#miss art so much so I’m desperately trying to get a desk area set up

[rosicheeks]

Honeybee: Name something positive you have done for yourself or someone else in the last two weeks.

I’ve been really trying to focus on bettering myself lately.

[cyoc49]

Golly, Archie!

[Based on an inbox request sent to me by @tfkinky ]

Hiram Lodge stood in front of the mirror and adjusted his tie. Today, as with every day, he looked his best and most professional. The crisp black dress shirt wrapped around his powerful chest, his strong arms were hugged by a deep blue suit coat, and a matching tie perfectly pulled the look together. His eyebrows were neatly shaped. His hair... not a strand out of place. He radiated power, and for a good reason: Hiram Lodge basically owned Riverdale.

He was close to literally owning Riverdale, but he had two items left on his to-do list: Archie Andrews and Jughead Jones. At his every chance to claim total control, those two thugs somehow managed to thwart his plans at the last second. If he could get rid of them, nothing would stop him.

And as it turned out, there might be a way to get rid of them.

In a particular moment of desperation, Hiram had made his way to a local witches’ coven. There, he had learned an interesting fact: there was an alternate version of Riverdale in a local parallel universe. One where life was very, very different.

After a series of shady deals with the witches, Hiram was taught a spell which could be used to completely rewrite the reality of an individual and slip them into this alternate universe. Only in his case, it would be two individuals.

Now, Hiram walked over to his desk. He had drawn a pentagram and lit candles as instructed by the witches, and spread out in the middle were pages from a 1950’s comic, showing teenagers living in the time period. On top of the comic pages were two photos: one of Archie, and one of Jughead. Hiram made small cuts in each of his palms, and held them palms-down over the photos. As his blood dripped onto the setup, Hiram chanted:

Little boys who think they’re cool.

Hot shots, now made into fools.

No longer swear, no longer act mean.

Learn to say golly, nifty, and keen.

Slick your hair and dance the jive.

Welcome to 1955.

With each word, the photos began to warp and shake as if they were water. Slowly the photos began to almost melt into the comic, until they disappeared from the table completely. Instead, the comics now featured two new characters: goofy looking 50’s versions of his former foes. The candles blew out.

Hiram smiled to himself. What fun they’ll have

Archie wiped sweat off his brow. He had been mowing lawns and trimming hedges all day. In an effort to make some extra cash on the side he had started his own lawn care service for the good people of Riverdale. It was tough work, but the money was nice. And he got to walk around shirtless all day, which was a nice plus.

As he threw down another bag of clippings, Archie heard a voice in his head.

“You’re a good boy, Archie.”

Archie paused. He looked around. There was nobody else on the street right now. Had he imagined that? He shook his head and went back to work.

... but even as he worked, Archie couldn’t stop thinking of that little voice. The phrase “good boy” stuck with him, and bounced around in his head like a lone thought running free. Archie had never considered himself one of those goody two-shoes guys. Given everything that happened in this town, everyone had to have a bit of dirt on on their hands. But what if he didn’t? What if he had the chance to do better, wash his hands off and dedicate his life to being a good son and a good member of the community. Well, gosh, wouldn’t that be something?

Before these thoughts went any further, Archie snapped back into the moment. It was a nice idea, but this was his life.

“You’re a well-behaved, well-mannered boy.”

He hear the voice from nowhere again, and this time it sounded even more persuasive. Unconsciously, Archie shifted his back and stood straight, rigid as a board. It was like second nature - without thinking, Archie knew to look upright and presentable at all times. After all, that was the way any well-behaved boy should act.

And as he shifted into a proper posture, he felt a wave of Euphoria was over himself. Standing tall allowed him to push out his chest and show off his arms, after all. He smiled a wide, wide smile. Acting in this way, being a good boy, it made him feel indescribably happy... and also a bit horny. There was a strange feeling bubbling inside of him, growing stronger with every second. A feeling of peppiness, and perkiness. Archie knew it was right to help people. Gosh, that’s what good guys do, right? That’s why I’m mowing my neighbors lawns for free, Archie thought to himself. But no - that’s not right. No, I’m trying to make money... aren’t I? Archie felt confused, like his truth was being clouded and replaced by a new preppy reality that was only getting more intense. Golly, how much farther could this go?

“You have sharp dress style.”

With those words, the few clothes Archie was wearing flew off his body. He immediately moved to cover himself up, until the wave of preppy euphoria relaxed him again. He didn’t really miss his old clothes that much. Sloppy jeans and t shirts? And he had the audacity to walk around shirtless? Unacceptable, Archie thought to himself. I can’t look sloppy, I’m 18 for Pete’s sake! I should be dressed to the nines at all times!

The universe seemed to comply with Archie’s new thoughts as a fresh set of clothes wrapped themselves around him. 1950’s style tighty whities slip up and covered his private areas, nicely cupping his sizeable package and perfectly outlining his firm, round buttocks. The waist band went up to his high waist in that classic 50’s style, a style that Archie was coming to think of as his own.

A white dress shirt appeared next, buttoning itself up to the very top button. The shirt was tight against Archie’s beefcake body, and the outline of his pecs and arms could be seen through the shirt, a feeling Archie didn’t mind. The shirt had a small polka dot pattern on it, but of course it did. Archie loved fun patterns on his clothes! Sometimes he wore multiple bright patterns just to feel extra nifty.

Today was one of those days, apparently, as wool dress slacks with a plaid pattern slid up Archie’s thick legs, coming to rest at his high waist. Through the pants the outline of his full buttocks could be seen. The shirt tucked itself into his pants. As if I would ever go anywhere with my shirt untucked! Archie wanted to guffaw at the thought!

A plaid green bow tie wrapped itself around Archie’s neck into a perfect bow (Archie had mastered the art of tying a bow tie many years ago. He hardly left the house without one). As it locked into place, the wide smile on Archie’s face got wider. He felt absolutely giddy in these clothes. Golly, he loved to dress crisp like this! It made him feel real boss.

Pristine white dress socks rolled up his feet, and wingtip loafers wrapped around them. The shoes were brown leather, so perfectly polished that Archie could see his reflection in them. He polished his shoes every night, he liked to keep them looking a spiffy as possible. A matching brown leather belt, just as polished, cinched his waist, further defining his beefy build.

Over the top of the whole ensemble, a knit sweater vest appeared, in a deep blue. Emblazoned on the front was a gold “R” - for Riverdale High, of course! Archie loved his school and had a number of sweater vests, sweaters, ties, caps, and other pieces of merchandise for the school. He loved to incorporate them into his look - Riverdale’s quarterback should show his school pride, after all!

“You look clean-cut and presentable at all times.”

Archie’s hair ruffled as gel began to flow through it and lock it in a slicked back position. His signature red locks now looked like a plastic helmet on top of his head, perfectly styled into a neat all-American side part (the way every man’s hair should look!), and lightened until it was almost a cartoonish orange.

Archie’s bushy eyebrows slimmed out, taking on a clean styled look, and the pores on his face vanished. Archie how had an impossibly clear and bright complexion, aside from a smattering of freckles across his checks. His teeth straightened into a perfect row. His eyes shined a bright blue, even if his gaze was now a bit mindless.

Archie’s look had totally transformed. He no longer looked like the tough jock he was before. He now dressed like a total square. But Archie didn’t care, he thought his dress style was neato! An artificial perfection settled over his whole look, locking Archie in plasticine preppiness.

Archie rubbed his new clothes. Gosh, he enjoyed the feeling of them so much. As his fingers circled his chest, he heard several more words from the voice, only now he willingly welcomed them:

“You obey your parents, Archie.”

“You follow all orders you’re given.”

“You always hold the door open for those behind you.”

“You’d never do something without asking first.”

“You always say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’.”

“You are a good boy, Archie.”

With every command that rang through his vacant head, Archie’s wide smile only got wider. The perky feeling was growing. It wasn’t just in his stomach, it had spread through his arms and legs, into his fingers and toes and into every hair on his head. On a molecular level, Archie felt like a keen all-American teen. A swell guy who helped old ladies cross the street, always had dates home by 10PM sharp, and ended nearly every sentence with “sir” or “ma’am” when talking to an adult.

Archie’s connection to this Riverdale was fading. The squeaky clean school boy now had little in common with the unforgiving town he had grown up in. Instead, he was coming into alignment with the other Riverdale, the one where wholesome American values had never gone out of style. His memories had also shifted from the old Riverdale to the new, as he only ever remembered the 1950’s haven as his home.

But there was so much to do there! Heading to the malt shop! Going to sock hops with Betty and Ronnie! Listening to records! Gee whiz, Archie enjoyed his Riverdale life so much, he wanted to be there right now!

“Archie, it’s time to go home.”

For a brief second, Archie’s head spun as the world flashed and shifted around him.

Only for a brief second, though. After that, it was back to the setting Archie knew and loved. Technicolor houses, white picket fences. Children playing in the street. Home. Archie sighed and smiled. He was at peace here.

Suddenly, Archie remembered his plans for the day. He was going to pick up Veronica and take her to Pop’s. Without missing a beat, Archie ran to Veronica’s house. His knock on the door was answered by this Riverdale’s version of Veronica, sporting a prim blouse and skirt, with bobbed hair.

“Hiya, Ronnie!” Archie exclaimed with a wide grin.

“Hey there, Archiekins!” Veronica pulled Archie into a hug.

The two embraced for a moment and looked at each other sweetly. It was puppy love, plain and simple. Archie always wanted a girl to be sweet for, and Ronnie was the right one for him. And if he was lucky, they might get to play some backseat bingo in his station wagon later.

“Ready to go, sweetie?” Archie asked. Veronica responded with a nod, and the two made their way to Pop’s to split a sundae. Another perfect Riverdale day!

———————————————————————

Jughead paced the floor of his dad’s trailer. He’d been tipped off by a connection on the outskirts of town that Hiram Lodge had been seen paying a visit to the local coven. That could only mean he was up to trouble. Jughead had been trying to contact Archie all day, but his friend had seemingly gone off the grid. Jughead was getting concerned that it wasn’t a coincidence. If Hiram was resorting to black magic, Jughead had no idea what to expect or how to respond. As much research as he did, that was one area he did not mess with.

But now Jughead felt like he was at the end of his line. Hiram had tried multiple times to take him and Archie out, and if he had finally figured out a way, Riverdale was doomed.

He had to contact the witches. That was the only way, Jughead decided. He would drive out there and convince them to undo whatever Hiram had them do. He would beg, make them see that the safety of Riverdale was on the line. It wasn’t his best plan, but it would have to work. It would have to.

Jughead picked up his keys, but dropped them again just as quickly after a booming voice echoed inside his head.

“You’re a good boy, Jughead.”

He couldn’t move. He knew this was the end. But even scarier than the absolute terror he was feeling in the face of defeat, was the fact that those feelings of terror were disappearing. As much as he didn’t want to listen to the voice, the phrase “good boy” just refused to go away. It comforted him, the idea of giving in. Jughead had worked for so long to be a total nonconformist, and yet in this moment he wanted nothing more than to just fit on. Be one of the boys.

Jughead was terrified by the thoughts he heard and felt. He was fighting to hold on to his consciousness, but it was quickly becoming a losing battle.

“You’re a goofy, fun-loving guy.”

Jughead chuckled. He sure did feel that way sometimes. All throughout high school he had been a class clown, always making light of the situation. It was just his way of seeing the world. He liked to make people laugh, but nobody laughed louder than he did at himself.

“You are always dressed in a clean, respectable fashion.”

Jughead’s denim jacket and flannel disappeared from his body. Jughead didn’t mind too much. He wasn’t the kind of guy to dress to the nines, but he did think that every young guy should know how to dress. Jughead kept it simple, but he kept it clean.

To highlight this point, a blue turtleneck sweater popped up around his slender frame, leaving him feeling very comfortable.

White briefs wrapped up his nether regions like a Christmas present, and black dress slacks covered the top of them. The pants were freshly ironed, with visible pleats down the front. Jughead always wore clean clothes!

White tube socks rolled up his legs, and over the top of them came a fresh pair of Chuck Taylor All Stars. Jughead sighed with relief as he wriggled his toes around inside the shoes. Nothing made him feel more boss than a pair of Chucks.

On top of his head, Jughead’s beanie had reformed as a paper crown, his trademark accessory. Jughead didn’t know how he had started wearing it or why he still did, but it sure was fun! And it matched his goofy personality well.

“Your appearance is just as well groomed as your clothes.”

Jughead’s long, unkempt hair was pulled to the side and perfectly groomed into a side part, shortening down in the process to a fresh cut. His teeth whitened and his skin cleared up, just as it had for Archie. Jughead now looked like a perfect model for a Normal Rockwell painting.

Jughead loved the way he looked. This was who he was: just one of the guys, always ready to join in on plans, but never looking to stand out. He was a lovable goofball, and he wore his reputation with pride.

Jughead stood in place, enjoying the feel of his new getup, as more commands piled into his head.

“You love to eat.”

Food was one thing he couldn’t get enough of. He often had multiple hamburgers at Pop’s, and always had snacks no matter where he went.

Jughead let out a low burp. His stomach rumbled, then expanded under his sweater, reflecting his new big eater tendencies. Jughead enjoyed his little pot belly. He chuckled thinking about it.

“You love to laugh.”

And as he did, his chuckle turned into a full-bellied laugh, sending waves of joy throughout his body. His laugh began to take on a honking quality as the tip of his nose expanded to a bulbous shape.

“You are slow-witted, but keen and well-mannered.”

The light behind Jughead’s eyes faded. His journalistic wit and hard-hitting problem solving skills were gone. As Jughead’s goofy personality took over, he felt his care for school and work disappear. He didn’t like to try too hard, raised people’s expectations of him too much. And besides, that school stuff was so hard. Why not take life easy?

“You love to joke, dance, and do other fun-loving, innocent teenage activities.”

Jughead smiled as he remembered his Riverdale. A town where all his best pals were, and where he got to enjoy his neighborhood and all the pleasant people within. It made Jughead happy to think of his Riverdale. He never had to try hard there. Eating burgers and drinking shakes were his highest priorities. The most work he did was cracking a joke in response to Archie’s latest goof.

Jughead kept thinking about his town and how swell he felt when he was there, and realized he wanted nothing more than to be back. Back in his 1950’s home.

With perfect timing, the final command came.

“Time to go home, Jughead.”

Jughead spun, and so did the world. Then, half a second later, everything was back to normal. He was at home, in the suburbia of good ol’ Riverdale. The sun was shining high and proud, and for the 782nd day in a row there was not a cloud in the sky. Jughead knew this was where he belonged.

And just his luck. Across the street was none other than his best pal Archie Andrews! Archie was with Veronica, but was grinning ear-to-ear as he saw Jughead, and Jughead felt the same way as he saw his buddy. Jughead ran across the street to join them (after looking both ways first, of course).

“Howdy Jug! Boy, you have no idea how glad I am to see you!” Archie exclaimed.

“Right back at ya, Archie! Gosh, I’ve been looking for you all over!”

The two pals exchanged perfect white smiles, filled to the brim with glee. What could be better than life in Riverdale, with good buds and great manners?

Archie opened his mouth again “Hey Jug, Ronnie and I were about to go to Pop’s. Wanna tag along?”

“Golly, Archie! You know I can’t say no to Pop’s!”

The three friends all laughed in unison. They turned and began to walk down the street. The sun was shining on another perfect Riverdale day, and it was only noon! Who knew what kind of wacky adventures they could get in today?

TWO WEEKS LATER

Hiram sat and enjoyed a celebratory glass of wine. It had taken several nights of hard bargaining with Mayor McCoy to get what he wanted, but after pointing out the town’s high crime rate and lack of development (and also after making a few “charitable donations”), Hiram got what he finally wanted: ownership of Riverdale. He now truly felt on top of the world.

“This morning’s paper, sir.”

Hiram turned his head to watch as Smithers, the Lodge family’s long time assistant, came in to the room. Hiram thanked Smithers as he left a copy of the morning’s Riverdale Registrar on the table. Hiram truly didn’t care about most of the tat in that paper, even though he was technically it’s owner. But he flipped through, looking for one section that he had recently insisted they add.

“Bingo!” Hiram found what he was looking for as he flipped to the comics page. There at the top was a full-color page of comics labeled Archie and Friends. In today’s installment, Archie (clad in the most garish red bow tie Hiram had ever seen) was helping the neighbor’s kid find his model plane, before being tricked and falling into a swimming pool. Hiram found himself laughing. Archie had always been a gullible fool, it was nice to see that reflected in his new persona. And there right next to him was Jughead, laughing along and eating a sandwich.

Hiram enjoyed seeing what his two former nemeses were up to. He now had a copy of the Registrar delivered to his office every day so he could observe their ridiculously corny adventures. His eyes rolled along the page, looking at the various scenarios the boys found themselves in.

His eyes stopped at the end of the page where the strip had introduced a new character, and older gentleman in a waistcoat with slicked back hair.

And his blood froze as he saw Archie call this new character “Mr. Lodge”.

...Coincidence, surely? There was a Veronica in the strip, so maybe this Mr. Lodge was just her alternate universe father. Why on earth would he be in the strip?

Then, Hiram knew exactly why. In order to convince the witches to hand over their secrets, Hiram had promised to grant the witches legal ownership of their coven’s land, as it was within town limits. Hiram had of course told them what they wanted to hear, but in his legal proceedings earlier that day, he had laid out plans to turn the woodland containing the coven into a tourist lodge.

And somehow, they had found out.

Hiram maintained his composure, even as panic rose inside him. He had faced tougher foes before, and he wasn’t about to let a group of hokey witches take him down. He just had to think of what to do.

Only it was becoming terribly hard for Hiram to think, because a new voice was speaking to him:

“You’re a good boy, Hiram.”

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Black Wedding [Chapter Two] Silver Tongue [Albert Wesker]

Aria didn't want to go home once she got into her car a little after seven this morning. She was too scared to be alone and far too tired to stay awake, cowering beneath her blankets in an empty home as she worried about being mauled to death in her sleep.

Even though none of the murders had occurred indoors, and despite Albert assuring her that she'd be fine nestled away in their home under lock and key, she was still too scared to go home. Aria didn't want to let her guard down, not when the murders occurred close to home. That sort of ignorance horrified her the most.

How could anyone sleep soundly knowing a person in the same community was dead? Murdered, no less.

Aria frowned and gripped the steering wheel.

Poor Mr. Webster.

Her heart went out to her.

His death shook her. Dr. Hersh called it at a quarter till five this morning, though he passed on before the EMTs arrived at his home on Wallace Street. His carotid artery had a puncture; his spine broken, causing him to bleed out in minutes during the alleged onslaught.

His wife passed years ago from leukemia, so Aria had to leave a voice message with his son, who lived in Washington, according to his address. In a soothing voice too unreal for a woman who just witnessed a horrific murder, Aria informed him to contact the Hospital Director once he heard it. Still, she doubted that Mr. Webster's son would get the message until much later, given the time zone.

An EMT that brought him in reported that a neighbor from across the street saw Mr. Webster get attacked by a black dog near the edge of the forest; several large chunks were missing from his upper body, unlike any canine attack Aria had ever heard of before. What was he doing near the woods in the middle of the night? And what drove the animal to attack him?

Perhaps the beast was starving. Why else would it eat him?

Aria shivered in fear.

She tore from the parking lot in her Audi and turned onto Mission Street, heading towards Central down to Ennerdale, where the police department sat; the prominent structure before 1969 was an art museum bought out by the RPD.

Aria transferred to Raccoon General in 1992 after its construction, coming from Stone Ville, a town northwest of the city, but she knew its history, despite how expansive Raccoon had grown during her time from home; the city continued to grow even now thanks to Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, and the company's investments.

Parking her car, she strode from the underground garage to the department's entrance, slowing her rushed pace once she entered the reception area to the right of the main hall.

She noticed a woman with dark hair that she had never seen before occupying the reception desk. As she approached, the woman glanced up from her computer in boredom.

“What can I help you with, ma'am?”

Aria cleared her throat. “I came to see Albert Wesker.”

The woman typed something into her computer and hummed, then tossed a laminated pass onto the counter; Aria hooked it onto the pocket of her scrub top.

“The S.T.A.R.S. office is up the stairs at the far end of the hall,” she explained in a dead tone. “Be sure to sign in before you go.”

Aria did as she instructed, then stormed down the hall, turning the corner near the entrance to the west office. As she neared the stairs, she came across Barry Burton at the vending machine, recognizing his hideous red vest.

“Isn't it too early for a break?”

Barry turned in shock, staring at her. Once he recognized who Aira was, he narrowed his eyes.

“I'm surprised that Wesker let you off the leash today,” he teased.

Aria snorted and rolled her eyes. Barry was uneasy about her marriage to Albert, mainly because she married him a year after meeting him. She hadn't even had a honeymoon yet, but that didn't matter; she loved Albert.

He was quiet and somewhat arrogant when prompted, but he never treated Aria like she was inferior to him. Albert kept her together.

Barry didn't understand. Not to mention he wanted to set her up with Chris – his good friend – despite the eleven-year age gap.

“Behave,” Aria teased. “I don't want to tell Kathy that you've been eating junk food when you're not supposed to.”

Barry grunted. “I said nothing.”

She thought so. Her older sister was a force to be reckoned with, and he knew it.

“What are you doing here, Aria?”

She frowned, recalling the events of this morning.

“I want to see Albert is all,” she explained.

Barry sighed, bending with a grunt to pick his candy bar up from the exit slot.

“You might want to wait,” he suggested. “Irons is up there bitching to him about something. He sent the entire unit out.”

Aria puckered a brow. “Is everything alright?”

It was none of her business, but she wondered if the meeting with Irons had anything to do with the murder on Wallace Street. But why involve the S.T.A.R.S. unit? The murders were not a product of antiterrorism or urban crime and were more suited towards the cases the Patrol Division officers oversaw.

Perhaps she was overthinking it.

“As far as I know,” Barry answered back.

Aria hoped so. She said her farewells, deciding to wait near the S.T.A.R.S office, but as she began to climb the stairs, she had an idea and peeked over the railing to call out to Barry down below.

“Do you think Kathy and the girls would like to visit the zoo Friday?”

Barry hummed. “I don't see why not. I'll ask them tonight.”

Aria thanked him and continued up the stairs to the second floor. She rested on the bench next to the office door and waited for Irons to leave.

Once he appeared, storming out into the hall as he uttered beneath his breath Aria stood and greeted him.

“It's good to see you again,” she mentioned with a fake smile.

Irons grinned, looking her over. “The pleasure is mine. How are things over at the hospital?”

“Fine,” she answered back.

He reached forward and gently touched her shoulder. “Ethan called me already. I heard about the man who died this morning, but I don't want you to fret, Aria. I'll take care of it.”

“I appreciate that, sir. Thank you,” she stated.

Albert must have known as well.

Easing over, Aria grabbed the knob and opened the office door.

“Try and get some sleep, Aria. You look tired,” Irons mentioned.

She nodded and slid inside, closing the door behind her.

His kindness was innocent, but at times it freaked her out.

Aria sighed and strolled further into the room. Albert had his own office immediately to the left after coming into the primary office; she entered once she knocked on the door.

He puckered a brow.

“Aria, what are you doing here?”

He seemed to be in an irritated mood.

“I came to see you,” she answered back. “But I can leave if it's not a good time.”

Aria was referring to what Barry had said; about Irons grilling him.

Albert motioned her in; she looked desperate.

Aria shut the door behind her and strutted towards the desk, coming around the side of it.

“I guess you heard,” she mentioned. “Mr. Webster – the widower on Wallace Street – was brought in this morning.”

Albert hummed. “Brad mentioned that it was an animal attack.”

“Another one near our street,” Aria confirmed.

He puckered a brow, watching as she sat on the desktop. Her tired eyes stared down at him; Albert understood.

“Are you too scared to go home alone?”

She frowned. “I hate how you said that.”

Like she could do nothing without him.

Aria sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She had a terrible headache brewing.

“That wasn't fair,” she mentioned. “I'm just tired; forgive me.”

Albert opened his desk drawer and tossed her a bottle of Diphenhydramine.

“These will put me in a coma,” Aria joked.

He hummed. “Whatever makes you sleep easier.”

“You being home will make me sleep,” she countered.

That reminded her.

“Are you working this weekend?”

Albert nodded and stood up. “Something came up.”

Of course, something came up.

“But I'm home Sunday,” he added. “And we can catch up.”

Aria grinned. At least she had one day alone with him.

“Please tell me what you want for Sunday, and I'll cook for you,” she offered.

Albert grinned and motioned towards his seat. “I'll think of something. In the meantime, rest your eyes. I'll wake you before I leave.”

Her face heated up. “Thank you.”

How did he take her mind from one place to the next? It amazed her.

Aria hopped from the desk and embraced him. Her cheek rested against his chest.

“I'd be a mess without you,” she said with a laugh.

Albert snorted and buried his fingers into her coarse blond hair, aware that she wasn't joking.

Aria was a feeble pet, after all.

[artxyra]

What if Marinette goes to GA and becomes friends with damian and are known as the chaos kids. The school gets used to them. The waynes need Damian one day and when they ask for him the reply is "At (area) doing (weird thing. Example: making pokemon statues out of waffles) with Mari" they get to said area they're gone and the fam has to keep asking people where he is and keep getting crazy replies. When they find him he's arguing with her about whether winnie the pooh's fav color is red or yellow

@coolrascalhoagienerd, well I had a good laugh when I saw this and where is the making of what I thought would have worked. I hope you enjoy. 

When Damian entered the halls of Gotham Academy, the first thing he notice was the change in the usual dark atmosphere. It felt oddly kinder and more lighthearted. Everywhere he turns there are whispers featuring around the new girl that recently join the school.

It’s funny how the two met that very same day. She was running down the halls in a hurry as he was walking to his next class, one that he was particular care for. They bump into each other causing a standstill in the halls. Everyone wondered how the dark prince would react to the princess of sunshine. They expected a yelling match, instead they got the best and worst of alliance ever made. 

Months passed since the blooming of Damian and Marinette’s friendship and not a single student could say that there weren’t surprised. The moment Marinette had Damian under her spell, she was able to make the stoic teen become his age. It started off small with a joke here and there, then it exploded into card games followed by video games. To this day, Damian swears that he’ll beat her at a shooting game at one point to which Marinette would respond with a laugh and an over the shoulder wink. The younger Wayne would swear that he has never blush a day in his life but the photographic proof on Marinette’s phone says otherwise.

The school soon became accustomed to being Daminette’s playground. At first the teachers were opposed to the idea but after seeing how slightly more open Damian has become with the of Sunshine, they slowly agreed to the idea of allowing the dark prince and his sunshine have less strict rules.

Which brings us to this moment, Marinette swings on a swing set while Damian practice his form with a katana. Don’t ask how he manage to get it past security.

“You know, maybe we should do something wild?” Marinette says looking up to the sky with a mischief smirk on her lips.

Damian doesn’t turn to her; he only sets the blade down to his side. “What do you have in mind?”

Marinette giggles uncontrollably.

Let’s just say that whatever Marinette had in mind would rule the yearbooks for years to come.

~~

Damian hiding his characteristic change at home was simple enough. A few death threats here and there, maybe sneaking out moments every so often. No one at the Wayne cared to pay any attention to it. It only came as shock when Damian left for school along the lines of being late. Alfred offered to take me to which Damian declined and got onto his “normal” motorcycle and speeds off.

“Does it seem that Damian is acting strange to you?” Richard “Dick” Grayson asks, pipping his down from the ceiling. He’s on the chandelier again. Poor Alfred, maybe he’ll dust the chandelier for him.

Tim walks in to with large mug in hand, no doubt filled to the brim with coffee. “Which one?” He asks taking a sip, bags are underneath his eyes.

“I do concur with Master Richard; the young master has been acting somewhat strange for quite a moment now” Alfred appears out of nowhere.

It wasn’t long before Jason manage to drag the head of the household from his lair into the mess that was slowly brewing in the main room. Alfred reprimands Jason for the uses of force as he hands Bruce Wayne a cup of coffee.

“Look, I can’t explain much, but we’re going to need Demon Spawn for something huge.” Jason says looking like a madman pulling Bruce by the arm.

“Uh, why would we need Little Bird?” Dick asks dropping onto the floor and twisting his body. “Not that I don’t mind getting Damian involved.”

“Look there’s no time to explain,” Jason facepalms and begins to push everyone towards the door despite the lack of proper wear they have on.

After one clothes change, a large of amount protest, the Wayne household now stands in front of the gates of Gotham Academy.

“Is it me or does this place look less you know Gotham-y and full of life?” Tim asks narrowing his eyes as he takes a long sip of a new cup of coffee that has been transfer into a to-go cup with Red Robin’s emblem.

“No, no, Timmy, I see it too.” Dick whispers as Jason struts past the gates and onto the school’s property.

Bruce sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, “Come on, let’s go get your brother so Jason can stop being Jason.”

Tim shrugs before passing the gates himself with Dick following him.

Upon entering the school, they could immediately see that it was either passing period or free time for the students.

Bruce makes his way to the attendance, where Assistant Joyce resides sitting at the desk.

“Hello Joyce, I’m here pick up Damian. He has a, ah, dentist appointment this evening.” Bruce speaks hoping that she wouldn’t catch the lie he spoke of.

“Well Mr. Wayne, Damian is, uh…” Joyce turns to someone besides her. “Do you know where Damian Wayne would be at today?”

“Try the art room.” A feminine voice answers.

Joyce turns back to the Wayne family and smiles, “He should be at the art room, it’s down the hall to your right, you should not miss it. It’s in the only hallway that has a series of artwork posted in it. Before you go, please sign here so that we know to tell the teachers not to mark Damian absent today.”

Joyce hands Bruce a sign out sheet, to which the man signs and ushers his wards to go find his youngest.

“They’re so screwed.” The same feminine voice speaks causing Joyce to break out laughing.

Well, it took a total of four different locations for the men to find the youngest Wayne.

First, they went to the art room like Joyce’s co-worker told them to. They meet with a student that says that basically told them that Damian was playing Pokémon Go near the gym, apparently, he was trying to catch a legendary Pokémon that spawned there.

So, of course, after an awkward eye contact with one another, they walk to the gym. Once again Damian was there, but a different was. He told them that Damian was making ice sculptures out of ice cream at the cafeteria. The student then goes on to explain that Damian had some amazing skills with a knife.

Jason, with wide eyes, practically shouted at the student that he was crazy, and that Damian would never, and he means NEVER do something that stupid. The student just shrugs it off like it was an everyday occurrence. It was Dick that had to hold Jason back from thrashing the teen.

By the time they got to the cafeteria, it was damn near empty aside from a few students still eating. There were no signs of ice cream or the tools that would go into making a sculpture. Tim had to ask a few students to see if Damian was in here at some point in time. It’s the workers that answers the young CEO by telling him that Damian was here earlier making sculptures out of ice cream before handing it out to students. When asked with the question that has been slowly driving the four insane, the worker replies with “Upstairs racing on these old colorful scooter board down the halls.”

It was at that moment when Tim wanted nothing to but to have a mental break down, and he would have if it wasn’t for Bruce holding him up.

So, they quickly found themselves on the second level of the school. There was no sight of Damian Wayne, though there were wheel tracks smudged into the flooring.

“Are you kidding me?” Jason shouts out into the ceiling. Thankfully, there were no students in the halls to hear it. Well that might have been the case if it wasn’t for a teacher to open their door and shush the male.

“Angel, you are desperately in the wrong here. The bear only wears one color, so it has to the color red.” It was then that they finally hear the voice of the person they have been looking for. Looking over the staircase, they find a hidden cove/nook like area and siting in it is none other than Damian Wayne himself, but he’s not alone.

“I’m telling you, Dami, Pooh’s favorite color is yellow.” The female answers before taping her fingers as makes her point. “He loves honey, which is by default a yellow color.”

“I disagree, Winnie the Pooh has been drawn on numerous of occasions with red items not yellow.” He counters.

This was not happening. Tim’s along with Jason’s exe stopped working and now they were frozen in place. The most deadliest of Wayne’s is arguing about Winnie the motherfucking Pooh’s favorite color. Bruce has no words as Dick pulls out his phone to record the whole ordeal.

