obirensstuff

[bymcr]

.

[lostbookmark]

MDNI 🔞

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Summary: You thought planning your wedding was going to be a magical memory. You didn't realize that it might make you second guess everything.

Pairing: Fiancée Yoongi x Insecure F. Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst, Smut, Hurt-ComfortWarnings: Explicit Sex, Toxic Family Dynamics, Arguments, Sex Toys, Self Doubt, Over Thinking, Yoongi Overworking Himself, Reader Needs To Speak Up.

A/N: I started chapter 8, and my goodness did it get dramatic.

“They both look the same to me,” Yoongi says as he examines the invitations that he is holding in his hands.

He rests his elbows on his knees as he sits on his leather couch. His dark eyes dart between the two wedding invitations in his hands, pondering over which one he likes best. You sit across from him patiently waiting for him to make his decision. You think that he looks cute looking at them with such sharp attention.

“No, no, one is black with white writing and the other is white with black writing,” you tell him as you watch his eyes continue to go back and forth between the 5x7 pieces of cardstock. “And, supposedly, they are in two different fonts.”

“They are literally the same font,” he tells you as he brings them closer to his face to examine the lettering more carefully.

“I said supposedly,” you defend.

“They look the same,” he repeats once again. “I like the black with white writing,” Yoongi finally decided and handed them both back to you. You place the winner in your bag and throw the other on his table to recycle later. “I like the little bow on it, too. It was a nice touch.”

“Great, now what about a plated dinner for the reception or a buffet style? Plated options would be the normal chicken, steak, or fish,” you ask next. “The winery offers charcuterie boards as appetizers, but we are responsible for the catering.”

Yoongi leans back on his couch and cocks his head to the side in thought as he crosses his arms over his chest. He looks quite relaxed in his contemplation as he rests his ankle over his knee. It makes you happy that he is weighing his options carefully. That he is taking this seriously. Jimin and Hobi were actually the ones to give you the idea to narrow some easy choices down and let Yoongi pick from there. You had easily agreed with them hoping that by doing this it would feel like Yoongi was actually helping you. You also knew that he probably felt guilty for not helping as much as he should and that made you feel guilty in return for him feeling guilty. So, in the end you hoped it would ease his worries, your stress and all the damn guilt.

“Buffet, more options that way,” he says with a satisfied nod. “We could have a noodle bar, and maybe we can have your oh so precious rolls catered.”

“That is the best idea ever. Jisoo offered to call around to places and get some prices once we decided,” You tell him as you take out your phone to text her. “We have to get our guest list done sooner than later. The invitations will take about two weeks to get here once I put in the order. I only have like seven people to invite, and two are in the wedding, so the guest list is mainly up to you.”

“Come here, baby,” Yoongi says, patting the couch cushion next to him. “Let's relax for a minute.”

You get up from his chair, place your phone on his table, and make your way to sit next to him. Yoongi slings his arm around you as he reclines back against the cushions, taking you with him. You turn into his body and lay your cheek on his chest, taking in the sound of his thumping heartbeat. Your finger absentmindedly traces the smooth black vinyl letters on his white shirt as you close your eyes in relaxation.

“We need to hire a photographer as well,” you comment.

“Baby, relax,” Yoongi commands you softly.

Moments like this are a few and far between for the two of you. Usually, when you're here, it's to drop off food during your lunch break or to clean up for him quickly before you head home for another night alone in a cold bed. His studio has pretty much become his main place of living. Although you would rather be in your shared apartment, you don't want to take this moment for granted. He's here. You're here. The both of you together and enjoying an actual moment together. It doesn't matter how small of a moment it is. You are going to cherish it.

“Where do you think you would be if we never met again?” He asks quietly as his thumb draws small circles on the back of your shoulder.

“What?” You ask with a light laugh. You look up at him, resting your chin on his chest, but his eyes are closed. “What are you talking about? Where did that question even come from?”

“Let's say, I left earlier that night from the restaurant and didn't see you. What if I just didn't recognize you? What if I wasn't hungry that night and didn't go with Hobi and Jimin? What would you be doing right now?” he asked again. His eyes still remained closed as his thumb still continued with the lazy circles.

“Umm,” you had to think for a minute. “I guess I would probably still be working at that horrible office just barely scraping by. I wouldn't have had a reason to quit. My family situation probably would have never changed. I would probably be drinking wine with the girls as Lisa tells Jisoo and I about her latest boyfriend. Everything would probably be the same as before. Lonely and monotonous.”

“You don't think you would have been dating anyone?” he asked next, his hand running up and down the expanse of your back and side.

“Well, I mean, Kai was putting his best moves on me,” you say jokingly and smirking up at him. “You know he is a pretty big deal, right? Model, actor, and now singer. Damn, I missed my chance.”

Yoongi growled at you and threw himself on top of your body. You fall onto your side, landing on the unoccupied cushions as his fingers dance along your sides, tickling you underneath your shirt. Laughing, you try to push him off you, but he is way too strong for you.

“Apologize and take it back,” he growls into your neck as his fingers still tickle your side. His teeth lightly sink into the smooth skin of your neck. “Take it back, now.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Yoongi, please,” you laugh out loud as your hands lightly slap him away.

Yoongi finally pulls away and brings you back into your original position. You wrap your arm around his stomach and sling your leg over his. He is so warm, and you just want to soak in it. You want to close your eyes and go to sleep surrounded by that warmth. Surrounded by his scent, which barely lingers on his pillow anymore. You wish you could wrap it all up and take it home with you. Maybe it would make you feel a little less lonely.

“You know that little weasel is around here somewhere,” he informs you as he closes his eyes again, holding you tighter to him. “He's working with Hobi, I think. I kind of skipped the email when I saw his name attached to it.”

“I don't care about him,” you say, snuggling against him more. You slid your hand up his shirt and rested it on his bare chest. You just needed to feel his skin. “I don't know, honestly. I'm sure Lisa would have a string of blind dates lined up for me, and I would make up some sort of excuse to cancel on them. I really don't think that I would be seeing anyone. What about you?”

“What about me?” he asks, finally opening his eyes and looking down at you.

“Okay, let's say you had a girlfriend when we met outside the bar. What would have happened then?” You counter. “I would like to assume that we wouldn't have gone home together that night.”

“That would have never happened,” he said with certainty and a shake of his head. “I didn't date.”

“Like at all?” You raise an eyebrow in question and look at him warily. “Was there no one after my sister?”

“Oh there were women…I…just didn't date them,” he said, smirking. You poke him hard on his side. “Ow, violent.”

“Seriously, I answered your question,” you pout. “Answer my question honestly.”

“Okay, if I had a girlfriend,” he said with a sigh and a tilt of his head. “I wouldn't have cheated, but I wouldn't have stayed with her. I don't think I could have gone through life with you just being a friend. I tried just being your friend before and look what happened there.”

You hear your phone chime. You sigh, you know that it is probably your mom, but hopefully it's Jisoo answering you back. You've been ignoring your mom since your little outburst on the phone the other day. She even got your dad and his girlfriend to text you to figure out what was going on. You explained to them that you were pretty sure she was trying to build her own dream wedding. He told you just to ignore her, and his girlfriend was ready to tell her to shove it where the sun didn't shine.

