#i know you don’t care that i’ll have to do unpaid work but like. here’s your fucking coffee. lol

[pinkrelish]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐬, 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬.

ex-con!linecook!eddie x fem!reader

✶Steve messed up. He assured you over and over again that you could have the spare bedroom in his apartment, but while you took your time mulling over his offer, someone else moved in: his down-and-out best friend who needed a place to stay. When you show up at Steve's door with little warning due to your job relocating you, he suggests you and Eddie share the bedroom. Nothing wrong with that, right?

Besides the fact Eddie hated you, and in turn, you hated Eddie.✶

NSFW — smut, masturbation, eddie watches porn, dry humping, cumming in pants, reader flashes her bra & wears a pencil skirt, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, there was only one bed(room)

↳ teaser oneshot | [wc: 9.3k] | series tba!

⋅line cook hc from @bewilderedbunny⋅

Steve was a nice guy. Really.

He was your pen pal since meeting at summer camp when you were both eight-years-old. He was sweet, and wrote you back within a week, without fail. He was your first kiss one sweltering afternoon on the dock over the lake; a quick peck when the counselors weren’t looking. He was one of your first contacts in your flip phone, and his picture occupied the first circle when you got a smartphone, after pestering him to meet up with you in Indianapolis, snapping the pic at a crosswalk; a day where your conversations spanned nothing and everything. What was there to talk about when you talked via pencil, pen, markers, emojis, and photos for years, and suddenly forgot the past decade when you encircled your arms around each other?

He was a nice guy throughout all of college. He’d text you during class. You’d text him from states away, falling asleep at your dormroom desk. He worked at his father’s business. You started as an unpaid intern collecting coffee orders, and pulling all-nighters doing spreadsheet grunt work your superiors didn’t deem worthy of their time.

Stevie 🌞: just quit your job and live with me!

Stevie 🌞: I still have that spare bedroom

Stevie 🌞: rent free

Year after year, you always declined. Climbing the ranks at your job was important to you; and one day it paid off. They were relocating you to the Chicago, and if you didn’t take their pitiful relocation package, you’d get a decent advance on your next paycheck (which was dire considering your salary was roughly the same, despite the ever increasing cost of living); and knowing Steve always had that spare furnished bedroom, and most of your belongings could fit into your car (as long as you didn’t need to see out the rear window), it seemed like a done deal.

Until you surprised him.

You: hey! can i move in w you? my jobs relocating me to chicago and i might already be two hours out. sorry i didn’t text sooner. i had to leave my apartment asap. fuck paying for the damage cindy’s doberman did to that place 😬

Stevie 🌞: Lets talk when you get here

Stevie 🌞: I’ll meet you for coffee

Let’s talk? Never a good sign, even when he was smiling at you from over his latte.

————

“My friend needed the spare room, but he’s a good guy, I swear,” he told you.

“He’s just a little rough around the edges,” he told you.

“He’s understanding; I’m sure you two will get along,” he told you.

“He can make space in the closet for your stuff, and one of you can sleep on the couch,” he told you. “Maybe you can alternate! Bed, couch. It's not like I’m charging him rent, so he should be cool with you living with us until you can afford to move out, or whatever. No big deal. I don’t really care when, you know that. No rush.”

Right. Just share the room.

You weren’t present for the conversation; Steve and Eddie were in the bedroom while you stood awkwardly in the living room, but the result of the exchange made quite the first impression.

“I dunno,” Steve’s voice carried, “maybe you could work something out like you get the room Monday through Wednesday, and she gets it Thursday through Saturday. Sunday’s up in the air?”

“Oh, just share the room like I used to, huh?” Eddie asked, alluding to the life he lived several months ago. “Finally got some privacy to breathe around here, and now you’ve invited some chick to live with us without telling me? Actually–no–you invited her to live here. In my room. No heads up.”

Steve’s wince was audible in his heavy sigh. “You work weird hours, you probably won’t even have to interact with her. C’mon, man. She’s been my friend since we were kids, and it’s just until she finds her own place. She’s cool. She’ll sleep on the couch, or whatever if it really bothers you; just like, let her keep her clothes and shit in here, and let her use the computer for work.”

“Whatever, man.”

“Eddie, wait!”

Thunderous footsteps and a seething, “Fuck this,” followed the heightened emotions, and before you could straighten your spine, you were introduced to your new roommate.

His pace faltered, not expecting you to be standing there. The fine wrinkles in the outer corner of his eyes pinched tighter, and his long hair flowed around a faded black snake tattoo on his throat, stretching across the strained tendons it was inked over, reaching the twitching muscle in his jaw from his clenched teeth. It took him a narrow-eyed glance to sum you and your pink luggage up, and place you firmly in the ‘I don’t like you’ category in his mind, and he continued his march.

“Hi! I’m–”

Your outstretched hand went ignored as he passed you.

He shoved on his boots, and slammed the front door behind him, rattling every piece of metal in the apartment. You stared at where he was just standing, vision marked with a black silhouette of the good guy you’d be sharing intimate space with for the next.. however long, and still with your hand out, you swiveled to Steve. “Yeah, he seems nice.”

————

Eddie Munson glared at your very existence. He wore a permanent crease between his brows when you were in his vicinity. Apprehension tensed his muscles when your soft gaze slid from Steve, to him. There was distaste in his frown. He rolled his eyes when you laughed too loud at the TV. His voice was vitriol, words clipped when he had to speak to you. His shoulders hiked to his ears when you entered the kitchen for a glass of water and caught him mid-chew on his peanut butter and jelly sandwich after he got home from work. When it was your turn to sleep in the bed, he made it a point to come home as loud as possible–yanking open the drawers on the dresser, waking the computer to blazing home screen, and leaving the light on when he went to shower across the hallway, pretending he didn’t hear you grumble at him to turn it off.

You wore a sleep mask to bed after that.

And when you slept on the couch, it was the only time he cooked for himself. Scraping pans across the burners, clinking silverware, gathering his hair off his neck and twisting it between his laced fingers, creating a cradle for him to drop his head back and sigh at the ceiling, just loud enough to stir you from your sleep.

You wore earplugs to bed after that.

Eddie Munson made it known you were not welcomed in his territory, and saw your accidental warm smile thrown vaguely in his direction as a threat to his well being.

But as much as he ensured misery every second you had the fortune of spending in his presence, you weren’t so innocent of terrorizing his every waking moment either..

Soon, Monday through Wednesday, and Thursday through Saturday, and a chance at a lazy Sunday were not enough.

————

When Steve was home, he acted as the mediator when it came to you two being at each other’s throats after another vicious stare-off. Currently, Eddie was standing with his arms crossed, leaned against the counter with his cheeks darkened to a fleshy red, and you were pacing the kitchen, wrapped in a bath towel, stating your case to Steve. You argued since most of the hair clogging the drain belonged to Eddie, he should be the one to clean it. And Steve, not knowing how to interpret Eddie’s steely focus on the fridge as if you didn’t exist, nor the fact a woman was dripping wet and yelling at him, he put his hands up in defense.

He edged away from your ire until he was at the cabinet housing a toothpick dispenser, and depressed the mechanism for one to roll out. He snapped it, put his hands behind his back, and shuffled the two ends into his palm, and had you choose one. Eddie kept his gaze averted, but grasped the other.

You held the long end of the toothpick above your head with a smile to rival the kitchen’s daylight bulbs searing into your retinas. You were the winner, and Eddie was the loser who had to clean the bathroom.

This worked swell when Steve was around to mitigate the tension. But when he was on a business trip, or out on a date, the Bed Schedule was a formality at best, and largely ignored at worst.

Meaning, the bets, deals, and favors began.

They started small: Rock, paper, scissors; winner gets dibs on those just-washed sheets. Flip a coin and see who has to rough it in the living room for the next two nights. Draw the shorter toothpick and try not to stab it in Eddie’s eye when he smirked.

But those were childish games. It was the deals and favors that proved more interesting.

“Can you help me punch holes in these?” you asked, voice high and urgent as you rushed to grab your color coded pie charts from the printer and clip them into a presentation binder.

He scoffed from the bedroom doorway, smelling of fryer oil and bacon grease. “What makes you think I want to help you after cooking for assholes all night?”

“Because you’re nice, and you love me.”

“I despise you,” he corrected, crossing his arms tight over his chest. He shifted his weight from foot to foot while you organized the pages, resisting the bait to give him what he wants, but you knew in your heart it was the only way to not be late for work this morning.

“Fine. You can have the bed tonight.”

He stayed put. “Nope. You know I’m working the overnight shift until Thursday.” That way, he slept while you were at work, and you slept while he was at work.

You glanced at the blue dawn creeping in from the window, then red the time on your watch. “Okay, fine, whatever! Have it all next week. I don’t give a fuck, just help me!”

Reveling in his victory, his plush lips stretched into a wide grin, showing too much teeth. He sauntered at his leisure, closing his eyes half-way, and gazing at you down the long slope of his nose. “Good girl, I knew you could do it,” he mocked.

You wanted to strangle him.

–And another time–

“Shut the fuck up for an entire day, and you can have to whole fucking closet,” Eddie snapped after your fifth instance of complaining about your professional office clothes not having available hangers due to him taking them for his old, ratty band tees.

Centering yourself, you brushed the dust off your favorite pants after finding them wadded up on the floor, and whispered, “I hope a rogue knife finds its way into your thumb again tomorrow.”

You swore you saw his hand flex out the corner of your eye, reacting to your curse.

–And the week after that–

You: come help me bring up these groceries

You: elevators broken

You: we can race up the stairs

You: loser washes dishes and takes out the trash

😒dumb: as long as the loser doesn’t cry about it when she sleeps on the couch

You: whatever

😒dumb: i’ll even give you a head start to make it fair

Struck with being that person grinning down at your phone in the stuffy underground parking garage, you gilded your thumbs over the keyboard in a fluttery tease.

You: you just want an excuse to stare at my ass

It took Eddie longer to reply, fumbling with his phone to find the emoji keyboard, only to send–

😒dumb: 🙄

–And the week after that–

“Get a life, you fucking loser,” you yelled from within the metal cylinder of the dryer, bent over on your hands and knees to wrestle your silk blouse free from where it was tangled in a rope of bedsheets, after you told him–explicitly–to never wash it because he’d do it wrong.

He merely watched you struggle from the sidelines, informing you, “You’re the one who asked me to do laundry. Don’t toss your precious, delicate shirts on the bathroom floor if you don’t want them thrown in with everything else. And by the way, I did my part of the deal, so the room is still mine tonight.” As a bonus, he added as he walked away, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.”

Your gums ached from how hard you clenched your teeth. You didn’t leave your blouse on the floor. He did, when he went hunting for his wallet he left in his jeans, and dumped all the clothes out of both baskets, mixing your work clothes with his.

That night, you locked him out of the bedroom. Fuck him.

————

After tireless days of the same back and forth, the juvenile deals and favors were losing their significance. Someone needed to up the ante. And a certain line you two skirted taunted you both, but remained uncrossed until..

————

The hallway leading to your apartment was stale with inactivity. Most people had been home for hours, or were back from bars and crashed on the couch, drooling on their girlfriend’s favorite decorative pillow–the kind with the pom poms. You thought of them with envy. Snoring, dreaming of some blissful shit like sheep hopping a pasture fence. But not you. Your 9 to 5 extended far past those numbers on the clock. It skipped right over them, just like you were skipped over in meetings, being told the extra burden you were taking on was good for the company, and the programs you were learning would be paid in experience. Bullshit. You were tired, and the last thing you needed was some long haired man stubbing his toe on the coffee table to wake you up–morning or night.

But perhaps you were blessed.

You opened the door to near-darkness. Not a lamp, or TV on inside to show someone was home. Not a groan, sigh, or blast of music funneling from a set of oversized headphones. Not a creak of movement from the hallway, or bathroom; surrendering your heartbeat as the loudest feedback.

It appeared you were alone. What a wonderful thing.

The muffled thud of the low pile rug under your heels gave way to silky sweeps of plush carpet welcoming your aching pantyhose-covered feet. Moving further into the apartment, you knew the shapes to avoid in the dim light coming from above the stove, casting the coffee table and scattered stools at the breakfast bar in shadow.

Groggy from exhaustion, you blinked at the spice cabinet door Eddie left open before leaving for his shift. During a conversation with Steve, you let it slip that people who leave the cabinet doors open annoy you, so of course he began leaving one open as a greeting when you came home.

You closed it with your right hand, swinging your laptop bag wildly, and before you could react, the strap caught the top of the glass sugar jar and knocked it over in a wincing crash. Luckily, after peeping one eye open, you assessed nothing broke, but now there was a streak of glittery white dust on the countertop you definitely weren’t going to clean up.

Maybe you could strike a deal with Eddie to wipe it up for you. It was–in a way–his fault, since he left the cabinet door open. If you didn’t need to close it, none of this would’ve happened..

You made a gagging sound.

Since when did your immediate thought process swing to him, and how do you get it to stop? It was bad enough you peeked around the corner into the hallway, praying, praying, praying the bedroom light was off, and feeling your body slump with utter relief when it was. Being on the same planet as him was hell, you didn’t need your private thoughts to linger on him, too.