Legend has it that Damian never went home that day despite being excused from classes. When he had return home, his family never spoke to him, still in shock at what they just encountered. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that Damian had introduce the family to Marinette and all hell breaks loose. 

[maybeimamuppet]

128√e980

“Hey, Damian,” Cady calls as she plops her lunch tray onto the table. “Janis isn’t here?”

“No, I thought she was with you,” Damian replies, taking another bite of his burger.

“She was in homeroom, did she get sick?” Cady asks, now anxious for her girlfriend.

“She would’ve told one of us, she always does. We going Janjan hunting?” Damian shoves the rest of his food in his mouth, holding out a hand to help Cady up. She puts what she can into her backpack to eat later and takes his hand with a determined nod.

——-

She wasn’t in their usual bathroom, so Damian leads them through the corridors towards the art rooms. Cady is too busy trying not to worry for her girlfriend to pay much attention to their surroundings, but she does grin a little as she spies one of Janis’ recent paintings hanging on the wall outside the room.

Damian gestures for her to go in first, so she knocks lightly and pushes the door open. The room is dark other than the sunlight streaming through the window, and silent other than the hum of the air conditioning thrumming through the building. She’s about to turn around to leave when she hears a few quiet sobs come from the easel storage area.

“Janis?” she calls, wincing as she hears a thump and a quiet “ow, shit” come from the same area. They’ve definitely found her, at least. They put their bags down on the counter by the door and head over, working their way through the maze of easels and tables of paint, peeking around one as Damian finally spies the toe of one of Janis’ boots poking out from behind another counter.

“Janis? What are you doing back here, we were waiting for you-“ Damian tries to say, getting cut off by Janis suddenly sobbing much harder. He and Cady lock eyes knowingly as they sink down next to her, she’s having a panic attack.

“Oh, darling, what happened? Can I touch you?” Cady says, suddenly much more worried than she was a few seconds ago. Janis hasn’t had a panic attack in almost six months. She nods quickly, reaching out for a hug. Cady shifts positions and hauls her into her lap with just a bit of effort, rocking them gently as her girlfriend wraps her arms around her neck and sobs brokenly into her shoulder. “What happened, mpendwa? Why are you so upset?” She murmurs, kissing her hair lightly as Damian starts rubbing Janis’ back to help calm her.

“I-I-“ Janis chokes out, but she’s still crying too hard to speak. She sinks back into Cady’s embrace and cries harder, staining her top with mascara. Cady doesn’t care. She gestures for Damian to grab her backpack as she continues gently shushing her girlfriend, still rocking them slowly. He rushes to grab it and bring it to her, unzipping it so she can root through with one hand to find her small water bottle. She pulls it out and unscrews the lid, gently pulling Janis’ face away from her chest and handing it to her.

“Here, darling, drink some water. Shh, sweetheart, you’re crying so hard. This’ll help a little,” she says lowly, looking to Damian with a concerned grimace as Janis takes little sips from it, hiccuping slightly between them. She takes deep breaths for a second and her sobs slow slightly, but another malicious thought passes through and she’s crying again. “Oh, mpenzi, no,” Cady coos sadly. She suddenly remembers something she read about when she was researching panic attacks and how to help Janis when she got them.

“Jellybean, can you do something for me?” Janis nods quickly, trying desperately to focus on Cady instead of inside her head. “Can you tell me five things you can see?”

“Um- um, your eyes. P-pretty. And Damian. And-um,” her eyes dart frantically around the room. “D-desks, and-and your bag, and my-my painting.” She sobs out.

“Good, my girl. Now take a deep breath and tell me four things you can hear,” Cady says softly.

“Air-air conditioning. And- there’s a bird outside, sounds- sounds pretty. Uh- me. Me c-crying, and um. Um, you t-talking.”

“Great job, sweetheart. Another deep breath, and tell me three things you can feel.”

“Uhm- you’re holding me, and D-Damian touching my back, and-and the floor is really hard,” She breathes, calming slightly.

“You’re doing so good, darling. Now tell me two things you can smell,” Cady comforts, pulling her just a bit closer. Janis told her pressure helps, just like her meltdowns.

“You-um. Your perfume, I like it-it. And uh. Um. The paint remover stuff,” Janis chokes out, trying to match her breathing.

“Good job, dearest, you’re almost done. What’s one thing you can taste?”

“Um. Your water bottle. Like met-metal,” She manages, her sobs gradually slowing to a stop as she goes totally boneless in Cady’s lap.

“How do you feel, Janjan?” Damian asks, taking hold of her for a second so Cady can get more comfortable before handing her back. It hurts a little, to know he’s not her main source of comfort anymore. But he knows Cady’s good for her, and that the bond he has with her will always be special to both of them. That’s all that really matters.

“Shitty, tired, the usual. My chest hurts,” Janis says quietly, sniffling a little. Damian grabs her some damp paper towels to clean her face with.

“Can you tell me what happened now, Jellybean?” Cady asks, cradling her carefully.

“I’m- I’m failing math and science,” Janis mutters, on the verge of tears again. “B-but I need those credits to-to graduate, they said if I can’t get my grades up by the end of the month that I won’t get to walk and I have to make them up in s-summer school.” Janis is supposed to leave for college with Damian in July, summer school means she’d have to withdraw for her first semester.

“Oh, my bluejay, no wonder you were so upset. But why didn’t you tell me, darling? I can tutor you in math, you know that,” Cady exclaims, kissing her red cheek softly.

“Yeah, and I can help with science, Janjan, you’re not doing this alone,” Damian adds, rubbing her arm.

“I-I can’t pay either of you for that right now. And I didn’t want you to think I’m s-stupid,” Janis chokes. Cady hands her the water bottle again, which she takes gratefully.

“Janis, we would never. We know you better than that,” Damian admonishes. “You’re top of our class in English, you’re nearly acing history, you just need a little boost to get caught up in math and science.”

Cady pipes up again, adding, “And you don’t have to pay us, Jayjay. You helped me with English last month and didn’t make me pay, remember?”

“Yeah, I-I just feel like I’d be taking advantage or-or something, I don’t know,” Janis mumbles.

“You won’t be, Jan. But if it bugs you that much there’s other ways you can pay us,” Damian offers. “Like, for every hour I spend doing science with you, you have to watch one episode of Drag Race with me or something.”

That gets a weak grin out of Janis. “I can live with that. W-what about you, Caddy?” She asks weakly, seeming almost afraid.

“There’s that beautiful smile,” Cady chuckles, leaning down to kiss her. “How about... every hour of math, I get half an hour as little spoon and... three really good kisses?”

Janis flushes scarlet. “I can do that,” she mutters, embarrassed.

I love you, is what Cady wants to say.

“Do you want to start tonight? I have a Mathletes competition, you can come watch and then we can work at my house after,” is what she actually says, all of them jumping as the warning bell rings. Janis nods as Cady passes her to Damian again. “Okay. I can’t miss class or I can’t compete, but I’ll come check on you after sixth, okay?” She scoops up her things, hugging Damian and kissing Janis goodbye as she nuzzles further into his hold.

——-

“The limit does not exist!” Cady yells, slamming her buzzer and securing the win for her team. The boys all cheer and rush up to hug her, Kevin congratulating her on her ‘schquillz’ as he does every competition. She shakes the other teams’ hands before grabbing her water bottle and going to find Janis in the crowd.

She shrieks as Janis sneaks up behind her, scooping her up and spinning her around before setting her down again. “Janis! You scared me,” she breathes, putting a hand over her heart. “What did you think, sweetheart?”

I think I love you, Janis wants to say.

“I think you look adorable in your uniform and that you have your work cut out for you because I didn’t understand anything you said,” is what she answers instead, bending down to kiss her.“I’m not complaining, the longer we spend working the more snuggles and kisses I get,” Cady laughs. “Let me grab my stuff and then we can go.” She says, pulling Janis down for another kiss before rushing off.

———

“I’m gonna change really quick, you can put your stuff wherever. I’ll be right back,” Cady says as they enter her bedroom. Janis puts her bag down on the bed, sitting next to it and looking around. She smiles as she spies some of her paintings hanging on the wall, just above Cady’s desk and across from her bed. She picks up the little stuffed lion she bought for her on their first date and holds it close for a minute.

“I named it Tesoro,” Cady chirps as she comes back, now wearing some cozy shorts and one of Janis’ hoodies. “It’s Italian for darling. Reminds me of you,” She says, getting comfy on her bed and gesturing for Janis to sit on her lap.

“How many languages do you speak?” Janis asks as she pulls out her textbook and nestles into Cady.

“Seven, I think. And ASL. I guess that’s eight, actually. Now what are you working on?” She asks, looking over Janis’ shoulder as she flips to the right page.

“This,” Janis huffs as she points to a problem. “I don’t get any of it.”

“That’s a factorial, dearest. You multiply it,” Cady hums.

“Oh.” Janis says, picking up a pencil and scratching an answer down in her notebook. “Like this?”

“Exactly. See, you got this stuff, you just need a little push,” Cady grins, rewarding her with a soft kiss behind her ear. “Now try this,” she grabs Janis’ pencil and writes down another sample problem for her to solve.

“Caddy?”

“Hmm?”

“I can’t read that. Your handwriting is terrible,” Janis laughs.

“Ugh, I know,” Cady growls, rewriting the problem neater this time.

They work on that section for a while, until they’re sure Janis has it down pat. Cady gently corrects her if she makes a mistake and cheers her on with little kisses when she gets one right. Janis thinks she likes this system quite a lot.

Eventually they both get tired, Janis needing a break. She turns around in Cady’s embrace as she lays them both down, resting her head on Cady’s chest and listening to her heartbeat. She gives a contented hum and wriggles closer as Cady starts playing with her hair, twisting her two-toned locks around her fingers and scratching her side shave gently.

They lie like that for a while, lost in peaceful silence with one another. Until Janis’ phone pings with a text from her mom, telling her it’s time to come home. Regretfully, she pulls herself slowly out of Cady’s embrace and starts packing her things back into her bag.

“No, stay,” Cady whines sleepily, still reaching for her. I love you.

“I’d love to, but my mom needs me home,” Janis replies, standing and coming to kiss her goodbye. “Thank you for helping me.” I love you, too.

Janis tucks her in, kissing her sweetly one last time. “See you tomorrow, Peanut.”

———-

Over the next few weeks, Cady and Damian have tutoring sessions with Janis whenever they’re available, sometimes squeezed in during rehearsals or Mathletes practice. She’s making a lot of progress, but her grades still aren’t where they need to be.

Right now, she’s sitting next at her desk in her room, cat on her lap and girlfriend sitting next to her. She’s struggling through a new topic, getting progressively more tense as they go on. Cady’s trying her best, but something just isn’t clicking in her brain.

Eventually, nothing Cady’s saying is registering. All she can hear are the thoughts swirling sadistically through her head. You’re out of time. You’re failing. You’re a failure. You’re never going to get it. Everyone thinks you’re an idiot. They’re all going to leave, this is it. It’s a wonder they haven’t already. She hasn’t moved for a while, Cady thought she was just thinking until she lets out a choked sob, hot tears dripping onto her paper.

“Jan? Oh, Bluejay, what’s the matter?” Cady coos, gently removing Pancakes from her lap and pulling her into tight embrace.

“I’m running out of time,” Janis wails into her shoulder. “I’m running out of time and- and I’m not doing well enough, my teachers are- are gonna be mad and everyone’s gonna leave and I’m gonna die alone under a bridge-"

“Whoa, darling, what? Where is this coming from, sweetheart? You’ve still got about a week and a half to get your grades up, and you’ve got that test on Friday, that’ll help. I’ll be here all day, every day until you get this stuff if that’s what it takes. And you know damn well I’m not going anywhere, especially not because of something like this,” Cady says sternly but gently, cradling Janis’ cheeks and looking into her watery brown eyes. “You’re the most precious thing in my life.” I love you. “You’re absolutely brilliant, my darling, I’m in awe of you every day.” I love you so much. “We just need to translate that to this, and that can take some time. You’ll make it out of this, sweetheart. And if you somehow die under a bridge anyway, I’ll be right there with you. Okay?”

Janis is still a little too emotional to register most of what she says specifically, but she gets the general message. Unfortunately, it sends another flood of emotion through her and she starts sobbing again. With relief this time, but still.

“Oh, darling, I’m sorry,” Cady mutters frantically. “I didn’t mean to make you cry. Do you want me to sing for you?”Janis nods, leaning into Cady’s embrace even further. She pulls her in, adjusting her hold to cradle Janis like a baby, her head resting in the crook of her elbow. She sings an old Kenyan lullaby someone taught her, crooning softly to her in Swahili as she dries the tears from under Janis’ eyes, grinning as she watches her contently and her sobs gradually stop again.

“Thank you, Caddy,” Janis sniffles once she finishes. I love you, she adds in her head.

“Always, mpenzi. Let’s take a break, hm? Have you taken your medicines today?” Janis shakes her head softly, refusing to look her in the eye. “Darling, no wonder you’re having such a hard time. I’m gonna start reminding you to take them in the mornings. Can I leave for a minute to go get them and get us a snack?” Janis clings to her tighter for a second but nods, letting go with another snuffle. Cady kisses her gently, and then disappears to the kitchen.

Janis rubs her eyes, wincing at the mascara staining her hands as she pulls them away. She grabs a tissue to clean herself up, then looks around for a second. Cady left her Mathletes jacket hanging on the back of her chair, maybe she wouldn’t mind if Janis borrowed it, just for a minute. She picks it up, trudging over to her bed before flopping onto it. Cady is much smaller than her, so there’s no way in hell it’ll fit, but she lays the soft fabric over herself like a blanket. She breathes in Cady’s comforting scent of rosewater perfume and books, fiddling with the end of a sleeve that’s been softened from Cady rubbing it against her lips whenever she’s nervous or trying to focus.

That’s how Cady finds her when she comes back in, carrying Janis’ prescription bottle and a plate with a massive tower of toaster waffles, Janis’ go-to unhappy times food. “Is that my jacket?” She teases, startling Janis a little. She nods sheepishly before nestling further into it as Cady grabs her water bottle from the desk, handing it to her so she can take her pills.

“Can I try something?” Cady asks once she’s gotten them down and is munching quietly on one of her waffles. Janis nods, suspicious. “Okay, put the waffle down for a second and don’t ask any questions.” Before Janis can even get a word out, Cady has grabbed her fuzzy pancake shaped blanket and swaddled her so tightly in it that she can barely move. She left her arms out, and hands back her waffle once she’s satisfied with Janis’ impromptu straitjacket.

“Caddy, what the fuck is this?” Janis asks, not totally complaining.

“You’re a Jancake! Get it? Like pancake but- but your name? Never mind, what Disney movie do you want to start with?” Cady replies, grabbing her computer and dragging her Janis sushi roll closer as she brings up Disney+.

“Tangled?” Janis asks sheepishly, sinking further into her cocoon as Cady snuggles up to her.

“Tangled it is.”

I love you so much, Cady thinks to herself, watching Janis nibble happily on her snack and dance along as best she can with the opening music.

And they spend the evening like that, feeding each other little bits of waffle and binging sappy movies. Homework can wait, sometimes.

————-

“You got all these right, Jayjay! I told you you could do it,” Cady cheers at her, setting her paper down and hugging her quickly. She’s down to the wire now, studying for her test tomorrow, her last chance to boost her math grade. Damian had somehow managed to drag her science grade up, so she had that under control now. “Now try this one.” Cady says, carefully scratching down another equation and sliding it in front of her.

“I thought we finished? That was the last unit,” Janis mutters, confused.

“This one’s a bonus. Just try it,” Cady begs, passing her the pencil. Janis looks down and sees:

128√e980

Oh boy. This doesn’t even look similar to what they’ve been doing, she has no idea how to even begin to solve it. Janis is a firm believer that letters do not belong in math, once the alphabet had gotten involved her brain had checked out.

“Um...” She hums, tapping her pencil against the desk lightly.

“Do you want a hint?” Cady asks, moving to take the pencil, sliding the page back in front of her once Janis gives a shy nod. Janis is more than a little confused when she simply erases part of it and then moves it back in front of her. Until she looks and sees it now roughly reads:

i love you

She snaps her head to look at Cady, blinking at her a few times in shock before throwing her arms around her neck and kissing her passionately. Cady sinks into her, cupping her face with one hand and tangling the other into her hair. Slowly, she crawls into Janis’ lap, straddling her waist and pressing herself impossibly closer.

Eventually, they have to break apart to breathe. “I love you,” Janis gasps the second their lips part. She moves her arms to Cady’s waist, holding her tightly. “I love you so much, I love you.”

“I love you, too. So much,” Cady responds, pressing their foreheads together and staring into Janis’ brown doe eyes. A wide grin suddenly spreads across her face, Janis’ own matching it to a slightly lesser extent.

“What are you all smiley about?”

“I said it first. I win,” Cady giggles.

“Hey! I said it out loud first. You cheated,” Janis pouts, smiling again as Cady kisses it away. “We are done for the day for real now, right?” She asks.

“Mmhmm. You’re gonna ace it tomorrow,” Cady says, nuzzling their noses together.

“So... you wanna cash in a few of those kisses and cuddle hours I owe you now? I think we both deserve a reward for this,” Janis smirks, laughing a little as Cady nods rapidly. She scoops her up and carries her over to her bed, pulling a blanket over them as Cady presses up against her side and rests her head on her chest. “You wanna sleep over?”

“Yes please,” Cady hums, crawling more on top of her and wriggling closer. “I love you.”

“I love you more,” Janis teases, playing with a stray curl.

Cady leans up and presses their lips together. “I love you most. Now hush,” she mutters, laying back down on her chest.

“Yes ma’am.”

——-

“Caddy! Damian! Guys, look!” Janis yells down the hallway, rushing up to them where they’re chatting by their lockers.

“Whoa, Janjan, you good?” Damian huffs out, catching her as she barrels into him.

“Yes! Look,” She shoves a slightly crumpled paper at them, Cady peeking over Damian’s arm to see.

“Your report card?”

“Just look at it, Dame! Come on,” Janis begs, so they do.

Anatomy & Physiology: B-

Advanced World History: A-

Honors English 4: A

Algebra: B-

French 4: B+

Advanced Art & Painting: A

“Jan, this is incredible! You did it,” Damian cheers, hugging her tightly.

“Thanks, Damdam.”

“Bluejay, oh my god! I’m so proud of you!” Cady squeals, giving her another tight embrace once Damian lets her go.

“You seem surprised,” Janis teases.

“I’m not! I’m just proud of you, loser,” Cady says, pulling her down for a kiss. “You did great, my love.”

“I couldn’t have without you, baby,” Janis murmurs back, kissing her again softly.

Damian pretends to gag from behind them. “Ew, too much love!”

“Aww, you want a kiss too?” Janis teases as she reaches out for him, laughing when he dashes away. She goes back and pulls her redhead close again as the halls clear out for the day. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Who would’ve thought math would ever make me so happy?

-----

thank you for reading! please let me know what you thought!

lots of love, ezzy

[bubblesuga]

By My Side

Summary|| Kim Namjoon- Teacher’s Assistant, Sex God, and the last thing you expected to have in your mouth. Name or otherwise. When Namjoon offers to tutor you, you couldn’t pass up that offer even though he didn’t give you much of a choice. 

Word Count: 8,892

Warnings: smut, fluff, and everything in between

Part 3 of my College!AU series

Astrophysics wasn’t top of your list on things to minor in. 

You could have chosen Literature, Creative Writing, hell you would have even been happy in Art. However, you took Astrophysics. Of all fucking things. 

For a while you wanted to drop the class, change your minor or just solely try to focus on your major which was Business Marketing. You hear you have a higher chance of obtaining a job in that field anyway, and you got a real ass chewing from your friend when they found out you signed up for Astrophysics. 

The problem was that the day you planned on dropping the course, Kim Namjoon of all people convinced you not to. 

It’s not like you had a reason to listen to him, and he wasn’t talking directly to you but instead offered his reasons to the class as to why he stuck through it and decided to become a TA the following year. He loved space that much. 

So now, every time you walked into the lecture room you couldn’t help but look to see if Mr. TA was at the front of the class. 

The thing about Namjoon was that he was smart, beyond what you believed anyone could be at your age and although he was only a little older than you, you still felt like he had the knowledge of the entire universe in the palm of his hand. 

You suddenly became much more interested in Astrophysics after that. 

“...and that makes a bit of you as old as time. While the heavier bits in your body were formed in the hearts of stars, the hydrogen in your body was formed a mere three minutes after the initial Big Bang,” you professor spoke, your pen scrawling across the paper, “but the protons in your body was made a millionth of a second after the Big Bang. Some of the protons that formed in the earliest parts of the universe, are in you today.” 

As he continued to speak, you watched Namjoon with a red pen, marking various papers. He gnawed on his nails, then looked up, sensing his eyes on you. You quickly looked away, clearing your throat quietly and looking down at your paper.

Your professor glanced up to the clock, “Okay. I want to go home early today so get out of my classroom please. Everyone except for Miss. (Y/L/N).” 

Confused, you stayed seated while you watched everyone else pack up and walk out of the classroom. The professor made his way up to your seat, sitting on the desk with a sigh. “So, I really don’t want to have to fail you. Your last two terms showed 67% on both of your finals.” 

“U-uhm, yeah I’ve been struggling a little bit.” You noticed Namjoon watching you, his eyes peaking softly out from his glasses. His hair was done so well, gelled up with the lilac color framing his face nicely. 

“Do you want to be in this class? Because I’d rather you drop it if you feel like it’s a waste of your time.” The professor came off harsh, but you knew his intentions were kind. 

“No! I love this class! I’ll work harder, I’m so sorry. I promise by the end of this term I’ll give you an A.” You explained, your voice coming off both apologetic and defensive at the same time. 

“Okay, I’m looking forward to giving you that A then. You may go.” 

You stood abruptly, trying to ignore the embarrassment you felt from Namjoon hearing that conversation. He didn’t seem to react to the things the professor said, and you were sure that he was used to hearing conversations like these but that didn’t take away your embarrassment nonetheless. 

As you were about to walk out, you heard your name. When you turned around, Namjoon was stood from his desk. 

“You know, I could tutor you if you want.” His hands gestured picking up and dropping the pen on the table. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he was nervous. 

“Oh, no thanks. I can’t afford a tutor.” You gave him a sheepish smile, shrugging and slipping your arms through the straps of your back pack. Mostly filled with math text books, you felt the weight take an immediately shift on your shoulders. 

Namjoon returned the smile, “I’ll do it for free.” 

“Really?” Your eyes went wide, “You don’t have to. I’m sure you have a busy enough schedule as it is.” 

“Not really, I��m ahead in all of my classes. I think by the time I have to start worrying about them again I can have you up to par in here.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

You pondered for a moment, wondering if it was really worth it to have the hottest guy you had ever seen tutoring you in a subject you had no idea about. He seemed to notice your ponder, chuckling softly. 

“I don’t bite.” 

Finally, you nodded. “Okay, when?” 

“I’m free right now.” He picked up his things, walking towards you. You allowed him to pass you, leading you out of the doors. He stopped walking in the center of the grass in front of the science building. Plopping down, he waited for you to sit. 

You raised an eyebrow, the grassy area shaded just well enough with trees but the warmth of the sun still hitting your skin. The grass was damp underneath your mostly bare legs, your shorts short enough for you to have to sit on your feet otherwise you would have a flashing situation that you really didn’t want to have to deal with. 

“Okay so the main test you need to worry about is the General Exam. A lot of the questions are on ancient science, more specifically how the Greeks began the human ascent into our knowledge of the stars and space itself.” Namjoon began, and already you felt your brain being clouded over with blank thoughts. 

“Okay.” You nodded, trying to follow along to the best of your ability. 

“How did the Greeks determine the size of the Earth?” 

You stared at him, your eye twitching while you dug around your brain for the answer. You knew the answer was there somewhere, so you open your notebook and flip through the notes from last week. 

“Uhm... They waited until a lunar eclipse and measured the shadow that the Earth cast on the moon.” The tip of your pen clicked against the notebook. Namjoon met your eyes, kindness lacing them while his eyebrow raised. He genuinely wanted to help you, and you prayed you didn’t become too enchanted by the way he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Correct. What did they study specifically though?” 

You stared down at your notes again, “The diameter of Earth’s conical shadow, which they found that shadow’s diameter was about two and a half times the moon’s diameter.” 

“Good again.” Namjoon said, encouraging you while he continued to ask you questions. 

When it got to parts that were particularly hard to remember, he was patient while you sifted through your notes and textbooks to find the answer. Although your conversation with him previously was limited to asking him for a pencil, you found yourself comfortable with him quickly. 

Namjoon finally reached into his bag, pulling out an older textbook and opening it to a bookmarked page. Carefully, he explained Maxwell’s equations as if he was born to teach. You admired his intelligence, seeing a blush grow on his face once he noticed that you weren’t looking at where his finger’s were pointing on the page. 

“Uh, (Y/N)? Focus.” He snapped in your face, breaking you out of your trance and causing you to flip your eyes down to the paper. 

“S- sorry. You just have cute dimples.” As the words left your mouth you wanted desperately to swallow them back up and then sink into the ground in embarrassment. 

You expect him to laugh, but you didn’t expect him to laugh this hard. 

“H- holy shit, that was out of nowhere!” He hollered, clutching his stomach as he fell back into the tall grass. People around you two were beginning to stare, each holding a smirk of their own while you covered your face and fell backward into the grass yourself. 

Still laughing, he uttered his next sentence, “I mean, I knew you liked me but damn. I thought I would have to work you a little longer to get you to admit it.” 

“What?” You pulled yourself onto your elbows, staring at him with a gaunt expression, “who said I liked you? I just said you have cute dimples! I say that to everyone who has dimples!” 

“Don’t bullshit yourself, babe. I see the way you stare at me in class, you can’t deny it. Especially with how obvious you are about it.” He rolled his eyes, his laughter finally calming down while he reopened his book. 

“Whatever. Just tutor me.” Your voice came out in a growl, grabbing your pencil. Namjoon’s dimples deepened, deciding not to press the issue any further as he noticed your. . . agitation? Embarrassment? He couldn’t tell exactly. 

~*~*~

“Joon!” Namjoon’s head whipped towards the direction of his name, spotting Taehyung running towards him in his apron. Blue paint dripped from the ends of his hair, a trail of different colors in his wake while he rushed towards Namjoon. 

“What happened to you?” He couldn’t help but laugh, seeing Taehyung’s usually bright demeanor had been replaced with one of annoyance. 

“She happened!” Taehyung cried out, pointing to a girl across the campus yard with equally bright amounts of orange paint on her. She shot a middle finger his way and turned towards the girl’s dance hall. 

He turned back to Namjoon, “Can I shower at your place? I really don’t want to walk all the way to mine.” 

“Uh, yeah. I’ll give you my key, I’ve got a date.” Namjoon said, pulling out his keys and slipping his house key off the key ring. He dropped it into Taehyung’s red colored hands, sighing and rubbing his face from annoyance once he realized the apartment would be messy when he got home. 

“A date, huh?” 

“Well not really,” Namjoon and Taehyung walked somewhat briskly, ignoring the stares of passerby, “I’m tutoring her, but she likes me.” 

“And you like her?” Taehyung, ever so curious, walked passed the turn to Namjoon’s apartment to get an answer. 

“Go get cleaned up before the Dean spots you.” Namjoon turned back with a smirk, watching his younger friend roll his eyes. His shoes squelched as he walked, signaling the paint had made it’s way down into his socks. 

After the first tutoring session ended, Namjoon was sure to set up the next. Then the next, then the next. He found your reluctance to continue with tutoring sessions after he called your crush out somewhat cute. 

He had yet to bring it up again, instead opting to watch you while you drank way more water than you needed and stared at his lips while he explained formulas. Whether you believed it or not, he did intend on teaching you what you needed to know to pass the class. He knew you were absorbing the information, so he didn’t necessarily mind when he saw you licking your lips subconsciously while he slipped his jacket off his broad shoulders. 

Nonetheless, he felt that you were doing well. 

As far as class went, both of you always seemed to know when to look at each other. The professor would be droning on about topics that you and Namjoon had already covered, so you rested your head on the desk. Namjoon would mouth words to you, usually ‘pay attention’, but you knew he was always making sure you were okay. 

One particular class, Namjoon tapped his leg impatiently while he waited for you to enter the room. His favorite part of the day was seeing what you were wearing, because everything you wore seemed to compliment your shape in the best way. Not that he didn’t look before, but now that he knows you on a bit more personal level, he didn’t constantly tell himself it was wrong to look. 

When you finally did enter the room, your tight leggings and red heels made you look like a goddess. After that, his feelings were set in stone.

His plan today was to tutor you, as always, but then he wanted to make you feel good. After having spent so much time with you over the past couple weeks, he saw your personality blossom and suddenly he liked more than just your body. As he got to know you, he wanted you. More and more. 

He just had to make you beg for it. 

Namjoon knocked on your door, hearing squealing from behind the thick metal. A girl he didn’t recognize opened the door, leaning against the door frame. “Well hello there, I’ve heard so much about-” 

Just as she was about to finish her sentence, your hands snaked up from behind her and covered her mouth, yanking her backward and away from the door. 

“You said you’re leaving, Tamara. So leave.” You gestured, pointing out the door. Namjoon slid to the side, seeing her friend leave while sending a wink his way. He chuckled, waiting for you to invite him in. 

Your house was small, quaint, and old. It felt like you, though. Namjoon could tell you decorated, bits and pieces of things he learned you liked scattered throughout each room. 

He took a moment to look around while you told him to sit at the table, his finger running along the pictures on the walls. When you reentered the room, your hair was now pulled up and the bright blue fluffy pajama pants donned on your waist with a black tank top. 

“Sorry, it’s my house and I hate not wearing comfortable clothes in it.” You explained, crossing your leg and sitting on the chair across from him. 

You knew what Namjoon was playing at. After your third tutoring session, you noticed he became increasingly. . . sexy. Not that he wasn’t sexy before because you couldn’t deny your attraction, but the shirts became tighter, the hair was always styled, and his smirk. That damn smirk.

It was there, on his face. All the time. It was driving you absolutely insane. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and everything he said was so smart. 

Namjoon saw your wardrobe change, ignoring your skin peaking out from your tank top. “I can’t fault you for wanting to be comfortable.” He finally manages. 

You two got right to work, your eyes reading the numbers on the page. Namjoon leaned on the table, getting right into tutor mode and explaining a book he read that helped him understand advanced equations. 

You wrote down the book name, rubbing your forehead to get rid of your headache. Despite finally beginning to understand everything, your head still hurt at the prospect of taking the test in a few weeks. 

A couple hours later, your notebook was officially full. You tossed the pen onto the table, stretching your arms, “Yay! Done for the day!” 

Namjoon shut his own book, “I think we’re done forever.” 

“What?” You suddenly began to panic, did you do something to scare him away? Sure offering for him to tutor at your house was nerve-racking, but you didn’t think that he wouldn’t like it. 

“We’ve covered pretty much everything on the test. All you have to do is remember what I taught you, and then you’ll be good.” Namjoon stood, sliding his books haphazardly into his back pack. He slung it over his shoulder, giving you that same dimpled smile you had grown to love. 

“Wait- I know everything?” 

“Well not everything, but enough,” He grinned, “I’ll see you in class, (Y/N).” 

Namjoon turned to walk away and suddenly he was paranoid. He wanted you to call after him, to stop him and tell him to stay. However, as he made it closer to the door and began to slip his shoes on, he still hadn’t heard your call. 

He paused for a moment, a sigh leaving his lips while he turned his back and squeezed the doorknob in his hands. 

“Wait!” 

There you were.

“Let me make you dinner! You know, as a thanks for teaching me so well.” You said, coming into view. Namjoon turned around, “Dinner?” 

“Yes! I- I have steak that I was saving for Friday but I could make it now.” Your words became quieter as your spoke, your hand rubbing your arm nervously. There was no way that you wanted him to leave yet, and you weren’t sure how else to thank him. 