“Do you want to know something?” you ask quietly, ignoring your phone on the table.

“What?” he asks just as quietly.

“You were only my second,” you admit, and you bite your lip at your admission.

He shifts you a little bit so he can fully look at you. His eyes study your face, resting on his chest with confusion swirling in dark eyes. His eyebrows furrow, and he purses his lips in thought. You don’t know why he is taking so long to answer. His silence is making you nervous. It's making you feel like you should have never said anything. It made you feel like such a loser admitting your inexperience as if he probably couldn't tell the first time you were together.

“What do you mean I'm you second? I'm your second, what?” he asked, still confused.

“You know,” you mumble, your face turning red. “The second guy I ever…” you drift off and cast your eyes away from him.

“Fucked?” he asked with pure surprise on his face. “Really?”

“Yes and don't say it like that,” you say, hiding your face in his chest. “Why do you sound so surprised? I'm awkward, and it was always worse around boys.”

“Baby, you're fucking beautiful,” he tells you.

Your eyes take a peek up at him. His face is serious. He gently moves the hair out of your face that had fallen obstructing his view of you. His eyes are soft as they look at you, and you want to hide away from them.

“You're biased,” you whisper, and he shakes his head no. “Yes, you are.”

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you again. You look up at him again, and he seems lost in thought. His eyebrows are furrowed as if he is thinking hard.

“Was it that kid?” he asked, suddenly sitting up and his eyes widened in realization.

“Who?” you asked in confusion, sitting up right next to him.

“That Woo….whatever his name was,” he asked. “That little shit who you got drunk with at that dance.”

“Wooseok?” You asked, throwing your head back laughing.

“Don't say his name,’ he said slowly with a deadly glare, making you roll your eyes. “I’ll hunt him down. I swear I will.”

“I told you it didn't go any further than the hickey. I didn't lose my virginity behind an equipment shed with Lisa right next to me,” you assured him, still laughing. “You saw them. He was not in any condition to do anything that night.”

“I always kind of thought you lied to me about that,” he admitted quietly. “I don't want to know who it was. I'm just happy it wasn't him.” He gets quiet and stares at you for a minute before speaking again. “Who was it?”

You laugh and push him back down with your hand to his chest, resuming your previous position. “Do you really want to know?” you asked, and he shook his head no.

“Good because I honestly don't remember his name.” You do honestly try to recall his name…Dave…Devin? You're not even sure it began with a D.

“You know,” he said, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I think that we would have always found each other again.”

“You think?” you ask.

“Jimin and Lisa would have met anyway no matter our timing that night. That means I would have met her as Jimin's girlfriend eventually. Which, in turn, means I would have inquired about you and probably would have asked her for your number. We would have always met. It just would have been a little later.” He explains.

“So, we are kind of destined to be together, huh?” You ask with a small smile on your face.

“Absolutely,” Yoongi kisses the top of your head. His thumb runs back and forth against the skin of your side. “And I wouldn't have it any other way.”

The insistent knocking on your door has you groaning as you get off the couch. Making your way to the door, you open it to see your two best friends carrying a deep red trunk, and it looked like they were struggling with it. Lisa pretty much knocks you out of the way as they enter your apartment, and you have to catch yourself on the wall so you don't fall over. They place the heavy looking trunk down in the middle of the living room and stare at you as they try and catch their breaths.

“Is Yoongi home?” Lisa asked, flinging a piece of her hair out of her face.

“No, why? What is that?” You asked, looking at Jisoo, hoping she will have the answers.

“No idea,” she answers with a shrug. “She wouldn't tell me.”

“Listen, because you and Yoongi are absolutely boring and don't want a bachelor/bachelorette party, I graciously still got you a gift,” Lisa explains and gestures to the decent sized red trunk.

“I'm scared,” you whisper, eyeing the trunk.

“So am I,” Jisoo says, sharing your sentiment.

Lisa smirks and motions for you and Jisoo to help pick the trunk back up. The three of you make your way to the bedroom and together, fling the red trunk on the bed with what little muscles you all had. Thankfully, the physical trunk itself felt heavier than whatever was inside of it.

“Sorry, I didn't think it was this heavy when I ordered it. I should have read the description,” Lisa apologized. “Okay, sweets, open it.”

Your hands undo the two black latches on the front and slowly open the lid. You hear Jisoo gasp and slap something. You are pretty sure that something was Lisa's arm, but you were too much of a shock to really care.

“You got her…toys,” Jisoo hissed. “That is soooo inappropriate. Some things should just stay private.”

“It's just sex toys, and it's for the both of them,” Lisa claps her hands together happily like she did you a favor. “I don't know why you seem so shocked, Jisoo. I've seen what's in your closet. You and Seungkwan get freaky. Good for you! I didn't know that you had it in you.”

Jisoo's eyes widen, and she turns the deepest shade of red that you have ever seen. Without a word, you watch as she practically runs out of your bedroom and down the hall. The slamming of your front door tells you she left. You wonder what the hell she has in her closet, but honestly, you don't want to think of Seungkwan that way.

“Umm, I don't know….thanks….I guess,” you say, turning back to Lisa and her...present.

“Oh come on,” Lisa says, putting her hands on her hips. “You and Yoongi are already like an old married couple. I'm just trying to help you keep the spice alive in the bedroom. He is the strong, silent type, and by my personal experience….they are the best, but they sometimes need a little push.”

“We don't have any issues with that,” you mumble and shuffle your socked feet against the carpet. You think you might just be as red as Jisoo was. “Oh really, when was the last time he was actually home? I'm not talking about a quickie,” Lisa asks you seriously. “When was the last time he actually took his time with you? Jimin said that Yoongi has been sleeping at the studio every night.”

“I don't know,” you admit and look at the…things inside the chest.

“Well, then some of these will definitely help you when you miss him, and some will be fun to use with him,” Lisa said. “Look, you have your standard vibrators in different sizes, shapes, and colors, a personal massager,” she says, holding up the objects one at a time. “This….”

“What is that?” You ask, interrupting her. You grab onto a colorful object that is pink and purple and very, very textured. “Is this a… tentacle?” You whisper in shock.

“Sure is!” she exclaims. “It looks like fun and has a lot of five-star reviews. You'll have to let me know how that one goes. I was thinking about getting me and Jimin one but in a different color because that would be weird if we had the same one.”

“It looks scary,” you correct her and drop it back in the trunk.

“Lighten up, sweets,” Lisa said, hugging you from behind. “I'll leave and let you go through everything in private. Also, if you want a sure-fire way to get your man home. Send him a picture with one of these bad boys. He will come running. Oh, by the way, everything is cleaned and charged.”

With a wink, she leaves you the bedroom alone with the goods that she bought you. Even though you are alone now, your face still heats up when you look at them. You reach your hand in and see there are a few…non scary items in there. Blindfolds and other silk fabrics that look very tame and non-threatening . You gulp hard, however, when you find a pair of what you think are black leather handcuffs. Dropping them back in, you shut the lid quickly and avoid the other objects in the box. One day, maybe you'll find the courage to go through them. Maybe…a big, maybe. You will probably need a couple of drinks first.

