think, lastly barking a “Liar.” before you kill him. His scream is cut off, leaving only deafening silence at it’s wake. Unlike with Rae, you don’t stick around. You didn’t appreciate how little he enjoyed your recital.

You run into James near Navigation, most likely on his way to Cafeteria. He ends his song mid-note, and you breathe a sigh of relief, “Finally! Someone! I’ve been looking all over, where the hell is everyone?” You question, blocking his way, lest he accidentally stumbles onto the crime scene and easily pins it on you. You’re not done yet.

“Honestly? No clue. I’m searching for them myself, like, everyone’s scattered. I hope no one died.”

You smile. You tried not to, but you can’t contain it, “Me, too.” You echo the sentiment, urging him to join you, and he does. Too trusting. Everyone in this game is too fucking trusting. You lead him back to Nav, feigning that you have a task here. As you pretend to move the spaceship, you can’t help but ask, “Hey, James?”

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A beat of silence passes, “Oh no, fuck that, I don’t like this at all.” He states, about to spin on his heel and bolt like he should do, but you’re quicker-- killer instincts and all-- and he’s dead before he makes it out the doorway.

“See, after your No More Lies video, I figured you’d only tell the truth.” Yes, this is the part of the anime where the villain monologues, only the hero in this case is an astronaut cut in half, and not exactly alive to listen to you. You hope James’ ghost sticks around, “Case in point, why the fuck did you tell Quackity he’s tall?” You eye the chat, which’s mostly spamming W and comparing you to Ryo from Devilman Crybaby. “Such a shame...” You murmur, pressing the REPORT button.

“What?! How are so many people dead?!” Ash gasps, her kind voice tinted with fear and confusion. Your three kills, like military stars on an uniform of a distinguished officer, are displayed on the board. Dream appears to be slacking, having yet to take a life.

“Someone’s been real fucking busy.” Charlie observes. It’s true, you have been.

“I found James in Nav, but holy shit--” You begin, exasperated, “--what the fuck, guys, how did we miss this shit? Where is everyone?”

“I’m at Electrical.” Corpse voices.

“And I’m with Corpse.” One sentence is all it takes to figure out your next target: Bretman. Revenge for being killed first in the first goddamn round, and for spending so much time with your boyfriend.

Eep!!! Boyfriend boyfriend boyfriend!!! The word even makes you forget your thirst for blood, that’s how whipped you are. Sadly, it’s time to return to reality, to this grave situation.

“And what have the two of you been conspiring?” You keep your tone level, but that alone is enough to set everyone off. The unease you had planted within them before the game started is starting to bloom. However, if they suspect you, they don’t speak up, not yet.

“Fishnets, mostly.” Corpse says.

only partly a lie he was mostly talking abt u queen <3

corpse simping for y/n is the sweetest thing ever

the times corpse used y/ns name when talking abt y/n: 1. the times he used baby or my baby: infinite

“I’m wearing them right nyoooow.” Bretman drawls.

You hum, “What a coincidence. I am, too.”

“Wait--For real?” That seems to catch Corpse’s attention, because of course it does, you picked them with him in mind, after all.

“No peeping.” You tsk, obviously referring to his tendency to hop onto your stream unprompted. Whether he actually listens to your demands is beyond you, “Peeping means cheating.”

“For the love of fuck all, can we get back to the three dead bodies, please? Because I’m about to have a second coming of Christ moment and taste my consumed, digested beer for the second time.” Charlie interjects.

“I mean, anyone have any ideas who’d do this?” Dream takes hold of the conversation. Quiet, disappointed nos greet him. They have nothing to go on, no clues, not even a subliminal message. With everyone scattered, there is no way of locating the actual bodies and drawing a long red trail leading back to you.

You’re too good at lying, and Dream is too good of a publicist. People tend to trust his judgement, which is his main asset (besides his calm demeanor of course). When the Among Us gods chose you as Impostor, they made sure you had every advantage.

“Who-Who do you think it is, Dream?” Ash questions, “I trust you. I do. Just know that.”

“No fucking clue.”

“Y/n?” She tries again.

“Same. I’m a bit worried, though.”

“Let’s, uhhh, let’s skip?” Sykkuno offers. The consensus is to start voting at six. Your new mission is to make sure you dwindle the numbers down drastically before that can happen. You have no qualms about sacrificing Dream in order to meet your goals, either. Absolutely cold blooded.

Back at Cafeteria, there are words exchanged about Quackity’s body just laying there, forgotten. Blame is shifted: how come we didn’t notice sooner? Where’s Rae? And you mindlessly go along with their mourning, not really paying attention. Dream leaves with Charlie and Sykkuno, Corpse requests you stay with him and you sprout fake apologies. Not his time yet. Us girls need to stick together!, you sing, following after Ashley and getting further and further away from him, going deeper and deeper into the labyrinth of the spaceship.

You find yourself in Security with her, her cute astronaut pressed to the cameras, watching the live feed, “Let’s lurk here, okay? Maybe we’ll see something.” If only she saw who was standing behind her.

“Who do you think is the Impostor?” You ask, standing in the doorway, “Or, more like, who are the Impostors?”

“Honestly?” She ends her word with a little sigh, “I think it might be Corpse and Bretman. I haven’t seen them at all this game.”

You smile, raising your brows, tilting your heard, and you sound so kind, like a dear old friend about to deliver a tender message, “...Have you seen me?”

“SHIT!”

Too late. In one smooth motion she joins the afterlife. You cut the lights, venting mindlessly till you spot Corpse and Bretman panicking in Weapons. Your existence is still a mystery to them.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck--” Corpse mumbles, “Bretman, don’t you dare fucking kill me right now.”

“I’m not Impostor!”

“Okay, I’ll drink to that.”

They rush out of Weapons, most likely on their way to Electrical, and you trail after them like the Grim Reaper itself, biding your time till you can deliver the killing blow.

“Corpse?!” You call out, mild panic ringing in your voice, “Is that you?”

“Shit, Y/n? Where are you?” He questions. Crew vision is so sad, so small, how can he not see you standing almost right next to him? “Where’s Ash?”

“I dunno,” You say, “when the lights went out I ran. Please don’t kill me.”

“I’d never do that, baby.”

Too easy. They’re all too fucking easy. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop the laugh bubbling in your chest, to stop the lightheaded dizziness that overcomes you with a rush of excitement.

“Thanks, pretty boy.” You mutter, and it sounds a bit lower than you intended, a bit darker, something sinister lurking underneath cotton candy words. It instantly clicks in Bretman and he makes a noise, something like a whine, and you see him backing away, “I know I can always trust you.”

Whether Corpse notices the odd shift in tone, he doesn’t show it, “I like it when you call me that.” Is all he says, and you hear the smile in his voice, the appreciation. The trek to Electrical is all but forgotten. You slowly make your way to Bretman, “Where are you? Come here.”

“Just a minute,” You say cheerily, “I just need to kill Bret first.”

“Holy shit.”

“N-” Your victim’s sentence is cut off in a second, and you can’t contain your manic cackle this time, because the screen bleeds red, the words VICTORY splattered on it, depicting yours and Dream’s sneaky astronauts. You’re still laughing as the voices of your fallen friends ring in your ears.

“Y/n, what the fuck, you’re an actual monster.” Dream says, but there’s no actual weight behind his words, each syllable punctured with a laugh.

“I knew the second she asked me about my favorite scary movie that I’d get the chop.” James states.

“Wait, Y/n, did you kill everyone?” Corpse questions.

“She fucking did!” Dream answers for you, “I got Charlie and Sykkuno, and barely at that. What the fuck.”

“I’ve been waiting so fucking long for this.” You admit, giggling, raising you glass, “I toast to you, Dream. My perfect partner in crime.”

“I didn’t really do shit, but cheers.”

Quackity heaves a heavy sigh, “Y/n, Y/n, you don’t actually think I’m weird, right? Right?”

“No, she does.” James chimes.

“WHAT THE FUCK DID I EVER DO TO YOU, DUDE?!”

More commotion, more noise, and you just sit there, buzzed, snickering, reading the chat as the rest agree to play another round. You thank the people who donated that you had accidentally missed among the, you know, murder, reply to a few questions, bow dramatically to the many praises and invisible flowers you receive for such beautiful assassin work. When you look back at the screen, you throw your head back with a maniacal laugh.

Impostor again, only this time it’s with Charlie. Family bonds are often restored when united under a common goal. You’re so happy. So happy. You weren’t done terrorizing your friends yet.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fic #corpse husband social media au #social media au #myso #make you say oh #quackity #dream smp #corpse x y/n #imagine #imagines #reader #xreader

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howl-fantasies · 2 years

Text

A/N - Because I wanted fluff. And because I also wanted Victor being a cute little shit.

--------------- 1 New Message ---------------

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

I'm going to split your head in half.

Victor Zsasz

You don't like them.

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

*1 File attached*

That thing is fucking bigger than me. But that's not the problem and you know it.

Victor Zsasz

Am I not allowed to send you flowers now sweetness? 💔

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

Don't fucking play coy with me.

...

You send four of them.

Victor Zsasz

What can I say, you bewitched me and I wanted to spoil my darling sweetness.

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

Talking about spoiling, you fucking spoiled my kill! And on purpose, since you sent the delivery guys right where I told you I was waiting.

Victor Zsasz

Why would I want to do something like that?

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

I swear you're gonna fucking choke on petals, they'll flow through your nostrils, mouth, eyes, ears and every goddamn pores! So much the GCPD would run after Ivy thinking it was her.

Victor Zsasz

Again no reason for me to spoil your kill on purpose, I was just an innocent little simp.

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

Count, idiot. I was 20points ahead of you and you can't stand the idea of me winning our little game!

Victor Zsasz

Don't be ridiculous, I let you comfortably ahead on purpose. We both know I'm going to win in the end.

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

Sure. Oh isn't it your target here, in grey?

Victor Zsasz

Don't even think about it.

Y/N

Oopsie.

Victor Zsasz

Did you really throw my giant flowers bouquets with their fancy marble pot on top of his head?! SERIOUSLY?!

...

How were you even able to lift them??

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

Told delivery guys I'll give them 100 bucks each if they helped a weak woman carrying those reaaaaally heavy things on the edge of the roof, which was on your ex-mark's way to his home. Gravity did the rest.

...

See? We can both use the information the other gave against them.

Victor Zsasz

...

At least did you like them?

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

Very pretty, I like them even more now, seeing how deadly they are. Thanks dearest.

Victor Zsasz

Anything for you.

...

Btw I killed your mark earlier and two GCPD agents. I'm the one ahead now.

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

You're no simp, Victor.

...

You're a competitive little shit. And also a sore loser.

Victor Zsasz

Then we must be soulmates since we're so alike 🖤

Miss Sweetness Zsasz

I'm gonna shoot you.

#gotham #gotham imagine #gotham x reader #gotham fox #victor zsasz #victor zsasz imagine #victor zsasz x reader #gotham fandom #Gotham x you #gotham x you #gotham villains #Gotham villains x you

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arend000-blog · 2 years

Text

Hello welcome to my blog. If you came here because you were confused as to what the heck is going on in one of my posts I hope this post will help.

Here’s some basic information if you want more it’s under the read more

In normal text it's Nick, “me”, you can assume it's me if there's no other indication in the tags if i think it's necessary i’ll add Nk: in the tag to clarify it's him speaking.

In red and/or cursed we got Azerium, the demon, in the tags i’ll lead with Az: if he’s saying it.

Green is the overworked and tired Berrian, half-elf feywanderer ranger, Br: in the tags

And finally in golden text it's Amashiel, the angel, going by Am: in the tags.

Quick reference: me, Ames, Az, Berrian, me and Az, me using my powers, god of true ends🎶

Boreon, Sol, Cinys

Who are using this different font cause i ran out of colours a bit

Boreon is a ghost with ice powers

Sol is some kind of sun spirit

And Cinys is a lying manipulative ash demon

All of us (except Cinys) are no longer sharing my body, still sharing the account though it is an rp thing it's just me playing them they're not actually living in my head

Hope this helps!

Alright time to introduce them properly

Let’s start with “me” Nick(this is me for all intents and purposes, no this is not my real name but you may address me as such), he/him pronouns (at least at the moment i don’t really know my own gender or sexuality so the best you can get out of me regarding my oc’s is pronouns), okay so he’s kinda stuck in a roguelite-like kind of loop spanning the entire life of the multiverse, link here if i ever write that down, he's an inter dimensional gaurdian but he can’t really use his powers at the moment (don’t tell the-crimson-river-society or florida, i’m trying to keep up appearances), the only one with common sense and enough self restraint to not stab people, has the most control over who gets the body, still ends up sleep deprived despite only needing two hours of sleep, likes milk chocolate, doesn’t like swearing and is currently playing host to an angel and a demon but probably more somewhere down the line.

Okay onto Azerium, the living blade, as they like to call themself, a demon straight from hell and actually got banished from there for promoting the idea to kill all the damned souls now, since they would end up down there anyways, it didn't help that he’s a halfbreed, a result of a succubus and a fallen angel, which makes him the lowest ranked demon in hell even below puny imps, pronouns are he/they, might look like they’ll go apeshit but will actually sit down and let you cry your emotions out before setting the responsible party's house on fire hopefully with them in it, only wants to kill the damned souls, supports the lgbtq+ with pure chaos energy especially the arsonists, somehow pretty good and responsible with kids, also the one who usually gets us out of trouble, he’s the only one with actual combat training and is also training us, absolutely loves duels and fights especially if there’s swords involved, despite having wings he can’t actually fly, has a tiefling like prehensile tail, likes dark chocolate, swears the most easily out of us and often takes over to have Nick not swear.

Now for the angel Amashiel, protector of the innocent, got kicked out of heaven by the archangels because she wanted to guide humanity instead of simply sitting back and letting them figure out their own problems, may look like a cinnamon bun but will absolutely go on a crusade should someone hurt one of their friends or loved ones, also has only one brain cell which is mostly occupied with figuring out how absolutely everything works, might make it as an technician if she remembers to unplug whatever they are dismantling, initially disliked Azerium but now they quarrel like siblings, somehow the more vengeful of the two, also the more annoying one, we call her Ames, might look like the team mom but is somehow the most irresponsible one out of us, they almost got us electrocuted twice already, also not good with kids, inexplicably has sparkles appear whenever they are in control, she's also british somehow, hard to piss off even harder to calm down, likes white chocolate and pronouns are she/they.

Fun tidbit, apparently chocolate is a very good substitute for prayers and whatever the heck demons get their powers from, screams, terror, human souls? nah it’s just terror if we used human souls for power we’d run out of ones to torture Oh alright!

Quick rundown of abilities and powers:

Nick: having a body, knowing how the human world works, phoenix fire healing power, being the best host an angel could pray for, thanks ames, having potential as an eldritch knight, creating and stabilising portals, being able to go into a trance like state and keeping all the other ones on track.

Azerium: being able to transform his arms into tentacle blades, fighting skills, having a prehensile tail, being able to set his hands on fire and simple curse magic. i also have my own blog now @azerium don't tell the other

Amashiel: creating force fields, simple healing and blessing magic, flight and emitting enough light to rival a lighthouse.

Together we got resistance to non supernatural damage and a downright immunity to fire, also only needing two hours of sleep a day.

And here's the posts with some charcter artwork

Ames is now working for osha

#fudge why did i think this was i good idea #now i have to write this stuff instead of just imagining it #lore stuff

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tpwkjerii · 4 years

Text

fool’s mate

there’s only one way to lose a game of chess in two moves, and hwang hyunjin managed to figure out how to (subtly) steal your heart with exactly two moves.

pairing: student!hyunjin x student!reader

warnings: fluff, some cursing, y/n likes reading & books, y/n is kinda a teachers pet, y/n is kinda mean, hyunjin is a simp

genre: high school au, fluff, minor angst if you squint, kinda enemies to lovers and fools to lovers

word count: 4.1k+

a/n: first hyunjin fanfic pls enjoy loves!! also a big happy birthday to hyunjin! send him some love if you can :’) xx

Hwang Hyunjin was an asshole. Or at least he was in your eyes.

Why he decided to bother you every morning without fail? You didn’t know. Usually, you brushed it off in favor of talking to your friend Mina, but this morning you couldn’t. Why?

His clumsy ass spilled warm coffee on your white uniform blouse. Now you were sure he didn’t mean to do it on purpose since he never resorted to any physical annoyance, but after the morning you had (let’s just say you shared some rather unsavory words with your project group members), you could only place the harsh blame on him.

You cursed at the same time he apologized, shooting up from your seat with dark brown coffee dripping down your shirt and onto the table.

“I’m so sorry! Really! Sorry!” Hyunjin said frantically, his hands desperately grabbing onto napkins and awkwardly pressing them onto your chest as a futile attempt to pat away the mess.

“Really? You’re sorry?” you huffed, extremely agitated. To make matters worse, everyone was watching your interaction with Hyunjin, and they were all laughing.

Who were they to laugh at your misery? Even Mina was stifling a laugh! Your friend Mina!

“I meant to give the coffee to you and I tripped over your bag! I didn’t see it I swear!” Hyunjin explained, although it did nothing to calm you down. He faltered over his words when his fingers accidentally brushed against the exposed part of your chest, and you ignored the way it made your heart skip, instead choosing to verbally attack him again.

“You expect me to believe that, Hyunjin?” you exhorted dryly, watching as his long black hair shook rapidly while he nodded.

“Yes because it’s true!” he cried, shrivelling inside when you only scoffed and pushed him away.

Your teacher coughed awkwardly once Hyunjin returned to his seat, gathering everyone’s attention. Well, everyone except Hyunjin, who was staring at you like a kicked puppy.

“___, why don’t you take a trip to the nurse’s office, I’m sure she has an extra shirt for you,” your teacher instructed you, sympathy evident in her voice.

Your face burned red as you nodded and stood up, hating the way everyone looked at you and your coffee soaked shirt. Damn Hwang Hyunjin. You all but ran out of the classroom, and left just as Han Jisung leaned over to Hyunjin and said, “I told you she wouldn’t like the coffee.”

Thankfully, you ended up getting a new (and clean) shirt from the nurse, and you were in a much better mood once lunch hour arrived. Everything was going well as you walked out into the courtyard with Mina. You had your lunch in one hand and drink in the other, ready to replenish yourself after long hours of boring class. In the moment, you thought that the worst of your day was truly over.

But, of course, you were a fool to think that you could ever have a truly good day.

Hyunjin and his group of friends walked up to you, their own drinks and foods in hand. Instinctively, you put a hand up, saying as he approached, “If you’re thinking about spilling another drink on me, don’t.”

At your snarky comment, Hyunjin winced and his shoulders visibly sunk. The sight was so sad it almost made you feel bad for him. Almost.

“It was an accident! It really was!” Hyunjin defended himself weakly, obviously ready to continue but stopped when one of his friends - Seungmin, you recognized - cleared his throat and elbowed him. With Seungmin’s interruption, Hyunjin remembered why he approached you in the first place, and his entire demeanor shifted. His shoulders lifted, chest popped out, and an effortlessly beautiful smile took over his face.

Looking unimpressed, you gestured at him to continue. “I don’t have all day, Hyunjin.”

He nodded, and confidently asked, “___, how do you feel about accompanying me to Yellow Wood Cafe after school?”

You furrowed your brows at his proposition and stifled a laugh at the way his friends reacted to his request. If you looked closely, you could see Felix mutter “that’s not how we practiced.”

“As much as I would love to go and get another coffee spilled on me,” you started dryly, and Hyunjn visibly deflated as he realized you would never let that go, “I have Book Club after school.”

At that, Hyunjin’s face contorted into one of confusion. He swore he double - no he triple checked that you would be able to go today. According to the club website and a trusted source, Book Club wasn't supposed to meet again until next week.

“I thought we weren’t going to meet until next week?” Seungmin asked, thankfully voicing Hyunjin’s concerns. Although it wasn’t because Seungmin could read Hyunjin’s mind, but because Seungmin (aka trusted source) was also in Book Club.

You nodded at Seungmin, and Hyunjin ignored the jealousy he felt when you smiled at his friend, informing him of the board meeting that the club was having.

Hyunjin slapped himself internally. He forgot you were the vice president of Book Club. How could he forget such a crucial detail?

Seungmin nodded in response, and you took the newfound and rather awkward silence among the group as the chance to leave. “Sorry, Hyunjin. I won’t be able to make it today,” you said with a twinge of actual sympathy.

Once you were gone, Hyunjin sadly walked away, his friends in tow. As they sat down at their usual table, a light bulb emerged and lit up in Hyunjin’s mind. He had a plan.

“Seungmin,” Hyunjin started, effectively capturing his friend’s attention, “you play chess, right?”

Seungmin nodded, sarcastically stating, “I’ve only been in Chess Club for two years.”

Hyunjin grinned, “I know I know. Anyways, what’s that one thing called? The one where you can win a game of chess in only two moves?”

“Fool’s mate?”

“Yes!” Hyunjin exclaimed, now having the attention of his entire table (and directly surrounding ones). “I know how to woo Y/N with only two moves.”

“Who uses the word woo anymore?” Jeongin said, his face scrunched into a grimace. “And how exactly do you plan on doing that when she hates you?”

Hyunjin frowned at his younger friend. “She doesn’t hate me. And it’ll be simple, just listen…”

Move 1: King’s Pawn to E5 — Avoid Y/N (“absence makes the heart grow fonder or some shit like that, right?” - jisung someone)

Expected Response: Y/N will start to realize that she actually likes Hyunjin and his presence.

4 days.

It had been 4 days since Hyunjin last talked to you. Were these arguably the best 4 days of your life? Absolutely.

No coffee spills. No obnoxious locker slamming (yes, Hyunjin had the locker next to yours). No yelling across the classroom. Just pure, unadulterated peace.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were missing something. Did you know what that certain something was? Yes. Did you want to admit it? Fuck no. There was no way you actually missed Hyunjin’s presence, no way.

As you walked into the classroom again, your eyes reflexively darted to the corner where Hyunjin and his friends always sat. As usual, Hyunjin was sitting on the table with Felix at his side, Jisung and Seungmin were sitting in their seats, and Jeongin was leaning against Seungmin’s shoulder. Normally, Hyunjin would see you enter, shout your name, and gesture for you to sit by him.

However, it’s been nearly a week since the last time he did that. The first day, it was a relief to not have the entire room’s attention on you at 7:50 AM. Now, it was slightly irking.

For a split second, as you walked to your seat, you made eye contact with Hyunjin; and for a second, you thought everything was about to return to normal. But instead of calling you out like you thought, he looked completely past you and waved at the person behind you.

It took almost all of your control to maintain a neutral expression and not turn around to see just who that person was.

Begrudgingly, you set your school bag down on your table and sat down in your assigned seat. With two minutes before the bell, Jeongin runs out of your classroom to go to his and Mina walks in to take her seat next to you.

“What’s got you so upset?” she asked, faux innocence laced in her voice and a knowing look in her eyes. Mina caught on easily two days ago when you accidentally let slip a hurt expression when Hyunjin ignored your greeting.

“Shut up,” you muttered, hearing her stifled laugh as you took out your notebooks.

Luckily, your first few classes passed by rather quickly. For once, your groupmates actually contributed and spared you the trouble of doing all the work. Soon enough, it was lunch period, and you and Mina found yourselves walking to your usual lunch spot.

As you approached your unofficially-claimed bench in the courtyard, you eyed Hyunjin’s unusually quiet table. On a normal day, they would all be very loud (at this point, everyone knew what Jeongin’s scream sounded), but today they were hunched over the table in what appeared to be a deep discussion.

With this newfound silence, you could actually hear the wind rustling the trees and the light chirps of the birds. It was relaxing and peaceful, exactly as you thought lunch should be. For a second, you let a smile grace your face and forgot about how you missed Hyunjin’s constant annoying presence.

Of course, good things can never last long for you because soon enough, it was too relaxing. The birds’ light chirps became annoyingly loud and the blowing wind just became an inconvenience as your hair kept flying into your face regardless of how you angled yourself. And then, as if the clouds opened up and shined a ray of the heavens onto the planet, you heard his laugh.

The laugh, which you previously associated with pure anger, filled you with a surprising warmth. Any negative words you had for mother nature fell silent on your tongue as you shifted your gaze to look at Hyunjin. You watched as he tilted his head back, a harmonious laugh erupting from his throat as his eyes crinkled into beautiful half moons.

You found yourself hypnotized by him as he calmed down and leaned back, running his hands through his long, black hair with a content expression on his attractive face...

You stiffened as he turned and met your gaze. Hoping that he didn’t see the intense blush on your face (he totally did), you quickly looked away and grabbed Mina’s arm, effectively startling her.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Mina asked, slightly choking on her lunch as you rushed her to stand up. “You didn’t even touch your food!” the disgruntled girl continued as you dragged her away.

“I-it doesn’t matter,” you stuttered, praying for the heat across your face to go away. “I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Well I haven’t,” Mina muttered.

“Mina,” you started, whirling around to stop both of you in your tracks once you were out of the courtyard and in an empty hallway. She looked at you expectantly, her feet tapping impatiently. “This is an emergency,” you stressed.

Mina looked both unimpressed and concerned. With raised eyebrows, she asked, “Emergency meaning what, exactly? Do you need me to take you to the nurse?”

You groaned and looked down at your feet in embarrassment. Raising your hands to your face, you sighed as you mumbled, “I… I think I like Hyunjin.”

Pretending that she couldn’t hear you and deciding to make you more miserable than you already were, Mina held back her laugh and said, “You what? I didn’t quite hear that.”

Suppressing a loud groan, you begrudgingly repeated, “I think I like Hyunjin,” a hard annunciation following each word.

“Ah,” Mina laughed. “I thought so. We all did.”

You shot up, making direct eye contact with the girl in front of you. “What do you mean?” you asked, your eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Mina laughed again, saying, “You know, you’re pretty blind sometimes.” With that, she started walking away, only picking up her pace when you started following after her.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” you shouted after her, groaning internally as she broke into a full on sprint.

Move 2: Queen to H4 — Invade Indirectly spend more time with Y/N by attending the same activities (“but hyunjin you hate readi - ” “shut up jeongin”)

Expected Response: Y/N will realize that she loves doing stuff with Hyunjin and will like him more.

“You joined Book Club?” you asked the long-haired newcomer, trying to control the shakiness in your voice and thanking god that you were sitting or else your weak knees would betray you.

Hyunjin nodded, a beautiful smile spreading across his face. “Seungmin,” he paused, pointing to Seungmin, who waved from the door, “suggested that I pick up a new extracurricular.”

You raised your eyebrow pointedly. “And you chose Book Club?”

He nodded proudly, hoping that he didn’t appear as nervous as he felt inside.

“Hyunjin,” you sighed, and he ignored how the way you said his name made his heart feel like it was about to collapse after a marathon, “the only books I have ever seen you read were all for class.”

“And they were all great!” he lied through his teeth, but painted on fake enthusiasm in hopes of convincing you. Evidently, it worked as your confused gaze dropped and you shrugged.

“If Seungmin thinks you’ll enjoy it then I guess you’re free to join us today,” you told him, your voice soft and lacking the usual bite it had when you talked to Hyunjin. Your gentle tone shocked everyone in the room, who all expected you to kick Hyunjin out instantly and permanently ban him from the back library office the club met in once every two weeks.

“Oh,” he said, his lips parting in shock and his heart pounding wildly as you gestured for him to take the empty seat next to Seungmin. “Thank you,” Hyunjin managed to breathe out, turning around to walk towards the open seat with a hand dramatically clenched over his chest.

“Alright,” the sound of your voice again startled Hyunjin, who barely sat down. You stood up from your seat, a book in hand and a friendly smile on your face. “Hopefully everyone finished the last book, which was recommended by Sunwoo,” you announced, smiling as you lifted up the book 1984 and gestured kindly towards Sunwoo, a boy in your class.

Hyunjin ignored the twinge of jealousy as you nonverbally praised Sunwoo for his book choice. He could choose nice books to read, too.