“I like steak.” Namjoon said, slipping his shoes back off and laying his back pack on the recliner beside the door. You grinned, letting out a nervous laugh, beckoning him into the living room. 

“Make yourself comfy and I’ll cook for you.” 

“Why don’t I help you?” Namjoon offered, following you while you walked out. You tilted your head to the side, “You can cook?” 

Namjoon, for the first time in a while, felt a blush creep on his cheek. The way you looked up at him, expectant and suddenly excited, made his head spin. He actually had to admit something that he couldn’t do to someone who he was trying to impress, “I didn’t say I could cook. I said I would help.” 

You giggled, “I’ll have you toss the salad.” 

“I like the sound of that.” Namjoon teased, following you into the kitchen. You began to prep everything, Namjoon watching in awe while you moved around the kitchen with ease. 

After setting a pan onto the open flame, you turned and connected your phone to the speaker and flipped on your cooking playlist. Namjoon, impressed with your taste in music, continued to watch you as you started dancing along to the beat. 

The sear of the steak against the hot pan was a welcoming sound, Namjoon’s mouth suddenly watering as he saw you toss butter and thyme into the pan. Your voice sang along with the song, your movements fluid. 

“You have a beautiful voice!” Namjoon called over the music, watching your face turn red. He sat on the other side of the island, waiting patiently for instruction. As the steaks cooked, you reached into the fridge and pulled out a head of lettuce, setting it down in front of Namjoon and rummaging through the lower cabinet for a bowl. 

Namjoon leaned over the counter, admiring your curves as your back peaked out from your tank top. The shirt you wore hugged you perfectly, he could see your heart-shaped ass squeezed into your pajama pants. Once he saw you stand up, he sat back down quickly but over corrected and managed to slip right off the stool. 

With a loud crash, he toppled over the stool beside him and let out a groan. 

“Are you okay?” You yelled, pausing your music and rushing around the counter. Namjoon’s eyes were shut tight, “I’m good.” 

“What were you doing?” You question, reaching your hand out. His large hand dwarfed yours, and you knew you weren’t any help to pull him up but you still tugged on his arm nonetheless. 

He smiled sheepishly, “I was just trying to see what kind of bowl you were grabbing.” 

“Oh?” you watched him dust himself off, “why are you so interested in bowls?” 

“More like the girl who was holding the bowl.” 

“I knew you weren’t tutoring me just to help me,” you roll your eyes, the feeling you had in the pit of your stomach finally coming true, “so is making you steak a dumb idea? Would you prefer I suck your dick as thanks?” 

Namjoon was somewhat shocked by your cool tone, watching you flip the steaks and almost cringing at the loud searing returning. Although he liked the words that came out of your mouth, he would have preferred if it came out in a moan. Something about the way you refused to look him in the eye caused him to swallow nervously. 

“N- no, I didn’t expect an extravagant thanks. The steaks will be fine.” He explained, sighing softly and allowing his face to fall into his hands. 

Silence fell over the two of you, Namjoon suddenly missing the blaring music that filled his ears 10 minutes ago. He nervously listened as you explained how to make the salad. He did so quietly, his hands carefully shredding the lettuce then mixing the ingredients to make the vinaigrette. 

You rolled your neck, exhaling through your nose. When you heard him admit his interest in you, you immediately wanted to hide yours. Sure, your feelings were reciprocated but he was a TA, he was basically your teacher. You couldn’t do anything with him, he’s likely the one to by grading your test. If anyone found out, favoritism would be called even if you did get everything right. 

“I’m sorry, I must have read you wrong earlier.” Namjoon’s voice sliced through the silence. His hands held the whisk loosely, dipping his pinky in to make sure the vinaigrette tasted good. 

“No, you didn’t.” You spoke carefully, pulling out plates and setting the steaks on each plate. 

“Would you be upset if I said I was confused?” Namjoon felt like he had to walk on eggshells. Sure, you didn’t necessarily yell at him earlier but he was much more careful of every word he said. 

“We can’t do anything, Namjoon,” you cut up a couple of hard boiled eggs and threw it into the bowl of salad, “you’re my TA. It’d be inappropriate. Believe me, I’ve been imagining going down on you for ages but it’s just not in the cards.” 

This whole conversation was so mature, Namjoon wasn’t used to so much honesty from women and he certainly didn’t expect it from you. Especially since you denied your interest in him so vehemently on the first day. It was new territory, he never had a problem waning women in his direction before.  

“Teacher’s Assistant or not, I still feel like we’d be good. Besides, I’m only your TA for a couple more months.” Namjoon said, finally tossing the salad together. 

“What makes you say that?” 

“Because I like you. Genuinely. You’re smart, funny, and one hell of a gorgeous girl.” Namjoon explained, using tongs to lay the salad on the plate beside the steak. 

You smiled at his compliment, grabbing forks and knives out of the drawer. Initially you planned on eating at the table but you decided to stand at the island, sliding a plate over to Namjoon and watching him cut his steak and eat. He moaned at the taste, gesturing wildly at his plate while he chewed. 

“This shit is immaculate.” 

After a few moments, Namjoon had eaten half his steak and you finished your salad. You found a good moment to speak again, “You’re saying you want something more than sex?” 

“The sex would be nice, but I’d like to take you out on a date as well,” he takes another bite, “dinner and dessert.” 

You chewed slowly, thinking over his words carefully. It was true, you’d only have to hide it for a couple months. That is if everything lasted that long. You looked him up and down, weighing the pros and cons. As far as you were concerned, there couldn’t be a con. 

If anything, dating him even briefly would be fun. A college romance. 

“What would be the dessert?” You questioned, taking his now empty plate and slipping it into the sink. 

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, revealing a devilish smirk when he was done. “Well, you of course.” 

You inhaled, watching him stand from his stool and walk around the island. “That is, if you want to be my dessert.” 

Finally, you nodded. Namjoon took your nod as permission, leaning down carefully and pressing a small kiss to your lips. You could taste the raspberry vinaigrette on his tongue when he slipped it gently between your lips. His hand held the back of your neck, his thumb stroking your soft exposed skin. 

Nothing about how he looked could prepare you for the sudden arousal you felt just at his touch. His hands were large, you wanted them all over your body but the stayed at the back of your neck. 

He gave no hint of taking it any further, pulling away just as softly as he started. His lips pressed a kiss to each of your cheeks, then the tip of your nose before pulling away completely. 

Your eyes fluttered back open once you felt his touch leave your body, and then you felt cold everywhere but where he once held you. “Thank you for the dinner, (Y/N).” 

“Wait! You don’t get to get me all hot and bothered and then leave after kissing me!” You yelled, calling after him while he once again made his way to your front door. He paused, turned, and grinned, “Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to bend you over the counter and fuck you into oblivion. I just- I don’t want to mess it up before it even starts.” 

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying desperately to find the words you wanted to say. Your mind was reeling with him, even though it was only a few seconds, his kiss was the most sensual thing you had ever experienced in your entire life. 

“I don’t think fucking me over the counter would mess anything up.” You replied, both shy and ready to rip your clothes off at the same time. 

Namjoon’s cock twitched in his pants at your words, swallowing. “So you’re okay with me fucking you before I take you on a date?” 

“Namjoon,” the way you said his name, desperation rolling off the tip of your tongue, turned him on more than anyone ever has, “I’m begging you to fuck me.” 

That’s what he wanted to hear. 

Namjoon rushed back over to you, his hands at your hips and gripping them roughly in his fingers. His lips were much more rushed, hard against yours. His teeth captured your bottom lip, tugging it gently. 

You grinned at the feeling building in your core, his strong hands lifting you onto the counter. He rested between your legs, only pulling away to take his shirt off of his body. His golden skin shined beneath the lights of your kitchen, your eyes scanning him for just a moment before bringing him down to your lips again. 

You lifted your hips enough for him to slide your pants down your legs. You wrapped them around his hips, grinding softly against him. The whines that left your mouth were sinful and it took everything in Namjoon not to cum just to the sound of your voice.

You pulled away, breathless. Your lips latched onto his neck, biting and sucking harshly.

“Still want to go down on me?” Namjoon grinned. 

You didn’t hesitate in dropping off the counter and onto your knees, unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them down his legs. Before moving on, you removed your Tank top from your body, your chest bouncing while you excitedly moved. 

Namjoon’s mouth went dry as he spotted your hard nipples, wanting desperately to latch his lips around them. 

Urgency was felt between the two of you, both of you waiting to feel the rush of pleasure. You pulled his cock out from his jeans, already hard and ready for your lips to wrap around it. You pumped it a few times, smearing precum across the tip before looking up at him through your lashes. 

His hand stroked your hair softly, giving you a subtle nod and urging you to continue. Finally, you licked a long stripe on the underside of his pulsing cock and hearing him moan loudly. You couldn’t help but moan back, watching him throw his head back. 

It was the perfect size, you were able to swallow his cock with ease. Your eyes began to water when he held your head all the way down, burying your nose in his pelvic bone. 

His chest was heaving, and you had never felt sexier. 

Even though you were only going down on him, you still felt pleasure in giving him pleasure. The way his hips tutted into your mouth, shoving his member further down your throat, had you reeling. You slipped your free hand between your legs, rubbing harshly on your clothed clit. 

Your hips lifted and dropped while you tried to find the best angle, you knew you could come just from sucking Namjoon dry. 

“Fuck, you feel so good baby.” Namjoon cried out, watching as his cock thrust in and out of your swollen lips. He continued to guide your head, your other hand dropping as he began to fully fuck your mouth. 

He noticed where your hands were, electrifying pleasure rushing through his body at the sight of you rubbing your clit beneath him. “If you don’t want me to cum on your tongue then I suggest stopping now.” 

There was no way you were stopping now, you felt yourself grow closer and closer to your release. As your movements sped up on your clit, you sucked harder. 

“Ah, ah! Princess please-” Namjoon pleaded, “(Y/N)...” Your name rolled off the tip of his tongue with a grunt.

As you felt your release wash over your body, cum sputtered out of Namjoon’s cock, coating your tongue and the back of your throat. He pulled out until the tip of his cock rested on your tongue, finishing off his orgasm. 

You knew you had soaked through your panties, but you had never came so hard just from touching someone. As Namjoon pulled away, you swallowed the bitter taste and looked up at his completely fucked out expression. 

“Holy shit.” He pulled you up, capturing your lips yet again. It shocked you, as every other man you had been with refused to kiss you after they had cum in your throat. “You are amazing.” 

“S- same to you.” You stuttered, your legs still weak from your release. 

Namjoon dipped his hand down your panties, shocked by the wetness enveloping his fingers. “You’re so wet.” He grinned, he knew he had an affect on you but he didn’t know it was this strong. 

He slid onto his knees, panic rushing over your features, “What are you doing?” 

“Well you made me feel good, now it’s your turn.” He explained, pulling your leg over his shoulder and slipping your panties to the side. 

“I already came...” You said shyly, Namjoon’s pupil’s blown at the sight of your soaked slit. 

“Really? Just from-” you nodded, seeing his shocked expression, “well you get to come again.” 

Before you had a second to gather your thoughts, Namjoon buried his face between your legs. Already weak from before, you felt yourself lean back on the counter for support while his tongue attacked your entrance. You gasped at the sudden feeling of his warmth, his fingers holding open your lips as he moved against you fervently. You don’t think you had ever came so quickly after another, but in seconds you found yourself releasing on his lips, feeling them turn into a smirk while he excitedly lapped up your juices. 

As you tried to gather yourself, you heard your front door unlock. Both of you shared a panicked look, Namjoon slipping his jeans back up his legs and doing the belt up quickly. You looked around, noticing your pants on the other side of the kitchen, and it was too late. 

You heard footsteps approach on the wooden floor, and Namjoon slid you behind him, hiding your unclothed torso. 

“Hey (Y/N) did your hot tutor le- oh my god.” Tamara was cut off by the scene in front of her, Namjoon pushing you to his back while you hid behind him. Peaking your head out, you let out an embarrassed laugh, “I thought you were spending the night at your boyfriend’s.” 

“You said he was just tutoring you and you had sex in our kitchen?” Tamara’s mouth dropped open as she looked around at various items of clothes thrown around. 

“That’s my bad,” Namjoon spoke up, his face warm. From the sex or the embarrassment, he wasn’t sure, “I couldn’t help myself.” 

Tamara only raised an eyebrow at him, shaking her head and turning away. 

You let out a breath, sighing and hugging Namjoon’s back. He chuckled, turning in your arms and hugging you back. “Well that was a fun ride.” 

“Joon,” you still hid your face from him, his laugh filling your ears, “we can’t have sex in my kitchen again.” 

“Awe,” he pouted, grabbing your chin and lifting to meet your eyes, “but I still haven’t bent you over the counter.” 

You gasped at his words, slapping his chest playfully before leaning away and slipping your shirt back on. He dressed himself as well, handing you your pants and watching you cover your gorgeous body. 

“Are you going to stay the night?” You question innocently, most wondering if you needed to grab more pillows for your bed. Namjoon smiled softly, his hands yearning to hold you again but he held himself back, opting to scratch his neck to keep himself busy instead.

“Do you want me to?” 

“It’d be nice.” You grinned, excited at the prospect of falling asleep in his arms. 

Namjoon nodded, following you to your bedroom. 

~*~*~ 

The next morning was busy. You both woke up late, mostly because every time Namjoon’s alarm went off he snoozed it. 

The rest of the night was spent in your bedroom, talking about your aspirations while a movie played in the background. Your fingers clasped together, your heads on the same pillow. He never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you, and for that he was grateful. Never has a woman been so intellectually stimulating to him. 

When you did finally manage to tear yourself out of bed, Namjoon reached out for you in his half-asleep state. “Come back,” his voice was deep but still came out in a whine, “we can skip today.” 

“No we can’t,” you murmur, laying down beside him and pushing his hair from his face, “I already missed my first two classes. The next one is the one we both have to go to, if you and I miss it on the same day it’ll be suspicious.” 

Namjoon sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and sitting up. You pulled an outfit out from your closet, undressing and changing. Namjoon still sat on the bed, watching you in awe while he learned your morning routine. 

“What’s that perfume you use?” He asked after a moment, remembering the distinct strawberry scent that he always smelled radiating off of your clothes. You held up a perfume, “Gucci flora, it’s my favorite.” You smiled. 

Finally, he got up and slipped his clothes from yesterday on. You cringed, “You’re gonna have to go to class in the same clothes as yesterday.” 

He shrugged, “I’m sure no one will notice.” 

Namjoon pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, fluffing up the back of your hair for you. 

So quickly did he fall into you. Everything about you was so captivating, down to the way you brushed your teeth. He knew from the first day you walked into that classroom that you were a heartbreaker, and he just prayed every day since he started tutoring you that he was an exception. He wondered how deeply you felt about him, or whether it was on a surface level. Trying not to think about negative things, he shook his head and followed you out of your house. 

When you both made it to the science building, Namjoon waited a moment to walk in after you did. As you sat down at your seat, you couldn’t help but watch Namjoon as he slipped into TA mode. Ready for him was a stack of papers to grade, and you knew you weren’t getting much of a look from him today. Either way, you were happy with the progress the two of you had made in one short night, not that you were expecting any of it to happen. 

The class went by a lot slower than you wanted, and it wasn’t until the professor dismissed you did you realize you had almost fallen asleep while you watched yet another video on Tycho Brahe. 

Everyone filed out of the classroom, and as you got up to leave you stole a glance to Namjoon. He dawned a pair of glasses and read intently on whatever he had in his hand. 

As the professor spoke to a student at the door, you made your way over to Namjoon, tapping your finger on the desk quietly to get his attention. He looked up, slipping off the glasses from his face and grinned, “Well hello gorgeous.” 

You blushed at his words, “I’m going to head back home, you can come if you want?” 

“Hm, I think I’m going to the arcade with my friend. I can come by after that?” He suggested, and you tried to hide your disappointment. Namjoon could sense it, “I’ll come by tonight for sure. Do you like take out?” 

You nodded, “I’d like that.” 

“Miss (Y/L/N)! I’ve seen your improvement and I’m glad, Namjoon has certainly helped you.” The professor walked over to you to, pulling you out of the trance that was Namjoon’s deep brown eyes. 

“Uh, yeah he’s certain good at teaching,” you stuttered, “I’m glad he offered to tutor me.” 

The professor nodded, “Well like I said before, I can’t wait to give you that A.” He patted your shoulder, and you took that as an opportunity to slip out of the room. Namjoon waved to you before discussing something with the professor. You watched for a moment, biting your lip then walking down the hallway and out the door. 

When you made it back to your house, your roommate sat on the couch in her pajamas. You rose an eyebrow, “I thought you had a lecture at 2 today.” 

“I skipped it,” She shrugged, “where’s your boytoy?” 

“At the arcade with a friend of his,” you explained, plopping down beside her and cringing at some reality show she watched. She paused occasionally to explain why some person was yelling at another and you tried to listen to the best of your ability but you couldn’t help but think back to last night. 

Sure, you enjoyed the physicality of everything but once you two began talking about things other than Astrophysics, you learned a whole lot more about him than you expected to. 

His love for rap and music in general was heart-warming, mentioning briefly on how he wished to one day drop a mixtape and maybe get signed. You encouraged him even though you hadn’t heard a single second of anything he’s ever written. Either way, you knew that he could do it because there wasn’t anything in the world you could imagine him being bad at. 

When he asked you about your dreams, you weren’t sure how to answer. You had always taken a, ‘it is what it is’ approach to everything. Yes, you did preemptively take Business Marketing as a gateway into adulthood, but as far as everything else went, you were unsure. 

Eventually you managed a small, “I’m happy to be alive.” 

Namjoon smiled, enjoying the simplicity of your answer. 

You shook your head from thoughts of last night, wiping the grin off your face. 

Just as you saw Tamara drift off to sleep, your phone lit up. 

friend is being lame, can I come over? 

Your heart was giddy, excited to see the man who couldn’t leave your mind. Quickly, you responded. 

please do

You locked your phone and waited on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through the TV while Tamara snored softly. You sighed, wondering if you should tell her to leave for a bit. You decided against it, knowing that he has had men over many times when you were just a thin wall away. 

You hopped up at the sound of a gentle knock on the door, practically throwing the door open to see Namjoon. His smile stretched across his face, “Hi baby.” 

You pulled him into the house, shushing him when you walked passed the living room. He chuckled softly, and when you were down the hall and in your room, he slipped his jacket off of his shoulders. 

“Soo,” you were suddenly shy, realizing you weren’t sure how tonight was going to go, “how was the arcade.” 

“Dumb,” Namjoon replied honestly. You noticed he went home and finally changed from yesterday’s clothes, a tight black T-shirt now hugging his skin. He hopped on the bed beside you, “my friend refuses to let anyone ruin his high score.” 

You giggled, “Ah KSJ? Some girl in my Marketing Research class has been talking about him a lot.” 

Namjoon nodded, “That man has more of an affect than he realizes.” 

It was quiet for a moment, and you watched while he adjusted himself onto your bed. He closed his eyes, and it amazed you at how quickly he became comfortable with you. He was already treating you like you had been together for a while, and you couldn’t complain. You enjoyed skipping the ‘get to know me’ phase, because you know as time goes on you will learn more about each other and in better ways than the standard first date. 

Still, even though you had already done some of the most intimate things with the man, you found yourself in awe of him. His chest rose and fell softly, and you realized that you hadn’t kissed him since this morning. You yearned for his touch but tried desperately not to come off as needy. 

You laid beside him, just far enough away for him to notice. Namjoon opened an eye, “You okay?” 

“I’m good, yeah.” You smiled, swallowing nervously. 

“How come you’re not touching me?” His question was loaded, though it came off innocent. His eyes were closed again, waiting for your verbal response. His hands, clasped behind his head, made his biceps flex beneath the tight black fabric. 

Earlier hesitation gone, you leaned your head onto his shoulder, feeling his arm move and fall around you as if he had been doing this for years. 

You snuggled into him, your eyes growing heavy. 

“Did I really come over here just to nap?” Namjoon asked outloud, more to himself than you. You nodded against him, feeling yourself fall asleep on his chest. 

~*~*~ 

Namjoon hadn’t been around since he fell asleep with you, and you assumed with everything going on that he was busy. He was sure to send a few texts your way a day, being sure to let you know that he can’t stop thinking about you. Even in class, you didn’t talk much but you didn’t mind, focusing on things that you needed to. 

Now it was Saturday night, your legs crossed on your bed and copious amounts of homework and papers surrounding you. Almost finishing, your hands filled out each question when you heard your ringtone throughout the room. 

“Hello?” You answered without looking, putting on your customer service voice out of habit from many years ago. 

“I still haven’t bent you over the table.” Namjoon sounded through, music coming through the speaker. You gasped at his words, immediately dropping your pencil, “Are you drunk?” 

“No,” he giggles, shushing someone else beside him, “I just want you. This bar is boring without you.” 

“You haven’t drank with me though?” You tease, questioning his motives for calling you. He shouted to someone in the corner, telling them to stop talking shit, “I bet you’re sexy when you’re drunk. Not that you aren’t sexy all the time, but I think you’d be even more wet than before if you drank a little with me.” 

“I really hope you aren’t saying these things in front of people, Joon.” You scold, but you can’t help but feel the heat between your legs at his words. You imagined him at a table with his friends, his hand over the speaker while he spoke dirty words into your ears. 

“I’m coming over.” Namjoon said, and he hung up without another word. 

You look around, quickly cleaning up your papers and books, sliding them onto your night stand. You rushed to the bathroom, brushing your teeth quickly. You weren’t exactly sure what to expect, so you changed from your sweats and into a satin nightgown. You studied your reflection carefully, shaking your head and changing into something else. 

Black and red lingerie rested on your body, and you knew you were finally ready. As if expecting that you were ready, Namjoon knocked on the door. You rushed to the door, the knocking not stopping until you were opening it. He took a moment to look at your scantily clad body, an audible groan slipping from his lips. 

He was drunk, or at least tipsy. He’s eyes were clouded over and every inch of your body only turned him on.

No words were exchanged, only Namjoon grabbing your face in his large hands and kissing you passionately. He pushed you into your house, his lips not leaving yours. You silently thanked your roommate for leaving, not having to worry about be walked in on until the morning. He already had the layout of your house memorized, carefully navigating through your hallway until he reached your bathroom. 

Confused, you pulled away when you heard the door creek, “What are you-” 

“I want you in the shower,” Namjoon said, already ripping off his shirt, “and as much as I would love to fuck you in that tiny little outfit, I like when you’re naked even more.” 

It didn’t take much to convince you. He stumbled out of his jeans, no boxers to be seen underneath. You watched him with a smirk on your face, his hand turning the shower on and testing the temperature. 

When he turned back to you, it felt like something switched in him, “Why aren’t you undressed?” 

Your core twitched at the demanding tone of his voice. He wasn’t hard yet, he held himself off from stroking himself until he saw that you were wet and ready. 

You unclasped your bra, slipping it from around your shoulders. He grabbed your arm, guiding you to the water and silently asking for you to test it. When you felt the warm liquid surround your hand, you nodded and stepped out of your panties. 

Without giving you much time to adjust, Namjoon was behind you, pulling the shower head off of the mount and switching it to massage mode. 

“I thought you wanted to fuck me?” You questioned, such dirty words falling from your sinful mouth. Namjoon smiled down at you, his cock rutting against your backside in anticipation, “I do, but I want to make you feel good as well.” 

He brought the shower head over the front of your body, running the water over everywhere he would kiss if he were in bed. Your tits were perky, a perfect handful for Namjoon to grab and tug at while the water moved down lower. 

His feet kicked yours apart, spreading your legs ever-so-slightly and allowing the harsh water jets to hit your clit directly. Immediately, your legs grew weak. Namjoon wrapped his other arm around your waist, holding you up while the jets pounded against your clit. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, Namjoon’s cock twitching from behind you, “more.” 

Suddenly, he felt much more sober than previously, “What was that, baby?” 

“More, please. More.” Was all you could manage out, your head thrown back onto his shoulder while you clawed backward, desperate to touch him in any way you possibly could. When your hands settled on the back of your neck, you felt yourself growing closer and closer to your orgasm. 

Just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Namjoon pulled away, his lips attacking your neck while you whined from the lack of sensation against you. The water jets was replaced with his fingers, “I can’t take it anymore. I have to be inside you.” 

Catching your breath, you turned to him and kissed him harshly. Your nails raked down his abs, feeling the muscles clench at every touch against him. You gripped his now hard cock in your manicured hand, pumping it up and down quickly. 

“Are you sure you’re ready for me?” If he could tease you, you could tease him right back, “you might cum too quickly. I don’t know if you could last inside of me.” 

“Cocky, huh? Bend over. Now.” Namjoon demanded, not having any of it. As you turned around, your head under the water, Namjoon rubbed the head of his cock up and down your slit, collecting up your wetness and groaning at the feeling of you finally so close to him. 

He didn’t ask if you were ready like he wanted to, but the feeling was overwhelming, just running his cock over you was enough to send him into the most intense rush of pleasure he’s ever felt in his entire life and he forgot how to move his tongue to create the words running through his head. 

All he could do was slowly sink into you, earning a delicious moan from you. You gripped onto the railing in front of you, his length filling you and stretching you out in the best way possible. Even with the water running over both of you, you were numb to everything that wasn’t him. His fingertips digging into your hips, his length moving in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace. In that moment, your entire being was consumed by him and him alone. 

“More.” You moaned, much like earlier except your voice was filled with much more need than before. Namjoon couldn’t help himself, though, continuing his slow thrusts. Whines, glorious and loud, filled the shower, echoing off of the walls. Namjoon was quiet, just listening to you while your knuckles turned white from gripping the handles. 

“Fuck!” you shout, letting go of the railing and leaning up, just enough for Namjoon’s hands to return to your breasts, massaging them as he finally began to speed up his motions. 

“I love that you’re so loud,” Namjoon manages, grunting while he spoke, “tell me more. Tell me how much you like it.” 

“You feel so good, Namjoon,” you look back at him, his eyes screwed shut and his hair soaked, droplets of water dripping from the ends of his hair, “you’re so big, I love your- I love-” your eyes rolled to the back of your head. You weren’t able to form anymore words as Namjoon’s cock hit just the right place to have you rolling in pleasure. 

“Come on, babygirl. You have to tell me.” His thrusts were faster, sloppier, and his fingers found their way back down to your clit. His calloused fingers spread your lips, moving in a figure 8 while he timed his thrusts with each twist of his finger. 

“I want you to fill me up!” You cry out, and you knew you weren’t helping Namjoon in anyway from the way your legs gave out. His arms held you close though, keeping you up so easily.

Namjoon buried his face in your shoulder, “You’re so fucking hot, please tell me you’re close.” His words were muffled but you could understand him loud and clear.

“Mmhmm.” You managed, biting your lip. 

“Say it.” 

“I’m going to come,” you moan, and then your release washed over your body in waves. Everything was too much, the way you came undone beneath him and the feeling of you squeezing his cock. He was a mess, and after a few more thrusts, he pulled his cock out of you and released onto your ass, letting you go in the process. 

You fall forward, grabbing the railing yet again for support and feeling his hot cum drench your lower half. With your orgasm still running its course, you felt your knees buckle while you dropped. 

Namjoon was quick to reach forward and catch you, setting you down on the ledge of the top and moving the hair out of your face. “Are you okay baby?” 

You nodded, “I’m more than okay.” 

Namjoon grinned, leaning down and kissing your cheeks, “Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

After cleaning you up, Namjoon massaged shampoo and conditioner throughout your hair, inhaling the sweet scent of coconut. Afterward, he even brushed your hair while you were wrapped in a towel, then finally handing you his shirt to sleep in. 

“So,” you said later that night, stroking his hair while you listened to music, “we going to go on that date you said you wanted to take me out on?”

“Breakfast tomorrow?” He looks up at you, that dimpled smirk stretching across his face. 

“I’d like that.” You grin, leaning down and giving him one of many kisses. 

[rose-director]

Blooming Roses, part 1

Content warnings:

Masks

Face covering

Momentary loss of breath

Neural connection

Hypnotic theming

Corporate setting

Cyberpunk

Description:

A new hire at Rose Cybernetics is given their final interview.