You sit down on the bed while latching the red box shut. You are not quite sure how you are supposed to react to Lisa's gift. You've never owned anything like that, and at 23, you shouldn't be getting embarrassed about the thought of using them. Since Yoongi came along, your whole world was thrown upside down when it came to the topic of sex. You finally discovered how good being intimate with someone can make you feel. Not just physically but how it made your heart feel so warm. You almost worry if he will be mad and offended when he sees what was gifted to you. Lisa and obviously Jisoo seem to think that it's perfectly normal to have these kinds of things. You still wonder what's in Jisoo's closet.

Sighing, you stand up and drag the heavy trunk off your bed. It lands on your floor with such a heavy thud that you hope your downstairs neighbor isn't home to complain about it. Pulling with both hands, you drag it over to the closet and push it off to the side and into the corner of the wall. Grabbing one of your many extra blankets that you have stashed away, you throw it on top along with a few of Yoongi's hoodies that were on the floor. You hide it away the best you can , you have no plans to tell Yoongi about it. Absolutely not. Plus, he is never home to find it anyway.

Your phone chimes from the living room. Stepping out of the closet, you walk out of the bedroom. You head to the side table by the couch in the living room where you left your phone laying plugged in and charging. Swiping your phone open. You freeze as you look at the message.

One word.

Two letters.

Hi

Your sister.

Tagged Readers:

@mggv97, @granataepfelchen, @kam9404, @svnbangtansworld, @futuristicenemychaos,

[inkedtae]

rupture; rapture ⇾ kth. [M]

𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾ ex-boyfriend!taehyung x reader (f.)

𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓇𝑒/𝓇𝒶𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 ⇾  one shot, angst, smut, f2l(?), e2l(?), ex lovers au, rekindled lovers(?), sculptor au, 18+

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ⇾  responding to a late night call for help forces you to revisit truths you so skillfully ignored. was it always meant to fall apart to fall back into place?

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ⇾ 13.2k

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ⇾ slight upsetting themes, mentions of a new relationship, mentions of infidelity (tae thinks reader used him to each on her date), vague mention of consuming alcohol, switch!Taehyung, mullet!taehyung, sub!reader, unprotected sex, rough sex, clay/paint/art sex(?), hate-love sex(?), makeup sex(?), size kink, oral (f. receiving), multiple orgasms (f.), creampie, overstimulation, a lil degradation, a lil face-licking, body worshipping, clit worshipping, a lil clit biting, choking, spanking, motorboating, begging, teasing, swearing, breath play, breast play

anon asked: taehyung19angst asghjkll. U have a prompt list ? So for that. Maybe. If u want to. WOW. Ur awesome. The bestest. Okay. Bye. Love. Me.

#19 ⇝ “You said you knew how to do this.”

𝒶𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇'𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝑒 ⇾  i am aware this is supposed to be a drabble but that never seems to be even for taehyung so here’s a one shot instead. also sorry for writing this so late 

☾ banner by ⇾ @editingverse​ (thank you so so so much dear~ please go give her all your love!! this banner is beautiful!!)

☾ beta’d by ⇾ @kkulmoon​ (luff you, my soulmate crackhead~)

☾ le playlist

◖send me a prompt from dabble drabble. i will try to get to it as soon as i can. please note that i have the right to refuse any request i find uncomfortable.◗

Navigating to the chipped yellow door is second nature. Four months of distance does not change how easy it is for you to find your way to his place from across town. Your most haunting regret, however, is accepting his call. You sat around your apartment for months, fantasizing about how powerful you’d feel when your phone rings and you see his name flash only to decline the call. You told yourself that is how you will regain your dignity, how you will reclaim your life. He’s been a big part of it since freshman year. Best friends instantly, lovers only a year down the line. Clicking that red button, rejecting his apologies is how you believed you’d be able to move on and fully erase him from your life for good.

But, in the midst of a drink with someone else’s company, he calls and you do not refuse. Your heart flips only to fall and shatter in the pit of your stomach. You press the green button without much thought and bring the phone to your ear. He sounds so unsure, so nervous. A relieved sigh you didn’t realize you were holding escapes you. Eyes watering, you whisper his name.

The shame creeps upon you, condescendingly soothing your ego. Where’s your dignity now? It’s as nonexistent as when you stormed out of this very door and swore never to return. You can hear the fates snickering, watching your pathetic self stand outside of the door. Shaking out a shiver, you gather up the scattered pieces of your courage and knock on the door.

The screech of metal on metal echoes as he unlocks the door. The sound is more comforting than you expected it to be. You can’t remember the amount of times you’ve nagged him to replace the damned thing. It’s old, rusted, and the scratches of the metal make you cringe as though your bones are rotting. It used to make your jaw ache, now it only comforts you. Little things already undress your confidence. What will seeing him again do? What emotions will it beckon?

Misery leaks from your bones and into your bloodstream. The door opens to a vision of grace. In his clay-smeared jumpsuit, the sleeves wrapped around his waist and his bare chest exposed, he stares back at you. Though frozen from the winter air, you feel your face grow hot. Eyes shaking, you don’t know where to look. You’re not even sure if you can meet his gaze. It intensifies with every ticking second his long bangs fall over his lashes. He let it grow out? You’ve begged him to do so for months and once you’re apart he finally gives in? You knew he’d look good, maybe even better than his shorter cut.

The sight only confirms that you’ll never understand him. But, you suppose, you don’t have to. He’s not yours to understand anymore, not even as a friend. That statement should give you a sense of relief, but it only resurfaces the loneliness you’ve been ignoring for months.

Shakily sighing, you plaster a polite smile and greet, “Hey Tae.”

Taehyung parts his lips, but his voice catches. He stares back at you, gaze dancing up and down your frame. He drinks in the way your black dress pants hug your curves, and how you dare to wear a tube-top under your coat in the freezing weather. Gulping, Taehyung flashes you a kind, tight lipped smile and moves aside to welcome you in. His chain looped earring dangles with his movements. It’s such a simple antic, but you cannot fight off the familiar comfort in your chest upon catching it.

Each step back into his apartment fogs your mind with memories of joy and despair alike. Sometimes, those emotions rise in tandem during the same memory, within the same five minute time span. But other times, those memories are saturated with one emotion or the other. You two could never find that balance; not as lovers anyway, not as you thought.

“Make yourself at hom-” he cuts himself off just as the door shuts.

You turn to face him, raising a brow at his slip up. Funny how things circle back no matter how much either of you try to suppress them. This place has always felt like home to you. In fact, revisiting it proves that it still does. He just never let you make it official.

The gloom of four months ago has followed you back in here as well, it would seem. You gulp down the little scratch in your throat and try your best to flash a smile. His brows raise at the gesture. You assume a teeth braced wince paints your features instead.

Clearing his throat, Taehyung corrects himself, “Comfortable. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab you a hot drink to warm you up.” His gaze shifts to the slanted window over his little studio sectioned in the corner of his apartment. “It’s really coming down out there.”

Setting your clutch down on his work table, you nod. He glares at your action before looking back at you. You are fully aware of his distaste for you to dump your things near his work, even if it happens to be your own sculpting supplies. However, he distrubed your date tonight and that little slip up of his recalls more anger than you care to accept right now. Playing into his pet peeves is the very least you can do to show him that you’re not here for anything else but fixing his sculpture.