“Usually Joon leads the discussion,” you continued, and Hyunjin recognized the advanced Literature TA’s name, “but seeing as both him and Haechan aren’t here, I’ll be leading the discussion for today!”

Hyunjin felt his heart swell at the proud grin on your face as you talked about your passions. To be honest, he hated reading and would prefer to be at the dance studio with Felix for extra practice, but being here with you made him quickly forget about those two things. He would read 1000 books if it meant he got to spend more time with you.

In the front, you animatedly led the discussion, willing yourself to not stare at Hyunjin and lose your train of thought. It was harder than you thought it would be to ignore the way he casually ran his hands through his hair and how he pushed up the sleeves of his uniform shirt. It was enough to make you both curse and thank Seungmin for bringing him today.

After ten long minutes of discretely ogling Hyunjin while attempting to lead the discussion on a book you barely managed to finish in time, you were finally able to sit down. Everyone else was deep in conversation, and mostly everyone had their attention off you. Key word: most.

Hyunjin kept an unreadable gaze on you while, shockingly, participating in the group discussion. Your eyes clashed with his, and you found yourself struggling to breathe properly as he mentioned his favorite part of the book.

“When Winston and Julia realized they liked each other and took the risk to be together.”

At his words, your breath stopped. The intense gaze he held on you and the slight shakiness in his voice led you to assume that Hyunjin was feeling the same way as you, and that his sentence was just a shove — a way of indirectly putting his feelings into the air. You knew that your relationship wouldn’t be nearly as risky as the two characters’ of 1984 and that you and Hyunjin were far from the two, but somehow, Hyunjin’s words managed to excite you.

Was it a risk to open your heart up to the person who used to annoy you to no end? Was it a risk to like someone at all? Years of building walls and pushing people away were crumbled by a beautiful boy with a smile that took your breath away. You didn’t know what this meant for you, but one thing was for sure: for once, you hoped that Hyunjin didn’t stop hanging around.

Soon enough, Book Club was over, and you all but ran out of the library. With your backpack securely on, you put in your earphones and began the usual walk to Yellow Wood Cafe. It was a usual tradition to meet Mina, who was really your only friend now that you were thinking about it, after Book Club to do homework and eat together.

With music playing loudly in your ears, you failed to notice Hyunjin and Seungmin behind you; conveniently, both of them were also headed to the Cafe to visit their friend who worked there. Or, at least Seungmin was — Hyunjin had an ulterior motive.

After a short eight minute walk, which was all taken up with you screaming internally over your newfound feelings for Hyunjin, you arrived at the bright storefront. Through the decorated glass walls, you saw Mina sitting at your usual table, her neck craned down to copy notes. You walked into the store with a happy smile and headed straight for the empty seat across your friend.

As you set your bag down, Mina looked up, and her smile turned into a mischievous grin when she moved slightly to the side to see the familiar faces that entered behind you.

“What are you looking at?” you asked, your brows furrowed together as you turned around.

You recognized him instantly and you quickly whipped around, hoping he didn’t see that (he definitely did). “Oh my god,” you whispered, your eyes wide in panic, “I can’t believe he followed me.”

“Follow?”

You inhaled sharply, hesitantly turning around and gasping when you saw how close Hyunjin was standing to you. His head was craned down to look at you, and there was barely a foot between your faces.

“___, I didn’t follow you. My friend works here and I wanted to pay him a visit,” he told you, waving to the guy behind the counter as his evidence.

“Oh,” you dumbly responded, your voice uncharacteristically shaky. “Well, I take my words back.” You subtly cleared your throat and turned back around, hoping your face didn’t appear as warm as it felt.

Hyunjin cleared his throat, causing you to stiffen slightly, and asked, “Want a drink? My treat.”

“N-no thanks,” you managed to reply, internally cursing at the stutter. How did Hyunjin somehow manage to completely dissolve your composure?

You didn’t even get to think about the answer to your question as Hyunjin said, “I insist. You usually get a Jasmine Green Tea with boba, right?”

“How do you know my or -”

“Hey Changbin, can I get a Jasmine Green Tea with boba and a Brown Sugar Milk Tea with boba?”

You watched as Hyunjin inserted his card into the chip reader and took it out, the receipt proof that he really did get you a drink.

“Er - thanks,” you mumbled as he approached, feeling incredibly awkward. By now, Mina had moved to talk to Seungmin since they shared the same math class, but you didn’t miss the way they eyed you and Hyunjin.

If any of your awkwardness was showing, Hyunjin chose to ignore it as he seemed as cool as ever. “No problem,” he said, his hands moving together to clasp each other tightly. “Since I got you a drink,” he started, his voice wavering slightly, “I was wondering if we could talk? Just for a few moments?”

Your eyes widened and you felt your heart pick up its pace. “Just us two?” you asked, your voice mirroring your shock.

With his nod, you slowly walked towards an empty table with him and awkwardly sat down at one of the sides. You kept your gaze firmly on the white table in fear of looking up and losing what was left of your composure. Silence prevailed for a few seconds until Hyunjin spoke.

“I know that we haven’t been on the best terms the past year,” he started, and you nodded at his true statement. “I did a lot of things that I didn’t realize really bothered you -” you thought back to the amount of times he would purposely distract you in class and randomly hug you when he was sweaty from dance or swim practice.

“- but I really did those things you get your attention,” he paused, causing you to look up just as he looked down bashfully, “which didn’t work out too well when I really thought about it. And I know that now you probably think I’m annoying -” your breath hitched and you stopped yourself from blurting out ‘not anymore’ “- but I still want to let you know how I feel.”

He looked up, and the genuineness in his eyes made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest. “I…” he weakly started, “I don’t know if anything changed how you felt this week but I know that I’ve liked you since you stood up for me last year.”

Right, you thought back to the time when you and Hyunjin were mere classmates (basically strangers) and you defended him from an older student. You couldn’t stand to see them abuse their authority as your elder (by only one year too), and decided to use your influence as a teacher’s pet to teach him a lesson. It was safe to say that Hyunjin was never bothered after that.

“After that I just wanted to be around you more,” Hyunjin continued, “but you usually kept your distance from people and I was stupid and couldn’t think of better ways to get your attention than annoy you.” The long-haired boy in front of you was blushing now, and his hands were clasped together so tightly you had to fight the urge to reach out with your own and relax him.

“I understand if you don’t feel the same, but I’d really appreciate it if you gave me the chance and allowed me to take you out on a date -”

“Yes,” you said instantly. But Hyunjin, amidst the panic of his mind, seemed to hear something else as his face immediately fell and he instantly moved to stand up.

“I guess I expected that - wait, yes?” He plopped back down on his seat ungracefully, shock absorbing his features as if a light had turned on in his brain and properly registered what you said.

You nodded, a bright red blush staining your cheeks. “Yes, you can take me out on a date, Hyunjin.”

“Is this a dream?” Hyunjin asked, the shock still clear on his face as he held back an excited smile.

You shook your head with a small laugh. “Nope, completely real life, I’m afraid,” you answered, gently pinching his hand for extra emphasis.

Hyunjin broke into a large grin and moved to cover your hands with his own. “I’ve dreamed about this moment,” he shyly admitted with a bashful blush that slowly spread across his face, “and I didn’t think you’d ever say yes.”

You took a second to admire his smile and how his eyes seemed to shine even in the cafe’s fluorescent lighting. Hyunjin really did have the most beautiful smile you had ever seen.

“I’m curious,” you started slowly after collecting yourself. He nodded, a silent gesture to continue. “Was this a plan? The past week, it felt different, and that’s how I started to realize…” you paused, a blush spreading across your face, “I liked you.”

Hyunjin’s smile never faltered, and he tightened his grip around your hands as he asked, “have you ever played chess?”

443 notes · View notes

bandaigaeru · 3 years

Text

song of the summer - bang chan

→pairing: ceo bang chan x gn reader

→genre: kinda strangers to lovers

→synopsis: he runs one of the biggest music companies in the country, yet he inducts you to help aid him and his friends, each of them deemed as representatives of the ‘big three’, for their next official comeback.

→word count: 12.5k

→ warnings: swearing, shitty father figure

A single question hangs over the dim conference room you’ve somehow scored a seat in. Does the general public want to see 3Racha? Bluntly, the answer is right in front of you. Glowing against the whiteboard from the overhead projector, the carefully curated slideshow answers the rhetorical question.

One of the dance representatives from the back of the room twirls his pen between his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he apathetically wonders aloud, “So it’s true, then?”

“What’s that, Mr. Lee?” the marketing representative, a Mr. Choi, holds his remote between both hands as he leans toward the table. The word ‘full’ dances across his face as he steps in front of the projector’s path.

“That they’re making a comeback. A full one?”

Mr. Choi nods, scanning the rest of the patrons’ reactions with squinted eyes as he says, “That would be correct.”

Of course, the three who would walk onstage and perform aren’t here. Mr. Bang is probably running around, abiding by his role as the professional CEO who never skips a beat. Regarding the other two, you’re not sure. They’re not as predictable.

The project is pretty tight in terms of what needs to be met. Summer is around the corner, and everyone and their mother will be fighting to hold that mere title of having the temporary greatest hit. When the general public awaits their yearly easily digestible, flowery songs.

“Keep in mind that we are all under Bang! Entertainment,” Choi remarks, clicking to his next slide displaying headlines questioning the company’s next move. “It should go without saying, but all eyes will be on us as the season turns.”

You stare at the bolded words, trying to digest each of them. Joining the company was likely the best decision you’ve ever made, outside of adopting a cat named Loba. When you got scouted as a producer, you were under a different company. Bang! offered a contract, but didn’t require an interview because they ‘didn’t want to invalidate or question a talent they’ve already seen.’

It was an ego boost.

“I’m sure you all know what your roles are in this,” Choi says, taking glances around the room to make sure each face isn’t lost or distant. This is 3Racha we’re talking about. Everything must be perfect.

You take a glance of your own. A few belong to the dance department, some to hair and makeup; however, you are the only producer here.

You raise a low hand to garner Mr. Choi’s attention. “Why am I here?” you subsequently ask, dropping your hand and crossing it against your chest as before.

“The team personally requested you,” he says.

Connections, you instantly understand. In a place like this, in a time like this, they’re a necessity. Nepotism is practically required in the world of music, hence why it sucks for most aspiring indie artists. You didn’t choose to befriend a guy who happens to be best friends with one of the big three here. So, you cast a blind eye.

It’s all a game of luck.

The meeting doesn’t run much longer. A concluding statement with hints of a threat if anyone messes up rings through your ears. A project end date of July 20th, when the album is supposed to go live. You’re not nervous, per se. Simply blindsided given the lack of information. What’s the song about? When’s the due date? Will 3Racha come to you first, or do you have to take time out of your day to the CEO’s harrowing office? The uncertainties aggravate the impulse of opening a new document on your computer and delving into your producer rituals. You can’t create someone else’s project out of blankness. And that irritates you to no end.

Someone throws their arm around your shoulder in an attempt to throw you off your purposeful stride.

“Congrats,” the belonger says.

You glance over to look, even though you know the voice well. He is your connection, of course.

“Thanks.”

Minho pulls you back to a slower pace. Familiar faces from the meeting pass you to the elevator, a majority in a meaningless chatter. They expected an appearance on this project.

“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asks, stopping altogether and dropping his arm from your shoulder.

You shrug, looking curiously at him. Minho’s not one to beat around the bush.

“Hypothetically,” he starts, “how would you feel being invited to bro night?”

“And actually witness you or Felix puke on the lawn instead of hearing about it? No thanks,” you scoff, making an attempt to abandon the situation by following the distancing crowd.

He grabs your wrist, spinning you back to him. “Please?” His eyes are pleading, glaring back at you like an innocent kitten.

You tip your head and sigh. “Why?”

Instead of cutting to the chase, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ll pay you.”

An eyebrow cocks. Regardless of your amusement—a desperate Minho doesn’t appear often—worries consume you. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”

Wary eyes jump around the hallway before they land back on you. “Follow me,” he mumbles.

His steps are calculated as he guides you to the elevator and presses the floor his office resides on. The ride is silent, as is the walk down the hall. You step into the room first, and he closes the door behind him. Despite the urge to ask if he’s about to murder you, you bite your tongue and take a seat on his upholstered couch. Identical to the one in your office.

Gently, he lowers himself into his chair. A few minutes pass of you simply staring at each other. Nerves crawl up your spine and you disguise them with a snarky comment. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to bribe me into spending time with your friends?”

In the time he takes to respond, you think about how the only mutual friend you have is Jisung. Sure, you know everyone on a name basis; but it’s not like you’ve known them as long as Minho. He doesn’t have other, more qualified, friends to drag to bro night?

“Chan’s kinda in a mood right now,” Minho’s words are slurred by the breath he releases as he speaks.

“And?” you press.

“I want you to see it before you work with him. And for him to understand you in advance. Y’know. You’re a little,” he hesitates, “forward sometimes.”

You should take this as an insult, but you can’t because words’ owner knows you too well. Minho never speaks unjustly.

“Touche,” you nod. It’s better to own up to your flaws. If you don’t, that’s how you end up walking into a carefully curated narcissistic personality.

His features loosen as he presses his forearms on his thighs. “So. You in?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you emit a wry laugh. All in one sentence, you’ve managed to prove his point. It��s simple, really.

“You see, I’ve already told the boys you’re coming. Either way, I would’ve gotten you to go. The only other option would have been to threaten you with a knife,” he admits. As you gawk at him in awe, realizing you stand in the same boat, a proud grin grows on his face. With time, you begin to mirror the ones you admire. Friends, for example.

“I think Seungmin will like you,” he adds.

“Why do you say that?”

All you know of Kim Seungmin is that he’s in the vocal department, along with his younger counterpart Yang Jeongin, and that he’s a menace. Minho’s words.

“You’re both evil.”

That’s the last straw. You stand up without a word and stomp for the door.

His laugh echoes behind you, striking a quieter one of your own. Still, you stay in character and slip out into the hallway. Minho has won too many of these scenarios.

ii.

Loba sneaks into the kitchen as you wait impatiently for Minho. Thirty minutes. That’s how late he is. You consider texting him, but acknowledge the possibility he’s stuck in traffic or something. Agitation tells you to do it anyway since he only lives two blocks over.

The orange cat paws at your calf for attention, momentarily distracting you as you set your phone down on the counter. Minho’s chat is wide open. She, too, finds excuses for him.

Her head nuzzles against your palm as you scratch behind her ears. She meddles successfully enough to trick you into feeding her a few treats. While you reach for the top shelf of your pantry, a pair of footsteps sneak up behind you. Heavier than Loba’s.

“Did the cat convince you to spoil her again?”

“Son of a-” you recoil, whirling around to greet the man, the myth, the late bastard.

The familiar appearance of a sly smirk, mischievous eyes, and an outfit that makes him look like a casual runway model, pierce your vision.

“You’re late,” you mutter, stepping past him and scooping Loba up. You rest her head on your left arm, cradling her like a baby. She tilts her head up to stare back at Minho. Traitor.

Minho grabs the bag of treats for you.

“Sorry, I had to pick up Jisung. He’s in the car,” his voice trails as he slips his thumbs between the plastic fold and focuses on opening the difficult seal.

“Damn it,” he curses. Karma arrives faster in deserving situations.

“It took you thirty extra minutes to pick him up?”

He deadpans, “You know he likes to be presentable for the boys.”

When you don’t give him the satisfaction of a single laugh, let alone a change in emotion, he whines, “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“You trick me into going to your stupid hangout, and now you have the nerve to show up late?”

He sneaks a few treats to Loba. “You’re really not mad at me right now, are you?”

“Irritated, at the least,” you admit.

“Well, then I’m sorry. Jisung got off late so I had to wait at Bang! for him.”

The words sink into your skin, but you don’t acknowledge them further. The anger fades on the walk down to the car, a great distance separating you and Minho. It’s practically dissipated by the time you climb into the backseat of Minho’s Kia Soul.

Jisung turns in the front seat and offers his hand at an awkward angle. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

You hold your seatbelt in one hand, accepting his with the other as you force a measly smile. “Same for you. Thanks for suggesting me to Mr. Bang.”

Confusion warps his face, twisting his eyebrows in a weird knit as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. Must’ve been Chan.”

Minho drops himself into the driver’s seat, suspending any further questioning.

Jisung returns to his original poise as when you approached the car. Eyes focused on his phone, actively typing something out.

You click your seatbelt into locking. An unnatural feeling plagues your gut. Mr. Bang wanted you on the team? It feels unlikely, but you know Jisung wouldn’t joke like that. Even if he were the type, his acting of unawareness gives away the truth.

Minho glances back at you in the mirror. “Ready?” he asks as his hand rests on the gearshift.

You press your lips into a line as you nod. “Mhm.”

You stare down at your hands carefully folded in your lap. For the first time since before producing, the itch to create is drowned by an intense, overwhelming brew of something lingering in your veins.

The expectation of you has pierced through the roof and is shooting out of the stratosphere.

Chan—Jisung quickly advised you to drop all formalities, so you’re rewiring your thoughts—has a home in Gangnam. Fitting for his status, but smaller than you expected. It’s still able to fit at least four of your apartment in it, though.

Jisung and Minho walk ahead of you up the stairs. The elevators in rich apartments on this end can only fit two people if you really scrunch together. What’s the money for, then?

“Today’s Monopoly night, right?” Jisung examines Minho’s side profile as he cautiously lifts one foot after the other. The stairs here are steeper than any you’ve seen. Hiking sounds better than this.

He hums in approval. “I guess we’ll sort teams later. We probably won’t live through the night with last week’s.”

A brash laugh escapes Jisung’s lips, subsequently echoing against the walls and bouncing back to your ears. “Right.”

You tune out their conversation for the rest of the climb, settling for watching your shoelaces sway with each step.

Jisung pushes on the door for the fourth floor, holding it open until you’re fully into the hallway. “Chan’s the second door on the right,” Jisung nods to one of the identical doors along the hall—appearing more expensive than your monthly rent with its rich stain.

Minho doesn’t bother knocking, instead opting for trying the doorknob. It allows access to the gigantic living space and the loud chatter previously muffled by walls.

You must be the last to arrive, but you probably could’ve guessed such.

“Hey,” Jeongin looks up from his conversation, inspiring a round of greetings from all the others.

“You all know each other enough so I’ll skip the introductions,” Minho glances between you and the group, starting for an empty end of the couch.

When Jisung follows his lead, you take a headcount. It appears everyone’s present except Chan—his birth name still feels awkwardly informal in your thoughts. You glance down the dark hallway to your right, counting one, two, three closed doors. Nature drags you into curiosity.

Seungmin, your alleged evil twin, waves you over.

As you take the empty spot beside him, he says, “Sorry, you looked a little awkward just standing there. Thought I’d save you before Hyunjin said something.” He shoots a pointed nod at the long-haired blond lounging between Changbin and Minho.

“Oh. Thanks,” you force a little smile that imitates gratitude. You didn’t feel awkward observing, but maybe your aura screamed otherwise.

Jeongin leans slightly over Seungmin’s shoulder with an inquisitive eye. “How did Minho convince you to come?”

“Blackmail,” you nod. Not attempting to summon a laugh, but managing so in the process.

“That’s Minho for you,” Seungmin tips his head in a slightly disbelieving manner.

“It’s okay, though. We’ll make tonight fun for you,” Jeongin raises his hand, and you meet it with a high-five.

Bro night might not be as bad as you thought.

“If only Chan comes out from his room,” Seungmin mutters, particularly to himself, as he leans his arm on the back of the couch and twists his body to look back into the hallway.

Questions. You want to ask them, but then Minho’s words return in full, blaring effect. Forward, he said. Meaning: blunt. In your face.

You bite your tongue. Redirect the temptation, you think, as your eyes scan the room. Admittedly, it’s odd seeing all these people away from their respective passions. However, Changbin’s phone is cradled in his hands, and his fingers are typing away potential lyrics. Felix, too, is hiding the fact his fingers are mirroring the directions of his recent choreography. Maybe passions are always a shadow of you.

“Should we just fix teams?” Minho says above the impatient silence.

“We can,” Hyunjin leans his forearms on his thighs. His hair falls in front of his shoulders like he’s some kind of Greek god.

“Team captains?” Seungmin asks.

“Let’s do the oldest of each unit, but since Chan’s God-knows-where, Changbin can represent,” Minho nods, glancing around for looks of satisfaction.

“Sure, rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?” Seungmin pushes a strand of hair out of his eye.

Short story short, Minho wins the first round with a victorious cheer of, “Easy!”

“You only say that because you know they always pick scissors first,” you accuse.

Minho points a finger at you, “Allegedly.”

You land a spot on Minho’s team since he got the first pick of the litter. Then, by Minho’s attempt at matchmaking, Chan lands on your team.

As you’re moving spots, you shoot Seungmin a sad, unmoving look.

He laughs, pushing you towards Minho. “Maybe next time.”

“What?” Minho glances between you. “Are you planning a coup against me?”

“You wish, Lee Minho,” you sigh, falling into the empty space beside him.

After a few beats of silence, for good measure, Minho leans down to your ear and says, “I told you you’d like him.”

“Yeah, he’s like a better version of you,” you turn to see the predictable look of offense on his features.

“Fine then, get Seungmin to drive you home,” he pouts, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his back into the couch.

“Oh come on,” you nudge his elbow, laughing at his exaggeration.

You see a smile tug at his lips before he breaks, letting a chuckle break through his barrier.

In the remaining meantime that you wait, Minho calls dibs on the cat. Seungmin’s team claims the dog, with an offhand comment from Minho going, “You would choose the dog.” Finally, Changbin’s team chooses the hat.

“Is that a joke because you’re so short? So you can gain a few inches with the hat?” Hyunjin jabs.

Changbin reaches over the couch to try and hit him.

From this end of the couch, you can look directly into the dark, mysterious hallway. You watch as the second door knob slowly turns. You focus on it, and the shouting dispute fades out in your ears.

Chan steps out from the room, carefully closing the door behind him so as to not bring all the eyes on him at once. You fight your facial expressions to remain neutral as you take in his appearance—which is shockingly normal. Suits are his workplace fashion, and consequently, all you’ve seen him in. Now, he wears black basketball shorts and a black tee. His hair is even loosening into curls. Is this the same man who runs a massive music company? Are we sure?

His cover is blown the moment he steps into the light of the living room. Jeongin warily points a finger in your direction, “You’re on their team.”

Chan presses his lips into a makeshift smile as he approaches you and Minho. He pushes out a small ‘hey’ before taking his spot on the other side of Minho.

His reclusive figure makes your heart wrench. You wish you could have talked Minho out of going. To him, you’re just an outsider he has to put a front up for. But, the thing is, he isn’t trying to build a barrier. It appears that he doesn’t have any more energy to try.

You catch yourself staring when Minho nudges your knee with his. “You take the first roll.”

Collecting the die, you notice your hands trembling a little. Not good. You manage, somehow knocking Seungmin’s dog in the process. He feigns shock, whining in an accusatory tone, “You’re no different than Minho.”

The choir of laughter shuffles you back into reality when you glance back at your accused teammate, catching the look of the other. The corners of Chan’s lips are slightly turning up into a smile.

Whew. You’re amazed by the amount of relief that little smile gives you.

iii.

The game trails into the early hours of the morning, and a few times a boy will point at Chan and say, in an attempt to be lighthearted, “This is all your fault.”

To the dismay of the rivals, Changbin’s team manages to win. Jisung, a member of Seungmin’s team, flips the board twenty turns too late at the news. “This game is stupid!” he laughs through his words.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Changbin says as the money flutters to the rug beneath the glass coffee table. A cue for the group to laugh blinks above their heads, each varying in intensity. Hyunjin even claps a few times, for his vocal contribution pales insufficient.

Jisung slumps to the ground, “I know.”

Chan lifts himself from the couch to aid him with a lingering smile from all the laughs. As the night progressed, he seemed to slowly inch into his ‘normal’ state, as Jisung had referred to in the car.

Minho slips his phone out from his pocket. At the single-digit time, nearing close to sunrise, he heaves a sigh and pushes himself up. “Guess I should get you home.”

He extends a hand to help you up.

“You’re leaving already?” Seungmin asks.

“Uh, yeah. It’s like three A.M.,” Minho squints at him, turning his lit home screen at him for proof.

Chan snickers as he stacks all the thousands. “That’s early for me.”

See? He’s even making jokes now. This is a weird normal, considering all you know of him is his status, but admittedly better than whatever funk he was previously in.

“See you on Monday, I’ll just spend the night,” Jisung lifts his hand in a semi-wave.

Chan doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks up at you and sticks his hand up. “Can’t wait to work with you,” and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach churn.

You take his hand and mirror his smile, though it’s rather genuine in comparison to the one you offered Jisung.

Minho has the decency to wait to call you out on it until you’re in the soundproof safety of his car.

“I saw that,” he says.

“What?”

“The smile. Don’t like Chan. That’d be way too awkward for me.”

You laugh, examining his twisted face of disgust as he starts the car. “Why?”

You’re not asking out of curiosity. You don’t like Chan, and you don’t see yourself liking him anytime soon. Or in the far future, for that matter. It’s just so easy to mess with Minho.

“Uh, my best friend dating my other best friend? That’s third-wheel central. I’m too hot to be a third wheel.”

Later, as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt to venture into the apartment building, Minho mumbles, “But, I mean, if you like him it’s whatever. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide anything from me.”

You punch his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re getting all sappy on me again. You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, dude,” you frown. Above anything Minho can say to you, his insecurities taking over his words hurts the most.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, then adding, “Unless you want to come over sometime this weekend. I’ll be home.”

He smiles, though you sense the differing thoughts behind his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say before shutting the door.

iv.

In all the wrong ways, Monday comes too fast. Faster than you can process Friday night, essentially.

You try to scramble your remaining thoughts into order as you walk into the lobby.

Is Chan going to be normal today? Hoping so. Why was that relief so astonishing? Did Minho catch onto something-

“Hey, Y/N!” Jisung intercepts your thoughts.

Your eyes involuntarily widen as he pops out from seemingly nowhere. Your gaze drifts to his outstretched hands, offering you one of the drinks each brandishes.

“I didn’t know which you’d prefer, and Minho wasn’t awake so I couldn’t text him. So, I got coffee and tea.”

You take your pick and nod a ‘thank you.’

“How was your weekend?” you find yourself asking as he leads you to the elevator.

He shrugs, “I did absolutely nothing other than a brain detox for this project. You?”

Despite his back being to you, your chin twitches into a nod. “Same as you, pretty much.”

“I think Chan’s in a good enough mood,” Jisung glances back at you as he reaches for the up arrow on the elevator’s panel.

“Sweet.”

Minho is your gateway to an easy conversation. Of course, he’s not here, but you slightly wish he was. You’re forced to meander in an abrasive silence until the elevator takes you up to the eighth floor.

Eight, because Chan detests the idea of being too close to anyone. He doesn’t want his presence to divide anyone’s attempt at creating their best. An icon in distancing, Minho joked as during your first week under Bang!

Jisung sucks in a deep breath as he turns into a room whose door is partially cracked. “Here goes nothing.”

On the far side of the room is an L-shaped couch. Resting upon the vertical side as if he were in his own bed is Changbin. A laptop sits in his lap, closed, but his phone is inches away from his face as he types.

“It’d be more effective if you used that laptop,” Jisung comments, resting his drink on the coffee table and sitting by Changbin’s feet. Giving Changbin the perfect opportunity to wedge his foot between the younger’s ribcage. A cry of pain shoots out of Jisung’s mouth. Truly, he should have seen that coming.

“Dude!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and clutching his side.

“I told you not to mess with me,” Changbin’s eyes narrow into a warning gaze, but Jisung laughs anyway.

“You are not scary, bro.”

You start for the opposite end of the couch, pressing your back into the armrest as you watch the scene unfold. Cupping your drink with both hands, you’re unsure if the warmth stems from it or the sibling-esque fight before you.