~2800 words

Story:

The megalithic building stands proud against the concrete and glass towers beside it, making mortals of titans. Sheer, elegant, imposing; the structure kisses the sky, inspiring awe in those who observe it. This effect becomes overwhelming in its courtyard, where these same observers are rendered ants in a temple of giants. You let a breath fill your lungs, feeling it sweep out through your anxious smile. Here it is. Rose Cybernetics.The sliding doors of the atrium open with a hissed breath as you enter. You knew that the company did its best to impress its visitors, but if the scale of the building hadn't already set an imposing stage, its lobby would finish its show. Seeming as though it was open to the air, the 'ceiling' of this enormous space rests comfortably at the top of the building itself. From this, a tiered array of circular floors wrap along the outer walls like a serpent's coils. Light permeates the structure from a myriad of sources, all carrying a natural hue that - if what you've heard is accurate - mirrors the color of the sky outside. The sterile whites and greys of the building carry accents of saturated color across its industrial carpeting and in stripes along its walls. Of a similar color set, furniture that seems more like modern art gives the entire area an almost organic quality. The structure itself, though, is complemented in its unique qualities by those within. Figures all around you work busily, writing on whiteboards, collaborating in clusters of various sizes, darting from group to group, and delivering items as though their need was known preemptively. Interestingly, these forms all appear dissimilar from each other. They represent myriads of body types, clothing styles, and gender presentations, yet they all wear a sleek cover across their faces; a brushed, dark curve that obscures all facial features while displaying imagery of its owner's choice. Pulling your attention from your surroundings, you return to your task. A desk labeled 'check-in' sits at the atrium's center, and inquiring there seems to be the place to start. "Hello, welcome to the Rose Cybernetics Center! How can we help you?" The person at the desk carries a spritely, delicate voice, and their words appear across their faceplate as they speak. Almost as if understanding your hesitation, the words 'she/her/hers' flash across her screen. "I- um, hi," You've practiced this interaction many times before, but trying to get words out when you're already off-beat is a bit like trying to tame a tiger while wearing rollerblades. The staffer looks at you again, tilting her head curiously in a motion that dangles her blonde ponytail against her shoulder. It's unsettling to interact with someone with no face, yet looking into her faceplate is somehow calming all the same. Rippling waves of various colors splash across the black of her display, soothing cool tones that remind you of northern lights. You take a breath to settle your heart, acclimating yourself to the unusual sight, and try again. "I'm here for my in-person interview. I-I heard that you'd be expecting me?" Even without seeing her face, you get a good sense of the smile under her faceplate as its colors take on a gentle warm hue. "Of course, applicant 3B90, right this way." The staffer stands and walks out from behind the desk, as another worker wordlessly takes her place. You find yourself unsettled by the exchange; it almost felt more mechanical than human. Suppressing a shudder, you follow the staffer as she leads you to one of the elevator wells built into the side of the building."If you don't mind, um," you speak, immediately cursing the way your words always drift away midsentence. "How can I help you, applicant 3B90?" The warmth associated with her smile appears again, easing some of the anxiety in your chest."It's ah. Sydney, please. What's your name?" "Oh, I'm sorry, Sydney. I'm GIU-2CE5, but you can call me 2C if you like!" As with all of her words, these too float across her display, as does a small '^-^' emoticon afterward. Having gotten more accustomed to the way she emotes, you see the way her tone seems to perk up at the opportunity to share this particular bit of information."Sure," you say as she guides you into an elevator and presses a button for one of the middle floors, "that's your employee number, or um. Whatever, but how about your name?" She pauses for a moment, and you can see her faceplate's slow visualization stutter briefly as she thinks. "Nope, but 2C's my nickname!" It's painfully clear to you that she likes that 'nickname' at least, and you doubt you'll get further on this line of questions, so you let it go with a sigh. "2C it is, then." Okay, maybe it *is* a bit cute to see her get excited about something so simple.The elevator dings and she leads you out through its doors, grabbing your hand to pull you along. The contact is startling, but you don't seem to mind too much as you shrug and let the enthusiastic girl drag you along. On these lofted floors, full glass windows look out on the open atrium while the walls of offices and cubicles emerge, finally welcoming you into something more familiar. She pulls you into an office, empty except for two chairs and a small cabinet, and gestures for you to take a seat. You comply, settling into a piece of furniture that has no business being as comfortable as it is. 2C takes the opposite chair, crossing her legs. "Okay, Sydney, I'll be conducting your interview! Let me know, and we can go ahead and get started." Hearing this surprises you. Sure, you keep an open mind when it comes to most things, but getting interviewed by a front desk greeter for a network administration position is almost surreal. "Alright, so what is this, exactly?" 2C's 'smile' flashes again, and she cheerily explains the Rose Cybernetics hiring process. You know most of this stuff already; the company runs a series of difficult online challenges that lead the way to their application portal. From there, you don't need to submit a resume (thankfully, since yours is in desperate need of some TLC), but they do ask you to solve a problem in realtime over an internet call. If you've shown your skill, they speak with you in a brief remote interview to learn more about you as a person, then give you one final in-person meeting. This last interview, to your knowledge, is a formality; they'd already told you to bring everything you needed to move in, after all. It's at this point where the details get fuzzy, though. As much as you've searched for information about what this would even be, you'd found nothing but missing links and dead-ends. "This meeting is a different kind of test! We're going to hook you into our internal network for a moment, and see how you take to it." She reads your confused look, and the waves on her display bubble lightly, almost in a light giggle. "What do you mean? Will I have a laptop?" You watch as the laughing effect grows. She holds up a hand as if to ask for just a moment, then stands and walks over to the cabinet. Sliding out a slim, black box, she strides back over to you and places the box in your lap. It's blank, unadorned, and made of showy cardboard. You start removing the lid, suction keeping the base from falling as it slides slowly, and an idea of what might be waiting inside dawns on you. Tossing away the newly-liberated lid, you stare directly into the item you'd been expecting and dreading; a faceplate, returning your stare.Just above the glossy covering, embedded into the packaging foam, a small bolt-like object sits ominously. You've already seen the faceplates, but this thing..? It makes the whole situation even more concerning. "Don't worry about that receiver - for now, just put your faceplate on - I bet you'd look so cute! Oh, I'm so excited, I get to see what your display shows before anyone else!" 2C's demeanor is a confusing thing; her screen jumps and reacts to her mood, and so does her voice, but her body language and physical responses - while present - are significantly muted. Her posture is almost perfect, and her movement is unsettlingly smooth. Just one more uncanny part of this business, you suppose. Considering your current situation, you catch yourself worrying about the results of this interview again, for very different reasons this time. Your eyes widen with anxiety, as your heart beats faster in your chest. "Sydney, look at me, okay?" her faceplate's coloration shifts back to those comfortable blues and greens. "Putting the faceplate on won't do anything permanent." Her hand is holding yours. "It'll press against your face, make a tight seal, and beam everything its cameras pick up into your eyes once it starts up." She's holding both of your hands now. "When I press the receiver to your neck, it'll let you control the faceplate with your mind, just like I do!" Her display wiggles in a playful pattern for emphasis. Her hands are soft, reassuring. "Once you take them off, it'll be back to normal, okay? Just a taste now, that's what this interview is for." You nod, thoughtlessly. With 2C's hands still holding yours, you reach to the faceplate in your lap. Her reassurance pools in your chest, and after slowing your heartbeat with a couple of deep breaths, you press the dark shape to your face. It's cold, almost like your face is pressed against a window, and begins to shift against your skin. You can feel it exerting a suction force, and for a terrifying instant, you realize that you can't breathe. As you try to pull in a breath, a refreshing current of air wafts in through its respirator, and your brief panic recedes. At first, your vision is blank. Another few deep breaths go by, and imagery starts to flow back into your eyes. Dim at first, most likely to keep you from being immediately overwhelmed, slowly building until your surroundings resolve around you again. You've needed glasses, apparently; the world around you appears sharper now than before, and much more detailed. Looking over at 2C, a small blurb of information hovers over her head. It's a single word; 'contented.' You'd figured that she was just good at reading emotions, but this was cheating!"H-have you been reading me from your s-screen this whole time?" you stammer. "Oh, no, not quite. That info comes from your receiver. I'm just good at guessing!" The panel shifts to 'proud,' before progressing to 'flirty.' You're about to comment on it, when she decides to continue. "By the way, that faceplate looks so so cute on you!" Your cheeks redden, and you're, surprisingly, thankful that the unlit display is covering your face. You still have almost no idea why the company would require wearing these things, but the anonymity is surprisingly refreshing. "O-okay, I've handled the mask-faceplate-whatever, I'm good to keep going." 2C's faceplate lights up a monochrome green as she tilts her head, and you see metadata confirming that it's posed as a question. You nod again in response, and she stands up to walk behind you. Your anxiety builds at the thought of a person directly behind you, but it subsides as chilling metal touches your skin. The mechanism's electromagnetic fields warp your thoughts, pulling at them as though they were elastic. The tension builds and builds as your mind becomes a coiled spring, the receiver forcing it ever tighter. The force, the pulling, the pushing; it feels like everything that makes up your mind is about to explode. "Relax," 2C's voice cuts through the swirling forces and mental struggle, "just let go, let the flow of information sweep over you.” “Relax.” At her last word, your entire being stalls, before sinking into a state of extreme ease. All of that tension, so overwhelming moments ago, courses through your body, letting you accept this new pathway for information to travel through. As you pick up the pieces of your consciousness, you shake your face from the empty stupor it carried a moment ago - thanking your mask once again - and actively sift through the data streaming into your brain.The Rose Cybernetics building is already impressive from a visual perspective, but looking at it for what it is, the glowing connected consciousnesses of every mind in the structure lighting up before you, you feel your jaw drop automatically. Your gaze returns to 2C, whose current emotions register as 'pleased.' [You can talk to me like this now, you know.] The thoughts sound like her voice, and you jump as you hear them. [It's strange to start with, I know, but this is how we all communicate here; much faster.] Realization dawns on you, and without prompting, your thoughts pour through the connection between you. [How do I respond- oh wait I'm responding now this is amazing but hard to control how do I sto-] flows out of you, in combination with a variety of related emotions, images, and half thoughts. You spend the remaining interview time experimenting with this paradigm shift in interaction, communication, and existence that's somehow both entirely new, yet confusingly familiar and natural. After only a few minutes, it feels as though 2C understands you on a deeper level than anyone you've ever met, just as your understanding of her reaches that same depth. She explains that for the sake of getting you used to this, she's the only one linked to you. She shares - with enthusiasm - that after you've had enough time to acclimate to this shift, you'll be able to open connections with anyone and everyone in the entire facility. Her excitement bounces through your mind, and you can't help but let that positivity bubble up until it begins to play across your faceplate, too. Your display is a lot less abstract than 2C's; instead of the amorphous waves against a black background, your faceplate decorates itself with images of the cosmos. Galaxies, nebulas, constellations, all proudly used to emote in a way that words never could. It feels freeing, strangely enough, wearing a screen like this. It's a window, you think, glasses for the mind. You can feel 2C thinking to herself, the sign to expect a burst of new information broadcast from her mind to yours. As you do, you can't help but think just how cute she is! So excited over being called 2C; of course, if someone called you 3B90, you'd probably melt too. It's confusing to you, looking back, why you thought that names were so important. After all, designations are just so much more convenient! [You were broadcasting that, 3B,] 2C's smug feeling drips between your connection. Your blush returns to paint your cheeks bright red, and you notice another - somewhat less innocuous - response between your legs. She waits, perfectly aware of the effect her words carried as she feels it flowing through her mind from yours, before continuing. [I think that our interview was a success! Come back tomorrow, and we can get you fitted with a permanent set.] [I have to take it off?] [It'll be alright, just one more day.] Through your mental link, she sends you more feelings of relief, complemented by a physical hug. She looks up at you for a moment questioningly, before you nod gently, confirming your begrudging acceptance as she pulls the receiver away from your neck. With all that meta-information gone, you squeeze against her even tighter to compensate. As your mask falls away, you feel strange; naked even. Leaving the office room, stepping into the elevator, and giving your goodbyes to 2CE5 all serve the singular goal of making you feel that much more alone. For a brief moment, you consider just how strange it is to be feeling these things at the hand of your new employer, but at this point, you're in far too deep to do anything but shrug. "Before I- um... go, will I see you again?" you stumble out the question, mouth once again failing you. 2C's smile lights up her faceplate again - stars, it's so beautiful to see - and a giggle creeps out too. "I wouldn't be too worried about that, 3B! After all, I'll be your new supervisor!" Hearing your designation excites you in a way that feels almost enchanting, and you blush deeply in response. The part of you that might have questioned why she of all people would be your supervisor remains muted, as the excitement of the prospect tingles down your spine. Only a few hours ago, you would have scoffed at yourself, but now you can't help but be excited; tomorrow is your first day at Rose Cybernetics.

[hookedontaronfics]

Teasing the Bowstrings - Prompt fic

Title: Teasing the Bowstrings Pairing: Taron x reader Rating: T Warnings: Some light cursing, some very brief allusions to sex [but no actual smut - at least not yet...] A/N: This fluffy fic was generated off a prompt and I don’t think y’all will ever look at archery the same way again! I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you enjoy reading it too! x Prompt: Hi, what about a reader x taron one where the reader is his teacher for archery for the robin hood movie and they develop feelings for each other?

There you were, perched on your forearms and toes, every muscle in your body straining to keep you in that position as the sweat dripped from your face. You checked your stopwatch again - this had to be the slowest possible minute in the world. You sucked in your breath and held it, closing your eyes and relying on your mental toughness to stick it out as your muscles started shaking, before the little beep told you you could collapse to the mat in utter exhaustion. Five minutes. You had made it in the plank five whole minutes, a new personal best.

Friday morning burns truly were the best.

You finished your morning routine at the gym with some light stretching before hitting the showers, using the soap to massage your sore muscles as you went. Even though you were already fit, today’s training session had kicked your ass and you knew you were going to feel it for days.

Once you had finished rinsing off, you dressed quickly in a pair of sweatpants and a sports bra and tanktop, and checked your phone only to find six missed texts from Lars asking you for a massive favor.

<Yeah, what do you need Lars?> you asked, wondering if it would interfere with your afternoon plans.

<Something came up and I can’t make my 11 a.m. client. Would you mind? I can send over the agenda but it’s nothing you haven’t done before. I’d really rather not cancel if I don’t have to.>

<Yeah, sure, no prob. I’m already on this end of town. I’ll just swing by the training center.> You texted back, hurrying to your car and tossing your gym bag in the back. You had just enough time to grab a cold-pressed green juice from your favorite place on the way over. A surprise archery session wasn’t exactly out of the picture ever since you’d become Lars Andersen’s assistant. You were one of the top-ranked amateur competitive archers in the UK; it was a title you rather enjoyed wearing. Learning the art of trick archery, well, that had just become a fun hobby to add to your resume.

Your phone pinged with the client’s lesson agenda. You opened the text and scrolled through the document quickly as you waited in the drive-thru for your juice. Most of it seemed pretty elementary. Clearly you were working with someone who didn’t have much practice, if any at all. T. Egerton. Hmmm, you didn’t recognize the name right off hand, but this should be an easy session so you didn’t worry too much about it.

You made it across town to the training center with a few minutes to spare, and checked in at the front, handing over a list of equipment for check out. The entire obstacle room had been rented out, which surprised you. Why would Lars book that out for a private session with a newbie? you wondered as you hoisted the bag of bows and arrows and guards onto your shoulder, thanked the clerk and wandered off down the hall past the main training and target range areas, still clutching your green juice in your hand.

You pulled the door open and stepped inside, your eyes quickly assessing where each target was in practiced fashion. You didn’t even notice you did it; it had just simply been ingrained in you after years of training. You tsk’d slightly to yourself as the room was actually quite a mess; you went off to arrange a few targets how you wanted them, waiting on Lars’ client to show up. Soon enough the door opened and a bright-eyed man strode in, brimming with energy and apologizing profusely for being late. By one minute. Oh boy, this might be interesting, you thought as you went over to greet him.

“The name’s y/n, nice to meet you. I’m Lars’ assistant, on occasion. He couldn’t make it and asked me to take over your session for today,” you said, offering your hand.

“Taron,” he just grinned, taking your hand and giving it a firm shake. You looked him over; he was incredibly unassuming in a sweatshirt and jeans, a ballcap pulled low over his eyes.

“Just Taron?” you laughed at that, though you already knew his last name from the agenda sheet.

He just grinned back at you. “I figured you already knew who I was,” he said sheepishly and shoved his hands in his pockets, almost a bit nervously.

“Yeah sorry, I don’t,” you said with a shrug.

“I’ve been in a few films,” he chuckled. “All of this,” he said, gesturing around him, “is for a new film about Robin Hood, which I’m to be in. I play Rob,” he said with a grin you couldn’t deny was adorable.

“I mean, obviously. The great archer himself,” you laughed lightly. “I can see it.”

“I’m actually quite grateful for some anonymity. It’s not always easy when everyone seems to have an idea of who you are already,” he admitted, and you wondered why he was being so open with you.

“Well, I only judge people based on how well they shoot, so, shall we get started?” you ask, going to the bag of equipment and pulling out a bow. To Lars’ credit, he kept meticulous notes so you knew what Taron had already trained with and what he hadn’t. Warming him up was probably a good idea, so you started with the ten-pound bow and some simple target practice. He seemed comfortable enough with it, and you watched his form carefully, partly to issue corrections, and partly because you found him just so damn attractive. The way his biceps rippled as he handled the bow made you a bit weak in the knees. Not that you’d tell him that; you would always stay professional. That was your job, and besides, you were sure he had to have a girlfriend or something. Someone as sweet and polite as he was must have been snatched up quickly.

You shook those thoughts out of your mind as you moved Taron to a twenty-pound bow, walking around him as he held his formation for you, inspecting him at every angle. Thank God this is only going to be one session, you thought as you pushed his elbow up ever so slightly. You were already finding it hard to keep your hands to yourself, precisely because you had to adjust him constantly. He understood what he was supposed to do, but maintaining that form was another matter. Still, you could tell he was a quick study, and he often laughed at himself when he just totally failed to make the mark, which made your job just that much easier. You always hated working with guys who were egotistical and always blamed you when they couldn’t get their arrow straight, rather than their bad form they ignored you pointing out. Taron was coachable, and that made him fun to be around.

“Alright, well, you’ve proven that you can hit a target with some level of consistency, but can you do it while moving about?” you smirked at him, wondering if he’d be willing to bite at the challenge, and of course he was game.

“I’m probably going to fail massively, but I say we give it a try, yeah?” he chuckled.

“Just remember your fundamentals, you’ll be fine,” you grinned at him.

“Remember your fundamentals, she says. Fundamentals you’ve spent years perfecting,” he said. “Alright then, let’s get on with it.”

Cheeky bastard, you thought to yourself as you outlined some moving drills for him, ones you thought were rather easy but that seemed to throw him totally off because he wasn’t hitting a damn thing, and you could tell he was getting frustrated at himself.

“Why don’t we take a break for a moment,” you suggested, but he wasn’t interested in stopping.

“I’m going to get this, you’ll see,” he said, sweat already staining the collar of his sweatshirt as he made attempt after attempt and, admittedly, getting closer and closer to at least hitting the targets. Taron was determined, you’d give him that. He was quite out of breath when he finally stopped, pointing proudly at the arrow he’d managed to sink just outside of the bullseye. “See that right there?” he grinned, pretty proud of himself and making you giggle despite yourself.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed as you grabbed a water bottle for him, but as you went to hand it to him you noticed that his bowstring hand was completely torn up.

“Taron, shit. Let me see that,” you gasped, grabbing his hand and forgetting your professionalism for a moment as you inspected the torn skin.

“It’s alright,” he shrugged but you knew it had to be painful. You’d experienced much the same as a novice over the years.

“Yeah, well, the last thing you need is an infection so let’s get that cleaned up.” You made him sit and rest while you went to retrieve the first aid kit from the front desk, and he calmly let you doctor up his hand. He didn’t jerk away when you put the antiseptic on, nor when you ever-so-carefully clipped away the ruined skin. You could feel his eyes on you, watching you go about your task, and you had no idea what he was thinking behind that green-eyed gaze. Touching his hands made you feel a thrill you were trying desperately to ignore, though.

You wrapped some gauze around his fingers, making sure he wouldn’t lose any function with them, and taped it all up. “There, how does that feel?” you asked.

“Mmm, dare I say better,” he said, wriggling them at you. “And I’m quite sure you could do all of that better too,” he chuckled, waving vaguely at the course you’d set up for him.

You gave him a smirk before grabbing a recurve bow, rather than the longbow Taron had been training with. You slung the quiver around your shoulder but pulled four arrows into your hand at once, making Taron’s eyes go wide. You effortlessly leaped and spun and twirled through the course, hitting your targets every time, and barely breaking a sweat over it.

“Now you’re just showing off!” he laughed as you tossed your hair back over your shoulder.

“Oh no, Mr. Egerton, that wasn’t showing off at all,” you smirked, before rummaging in your bag for something that could be made into a makeshift blindfold. You set up a single target about 50 meters away, before pacing between two poles and marking the stride distance in your head. This was one of your favorite tricks Lars had taught you, and you were hoping it wouldn’t fail you now in front of Taron. You wrapped the blindfold around your eyes, took up your bow and notched an arrow, and then ran backwards, mentally marking the space where the target should be in that space. You drew the bowstring back in the middle of your leap, nudged the tip of the arrow down ever so slightly and let it fly, hearing the satisfying thwack as the tip hit the target and you landed on your feet and let your continued momentum backwards absorb the shock.

“Holy shit,” Taron gasped at that, making you giggle slightly.

“Now that was showing off,” you grinned, as you heard him walk over to you. Blindfolded like this made you rely on your other senses, and you analyzed his footfalls and stride and mentally calculated the picture in your head of where he was at that moment. It was something you’d practiced for years, hitting targets blind and learning how to shoot around corners and visualize where in any given space someone or something could be. He walked softly, you noticed, carrying himself upwards, and you could also tell that despite being sweaty he still had a marked sweetness to his scent.

Why was he so close? you thought the instant before he lifted the blindfold slowly off your eyes, his intense gaze staring straight into yours. “Can you show me how to do that?” he asked, a bit breathlessly even though he’d been sitting down. A small shiver made its way through your body as his fingers had brushed lightly over your face.

“To shoot double-blind?” you said, a bit startled to be standing so close to him. You could see the light stubble shadowing his jawline and the individual color specks in his eyes. “That takes years to perfect. And probably not necessary for your film either,” you added with a laugh.

“No, I don’t mean that,” he chuckled. “The way you barely look like you’re working when you pull the bow back. I look like I’m wrestling a steer when I do it!”

You snorted at that, because he wasn’t wrong. “Alright then, get in your position,” you said, cringing at how that sounded but Taron didn’t miss a beat, focused on the task at hand. He pulled the dummy arrow back and froze in place and you sighed at his white knuckles; typical rookie mistake.

“Loosen these,” you said, tapping on the fingers he had wrapped tightly around the bow grip itself. “You don’t need to hold onto the bow for dear life. It’s not going to go anywhere, I promise. You want your grip to be steady but flexible. It let’s the bow vibrate the way it should in your hand as the arrow leaves its rest. It will fly straighter and won’t fatigue your hand and arm as much either, and in the middle of a competition the last thing you want is a hand cramp.”

“That sounds terrible,” he agreed with a laugh, doing his best to adjust his grip on the bow.

“And as for your other hand, well, you just need to think about teasing the bowstring,” you said, getting an eyebrow raise at that.

“Teasing it?” he smirked at you, even with the notch of the arrow pressed against the side of his mouth as he sighted the target. You had to admit, the way he was standing made him look powerful and athletic and, well, kind of hot.

“Yeah, like a woman. I assume you’ve had practice?” you smirked back, making Taron lose his composure completely. He managed to drop his arrow and then his bow and you couldn’t tell whether he was laughing or crying or maybe both, but it took a solid ten minutes before he managed to gain control again.

“Never thought of archery that way,” he said, wiping his face lightly.

“Everything comes back to sex, don’t you know it?” you smirked at him, handing him back his bow. “This is your woman, treat her well,” you joked.

“Well, I haven’t got any others right now,” he said, running his hand gently over the wood. You had no idea why he’d volunteered this information, but even though it surprised you, you filed it away in your brain all the same.

You picked up your own bow and showed him exactly what you meant by teasing the bowstring - to keep your fingers light but also firm around the nock, giving the arrow a chance to move in the natural way it was meant to but without too much give; pulling back the string at once both carefully but also with authority. “And when you feel you’ve reached the point of no return, where the bowstring might give out if you pull it back any further, that’s when you let it go,” you said, moving your thumb ever so slightly to release the pressure, sighting the arrow’s path all the way down its shaft as it left the riser and made its flight across the room, only to sink squarely in the bullseye. “See? Simple,” you said, looking over at Taron to find his mouth hanging slightly open. “Oh, did I lose you?” you laughed.

“No, I get what you’re saying. I just … don’t think I’ll ever have the finesse you have. You’re quite stunning,” he said, his eyes sweeping over you and making you blush despite yourself.

“It just takes practice,” you said, brushing off the compliment because you weren’t sure how to take it. “Practice I’m sure you’ll be putting in with Lars.”

“Ahh well yes, but he’s not nearly as good-looking as you,” Taron said, a bit jokingly but also with a note of truth.

“Mmm well this can’t be denied. I at least have better hair than he does,” you teased back, trying to keep things light because they were very much in danger of going a different direction. The tension in the room was as ready to snap as a bowstring. “So, try it again,” you managed, nearly choking on your own words in your haste to distract both of you from that train of thought.

He got a determined look in his eye as he took his stance again, remembering to keep his grip loose, his elbow straight and you couldn’t see anything wrong with the way he was holding his arrow. “Widen your legs,” you said in a bit of a whisper, trying desperately hard to keep your professional composure. “And square your hips with your target,” you added, and you heard Taron suck in his breath sharply at that, but he did what you told him to do and then let go of his arrow, and even if it didn’t strike dead center he still managed to hit the bullseye and fairly squealed excitedly over it.

“Did you see that?!” he giggled, hugging you cutely and having zero awareness of personal space in his excitement. But a huge part of you also didn’t mind at all.

“That was great, Taron! Now we just have to get you to do that every time,” you said with a wink. Your session time was almost up, so you only showed him a couple more things, mostly working on getting him more consistent on controlling his aim, though he asked to watch you shoot four arrows in quick succession again and you were happy to oblige.

“Think I could do that too?” he asked cutely as he helped you collect the arrows scattered about the room and return them to the quivers and the equipment bag.

“I think you could do anything you put your mind to,” you replied, realizing you actually meant it just about his life in general. The smile he returned made your stomach flip slightly; he was probably the most adorable man you’d ever met.

He insisted on grabbing the equipment bag as you grabbed the bows, hooking them over your shoulder as you both exited the training room. You returned the equipment to the front desk and walked out with Taron, who was still hanging around you.

“So same time next Friday?” he asked with a wink as he trailed you over to your car.

“Well that’s up to Lars, I suppose. I’m just his assistant and he needed me to do this as a favor,” you replied.

“Well maybe I’ll make it a special request then, eh?” he asked, smirking at you lightly over the roof of your car. 

“Yeah, sure thing Taron,” you said though you couldn’t help being secretly thrilled by the prospect of training him again.

“I meant what I said, you know. You really were stunning in there. If I could only be half as bloody amazing as you…” he trailed off, his eyes searching yours for something.

“Thank you, I’ve worked on it for a long time,” you said, unable to just ignore the way he’d somehow gotten under your skin with his laugh and his dimples and his unassumingly kind nature.

“Yeah but there’s something else there, a sort of grace you just possess in how you carry yourself too. I just don’t know that I’ve ever met anyone like you,” he replied. Your breath caught in your chest slightly as you stared at him, a whirlwind of feelings bursting through you. “I’ve certainly never enjoyed getting my ass beat by a girl so much as I have today,” he joked, making you laugh too.

“I’ll, um, see you around, Taron, I’m sure,” you said, giving him a smile and mentally kicking yourself for not saying more.

“I look forward to it,” he just grinned back at you as you ducked into your car and took a deep, steadying breath. What the hell was wrong with you? you wondered as you turned your car on and watched Taron walk to his own car. You admired his ass before catching yourself and mentally chiding yourself. You never mixed business with pleasure; things always got far too complicated and you didn’t need the drama. Not only that, Lars had put a massive amount of responsibility in your hands and you weren’t about to let him down by being stupid with a client.

All of that being said, you did wonder if Taron really would request Lars to bring you in again, or if he’d forget about you the minute he and his car pulled away, honking lightly at you as he waved. You waved back, a smile on your face, before you finally put your car in gear as well. Either way, you were going to make sure to keep next Friday open.

Well loves, hope you enjoyed it! I COULD be convinced to write a second part to this if enough of you ask for it so leave me comments/asks!

[ultsoobins]

my idiot - CYJ

requested: 

no

notes:

boxer!yeonjun and boxer!reader teach a class! some swearing and a lot of fluff

summary:

love is stored in the ring... the boxing ring, that is

“there’s 8 basic punches in boxing,” yeonjun’s voice resonates through the tiny one-room mat room, and you sit up straighter in your chair behind the receptionist’s desk.

although you’d much rather be teaching, jungkook had assigned you the front desk and yeonjun the beginners’ class for this week. you aren’t entirely sure why, of course, but you have to admit that the only time you’re okay with sitting back and watching is when the person you’re observing is yeonjun choi. you sit forward, sliding your feet off of the desk and placing your elbow on it instead, placing your chin in your palm as you do so. your gaze is trained on your best friend, your eyes curious, inquisitive about what his teaching style is.

he meets your gaze immediately once he looks over at you, and his grin widens. “(name)! care to help me demonstrate?”

yeonjun doesn’t miss how your eyes brighten at the idea of getting in some action. even so, you play it coy, shooting him a falsely reluctant expression instead. “but i’m having so much fun sitting and doing nothing,” you start, already getting out of your chair. “it’s therapeutic, really. you should try it some time.”

the two of you have always done this - the jovial push and pull between you two. you aren’t sure if it’s within your friendship or about something more, but you shove that idea out of your head before it even fully forms.

after all, your job is not the right place to think about your burgeoning crush on your closest friend.

yeonjun laughs and watches fondly as you shuck your shoes off before getting on the mat. the school is too small, too new to afford a proper ring, so for now martial arts grade mats and a couple of rolled up wrestling mats are all you guys get by on.

it doesn’t matter, though - yeonjun’s still a regional champ, and you’ve made it to state before. soobin and beomgyu, too, place fairly well at district and area levels, so your small school can evidently kick a huge amount of ass.

you high five a girl who can’t be much older than eight, grinning at how satisfied she seems with the smack of your palm against her tiny one. before you can say anything to her, yeonjun - his hands bare of gloves for now - places his hand on the small of your back, directing your gaze back to him. once you meet his eyes he almost unceremoniously shoves boxing pads into your arms, chuckling as you almost drop one.

you shoot him a glare of - fake - annoyance before strapping them on and getting into a better stance. yeonjun fixes how he’s standing as well before turning back to the waiting elementary age students, their eyes wide as they prepare to absorb self defense knowledge.

in your mind’s eye you can already envision the kids running around their houses or on playground pretending to be professional boxers or superheroes, saving the world with their newfound physical prowess. the thought makes you giggle, forcing you to fight to straighten your face and focus on what yeonjun’s explaining now.

he keeps his gloves off, hanging by the waist of his baggy shorts. this is so the kids can see how he punches, his fist curled perfectly so his first two knuckles are slightly forward, with his thumb providing stability. yeonjun points out how he instead clenching his fist too tightly, how he’s relaxed and confident.

you nod along, knowing as well as anybody how right he is. finally, yeonjun finishes his short speech on the importance of making a good fist. the kids are bored by the schematics - you both know this - though they’re necessary to know. it’s why, when yeonjun turns back to look at you, he mouths a ‘be ready’ to you.

understanding immediately, your brace yourself and lighten your core, making sure your weight isn’t pulling you down through your heels. yeonjun calls for the kids’ collective attention and, once he has it, he turns to you.

his eyes darken in the way they only do when he’s in the ring, and you place your hands up, pads facing forward.

you do so right in time, too - within milliseconds yeonjun’s fists are flying, forcing you to step back in a circle around the mats. you swing, too, a couple times so he can demonstrate ducking. the two of you slip into it easily, as if this deadly dance is routine to you - which, you suppose, it really is.

as soon as it had started, it’s over - with both you and yeonjun having broken a bare sweat and every child’s mouth hanging open in awe. you unstrap the boxing pads, overhanding them to yeonjun who snatches them out of the air easily. as soon as he fixes them in place, you’re on him, chasing him back the whole way he’d taken you. at the end of it, the kids are cheering, excited to be able to learn everything the two of you have been doing.

they’re excited to use it all on their friends, their siblings, the unlucky stuffed animals on their bed - anyone and anything. the smiles on all of their faces are contagious now, but you can almost feel the pissed and confused parent calls coming your way a week from now.  

you shove that out of your mind - that’s a headache for another day.

for now, you have to teach fifteen kids in their single digits how to hit, and how to hit right.

“the first punch is the jab,” you say once everyone’s quieted down, turning to demonstrate on the pads yeonjun is holding up. “then it’s the cross, and then the front high hook, rear low hook, front low hook, rear overhand, front uppercut, and rear uppercut.” these are all done in rapid succession, and yeonjun raises an eyebrow at how fast you’re going. once you show them all off, you step back, turning slightly to check the time.

10:47 - 17 minutes in to a 30 minute class.

“we’ll only be working on jabbing and crossing today,” you say, and do both of those - albeit very, very slowly this time - again on yeonjun. “partner up - you guys can be in a group of three - and get one set of boxing pats and one set of gloves per group,”

“they’re all in that shelf set back there,” yeonjun supplements just in case, and some of the kids nod as they walk off the mat, chattering loudly enough amongst themselves that each conversation is mildly indiscernible.

“front desk is that boring, huh?” yeonjun asks as he takes the pads off and drops them to the mat, voice low in your ear. the kids are all preoccupied, fighting between who gets which colored gloves. he’s talking about how aggressively you’d just shown off the punches, desperate to work some part of your body out, but you feign ignorance anyways.

“i have not one clue what you’re talking about,” you grin at him blindingly for a moment before letting your facade drop. “i’m sorry for taking your teaching time -”

“don’t be!” yeonjun’s quick to reassure you that he doesn’t mind, reaching down to squeeze your hand with his warm, mildly sweaty - you wince at this - one. you nudge your shoulder against your best friends before stepping back, moving off the mat.

“they’re all yours now - you might want to break up the fight over the yellow gloves, by the way.”

“shit,” yeonjun swears, moving as quickly as he does in the ring to go calm the kids down in the back. you laugh to yourself before putting your feet up on the desk and grabbing the USA Wrestling magazine you’d been reading way, way earlier.

you aren’t worried about yeonjun - for the next thirteen minutes of the class he’ll be the best defense instructor these kids have ever had - you’re sure of it.

the rest of class speeds by once parents begin to trickle in, finally giving you work to do one you bill those who said they’d pay every first class of every month and sign kids out once they’re accounted for. at times you see yeonjun giggling at something a little boy has said out of your peripheral vision or hear him praise a proud child, and you can’t help the fond grin that crosses your face. when the last child leaves, waving goodbye to you and yeonjun as her parents thank you both, you turn to see yeonjun leaning over the des, towel around his neck and the water he’d just been drinking spilling slightly down over his chin.

you roll your eyes, wiping it off of his mouth on instinct before walking around the desk. the next lesson is at 12 - the two of you have a lunch break. grabbing the school’s keys as well as yeonjun’s car keys, you toss him the latter while letting the other dangle between your fingers.

you register how uncharacteristically quiet yeonjun is being but choose to ignore it, knowing that he’ll speak what’s on his mind sooner or later. no sooner than you decide to leave him be, yeonjun lets out an unsure - almost shuddering - sigh before speaking.