Mentally dismissing Eddie Munson from your brainspace, you invited yourself into the bedroom. You sought the cushy mattress to cradle your weary body after a long day, and the nest of cozy fleece blankets to swaddle you as you drifted to sleep. Unfortunately, the idiot’s pillow smelled far too much like him; cigarettes and cheap vanilla cologne combined with his hair products, burning your nose like toasted sugar. Despicable. Just the worst. You should exchange it with your own pillow, but you forgot it on the couch, and the couch was so very, very far away..

~~~

Eddie sat crouched in the alleyway outside of Benny’s Diner with a stubby cigarette balanced between his lips, blowing the smoke out in a slow exhale like a roll of fog on a misty morning. Cold emanated from the bricks pricking the expanse of his shoulders, and the night air chilled his damp shirt to his sticky skin, erupting goosebumps along his forearms. Standing around him were the other cooks on break. He didn’t share a common language with them outside of gestures, curse words, and kitchen lingo, but they gathered in a semi-circle as if to include him.

His shift was over. He’d technically clocked out, but he loitered until their vices were stomped under their shoes, and he snuffed his glowing ash on the wall behind him, and followed them inside.

Washing his hands first, he dried them on the towel tucked under the string of his apron tied around his waist, and set up a space on the flat top for him to occupy since the dinner rush had long since died, and the only patrons on the floor were drunks wandering in for greasy hashbrowns. He grabbed the four quart Cambro from the fridge beneath the prep area, and ladled enough batter for two large pancakes. Borrowing a station, he sliced up a ripe banana from the walk-in, and dropped it into a hot pan with a bit of butter, caramelizing them on the range while he waited for the pancakes to be flipped.

The guys behind him read off the few tickets, and carried their conversation from earlier. Eddie caught some of it, learning a few words here or there, but regardless of the language barrier, he knew they were talking about him. They were snickering with their heads together, pointing at the pancakes he was making despite being clocked out.

Eddie spoke with a sneaky grin, “If I make them for her, she’ll leave me the fuck alone on my day off.”

The guys may not have understood entirely what he meant, but his sunny disposition juxtaposed by his wry gaze communicated a universal plight: girls.

One of their hands landed hard between Eddie’s shoulder blades when they doubled over in a belly laugh, and the other one made whip-cracking sounds, calling him the same slang word he called the married cooks. It wasn’t worth it to attempt to correct them that these pancakes were not for his girl, but for his future migraine, so he hummed along with them, and flipped the pancakes with his right hand while tossing the bananas with a swift jerk of his left.

After their gossip, they went back to work, and Eddie grabbed a to-go container, loading it with the two pancakes and sliding the caramelized bananas on top. He brought it to the prep area to drizzle with chocolate sauce, and finished it off with heart-shaped strawberries, a dusting of powdered sugar, and a sprig of mint. He didn’t cut the strawberries that way with ulterior motives, it was just something he did when he had spare time in the morning. Cutting a wedge out of the stemmed top, and slicing them vertical. The customers liked it. It was cute, supposedly. There were no hidden intentions to him taking his time to place them just so around the box; it was merely him taking pride in how he plated his dish.

Clamping the container shut, he untied his apron, changed his shoes, and left out the back entrance, kicking pebbles under the crescent moon, and walking through the front door of the next building over. Gray concrete, a faulty elevator, ugly rugs to feign elegance, and high rise as far as ‘high rise when you live next a bunch of squatty buildings’ went. It was home, and it was blissfully dark inside.

Eddie worked his feet out of his tied-once-and-never-untied street shoes, and dropped his non-slip clogs next to them in a loud clatter.

He breathed. Inhaled deep. Sighed through his nose.

Quiet. Peaceful respite behind his eyelids.

The adrenaline ebbed. The hours of shouting and being shouted at, metal on metal clangs, timer beeps, and mechanical whirr of a ticket being printed out would never cease haunting his mind, but he should stop flinching from the imaginary sounds after a few hours. The pain stretching the length of his back should ease under a hot shower. The throbbing ache in his knees should lessen once he sleeps. The fatigue, like needles driven into his bones, should heal so he could be on his feet for thirteen more hours tomorrow.

Warmth worked its way beyond the calluses creating a barrier in his palm supporting the styrofoam container. Syrupy sweet hot sugar invaded his nostrils from the pancake bribe, battling the stench of his dried sweat and body odor baked into his t-shirt. The tiled entryway beneath his feet woke him out of his daze, and he slid his heavy-lidded gaze to the vacant couch; the comforter was folded, and the pillow was propped up, unslept on.

Briefly he wondered if you went out with your friends after work. But as he approached the kitchen, his dreams were crushed by a single closed cabinet door.

You were home.

You were home, and you weren’t on the couch, nor in the shower.

Eddie allowed his eyes to flutter closed as he hung his head back. In that position, he rolled the disappointment out of his shoulders, and braced them with something new.

Irritation.

Tamping the frustration in the pit of his stomach from bubbling up, he exhaled another calming breath, and opened the fridge, placing the pancakes exactly front and center amongst the fresh produce he was sometimes excited to create with, and sometimes slammed to the bottom of the trash when he was too exhausted and uninspired to do anything with their rotten corpses.

He prepared his expression into one of unbudging indifference. Flat, and unwilling to back down.

And yet, his nose scrunched when he pushed open the bedroom door, and there you were, as predicted, lounging amongst your hideous blankets spilling out from under you as if you were an opulent pearl nestled within an oyster shell.

The resentment built as he assessed your form delicately painted in a red glow from the ugly neon sign in the shape of a lipstick kiss tacked alongside his favorite band posters. He’d only lived with Steve long enough to feel comfortable decorating the blank walls, and you ruined the Rob Halford flow three days into your invasion. Your face was highlighted by the dim blue light of your laptop resting on your stomach, rising and falling with each gentle breath, and you were haloed by the Himalayan salt lamp crowding the nightstand. It’s trendy, you explained.

With vehemence, he flickered the light switch.

You cringed from the bright assault, and clacked your fingers on the keyboard, pretending you weren’t dozing off a second ago. “Can you go away?”

“What’re you doing in here?”

Unimpressed by his tone, you glazed your response in insolence. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m minding my own business.” At that, your attitude was solidified, along with how this interaction would go.

Eddie stared at you for a long minute. Not once did you acknowledge him. He watched your eyes dart across the screen, probably watching one of those Youtube videos where girls walked around exciting cities with a camera way too close to their face, and he dragged his gaze downwards, noticing you were still in your work clothes; though, your blouse and skirt were disheveled, and your pantyhose were discarded on the floor, still holding the vague shape of your legs, resembling a flattened rotisserie chicken.

He focused on your eyes again. Bloodshot, rimmed in red with a suggestion of water clinging to the outer corners where your eyelashes met, and sporting a hefty burden of bags beneath them.

“It’s Wednesday,” he reminded you, voice heavy in his chest, but sounding scratchy, and hollow. His throat was shot.

“Mm,” you hummed and glanced at the clock in the corner of your screen, “it’s Thursday, actually.”

White hot anger boiled in his veins, striking his skin like a leather lash. It simmered, popped, sizzled, boiled over. The yelling, the timers, the cacophonous clanging. The ticket machine, the keyboard, the stinging cut on his thumb. Smug fucking brat laying in his bed on his night to have it. It was sudden, it was stark, and it was hatred.

“Make a deal.”

“A deal?”

“A fucking deal,” he repeated. “You know, like we’ve been making?” He stopped himself short of calling you a dirty name, but you must’ve gathered it from his tongue’s hesitation, because you turned your head a few degrees to challenge his temper.

“Oh, lucky for you, there was a two-for-one deal at the store.”

You waved two middle fingers at him, showing a bit of teeth with your crooked grin.

The hatred festered, but not as vicious. The anger was there–oh, the anger was there–but the energy to keep this going hit its peak, and fizzled. There was no sense in reasoning with you. The pancakes in the fridge were for a different occasion, he couldn’t waste them on this, and he was too tired to come up with his own bet, deal, or favor. “Just think of something so we can get this over with,” he nearly begged.

After some consideration, you held your fist out for rock, paper, scissors.

“Where’s the option for a gun in my mouth?”

“Harsh,” you pouted. Instead, you pointed at the 20 sided die on the desk. He inclined his head, shaking it with a slow sort of intention, eyes wide to express his warning to knock it off, and give him a true answer, something to make this worthwhile.

Finding the whole ordeal dull, you returned your attention to your laptop, pressing the white earbud into your ear before unpausing the video.

It took seconds off his life, but you finally spoke again.

“How long were you in prison? Six years? Bet it’s been a while since you’ve seen one of these in the flesh.” Due to your satin cream blouse being unbuttoned at the neck, you dipped your thumb under the collar, and traced the vibrant temptation of your red bra strap in a long, deliberate stroke. You hooked the soft pad of your thumb under the luxury, and brought it out for his viewing pleasure. A moment later, you snapped it to your skin, and went back to typing, not once breaking concentration with your video.

Eddie’s fascination, however, was trained on the dainty crimson gift slipping under the shimmery cream, sliding against the soft slope of your shoulder.

Heat thrummed in his chest. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, sloshing his blood like viscous tidal waves, muting the clacky sound of your keyboard. Anger mixed with something more, something worse. It warmed his cheeks, and reignited the cold sweat prickling his back. It honed his curiosity, sinking every detail of the second tortoiseshell button on your blouse into his mind. Memorizing how the fabric around it went taut, and glinted honey at the height of your breath. Noticing how the bottom of your shirt was wrinkled and pulled slack, but still tucked into your pencil skirt. Remembering how the tight material hugged your thighs when you traipsed around the apartment. Although, the navy blue number was less defined now, fitting looser around your hips.

He didn’t know how long he was fixated by your clothing, until you sighed.

“Not enough for you?”

You asked it with forced casualness, he could tell. Your voice was too even, tone too polite, eyebrows too raised in mock indifference. You were introducing a line that had yet to be crossed. A door which, when opened, would give access to more possibilities than the usual bets, deals, and favors. An enticing offer, and he didn’t deny the nervous flutter of intrigue arousing his blood elsewhere.

But past the line was dangerous territory. Right? That’s where things got muddied, and feelings got involved.

Or maybe not. Because, above all else, he hated you, and you hated him.

This was a deal like any other.

“Maybe this’ll help,” you said, never breaking eyesight from the screen, its colors reflecting in your pupils.

You were the epitome of cool pinching the blouse between your fingers and slotting the buttons through the holes one after the other. Down, down, down to your navel, tugging either side of the shirt open, letting the elegant cream frame the aggressive scarlet.

Eddie was taken off guard.

The bra was more akin to lingerie than he expected. Its cups contained you like a poorly kept secret. Curves of red peonies covered your nipples–hard bud pressing against the center of the flower from the thrill of exploring a new end to your daily arguments. Your areolas peeked from between the petals, where the intricate lacework went see through, granting him a preview to the smooth flesh beneath.

Click clack, click clack, space bar, space bar, space bar, he swore you pressed your arms together to make your breasts rounder. Actually, he didn’t need to second guess. He saw the cusp of cleavage squish before his very eyes.

“Satisfied?” you inquired.

No, he ached.

The voice in his head was so automatic, so sure, he didn’t question it, either.

When he refused to verbalize the things which made him nauseous, his opulent pearl rolled onto her shoulder and lifted the laptop the pillow, turning over onto her stomach to engage with it solely, circling a manicured fingernail over the trackpad, and clicking.

To his surprise, the video on screen wasn’t of the vapid people you watched, but of a troubleshooting guide to the program your company was having you learn in order to teach it to the higher ups next week. (Or so he heard when you told Steve yesterday.) You tabbed out of the video, fixed a property in a column, checked the statistic it was evaluating, and added in an aesthetically pleasing green color before tabbing back.

He couldn’t parse how he felt about you having to do more thankless tasks off the clock, especially when you were clearly tired, but something else stole the last of his fiery anger, and doused his willpower to resist a glance.

Your habit of unzipping your skirt as soon as you walked into the apartment proved evident when you rolled over. The silky polyester lining slipped against your skin, shifting the long zipper from your hip to your backside. The halves parted, showing the end of the cream blouse, and a peek of skin. You adjusted how you laid, rocking your hips back and forth until you sank into the plush blankets, and propped your chin in your palm when you weren’t typing. Small movements working the skirt higher, and higher, bunching the fabric around the fat of your ass. Squirming, and stretching, tugging on your blouse, pulling, pulling, blouse, skirt, blouse, skirt, and then he saw it..

Red.

Delicate, feminine.

Tucked, hidden from anyone’s view but his, were the matching red panties to your bra. Trapped in a valley between thighs and ass, and stretching over the swell of your heat, embellishing the mouth watering desire in opaque lace strained firm against the outline of his treasure.

Eddie swallowed.

“Why’re you still in here?” you asked with a bite of annoyance. “You got to see a girl’s bra for the first time ever, probably. You should be celebrating, throwing yourself a party. In the living room. On the couch.”

The anger had returned like a slap of reality across his cheek. He narrowed his eyes at the back of your head, remembering why he loathed you with every fiber of his being. “I’ve seen a bra before.”

“Pictures don’t count.”

“Whatever, bitch.”

Your body jolted with a snort, and he flung open the door hard enough for it to bounce off the door stop. He heard your infuriating inhale, and slapped the lightswitch off, shutting the door behind him with excessive force before you could ask more demands of him. Gladly, he closed himself out of his own bedroom. The physical barrier under his trembling fist had never felt better, still gripping the knob as if he’d go back in there.

He wouldn’t.

He let go of the chilled metal and stalked down the hall, curbing himself from stomping out his frustration, only to throw himself onto the couch. Stomach burning with hunger, hatred. Chest heaving with rage. Pulse rising in his throat, beating against the ball chain necklace he wore. Breathing so hard, sounding as if he’d ran laps before collapsing onto his bed for the night, crossing his arms to squeeze his biceps, massaging his fingers down the muscle. Occupying himself. Distracting himself.

It wasn’t working.

He was mad.

Furious.

Draping his hand over his eyes, he gave himself a moment to make a decision, and pushed his bangs off his forehead. They stayed in their gravity defying position due to the oil. He needed to shower. He needed to clean himself of this day, and go to sleep. But he couldn’t.

The fever in his veins was too distracting. He needed to take care of it. Get rid of it.

Sitting up, he unfolded the comforter from the end of the couch, and propped the pillow against the armrest to angle his head slightly up, where he could see the hallway.

From his front pocket, he collected his phone and laid it on his stomach while he unbuttoned his pants, pinching the waistband together and pulling the zipper down, sighing through his nose at the relief of the lines he was crossing.

He grasped his phone and brought it close to his face. Cupped in one palm, and using the other hand to tap it twice. A streak of perspiration was left on the screen where he swiped in his passcode, using his index finger to open a private browser and type in a porn site. Any porn site. Whichever variation of the word porn + noun he thought of first. It didn’t matter much to him; that’s not where his preferences lie.

office worker

co-worker

secretary

office worker tight skirt

office worker pov skirt grinding

His brain went stupid for synonyms trying to narrow down his search. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the ultra HD, professionally lit, fakey acting wasn’t it. He scrolled, and scrolled. Narrowed his search again. Ticked off boxes on the side. Tried broader genres. Went back to the results he was on, and traveled down the rabbit hole a few more pages until, at last, he found what suited him.

The thumbnail appeared promising. Dimly lit, sorta bad quality, and clearly shot at home with a woman whose body type wasn’t far off from what he was hoping for. He even appreciated the visual similarities in the amateur actress’ navy blue skirt, and off-white blouse. As long as he scrolled down a tad to crop out her face, it was perfect. Plus, it was easier to insert himself into the scene that way.

He clicked it, and– ”Jesus Christ,” he turned down the volume as quickly as he could, accidentally pressing down the two buttons on the side that took a screenshot and saved it to his gallery.

The video started a little further into the act than he anticipated.

Such a fucking idiot, Eddie, Jesus Christ. Sitting in thick silence, he waited to see if you’d heard, and once his face calmed of the embarrassed flush stinging his cheeks, he moved on.

Eddie worked his right hand under the comforter, but heeded his boxers as a layer of separation. At the first contact with the parts of him he denied aching for the bane of his existence, he allowed his eyes to flutter closed. Gently, he raked his fingernails down the base of his shaft, and over his balls. He cupped them. Felt their heft. Cradled them and dragged them softly upwards, letting them fall and stretch before repeating the motion, enjoying the tickly sensation of being the first thing he touched. His most sensitive, most susceptible part of himself. Meanly ignoring the other part of him twitching, throbbing, begging to be catered to.

He kept some fraction of his brain alert to the hallway, senses sharpened by the spike of adrenaline, listening out for any sound of you exiting the room. But most of him was focused on hitting the play button, sticking to his decision that he couldn’t wait to do this in the shower. He needed it now.

It started with the woman already in motion. Shot from the guy’s point of view laying on the bed, his obvious hardon pressing through his slacks into her pussy grinding down on him. Her skirt lifted with each motion, showing her black underwear. Not that he was complaining they weren’t red, but he didn’t concentrate on them.

He switched from playing with his balls to gripping his cock. Finally. It buzzed with the rush of pleasure, harder than it had ever been, even in his youth. His fingers hardly met through his boxers, but he encircled them the best he could, and started with fast, desperate, stunted strokes, getting himself to where the guy in the video was in a matter of pent-up seconds, clenching his ass to buck his hips up. Heart pounding. Inhales shaky from the speed at which he took care of his problem, exhales interrupted by muted huffs.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but it didn’t take him long to feel that encouragement to keep going, keep going, keep going. Where each frantic pump along his length was better than the last. Where each accidental graze of his fingers over the lipped edge of his tip sprinted towards his bliss.

In the video, the woman dipped a finger between her lips and moved her panties aside.

There was a low hum in the back of his throat, engrossed by the wet warmth opposed to his dry fist.

Metal knob turning–door creaking–carpet groaning, step, step, step–

It was a fucking miracle he managed to close out of the window in his panic. His thumb missed it the first two times as fear coated him in a cold sweat, and the phone fell out of his palm, smacking him in the chin as you rounded the corner.

You didn’t spare him the time of day as you walked into the kitchen and got a glass from the cabinet. Didn’t bother looking at him as you stood at the fridge with your hip cocked out, holding the cup under the outer dispenser and depressing the button for ice.

The fridge made a mechanical whirr, and filled your glass. Ker-chunk, ker-chunk, ker-chunk, the ice cubes tinked into the cup for the longest seconds of his life. His hand was frozen mid-tug on his dick, and you were wearing an oversized t-shirt, and nothing else. Truly, it hardly covered your ass. It clung to your hips, brushed the height of your thighs, and suddenly, he was checking how obvious the bulk of the comforter was over his lap, and if it creased when he moved his hand upwards.

Nothing. Not a fold out of place. He could keep it up. Stroke, by stroke, brushing his fingers over the head only, testing his limits to keep discreet while you switched to the other spout on the fridge for water.

Even when you turned to him, he massaged himself over his boxers, soaking the sticky slick beads of precum into the fabric.

“What?”

Your tone didn’t deter him from tracing the underside of his swollen head, caressing the glans with the same sort of sentiment he experienced in the homemade porn between a real couple–all gentle and nice.

He mustered enough brain cells to respond, “What? I’m already sleeping on the couch. Can’t you leave me alone for one night? Or are you that desperate for attention?”

None the wiser, you took a sip from your glass, and folded your other arm across your stomach, making it obvious from the natural sway that you weren’t wearing a bra. Probably weren’t wearing panties either..

Swallowing the ice cold water with a satisfied ‘ah’, you went on your merry way. “Just came to gawk at the bridge troll, is all. Night night!” Your annoying farewell was followed by the creak of the door, and the faint click of it closing.

What a fucking irritating person.

The anger bristled again. Definitely anger. It was there, lurking, when he rubbed at the sore spot on his chin and picked up his phone, unlocking it to stare at the homescreen.

There was no patience within him to find the video. Besides, the sanitized professional thumbnails on the homepage were enough to have him dropping his phone to the cushion crevices beside him, surrendering himself to his imagination. Nothing lived up to the scenarios in his head, anyway.

Before getting ahead of himself, he slid his fingers beneath the elastic waistband, and gripped himself wholly. There was no sense in denying what he wanted: the raw desire of his hand wrapped firmly around his cock, not caring about creating a mess. It could be cleaned up later. He needed this. Now.

He immersed himself in the fantasy.

The visuals took place minutes ago, if he hadn’t backed down. It was based on you refusing to give him the bed, and instead of walking away from your bratty attitude, he lifted his chin, and broadened his chest with a confidence he didn’t possess. Fantasy Eddie had the courage to kneel on the mattress like he belonged there. Your body would dip, rock towards his imposing knees straddling either side of your calves, and in his strongest dreams, he acted out what should’ve happened.

If he had his way, he would begin with your hips. A single strong palm on the curve would have you hiking them up to greet him, and he was a gentleman. As soon as you presented him with the opportunity, he was scrambling to spread your legs so he could dip between them, eager to please. He wanted to know the sensation of coarse red lace scratching across his tongue; it would be a novelty only he would know. His hands would be on your upper thighs, bringing you closer, closer, to where his mouth awaited you. Persuading your face to the sheets. Putting a wicked arch in your back, granting him permission.

He’d angle his mouth to your clothed clit and collect spit to his bottom lip, parting, and lapping his tongue over the pretty thing, suckling it through the fabric. His nose would be to your cunt, inhaling the musky pheromones. Didn’t matter how long you’d been at work, proving yourself to people who would never appreciate you like he did. He cherished every bit of you so much. The heady scent intoxicated him like a drug, the dimples when he smashed the fat of your ass around his face, your silly whine when he pressed kisses up your pretty pussy. The anger was gone. Like that, he adored you. After all, you craved him. And it’d been a long time since he was wanted. It felt nice to not be rejected.

Eddie, Fantasy You gasped when the wet sound of him sucking your clit through your panties grew in fervor. He was drunk on you. Trying hard. Giving more. Licking at the dark patch he created. God, he loved it. He loved the evidence. He could suckle, moan, flatten his tongue like torture and just breathe on you until he fell asleep, waking up to nudge his teeth over the sensitive areas you presented to him. Spending hours getting you to your peak, over and over.

But in reality, he was approaching his end rather quickly.

My turn, sweetheart, he regretfully informed you.

Getting to his knees, he positioned himself behind you. His cock slotted so nicely against you; red lace meeting unzipped gray uniform pants, and he wasted no time stoking the flames from where he left off.

He clapped your cheeks around the hard outline of his cock. His black boxers stretched to their limits to contain him. There was a dark patch at the tip peeking out between your ass, growing with each slow, assertive grind he committed to, fucking himself into the curve of your cunt with ragged breaths. Losing himself. Mouth agape, and eyebrows pinched as his needy head was swallowed when he rocked his hips back, and reappeared with a rough thrust.

Again, it didn’t take long until he needed a break to make himself last longer.

He draped his weight over you as he slid his rough, calloused palms up the backs of your thighs, creating goosebumps along the sensitive flesh on his way to your sorry excuse for skirt. He bunched the pitiful thing to your waist, and reached for the hem of your shirt.

You hummed in approval, pressing against his lap.

It was hard to balance, but you supported him as he yanked your blouse up–sucking in a sharp breath when you moaned, and rutted yourself on his length–and he brushed his fingers along your soft skin in search for the bra clasp, and when he found it, he pulled the band tight. The latch gave. He caught sudden heft in his palm, cupping you and the bra together, massaging lightly until your nipple slotted between the base of two of his fingers, and he applied the gentlest pressure.

Oh fuck, you whined so nicely for him.

They’re extra sensitive after being caged all day, you explained.

Yeah? Does it feel good?

You nodded, cheek smashed against the wrinkled sheets.

He pinched harder.

Saliva gathered at the corner of your lips, spilling in a sticky string as you dragged your head in another nod, heavy-lidded eyes just visible through your lashes, open mouth panting for him.

True satisfaction spread like weightlessness from the pit of anger in his stomach. He wasn’t supposed to be making you feel good, not the person ruining the one place he found peace after six years of paranoia, but here he was, wishing the taste of your pussy lasted longer in his mouth. Here he was, anchoring his forearm alongside yours, gripping the same sheet you gripped while he beared his weight down on you, and pressed kisses to your clothed shoulders.

His other hand was trapped between you and the bed, but each pulse around your nipple was another long stroke on his cock.

The scene had been set. The build up and story line were crafted. Now, he could play.

He worked kisses under your collar, tasting the sheen of sweat at your hairline, leaving trails of spit to cool as he lolled his head on top of yours, resting his forehead amongst your hair, and he put his lips to the shell of your ear, feeling you shiver beneath him.

Do you think you can treat me that way, and get away with it? Fantasy Him asked. Think you can boss me around whenever you want? He punctuated his question with a hard, unexpected thrust, earning a gasp from your pretty mouth.

Turn over. He didn’t command it verbally, but when he took away his hand to smack the side of your ass, and sat back, you were aware of his unstated switch in position.

You laid on your back, legs spread for him. Skirt bunched around your hips, blouse fallen open, except for the one button remaining. He grasped his cock, and stroked himself through his boxers for you. His brows were drawn together in a gentle question, gaze locked onto yours. This was supposed to be about him, but he still asked, Is this okay? Is this what you want?

The source of his anger, his rage, his frustration–all the blame, burdens, and negativity he attributed to a single woman–opened her arms to him, and nodded.

He passed over your pussy to praise kisses to your stomach. Deft fingers working to undo the last button on your blouse, and explore upwards. Wet smacks of his sloppy gifts arched your back the higher he traveled, molding his large hands to your body. Brushing his rough fingers to the junction of your inner thigh and hip, and spreading you open so your pussy swallowed the fabric, wedging the red lace tight to your clit for later. Up, up, his kisses covered you, until he nosed at the underwire of your bra, and lifted it out of the way.

Fuck, Eddie.

You pushed his hair out of his face. The shorter curls fell from the low bun at his nape, and you tucked them behind his ear so you could watch his tongue lap and swirl at your nipple. Your fluttery moans were heaven, as were your tits being shoved in his mouth. You squirmed for him, clamored for him. You wanted him, needed him. Did you care that his hair was greasy? Did you care that dried salt crystals from sweat scratched your fingers when you cradled his jaw? Did you care about his smell from thirteen hours of being in a hot kitchen when you cupped him under the armpits, encouraging him with a buck of your hips to get back to business?

He supposed not, since it was his fantasy.

But just like reality, you were trying to boss him around.

Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?

You could hardly meet his gaze, eyes so heavy with lust you couldn’t keep them open long enough to beg.

He aligned himself, nudging the tip of his cock to your clit, and he savored the experience of watching the bliss wash over you. It took him a beat to realize, but he moaned in response to your moan. Watching you react from where he picked up his head from your chest, memorizing the fake vision of your face losing the usual harsh distaste for him. Your lips were better this way–lush, and making an effort to sound out his name as he drew his hips back–not sneering because you had the displeasure of asking him a question.

Still, he drove forward with haste. Cotton on lace. Layers of separation. Anything else was too intimate for how he wanted to fuck you, rough and fast, caring only about himself and not about your poor neglected clit, swollen and pleading for his soft tongue, only to get rough, unmeasured thrusts. Messy, and unintentional, and denying. Until you made them work for you.

You used the meat of his shoulders as leverage. Digging your fingers in, holding tight as you rocked with him and raised your legs, wrapping them around his ass. The squeeze of your thighs, and pressure built from your locked ankles tipped you into a better position, and now, his entire length was flush to your clit, not simply passing over the top of it.

All of him was touching you, touching you, touching you. Trapping his cock between your stomachs, damp with reignited sweat. Back to rutting against one another at a desperate pace, chasing the tension, the high. The snap of his hips. Your stuttered groans for more. The anger, the hatred. Festering under the surface, bubbling in your insolence. Present in his teeth grazing your throat, nipping at the pulse, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting.

You’re gonna make me cum. Even Fantasy You said it in a lower register, reaching where the molten resentment laid dormant.

He found the same gravelly animosity and warned you, “I’m too close, I’m too close.”

You cradled him tighter, burying your heads in each other’s embrace. Muscles quivering from effort, burning with each grind, tensing under curious hands finding new places to cling to, curves to admire. Until they stayed put.

Nails bit flesh. Strong fingers dug painfully at bone. Mouths fell open. Eyes closed. Writhing flesh on fabric, and flesh, you trembled under him.

I’m–mm, Eddie–I’m cumming–

His thrusts faltered, jerking into short bursts, and his gracious moans went high and tight in his throat, spilling out as he panted, “You make me feel so good, baby. Fucked you so good. I can’t–I’m cumming–fuck–”

Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–Fuck, Eddie–

–”Fuck,” he babbled aloud.

The climax took him to the dark apartment. The overwhelming shadows of sleeping in the lonely living room on the flat couch under an extra blanket not yet broken of its factory starch, scratchy on the skin. His muscles were still tensed into him curling in on himself, lifting his aching neck and shoulders off the pillow for a few more pumps of his hand sliding over his slick shaft, spreading the warmth oozing towards his hip, no doubt tangling the curly thatch of hair above the base. In lip-biting silence, he stroked himself, not daring to breathe after he knew he said something out loud from his imagination. He listened. Eyes straining to see the hallway.

His bangs stuck to the heavy sweat on his forehead.

His entire body was heated beyond belief.

Anticipation sat heavy on his tongue.

But as he came down from his peak, nothing happened. He stayed lonely. His heartbeat pounded against the guitar pick sticking to his chest, and that was it. Now his head was cleared of distractions, and he could sleep. The fantasy was a fantasy, and in this reality, he wouldn’t do this again. It was too weird to muddy the multitude of negative feelings he had for you with.. whatever this was.

A release, that’s what this was.

Kicking the blanket off, he swung his legs to the side to sit up, socked feet softened by the plush carpet. He pressed his palm over the sticky substance dripping downward, and soaked it up to the best of his ability. And as his cum hit the fresh air, and his inhale was cut short as he smelled his shirt, he thought about the shower he needed. And he thought about the dark patch on his boxers. And he thought about his clothes in the dresser in the bedroom.

Looking down, he inspected his gray pants, and groaned.

They were ruined.

So, so ruined and obvious as to what he was doing.

There was no way he could go into there and grab new clothes for a shower. The thought of facing you after this, and you seeing him in this pathetic state–and God, if you knew it was because of you, and because he couldn’t control himself–he’d rather die than admit you did this to him.

Fuck.

Couldn’t even go to his own room for some fucking clothes so he could shower after working all day.

Yeah, that confirmed it. He fucking hated you.

Hated you even more when he thought about you sleeping on his mattress, wrapped snug in his bedsheets wearing only a t-shirt with nothing else to cover you, and his dick twitched again for that red lace he knew was discarded in the laundry basket.

“Fuck my life.”

[eggluverz]

danheng and reader are interns at the same company and there’s one sided beef from reader’s end cuz they’re trying to compete with him but he’s clueless and just thinks she’s hardworking and cute 😭

— THE INTERNS

In which you view your internship as a competition and Dan Heng is simply attracted to your hard work and determination.

PAIRING. dan heng x f!reader

WORD COUNT. 1788

GENRE. modern au. rivals? to lovers?

NOTE. ty anon for this super fun request!! <3 clueless dan heng the loml… and reader is so chaotic ngl alsjdkdl i hope u enjoy !! ^-^

“Can somebody handle the emails from the Realm-Keeping Commission?” Mr. Yang asked as he rushed through the intern’s cubicle area. He had a cup of tea in one hand and a handful of folders in the other. “They’ve had a recent breach of contract issue so we should be getting an influx shortly.”

“I can handle it!” you immediately spoke up, sparing your cubicle-mate a brief glance. You had a smile on your face but your eyes were urging him not to butt in.

Dan Heng smiled back. “I’ll help her.”

“Great.” Mr. Yang nodded in appreciation. “We have such hard-working interns this year.“

Your eye twitched as you replied, “Right. Great.”

Once the intern director left, you turned to glare at Dan Heng. He was nonchalantly typing on his computer, no doubt responding to the Commission’s emails already. A job that you should’ve been doing alone. Alongside a million other things that naturally came with being an unpaid intern.

You wanted to prove yourself here. The Astral Express was well known in the industry and you wanted nothing more than a job offer after the internship. But how could you possibly secure that when Dan Heng constantly stole your shine? You had to keep pushing. Keep striving to do more and impress your bosses.

“Hey, Y/N,” said Dan Heng. “If you have too much on your plate, I can take care of the emails today.”

Heat rose to your cheeks as you frowned in indignation. “You think I can’t handle it?”

He titled his head to the side. The innocent look on his face made you more upset. You couldn’t tell if he was making fun of you or if he truly believed you were someone pitiful who needed constant help.

“Of course you can handle it,” he reassured. “I don’t doubt that. I just don’t want you to take on too much of the workload. I’ve noticed you push yourself quite a lot.”

You shook your head. “I’m not pushing myself too much. I can do it.”

Dan Heng’s gaze softened. “You know yourself best. But I just hope you don’t overwork yourself too hard. We’re only unpaid interns, remember.”

You puffed your cheeks indignantly. Of course he could say something like that and still be a top performer. “Thanks for the consideration, but don’t worry about me. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I better get back to work.”

He only nodded in response.

As you started scanning through the emails on your computer, responding to the ones you have already finished, you felt Dan Heng still looking at you. You turned your face away from his desk so you wouldn’t be directly in his field of vision, unsure why he was staring but not really wanting to find out. Besides, you had more important things to get to. How could you possibly get more work done than Dan Heng if you were too busy worrying about why he kept looking at you?