Changbin slides the laptop off of his lap and pulls himself to his feet. He stands before Jisung, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then, as his eyes flutter open, he brings his fists up.

“Come on. Fight me.”

Jisung takes a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Changbin shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Jisung’s eyes flit around the room for help. It would be that when the muscle man wants to fight, the only person physically capable of pacifying him isn’t here. Pure, unadulterated luck.

“And when you break my arm, then what?” Jisung’s eyebrows raise in taunting interrogation.

“Then I break your arm? What about it? You can perform with a shattered humerus. Right, ace?”

By chance of a higher being granting Han Jisung a break, Chan enters his office with a manila folder in his hand. Only a few steps into the room, he has to halt. His hand finds his hip, releasing a big sigh as he clutches the folder. To no surprise, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Black, of course. But with a surprising navy undershirt, which you give him credit for.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cause injury in my office? Can you imagine the lawsuit? Would you do that to your beloved friend?” he asks a stream of questions.

He seems relatively happy.

Changbin drops his fists to his sides, gaze dropping back to his abandoned laptop. He scoops it up before reclaiming his spot. To fully conclude the argument, he opens the laptop’s lid. “Jisung started it.”

The accused boy looks at Chan and silently pleads his case. His hands clasp into a prayer.

Chan waves him off with a smile and a breathy laugh before starting for his desk. He acknowledges you with a small raise of his hand.

“Ah, where to begin?” he asks, to no one in particular, as he tosses the folder onto his desk and sinks into his chair.

“Han, can you turn the projector on?” Changbin takes the initiative, reaching over the couch’s back to grab a white USB cord.

He does as told, warily trying to avoid another pseudo-fight, before rushing to the light switch and fading the room into a mass of darkness. Chan must not like having his blinds open. Black world he lives in.

Changbin’s screen presents against the vacant wall across from him. A pre-written document appears, with the title ‘TT Ideas’ and a dashed list. 1.5 spacing, you admire.

“Okay, I did my homework,” he sighs, dragging his cursor over the highlighted ideas for the title track. “These are my personal favorites, but I’m up to debate.”

Jisung shivers at those words. Debate. Meaning: duel.

In the darkness, Chan steps in front of you. He sits halfway between you and Changbin, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the list. You notice that his lips pout as he focuses, and his eyes squint a little.

You shift your own attention, for you’ll lose pacing if you stare at Chan the whole day. Changbin has highlighted unrequited love, turning the aura of summer into a song, unique abilities, and simply ‘flexing our equities’.

“Yeah, I definitely think that last one will go over well,” Jisung sardonically comments.

Changbin sighs in defeat and drags his cursor over his beloved idea, hitting the backspace in pity, “I knew you’d say that.”

“Can you elaborate on the unique abilities?” you ask, quieter than anticipated but still reaching its aim.

“Not to tute my own horn,” Changbin starts, running a hand through his hair, “but we’re sought after. When people see our names on tracklists, they immediately know the song is going to be good. They don’t sit and wonder if they’ll be disappointed, because they know with 3Racha that’s unpalatable. Hell, I saw someone tweet the other day that their favorite artist was spotted here, and the fandom went fucking crazy.

“People know what they expect from us, and that’s excellence. We deliver. You can’t say the same for a lot of producers. Doubt is inevitable for a lot of them, even if it’s only personal.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Jisung smirks, leaning his extended hand out to Changbin for him to high-five.

“What if we did it with an,” Chan hesitates, tilting his head at the screen to try and ease out the right words, “unnatural sound.”

“An experiment no one else could attempt,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear. His head snaps over to you, snapping, pointing a finger, and nodding.

“Exactly.”

The boys look between each other, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We can do that,” Jisung grins.

“You know, I had a feeling you would say that,” Changbin slips his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it and opening his notes app. “So I’ve already written my verse.”

“No way,” Jisung cocks his head at him.

“Okay,” Changbin mutters, “I had verses written for all the highlighted ones.”

“You are insane,” Chan chuckles, but not in an insulting tone.

From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.

Until Jisung pats the pockets of his jeans two weeks later. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing back at the elevator you had just come from.

Midnight was around the corner and Jisung had promised Minho they’d go see the late-night showing of the latest horror film.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He turns to you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “I think I left my phone in Chan’s room. I’m gonna be late. Minho’s gonna kill me.”

You cease his rambling by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it. Just tell Minho to text me when you’re done so you can pick it up. ‘Kay?”

So what if Loba’s waiting for you at home, probably pawing at the front door and meowing like, “I’m hungry”? You have a profound soft spot for Jisung. And not because Minho threatened you if you ever showed any disliking. Plus, Loba’s spoiled in all other walks of her life. She can handle you coming home a little later than usual for one night.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at the high ceiling in some kind of grateful manner. “You are a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you smile, starting back to the elevator as he continues his path.

The company is rather unsettling without its daytime bustle. It’s even worse on the eighth floor. A usual ghost-town, except with an increased darkness and an odd chill trailing down your back.

The hallways feel stuffy as you get close to Chan’s office, your gaze set ahead. A sniffling sound seeps into your range of hearing, though you don’t think much of it. You can get colds in summer.

Naive to think a man as esteemed as Mr. Bang would succumb to a measly cold.

As you sneak your head between the cracked door, placing your hand around its width and slightly pushing forward, the view sends your heart crashing into your stomach. Chan’s head is lowered, either hand cupping his head as incessant tears drip from his nose.

Awkwardly stepping forward, you clear your throat.

His glossy eyes, rimmed with red and slightly puffy, jump up to you. Instinctively, he attempts to discard the evidence.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he croaks, pulling his sleeve over his hand and gliding it across his damp cheek.

That’s something he could learn. If someone’s a witness, you can expect them to ease into questions. It’s only nature.

“Do you need a hug?” you attempt. Don’t be forward, don’t be blunt, don’t be mean. Minho’s reminder blinks across your vision.

He laughs, “Maybe.”

A pitiful smile creeps onto your lips as you step around the desk. Your arms link semi-awkwardly around his shoulders. He presses his cheek against your collarbone, silently crying a little. You take careful breaths, trying to stabilize your chest for him.

“Does anyone know?” Your hand rubs soft circles against his back. He shakes his head against your body. A small hiccup shakes his frame.

“You can tell me if you want.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he manages through his tears.

You pull back a little for him to look at you. “I will smack sense into you if you say some stupid shit like that again.” In spite of his eyes crinkling into a smile—looking at you like you’re a childhood friend who he knows like the back of his hand—you try to recover. “I swear, you won’t burden me.”

He takes in a shaky breath. A blaring thought curses the forefront of your eyes. “Do you mind if we go to my apartment, though? I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”

Your arms retreat to your sides as he nods and drags the back of his hand across either cheek. “Yeah, no problem.”

You glance over at the couch, and the object of your mission stares back at you. For a second, you swear it’s glowing gold and screaming, “Your quest ends here! Bring me to my owner!”

You shuffle for the couch and scoop it up. When Chan looks at your hand in confusion, you offer, “Jisung left it. I’m the delivery service.”

“Right.” And he smiles. Comfort engulfs your body when you notice the flood has stopped.

Since you normally walk or ride the bus to work, Chan drives. His shiny sports car looks rather alien beside your used, well-used, car.

“I should warn you,” you turn to him as you push your key into the lock, “Loba’s a cuddler.”

“Sweet. I’d feel bad asking you for more hugs,” he jokes.

Sure enough, Loba is lying before the door. She scrambles to her feet and stares up at her guardian and the new intruder. Conveniently misplacing her cries for food, she scopes out the new man.

“What’d you say her name was again?” Chan asks, squatting in front of her and scratching behind her ears.

“Loba,” you say, opening the fridge to dish out Loba’s expensive special food. Adopting a cat with stomach issues, am I right?

“Loba?” Chan repeats, stifling a laugh.

“I didn’t name her,” you turn to him in defense.

Chan lowers himself, crossing his legs as Loba climbs into his lap. The love-hungry cat doesn’t even notice when you set her ceramic bowl next to her water station. She’s too absorbed in her newfound friend.

Rather than forcing them to relocate to the couch, you sit offset from them on the tile. Smiling down at the orange cat, you admit, “She’s not even like this with Minho.”

“Really?” Chan’s amused face stuns a vibration in your chest.

You appeal confirmation.

“That’s crazy. I’m a dog person, normally,” he coos down at the lovebug.

Don’t let this distract you from the task at hand, you remind yourself.

“So,” you drag. How do you say this without tempting the tears again? Admittedly, it would be nice if you had an ounce of insight. You’re walking into a minefield without a blueprint of where they lie.

Chan sighs, acknowledging his cue. “My dad doesn’t really like me all too much,” he wryly laughs.

“He seems stupid then,” you offer, not thinking further than trying to comfort him, “You’re very likable.”

“Thank you,” Chan drags his tongue against his bottom lip.

He continues, “Moreso, he dislikes his father. The one who skipped a generation when trying to continue his legacy. By association, I kind of take the brunt of it.” He looks at you through blurry eyes as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you were the only person who could have continued the company. Your dad seems,” you hesitate, “insolent. You, on the other hand, are an ace.”

“I try to tell myself that. He makes me go to all of his business parties to keep his reputation up, as well as mine in a way. You don’t want the broken family running a huge corporation,” he mimics what he’s been told.

“So you can’t tune him out,” you echo.

“Yep,” he drags the word out, prompting a heavy sigh.

“I’m not really good at the whole comforting thing,” you study the creases of your palms. “But I’ll say that you are, by far, the most amazing person I could work for. You’re really admirable. Plus, Minho really likes you. You’re kind of like the brother he never had.”

“God, you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs, staring up at the light as he pulls a hand away from Loba to wipe at his waterline.

“I’m serious,” you chuckle. “Would I blow smoke up your ass if you’re crying on my floor with my cat in your arms?”

When he hesitates to respond, you do it for him. “The answer is no. I don’t even do that for Minho.”

“That’s comforting,” he admits.

“I’d hope so. Now, hand me your phone,” you stick your hand out.

“Why?”

“So I can give you my number. Text me if stuff goes downhill, now that I’m in the loop.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“What? Do you think I’m going to let you suffer in silence now that I know?”

He leans to the side, cradling Loba protectively, as he draws his phone from his pocket. Unlocking it before he hands it to you.

As you type in a new contact, you say, “Do you want something to eat? I can order a pizza.”

vi.

Unfortunately, peace is temporary. Always and forever.

When you enter Chan’s office a few weeks after the father debacle, prepared to start the official recording of the album as decided on the previous day, you’re met with two confused men. Admittedly, you’re a little late, but not enough for them to be lost.

Changbin looks up at you as you cross the threshold. “Have you seen Chan?”

You shake your head.

“Heard from him?” Jisung follows.

Again, you shake your head.

“Shit,” they both fall back against the couch cushions in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” The grip on your bag tightens. Despite your inquisitive words, your gut gives you a fair answer.

“We haven’t heard from him since five this morning,” Changbin looks at Jisung for confirmation on the details.

“No one’s seen him?” you follow up.

“No one. He won’t answer our group chat either.”

Your foot taps against the floor as you try to remain composed. He texted you last night about his dad’s upcoming gala but was sparse about details. Or about the fact he would straight up disappear. Obviously, you can’t offer this information to them. A promise is a promise, even if half unspoken.

“Should we work through it? Get his parts whenever he decides to show up?” Changbin speaks.

“We can’t exactly meander anymore. Tracklist goes out at noon,” Jisung shakes his phone as annoyingly clear evidence.

“And you still need to learn the choreo for the title track,” you add. There’s only a month left. You bite your tongue, allowing the pain to slightly calm you down.

“God, what horrible timing,” Jisung laughs, but no joy laces through his tone.

You point harsh eyes at them, heavy steps leading you to the microphone stand designated for recording. “Come on then. Let’s get ahead before we can fall behind.”

vii.

You leave work the moment recording is done for the day, a discovery pulling you from focusing on anything else. Chan shared his location with you a few days ago when he offered a reciprocal to what you’ve done for him. “So you can always find me,” he said via text.

Though not for the right purpose, per se, you’re going to find him. And when you do, you might have to smack sense into him this time. With love, you convince yourself as you pull up to the stadium.

Who in their right mind rents an indoor stadium for an evening party? Rich people, evidently.

You find Chan’s car, among its shiny counterparts, and park as close to it as you can. As you get out, you pull your phone out of your pocket and call him. Not expecting him to answer, honestly.

“Hello?” his voice penetrates your ears.

“I’m outside,” you say, fighting the heavy heartbeat echoing in your head. Your hands tremble at the thought of him here, all dressed up and acting like nothing’s wrong.

“What?” he mumbles.

You look up to the big screen above the gate. “Gangnam Public Stadium, right?”

The background noise slightly fades as he says, “Wait where you are, I’ll come meet you.”

“Parking lot,” you offer before he hangs up.

You step into the shade and lean against a brick wall.

Today’s one of the finer days of summer. It’s mid-June. The solstice is just around the corner. A light breeze brushes against your skin and gently ruffles your hair. It probably helps that you’re surrounded by wealthy cars. A mood booster, in a weird way.

Quick, heavy steps draw closer. You turn your head to the source.

Chan drops his hands onto his knees as he pants. “You shouldn’t be here,” he manages.

“You should’ve told someone why you wouldn’t be at work. We all have our regrets,” you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare at him.

“God,” he mutters, straightening himself before standing next to you against the wall.

“You’ll get your suit dirty,” you comment, but he doesn’t care.

“You should leave.” His eyes, heavy with an emotion akin to irritation and sadness, scan over your face.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did this,” you stand your ground. Just like Minho would hate in a moment like this. “To get to a person, you have to ease them into it,” he guided at one point. Frankly, you couldn’t care less right now.

He avoids your eyes as he tries to flatten his staggered breathing. In due time, he composes himself and finally looks at you. His features have loosened, and you note his brow is no longer creased.

“I didn’t want to lose my cool in front of them,” he admits.

“Scared to?”

He nods. “It was scary enough having one person see me cry.”

The place between your heart and ribs begins to pulsate heat.It begins to spread across your bones and through your muscles. For once, you have to think about what to say next. You can’t be mad at him, for his reasoning makes more sense than it had before. God, this is irritating.

“Let’s make the song of the summer, then,” you reassure him with a curt nod. “Pull you out of this monster field around you and let’s make history.”

The dark surrounding encasing him cracks away as an unbelievable smile finds its place. One like you have never seen. One that pierces your heart with its joy. “Let’s do it.” And he drags you into a hug. Despite the roles taking a quick turn, you feel comforted. But he’s squeezing the life out of you.

viii.

You’ve done all you can do for 3Racha within the next week. The album is complete, as far as instrumentals and lyrics. All that’s left is promotion, along with all the theatrical elements left to be discussed. But that’s separate from you.

It feels bittersweet that it’s come to an end. You know that sometime in the future you’ll return to the studio with them, working alongside creative geniuses to invent a piece. Together. That’s the key. But it feels so far away.

You sit in your empty office, staring at the broad window as raindrops fall down the glass. Recounting the process in your head with distant gratitude. Title track: God’s Menu. You’re proud of it, viewing it as your child. Watching it grow into a real song, with real words and sounds attached to it. Wow. You catch a glimpse at the meaning of life as you watch two raindrops race down. It’s this: blossoming art from a tiny idea. Admittedly not entirely your own, but the principle remains.

The other tracks enlist an equal amount of precious memories for you. Late nights felt normal with the unreal energy coursing through your veins. You notice the products of effort as you consider all those extra hours. Admiration shoots through your body, leaving it numb.

It was all them, though, you acknowledge. You were only there as a caretaker, offering your own hint to mark the music.

3Racha is like a shooting star. It's fantastic, in a sense. Not everyone can say they’ve seen a shooting star in the same way not many can say they’ve witnessed the production process with three of the most talented producers in the game. They’re unreal.

A knock against your doorframe shocks you out of your thoughts. You drag your foot against the floor to turn your chair.

Chan, dressed in an outfit similar to that of boys’ night, awaits your attention. Sweat lines his forehead, glistening his skin. You can guess where he’s been.

“Hey.”

“I need your help.” His words were trailing your simple greeting so close you could say he interrupted you. Seriousness brings his face into a dimness, slightly intimidating you.

“With?” you prompt.

He leans against the frame with his arm, replaying his words in his head over and over before spitting them out, “I kind of told my dad I’d bring a date to his next party.”

“Oh?” you say, slowly realizing. “Oh.”

“Will you do it?” His features twist into a nervous reflection.

“Sure, if you pay for my outfit.”

You say this as a joke, but he fails to convey it this way. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Does Loba need a cat tree by any chance?”

He doesn’t await your answer as he slips back into the hall. Was that conversation even real?

An indistinguishable whiplash conquers your body into a sudden realization. You turn to your desk, scooping your phone into your hands and texting Minho, beginning with, “When you see this…”

ix.

Certainly, Chan is a man of his word. From the mere month you’ve known him, you should have gathered this. But as you stand in his living room, decked out in some outfit he carefully chose for you, it blares against all of your senses in bright, evident clarity.

Minho’s message buzzes against your palm.

Lee Knows: Loba’s conked already, two minutes after she ate. Have fun ;)

You: Lol thanks again for taking care of her.

Lee Knows: Of course. Anything for my bestest friend in the world. Now, a night of yearning!

The only way to describe this feeling rooted in the base of your stomach are the words: raw emotion. It’s a cluster. Jitters mixed with a blend of uncertainty and a weird elation? To be fair, you are about to lie your way through expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres. What even are those?

Regardless, one thing is certain. Minho was right. It’s...discouraging to admit. Frankly, you’d ignore it for as long as possible if you could. But adoration is difficult. In your face. Forward, some would refer to it as.

God, this is all Minho’s fault.

“Ready?” Chan’s shoes click against the hardwood as he departs from his dark hole of a room. He looks stunning, though his attire isn’t much different from his office wear. A small sign of rebellion appears in his appearance, which ignites a flame in your chest.

Chan brings a hand to where your eyes are burning a whole into—his hair. The curls are there, less accentuated than bro night, but evident. “Ah, I didn’t really want to straighten it. I’ve already had fried hair one too many times in my life.”

“It looks nice,” you smile. Your throat tightens as you swallow. “You look nice.”

“Same for you,” he allows a prolonged scan of you. Sheepishly, you do one of those cheesy twirls you always see in the romance movies before Prom night or whatever expensive evening the protagonists are attending. Sincerely, with all the love rampaging through your chest, you’re going to kill Minho for cursing your life like this.

He snaps out of his trance, starting for the door. “We should get going.”

Aside from the quiet hum of the radio, the ride to the venue is silent. It wouldn’t be complete without hitting every redlight, either. Jisung’s luck must have rubbed off on you when you had that group hug.

You sit at one now, red gleaming against your face as you stare out at the sidewalk vacant of pedestrians. No one’s even at any of the other lights.

“You okay?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you turn back to him.

“Good,” he nods, instantly averting your eyes.

Perhaps you should have found a way to decline. Even Loba would have been a better date option. At least she has chemistry with him.

To no one’s surprise, the venue is huge. Potentially larger than the stadium. From ceiling to the carpeted floor, decorated properly with the black tie theme.

Chan reluctantly grabs your hand before you tackle the crowd. If you were cold, the warmth radiating against your palm is sufficient for heating the rest of your body. Unluckily, though, you aren’t cold. Your hand feels clammy in his. If he wasn’t attracted to you before, he certainly isn’t now.

You stare at your shoes as you follow.

“Just a heads up about my dad,” he glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there, despite the tether between you, “he most definitely thinks we’re dating, so be prepared for questions.”

“Oh great,” you mumble. How do you cure a lovesick heart? What an ambiguous question offering up to a plethora of potential answers. One incorrect answer, though: acting out romance. In real time, too.

“Sorry, I probably should have told you sooner. Kind of slipped my mind,” he squeezes your hand in apology.

Even when you break out into a free space, his hand doesn’t pull from yours. Instead, he slightly tightens the hold as he approaches an older man. Without any prior knowledge (ie. not Googling his dad after he cried on your kitchen floor over the bastard), you could guess this is his dad. They practically have the same face. Striking differences, however, given some context.

“Hey,” the man grins, eyes shifting curiously between you and his son.

You dip your head in respect. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bang.”

His hand claps your shoulder as you look up. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Silence hangs onto the end of his sentence as he glances at Chan for help.

“Y/N,” Chan offers. Your name sounds pretty coming from him.

“Y/N,” his father repeats. You want to sock him for saying your name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Would have been nicer if Chan had given a little notice,” he laughs for you, alternatively offering a subtle, but not unnoticeable, glare to Chan.

Reflexively, your unoccupied hand clenches until you feel your nails pressing sharply into your skin. Discreetly, you nudge Chan’s arm with your elbow as a sign that you’re here. Slightly, his hand loosens in yours as his nerves slowly ease.

“Sorry, it’s kind of recent,” Chan laughs. His eyes crinkle into a faux delight.

“Of course,” his father nods. “Haven’t seen any articles about it yet, which is good. You might not want this being exposed to the GP.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Chan manages through gritted teeth, albeit hidden in a way only you could notice.

Then, as if the attack didn’t have a cooldown, he reaches up and tugs at one of Chan’s curls. “Your hair looks...interesting.”

It’s really difficult trying to remain neutral in the face of backhanded advice and compliments. Especially in front of this man, who shouldn’t even be given a title as esteemed as that. He’s scum stuck to the back of your old, rusty car that won’t go away in spite of however many power washes.

“Mr. Bang,” a waiter appears behind him, stealing his attention long enough for you to drag Chan in the opposite direction. He’ll find his way into a business conversation soon anyway. With no recollection of what he said to his son whatsoever. Considering his words will always stick with Chan, your face heats up.

You ignore Chan’s repelling tug, and his words that go in one ear and out the other. A hidden area near the bar is the only place where he has enough courage to stop you. But only because you let it happen.

“If we stayed there much longer, I would have caught an assault charge,” you huff.

“You handled it well, though,” he admits, “Even if you were about to break my hand.”

In the face of anger personified, he manages to smile and crack a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, finally pulling your hand away from his.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, glancing back at the bartender serving an established looking woman a margarita. Likely strawberry from its tint.

You shake your head, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, then, I’ll be back,” he reaches out to rub your shoulder before slipping back into the crowd. You’re jealous of the effect he has to just become invisible.

You pull your phone from its hidden spot and open Minho’s awaiting text.

Lee Knows: Has he made a move yet?

You: Why would he?

Lee Knows: Idk you’re kind of obvious.

Before you can answer, an incoming notification from Seungmin pops up.

Seungmo: Is it true that you like Chan?

Minho. Lee Minho. You grimace.

You: No comment.

Seungmo: Sweet. Jeongin owes me twenty bucks. But ew. Who would romantically like Chan?

The text really ties together with the barfing emoji.

“Who’s that?” the subject of both text logs peeks his head over your phone.

You snatch it back, instinctively turning it off. “Seungmin.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” Chan observes, placing the black straw between his lips. His drink is also tinted pink, but not in a margarita glass.

“Minho built the bridge during bro night. Now we plot behind his back,” you joke, promptly making Chan choke. He coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he sputters.

“Don’t do that when I’m drinking!” he laughs.

Your chest heaves as you try to stifle the laugh building up in your chest.

“Oh come on, you’re even gonna have the nerve to laugh at me?” he tips his head to look at your quivering frame. He finds this funny, but he can’t just not tease you. That’s not in the rule book.

“I’m not laughing,” you try to convince him, lips pressed into a fine line as quick breaths leave your nose.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes.

If he were being honest with you, he was doing this as a ploy to take your mind off of his dad. Honesty isn’t one of his finer points, though. So he stays quiet.

“Do you want a sip?” he offers the fruity looking drink to you.

“What is it?” you ask, but accepting the glass anyway.

“Just a strawberry mimosa.”

Again, if he were honest, he’d tell you he only got it to share with you. It was a shot in the dark, neutral enough. But, again, not one of his stronger urges. Minho would refer to this as him ‘making a move’, unbeknownst to you.

You take a quick sip. Humming in approval, you hand it back to him. “It’s good, I can barely even taste the alcohol.”

He fixes his hair absentmindedly as a passing conversation arises. Subject: Minho. Goal: offering both parties ammunition for his next offhand comment or prank.

“Did you know that Minho talks in his sleep?” you laugh.

Chan pulls at a curl, pulling it straight. “He seems like the type.”

You reach up and flick his wrist.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about what your dad said,” you scold. The nerves in your stomach dissipate as your hand ruffles his hair, fluffing it out. He looks more relaxed as you pull away.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t apologize, or I’ll punch you next time.”

“I can see why you and Minho get along so well.”

xi.

By the time you’re set free from the hell of socializing with all of Chan’s dad’s friends who last saw him when he was ‘this high’, the effects of the single mimosa wear off. Luckily for Chan, you drank most of it, so he’s set to drive.

“My feet hurt,” you complain. Maybe it would have been smart to break in the fancy shoes Chan invested for you before the event.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Chan asks, turning to you.

Against all voices inside of you screaming to decline, your pain receptors answer for you. “That’d be great, since you're offering.”

He bends his knees slightly and holds his arms slightly out. When you jump onto his back, he doesn’t even react.

“Do you religiously workout or something?” you joke, though true curiosity shines through your words. You’re pretty obvious.

“Duh. Every breathing moment I’m not working or crying over my dad. It’s a stress reliever.” Your arms, hanging from his neck, feel each vibration in his chest as he laughs.

As he readjusts his hands beneath your thighs, maintaining a steady hold of your body against his, your body grows warm and you can envision your cheeks glowing red. Minho was so right. And the field day he’s going to have with the upcoming weeks until the joke grows stale. You shiver at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Chan asks.

“Oh, no, I was just thinking about Minho.”

“Scary,” Chan mimics his own shiver at the mention.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, his steady steps drawing your eyes shut.

The silence you find is unparalleled to the one in the car earlier. This one is comfortable, homely even. So much so that you feel yourself fall asleep.

xii.

When you get to his apartment, he nudges your shoulder.

Your eyes slowly open, fighting against the dull light from the roof of his car.

“You can spend the night at my house. I’m not confident in pulling a sleeping body out of a car. Putting you in was hard enough,” he chuckles.

You manage a smile and hazily push the passenger door open. From the rest, your feet should be fine walking to the elevator (since there’s one less body than bro night, you’ll fit) and to his apartment. Still, he wraps his arm around your shoulders to steady you all the way up to his front door.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he says as you fall onto his couch. You didn’t acknowledge how comfortable it was just from sitting on it. Honestly, it feels like a normal mattress.

He returns from his room quickly with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both black, as you could have guessed.

You walk to the bathroom and sleepily tug your fancy outfit off, careful not to ruin it. As you pull his shirt over your head, a rush of his cologne hugs you. You fight off the ‘I could get used to this’ comment that floats through your head.

You don’t remember walking back to the couch. But you remember Chan pulling a blanket up to your chin.

xiii.

Chan pokes your cheek, drawing you away from your precious dream of living in a cottage on the seafront—conveniently with him. You whine, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to ward him away. Dream Chan is waiting for you.

“Y/N, come on. You can’t sleep on my couch all day.” The worst part is: you can hear the faux pout in his voice. And potentially worse: you definitely could sleep on this couch all day if your life depended on it. Even if it didn’t, to be honest.

“Go away,” you grumble.

He sighs. His presence beside you disappears for a few moments, long enough for sleep to momentarily return. The bubble of peace pops eventually.

“Hey, Minho,” his voice returns, slightly muffled by the distance and the cloth pressed against your ear.

This is enough to spring liveliness into your bones. You sit up, hateful eyes shooting in the direction of the voice. When you see him laughing, his dark phone pressed against his ear, you reel. “One of these days, I’m gonna leave your company and then your stocks are gonna plummet,” you groan.

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” he counters, dropping his hoisted arm to his side.

“I have more, but they're still closed off. You know, since you’ve rudely interrupted my sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Not really, though. It’s like noon.”

“And?”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he laughs.

“What, do you have a date to attend?”