“will you get lunch with me?” yeonjun asks, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you. you furrow your brows at this as you open the door, ushering him out before following.

“we always eat lunch together anyways,” you point out as you lock the door, jiggling the handle once, twice to ensure that it won’t give. yeonjun chuckles - though you can hear a hint of nervousness in his voice - at your response as he waits.

“yeah but that’s always … as friends.” he trails off with the last two words, voice so small you almost don’t believe that you’ve heard him.

“do you…” you start, unsure of how to continue for a moment. “... do you want to go as something else?”

“as something more?” he asks you, and you find yourself momentarily unable to speak. he takes this as a rejection, grip tightening around the towel around his neck as he steps back.

“i - shit, i’m sorry -” he starts, and you’re shaken out of your stupor.

“no d- don’t be, jun, i’d love to eat out with you as... as more than friends.” this time it’s your voice that gets smaller, inversely proportional to how wide yeonjun’s smile gets before he pulls you into a crushing hug.

“you’re sweaty, you oaf!” exclaiming in mock disgust, you push your best friend - more than a best friend? - away from you, both of you laughing as you do. he unlocks his car, opening the passenger side door for you before stepping into the driver’s seat. once you’re both safely secured and once he’s backed out entirely, a question comes to mind.

“what made you ask today, of all days?”

yeonjun blushes at this, checking his side view mirrors as he thinks about how to answer you. you let out a questioning hum again, and he sighs.

“seeing you teach about something you’re so, so damn passionate about made me feel like i was missing out by not telling you how i feel,” he starts, the red near his jaw deepening past just the sheen of sweat. you let out a wheeze, almost cackling at his confession.

“yeonjun choi, do you mean to tell me that you asked me out because you got jealous of how much i love a sport?”

“when you put it that way of course it sounds idiotic - ”

“because it is,” you begin as you laugh, heart almost bursting with joy and amusement as yeonjun pouts. leaning in, you press your lips gently to his cheek.

“it’s okay, though, because you trump boxing. and it’s doubly okay because while it’s idiotic, it’s coming from my idiot.”

“your idiot?” yeonjun grins, looking over at you for a quick second before turning back to the road. he places his hand gently on your knee as he does so, and you lace your fingers with yours. you nod before pulling your hand - and his - up, pressing your lips to the back of his hand.

“my idiot.”

[paradisobound]

Sail Away With Me: Part 4

Summary: It was a fluke. Dan shouldn’t have ever gone with Sam to a party on a yacht. He shouldn’t have trusted her to go. But in a chance encounter, he ends up in bed with Phil Lester, a billionaire CEO of a luxury clothing company. When he thinks he’s screwed up enough, he realizes he’s in way too deep. Because Phil Lester has fallen in love with him. The catch: Dan gave Phil a fake name and all Phil has to remember Dan by is the tattoo on his hip and the necklace he left behind.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Mentions of a violent death (very very brief)

Pairing: Instagraminfluencer!dan and CEO!Phil

This is a chaptered work. Updates every Saturday around 1pm EST

**MASTERLIST | ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN | WATTPAD**

PHIL POV

“Jeanna, cancel all of my calls for the rest of the day.”

“Any reason I should give for the sudden cancellations?” 

“I just don’t want to do them.” 

Phil stoped holding down the button on the intercom to Jeanna’s office and walked back over to his desk. It’s been two days now since everything happened and nothing is getting simpler. 

For one, he’s currently in the midst of working out a contract for collaborating with the brand Luxor and that was a hassle in itself since their office is in London but he’s in Amalfi until this weekend. Secondly, he’s been busy trying to figure out why Jeanna was getting calls from the Pamupau family asking about a damn necklace that he didn’t have. 

Phil was exhausted. Mentally and physically. His head was filling with headaches constantly and his bones ached with fatigue. He didn’t even know why he was so tired. It wasn’t like he was doing anything outside of his normal routine. 

Maybe it was the stress of that damn silver necklace that currently sits in his trouser pockets. 

He shouldn’t be holding onto it, he realizes this. Phil knows that there is a chance it could fall out of his pocket or just wind up missing. And he really doesn’t want to lose one of the only pieces he has left of the night with Ethan. 

“Mr. Lester?” 

The intercom in his office buzzed and Phil let out a loud groan as he walked up and back over to the door to press the button. “Yes, Jeanna?” 

“Timothy Duvey from Luxor just called and is asking for your urgent call to them. They would like to schedule a meeting with you in their London office to discuss design concepts.” Her voice came through the speaker but to Phil it just sounded like scratches on a record. 

“Right now?” 

“Yes. I have him on hold on line 4.” 

Phil took his finger off from the button again and walked back to his desk. He picked up the phone and pressed line 4 and tried his best to act like he wasn’t currently wanting to slam his head into the wall. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lester. I suppose I’m not interrupting anything, I am?” 

His voice was smooth and Phil liked that. He found sometimes that the smoother, charmer voices from those who worked with were better to compromise with. 

“Not entirely,” Phil answers honestly. “But I suppose this is a bit more important than anything else I could be doing right now.” 

He hopes that the sarcasm lacing his voice isn’t as prominent as he thinks it is. 

“When is the next time you’ll be in London?” Timothy asks. 

“I’ll be back in three days.” Phil answers. “I fly back in on the 27th.” 

There was a pause over the line for a moment before Timothy continue to speak. “Is there any way that we could get you to London earlier for the meeting? You see, I leave town on the 26th and I would like to be able to meet with you sooner.” 

Phil felt like he was pulling teeth in this situation but he also didn’t want to completely deny the CEO of Luxor this opportunity. Luxor was a high fashion brand just like Phil’s and working with them on a collaboration would boost both of their sales tremendously. 

“I can come back tomorrow if that works for you.” Phil says, mincing his words a bit. 

“Tomorrow would be fantastic if you can make it back.” 

“I’ll try my best.” 

Phil stands up from his desk, the chord of the phone getting tighter and shorter as he begins to clear paperwork from his desk and organize it a bit. He puts the phone between his shoulder and ear and continues to listen to Timothy talk about some details he won’t remember once the call ends. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon?” 

“Sure thing.” Phil says and hangs up the phone. 

He walks over to the intercom and calls through, “Jeanna? I need you to call me a car home.” 

And then he walks back to his desk and grabs his bag and jacket. 

***

“You have your meeting with Luxor at 2 and then you have a phone call with Harpers Bazaar at 4:15 to set up a meeting for their interview with you. Then at…” 

Phil stopped listening to Jeanna as she went on and on. They had just arrived back to London, much earlier than he had actually wanted to. And there was a small stress headache taking residence in his temple. 

He just wanted to sleep mostly and have a big cup of coffee, extra spots in there. He feels like he’s walking on dead feet, that his legs aren’t doing what they’re supposed to be doing. He wants to call the whole thing off but then he remembers just how much working with Luxor will help his company and he forgets he ever thought those thoughts. 

Minutes pass and they’re at Phil’s penthouse and he couldn’t wait to go up the elevator and indulge in his belongings again. His house in Amalfi was nice but nothing as nice as his penthouse in London. 

They get into the elevator and head their way up when Jeanna starts speaking again. “So the Pamupau family is requesting that you speak with them about a necklace that was left on your yacht from your party on the 22nd.” 

Phil rolls his eyes. “I don’t have a necklace that was left on my yacht that would belong to them.” 

“But what about the one you carry with you?’ 

Phil turns sharply towards her and flares his nostrils. “How did you find out about that?” 

“I heard people in the office talking about how you have the necklace of someone from your party and you wanted to return it. Maybe that necklace is the one they’re asking about?” 

Phil shakes his head in both annoyance and disbelief. “I don’t have a necklace that belongs to them. I have a necklace that belongs to a guy named Ethan.” 

“I’ve tried, Mr. Lester, but they’re insisting you have it.” 

The elevator doors open on the 25th floor and they walk out into the small area that transitions into Phil’s living room. Phil drops his bag onto the floor next to his couch and turns to Jeanna. “I don’t have their necklace.” He says, his voice steady. “The only one I have is for a guy named Ethan and I’d very much like to return the necklace back to him.” 

“But if the necklace isn’t theirs,” Jeanna continues, following him inside as the tapping of her heels echoes against his flooring. “Then shouldn’t we try and find who that belongs to?” 

Phil digs into his pocket and feels that familiar weight on his fingertips. He hooks his fingers in the chain and brings it up to look at. He holds it in his head and fights back the feelings of remembrance. Of that night that burns so deeply into his head. 

“I’d love to find him and return the necklace.” 

“Then we’ll begin to search and try and find him!” Jeanna says. “You said his name is Ethan, right? Maybe he posted photos from your party on social media and I can try and see if locations on Instagram or Twitter will give anything away. You remember what he looks like, correct?” 

Phil nods and thinks back, the rose tattoo and the olive skin. The way he felt in his hands and the way his body was so tight and hot around him. He had to stifle back a feeling of arousal as he so desperately wanted nothing more than to feel that pleasure with him again. 

“I remember he had a tattoo.” Phil says. “It was a delicate rose. On his hip.” 

Jeanna was making notes of it in her phone and nodding along to what Phil was saying. “Okay. Named is Ethan. Rose tattoo on hip. Silver necklace. I’ll see what I can pull up and I’ll let you know.” 

Phil nodded and forced out a smile. He felt a tinge of helplessness. Sadness was building in his core because he felt as though maybe it was impossible to try and find Ethan. And maybe Ethan didn’t even want anything to do with him? 

But Ethan had to feel that too, right? That spark between them. They worked so well, moved so well. 

“Thank you, Jeanna.” Phil says finally. “Now, let’s get some notes ready for our meeting with Luxor.” 

***

The meeting with Luxor went better than expected and Phil walked away with the contract signed and a firm handshake from Timothy Duvey. He felt good about this and after seeing some of the concept art behind their pieces, he was ready to see what they really looked like when completed. 

He went back to his penthouse and released Jeanna for the evening, telling her to get some rest for a few days, and then he readied himself for the call with Harpers Bazaar. When all of that was said and done, he ordered take out for himself and had the hostess at the buildings front desk bring it up to his penthouse so he wouldn’t be seen. 

He ate the Chinese food in silence with nothing more but the TV playing in the background. Maybe for some people, that would ruin what they envision a CEO to be like but this was just who Phil was when he was back in London. 

In Amalfi, he’s allowed to be a different person. He’s allowed to act a bit differently, host some parties, and do what he wants to do. In London, he’s bouncing from meeting to meeting, hoping that at some point he can catch another break. 

But it’s not just that. London is filled with bad memories for him now. Bad memories of Lukas and how he’s no longer there. Bad memories of that night where he almost lost everything. 

He finds himself in tears, like he normally does when he thinks about this, and he wipes them away as quickly as they come. He tries to show that he can be strong. He can make it in a world where he’s lost his husband to a hate crime. But it’s difficult sometimes to forget that. 

And maybe that’s why he’s suddenly finding himself dialing an old number in his phone and asking the male to come to his penthouse. Maybe that’s why he’s suddenly crawling into bed with a guy he hasn’t seen in over a year. 

It’s not very good. Phil has to admit that. They don’t work together. This guy, Gavin, is only good for Phil to get off with. And he knows that sounds horrible, that that sounds cold hearted. But this is what Phil does. 

He sleeps with guys to fill the hole in his heart that was left when he lost the love of his life to a knife. 

Phil wakes up the next morning next to him and he asks Gavin to leave and he does. It’s not cute. It’s not hot. Phil actually doesn’t feel much of anything at all. 

He gets up to take a hot shower and then he walks to his kitchen to make himself some coffee. He’s going for his phone when that glimmer of silver catches his eye again and sighs. 

He needs to find Ethan. Even if it’s just to give the necklace back, he needs to find him. 

He needs the closure. 

[rovvboat]

Painted Flaws - Colossus/Piotr Rasputin x villian!Reader

Part 10

A/N: send an ask if you wanna be added to the taglist! Lmk how you feel about this series!

Summary: You’re a villian with a moral grey area. You meet Piotr at an art exhibit, but both of you are there for completely different reasons. Though the attraction was inevitable, will it be enough? A growing passionate love wrought with secrecy, both of you try to move through this maze. But when the ball drops, what will you choose?

word count: 3.3k

You lie in bed the rest of the day – the same scene repeating through your head; like the world’s worst silent film; of Piotr and his form as Colossus. And with that flicker of recognition, you realise just how much more you’re entangled into the X-Mens’ affairs – how much more you were set-up to be the catalyst for their demise.

There’s a moment when sleep catches up to you, somehow, despite the headache of thoughts.

You see him.

He’s standing in your room – the colours on the walls all distorted into a deep and ugly purple and pink – blending into every piece of furniture, fluid and balmy in its touch – as if it was all happening underwater

but Piotr doesn’t seem happy to be there; his face twisted into one of disgust and disappointment as he faces you.

Piotr I can explain –

You try to speak, but no sound come out no matter how hard you try. You bring a hand up to your throat, and that’s when you look down and realise: you’re naked.

Your hands springs onto your bed, pulling desperately at the sheets to cover yourself – trying your hardest to scream your heart out at the same time, just for Piotr to listen to your pleas – but the sheets don’t come out, and neither does your voice.

Piotr, all of a sudden, has his back turned to you, walking out of your apartment as the door shuts with a loud creak.

The sheets finally spring out of the bed, and you scramble to get them to cover you.

You run to the door, swinging it open – but he’s no longer there. He’s no longer waiting.

 You wake up in a cold sweat, gasping as your eyes shoot open. You sit up on your bed, beads of sweat run down your back, sending a vaguely uneasy sensation down your spine. You look to your window, yanked wide open, as it swayed back and forth with heavy screeches.

The weather outside matched your sentiment – heavy thundering rain crash against the surface of the outside, alongside the ghosts of howling winds that sent sprays of rain onto the spot where the calm moonlight would normally hit.

You rub at the tiredness of your eyes, unravelling from the nightmare that had awoken you so terrified, before getting up to shut the window close.

It wasn’t in your nature to feel fear – where it wasn’t used as fuel to succeed on your missions – but you knew how far gone you were with Piotr.

To have felt his love, and to be brave enough to love him back – that was a risk in and of itself, and you knew it.

But now that his truth has been bared –

where does that leave me?

Your phone buzzes against your bedside table – and you turn to look at your notifications, somewhat tethering you back to the present.

10 unread messages

[Dd]: hey, I’m locked out of my apartment – could you come give me the spare key?

[Dd]: hey

[Dd]: heyyyyyyyyy

[3 missed calls from Dd]

 You immediately hop off your bed, stretching your arms over your head as you let out a high-pitched whine.

This is no time for a pity party.

You wash yourself up and immediately suit up – throwing on a thick white t-shirt, paired with a black leather jacket as you hurriedly grab your keys (and DK’s spare keys), wallet and the purple vial. You put the purple vial into a small black drawstring bag – your grip tight on it as you walk towards your motorcycle.

You revv the engine – booming down the street – before speeding off towards the direction of D.K.’s dorm.

***

NTW fiddles with the interface to the hologram, bringing up profiles of people with their physical and affiliation descriptors.

‘’We were able to track the manufacturing company of the spear that hit Colossus in the back. It belongs to a small company called Lazarus – which has ties to the creator of the Sentinels, Dr. Bolivar Trask,’’ – she swipes at the hologram to reveal Dr Trask’s profile, ‘’who is also linked to this man.’’ She swipes at the hologram again, but this time, the profile showed a silhouette of a man with a question mark in the middle.

Name: Unknown

Alias: Boss, D

Affiliations: Sentinel technology, Dr Bolivar Trask

‘’We don’t have any idea what he looks like, but he’s been linked to dozens of mutant testing labs and sentinel technology. He also does seem to have a weak link.’’

A picture of the mystery lady comes up, half her face covered under a thin fabric of her turtleneck.

‘’We’ve been tracking this lady for past 3 months and we just came in contact with her again. Intel tells us that she had the serum on her at that time, but we’re pretty sure she was to hand it off to her boss after she fled on the helicopter. The Sentinels also had their eyes on her, but she managed to evade them when we were too busy keeping them down.’’

‘’So, what you’re telling me – is that we’ve been helping this lady get her way?’’

NTW rolls her eyes at Deadpool.

‘’I’m just saying what everybody’s thinking, sugarplum. She doesn’t seem like that weak of a link to me – going by how she kicked half our asses out there,’’ Deadpool lightheartedly brandishes one of his katanas around– pointedly at Cable and Colossus – as he lay sprawled over the sofa.

Cable tenses his fist on the table, uneasy at the prospect of having this mystery lady getting in their way of getting the anti-mutant serum.

When an idea pops into his head.

‘’Where’re you headed, foxy pops?’’ Deadpool quips, as Cable stands up – pushing his chair back with a screech – and strides over to NTW.

‘’Do you think we could scan this for prints or DNA?’’ Cable presents his metal hand, swaying each finger in a wave. ‘’I burnt her hand, and I’m sure some of her skin is on here.’’

‘’Sounds like something I could do.’’

‘’Holy Mother of God, all we do is sit around trying to track this woman! I wanna go do something fucking worthwhile!’’ Deadpool howls.

‘’You’d be doing us all a favour by shutting the fuck up, douchepool,’’ NTW crosses her arms as she stares at Deadpool.

‘’Suit yourself, one-man travelling circus of megatronic teenage big head,’’ Deadpool stands up and steps directly infront of NTW, staring her down.

‘’Enough.’’

Colossus’ booming footsteps enter into the meeting room.

‘’You are not children. There is no need for this nonsensical bickering. Come, Wade. We will do some review of the evidence from the helicopter weapon.’’ Colossus instructs as he starts heading for the door.

Deadpool lifts up his mask partway, showing only half his face, humming as he sticks his tongue out at NTW – then yelping as he gets elbowed hard in the ribs by her, before pacing behind Colossus.

***

The afternoon sun was slowly waning, disappearing and reappearing behind passing clouds as you zoom down the highway to D.K.’s dorm.

You see him the moment you turn into the dorm’s parking lot, standing near the lobby – no doubt playing some stupid game on his phone. He looks up when he hears your motorcycle pull up near the curb. You flip up the wind shield from your helmet, greeting him with a little toss of your head backward.

‘’Here’re your keys, dumbass,’’ you toss D.K.’s spare keys at him.

‘’I have the highest GPA in my class. I beg to differ,’’ he retorts as he catches the key between both hands, clanking against his phone.

‘’Well, that didn’t help find your key, did it? You better get your locks changed.’’

‘’Yeah, yeah whatever.’’

You park by the curb, before following behind him up to his dorm room.

The smell of fresh flowers hits you when he swings open the door to his room. You had to admit, he was an overall meticulous and responsible kid – which didn’t make sense that he would lose his keys; especially considering that the both of you were always on high-alert with the threat of Demetrius and his goons looming around you.

But teenagers will be teenagers – even though this one was just initiated into the young adult 20s club recently.

‘’Make yourself at home,’’ D.K. announces, pulling out a chair out of his study desk towards you. He heads to the bathroom, leaving you alone in the room.

You look at the pictures on his desk – of his 2 little sisters back home, and him in the middle; the three of them seated on some kind of child-sized toy car. They were all beaming at the camera – carefree and innocent. As they should be.

You snap back when you hear the click of the bathroom door unlocking.

‘’So, what brings you here, sis?’’

‘’Well, for one – you forgot your keys somewhere.’’

D.K. smiles at you sheepishly, shrugging as he drapes his towel over his shoulders.

‘’But more importantly – I got the anti-mutant serum vial with me. I need you to pass it onto to Dr. Wong. I’ve sent him instructions–‘’

‘’My chemistry elective professor, Dr Wong? You’re kidding me, he’s working for you too?’’

‘’He works with me. Not for me.’’

‘’hE wOrKs WiTh Me,’’ D.K. imitates you in an annoying high-pitched voice – which prompts you to reach out to his ear lobes, twisting it as he winces.

‘’I was joking! Ow– OW!’’ He swats at your hand.

You spend the next hour going through your plans with him – giving him contingencies and back-up plans in case he’s unable to deliver the vial for any reason.

‘’So… how long until I have to go back?’’ D.K. asks, a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

You tilt your head at him. ‘’You don’t sound too happy about that.’’

‘’Yeah, well. This has been my home for the past 9 years… and you – you’ve been taking care of me since I got tangled up with your Boss. I just… Maybe we could make it so that you don’t disappear from my life after this?’’

There was a knot in his throat you could hear through his voice, and it broke your heart.

You hold him by the shoulders, looking directly at him as he looks up at you surprised – ‘’Hey, kid, listen to me okay? You’re gonna be okay. Your family can’t wait to see you again. Your life is over there – living like a 20 year old kid; working for your goals, partying with friends and just living a normal life. Not this. I was never meant to be in your life. In fact, I’m probably the reason why you’re here in the first place–’’

‘’But that’s not your fault!’’

‘’It was. And I’ll pay the price for it, not you.’’

D.K. frowns at you, then looks to the floor.

‘’I’m sorry, D.K.. It’s the only way I can keep you safe.’’

‘’I know,’’ he sighs. ‘’I just – I’m sorry.’’

‘’Don’t be, D. I know it’s hard. But you have to be strong. I’ll be okay, and I’ll definitely contact you, one way or another – I promise.’’

He holds out a pinky to you. You look at it, then smile at him – before meeting his pinky finger with yours in a pinky promise.

***

Colossus meets with Beast at the analytics lab, as Beast worked on pinpointing the different locations that the weapon could have come from. Deadpool walks up to the closest piece of evidence – a large broken spear – and slowly puts a finger towards it – only for Beast to smack it away without even looking up from his screen.

‘’Do we have any more information about our mystery lady yet, friend Hank?’’

‘’I’m afraid not, Colossus. We only managed to get information on the organizations that she might be affiliated with. Most of them are contractors – but we do have information on who was piloting the helicopter. Perhaps we could pay them a visit – ‘’

Colossus’ phone notification sounds inside his pocket.

‘’Da¸ we could. Please excuse me– ‘’ he fishes his phone out of his pocket, and walks a little away from Beast.

Y/N: Hey big guy♡ Hope you’re recovering well. I was wondering if you wanted to take a walk with me? Wanted to see you. Let me know♡

Colossus couldn’t keep his smile in, when Deadpool peaks over his shoulder, startling him.

‘’What’s this, tinman? Another booty call?’’

Colossus rolls his eyes – ‘’No, it is not.’’ – as he walks back towards Beast.

‘’I have some matters to attend to. Please alert me if there is any urgent business.’’

‘’Will do, Colossus – ‘’

‘’Chrome-Dome is ditching us for his side chick!’’ Deadpool accusingly points at Colossus, ‘’that’s right, I said side chick, because we all know I’m the main course. And also! How is this fair? I ask for a fucking vacation and it’s ‘’superhero is a full-time job’’ this and ‘’Wade, you can’t demand money in exchange for saving lives’’’ that. I’m sick of the double standards – Hey, listen to me when I’m talking to you!’’ Deadpool calls after Colossus, who’s already disappeared behind the lab doors.

***

You debate sending the message for a good hour.

I should break up with him. I can not deal with anymore emotions on this issue.

Your mind swirls with ideas on how to break it off gently – but every time you imagine the scenario, your heart gets much too heavy to get to the we should see other people part of the dialogue.

Maybe not today.

You decide that maybe just having a quick meet-up with him could calm you down a little – maybe even prepare you for the next time you meet him.

To break things off, of course.

Even the internal mentions of it makes your heart drop. He made you happy. Happier, safer and more loved than you’ve ever been.

I don’t deserve any of it.

You let out a resigned sigh. No matter how you looked at it, you were incompatible. Not to mention that he lied to you about his job.

Not that I didn’t, but still.

You fiddle nervously with your hands in your pockets – when your phone rings – a call from none other than Piotr.

***

You feel the soft – almost fluffy – fine sand sinking under you with every step, getting between your toes in the most crisp manner that only barely itched the edges of needing attention.

You wave it away, and instead focus on the small tingles you felt when the back of his hands brush against yours, as you walk along the shore.

He had asked to meet you at this beach – ‘’It is a good beach for couples and walking,’’ he suggested through the phone – an eagerness to his voice that was now something you always looked forward to hearing.

Not for long…

The thought makes your heart dread your next few steps.

Distant squawks of pelicans and seagulls fade out across the beach as you trod along, arms swinging gently, with Piotr next to you.

You look up when you hear him inhale, long and slow, as he takes in the glistening surface of the sea. You watch him, as his body relaxes, and he exhales an equally long breath. You follow his eyes to meet the sunset before you.

‘’Your taste in beaches is impeccable,’’ you mention off-handedly, mostly as an attempt to calm your own nerves.

He smiles back at you – that million dollar smile – ‘’Really? I am glad you like it too…’’

A strong chill breeze brushes past – bringing with it the fresh salty savour of the ocean – gliding over your exposed skin and gently caressing your hair, as it finds its way the back of your neck – cooling you off from the sweltering heat of the day.

Piotr’s arm slowly snakes around your waist, drawing close to you, without taking his eyes off the scene before him, as you feel a heat rising to your cheeks.

“Beautiful is it not? I wish I had a chance to paint this. To maybe… capture this moment”

You look up at him and attempt a sly grin to cross your face, as you hook your arm through his.

“This moment, after you spent half the week in bed?”

Piotr chuckles – a deep well-kept laugh that rumbles in his chest – then smiles back at you, smile lines creasing the edges of his lips – his eyes twinkling under the slow receding sun.

His eyes regard you warmly, and you feel an intense burning in the pit of your stomach – a desire. To not only spend the rest of the night with him, but your whole life too.

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment at the thought of even considering a normal life with someone so kind and generous and wonderful.

‘’Hey Piotr? –’’

He raises his eyebrows at you, his full attention undoubtedly on you.

‘’– do you believe… do you believe that good people can do bad things?’’

He doesn’t even take a moment to answer the question.

‘’Of course. Good people do bad things all the time. But it only matters what they do to make things better. If they know what they are doing is bad, they should stop immediately – if not it can make them… tolerate more evil in the world.’’

‘’What about– ‘’ You cut yourself off when you notice a lady clad in her bikini walking past the both of you, giving Piotr a painfully slow once over – smirking as she nods in his direction.

Your stomach drops as you loosen your grip around his arm, letting your hand fall back next to you, and Piotr’s face changes to one of concern.

He doesn’t deserve this. Not me. Not for who I am, that’s for sure.

“Is everything alright?”

“No, I… I think I’m not feeling too good.”

“Would you like to head back home?”

You think for a moment. And though you wanted nothing more than to stretch these serene and wonderful moments with him – moments which felt almost final – you genuinely didn’t think you deserved it. Much less be competent enough to protect it from the life you actually lead.

“Yes please,” you force out, albeit a little choked, as you look away from him. When you’re with him, your feelings always showed somehow – something which in your line of job was called ‘a massive liability’.

He watches you, deciding whether to press the matter – but your avoidance makes him want to do nothing else but bring you home and allow you to settle in comfortably for the night.

His finger grazes the back of your hand – finding the inside of your palm – before allowing each of his fingers to interlace with yours; and he does it loosely – in case you weren’t comfortable with it. You smile up at him, before gripping his hand tightly, as you walked back towards the road.

Piotr walks you to your apartment, stopping near the entrance. You busy yourself with sliding your fingers over the straps of your handbag, looking anywhere but at Piotr. You start at a sentence, when Piotr speaks up.

‘’Are you sure you are okay, myshka? You sound unwell…’’ he tilts your chin up towards him, ‘’please tell me if there is anything I can do for you? I can stay the night if you –’’

‘’No! I– I mean, I would love that but, I have a lot of work to do tonight and, uh… yeah.’’

‘’That is okay,’’ his voice soft and unhurried, ‘’please take care of yourself if you are working through the night. I heard lawyers do that a lot,’’ he huffs a laugh, trying to ease your nerves. He reaches out for your hand, and when you offer it, he steps forward into a tight hug. He whiffs at your hair – in the way men do in affection – then presses his lips against your temple.

You pull away a little to look at him, still enveloped in his arms – safe and full – tiptoeing as you pull his face towards you into a deep, needy kiss; eyes scrunched closed.

You let yourself enjoy his love; pure and unadulterated by anything.

Even though it hurt to know that it might be one of the last times you can actually do so.

—

Taglist! 

@emma-frxst @chromecutie @fluffymadamina @master-sass-blast @marvelhead17 @onthequill @candle-light-writings

[eternalnight8806-3]

Ch 3 The Cat and the Fox

Category: Romance, Modern College AU

Rating: Will be Explicit but for now I’ll just say Mature for language and drinking

Pairing: InuKag

Words: 2,357

Also available on ff.net and AO3

Tag list: @keichanz @noviceotakus-blog @hinezumi @morikothehalfangel @cstorm86 @digital-art-monster @cammysansstuff

Enjoy!

 Hey, I have a kind of personal question for you

InuYasha rubbed his tired eyes and stretched. He had been staring at his laptop for the last 3 hours straight trying to finish this damn midterm paper. The sound of his phone buzzing caught his attention. Who the hell would be texting him at 2 a.m.? Miroku was downstairs with the other idiots watching some stupid Netflix show he never could get into about a women's prison. The goofy grin that spread across his face upon seeing her name was completely accidental, or so he would tell you.

 Shoot

 What happened to your mom? You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I was just sitting here thinking about it and I realized you never told me how she died. But it's totally fine if you don't want to tell me. I swear.

InuYasha almost laughed out loud at her obvious text babbling. It's cool. She had breast cancer.

 Oh sweetie I'm so sorry. It must have been so hard to lose her that way.

 Honestly, it wasn't long after her diagnosis. She was already stage 4 by the time they caught it. They tried everything they could but a month later she was gone. It was hard. Still is. I miss her a lot. She was my rock

 Yeah. I don't know what I would do without my mom. She's the kindest woman ever. She's always supported me in everything. You never mentioned your dad though?

 He died when I was a baby. I never knew him.

 Wow.

 Yeah. Hey what are you doing up anyway? I thought you had to work this weekend?

 I do. Couldn't sleep. My brain just won't shut off.

 Missed me that much in 24 hours?

 You're incorrigible

 Always

 You don't have a humble bone in your body do you?

 Maybe one

     *    eyeroll emoji      *  

 What time do you have to be up?

 In exactly 2.5 hours. I have to catch the 5:45 train to get there on time.

 Jesus woman! Go to sleep!

 I already told you I can't

 Do I need to come over and sing you a lullaby?

InuYasha regretted that the instant he hit send. She would definitely think he was total creepy bastard now.

 Lol. You don't know where I live

He hesitated before typing again. Fine. I'll call you. I hope you like shitty renditions of twinkle twinkle little star.

     *    a series of crying laughing emojis      *  

 Can't be worse than my little brother trying to sing to our cat Buyo.

 You have a brother?

 Yep

 Me too. Well a ½ brother. Older. And an asshole.

 Oh yeah? Ever talk to him?

 Not really. Like I said he's an asshole.

 Got it. Foxy doesn't like his big bro

InuYasha's eyebrow quirked. Foxy?

 Ummm... yeah???

 What is that?

 Ummmm

 Your name?

 Is it now wench? ;)

 Ha. Ha.

 Hey, what do you call me?

 Catwoman

 I suppose that makes sense.

 Why do you call me Foxy? ;)

 Because of your       costume  

 Suuuuuuure

 You're obviously delusional

 Am I?

 Severely.

 Well you're the one talking to me at 2:45 in the morning

 Yeah. I know. I need a padded room next to yours

 So I can sing twinkle twinkle for you?

 OMG stop! I'm going to wake up my room mate!

 Sorry...

 You really should get some sleep wench.

 I know.

 Night Foxy

 Night wench

InuYasha couldn't sleep after that. He felt guilty for keeping her up, even though she had texted him first. Inane images scrolled past his eyes as he delved into the internet black hole, searching for something to occupy his mind. Finally, when he realized it was about 5 minutes past the time she said she had to be awake, he decided to make sure she had gotten up ok.