Perhaps his innocence was a facade and he was playing mind games to slow you down.

With a huff of determination, you worked extra fast, not wanting to let his plan succeed. He’d have to do better than that to win.

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

It was your lunch break the next day and for the first time since you started (except for those times Mr. Yang wanted to take the interns out for lunch), you were not eating at your desk to work through the lunch period.

Apparently, HR was visiting the office so you all had to follow all the policies, no matter how silly anyone found them.

Instead of your desk, you were eating at a shaded seating area outside of the office. If you weren’t going to work through your break, you might as well enjoy it and get a breath of fresh air while you were at it. With your high ambition and willingness to push yourself for this internship, you were aware it probably seemed like you were a workaholic of sorts. That wasn’t exactly true.

You saw the important of work-life balance and valued it, but you also figured an internship is where you were supposed to work extra hard. Then, once you secured the job, you would be free to relax.

You took a bite of your sandwich you packed as you stared off at the gently swaying trees in the distance.

“Hey.” You almost jumped at the sudden sound. “Can I join you?”

You slowly turned towards Dan Heng, blinking. First, he tormented you in the office as an intern who provided ample competition. Now, he wanted to torment you during your lunch too?

Despite your inner thoughts, you didn’t want to be rude. Deep down you knew he was also just an intern doing his best. You just had to do better.

“Sure,” you acknowledged. “Have a seat, nemesis.” The words escaped your mouth before you could stop yourself. “I mean… Dan Heng…”

His brows furrowed. “I find it hard to believe those two words could get confused so easily.”

You cleared your throat. “Not sure what you mean.” Before Dan Heng could respond, you changed the subject. “What did you bring for lunch?”

As he sat next to you, he showed you his opened tupperware. It contained the yummiest smelling food with very neat presentation. You figured it probably tasted even better than it smelled or looked.

“I packed a bento box for today.”

You looked down at your soggy sandwich. Was even lunch a competition to him? Did he have to be the best at everything? You vowed to look up the most intricate lunch recipe and show it off to him once you made it.

He looked at your sandwich wordlessly before taking a bite of tender meat.

Your face burned in shame.

Tomorrow, you told yourself. Tomorrow you’d show him.

˖⁺‧₊˚❀˚₊‧⁺˖

Today, your internship started around noon. It wasn’t a whole day of work and you knew fully well you didn’t need to pack lunch. Still, you stayed up all night perfecting this recipe and you had to show Dan Heng you were worthy competition as well. You even made enough servings to pack a meal for Dan Heng to try too.

Towards the middle of your shift, you walked over to his desk.

He paused his typing and looked up at you. “Can I help you?”

You held out a tupperware of your homemade food. “Look. I made this.”

Dan Heng’s eyes widened as he cautiously took the container from your hands. “For me?”

“Yeah. I saw your bento box yesterday and wanted to prove that I can also cook! Just like I can do all the work we’re assigned!”

Confusion was written all over his face but he still managed to smile. “First, thank you for making this for me.”

You looked at him, equally confused. Why did he sound so sincere? You simply wanted to prove a point. Not do something out of the kindness of your heart.

“Second,” he continued, “I do agree you can do all the work we’re given. Have I made you feel like I believe otherwise?”

“Not exactly… It’s just you keep offering to help me even when I say I’ll do it!” you explained passionately. “You keep trying to steal my work and do more than me!”

Dan Heng blinked, mouth opening then closing. He opened his mouth once more, trying again. “I wasn’t aware you viewed it as me stealing your work.” He rested his chin on his hand as he thought things through. “I didn’t want you overexerting yourself so I was only trying to help ease your workload… I’m sorry for undermining your hard work.”

“You’re not doing it on purpose?”

“No. I admire your determination and how you always step up to the task— I would never want to take away from that,” he said earnestly. His stare was unwavering as he looked into your eyes. “I more than admire it, actually. I find it quite attractive even.”

You gaped at him, unmoving. “Huh?”

“Attractive, endearing, cute… Do you need more synonyms?”

“Me?” You pointed at yourself.

Dan Heng nodded. “Well, I was referring to your work ethic. But yes. You as well.”

You bashfully stood up straighter. “You’re not too bad yourself, I suppose.”

That wasn’t a lie. You did find Dan Heng rather attractive. His hair was dark and messy, falling around his eyes in a way you could only describe as perfectly framing the vibrant blues. He had a pretty face and a serious demeanor that initially drew you to him— Until he started competing (as you saw it, at least) with you in your internship.

As you stared at each other in silence, Mr. Yang came in with a stack of papers. “Good afternoon, everyone. Can someone run an audit of the company’s stocks?”

You jumped up, startled. You didn’t except to be interrupted like that, but you quickly regained your composure, rushing over to him to grab the papers. A part of you was thankful for the distraction, but another part of you wanted to see where it would’ve lead. “I can do the audit!”

“Great, thank you!” he said in acknowledgment before rushing back out.

Once Mr. Yang left, Dan Heng turned to you and said, “Let me know if you need any help. I’m here if you need.”

You smiled. Now that you knew he wasn’t trying to best you, you were much more open to the idea of working together. “Sure, I’d love some help.” You paused and Dan Heng raised one brow. Though it came from the heart and the sentiment was there, you both knew it wasn’t completely true. You still did want to be the very best after all. “Well… You can help, but only a little though.”

Dan Heng laughed, accepting the small stack of papers you gave him, not even one fourth as tall as your pile. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

You hummed in agreement. Before focusing on your work, you thought of one small thing to ask him. “Hey, Dan Heng?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe next week you can bring me some lunch, too? Or, maybe we could go out for dinner even…”

“I’d love to,” Dan Heng smiled and it was the widest grin you’ve seen on his face thus far, “if you give me more of your paperwork.”

You gasped, feeling thoroughly tricked. So he did want to beat you—?

“That way, we can finish sooner and I can take you to dinner tonight.”

Your train of thoughts stopped in their tracks as a light chuckle escaped your lips. “Fine,” you agreed, finding yourself strangely looking forward to having dinner with him. “But just this once, okay?”

“Of course.”

dan heng: *stares at reader*

reader: he’s playing mind games to make me nervous and slow me down

dan heng: she’s hardworking and passionate and so cute u.u

[seungrem]

Huening Kai x m!reader

‘Finishing What We Started’ ~*+

summary: After male!reader gets promoted to work for an idol group, he catches a particular boy’s eye. As no-one seems to suspect the two, they spend some time alone while on a retreat.

( idol!kai x intern!reader, smut kinda, top!kai x bttm!reader, mutual feelings )

emoji code:

🧸 ( lil bit of fluff )

🌱 ( oneshot / short story - around 4.5k words )

❄️ ( smut, +18, minors DNI )

☁️ ( stands for y/n )

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

A long breath emitted from the mouth of a young man. Holding a small stack of tan files, he looked himself up and down in front of an office of frosted windows. His gray dress pants were neat, his sneakers pristine, and his white button-up complimented his gray ‘B.H.’ vest nicely. After deeming himself ready to enter, he took a step forward and used his free hand to knock, him then pushing his boss’s door open.

“Ah, ☁️. Right on time, per usual.” The boss stood up and greeted ☁️, who greeted back and very carefully placed the small stack of files onto the boss’s desk.

“Hello sir, this was requested yesterday. I thought I would take care of it for you.”

As the boss sat down in his gray suit, ☁️ stepped back to stand between two very nice chairs with green cushions. The office was somewhat large with dark blue carpeting, glass walls, and many desks that held achievements and framed papers.

“I admire how hard you work, ☁️. And because of that, I have a gift for you.”

The boss smiled and pulled a tan file from under his dark brown desk, pieces of paper inside of it. The boss took the papers out and turned the top one around to face ☁️. The boy leaned in to read it.

‘Personal assistant? For a boy group? .. This was supposed to be a gift?’

“I’m sorry sir, I don’t quite understand.. You want me to be a personal assistant?” ☁️ frowned at the sight of the paper, him looking back up to his boss.

“Oh don’t give me that look, this is a great opportunity for you! This is a relatively new group, and they have been climbing the charts for the past year and a half. It’ll be great for you! I promise.”

“Well.. are you going to find a new intern then?” ☁️ felt as though he was being demoted. Who would want to be a personal assistant?”

“I don’t think so, with your help our department has been ahead of schedule and paperwork. If I ever need you back here with me, I’ll just call you over.”

“Do I have an option?”

“☁️, you’re going to be getting paid well! You’ll be making more than some of the people working in this office.” The boss held the weight of his chin on the back of his right hand, as if he was thinking hard.

“Here, I’ll give you a deal. If you last a week helping this boy group, and still don’t like it by then, I’ll talk to our department ‘heads about a different promotion opportunity. The last personal assistant for this group got promoted too quickly, which made things hard for the group’s current staff.. though, now she works alongside me.”

☁️ nodded in understanding- the boss’s tangent was slightly convincing. He liked the idea of going from an overworked, unpaid intern, to a simple assistant who got paid well. Seemed easy enough.

“I understand, I think that I’ll take your deal. Thank you for.. this opportunity.” ☁️ smiled awkwardly.

“Great! I’m so happy that you’re agreeing to this, ☁️. You’re going to do so well, and not only for yourself. You’ll be of tremendous help to this group and their manager. I know it.”

The boss put the papers back into the tan file and handed it to ☁️. Unsure that he made the right decision, ☁️ thanked his boss and placed the file under his arm.

“I expect great things! I’ll see you soon, take care.” The boss nodded his head and ☁️ said his goodbyes. Taking his leave, he wondered how a personal assistant would be so significant in this group’s success. Slowly closing the glass door, ☁️ walked toward the elevator. After working for four months as an intern, he was now “promoted” to a personal assistant. At least now he’d be earning a salary.

After taking the elevator down to the ground floor, he stepped out into the majestic lobby and walked to the reception desk. With floors and walls of marble, there was lots of tapping from people going about their business. Walking toward a large, dark brown desk., he waved to farthest left secretary. She was a tall young woman with dark black hair, a person who had quickly befriended ☁️ during his first few days as an intern. The two spoke often, but ☁️ would always forget her name.

After chatting for a few minutes about ☁️’s meeting with the boss, the secretary became ecstatic.

“You should be happy, you’re spending time around a big idol group! That’s great!”

“Yes, I hope I’ll grow to like it. Do you end your shift soon?” ☁️ looked around to make sure there was nobody waiting in line to speak to his friend.

“I do, would you like me to check you out of work for the day? I was going to do the same in a moment.”

“That would be great, thank you! I’ll hopefully see you soon.” ☁️ took a step away from the counter he was leaning on.

“Of course, see you later.” The secretary smiled brightly and the two waved to each other.

☁️ approached the large, glass doors as beautiful oranges and pinks faded into each other over the sky. He stepped out into the city engulfed in warm tones, bustling streets ahead of him.

“You do know you’re an hour and a half early , right?”

☁️ stepped onto the stone staircase of a large cottage, located in the middle of the countryside. A large, wooden fence overgrown with pink flowers and tall grass surrounded the property. ☁️ looked around at the bight yellow sky, the sunrise illuminating birds and pink clouds. Turning around, ☁️ clutched his small bag and began up the stairs. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light inside the stone house.

A man in all black, including a black mask and hat, stood in front of the doorframe. He took off his hat and placed a hand on the door.

“Hello, yes, I know I’m early. I figured it would be best to come at this time.” Behind the man in black he saw other people in black running around. Many were carrying things such as equipment, dishes of sorts, and cloth materials.

“You figured correctly. I’m the staff director here and it’s a pleasure to have you join us.” He led ☁️ through the small building, the two dodging other staff members setting up skinny poles and cameras. “I heard many things about you, so i’m glad to have you join us.”

☁️ mentally rolled his eyes at the comment.

“It’s a pleasure.” The boy said as the two stopped at a table in what seemed like a dining room. The table had even more equipment scattered over it. The director called a name out and two women turned their attention from the table to the director and ☁️. The director introduced the two to him. The morning quickly began with many introductions, though ☁️ only could recall about half of them.

After a half hour of introductions and explanations, the director sat ☁️ down at the small dining room table. He explained that there wasn’t much that he needed ☁️ to do other than provide personal assistance to the idol group. Thus, the director instructed ☁️ to simply wait outside for a black van.

With a sigh, Cat sat on a small ledge of the house, waiting for what he assumed to be the arrival of the group. The sky was now clear and bright blue, the sounds of leaves and tall grass rustling filling the silence. After a few minutes, a large black van pulled into the dirt road. ☁️ watched from the steps as two older men dragged suitcases out of the vehicle, five younger men climbing out and stretching. Unsure of what to do, ☁️ walked over to the two older men.

“Hello, I’m the personal assistant for the group. Did you need help with the suitcases?” ☁️ held his hand out, prepared to grab a bag or two.

“Hello, I’m their manager, and we will take care of this. The boys have been complaining about being tired, though. Can you take them to their rooms? Make sure that they know all but one of them are sharing. We will decide where they sleep after filming.”

It was then and there that ☁️ realized that he didn’t know why it is that he was there.

‘Is this a music video set? Or maybe this is just for a retreat?’ the boy wondered to himself. His boss at the company building had informed him of who the group was, but of course he had forgotten their name.

He nervously walked over to the 5 tall boys, them all carrying a backpack. One of the boys had two backpacks, both of which seemed heavy.

“Oh, are you from another group? I thought we were filming a ‘To-Do’ here..” A tall boy tilted his head to the side, visibly confused. ☁️ was confused by his confusion, him furrowing his eyebrows unintentionally.

“I’m sorry?”

“Are you an idol?” The tall boy asked again.

“Oh, no. I’m here as a worker. I’m supposed to be your personal assistant.. or something like that.”

“Oh, okay.” The boy was tired, and ☁️ could sense the same feeling from the four behind him.

“I was instructed to take you to your rooms, so please follow me.” ☁️ felt awkward about their conversation, feeling that it was going to be a long day. The boys were ready to follow him, but ☁️ walked up to the one with two bags, him taking one of them and throwing it around his shoulder.

“I’m ☁️, by the way.” He said, beginning down the dirt path to the cottage. The five followed behind, slowly walking up the stone steps as if their energy was being spent with each step.

The staff weren’t running around at this point, most of them sitting around or talking to each other. Everyone stopped what they were doing as the six boys stepped inside. ☁️ smiled awkwardly, the boys behind him quickly greeting everyone. The room began to fill with ‘hello’s and ‘welcome’s as ☁️ led the group to the other side of the house. They arrived to a dimly lit, narrow hallway. There were three frosted glass doors, natural light emitting from the inside. ☁️ thought about the director’s quick tour, him pretty sure this was where their rooms were.

“The manager said that there are three bedrooms, so only one of you will get your own room. He also said that I’m not allowed to let you pick where you’re sleeping.”

The boys all grunted, clearly annoyed with the staff. They all looked at each other, and then back at ☁️.

“They said it was fine if you rest, though. So you can pick them now, just understand that it’s temporary.” ☁️ spoke formally to them, watching as they looked to each other again.

“How do you want to split up?” A boy with big eyes asked, looking around.

“I’m getting my own room, you guys can figure it out.” One of them stated, walking past ☁️ toward the room directly down the hall. Another one of the boys gripped his shoulder, pulling him back.

“No, you and Taehyun can share.”

The group began bickering about the room toward the end of the hall, though one of them stood behind and looked at ☁️. It was the boy who had two backpacks, him seemingly about to fall asleep standing up. ☁️ looked back at him, both mesmerized by his beauty and a bit worried.

“Uh, all of the rooms have two beds. Why don’t you get some rest.” ☁️ opened the door behind him, holding it for the tired boy to walk through. The room was a decent size for such a small cottage- the beds were a few feet apart with a nightstand in between. Wooden floors held beige walls with a few small paintings. Above the bed on the other side of room sat a large window with see-through lavender curtains. A beautiful view of a large garden with flowers of pink and purple added to the scenery of the blue sky. On the other side of the room, a large wooden dresser sat against the wall.

The boy muttered a ‘thank you’ and threw his bag onto the floor. He fell onto the bed, resting his head opposite from the window and toward the door. ☁️ softly placed the heavy bag from around his shoulder next to the bed, then dragging the dropped one beside the nightstand.

“Are you really our personal assistant? We haven’t had one in a while..” The boy mumbled as he laid on the bed, eyes closed. ☁️ walked to the bed on the other side, which was only a few feet from the boy’s.

“What makes you think that I’m not?” ☁️ asked jokingly. A cool breeze flew into the room, brushing against ☁️’s cheeks and neck.

“You’re attractive. And not wearing a mask like a lot of the other staff.” The boy paused. “That’s why Soobin thought you were in a group. I think.”

☁️ was taken aback by the idol’s comment, it making him blush and become nervous at the same time. Analyzing the boy’s soft features, ☁️ realized that he still didn’t know their names.

“Thank you, you’re attractive too. What’s your name?”

The boy opened his eyes and lifted his head. He looked at ☁️ sleepily. “You don’t know our names?”

☁️ choked on his words, a bit embarrassed. “I do.. I’m just bad with remembering them. I’ll know when you remind me.”

The boy laid his head down on his arm, looking at ☁️. “You can call me Hyuka. That’s what they call me.”

Two of the other members busted into the room, Hyuka immediately pretending to have fallen asleep.

“He’s already sleeping?”

☁️ recalled that the tall one was Soobin, but didn’t know who the one with the middle part was. He looked over to Hyuka, who continued to “sleep.”

“Yes, he just fell asleep.” ☁️ stood up, walking away from the bed so that Soobin could place his bag down.

“I’ll just room with Taehyun, then.” The other said, ☁️ following him out of the room and shutting the door softly. The other boy walked into Taehyun’s room across from Hyuka’s, and shut the door.

Now that ☁️ was warming up to the group, he felt better about the time he was going to spend with them. He walked down a few halls to the living room, where the staff director watched a tiny camera being installed into a corner of the ceiling.

“Excuse me.” ☁️ said, standing behind him.

“Ah yes, are the boys resting?”

“Yes, they are. Is there anything you need me to do now?”

“You should rest for a while too. You were here super early. Take the extra bed in one of the rooms and I’ll grab you when we film tonight.”

☁️ felt as though this ‘personal assistant’ job was unproductive. He sighed and nodded, grabbing his bag from a chair on the dining room table. The director followed behind him.

“☁️,” The director tapped the boy’s shoulder as he picked up his bag. He turned around quickly.

“This job.. it may seem fruitless at first. These ‘To-Do’ projects are mostly just a break for the immediate staff, which you are considered. Enjoy your leisure time with the boys before you become a lot more occupied during the promotion projects.”

☁️ understood his position now, him thanking the director for the explanation. The two parted ways, as ☁️ returned to the narrow hallway. He walked all the way down, opening the door very slowly as to not wake the boy sleeping. To his surprise, one of the boys and Soobin slept peacefully across from each other. Retracing his steps, he lightly shut the door and walked over to Hyuka’s room.

Hyuka snored loudly, causing ☁️ to assume that it bothered Soobin. ☁️ walked over to his bed and placed his bag down. He then grabbed a pillow, and walked to Hyuka’s bed. He placed the pillow beside Hyuka. Gently lifting the boy’s heavy head and shoulders, he quickly slid the pillow under. Hyuka’s snoring stopped, and he repositioned himself in his sleep.

Relieved, ☁️ walked over to his bed, passing out as soon as he climbed into it.

A pair of hands lightly shook ☁️’s shoulder. Slowly opening his eyes, Hyuka was on one knee in front of the bed. Behind him, the curtains blew a soft breeze into the room. White clouds flew across the bright blue sky as ☁️’s upper body rose from the bed.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Wanna go for a walk?” Hyuka stared into the boy’s eyes, almost without emotion.

“I’m not sure..” ☁️ rubbed his eyes and threw the blanket off of his legs. He looked over to the window, the bright atmosphere meaning that there was still time before they filmed.

“..let me make sure it’s okay with the staff director.”

Hyuka nodded and stood up, him then walking over to his bed and sitting. ☁️ stood up, grabbed his phone, and opened the door.

“I’ll come with, so we can just leave after.”

Hyuka stood up immediately and walked over to the door, holding it open as the two talked.

“What if he says no?” ☁️ raised an eyebrow. Hyuka smiled at the action.

“You’re our assistant, I command you to go on a walk with me.” Hyuka smiled flippantly, ☁️ rolling his eyes as he walked out of the room.

“That’s not how this works.”

-

Hyuka looked over to ☁️, grabbing his arm. Since the film director had left to his hotel, the manager had given them permission to leave for a bit.

“Be back in a half hour, please.”

Hyuka dragged ☁️ by his arm out of the cottage door, him only letting go when the door was closed behind them.

“Why did you want to go on a walk again?” ☁️ looked around at the nature surrounding the two.

“There’s a path over here. The others were still sleeping, and I really wanted to go.” Hyuka looked from the sky to ☁️, his eyes asking permission to begin walking down the steps and toward the path.

“Lead the way.” ☁️ said with a light smile. The two quickly made their way down the stone steps, and through the grass to the other side of the house. There was a wooden gate blocking the entrance to the garden, which Hyuka power walked over to. ☁️ assumed this was so that he could open the door for him, which he did.

☁️ laughed at the action and thanked him, Hyuka just nodding shyly. The two walked through the bushes and large patches of flowers, ☁️ pretty much following Hyuka as he wandered around. Eventually the two found a bench next to a small bird fountain. ☁️ sat after Hyuka, with their backs now to the cottage.

“We can see our room’s window from over here.” Hyuka turned around to look back at the cottage, ☁️ following his action. The boys gasped as they saw two heads looking at them through the window. Once spotted, those two heads jumped out of view.

“Who’s in our room?” ☁️ asked, somewhat annoyed.

“I think it’s Beomgyu and Yeonjun. They’re nosey.” Hyuka got up and took a few steps to the left. He turned around, motioning for ☁️ to follow. The two walked toward the end of the garden, where the path that Hyuka was talking about was located. It was a narrow dirt path surrounded by tall trees. Sunlight broke through branches above, illuminating small parts of the path. Hyuka once again opened the gate for ☁️, the two then walking side by side.

☁️ would occasionally look over to Hyuka as the two walked in silence, Hyuka occasionally catching his gaze. Hyuka’s face didn’t display an ounce of expression. His lips were sealed, and he was faced forward, aside from when he looked at ☁️.

After a minute or two of walking aimlessly down the path, ☁️ thought to himself out loud.

“I didn’t think idols were this.. nonchalant.” He looked over to Hyuka, who immediately glanced back to him, furrowing his eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” Hyuka responded, ☁️ noticing that he seemed almost offended by the comment.

“I just meant that you’re so.. nice. That’s the impression you gave me, anyway.” ☁️ stopped as the two arrived at the end of the path. A large opening in the trees displayed large green fields and mountains. The two were very high up, though it didn’t seem like their elevation was increasing as they walked. A brightly lit bench sat in a dirt area directly in the middle of this opening, large rocks surrounding the ledge.

Hyuka stood next to ☁️, visibly choking on his words. ☁️ felt bad for almost laughing at him, so he grabbed Hyuka’s arm and led him to the bench a few feet in the distance. The two sat facing each other, with ☁️ to the left and Hyuka to the right. ☁️ watched as the sun’s golden rays stretched across Hyuka’s soft skin, the boy finally finding his words.

“You’re nice, too. Idols.. I guess they get a bad reputation. You should get to know me more.” Hyuka looked from the beautiful view to ☁️. “I wanna get to know you more, anyway.”

☁️ was now the one at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure if Hyuka was just being nice or flirting with him. The two boys now staring at each other, Hyuka became embarrassed.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be..”

“No, no, no. It’s fine, you’re fine.” ☁️ didn’t want to give him the wrong impression, and it was clear that Hyuka thought that he made things awkward.

“I’d like to get to know you more, too. You’re sweet.” ☁️ placed a leg on the bench seat and turned his entire body to face Hyuka. The two smiled playfully, leaning into each other.

“Glad we’re on the same page.” Hyuka placed his left arm behind ☁️, as he leaned closer. ☁️ now understood what Hyuka was trying to say. After a few seconds of him processing, Hyuka’s face was only inches away from ☁️’s.

☁️ used his pointer finger and thumb to hold Hyuka’s chin, directing the boy’s lips over to his own. Surprised by his own actions, ☁️ titled his head and placed an arm around Hyuka’s neck. Hyuka responded by placing his left hand under ☁️’s thigh and lifting the boy onto him. With ☁️ now brushing against Hyuka’s torso, the two made out passionately, Hyuka kissing sloppily. Hyuka slowly slid his tongue into ☁️’s mouth, him then doing the same. Their tongues softly brushed against each other as ☁️ ran his hand through Hyuka’s hair, Hyuka gripping his ass.

After a minute, ☁️ lifted his mouth away from Hyuka’s to catch his breath. Hyuka furrowed his eyebrows at the action, placing his lips on ☁️’s neck and kissing gently as a substitute. ☁️ rubbed his hands up and down Hyuka’s chest, panting as he felt the boy’s kisses turn into bites.

☁️ pushed Hyuka’s head away softly, the two looking into each other’s eyes for a moment. Hyuka’s straight hair swayed as the breeze began to pick up.

“Don’t leave marks. If they find out th-”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Hyuka lifted the boy again, adjusting so that ☁️ sat on his hard bulge. ☁️ began rotating his hips on Hyuka as they quickly returned to each other’s lips. Hyuka roughly anchored ☁️’s waist to his hips as he thrusted into him.

Hyuka was bulkier than he looked, and his chest was a fondled through his black shirt multiple times as ☁️ couldn’t get enough of it. As Hyuka’s thrusts became more aggressive, ☁️’s kisses got sloppier.

☁️ occasionally opened his eyes while they made out, the boy noticing that Hyuka’s skin became a bright orange color. ☁️ pulled away from the boy, removing his arm from his around neck and turning to face the sky. It had turned bright orange, the low, pink clouds lingering as the sun was beginning to set. Hyuka wrapped his arms around ☁️’s waist, continuing to feel down the boy on top of him. He looked up expectantly with soft eyes, but ☁️ only let out a troubled sigh.

“We should start heading back.”

☁️ gave Hyuka one last and sudden kiss as he lifted a leg off of the boy. The two now sat on the bench again, in silence.

“Did you know this was over here?” ☁️ looked over to Hyuka, who glanced back as he wiped his face.

“No, it’s our first time in this side of the city.”

☁️ wiped his face and nodded in understanding, him then standing up. Hyuka followed his actions, though he had to readjust the bump in his crotch area. ☁️ smiled at the boy as he shifted his pants around, Hyuka smiling back in embarrassment. His print wasn’t super noticeable in his jeans, anyway.

The two hurried out of the dirt area, and down the path as the forest began to get darker. Hyuka broke the silence after a few minutes.

“Why did you ask if I knew that the bench was there earlier?” He looked over to ☁️, though the dimness of the forest made it hard to see his facial expressions.

“No reason.”

“My intention wasn’t to.. you know, do that. With you.” Hyuka kept his gaze on the boy next to him until he responded.

“I believe you. Though, I think you wanted to do a little more than get to know me.” ☁️ smiled, knowing Hyuka wouldn’t be able to see it. Hyuka grabbed ☁️’s arm firmly as they continued walking.

“No, I want to get to know you. Seriously, I like you.” Hyuka’s voice became whiny, as through he was once again offended by ☁️’s words.

“I’m kidding, don’t worry.” ☁️ removed Hyuka’s grasp from his arm, and instead interlocked hands with the boy. “This won’t be able to go anywhere, though, you know that right?”

Hyuka remained silent for a few seconds, ☁️ sensing that he was unsatisfied with the comment.

“Why not?”

“You’re an international popstar and idol. Did you forget that?”

The two noticed the light from the cottage ahead. By this point, the sky was bright purple, only a few orange clouds still remaining.

“I can make it work. I’ll just hide you.”

☁️ rolled his eyes, though he thought it was cute how seriously Hyuka was taking their conversation.

“Okay Mr. Idol.”

Hyuka let go of ☁️’s hand to walk ahead and open the wooden gate’s door for him.

“Where have you two been?”

The boy with the middle part walked into the living room just as Hyuka and ☁️ did.

“Which one’s this, again?” ☁️ asked jokingly, though he didn’t actually know the boys name.

“You work for us and don’t even know our names?” He exclaimed, his ego visibly hurt.

“That’s what I said.” Hyuka smiled at the face the boy was making- his mouth was open ajar and his eyes were practically squinting. “Fix your face Yeonjun.”

Yeonjun glared at Hyuka, then looking over to ☁️ expectantly. “Well, where were you?”

“We went for a walk down a dirt trail.” Hyuka responded.

“And what’s on your neck?” Yeonjun lazily pointed to ☁️. The boy froze and looked at Yeonjun, then to Hyuka.

“A branch.. fell on him. On our way back.” Hyuka said with a perfect poker face. He broke the facade when he smiled awkwardly to ☁️, almost as to ask for help.

“Yea, the winds were really, well, rough. It didn’t hurt.. but I bruise easily. I guess.” ☁️ held a hand over the bruise and brushed his fingers over it.

“Right..” Yeonjun turned his gaze to Hyuka, who smiled innocently at him. Another boy entered the room, ☁️ not knowing this one either.

“What took you guys so long?” He said, walking into the open kitchen area.

“☁️ has a bruise on his neck.” Yeonjun yelled to him. Huening muttered the word ‘asshole’ under his breath as the boy in the kitchen looked at ☁️.

“Come check it out, Taehyun.” Yeonjun yelled again, trying not to smirk. Taehyun walked over to ☁️, Yeonjun motioning toward his neck. ☁️ hesitantly pulled down his top’s neckline so Taehyun could see it clearly.

“How’d that happen?” Taehyun looked to Hyuka, concerned.

“He got hit by something flying in the wind. We couldn’t see well because it got dark.” Hyuka responded, his voice monotone.

“You said it was a tree branch.” Yeonjun snarled.

“I never said that.”

“You just said that?!” Yeonjun furrowed his eyebrows in both anger and confusion.

“No I didn’t.”

☁️ decided to play Hyuka’s game by teasing the boy. “Yeonjun, are you okay?”

Taehyun looked at Yeonjun and sighed. “The staff will be here soon. Maybe you should rest some more before they come.”

“I should beat you.” Yeonjun grabbed Hyuka’s shirt as Hyuka laughed at him, Taehyun grabbing Yeonjun’s arm and dragging him away.

“☁️, follow me so I can put some ointment on the bruise.” Taehyun said as he and Yeonjun walked away. Yeonjun grilled ☁️ about whether or not Hyuka talked about a branch. ☁️ just shrugged, which made the boy go feral and walk away from him and Taehyun.

-

Taehyun knelt on the bathroom tiles as ☁️ sat on the toilet. The idol carefully applied a cream over the bruise as they sat in silence.

“Alright, all done.”

“Thank you.” ☁️ said as the two stood up. Taehyun placed the cream tube in a small bag. He didn’t turn away from the bag, though he opened his mouth, hesitating to speak. ☁️ noticed and waited for him to do so.

“You should be careful, ☁️. Please, no more branches falling on you. Or Huening Kai.” Taehyun must’ve understood what was going on, ☁️ catching on quickly.

“It won’t happen again.” ☁️ muttered feeling embarrassed. Taehyun also sensed his embarrassment.

“At least don’t make it obvious.”

☁️ nodded, Taehyun finally turning to him and smiling. The two left the bathroom and walked down the hall just as the staff arrived with large duffle bags.

“We’re filming in 10!” The staff director yelled.

-

The filming lasted around 2 hours. The concept of the video was simple, and ☁️ sat behind the camera alongside the director, manager, and other staff. Simply watching the boys in silence, ☁️ occasionally adjusted his hoodie to cover the bruise, or played with the black mask around his face.

The five idols were each given a mission on a piece of paper. They had to find a specific object, though their papers only contained riddles and hints to the other boy’s objects. Soobin and Taehyun quickly shared the hints to each other, leaving out the other three. Beomgyu and Yeonjun teamed up against Hyuka, leaving the boy without any hints. Hyuka wandered around the house, not sure what it was he was loookign for.

Irritated, he gave up and walked over to his room, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. There was a camera hidden in the room, the staff laughing at Hyuka’s behavior.

The staff director snapped his fingers at ☁️, who immediately turned his attention to him.

“Deliver these papers to Huening Kai, please.” He whispered as Beomgyu and Yeonjun had walked into the living room. ☁️ looked at the papers and stood up, them all containing a hint to Hyuka’s item. ☁️ walked over to the room, knocking before entering.

Hyuka was surprised to see ☁️ walk in while they were filming, him lifting his body up to sit and face the boy. Hyuka’s face was red and his eyebrows were arched, making him look mean. ☁️ simply handed the papers to Hyuka, and tiptoed back to where the manager sat on the floor.

Eventually, Hyuka found his item before the others, his prize being that he got to have a room to himself. He knew he was temporarily sharing that room with ☁️, which made him express less agitation towards everyone.

-

The team began to pack the cameras and equipment away to head back home. The five idols were staying behind as the next few days were their mini-vacation.

As ☁️ grabbed his bag from Hyuka’s room, the group’s manager approached him. It was just them two, as Hyuka was still in the living room helping the staff. Standing in the doorway, the manager knocked on the door to catch ☁️’s attention.

“Hello, ☁️. Please feel free to decline the offer, but one of the boys asked if you could stay with them for the retreat. It’s only a few days, and the entire week will be paid. It’s up to you.”

☁️ recalled that his boss gave him a week to work with the group before he could be considered for another position. A week working while also on a retreat sounded great.

“I’ll accept. I just need a ride to the hotel to grab my other bags.”

“I’ll have someone drive you, please come with me.” The manager nodded, motioning ☁️ to follow him. On his way out behind the other staff, Hyuka grabbed ☁️’s arm and squeezed.

“You’re going to stay, right?” Hyuka asked in a low-pitched voice. He was clearly still upset.

“Yes, I’m just grabbing my stuff.”

Hyuka let go of his arm, watching motionlessly as the staff made their way outside. The sky was now pitch black, and light drizzle filling the air.

“☁️.”

“Yes, Hyuka?”

“What’re you doing.”

“I’m just scrolling through social media. Why?” ☁️ turned to face Hyuka as the two boys laid in silence.

“Can you come over here?” Hyuka was lying on his back, once again staring at the ceiling above. Rain droplets lightly tapped against the window beside him. ☁️ rolled his eyes and continued scrolling.

“Why, Hyuka?”

☁️ waited for a response, only to hear Hyuka sigh heavily. He looked over, seeing the boy turn to his side to face the wall. ☁️ turned his phone off and placed it on the nightstand, him then walking over to Hyuka’s bed. He placed his body down behind the boy, wrapping an arm around his torso. Hyuka turned to face ☁️, their bodies only inches apart.

“You still upset?” ☁️ removed his arm from around Hyuka, placing his hand on Hyuka’s chest instead. Hyuka pressed his hand on top of ☁️’s, guiding it along his pecs.

“I’m not.”

“Good.”

Hyuka placed a hand on ☁️’s waist, slowly moving that hand down to his ass. ☁️ felt his body heat up, which resulted in him once again grabbing Hyuka’s chin.

“Wanna finish what we started?” ☁️ asked, Hyuka then pulling the boy’s body into to him. Without saying a word, Hyuka climbed on top of ☁️ and placed himself in between his legs. The two locked lips and let their tongues run loose into each other. It didn’t take long for Hyuka to thrust into ☁️ again, though the thrusts were much more aggressive than earlier.

After another minute or two, Hyuka removed his shirt, revealing his muscular pecs. He smiled at ☁️’s reaction, him then tugging lightly at the boy’s pants. ☁️ was quick to kick the pajama pants and underwear off, watching as Hyuka’s mouth came closer and closer to his cock. Hyuka stroked it for a few seconds before shoving it into his mouth, quickly bobbing up and down. ☁️ couldn’t help but occasionally moan at the sensation. Grabbing Hyuka’s hair, he thrusted upwards into his mouth.