With a pleasant smile plastered on your lips, you peel your jacket off and set it down on the table as well. Taehyung sarcastically smirks then makes his way to the kitchen. You know you shouldn’t but you let your eyes linger on his frame and follow him around the kitchen while he prepares something for you. His shoulder blades flex as he reaches for a mug from the top shelf - a detail you always found makes you anxious because the cups can easily slip out of his hand from such a height and break.

He must feel your gaze as he glances back at you. “You must be freezing,” he comments.

Looking down at your half top, you shrug. “Not really. That’s what a jacket is for.” You shouldn’t sass. It always gets on his nerves. But, the way he regards you with such tamed hostility and smirks all knowingly, switches something in you. You cannot hold yourself back and he cannot expect to call you over here in the dead of night for help only to glare and sneer at you.

Out of sheer spite, you sit on one of the stools by the table and bend down to untie your thick heeled boots. He absolutely hates this. Sloppy and messy, is what he tells you when you come into the apartment with your shoes on and take them off near his studio. Taehyung stirs the contents of your mug, tossing daggers at you in his stares.

It is only now, in the thick silence, do you hear the soft voice of Sinatra through the vinyl player. Glancing over at the source, you recognize the album cover immediately. It’s the same one you gifted him for his birthday last year. His next one is in a couple of weeks. The realization unexpectedly twinges your heart with guilt. You feel as though you should have already bought his gift, and planned his party. It’s not your responsibility to do that anymore, but you want to and that’s enough for your tongue to coat with disgusted remorse.

“Want me to get you a sweater?” Taehyung asks.

You sit up straight at the close sound of his voice. He stands in front of you with the mug in his hands, glaring down at your boots. Kicking them off by the heel, you stare down at the puddle you’ve made beneath the chair. You should apologize but, instead, you thank him for the drink, take it from his hands, and make your way to the project he’s been working on. He mutters curses under his breath before cleaning up the mess you’ve made… As he should.

You smirk into your cup before taking a sip. Hot chocolate. It’s all he can make, or cares to make. And though it is not your favourite drink, he still prepares it to your specifications. Extra sweet and creamy, with a dash of ginger. Could the habits of your past be muscle memory he cannot shake either?

The answer never arrives as your thoughts halt at the sight of his sculpture. Though returned back onto its pedestal, the torso seems to have endured a terrible fall. He’s so careful about things like this. How could he have let it happen? Was the inner wiring he used too heavy? Did he not use enough slip, otherwise known as wet clay, to keep additions in place?

You bite the inside of your cheeks to school your features. Still, there is no hiding the truth. Especially when it’s right in front of you. Redemption is nonexistent. The sculpture is ruined. Tilting your head, you stare at the unfinished molding and try to figure out how to fix it without adding more clay, since he claimed on the phone that he doesn’t have enough to start over.

“Well?” He asks behind you.

Looking back at him, you take another sip then hand him the cup to hold. Taehyung accepts it, bringing the mug to his lips. The gesture is so simple, so casual that you almost miss it. He did it a lot when you two were together. You did it too. It was never a pet peeve but rather something you were proud of. It proved how close you two were, how well you meshed. Sharing food is common between lovers. Only now, that’s not at all what you are.

You stare at him, mouth gape. He licks his lips before taking another sip. The action repairs your heart only for your reality to wreck it all over again. Catching your eye, he raises his brows in confusion. You flicker your gaze between him and the cup, hoping the silent gesture is enough to return his senses.

Eyes widening, he holds the cup away from his face. “Oh,” he hums under his breath. “I’ll, uh, get you a new one.”

“Don’t bother,” you shrug before he can even turn towards the kitchen. “It’s not that big a deal.”

It is. You’re not his and neither is that hot chocolate. He should know better. He should pay attention more. He can see this all in your eyes as you continue to silently judge him. It’s not that big a deal, you repeat to yourself. The way his large eyes soften, the way he pouts is not that big a deal. You have a job to do, feelings to ignore, and a person to never see again. All you have to do is remold the clay and be on your way.

Finally returning your attention to the sculpture, you approach it while pulling your hair back. It’s rather large since he scaled it to be life-sized, so you assume he has some structural wiring in there to keep it in place when molding. You might have to take it out and remold the entire section. But maybe you can simply push the wiring back in place? However, if your theory about the wiring being too heavy is correct, you might face another smash to the floor. So it seems easier to just pull it all out.

“Is the clay still wet?” You ask before poking the shoulder.

It’s tacky, but that’s not enough to keep it from drying. You scan the room for the spray bottle, finding it behind you. Being a sculptor yourself, you know that the clay has to stay wet enough to be able to continue to add and mold it. Your scan of the room reflects that he is close to finishing the project. He has the muse’s head and arms wrapped in air-tight bags to keep them from drying. They just need to be slipped, slid, and smoothed into place. The details also need to be added, but for the most part, he’s just about done.

“If you’re gonna figure it out yourself, why did you ask me?” He sighs as he sets the mug down near a cup of paint water.

His tone is uncalled for. Nothing seems to have changed. He still has a temper and makes no effort to readjust his attitude. You toss him a glare over your shoulder. After spraying some water over the sculpture, you start to dig your fingers into the molding. Taehyung sucks in a sharp breath behind you. You can’t blame him for such a reaction. It must be very disturbing to watch someone else dig through your hard work.

You take off the clay bit by bit, looking for the metal structure wires he must’ve used to keep it all shaped well. However, as you place another chunk on the table, you begin to realize that the sculpture is not hollow, meaning wires have not been used. He simply ventilated the slab of clay to help air bubbles escape when it comes time to fire it.

Furrowing your brows, you look over at him in confusion. He leans back against his work table with his arms crossed over his chest, staring at you. Is this a joke? He doesn’t need your help. He could’ve dug through the smushed clay and remorphed it himself. He’s more experienced than you are; he should’ve known this.

Your anger begins to fester in your chest. He must’ve heard. You still share some mutual friends, so he must’ve heard down the line that you were going out with somebody else tonight. Your outfit of choice is a clear indicator as well. He found out about your date, your first date in the last four months you’ve been broken up, and just needed to ruin it for you. Fuck, you can’t believe you seriously bought his lies again. It’s that stupid voice of his. So deep and soulful, you can never resist it’s lulling temptations.

“What?” Taehyung pushes himself off the table and walks towards you. “You’re pouting like you always do just before you’re about to shout. Is it that bad?”

Is that what he’s doing now? He’s trying to remind you how well he knows you, how well he can read you? If this is just another reminder that no one is like him, you just might prove him right and scream out of frustration. Huffing, you roll your eyes at him. No matter how much your heart flips and flutters at his concern, you will not fall for his stupid games.

He watches in confusion as you clean your hands off with a cloth. “God, (Y/N), what is it? I thought you said you knew how to do this.”

With a dry chuckle, you shake your head and mumble, “You’re still the same liar you’ve always been, Taehyung.”

The perplexed sculptor narrows his eyes. “What did I tell you about mumbling?” He questions in a grumble. “And what the hell are you going on about anyways?”

His tendency to be a walking contradiction will never cease to irk you. He tells you not to mumble then does it himself. Just another pet peeve he’s instilled in you that you can never shake. Then there’s the continuous lies he can never seem to stop telling. For once, why can’t he just be honest?