 Wakey wakey wench

Kagome groaned aloud at the sound of her alarm. She tried to roll over and go back to sleep but then her phone dinged.

 Don't wanna

 C'mon. You gotta. That job you love so much is beckoning

 Damn you

 You're cranky in the morning ain't ya?

 Only for people who won't let me sleep

 But you have to go babysit brats

 Uggggh. Fine. I'm up. Happy?

 Are you actually up? Like out of bed?

 Kagome put her feet on the floor next her bed.  Yes...

 Don't believe you

She sent him a picture of her feet on the floor.

 Sexy

 Shut up jerk

 Get ready for work wench

 I would if someone would quit distracting me

 I'm distracting huh? ;)

 You're maddening

 Only for you wench

 I'm getting dressed now

 I'll be right over

 Ha. Ha.

 Again, I remind you, you don't know where I live

 I'll sniff it out

 Very funny

 Seriously, I'm up and getting dressed now

 Go back to sleep

She pulled off her nightclothes and tossed them in the direction of her hamper as she made her way over to the closet. Pulling out a sweater and jeans, she made her way back over to the bed where she'd laid her phone.

 Never did

 What? Why?

 Just distracted

Kagome wasn't sure what to make of that, so she decided to ignore it as she pulled the jeans up over her hips. Then go to sleep. Weirdo.

 Only after I know you get to work ok

 You're nuts. I won't get there for another hour!

 So?

 Go to sleep.

 Nope. Gotta know you're safe.

The sweater made it's way over her head and down to her waist. Overprotective much? She grabbed her hairbrush and set to work on her tangled mane.

 Only of cheeky wenches

 Oh now I'm cheeky?  The hairbrush returned to her nightstand.

 Yep

Kagome picked up her purse and keys before quietly exiting her room. I'm leaving now. Go to sleep

 I told you, not til you're at work

Kagome didn't respond during her 20 minute walk to the subway station. She hoped he would fall asleep waiting for her to text back. No such luck.

 Oi wench! Where'd you go?

 To the train

 Hahaha

 Cheeky wench

 You on the train?

 I am now.

 Good. How long of a ride is it?

 20ish minutes

 What do you normally do on the train at too damn early o'clock?

 Lol. Well, listen to music, or read. Sometimes I people watch but there aren't too many people on the train this early on Sunday.

 People watch?

 Yeah. People will do the weirdest things when they think no one is watching them. I've seen people practically doing it right in front of me before

 Doing what exactly? ;)

 Shut up

 Never wench

 You make it too easy

 Do I now?

 Yep.

 Will you just go to sleep?

 You at work?

 No

 Then I'm gonna go with no

 How did I see that coming?

 Idk maybe because I've said it like 1000 times already

 Alright alright I get it.

 '  Now approaching 10      th     street station' came the automated voice over the loudspeaker. Kagome stood and slid her phone into her pocket to keep it from falling out of her hand as she exited the train. Since the station was nearly deserted it was easy for her to maneuver her way out to the street to make the short walk to work. Once outside, she saw that the sun was now fully on the horizon, creating beautiful hues of pink and orange. Stopping for a moment, she smiled and took it all in. The crisp autumn air whipped her raven locks around her shoulders. Seeing the sun between the trees, Kagome couldn't resist the urge to snap a photo with her phone and send it to her new self-proclaimed watchdog.

 Isn't it so beautiful Foxy?

 Just like you wench ;)

Kagome snorted as she walked and texted at the same time. You don't know what I look like

 Sure I do. Long black silky hair, eyes the color of dark chocolate, ivory skin. See? I know

 Still, you've not seen my face

 Don't have to

She didn't know how to respond to that. Lucky for her though, she rounded the last corner before coming up to Yoro North's front door. She took a picture of her hand opening said door and sent it to him.

 All safe. Please sleep now? I'd feel awful if you didn't get any sleep because of me

 Not your fault wench. I'm a big boy. But I promise I'll close my eyes now. Have a good day at work.

 Thanks Foxy. Sweet dreams!

Kagome tucked her phone back into her pocket as she walked right past Ayame's death glare without giving the girl a second glance. As she stepped around the corner to make her way back to the classroom, she found herself cemented smack dab into Koga's chest.

“Whoa there, sweetheart!” He said as he grabbed her shoulders and gently pulled her back. “You alright?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Kagome shook her head to clear the fog from having the wind knocked from her slightly. Looking up into his sky blue eyes, she didn't miss the smirk that crossed his features at her antics. “I-I'm fine, Koga. Thanks. Hey, actually there was something I wanted to run by you if you've got a minute?”

“Sure thing, darling. Step into my office?”

Kagome had noticed his use of several terms of endearment in the last few days, but she didn't mind it so she didn't say anything to her new boss about it. Instead, she walked into his office and sat herself down without being prompted. Koga came around her to sit himself on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms lazily and smiling down at her.

“What can I do for ya, love?”

“Well, I've noticed that we don't ever take the kids anywhere outside of this building and its grounds. Is there a reason for that?”

Koga's face took a decidedly less happy appearance. “Kagome, this building is all that stands between these kids and the outside world. Humans aren't exactly welcoming to our kind, with the exception of the rare person such as yourself. We don't take the kids anywhere for their own protection but also for yours. You've seen how they can be with eachother. Imagine if they did that to a human? The backlash would be catastrophic.”

Kagome frowned. “So, they never get to leave here? Ever?”

“We occasionally take them to other facilities to interact with other children, but for the most part, yeah, they stay here.”

“And it's absolutely out of the question to take them to say a park?”

Koga's eyebrow quirked up in interest. “A park? Kagome, we have outside areas here for them.”

“I know that, Koga, but they should interact with other kids. Even human ones. I think it'll be good for them to socialize outside of their comfort zones. Some of them desperately need it. Besides, imagine if you were on the front lines of demon-human coexistence?”

Koga sighed deeply. “Kagome, I wish things were different but they're just not. I can't allow you to put the kids or yourself in that kind of danger. I'm sorry.”

The look of supreme disappointment that crossed her features nearly caused the wolf to cave. “If you say so, Koga. I'll go relieve Ginta and Hakkaku now.” She stood and exited his office with slightly slumped shoulders. She had been so sure she could convince him to let her take the kids out for a little while. Sighing, she decided she would just have to keep working him down until he agreed. Eventually, he would see her reasoning.

xxx

The next two weeks almost flew by for both InuYasha and Kagome. Even in the midst of studying for their impending final exams in a couple weeks, the pair never let a night pass without talking. It became part of both of their routines. They both looked forward to hearing from the other. Something that both of their respective room mates had not failed to notice.

“InuYasha, are you ever actually going to meet this girl?” Miroku asked his hanyou friend one Saturday afternoon.

“I have, jackass.”

Rolling his eyes, Miroku huffed. “You know what I mean. Sango and I have actually been on actual dates and you know, know eachother's names.”

“Bully for you. Now fuck off.” InuYasha practically yelled as he tried to stick his headphones on his ears.

Sighing, he took his friend's obvious hint and went downstairs to meet Sango. Upon seeing her leaning against the banister, fingers looped in her jeans, he couldn't help but smile. She smiled back and asked, “Everything ok up there? I thought I heard someone yelling.”

Miroku took his girlfriend's hand and went to exit the house. “Yeah. Just my room mate being an idiot.”

Sango raised an eyebrow in question. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He met a girl at the Halloween party but has yet to actually learn her name or even see her face outside of whatever mask she was wearing. They just text constantly.”

Sango's eyes widened. “Th-they do?”

Miroku didn't hide his puzzled expression. “Yeeeeeah...”

“Um... well...”

Stopping mid step on their trek to the campus food court, Miroku eyed his girlfriend suspiciously. “Sango?”

Biting her lip, the girl looked down at the concrete. “I think your room mate is texting my room mate.”

Eyes widening to nearly the size of saucers, Miroku burst out laughing. “You're kidding!?”

Shaking her head, Sango responded, “Nope. She calls him Foxy. I guess he was wearing a fox costume or something?”

Miroku was nearly on the ground by this point. “Jesus! Yep. That's him.”

“I don't see how this is so funny.”

Finally calming himself, Miroku placed his hands on her shoulders, “Because my dear Sango, this cannot be purely coincidental. Maybe the strings of fate had a hand in this, eh?”

Sango rolled her eyes. “You're an idiot. What are we gonna do? I can't just lie to her.”

Placing a finger on his lips thoughtfully, Miroku had a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Mayhaps you won't have to my dear...”

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[serensama]

To Mourn #7

Okay baby boy V- we’ve made it. We’re here. It’s time for you to let go of MC. We can do it.

Let’s go.

This will include:

1)   Profanity

2)   Trigger warning: Suicidal thoughts/situations

“Nothing comes easily Fill this empty space Nothing is like it was Turn my grief to grace Nothing comes easily Where do I begin? Nothing can bring me peace I’ve lost everything I just want to feel your embrace” “Grace- Kate Havnevik”

It would be so easy. Just turn the key, one twist of the wrist. One blink of an eye. One more breath. It would be so, so easy. He deserved something easy, just once… didn’t he?

So just do it Jihyun.

Do it.

Do it.

It was so much hotter than they had expected, the sun beating down on them as it peaked in the sky. They had been out and about for the better part of three hours already, walking the nature trails and stopping so often to take photos and rough sketches of the scenery. They had never been to this part of the mountains before and it was a nice change from their city apartment… moreover it was just nice to be with each other. Unfortunately, with Jihyun’s whirlwind art exhibit all over the world and with MC’s own hectic work life alongside with planning for the RFA parties- they hadn’t seen each other in months.

That was until she got to her office with an envelope with her name on her desk, the familiar scratchy scrawl of her husband making her smile. Taking the ridiculously expensive letter opener Jumin had gotten her for last birthday in hand, she made quick work of opening the letter for a little slightly crumpled piece of paper and one plane ticket to fall out in her awaiting palm. Smoothing out the note, chuckling to herself as she noticed the rough edges of the paper- Jihyun no doubt tearing it off the nearest book or notepad or contract he had within reach- his excitement evident even in the paper he had chosen to use to send his letter. Ah Yeobo! I can’t take it any longer, I’ve spent too much time away from you I’m beginning to forget how many crinkles your eyes have when you smile, the smell of your lotion on your skin, the sweetness of your lips on mine. I don’t want to waste another minute without you! Come and say hi to your husband- even for the weekend?

Lots of Love, Jihyun.

MC lifted the note to her lips and gave it a quick peck, her mouth stretching into a wide grin as she thought about what she would need to pack and who she needed to let know that she was going away for the weekend. She could see it so well in her head, poor little Yoosung would message her about the party details while she was in flight and she wouldn’t answer and the little cherub would panic and call her twenty times before badgering Saeyoung enough to track her. Jumin would just laugh under his breath and tell her that Jihyun was a bad influence on her, Zen telling everyone to chill because Jihyun would never let anything bad happen to her and Jaehee… Jaehee would send her a picture of herself giving her the finger with the caption “I hate that you’re able to go on an impromptu vacation. Be safe. Take care.”

She remembered sitting in the plane for the short trip, her hands wringing together in anticipation to see her kind-hearted partner, just envisioning his bright blue eyes twinkling when they finally found hers, how his arms would lock around hers and hold her so tightly she wouldn’t know where she started and he ended. The two-hour flight felt like an eternity when she knew that he would be there to greet her.

MC had barely stepped out of the gate when a bright flash sparked and she was enveloped in a warm embrace, the familiar mixture of cologne, soap and paint thinner assaulting her, tears coming unbidden to her eyes as she lifted her arms up to return the hug. She laughed as he pressed kisses along her cheek and down her jawline, the three-day scruff on his chin grazing along her sensitive skin causing goosebumps to raise along her arms. God, she really missed him. “I missed you so much MC, let’s never be apart for this long again,” he breathed into her ear, returning his face into the crook of her neck as he nosed her hair, no doubt trying to steal as much of her scent as possible. Unable to find her voice, her throat closed up threatening to choke on her own cries, she nodded vehemently and clung onto him more desperately as her tears spilled down onto his shoulder. Jihyun, being the gentleman that he was simply smiled before pulling back to press light kisses on the apples of her cheeks to halt them in their place.  He had kissed every part of her body that night, the couple making up for months of not being by each other’s side; the two staying awake in a lazy throw of limbs on their sweat laden bed, smiling goofily at each other as they played with their fingers. They talked for hours, until their voices went hoarse from overuse, until their eyes were so heavy they could no longer keep them open… and when they awoke, their fingers were still entwined.

They wined and dined and took so many pictures of the majestic hidden scenery of Jihyun’s latest discovery. He had said he found a new landscape he really wanted to take photographs of and had hoped that she wouldn’t mind hiking with him during their final day together, he wanted to see the sunset there with her before he had to drive her back to the airport and say goodbye for another month. Of course she agreed, it seemed a lovely thought. It did.

She was wrong.

She didn’t take into account how unfit she had become. After twenty minutes into their hike she had wanted to cry… Why were hikes always uphill? Why didn’t anyone ever go, ‘hey why don’t we take a hike downhill and catch a cab back?’… MC wiped her brow and sighed, clutching onto her water bottle as her arms swung from side to side in hopes that they would evolve into wings so she could just fly up the mount. Jihyun had stopped more times than he wanted, citing that he needed to sketch a particular rock formation, or take photos of a line of boring trees- but she knew that he was just finding any excuse for her to catch her breath. He was a sweet man, this man she married.

Finally, after hours of walking, they had made it to the summit and even though it hurt to breathe and she was sweating like a pig and probably smelt worse than one, she couldn’t help but be in awe of the vision in front of her. The skyline was clear and it felt like the forest went on forever, such lush greenery juxtaposed with the harsh edges of rock around them… it truly was beautiful. She understood perfectly why Jihyun had wanted to come here to show her. “Once we’re done here, there’s a picnic area just ten minutes away- we can have the packed lunch there,” he chirped, his bright smile almost as brilliant as the sun in the sky. “I just have to capture these scenes so I can paint them properly back at home… How do you think this one will go on the far wall of the spare room?” he asked posturing his fingers in opposing angles like a camera shot in front of her face. She glanced at her husband before angling herself to look through his fingers, a soft smile on her face as she took in the lush setting in front of her. Beautiful.

“I think it will go marvellously… but for what? You just made up the other room as your studio and that’s just a junk room right now… guest room maybe?” she started talking to herself, listing off the possible ways they would utilise the unused space in their home. Jihyun’s grin widened as he dropped his fingers and stared bemusedly at his wife, eyes twinkling with an unnamed mischief she couldn’t quite place. “I was thinking more on the lines of… a nursery?”

“N-Nursery?” she spluttered, dropping her water to ground in shock. Jihyun laughed as he bent to pick up the bottle and returned it into her weak grasp, his long digits taking the time to caress over the smooth skin of the back of her hand affectionately. His eyes softened as they swept over the smooth expanse of her stomach and up to her face, MC feeling her cheeks flush at the tenderness he held in his gaze. “Yes. I think it’s time we start thinking about children,” he confirmed, holding her hand steadfastly in his, playing with the tips of her fingers with his own, lips twitching into a grin from the tingles it shot up his arm. “We’re a good age, we’ve been married for a few years now and with steady jobs-” “You’re a trust fund kid-” “-and I think I would like to hear how half of you and half of me sounds like running down the halls.” “That sounds a little creepy.” “… In retrospect, perhaps not the best choice of words but you know what I meant,” he laughed as he squeezed their interlaced fingers before bringing up it up to his mouth to kiss her knuckles, “I think we’re ready to start at least… trying,” he said before leaning in to place a chaste peck on her cheek. MC chuckled as she shook her head disbelievingly, this man was so extra he wanted her to come to a foreign country just so she could approve the picture he wanted to paint in their future babies’ room? A picture couldn’t suffice?

No, it really wouldn’t.

MC found herself nodding, he made good points and she could barely contain her glee whenever a mother and child would pass her nowadays, it was probably best that they do start to try for their own little Kim clan. She would have to see, well no, they would both have to see a doctor when he got back. There would be prenatal vitamins she would have to take, do her research on what they should be eating and start looking for prospective OB-GYN’s… getting a little ahead of yourself MC… got to get pregnant first.

“Well then you better take those pictures you need quickly so we can start trying tonight.”

Shrugging off his backpack, Jihyun carefully pulled out his prized camera and meticulously chose the correct lenses he would need for the shots he wanted. MC stood behind him and looked upon him doing something he loved and felt her heart fill, he was such a kind, talented man and here he was… planning for their future together. She loved him with everything she had and she hoped that he knew that. Flying over on a whim because you both missed each other? Don’t be stupid- of course he knew how much you loved him… just look at him, so completely lost in his vision.

MC took a step back and wandered close by, looking over the great natural beauty of the land, the gentle breeze stroking at her skin like her lover’s breath, licking at the sweat on her skin to cool her off as she marvelled at the sight. What was this place called again? Maybe they could incorporate it somehow into their baby’s name? Their son could have something about being a strong mountain and their daughter the majestic but calm winds? She was clearly exhausted if she was already waxing poetic about children’s names.

MC turned her head to call over her shoulder to her husband about naming their son after a nearby rock when she saw him teetering too close to the edge, too focused on the view ahead to pay attention to what was truly in front of him. If she screamed out, he would panic and could lose his footing, if she walked over to him it would be too late… her feet were moving before she even gave herself a chance to think of another option. Three steps, four… seven steps away and her hands clapped onto his wrists, turning him around and pulling him back as she slid forward, her hip grazing along the dirt as she dug her nails into the ground to stop her descent over the edge. But the force was too great, she could feel her legs begin to slope downwards into the crevasse below, her fingers unable to find purchase in the loose soil and her thoughts a panicked mess. I’m going to die. This is how I go. Holy Shit. God. Please. Please. No.

A sharp pain around her wrists as she was almost completely gone.  

Tilting her head back she looked up to her saviour; a stricken look on his once relaxed face, eyes wide and pupils almost invisible in his irises, almost as white as the rest of his eye with fear. “I got you, I got you,” he said as he tried to pull her up, his hands slowly but firmly gripping up her arm. “Can… can your feet reach… the edge? Can you walk up as I pull up?” MC made the mistake of looking straight down and screamed, her body unconsciously jerking in his hold, dragging him further along with her, his chest becoming visible over the edge. “I got you. Don’t be scared.”

MC nodded as she slowly opened her eyes, rocks and dirt filling her vision. She tried her best to stretch out and touch them with her toes but to no avail- even if she swung back and forth there was no way she’d reach it… and even if she could… there was no discernible way to hold onto by foot or hand… she was stuck.

She was saved only to die.

How cruel.

She looked back up to her husband, the strain on his face evident even as the sun shone behind him making her eyes water and lose focus. Or perhaps she was just crying.

“Help! HELP! Someone please! Help us! Help us please!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the range, taunting them. “My wife- please someone save my wife!”

That damn sun.

“I got you MC!”

Let me see his face properly.

“You’ll be okay.”

Stop being so bright.

“Oh god, hold on!”

It’s so hard to see.

“M-MC… climb! Pull yourself up! Use my arms like a rope and climb up!” he screamed, his voice cracking as beads of sweat started to pour down his face, his cheeks tinged with red, veins in his arms bulging from the on-going tension. The wall, he was going to paint the wall. Try. At least try.His arms were too slippery to grip properly, his skin slick with sweat from the both of them, her hands drenched with blood from her ripped up fingernails and palms- each time she would get even one hand length higher… she would slip down further along his arm. Until they were palm to palm.

In holy palmer’s kiss.

“Okay, hold still MC… don’t make any sudden movements,” he instructed as his mind raced to figure out what he could do, was there anything he could do?He tried to scream out once again, praying that someone was around to hear him, just seconds away from rescuing them both. Because he wasn’t going to let go. And he was slipping. She was slipping. If she went, he was sure to follow.

Gravity would be his happy dagger.

MC felt the very real dip, could hear the ground moving underneath him. He wasn’t going to let go. He was slipping. She was slipping. He had meant to follow.

It was all so simple. She always knew the answer. She knew what she had to do. Jihyun was not a man who knew what his limitations were, he was not one to know when one could not be saved- either for those he loved or for himself. It was always up to her to help him save himself.

I did not save you, only for you to die. I am not that cruel.

“MC.”

I need you.

“What are you-” To live.

“Stop!”

To smile.

“STOP!”

To forgive me.

“PLEASE DON’T!”

You always shined brighter than any sun, Jihyun.

“MC-”

I got you.

“I CAN’T HOLD ON IF YOU DON’T-” I’ll save you.

“DON’T LET GO!”

I love you.

“N-NO! MC!”

Stop crying. I hate seeing your eyes filled with tears. “I CAN’T!”

Our kids. They would have had your eyes.

“MC- P-please… don’t-” “I’m so sorry.”

I am.

He would forget how the birds chirped as he watched his wife fall. He would never hear the calls of the people from the nearby camp answering his pleas moments too late. He would never know the sound of his voice as he was pulled away from the edge, the strangers stopping him dropping down to meet her. He would only ever hear how his wife, his MC, had screamed out his name as she fell.

He would never forget the moment the sound of his name, killed him.

He could still feel her hands in his.

He ran through the corridors, a blurred maze that whirled past in his dazed determination. Truth be told he didn’t know where he was going, merely listening to someone telling him to turn left or right and get on the elevator… did that person even work for him? He didn’t know, simply took their word as gospel and followed numbly. All he knew was that he had to get there, he needed to be there.

Jumin unbuttoned his blazer as he stepped off the elevator, suddenly finding it harder to breathe the closer he got to his intended destination, it was the first time he was actually nervous about anything. Anxious maybe? Scared, definitely. He had been here before, done this before but this was different. This felt more real, more finite and just… more than what he had inside of him to able to help. The first time around, Jihyun had lost his fiance. This time, he lost his wife. Truly lost his wife. Right from his fingertips he was told. He could feel his throat close up as heat began to gather behind his eyes and he let out a sharp breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as he shut his eyes tightly. He couldn’t break, wouldn’tbreak- not now, not when his best friend needed him. He could be strong, just a little bit longer.

He pushed past Jihyun’s sister and father, both pale and lost in their own world, trying to paint concern over their features to look socially acceptable when all they wanted was to make sure no scandal could be brought upon their family by their not being ‘supportive’ by not being there. Bullshit. For the first time in his life, he ignored what custom and etiquette dictated and ignored them. Jihyun needed him, they didn’t need his pleasantries.

“Hello, my name is Jumin Han, I’m his best friend; how is he Doctor?” he asked not even sparing a sideward glance to the Kim’s, doing their best to not look affronted by such an obvious snub. The doctor treating Jihyun swallowed thickly as he looked at him- not well then… what else could be expected?- before closing his file and taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “Mr Han, your friend is in a state of hysteria. He’s been here for the past four hours and hasn’t stopped pacing or moving, he keeps trying to escape, trying to tell us that he can go there and save her.” 

“And what have you said in response… I mean to say, was there any chance of her surviving that fall at all-”

“Her body arrived two hours ago-”

“Did… did she suffer?” he asked, his eyes closing against his will. He needed to know. He needed to be able to tell Jihyun the truth one day if he ever asked him. The doctor shook his head solemnly and looked directly into his eyes. “She died instantly.”

Jumin could feel the bile in his stomach churn as he imagined the state of his friend lying in the morgue- and then the state of his friend still waiting for him on the other side of the door. He thought he was going to be sick. Just a little longer, stay strong that little bit longer man. He half listened to the doctor and the other waiting staff about what to do going forward but kept his eye on the clock on the wall in front of him, the second hand seeming to move faster with each tick that passed; telling him that he was wasting each second he was not at his best friend’s side.

“I’m sorry… but I need to go. Excuse me,” he said simply as he bowed slightly to the doctor and continued to ignore the Kim’s outraged cries and they had hoped that they would be the first to see Jihyun, to no doubt insure he wouldn’t drag their good name through the mud with another issue with a woman. That woman- was Jihyun’s wife and his own close friend, that woman who lay lifeless on a cold, metal slab, that woman who had brought his friend back from one foot in the grave- the same who threatened to bury him completely with her absence.

Not again. He had done this before, he knew better now.

Running a hand through his unruly mess of ebony hair and twisting the cufflinks in his shirt, Jumin took an unsteady breath and tried his best to centre himself. He didn’t know exactly what to expect, but it was Jihyun, he knew him better than he knew himself. It didn’t matter what state he was in, it was Jihyun. Knocking curtly with the backs of his knuckles, he cleared his throat and opened the door. The room was clean and sterile, his friend’s shock of blue hair the only real colour amongst all the white surrounding him. He turned to face Jumin as soon as he heard the distinct click of the handle and rushed towards him, his hands shaking as they clamped down hard on his shoulders, fingers curled in the expensive fabric of his suit as he stared into his eyes. Blood shot cerulean, rimmed with red and lashes draped with tears, stricken and filled with pain. Jumin had to blink, to look away, only for a second.

“J-Jumin! Thank god! They won’t listen to me- they won’t! We need to go now, she’s still there. I know it. She’s down there waiting for me and she’s hurt… we need to go-” “Jihyun-” He flinched at the sound of his own name.

“I know it. She… she… she’s calling for me. It sounds crazy, I know it does- but I can hear it-”

“Please, Jihyun-” “No! Don’t use that tone with me!” he snapped, pushing him away roughly as he spun around, his long fingers reaching into the sides of his head as he pulled at the long strands as if he were holding onto the last remnant of his sanity. Perhaps he was. “Don’t! Just… don’t,” he whispered as he released a ragged breath, one Jumin knew meant he was close to another fit of tears. He had heard it when they were 9 and his Nanny had yelled at him for sneaking another sweet when the dentist had told him that he needed to cut back due to his propensity for cavaties. He had heard it when their house had burnt down… and only once when Rika had ‘died’… and again in that room, his friend was about to cry. He was about to cry with him.

“Everyone is talking to me like I’m insane. That I’m crazy. That they have to talk softly in case I break- I’m not going to break god damn it- I just need to help my wife!” he cried as he slumped down on the nearby sofa, his head in his hands as he broke down, his legs shaking with each cry.

This must have been his first time to sit since he came here… he hasn’t stopped. Hasn’t stopped begging for someone to hear him, to help him. I am so sorry Jihyun. I should have been here sooner.

“Jihyun-” “Stop calling me that!” he barked before calming down and returning to his desolate state, shocking Jumin for a second. What else would he call him? He had asked to be called Jihyun again after years of being called V and now Jihyun was off the table again? What was he to call him then? “Just… not Jihyun. Please.”

“I… okay.” “So, can we do this… can we go and look for MC now?” he asked, his face splotchy and ruddy, muddied with the dirt from whatever mountain he was on and his tears. Jumin’s strength was almost at its end, there was only so much he could take. “Yes. Of course. Of course, we can. Let me talk to everyone out there and we can go,” he said quietly, his heart tearing at the sight of his best friend’s smile. Of relief, of joy, of delirium. Of hope.

Oh God.

“Thank you Jumin.”

Shit.

His sister wouldn’t stop saying it. Kept saying it over and over that he had to cover his ears to try to stop the noise but he could still read her lips.

She’s dead! Stop acting crazy and get a hold of yourself man! Tell us the truth whilst it’s still just us… did you try to kill her? Did she kill herself? Don’t give me that look- it’s weird okay?  Come on your fiancé fakes her own death to get away from you and now your wife throws herself off a cliff? That’s right- she’s dead. No, stop acting like you don’t understand- you don’t fall that high without dying- No, father he needs to hear this. He needs to get a grip and quick before the tabloids get to him. He can be mad with grief but he can’t just be mad. Think of what they’ll say…

She’s dead. She’s dead. We were going to look for-

But she’s dead. You knew that. He wasn’t trying to be cruel. She’s dead.

You knew.

They knew. He knew.

You knew.

She’s dead.

She’s dead.

Oh… please… no.

She’s-

A cold wave crashed over him as he tried to repeat the word in his head… but he couldn’t. He could barely move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe. Was he dying?

If he was… then…

Good.

“Wake up Jihyun!” she called out, her soft voice rousing him from the final vestiges of sleep he grasped onto. “Come on now- your breakfast is going to get cold!”

He groaned as he opened one of his eyes, blinking slowly to get rid of the blur in his vision. Like a fog clearing, MC appeared and held a tray of what smelt like his favourite pancakes, the batch she made for his birthday every year. Wait… was it his birthday? “Come on sleepy head! I didn’t slave away for nothing now did I?” she pouted, her lower lip jutting out adorably, just the way she knew made his heart melt, he couldn’t deny her anything when she made that face. “Mmmfhhkaayinakond,” he replied as he rubbed his face against the mattress, forcing himself to wake up. “What was that?” she laughed, the china clinking happily against the tray as she laughed at him. Turning over to push himself up in a sitting position is one clean movement, Jihyun sat against the bedhead and yawned into his palm. “I said… excuse me… Mhmm okay in a second,” he repeated as he accepted the tray from his wife and placed it above his lap. The aroma of the buttermilk pancakes hit him full force as well as the clean smell of the freshly squeezed orange juice. He was a lucky man. “Is it my birthday?” he asked as he tried to reach for his phone to check the date, the days had blurred so much as of late with everything that had been going on- he could have missed it quite easily. MC threw her head back and laughed as she sat beside him, patting his leg up and down absentmindedly as he began to tuck into his meal. It felt like forever since he had her cooking, felt like forever since he had been home.

“No… what, I can’t spoil you just because you’re home and you’re mine?”

He could feel his cheeks heat up, feeling ridiculous as they were puffed up from taking their fill of pancakes and fruit. He shrugged and offered her a sheepish grin before swallowing his bite and reaching over to squeeze her hand to show his appreciation. “Of course you can, thank you. I am a lucky man.” “And don’t you forget it!”

“The funeral was… lovely Jihyun. You would have… shewould have…”

Jumin looked down at his friend, he had tried talking to him, shaking him, screaming at him, begging and crying… nothing could get through to him. He would stare to the side and sometimes blink. He wouldn’t move, or respond to anything anyone said or did. Nothing. It was like he was in some sort of limbo, stuck in a loop. He had never wanted to punch someone more than he did Jihyun’s sister when he found out it was her relentless tirade that amplified his friend’s shock, forcing him to retreat within himself to protect himself. A type of PTSD he was told, a catatonic state to find respite in… whether it was temporary or permanent, no one knew.

In the end Jumin couldn’t blame him. Jihyun had faced so many traumatic things by himself- it made sense that he believed that only he could fix himself. It just, hurt him that’s all… that he was never in time to help his friend.

Well, even if he thought was alone, he wasn’t. Jumin wasn’t going anywhere.

“Ahh! Jihyun! No! Stop!” she laughed as she tried to cover herself with her arms, trying but failing to block his barrage of splashes as she sat on the edge of their private pool. He didn’t, in fact he doubled his efforts in his attacks and effectively drenched his new wife. Wife, he really liked the sound of that. After all they had been through together, calling MC his wife was truly the best thing that could have ever happened to him. Did he deserve it? Probably not, but he wasn’t going to question it. Not when she was smiling at him like that.

“Ah don’t be such a spoil sport Mrs. Kim! Fight back! Show me that strong woman who stole my heart!” he jeered merrily as he sent over a particularly large backhand of water towards her, hitting her straight in her open mouth. Oops. She spluttered and coughed as he raced over to check on her, only to have her launch herself on him, dunking his head under the water playfully. They screamed and squealed as loudly as their heart was content, Jumin offering his private island for their honeymoon as part of his lavish wedding present. They had spent the last two weeks frolicking about the island like teenagers in love; kissing and playing unabashedly, touching and being affectionate however they pleased, being intimate whenever and wherever took their fancy. He didn’t think he could have a life with joy in it after Rika, only to find more joy than he could ever know.

“Ha! You doubted my strength and now you must pay the price! How do you plead?” she asked as she held his swimming trunks in her hand, held high above her head like some hunting trophy.

“How else can I but guilty?” “Ah is that all?”

“Guilty but happy.” “Good.”