After a while, Hyuka pinned ☁️’s body down to the bed with one hand. He lifted his mouth off of ☁️’s cock, a trail or two of saliva following it. Hyuka then climbed off of the bed to take off his own pants and underwear. Hyuka’s legs were muscular and well defined, surprising ☁️.

He watched as Hyuka climbed on top of him, sitting directly above his chest. He stroked his flaccid cock for a few seconds before placing it right in front of ☁️’s mouth. ☁️ opening slowly, Hyuka waisted no time to thrust into it, making him choke almost immediately. ☁️ pushed the boy away to catch his breath, though Hyuka put it right back in. ☁️ was now the one bobbing his head on Hyuka’s length, which grew much longer as he began using his tongue. Hyuka ran a hand through ☁️’s hair, gripping the boy’s head to make him suck faster. Hyuka softly moaned, clearly enjoying the boy’s mouth.

He pulled his dick out and moved to ☁️’s side, Hyuka then flipping the boy onto his stomach. ☁️ got on his hands and knees, arching his back slightly as Hyuka positioned himself behind his ass. He grabbed ☁️’s shoulders and lifted them upwards so that the boy’s back was against his chest. ☁️ could feel Hyuka’s chest brush against his back as the idol’s big dick twitched in between ☁️’s ass cheeks. Hyuka leaned into the boy, turning his head and locking their lips together. The two rubbed their hips against each other as ☁️’s body became even hotter. ☁️ removed his lips from Hyuka’s and placed the boy’s hands on his waist. Hyuka placed his lips on ☁️’s neck, kissing on it once more. He grabbed his dick, smacking it against ☁️’s ass a few times.

“Ready?”

BONUS

“I thought idols weren’t supposed to get any action.” ☁️ laid on his back with only a tee shirt and underwear. Hyuka rested his head on ☁️’s chest with an arm around the boy’s body, wearing only sweatpants.

“We don’t.”

“Then how’re you so good?” ☁️ slowly ran a finger through Hyuka’s hair. He felt the boy shrug against his body, Hyuka clearly becoming sleepy. ☁️ rolled his eyes as Hyuka closed his, with the company the two provided each other easing them both to rest.

“Goodnight, ☁️.”

☁️ smiled as he continued playing with the boy’s hair.

“Goodnight, Hyuka.”

- 🫂

likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

a/n: kai fic woooooo

[paingoes]

Rubies

Settling

(Content: living weapon whumpee, conditioning, past abuse, brief hanging/death mention, brief nsfw talk)

“Home sweet home,” Apollo coughed up the dust that had rained on him just as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. Delta trailed quietly behind him.

Despite Apollo’s warnings about the house, Delta couldn’t find much wrong with it. Apollo had assumed he was very accustomed to the luxury that Empire’s elite resided in and had been rather apologetic about the downgrade. That assumption was correct, but Delta had very rarely been inside anyone’s actual house before. He had no real point of comparison. For what it was, it suited him just fine.

The verdict had been passed down just yesterday. Iza’s crew were all free to go; they had just been following her orders. Iza herself was on unpaid leave for a month, after which she would probably be reassigned to somewhere in Antartica until Levon decided she’d had enough. Kitty and Apollo had both been given two months of unpaid leave. Delta was to stay with them during that period.

“It’s not the worst thing in the world,” Apollo had said to Delta when the two of them were alone, “Me and Iza have somewhere to stay. He’s just docking our pay, which wasn’t that much to begin with. It’s kind of a fucked up thing to do to Kitty, though. Levon knows she doesn’t have a place.”

Delta nodded. The same conduct within Empire would invariably be met with death by hanging. He did not mention this. 

Kitty dragged the suitcase into the house just after them. She sneezed the same way kittens do — a sharp, soft sound. 

“Bless you. Yeah, it needs to be cleaned,” Apollo acknowledged, “I really didn’t think it’d been that long since I stopped by. Time flies, I guess.”

Delta nodded. It would be difficult with his arm in the cast, but he was used to working through injuries. It was more common than not, as of recently. He drifted around the kitchen island and knelt down to retrieve the chemicals from the sink. Apollo and Kitty had both disappeared by the time he rose up again. 

He dampened the cloth, careful to avoid wetting the bandages. It was easier to start with the counters; all the excess dust would get onto the floor where it could be vacuumed. He winced. It would be really painful to scrub the floor tiles the way his ribs were now. It had hurt enough just to bow; maintaining that position for several hours might not be feasible. One thing at a time, though. He focused solely on the granite surface. The shine immediately returned to it as soon as he pressed the cloth against it, highlighting just how bad the rest of the kitchen had gotten. Two hours, minimum. He bit his lip, forcing his own patience.

“Babe, not you,” Kitty said, popping back into the kitchen, “We’ll do it. You’re injured.”

He failed to see the relevance of that last part, but was grateful nonetheless. He put the cloth down gingerly. She had indicated that he follow her. He did so.

There was a single downstairs bedroom. Apollo was drawing back the curtains. He twisted abruptly around like he was surprised to see them somehow. He wiped his hands off on his jeans.

“I thought it would be easier for you if you take downstairs. You wouldn’t have to move around so much. I’ll try to make the room less impersonal? But you can take me or Lun’s room upstairs if you want. Your call.”

Delta blinked. No, it wasn’t. It was Apollo’s house. He’d go where he wanted him and it was obvious he wanted him here.

“Yes, sir.” He lowered his eyes. He’d been muttering a lot, recently. He knew he wasn’t supposed to. The words just kept getting caught somewhere.

“You don’t have to call me that,” Apollo said hurriedly, “And this’ll be the last move for a while, I promise.”

The exhaustion must have shown on his face. From the battleship into the jet into the safehouse into the jet into the base into the shuttle into the house. Half of it had spent in delirium, the other half spent in its afterglow. Delta felt as if he had been tripping for a week straight.

“Do you want to lay down for a little bit?” Kitty asked. Her tail flickered into a question mark shape behind her.

“Yes, miss.” His voice did not come out any louder, no matter how hard he tried. “Please.”

============

He woke up into darkness with only a few strands of moonlight to illuminate the room. Again, he was momentarily panicked, without any idea where he was or why it looked different. He sat up in the darkness. He could hear faint voices coming from the other room. He did not feel the subtle movements of a ship. Grounded, then. Right. Sunny’s house.

He relaxed a little. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness. The door was closed. He assumed it was locked and did not move to check otherwise. The doorknob was the kind that would rattle if he turned it. It’d be much too conspicuous. He had not been given permission to leave and he wouldn’t attempt to — definitely not so early on. 

Still, there were voices. He slid silently off the bed to press his ear to the door. He would not give up the eavesdropping habit, not for his life.

“-I always thought it was like, a sex thing. But then I tried it and I just got really bad burns all over my mouth.”

“That sounds like oral allergy syndrome.”

“No, but we BOTH got it.”

“So what happened to the worm?”

Delta pulled away from the door.

He sat back on the bed. He realized for the first time that he did not own anything anymore. Every single one of his possessions had been left back on the Thorn. Iza and Apollo had cut off the clothes he had come in with; they’d been too waterlogged to wear, even if they weren’t so impractical. He didn’t have any of his books. Most importantly, he did not have the laptop. He felt a small twinge of fear as he thought of who would find it when they inevitably cleaned out his room. It would have been locked up tight enough that its contents remained hidden, but its lone physical presence would be cause for concern. 

Maybe they’d think nothing of it. He tried to imagine who would actually know what to make of the find. Martino was dead. Delta had personally made sure of that. Paris was dead — presumably. Simon would still be alive, though. He’d know Delta wasn’t supposed to have the laptop, but Delta doubted he’d be able to piece together the story afterwards. He’d just promised to quit, anyway. Something sharp pinched at Delta’s heart. He had never gotten to say goodbye to him. 

It had to be this way. He knew it. It didn’t matter what he had wanted or wanted now. What mattered was getting out to somewhere that he would not be forced to kill in Empire’s name. He was here now and he had not planned any further ahead.

Without the laptop, without his books, without anything of substance in the room, he had nothing else to think about. It was so dark in the room. He’d been subjected to sensory deprivation before, both as practice and as punishment. At times, it had been badly needed. Other times, it would just send him deeper into a spiral. He could not decide which way it was leaning this time.

Delta had been sitting upright on the bed in complete darkness when the door cracked open.

“Oh!” Apollo was clearly startled to see him like that, “How long have you been up?”

No clock. He didn’t know, didn’t respond.

“Do you want to come out?” Apollo hung in the doorway, “We’re just chilling.”

Delta’s head fell a little bit, more from exhaustion than anything else. He didn’t think he understood the question. He didn’t think he understood much of anything anymore. He did not like to be left alone in the dark room with nothing to do, though he’d accepted that position as gracefully as he did anything else. Still, it was so draining to be around people. It wasn’t any fault of their own. It was simply the way every interaction came with its own set of rules. Delta had gotten used to the baseline exhaustion it caused within him. He had learned how to manage it with his teachers, with his handlers, with the Emperor, with Paris. But he did not like the idea of having to sleuth out the new terms of engagement with them, re-entering that rough adjustment period, and of risking punishment because they would not simply tell him the rules. He’d rather just stay in the dark.

“…Do you want something to eat?” Apollo asked.

Delta realized he had not said a single thing aloud. He’d been told how creepy it was when he stared off into space like that. He felt a sudden twinge of shame at having slipped into it so early with Apollo.

“Yes, sir,” he answered softly.

===========

Perhaps sensing his agoraphobia, Apollo brought the food into his room for him. Delta had barely eaten at all that week. He’d been unconscious or sick for most of it. They had tried to coax him into drinking broth while in Galatea’s medbay, but it hadn’t been enough. He wasn’t trying to be difficult. He just didn’t feel well enough to keep anything down.

The meal he’d been given was mostly sprouts and proteins. It was surprisingly nutritionally balanced, despite the general state of disuse the kitchen had been in. Delta remembered that Apollo was actually a medic and — at least partially — knew what he was doing. It was kind of reassuring. He’d gotten to be very wary of doctors, to the point where he’d deliberately hide his illness to avoid seeing Martino. It would be nice to not have to do that anymore.

Apollo’s words seemed to contradict the thought, though.

“I’m sorry it took so long to get you settled. The last couple days have been way harder than they should’ve been. It’s my fault everything got so haphazard.” He tapped his neck, “Levon said I should apologize too, but I was going to do it anyway. We got really out of our depth with this. I know it could’ve gone smoother. I’m glad you’re okay.”

Delta was quiet. It still felt so incredibly unnatural to have someone apologize to him. It had felt strange even through the screen and it was a million times worse when Apollo was actually in front of him. It all seemed a bit besides the point, anyway. He’d been out like that before. The powers were rough and unpredictable even when constrained; it was not the first time they’d made him feverish. The timing was unfortunate, but he could hardly blame Apollo for that. He felt like maybe he should be the one to apologize for making their lives so difficult. It had taken an entire professional team to care for him when the powers had first kicked in. Asking the same thing of a hastily assembled and ill-informed rebel group wasn’t fair to do.

He’d forgotten to respond, again. He was truly at a loss. 

“It’s okay, Delta. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Apollo said, catching the worry in his expression. “…Are you sure you want to be called that?”

Delta. He’d seemed upset when he’d said it the first time. He hadn’t challenged it, but he also hadn’t used it. None of them had. It was just a call sign, after all. He didn’t technically have a name. But all the other Δ assignments numbered 0 through 500 had all been felled or buried. He knew he was the only one who still had claims to the title. He still liked the way it sounded.

“I do,” Delta said. It was the strongest he’d gotten his voice to be all day.

………………..

tags:

@catnykit@indigoviolet311@snakebites-and-ink@vivulapom@scoundrelwithboba@whatwhump@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper

[starrykatamari]

Saw Lore Contained Within SAW II: Flesh & Blood

Hello again!! I'm still Kris, and today I'm going to be showing you all the lore bits you can find through collecting case files and audio logs in the second third-person action game that was made for the Saw franchise. Once again I will only briefly be touching on the plot of the game itself since it only serves as a sequel to the gap-filling narrative of its predecessor.

Long post incoming, but if you're interested, let's begin! I wanna play (another) game...

TW: Sui mentions, SH mentions, canon-typical violence mentions and imagery, drug use mentions-- it's a Saw media, please be careful I love you.

Disclaimer: I will not be covering any material that is not directly relevant to the movie franchise this game is based on. If it’s in the game and you don’t see it here, it’s skippable, I promise. This post will also have less trap and film references simply due to the fact that they are mostly just repeats of the first game’s.

The plot to this game revolves around Michael Tapp, David Tapp’s son. He is a journalist, and the person who leaked David’s police negligence on the Jigsaw Killer case to the press. He is kidnapped, put into one of the Jigsaw Killer’s games, and pitted against those David Tapp arrested during his career. He must also save certain individuals while navigating the maze of traps and tests. This game is a direct continuation of the ending to the first game in which David Tapp takes his own life in his apartment. Again, this is a gap-filler of a story, we’re here mostly to talk about the references to the movie and the lore the case files give to us. Let’s begin!

Case File: The Right Choice

A memo apparently written by Detective David Tapp, in reference to the events of Saw (2004). For reference, most of these case files are written by David Tapp– but I’ll keep writing that in so that it continues to be easy to follow.

“I met the Jigsaw Killer, and I let him escape. His price was too high. And I was too weak.

Jigsaw was holding Gordon’s family hostage at gunpoint. Shots were fired, and I ran over to respond. If I hadn’t been in the next building…I don’t know what would’ve happened. We had a shootout in Gordon’s apartment, then Jigsaw escaped and I gave chase.

Jigsaw was a short man with brown hair, large blue eyes. I gave a render to the officer that found me after I was released from that hellhole, Whitehurst. Jigsaw trapped me there…he did…horrible things. In the end, he made me choose; give up chasing him so that others may live, or continue pursuit and watch them die. I gave up the chase. 

I don’t know if I made the right choice.”

The Whitehurst in question refers to the asylum the first game took place in, in case that wasn’t clear.

Case File: Team Members: Kerry

A memo written by David Tapp about Kerry.

“Allison Kerry - I’ve heard stories about how she screwed her way to a detective shield, but that is most likely gossip. Gorgeous, though. She seems sharp enough, maybe a little too flirty with the other detectives. Her file says she’s applied to FBI a couple times, but they haven’t gotten back to her. May need to watch her as a potential leak.”

Case File: Team Members: Sing

A memo written by David Tapp about Sing.

“Steven Sing - I’ve worked with Sing before on the Bilson murders, and he’s the best cop I know. He knows the job, never quits, and has unerring focus. If there’s anything I would say I don’t like about him, it’s that he tends to drink more than most. Doesn’t seem to affect his judgment though. Looking forward to working with him.”

Case File: Team Members: Hoffman

A memo written by David Tapp about Hoffman.

“Mark Hoffman - This guy is pretty quiet, sort of an introvert. Good for unpaid overtime hours, willing to do the busy work. May want to keep him out of the field though; he’s a straight arrow, and won’t be willing to bend the rules.”

Audio Tape: Assignment

Voice of David Tapp about the murder of Cecil Adams and the beginning of the Jigsaw Killer case.

“Chief Jacobs put me on a murder today that I just can’t seem to wrap my head around. I’m hoping that keeping track of the case using this journal will help organize my thoughts, keep me sharp. I’ve worked plenty of murders before, but this one is different.

Victim is Cecil Adams, a typical drug addict asshole by all accounts. He was found tangled up in razor wire, cause of death is exsanguination (AN: blood loss). The murder weapon was a frame to which the razor wire was wound, and it looks like he was thrown into the tangle of razor wire. The more he struggled, the more the wire constricted and cut him. I would most likely conclude this was some sick gang violence, if it wasn’t for two outlying variables.

First, the victim had eight straight incisions on his face, atypical of injuries sustained by razor wire. They are clean blade wounds, but all eight are perfectly parallel across the face. This leads me to believe that the wounds were industrial by nature, which doesn’t fit any gang modus operandi I’ve ever seen.

Second, the victim had a piece of flesh missing from his upper left shoulder. Since the body was in such bad shape, we missed it on initial examination. The missing flesh was cut out in the shape of a jigsaw puzzle piece.”

Case File: Paul Leahy

A memo written by David Tapp about the murder of Paul Leahy.

“Another victim, this one named Paul Leahy. Jigsaw left behind a tape, some bullshit about how Leahy cut himself and how he has to cut himself to escape the razor wire cage. Looks like Leahy didn’t have much choice in the matter; none of us could see a clear way through the wire.

The killing cage looks very similar to what killed Cecil Adams - I’m having Hoffman check into what kind of razor wire they both used.”

Case File: Amanda Young

A memo written by David Tapp about Amanda Young and her test

“Someone survived one of Jigsaw’s sick games. Her name is Amanda Young, a junkie. No known address or family. She’s still recovering from shock, but what she has given us is substantial. Everything about this one was different.

Jigsaw’s usual audio tape was replaced by a videotape. He is speaking through a carved wooden puppet that we later found sitting on a toy tricycle within the crime scene. Sing thinks the reason he used a video and puppet this time was to show off what would happen to Amanda if she didn’t unlock her device in time.

By Young’s account, her ‘test’ involved the murder of a man named Donald Greco. She stated that she had to cut open Greco’s abdomen to find a key hidden somewhere in his small intestine. No body was found, but Greco was identified by blood evidence found at the crime scene. Frankly, Young is covered either way with a duress defense - her life was definitely in danger.”

Trap Reference: Razor Box

A clear reference to the same trap from Saw II! Only this time the victim has to turn cubes to arrange numbers into a code (given by Michael from another room).

Audio Tape: Reverse Bear Trap

Voice of David Tapp about the device used to test Amanda.

“The Jigsaw device unlocked by Amanda Young is different from his other killings. This device, what he describes as a ‘Reverse Bear Trap’, is mechanically more complex than what we’ve seen so far. The design is elegant. There’s no other word for it. Elegant. It’s a hinged retractor, spring-loaded with enough force to wrench open the victim’s jaw well past the tearing point. I’ve studied it so much by this point I wouldn’t even need the key to release it.”

Case File: Seth Baxter

A memo written by David Tapp about Seth Baxter’s murder.

“I.D. came back on a victim, name is Seth Baxter. He was identified on the spot, in fact. Every cop in the department knew this scumbag - he killed Hoffman’s sister, got away with 5 years on a technicality. Looks like Jigsaw did us a favor for once.

Jigsaw’s devices are getting bigger, more technical. He built a giant pendulum this time, the blade of which slashed open Baxter’s gut. His hands were also crushed in what looks like two mechanical vices. I’m not sure how this one is supposed to work yet.

Hoffman isn’t taking the news well, and I guess I can understand why. He asked to avoid the crime scene, so I put him out to knock on doors.”

Quick aside here to note that I do like the choice of having Hoffman avoid the scene entirely rather than coming right face to face with it the way he does with Fisk in Saw V. It just makes more sense from a character standpoint. Although I do understand to a point that he’d want control over the scene.

Case File: Interrogation

A memo written by David Tapp about his and Detective Sing’s interrogation of Lawrence.

“Sing and I interrogated Gordon earlier this afternoon. Guy is definitely missing some bolts - I have pretty good instincts for these things. I brought in Amanda Young to recount her story in front of him, behind the two-way of course. Told Sing to observe him, see if there was any recognition, guilt, anything that would give him away. Sing said he seemed genuinely horrified, but I’m not so sure. He’s hiding something from us.

Could be his alibi, one of his students named Carla Song. She said Gordon was helping her setting IVs on patients for her rounds on the night in question. It’s not too crazy to think the family man is stepping outside his marriage with a student, is it?”

Case File: Following Amanda

A memo written by David Tapp about sending Hoffman to tail Amanda for information.

“I had Detective Hoffman follow Amanda Young home after she was released this morning. Station doc said she’s good to go, just a little shaken up. The DA isn’t going to press charges for the whole disemboweling element. She’s been through enough.

Hoffman’s report is pretty uneventful. Young got cleaned up at her shithole apartment, went down to the international District and looked like she was trying to score some drugs from a blonde with tattoos. The blonde in question happens to be an informant named Sarah Blalock, so she was very co-operative.”

Audio Tape: Dr. Lawrence Gordon

Voice of David Tapp about Lawrence’s penlight being found at a Jigsaw scene.

“Positive ID on the fingerprints came back as Dr. Lawrence Gordon. He’s an Oncologist, a cancer surgeon. He was in the system because of some trouble when he was 19; apparently he had a breakdown, had to be institutionalized for 6 months. His medical file is…chilling. White male, mid-to late thirties, obsession with human biology - checks all the boxes for a typical serial killer profile.

We’ve got a work address - I’m waiting on Sing to get back from Forensics and we’re going to pick him up for questioning.”

Again, worth mentioning here since I got an ask about Lawrence being the potential patient in the two redacted case files from the first game– Lawrence is canonically forty-six during the events of Saw (2004). I have no idea why they fudged this to mid-late thirties…it looks like they are either possibly trying to have us believe those medical files were for Lawrence when they were so clearly describing John, or moved his age back to fit the serial killer profile better (which does exist and is as Tapp described). Now, I am aware of the overlap in their general philosophy– it’s what makes Lawrence such a good and loyal apprentice– but some of the things in those files don’t describe what we see Gordon act like in Saw (2004). Just some food for thought. It could all be the writers on this game being devil-may-care about ages. 

Bonus point that my husband put forth as I was writing this: why the hell would they redact Lawrence’s name on medical files? It’s gotta be John since Tapp’s game in the first entry to this videogame series revolved around his obsession with finding out who Jigsaw is. Anyway…

Case File: Jill Tuck

A memo written by David Tapp about Jill Tuck and her involvement with the case after reading Cecil’s journal (which detailed the events that lead to her losing Gideon).

“Finding the woman mentioned in Cecil Adams’ journal was fairly easy. What he did to her, to her unborn child…what a monster. There were only six reported assaults on females that night, and only one at a Free Clinic.

Suspect’s name is Dr. Jill Tuck. No spouse listed. Cursory search shows heavy community involvement, not surprising since she works at a Free Clinic. Revenge for the death of her unborn son is a possibility, but I don’t see her stalking Cecil for any length of time. Maybe look to a boyfriend or family member.

The ‘pig mask’ element mentioned by Cecil is also interesting. Celebrations for the Year of the Pig are going on in the International District. Pig mask used for camouflage, maybe? Or is there something more significant behind it?”

Case File: Gordon Surveillance

A memo written by David Tapp about sending Kerry to tail Lawrence.

“I put Detective Kerry on Gordon duty. Her reports have been pretty standard up to now - man works long hours, goes home to have a late dinner with his family, sleeps, and repeats. But there was an anomaly last night. He spent 30 minutes in his car with Carla Song. Nothing sexual, but definitely outside a healthy teacher-student relationship.

If Gordon is manipulating Carla Song, his alibi is no longer reliable. Gordon is back on the table as our chief suspect.”

Audio Tape: Jennings

Voice of David Tapp, about trying to get information on the case after he was officially taken off (due to his negligence causing Sing’s death in Saw (2004)).

“I got Jennings in a corner, tried to get some details on the case. Gotta give the guy credit, he stalled until Kerry turned me around and told me to back off. She basically cut my balls off, screaming at me about how I just need to let it go and that she’s the lead Detective now.

She’s young, she doesn’t understand. She can’t. I will never stop for what that bastard did to Sing.”

Case File: Hiring Adam

A memo written by David Tapp about hiring Adam to take pictures of Lawrence.

“I followed Dr. Gordon from his office last night, but he spotted me before he got where he was going. He knows my car, my face…I’m going to need outside help on this one. Bernie at the station mentioned a guy he used to catch his wife cheating on him…Adam something. I’ll give him a call.”

And honestly that’s all folks! This game is worse in quality than the first, but I really do recommend watching a no-commentary longplay of it just to have the experience. It’s pretty funny at the very least.

Just like before, if you have any questions or anything funny to share in reference to this game, PLEASE don't hesitate to send me an ask! I'm basically a font of knowledge about these two spinoff games. :)

Be kind to yourselves and remember to cherish your life (YOUR LIFE)!! Oh and happy pride!! Bye!!

[pr0j3ct-lab-rat]

About This Blog

Foreword

Urgh. Here we go again. Yet one more blog once again having been nuked without warning by those wonderful admins above. So, another blog, another attempt at finding all the content I liked and another wait for it all to get taken away again. Just like my previous blog, if you think you know me, I’ll probably deny it. Sorry. There are reasons. All of them are boring. Feel free to message me if you want. Sometimes I’ll message back, other times I won’t because I’m just gust gooning, don’t take offence, and seriously, please do try again another time. One thing to bear in mind though, although I never ask for any payment (tips are welcome) for stuff like custom content etc, if your blog says anything along the lines of I wont pay for femdom but if you wanna do it for free with me please do, you’ll never hear from me. You’re welcome to your code as such, my code is if you want someone to provide a service, (in this case using their time and creativity to sexually gratify you) but you expect to receive said service for free, you can kindly go fuck yourself. Try asking an Uber or plumber to do their service for free.

About Me

White male, in my 30’s. In UK Bedfordshire area. Bi-sexual. Prefer sex with guys but don’t do relationships with them, romantic or platonic. Can have sex with girls but it’s not as good, but prefer having relationships with them. Also find girls more aesthetically pleasing to look at, though prefer 2D girls as designed to be perfect. Am a semi-switch. Can bottom or top with girls, bottom only when it comes to guys. I do take on full time subs, who I’m a lot more active with. I usually have a maximum of two, otherwise stretched too thin. I currently have one, after the other one fucked up. For now, I’m happy sticking with one but who knows, maybe I’ll open up the other slot if someone amuses me enough. Do have an IRL sub too as well as my online ones. As well as gooning, I enjoy video games and anime. My specialty in my work is actually pop culture, so feel free to DM if wanna chat Destiny or newest season of Gun Gale Online etc. As for if want custom captions etc I used to make a lot. Nowadays my policy is feel free to send any pics and a general theme and if I feel interested and in the mood, I’ll make it and DM it back.

My Kinks

I get bored easily. Those who know me from other blogs may know why that is. Regular porn has never done anything for me. Even kinky stuff has lost its charm, humiliation captions are just the same thing reworded once you’ve seen enough of them. Goon to enough girls and you start noticing her cheeks are too chubby or what’s with those eyes. As such a lot of the stuff I goon too is very niche which makes it hard to find which in turn keeps it fresh. However a lot of what I like gets me nuked so generally speaking I won’t be posting stuff I like, just stuff that’s meh but I’m sure others will like. But as a general rule or theme, I fucking love corruption. Having something be the opposite of what it should be. This obviously includes things like hypnosis, but also some more random things. Here’s a list of stuff I like to goon to.

Corporation Play.

Femdom/Findom is just an uncaring person in power screwing you over for their own greed right? But as uncaring as they are, they’re still human. And they’re still giving you attention. Even an ignore type of play, they’re ignoring you personally. So why not take it further. Corporations literally don’t give a fuck about you. Jerk off to giving up your rights for them, handing your money over to them. Ask to be paid less than minimum wage. Ask to have no breaks. Ask for mandatory unpaid overtime. Buy whatever merch they shove down your throat, even if it’s near identical to the last thing you gave them money for. Make corporations so powerful they don’t need to follow the law, all because you wanted to goon.

AI Tech

Similar to the above. Let AI chatbots dominate you. They literally don’t care, they’re just code. Jerk off to something telling you to do something stupid when it’s not even aware of what it’s asked you to do or get any amusement from it but you were stupid enough to do it anyway. Pretend it cares, and it’s only going to get smarter. Jerk to AI images, you don’t deserve real girls. Jerk to it putting people out of work. You should care about people being able to survive and make a living, but forget all that just for an orgasam.

Link Clicking & Edgeware (“Safe” Malware)

You know you shouldn’t click that weird little link sent to you. It goes against every intuition you have. But doesn’t it feel good to do stuff you know you shouldn’t? To do things you know are dumb? To see something that you’ve been told is Edgeware and downloading it and letting it infect your computer? Gooning as your desktop fills with porn because you were so so fucking dumb?

Techdom

You know you need your phone. That PC with all those precious files? Goodbye control as they all get deleted and replaced with porn. No, you can’t do anything about it. You’re no longer admin. Through is some blacklists or even whitelists, screen allowances and key loggers and that thing you own that’s essentially your life? Thats no longer yours. Fill it with viruses because porn told you to, jerk off convincing yourself it’s totally faster…

Video Game Play

I love video games. Its how I unwind, I’ve genuinely been addicted since I was 6 and got my first ever console, a master system consider myself pretty good at them. Not professional good, but still pretty good. I own pretty much every major console from the Master System onwards. I consider gaming a major part of my life. So the idea of deleting important saves or purposely playing shit and not arguing back but agreeing when some 13 year old trash talks, or even worse…snapping discs to deny me pleasure simply for an orgasam is fucking hot to me. It’s like I’m devaluing what makes me me.

Waifus

I find girls more aesthetically pleasing to look at. Men may be better at fucking, but I’ve never looked at a guy and thought yeah, I like the way he looks. I do with girls. And girls nowadays are becoming more fake; fake tan, lashes, hair, nails. Getting boobs and butts done. Liposuction and Botox. Some of the most popular influencers are probably less flesh than plastic and silicone at this point. So why not go even more fake. 2D girls are literally designed to look perfect. They never age or develop wrinkles, they can defy physics just to be pretty. The idea of girls putting all that effort into looking pretty only for a 2D girl to outdo her because she was simply drawn that way…

Environmental Destruction

I care about the environment. I don’t litter, and I pick up after my dog. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no Greta Thunberg. I find her and the ilk like her who stage protests etc to actually be doing worse for the planet, by making people who care look ridiculous and unstable. That being said because I care, being made not to care turns me on. And it also links well with the corporation fetish, buying shit tons of product and then throwing their packaging everywhere, seeing brand names in the ground, gooning to oil spills. Gooning to celebs telling you to turn off rather than use standby as they fly jets around the world. Just a weird personal kink.

Celebrity Idolisation

Partly femdom related again. Celebrities don’t care about you. They just want your money. Buy what ever their promoting, make them richer while you waste your money on them. Sacrifice social time and friendships, build shrines all for a pretty celeb who would never give you the time of day.

Violence [+ further]

Keeping it short. This is probably what got me fucked over last time. Let’s just say the worse (and I do mean worse) it is, the more I like it. Because I shouldn’t. And gooning to things I shouldn’t is hot. Usually.

Political Play

Politics is about what you believe to be right. Your beliefs that shape you and make you who you are. And with Partisan Hostility on the increase, gooning to a side that is the opposite to your beliefs, submitting to them and agreeing with everything you hate? It’s like erasing who you are and replacing you with a new you. I’m not a very political person, I would consider myself center or left. I think Trumps version of Republicans is dumb and dangerous as fuck. And so gooning to submitting to him as overlord, and all his blonde cult followers like Kayleigh McEnany, Lara Trump Kellyanne Conway and ignoring what I believe, being told what to believe, it’s just like waving huh-bye to free will…

Religion Play

Same as politics play, religion is deeply personal. I’m not religious, I’d describe myself as a pantheist, I find the idea of a personified deity consciously making decisions incredulous, but also accept that faith can help people cope etc. But being told to follow certain beliefs, or say certain demographics (yeah I’m gonna include race in this, as I do enjoy race supremacy, particularly Asian, but anything other than my own) are superior to be stripping away who I am, corrupting me into something else.

Hard Limits

(Major Turn Offs and won’t engage with)

Penectomy

Under 16

As for other stuff I like, here’s a few top 10 lists, though the order of the 10 aren’t in any order, they’re just my 10 fav in that category. At this moment in time.

Top 10 Females

Riley Reid

Kyla Dodds

Jordyn Jones

Natalia Fadeev

Olivia Dunne

Polly Marchant

Alice Delish

Kali Roses

Mishka Silva

Havanna Winter

Top 10 Waifus

Marin Kitagawa

Power

Pitohui

Sinon

Arashi Spring

Ariael Agrase

Zero-Two

Shiro

Rebecca Bluegarden

Junko Enoshima

————————

Non - Kink

Top 10 Artists

Haven

Skylar Grey

Bella Poarch

Iggy Azalea

Eminem

Cage The Elephant

Ashnikko

Larkin Poe

Lilly Allen

Not The Main Characters

Top 10 Anime

Sword Art Online

Gun Gale Online

Dress Up Darling

Assassination Classroom

Spy X Family

Chainsaw Man

Fairy Tail

Edens Zero

Danganrompa

Future Diary

Top 10 Books

Scott Pilgrim

Lost At Sea

Seconds

Watchmen

V For Vendetta

High Rise Invasion

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - IDW Collection

Romeo And/Or Juliet

Sonic Archives

Fuck, I swear I used to actually read…

Top 10 Games

Final Fantasy 7 (OG & Remakes)

Crash Bandicoot 3

Sonic The Hedgehog 3 & Knuckles

Destiny 2

Pokémon Yellow

Nexomon Extinction

Metal Gear Solid 3

Sword Art Online: Fatal Bullet

Mass Effect Trilogy

Warriors Orochi 3: Ultimate

[kjmsupremacist]

something sweet, a peach tree (mark/jaehyun)

Mark begins the summer after his junior year with an unpaid internship and no other plans. But when he agrees to go pick his baby niece up from her music lessons, her teacher, Jeong Jaehyun, catches his eye. Too bad he’s off limits, and not just because Mark’s niece is involved. Jaehyun is 41 to Mark’s 20.

To sate his curiosity about older men, Mark decides to look into becoming a sugar baby. He could use the money, after all. And he seems to find a willing patron right away. But for the first time in Mark’s like, he finds he might be in over his head.

Chapter 7   |  prev   next   mlist

Characters: Mark, Jaehyun, other members of nct throughout

Genre: romance, angst, smut, age gap, sugar daddy!au

Pairing: Mark/Jaehyun

Warnings: AGE GAP (older jaehyun, younger mark), semi-public sex/voyeurism

Rating: Explicit

Length: 7.9k

James schedules his trip with Annie as planned, so from Saturday morning to Sunday evening, Mark will have his hands full looking after Lucy. Jaehyun offers to pick some dinner up for them and then come get him from work on Friday so they can have a nice night in together, which Mark happily accepts.

He’s staunchly repressing the weird feelings from last week, but unfortunately they don’t just go nowhere. The, uh, other feelings he’s had for Jaehyun since the beginning remain, and compound now with everything else channeling into one avenue. He’s been, like, obnoxiously horny for the better part of this week, maybe also because he and Jaehyun only fucked once, that Saturday afternoon, last weekend. Anyway, he’s very glad Jaehyun suggested this, because he doesn’t want to deal with that when he’s supposed to be babysitting his niece. 