Awaiting his response, you reach for your phone on the coffee table. Two missed calls. A few Snapchats from Seungmin, likely pictures of his new puppy, but no matter.

“I wish. I have to meet up with Jisung. Pressing news he has to tell me, too confidential to be told over text.”

“He’s gonna confess,” you shoot him a look.

“Yes, because Han Jisung would be in love with me,” he starts for the kitchen. An extended arm pulls at the fridge, and he pulls two waters out.

“To be fair, if I were Jisung, I’d probably be in love with you,” you say, obviously without much thought behind it.

Okay. In your defense, you were a little too focused on reading Minho’s latest string of confusing messages. Trying to decipher the code, Chan’s response passes right through you like a ghost.

Lee Knows: Y/N you won’t believe this.

Lee Knows: Loba’s gonna be so happy.

Lee Knows: I know you’re probably cuddled up with Chan or whatever but call me ASAP.

Chan lowers himself beside you, tossing the cold water in your lap. He peeks over your shoulder. “Huh. That’s pretty much what Jisung said to me.”

“Why are you invading my privacy?” you glare at him, considering elbowing him precisely between the ribs. Ultimately deciding against it, of course. Through tense internal conflict.

“Really? You’re sitting on my couch, in my clothes, refusing to leave, and you wanna talk about privacy?”

Just because he has a point doesn’t mean he should voice it. Plus, he offered the clothes. And the couch for you to sleep on. It really just seems like a self jab to you.

“Should I call him?” Your finger glides across your bottom lip as you look at him for an answer.

“Sure, why not?” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Let’s see what Jisung and Minho have conspired this time.”

The ring echoing sparks a nervous pit in your stomach. You pick at the sticker of the water bottle. It feels like forever by the time he answers.

“Morning, sunshine,” Minho’s sweet voice reeks of sarcasm.

“You’re on speaker, by the way,” you close your eyes to avoid looking at Chan’s burning eyes.

“Oh perfect, you are too,” Jisung joins in, a dry laugh escaping his throat.

“We have some questions,” Minho begins, but fails to continue.

“Such as?” Chan prompts.

“Are you guys dating yet?” Jisung bluntly jumps to the case.

Your heart rams against your chest. That ‘yet’ tugs at your insides.

“Uh, no,” you draw out.

“The media sure thinks otherwise,” Minho jabs.

Chan’s already searching for the articles by the time you can react.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back against the couch in frustration, tilting his phone towards you so you can see.

CEO Bang Chan Lands a Date Weeks Before Comeback.

Bang Caught With Employee?

Bang Chan, CEO, Makes a Striking Appearance at Dad’s Gala.

“What? Did you really think there wouldn’t be journalists there? Come on Chan, do better.” You never knew Jisung had this cutting edge to him. If the words were aimed at you, you know you’d break down. It’s a miracle that Chan is this composed.

“Can you calm down? My god,” you say without realizing. “It’s not like we can’t fix this.” How, though, you ponder?

“If it makes you feel any better,” Minho reluctantly says, like this sentence could put his life on the line, “you looked cute.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. In any other circumstance, you’d be quick to mock him. Well. At least he’s not outwardly making fun of you. Another one of Minho’s late night insights seeping into your thoughts: see the positive.

A text notification drops down against your screen. Despite having the luxury of using his voice, it’s Minho.

Lee Knows: Would now be a bad time to out you?

You: Horribly.

“Well,” Jisung draws in a sharp breath.

“Good luck,” Minho finishes for him.

After he hangs up, promptly after letting you know he fed Loba this morning, you pick up the water bottle and place it against your cheek. The shocking chill redirects your nerves momentarily.

You try not to look at Chan, but you know he’s looking at you.

After a moment to catch your breath, he sighs, “I have an idea.”

It takes an effort to pull your attention to him. A war against yourself.

“Play along with me for a second,” he says, pulling his leg beneath him as he repositions himself beside you. Fully facing you, taking in your entire being—which doesn’t help your burning skin. You’d give anything to be invisible right now.

“What if,” he starts, “we go along with it?”

You laugh in his face. “Are you sure that wouldn’t blow up even worse? Imagine people finding out we faked it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”

He messes with his fingers, suddenly finding an intense interest in the linework of them. He rubs his thumb against the crease of his ring finger. “I don’t think anyone would have to find out it’s fake, per se.”

“How are you so confident?” You look at him in awe. Even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense and under pressure, he looks like a god. Calm as ever. It’s horrifying for your heart. And for common sense, but that’s not as important right now.

“I don’t think Minho would lie to me.”

“What does Minho have to do with this?”

His dimple shows itself as a measly smile crosses his lips. “He may have told me.”

Regardless of what he may have spilled, you know instantly. “You’re kidding me,” you huff. What was the point of his dramatic message, then? A distraction, maybe.

“I mean it’s okay. It’s not like it’s not reciprocated or anything.”

“You are unbelievable,” you shake your head. “How did you know and not say a single thing?”

His hands shoot up in defense. “To be fair, I didn’t find out until after you fell asleep last night. For the second time. He texted me with this whole ‘I know something you don’t’ facade. I wasn’t going to act on it until I had a stupidly romantic plan, but then this happened,” he gestures around the room, as if it’s the decor’s fault. He’s quick to add, “And I couldn’t do that as soon as they said anything about the articles. That’d kinda ruin the mood, don’t you think?”

So Chan’s probably not good with looking amazing under pressure—he very well could be, but you wouldn’t know that right now. Which slightly irritates you, but no matter.

“Well,” you sigh. “I guess that solves the problem.”

He nods, looking at you solemnly.

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed, though,” you comment, and he laughs.

“I know.”

Funny. As soon as the problem jumped at you, the imminent solution scared you just as fast. Your head hurts from the whiplash. That must be a pattern with him.

“You know what’s kinda perfect about this?” he says after a moment.

“Tell me.”

“We can write love songs together now. Isn’t that cool?” The sheer joy in his face shatters any aggravation left in your veins. A smile creeps up on you.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re madly in love with a nerd so I don’t see what your point is.”

You pull the pillow out from behind your back and chuck it at his head.

“Oh so you’re trying to kill your beloved love interest? Real classy, Y/N.”

“Please just shut up and kiss me already,” you lean over halfway and wait for him to meet you.

Kissing a major CEO doesn’t feel much different than kissing a normal person, but there’s a striking flare of passion to it. Maybe that’s a personal thing.

His lips fit against yours in a way that makes your soul instantly tethered to him. You hope he can’t feel your heartbeat against your lips, for it’s pulsing rather loud and antsy for you.

Chan radiates warmth in every piece of his body, extending all the way to his aura. If it wasn’t for your pesky lungs running out of air, you’d never pull away.

xiv.

In spite of his idea for a romantic confession going down the drain as soon as he decided to think one up, he makes up for it with incessant gestures. Bringing you snacks when he should be in meetings. Buying you sweets when you get stressed. Purchasing Loba a huge cat tree, even though she doesn’t need to be spoiled further. Spending the night at your house even when his is way more comfortable for the sheer reason that Loba would feel lonely.When you mention taking her with you, he’d say, “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with the new environment.”

He even postponed bro night because you got sick and wanted to be the one to take care of you.

You don’t need reminders that he loves you, but it’s all the while heartwarming when he says it.

Even now, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, he’s thinking aloud in romance land. “What if we went on a vacation to France for Christmas? Isn’t Paris the city of love?”

You watch the TV, but his voice drowns out all of the dialogue. “I don’t know, Chan. Why can’t we stay here?” you shift in his arms to roll over and face him. This close, as you’ve grown accustomed to these past months, you can count all of his eyelashes. And you can see tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks. It must be an Aussie thing.

He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “We can stay here. I’m fine with that.”

Loba jumps onto the bed, her collar jingling with her sudden movement to warn you she’s arrived. You pull away from Chan a little to make room for her between you. “Here comes the princess,” you feign disappointment with a sigh.

She claims her spot between your chests and curls herself into a ball, burying her face in Chan’s chest. Per usual. She often forgets who feeds her around here.

“Anyway,” Chan leans over her, kissing your lips gently, “I’m okay wherever. As long as you’re with me.”

After a beat of silence, you cup his cheek delicately and say, “Let’s go to the moon.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “Let’s go to the moon.”

xv.

He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, setting a bottle of water in front of you.

Jisung gags from across the room. “Get a room,” he complains.

“You are a grown man and you can’t handle a couple being affectionate?” Changbin criticizes. “Get a life, dude.”

“Yeah,” you chime in, “Just ‘cos you live a poor, single life doesn’t mean you can hate on us.”

“Jeez, I didn’t sign up for slander on this Monday morning.”

“You definitely asked for it, but let’s get to work.” Chan draws his phone from his pocket and prepares for the official meeting regarding 3Racha’s next comeback.

God’s Menu was well received from the public, sending Chan’s dating scandal into the shadows. Minho basked in the compliments on the choreography. Seungmin whined when no one on Twitter noticed he was the vocal coach—and Minho didn’t make it much better by rubbing his glory in Seungmin’s face every chance he got. And you couldn’t get Chan to stop showing you funny Tweets and praise for nearly a month. Likely longer.

Here you sit in Chan’s office at the beginning of the new year. A lot of things can go south during six months, but things can shoot north too. Generally, for you, it’s been pretty north.

This time around, Jisung has calculated his homework and broadcasts his thoughts onto the wall.

“I already know what you’re gonna choose for the title track, so let’s choose B-sides,” he adds the disclaimer before anyone can mutter a peep.

“I don’t know about you all,” Chan dips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against his desk, “but I’d say I’m pretty confident in writing a love song right now.”

You groan alongside Jisung. “Stop talking.”

Here we go on the hunt for the song of the new year. Conquer the competition before anyone has a chance. Like you did in creating the song of the summer.

#skz au #skz imagine #skz chan #skz #stray kids chan #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #chan au #bang chan x reader #stray kids au #stray kids scenario #bang chan #skz bang chan #chan oneshots #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot

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beomglocks · 4 years

Text

mr. choi ; c.sb

summary : your new neighbor comes over to introduce himself.

pairing : dilf neighbor!soobin x (legal)!reader

warnings & other : slight SMUT, dont read if youre uncomfortable with age gaps, sexual tension, noninnocent (?) touching, there’s like one curse, happy valentines day

w/c : 1.7k

after hours of locking yourself in your bedroom you finally decide to come out and grab a snack from the kitchen. you vaguely remember the sound of the doorbell being rung and distinct chatter coming from the living room following but you frankly weren't interested in whoever had arrived.

by now though, the chatter had died down to simple conversation and the occasional obnoxious laugh from your mom specifically. you stretch, walking out of your bedroom and completely forgetting that you had a guest.

you barely even walk past the living room when you see a man sitting on the love seat with a simple black tee shirt and slacks on, his jacket draped over the couch's back. his legs are spread open, strawberry hair messy, and head leaning against his veiny hand, listening to your mom drone on about something your older sibling did in their youth.

"oh," you say out loud. suddenly all eyes are on you and you can't help but shrink at the mans lingering gaze on your body. you're suddenly self conscious about the fact that you're wearing booty shorts and a white shirt that was a bit more on the translucent side, that and the fact that you were wearing no bra.

"oh mr. choi, this is my daughter y/n!"

he doesn't answer right away, subtly dragging his eyes down your body as if undressing you while you stand awkwardly at the entrance of the living room. "hello y/n," he says simply, staring back into your eyes.

your body gets hot and you feel a familiar wetness start to accumulate just above your thighs. the way he said your name just felt so right. his voice seemed gravelly as if he'd been yelling all day and just now had a chance to rest his voice with quiet conversation.

you completely forget your snack already finding something even more satisfying right in front of you.

you sit on the accent chair across from him, eyeing him down just as he did you. he smirks, amused by how completely unsubtle your arousal is.

"mr. choi just moved to our neighborhood and i thought it would be a good idea to introduce ourselves as neighbors," your mom explains. you nod, smiling at him.

"choi soobin," he starts. "i worked at a company in another city but was promoted so i had to move here for the new position. the neighborhood is nice, the people too," he says looking at you. you give him a bright smile, "im glad you like it."

soobin leans back in the chair, eyeing you once more, specifically choosing to linger his gaze on your chest. "so soobin-" his deep chuckle cuts you off and you look at him expectantly.

"im sorry... it's just that since i work at a company im used to people calling me mr. choi or... sir," he says, narrowing his eyes at you. "wow you must be at a high position!" your mom excitedly gapes and you have to wonder what her real intentions were when inviting soobin over.

"im quite respected," he says simply, still looking at you as if he's waiting for something. you give him a coy smile, deciding to tease him a little, "well sir, that's an interesting take away."

he smirks, letting out what seems to be a satisfied sigh. he turns to your mom, "is it alright if i have a glass of wine or something? my throat is a little dry from barking out orders all day."

your mom obligates to his request, attracted to the idea that this man was a hardworking businessman. you knew your mom would go find the most aged wine for him because she liked to show out for guests. especially guests that looked as fine as soobin. you also knew it would take her a while to find said wine, keeping it locked away for special occasions.

"y/n keep our guest company," she told you. you happily accepted that offer. yeah, you’ll keep him company alright.

now that you were alone with soobin you wasted no time in playing into his apparent attraction towards you. you open your legs slightly to lean forward on your hands which were situated between them. you saw his eyes flit down to your breast which were squished together due to your actions.

"so sir," you say innocently as if you aren't giving him a little show. "do you have a wife or children?" he shifts in his seat a bit, widening his legs in the process. you swear you can see a slight bulge in his pants if you squint. oh, so he's big.

he laughs at your question, "i don't have a wife, im divorced and yes i do have a son." your eyes widen only slightly. frankly, the thought of him having a son doesn't bother you in the slightest. you decide to ask him how old his son is for conversation purposes.

he hums lowly, "he's 18....how old are you?" you're surprised your mom hadn't told him your age. she probably thought it wasn't information she deemed was necessary for him to know.

"im legal," you say with a smile. he smiles at that and you swear your pussy twitches. he's so attractive and he's barely done a thing! you stare at his crotch while his leg bounces and you can only shamelessly imagine yourself bouncing on his cock.

you wonder how big is. he looks tall as hell so that gives you some ideas. his legs look to take up almost half his body. god, what would it look like grabbing onto his thighs as he fucks himself into your mouth? you can imagine the tears running down your face and runny nose as you look up at him and he looks down at you with the exact same expression he holds right n-

"that's good to know," his voice cuts through your dirty thoughts. he doesn't even address how you were blatantly staring at his crotch because at this point he doesn't even care. he knows you want him but he'll wait for you to say it. even if you don’t say it today, he knows you’ll say it eventually.

you move your hands and squeeze your legs together. you can already feel yourself dripping at just the thought of this man across from you. he's so close yet so far and the sexual tension is killing you.

you get up from your spot, casually walking up to where he sits. he stares at you curiously wondering what you plan to do. you choose to sit right next to him on the couch. just close enough that if your mom walked through at any moment you could recoil and it wouldn't look suspicious at all.

you don't say a word and you place your hand lightly on his knee, slowly moving it up to his upper thigh. "what are you doing babygirl?"

babygirl? fuck. just the pet name coming from his mouth alone has your breath going shaky. you rub your thighs together in anticipation. "nothing sir," you smile.

his hand is suddenly placed atop of yours and he drags it just above his growing erection. "look at what you're doing baby," he moves his head close your ear.

"you came down here dressed like a little slut, i bet you wanted the attention right?" he asks. "as soon as you saw me you probably couldn't wait to have me fuck the shit out you."

the words he mumbles in your ear have you unconsciously palming his dick through his slacks. "sir.." you whimper. he hums, holding back a moan as you continue palming him at your own accord. his hand is now at your upper thighs slowly inching up.

he placed two of his cold fingers pressing onto your pussy through your shorts. "you're so wet that i can feel it through your shorts. did i do this?" he chuckles, now rubbing up and down slowly. you nod, looking up at him through your lashes. "yes it was all you, sir. all you."

he suddenly pulls away completely from you with a light smile. he also removes your hand from him and leans forward on his knees, his upper body effectively covering his boner. you're confused about his actions and kind of annoyed until you hear your mom call from the hallway, "mr. choi i hope you like this flavor, it's one of my finest!"

"im sure anything you have tastes delicious!" he answers, glancing at you. you shy away from his eyes as your mom walks into the kitchen. since the kitchen is too close to the living room to do anything he whispers to you, "shy now?" he laughs a little bit. "you're too cute y/n."

you wish he'd called you a cute petname right then but you'll take what you can get. he places his hand on your knee and you shiver, remembering his fingers on you just seconds ago.

he removes them once your mom walks into the living room with two glasses of wine, one for him and one for her. they talk for a little while more, and you occasionally chime in but really you're too distracted by soobin. the heat he's radiating is too much to handle plus you're still sitting close enough to see that he's still hard.

it gets late and so the night ends for you three. "my son is probably wondering where i am by now, i should go," he says standing up. your mom agrees and you escort him to the front door while she takes the glasses back to the kitchen.

soobin notices your disappointment at not having finished what you both started on the couch earlier but he leans down to whisper in your ear. his voice sends shivers through your whole body and his hot breath tickles your neck and ear. "don't look so dejected babygirl, this isn't the last time we'll see each other." he kisses your cheek as he ascends back up when your mom meets you both at the door.

"say hello to your son for me! oh and next time bring him over so he can meet y/n," your mom suggests just as he walks out the door. he turns around to look at you both and you can tell he isn't too fond of that idea but he still answers with a polite smile.

"maybe! well i had a nice time maam, i'll be seeing you two around," and with that, he leaves and you simply cannot wait for the next time you'll see mr. choi.

#soobin smut #soobin x reader #txt smut #txt imagines #txt scenarios #soobin scenarios #soobin imagines #choi soobin smut #txt x reader #smut

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

---------------------------

It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

---------------------------

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #enemies to friends to lovers #blunt teeth sharp tongue #got some fun banter in this one!#followed immediately by heartbreak #they want to be soft so bad #but they do not know how #i promise they will eventually be soft #you have to remember that this is still less than 24 hours after part 1 #the reader is traumatized

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laurie-stark · 4 years

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Unwanted-Peter Parker

Summary: Y/n Stark gets more than she bargains for when she joins her Pops, Captian America, for the civil war of the century.

Pairings: Tony Stark x Daughter!Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Daughter!Reader, Steve Rogers x Daughter!Reader, Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Warnings: swearing, fighting

A/N: Just so you don't get too confused, Y/n is Tony Stark's biological child, however, she was raised by the Avengers and refers to Natasha and Steve as Mama and Pops. Also I wrote this a year ago LOL. Enjoy x

Part Two

New York, 2016

This was bad. Very, very bad. I had seen the secretary come in the compound over the screen of the security monitors. He marched into my home, unannounced and unwelcome, holding himself with purpose. I followed him over the screens, tracking his movements. I watched as he was led through the building, up the elevator and into...the conference room? Oh this was bad. Very, very bad.

I raced as fast as I could. By the time I got the to conference room, the whole group was already sitting in front of the secretary. I saw Wanda first. Her back was to me, but I could see her rigid frame and I knew something was happening. My father saw me approaching through the glass walls. He shot me a look that said "Don't do it. Don't come in here." I didn't obey.

The secretary stopped speaking abruptly when I walked through the doors. He gave me a quizzical look, did a once over and immediately looked at my father. Surely I don't look that much like Tony.

"Sorry I'm late, no one informed me about this team meeting," I gasped, short of breath from all the running. Of course, this was pushing it. As much as I wanted to be a part of the group, fighting was not my style, so I often got left out of important Avengers activities. I got to live with them, but that was it. Tony rose from his seat. He mumbled an apology to the secretary and gently ushered I out of the room. I would have fought back, but seeing the look on my father's face was enough to shut me up. And I never shut up. The secretary resumed his story. Something about golf and a heart attack.

My dad turned to face me. "Look kid, I get that you want to know what's going on, and you will, but today isn't the day."

"Okay," I said. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it's okay to be curious," he replied, walking back into the meeting. "Stay upstairs, okay hun?" I nodded and started the trek back up to my room. I shut the door and flopped onto my bed. Out of my long list of pet peeves, this was number one. Sure, I didn't want to fight, but come on family, I should at least get to be in on what's going on! Maybe I could help. I have powers for God sake. I am more than capable of helping the Avengers. But they always saw me as the little girl who needs protection.

"April, pull up security footage of the conference room please," I asked. April, the AI I built, that was modeled after Friday, projected the video surveillance from the ceiling. "Volume up." The group was in the same position as from when I left. The secretary was passing around the room. There was a thick white book being passed around the table.

"The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place," Steve said quietly. "I feel we've done that."

The secretary looked down at him. "Tell me Cap, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?" What? You were so confused. Why did the secretary care where my uncles were? No one answered the secretary's question, so he kept talking. I racked your brain to find the answers on my own. "...this is the middle ground." The secretary pointed at the book, now lying untouched on the table.

"And if we come to a decision you don't like?" Natasha asked.

"The you retire," the secretary responded. With that, he left the room and I scurried back downstairs.

Everyone was in the living room. I sat in the stairwell, again being uninvited to this group discussion. I listened to them fight. I figured out what was going on. The United Nations were being ungrateful little bitches and hated that they didn't have control over my family. So they gave an ultimatum: give in or give up. From the sounds of it, Uncle Rhodes, Vision and two of my four parents were in agreement with the accords. Steve and Sam were against it. Wanda hadn't said a word. Tension was growing high, I could feel it. I heard my father conclude that he won and a thud of the accords being tossed on the coffee table. Someone got up and left. Before I had the chance to act, the door to the stairwell was torn open. Steve pushed through and nearly stepped on me.

"Eavesdropping?" He smiled.

"You kicked me out, what else am I supposed to do?" I retorted. I noticed the tears welling in Steve's eyes. "Pops, what's wrong?"

Steve's glance fluttered to the ground. "Peggy. She, um..." was all he said. All he had to say. I was smart enough to read between the lines. I stepped forward and hugged Steve. He smiled, grateful that he had me. I knew how much Peggy meant to him. When I was little, he'd always tell me the story about how they met, how they never got that dance. And every time I would make him dance with me. He even took me to visit her once. I was ten and it was Christmas time. Steve told me that he wanted his favorite girl to meet his favorite niece. Now that was all but a memory. I held him tight before telling him to go. It was okay, I could handle the others. He left without a second glance.

Within days the team was scattered. Steve and Sam had gone to Peggy's funeral. Natasha was off to the signing of the Accords in Vienna. And then all hell broke loose when the bombs went off at the signing ceremony. As always, I were left home. I had no idea what was going on. At first this break in the team was about the Accords, but somehow Steve's old pal Bucky got involved. I didn't know what to think. The next thing I knew, everyone left for Berlin to rescue Steve and Sam from jail, leaving myself, Wanda and Vision at home.

When night fell, I was in my room, sulking as one would say. I was spending my evening flipping through Tumblr. There was a new superhero everyone was talking about. He called himself Spider-Man. New York based, focused on small neighborhood crimes. By YouTube footage alone, it was obvious he was a rookie. Soon enough, though, I accidentally conducted a full fledged search on this guy. He seemed shady. Sure, he's helping old ladies cross the street and all, but he just has a vibe. I couldn't put my finger on it. April broke me out of my research when she told me that there was a security breach in the compound. I pulled up the security camera footage and saw Clint Barton in my living room with Wanda levitating a knife at his nose.

I rushed downstairs. When I got to the living room Vision was holding Clint by the neck. I watched in silence as Wanda used her powers on Vision. She made it look easy. Slowly, Vision sunk to his knees. Wanda pushed further and the floor gave way. Vision was pushed through all seventy-four thousand levels of the compound. Wanda and Clint were about to turn to run out when you revealed yourself.

"Now was that really necessary?" I smirked. "We just had the floors waxed."

"Y/n," Clint warned.

"I'm not sitting on my ass," I said. Clint smirked and nodded. He knew he couldn't stop me anyways.

One car ride, plane flight and van trip later, I was in Germany. As it turns out, Steve wanted Clint and Wanda on his side, along with some ant dude named Scott. Scott was cool. Him and I sat together on the plane ride and watched Die Hard. He was asleep in the van when we pulled over in the airport parking lot. Clint told me to stay in the van. For once, I listened. I heard voices belonging to Steve and Sam. Clint slid open the van doors abruptly, shaking Scott awake. I chuckled to myself as he fangirled over my Pops. A voice over the intercom said something in a language I didn't know. A voice I didn't recognize said that the airport was being evacuated.

"Stark." Sam muttered.

Scott looked puzzled. Clearly he hadn't been filled in either. "Stark?" he asked.

I step out of the van. "Yes?" Steve and Sam look at me with wide eyes. Clint gave Steve a sheepish shrug. Behind their little blue car stood Bucky Barnes. I knew who he was. I learned about him in school. I knew he was some evil super soldier that attacked Natasha and Steve. He looked scary. He looked exactly like the type of guy to hurt my Mama and Pops. I held his glance until Steve spoke up.

"Y/n, what are you doing here?" Steve whisper-shouted. His voice always got quiet when he 'yelled' at me.

"I hitchhiked." I replied, knowing that at this point Steve didn't have the time to argue with me. He shook his head in defeat and took a deep breath.

"Suit up."

The airport was huge. Our group got suited up and started for the runway. I didn't know how Steve knew where to find my dad, but I followed him anyways. Before I could get any closer, Bucky held me back.

"It's, uh, not gonna be safe. You should stay here and keep low," he said. I frowned. I did not come all this way to not fight. But even still, I nodded. Bucky scared me. He and Sam took off in another direction to find the getaway jet. I laughed. This whole thing was ridiculous. My attention turned to the sound of my father and Rhodey flying down from the sky.

"Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in," Tony started. "That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?"

"You're after the wrong guy," Steve replied nonchalantly.

"Your judgement is askew. Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday-"

"And there are five more super soldiers just like him. I can't let the doctor find 'em first Tony. I can't."

"Steve," Natasha approached him slowly. "You know what's about to happen. Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?"

I took this as my cue. "No, but I will," I said, emerging from my hiding spot. I looked at the faces of your family. My gaze fell on Tony and my smile dropped. He looked angry.

"You brought my daughter into this?" Tony yelled, turning to Steve.

"Technically, I brought myself," I said. "You really think you were gonna leave me out of all the fun?"

Tony pinched his brow. "Y/n, this is serious."

"No it's not," I objected. "No, this got personal the second you thought you were gonna loose Pops to Bucky." No one moved after I said that.

"Alright, I've run out of patience," my father finally spoke. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Underoos!"

Before I had a chance to process, a red and black blur whipped past my head. It landed on top of a nearby van. It was Spider-Man. As in the Spider-Man. He had taken Cap's shield from him. I said nothing. My father could have recruited me, but instead he chose this little neighborhood nobody. That hurt a little. The Spider-thing and my father bantered for a minute. So he's never even been in a real fight before, I thought.

"You've been busy," Steve smirked.

Tony turned back to Steve. "And you've been a complete idiot. Dragging in Clint and Y/n, rescuing Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep-" he paused, sighing. "I'm trying to keep to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart."

"You did that when you signed." Steve kept his cool. My father did not.

"Alright, we're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us, now, because it's us! Or squad of J-SOC guys with no compunction of being polite. Come on."

Everyone stood still, waiting. Steve put his web-cuffed hands in the air. Clint shot them free from a mile away. I saw Scott -or a tiny version of him. Spider-Man noticed too, right before Scott grew and kicked him in the face. My dad flew off to retrieve Wanda and Rhodey was ready to take on Cap.

"Hey Mr. Stark, what should I do?" Spider-Man asked. He sounded young.

"What we discussed, keep your distance, web 'em up!" My father barked, as he flew towards Clint and Wanda.

"Okay, copy that," Spider-Man replied. He shot a web at me first. It caught my arm and I got whipped to the ground. I glared at him.

"Really?" I hissed.

"Just following Mr. Stark's orders," He said before swinging off after Bucky. I was left on the ground once everyone dispersed. I tried pulling my hand out of the sticky material that was shot at me, but it was stronger than glue. I was forced to watch the action unfold and wait until Natasha ran past me.