You toss the dirty cloth at him and make your way to his precious work table only to find that he moved your things to the chair by the door. You rush in that direction instead, and Taehyung follows not too far behind. “I can’t believe you’re still pulling this shit even when it’s over,” you scoff with a shake of your head. “You made it seem like you had no idea what to do. You guilted me into coming back here and for what? To ruin the first night I stopped thinking about you? Well, congratulations,” you drily chuckle as you grab your clutch and turn to face him. “You’ve ruined my night and my date.”

Taehyung pauses mid stride. “Oh,” he rasps, eyes roaming over your body once more. “You had a date tonight?”

Eyes wide, softened, and wet, his next words catch in his throat. All you can make out is a quiet rasp. It’s a convincing act, but you know him well enough to spot his feigned innocence from a mile away. Setting your jaw, you shake your head and sigh, “Not any more.”

You reach for your jacket, but Taehyung is quicker. He snatches it first and holds it behind him. You open your mouth to curse at him when he rushes to say, “Wait, wait.” Hand on your waist, he holds you still.

You freeze under his palm. He’s barely used much force. It’s the simple touch itself that sends you into a trance. The memories of being pinned beneath him, or guided into grinding against his hips rush back to you. Breath hitching, you try to wipe the affection from your features. The searching look in his eyes tells you how bad of a job you’re doing.

“I could fix it myself, but not by myself,” he clarifies. “I just didn’t know how to get you here without making it seem like it’s a complete disaster. Be honest, (Y/N), if I told you I wanted you to sculpt with me you wouldn’t have shown up.”

Be honest. When the fuck have you ever lied to him? The question is tempting to ask, sitting right on the tip of your tongue actually, but you can already tell that you’ve made your annoyance known as concern swims in his eyes. He’s trying to find where he went wrong in his explanation. He’s never done that before. He never notices your discomfort during a fight, but always after the fact. That’s enough to have you consider his explanation, to consider the fact that maybe he has not changed completely, but he’s trying. Perhaps you should start trying too.

Besides, he’s not wrong. If he didn’t make it seem like it was irreversible, you wouldn’t have accepted the invitation over or even thought about ditching your date. Chewing on your lip, you sigh and nod. “Fine, I’ll help you fix it.”

A relieved smile plays on his lips. He removes his hand from your waist, muttering a quiet apology then returns your jacket onto the chair. You set your clutch down on there as well, nowhere near his work, and follow him back to the sculpture. He sprays it down as you take another couple of sips from your hot chocolate.

“When is this due?” You ask as you set the mug down.

Taehyung’s gaze shakes. “At nine,” he reluctantly replies. He sets the spray bottle down. You stare at him in confusion.

The time is both seemingly vague and specific. You furrow your brows, blinking rapidly in hopes that you can reprocess the information for more clarity. When that doesn’t work, you ask, “Tonight?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

Thirteen hours? That’s all you two have to remold and detail a life-sized sculpture. This information alone would’ve had you running to help as well. Why didn’t he just tell you this? Why did he have to lie? No, nevermind his lies. You both have thirteen hours to remold the base, attach the head and arms, and add all the details on all four pieces. It may seem like a lot of time but you also have to let the clay sit for a few hours before firing. However, with a sculpture this large, it might need at least three days to dry. How did he expect to finish the rest on his own?

Nothing is adding up. You know Taehyung very well. You’ve shared sculpting classes countless times. His work comes first; always. He sketches and prepares months in advance for a project since the clay can crack or explode during its bake. How could he not have done the same thing here? He should’ve started this at least four months ago… oh.

Taehyung spares you a nervous glance. He can see the realization of his own reality in your eyes. You swallow thickly, knowing you should just pretend that you haven’t noticed anything. Still, you say, “Tae, we both know that’s not enough time. Even if we split the work, it still needs-”

“Don’t worry about that,” he mumbles. His hands smooth over every chunk of clay he reapplies. “Let’s just piece it all together, okay?”

There is a lot you have to force yourself to ignore in his words and tone. He mumbles orders, and expects you to follow. His voice is deep and cold. He gives you his back while he speaks. It’s but another pet peeve of his that makes you want to pull your own hair out. However, most of all, you have to force yourself to ignore how painful it is. Seeing him again, only an arm’s length away, crumbles your anger and hearing his voice reminds you that he still holds every bit of your heart. You have to blink your tears back at the realization. This idea reeked the moment you considered it. But, you can never stop yourself when it comes to him. A year of friendship and two of love; how can you forget all of that in four months?

Taehyung turns to you, his eyes trailing up from your hips to your chest where they linger. Flickering his gaze back up to yours, he offers a tight-lipped smile. You fail to find it in you to return it. He sighs. Hands by his side, voice heavy with sincerity, he says, “I won’t force you to stay, babe- (Y/N).” His slip up has him frozen in place as well. Clearing his throat, he continues, “I need to get this done and you’re the only other person I know who knows how I like it.”

The familiar pet name gives you pause, but the end of that sentence has you hot all over. Your eyes widen at the alternate implication of his words and you can’t help but choke on your next intake of air.

Taehyung’s expression mirrors yours. Face reddening, he’s quick to correct himself. “No, no, I just mean artistically.”

You cannot find the words to say something, anything to make this situation better. Lips parted, all you can voice are quiet croaks of uncertainty. His large eyes, wide with anxiety, watch you carefully. He’s clearly unsure of how else to soothe your discomfort. He goes to say something else but the words fall short. The scene has your skin crawling with shivers. Shaking your head, you walk around him to smooth out the clay he remolded.

“I’ll fix her waist. I think you should get started on the details,” you say, hoping his words can just fizzle away along with the awkward silence that has fallen over the both of you.

Taehyung takes a deep breath. His eyes remain trained on you for a moment, watching as you match the sculpture’s left side to her right. Then, he circles around you and makes his way to his work table.

Though you should be focused on your work, you still have one eye on Taehyung. The jumpsuit sits low on his hips, and his back is bare of any scratches. Your lasting desire to mark up the blank canvas of his back tightens your core. You can feel your black pants dampening at the thought alone. Your hand gently presses into the mold, smoothing out every piece you add.

With Sinatra’s calm voice circling around the room, you and Taehyung fall into a comfortable silence. The rhythm of your actions, the way you move around each other is like muscle memory. You can subconsciously anticipate the other’s next move and react accordingly. He hands you tools before you need to ask and you accept them without a second thought. It’s easy, comfortable, and so familiar that you almost forget he ruined your plans tonight.

Taking a step back, you wipe your wrist over your brow then assess your work. You’ve been trying to sculpt one of the figure’s breasts, adding clay and rounding out the mold. However, it seems like you’ve undershot a bit and made one mound a bit smaller than the other. You sigh and reach for more clay when Taehyung interjects.

“Leave it,” he says from his place beside you.

When did he step back too? He was just detailing one of the sculpture’s hands. “They’re uneven,” you point.

He smirks. “I like them that way.”

His eyes flicker to your chest again before meeting your gaze once more. You shouldn’t look into that gesture too much, but you do. He can’t say something like that, stare at your breasts suggestively and think you wouldn’t notice. Unless, he wants you to notice. You start to wonder how often he’s thought about your breasts and why he feels the need to incorporate them into his project.