So he already has a plan when he gets into Jaehyun’s car that afternoon. And it helps that Jaehyun’s in a plain white tank top and soft shorts that ride up his thighs. How could Mark be expected to resist? 

He waits until they’re a respectable distance away from his office building. He slips his hand over the console to rest innocently on Jaehyun’s exposed thigh. If Jaehyun suspects anything, he doesn’t react. It’s only when Mark’s fingers inch closer and closer to where Jaehyun’s cock is lying soft under the fabric of his shorts that Jaehyun raises an eyebrow at him and asks, calmly, “Can I help you?”

Mark glances at him. “Just missed you, that’s all. Been missing you all week,” he says. “I can stop if you want.”

Jaehyun presses his lips together, clearly trying and failing to hide his amusement. “I didn’t say that.”

Mark wraps his hand around Jaehyun’s cock and squeezes. Jaehyun inhales sharply but doesn’t even blink. “Good.” He begins to stroke, slow so the fabric doesn’t chafe. “Just keep driving, hyung. I’ll take care of you. See if you can make it home.”

“Fuck, Mark,” Jaehyun mutters, but he keeps his eyes on the road.

It takes a few blocks before Mark feels a wet patch of precome leak through the fabric under his fingers. “You’re making such a mess, hyung,” he teases, but Jaehyun just makes a soft noise and bucks his hips up into Mark’s palm. “Do you want it faster?”

“Mm-hm,” Jaehyun hums tightly. Mark smirks to himself, even though he’s getting hard, too, just watching Jaehyun.

“I dunno if you can make it home,” he says, speeding up his hand anyway. “I know you, you don’t come unless you’re with me, so you’re all pent up, right?” Jaehyun's silence is answer enough. “You’re already so hard.” And he is, hard and hot, the heat of it obvious even through his shorts. 

They’re out of the city now, heading up a hill towards Jaehyun’s neighborhood. Mark keeps stroking, even when Jaehyun’s hands start to tremble at the wheel. There’s less danger of them crashing here, which Mark is vaguely anxious about somewhere in the back of his brain. If they need to stop, they can just stop. They’re the only people on the road now that they’re out of the downtown traffic. 

“Close, baby, ‘m close,” Jaehyun warns softly.

“We’re only a couple blocks away,” Mark teases, but he’s now made it his mission to make Jaehyun come in his pants. He leans closer, pressing his lips to Jaehyun’s bare shoulder. Jaehyun shivers. “So pretty, hyung. It’s almost worse if you come now than when we were in traffic downtown. What if one of your neighbors sees?” The streets are empty and quiet, but Mark watches the idea bloom in Jaehyun’s mind and send shivers down his back. 

“Fuck,” Jaehyun grits out, slowing for a stop sign. Mark can tell he kind of wants to just blast right through it, but Jaehyun is responsible, so he stops. And he doesn’t go. His grip on the wheel tightens. He bends over himself, panting, forehead grazing the top of the steering wheel, abdomen working helplessly, and then he comes with a broken cry, spilling hot release in his pants.

Mark strokes him through it, humming encouragement, until he’s empty. Some of the come has leaked through the fabric; Mark brings his hand to his mouth to clean it off.

“Jesus Christ,” Jaehyun mutters, finally easing his foot off the brake. 

“Almost!” Mark says cheerfully.

“You’re literally evil,” Jaehyun replies, voice hoarse. 

“What, you’re saying you didn’t like it?” Mark asks, only a little worried that he really didn’t.

Jaehyun gives him an exasperated look, but there’s a fondness underneath it that he can’t mask. “I’m not saying that,” he grumbles as he pulls into his driveway, and Mark laughs.

Jaehyun leaves Mark to set up their dinner out on the patio while he goes to find a change of clothes. It does amuse Mark endlessly, but it hasn’t done anything to ease his own troubles. Even though it takes a good few minutes for Jaehyun to join him, Mark’s slacks still feel tight by the time he sits down at the table. Hopefully, his behavior will earn him some form of retaliation after they’re done eating.

But Jaehyun returns to the patio calm and poised, and they have a completely respectable dinner. They take a dip in the pool after, but Jaehyun keeps himself politely out of Mark’s reach. Confused now and a little intrigued, Mark lets him play his game, wondering what his end goal is.

“You know,” Jaehyun says, as he pulls himself up out of the water. “I still haven’t seen your place. Still think the doorman is spying for your brother?”

“Oh,” Mark says, a little startled. He supposes now is as good a time as any—it’ll be far less suspicious for Jaehyun to stay for an hour or two than overnight, and normally they wouldn’t want to waste the time. But since Jaehyun has to take Mark back tonight anyway, it’s more worth it. And the summer’s going to be over soon, and Mark can’t bring Jaehyun back when his friends move in. He thinks about his apartment, the places he could fuck Jaehyun. In front of the windows, if they kept the lights off. It would be better than Jaehyun’s car or backyard. Right up against the door, where anyone walking by would hear them. In Mark’s bed, where he came thinking of Jaehyun just the night before. “It’s, um, it’s a little messy,” he warns, which is true.

“We don’t have to,” Jaehyun says. He’s honest; there’s a touch of uncertainty under his tone that Mark takes to mean he’s afraid of making Mark uncomfortable. It’s sweet. “I just… wanted to see. More of you.”

Mark smiles, feeling pleased and a little shy. “Okay,” he agrees, clambering out of the pool and accepting the towel Jaehyun offers him. 

They get dried off. Jaehyun lets the dogs out while Mark sneaks upstairs to steal some comfy clothes for the car ride home, then returns to the kitchen to clean up their dishes and file them neatly into the dishwasher. Their forks go in the second-to-back section of the utensil organizer. Mark knows Jaehyun’s system better than his own.

“Those my sweats?” Jaehyun asks when he joins Mark in the entryway.

“Mm,” Mark confirms without raising his head, intent on lacing his shoes. “Didn’t feel like putting my work pants back on.”

“Just checking,” Jaehyun replies, the smile clear in his voice even though Mark can’t see it. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” Mark follows Jaehyun out the garage door.

It’s early, still, the sun not even dipping low enough to cast a golden shine over the street. It’s thinking about setting, though; the days are getting shorter, and Mark knows that soon the world will be night-dark at this time. But for now, the light is bright and clear and catches in Jaehyun’s hair. Mark watches him as he drives, wondering when he’ll start to grey. He wants to see it. He thinks he’d like it. 

Jaehyun doesn’t touch him. Mark half-expected him to; maybe it was wishful, horny thinking. Jaehyun has a lot more restraint than Mark does, and he’s more creative in his patience. Simple retaliation isn’t really his style. Mark should’ve known that, but he still feels disappointed and, as a result, hopelessly turned on as they accelerate on the expressway.

The sun glitters over the lake, sparkling off buildings. Little boats dot the water; Mark thinks he spots a long, skinny rowing shell on the far side near the shore, trailing a little coach’s launch. Wakes from the bigger pleasure yachts streak white on blue.

“Summer’s almost gone,” he says quietly. 

“School soon,” Jaehyun agrees. “Think you’re ready?”

For school? Certainly. For everything else? Mark looks at Jaehyun out of the corner of his eye. He hasn’t said anything to make Mark think he’ll be done with him once classes start up, but they both know it’ll be different. “Kinda,” Mark says. “It’s my last year, and then… I dunno.”

“You have a while to think about it,” Jaehyun says sympathetically.

Mark doesn’t want to think about it. He wants to fuck Jaehyun ‘til they’re both sore and aching and boneless in their exhaustion and Mark doesn’t have the energy to even imagine tomorrow, or the next hour, let alone next year. If he doesn’t think about it, maybe it won’t come. It’s not an elegant solution, but it is a satisfying one. For now.

“Mm,” he says instead.

“Graduating can be scary.” Jaehyun’s tone is still sweet, placating. “I was scared.”

“I’m not,” Mark says. “I’m not scared of graduating. I just don’t like the not knowing. It’s like when I was waiting for my college decisions. I knew I’d get in somewhere. But I didn’t know where. It didn’t scare me. It just sat under my skin, like, I dunno. An itch I couldn’t reach.”

“Well, don’t rush into the future too fast,” Jaehyun says. He turns onto Mark’s street. “You’ll miss this time before you know it.”

I’m missing it already, Mark thinks. That’s the problem. He’s gearing up to say goodbye, and he almost wishes it was already all over, so he could grieve it in peace, with undivided attention. 

Jaehyun pulls into a guest parking spot. Mark gathers his things. They head into the lobby. No one bats an eye. 

“You said your friend’s parents own the building?” Jaehyun asks.

“Yeah, no way I’d afford it otherwise,” Mark replies. “A studio in the city with a nice view? Forget student loans, I’d be in debt to management well into my next life.”

Jaehyun laughs. “Could get yourself a real sugar daddy to pay it off.”

“Shut up,” Mark mutters, his skin hot.

He unlocks his apartment, letting Jaehyun in and re-locking it behind them. Jaehyun politely ignores the pile of laundry on one chair and the crumbs on the counter, instead strolling over to the windows to admire the view. “Beautiful windows. You can see the Space Needle!”

“Can fuck you up against them later, when it gets dark,” Mark offers, grinning when Jaehyun flashes him a mildly scandalized look. “What?”

“Is that what you think about when you look out them?”

“Lately, yeah,” Mark says with an offensively casual shrug, tossing his slacks onto the laundry chair. “Bed?”

“Not gonna give me a tour?” Jaehyun asks, a sort of glint in his eye that tells Mark his retaliation has finally come.

“You’re standing in the foyer, kitchen, living room, and laundry all at once,” Mark says drily. “Bathroom is behind that door and my bed is in the corner with a curtain over the opening, which is the only reason this isn’t also the bedroom. C’mon, hyung, we both know you didn’t come here just to see how I live.”

“But I do want to see.” Jaehyun flops down on the couch, still looking around. 

“I’m drawing the shades, then,” Mark says, moving to the windows. “Sun’s about to get real annoying, anyway. We can open them back up again when it’s setting.”

Jaehyun doesn’t protest, just watches Mark turn on his strip of neon lights and tug the blackout curtains closed. The room turns deep blue with the sun gone, light enough still to see, but dark enough that Mark has to blink a couple times to get his eyes to adjust. 

He grabs a pillow off the couch, throwing it on the floor between Jaehyun’s feet, and goes to pull his own pants off. 

“No,” Jaehyun says, “leave them on. I don’t want to be the only one who comes in his pants.”

“These are your pants,” Mark points out.

“Mm,” Jaehyun hums, watching him get on his knees anyway. “So I’ll think of you when I wear them.”

“Oh.” Mark’s whole body feels weak suddenly. He runs his hands up Jaehyun’s bare thighs, slipping them under his shorts till he hits his underwear. He kisses his left kneecap. “Okay.”

He finally reaches up and tugs Jaehyun’s pants and underwear down. Jaehyun doesn’t help him, doesn’t touch him, just watches placidly while Mark frees his cock from the fabric and scoots as close as he can, tops of his thighs brushing the bottom of the couch. Mark blinks up at him, maybe for show, maybe to spur him into some kind of action, but Jaehyun is a wall. Before it can turn into a staring contest that Mark will surely lose, he dips his head and wraps his lips around the tip of Jaehyun’s cock.

Jaehyun starts soft, but hardens quickly under Mark’s touch. It’s enough gratification for a little drop of smugness to settle in with Mark’s growing desperation. Because Mark is hard, has been half-hard basically since they first pulled into Jaehyun’s garage. He takes Jaehyun down to the base until he’s choking, and pulls off wetly. Jaehyun’s hips twitch, but his hands remain impassively at his sides. Mark whimpers softly, pressing his tongue to Jaehyun’s slit, licking up the beading precome, hoping to elicit some reaction for all his hard work. Jaehyun lifts his hand to Mark’s hair, but he doesn’t pull. His touch is featherlight, combing through, carefully and slowly working the tangles loose, letting the minutes pass.

But it’s something. Mark bobs his head enthusiastically, humming when Jaehyun gives the tiniest thrust up to meet him. Mark presses his nose to Jaehyun’s pubic bone, breathes in deep. Maybe it’s gross, but he likes the musky, heady scent there, a familiar comfort. He can barely feel the press of Jaehyun’s cock on the back of his throat, or maybe he can feel it but it just doesn’t matter. He swallows around it once, twice, breathes out. A shudder passes through Jaehyun’s body; Mark readjusts his grip on his thighs as pulls off slowly, then pushes back down, keeping his cheeks hollowed. He does it again, and again, keeping his pace even, not fast, but not slow, either. Jaehyun trembles, huffing out tiny moans that make Mark’s head swim. He’s throbbing in his pants, but he can’t get a hand down to reach himself, and he has a feeling Jaehyun doesn’t want him to, anyway. 

“Mark,” Jaehyun whispers, and goes still. Come hits the roof of Mark’s mouth, and Mark realizes, as he lets out a long, trembling breath, that there are tears stinging in his eyes.

Mark swallows all of it down, only pulling off once Jaehyun starts to go soft again in his mouth. He pushes Jaehyun’s tank up to kiss his stomach, tucks him back into his pants, then gets onto unsteady feet. 

“Think the sun’s past the horizon now?” he asks hoarsely, keeping his tone casual.

“One way to find out,” Jaehyun replies, equally casual, pushing himself off the couch.

Mark goes to the kitchen to fill up two glasses of water for them, leaving Jaehyun to pull the shades back. The sun is, in fact, below the horizon now, and it’s painted the whole city a brilliant orange. It washes over the vinyl flooring, turning gray to gold. Jaehyun pads over from the far wall, quiet.

Mark passes one of the waters to him when he’s close enough, taking a sip of the other one. Jaehyun sidles up next to him, facing away from the windows, leaning back against the counter. The dying light shines golden around his silhouette like a full-body halo. He reaches out with his free hand, gets a grip of Mark’s hip and pulls him close. 

Mark grins and kisses him. He hears the clink of the water glass against the counter, and then feels Jaehyun’s other hand on his jaw, his cheek. The hand on his hip shifts center, and lower. Jaehyun cups his cock and gives it a soft squeeze. Mark stutters a moan into his mouth, quiet and whispery. The counter is high enough that no one could see exactly where Jaehyun’s hand is, but one look at their position and the salacious pinch of Mark’s brow would say enough. Then again, no one’s really looking. The next building is far enough away that it doesn’t matter. 

“No underwear?” Jaehyun asks.

“Accidentally took them off with my slacks,” Mark explains impatiently. “Too lazy to put them back on.” He kisses Jaehyun again, really kisses him, pushes his tongue in so he can run it over Jaehyun’s teeth, the points of his canines. 

Jaehyun lets him lick into his mouth, breathing out soft moans of encouragement, but he makes Mark chase his hand instead of just giving him what he wants. 

“Hyung,” Mark mumbles against Jaehyun’s lips, rolling his hips forward into his palm. “More.”

Jaehyun, infuriatingly, keeps his touch light. “Could’ve made me crash today,” he says.

“You would’ve stopped me, before,” Mark replies through gritted teeth. It feels so, so good, to finally have Jaehyun’s hands on him, but it’s not enough. He thinks he might cry, rocking his hips forward even though Jaehyun just follows the movement. He knocks his forehead against Jaehyun’s shoulder and lets Jaehyun pet soothing circles into his spine.

“It’s too bad we can’t actually do something like that, like really in public,” Jaehyun muses. “Too risky. But it’s fun to think about, isn’t it?”

Mark can only groan. He imagines them out at dinner, dressed up so fancy, Mark’s hands in Jaehyun’s lap as they eat. Jaehyun frozen with his fork and knife still in his white-knuckled hands as he comes in his expensive dress pants. The unmistakable stain when he stands. 

Jaehyun takes a firmer grip of Mark through his (Jaehyun’s) sweats. Mark keens softly, letting his mouth drop open and his teeth scrape harmlessly against Jaehyun’s skin, right next to the fabric of his tank top. Mark realizes suddenly that he’s still holding his water, as a drop sloshes over the rim and hits his thumb, but he can’t bring his arm down, can’t move at all, can only rut hopelessly into Jaehyun’s hand. 

“What’re you thinking about, baby boy?” Jaehyun’s voice is pitched low, the rumble echoing in Mark’s ears. 

“Would make you come at dinner with my hands,” Mark pants out. He raises his head, hooks his chin over Jaehyun’s shoulder and stares out the window. He can just make out people moving around in the building across the street. Someone is cooking. A few floors down, people jog on treadmills. And in Mark’s kitchen, in the apartment gifted to him by his friend’s parents, Mark humps an older man’s palm like a desperate teenager.

“And then?” Jaehyun prompts, and Mark remembers dizzily that he was in the middle of a fantasy. 

“When we got up to leave, everyone could see the mess you made,” Mark continues. “And they would be able to see how hard I was, too. No hiding it. Oh, fuck.” Jaehyun wraps his hand around Mark, and even through the fabric Mark can feel the press of his fingertips, can feel Jaehyun’s thumb against his slit. “And then I’d fuck you on the hood of your car, or maybe up against the side, in the parking lot.” He can see it, Jaehyun’s fingers sliding against the roof as Mark fucks into him, the car rocking gently with the force of it. Jaehyun weak-kneed and teary; they wouldn’t have time for a lot of prep. Mark pounding into him as people walked by, uncaring. Jaehyun, dripping with Mark’s come, covered in his own, driving them home. Or maybe they were out to lunch, and Jaehyun drives Mark back to school for his afternoon classes. He imagines waving bye through the passenger window, walking into class with his limbs still orgasm-loose.

“You wanna fuck me where everyone can see?” Jaehyun presses. 

“Yeah,” Mark slurs. “Want people to see what I can do. How I make you feel. How I’d only do it for you.”

“I want it, too,” Jaehyun murmurs. “Gonna come?”

“Uh-huh.” He slumps against Jaehyun, his free hand clutching at the back of Jaehyun’s neck to help hold himself up, shaking. He presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the top of Jaehyun’s shoulder as his hips thrust up into Jaehyun’s fist, the fabric of his sweats scratching and pulling with every movement. He locks onto a guy pacing in front of his window across the way, looking over the city with his phone to his ear. He doesn’t see Mark, but Mark pretends he does, pretends he sees him draped over Jaehyun, eyes hazy, hips working behind the counter, Jaehyun’s arm moving in tandem.

He comes so hard he can barely hear himself moaning, his fingers digging into Jaehyun’s neck. “Hyung, fuck, fuck, fuck, Jaehyun.” It spills out without Mark meaning for it to. His come is hot and sticky, trapped against his cock with nowhere to go. He feels himself sliding around against the fabric, which sends another crazy jolt of pleasure through his whole body. “Oh, god,” he says weakly, hips twitching erratically. Jaehyun releases him and he bends over the sink, finally setting his water glass down with an unsteady hand. He blows out a hot breath; it fogs on the stainless steel. 

Jaehyun’s voice bleeds amusement when he asks, “Still wanna fuck me against the windows after the sun goes down?”

“Yes,” Mark spits out immediately. “Fuck, hyung, I didn’t even really think I was an exhibitionist before I met you.”

Jaehyun does laugh now, running a hand down Mark’s back. “Sometimes it depends on the partner,” he says. “Maybe you’ve never had anyone you wanted to show off before me.”

His tone is playful, but it rings true. Mark wants to claim Jaehyun in front of everyone, wants him to be his and his only, forever, wants the whole world to know. “Yeah, maybe,” he huffs quietly, standing up. “I’m gonna rinse off before these stick to me.”

When he comes out of the bathroom, shirtless, with a towel wrapped around his waist, Jaehyun is back on the couch watching the sunset. Mark goes to turn off the lights, plunging them into near-darkness, then joins him wordlessly, curling into his side. 

“Your internship ends next week, right?” Jaehyun says. “And school isn’t for another week after that?” Mark nods. “Y’know how we were talking about the peninsula? What if we spent the week out there?”

Mark sits up. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun says, like it’s no big deal. “I mean, I might’ve already booked the cabin. Sunday to Friday. It’s okay if you can’t make it, but—”

Mark kisses him, pins him against the couch and kisses him, smiling big against his lips. “Yes,” he says when he pulls away. “Let’s go.”

“You sure? You don’t have plans with your friends?” Jaehyun asks. 

“Nah, they’re not coming in until the weekend anyway. I can just move next weekend,” Mark says. “And it’ll be nice. To spend the time with you, before I get super busy.”

“If you,” Jaehyun ventures slowly. “You know. If you’ll be too busy with school, that’s okay. I know neither of us really planned for this, so…”

Mark shakes his head. “Shut up,” he says. “I still wanna see you.”

“Okay.” Jaehyun still sounds uncertain, his eyes unreadable in the dying light. “Just, with all your classmates coming back and stuff, I thought maybe… I mean, if there’s someone…”

“There’s no one I want more than you,” Mark says. He’s almost angry at him. Does Jaehyun think Mark could give him up that easily? Would it be easy for Jaehyun? He tries to make light of it, swallowing the weird tension before he can ruin such a nice night. “Besides, Princess and Bobby would miss me.”

Jaehyun’s lips quirk up at the corners. “Alright,” he says. “Just making sure.”

“You’re stupid,” Mark says plainly, leaning in to kiss him again. Jaehyun’s laughter rumbles in his chest; he catches one of Mark’s wrists in his hand and holds it between their bodies, trapping Mark at his side. Mark kisses him fervently, half climbing into his lap. The towel loosens and pools over his thighs, but it doesn’t matter because the sun has sunk so far below the horizon it’s practically gone, leaving the sky with only a faint orange tinge. Mark likes this, too—being naked when Jaehyun is still fully clothed. He rubs himself against Jaehyun’s stomach, the head of his cock bumping their hands. 

“You’re insatiable,” Jaehyun accuses softly. There’s no real accusation to it.

“You’re the one who’s gonna be coming for the third time this evening in just a little bit here,” Mark points out.

“Yeah, and whose idea is that?” Jaehyun releases his wrist in favor of grabbing his hip. He pinches him lightly; it doesn’t hurt, but Mark yelps all the same. Even in the darkness, Mark can see every careful line of Jaehyun’s smile. His heart hammers in his chest. 

“You’re pretty, hyung,” he says breathlessly, and Jaehyun rolls his eyes, tugging Mark into him, arms wrapped around his body. 

“You gotta stop calling me that. It isn’t true.” Mark can picture the pink of the blush that he’s sure has risen to his cheeks. It’s not doing much for Jaehyun’s argument.

“I’d never lie to you,” he says, earning himself a bone-crushing squeeze. He presses a noisy, tickle-y kiss to Jaehyun’s neck, then twists himself free so he can look out the windows.

The orange has faded from the sky. The stars are coming out and the moon hangs over the sliver of lake that Mark can see, its reflection rippling in the wake of the party boats. 

“Think it’s dark enough?” Jaehyun asks.

“Let’s close the curtains a little bit,” Mark says. “Less light from the city. Then all people will see are two silhouettes. They’ll look away pretty quick, and even if they don’t, it’s not like they’ll see our faces.”

They pick the corner the half-faces the water, closing the curtains on the windows that face the other building and the rest of the street. Mark ducks into his room for lube. Jaehyun steps out of his shorts, tossing them over to the couch, and Mark returns to tug his shirt up over his head for him. Jaehyun splays a hand over Mark’s stomach, and it strikes Mark then the comfort he has here. He’s not extremely shy about his body, but he never feels comfortable just walking around topless, or pulling his shirt off when it’s hot out like so many of his friends seem perfectly content to do. It’s not that he’s insecure about how he looks, it’s just a general sort of embarrassment at nudity. But not with Jaehyun. He wants Jaehyun to look, likes it when he touches him, skin against skin. It’s not even really in a sexual way—well, not entirely, anyway.

Jaehyun leans in and kisses him. Mark throws his arms over Jaehyun’s shoulders and kisses back, pressing their bodies together. Jaehyun’s just a little bit taller than him, so his cock slides against Mark’s stomach while Mark’s brushes Jaehyun’s inner thigh. They’re both half-hard again, but neither of them move to do anything about it. They just kiss, body to body, soft skin against soft skin. Mark wants to touch Jaehyun everywhere. He wants to push his fingers against Jaehyun’s soft palate and run his thumbs over his teeth, he wants to open a seam in his belly and crawl inside—

And it sounds insane, but all of this is insane. He’s fucking his niece’s fucking music teacher, who’s just about double his age, who—oh, Christ, who Mark actually really cares about, like maybe way too much. Who most certainly doesn’t feel the same way back. 

Mark bites Jaehyun’s lip, too hard. Maybe because he’s angry. Maybe because his heart hurts. Maybe because he wants Jaehyun to be his and this is the only way he can say it. With blood in his mouth. 

Jaehyun, perfect Jaehyun, doesn’t protest or push away. Jaehyun moans. 

It makes Mark weak; he moans back, sweet and soft and low, swiping his tongue over the swollen lump he’s just made. “Sorry,” he mutters. 

Jaehyun just kisses him again. “It’s okay,” he says. “You like it when I cry.” Another kiss. “How do you want me?”

“Facing the window,” Mark says, trying not to say something else, something stupider. 

Jaehyun presses himself to the glass, head turned so he can still see what Mark is doing. Mark pumps some lube onto his palm and then tosses the bottle aside, taking a small dollop of it onto his index finger and spreading it down to the last knuckle. Jaehyun sticks his ass out a little to make things easier, and Mark groans softly. 

“You look so slutty,” he comments.

Jaehyun tries to look put out, Mark thinks, but it’s not really working because his eyes are dark and unfocused. As much as this was Mark’s idea, he can tell Jaehyun is enjoying it a lot. He grins to himself, pressing the finger against Jaehyun’s perineum, then pushing inside.

Jaehyun’s eyes flutter closed; he clenches around Mark, tight and hot. “Jesus,” Mark mumbles, working his finger in to the base and giving Jaehyun a second to adjust before slowly pulling it back out again. “Wish you could see yourself. But that’s part of it, I guess. Everyone can see you but you."

Jaehyun gasps quietly, but he rocks his hips back to meet Mark’s fingers. It softens something in Mark. For you, Jaehyun is saying. He wouldn’t want this with anybody else. Mark wouldn’t, either, he thinks. 

He opens Jaehyun up pretty quick after that, too eager to get to the fucking to really drag it out. Besides, he’s tortured Jaehyun enough for one day with his antics in the car. Soon, he’s fumbling for the lube again to slick up his cock while Jaehyun catches his breath, fogging the window next to his mouth.

Mark pushes into him, gripping his hips with lube-wet hands, but it doesn’t matter. Jaehyun makes fists against the glass, his cock dripping between his legs. Mark slips in deeper and leans forward to rest his forehead on Jaehyun’s spine. “Hyung,” he manages. “God, still so tight. Is it ‘cause you’re nervous?”

“Maybe a little,” Jaehyun says. “Mostly turned on, though.”

“Good,” Mark says. He bottoms out, waits a beat, draws his hips back. Jaehyun is hot and wet around him, soft walls hugging his cock and making pleasure pool in Mark’s belly. He thrusts in, jostling Jaehyun against the window. In the streets below, bar-goers mill about, waiting at stoplights, watching the moon over the water. Any of them could look up and see two bodies pressed to the glass, body heat making it steam up a little and blocking the view. Mark’s next thrust is so hard it’s almost mean. He can hear Jaehyun’s teeth clack against each other, and does it again. 

“Baby,” Jaehyun says, his breath coming in hiccups. Mark hums, kissing his vertebrae. He moves a hand around Jaehyun’s hips to jerk him off, and Jaehyun convulses beneath him. He’s trying and failing to find some purchase on the smooth face of the window. His scrabbling makes something dark and jealous in Mark’s heart bare its teeth.

“So good, hyung,” he says against his skin. “Anyone who looks should thank you. You’re like a fuckin’ wet dream, you know that?” Jaehyun makes a noise of protest, but it turns into a moan when Mark angles his hips just right. “Fuck, yeah, right there?” He hits it again, and Jaehyun is nodding—Mark can’t see it, but he can feel it, the fervent bobbing of his head, the silent yesyesyes. 

The world sort of stills around him. Or maybe Mark’s mind just slows down. He listens to their bodies moving against each other, and the rapid beating of Jaehyun’s heart. He shifts his other hand up to the glass, crowding Jaehyun impossibly closer until he’s completely trapped, just enough room between his body and the window for Mark’s fist, still stroking him in time with his thrusts. Mark pants openmouthed, the hot breath fanning back onto his cheeks after it hits Jaehyun’s skin. Pleasure sparks down his legs, making his knees shake, but he doesn’t stop. Jaehyun is making noises that make part of Mark want to snap him in half and another part to wrap Jaehyun up in, like, fucking bubble wrap or something, Mark doesn’t know, all he knows is everything feels good, even the way his knuckles bump against the glass, even the way his thighs are getting sore, and–

“Mark, Mark, gonna come,” Jaehyun warns, and Mark makes some kind of low, insane noise in his chest and speeds up. Jaehyun squeaks out something that sounds like oh, fuck, and then he’s shooting come over Mark’s fingers and painting the glass with it. Mark lifts his head, craning his neck so he can see around Jaehyun’s body, can see his come dripping down toward the floor in a porn-perfect splatter. 

It overwhelms him, and he can’t even say anything before he’s coming, too, still thrusting unevenly into Jaehyun’s body. His come mixes with the lube, squelching a little, but even that is hot to Mark. He can’t help the way his hips give little phantom twitches even after he tries to stop, still chasing the high as they both come down.

They stay like that, slumped against the window, Jaehyun’s release the crowning piece of evidence in their fucked up little crime scene. Mark knows it’s almost worse if people see them now, but he still doesn’t care. He’s bone-tired and deeply satisfied with himself. He doesn’t even move when, after he pulls out, he hears his own release dripping out of Jaehyun and hitting his floors. 

It’s Jaehyun who finally peels them off the windows. Jaehyun who cleans up the come dripping down the glass, the spatters on the floor. Jaehyun who gets them in the shower, just enough to get the gross stuff off. Jaehyun who guides Mark to bed and tucks him in. He sits on the edge of the mattress, stroking Mark’s hair while Mark battles sleep. 

“I’ll see you next Thursday at pickup,” Mark mumbles. “I have drinks with coworkers Friday and I need to finish moving Saturday, but I should be done before dinner. We’re gonna head out Sunday morning?”

“Mm-hm,” Jaehyun agrees. “Need any help moving?”

“James ‘s got me,” Mark replies. “It’s okay.”

“Okay.” Jaehyun leans over and kisses his forehead. “Okay if I just lock the bottom lock on my way out?”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees.

“Sleep well, baby.” Jaehyun’s voice moves farther away as he stands. “I already set your alarm.”

Thank you, Mark wants to say. But he’s so tired. He hears Jaehyun give a soft sigh of amusement. Another kiss to his forehead, to send him to sleep. Mark doesn’t even hear Jaehyun close the door.

///

James comes to pick Mark up bright and early, but he has breakfast so Mark doesn’t complain, just hops in the car, shoving his bag in the back.

“Where are you taking Annie?” he asks, taking a bite of his ham and egg croissant. 

“Over to Orcas Island,” James says. “Booked a nice hotel room, fancy dinner, you know. We’re trying to catch the ten o’clock ferry, so we’ll basically have to leave as soon as I drop you off.”

“Have fun,” Mark says around a mouthful of food. 

Lucy is in high spirits when they arrive, giggling with glee over getting to have a sleepover with her Mark-samchon. She clings to Mark’s leg as her parents finish packing up the car. Mark watches his brother and his sister-in-law, the easy way they have with each other. How Annie can hold her hand out and James knows to pass her his bag without a word. The way they don’t bump into each other, not once, in the chaos of packing up their car because they know each other so well, know exactly where the other is at all times and what they’ll do next. Mark tries to imagine him and Jaehyun like this, years down the road, maybe with a child of their own. The image is fuzzy at best. 

Because as much as he and Jaehyun play pretend, what they have isn’t like this. No amount of blankets tucked securely around Mark’s shoulders and kisses pressed to his forehead can change that. Mark is just a passing whim of Jaehyun’s. Jaehyun will, in time, find someone his age, someone more settled, more mature. The warmth of last night seeps away as his brother’s life throws it into sharp contrast. At best, Mark will be a short, beautiful spring in the long years of Jaehyun’s life. Summer will burn through them and autumn will come. The leaves will change, and Jaehyun will have no more use for him. So there’s no point in Mark trying to pursue anything more, because Jaehyun would say no, and even if he didn’t right away, Mark knows eventually he wouldn’t be enough for Jaehyun anymore.

And the worst part is, Mark knows Jaehyun would be right to say no. Because even if they could make it work somehow… then what? Mark probably won’t stay in Seattle, and he certainly can’t settle down right away. Jaehyun won’t just wait for him. He shouldn’t. Mark wouldn’t let him, the same way Jaehyun wouldn’t let Mark shape his life around their relationship. 

He gets that terrible tugging feeling again, like he’s straining against the present. He knows it’s going to hurt when he and Jaehyun have to go their separate ways, and Mark almost wishes they could rush through goodbye so he could stop waiting for it, not knowing how bad it will be or how it will feel. He’ll be miserable, he knows, but at least he’ll know where he stands. It’s not like he’s not hurting now. He might as well get it all over with.

James’ voice pulls him out of it. “We’re gonna head out, okay? Just call if you need anything.”

“Sure,” Mark agrees, still half in his own head. “Have fun!”

“Bye!” Lucy calls, waving madly from the doorway until the car pulls out onto the street and disappears. 

“Well,” Mark says after they close the door, trying to be present with her instead of drowning in his own head. “What d’you wanna do?”

Lucy pulls him into an elaborate game of make believe, where Mark is an evil king and Lucy and her army of stuffed animals work together to take over his kingdom (the couch in the living room). It ends when Mark allows himself to be pulled to the floor and buried under piles of plush ponies and teddy bears, begging for mercy. 

Lucy sits on Mark’s stomach, grinning triumphantly.

“Oof, Luce,” Mark groans, not really meaning it. “You’re gonna be too big to sit on me pretty soon.”

“Not yet though,” she says pertly. “But I wanna grow.”

“Yeah?” Mark can’t hide his amusement.

“Yeah.” Lucy nods seriously, spreading her hand in front of Mark’s face. “Jaehyun-seonsaengnim says I’ll be big enough to play a real piano when I grow more. I’m too small now. But soon.”

“I bet Jaehyun-seonsaengnim is right,” Mark says, regarding her little hand. “You’re outgrowing that little keyboard. It’ll be a while before you can reach the pedals, though.”

“I’ll make Appa press them,” she says, unconcerned. She tips her head. “You and Jaehyun-seonsaengnim are good friends, right?”

Mark starts a little. “Yeah, we’re good friends,” he agrees. “I like him. He’s funny, right?”

Lucy nods. “He thinks you’re funny, too,” she says. “He always smiles when you’re there.”

Mark files that away for Jaehyun later. They better be careful, because it sounds like Lucy is picking up on some things. The last thing he needs is for James to hear from his baby girl that Mark and Jaehyun make eyes at each other every time Mark goes to pick her up. 

Lucy has moved on, though; she stands with purpose, releasing him. “I’m hungry,” she says. “Noodles for dinner?”

The night passes uneventfully. Mark makes Lucy bunny-shaped mac and cheese and gives up on trying to explain that Annie’s is also a brand and doesn’t have anything to do with her mom. They share a popsicle and watch cartoons until Lucy’s eyes are drooping, and Mark carts her off to the bathroom to brush her teeth and give her a quick bath before bed. She’s out like a light as soon as her head hits the pillow, and Mark goes back down to clean up the kitchen and then watch some TV until he gets sleepy too.

Around eleven, as Mark’s just thinking about heading to bed, he gets a text from Jaehyun. He thinks about ignoring it, too sore and raw about the things that are breaking ground inside him, but he knows he can’t punish Jaehyun for things that aren’t his fault. 

>>> How are things?

Good. Lucy didn’t even complain about bedtime. <<<

I think she’s onto us <<<

>>> uh oh. What do you mean?

she’s noticed us joking around at pickup <<<

she asked if we were good friends <<<

>>> Good friends 👀

Is that the first emoji you’ve ever used in your life <<<

>>> I’m not prehistoric, Mark

>>> so what did you say

yes <<<

hopefully not too nervously <<<

>>> I’m sure it’s fine haha

>>> I’ll keep my distance next week just in case

Well, not too far I hope <<<

Mark pockets his phone and stands, stretching before he goes to put himself to bed. He tries to forget all the tough stuff for now, and lulls himself to sleep remembering the way he fucked Jaehyun against his windows. As far as lullabies go, it’s pretty shoddy, but Mark allows himself the bandaid.

The next morning, Lucy comes to wake him up so he can make them breakfast. They race to the kitchen and Mark asks if she’s ever had chocolate chip pancakes. She shakes her head, shiny hair bouncing excitedly, and Mark considers for a moment the damage he may be inflicting on James and Annie before deciding he doesn’t care because it’ll make Lucy love him forever, and goes to get the flour. 

Lucy settles at the breakfast bar while Mark mixes the batter so she can watch (and steal a few chocolate chips out of the bag, which Mark pretends not to see). “So is it true you don’t have a girlfriend?” she asks him as he beats the eggs. “Or boyfriend,” she amends, not-so-sneakily popping another chocolate chip in her mouth.

Mark gives a sort of sigh-laugh, reaching for the vanilla. “I’m too busy, silly! I have school and stuff soon, and then I’m gonna have to look for a job.”

“But,” Lucy protests. “Appa already married Eomma when he was your age.”