"Mama, a little help here?" I called out to her.

She stopped for a second. "Sorry honey, I really don't want you getting hurt." She ran off and I groaned. No one ever wants me to get hurt. I suppose I should be grateful, but in a moment like this, gratitude is hard to find. I started toying with the web. I wondered if I could break down the molecules. Surely there had to be some sort of H2O compound in it somewhere.

My power surged through me, the current flowing to the hand webbed to the ground. I managed to manipulate the water out, just as I predicted I would. The substance melted off my hands. Gross, I thought. I wiped the remaining web on my pants and got up. The water from the webbing fell to the ground with a splash.

I stood up and examined my surroundings. Natasha was on the ground fighting Scott, who shrunk down and flipped her over her own head. The Black Panther was on the other side of the roof, battling Steve. I didn't move. As much as I wanted to be included, I couldn't bring myself to fight. Not now at least.

The two teams assembled, divided by a line on the pavement. How cinematic. I was on Cap's side. I never meant to fight against my father. If anything, I thought it was funny. I looked out at the team in front of me. They were all lined up, Rhodey, the cat, Tony, Nat, the Spider-brat. Vision hovered above them. A bead of sweat trickled down the back of my neck. I were scared. I wasn't made to fight.

"What do we do Cap?" Sam asked.

"We fight." Steve moved first. We followed in suit. My dad's team mimicked my team's actions and walked closer. We broke into a jog and then a full out run. This was really about to happen. I hoped that my family would go easy on me. I knew what I was doing. I reassured myself of that. I have done a bunch of training, especially with Wanda. I could move the freaking elements with my mind and manipulate gravity! As if the Spider-Man could beat that. I am Y/n fricking Stark. I can do this.

I put a smile on your face, contrasting everyone else's bitter looks. "I call the spider!" I yelled, just as everyone began the battle. Spider-Man heard me and slowed down just a bit. I cocked an eyebrow. He resumed his pace and ran straight for me. I ran headfirst towards him. He threw out his arm to web me, but I was faster. With a swish of my hands, I changed his gravitational pull and made his feet flip out from under him. He landed on his back with a hard thud. As gently as I could, I morphed the pavement under him to trap his hands. "Careful there, Spider-boy. Don't wanna get stepped on." I walked away. I made it about ten steps before I heard the sound of concrete cracking. I turned around and saw that Spider-Man was breaking free of his restraints. I was shocked. He has super strength. Great. I should have moved out of his way because the second he got one hand free, I was webbed against a truck.

"For the record," he said, getting up in my face. "It's Spider-Man." He swung off into the airport through a glass window. I watched the glass rained onto the ground. Taking a deep breath, I quickly removed myself from the webs. I needed a plan. A strategy. I thought about at the opposing team. Everyone was scattered around the airport. I thought about who would be easiest to fight. But then I realized, the strategy wasn't about how they'd fight, but who. There was no way in hell that my parents or Uncle Rhodey would even think about fighting me. The Black Panther didn't know me, so he was a threat. The worst Vision could do was pick me up and fly away, so he was in thr safe zone. That left the spider. I smiled to myself. Rematch time.

By the time I found Spider-Man, he had already webbed Sam and Bucky to the floor. He was perched on top of a light post, saying something about impressing my father. Sam's mini falcon whizzed past me and grabbed Spider-Man by the web. He got pulled out a window, banging his side into the pane on the way out. I ran over to Sam and Bucky. Quickly, I destroyed the webbing and helped them up. They both gave me a quick "Thanks kid," before running back out. I followed them, staying loose on their trail.

Once I got outside my eyes scanned the area for the Spider. I saw Wanda piling cars on my father and Natasha fighting Clint. Then I spotted him, fighting Cap. He was underneath a jet bridge . Cap threw his shield at the support beams and the whole thing fell on top of Spider-Man. He caught it of course, but Cap ran away. I formed my plan.

"Hey!" I called out. I walked around the collapsing jet bridge. I stood in front of the struggling boy. Or man, I didn't know. "Remember me?"

"Heh, how could I forget such a pretty face," he grunted, starting to fold under the weight of the jet bridge. "You wanna give me a hand?" I glared at his face comment, but lifted the jet bridge anyway. He ran out and I let it fall. Both of us stopped for a minute, gasping for breath beside the rubble. He was close enough to hit. So I did. Without warning I threw a punch of air at him. It hit him right in the chest and he got blown back into the side of a van. "What the hell man?" He got up and shot a web at me. I dodged and threw another gust of wind. It shot him out of the air. He webbed at a pole and swung past my face. I redirected his gravitational pull, but not before he got a kick to my face. We both got thrown in different directions. I landed hard on the ground, pain shooting up my spine. I got up first, now angry. Forgetting about my powers, I lunged at him and threw a punch. I missed and he shot webs at my feet, holding me down. Immediately, I dissolved them and Spider-Man's eyes widened. Well, his mask's eye holes did anyway.

"How did you do that?" He yelled. "What kind of witchcraft-"

"Its not witchcraft," I spat. "It's called manipulation of the elements, look it up. I figured there had to be some water compound in this and I was right. All I had to do was remove it."

"That's so cool! And how did you do the foot thing earlier? Was that just the wind you do or do you have telekinesis too? Are you like the Scarlet Witch?" He rambled on. I took this to my advantage and caught him off guard. I used the van he'd hit earlier to become his gravitational pull and yanked. He went slamming into it and groaned. When he tried to get back up, I was already five steps ahead of him. Morphing the earth metals in the van, I contorted it into a shell that crushed Spider-Man until he was covered and stuck.

I heard Scott say that he was gonna tear himself in half over the earpiece. I got distracted from holding Spider-Man down and turned to see a giant Scott. Spider-Man broke free. He tore the shell off himself and threw it at me. I was wacked across the side and fell the the ground again.

"Holy shit!" he says, looking at Scott. His back was to me and I gave him one last wind push. He fell on his face and I laughed. "Oh come on, don't you have some dolls to play with or something?" I just scoffed and walked past him, stepping past his hand that was on the ground. He let out a yelp and you kept walking. Dolls, I thought. I'm thirteen I don't play with dolls. I watched as the rest of the battle went down. I wasn't quite sure what to do. I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Natasha was standing just behind me. "Come with me." We started jogging off. It was natural for me to listen to her. I realized about five seconds in that technically she was my enemy right about now, but I shrugged it off. I ran through the fight, past the big Scott and towards a warehouse. I could see the outline of a jet get bigger as I approached it. Natasha stopped behind the entrance. She was waiting.

"So what do we do?" I asked.

"We wait to fight," She replied, not taking her eyes off the horizon. I came to realize this probably means I would be fighting her. Maybe she wanted to use me as a hostage or something. No, that's silly. Right?

Steve and Bucky got closer to the building I was in. They nearly made it until Vision laser beamed the shit out of a nearby communications tower. Wanda caught it before it fell, giving the two men time to race towards the jet. I stepped out to help Wanda. The both of us were able to hold the rubble long enough for Steve and Bucky to get through. I panted, proud of myself for getting this far.

A searing pain sliced through my brain. Both myself and Wanda fell to the ground, screaming. I could barely look up to see that Rhodey was sending some sort of wave through the air. The tower fell and Natasha was quick to haul me out of the way before I got crushed. I might be better than Spider-Man, but I definitely don't have his super strength.

Steve and Bucky still managed to get through the falling paces of metal and concrete. Natasha left my side and marched swiftly towards the two men. I couldn't hear them, but I could sense the tension from a mile away. Natasha lifted her arm, taser aimed and ready. Steve held his shield up in defense as Natasha shoots....the Black Panther? I guess she's on our side now? The jet started to take off and you watch an Natasha continues to battle the Panther. I fell to my side, wiped out.

My father flew into the warehouse just as the jet leaves. You thought maybe he was going to fight Natasha for betraying him. I was wrong. He was coming for me. He landed beside me and dropped to his knees. His helmet closed and I could see the worry plastered on his cut up face. He knelt beside me and gently held me up.

"Are you okay?" he asked. I nodded, not really able to make words. He looked over at Natasha, who was looking at us. She had an apologetic look, but I know she doesn't regret letting Cap go. My father let me go and charged off after the jet plane. I lied down, enjoying the feeling of cold concrete against your skin. I closed my eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I paced around the living room, driving Nat crazy. I knew that the second my father got home I would be in deep shit. So when Friday alerted me that Tony was home my heart rate went up 29373%. The battle, this fight, it ended worse then I could have imagined. Natasha told me that my father could have died. Rhodey was paralyzed from the waist down. I had no idea if I'd ever see my Pops again. This was bad. Very, very bad.

I slowly walked down the main hall towards the front doors. I was scared. My hands and the back of my neck were sweating. I knew exactly what was coming. Every time I had asked my dad if I could be an honorary Avenger, I got the same lecture. That it was too dangerous, I didn't have the proper training and it's too much for his little girl to handle. Even when I asked to just be a part of the business side of the team, Tony laughed and said no. I've broken a lot of my father's rules, but this was the line. And I had gone so far over.

As I approached the front door, I could hear my father speaking. I heard another voice too. My heart dropped. It was Spider-Man. Why was Spider-Man here? I ducked behind a wall and listened in to the conversation.

"...outstanding job kid. Your fighting technique was on par. And, listen, I know we're not allowed to have kids on this team, but if we need you again, we'll call." I heard my father say.

"Thanks Mr. Stark. This was so cool," Spider-Man replied. I wondered if he had his suit on or not. I wanted to know who this guy was. I revealed myself from behind the wall. The two looked at me. I looked at my father first and fought the urge to burst into tears. He looked awful. His face was all cut up and the black eye he got was still a little swollen. I glanced at the figure beside him and frowned. Spider-Man was a kid. He looked like he was my age. He had a mop of curly brown hair and doe eyes. He was almost equally as beat up as my dad and I gracefully took credit for that.

"Y/n, this is Peter. He's, uh, one of my interns. Kid, this is Y/n," Tony said. My annoyance turned to anger. Now my father was lying to me?

"How old are you?" I asked, eyes narrowing. I knew that I sounded rude, but this kid had kicked me in the face twice. I didn't think he deserved my manners.

"I'm fourteen," Peter gulped. A year older than me. And I kicked his ass, I thought. "You gave me quite a fight back in Berlin."

"Yeah and I beat your ass doing it."

"Speaking of which," Tony spoke up, "I have to talk to Y/n about that. Happy will take you home Peter." Peter nodded and said goodbye to my father. He said goodbye to me, to which I didn't reply. Peter frowned at that as he walked out the door.

My dad turned to me when the door shut. "What," he began, "were you thinking?"

"Well I-"

"No. This is where you listen. Do you know how dangerous that mission was. Do you know how many people got hurt? You saw what happened to Rhodey, that could have been you!"

"But it wasn't" I retorted.

Tony's frown deepened. "That is not the point. You put yourself in serious danger, and for what? So you could feel a little more included? You could have died. This was my one rule, my one ask of you, and your broke it."

"Oh, come on now, I'm a Stark, it's in our blood to not listen to our fathers." My father gave me the coldest look and I shut down. I took a deep breath. "Look, I didn't know that it was gonna be this bad. You know me, daddy, I'm not a fighter, I'm not some hero. You think I would have gone if I knew it would turn out like this? I thought this was just gonna be another one your you and Pops' stupid fights. And yes, I could have gotten hurt, but I think I handled myself pretty well. You saw what I did you that little protege of yours. I beat him to the curb."

"Y/n you were reckless. Peter was prepared for this, he was ready."

"And I still beat him."

"Y/n you're not listening to me. This is why I chose Peter over you. I would have taken you if I knew you wouldn't do something stupid. But you did anyway." And with that he walked away, leaving me, teary-eyed in the front hall.

Tony came by my room later that night to apologize. He said that he was sorry for being harsh, that he just cared about me and I scared him. I knew he meant it and I forgave him, because that's what we do. Besides, it wasn't Tony I was angry with. This is why I chose Peter over you. Tony's words echoed through my head. I knew that he loved me more, I'm his daughter, he had to. But I were jealous. Jealous that stupid Peter Parker got the praise for the work I've wanted to hear for ages. And mad at that stupid spider for being stupid.

This is when I decided that I hate Peter Parker.

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fire-lady-ilah · 3 years

Text

More good dad! Ozai AU? Even if you didn’t ask for it, you’re getting it and I’m picking up right where I left off. This is my reminder that, while Ozai is a good and non-abusive dad and husband in this, he is still very much an imperialist and a cruel person in general.

Parts [1] and [2] if you’d like. This is part 3. Here’s part [4]

The siblings venture into the capital, although they make it known that no one should inform their parents that they are nearby. The moment they step off the ship, Captain Jee sends a letter to the Fire Lady. He was loyal to the Prince and Princess above all, but he did not feel like being executed or exiled that day when Lady Ursa inevitably finds out.

In a large house just outside Caldera City, Lord Ukano lives with his wife, Michi, his daughter and heir, Mai, and his newborn son Tom-Tom. The Dragon Emperor and the Blue Spirit sneak into the bedroom of the heiress and steal her away.

In that I mean, Mai leaps at the opportunity to escape her home with her best friends, who she’s seen wearing the same theatre masks dozens of times, and follows willingly. It takes an hour longer than the siblings had expected, if only because Mai has far more knives than they had truly expected and they get caught up in the palace kitchens stealing Azula’s favourite mochi and some bags of fire flakes.

Then they are caught by Fire Lady Ursa, who is gathering a late night cup of cocoa after a nice night with her husband, not that her children need to know that part. Her children, who are wearing her theatre masks that had very recently gone missing from her collection, stare at her innocently. Her daughter carries two entire boxes she knows are full of mochi. Her son carries the fire flake bag they use for festivals. Her one day daughter-in-law is making a cup of cocoa and the Fire Lady calmly requests one for herself from the girl.

That night, the fire Prince and Princess sleep in their own rooms, with Lady Mai in one of the many available. In the morning, they take breakfast with the Fire Lord and Lady, discussing trivial matters of politics and domestic affairs.

Mai leaves on the request of the Fire Lord, bringing everything they took from her home and the palace (along with what Ursa and Ozai insisted they take) to the ship with the help of some soldiers.

Azula and Zuko sit with their parents. Ursa gives them each two potent bottles of poison. Ozai’s voice has a worry that only his family knows how to detect through the facade of boredom as he inquires how their firebending and blades practice has been, as to the state of their weaponry. They try to soothe their parents worries with assurances: their practice has been going well in both bending and blades, Azula has achieved perfection in lightningbending and Zuko has achieved lightning, their blades are sharp and well maintained, they weren’t harmed when the temple blew up—

It slips through Zuko’s lips. He was never the actor like his mother and sister. For their part, his parents do not react overly beyond a flickering of the flame and a long sip of tea.

“Your mission has changed.”

Ozai is smart. Everything he does is to serve his goals the best they can. In canon, the premier of those goals is to gain more power for himself. In this world, that goal is to secure the ideal outcome for his family. (Of course, his second goal is as much power as possible. But it is only considered after his first goal).

Allying themselves with the Avatar, at least in appearances, will secure the best outcome for his children. And he has no doubt that his brother (so weak after the death of his son. And yet, Ozai cannot find it within him to scorn him overly. He knows that were he to be left childless, he would break. It is merely that Ozai would break in an explosion, whereas Iroh’s flame fizzled into embers.) would eagerly help his children betray him. Even if it was just in appearances.

His children are loyal and dutiful. They protest, but only out of a desire to maintain that loyalty. He wishes the Avatar had remained hidden, at least until they were both adults. They are prodigal, yes, but they are just siblings.

“You have our permission to reveal your mother’s ancestry. Use it wisely.”

The children know their lineage for at least five generations on each side. That, of course, is in addition to their knowledge of every Fire Lord that has reigned since the unification of the Fire Nation. They are well aware that their Grandmother Rina (who feeds them chocolate and tells them stories whenever she visits) ‘s father was Avatar Roku. Just as they knew of the friendship between Fire Lord Sozin and Avatar Roku.

It is necessary for the people of their nation to hear pretty lies. It is not their responsibility to worry about the nuance and complexity of life. It is one of their responsibilities as Angi’s heirs in the mortal world. To worry of such things is a burden they should not have to bear. It is necessary for the people to believe the Avatar hated the Fire Lord.

The siblings don’t know everything, of course. They are just children after all. But they understand the nuance, the conflicting beliefs. They were told the truth (and carefully kept from necessary propaganda before then) when they were old enough to look critically at the situation. It was their duty to bring the Fire Nation’s good to the other nations, to liberate their populations, the siblings decided.

The Avatar is just a child, but he seemed able to connect with his past lives. And he had pointedly not hurt them, at least as Avatar Roku.

If nothing else, they have the Dragon Emperor and Blue Spirit on their side.

“Zhao has asked for permission to launch an invasion on the Northern Water Tribe. He is a fool, but he claims he has knowledge that will ensure his victory. Tomorrow, I will send him a letter approving his asinine idea. You will stop him— kill him, if you must— and use that act of perceived treason to ally yourselves with the Avatar.”

Ozai wants power, but he is no fool. The invasion is risky at best. He cannot find it within himself to care for the tens of thousands that would doubtlessly die in it, the Northern Water Tribe had the advantage in multiple ways. It would serve its purpose to get his children at the Avatar’s side.

The tone lightens after his orders and Ozai steps back from his role as Father Lord into just being a father. He teases his son on his interactions with his betrothed. He teases his daughter and asks if she would be visiting the circus soon, taking note of how she had learned to prevent a blush but not the squeak in her voice. They are not infallible, they are children.

As they see their children for the last time in the foreseeable future, the Fire Lord and Lady both think as to how much they will miss them. Ursa blinks back tears as she hugs them both, smiling as they react identically, burying their faces into her chest to hide them and breathing in the scent of fire lily perfume.

Ozai is not usually physically affectionate with his children. He had never received it from his father and was much more competent in other ways. That being said, no one commented on the kiss he pressed to the top of Zuko’s head (still shorter than him by quite a bit. Sometimes he acted so adult, but he was so clearly still a child) before repeating the action with Azula.

“I am so proud of you. Both of you.”

I’m just now realizing Blue Spirit is supposed to be after the whole Roku thing. Oh well.

For appearances’ sake, the siblings and Mai continue to chase the Avatar. Zhao attacks the Avatar while he trains under the Deserter. Princess Azula ensures the forest doesn’t burn while Prince Zuko uses all the bottled up anger at both Zhao himself and Azulon (really, what is with grown men trying to kill 11/12 year olds?) to yell at Zhao for acting so recklessly.

And if, perhaps, he manages to endear himself to others by knocking Zhao’s feet out from under him, all the better.

The Avatar and his friends escape and the siblings celebrate another success as Zhao nurses his bruised ass and ego.

(“Hey, did the Deserter look like that dude in Master Piandao’s painting in his main hall to you?”

“Admiral Jeong Jeong and Master Piandao were married, Zuko. Obviously that was him.”)

Zhao attempts to order their crew away from them, citing his rank as admiral as above prince and princess.

Azula’s sharp tongue reminds Admiral Zhao that Zuko is not only a prince, but the Crown Prince, and thus he is equal in rank to Zhao. As was their uncle a general, retired or not.

Behind the royalty of the ship stands Captain Jee, his eyes locked with Zhao’s. His eyes promise mutiny even if he were to somehow take them. His eyes swear loyalty to the Crown Prince, to his sister, above all else.

Zhao turns to leave.

“Of course, that is not to say we will not join your invasion.” Zuko sounds like his father sometimes, and never more than when his voice holds a hint of smug satisfaction. “Merely, do not presume to think you can order us in any way. We out rank you, and our crew is the best our Nation has to offer.”

Their ship joins, at least in appearance, Zhao’s fleet. That being said, they obey no orders from the Admiral and only allow his “inspections” of the ship and their crew once. For all intents and purposes, they are just there to observe.

And observe they do. The siblings watch the way Zhao treats his subordinates and twin righteous flames burns in their chests. The truth of being raised by a loving father means that Zuko and Azula are both rather sheltered in comparison to their canon selves. They are raised on ideals of honour and the divine responsibility of a monarch, rather than on the truths of war and practicality of rule. It only results in a hotter fire and more questions as to if Sozin’s way was truly the one to follow.

They still have absolute faith in their father. After all, he is the one that raised them, that taught them of honour and the ideals of a monarch. He is the one that sheltered them. He is the one that suggested they befriend the Avatar to keep them safe.

On the ship, only three people know the entire plan. The first two are the siblings, of course. The third is Captain Jee. He is the one that will keep their ship away from the invasion itself so there is no risk of their crew being harmed in the doomed attack. He is the one that will direct the ship to the colonies once the siblings are with the Avatar. Captain Jee has no qualms about technically commuting treason.

Mai knows some of the plan. In that, Mai knows exactly what Zuko and Azula tell her and then what she observes. She sees the way they stick together, now more than ever. Sees the way that Azula trains her non-lethal lightning (because even she, a nonbender, knows it’s far harder to bend lightning that doesn’t kill than that that does). She hears the way they drop the title of Fire Lord when speaking of their royal great grandfather. She catches whispers about Fire Lord Roku. About the Avatar.

Mai, in a way, knows more than the siblings themselves. She knows that they are genuinely sympathetic toward the Avatar in a way that they don’t yet realize. She begins to keep all her knives on her person, along with an easily grab-able bag for travelling in her room. There was no way she’d be letting her best friends turn traitor without her. This is the most exciting thing she’s done in years.

Iroh knows less than he believes. Oh, he gets the dropped title just as well as Mai, but he does not know the intricacies of Zuko and Azula the way Mai does. He sees Azula’s practice and writes it off as her ever-present search for perfection. He catches the tail end of a conversation between siblings and does not stop to consider who exactly “great grandfather” may be referring to. It would be unthinkable for his brother to tell the children of their heritage.

Despite this, Iroh also knows more than most. He knows from conversation exactly what Zhao intends to do in the Northern Water Tribe and it turns his blood to boil.

They reach the Northern Water Tribe. The siblings sneak off the ship in an emergency boat. Mai enters at the last moment and neither send her away.

Iroh has already left the ship, though he is currently in one last meeting with Zhao in an attempt to convince him not to continue with his plan. He will not check back with his niece and nephew, believing them to be safe on the ship.

In the Northern Water Tribe, the three Fire Nation teens remain tucked into the shadows. They, unfortunately, have no idea where the Avatar is and wander through the city. However, they reach the Avatar’s friends before Zhao does.

(“Is he... alive?”

“He’s just meditating.”)

It goes far better than they could have expected. The siblings’ act of releasing Sokka and Katara from Zhao’s bindings results in a part of water tribe siblings being quite willing to hear them out. Princess Yue gives them an odd look but remains quiet.

Zhao shows up. Iroh shows up. Azula and Zuko denounce him (though they cannot bring themselves to denounce their father, even though they know they should). Zhao declares them all traitors, a koi fish in a bag in his hand.

A bolt of lightning hits Zhao straight in the back. Both he and the koi fish fall into the pool of water. He does not emerge.

Azula’s face is carefully blank, even as she watches the water. She cannot stop to consider whether it is her or the water that just killed the admiral, or if he was even dead at all. She could not even see his body in its depths. She used non-lethal strength.

Despite Princess Yue’s backing, the Northern Water Tribe wants to take the siblings prisoner (hostage, everyone knows). After all, everyone knows of the devotion they show to the Fire Lord and vice versa. If nothing else, they would be excellent bargaining pieces in a more formal treaty.

They had not factored this into their plan. Admittedly, they had not factored the Northern Water Tribe into their plan at all.

The three Fire Nation teens are thrown into a prison cell. A rather comfortable prison cell, but still a prison cell. Iroh is taken somewhere else.

Within five hours, they sit on the back of a flying bison, Sokka handing them food he had smuggled out of the meal as Katara was smuggling them out of prison.

(“We tried to get your Uncle too,” the Avatar says in a remorseful tone, “but we couldn’t find him.”

“Uncle will be fine.” Azula declares, her mind set only on the future as she tries not to think about the way Zhao sunk beneath the still surface of the pond.

Zuko nods in agreement and clutches her hand in a comforting way.)

The Gaang now consists of six people:

Aang, a twelve year old Avatar with a mastery in air and a decent proficiency in water. He looks at the Fire Nation teens and sees his friend Kuzon, sees a time from before the war when an Air Nomad could wander freely through the Fire Nation. He attempts to use Fire Nation slang with them but it’s a century old and results in only laughter.

Katara, a master waterbender and healer (a concept that intrigues Azula to no end, although she tries to keep her questions polite). She tends to have a short temper when it comes to matters of the Fire Nation, but even she can be coaxed into trying a few sweets that Zuko has stored in his bag.

Sokka, a hunter and warrior who may or may not be engaged to the NWT princess (Zuko says he is, Azula says he isn’t). Azula laments that her jokes are even worse than Zuko’s, to which Mai agrees. It is that comment that leads Sokka and Zuko to start bonding, having nothing better to do on the bison’s back than exchange bad jokes.

Crown Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation, who Sokka would insist is walking Fire Nation propaganda as he goes on at least one rant about Fire Nation culture and technology a day. Who surprisingly helps Katara with the cooking because it was one of the things Fire Lady Ursa carried over from before she was Fire Lady and taught to her children.

Princess Azula of the Fire Nation, who has a sharp tongue and a sharper pair of twin daggers that she seems to enjoy threatening her brother with for any inconvenience, even though they both just laugh at it. (Katara and Sokka have to be assured by them both that they truly love each other and that threatening each other with weapons carried over from the theatre scrolls they used to act out as children).

Lady Mai talks the least, seemingly content just to talk to Zuko and Azula. Aang makes it his mission to get her to warm up to him and spends a good portion of his time trying to talk to her. He succeeds when he brings up air ball, of all things. Mai’s parents had discouraged her from sport, believing it to be unfitting of a young lady just as they had discouraged her interest in knives until Zuko and Azula had ganged up on them. Partially for that reason, Mai enjoyed sports quite a bit, a shock to even Zuko (though Azula knew). After that, she talks mainly to Zuko, Azula, and Aang.

Captain Jee guides his ship to the Fire Nation colonies, unable to confirm that his Prince and Princess were okay. He hadn’t expected the worry he feels now, but he knows he will be awaiting a letter at Yu Dao if they are safe.

Prince Iroh is startled to discover that, while meeting with Master Pakku, the Avatar, his friends, his nephew and niece, and Mai had all disappeared.

As had his ship.

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backtothefanfiction · 3 years

Text

WHAT BENNY DOESN’T KNOW | Chapter 4

A TRIPLE FRONTIER STORY

Summary: Drama ensues when Santiago tracks you down in Italy and tries to get you to go on the Triple Frontier mission with him.

Warnings: VERY Mature 18+ ONLY!! Read this chapter around others at your own peril. Angst, murder, gun violence, language, references to drug use, SMUT!, dom!Santiago, oral (female receiving), light bondage, edging, squirting, thigh riding, slight degradation, dirty talk.

Word Count: 8177

A/N- I don’t know what else I can say about this chapter other than I am sorry. This chapter ran away with me and became a fucking monster. I hope it lives up to the hype, even if it isn’t what you expected, I hope it still satisfies and shocks. Frankie fans have been very patient and I know this chapter is going to tease you but trust me, it’s worth it for how the rest of this story will go. So without further ado, here’s what went down in Italy.

PART FOUR | What happened in Italy.

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'Hey I need to talk to you about something.'

'I've got this recce I'm doing and could really do with your help.'

'Hey did you get my text.'

'Did I do something wrong? Why are you ignoring me?'

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You scanned the messages on your phone once more before looking up at your reflection in the bathroom mirror before you. You rested your hands against the top of the sink, the phone digging into your palm as you pressed it against the porcelain. You couldn't deal with this, not right now. You reached for your clutch, wresting on the ledge before you, as another girl entered the bathroom through the door to your right, the music from the club growing louder before being dimmed again. You made polite eye contact, smiling at the girl before she closed herself inside one of the stalls.