While you remain standing in your place, Taehyung returns to his crouched position and continues his work. You can’t bring yourself to move just yet. You stare at the sculpture, at the curve of her stomach and dip of her waist. She’s full-figured and even has stretch marks on her hips, well the side that has not met the floor still has stretch marks. You need to add them on the other side. But, the shape of her body just looks all too familiar.

No, no, it can’t be. He didn’t sculpt your naked body entirely from memory. And why should he? You’re not a couple and he’s made it clear during those four months of silence that he doesn’t want anything to do with you either. No, this is merely just some consequence. You sigh and get back to work. Those thoughts completely boarded shut out of your mind.

“Were you having fun?” He suddenly asks, standing up to start detailing the sculpture’s breasts.

You glance up at him, about to ask what he means when you remember the date. “Oh,” you hum. You’re not sure how much to tell him, or if you should even entertain him with an answer at all. He’s obviously still affected by the break up if he let it get in the way of his project timeline. What was your date’s name anyway? Morgan, Mac, Mark- Mark! Yes, it was Mark something or maybe something Mark. Fuck, you can’t even remember his name. You’re not even sure where you met up for drinks.

Taehyung pauses his sculpting around the figure’s nipple. He chances a quick look at you, raising a brow. “That bad?” He teases with a playful smile.

His light-hearted tone shocks you out of your thoughts. Maybe you read the situation wrong. Maybe he is over you. Otherwise, why would he ask you about your date so casually, like you two were friends? Or maybe… he’s seeing someone else himself? Sumni did ask for your permission to date him. She was so kind and understanding in her questioning that you couldn’t refuse her. Even if it was a week ago, she would have already talked to him by now and they could’ve already gone on their own date. The sheer thought of Taehyung dating around makes your throat tighten and stomach ache.

“I didn’t stay long enough to make up my mind,” you reply, trying your best not to mumble. Your voice is small though, and tone shot by misery. A wave of hopelessness washes over you at how final everything between you and him feels again. “I don’t think he’s for me though.”

Taehyung hums in acknowledgment or understanding? You don’t know. You can’t pull yourself out of your self pity long enough to decipher it. “Poor guy,” he mutters as he picks up where he left off on the sculpture’s breast.

You carve uneven lines on the figure’s hips, recreating some stretch marks like he had done to the other side. Raising your brows, you question, “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs a single shoulder. “I just know what it’s like to lose someone as great as you,” he explains in a near whisper. “The poor guy is gonna lose his mind.”

Tears sting your eyes. He can’t do this. He can’t guilt you for leaving him, not when you both know that it’s just as much his fault as it is yours. Still, even in the midst of pain, the kindness laced in his words tugs the corners of your lips into a small smile. Is that what happened to him? Did this poor guy, this poor little sculptor lose his mind when he lost you?

You toss him a sidelong glance, whispering, “He’ll survive.”

“He can only pray to.”

What is this? What is he trying to say? So he regrets the way that things ended, perhaps even that they ended entirely. Does he think you don’t? Nothing can change how you feel for him. Nothing can hide how badly you wish you can still call him your own. But, he said it himself. He does not want you around, in such close proximity to him anymore. Two years into, what you thought was, a serious relationship and he does not want you living with him.

“I’ll grow tired of us,” he said. Or does he not remember? Did he forget how he promised he’d get you a key, or help you pack? Did he forget how high he got your hopes? Has the fear of getting bored of your company finally withered away?

What does it even matter now? You both said things you haven’t even attempted to take back. Not a single apology has been issued either. Whatever relationship you once had is gone. You can never get it back. Still, you don’t have the stomach to break it to him. You can’t destroy the last little bit of hope he has in you. You can’t find it in you to tell him that no amount of prayer will get you to willingly return to such a relationship.

“He hasn’t been in my company for too long to miss me. Actually, I’m worried he’s already grown tired of it,” you reply. Guilt immediately sheds your pettiness. You know you shouldn’t have said that. Though, he did egg you on. How could he have expected to bring up such a subject and think that you wouldn’t retaliate?

Taehyung tenses and shifts his jaw, giving the impression that he’s chewing gum, and turns to glare at you. From experience alone, you know very well that when Taehyung chews on his imaginary piece of gum, he’s either cocky, pissed or both. This time he has tears glassing over his eyes. Shame cringes your heart. You can’t bring yourself to look at him again. Getting even does not feel as dignifying as you thought it would. You cannot even find a shred of pleasure in seeing him so speechless.

Parting your lips, you try to soothe the sting of your words, only they all fall short. Every time you try to recollect them, they wither away. It’s almost like your mind is warning you from worsening the situation. But the silence is deafening. Sinatra's voice cannot even fill it. His disappointment is too loud; the shattering of his heart like an explosion. And your pain can never shut up. All you can hear is how miserable your soul is and how depressed your heart becomes upon every glance his way. It’s the soft look in his eyes, even when he’s glaring, and the little scrunch of his nose.

With a deep breath, you turn back to the sculpture to keep your hands busy. As you use the pad of your pinkie to smoothen out the stretch mark lines you’ve carved, you say, “We had a drink. That’s as far as we got.”

Taehyung clears his throat. His hands pick up where they left off around the nipple. “Had I known you were out, I wouldn’t have called,” he sighs.

You try not to scoff, particularly because he sounds surprisingly sincere. Sneaking a glance up at him from your squatting position on the floor, you try to search for his usual tell-tale signs. He always blinks one too many times in the same two minute span when he’s lying, that’s if he’ll even meet your gaze. He’s already looking at you when you begin to search his features. He holds your stare and you start to worry that you wrongfully cursed him before when you were convinced that he knew.

“You really didn’t know?”

He shakes his head. “Why would anyone tell me you’re going on a date?”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Would you want to hear that I have been on one?”

“Have you?”

Internally cringing, you snap your attention back on the sculpture. The question simply slipped out. He must know that. Of course you’re curious about his love life since you’ve left it, but you don’t need him to know that. And even if he was prying into your date tonight, you still don’t feel comfortable with him knowing that you’ve been wondering about him too, worrying that he’s found the love of his life and forgotten all about you.

Taehyung chuckles. “Do you really want to know?”

Three? Four? Five? How many dates did he have to go on to be able to ask such a question? You hold your breath the moment you feel your next intake waver. Running your tongue between the gaps of your teeth, you stand up and begin detailing the left breast.

“I’m not going to beg you,” you grumble under your breath while sculpting the nipple. Your eyes shift from the one you're working on to the one he perfected, making sure they’re at least even.

“Never had a problem with that before.”

He does not mutter it. He does not whisper it. He chuckles through the statement, cockiness dripping from his tone. Shooting him a glare, you find his jaw moving, the imaginary gum returning. Taehyung smirks at you, eyes dancing over your features like he’s figured you all out.

You raise your brows at him, lips slightly parted by a little smile. “Once again, Taehyung, your memory has miserably failed you,” you start only to widen his grin.

“How so?”

“You’ve been on your knees far more times than I’ve been on mine. You’ve whined louder too.”