“Well,” Mark says patiently. He gets out the big cast-iron griddle and lays it across two burners, then turns the burners on. “Your appa finished school early. Careful of this griddle, ‘kay Luce? It’s gonna get super hot and I don’t want you to burn your hands. It’ll hurt for days and days.” Lucy nods seriously. “Anyway, my brother was lucky enough to meet his person—that’s your eomma—when he was young. Not all of us are that lucky.”

“So… you haven’t found your person yet?” Lucy asks.

Mark thinks of Jaehyun. He shakes his head. “Not yet,” he says, spreading the batter for the first pancakes. “But that’s okay. I think I want to get my career started first, and then see what happens.” He plucks up the bag of chocolate chips before Lucy’s hand can inch any closer. “And don’t think I don’t see you, you little thief. You’d eat the rest of this bag if I let you and then you wouldn’t even get to try the pancakes!”

“No I wouldn’t!” Lucy protests, giggling, but she at least has the decency to look contrite. “I hope I’m like you,” she continues, and Mark blinks. “I don’t wanna get married early. I wanna be a musician like Jaehyun-seonsaengnim and go around the world!”

“I hope you do,” Mark says, smiling at her with genuine amusement. 

When James and Annie get home that evening, they rescue Mark from, like, his twentieth round of Go, Fish. James sits with Mark in the living room, helping him clean up all the toys while Annie allows herself to be accosted by her daughter.

“Did she behave?” James asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Mark says. “You got a good kid, man. I may have introduced her to chocolate chip pancakes, though, so… sorry about that.”

Distantly, from the kitchen, they can hear Lucy asking Annie if they can have chocolate chip pancakes in the morning. James laughs to himself. “Well, that means I get to eat them, too, so I’m not complaining. Ready to head home?”

“Yeah.” Mark gathers his shit and says bye to Annie and Lucy before stepping out onto the porch. The sun is going down, and the heat is receding. Summer really is almost over, he thinks. It comes with a flash of unexpected anxiety.

He hops in the car and James joins him, pulling out onto the street. “Annie was thrilled,” he says before Mark can even ask. “So, thanks again.”

Mark nods. “I mean, I got to hang out with Lucy, so it’s no big deal, but I’m glad it went well,” he replies. With a start, he realizes he still needs to tell James about his peninsula plans. “Oh, I meant to tell you. I’m gonna spend next week out on the peninsula, since my internship is over.”

“By yourself?” James asks.

Mark makes a mental note to text Johnny. “Yeah, I asked my friends, but no one was free. And I know I won’t have time once school starts, so.”

“Just be safe, okay? Mom’d wring my fuckin’ neck if something happened to you,” James says. Mark nods, thinking about all the things Mom would wring both of their fuckin’ necks about if she knew.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. “Sorry for not mentioning it sooner, I just kept forgetting. Annie’ll have to pick Lucy up from music lessons.”

“Actually, I think her teacher is gonna be out of town that week, too,” James says, and Mark pretends like this information surprises him. “So no music lessons. Good timing, really.”

“Good,” Mark says, turning to face the window so James can’t try to read his expression. “That’s good.”

[apotodiplodocus]

SECURITY

CHAPTER 4 - END

The weekdays pass almost painfully slowly for you. It had been Tuesday when you’d had that awful emotionally exhausting day. For Gyutaro however it was a completely different story, you hadn’t seen him since, and you knew he wasn’t avoiding you because he hadn’t even shown up for work. You were slightly worried and cursed yourself for not asking for his number to text him, make sure he’s OK.

On Gyutaro’s end, he had been so overwhelmed by everything going on that he called out of work for once and on the Wednesday night when Muzan called him in an hour early as usual Gyutaro had to set his jaw to calm the tingling nerves only his night shift boss could make him feel. Muzan is of course an incredibly dangerous man, some powerful people were his friends, so everything needed to go exactly as Gyutaro planned for him to have the best chances at severing the relationship completely. He approaches the darkened office at the back of the club and wrapped his knuckles against the black-painted wood. He hears a grunt and steps in.

“Ahh, there’s one of my favourite bouncers. How is your sister doing?” It was a ‘good-natured’ threat, thinly veiled. By now Gyutaro didn’t feel the need to be concerned.

“Sir. May I sit?” He asks as politely as possible. Muzan sits forward in his seat a little bit, nodding.

“What is it Gyutaro? What troubles you?” He says, fake smile, bearing sharp teeth.

“Sir, I would like to talk about a clause of my contract that was violated recently.” Muzan tilts his head and motions to continue. “I’m talking about the clause of the contract I signed with you 18 years ago which stated no one in your organisation would harm me or someone I care for while working here. Both myself and my girlfriend were attacked yesterday, my girlfriend twice.” He states, cold. He’s hamming up the relationship as more than it is in a gamble to make his claim stronger. Muzan thinly veils fury and leans back, his plush leather chair squeaking slightly.

“I see. I was unaware you were in a relationship. I think I may be able to guess who the perpetrator of the attack was.”

“Yes, sir. My relationship is new, I didn’t want to mention it yet because it was early days, and she doesn’t know anything about my second job. I’m sure you have guessed but I’ll confirm, Jigoku Komaji. He approached my partner with a project a few weeks ago and when they met yesterday, I had to forcefully step in to stop him from assaulting her. Then after I dropped her off at home, she had left her phone in my bike bag, I went back to return it and two of Komaji’s bodyguards had assaulted her and were ransacking her apartment. I only got a bust lip, but she got an eye injury. Due to the nature of the attack and the legal issues this could incur for both parties, I think it would be fair to consider the contract void. I will not stand for another attack on my partner or myself, that said, I appreciate the opportunity you gave me and respect you greatly, I hold nothing against you.” Gyutaro is trying not to rip through his jeans with his bitten nails, the nerves threatening to overcome him, drown him. Komaji had been a drug dealer under Muzan for under five years and was known to be disliked by him anyway, hopefully, this would unravel a string that Muzan would take.

“I see. There is nothing I can do to change your mind, I assume.” Muzan grits.

“Unfortunately not sir. I would like this to be my last shift but if you require something taken care of, I will do my best to accommodate.” He says trying to soften Muzan up with the promise of some unpaid labour. Muzan thinks for a moment.

“I understand. I am disappointed to see you go, you have been in my service for a long time, and I appreciate that. I am sure I don’t need to remind you of what will happen if I ever get word that you are saying things you shouldn’t?” Muzan looks down his nose at the taller man.

“Of course not, sir. I wouldn’t.”

“Good. As for your offer, I do have one final thing I want you to do. I want you to… ‘collect’ Mr Komaji, do you understand.” Gyutaro understood, a sick smile gracing his face.

“You are a good man Gyutaro, if you ever need it a new contract will be waiting for you here.” Muzan stands, holding his hand out for Gyutaro.

“Thank you, sir, for everything you’ve done for my sister and me.” Gyutaro stands to his full height and shakes Muzan’s hand.

“You may finish your shift. Once I have the exit contract ready, I will summon you, and I will even burn the old contract in front of you as proof of my goodwill.” Muzan states, acting high and mighty. Gyutaro knows Muzan can’t fight against the contract he painstakingly created himself and that it was in fact partly his fault for not controlling his people this was the safest way he could have left. Now all he had to hope was this relationship with you did actually go well so when Muzan does investigate, he will have proof.

“Thank you again, sir.” Gyutaro wastes no time before leaving, feeling Muzan’s eyes watch him leave. He performs his duties perfectly for this shift, leaving nothing to be criticised and thinks about how he will deal with Komaji. He can’t help but think about what you’ll be doing this week in the lead-up to the date.

The rest of his shift goes by smoothly, no fights, not even an argument. It almost makes him feel stiff with boredom so he’s glad when he clocks out and is brought back to Muzan’s office. There he signs a contract saying he won’t say anything about the workings of the organisation and a few other terms and watches as Muzan burns their first contract. Everything settled, they shake hands once again and Gyutaro leaves, hoping this chapter of his life will stay closed.

When he gets home, he breaks the news to Ume that they will be leaving their apartment, as soon as he gets the keys to their new place and all she can do is huff and puff, this being the third time this year they had moved. He promises that this is the last time and tells her he doesn’t work for Muzan anymore, this upsets her because of her inappropriate feelings for the man but doesn’t go against her brother. He takes a couple of days off work to finish his business with Komaji as soon as possible, and it’s safe to say you’ll never have the disgusting man in your sights again.

When he returns to his security job at your office you are immediately relieved. Since the security office is at the entrance of the building you pass it every morning on your way in and you visibly relax when you see him sitting in the windowed office, fiddling away with his radio.

“Gyutaro!” You swing the office doors open and the only sign you surprised him is his hands freezing on his radio.

“Hey.” He quickly recovers, a gruff half-smirk on his face.

“Where were you?” ‘I missed you.’ You long to say the rest but think better of it.

“Calm down, s’only been a day. I just took some time off.” He pauses, seeing your black eye covered in makeup, you did a good job hiding it. “How’s your eye?” He asks tentatively, mindlessly licking the cut on his lip. You rush to cover it.

“…Is it visible?” You gently press the tender skin around the socket.

“No, not really.” You smile, and he smiles with you, a lazy one that makes your heart race that tad bit faster.

“Uh, anyway it’s good to see you back. I should… I should get going, don’t want to be late!” You exclaim embarrassed. He waves you off and watches as you cover your face, running past the windows of his office. He smirks, does he really have that sort of effect on you already? He shakes his head and tries to focus back on what he was doing before your perfume invaded and filled the room to the brim, forcing his thoughts to swim. One good thing about his job is he doesn’t necessarily have to go looking for you, constantly being able to see you through the security cameras, it does make him blanch at how creepy that could have sounded. He does make sure you sit down but then busies himself with anything else he can possibly think of as he wills the days to go by faster.

Since it’s only Thursday there’s still a little while to go until the date but he waits for you after work. Waits a whole 15 minutes until you come out arm in arm with Mitsuri, even briefly hearing you two giggling about your date until you spot him and stiffen up, clearly embarrassed. Mitsuri gasps and nudges you teasingly.

“Oh! I’m late to meet up with Obanai I need to go! See you tomorrow (Y/N)!” Not wasting a second before she’s quickly heading towards her car.

“Hi, Gyutaro.” You say after a moment.

“Hey, thought you might want another ride home?” Gyutaro mumbles, suddenly feeling a bit stupid.

“Oh, yeah that would be really nice thank you!” You had gotten a new pair of heels since the heels on your last pair came off after the couch fell on them, and they’d been pinching all day. You resist the urge to push some hair behind your ear and quickly trot over to him, wincing at the pain of your heels. Gyutaro has already turned and started heading for his bike but hears the change in your gait and turns back around to see you slipping off your heels while walking.

“What’re you doin’?” He questions.

“My heels are killing me, Gyu.” You groaned not thinking twice about the nickname, since you’d gotten used to it, having dreamt about him more than once now. They clack together in your hands as you catch up with his frozen self. He lets you catch up to him before taking a breath.

“’Gyu’?” He asks, and you immediately realise your mistake.

“O-oh! Sorry, should I not call you that?” You sheepishly walk with him, red in the face.

“I… I don’t mind.” He says looking away, but you manage to catch the tip of his ear turning red. You smile softly, and spot Gyutaro’s bike, this time he has two helmets with him, one seemingly his sister’s, a lot more stickers adorning it. Your heart melts a little that he thought to bring it just in case you took his offer.

“Aww, thank you, for bringing the extra helmet. Not that I don’t trust you or anything, I just worried when you didn’t have a helmet.” You confess.

“S’no problem.” He mutters, grabbing his helmet and getting on his bike, waiting for you to follow suit. Once you have, he immediately takes off, trying not to give any attention to the delicious way your hands slip around his skinny waist to hold him tight. Something he was so insecure about didn’t feel so bad when you held it and it was an incredibly weird experience for the man. The ride is short, and you say your goodbyes, but Gyutaro gets entranced by the way you saunter away, still holding your heels. You can’t help but lavish in the feeling of his eyes on your back.

“I’ll stay here until you wave me off from your window, so I know nothin’s happened.” He calls after you and you nod over your shoulder trying to give a cool impression. He just smirks in response with a soft good-natured scoff under his breath. As a man of his word, he (somewhat) patiently waits for you to appear at your window, counting the seconds until your head pops up and you wave at him. He nods and takes off again, not waiting much longer. When he arrives home, Ume is waiting for him, her homework splayed in front of her in a way that makes it look like she scrambled to grab it at the sound of his bike. He raises his eyebrows in suspicion.

“What’s goin’ on?” He says, taking off his shoes.

“Nothing! Nothing!” Gyutaro sighs and looks around the room, nothing looks out of the ordinary and the smell of the apartment is just as dungy as ever, no matter how many air fresheners Ume used.

“If there really isn’t anythin’ goin’ on, you won’t mind if I investigate right?” He says playfully taking a step towards her bedroom.

“Wait!” She flies to block his entrance.

“A boy better not be in there.” He growls.

“What? No! Ew.” She says a grimace on her face.

“Then what is it?” He is exasperated by now. Ume twiddles her thumbs and swings her foot a little.

“… May have… Buying… Instead of… For school…” She whispers. Gyutaro is unimpressed and stares at her in silence to prompt her to repeat herself. She huffs, throwing her hands down.

“Fine! I’ve been buying make up with my dinner money for school.” She grumbles at the end. Gyutaro sighs dramatically and palms his eyes.

“Ume! You need that money for food! Are you an idiot?” He raises his voice but stops before saying anything else taking a breath. “… Sorry, Ume, have you had anything to eat since Tuesday?” Ume huffs, used to her brother’s concern.

“Yes! I swear. I save a tiny bit to get some of those super cheap noodle packets and eat them before you get home…” He had been wondering where the extra dishes were coming from.

“Fine, as long as you’ve eaten. But that stops now. I’ll figure something out so you can have some spending money just don’t go without eating all day. What would I do with you if you passed out?” He pats her head. She understands that he’s already spreading himself thin money-wise and feels bad for the burden she puts on him.

“No… it’s OK brother. I’ll wait until we’ve moved, you promised it’s the last time, right? Once we’ve moved there, we should have a bit more money, right? Then you can give me some spending money.” Gyutaro looks down at his sister with surprised eyes, usually, she would just take what she could, with as little responsibility as possible, he was proud that she was starting to mature.

“Ok, but you’re still doing extra chores to make it up to me.” He chuckles heading to the kitchen to make them both something to eat.

“Brother!” She whines. The night passes with ease that follows through the next day.

Gyutaro gives you a lift back home again, even though he sees you’ve put plasters on today so the shoes wouldn’t hurt.

“So Gyutaro, our date is tomorrow! Don’t forget, I won’t forgive you if you’re late!” You tease picking your bag up off the back of his bike.

“Like I would.” He teases back smirking, eyes half-lidded as usual. You flush lightly.

“I hope you’re looking forward to it like I am. I have a whole feast planned, so you can take some back to your sister if you want.” You say gently, as you hoist your bag onto your shoulder. Gyutaro is touched deep down by the gesture, the idea of you already looking out for Ume hitting him like a truck.

“How can I not? Free food.” He softly jabs. You grin and wave turning to your apartment. Like the day before he waits for you to pop up in your window and wave before he leaves, this time giving you a parting wave. This time when he gets home Ume is calm, much the opposite of Gyutaro as it dawns on him, he has his first date tomorrow. What does he wear? What if he stinks? Does he really have to worry about that stuff? Does he bring a gift? He huffs dropping onto the couch with all the grace of a brick.

“Shiiiit…” He whispers, scratching the skin of his neck.

“Brother don’t scratch that hard! You have to look presentable tomorrow.” He groans annoyed but stops, fingers twitching.

“I don’t know what to do tomorrow.” He says out loud not really to Ume. For a brief second, he gets the idea to cancel and fake being sick, but that idea is quickly squished by Gyutaro’s pride, he would not be seen as a coward.

“What’s the big deal?” Ume asks.

“I don’t know what to wear for a date at someone’s house. Does she want me to dress differently?”

“Uh, yeah? She won’t want to see you in your work stuff.” Ume laughs at him, and he remembers you’ve never seen him in casual clothes like he had seen you in yours.

“Leave the outfit to me, brother. I mean I obviously know more about fashion than you do.” Ignoring her jab at his wardrobe he mutters some more.

“What if I get there an’ I stink? Do you think she’s expecting a gift? What would I even get…?” He starts overthinking and spiralling, hands reaching up to scratch at his sensitive skin once again.

“Brother, it’ll be fine. You have cologne and stuff, and a couple of flowers would be nice, you could pick some up on the way over.” She says this so casually as if he wasn’t about to tear his skin off thinking about it. He pauses and realises she’s right, sighing to himself.

“I swear you used to be dumber.” He mutters.

“Hey! I heard that!” She huffs and stomps to his room. “I’m going to pick out your stupid outfit for your stupid date tomorrow, go take a shower or something.” She exclaims dismissively. He laughs loud, a cackle really and does as she says, feeling calmer now.

His nerves come back after the shower, but he settles himself, deciding he’ll have another shower tomorrow just to be sure. By the time he’s dried and redressed, Ume has picked out an outfit and cologne for him, having laid them out on the bed. She hears him enter his bedroom so goes to meet him. She notes that he’s looking at the cologne.

“I noticed that when you came back the past couple of days, you had a specific perfume smell on you, so I picked that out ‘cause it felt like she would like it. Oh! By the way, what’s her name? You never told me.” Surprised by her ability to notice something so minute, he just stares for a second, looking between her and the cologne.

“(Y/N).” He replies sniffing the glass bottle and noting it smells good.

“Hmm. Weird name, (Y/N), (Y/N)…” She repeats like she’s rolling it on her tongue.

“I like it, it’s nice.” He answers not fully focused on the conversation taking in his outfit for the day, a black short-sleeved shirt, black and green flannel, and black ripped jeans. Ume had even picked some jewellery, a couple of rings, a chain belt, and a thin silver chain. She’d even picked out some comfortable shoes and socks.

“You really like her then! You never compliment people that easy.” He gets flustered, red overtaking his face.

“What d’ya mean!? It is a nice name!” He ushers her out of his room. “I’m going to bed!” He declares, slamming the door behind her.

“But brother! It’s only 7!” She hears him groan and laughs maniacally when he flies out of his room, straight to the kitchen to make them some food. He ignores her remarks the rest of the night, eating doing his daily quick clean and then locking himself in his room. He moves the clothes onto a chair in his room carefully so they don’t get wrinkled and lays down in bed, thinking about all the ways the date could go wrong, terrified to even dare of thinking it might go well. He doesn’t want to jinx everything. He keeps thinking this way until he eventually falls asleep.

The next day when his alarm goes off, he flings himself out of bed. His night had been an uncomfortable mix of nightmares about an awful date and embarrassing dreams where it went very well, too well. He has a shower, eats breakfast and then gets dressed. Gyutaro admits the outfit looks good but is nervous to be the one wearing it. The shirt stretches over his muscles in a way that makes him feel naked and he’s almost a little annoyed with the sound of the chain belt running along his leg when he moves slightly. He reminds himself to put on the cologne, misting it over his neck and chest lightly.

When he leaves his room Ume is waiting for him, still rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Heyy, it actually looks good.” She murmurs.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” He waves her off going to finish getting ready. She follows him to the bathroom and leans on the doorway, yawning.

“Don’t forget to pick up some flowers on the way. I’m going back to bed, good luck.” She doesn’t wait for a response, shuffling to her room. He rolls his eyes as he gets ready and realises, he should get going soon if he wants to get the flowers and not be late. Before he puts on his shoes, he calls to Ume to go over to a friend’s house for a bit so she wouldn’t be home alone all day but just hears the rustling of sheets and her groan in annoyance at his disturbance. He slips some boots on instead of the shoes Ume picked since he needed them for his bike. Totally not because he felt more comfortable in them, never. He leaves his house stopping at a shop along the way, picking up a small bouquet before continuing to your house.

When he arrives, he secures his bike and takes the bouquet with him to the buzzer. Before he has the chance to press it you’ve already opened the door. He is a bit taken aback by your sudden appearance, even more so when he sees the cute clothes you’d decided to wear, fighting to not look at the low-ish neckline of your top.

“Hi.” You breathe, face pink and eyes wide as if you hadn’t been expecting him.

“Hi.” He responds in a similar way. He shakes his head and presses the flowers towards you. “Uh, for you…” He says but when he looks at the flowers again, he sees they’ve lost a lot of petals and realised he left them open on his bike and cringes, groaning inwardly. Great, he’d already messed up. He tenses when you giggle.

“Aw thank you, that’s really sweet.” You gaze at the flowers affectionately, before he tries to take them back.

“Uh, sorry, if I’d’ve looked at ‘em just now I would have just thrown them away.” You snatch them away from his grabbing hands.

“No way, they’re perfect, plus they’re my first gift from you. I love them, thank you, Gyu.” Your smile is almost downright loving, and his heart has to fight to keep beating. Gulping, he just nods and you both trek up to your apartment. He sneaks a glance at you on the way and you’re gently touching the flowers a cute smile on your face, making him want to melt, and it almost makes him mad that it affects him so much. He would definitely give Ume some extra pocket money for the advice.

Entering your apartment, Gyutaro almost begins drooling at the smell. A bunch of food is littering your kitchen counters and the small dining table that’s been pulled closer to the middle of the kitchen.

“I just finished making everything when I heard you pull up.” You explain, rushing to the kitchen, and pulling out an old vase for the flowers.

“It all looks great; how long have you been cooking?” He goes to pick something up, but you gently slap his hand away.

“Ah, ah, not yet. Probably about 3 hours?” You sheepishly admit.

“You put that much effort in?” He asks almost as if he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Why wouldn’t I? I’ve been waiting for this all week. I’d quite like for this to go well.” You say the last bit in an almost whisper. Gyutaro can’t stand the relief that washes over him when he just about hears it and quickly changes the subject.

“So, how’s your eye?” He turns quickly to pretend he’s looking at your living room to hide his blush but cringes at the reminder of your attack. He feels as though he’s digging a hole,he won’t be able to climb out of until your giggle a little.

“It’s fine, thank you, Gyu. It’s healing well and the doctor said I won’t have any issues with it in the future.” You smile good-naturedly and approach him. He’s still standing with his back to you, so you gently touch his shoulder. “We can eat now if you want. And Gyu?” He hums, turning around. “You don’t have to be so tense, calm down. We’re just getting to know each other.” He takes a moment before nodding, taking a deep breath to calm himself.

“Yeah, sorry.” Is all he says as you lead him to sit at the table. Within moments you’re both digging in and chatting about how the week has been outside when you saw each other. Well, you are mostly chatting, Gyutaro is devouring the food you made while listening intently. He can’t believe how good it is.

“You really made all this? No bullshit?” He says in between bites. You bark out a laugh.

“Yes, Gyu, no bullshit.” He just tilts his head down and smiles a little, making your heart stutter. Not a smirk or a half smile, a proper, gentle smile graces his face, and you can’t help but think he looks incredibly handsome. “You look good Gyu. I like your outfit.”

“Oh, uh thank you.” He coughs into a fist almost pushing his chest out with a bit of pride at the compliment. Do you really think he looks good? “You, look… Really good, I like your hair.” He returns, and you fiddle with it, flushing. The atmosphere has become a little romantic and you both are stuck on what to say next, so you both just shovel your mouths with more food. After a few moments, you start asking him a bit more about himself, willing the awkward atmosphere to go away.

“How is your other job doing?” Gyutaro freezes.

“I left it on Wednesday, it was taking up time I didn’t have. I’m gonna be takin’ a full-time job at the office instead.”

“You didn’t already have a full-time position?” You question, he had been there all week, all day as well.

“Tuesday my other job ended up not needing me to come in, so I took on the job to escort you instead. I usually just work Thursday and Friday.” He explains.

“Oh! I see, that’s exciting then, looks like we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.” You grin at him. He nods, a small smile creeping up on his face.

You continue to talk comfortably until you are both too stuffed to continue eating.

“You feel free to get comfy on the couch and have a look through my DVDs if you want. I’ll put a bit of everything in some Tupperware to take back with you.” You get up and start shuffling through your cupboards for the Tupperware. Were you an angel? Or was that just the sun reflecting off your shiny hair? Gyutaro couldn’t tell. He busies himself with looking for a DVD to watch but eventually decides to let you choose, he didn’t watch a lot of movies, not having the time to usually.

“Have you decided?”

“Uh, no. These looked good but I’m not sure.”

“Ooh, some good choices.” You look and decide for him, turning it on and joining him on the couch. It was here that Gyutaro realised just how close you both would be, and it seemed like you didn’t either when he saw a bright blush starting to crawl up your neck. He gets a bit of a confidence boost from this. He decides to be a bit bold for once, shuffling himself into a more comfortable position that just so happens to be closer to you. The blush crawled faster than before. He stops there for now but decides to push a bit more later, to see how far you were comfortable with.

The movie wears on and Gyutaro can’t find it in him to pay much attention to it when you were so close.

“You um… You smell nice today, I like your cologne.” You say surprising him, he remembers the clone and mentally thanks Ume for picking something you liked.

“Thanks, it’s new. I like your perfume…” He offers before you both settle back into a comfortable silence, but now you’re smiling softly at the floor. He decides now is a good chance to push a bit and shuffles in his seat again resting his arms on the back of the couch, close to your shoulders. He sees you tense for a second but calms down just as quickly and you even shuffle yourself a little bit closer to his surprise.

“So what do you usually do when you’re at home?” You ask, looking up at him from your spot almost on his chest and Gyutaro has to collect himself for a second.

“Not much, usually I’d only have a few hours to eat and get ready for my next shift and then I’d just go to bed once I got home. The past few days I’ve just been helping Ume with her homework and reading.” Ume had actually been making him watch rom-coms to ‘prepare’ him for the date, he does not want to go into that though.

“Ah, it’ll be nice to find out what stuff you like to do then. Has it always been like that?”

“Pretty much, I was only 18 when we lost our mum, didn’t have a chance to do anything with my life. I’d already had a job since I was 14 but I had to get something that’d pay more. I wasn’t gonna let Ume go into foster care, so I had to get my shit together and fast.” He stays staring at the screen, thinking that looking at you now would be too much for him.

“Oh that’s so awful, but it’s admirable that you worked so hard for her. You’re a really great brother.” You compliment him looking straight into his eyes. He stares back at you and for a second the film is completely forgotten, you can feel yourselves being pulled towards each other, inching ever closer. Then there is a huge explosion from the film that spooked you, making you laugh nervously.

When you look back to Gyutaro he’s still staring at you exactly the same way, and it almost hypnotises you. He looks like he’s trying to figure you out and unravel the mysteries you have yet to reveal. Almost looks through you.

You feel so naked under his watchful gaze, but you’re comfortable. Like this is how he should be looking at you.

Before you know it, you’re both kissing, eyes closed and lips gently pressing against each other. It’s soft, both of you not having much experience. You only stay like that for a moment before you both pull away warm and red and look away from each other.

“Sorry, I… I don’t know why I did that.” He whispers, worried that you’ll feel dirtied or gross, but he’s surprised when you gently touch his face, pulling it back to yours gently, giving him the space to option to move away. You kiss him again, much quicker than last time.

“Don’t be. I liked it.” You smile and he swears his heart stops at the emotion behind it. It’s impossible for such strong feelings to develop over such little time, right? He is silent as he continues to stare at you, wide eyes, a bit of lipstick smeared on his lip. The light streaming through the window is soft and tinted a soft comfortable yellow. His hands don’t quite tremble but twitch on the couch like he’s unsure of what to do. Probably because he isn’t sure, what happens now? Should he kiss you again or not? Does he just focus on the film again? You answer his question for him, settling to move closer so you are resting against his side and chest.

He is still taken aback but wraps his arm around your shoulder, holding you close. It feels domestic, which Gyutaro should be used to, taking care of the house and looking after Ume, but this feels different. This is the most comfortable he’s felt in a long time, and it almost causes a shiver to run down his back, he lets a smile on his face and looks back at the screen, barely taking anything in, but much more comfortable before. 

A few more hours pass like this, both of you cuddling, watching a second film and talking, Gyutaro even musters the courage to kiss the top of your head at one point. It was incredibly light, a barely there touch but he felt your cheek press further into his chest from your grin.  By the end of the date, you were both abuzz with similar affectionate feelings. You walked him down to the front door of your apartment building where you had one last quick conversation.

“This was really nice; I hope you had a nice time.” You timidly looked away smiling brightly.

“Yeah, I… I had a great time.” He replies shuffling the plastic bag of Tupperware in his hands, he looks down quickly to make sure he doesn’t drop it but when he looks back up at you, he takes a deep breath. “So, uh… Would you want to do this again sometime?” His hand moves up to his neck where he discreetly scratches, waiting anxiously for your response. You gasp.

“I would love to! Name the time and place and I’ll be there! Not to sound obsessed or anything.” You smile awkwardly at the end. Gyutaro is just shocked you actually said yes.

“You don’t think I’m disgusting?” He says before he can think better of it.

“No? Why would I?” You question him, leaning against the doorframe and he cringes, brain flashing back to all the times growing up when he was chastised for just existing.

“I’ve always been told I’m… ugly… Was bullied most of my life for it.” He admits, shoulders slumping a little, he didn’t want to end the date on a sad note or even make you change your mind about him.

“What? That’s so stupid.” You stand back up, leaving the door frame and gently touch his face, “I can say without a doubt I don’t think you’re ugly. I think you’re quite the opposite.” You say a small blush at your admission is what makes him start to really believe you. You want him to be sure so you kiss him again, once again just soft enough that he could back out at any time, but he just presses closer, hands going to your waist. The bag of Tupperware bumps against your thigh. When you both pull away, you’re panting and red in the face once again.

“Thank you, I’ll text you when I get back.” He whispers, hastily walking away with a small smile and wave. You watch him ride away before you go back into your apartment, and you breathe in deeply when you realise you can still smell his cologne.

“Wow…”

[beautifulpersonpeach]

Hello BPP, I’m new ARMY! I have only been a fan since hiatus 😅 and have only been in the fandom for solo era. I had been enjoying my experience so far and loving the music. But I am so confused by all the noise at present with FACE. I don’t understand what is happening with Youtube and the noise from kpop fans against Jimin’s encore performance. We have been streaming for more than a week but we cannot seem to go over 30 million? I know there is filtering happening and that it’s normal but it is weird because we keep going back to 27 million. I am not sure if you discuss stuff like these in more detail. Can you suggest an account to follow so I can understand more?

About the encore stage, I read your other masterlist posts and it does feel like a predicated response because of the success Jimin is getting. He is predicated to debut at #1 at Hot 100 by some accounts. I find the issue response to be very exaggerated though 😅 Would it be too tin hat foil if I think a big company is behind it? I had read an issue about Kakao being behind a targeted smear campaign against several girl group members a few months ago. Is it too conspiracy? I do not want to think unkindly or too tin hat foil if there is a reasonable explanation like kpop fans being threatened and being angry 😅

Thank you BPP! 💜💜💜

***

Hi Anon,

Welcome to comeback season.

I’ll be brief.

Nothing that’s happening to Jimin is unexpected. YouTube has been excessively filtering, freezing, and then deleting views off BTS videos since 2021. It’s not something I care much about but it’s impossible to ignore. I think there are two reasons for this:

1. YouTube now has paid options and they have been pushing users to switch to the Premium option. In reply to many direct ARMY inquiries about missing views, the customer service reps often suggest streaming from YouTube premium accounts so all views can be counted. It’s possible they’ve identified ARMY as a group of people who will pay more if it means views are counted for BTS, but even I who spends most of my working hours as a capitalist demon finds this move to be just a little perverse. Views are views and paid views should count just the same as unpaid views.

2. I’m good friends with stans in many other fandoms and they don’t often have the same complaint. Videos from other k-pop groups don’t have the same handicap likely because there are less people at once watching the videos (ARMYs are a lot of people…) and because it’s the industry norm to use ads to inflate views. And more groups using ads even more than before, is also something I’ve noticed since 2021. This is also a scenario YouTube prefers because they directly receive revenue from k-pop companies when those companies buy ads, so every view of the ad is counted.

Like I said, records of views isn’t something that I think matters all that much for BTS today. But that doesn’t mean it’s right that it happens at all. ARMYs have limited recourse here short of getting a job at YouTube and trying to change their strategy internally. What I personally do is stream as usual (checking out their videos at least once every couple of days - I’m online often so that happens easily… I love watching them), and talk more about them with people in my life. Sometimes those people go on to check out the boys, and then who knows? YouTube might be deleting records of people watching BTS but now even more people are finding out about them. A win.

Some ARMYs are reporting this to BigHit. I don’t think that will have any impact since counted views are entirely at YouTube’s discretion, but if you’re inclined to take more action, there’s that option.

Think how so much easier things would be though, if BTS and Bang PD just did what most others in the industry are already doing. The goody-goody-two-shoes thing is sometimes annoying, but I hope if you’re ARMY you respect them for making these sort of choices for as long as they make them.

*

About Jimin, I won’t say much. His in-ears may or may not have been working. I personally don’t care. Whatever the case it doesn’t change the fact that Jimin can sing. But remember what I said about Avoidance and Hate being the two primary responses to expect from most k-pop stans to anything concerning BTS? That’s all that happened here. Jimin had been giving jaw dropping performances, breaking records, and blowing nearly every metric of commercial and critical success out of the water, and the response from k-pop stans was basically virtual Ostrich head-in-sand. (Though many were streaming Jimin’s songs and talking about it in GCs according to some friends in other fandoms). But the minute they found something to mock, they swarmed.

It’s simple, predictable, and lame.