You closed the thread of text messages from Santiago, dropping the phone back into your bag. You took a moment to fix your hair and your dress before making your way back out in to the heart of the club.

The base of the speakers passed heavily through your body as you made your way back to your group in the VIP booth. You had been in Italy for almost six months, infiltrating the Italian mob, becoming the girlfriend of one of the high ranking members to get information. Vincenzo reached his arms out, encouraging you to come sit on his lap so he could show you off to his company. You felt his hand come to rest against your ass, rubbing it slightly and you had to use all your effort not to roll your eyes and fake gag, instead turning your head closer towards him and giggling innocently into his neck.

You had rested your bag against your bare thigh and you could feel your phone begin to vibrate through the fabric as someone tried to call you. You attempted to ignore it, leaning against Vincenzo, you took a moment to look over his shoulder out the window behind you and down to the people on the street. The Italian continued to talk to his company, oblivious to the fact you were a spy and retaining everything they were saying. He almost completely ignored your presence and you listened intently to the information he was sharing.

You felt your phone begin to vibrate inside your bag once more and rolled your eyes. You didn't need to check it to work out who it was. No doubt it was the same man you'd been trying to ignore for the last 7 days. You rolled your eyes before leaning to say into Vincenzo's ear, “Vado al bar, torno subito.” I'm going to the bar, I'll be right back.

He gave you a kiss on the cheek and a small nod of acknowledgment, slapping your ass for good measure as you stood, this time you really did roll your eyes in disgust. You reached your fingers into your bag, rooting for your phone, which was now ringing for the third time in a row, as you made your way towards the bar. You looked down at it to see Santiago's name before looking back at your target in the VIP booth, trying do decide if it was worth taking the risk and answering the call.

“Santi I'm working right now, can we do this later.” you asked into the phone, your voice blunt.

“Sorry querida, I didn't realise, I was just calling to say, I like that dress.” your eyes widened at his words, your head whipping around to scan the crowd for him. “You know it's very short, I got a very good look at your ass when you stood up.”

“Santi?” your voice was both a warning and question as you struggled to find his face amongst the club attendees.

Santiago watched you carefully through the scope of his sniper rifle across the street, struggling to stifle a small chuckle as your eyes scanned the room you were in intensely, looking for him. “You know you're not gonna find me in there.” his voice was a taunt down the phone, you didn't let up you're search for him though.

“Santi, what are you doing here?” you tried to keep your voice calm, your eyes checking back on Vincenzo again, making sure he wasn't watching you and how frantic you were acting right now. You let out a deep breath, you hadn't realised you'd been holding, as you saw him still talking intently to his friends.

“You weren't answering my texts.” Santiago's voice came down the phone once more. You turned your back to Vincenzo, leaning against the end of the bar, trying to blend in. “I had to get your attention somehow.”

“Santi, where are you right now? I swear to god, if you ruin my cover.” you let the threat hang openly down the line. He was well aware of what you were capable of without having to threaten him with specifics. Then a thought crossed your mind. “Santi, how did you know where I was?” he didn't respond. “If you knew I was here...” you worked the thought through your head silently. “Santi? Why did you decide to call me right now?”

“Because I needed you to stand up so I could get a clear shot.” he finally said, his voice calm. You whipped your head back towards Vincenzo so fast, your phone dropping from your ear, resting at your side as you finally worked out where he was. He was watching from a window across the street. Shit.

It felt like everything was moving in slow motion as Vincenzo's body suddenly collapsed forward off the chair he'd been sitting in, hitting the glass table in front of him smashing it. You slowly brought the phone back up to your ear. “Get out now. Meet me in the alley around the back of the club.” were the only words he said to you before he hung up the phone. Girls began to shriek around you as they realised what was happening. Vincenzo's men quickly stood, pulling guns from their holsters, searching for whoever had shot their leader. You disappeared into the chaotic crowd now fleeing the scene, closely watching over your shoulder to see if you were being followed.

You broke off from the stream of people once you were downstairs on the ground floor, leaving out of a fire exit at the back of the building. You listened as the sounds of a motorcycle cut through; over the top of the screams of the crowd that was exiting out onto the street through the main doors of the club. 'He didn't' you thought to yourself, lifting your head towards the heavens, a silent plea. It fell on deaf ears.

Santiago made his way into the alley on the back of a motorbike, coming to an abrupt halt before you. “You have got to be kidding me.” you said as you began to pry your heels from your feet, stepping closer to the bike. He lifted the visor to the helmet up and the way the skin creased around his eyes, you could tell he had that smug grin on his face. Of course Will had told him. “You did this on purpose.”

“Just get on the bike.” he responded, revving the engine impatiently.

You climbed onto the back of the bike, your heels clutched tightly in one hand, the other wrapping tightly around Santiago's middle. “I swear to God Santiago, if you crash this bike when I'm not wearing a helmet-” he didn't give you a chance to continue before he took off, weaving his way through the dimly lit back streets until he reached a particular hotel on the outskirts of the city.

--------------------------------

You slammed your bag and heels down on the dresser as you entered the gloomy hotel room. You leant back against the top of the piece of furniture, your elbows nudging a small box tv on top of it as you silently stared at the floor, refusing to make eye contact with your companion in the room. The sound of his keys hitting the side table was deafening in the silence, forcing you to finally look at his face. This was the first time you'd seen him in person since you had slept together just over a year and a half ago.

“How did you know I was here Santi? You keeping tabs on me?” you spat at him.

“I have a guy.” he says it so nonchalantly like it's no big deal.

“What the heck Santi?” you continue your voice slowly rising in anger. “I've been stationed here for just over five months now trying to gain intel. Do you know how much time it took me to get him to trust me.”

“Well when you dress like that, I'm guessing not that long.” You push yourself up from the dresser turning away from him, a hand fisting into your hair in frustration. You closed your eyes taking a deep breath. “Look the guy had a price on his head.” He continued taking a tentative step in your direction. “Besides, now you're free to come to South America with me.” you turned towards him again, a look of complete and utter disbelief on your face.

“Do I just look like a fucking joke to you?” your voice cut at him. His eyes softened, hurt as he realised he'd said and done the wrong thing. “You fucking track me down in Italy, shoot my target, oh and turn up with that god damn bike.” You paced back and forth a moment before stopping abruptly in front of him. “When did Will tell you?”

“What that you practically got yourself off on the back of his bike?” Santiago joked, a large shit eating grin breaking out over his face. Your face remained stern, letting him know you didn't find any of this funny. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.” he suddenly conceded, his eyes dropping to the carpet. His voice was quiet when he looked back up to meet your eyes. “I don't think you're a joke.”

“But you and Will did swap stories about your time spent with me?”

“So he was telling the truth.” Santiago said taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “You did get turned on by his bike.”

“You say it like you're jealous Santi?” you question him. “You think because I had a good night with you the last time we saw each other, I can't fuck anyone else?” he couldn't meet your eyes. You raised your eyebrows in disbelief at his silence. “Just you wait until I tell you about me and Fish.” you say coyly, turning your eyes away from him, just as his head snapped to your direction again.

“What about you and Fish?” he questioned, his eyes not leaving you now. A small smile licked at the corner of your mouth at the memory, but a slight ache in your chest suddenly tainted it.

“Let's just say, had we known, we would have put towels down.” you teased him. He shot up from the bed then, taking a step towards you, his eyebrows furrowed in shock and curiosity.

“Wait when did you and Fish?” He couldn't even finish the sentence. Frankie had been in a relationship for the last two years, even had a two month old baby girl to show for it. A part of Santiago didn't even want an answer to his question, but he was so intrigued by the other part of your statement, it completely clouded his better judgement. “Wait you're telling me you and Fish slept together and he made you?” he couldn't even say the word.

“You don't believe me?” you questioned him as you reached for your bag, your fingers closing apprehensively around your phone inside. You knew this was a bad idea but you were so mad at Santiago right now you were willing to do anything to put him in his place. “Call him and ask for yourself.” you continued unlocking your phone and thrusting it into his hand challenging him.

You watched him intensely, trying to hide your nervousness, as he searched your contacts for Frankie's name. Santiago's thumb hit the call button then put the call on speaker, the sound of the dial tone pulsing through the room. The longer it took for Frankie to answer the call, only encouraged your own anxiety that was painfully attacking your chest. You and Frankie hadn't spoken since you told him you were coming to Italy to get away from him; and the way you left things you wouldn't be surprised if he didn't pick up at all.

Frankie was more than surprised when he heard his phone begin to vibrate against the counter top, your name lighting up the screen for the first time in almost 8 months. He took a deep breath, his phone hanging in his frozen grasp before him as he questioned whether he should answer or just let it ring off. He surprised himself with his own judgement when he hit the answer button at the very last second, bringing the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?” Frankie's voice echoed out through the phone in Santiago's hand. If Frankie felt stunned by the fact you had called him in the first place, he was even more shocked when his best friend's voice answered down the phone.

“Dude did you make her squirt?” Santiago was blunt and straight to the point, his question making Frankie's eyes blow wide as the bombshell hit him. His heart felt like it was about to pound out of his chest as his panic set in.

He had sat quietly pretending not to take in Santiago and Will's conversation about you, that they were having the last time they had all been together. He'd held his tongue, wanting to keep his emotions for you in check. He wasn't proud of everything that had happened between the two of you and he hadn't wanted the hassle of his two best friend's opinions on the matter if he'd come clean about it all. Frankie suddenly found himself becoming angry, the feeling bubbling up in his chest ready to explode. Not only had you ended things between the two of you by running away to Italy, but you'd just dropped information about your time together to Santiago like it hadn't meant anything.

Frankie's silence and your pained expression had told Santiago everything he needed to know. He struggled to find the words to say but quickly found himself floundering even more when Frankie's voice spat sharply down the phone, “Did she also tell you she let me do coke off her ass?” Santiago's head shot up, his eyes boring into yours in shock. Shit!

You're eyes blew wide, your mouth hanging open unable to find the words to talk yourself out of this mess. You panicked blindly snatching the phone out of Santiago's grasp, hanging up the call. Fuck. FUCK! This had backfired on you so bad. You and Santiago stood silent across from each other as the bomb that had just been dropped settled around you both.

“How many times?” Santiago's voice tentatively broke the silence.

“How many times what?” you decided to deflect the conversation with other questions, “How many times did he make me squirt or... how many times did I let him do coke off me?” Santiago's hands flew into the air, his gaze moving to the ceiling as he took a step back, searching for the strength to carry on this conversation.

“The fact that you even have to ask that just proves how fucked up this is.” he responded as he watched you gingerly step towards the bed to sit down. You perched yourself on the edge of the mattress, unable to meet his eyes, you were more than aware of how fucked up the situation between you and Frankie was. There was silence again as Santiago tried to decide which question he wanted an answer to most. The fact you had, had to question if he was asking how many times you let Frankie do coke off your body already told him it had to have been a couple times. This also made him wonder how many times you and Frankie had slept together for him to have had the opportunity to do drugs off your body multiple times. “How many times did he make you squirt?” he finally asked.

Your head shot up, you had not expected that to be the prioritised question right now. When you met Santiago's eyes they were dark, full of lust. It sent a feeling rocketing to your core and you were thankful you had sat because the tingling sensation that shot through your ass told you your knees would definitely have given way if you were still standing. Your voice was timid, “We talking about just the first night or in total?” you asked wanting clarity so you could give him an honest answer. Santiago's hand groped at his own face as he tried to rub away the building tension and frustration he was feeling.

By saying that, you were only confirming what he already suspected to be true. You and Frankie had had a fucked up affair while he had been out of the country. He wanted to be so mad at both of you for behaving so recklessly and being so stupid, but the knowledge that Fish had gotten you to squirt, the fact that you could squirt, was turning Santiago on like crazy. He just wanted a chance to try and make you cum like that for himself.

His feet felt like they had bricks attached to them with the weight of every agonisingly slow step he took towards you. Neither of you broke eye contact once as you waited patiently for him to clarify the answer he wanted. He came to a stop before you, his gaze baring down over you. You felt so small, so vulnerable. Santiago looked so powerful right now, a far sight from the man you had beautiful sex with the last time you saw him. You knew how guilty you felt for everything that had happened between you and Frankie but the worst part of all was you weren't sorry for any of it. You knew it had been wrong but you had fallen in love with Frankie Morales hook line and sinker and you'd been more than willing to look past all of the fucked up things he was doing, just so you could be with him. You felt guilty because you regretted none of it and would do it all again in a heartbeat and for that you wanted to be punished; and with the way Santiago Garcia was looking at you right now, you were more than willing to let him be judge, jury and executioner.

“Did he make you squirt the first time he fucked you?” He asked, his hands moving to start undoing his belt as he maintained direct eye contact with you the whole time. The sound of the chinking metal sent a flutter straight to your core.

“Yes.” you whispered breathlessly, ready to roll over onto your back right then and there and be submissive.

“How many times?” your eyes dropped from his gaze to watch him slowly pull the belt from the loops, the sound sending shivers across your skin. You were afraid to tell him because you knew Santiago was never one to shy away from a competition, he was overly competitive and you knew once you told him the number, his aim for the evening would be to best that. You watched closely as he bunched up the belt in one hand, the other reaching out to place a finger under your chin, lifting your head to meet his gaze again. “How many times?” his voice asked again, intimidating, calm and patient.

“Three.” your voice came back, small and timid. He gave a slight nod and you pulled your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation for what he would do next, your eyes staring up at him helplessly. He dropped the tender hold he had under your chin and turned away from you, taking slow and calculated steps towards a chair in the corner of the room. He dragged it back across the room with him, placing it in front of you. He slowly sat, his elbows resting on his knees, fiddling with the belt in his hand.

He could see the pain behind your eyes, your guilt clear on your face. He also knew you wanted to punish yourself, wanted him to help you do it, but he needed you to say it out loud. “What do you want me to do?” he asked. The question was soft, but still domineering.

“Please, Santi.” was all you could manage, your eyes screaming help me. You didn't care how he did it, but you wanted him to use your own pleasure as a weapon against you. Santiago bit down hard on his bottom lip, his trousers becoming tight as he looked at you helpless and desperate, releasing all your control to him. It was a power trip he never knew he wanted or needed.

He took a moment to centre himself, sitting up, his hands resting on his thighs as he thought through the best way to do this. “Take off your dress.” he said. He had a magic way of making his voice sound commanding without being threatening, it was cold, calculated and made you want to follow any order he gave you.

You lifted the dress the rest of the way up your thighs, bouncing slightly on the bed to allow you the space you needed to lift it over your ass. You bunched the fabric in your fingers as you pulled it up over the top of your head as Santiago stood. You dropped the dress, letting it fall to the floor by your feet. You sat patiently in your underwear, staring up at him, waiting for your next instruction. He placed his belt down on the chair before taking off his jacket. You couldn't help but stare at the muscles flexing in his arms as he hung the jacket on the back of the chair. “Lay back on the bed.” he said, his eyes not meeting yours as he made his way towards the bathroom. You were less than surprised when he came back with a towel.

He stood at the end of the bed, looking down at you laying back on the pillows in the middle of the mattress. He threw the towel down onto the bed, “Last chance to back out.” he said, his eyes boring into you. You remained silent as you continued to meet his gaze, your eye's telling him you weren't going to back out. After a minute of waiting and giving you plenty of time to change your mind, he finally gave you a brief nod, directing your gaze to the towel, silently instructing you to lay it out on the bed while he took a moment to take his shoes off.

You spread the towel out over the top of the covers, before taking your place inbetween the pillows again at the head of the bed. You watched him kick off his shoes before he crawled onto the bed, reaching his arm out for the belt that still sat on the chair, before making his way up the mattress towards you.

He tucked the belt into the palm of his hand as his fingers reached out for your ankles, spreading your legs out wide so he could kneel between them. He was leaning over you so close that if he leant down, only slightly, his lips would meet your own. He didn't lean down though. Instead he took hold of your wrists before leaning back on his heels. He silently began to wrap the belt around your wrists, not too tight, but tight enough that you wouldn't be able to break free from them without having to ask. He continued to stay silent, refusing to meet your eyes as he gently raised your hands above your head. You watched the look of concentration on his face, as he fixed the belt holding your hands, to the bedframe. The only sound in the room came from your slowly unsteadying breaths as the suspense and arousal built within you.

He ran a gentle finger lightly down your arm, the sensation making your skin tingle and you sucked your bottom lip inside your mouth to stop yourself from letting out a small gasp. Santiago wanted to let out a small chuckle from how powerful he felt from the sight, knowing you were becoming aroused already and he'd barely done anything. He forced his expression to remain icy and calculated, controlling, knowing the less he gave away, the more you're mind would race, making you squirm beneath him.

His hands reached for your legs, running his fingers slowly up the length of them, starting at your ankles and coming to a stop at your thighs, his hand giving them a light slap before his fingertips dug into the flesh. This time you really did let out a small moan as the sensation sent shockwaves straight to your core. Santiago really did allow himself a low controlled chuckle then. He watched intensely as your pupils dilated from the slight pleasure his touch had given you but then they contracted again, the shame of your aroused gasp making you bashful. He hadn't realised his pants could feel any tighter but they felt like they were suffocating him right now.

For the last year and a half, whenever he tried to have sex or jerk himself off, his mind had always wandered back to that last night he'd spent with you. He'd been itching to relive it for so long, but here now, seeing you like this, he already knew he had a new favourite memory of you; even if the circumstances that led you both here, hadn't been the most desirable.

He had leant forward again, his thumbs brushing against your inner thigh, as close to your panties as possible but not quite close enough to touch. It was torturous, much like how close his lips were to yours right now, but he made no move to actually kiss you. He knew how your brain worked, how easily it could run away with itself. All he had to do was leave hints for your body and your brain would fill in the rest, making your arousal only that much stronger because they were your own wants and needs, your true desires that were turning you on and that was much stronger than anything Santiago could do to you.

The sexual tension around the two of you buzzed in the air like electricity, sending tingles all through your body without either of you having to move. As you continued to stare into his lust filled eyes you slowly began to realise what he was doing. You'd always realised the physical power Santiago had over you and when you had left your plea open, unspecific, you had just assumed it would be that physical power that he would use on you to just take you, pound into you with no mercy, ripping your orgasms from you by force; but now you were realising just how much he understood your minds inner workings. This wasn't going to be a physical manipulation but a mental one, he was going to use your own overactive imagination against you and that really showed how much power he truly had over you and that would be what turned you on the most.

Your hips began to twist slightly, desperate for any friction you could get between your legs, your head leaning forward, desperate to feel his mouth against yours, his lips sucking and bruising your own; but he moved his head back just out of your reach, your hands pulling tight against their restraints as you tried to chase him. “Uh, uh, uh, I don't think so queirda.” he taunted you. You watched closely as he slowly ran the tip of his tongue over his lips, messing with your mind even more, making you even more desperate to taste them again. You bit your lip and wiggled your hips again, then flinched as Santi's hands slapped at your thighs once more, forcing you to stop. “You keep doing that, I'm gonna sit my ass in that chair and do nothing at all.” your eyes followed the tip of his finger as he took one of his hands off of your legs, to point at the chair still sitting at to the side of the bed. “Do you understand?” he asked, forcing your gaze back to his dark eyes. You timidly nodded and his eyes softened as he once more relished in the power you were giving him.

He slowly began to lean forward and for a moment you thought he was finally going to kiss you. You closed your eyes in anticipation but the sensation never came. You felt his breath against your skin as he let out a breathy chuckle; you were so desperate. He had to fight the shit eating grin that was threatening to spread across his face when your eyes opened to find out what had happened, realising he'd stopped, his lips millimetres from yours. He instead manoeuvred his head lower to brush his lips against your neck, small feather like kisses that tickled; barely there touches that messed with your brain. You felt your panties grow wetter, less so from his actual touch but the mental and emotional power behind his every move.

You remained still and patient and he rewarded you by applying further pressure with his lips, gently nibbling at the skin before licking the spot tenderly with the tip of his tongue and finally sealing each mark with a kiss. You sighed, your eyes closing and head rolling back as the fluttering sensation between your legs only grew. When he reached your clavicle he stopped, pulling his head back. You licked your lips, sucking them into your mouth and biting on them slightly to stop yourself from whining, knowing he'd only hold out on you more if you did.

You watched him in silence as he just sat back slightly, staring at your breasts. The longer he waited to do something, the more desperate your mind would race to fill in and work out what he was thinking about doing with them. Your eyes painfully followed the movement of his hands as they reached out to gently lift your boobs up and out of their constraints, the underwire from your bra digging into your ribs slightly with the new position your breasts were sitting in. He then sat back again to admire them, the cool air of the room prickling against your nipples making them stand erect.

Santiago hesitated a moment, his controlled resolve almost breaking at the sight. You watched him take a deep breath, fighting to ignore the growing pain between his legs as his erection pushed painfully against its confines. He suddenly caught you off guard as his hands reached forward towards you, one hand gently caressing your side, the other reaching to get a handful of one of your breasts, guiding it towards his mouth. It had been the fastest you'd seen him move all evening as he wrapped his tongue around your nipple before gently biting down on it, rolling it between his front teeth. You let out a gasp of pleasure, your head falling backwards, eyes closing, your body bucking forward at his touch, arms pulling at their restraints.

“Oh fuck.” the words fell from your mouth before you had a chance to catch yourself, your hips grinding your clit into the mattress. You froze a moment as you waited for him to stop, to pull away and go and sit in the chair away from you to punish you for not controlling yourself better, but he didn't.

Santiago felt your body go rigid beneath his touch and a devious smirk played at the corner of his lips as he realised just how much the weight of his previous threat had taken hold in your mind. He knew you were waiting for him to pull away, your own mind already torturing you; he instead decided he was going to push you over the edge. He began to slow down his movements, the tip of his tongue running slowly across your sensitive nipple that he still held gently between his teeth. His eyes kept a close watch on your face as you screwed up your eyes, your lips pursed together in a tight line, trying not to react so recklessly to his agonising touch again.

He pulled his mouth away from your nipple with a pop and he placed a gentle kiss over it before he moved his attention across to the other one. His moves became sporadic again as his other hand, removed itself from where it had been resting at your side, coming up to take your other breast between his fingers as he pushed it further up your chest, his fingertips forcefully digging in before he took that one too into his mouth with a squeeze. He felt your body buck at the stimulation, eager to get away from it before he tipped you over the edge too soon.

His hand relaxed and he slowly let go of your boobs, his fingers stroking across your skin until his hands were touching your thighs once more. He applied extra pressure to his hold, pushing them against the mattress, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. You became quickly intimidated by the coy and devilish smile that licked at the corners of Santiago's mouth. You knew that look all too well, his brain had given him an idea and you were not going to like it.

He gently nudged his knee forward inbetween your legs and it applied pressure to your needy clit. You practically flinched, trying to get away as the jolt of sensitivity shot through you. He let a low controlled laugh pass his lips. “Oh I don't think so princess.” he said grabbing hold of your hips, lifting them up, his knee coming to rest underneath you, your legs now straddling his thigh. It took all your strength to not immediately start grinding yourself against it, not until he gave you permission. “This is what you wanted isn't it?” his voice was low in your ear, taunting. “Well go on then.” he said with a slight nod of his head but you were hesitant to move, scared it was some kind of trap.

You felt his hold on your hips change as he began to encourage them to move and they of course betrayed you, following his rolling motion. You let out a small whine as your clothed clit, dragged across his thigh. You scrunched your face up, burying it against his shoulder. You had become so sensitive down there that the slightest movement was both full of pain and relief. Santiago listened attentively as your breaths became shallower, the strained noises you tried to suppress to not let on how much you were enjoying this, becoming more frequent. He released his hold on your hips, his fingers hovering just above them, testing to see if you'd carrying on grinding yourself against him without his encouragement. You did.

Santiago allowed you a moment to continue working yourself against his leg. He pulled his head away from you, forcing you both to look at each other. “Look at you, so fucking desperate.” he said, his voice low, eyes hungry. “Getting yourself off on my thigh like that.” you let out an audible moan then, unable to contain it, his taunting voice tipping you over the edge. “You getting close baby?” he asked and you silently nodded your head. “You want to cum all over my thigh?” You nodded your head desperately and he raised his eyebrows in response, encouraging you to use your words, to beg for him to let you cum.

“Please Santi, please.” you breathlessly whined. “I'm so fucking close and I need to cum so bad.” He remained still a moment, feeling your hips begin to buck ever faster on his leg, your eyes desperately searching his, aching for your release.

“No.” his voice was blunt as he moved his thigh out from underneath you, your hips bucking into the air, thighs squeezing desperately together, needing that friction back, you're eyes became teary as a guttural, frustrated cry fell from your lips. Your arms pulled tightly against their restraints, pulling your body back into the bed and even further away from him. The look on your face was one of betrayal as he got up from the bed and turned his back to you.

You panted heavily, your eyes fixed on his every move, as he gave you time to cool off while he grabbed himself a bottle of water from the mini fridge. He made a show of turning back to you as he opened up the bottle, bringing the cold clear liquid to his lips. Santiago knew what he was doing. He'd given you a moment to calm down but he'd just denied you your release when he knew you were so close and he knew how hot and sensitive you still were down there, your legs trying to subtly rub against each other to alleviate the pressure.

He leant back onto the bed, open bottle still in hand. He reached out for your ankle, pulling your legs apart with his free hand. His eyes locked onto yours, panicked and swimming in desperation. He held the bottle out in front of you, hovering over your most sensitive area. His eyebrows raised, taunting you. It took every inch of strength in your body to remain silent and not cave, to beg him not to. His hand began to tilt and he watched as your eyes flicked helplessly towards the bottle.

Your hips flinched as the icy water came into contact with your most intimate parts. He had only poured a little bit onto the area, directly over where he knew your clit was, but it was enough for your legs to kick out wildly. His grasp, still around your ankle, became firmer as he pushed it into the bed to hold you still as your breath came out as a hiss between your teeth. He held you there a moment longer, just to reinforce his power, before he stood up again, letting out a low chuckle as he crossed the room, taking another sip of water, before leaving it on top of the dresser. He paused there a moment, arms crossed, leaning back against the wood. Your eyes were locked on his in anticipation.

His movements were slow as he crept forward towards the bed, his hands sliding up the fabric underneath your legs until his fingers could hook around the elastic of your underwear, dragging them slowly down over your thighs, tickling your skin sending shivers through you. Your breathing hitched and you fought to remain quiet. “You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked as his lips began to kiss and nibble up the inside of your left leg, his right hand tracing circles around the inside of your right thigh. He looked up at you expectantly and you gave him a small nod. “Use your words princess.”

Just as your lips began to open, Santiago plunged his head between your legs, sucking your clit into his mouth hard. “Yes!” you cried out, more forcefully than you had originally been intending to. Santiago let out a low chuckle, as the power trip he was feeling took over his body. The vibrations of his lips against your clit made you squirm, pushing yourself further towards his mouth. He happily obliged your needs, lapping at your wet folds with his tongue, sucking your little sensitive bud into his mouth, every time he reached it. The sensation of his tongue and your over sensitivity made you whine, breathing heavily as you pulled against your restraints.

“God I've missed this.” Santiago pulled himself away from your folds for just a moment to allow the confession to slip freely from his mouth, before diving his tongue deeper into them once more. You let your eyes close, head rolling back, your body relaxing into his touch as you let out a long moan of satisfaction.

Your body jerked forward again suddenly, your head whipping forward to look at him as he suddenly plunged two of his fingers deep inside you. He began to curl them forwards, thrusting them quickly inside you. Your eyes blew wide as a familiar sensation began to build up between your legs, a feeling you'd only ever felt when being fucked by Frankie.

Santiago suddenly felt your body stiffen, as you realised how close you were to squirting for him. He felt how your vaginal walls started constricting, instead of relaxing into the feeling, you were trying to pull away from it. He looked up at the panic in your eyes as the thought that had suddenly raced into your mind took root. 'Frankie was the only one you wanted to let. make you cum like that.'