She smiled, that smile that made his heart ache, like she would only smile at him like that for the rest of her life. Like that smile was made just for his heart to skip a beat for.

And then she threw his trunks over the pool edge as she wrapped her legs around him to draw him closer, placing a sweet peck on the tip of his nose. “Good.”

Three months. No progress… but no further setbacks… he was just frozen in time. He didn’t say anything when they moved him from his room in the hospital, to his room in Jumin’s penthouse. Didn’t say anything when it was his nurse or his best friend who bathed him. Didn’t move whether it was the radio in the background or the sweet timbre of Jumin’s voice reading his latest book to him. Nothing. That hope of seeing Jihyun ever smile again ever wavering, of ever releasing himself from his self-imposed hell dwindling with every passing day. Still, he stayed. He wasn’t alone.

“Can I move yet darling?” he half asked- half laughed, only to be silenced by a sharp ‘shh!’ and a pointed finger to stop him from moving around. He chuckled as he resumed his original position on the couch, his elbows bent and perched above his knees as he leant forward with a broad grin on his face. Jihyun didn’t have the faintest clue why MC decided that was the perfect position she wanted to draw him in but he didn’t question it. He had tried for the better part of two years to get her interested in drawing however to no avail, if she suddenly caught the inspiration to do so, he would encourage it as best as he could. Even if his back was stiff was sitting in the same position for over an hour and his cheeks felt like they were about to fall off from smiling too much. “There! I’m done!” she exclaimed as she dropped her charcoal down with a dramatic flourish, a large smiled plastered to her face, a smudge of faded black across her cheekbone and chin. He couldn’t be prouder of her even if he tried. He carefully stretched out his sore limbs, wincing as he felt something in his back crack- when had he gotten so old?- before standing up to walk towards his wife to examine her work. As he drew closer she scuttled away, quickly snapping the sketchbook shut and hugging it against her chest protectively. She looked like a child refusing to share her favourite toy, which of course, made him want it even more. “Why won’t you let me see?” he asked as he started to dart around the room to chase after her, his flighty wife nimbler than he gave her credit for. Ducking and weaving around the man she laughed as she easily danced about the room, Jihyun trying his best to mimic her steps to keep up. “Please? I really want to see it!” he pleaded as he finally stood in the middle of their living room, trying his best to hide how winded he was from their little escapade.

MC paused, her cheeks flushed as her shoulders rose up and down with laboured breath, that blessed smile on her face- just for him- before acquiescing and handing him the book. He quietly thanked her as his fingers skipped through the thick pages until he found the latest picture; technically it wasn’t the most beautiful picture, her proportions were off and some of the lighting she incorporated didn’t make sense… but the way she saw him… he could tell she spent all of her time on his face. The way his hair flicked out at the tips, the curve of his smile, the crinkle at the corners of his eyes- though imperfect- was perfect. The way she saw him was… beautiful.

“I love it,” he whispered as his fingers ghosted over the lines she created on the page almost reverently. She scoffed disbelievingly as she sat down on the couch, impatiently rubbing at the charcoal left of her fingers. “No really MC, I love it.” “You’re just saying that because you’re my husband and you’re being biased,” she mumbled her chin to her chest. Jihyun bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at the pouting woman in front of him, too adorable for words, embarrassed by her husband’s accolades.

“I am saying that as your biased husband who is impressed by his wife’s work, yes,” he agreed as he shut the book and sat beside her, rubbing the stains at her fingertips. He could see the tips of her ears start to colour-

“You’re the worst, you know that?” she jested as she playfully nudged at him with her shoulder, MC code for ‘open up and hug me’. “I do actually.” “… But thanks.”

Kissing MC on the edge of her brow, Jihyun nuzzled into her hair and breathed deeply, his lips sliding into an easy, contented smile. He had a nice bare space on his studio wall that drawing could hang upon. It’d be perfect.

Saeyoung: How is he? Jaehee: You haven’t said a word about him in weeks Mr. Han. Yoosung: … is he okay? Zen: If you need a break maybe I can take over and look after him Zen: … so long as you take that furball out with you. Jumin: Your concern is very touching and I will be sure to relay everything to him once I get back home. Zen your offer is kind but unnecessary, I am fine. Jihyun is about to start a new course of medication and treatment… I don’t know if it will make a difference but I have to try.  Jaehee: Mr Han- Jaehee: Maybe you could let us help  Yoosung: Yeah, we’re his friends too. We want to.  Saeyoung: It’s been ages since we’ve seen him- maybe it’ll make him happy? There are some studies that show- Jumin: I’ve read all of them, and yes, perhaps you’re right. Maybe he’s sick of only hearing and seeing me. Jumin: … if he hears or sees me at all.  Jaehee: Oh Mr. Han, of course he does! Zen: Yeah Jumin, there’s no way that your annoying voice and face and be ignored.  Jumin Han has left the chatroom.

Zen: I was trying to cheer him up. I swear. Yoosung: Jumin doesn’t smile much these days.

Fat tears rolled down his cheeks as his hand slammed down on the table, rattling the fine silver, sloshing the wine that was still poured high in their crystal glasses. Jumin hadn’t laughed like that in months, it had been far too long between their last gathering. The rest of the RFA had made their way home hours before and left the three of them sitting around the table with dirtied plates and half-drunk cups of tea and coffee, cake crumbs littered everywhere. It had been a great night.

Jihyun wrapped his arms around his giggling wife as she listened to Jumin regale them with another story of his recent business acquisition and the antics he had gotten up to that he would never tell the other members of the RFA. Or he would show all the blurry photos of himself and Elizabeth the Third that he kept on his phone that he kept for his own amusement. Or as they always did when it was the early hours of the morning, they spoke of their past and their fondest memories, reliving each instant as if it were just yesterday. The both of them painting such vivid pictures for MC to rejoice in with them. It was these moments that Jihyun treasured most, the two most important people in his life just being with him and enjoying life over good food and wine and laughter.

He squeezed his arm around MC and pressed her even closer to his side as they both continued to listen to a very animated Jumin recount how Jihyun had gotten so hungry once during choir practice that he ate all the communion bread and tried to wash it down with the ceremonial wine but got caught by one of the Nuns- but he was just so cute that the Nun just ruffled his hair and ended up giving them both cookies instead of reprimanding them. MC draped her arms around his middle and lay her head against his chest, happily humming along with Jumin’s stories as her fingers drew random patterns in his side. “It’s late, I should let you two turn in,” Jumin said as he moved to stand up. MC shook her head and motioned for him to sit back down, not moving from her spot in Jihyun’s arms. “No please, stay. I like hearing about your and Jihyun’s past. I like hearing you laugh. I like hearing him laugh. Please stay.”  

“Did I ever tell you the time that Jihyun wore the girl’s uniform to school once?” “Jumin, no-” “Jumin, yes! Go on!”

“I thought you two were supposed to love me.” “We do. Now hush, I need to set the scene. It was in our senior year.”

“Jihyun… are you still in there? Anything? Give me anything. A sign to tell me that you’re still there and I’ll be okay. Please. It’s been… too long. I miss you. This is the longest we’ve been together since we were children and I miss you more than ever. I see you every day but you never see me. I talk to you every day and you never say a word back. Please. Just- I need… something,” he begged at the foot of the bed, his hands wrapped around the frame until his knuckles turned white.

It was useless.

“Hey Jihyun… you remember that time… when… when we-”

He hoped that Jihyun couldn’t see him or hear him. He didn’t want him to despair over his tears.

“How about this one Jihyun?” she asked as she picked up the small white shirt, tilting it side to side like some banner. “It’s nice,” he replied dispassionately, not hating or loving it either way. It was a shirt, it didn’t really matter did it? He watched as the smile on his wife’s face slowly melted away into a small frown as she put the piece of clothing back on the rack and continued browsing. “Is there anything in here you like? It’s like you don’t even want to be in here,” she murmured as she perused the aisles with him following behind her, mindlessly touching the items on the shelves. “Don’t be silly MC, of course I want to be here. I’m here, aren’t I?” he asked with a fine arch in his brow. MC stared at him for a moment as if she were assessing if he was telling the truth or not then nodded and continued on with her shopping.

“How about this one?”

It was small. Fluffy. And pink. So horrendously pink.

“Yes. That one. That one is perfect.”

She beamed at him as she hung the tiny onesie over her forearm. “Our daughter will look beautiful in this when we take her home Jihyun.”

Would she? Did they… have a daughter? Was this… What was this?

“Jihyun?” she turned to him, concern etched over her beautiful features as he stood still in the store, a deep sense of dread filling him as he looked around at all the baby clothes and accessories. MC dropped everything in her arms and ran over to him, her hands cradling his face as she titled it down to look him in the eyes. “Baby? Are you okay? Jihyun?”

Was he? Was he okay?

He didn’t know.

He could feel tears start to flood his eyes as he looked down at her, his own hands covering hers as he placed a kiss inside of each of her palms. Her brows creased deeply as she grew more and more worried at her husband’s sudden change in demeanour.

“Jihyun?” “You said it differently.” “What? What did I say differently?” “My name.” “I’m sorry?”

Oh God.

“That too. You said that differently too.”

“I’m scared Jihyun, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “I’m scared too.” “… J-Jihyun.” “If this was real. Yes. Our daughter would have... I wish this was real. Why couldn’t this be real.” “Jihyun.”

This needed to stop now. This was enough, now.

He knew it was a bad idea. The nurse looked too much like her. Same colour hair, same height and weight, same skin tone- enough to make any of their friends do a double take… especially when she was so close to Jihyun. Still who was he to question the temporary nurse they sent over to replace his regular caregiver? So long as she did a good job, there was nothing wrong with it. That was until he heard her scream. Jumin rushed into the room that long held his best friend, the man’s hands tightly wrapped around the nurse’s wrists as he repeated her name over and over like some chant. His voice was raspy and weak from disuse but the anguish in it was palpable, the distress more than evident in the tears in his eyes and the desperation in his grasp. He could see. He could hear. He was…

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried to hold on. I’m so sorry. MC. MC. M... I’m so sorry.”

“Jihyun, that’s not MC. Let her go, you’re hurting her, Jihyun!” “MC. Please. Don’t. I’m sorry.” “It’s probably best that you leave Miss.” “NO! Don’t! MC!” “Jihyun-” “MC… J-Jumin… MC is…” “That’s not MC.” “MC… she’s-” He breathed in and swallowed the lump he had held in his throat since the day his best friend’s wife had died. “Yes. She is.”

Jumin watched as his friend’s body started to grow rigid and curl upon himself, a familiar fear creeping over him as he waited for him to return to his frozen state. A cruel break in his spell just to taunt him. Until Jihyun opened his mouth and let out the most pained cry that he had ever heard, deep harrowing sobs that racked at his form so violently Jumin feared it was a type of seizure. His fingers clung to his sleeves, he called out his name as if he were begging for him to make it all better and the clarity his eyes held even through the despair told Jumin that finally, Jihyun realised that whilst he no longer had MC, he was no longer alone.

Yes, just a little bit longer, I can be strong for you.

“Your wife loved you Jihyun.” “I know that Doctor.” “Then why does it sound like you curse that love instead of embrace it?” “It was because of that love that she died.” “It was because of that love that you live.” “They are both tragedies in my eyes.”

He had asked Driver Kim to let him borrow the car, being Mr Han’s best friend had some perks as the older man didn’t even blink as he handed him the keys. He drove, for God knows how long but he didn’t stop, didn’t think, didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t understand how he was there at first. Looking over the beautiful city, the night turning the skyline into a beautiful array of lights from the buildings below.

He sat there, one hour, three. It grew darker and darker. Matching his thoughts. It would be so easy. Just turn the key. Drive off. There would be some pain- he deserved it- but it would be quick. Quicker than just waiting for death to claim him, waiting for the day he could meet MC again and apologise for not being strong enough, not being fast enough, not being good enough for her.

Just a twist of his wrist and a press of his foot and it would be done. Would he scream? Would he call out her name? Would he too, say he was sorry? Why wasn’t he ever strong enough to save the women he loved in his life? Was his sister right? Was it something about him… that…

It would be so easy. Just turn the key, one twist of the wrist. One blink of an eye. One more breath. It would be so, so easy. He deserved something easy, just once… didn’t he?

So just do it Jihyun.

Do it.

Do it.

He pulled out the key. He stepped out of the car. He screamed. Again and again. He didn’t care who heard him, if anyone could. He screamed until his voice cracked and his throat hurt.

Jihyun pulled out his phone and dialled the first number on his list. “Hello?” “Jumin?” “Jihyun- what… are you okay?” “No.” “Where are you?” “Standing on a cliff.” “Are… what… Jihyun-” “Please come and get me. I… I need help.”

“Okay stay right there. I’m on way. Stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there.” I need help. MC. I’m sorry. I wasn’t strong enough. But I will be. I’ll try to be.

Months of therapy, both physical and psychological. Months of slowly integrating himself back into the waking world. Trying to decipher how he could live life without his wife beside him, how different it was to navigate the world now his centre no longer existed. But still, he would do it. For Jumin who loved him and gave up so much to take care of him. For the RFA who continued to do good in the name of his late wife. For himself… For MC.

It still hurt, every moment without her, but for every second he was alive- he was going to live for her.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Jumin asked as he looked at him from the corner of his eyes, arms folded as he stood steadfast beside his best friend. At first he didn’t know why he asked him to come to the hardware store, but when they stood in front of the paints as Jihyun held a battered camera it all made sense. He knew where that camera came from. He knew the pictures that were on that roll of film. He knew the picture that Jihyun had wanted to paint.

“Yes.”

He stood in his dark room with dozens of pictures developing around him, the scenery as beautiful and… haunting… as he imagined. What he hadn’t envisioned were of how many pictures he had taken of MC. Of her looking back at him as they hiked, of her standing on the peak of the mountain looking tired but proud, of her just moments after he had told her he wanted to start a family with her.

Though none took his breath away like the very last photo he developed- the very first he took of her of that weekend. Standing at the airport gate, with her bag beside her, her arms wide open and that smile. That smile. The one she did just for him. He had almost ripped the paper when her image started to come through. It hurt. Too much. But he didn’t, he couldn’t. That was one of the last smiles she ever game him, he never wanted to forget it; so he painted. He painted for days on end, not stopping on that one wall he had planned, but on every free space he could. The trees, the mountain, the sun and sky- her. He painted her. Her open arms. The way she looked back at him. The way she looked up at him. Her smile. The gentle curve of her lips, the way her hair had danced in the wind, the way her eyes closed when she laughed. He painted her the way he had always seen her and she was… beautiful.

It wasn’t going to be easy, he knew that. He still woke up in a cold sweat, he still flinched at the sound of his name if someone said it a little too loudly, he could still feel her fingers slip through his. But then he’d look at her picture and he would know, even without her beside him, he was never truly without her. He wasn’t alone.

[deanwinchesterwhimsies]

Star-Crossed (Part 2)

Read Part 1 

The day Dean Winchester crashed into your life, something changed. A shift. An alignment. Call it what you may. He was everything. Strong, handsome, and a skilled hunter. You were helpless about the man 12 years your senior. He left as quickly as you met him, but it wouldn’t be the last time you crossed paths. Far from it. Dean Winchester trusted you, and he would bring you pain, life, heartache, and euphoria in return.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Pregnant!Reader, angst, language, sad stuff?, Age gap, sexual innuendos

Words: 2,306

July 2007 – 16 years old

3.4 Sin City

“It’s a dick.” Your co-worker and fellow classmate, Harvey, peeked over your shoulder, staring into the ceramic cup.

“Not intentional. My latte art keeps turning into genitalia. Brings a literal meaning to a stiff drink, don’t you think?” You frowned, passing it to Harvey, who appraised it carefully.

“If you gave it eyes, you could pass it off as an elephant face.” He plucked a knife out of a basin and made your latte a bit more appropriate. He showed it off to you.

“It still looks like a dick,” you sighed, leaning on the counter. The pair of you were bored. It was a slow night, without a football game, the little coffee shop was dead late that Friday night. Granted, you never worked during a game, due to cheerleading obligations.

“A dick with eyes,” Harvey countered, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Ew, not an image I wanted in my head. Thanks for that.” You had to physically shake your head to dispel the image.

“You’re welcome.”

“Oh my god, something exciting please happen. A girl can only practice making so many dick lattes.” You collapsed onto the drink counter dramatically.

“Maybe start practicing vagina lattes?” Harvey teased. You threw the dish rag by the espresso machine at him and by some miracle the bells on the door jingled as two tall, tired men stepped in to the shop.

You whipped up straight, your heart racing with excitement and a tingle of a feeling unknown ran up your spine. Was there a case nearby?

It had been over a year since you’d met them, and your parents had forbidden you from every going over to Bobby’s when they were in town. But the Winchesters had come to you this time. Albeit, by accident. They were probably in desperate need of caffeine and Wi-Fi.

“Dean! Sam!” You couldn’t contain the joy in your voice, and kicked yourself for sounding a little too enthusiastic about seeing them. Keep it cool, Y/N.

“Y/N?” Same and Dean responded in surprise. You grinned and pointed to your name tag, confirming.

“You work here now?” Sam wondered, they had stopped by at this coffee show half a year ago and hadn’t run into you.

“Yeah, the parental units said I had too much time on my hands this summer and I got my new car, so I had to start getting gas money.” You shrugged. “What can I get for you guys?”

“Just some black coffee.” Sam gave a soft smile.

“Yeah, and a piece of that pie there.” Dean pointed at your caramel apple crumble pie.

“You’ve got it.”

Harvey grabbed the pie and you handed them their coffees. “How much?” Sam pulled out his wallet.

“It’s on me.” You slid your credit card through.

“You didn’t have to—” Dean started.

“Don’t worry about it, you’ll repay me someday. How long are you here for?”

“We’re just swinging by Bobby’s after this to pick up some gear and assistance before we head back out.”

“Going out to Ohio, had to do a bit of research and snag some caffeine for the road.” Sam put $10 in the tip jar.

“Not necessary, but thanks.”

They nodded and sat at a table in the corner of the café. Out of Harvey’s hearing.

Ohio? That was how many hours away?

“You know those guys?” Harvey raised his eyebrows, clearly flabbergasted.

“They’re friends of my Uncle Bobby’s, we’ve met once and talked on occasion.” You eyed the pair chatting in hushed tones in the corner.

“What are they researching?”

“Wildlife.” The lie rolled right off your tongue.

“What about it?”

“Their habits and patterns, I don’t know. Why does it matter?” You played clueless.

“Something just seems off about them.” Harvey gave you a weird look, before returning to watch the Winchester brothers.

“Are you jealous Harvey?” You tried not to laugh, but it was clear as day. The way his jaw set as Dean looked back at you and waved you over to their table.

“I’m not, I’m just looking out for you.” He placed his hand on your shoulder, stopping you from going to them.

“I don’t need anybody looking out for me, besides they’re my friends.” You rolled your eyes.

“And that’s weird because they are probably a decade older than us.” Harvey pointed out.

“Twelve years.” The words came out as a reflex. You don’t even know why you said it.

“Huh?”

“Dean, Dean’s twelve years older than me. Sam is, what? Nine years older than me? Eight maybe?”

“You knew that… right off the top of your head? That, that guy is twelve years older than you?” Harvey’s voice was low, biting.

“And that Sam is eight.” You sounded defensive, even to your own ears. Shit.

“But you knew that Dean guy’s right off the bat, like it’s something you think about. A lot.”

“You’re reading a whole lot of something out of nothing. Dean’s a friend, I haven’t even thought of him outside of when my Uncle Bobby talks about them.”

It was a lie. You begged Bobby to keep you updated on the Winchesters and to let you help in their research. It was your one link into the full hunter world, and you wanted to go out there with them so bad. Or for your parents to at least take you with them. But no, you had to stay home and work while they dealt with cases.

You saw your parents maybe once a month with all the activity that been happening since the gate to hell had opened. Teens would kill for the chance to have their parents out of the house for that long, but you belonged on the road with them.

Not home alone, baking sadness pies. Then feel lonelier when you had no one to share them with. That’s why your boss had let you start selling your baked goods here. She knew your parents left on their “business trips” and you had nothing else to do, but work before cheerleading practice started in August.

Harvey released you, but not before staring directly into your eyes. Looking for who knows what? Did he want something more than friendship?  

As you approached, they pulled a chair out for you.

“Glad to see you safe and doing something normal,” Dean remarked.

“As normal as a girl who fights ghosts can be. I’m allowed to do simple salt and burns by myself now in the area.” It felt stupid when you said it aloud. Compared to what they had seen and done, your ghosts were child’s play.

“Nothing else though?” Sam wondered.

You shook your head. “My leash is tight. So, Ohio?”

Dean and Sam filled you in, your heart aching with each detail. You were a hunter by blood and nature. You should be out there with them and the plan began to come together in your head.

“Hey, do you think you could drop me off at Bobby’s? My car is there, Bobby was fixing it up for me today.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Bobby was going to pick you up with your at your house tomorrow to do some research and Harvey was going to be your ride home tonight.

“Sure, no problem.” The plan was set in motion.

“I still don’t understand why you are going with them.” Harvey whispered as he locked the door.

“They’re going to my Uncle Bobby’s and I want my car back.”

“What about the party?”

“I’ll swing by, I really wasn’t planning on drinking anyway.” That was a lie, you would not be swinging by.

Harvey stared over your shoulder at the brothers, and then down to you. “Stay safe.”

“Safety is my middle name.” You gave him a friendly hug and skipped over to the Impala. Your heart pounding against your rib cage as climbed into the back seat for the first time. The smell of worn leather, men’s cologne, and a hint of gun powder filled your senses.

This was it, you were going to run away with the Winchesters.

April 2015 – 23 years old

Shortly after 10.20 Angel Heart

Thank you for visiting Kansas!

It hit you like a ton of bricks. You were leaving the boys.

Tears welled up and you couldn’t fight it anymore. What were you doing? You’re a terrible person. Dean didn’t deserve this.

Sobs wracked your body and you had to pull over on the side of the road. “Shit, shit, shit!” You punched the steering wheel trying to will the waterfalls coming out of your eyes. But you were pregnant and alone, and the thought only made you cry harder.

You collapsed over the wheel, taking deep breaths. What was next? You had to go to the doctor to make sure everything was okay. God knows even how far along you were.

This baby needed a home. Not dingy motels.

Jodi. Jodi could help and she wouldn’t tell Dean. At least you hoped. You pulled back on the road and changed directions.

You’d be okay. Well, not okay, but safe.

“Dean!” The scream rang through his head. His heart lurching.

“Y/N!” Dean spun around in the forest, darkness blanketing the landscape in front of him.

“Dean!” Your scream more blood curdling than the last. “Help!”

“I’m coming, Y/N!” Dean took off in the direction of your voice.

“Please.” It was a whimper at Dean’s feet. You laid crumpled on the forest floor, deep cuts all over your body.

Dean dove to his knees and cradled you in his arms and pushed away the Y/H/C tendrils matted in blood clinging to your cheeks.

“Dean, wake up!” Sam’s voice broke through. Dean shot out of his bed, narrowly avoiding smashing foreheads with Sam. “Dude, it was just a dream.” Sam held his hand up.

Dean pushed past him, running down the hall to your room.

“Y/N,” he called out your name softly before opening your door.

The air left Dean chest. The once cluttered desk covered in countless books and notebooks was now spotless. The pictures that used to cover the cork board, cleared. The frame with a picture of you and your parents, gone from the nightstand.

Dean hurried to the wardrobe, as he feared, your clothes were missing. He dove to the floor and looked under your bed. Your canvas hunting bag was no longer there.

“Dean, what are you doing?” Sam stood in the doorway.

“She’s gone,” Dean grunted, sitting up and rubbing his face. Torn.

Sam surveyed the room, concern setting in his face. “Maybe she cleaned and now she’s making breakfast. She has been feeling pretty rough lately. She probably couldn’t sleep.” Sam pulled his brother off the floor and dragged him upstairs. Trying to have a small inkling of hope. You would have never left without telling them.

On any given morning, the boys would have been greeted with the smell of pancakes. You couldn’t resist making a carb-loaded breakfast after being on the road all the time.

The boys were met by a cold, empty kitchen. Dean turned on his heel and stormed up past the library and into the garage. The fluorescent light blinked on, revealing the space where your car had once sat.

“Get me my phone, Sam.”

When the phone was in his hand, he touched your contact name. A picture of you staring cross eyed at an extravagant donut, behind your name.

It rang on his end, then it was ringing in the bunker. They boys looked over to the table in the library. Your phone sat buzzing on a pile of books. A picture of Dean mid-bite into a pie, looking quizzically at the photographer. You.

Dean hung up, his arms going slack at his sides. He picked up your phone, unlocking it, hoping to find something. Anything as to why you left.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, holding out a folded piece of paper that had been set under your phone.

Dean,

Please forgive me. 

Sam,

Take care of Dean. You know the drill.

 Love, Y/N

Dean broke. His eyes watered as he sat himself down in the chair, holding your note to his chest. “She got herself in trouble. That’s the only reason she would leave.”

“Maybe she was getting tired of the hunting life. She was pretty reluctant on the last few hunts.”

“She was sick, Sam. Hunting is Y/N’s life. She can’t stay out of it if she even tried. We all tried to stop her, remember?”

“So, she’s sicker than we thought and she ran away so she didn’t have to face us. But I feel like she would have told us. Y/N tells us everything.”

“Apparently not.” Dean cradled his head in his hands. Your note fluttering to the floor.

Jodi Mills was having a pretty normal day. Claire was still adjusting, and her and Alex seemed to butt heads. But Jodi was sure they would be like sisters someday. If they didn’t kill each other first.

“Girls, dinner.” Jodi had become a mother of two teen girls suddenly, and she was content. Unless her hair began to grey from all the stress.

“Meatloaf?” Claire scrunched up her nose as she plopped into her seat. Alex said nothing, but she gave Claire a quick glare.

“Do you not like meatloaf?” Jodi was sure meatloaf was a meal most people liked.

“Does anybody like mashed meat pile—” Claire was cut off by the doorbell being run in a frantic manner.

“Stay here.” Jodi cautiously made her way to the door and peeked through curtain. She flung the door open.

There you stood, soaking wet, crying in the rain.

“Y/N? What’s wrong? Are the boys okay?” Jodi ushered you inside.

“Yeah, they’re fine,” You choked. “I-I just got myself in a situation and I need help. And you’re the only person I can trust.”

[thesilverdreamer]

Roger Rabbit and the Ink Machine: Chapter 1

Read on Fanfiction.net here

Read on AO3 here

Summary:  New York City, 1948. Alice Angel has gone missing. The NYPD laughed at the prospect of a Missing Toon Report, and nobody wants anything to do with Toons. Desperate, Joey turns to Eddie Valiant, the Detective Who Works for Toons. A few months out from the Marvin Acme case, Eddie quickly realizes that something funny is going on at Joey Drew Studios, and he aims to find out what.

Characters: Eddie Valiant, Roger Rabbit, Joey Drew, Henry, Bendy, miscellaneous characters from Bendy and the Ink Machine

Rated T for language

From the Case Files of George K. Fowler, Office of Extranormal Affairs

June, 1947: Marvin Acme, acclaimed comedian, industrialist, and the creator of Toontown, is found dead, apparently murdered by one of the very same Toons he had been supporting for almost two decades. Maroon Cartoon’s Roger Rabbit is believed to have killed him in a fit of jealous rage after learning that his wife, Jessica Rabbit, was having an emotional affair with Acme. Detective Eddie Valiant, of Valiant & Valiant, uncovers the truth: Judge Doom of the Los Angeles Circuit killed Acme and framed Roger to gain control of Toontown. Acme’s will is found, bequeathing Toontown to the Toons. Valiant begins helping Toons again after several years’ lapse, and Roger Rabbit signs a contract with Walt Disney Productions to have his own cartoon.

New York City, 1948

Joey Drew was either out of his mind or an idiot to fly a detective from LA to New York. Eddie Valiant wasn’t complaining, his plane ticket, lodging, and time were being paid for in advance by Drew Studios, plus the job itself. (Alright, so he was complaining a little, but odds were good that this would be a simple missing toon case the NYPD wasn’t taking seriously, worse case scenario he got to see the Statue of Liberty. He was, after, all, the shmuck who agreed to come out here.)

Drew Studios was smack dab in Manhattan, at Broadway and 3rd Avenue. The building was unimpressive, but apparently it had several basement floors. Joey Drew had a reputation for being a little peculiar, even for a man who worked in cartoons. The front face of the building was dominated by a colorful sign reading, ‘JOEY DREW STUDIOS.’

Eddie breathed a long-suffering sigh, hefted his travel bag over his shoulder, and pushed through the revolving door.

The studio was alive with the sound of creators at work, and it almost sounded like home. The entrance hall had posters all the way down showing some of the characters in Drew Studios’ cartoons. Boris the Wolf (less villainous, more hungry), the Butcher Gang (a recurring group of bad guys made up of Charley, Barley, and Edgar), Alice Angel (her mediocre debut was followed up by the fantastic ‘Hell or High Water’ and her popularity exploded), and of course, studio mascot Bendy the Dancing Demon. Bendy was the big star, and had been ever since Drew Studios started getting some recognition back in ’35.

The hall opened into a lobby, and an inter-office courier nearly ran into Eddie, gave a half-hearted apology, and kept on going. There were a couple of young men bickering off to the side, and a projector played an old Bendy cartoon on a screen at the back wall.

A woman wearing a knee-length checkered skirt and red lipstick approached Eddie as he took the scene in. “Can I help you, sir?” she said. She had a distinct Jersey accent.

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got a meeting with Mr. Drew?” he said. The secretary, probably, consulted her clipboard and asked for his name. “Valiant.”

“Hm, I’m not seeing—”

A sharp whistle cut across the lobby, and a man who definitely wasn’t Joey Drew but still seemed kind of familiar strode across the room, up to Eddie and the secretary. “It’s fine, Sherry, we’re expecting Mr. Valiant,” he said. He was distinctly short, white, and slim. He looked young, without a trace of gray in his hair, and had a very thin pencil mustache. He was dressed professionally, but his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his tie was thrown over his shoulder to keep it clean. There were dark spots under his eyes.

“Alright, Mr. Hoskins,” Sherry said, and quietly made a gesture like adjusting her collar; he picked up on her meaning and quickly sorted out his tie.

Sherry fluttered away, her heels clicking on the wood floor, and Eddie forced himself to look in any other direction. “So, uh, Mr. Hoskins?”

“Please, just call me Henry.” Henry Hoskins, now that was a name that Eddie recognized from his research. Cofounder of Drew Studios, head animator for what little traditional animation they still produced. Despite his significance in the studio’s history, he stayed out of the public eye, especially compared to Drew. “Pleasure, Mr. Valiant, I’m the lead artist here.” Henry held out his hand for Eddie to shake.

‘Lead artist’ was a roundabout way of alluding to Henry’s bigger role; he was one of those rare gifted people who possessed the power to literally bring their art to life. Some called them, ‘Old Men,’ after Disney’s Nine Old Men, who had that power to a man.

Eddie shook Henry’s hand. “Eddie Valiant.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s many people in this industry who haven’t heard of you after last summer,” Henry said.

“You’d be surprised.”

“Well, at any rate, I’d like to talk somewhere a little more private. We’re trying to keep things quiet as long as possible.”

He led Eddie down the left wing to what was presumably Henry’s office, surprisingly small for one of the studio’s founders. There was an ordinary desk and chair, along with a light table that had been in use recently. He probably didn’t have people in his office very often, judging by how the desk and chairs were piled high with papers. As Henry moved a heavy-looking binder off of a chair, Eddie looked around a little.

Framed art covered the walls, but especially over the light table. There were character model sheets, concept art, a few posters. Some photographs had been pinned up. There was one of Henry and another man, at least a few years younger. Another was clearly a wedding portrait, showing Henry and a pretty woman with dark hair. Eddie checked surreptitiously to confirm that yes, Henry was wearing a wedding band.

Then there was another photo, this one of a little girl who couldn’t have been older than five, and right next to that photo was a child’s drawing of Bendy done in crayon.

“Your daughter?” Eddie said.