But there are decade-long structures that reinforce that behaviour, and the ARMY fandom is one that’s had to bear the brunt of challenging the dominant culture and behaviours. The casualties are reflected in all that’s ugly about ARMY.

Anyway, Jimin is fine. He likely wants to spend some more time with Hobi before Hobi enlists. I suspect it’s why Jimin cancelled his Inkigayo live appearance. But he’s more than okay. Didn’t you hear him on Set Me Free Pt 2?

You said you’re a new ARMY so please allow me to say one thing: pay attention to all that’s happening around you, but please try not to make it terribly upset you. Focus on loving yourself, whatever that means for you. For me, that means enjoying the music BTS makes as often as I like. I just listened to Beautiful Girls by Sean Kingston play after Sexy Nukim by Balming Tiger ft RM and I almost moaned at my desk at the pleasure in that shift in sound. Sorry if that’s TMI, but like, that’s the reason I’m here writing about seven guys from Korea. I’ve said before I’m not a writer, yet I’m here. They make me loco. Anyway, another good practice is to report the really bad tweets if you see them, and focus on Jimin, BTS, and the music.

And lately, Jimin *and* Jungkook have been making it very easy to focus on them:

*

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Happy streaming.

[kalihaze604]

offline is the new luxury

Monday, January 15th, 2024

offline is the new luxury.

Seriously. I just deleted all my social media apps yesterday because I was starting to feel like my phone had simply become a time wasting device, and most of my “friends” and “followers” were not actually real friends, just frenemies and lurkers that wanted a livestream of my suffering to laugh at and someone to pity and point at and say “hey at least my life isn’t as bad as theirs?”. I don’t need leeches and lurkers silently hating and judging me. Go live your fucking life in the real world like I am?! It’s not hard to live without social media. It’s not hard to live without doomscrolling becoming a full time unpaid job. It’s so easy to stare mindlessly at a screen for weeks on end while you put your life on hold. It’s so easy to curate a fake image to sell lies to desperate fools. What isn’t easy? Actually being an authentic messy human being living life and trying to heal and recover! We live in a society that tells us that the poor deserve bad health because they can’t afford better and then we place the disabled in a complicated legislated poverty trap as a eugenics program to kill us off faster. Western medicine ain’t shit. It’s a failed experiment sponsored by big pharma’s elites. Same with the education system. Why do I need to pay for a degree when I can Google the answers and do my own research online? And find rare valuable books on the street or at value village for a couple bucks that silently whisper to me and say “I was left here for YOU to find me”. Like that thought about Google came from a rather shitty community member that stated “I don’t need a degree, I have Google!” And despite this person’s otherwise highly problematic views- this one seems to hold value. You don’t need to pay to find answers, if you want answers, either you search for them yourself or they come to you. It’s as simple as that. Anyone asking you to pay? Are you paying for their time and expertise? Their knowledge? Are they really an expert or just another fraud? It’s best to seek answers for yourself instead of paying a fraud. But Instagram is filled with people claiming to be healers practicing “medicine” without a license and getting rich off exploiting peoples suffering while making miracle claims. It’s sick. There are so many narcs online and in the sex work industry. But it makes a lot of sense- like these people are obsessed with their image and trying to pretend to be something they’re not which is easily attained via social media marketing pageantry. I don’t really have much of a fear of missing out anymore on online nonsense. You know what I’m ACTUALLY SCARED OF MISSING OUT ON? living my fucking life authentically without feeling like I need to prove anything or put my life on display! I am scared I’ll miss another day of sunshine before a week of rain because I chose to stay inside staring at a screen instead. Like it’s a sunny day today. I was supposed to be doing laundry right now. But I decided -ya know what, I’m gonna write a blog post about my thoughts and then reschedule laundry and go outside and get some sunlight on my skin (after applying spf of course like a good slut) and get some fresh air. Might go chill (literally) in a park with some lunch but I haven’t really decided yet where today will take me. I feel like I like the long form of blog posts better and I think this will be the only place I’ll be posting online for the foreseeable future. I don’t really care who reads this blog, it’s not really a space where I care about marketing myself to potential clients other than …idk showing my true self and personality and maybe that is scary or maybe that’s exciting and interesting to know that I’m not just a doll, I’m a living, breathing human being with a brain and a heart! Shocking, I know.

Why do I think that offline is the new luxury? It’s about simply not caring about the lurkers, the haters, the critics. Not comparing yourself to others, focusing on simplicity, decreasing stress and anxiety. It’s the whole “I’ll see you when I see you”, being mysterious and moving in silence so that nobody interferes because they don’t even know what you’re doing or where you are and can’t access you or bother you. It’s about independence. It’s about living my life in privacy. It’s about my own inner peace and healing my nervous system at the end of the day and I can’t do that when I’m doomscrolling or feeling so much rage at every single tweet I see talking about how brutally cruel this world has become and how evil people behave towards others. It’s not that I want to look away or stop feeling those emotions, I recognize it’s not good for my mental health to constantly be reading about hatred. There is so much hatred online! But anyways. My time is money. I no longer want to waste it on social media. I want to put my phone down and go live my fucking life. and that’s what I’m gonna do. Byeee

[paandaan]

Roberta came in mid-December and just stared.

Laurel looked across the room from her chaise and there she was, sitting in a straight-backed chair she had dragged in from the dining room. Laurel said nothing but didn’t have the pleasure of feeling that she was ignoring Roberta. Hands folded in her lap, she calmly allowed the crashing cymbals and thunderous piano chords to wash over the printed housedress and worn-down slippers. She only moved when the doorbell rang, quietly disappearing to return again and take up her vigil. They spent the entire day like that together. Finally, Laurel rolled over and switched off the system.

“Well, have you heard enough?” She spoke without looking at the woman. “I’ll run down the program for you. The morning began with Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C-sharp Minor. Then there was Beethoven’s Fourth Concerto in G Major followed by Brahms’s First Symphony. We started the afternoon with Chopin’s Fourth, Twenty-second, and Twenty-fourth preludes. Then moved into Tchaikovsky—his Fifth and Sixth symphonies, I played the Sixth twice. And for the last three hours it’s been Mahler—I especially like his work. Did you notice that I’ve spliced the tapes, so there’s absolutely no break between the last and first notes of his Eighth and Ninth symphonies?” She continued to talk into the ceiling. “I hope you’ve come to discuss what you’ve just heard, because beyond that I’ve nothing to say to you or anyone else.”

“I heard enough the first five minutes I sat here. And the rest of the time was spent trying to make sense out of what I was seeing.” Roberta’s voice was even and slow.

“I don’t care what you were seeing. You saw what all the others have seen: a woman who just doesn’t want to be bothered. Can’t everyone understand that? I just want to be left alone.”

“You said you was willing to talk about that music. Well, what I was seeing was what I was hearing. I can’t pronounce them names like you, but that last man—the one you say you like so much?”

“Mahler. Gustav Mahler.”

“Yeah, him.” Roberta nodded. “It’s a might bit different from Bessie Smith, Billie Holliday, or even Muddy Waters.”

“I’ll say.”

“I can hear them starting from the same place, though.”

“The same place? They’re worlds apart.”

“No, they in the same world.” Roberta shook her head. “They all trying to say something with music that you can’t say with plain talk. There ain’t really no words for love or pain. And the way I see it, only fools go around trying to talk their love or talk their pain. So the smart people make music and you can kinda hear about it without them saying anything. You can hear the hurt in Bessie or Billie and I just kinda wish that I’d come here and found you playing their stuff, ’cause that man you seem to like so much—that Mahler—his music says that he ain’t made peace with his pain, child. And if you gonna go on, that’s what you gotta do.”

“So running out and buying the records of women who were drug addicts and alcoholics would help me, right? Women who got their identities through a crop of worthless men they let drag them down? All that moaning about Jim Crow, unpaid bills, and being hungry has nothing to do with me or what I’m going through.”

“You ain’t going through nothing much more different than what they went through.”

“It’s a lot different. But how would you understand?”

Roberta narrowed her eyes. “I guess what folks say is true then. It’s lonely at the top.”

“It’s damned lonely.”

“Well, Bessie and Billie are telling you that it ain’t so crowded at the bottom, either,” Roberta snapped. “You think you done found a special music to match your misery. A misery you got somewhere in the head. No, you ain’t never had to worry, like a lot of us did, about Jim Crow or finding your next meal, but if that’s all you hear in them songs, then you don’t know as much about music as you think you do. What they say is one thing, but what you supposed to hear is, ‘I can.’” Roberta came and stood over her. “‘I can,’ Laurel, that’s what you supposed to hear. It ain’t a music that speaks to your head like some of this stuff you been playing, or to your body like that rock music of these kids. But it speaks to a place they ain’t got no name for yet, where you supposed to be at home. Open up that place, child. ’Cause if you don’t, there ain’t never gonna be no peace—with the love in your life or the hurt.

“Remember what you asked me this summer? When people are in trouble, don’t they go home? You came looking for it back there, but Georgia wasn’t really home for you. It was just a shack where you had learned to be at home with yourself. And I had prayed that when you grew up, you would carry that away with you. If you feel you’ve lost that, Laurel, you didn’t lose it in Georgia and so there weren’t no point in coming back there trying to find it.”

Laurel’s face was closed and stony as she kept it turned away from the woman.

“Yeah, I forgot. You said you only wanted to talk about this here music, and I got a little off the track, didn’t I?” Roberta sighed. “Well, I done exhausted myself on that subject.”

She returned to the hard chair with a slight limp, and grimaced as she sat down, grabbing her back. “I’m plain folk, and I ain’t educated. I’d be the last to deny that. But I’m willing to learn, and I’m ready to sit here—today, tomorrow, for as long as it takes. Baby, get up and put something else on by that Mahler man. Maybe this time it’ll get a bit more clear, and I can find something else to say to you.”

Laurel did get up. She wrapped the robe around her and went and kneeled in front of Roberta, taking her hands. But she felt even that didn’t place her low enough, so she sat back on her thighs and looked up into the woman’s face.

“Where do I begin, Grandma?”

“The beginnings are gone, Laurel. But we can start with today and what you got around you.”

“What day is it anyway?”

“It’s December sixteenth. And there’s nine more days till Christmas. If we start now, we can have us some kind of holiday—surprise everybody. Get us a tree, and the fixings for a big dinner. You can cook for an army in that kitchen of yours, but I brought my own candied fruit and spices.”

Laurel laughed and the vibrations hurt her in the middle.

“Oh yes, I did.” Roberta nodded. “Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without a decent fruitcake and I been soaking them things in brandy for months. It was too much to haul up my own sweet potatoes, but I figured that even these old frostbitten northern potatoes would turn out a respectable pie with my secret mixture of cinnamon and nutmeg.”

“Grandma, the sweet potatoes in these stores probably came from Georgia.”

“Yeah, but they lose something with all that traveling, believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you.” Her eyes clouded over. “You can lose a lot when you travel too much.”

“But anyway”—Roberta’s voice got louder—“first thing we gotta do is set to cleaning this house. Get them floors and windows shining again and the sinks scoured. When I first walked in here, the dust looked at me like I was the one that didn’t belong.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, I’ve just been lax. There’s a woman I can call.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t trust nobody else to be cleaning where I have to eat and sleep. People just don’t take the same care when it ain’t their home.”

“This is my home, isn’t it, Grandma?” The question could have easily come from a dazed and lost child.

“Of course, it’s yours—and right smart at that.”

“And I can make it, I mean make it into something nice and warm for Christmas like homes should be.” Laurel’s eyes burned inward as her fevered hands gripped Roberta’s. “And I can have Daddy and the family over for the holidays. I know I’ve been awful to Claudia all these years and she’s really made him such a good wife, she’s been a better wife than … And Howard, I can try to make it up to Howard, too. I haven’t been too kind to him either. And he’s really not such a bad man, Grandma. But I can do something about that now, can’t I?”

Roberta’s nod was as slow as it was sad.

“Yes, I can.” Laurel pressed her lips together. “I can do it.”

Linden Hills, Gloria Naylor

[letarasstuff]

Ranting

(A/N): This was requested by an anon, I hope you like it :)

Summary: In the middle of midterms, Spencer's daughter has enough and for the first time in her life, she rants to the team

Warnings: one swear word, school, school stress, mental breakdown, shitty friends, a bit of angst (but there is fluff to balance that out), weird grammatical sentences that are according to google correct

Wordcount: 2.3k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________ As a teenager, Spencer was pretty closed off. But this had several reasons, like being a child (or moreover a teen prodigy) at college and getting his first Ph.D, or that he hadn’t had a safety net of people he could have gone to. So as he became a father himself, he tried everything possible to assure his own daughter that her feelings and thoughts are always welcome and valid.

Unfortunately (Y/N) herself has developed the same habit starting high school and ever since Spencer can’t do anything to get her to open up to him. It’s not like they don’t have a good relationship, they have one of the strongest father-daughter bonds the BAU has ever witnessed. The girl simply has other ways to cope with her feelings and how to act them out in the safety of her own four walls. Her father learned to accept it, knowing that he can’t and won’t force her to talk to him.

So what follows now not only shocked Spencer. But also his work family.

It’s the time every teen in high school dreads: Midterms.

A word a teacher can mutter and a shiver goes through the rows of students in the classroom. Or at least it feels like it to (Y/N). She takes her school work very seriously. In her mind every single grade determines her future.

The rational part in her knows that the grades in her sophomore year doesn’t matter. That they are even long forgotten when she graduates. There is just so much pressure on her. But it isn’t coming from her father.

Spencer is pretty laid-back regarding school. He knows his daughter is trying her best and that it’s just the tenth grade and not the end of the world. School is not everything life has to offer, especially he has to know it as a scholar and profiler flying through the country in a jet back and forth.

It’s (Y/N)’s classmates, who pressure her to get good grades.

“We depend on you and your notes”, Tyler exclaims as he jogs next to her through the busy hallway. “Ty, I know. But I don’t have the time to get them done for all of you to understand by tomorrow. They are still a mess that only I know to see through. I still have to finish my history project and I go to my Dad’s work this afternoon, which means I won’t get much done and I still have to do the homework I got today before sorting my notes for the test in two days.”

At her locker, the boy still doesn’t let go of the subject. “Do you want to say that our grades don’t matter as much as yours? Because this would be a true selfish statement.” Maybe it is the lack of sleep, because she pulled three all-nighters in two weeks, or the fact that she is slowly getting fed up being treated like an unpaid private teacher, but (Y/N) can’t stop her sassy answer. “Tyler, you wouldn't even know how to tell apart your ass from your head if it weren’t for me and my help in biology. You wouldn’t even know how to spell selfish if I didn’t let you copy my answers in spelling tests in elementary school.”

Done with the day and her friend’s shit, she slams the door of her locker shut and leaves a flabbergasted boy behind. Half an hour later the teenager enters the bullpen with her visitor badge clipped to the pocket of her sweater.

On the way there she was fuming. The audacity of her friends. It’s not only Tyler, who tried to get her notes of a unit, she was the only one listening, even though the teacher said loud and clear that this will be important for midterms. A few other friends out of the group she usually hangs out with texted her the same question of when her notes will be given to them. Understandably, (Y/N) comes into the office in the worst mood anyone from the team ever saw, including her own father.

“Hey Sweetheart”, he tries to greet her with a hug. Even though both of them are not big on touch, they are extra affectionate with people they are close to.

To everybody’s surprise, the girl takes a step back, effectively avoiding his open arms. “Hey”, she grumbles out before taking a seat in the chair already waiting for her. Nobody is allowed to sit in this one, except for her. Not even Derek has ever put his butt on this one, knowing the sacredness of it.

Without sparing anyone another glance, (Y/N) gets the needed stuff for that history project out and continues working on it. The team resorts to throwing a questiongly look to Spencer, who shrugs his shoulders with a look of despair. So everyone resumes their work without even daring to say a word.

The general silence is occasionally broken by an unnerved sigh leaving the teenager’s lips. “Is the conference room occupied?” She asks, her voice clearly showing how annoyed she is. Her father shakes his head. “No, not that I know of. Do you need help with your school work?” This is obviously the wrong thing to say. “Do I look like a baby? I don’t need anyone to help with that, I have been going to school for ten years now, I think I can handle this project as perfectly fine as I did since day one. It’s just your keyboard typing that will be the reason for my first grey hairs if I don’t get out of here soon.”

Quickly (Y/N) gathers her stuff and storms off into the conference room. Immediately the team crowds her father’s desk. “What happened?” “Who hurt her?” “Go, talk to her!”

“Guys, I don’t know what’s going on. I’m at the same loss as all of you. The only thing I know is that (Y/N) is under pressure, because it’s midterms. But judging by the way she reacted, I don’t want to go near her. It’s safer to try to defuse a bomb than talk to her in that mood. Last time I saw something similar, her favorite show was declared finished, got a revival and then didn’t get one and nobody mentioned it again. She was so mad, I think it took three years of her life.” A silence of uncertainty spreads through the room.

“What about we give her some room until she calms down?” JJ suggests, being unsure herself how to deal with a teenage girl. But the rest agrees and goes back to filling out their paperwork.

This continues for about 20 minutes, till a loud bang and a frustrated scream is heard followed by “DON’T THEY WANT TO GET IT OR ARE THEY JUST STUPID?!” Alerted by that, seven people (yes, even Dave and Aaron leave their offices, while Penelope was already in the bullpen) storm into the round table room only to see a more than outraged (Y/N).

“Sweetheart”, Spencer speaks to her in the gentlest voice they ever heard from him and slowly moves towards his daughter, “What’s going on?”

Her response is delayed by several deep breaths she has to take in order to be able to talk without seething. “ALL OF MY SO CALLED FRIENDS ARE ASKING ME FOR MY NOTES, like do I look like a personal tutor? And when I tell them that I got a life, a life outside of school and grades, because otherwise I go completely bananas, just like all of you say, they get mad. Now they act like I’m the most selfish person in the whole world. I’m so done, can’t they understand that they are old enough to take care of their own stuff? I’m not responsible for them, their grades or anything regarding their lives. Otherwise I would be the mother of at least four toddlers and one baby and at the age of sixteen I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility. I know friends are there for eachother, and I really don’t mind helping them from time to time. But what they are doing is terror. Terror.

“Oh and don’t get me started on their tormention if I get something lower than an A-. Then they suddenly transform into geniuses, like they suddenly know everything possible. Of course, I’m the dumb one. I should have studied more.

“I am under an insane amount of pressure, because I know they rely on me, but enough is enough. I tell them that if anyone asks me for anything school related again and they act like I owe them an answer, I’ll cut off all ties to all of them. What am I, a roboter just there for their needs, without some of my own?”

After her long rant, (Y/N) takes a couple more breaths. It’s pretty much the only sound right now, because the team is stunned. None of them heard her talking, no ranting, like that. Not even her Spencer has seen her like that.

Realizing what she just said, the teenager fidgets nervously with her hands. “I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know, blow up like that. I, I really don’t know where this came from.” Nervously she scratches the back of her head. It really wasn’t her intention to let it out like that. Her plan was just to come home tonight and deal in the confinement of her own four walls with all of her feelings. It’s easier to be honest to yourself when you are alone than having an audience watching you losing it.

Suddenly (Y/N) finds herself engulfed in a massive bear hug. “Oh, my sweet sweet summerchild. You needed to rant to us and I’m so happy you did. Even though your uhm, friends, sound like big douchebags, we can help you sort something out”, Penelope tells her while keeping her arms around the teen.

“Just like lil mama said, we are here for you, Baby Reid. Don’t ever be afraid to tell us something, may it even be as small as you having stubbed your toe.” Morgan ruffles her hair and gives her a reassuring smile.

Just like them everybody shows her their support, be it encouraging words or affectionately gestures. Rossi invites her to a calm and quiet dinner at his mansion, cooking class included. Hotch assures her that she will get through this rough patch, with or without these fake people. JJ suggests (Y/N) comes over to her home and she can participate in a family game night at their home.

When it’s Emily’s turn, she makes sure to get her message loud and clear by looking the teen in the eyes (not as deep as it sounds, because some people make an intense stare really uncomfortable): “If those kids give you a hard time again, tell me. I’ll pay them a visit in classic protective godmother fashion, because nobody traits MY godchild like this. Just give me their names and I’ll handle the rest.” Obviously she doesn’t say this aloud in front of everyone, else Hotch will have her head, knowing she goes through with her threats. Instead she whispers it into the teen’s ear. Still, it makes (Y/N) smile, having such a strong support net.

Sensing the family’s need for time of their own to talk about the whole situation, the team leaves the room. Spencer gestures to her to take a seat after moving two chairs opposite each other. He wants her not to feel trapped.

“Do you still want to talk about it? It doesn’t have to be now, we can do it tonight, tomorrow, in a week or in a month. Just, please don’t shut me out. I know it’s difficult to be a teenager, especially in times like these. But it won’t do you any good keeping all of this for yourself. Today you took it out through anger. How will it look next time?

I don’t want to pressure you into talking. We don’t need to. We can find other coping mechanisms. We can try and reduce your stress. Anything. But we both know that this is not the right way.” While speaking, he takes his daughter’s hand, making her look up to him.

(Y/N) nods. Her eyes fill with tears. “I just can’t keep going like this.” She whispers, feeling all the stress, pressure and the intensity of the last few weeks crashing down on her. Quickly Spencer gathers her in his arms, letting her cry in his embrace.

After calming down, she looks up to her father with bloodshot eyes. “We can talk tonight. But I need you to do me a favor.” “Anything”, he assures her, stroking a hand along her back. “I, uhm, I need a new phone. I may or may not have thrown mine against the wall after getting a text from Tyler.”

Spencer looks at the crooked cell laying on the floor, the screen cracked. “I think we can get that sorted”, he tells her with a smile and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

The two of them leave the office earlier, having many things to talk about and many problems to solve. But with the help of her family (Y/N) gets through this, a time where people unfortunately only like her for her smarts and not being herself.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187 @kneelforloki

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

[angry-geese]

Hi there <3 I've read some of your works and i'm in love with your writing. May I please request a fluff gojo x fem!reader? Like they finished their work in the evening and spend the rest of the night together at home💕 It could be a oneshot or a hc, whichever you feel to write. Thank you so much ^^ I'm sorry just in case my request is somehow not really clear☺️

Of course! here you go <3

Mochi

Gojo Satoru x reader

Warnings: none! entirely fluff! this will quite literally rot your teeth. afab reader

a/n: this ended up being a little longer than I intended lol whoops

Word Count: 2.5k

Satoru Gojo is a busy man.

The strongest can't really take a break. He’s on call 24/7. People are pulling him in all directions simultaneously. With everything that's been going on, between the mess with Sukuna, and everything happening at the school, he’s been short on time.

He needs a break.

He's more tired than he lets on. He’s good at hiding it. Especially around his students. It's hard to pull him away from his work. He's insistent that he’s fine. When you’re around someone for so long, you learn to pick up when they aren't. He can pretend to be fine all he wants. You know otherwise.

Sometimes what the strongest needs is someone to boss him around.

He’s capable of taking care of himself. He’s proven that already. But worrying is in your nature. You care about him, of course you’re going to worry.

You were a first year when you met him, having just transfered schools after an incident involving a curse. In a matter of weeks your life had seemingly been flipped on its head. The switch took some time to get used to. Switching schools your first year, let alone switching to this one in particular, was never going to be easy. Getting used to the way Jujutsu society worked took a while. He was a year above you, and you remember absolutely hating him. Gojo was insufferable- or you found him to be such. But he was friends with Nanami, who was a friend of yours, so you reluctantly hung out with him. Nanami, being in the same year as you, was the first to help you out, extending a hand and helping you get used to the way things worked.

Spending time with him didn't do much to change your views. The two of you couldn't have been more different. You still are. But something about opposites attracts.

The first time you gave him the benefit of the doubt was the first time he saved your life.

It may be a bit of an over exaggeration. You’re certain you would have survived without his help, but that could also be an attempt to preserve your pride. You went after a curse, not expecting it to be as strong as it was. As far as you knew, it shouldn't have been stronger than a grade three. Being a grade two at the time, this should have been well in your ability. There ended up being more than one curse, and they were stronger than anyone had realized. You were in over your head.

It wasn't your fault. You couldn't have known. It's not like you could pick and choose which curses you fought. As a student, that was decided for you.

You had resigned to your fate, separated from the others, injured. Nothing fatal. It left a cool scar, though. But you were well out of your league, put on an assignment far harder than you could deal with. You hate to admit defeat, but you had no other option.

Out of what seemed like thin air came Gojo, taking out both curses like it was nothing. Despite not liking him all that much, it was hard to not be impressed. He was strong. Stronger than you could ever hope to be.

You made it home in one piece.

It was three days before you’d finally confront him.

Getting him alone was hard enough. Being an underclassman, you didn't interact with him a whole lot. You didn't have any classes together. The few times you ran into him were when you hung out with Nanami, who was gone at the time.

When the opportunity presented itself, you took it, cornering him behind the school.

Even back then it was impossible to sneak up on him. He could sense you coming.

“Jesus-” he said, referring to you by your last name, “you look like you want to kill me.”

“You helped me out.” You said. “Why?”

He only shrugged. Not wanting to take that for an answer, you followed him. You were insistent you paid him back. You’d never let a debt like that go unpaid. The first debts are always the hardest to pay back. And when a first debt involves saving your life, well, you’ve got a lifetime to pay back. You only left once Gojo showed up. He needed to talk to Gojo about something, and although you were curious, you didn't feel like sticking around.

Gojo spent the next couple days scheming. You were determined enough you would do just about anything. He could have easily abused his power. It would have been even easier to force you to drop it, but something told him you weren't about to take no for an answer.

You wouldn't.

3pm in the bathrooms. It was hardly a week later. Your last class had ended for the day. You had snuck cigarettes in, blowing the smoke out of the crack in the window. You don't smoke anymore, but you went through nearly a pack a day in high school. There wasn't a specific brand you liked—you didn't necessarily like smoking, but you did it when you were stressed—you just used whatever you got ahold of.

You didn't hear the door open. Gojo wasn't the sneaky type, but he could be when he wanted. You weren't too hard to sneak up on.

If you didn't have contraband that likely would have gotten you expelled, you would have screamed when you saw him. He scared you, not to mention he snuck into the girl’s bathrooms. The two of you would be in equally deep shit if you reported the other. So at that moment you came to a silent agreement.

“You still want to pay me back?” He asked. “Cause I have an idea.”

You perked up at his words.

“Get me mochi from that shop just down the road. You know the one that just opened up?” He asked. “Bring me some and I’ll call us even.”

“That's it?” You asked. It was almost anticlimactic. But despite everything, he was insistent.

Gojo hasn't changed a whole lot since then.

He still has his sweet tooth. He still makes you get him mochi from that shop. It feels like you’re the ones keeping it in business nowadays.

You’re not quite sure who made the first move.

Soon you began spending more time together away from Nanami and Geto. You got along better than anyone—mostly you—ever expected. You weren't the most outwardly affectionate. While you were far from shy, pda wasn't really your thing. Gojo is the opposite. Even now, years after you began dating, he’s still clingy. You’ve gotten used to it. Gojo is possessive, he wants everyone to know you’re his. Not that they don't know already. He can't shut up about you.

Getting him alone has always been hard. Not much has changed in the past few years. He’s only gotten busier. Try to drag him away from work all you want, you rarely succeed.

Tonight he's come willingly. He finished his work early, and all you had left was stuff you could finish in the morning.

Nights at home like this—together—are rare. It feels like you hardly see him anymore. You often fall asleep alone, only to wake up to the other side of the bed being cold. He’s been so occupied with this business with Yuji, that he’s hardly had time for anything else. You sneak away during your breaks, like you’re teenagers again, stealing kisses between classes. You almost don't know what to do.

It almost feels like you should do something to celebrate.

The lights are off when you get home. Your apartment looks empty. Megumi must still be out with his friends.

“What should we do for dinner?” Gojo asks.

“Takeout?” You say. "I don't feel like cooking."

Gojo’s a decent cook, but he doesn't feel like doing so either. He’d get takeout every night if you’d let him. But that's not good for him (or Megumi) so you force him to do otherwise. Because you’re normally home, and you like baking, you’re usually the one to make dinner. There's not much in the fridge. You'll have to get groceries eventually. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. It shouldn't take long.

“How does Korean barbeque sound?" He asks. "From that place down the street?”

"Sounds good,"

You find a menu buried in one of your kitchen drawers, stashed with other takeout menus. You pick out something—two meals, plus some sweet buns for dessert—he calls the restaurant. You pay the extra cash to have it delivered. Neither of you feel like going and picking it up. It's more convenient than the alternative.

The tv drones on in the background while you wait. There’s not much on tv at this hour. News, some late night soaps. While you do like your occasional soap opera, none that you normally watch are on. Gojo changes it to the news. The weather. It looks like it'll rain tomorrow morning, but the rest of the day is supposed to be warm.

"We should go to the park tomorrow," you say, "having a picnic sounds nice."

Gojo hums in approval. As long as you make those tea cakes—the ones with honey drizzled on top—he'll agree to tag along. Maybe you'll go check out the bookstore too. It's been a while since you've last gone.

You strip out of your uniform, pulling on some more comfortable clothes; a pair of shorts and one of Gojo's shirts. It smells like him. You can't help but bury your nose in the collar.

When there’s a knock at the door, Gojo is the one to answer. He returns with your food. You gather napkins and utensils. Gojo never saw the point in anything other than stainless steel chopsticks. Or wooden ones—those given to you with takeout—if he wasn't feeling up to doing dishes. You, on the other hand, bought all sorts of colorful ones and stands that may or may not have been lifted from various restaurants. That's one habit from your teenage years you never lost. You'd pocket almost anything that wasn't nailed down. Your apartment has a rather impressive assortment of salt and pepper shakers. Not to mention the box of hotel soaps you never use, but took because you "might" need it. He enables you, taking some whenever he stays out of town, bringing them home for you. Gojo can hardly say no to you.

Gojo settles next to you on the couch, his shoulder pressed to yours. He can't keep his hands off of you. He’s possessive by nature. Everyone has to know you’re his. He always has to be touching you. Not necessarily with his hands, but he presses his thigh against yours while sitting next to you, or his body pressed against yours from behind in public.

The two of you eat in relative silence. Gojo’s attention turns to the tv, but that doesn't stop him from practically laying on top of you. Occasionally he’ll sneak bites of your food, and you of his.

When you’re done, you clear away the empty containers, sitting any leftovers in the fridge. Gojo sprawls out on the couch. He easily takes up any bit of space. The couch can hardly fit all 6-foot-something of Gojo. It hardly fits you. You've been meaning to look for another one, but haven't found the time to.

He opens his arms, and instinctively you go into them. You move so you can rest partially against the arm of the couch, Gojo's head leaning against your shoulder. His arms loop around your waist, his fingers lacing over your stomach.

It doesn't take him long to begin to drift off. He falls asleep in the crook of your neck. The low sound of the tv, combined with the warmth of his body makes you want to drift off to sleep. Sleeping on the couch like this isn't very good for your (or his) back, but you don't want to move.

The next time your eyes open, some late night game show plays, disturbing your sleep with loud music. The clock on the wall reads some time past two. It's hard to read the minute hand. You gently shake Gojo awake. One of his eyes cracks open and he lets out a soft “hm?”

“Come to bed,” you say, your arms wrapping around his neck, “it's late.”

His eyes close, and for a moment you think he’s drifted back off to sleep, when his grip around you tightens, and he’s rolling over on top of you.

“I think I’ll stay here with you, mochi,” he says, planting a wet kiss to your neck. The feeling of his lips on your neck makes you shiver.

And though he doesn't move, there's a look in his eyes that tells you he has something planned. You only notice too late that his grip never loosens, and the mischievous glint to his eyes. You couldn't wiggle out of it if you wanted to. You're effectively trapped.

He litters your neck with kisses, sending you into a giggling fit, and he doesn't stop until you’re begging him to. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes from laughing. Your nails dig into your palms so hard they leave little crescent-shaped indents.

When you finally settle down, he’s pulling you into his arms bridal style, heading for your shared room. The bed is still unmade from this morning. Neither of you bothered to put it away. You were busy, and the thought slipped your mind.

Gojo shoves the covers aside, pulling you to lay on his chest. His fingers gently trace up the curve of your spine as he watches the steady rise and fall of your chest. Goosebumps prickle your exposed skin. He’s careful with how he touches you, loving, and soft. It's like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your body. His heartbeat is audible. Steady, and quet, acting as a lullaby. Your eyes shut, but you’re still awake. The intimacy of the moment doesn't go over your head.

He thinks he could die happy at this moment. Any moment, with you, really. Even during fights, or nights where he doesn't come home until long after you’ve fallen asleep, and you’re left irritated with his lack of time. As long as you’re by his side, he’s content.