Santiago quickly took his fingers out of you, slapping his hands against your thighs in frustration, the guttural cry of you being denied another orgasm, ripping through the hotel room along with it. When he looked at you there were tears at the corners of your eyes. You were so desperate to cum but he could also see the deep feelings you had for his best friend clear on your face. No matter how much he wanted to see you squirt for him, he wasn't going to force you to if you didn't want to; but it didn't mean he couldn't feel a little bitter about it and if you didn't want to cum the way he wanted you too, then fine, he wasn't going to let you cum at all, not until you were begging him.

“Fuck.” you sneered under his piercing gaze. Your clit felt like it was on fire, you should have just let him make you squirt, but your body had made the decision for you before your brain could even comprehend why it had done it. You could tell by the look in his eyes though that he knew full well why.

He finally broke the brief silence, his voice coming out cold. “Fine. You want to go back to playing the edging game, we can go back to playing the edging game.” he said shrugging his shoulders slightly, his head tilting to gauge your reaction. You recognised the dark look in his eyes. It was the same look he got on a mission, ready to go in for the kill, determined to finish the job. You knew the moment you dropped your little piece of information it would send him into a competitive spiral. He had given you a final chance to back out before you started but you hadn't, you had given him full control and now he was reminding you of that.

“Santi, no please.” you begged, you needed your release so bad.

“You should have thought about that before you decided to hold out on me.” he said as he moved his thumb over your swollen clit, applying pressure, making you squirm and moan under his touch. “I thought you said you were going to be a good girl for me?” you didn't realise his voice could drop any lower, but it did and he felt your lower half tense as it reacted to the words. He slowly lowered his thumb, dragging it through your arousal that was dripping out of you. He brought it up to your lips and you submissively opened, sucking his thumb into your mouth, tasting yourself.

Santiago's pupils grew wider, the problem in his pants becoming noticeable again as he felt your tongue flex around his thumb. Fuck, he needed his own release just as much as you wanted yours. He slipped his thumb from your mouth, wrapping his fingers around your jaw. “You gonna be a good girl for me?” he asked again. His voice was soft, encouraging you to say yes so he could finally plunge his cock into you, just like he'd thought about doing almost everyday for the last year and a half.

As soon as you nodded, he wasted no time, his hands racing to take off his clothes before latching his lips onto your mouth. If your kiss had been a drug, then he had definitely just relapsed. You shuffled yourself underneath him, making it easier for him to line himself up with your entrance.

He gave you no warning before thrusting forward, sheathing himself inside you quickly with one swift movement. Your hips bucked up into him, trying to take him as deep as you possibly could, your mouth hanging open mid kiss. He allowed you a single second to adjust before his hips started rolling into you, his cock rubbing devastating against your sweet spot with every thrust.

He moved his hand, placing his fingers around your throat, holding you firmly as he relentlessly thrusted up into your wet cunt. “Santi, please.” you breathlessly whispered into his lips, your eyes motioning up to your arms. He took his hand off your throat, reaching a hand up to release the belt from the headboard but didn't untie your wrists. You lowered your still bound arms, over his head and he wrapped his arms around you, bringing your body up closer to his, your hips lifting from the bed.

The new position provided him with the perfect angle at which to rub against that special spot inside you and you soon found that familiar feeling from before building inside you. He could feel it, your walls pushing back against him and he let his head fall, burying it into the crook of your neck, waiting for you to tense again and try and shy away from it like you had before but you didn't. He quickly lifted his head then, looking down between the two of you, as he felt your pussy push his cock out of you on his backward thrust, your release spilling all over the bed as you cried out in pleasure. Santiago swore it was the best thing he'd ever seen. He looked back up into your cock dumb eyes, his lips latching onto yours, thanking you for the gift you were giving him. “There it is. That's my girl.” he praised before thrusting back inside you.

-----------------------------------

“I need you on this job.” he said softly, his fingers tracing over your back as you lay, still naked, in his arms a few hours later. You shifted to look up at him.

“I can't Santi.” you replied, shaking your head slightly. He could see the pain behind your decision clear in your eyes. You knew what he was asking of you without him even saying it and you knew you couldn't do it. You were too emotionally attached to the other guys and you weren't ready to face Frankie again, the phone call earlier only reinforcing that more. You would be a weak link and you didn't want to put Santiago's hard work at risk.

“Okay.” he conceded gently, pulling you back into his chest and placing a kiss on top of your head.

“Who else did you ask already?” your voice asked quietly.

“No one yet.” he confessed and you looked back up at him confused, realising he had made you his first point of call, his priority team member. “This job means everything to me. It's everything I've been working towards over the last few years. When the information I needed to make this a reality came up, you were the first person that entered my head.”

“Why me?” your question came out as more of a whisper.

“Because I've never met anyone, who is as good at our job as you are.” For some reason his words hurt, because he was right. You were the best out of all of you for what he wanted to do. He came all the way to Italy to prove how much he needed your help, but you couldn't give it to him. You wanted to go against your better judgement and just tell him you'd do the job anyway, but you couldn't. Instead you buried your head back into his chest, your embrace around him growing tighter as you tried to reassure him, let him know how sorry you truly were.

----------------------------------------------------

@icanbeyourjedi @theshiningharmony @darnitdraco @kesskirata @wyn-dixie @rosiefridayrogersunday @actual-spawn-of-satan @clydesducktape @asta-lily @honey-hi @heythere-mel @heidi-toevs @wigofokoye @choricenter @goodgriefitsawildworld @lostgirlheather @d0uwannkn0w @justdrawings101 @nicotinebirds @bisexualolympus @babyratt19 @cookiecat22 @peterhollandkait @a-bang-for-your-bucky @asta-lily @codenamewife @lazyunknownwerewolf @emmy626 @natura1phenomenon @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @fangirl-316 @thisisthewaytofiction @rosiefridayrogersunday-reads @aficwhore @slayerx147 @alberta-sunrise @itspdameronthings @nano-pax @bunnypascal @niki-xie

#triple frontier #triple frontier x reader #reader insert #santiago pope garcia #santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #will miller #william ironhead miller #will miller x reader #what benny doesn’t know #benny miller

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clouditae · 4 years

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First Love | 12

Word: 3.8k

You first saw him in the multi-purpose room. Later learn his name, and on your third year, as he becomes your neighbor, you discover his lifestyle. Knowing your crush on him was nothing but that, you wanted to find the courage to look for love. Asking your friend for help, you’re pointed in the direction of the expert. Your neighbor, Min Yoongi

Chapter Index

Ari opens the door, tossing her backpack to the floor. You weren’t expecting her to come back so early that when the door loudly creaks from the force of the door opening, you jump in surprise. She looks to you with a triumphant look on her face as she practically yells with the door still closing, “I got an A on my fucking paper!” The door slams shut as she does a weird and awkward dance.

“Good job. I knew you could do it,” you congratulate, saving your work on your computer.

Ari kicks her backpack with no care in the world as to what she has inside. “Let’s celebrate,” she extolls, pulling off her hoodie and tossing it on her bed.

You turn your body to the left where she stands, picking up her backpack and putting it on her bed. “Celebrate?”

“Yeah. It’s Friday, I got a well deserved grade after almost breaking my wrist, and I am in the mood for some good food and a drink or seven.”

“What about Hoseok?” Ever since Hoseok and Ari got together, they’ve been inseparable. You sometimes wonder if you’ll be like that when you get a boyfriend. All couples eventually spend time separately, right? You sometimes feel really disappointed in yourself for not knowing a lot when it comes to relationships.

“He’s staying after class with some of his classmates to study for a test that ends tonight,” she says, disbelief evident in her tone.

“Why hasn’t he taken the test yet?”

“I don’t know? He seemed really nervous about this test, so all he’s done is study like there’s no tomorrow. I hope he takes it soon because the longer he waits, the harder it will be to answer questions as time ticks by.” Ari shakes her head, walking to her closet and opening the door. “Are you going in sweats?” She looks at you through the mirror.

You blink at her. “We’re actually going?”

She scoffs, “Yeah. I wasn’t joking, Y/N.” She pulls out a red spaghetti strap and a black jacket. Removing her shirt, she slips on her top. “I want food and some drinks.”

You sigh, “Can’t we just order takeout and sneak some alcohol in?”

“And get in trouble?”

You stare at her, contemplating if sneaking alcohol is really worth it. Groaning, you get up from your seat. “How far are we going?” You walk to your closet, opening the door to grab your jeans and whatever black shirt you first grab. There is no patience when it comes to picking outfits. You just blindly pick and go and hope it looks nice on you.

“It’s only down the street,” she exclaims, taking a set at her desk to fix her makeup at her little mirror. Changing clothes, you realize you put on a turtleneck. You didn’t know you have this type of shirt in your closet. You’ve seen a lot of professional looks with turtlenecks, but you can’t remember buying this and found no reason to wear it. “That’s a cute look,” Ari suddenly says, her body turned towards you. You watch her get up from her seat, making her way towards you. She unbuttons your pants and pushes the lower half of your shirt in your pants. “You’ll look even cuter like this. Plus you have a nice ass, so show it off.” Your hands unconsciously go to your butt, suddenly feeling self conscious. Ari buttons your pants and tells you, “No one will look. You’ll be sitting the whole time.” She pulls your shirt out just a bit to give it a baggy look. “There. Now your cute ass will get attention, but you’ll just look like you’re not interested and they’ll be sad not to have the opportunity to speak to the gorgeous Y/N.”

Ari just seems to have a way with words.

After a few more minutes of double checking for everything, the two of you leave your dorm and head the usual route towards the front parking lot. As you pass Yoongi and Hoseok’s door Ari yells, “Let’s go get you drunk and a boyfriend, Y/N!”

You place your hand over her mouth. “Why are you yelling?” you whisper, checking behind you to see if anyone heard her.

Ari removes your hand from over her mouth. “I’m showing Yoongi you’re better off without him,” she replies, the two of you walking past the stairwell and into the hallway where the exit to the front is.

“What makes you think Yoongi is even in his room?” The two of you are halfway down the hall when the sound chatter can be heard as you pass a group of doors.

Ari shrugs. “The dude never goes anywhere besides class and his room right?” You don’t know yourself. A majority of the time you spent with him was either in his room or somewhere else that not many people from campus went to. “I want him to know you’re about to get dicked down and he’s missing out on a fine ass girl.”

“I’m about to what?” What does that even mean?

Ari laughs as the two of you exit the building and head down the stairwell. “Not today obviously, but it’s to make him jealous.”

“We don’t even know if he likes me,” you counter, following a group of students walking towards the front gate entrance.

“Opposites attract, Y/N.”

“I’m attracted to him, but that doesn’t mean he’s attracted to me.”

Ari loops her arm through yours. “You never know. He might have a crush on shy, innocent types.”

“Wishful thinking, Ari,” you say, shaking your head as the two of you reach the sidewalk and make your way up towards the bar that sits at the corner. There are a few other students a bit up ahead making their way towards the bar as well, their loud chatter can be heard from where you and Ari walk.

“So, how’s your project coming along? Don’t you have like two weeks left?” The two of you pass a hotel. The neon light hanging on the window to the reception flickers every few seconds. Everything is quiet in that building until you pass the seafood restaurant where you can see a few people laughing from the window. It looks more lively than the hotel.

“It’s going great surprisingly.” You rub your arm for a little more warmth. “I just have to finish my body and conclusion and then sum it a bit more for the poster.”

“Damn. So you’ll have it done earlier than anyone when it comes to projects,” Ari whistles.

“People finish their projects a week or more before the due date,” you say, the two of you are now closer to the bar where you know heat will be.

“People who are smart finish weeks before. The rest of us procrastinate,” she laughs, shaking her head. The bar is now within a few feet when Ari says through chattering teeth, “We’re running. I can’t do this anymore.” You don’t have much of an option as she begins to jog towards the building, dragging you with her. Pushing through the door the smell of nachos and burgers invade your senses, your stomach rumbling in hunger. Ari removes her arm from around yours, pushing you towards the seating area. “Go find us a table. I’ll grab the food and drinks.”

Walking further into the building, you look around for an empty table. The walls where the tables and booths occupy are yellow while the brick wall has the kitchen and cashier against it. You scan the room in search of someone leaving, but to your luck you don’t have to look long until you find an empty booth at the far end of the room. You make your way over as another group of people get up from their table, gathering their backpacks after what looks like studying. You take a seat just as Ari makes her way over holding two bottles.

As Ari takes a seat across from you, she hands you the clear bottle with a green substance inside and says, “Flavored alcohol tastes so much better. Plus you’ll want more.”

Thanking your roommate, you take the glass and take a swig of it. It tastes like apples. “Has Hoseok started his test yet?”

“Yeah. When I last texted him, he was getting ready to start the test. He’s nervous and I told him you said "good luck”. He gave me one of those crying faces.“

"I hope he passes,” you mutter as you bring the rim of the glass to your lips. After another drink you add, “Is he coming here after his test or will he just go back to his room?”

Ari thinks for a moment, opening her mouth to answer when the speaker above says, “Ari, please come to the front. Your order is ready.”

She gets up and makes her way to the counter at the front where your food is waiting. From afar you watch her grab the tray, say a few words to the worker and make her way back to your table. “He’s just going to go back to the dorms. He sounded tired over the phone when we last talked,” she answers, putting the tray down and taking her seat.

On the tray is a plate of a greasy cheeseburger and fries; the other plate has nachos with jalapenos. “You got a burger, too?”

“Yeah. I was just going to get nachos for the both of us because it’s a lot, but I was craving a burger, too.” She shrugs. “We’ll share both and have the night of our lives.” You chuckle, grabbing a chip with a jalapeno barely hanging on by the string of cheese that’s attempting to escape from your mouth.

You grab the plate that holds the burger and fries, pulling it towards you. Picking up the knife that’s placed between the fries and greasy stack, you cut the burger in half, careful to not give one side more than the other. “Midterms are starting in two weeks, do you know if all your classes will have them or just some?” you ask, pushing the plate back to the middle for Ari to reach.

She groans, “All of them are going to have a midterm. One of them is a fucking paper that has to be seven pages long.”

“Seven? Which class is that?” You also wonder when she was given the information about the paper, and how long she originally had to write it. Ari is a big procrastinator. If she can avoid doing work immediately, she will and give herself a few days to work on it with all the stress jumping at her.

She shoves a few fries in her mouth in an aggressive manner. “Modern Asia,” she answers, mouth full of chewed up food. “He gave us this big list of documents we need to pick from and watch. Then we have to write a paper on it and answer the questions he has for them. There are seven documents on six different countries.”

“Which one are you picking?” You grab a few nacho chips, flipping it so that the cheese wraps around and coats the chip more.

“Uzbekistan.” She grabs half of the burger, taking a bite out of the corner. “The People, History, and Culture of Uzbekistan to be more specific. It’s on YouTube so it won’t be a mission to find the video, but a big distraction because it’s on YouTube.” Ari takes another bite, bigger this time, of her burger. “This is really good.” She looks up to you. “Should I buy another one?”

“We haven’t made a dent in the nachos yet. Plus we still have the fries to finish,” you inform, clearly shocked that Ari’s ready for more.

“Take a bite of the damn burger and you’ll know what I mean,” she commands, gesturing to your half that sat on your plate in all its glory.

You roll your eyes, doing as told. You can’t deny that it smells amazing and your mouth waters at the endless possibilities as to what it’ll taste like. When you take that bite, it’s like taking a bite out of heaven. Sure you’re being over dramatic, but you totally understand Ari wanting to buy another one. “I’ll go get one,” you tell her, getting up from your seat and taking your bag with you while Ari laughs.

You get to the back of the small line, opening your bag and pulling out your wallet. “Next in line,” a voice calls from behind the counter. You take a step forward, now being two people behind before you’re called. You have to double check to make sure you brought your money with you. There were a few times when you just leave your money at home and have to go the day without eating when you’re stuck on campus all day. You get lucky sometimes when Ari would bring you your missing items. The worker calls for the next customer to come up.

“Y/N?” You look behind you to see a familiar face. A familiar face with a name you cannot remember. It’s your partner during beer pong. The handsome guy who any person would want to date. He’s easygoing and funny and friendly, and you cannot remember his name.

“Hey,” you say, trying your best not to sound lost because his name is not coming to mind. “How are you?”

“Good, good. A friend of mine and I were tired from studying, so we decided to come here for a few drinks and some food.” A voice calls for the next person; the two of you move up. “What about you?”

“My friend got an A on her paper. She wanted to go out and celebrate.”

“That’s awesome! I’d do the same if I were her,” he laughs, his smile actually making your heart race as he runs his fingers through his jet black locks.

“Hey, Hanbin,” a male voice calls, coming up to the line. Hanbin. That’s his name. “There’s no empty tables. You just wanna eat outside or bounce?”

“Really? Ah, man.” You watch as Hanbin looks around the building in hopes of someone leaving their table.

“You can eat with us,” you say before you can even stop yourself from letting the words escape your mouth.

Hanbin and his friend look at you. “Really?” the stranger asks.

You can’t say no. You already messed up, and saying no will only make you look like a jerk. “Yeah.” Good job Y/N.

“We don’t want to impose,” Hanbin tells you, looking a little nervous.

“It’s okay.” Where is all this false confidence coming from? “It’s up to you if you want,” you say, turning around and pointing in the direction you and Ari are sitting. “We’re over there if you want to join.”

“Next in line.”

You turn back around and make your way up to the cashier. You give your order for the second burger you and Ari are about to devour, paying and making your way towards your booth where Ari finishes her half of the burger. “I messed up,” you rush, grabbing your drink and placing it on her side of the table.

“Messed up? What’d you do?” Ari asks, suddenly being pushed further in the booth as you scoot in. “What are you doing?”

“Remember Hanbin? The boy I told you was my partner at the party?” You grab the plates and pull them closer to the two of you.

“Yeah?”

“Well he was standing in line behind me and we had small talk and the next thing I know, I invited him and his friend to sit with us,” you profess in a shaky voice.

“You just invited two guys over?” she asks in an ambivalent tone.

You can see her from the corner of your eye staring at you as you babble, “Yes.”

Her hand moves to her chest. “Has my little Y/N grown up?”

You turn to look at her in surprise. “You’re not mad?”

She laughs, “No. Why would I be?”

“Because you’re dating Hoseok and it’ll look bad if someone saw you chatting with a guy?” Isn’t that how it works? You’ve seen it in movies and it always leads to problems—eventually solved.

“Hoseok trusts me just like I trust him. I’d never cheat on him, and we’re not stopping each other from having opposite sex friends.” She shrugs, looking behind you. “Is that them?”

You turn to look in the direction her eyes are focused on. Hanbin and his friend stand by the soda fountain, getting their drinks. “Yeah. The boy with the green jacket is Hanbin and I don’t know the other guy’s name,” you confess, wondering if it’s rude to not introduce yourself. Then again, he didn’t either.

Ari’s voice is now closer to you as she speaks, “Don’t tell Hoseok but he’s really cute. Why not date him? Tall, fit and handsome? That’s a whole package.” She suddenly gasps, “His package must be—”

You cover her mouth with your hand. “Do not finish that sentence,” you sputter, glancing around to see if anyone heard you. To your luck no one’s paying attention to you and your perverted friend.

Aris swats your hands away. “He’s cute, Y/N. And if he comes over and sits with us, then he’s interested in you, too.”

“Or he’s looking for a seat because there is none,” you counteract, grabbing a nacho and shoving it in your mouth. “Also, I’m not interested in him.”

“Guess we’ll see.” A voice speaks over the speaker, calling your name. “Time to devour a delicious burger.” She slaps her hand on your shoulder, pushing you out of the booth.

Groaning, you get up and make your way to the pick-up counter, telling the person your name and getting your order. “Are you sure it’s okay?” Hanbin asks, suddenly appearing next to you to grab his own order.

You almost jump, gripping the plate tighter. He looks to you unsure if he’s allowed to follow. You can feel your heart racing. This is strange. Ari’s words are just getting to you. “Yeah,” you swallow, looking anywhere but at him. “It’s fine.” You are not growing feelings for him.

“Thank you so much, Y/N. I really wanted to eat some chicken strips,” he laughs, his voice sounding smoky.

Oh God you like him.

You, Hanbin and Matthew, he tells you, shaking your hand so enthusiastically, make your way towards your booth. Ari is busy stuffing her face with fries to even notice you three until you set the plate down and take a seat next to her. She looks up, eyes wide and fries sticking out of her mouth. Thankfully she waves rather than talk with her mouth full of food. Matthew gets in first followed by Hanbin.

“Uh.” You glance at Ari who quickly chews on her food. “This is my friend and roommate, Ari.” You point to Matthew. “Ari, this is Matthew and this is Hanbin,” you finish, pointing to the boy in front of you.

“Hello,” Ari starts, once she’s chewed and swallowed her fries, “I’m really hungry, and these fries are good.”

Matthew gasps, “They are.” He turns to Hanbin. “I told you this place has some fucking good food.”

Ari looks to Hanbin as if he offended her. “You’ve never been here before?” He looks at her with a lost expression. He clearly doesn’t know how to respond. To his luck, however, he doesn’t have to as Ari adds, “It’s a good thing you have a friend like Matthew to introduce you to nirvana.”

The brunette haired boy snaps his fingers, pointing to your friend. “Exactly.”

“What’s your major?” Ari asks, grabbing the second plate that has the burger to cut it in half.

“Biomedical sciences,” he answers, taking a bite out of his taco.

“Oh? That sounds interesting. What exactly do you study?” Ari rests her arms on the table, leaning forward. The burger no longer exists to her.

“Just kind of the understanding of biological and chemical systems of the human body. What about you?”

“Linguistics, and Y/N here is a photography major.”

Matthew’s eyes are now on you. “Oh another art type.”

“Art type?” you question, finally taking bites out of your half of the first burger.

“Yeah. Photography creates art; stand-still pieces. There’s art galleries for photography, right?” Matthew glances between you and Ari.

“Yeah, I believe so,” Ari replies, popping a fry into her mouth.

“Plus Hanbin here is also an art type,” he begins, nudging his friend with his elbow, “Film.”

“You’re a film major?” You look to him, completely invested in his stories you want him to tell.

He gives you a shy smile. “Yeah.”

And just like that the rest of the night is a blur. You four eat and definitely drink. Ari and Matthew are drunk while you and Hanbin are buzzed. You mainly have conversations with Hanbin half the time the four of you sit. The two of you talk about film and photography—things you do and try to make your work look better. Eventually Matthew’s girlfriend comes and picks him up. Ari gushes at how cute she is and you have to apologize for how… gushy she is. Matthew’s girlfriend doesn’t seem to mind much as she smiles and walks a drunk Matthew out of the building.

After a while you and Hanbin decide it’s time to head out. Hanbin offers to walk you back to your dorm, and rather than politely decline his offer you say, “Please.”

Now you and Hanbin are chuckling at Ari as she whines about how much she loves Hoseok. Reaching your room you unlock the door for Ari to stumble in and get ready for bed. You keep the door cracked open as you look back at Hanbin.

“Thank you for the walk back.”

He shakes his head. “No problem. With everyone being drunk, you never know who’s trying to start something.”

You smile. “Still, I appreciate it.”

His smile is even bigger as he points to the way you just come from. “So I can head back the way we came?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Guess I should head out. Be sure to give Ari some water and medicine for her headache if she gets one.” You nod. “We should do this again,” he says, scratching the back of his neck.

“Definitely. Goodnight and have a safe drive home,” you say, voice quieter than before.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he mumbles, and it’s so sudden.

An instant that makes your heart race and realization hit as he presses his lips to your forehead, leaving before you can say anything. You touch the spot where his lips met your skin.

You have a crush on him.

#bangtanuniversity #bangtanarmynet #thebtswritersclub #btsgoldnet #btswritersguild #bts #bts x you #bts x reader #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts au #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi au

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kaminohana · 3 years

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the meme man full analysis

Yeehaw here we go. Analysis of Mikoto Kayano’s video and song, along with some theories about the many themes and symbols in the video. Note: If there’s any other supplemental material for him out there, I haven’t read it. This is just an analysis with the music video we were given. If I happen to miss stuff that was mentioned before, I may talk about it in another post lmao

I was SUPER invested in this video as I watched it and soon realized “Oh shit, I think Mikoto’s plural”. Cuz, you know, I’m plural too (not disclosing what kind) and it felt SO good to see some actual parallels to stuff I go through- though of course not to Mikoto’s degree.

That said, I feel I should make a disclaimer in passing: yes, portraying your only plural character as homicidal ain’t the best representation. But, you know, we’ve seen other cases like that in Milgram so I’m just gonna leave it at that. Personally, I’m not that offended because the execution is SO top-notch. Though, hey, I totally understand how this can be very frustrating to other systems to see plurality depicted in such an unhealthy light- if it’s not for you, it’s not for you.

Keep in mind the point of the Milgram series is to make you uncomfortable in so quickly incriminating someone; if you’re hesitating to determine someone as guilty, hey, that’s probably intended and good! It’s about personal decision, so I’m not going to judge you one way or the other in voting. I just find it fascinating how these videos can put us in such conflict. This is all just my own perspective, BTW, so if you disagree with some of these points, good! I’m just hoping to share my thoughts since I can make a lot of connections. I’m by no means an expert in plurality or tarot, I just have some background in both and decided to try my hand at this analysis, so I really don’t the final say on what’s going on in the video.

Now, onto the actual video analysis.

I’m sticking with the basic idea that Mikoto is split into two parts; his more loveable, gentler side, which I referred to in another post as Softboy Mikoto, and the more violent side which may be acting as a catharsis to his frustrations. I referred to this side previously as the Devil alter, as he is depicted with the Devil major arcana tarot card. I can see how this could be taken badly, so for now I’m just going to refer to him as the shadow alter. There are many themes of duality in the video, most commonly with the symbol of the half moon which appears so many times. Shadow of the moon etc etc. I’ll be bringing this up several times as I analyze the lyrics. I’ll be breaking down the lyrics as evidence to support the idea that Mikoto is plural, and to show how softboy Mikoto (and shadow alter Mikoto) view this particular relationship and how this culminates in murder. Sometimes I refer to Mikoto (as a whole), softboy Mikoto, or shadow alter Mikoto depending on what I’m trying to describe in the below.

First piece: the title. MeMe. Me x2. A dead giveaway, like Umbilical. Also, it can be a meme, which is interesting taking the definition of the word meme in this context: “an element of a culture or system of behavior passed from one individual to another by imitation or other nongenetic means” (Oxford Dictionaries). HMMMM. I know memes are generally within the context of a community, but I think it’s interesting to actually apply this to Mikoto. What exactly is being passed on? Could we argue that Mikoto’s frustrations from one of his parts is being passed on to the other? Interesting to think about, though it may not be relevant.

Going into the lyrics:

So from here I’m guessing there was a point in Mikoto’s life where his plurality was not an issue; or, potentially, there was a time before his split. These were the good times.

Playing dead vs. being alive – representing duality. May refer to how, when one side has their way, the other is locked away in the headspace with no control, thus feeling like being dead. In the context of “if only”, perhaps he’s wishing that he just didn’t do anything if only to prevent things from getting this far.

“If” I could end- I believe Mikoto (particularly softboy Mikoto) is saying “Hey, I have no control over my other side. If I did, would things still be the same? Would I still be ‘letting’ this happen?”

“Keep it” and “hide it away” I feel like are both representative of his shadow alter and of the desires that alter represents. Many words related to destruction are tied to this alter, so it could be seen as Mikoto trying to hide those urges as well.

“’I’ will save ‘me’”- this is a very interesting line that I think very well encapsulates the shadow alter’s initial motives; he’s saying “hey, I’m going to take care of us,” I believe to try and convince softboy Mikoto to let him out. As far as if softboy Mikoto can actually “let” him out is TOTALLY up for debate.

Part of the reason I refer to the other alter as softboy Mikoto is because there are softer words I notice used by him in the song; here’s I’m seeing “snuggle”, so I think this side of him is more vulnerable and soft.