Henry swung his head around to see what Eddie was referring to, and broke into a smile. “Yeah, my little girl. Beth just turned six. Do you have any children, Mr. Valiant?”

Eddie shook his head emphatically. “No, no no, that life ain’t for me.”

“Well, it isn’t easy, I’ll say that much, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Then again, if even half of what the papers say is true, you’ve taken on some work far more difficult than raising a child.” Henry threw his hands up as the mess defeated him. “Bah. I’m sorry Joey didn’t come meet you himself, he’s scatter-brained at the best of times. I—what in the world is that noise?”

There was some kind of rustling noise coming from the coat closet. Eddie was closer, so he pulled the door open, and a puny cartoon devil came tumbling out, dramatically gasping for air.

“I thought I was a goner!” Bendy wheezed. “It smells like a sewer in there!”

“Bendy!” Henry snapped, but he didn’t look all that bothered by it, smiling as he spoke. “How long have you been in there?”

“Uh…what day is it?”

“Same as when I saw you this morning. Why aren’t you on set?”

“Cause they’re still cleanin’ up after the last take,” Bendy drawled, dropping all of the wheezing he had affected. It was a gag, between Toon and creator, maybe not exactly that situation but the format of Bendy cracking wise while Henry was the straight man was nothing new. Not for the first time Eddie reflected on just how weird artists were.

“So, this the flatfoot who’s gonna find Alice?” Bendy said, turning his attention to Eddie and sizing him up.

“I hope so,” Henry said. “Mr. Valiant, Bendy. Bendy, Eddie Valiant.”

“Hmph,” Bendy grunted, and Eddie’s response was more or less the same. He was way too used to being around Toons.

“So, Alice Angel?” Eddie said.

“Yes, that’s right,” Henry said, sobering. “Alice has been missing for a little over a week. The last time anyone saw her was the Friday before last. Joey tried to report her missing, but New York’s Finest laughed at him.” The sarcasm was practically dripping off of Henry. Bendy murmured something about, “@#&%ing pigs,” with the sound of a bike horn. Definitely a New Yorker.

“No surprise there,” Eddie said. He held up his box of cigarettes. “Alright if I smoke?”

“Sorry, I’d prefer if you didn’t,” Henry said. Eddie nodded and quietly pocketed the box. “We tried searching for her ourselves, but everyone here is so busy with work. There’s been some calls to PI’s in the area, but they didn’t want anything to do with Toons. If I’m being honest, as much as I trust Joey, I objected when he wanted to hire you, Mr. Valiant, but I think he’s panicking.”

“Well, if we’re being honest, I thought it was a little funny myself. As for your little starlet…” Eddie set his jaw. “She wouldn’t be the first to go running off into the city for a good time, but she doesn’t seem like the type. Anybody check her place?”

“Hm?” Henry blinked. “Oh, no, Alice lives here in the studio, along with Bendy and Boris.”

Well that explained some of the expansions, dorms for the Toons. It was practically unknown in Hollywood since Toontown was brought to life, and even before then it was uncommon for studios to have private housing for their ink-based stars. Toons weren’t treated well in general, but there was still some acknowledgement that they were people, human-like, and wanted to be treated like adults. Unless it was funny, of course. Hell, even Roger—

“ACHOO!”

The room went very still, as that had definitely not been either of the humans who had sneezed comically loudly, and Bendy wasn’t trying to use Henry’s shirt as a handkerchief, and also the sneeze had come from Eddie’s travel bag.

“I, uh, think your bag might have a cold,” Bendy drawled.

Eddie could feel his blood pressure rising. He dropped his bag unceremoniously to the floor, and the impact was accompanied by a yelp. Eddie roughly unzipped the bag, reached in to the elbow, and yanked out a Toon rabbit by the straps of his red overalls, wriggling as he tried to get free. “Oh, boy, is it stuffy in there! My ears were burning, was somebody talkin’ about me?”

“Roger!” Eddie snapped, as he lifted Roger Rabbit up so he could look him in the eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

Roger rambled, oblivious to Eddie’s frustration. “Well, I heard you were going to New York, and I’ve always wanted to go to New York, so I thought, why not go see New York with my best pal? Then we can solve a case together, just like the good ol’ days!”

“’The good ol’ days?’ You mean last summer, when you were framed for murdering Marvin Acme and almost got the both of us killed?”

“Yeah, just like then!” Roger said earnestly.

Eddie closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and dropped Roger so he could rub his temples. Bendy looked excited, which couldn’t be good, and Henry was laughing. “Do I even want to know what you did with my spare clothes?” Eddie snapped.

Meanwhile, a ten-year-old girl in Albuquerque was very confused when she unpacked her suitcase and found a pair of men’s boxers with hearts printed on them.

“Pu-bu-bu-bu-robably not!” Roger trilled, and darted away from Eddie to avoid retaliation.

Roger stopped in front of Bendy and gasped dramatically. “Oh, boy! I never thought I’d get to meet Bendy, I just saw the last cartoon you were in! Oh, the artistry! The drama! The tragedy! It was inspired!” Roger cried, swooning.

Bendy was all too eagerly soaking up the praise. “Well, you ain’t too bad yaself, Rabbit. Put ‘er there, pal,” Bendy said. Roger happily shook his hand, and even as Roger was viciously zapped by Bendy’s joy buzzer, he shook Bendy’s hand so strongly that the little devil was lifted up off his feet and shaken up and down. By the time they were finished, Roger’s fur was singed and Bendy was dizzy and a droplet of ink fell from the edge of his widow’s peak like sweat.

“Toons,” Eddie said gruffly.

“Toons,” Henry said cheerfully.

Artists.

A knock came at the door, and a blonde kid pushed it open. “Henry, you’re needed on the sound stage. And have you seen—oh, Bendy’s right here, perfect. You should know, Mr. Drew is getting anxious.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll be right there,” Henry said. “Do you mind coming downstairs, Mr. Valiant? Knowing Joey, if he doesn’t see you with his own eyes he’ll end up keeping you waiting a while.”

Eddie just gestured for Henry to lead the way.

There was a lift to the lower floors, Henry explained, but the sound stage was only one floor down. The stairs were easier. Bendy hopped up on Henry’s shoulder and Henry didn’t even blink; Roger saw this, looked at Eddie hopefully, and Eddie ignored him.

All things considered, the studio was nothing special compared to the kinds of setups you saw in LA, but you wouldn’t know it from the way Henry spoke proudly about starting the studio with Joey Drew, creating Bendy and building the studio into a strong contender, expanding the staff to a fair size, if smaller than some other studios of the same age—coming up on fifteen years.

There was one weird thing, though.

“What’s with the pipes?” Eddie said, of the clear plexiglass pipes carrying a trickle of some dark black substance. The pipes seemed to run (and drip) everywhere in the building, from the lobby to the offices to the stairwells.

Henry didn’t even need to look to know what Eddie was talking about. “Much like your being here, a result of Joey panicking. I’m still not all that sure about it myself, I was a little distracted with a newborn, but I have my suspicions. Around that time, before Bendy became real, the studio was having some trouble. We couldn’t really keep up with the larger studios out west. I’m thinking Joey got pulled in by a conman, he was desperate but it could happen to anyone—”

Bendy cut in when it was clear Henry was going to keep rambling and making excuses. “Joey wanted to try and use some hunk-a-junk ‘Old Man-in-a-Can’ to try and make me real. Not to, uh, doubt him? But let’s just say I’m real glad Henry pulled it off before the machine ever got off the ground.”

Eddie made a sour face. “Hold on, hold on, he tried to build a machine to make Toons?”

“Well, yes,” Henry said, wincing. “Don’t get me wrong, Joey’s my best friend, but he can be a little…”

“Short-sighted. Impulsive. Dumb as a box of rocks,” Bendy said.

“Anyways! It was a mess from the beginning, but it never would have worked, Joey’s Ink Machine,” Henry said. “I saw the blueprints once, most of the writing was some nonsense scribbles. He’s embarrassed by it, really. But it’d be expensive and messy to take it all apart, it’s just been left as it is.”

“A monument to stupidity,” Bendy quipped, and Henry shook his head.

Joey Drew was even more of an eccentric than rumor claimed, then. Bringing Toons to life without needing an Old Man? He wasn’t the first person to try, but there was a reason that studios still employed Old Men. The attempts ended in spectacular failure, and the failures were well-publicized. From what Eddie knew, nobody had really tried to do it in at least ten years. The general conclusion was that it was impossible to replicate an Old Man’s power. Joey must have been really desperate.

The sound stage on B1 was a raucous mess of people moving back and forth trying to get their jobs done. Above the sound crew setting up and testing mics, above artists organizing work, above the cleanup crew getting out of the way, a man’s booming voice dominated the room. “Somebody shut off that fan! I want that playback ready to go on cue this time! And where is Bendy?”

Crew moved aside as somebody pushed their way through, and there was a man Eddie recognized from his picture in the papers, looking a little red in the face from exertion and the stage lights. Joey Drew was a white man standing at about six foot tall, built sturdy. His facial hair was grown out and a little unkempt, and already light hair was shot through with gray. He had clever eyes and laugh lines.

“Finally!” Joey declared. His voice was deep and booming, filling the space he was in. He pointed a finger at Bendy as though in accusation. “Just where did you run off to? After everything that’s happened, I would think you—”

Henry grabbed Joey’s hand and forced it down. “Give it a rest, Joey. He was upstairs in my office, meeting Mr. Valiant.”

“Wait, Valiant?” Joey said, and for the first time he looked at Eddie. His face was starting to return to a healthier pallor. “Mr. Valiant!” Joey exclaimed, with no small amount of relief, and he laughed. “Goodness, I didn’t expect you here so early!” It was almost four in the afternoon. “Oh, but it is wonderful to meet you in person, put ‘er there.”

They shook hands, and Joey’s grip was firm. “Mr. Valiant, please do forgive me, but could I have just one minute and then we can go back upstairs.”

Eddie waved him along. Joey pulled Henry and Buddy up towards the sound stage, clapping Henry on the back and they chatted amiably as they went out of sight. Eddie took a few steps off to the side to lean against a wall in a mostly unoccupied corner. A janitor in denim coveralls was leaning over a trash can, rooting around in the garbage.

“Lose something?”

The janitor jumped and hit his head on the edge of the trash can and stood up straight massaging the bump. He was a young black man, in his early twenties at best. “Nope, didn’t lose nothing! I was just, uh…” He had a strong Brooklyn accent. “Definitely did not lose my keys, nosiree…”

“Don’t worry about it, kid, no skin off my nose,” Eddie said, and then he rethought it. “Just one question, though, how long have you been missing your keys?”

The janitor, his name tag said Wally, looked at Eddie funny. “Uh, I had them an hour ago? But thanks, anyways. Oh, hell, I’m outta here,” Wally said suddenly, and darted away as Joey returned.

Joey had his attention split as he opened a small vial. It looked a little like something Eddie’s girl Dolores had ordered out of the Sears catalog, some oil that was supposed to relieve stress but mostly the strong smell just gave Eddie a headache. Running a cartoon studio, though, Joey probably needed all the stress relief he could get.

Joey sniffed the contents of the vial and made a face. “Blast it, I think it’s gone bad. Mr. Valiant, does this smell like lemon to you?” Joey said as he suddenly shoved the vial in Eddie’s face. Eddie reflexively pushed it away but not fast enough to avoid catching a whiff of something that was not lemon, but smelled a lot like eggs that had been rotting for months. Eddie turned away to cough and retch.

“What the hell?” Eddie spat as Joey was laughing. Roger came closer to investigate, caught the scent directly, turned green, and dropped to the floor stiff as a board clutching a drooping flower between his hands.

“Ha-ha! Oh, dear, I just couldn’t resist!” Joey said as he wiped his eyes, tearing up from laughing so hard at Eddie. Eddie just scowled at him. “Oh, don’t be like that, Mr. Valiant, it was just a joke.” He corked the vial and replaced it in his coat pocket. The smell was still present, but Joey seemed unperturbed. He tapped a finger on the side of his nose. “Can’t smell a thing, never been able to, makes the gag just a little more convincing.”

“Yeah, well, right now I’m wishing I couldn’t smell.” Eddie really had regained his sense of humor since the Acme case, but that didn’t mean he had the patience for some guy who thought that Acme Brand Stink SyrupTM was a replacement for an actual joke.

“Oh, for the love of, I’m sorry, alright? It won’t happen again,” Joey said, and to his credit he sounded pretty genuine.

“Right, well, I’d like to get to work, if you’re done playing pranks.”

“Now hold your horses, Mr. Valiant, there’s no need to be hasty. A minute one way or the other won’t make much of a difference.”

Eddie begged to differ, but made himself shut up and stay put. It was hard when Roger was standing behind Joey waggling his finger and making faces.

“There we go. Now, Mr. Valiant, tell me, have you ever seen an Old Man use their power?”

“You kiddin’? I’m from LA, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting an Old Man.”

Joey pouted at him. “Well, I personally never get tired of watching.” He turned back toward the sound stage.

The crew was settling and clearing the space, and on the sound stage Henry was with an assistant artist on one side and the director on the other, looking over a drawing done by the assistant with Henry’s guidance and input.

There were no bright colors or auditory cues when an Old Man went to work. There was just an invisible shift in the air, like the way light passing through a gap in the curtains moved across the wall. And as Henry’s eyes passed over the empty space, the image in the drawing was reproduced in three dimensions. The floor became a city street, the back wall, a store front. A couple of lamp posts, a manhole cover, the sidewalk, all of it rounded and polished and matching the style of Drew Studios’ cartoons.

So there was still some wonder at seeing drawings come to life. Everybody was watching quietly, but nobody seemed quite as happy as Henry, even after using his power so many times. It was never mundane to him, how could it be?

As it was drawn by another artist, the set would only last a couple of hours before turning to dust. Only if Henry drew it himself would it be permanent. Nobody quite knew how that power worked, but there was a consistent set of rules to how it could be used.

When the set was completed, Henry was perspiring and grinning. The page in his hand had started spontaneously leaking ink from the center out, and by the time he was done it was soaked through with black ink.

Henry took a step back, and like that, the spell was broken, and everybody went straight back to work.

Joey clapped a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie jumped. “Alright, then, let’s get to business.”

Joey’s office was three times the size of Henry’s, significantly more organized, with significantly fewer personal touches. The left wall had a bookshelf mostly filled with knick-knacks, and the right wall had a couple of newspaper clippings, a magazine cover, and a poster for the Butcher Gang. It was a little chilly, the vent was wide open. Eddie made Roger wait outside the office, which carried its own risks, but it was at least a calculated one.

“So, Henry already told you what’s happened?” Joey said as he stepped behind his desk.

“More or less. You want me to find Alice.”

“That’s exactly right, Mr. Valiant. It’s been madness this past week, I’m at my wit’s end. Speaking of, I really am sorry about the state I was in when you first came downstairs, it’s just been…difficult,” Joey said. “We’re all so worried about her, the police only mocked me, and I shudder to imagine what could have happened to her.”

“Mm-hm,. You gotta understand, Mr. Drew, you’re not giving me a lot to work off of here, and I can’t guarantee I’m gonna find her. It’s not easy to hurt a Toon, but it ain’t hard for a smart Toon to make themselves disappear.”

Joey shook his head. “I hope she isn’t hurt, but even if she did run away, she couldn’t possibly have done it without help.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Just what I said. Alice, and Bendy and Boris as well, they’re all clever, but not particularly, what’s the word, worldly. They don’t really leave the studio very often, and when they do they usually have a chaperone, either myself or Henry.”

Eddie squinted at him. “No offense, Drew, but that’s a little funny to keep Toons locked up in a studio.”

“Not locked up, goodness!” You make it sound like they’re here against their wills!” Joey said, visibly appalled. “But, Mr. Valiant, this isn’t Los Angeles. There isn’t a haven like Toontown here in New York, but people aren’t any kinder to Toons here than they are in California. Do you recall Fleisher Studios?”

“Sure I know ‘em. Hell, my brother and I worked for ‘em once back in the day. They, uh…” Eddie frowned as he recalled the details. Had to be spring of ’42, Fleischer Studios was going defunct. The case wasn’t actually for Max Fleischer, Valiant & Valiant were hired by Betty Boop and Bingo after the couple moved to California along with some other Fleischer Bros. Toons.

Eddie wet his lips. “Right. The stalker.”

Now it was coming back to him. Betty had a stalker who had been harassing her for some six months. The creep wasn’t subtle about it, but he was a human and she was a Toon, so the NYPD would not do a think about it, and the stalker even followed Betty and Bingo all the way across the country. They had been afraid he might try to hurt one or both of them, so Teddy got Betty and Bingo safely to Toontown while Eddie waited at the motel room and gave the stalker the scare of his life. The involvement of Valiant & Valiant did not make the papers, but word of mouth still spread the story among the Toons.

“Alright, I get what you mean.”

“Thank you, Mr. Valiant,” Joey said, relaxing a little and smiling gratefully. “It’s incidents just like that one that make me fear for the safety of my Toons. They haven’t expressed any interest in living somewhere else, so I’m only too happy to let them have a home here.”

Persuasive guy, Eddie thought. “So, whether she left of her own will or not, somebody else had to be involved. That’s definitely something to look into. Still can’t guarantee anything, but I can do some digging.”

“Fantastic,” Joey said, flashing a big grin. “About your compensation, I admit that this work is a little nebulous and the time frame is going to be uncertain.”

“At least a couple days.”

“I thought as much. We’ll stick with the daily rate we agreed upon plus expenses, yes? You do have a reputation for results, and for being a man of strong morals, so I think I can trust that you won’t sit back and do nothing.”

This was already going better than Eddie feared it would. “That sounds damn fair, Mr. Drew.”

And they shook on the agreement.

“So Alice lives here in the studio, but does she have any friends outside of it?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t know, I speak with her less than I would like,” Joey said, as he went to write out a check for the first day of work.

“Then who would know?”

“Well, Henry is certainly closest with the Toons,” Joey said. “But he’s a tad busy at the moment, and rather worn out. Otherwise, she spends quite a bit of time around our Music Director, Sammy Lawrence. You’re welcome to speak to him, the lift can take you down to level B4. I only ask that you avoid going into sound stage while it is in use. Level C is under construction but the button on the lift is disabled anyways. And there is one room on this level you will pass on the way to the lift, it’s boarded up, but that is the site of a, eh, project that didn’t work out.”

“The Ink Machine?”

Joey’s lip curled. “So, Henry told you about that, did he? Wonderful. Nevertheless, I recommend staying clear. And that goes double for Roger. The last thing I need is Disney on me, on top of everything else.”

That, at least, Eddie could understand.

When Eddie went to leave, he was relieved to find Roger was just where he left him, now chatting with that same janitor from downstairs. Wally wasn’t doing his job in the slightest, but was leaning on his mop with the bucket left right where somebody could step in it.

“Wally! Perfect timing!” Joey boomed, and Wally nearly fell over in surprise, stood upright, and grinned. “You can show Mr. Valiant—”

“Show him the door! On it, boss!” Wally said, dropping his mop and pushing his sleeves up.

“Show him the lift, Wally!” Joey interjected.

“Show him the lift! On it, boss!” Wally said in the same tone, fixing his sleeves and adjusting his cap.

Joey clapped his hands together. “Well, Mr. Valiant, on behalf of every one of my employees, I wish you could luck. I believe in you, Eddie, and with the power of belief, nothing is impossible.” He was beaming, and there was a twinkle in his eye.

Eddie nodded and touched the brim of his hat. “Let’s get going, Roger.”

The door closed loudly behind them.

“So, you find your keys?” Eddie said.

“Huh? Oh, yeah!” Wally said, and kept on walking as he fished out a keyring and jangled it. Roger was intensely fascinated by the keys. “And now I get why you were so curious about when I lost ‘em, if they’d been lost a while somebody might’ve used them to break in.”

“Smart kid,” Eddie said dryly. It really had been his concern.

“Don’t think it’s that much. Aw, geez, Eddie Valiant. My aunt’s wild about that true crime stuff. Uh! Not that I’m gonna mention anything about it until after you’re done,” Wally added quickly. Again, smarter than some of the people Eddie had worked for in the past. “You are here to find Alice, right? She’s quite a gal, just hope she’s alright.”

Wally took Eddie down a hall, past administrative offices, and down a small flight of stairs to a break room. In the back corner was the lift Joey told him about.

“Hey, so, I couldn’t help but overhear a little,” Wally said. “You’re gonna go talk to Mr. Lawrence?”

“’Overheard,’ huh?” Eddie said doubtfully. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Can I give you a piece of advice?” Wally crossed his arms and slouched. “Sammy’s pretty much always angry at everybody, and it’s easy to cheese him off. He’s just damn good at makin’ music so everybody puts up with him. But, if you want to start out on his good side, offer him a cigarette. He’ll probably turn you down, but he’ll be a little easier to talk to.”

And that was why you were polite to the janitors: they had the dirt on everyone. “Offer him a cigarette, huh? I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, kid.”

“Yeah, well, no problem, Mr. Valiant,” Wally said. He held out his hand. Eddie frowned, but he shook the proffered hand. “Good luck finding Alice.”

“…Yeah.”

Weird kid, but Eddie had met weirder in just the last hour. Eddie pushed his hands into his pockets.

The lift was a little rickety and very slow, but better than too fast. Eddie pulled the grate shut, and Roger insisted on pushing the button, but at least he didn’t push all the buttons.

As the lift slowly descended, Eddie lit a cigarette. He set his jaw, and noticed Roger looking at him eagerly. “What?”

“I know that face, that’s the Eddie Valiant Thinkin’ Face!”

The worst part was that Roger wasn’t wrong. He really had been thinking.

Eddie tapped his cigarette and said, “You ever see an Old Man work, Roger?”

Roger perked up. “Oh, sure plenty of times! Not as much at Disney, but at Maroon Cartoons, all the time!”

“So, you know what it looks like and you saw when Henry made the set a bit ago. You notice anything weird about it?”

“Huh, weird?” Roger said, and he tapped his chin in thought. “Well, now that you mention it…” He tilted his head to the side. “I ain’t never seen an animator get so tired after Old-Manning. It’s usually easy for ‘em, right? But Henry looked like he was gonna pass out by the end of it.”

Ignoring the interesting turn of phrase, Eddie nodded. “What else?”

“Uh, oh, yeah, and the paper he was using!” Roger exclaimed. “It got all gross and inky, made a whole big mess! I’ve never seen anything like that happen before?”

“Me neither. I already felt like something was up, but now I’m sure of it.” Eddie pulled out the paper that Wally had quietly given him while they shook hands and held the note up to Roger. “Something stinks at this studio.”

Written in a heavy hand were the words:

DON’T TRUST JOEY DREW

[tomhollandisdaddyaf]

CEO! Tom Holland

CEO! Tom Holland Tom is out looking for art to hang in his office and around the company when he meets you.

TOMS POV:

The morning came, pushing through the curtains of Toms master bedroom, he hadn’t slept right. He was already showered and dressed by the time the alarm for him to wake had gone off, all night all he could think about was the hitch in her breath when they spoke. What would she be wearing today? Would she paint a nude model or would she be the nude one tonight? The idea that he may never know what her daily life was like, well it drove him crazy. Truly drove him wild, and who the fuck is the man posting the photos? this feeling inside of him, it didn’t laps in the car, not when he pulled into the underground garage, not even when he walked by the beautiful assistant and her low cut blouse. 

“Good morning Mister Holland,” She pursed her lips in a sensual way, angling her breasts towards him.

“Good morning Miss Branch,” Stopping with his hand on the door, looking her in the eye with a twinge of annoyance, “Miss Branch, we are a professional company, I would kindly ask you to button up your blouse” 

“Oh I apologize Mister Holland,” Her face blushing red, biting her lips in a daring fashion, “This blouse is older, smaller,” 

“You make a gracious salary here,” pinching the bridge of his nose “Buy a larger size,” Pushing the door to office and finding Harrison waiting in the small lounge area, coffee in hand.

“What do you think of Miss Branch?” Sipping on his coffee, his eyebrows wiggling at him, “And those low cut blouses,”

“I’ve already reprimanded her on her attire Harrison,” Tom walked towards his electronic tea kettle, flipping on the switch for hot water.

“Tom, Mate,” Harrison’s voice laced with worry, “What is the problem?”

The kettle screeched, hot water pouring into his favorite mug, plopping in a tea bag and sipping it “I have no problem, I just found it,” A slight pause “I don’t know, I really didn’t sleep well.”

“Probably getting sick,” Harrison shrugged, “I wanted to ask for the name of that studio you visited yesterday,” 

‘For what?” Toms voice was calm and leveled, but inside he was screaming, an excuse to visit her.

“Well she called this morning,” Pressing the button on toms desk phone, typing in the code for the voicemail.

“Good morning, my name is y/n, you visited my studio yesterday. Anyways I have an open studio session at 1 today, I figured if you wanted to know about the art world then you could come take a lesson.” The sound of a car horn honking before the call ended with a harsh curse.

“Sounds like we need to attend,” Tom nodded in agreement with Harrison.

“Then I suppose we will be there at 1,” Tom smiled at his best friend and partner. 

Your POV:

The walk from your apartment was grueling, New York City this time of year was a mixture of sludge like snow, pissed off commuters and tourists taking their sweet time. You had decided to call him, well his company, and inviting him to the open studio. 

You tried your hardest to look like the artsy little goddess you wanted to be, but the wind had turned your textured hairstyle into a mess of tangled curls under your black beanie. The studio was still warm when you opened the doors, flipping on the low lights and boiling a pot of water, and walking through the conjoined door with the hippie bakery next door.

“Good morning y/n!” The owner smiled, her blonde hair in messy ringlets under her hat.

“Good morning Jade!” you smiled, patting her on her shoulder, “I’ve got tea brewing next door, i just came in for a croissant, ham and cheese if you please!” 

“jimmy has it already made for you babe!” She pointed you to the cute boy in the corner, a bag already in hand, his tanned skin and dark eyes very compelling. You thought about those muscular arms wrapped around you, damn I need to get laid.

“Thank you!” You kissed Jade on her pink cheeks and darted back into your mouse hole. 

You needed to make more art, art that you could sell, but also art that would disturb and excite. This summer in the rock formations of Utah, there was a tent where people fucked and painted them fucking, but not in the sense of realism, It was a variety of colors and movement, very abstract and erotic. Everything was erotic since he came into your life. 

Just dipping your brush in the paint, thinking about him, wondering about those lips and those eyes. Songs passed, hours seemed to tick by like seconds and before you knew it, it was noon and you had painted the face of the man you’d fantasized about for hours about last night. It spooked you, and if he was coming in an hour, he couldn’t see this, what would he think? That you’re obsessed with him and subconciously painted him from memory? Setting it to the side behind the front desk you scurried to set up easels, brushes, paints and charcoals. Part of you felt desperate for wanting him to come, part of you thought you had enough of, whatever he was looking for him to come back. Adjusting your black beanie, it was too late to take it off and not have beanie hair, which is much worse than hat hair, pulling on your large maroon zip up over your grey thin sweater, black wool leggings and tall boots. It wasn’t until you took a look over yourself that you realized you were in such a rush this morning to get here and beat the morning rains, that you had forgotten to put on a bra. 

“Fuck,” You groaned, applying a thin line of liner to your top lid and small wings. You wanted to go natural, to impress him, but you felt comfortable in your  natural state of last nights eyeliner touched up. He was a C.E.O probably fucking his secretary on his mahagony desk. 

“Well don’t you look so fucking beautiful y/n,”  a familiar voice sent your body into a cold frenzy. 

“Um, Y/X/N, what the hell are you doing here?” You relectuatlely hugged him, he smelled the same as the day he left. “I thought you were in China or something! What the hell are you doing here?” Your voice laced with faux friendliness 

“I couldn’t leave my girl for too long,” cupping your face with his soft hands, it always weirded you out how soft his hands were. 

“I thought you were with Xena, or whatever her name is from LA?” He had left you the day of your opening, after he had fucked you and told you he was leaving. It’s not like you guys were exclusive or anything but you kept each other as number one, you were best friends before anything else. 

“I was, I was,” His hips leaning on the door frame to the classroom studio, “But when I had to repost that photo, your burning man adventure, and then your commenting on the photo,” He ran his hand through his long black hair, “And I missed my girl,”

“I have an open studio in fifteen minutes,” finally unlocking yourself from your position “Leave or stay,” you shrugged, pushing past him to welcome the people coming in. 

TOMS POV

harrison and tom exited their uber, both men had dressed down as to not draw attention to themselves. Tom in a tight fitted black wool sweater and dark jeans, Harrison in a grey wool sweater and acid washed jeans. How would this play out?

Tom walked into the familiar studio, the smell washing over him like a blanket of comfort. His eyes scanned the room, settling on her, that anxious smile painted on her pink lips. She seemed, uncomfortable even.

“She doesn’t seem very happy right now,” Harrison also picked up on the level of discomfort and quickly ducked into the group to introduce himself, Tom quickly following.

“Harrison,” he shook her hand, smiling sweetly at her, “Do you by chance have coffee or tea love?” 

“Over there,” a man stated, his arm snaking around her waist. “I don’t think you need my girl to show you where it’s at.” His hand tightened its grip on her hip.

“My apologies,” Harrison smiled, shooting tom a look before heading to the refreshments bar.

“It’s wonderful to see you again y/n” Tom smiled at her, “I’m very much looking forward to this studio time, thank you for inviting my partner and I.”

“It’s not a problem Mister Holland,” Her smile was genuine, her lips pursing at his name. “Perhaps you’ll find someone special here, just what you’re looking for.”

“I do hope so,” Tom smiled, then addressing the man beside her. “My apologies, I was not aware that you had a boyfriend,” His voice stern and cold with faux politness

“I do not,” She stepped away from him, his hand still trying to grip her hip.

“Y/N go way back, she’s my girl,” He cooed at her, watching her reaction closely.

“We knew each other years ago,” her voice was cold, removing his hand from her hip and addressing the group of 10 or more. “If you guys wanna take your drinks and bring it into the studio we can start!” Moving closer to Tom she smiled up at him, “Right this way Mister Holland, I have set up a spot for you and your partner to watch as well as participate in the studio.”

“Why thank you,” Tom smiled, waving Harrison over as they follow her into the studio, leaving the boy angry in his spot. 

Tom watched her closely, the way she instructed the students, explaining the perspective of the still life in someones sketch. The hour ticked by and time was called, meeting her gaze. 

The world begins to go dark by 3 pm, seeing everyone being led out, Tom felt his whole world, everything that could or would happen was dependent on what he did in the next 15 minutes. 

“Mate, I’ll see you back at the office.” Tom gripped Harrison’s shoulder as he left the studio. Staying in the back of the studio as everyone left, now only Tom in the room. 

“Mister Holland,” You smiled at him, “what did you think of the session?”

Now or never Holland, tom thought, “I admit I was distracted the whole time,” walking over to her, running his fingers through his curls.

“Oh i apologize if the setting was not optimal for you,” she rubbed her arms, looking up at him seductively.

“I was distracted by you,” closing the space between them to cup her chin. “Perhaps if my object was as interesting as you, I would have been able to concentrate.”

“Perhaps you would be able to concentrate on me,” walking into the studio, slowly removing her larger maroon sweater, “Have you ever painted a naked woman mister holland?” 

Tom followed her, closing and locked the studio door behind him, “No ma’am I do not believe I have ever had the pleasure,”

She signaled for him to sit at the easel directly in front of her, kicking away the still life on the stage. “Are you comfortable with full nudity sir?” removing her beanie and tossing it on the floor, her fingers thumbing the grey sweater around her body.

“I encourage it,” Tom smiled up at her, watching with large eyes as her sweater came up off her body and to the ground, her breasts perky and both nipples pierced, her body covered in smaller tattoos. Pulling off her black leggings, revealing her maroon thong, pulling it off and starring at him.  “Suddenly Miss Y/L/N, I am no longer interested in making art.”

“Oh and what do you feel like doing Mister Holland?” Her voice low and sultry, Tom moving towards her body.

“I want to fuck you”