He leans in, wrist against his stomach as he lets out a hearty laugh. You feel a rush of your arousal pool at your core just from the simple sound. Face growing hot, you realize how much you’ve missed this, missed him. He always laughed with his whole body, clutching onto you when clutching on his stomach never granted him any stability. Sometimes he’d brace his teeth in a boxy smile and let out his deep chuckles that way. So endearing, so cute, Taehyung would always loop you in his laughing fit as well.

Biting on the sides of your cheeks, you keep yourself from joining in this time. “Why is that so funny?”

Taehyung shakes his head at you as his laughter dies down. With a smile still gracing his features, he replies, “You’re always begging for me. Oh, I remember once you were on the table and you won’t let go of me and until I, and I quote, ‘rammed into you with the force of a thousand waterfalls.’”

Shit. You remember that day all too clearly. Taehyung had been painting and you were somewhere in the kitchen sketching his hands from a distance since he would always tease you about that. Somehow you found out he’d been painting you nude from memory and wanted to help him out. You began stripping for him, inching closer with every piece of clothing you shed. He watched you draw closer to him, and there was something about the way his eyes drank you in that you could not shake. It just made you giddy all over, dripping for his love by the time you were fully naked and within his reach. You were so horny, you said anything to make sure he ruined you.

Avoiding his eye, you reluctantly reply, “I do not recall.”

That statement tips him off immediately. His endearing innocence darkens; you don’t even need to look over to witness it happen. You can feel it. You can feel his demeanour change. Taehyung sets whatever tool he’s using down and towers over you. Stilling in place, you let him graze the bridge of his nose in your hair.

“Do you want me to remind you,” he whispers before pressing his lips to your ear, adding, “my muse?”

Knees all but trembling, you have to remind yourself to keep your eyes open. His warm breath fans over your skin, prickling goosebumps all over. His fingertips brush up the length of your spine, streaking your back with clay and leaving a chain of shiver in their wake. Then there’s that little pet name. Your soul shudders to hear it again while your core waters.

What does he even mean? How far is he willing to go to remind you how badly you wanted him?

Breath shaky, you gingerly meet his gaze. Noses brushing, you try to ignore how good he smells. His scent is always a cross between chalky clay and citrusy cherries. A whine threatens to slip out and you have to swallow thickly just to silence it. “You can try,” you whisper only to feel his hands on your hips.

The grey clay stains the hem of your black pants and a majority of your skin. Taehyung turns you towards him then presses himself against you. His semi-hard rubs against your stomach, making him groan. Seems like he’s falling apart faster than you are. Did he miss this too? Miss the way you smell, the way it feels to be near you again?

You rest your arms on his shoulders and he guides you around and back to his work table. It’s almost like a little dance, with the quiet music still playing in the background. Faces only a breath apart, the temptation to kiss him only grows. But giving in would only prove him right. After so many months, you cannot grant him this victory of being right, especially since he was the one in the wrong when you left.

When the back of your thighs meet the edge of the table, Taehyung shifts his hands down to your ass, gripping tightly and he lifts you up against him and onto the table. You have to choke back a moan just from the rough grip. Your lips brush against each other’s, but neither one of you is willing to bite the bullet first.

“Any of this familiar yet?” Taehyung asks. His voice is almost an octave deeper, saturated in lust and desire.

Smirking, you shake your head.

Taehyung tongues his cheek and cocks a brow. He leans back a bit, hands circling around your waist to rest on your thick thighs. His cocky grin widens as he pushes them further apart. One of his hands shifts up to your crotch, thumb grazing the seams. Face lighting up, Taehyung glances down at your crotch and brushes over it once more.

“No panites?” He questions with a chuckle. “This is looking more and more like that night then I thought it would.”

The confidence he oozes should annoy you, but you find yourself only spreading your legs further for him. Whenever he’s acting this egotistic, you cannot help but respond to it by giving yourself to him. This is a fact he knows well and uses to his advantage any time he’s ever felt like it.

You try to keep your wits about you, saying, “I wouldn’t know.”

Taehyung suddenly leans in. Your breath hitches at the realization that he’s swallowing his pride, that he’s finally going to kiss you. You’ve been dreaming about his lips for months, wondering how you’d be able to find someone else who just fits ever so perfectly against your lips. Eyes fluttering closed, lips in a faint pucker, you’ve inhaled deeply only to have him kiss your chin. He chuckles quietly against your skin, licking his way to your jawline all while leaving you breathless.

“You’re about to,” he growls.

As your body is in the midst of reacting, he somehow digs his nails into the seams of your pants and tears them apart. You gasp, shifting your hands from his shoulder to the edge of the table. You cannot help but stare down at the tear in amazement. Questions on how and why die in your throat when you find that Taehyung’s attention is not even on you anymore. He’s tightening his grip on your thighs and gazes down at your pussy. It pulses under his gaze, much to his own amazement.  

Squatting down, he licks his lips at this new angle. “Well, fuck,” he whispers. “How long have you needed me?”

Four months, you wish you had the courage to say. Instead you breathlessly reply, “I’m not sure this is what happened that night.”

“How would you know? I thought you didn’t remember.”

He’s only teasing but his tone is accusatory. You already know it’s because you’ve refused to answer his previous question. And your decision to talk back only adds to his shift in demeanour.  Once cheeky, his features darken into something closer to vexation. You’ve pushed the wrong buttons it would seem.

Narrowing his eyes, he orders, “Tell me, my muse. Tell me how long you’ve been needing me.”

You suck in a sharp breath. Pressing your lips together in a fine line, you refuse to make another sound, let alone utter another word. You’ll be damned if you have to admit that you regret walking away, that you cannot even remember the details of your date because all you could think about was everything he would do differently. Having to admit that for the last four months all you’ve been able to do is touch yourself to the thought of him or cry wouldn’t just be motifying but shameful and pathetic.

With a slow nod, Taehyung sighs. You think this is it. He’s ripped your pants apart, looked at every inch of your barest part, and teased you all for nothing. You’d maybe ask to borrow some pants, and he might give you some. But, other than that, nothing would’ve come from this interaction. The flirty comments and knowing looks would disappear with your relationship, this you feel you are sure of.

Then, he plays against your expectations; something you should have expected. Just when you’re about to bring your legs together, Taehyung spreads them apart further and shoves his face between them. He cannot use his hands there since they are covered in clay and, it seems, he also refuses to use his tongue. You cannot hold back the moans that pour out of you with every ministration. Merely smearing his face into your heat, Taehyung teases your clit. The bridge of his nose trails between your folds, lips pressing wet kisses to your tightening hole. From left to right, he shakes his face against your pussy.

You buck your hips against his lips, lacking shame and restraint. “Tae,” you moan, voice breaking.

Taehyung pulls away. Heaving and eyes half-lidded, he smirks up at you. He’s drenched in your arousal, looking like the cat who got the cream. “How long?” He mewls.

“Gimme your tongue,” you whine.

Taehyung mockly pouts up at you. He always looks prettiest on his knees, pretending to be in charge from such a degrading position. “Would you tell me then, babe?”

Your hips inadvertently roll at the pet name. You love it when he babies you like that, when he makes you feel so precious and fragile even though you both know you can rule over anything you want. Hesitantly, you nod. He raises a brow, waiting for verbal confirmation that you’ll tell him once he gives you his tongue.