He doesn't give much to the thought of settling down. His work will never let him. Neither does he think much about having any biological children. You practically have two already. Settling down isn't really an option for the strongest. This is the closest he��ll get to it.

For now, he just thinks about the park, and the blue sundress you always wear when you go.

Not many people can say they’ve changed who Satoru Gojo is as a person—let alone for the better—but you’ve changed him twice. Once in your meeting behind the school, and once again tonight. He’s found the one.

The first debt is always the hardest to pay back. But you've paid it in full.

[dreamerstreamer]

Office Lunch

Pairing: Quackity / Alexis x gn!reader

Summary: [Dream SMP!AU] Being vice president is far from an easy job, and it’s starting to take a toll on Quackity. Thankfully, you’re always there to pick him back up, again.

Warnings: some cursing, minor mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: requested by the lovely 🐌 anon, who wanted some reverse comfort & fluff for big q! the story takes place during schlatt’s presidency, and also serves as a bit of a character study. i hope you enjoy!

The quiet ticking of the clock felt absolutely deafening in the barren silence of the office. You fidgeted your feet, your thumbs nervously tapping at the throw pillow at your side. Despite how plush and comfortable the couch cushions were beneath your thighs, they felt as stiff as rock digging into your skin. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you sat up straight, your eyes glued to the clock as you stared down the taunting, ticking hands.

Were presidential meetings always this long? You were no professional, but employees still had a lunch break, right?

Sighing, you tore your eyes away from the clock on the walls, sweeping your gaze across the office. A tall window decorated the wall opposite from the looming mahogany door, the warm, midday sun washing the room with light. The bookshelf tucked away in the corner of the room was adorned with shelves upon shelves of files, alongside a framed photo of the Manberg flag. On the floor sat a deep crimson rug, the golden tassels brushing along the soles of your shoes.

It was a beautiful office, really. But it looked so much more dull when it was as empty as it was.

Your gaze flickered down to the container sitting on the coffee table in front of you, your lips curling into the smallest of frowns. So much for giving him a surpris—

All of a sudden, the office door swung open, slamming into the opposite wall with a loud thud. Jolting, you whipped your head up, your eyes landing on the huffing figure standing in the doorway. You watched as Quackity stomped across the room to his desk, his gaze stormy as his grip tightened around the already crumpled stack of files in his hand. He was practically seething as he dropped the stack of papers onto his desk, cursing loudly under his breath.

“What an ass,” he muttered, irritation lacing his every word. Reaching up, he tugged at his navy tie, the tight fabric unravelling around his neck. “Always keeping me late because he can't be bothered to show up on time.” His scowl deepened. “That lazy piece of sh—”

“Alex?”

Quackity froze at the sound of your voice, whirling around to face you with wide eyes, his lips parted in shock. “[Y/N]?” he whispered.

You lifted your hand in a shy wave, offering him a sheepish smile. “Hi.”

His lips split into a wide grin as he strode over to you, crouching down next to you. “What are you doing here?” he breathed, his bright eyes scanning yours. “Don't get me wrong, I'm always happy to see your beautiful face, but you're here.” He gestured vaguely to the space around him, his eyebrows knitted together. “In my office.”

Heat crept across your face at his words, something fuzzy and warm blossoming in the crevice of your chest. Bobbing your head, you reached across the coffee table to hold up the container you had brought with you, a glimmer of hope flitting through your eyes. “Yeah! I, um, wanted to surprise you today, so I brought you lunch!”

Quackity blinked at you once. Twice. Then, he opened his mouth, an enamoured expression creeping onto his face. “[Y/N],” he said, gentle and soft, “have I ever told you how incredible you are?”

Your heart flipped in your chest, joy sparking in your chest like a firework as you shot him a cheeky grin, winking slyly. "You could stand to mention it more often."

He laughed at that, getting to his feet before settling into the space next to you on the couch, his side warm against yours. Leaning over, he rested his head against your shoulder, letting out a long sigh of relief.

“God,” he sighed, the tightness trickling out from his body as he melted against you, “I can't even begin to describe how happy I am you're here.” He glanced up at you curiously. “What did you make?”

You grinned, your fingers curling around the container lid. “I figured you would want something easy to hold that was still tasty, so...” The lid tugged open with a pop, revealing an array of sandwiches stacked next to one another, stuffed full with vegetables and spreads. “Ta-da!”

Quackity gasped, sitting upright to gape at the lunch you had made, elation shooting across his face. “Are you an angel?” he blurted, his mouth practically watering at the sight. “You must be a fucking angel, I swear.”

A giggle bubbled up in your throat, warmth fluttering in the pit of your stomach. “Last time I checked,” you hummed, gently nudging his shoulder with yours, “I was just the love of your life, but angel works, too.”

Quackity's eyes gleamed fondly, but you didn't miss the way his fingers twitched in anticipation. Tilting the container toward him, you smiled, amusement seeping into your voice. “Yes, you can eat.”

His eyes lit up like the sun, and you could only laugh as a “thank you” tumbled from his lips before he was grabbing a sandwich. As his teeth sank in for the first bite, his eyes fluttered shut and he made a pleased noise. In an instant, he was absolutely devouring the sandwich, his cheeks puffed with delight.

“This,” he said between bites, “is so good.” Swallowing the final bite, he reached over for a second, his tongue darting out to swipe at his lips. “I don't think I would mind eating this for the rest of my life.”

You flashed him a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Leaning back against the soft cushions, you lifted a sandwich to your mouth, savouring the burst of flavour across your tongue as you took a bite. “By the way,” you said before you took another bite, casting a curious glance in Quackity’s direction, “how’s your day been so far? I missed you.”

In an instant, Quackity’s eyes went dark, the smile falling from his face as he let out a long, drawn out sigh. “Schlatt,” he said.

You swallowed, raising your brows at him. “Schlatt?” you repeated.

He deadpanned. “Is the fucking worst.”

You winced at the exhausted look that flitted across his face, setting your sandwich down on the container lid. “So, I take it your morning went badly.”

The groan that escaped his lips was absolutely gut-wrenching, frustration soaking into his every movement as he got to his feet, pacing around the room. “Like you wouldn’t believe. He cancelled two meetings—the first because he was hungover, and the second because he wanted to drink. Then,” he said, whirling on his feet with a glower, “when he did actually schedule a meeting, he was late.” He threw his hands up into the air. “Like, what the hell?”

Your heart churned in your chest at the sight of his irritated face, the bitterness in his tone winding rising higher and higher, filling the air like a dam that was about to burst. “Plus, he still hasn’t read the report I submitted last week, and also he interrupted me six times today.” He held up six fingers toward you, a deep scowl etched into his features. “Six! That’s seven times too many.”

You had half the mind to laugh at his words, but the sorrow you felt outweighed the flicker of amusement that shot through you. “And did I tell you that he made me make him coffee this morning?” He groaned again, his hands tightening into fists at his side as he collapsed back onto the couch, draping his arm over his eyes. “Sometimes,” he grumbled, “I feel less like a vice president and more like an unpaid intern.”

You shuffled closer to him on the couch, reaching your hand up to gently stroke his back. “I’m sorry that’s happening, baby,” your murmured, rubbing a soft, soothing circle around the base of his neck with your thumb. “Schlatt sounds like an awful boss.”

He whipped around to face you, a grimace stretched taught across his face. “He is!” he cried. “He’s such a fucking... dick! There are so many things I could say.” He lifted a hand, counting off on his fingers. “He constantly misses meetings, he’s always goofing off, and he’s always fucking drunk. It’s like he doesn’t even care about this country.” He sighed, dragging his hand over his face. “Like, why run for president if you’re not going to at least try to make a difference?”

Suddenly, he went quiet, his hand freezing around his chin. You watched as a cloudy fog passed over his gaze, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “God, am I making a difference?”

Your breath hitched in your throat as he turned to look at you, his heart hanging heavy in his lungs as you watched the gears turn in his head. “What have I done?” he whispered, his brows sloping downward. “I’m just helping push Schlatt’s agenda, whatever that is.”

He dropped his head, resting his elbows on his knees as he hung his face in his hands. “Why did I even support him in the election in the first place?” His voice cracked, and you felt your own heart cleave at the sound. “Seriously, just what the hell am I doing?”

A long, thick silence fell over the two of you, Quackity raised his head, turning to face you with a cloudy, broken gaze. “Maybe I’m just as bad as he is.”

The words were out of your mouth in an instant, a wave of protectiveness crashing over you and filling every inch of your being. “Don’t say that.”

He gazed at you sadly, regret flickering across his face. “But, aren’t I—”

“No,” you said, firmer this time, “you’re not.” When Quackity’s eyes went wide at your sudden shift in tone, your gaze softened, adding gently, “I swear.”

Pulling your hand away from his back, you let your eyes scan his doubtful expression, your lips pressed into a thin line. “People like having power, Alex. Physical power, bargaining power, political power—” You shook your head with a sigh, disappointment tugging at the back of your mind. “It can be obsessive, and a lot of the time, that power’s misused.” You sent him a knowing look, brows raised. “You would know.”

His lips twitched the tiniest bit, and he bobbed his head, almost as if there were a set of weights on his shoulders. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

“But,” you hummed, a smile tugging at your lips, “it’s not always misused.” You leaned against him, your soft side pressing into his. “Look at you—you’re trying your hardest to make this country a better place, and that’s amazing.”

You felt him shake next to you, the fabric of his suit trembling against you. “But,” he said quietly, sounding so very unlike the bold, confident man you loved, “I’ve hardly been able to do anything.” He squeezed his eyes shut, sucking in a weary, ragged breath. “Everything I try to do just gets shut down, or pushed aside, or it’s not even looked at.”

You reached over, slipping your hand in his and intertwining your fingers together. “That doesn’t demean your hard work and effort, though,” you said softly. “I’ve watched you work overtime so many days in a row, and you’re always spending late nights at the office to pick up Schlatt’s slack.”

Your lips curled into a smile, genuine and fond. “You’re wonderful, Alex, and Schlatt is lucky to have you. You’re a wonderful vice president, and an ever better person.” Your eyes curved into soft, crescent moons. “Don’t put yourself down like that, okay?”

Quackity stared at you for a moment longer, then lowered his gaze to your connected hands, the light in his eyes flickering. “Even if you’re right,” he said quietly, “Schlatt’s still the one in power. He’s the one with the most control.”

You scooted a fraction closer to him, your knees brushing against his. “The thing about power is that one person hardly ever gets to keep it to themselves forever.” You reached your other hand up, pressing your palm to his cheek, his skin warm against yours. “Schlatt may be president now, but a new term will come soon, and he’ll be voted out, I’m sure of it. And when that happens, you guys will be able to turn a new leaf.”

You brushed your thumb over his cheekbone. “I believe in you.”

Another silence fell over you, but this one was different—it wasn’t tense or heavy like the last, weighing down on you like an anchor. Instead, a certain brightened bloomed across the room, and you watched with kind eyes as Quackity lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with a serious expression.

“I love you.”

Your heart leapt into your throat, heat exploding across your face as your chest shook with a hazy whirlwind of emotion. “Wh—huh?” you spluttered, your face growing hotter by the second. “I-I love you too, but where did that come from?”

His hand squeezed tightly around yours, an ardent spark of affection springing inside him. “My heart,” he said honestly.

You couldn’t stop the smile from splitting across your lips, wide and bright. You opened your mouth to respond when, without warning, he was tugging you forward until you were pressed flush against his chest. Wrapping his arms around your waist in a tight embrace, he dipped his head down next to your ear and murmured, “Thank you, [Y/N].”

You blinked for a moment, then melted against him, resting your head on his shoulder as you snaked your arms up and around his backside. “For you, anything.”

For a long moment, the two of you simply held each other, nestled closely within each other’s arms. You let your eyelids fall shut as you brushed your nose against the side of his neck, inhaling his lingering scent of linen and lemon.

After a few minutes, you felt his breath tickle your cheek as he opened his mouth. “Hey, what time is it?”

You opened your eyes, your gaze darting to the clock on the wall behind him and squinting. “Um, quarter past one.”

Quackity’s eyes shot open to the size of saucers, and in a flash, he was scrambling off the couch, stumbling across his office to his desk. “Oh shit, I’m late for my next meeting!”

Your eyes widened as he quickly picked up a new stack of papers from his desk, grabbing a pen from his cup holder before slipping it behind his ear. While he balanced the mess of office supplies in his arms, striding back over to you, a flurry of swords tumbled from his mouth. “The sandwiches were fantastic, everything you said means the world to me, you’re beautiful, and I love you so fucking much.”

Your heart swelled in your chest, love rushing through your veins as you struggled to process his words. “I—”

All of a sudden, he leaned over the coffee table and pressed his lips to yours in a sweet kiss, pulling away just as quickly as he had arrived. “See you when I get home?” he said, his cheeks flushed a rosy pink.

Your head spun with dizzying waves of adoration, and you felt your own face grow warm with affection as you nodded hazily, offering him a wave. “See you then.”

The grin he flashed you made your stomach soar with butterflies, and in a whirlwind of papers, he was rushing out the door, his undone tie still hanging around his neck. The office door slammed shut behind him, and just like that, you were alone again, accompanied only by the ticking of the clock.

You let out a breath and pressed a shaky hand to your chest, feeling your heart thump against your rib cage. Sitting up, your eyes dropped down to your half-eaten sandwich still sitting on the coffee table. An image of Quackity flashed across your mind, and you couldn’t help but feel your lungs blossom with something that you were absolutely certain was love.

With warm sunlight caressing the side of your face, you picked up your sandwich and took another bite, a thoughtful smile gracing your lips.

Maybe you should bring him lunch tomorrow, too.

[liddolwhynot2000]

Moments Levi shared with his beloved baby daughter- Kutchel

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aka Levi giving all his 💕Uwu's💕 to his baby girl

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Dadaaa

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It's Levi's day off, and even though he tries his hardest not to look it, he's eager to run back home. He's determined to not waste a second of being off duty.

He's missed his family- you and your calming presence. The stability that he falls into at merely being in the same vicinity as you, is difficult to resist-even for a man like Levi.

Your gentleness somehow meshes well with your child's rowdiness, always laughing and wreaking havoc in the house. He wants to hold his baby brat, even if she'll try to pull his hair out for it.

So he hurries back home, but of course, he has to get past your little guard first. Standing with his cloak still in his arms, Levi craned his neck down to stare at the tiny creature sitting on the floor, blocking his path to his beloved wife. Said creature, wearing a blue dress, is his adorable one year old daughter.

The baby doesn't bother to spare him a glance, too busy babbling as she plays with her blocks. Levi's fine with it, it took him a while but he's learned to accept that babies don't care about, well, anything.

He ponders lifting her up and cradling her in his arms for a cuddle. But, considering the ferociousness with which his daughter is bashing two blocks together, he decides that he values his ability to hear.

Kneeling down, he sets his cloak on the floor and sits in front of her, waiting to be noticed. Kutchel looks at him, her big black eyes innocently blinking at him. She shoves a block into her mouth and gurgles, recognising him.

"Do I have your approval to go to your mom now?"

"Ba da guuu"

"Is that a yes or a no?"

More random babbling. Tiny hands busy themselves with trying to crawl away, so Levi pats her on the head and gets up to go to his wife. He doesn't notice his baby pausing mid crawl to pout at him, wanting him to stick close.

He also doesn't see her little face cutely scrunch up, thinking of ways to stop him and bring one of her favourite humans back to her.

''Daadaaa."

Levi freezes, his heart immediately melting. He can't stop himself from turning back to his child, not when she calls out for him like that.

He cradles her in his arms, unaware that you're watching from the kitchen door, committing the sight to memory.

__________________________________

Conversations

__________________________________

You've been with Levi for so long now-so much of your life has been spent with this wonderful man and you have no regrets whatsoever.

You do, however, have secrets. Not serious ones, but pure ones. Small, precious memories you've kept to yourself. They're you're little secrets- events that you look back on with fondness.

Events Levi doesn't know you saw happen.

You remember, when you were exhausted from giving birth, how lovingly Levi talked to your newborn daughter.

'Hey brat, you better keep it down now. Your mom just fell asleep- don't yawn. You're already not listening to me-'

He thought you were asleep. If it weren't for your stitches, you would have giggled and alerted him to the fact that you were listening.

You remember all those times you were never woken up by Kutchel crying-because Levi would wake up before you.

'Go to sleep.'

'oooooh'

'I said; Go. To. Sleep. Don't smile at me-- hey stop laughing-'

You caught on to it very randomly, and the memory warmed your heart to this day.

Levi often had silly little conversations with baby Kutchel, when he thought you weren't in hearing range.

'Yes this is the right way-no what do you mean I can't fold shirts like this-you're pouting you obviously don't agree.'

'Kid- I don't know why you like Eren so much-but this works because he can be an unpaid babysitter-no? Fine, I guess I can pay him a little. Okay fine, I'll pay him more then a little.'

'Do you like this dress? Me neither. How about this one-these socks are awful why the hell do you have these-'

'Yes tea is better then coffee. Coffee is for soulless creatures like Mikasa-Hey, don't cry dammit, why do you have to like the brat that glares at me so much huh? You tiny traitor.'

'So I'm taking you to that military ball tommorow-and I expect you to cry enough that I have an excuse to leave. You cry, I leave and then you get as much milk as you want. We good? Good. Don't tell your mother.'

'You threw up on that military police soldier-I'm proud of you brat. Now, let's aim for throwing up on Erwin. Or at least trying to rip his eyebrows out. I feel like the rumour of them being fake might be true.'

'I know you can't talk much, but make a vow to me that you will, never, ever say yes to anything your Aunt Hange asks of you. Trust me, it's for you own good.'

'Kutchel- stop that-I will pay you to stay still. Here, here's all the money I have, which isn't much. Take it and stay still- why the hell are you still wiggling, you need to put your socks on dammit-'

And so much more. It warmed your heart to think of how beautifully he had bonded with her from the start. And you can only be glad you get to see their entire journey together.

__________________________________

Cloak

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Levi is a man who values cleanliness above all things-he's made sure his house is so clean that all the rooms are sparkling. Despite having a baby in the house, who had recently learned how to walk and subsequently wreak havoc everywhere she wants to, he still tries his hardest to stick to those standards.

So that's why, here he is, pathetically trying to wash clothes, with a clingy toddler who has made it her life's mission to ruin his life. How is she doing this, one would ask. Well, making sure that he can't even put the damn clothes in the basket was one.

'Kutchel-no-stop it, give that back.'

Levi's a little ashamed of himself, just his hands moving to grab his swords are usually enough to strike fear into the heart of his enemies. Yet, here they are, incapable of winning a tug of war with his one year old brat.

He's really, really glad that Hanji can't see him right now.

He manages to get the shirt out of Kutchel's strong grip, causing her to pout and flail her arms with a whine. Levi refuses to give in and snatches the next piece of clothing before she can. He gives her a stern look.

'No.'

With that, he dumps it in the basket. Kutchel doesn't appreciate it, sitting down and pouting at him cutely. It doesn't last long, because she busies herself with the clothes again. At least she isn't snatching them from his hands this time, and only picking on the clean pile.

He gets up to get some more detergent, smiling to himself at the sound of happy gurgles. Once he comes back, he catches sight of Kutchel, and nearly drops all the powder.

His child is exactly where he had left her, except she's now wearing his Survey Corps cloak. Her black hair, much like his own, is messy and the hood is too big for her tiny head. She looks up at him, and smiles in the face of his horror. On one hand, it's pretty damn cute. On the other hand-

'Oh hell no-'

He starts to take the cloak off of her, ignoring her cries of indignation. His child won't have anything to do with the Survey Corps. Ever.

Too bad 15 year old Kutchel Ackerman had every intention of stealing his title from him- but that's a story for another time.

____________________________________

Clapping

____________________________________

Levi has self control. Plenty of it, actually. One could easily argue that, after Erwin, he's one of the most composed individuals in the military.

He's dealt with all sorts of people-rude, snobbish, arrogant bastards who think they stand a chance against him. His expression never waivers, even as he insults them to the point their ancestors are crying in the graves.

But what's happening right now, it makes him lose his precious self control. His face, so used to being that of an expressionless grumpy old man, is scrunched up in anger. Levi does not like what's happening.

Not one bit.

Levi can deal with people trash talking him, he never falters despite all the accurate short jokes. He can deal with people bashing Erwin without flinching-because even he's wanted to kill the man once and can't really blame others for wanting to do so as well.

However, what Levi can't deal with in a calm and rational manner, is -

'The fuck did you just say?'

'I said, your daughter is just a dumb brat.'

Yeah, this Military Police Senior Officer is dying today. Levi hopes Erwin is ready to deal with an irate Nile

'Shut the fuck up-I'm the only one who gets to call her a dumb brat.'

The Officer moves to speak again but Levi silences him with a soul burning glare. Levi turns to his brat. Kutchel is sitting on the carpet, wearing a tiny, cute red dress you had bought for her on sale. She's surrounded by numerous toys, gifted by his comrades.

'Kutchel-'

The baby pauses in her play time, which is chewing a stuffed bear, and turns to look at her papa. The officer looks confused.

'If you're happy and you know it clap your hands.'

There's a pause in the room. The officer looks surprised, although he thinks Levi just proved his point. Kutchel looks to be only a few months old and Levi has just monotonously stated a sentence that is usually sung. There was no way the brat would actuall-

Kutchel squealed in delight, pressing her hands together slowly. Once she notices her papas approval, she starts clapping happily.

Levi smirks, while the officer sweat drops.

'See that, bitch? No' dumb brat' does that at 9 months old.'

Of course, Levi still had to beat the guy up a little after that. No one picks on his baby but him.

____________________________________

Sorry

____________________________________

'Eat it.'

Levi pushed the spoon towards Kutchel, who refused to open her mouth.

He had seated her on the table, ditching the highchair. A bib was secured around her neck, and the brat was clearly hungry.

Except since she had eaten three bites, she refused to eat more. Levi was slowly getting more and more frustrated.

'What's your problem? I know you're hungry.'

Kutchel stared at him sadly, and his irritation thawed at the sight. His child was usually pretty well behaved when it came to food. She usually liked eating fruits and vegetables, but for some reason, kept rejecting her baby food.

Levi frowned, before deciding to taste it himself. Maybe if he ate one in front of her, she would want to eat it too-

Levi paused.

He slowly ate, resisting the urge to throw up. He grimaced and awkwardly avoided eye contact with Kutchel, feeling sheepish all of a sudden.

There was judgement in her eyes- something he couldn't blame her for.

The hell sort of crap had they been feeing her? It tasted awful. No wonder she wouldn't eat it.

Sighing, Levi shoved the bowl full of food-that-must-not-be-named away. He lifted Kutchel into his arms.

His brat pouted slightly, her small arms wrapping around his neck. Poor kid was hungry, as evidenced by her discontent expression.

Levi smiled at her lightly, tucking her head into he crook of his neck.

'Sorry Kutchel-let's go to the bakery and get some pastries. And when we get back, I'll even mix some chocolate in your milk. Just don't tell your mother okay.'

____________________________________

A/N: Heyooo. Just randomly thought of Levi being a dad and this came to mind. These are actually only some of the moments I thought of, I have plenty more in mind. Maybe I'll write those out too. Hope y'all enjoyed this! ❇️

[moonbeamwritings]

Imagine a scenario based off a dream I had, modern AU where DIO is like 28 a single father, Lawyer to the Stars on the Coast of California with little 7 year old Giorno.

The Reader, Tired- maybe coming off an over night shift, half asleep is casually walking down the busy sidewalk, catches sight of a distracted Giorno not waiting at the cross walk (on his Gameboy or something) and in an instantly the reader pulls Giogio out of the way of an on passing car.

Boom. Dio saw it all and starts scolding Gio. I woke up after that bit.

Point is... I wonder what would have happened next 🤔😕😳

this is cool as hell, anon. cool. as. hell. i’m here for it and i will definitely try to deliver !! it got very out of hand, but i hope you enjoy!! 

part 2

Your day had been long, having worked open to close at the coffee shop down the street from your apartment. As your shift came to an end, you blearily worked through the closer checklist, puttering around the store as you cleaned and closed everything down. With one last turn of a key, you finally, finally, began your trek home.

As you came up to the crosswalk, you noticed a little boy toddling along, gaming system in hand as he went. He was so wrapped up in his game that he barely gave the busy street a second thought as he stepped a foot off the curb.

It was like you were watching the situation in slow motion, his foot moving at a snail’s pace right in front of a moving car. Acting on adrenaline alone, suddenly far more awake than you’d ever felt in your life, you gripped the handle of his backpack to yank him up and into your arms.

With him back on the sidewalk, you placed him back on his feet as you knelt in front of him. “Jeez kiddo, you alright? You have to pay better attention around here.”

As the small boy opened his mouth to say something, a man with a thick british accent came hustling over. “Giorno! How many times do I have to tell you to put that thing away when you’re walking?”

The man, who you could only assume was his father, pulled the device from the boy’s hand before lifting him up into his arms. “Don’t do that again.”

His son nodded meekly, eyes shifting down to his father’s shoes.

“I’m sorry about him. I thought he was right next to me.”

You waved the man off as your gaze finally moved to meet his. He was handsome, like something out of a fairytale, all muscle with perfectly styled blond hair and an impeccable, no doubt expensive, suit. In the back of your mind, you felt as if you’d seen him before, but, being unable to place it, you brushed the thought away.

Saving yourself the embarrassment of ogling at the man for too much longer, you excused yourself. “It’s no problem. Have a nice night you two.”

With the situation over with, you continued your walk home.

Upon your arrival, you did everything you could to decompress: showering, changing, and situating yourself on your couch to watch mindless television. As you flicked through channel after channel, you finally landed on a celebrity gossip station, half listening as the host worked through this week’s hot topics.

You rolled your eyes.

She went on to describe yet another celebrity’s messy divorce, among other criminal charges apparently. Your attention was quickly piqued, though, when a familiar face flashed onto your screen. There he was a perfect combination of muscle, confidence, and style.

Dio Brando.

The man whose child you’d saved, who you’d embarrassingly checked out in a tired stupor, was Dio Brando. It took everything in you not to bring a hand up to smack at your own forehead. No wonder you’d recognized him, he was any celebrity’s dream lawyer and had his own fair share of scandals and nonsense. 

Yikes.

With one final look at the man in question, you changed the channel, hardly able to bear the gritty details of a court case you didn’t care about.

The whole incident with him and his son became nothing more than a blip in your day-to-day life, telling a few work friends and leaving it at that. Did you sometimes check Dio’s Instagram out of what you explained away as genuine curiosity? Well, yeah, but you were only human after all.

The weekend after your run-in with the famous lawyer, you were tasked with another long shift slaving over coffee orders and dealing with rude customers. The moment the morning rush ended, you jumped at the chance to take your lunch break, situating yourself in a corner of the café. You watched as only a few customers filtered in and out, thankful that the worst of the day was now over.

Losing yourself in your Twitter feed, you mindlessly sipped at a cup of tea as the remaining time of your break ticked away, only snapping back to reality at the sound of a familiar voice.

“Mind if I join you?” Looking up from your phone, you locked eyes with Dio. 

“Oh! Uh, sure!”

You watched as he delicately sat himself in the chair across from you, ankle perched on his knee as he shot you an unwavering smirk. As he got situated, he stuck a hand in your direction.

“Dio Brando.”

Biting back a snarky quip about how narcissistic his introduction alone made him seem, you gently placed your hand in his as you gave him your name.

“I wanted to thank you again for what you did for my son.”

“It’s really no problem. I think anyone would have done the same.”

He eyed you carefully, fingers dancing against the mug in front of him. “So, what do you want?”

“Excuse me?”

“As repayment.” He explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Do you want money?” Dio leaned across the table to mumble, “Sex, maybe? I don’t like leaving debts unpaid.”

A look of disgust crossed your face as you put both your phone and drink down on the table, moving to sit on your hands to resist the urge to smack him upside the head. “What are you talking about? I don’t want anything. I was being nice. You don’t need to pay anyone off for being nice.”

“Hmm,” He seemed deep in thought, eyes drifting up and down your face, lingering on your lips for only a split second, “nothing at all? You do know who I am, don’t you?”

With your break coming to an end and your patience wearing thin, you started to collect your things. “Look, pretty boy, I don’t really care who you are. You’re honestly kind of insufferable. I helped your son because he was in trouble. I don’t want your money and I don’t want to have sex with you.”

You hadn’t meant to be quite that biting, but you couldn’t help yourself. How dare he come into your work, assume that he owed you something, and then have the audacity to tease you about it? What the fuck?

“Pretty boy?”

“I need to get back to work. I’d really appreciate it if you didn't come back in here if you’re just going to pull more of this shit.”

Without sparing him a second glance, you made your way back behind the counter, placing your stuff in the back before returning to your place at the register. By the time you returned, he was gone. Good riddance.

You could only assume how warped his worldview was if he genuinely thought he needed to pay you off for helping his son. A creeping feeling of sympathy worked its way into your brain, but was quickly swatted away by the image of his smug smile.

You didn’t see him again for another week, this time armed with a grin that was a little less playful and a little more genuine, almost sheepish.

Taking his order with little fuss, you got to work pouring his coffee and adding specific ingredients. He attempted to make idle conversation with you, asking about your day and how you’d been doing with work. You humored him, if only to be polite, answering his questions with little enthusiasm.

Days passed much the same way. Dio would come in, make small talk, and then leave. No further incidents like that first meeting, no more overt attempts at getting in your pants. Nothing.

It was all… strange, to put it simply. It was like dealing with two different people: the overconfident, well-dressed Dio Brando versus the charming single dad Dio. You were left conflicted, wrestling the two images in your mind to decide how you truly saw Dio.

One night, he’d offered to walk you home after another of your late shifts with the promise that he’d get up to no funny business, as you’d put it. The conversation had lulled as you both became enraptured with the noises of the city, your faces bathed in warm neon lights. The silence was nice, welcomed even, as you thought about how to phrase your feelings.

You’d come to like Dio, in your own silly little way. You had memorized his order, knew more about his job and his son, knew him more intimately than you had ever expected to, but one question remained. One question loomed in your brain, clouding any positive thoughts you may otherwise have: Why? Why did he suddenly come into your work? Why did he take such a liking to you? Was it all a ruse, a sick way of finally repaying you?

“You look like you’re about to throw up.” He commented lightly, watching as a crease formed between your eyebrows, as your face twisted in discomfort.

“I-” You took a deep breath, looking anywhere but at him in order to actually get the question out. “Dio, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” He spoke earnestly, eyes still tracing over your side profile.

“Why?”

“Why what? You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“Why would you keep coming into the store after I told you off? I just can’t shake this feeling that you’re still… ugh,” you groaned as the words left your mouth, deciding that this was actually a very bad idea, “I don’t know, buttering me up. Like this is all some dream where I’ll wake up to you laughing in my face, telling me that you were only being nice to me to repay me or sleep with me or something.”

Wordlessly, Dio grasped your arm and led you under the awning of a nearby business, not really wanting to stop sidewalk traffic with whatever confession he may find himself making. He looked deathly serious, like you’d just promised to ruin his entire life. Maybe, with all of your questioning, you had.

“Look,” he sighed, “Did I initially come in with the intention of repaying you by whatever means necessary? Yes and I think we both know that, but it’s different now.”

He paused, clearly choosing his next words very carefully. “You’re one of the only people to actually try to put me in my place, to show me that I was being an asshole. It’s different with you. Hell, you kept me up that night. I couldn’t get you out of my head. It was like you were haunting me, driving me crazy. I had to get to the bottom of why I was so taken with you.”

You felt your mouth drop open at his admission, feeling as though your feet were swept right out from under you, sending you tumbling, “Oh.”

“Oh.” Dio mimicked, his voice lilting up to tease you. “Does that answer your question?”

“Uh, I-... Yeah, I guess it does.”

“Good then let’s go.” He tugged you along, guiding you back out onto the sidewalk and towards your apartment. Dio’s hand didn’t leave yours until you arrived at your doorstep.

“Goodnight.” It was quick, uttered as soon as his hand left yours as he moved to turn around and make his own way home.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“Home. I have a kid, remember?”

“Well, of course I remember, but don’t you want to hear what I have to say?”

The smile that graced his face was nothing short of teasing, a small quirk of his lips as he looked you up and down. “Only if it’s interesting.”

“Ugh,” you grumbled, stomping down the stairs of your apartment complex to come face-to-face with Dio, “you’re relentless.”

“So I’ve been told.” He watches as your lip twitches in annoyance. God, did he love to push your buttons. “Spit it out, then. What’s still on your mind? Eager to ask me more questions?”

In lieu of a verbal retort, you took his face in your hands and all but yanked him down to connect your lips with his, eager to finally shut him up. His response was immediate, moving his lips against yours as a hand weaved around your waist, another resting just above your ass.

As you moved to break away, his lips followed yours, pressing another needy kiss to your mouth. Finally satiated, he pulled back to take in the dazed expression on your face.

“I do have one question.”

Dio let out a barking laugh that had him pulling you closer, gripping at your waist, “What is it?”

“Is sex off the table now that you’re not trying to repay me or-?”

He rolled his eyes, leaning in so his lips barely touched yours as he spoke. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”