SWITCH, shake up that brain- wow couldn’t be any more obvious here

This is where the chorus starts. This I think is from softboy Mikoto’s perspective, PARTICULARLY when he’s trapped in the headspace. There are many forms of plurality IRL in which alters cannot simultaneously front, so one or more are “pushed” back into the headspace. This very act occurs several times throughout the song in the weird minimalist vaporwave shadow realm room, where the tarot cards are. During this time, we can assume that is when the shadow alter is fronting. Softboy Mikoto slowly starts to become more helpless and fearful in this space as the song goes on, and this is where he makes his celtic cross tarot spread that quite frankly defines the whole song. I discussed that in my other post.

Another facet of plurality that is applied here is amnesia, which is common, especially when alters are pushed back to the headspace. Within the headspace, there may be a lack of awareness to the outside world, which Mikoto seems to express in his confused sentiments like the above (in the video, he is also scratching his head, which as a gesture can represent being confused). “Why am I here?” can act as a double entendre, both referring to “Why have I suddenly been pushed to this headspace?” as well as the whole point of Milgram- “Why am I in prison?”. He may not be aware of exactly what he did, hence why he feels it’s a mistake. He may be experiencing amnesia of what his shadow alter is doing, so he doesn’t even know what crime he committed. However, he at least has enough awareness to tell someone else is present in his body doing things, so he begs the viewer “Hey, just watch whatever my body is doing and it’ll all eventually make sense. I don’t have access to this information, but you do.” I thought this was an interesting fourth wall break.

The truth revealing itself could also be the truth coming to light from the particular tarot reading he does in the headspace; note that the cards only seem to be appear in this place and not in the outside world. So softboy Mikoto is trying to figure out what’s going on this way. If he can’t figure it out himself, maybe the cards can give him some direction.

Another duality- “I won’t forgive you if you reveal the truth” vs. “However I know I’m right when I say I’m innocent”. Or he could be right about something else.

I’m wondering if the breaking here is just reflecting the shadow alter or is softboy Mikoto actually wishing he could end the shadow alter. He at least wants things to change; the way things are right now is not something he’s okay with. Though, it sounds like he isn’t getting help with this and has no idea if he can even arrest full control again. It seems at this point, this has been going on for a while so he’s stopped trying.

In the video, the shadow alter is doing a GREAT job hiding the evidence; while of course probably just trying to not get caught, the shadow alter may also be trying to hide his crime from softboy Mikoto so he’s none the wiser.

He’s hoping he can be rid of the shadow alter side, but I think he also is dumping all his difficult feelings onto the shadow alter. Maybe he feels its some sort of release, even if he can’t control it, so he feels a lot of guilt over the shadow alter’s existence, even though that alter is serving a purpose as a conduit for those emotions.

I really really think though that there IS some connection between softboy Mikoto and shadow alter Mikoto. Maybe they are both truly aware of each other, hence the scene where they are viewing each other through the mirror. I think here, softboy Mikoto might be admitting that it feels good to let the shadow alter out, like a hug. The “minus energy” probably refers to the shadow alter.

“Maybe it’s okay that we’re separated like this?” he wonders. There seems to be a sense of feeling alive at least that is conveyed through the shadow alter.

SPLIT IN HALF- yeah, again, pretty encompassing.

In the video, I think this is when we have a switch, as Mikoto’s expression changes in the outside world mirror.

The chorus again, softboy Mikoto is shoved into the vaporwave shadow realm headspace. He’s asking the audience to investigate him here, but I also like to joke that he’s like “uwu look at me I could never harm anybody, pwease let me out”, which may be true only so far as softboy Mikoto is out.

I wonder if in “I will NEVER forgive you if this is happening to me” is directed at the shadow alter instead of the audience? Like softboy Mikoto is saying “I swear to god if you murdered someone im gonna be so pissed, but I also already kinda know it’s happening.” Just another take.

In the video, softboy Mikoto is THROWN into the headspace, where he is gifted with just one hint of what’s going on: The Devil tarot card.

You DARE accuse Miette of murder? Oh! 1000 years jail for Milgram viewer!

Now the vaporwave space starts to turn into a bloody mess; perhaps now softboy Mikoto is starting to put two and two together.

“Hurting it, holding it down, it doesn’t change anything, does it”- I definitely understand this being plural, like if your alters are causing problems, you may try and chastise them, or you may try and lock them away deep inside, but that often doesn’t stop them from existing. It’s really cool how that idea is present here. Like YES that’s how it is quite often. So even if softboy Mikoto TRIES to smother or accuse his shadow alter, that’s not going to change anything.

It being the same anywhere he goes makes me think he’s been putting up with this for a long time, that it’s not about what environment he’s in because his shadow alter is with him everywhere he goes.

“It’s like what’s wrong isn’t wrong”- may be referring to multiple things:

-the shadow alter having a different morality (hence why murder is okay for him, his indulgence in smokes and…redbull/alcohol, etc)

-OR, how softboy Mikoto’s amnesia isn’t letting him understand the full picture so everything is okay when he’s out fronting (shadow alter cleaned the place up and stuff, perhaps hiding all evidence of murder)

-“I’m already the fake one”- a very common sentiment for plural folks, worrying if you as an alter aren’t “the original” or if you’re not actually split and it’s something you’re making up, etc. I think softboy Mikoto is having these feelings. Poor boy, wish we could get you some therapy instead :/ (all of Milgram would be very different if only most of these people could get therapy, let’s be honest)

Now, what’s special here is that BOTH alters are in the headpace, with shadow alter Mikoto looming ominously behind softboy Mikoto.

During this next instrumental, just a side note: we see what’s going on through security footage. The security cameras reflecting a third person perspective is kind of neat in context of pluralism, where someone else fronting can feel like a third person awareness to another alter. I may be thinking too much into this one, but it’s a fun connection.

Another thing many plural folk go through: DISSOCIATION FROM REALITY. Ah yes, my good friend dissociation. Especially like in Mikoto’s case, where the consequences of being split have drastic consequences, he could be running away from the truth which may always be partially concealed to him. Something’s VERY wrong, he knows this for sure, and it may be at this point he really realizes “Oh shit. I just committed murder.” But instead of taking responsibility in any way, he’s trying to imagine that it’s a fabricated reality. I’m not going to say if this makes him bad or not, but it is a known coping mechanism.

I know I mention that the bad habits of smoking and drinking may be the shadow alters habits, but they could also be softboy Mikoto’s own methods of escapism, which definitely fits with the above lyrics. “I need to wake up soon”- but he still realizes that he’s going to have to face the harsh truth of reality soon.

Now this point indicates a marked change in softboy Mikoto and shadow alter Mikoto’s relationship: I believe there may be a time when softboy Mikoto expects to come back out to the front, but now the shadow alter is starting to take over fully and keep softboy Mikoto locked inside. This is supported by the Outcome card in his celtic cross spread being The Devil. Not only does this card have its own meanings, but here it may mean that the more violent side of him takes over.

Again, don’t know if he’s talking to the audience or his shadow alter in never forgiving this outcome. I believe softboy Mikoto does have a clearer morality in that murder is NOT okay, and if he were to fully acknowledge that he as a whole was capable of that, I think he’d break down. So he’s like “it better NOT be true” because he doesn’t know how he’d be able to deal with that.

Interesting in the video is when Mikoto snaps and the headspace turns red again; I would think this is when the shadow alter is entering the scene and taking over. The snap here is symbolic of the switch.

Now presumably softboy Mikoto is like “PWEASE WET ME OUT MISTEW OBAMA”, which, again with the double meaning, can refer to letting him out of the vaporwave shadow realm headspace OR letting him out of prison. Both apply.

“That it’s a lie

That I’m right”- a nice duality here. Mikoto is having difficulty separating the truth from reality.

Also NOW he is forgiving. Forgiveness vs not forgiveness (grudge)

I think it’s gotten so bad that he’s like “okay fine. Fine if I committed murder, fine if you’re accusing me of murder, but please help me understand what’s going on. Let me out”. Maybe he’ll forgive the shadow alter if only he fesses up to the murder.

Of note for the scene however is that shadow alter Mikoto is holding up The Fool card, which represents softboy Mikoto in this case. “I’m right” may be the shadow alter’s sentiment.

-THE CARDS AT THE END-

Then, all the cards show up in more detail, all depicting weapons instead of the standard minor arcana that you might see in your standard Rider Waite tarot deck (which these are based off of). The Wands are baseball bats, the Swords are kitchen knives, the Cups are…poison cans? Acid? The Pentacles are….records but I can see these being rotary saws if you squint. The Wheel of Fortune has car wheels with a snake….GTA time baby (the snake being hidden danger, the devil’s temptation, etc). The chariot is a really weird motorcycle death machine. I was thinking how like, people would drag people along behind them while driving a vehicle as a method of torture so there is that.

Now we see some cards not in the original spread- I think this represents shadow alter Mikoto inserting himself into the headspace and changing things to fit his goals. We see a couple placed in the original spread, but some don’t and are just free-floating, but you’ll see below we have enough context to decipher their meaning.

First, it’s the Page of Pentacles, which has taken over the position of the 7 of swords as the current challenge affecting the issue. This card indicates “Manifestation, financial opportunity, skill development”. I think this means the shadow alter is finally learning to take full control.

Then we see the reverse 2 of swords, which represents “Indecision, confusion, information overload, stalemate”. This could probably represent softboy Mikoto not suddenly understanding why the shadow alter is ALSO in the headspace. Maybe his dual presence in the outside world AND the headspace is indicative of exactly when he learned to take full control. This was NOT in Mikoto’s original spread.

Wheel of Fortune again, which was in the original spread. “Bad luck, negative external forces, out of control”. Yup, that confirms it.

Next, the Five of Swords from the original spread comes up. “Conflict, tension, loss.png, defeat, win at all costs, betrayal”. Softboy Mikoto is now being completely taken over. There is a facedown card on the chair. This might be the one that reads as Death later, so it may be that softboy Mikoto is…KILLED OFF?

Cup of Ace, “Love, compassion, creativity, overwhelming emotion”. I think this one is also meant to represent softboy Mikoto, but it could be that the shadow alter sees it as an act of mercy to take full control for softboy Mikoto. Maybe he feels his alter can’t handle reality and he’s going to take over full time. Or more likely he just has ulterior motives.

Reverse King of Cups. “emotional manipulation, moodiness, volatility”. Softboy Mikoto was lead along, thinking it was okay to leave things to the shadow alter or to exist alongside him. Now we see that isn’t a viable solution.

Reverse Five of Wands. “conflict avoidance, diversity, agreeing to disagree”. I went over this more in the other post.

Chariot is the last one, WHICH ALSO WAS NOT IN THE ORIGINAL SPREAD. “Control, willpower, success, action, determination”. The shadow alter Mikoto has taken full control. Which is very quickly followed by…

Shadow alter Mikoto drawing Death. Also not in the original spread. Perhaps effectively “killing off” softboy Mikoto and betraying him.

Concluding Thoughts.

Now, I understand I do take most of these lyrics from softboy Mikoto’s perspective, but I’m sure there’s a layer of deception added on by his shadow alter. The Challenge card of the 7 of swords did represent betrayal. So softboy Mikoto’s only context into what’s going on outside may be his headspace tarot reading. If you want to question some of the lyrics, or even think one of the alters is lying, that would add SO much to the complexity of the situation, and I wouldn’t put it past the Milgram team to add something like that.

Common Themes/Symbols:

The mirror, both in the headspace and in the outside world bathroom

The Hanged Man- in a painting in the headspace and on Mikoto’s shirt. Indicative of being wrongly accused or martyred. Softboy Mikoto is likely represented with this, as well as The Fool. The Fool painting probably is there to show that he doesn’t know any better, that he is without the knowledge of what his shadow alter is doing (or doesn’t believe he’s doing anything wrong)

The Half Moon- a light side and a dark side. Pretty self-explanatory. Symbolically, it can also represent life and death. NICE.

Sorry if the conclusions end up being kind of vague. That’s the way a lot of this video is; what’s really going on, as it usually is, is up to viewer interpretation at this stage. I was just hoping to provide a bit of context into the images in the video, plural life, and narrator interpretation. I just really love this video and after this full analysis hope others can at least appreciate the work that went into it.

#milgram #MeMe (milgram)#mikoto kayano #kayano mikoto

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Please Don’t Let Me Drown

CW: Drowning, some dehumanization, references to drugging and torture

BAHRAM’S NOTES

December 11th, 20XX 4:45 am Mer in Residence: 58 Days

خدا را شکر که من نمرده ام

I should be. I should be dead.

I mean, I’m probably not out of the woods? I need to see a doctor, this cough still sounds nasty and my chest feels… awful, sort of rattle-y. Heavy, when I take in breaths, but air feels so good I can’t stop trying to breathe deep anyway.

The mer is watching me from inside his tank, in-between eating.

I’m stretched out on the couch in basically just my underpants with a bunch of blankets and Miah and I both pretending I am more clothed than I am, not that you can see anything with the four blankets Miah has put on me. I keep telling her the water wasn’t that cold, but she can’t stop herself, I think.

She feels guilty that she had her back to me. It’s not her fault, not like she could have heard a damn thing even if she was just looking down at a book, and I told her, I said, there wasn’t much splashing to see, people don’t drown like they do on TV, but I don’t think she felt better about that at all.

Instead, she got back on the computer.

We called Dr. L and Anders. In about an hour or two, I’m going to ‘accidentally’ get pulled in by a riptide down at the beach during an early morning swim, then head to the ER. We’re going to drive me down there, I’ll show up wet with beachwater and with sand caked to me. It’ll be a good enough explanation, and my chest still hurts, I still feel like there’s water in my lungs.

Dr. L won’t let me go to the ER unless we make up a fake story about what happened, because telling a bunch of nurses and doctors the mer pulled me into the tank and the mer saved me and by the way, the mer is bloody fucking illegal and we’ll all go to prison now, apparently isn’t her idea of a great way to spend a Thursday.

I don’t like to think I’m stupid, but I guess… I mean, I understand NDAs and corporate secrets and all that nonsense. I didn’t realize just how many laws we’re breaking here, but I’m in it up to my neck, now, aren’t I?

Dr. L says so.

Honestly, I should quit this stupid job, but what happens to the mer if I do that? Miah can help out, but…

You’re justifying, Bahram. You started typing this to try and write down what happened tonight, so stop it. Stop justifying and think it through. You’re writing this so you can have some kind of note on the other thing.

Miah keeps coming over to check on me while I type this on my phone, and I keep telling her I’m texting Maman and Baba, but I’m not. I mean I did, I texted Maman that there was a problem at work and I’m fine, but I might sound sick and had to go see the ER.

I don’t think it’s going to reassure her when she wakes up. Haven’t lied so much to my Maman since I was sneaking out in high school.

Miah’s back.

Okay, she’s gone again.

Miah apparently read something about ‘dry drowning’ on google and she’s being fussy and worried in a very Miah way, which is to say she keeps tapping me on the shoulder and making me talk to her, which means putting my phone down to free up my hands. So this is probably disjointed.

She keeps asking if I want tea. I think the panic short-circuited her. The panic, and… and what happened between the three of us when I was in the tank.

I don’t understand how it happened, how I fell in. Dr. L thinks he did it on purpose, that I didn’t fall but was pulled, but I think if the mer wanted me dead, he would have killed me when he had the chance. Once I was in there, he wasn’t muzzled and those teeth are monstrous. Or he could have dragged me to the bottom and held me there. If he was pulling me in to kill me, he would have killed me.

He looked surprised. I think it was an accident, I do. I got the muzzle off, I let go of him, and I believe one-hundred-percent that he didn’t mean to grab me, because he was as shocked as I was.

When I hit the water, I thought to myself, you can do this, Bahram, you’ve gone under before, it’ll be okay. Except that I’ve never gone into the water in a full sweater and heavy pants and boots to ward off the cold in the tank room.

I’ve always been cold-natured, my maman says my blood was made for warm places, and usually California suits me fine, but Dr. L keeps the lab chilled except for the heat lamps over the tank itself.

So. I had my feet hooked to hold myself, and then his claws caught on me - but they’re blunted, he never closed his hand all the way, I know he didn’t do it on purpose, I know it.

I slipped off the fucking platform and knocked my head on it going into the water. Just this flash of disorientation, not even a concussion, I don’t think, but I guess we’ll figure that out at the ER.

Tell them I hit my head on a rock. I have to ask Miah if that story’s remotely believable. I can’t believe I’m bloody lying about my injuries because I’ve committed a crime. A whole bunch of them, apparently.

Let me just say God might forgive me but my Maman definitely won’t, if she learns I dropped out of school to pull myself together just to end up some kind of corporate criminal abusing an innocent animal. This isn’t bloody science.

We’re interrogating it, that’s what. We’re torturing him for information, and it’s information Miah and I have now, isn’t it? Information we know, totally by accident, but Dr. L…

Anyway.

Chest hurts worse. I can’t tell if I pulled something maybe, or if I should be really worried. I mean I’m worried about my whole life right now, let’s add my lungs in, toss them in. Bonus worry.

My head hurts like hell, too.

Miah was cataloging blood and skin samples when I went in, and you know, I sort of thrashed but Miah couldn’t have heard me anyway. I never realized how heavy clothes are in the water. Once my sweater was soaked, trying to raise my hands to tread water or even wave to try and catch her eye, it felt like lifting weights.

My arms moved, trying to splash, but I sank like a stone.

I caught a breath before the water lapped at my mouth, covered my nose, left my glasses spinning slowly down to the fake ocean floor we built him when we thought it would be enough.

What the fuck were we thinking? He needs to feel alive. Nobody’d feel alive with all that false shit around him. I’m going to put in real plants.

Wait, so. Back to what happened. There’s so little of this I can put in my notes that Dr. L sees. I guess I just. I want there to be some record that I wasn’t a heartless piece of shit. At least not for long.

Right.

So, drowning is fucking awful, turns out.

I went down and down and the tank’s not big but it felt like a bloody fucking lake. I had air burning in my lungs to be let out and I could see Miah’s back sort of through the water, so close but she hadn’t noticed me falling.

Then the mer, turning me to look at him, these big green eyes. He must have heard the splash, scented blood in the water from my head, I’ve got a cut on the back where I hit it that I didn’t notice at all at the time but it burns like hell now.

He cocked his head and he was surprised.

I know he was. He whistled at me when I broke above the water again, fighting to tread water. I yelled, I don’t know why. The mer whistled again, matching the tone of my yelling, and tried to talk to her, I think, I don’t really remember.

Some of this is already graying out. Adrenaline, I think - the trauma response, a brain pushing back the panic now that it’s over. I read somewhere that the reason you’re supposed to give a statement as soon as possible after a car accident is because by two days later you’ve already forgotten big parts of it.

I want to write this down before I forget it all, or even some of it.

I tried to tell the mer that Miah can’t hear, but I just ended up back under the water again. I don’t have any idea whether he understood what I said. He’s picking words and signs up fast but… still.

I remember choking on saltwater.

I remember it burned the whole way down.

I felt these weird pulses through the water, heard the mer clicking, and I thought, I was so sure he was just going to swim off and eat his stupid fish. Not that I’d blame him. But I just, I was barely keeping my mouth above water to get a breath. I can swim a little, but not in heavy-as-stone clothes I can’t. Must have doubled my weight, or it felt like it did.

I tried to grab the mer and just barely caught his arm. The mer looked back at me, those big green eyes unbothered under the water, and its brow furrowed a little, like it was confused.

He moved his hands together, in front of himself, and around to the side. Then again, and again, and I knew the motion but I’ve never seen it made by anything that wasn’t human.

Swim, the mer was telling me. Swim, swim, swim. He let out a short, staccato burst of whistles. Distress call, I remember thinking. He’s in distress.

No, that was compassion, I know it. He was upset because I was in distress.

My hands moved like molasses in the water. “I can’t,” I signed, bringing one index finger down on the other. I caught a breath above the water but my arms were burning and I kept getting saltwater and sinking again.

I had to let the air out. Water was coming in if I did. I had to breathe.

I had no idea if he even knew the fucking words I was saying, but I swear his eyes widened.

Swim, he told me.

I kept signing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

My clothes were too heavy and my heart was beating and my lungs were burning and I couldn’t remember anything but bringing my fist into my palm and moving it up, again and again, as I kept sinking.

“Help me,” I signed, praying we’d taught him that one. “Help me, help me, help me.” I signed, “Please,” circling my hand over my heart, and at first he just looked at me.

Please don’t let me drown.

Wouldn’t really have blamed him if he had, honestly.

But a second later, just when I couldn’t stand it any longer and I had to open my mouth and let the water in, I felt… something. Something utterly inhuman, a series of thoughts that moved around and over my own, processing information in ways my brain isn’t designed to.

I felt his compassion, and something like affection.

Breathe.

It wasn’t my voice, or a voice at all. Just an awareness, a thought in my head that didn’t belong to me. I had to open my mouth and the water rushed in but I felt his arms close around my waist and push me up.

The surface.

Air.

Breathe.

The thought again, but I couldn’t, and I tried to tell the voice I couldn’t, too much water in me, I was choking even above the water, coughing on it trying to expel it from my lungs. I could feel the heat from the sun lamps but my body was shaking like I was freezing, muscles locking, pulling me back down.

The mer tightened his arms around my waist and started to pull me through the water, and I kept hearing the voice in my head, over and over. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Can’t, I thought back to it, and felt… alarm run up my spine, like I was scared for someone else and not myself.

Breathe air.

Water in my lungs, can’t-

The mer’s eyes widened, and it let out a distress call again, and I had this bizarre thought that Dr. L would have really liked to record that one, it was so perfect, such a perfect example, and fuck me, the mer was worried about me.

I’ve helped her cut him up and dig around his scales and strap him down and shove needles in his arms and he’s worried about me. He kept watching me, and then looked over his shoulder towards Miah, still on the computer I guess.

Here’s where it happened. The thing I think I’m supposed to tell Dr. L about.

The thing I can’t tell her about.

He looked back at me, then back at her, then back. He let go of me and I scrambled to grab onto him, his skin feels sort of thick like rubber and smooth, and he put his hands on either side of my face.

Then I was sitting at a computer and there wasn’t any sound at all. I was looking at something I had typed, looking at a keyboard, purple fingernail polish. Pure silence. I started coughing again but I couldn’t hear myself cough, only feel the vibrations through my chest. I could see a chat program up and I was typing into it but then I could see the program that runs analyses on the skin samples and I realized I was Miah.

Miah and myself, both at once.

I started thinking, just fucking thinking as loud as I could. I can’t breathe I’m in the tank I’m in the tank please God I don’t want to die please please God someone help me I can’t breathe I can’t breathe I can’t breathe-

I went under the water again - I think the mer was having trouble doing both at once, holding me up and trying to whatever he was doing, but he pushed me back up and he looked right at me and moved his mouth, trying to speak, saying, “Mmmm, hhhh-puh. Mmmmm hhhh-puh.”

Miah help.

I heard a hoarse sort of strangled low sound and realized I wasn’t Miah anymore, I was just me and I think the mer still, because I kept hearing it, kept seeing my own face like I was looking through a totally different set of eyes. The sound was Miah trying to tell me she was coming, I think, but I remember it sort of bouncing around inside and outside my head.

The mer’s hands pressed palms against my neck, on either side, and I was clinging so hard I’m sure my nails dug into his skin, just trying to stay above the water.

Breathe, Bahram.

“T-trying,” I managed, coughing again, and the mer clutched me close to him, clumsily swimming toward the big fake rock he can sun himself on in the center of the tank. He got my laid out onto it, and I stared up at him and thought as hard as I could, water in my lungs. Miah, water in my lungs.

The mer stared at me, and I took his hand and put it over my chest, then coughed and felt saltwater like acid come out of me onto the rock, burning my throat. Think I cried for a while.

Miah had to look up the instructions for the bloody lift, and the mer is terrified of it. He’s always tranq’d when he gets put in it, who can blame him? But he just flattened his earfins a little and watched it with his big eyes and I could see it through my eyes and his, at once.

I don’t remember getting out of the tank.

Miah says that the mer lifted me into the hammock we always put him in, and that he kept signing, “B, help, please,” to her. “Help B, please. M help B.”

Bahram, breathe. First time he’s said my name, right? I think he tries but they don’t speak like we do, although they have the vocal chords… vestigial, Dr. L said. But here he was speaking into my fucking skull like a sci-fi story. I can’t remember being lifted, but I can remember his voice. Bahram safe. Be safe. Bahram, breathe.

Who are you? What the goddamn hell are you?

Kima. I am Given.

I missed some stuff again. I just. It’s just flat gray in my mind. I stopped hearing the other thoughts in my head, I guess, it’s just me in here now. At some point I was back on the cold concrete floor, shivering, and I looked and saw the mer zip through the water.

Eating his fucking fish.

Miah helped me get out the water, as much as we could, and got my clothes off as the cold started to settle in, got me onto the couch. Miah’s just.

She’s pretty great.

I asked her, signing hesitantly, “Did he talk to you?”

She shook her head and replied, “I was you. He showed me you, in my head.” She tapped on the side of her head, looking pale and scared, and we both turned back to look at the mer, who was making quick work of fish he’d caught.

Remind me not to watch him eat the damn things when he’s in the water all smug and proud of himself. It’s not pretty.

He looked at us, along the side of the tank, big round eyes and blood round his mouth. Then… I think he tried to smile.

I signed, “Thank you, K-I-M-A,” and heard him whistle and then he disappeared back and away into his cave.

Miah made a weird face and tapped on my arm, signing, “K-I-M-A?”

“I asked who he was. He said Kima.”

Miah sat back and stared towards the mer. “I called him that. It’s a word for ‘fish’. I was being funny. I didn’t think he could understand me.”

“Don’t think he got the joke.”

We didn’t ask how it’s possible, how any of it could be possible, because it doesn’t matter if it’s possible, does it? It happened. She texted her dad, who called Dr. L, and they both were here by like 3 am.

Dr. L came up with the plan and the story, and then…

Then she asked me if I got any feelings like I wasn’t alone in my mind, or if I felt someone try to speak with me telepathically. She was looking at the mer while she asked. I opened my mouth to answer and caught Miah, where Dr. L couldn’t see her, shaking her head just a little.

So I said no.

She asked how Miah had known I needed help and Miah said she’d gotten up to get some Coke from the vending machine and realized I wasn’t up on the platform. I don’t know… I don’t know how we did it but we made up a story on the spot, between us. I don’t know why I lied, but I’m glad I did.

Dr. L just said, “Damn,” to herself, in this low emotionless voice. “I thought pain and discomfort would do it. Bahram getting pulled in didn’t do it. What else?” I don’t think she knows she said it out loud, because when I said he didn’t pull me, she looked surprised. Then said, “Of course he did,” and stopped saying anything more, really. She’s talking to someone on the phone over in the exam room now.

I thought pain would do it.

I’m not the smartest man on earth, but I get that loud and clear.

She’s been torturing the fucking thing to try and make it do what it did today to save my life, and I’ve been helping her do it.

But I can’t stop helping, either, or I’ll be summarily fired and replaced.

So… I asked Miah to do some of her computer shit and figure out what it is we’re not supposed to know about this project. I want to know what Dr. L isn’t telling me and I want to figure out what it is she knows about mer that we don’t.

Then I guess I need to figure out how to be less of a fucking bastard to the mer who saved my life.

Kima, the Given. That’s not a bad name at all.

I need to figure out what Given means.

Miah brought me more tea, and my sopping fucking clothes to put back on. It’s almost 6 AM now, time to hit the beach to fake drown to cover up the part where I nearly really drowned.

I’m going to be a pretty good liar by the time this is over with, aren’t I?

I hope so.

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#mer whump #drowning #drowning tw #environmental whump #drowning whump #signs of the sea #mer #caretaker turned whumpee #reluctant whumper #angry caretaker #nonhuman whumpee #dehumanization #lab whump #mad scientist #sadistic whumper #medical whump

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