With a little shrug of a single shoulder, you reply, “Why don’t you give it a try, TaeTae.”

His left eye twitches. You know exactly how that name affects him. His anger and powerful demeanor tremble when you dwell on him like that. He doesn’t need to tell you that he’s suddenly yours to overtake; his large eyes do the trick.

Swiping his tongue over his lips, Taehyung cleans his mouth from you. One little taste and his pupils expand, blown by lust and hunger. You don’t have to waste anymore time convincing him that you’d answer his question if he goes down on you. Your taste seems to be enough of a factor, in itself. He dips his head back in, tongue out this time. The tip pushes through your hole, lapping up your pooling juices. Leaning back on your hands, you gasp a loud moan. He knows his way around so well. One flick up, and your toes are curling. No amount of time apart has disturbed his memory of you. This may have been something you noticed while sculpting but now you can feel it. Tongue in and out, warm and wet, Taehyung explores your pussy like it’s his first time, only he knows everything about it.

You want to tangle your fingers in his hair, to see how the long strands feel in your hand, but they’re covered in clay too. And you know from experience just how hard it is to get clay out of hair. Once it completely dries, it almost seems like the only other option is to cut it all out. So, instead, you just dig your nails into the table, engraving your presence in the wood.

Rolling your hips into his face, you cry out your pleasure. Your legs are shaking, squeezing around his face, but he can’t seem to care any less. In fact, judging by his groans and growls, he seems to love the suffocation. He even pushes your legs further against his cheeks. Freezing in place, Taehyung only allows his tongue to continue to swirl around your pussy. His fingers harshly press into your thighs, sure to leave bruises, but you don’t care. Having him mark you up just like when you were together, is enough to make your eyes roll back.

You’re so, so close. Pussy clenching, his tongue still pushes its way in. He’s determined to see you through, to have you unfold right in his hands so hard that he still won’t breathe. And though you start to worry a bit, you cannot really pay attention to anything else besides the pleasure.

“Oh, Tae,” you cry. Voice breathy and high-pitched, it’s only a matter of time before-

It hits you hard, fast, and completely off guard. You have felt it growing and knotting in the pit of your stomach, but have no idea it would rush at you this harshly that you completely fall back on the table. Body convulsing, you scream and cream all over his tongue, mouth, and chin. His entire face will smell like you for days.

Taehyung forces your tightening legs apart, gasping for air. Gazing up at you, he sticks his tongue out and against your clit. He’s determined to help you ride out your high and nods his head up and down. You watch him through blurry vision, shamelessly rocking your hips up to meet him halfway. Or, at least you try to. Soon, you become all too sensitive to even hold his gaze, let alone grind against his tongue.

You fight against his hold on your legs, whining loudly. “Okay, okay,” you gasp as you try to seat yourself up.

He doesn’t care. That once yielding look in his eyes flashes into a demanding one. Seeing you so helpless under him shocks him with power once again. “One more time,” he pants against your heat.

“TaeTae,” you mewl, attempting to manipulate your way out of this overstimulated feast.

However, the use of the name this time, only spurs him on. He knows what you’re trying to do and doesn’t at all find it amusing. This time when he repeats his words, he growls, “One more time!”

Lips suctioning around your clit, he harshly sucks. Slurping and swallowing everything you have to offer, Taehyung holds your gaze. You’re a trembling mess. Tears falling freely down your face, you curse him three times over and buck your hips against his mouth. He finds the entire sight so humorous, he can’t help but smirk.

You’re still his little toy, a play thing for him to fool around with and test out some kinks on. The realization should make you curse him again and again, but you can only play into it. Pouting and mewling, you’ve fully sold yourself out just so Taehyung is well fed with your juices.

This is the peak of his games, you think. This is as far as he will go and you expect that you’ll cum in another minute or so. But then his teeth graze your clit once, twice, three times. You come undone within seconds. Arching your back, you let out the neediest cry you’ve ever heard and pathetically cum against his chin. The shudders and shivers of your body are beyond your control, as is your broken voice and any lasting grip you thought you had on reality.

As if biting and sucking your clit isn’t mindbreaking enough, Taehyung dips his tongue back in you to sneak another taste. “Taehyung, please,” you beg. “Please!”

He finally lets up, removing his face from your sopping heat and releasing his hold on your legs. You instantly bring them together and hug them into your chest. Heaving and shedding your last few tears, you try to recompose yourself and the silent atmosphere you once shared while sculpting.

“Strange,” he starts, returning to his feet. He takes his hands in yours, slowly unwrapping the hug you’ve cocooned yourself in. “It sounds a lot like that night. But, that’s not at all what I was doing then to make you this needy.”

To anyone else, you would've looked fucked out and completely ruined. But Taehyung knows that’s not at all the case. He has tested your stamina enough to know that you can most likely go for another round or two. Pulling your legs apart, he stands between them then helps sit you back up.

Faces inches away, you exchange breaths. “How long have you been this needy, my muse?” He asks again.

He really does smell like you. His cheeks, nose, chin, and lips are smeared with your cum. It doesn’t even look like he was feasting. It almost looks like he just wanted to cover his face with your juices. Gulping, you consider his question. You did insinuate that you’d answer the question if he gave you his tongue. And, holy fuck, did he give it to you. However, an insinuation is not a promise. He made that clear during your last argument.

“I don’t remember promising anything,” you whisper in a light pant.

The pain in his eyes cannot be neither mistaken nor missed. Echoing his words all these months later, surely recalls suppressed emotions of misery and betrayal for the both of you. He sneers a smirk, glaring at your lips. “Your memory has failed you,” he hisses. Gripping onto your hips, marking you there with bruises as well, he adds, “But, I won’t.”

“Not again, anyway.”

You sound colder than he does which causes him to hesitate for a moment. His hands fall by his sides as he searches your face for some sort of confirmation to continue. He almost seems like he’s not sure if he really wants to pick up where he left off too, seeing that you’re still upset with him. The guilt of seeing him so fragile and wounded eats away the majority of your anger. But, if he thinks he’s the only one struggling to make sense of this break up, he’s wrong.

Right now, the only way you can think of showing that to him is by first displaying your eagerness to continue in this sexual stroll down memory lane. You lean forward, brushing the tip of your nose against his, and reach down to his crotch. The dent in his jumpsuit throbs in your hand. His hard cock all but pulses under your palm as you rub at it. His breath hitches. You then untie the sleeves of his jumpsuit and watch carefully as his cock comes back into view. Fuck, you’ve forgotten just how pretty it is when it’s all pink tipped and desperate to be pumped. He shifts a bit, you assume to step out of the jumpsuit, and resettles his hands back on your waist.

Not another moment of uncertainty stands between you anymore. Swallowing his pride, Taehyung kisses you first. Lips on lips, the taste of yourself on his tongue has you moaning already. He  seems to take this as a sign to let himself go as well. He pulls you closer to the edge of the table and rolls his hips into yours. The length of his dick rubs between your folds, but he doesn’t enter. Not yet. He simply teases the idea of entering, of ruining you.

But, you’re too overstimulated to enjoy it in its entirety. Your legs resume their little shudders at the tiniest bit of friction when his cock just happens to brush against your clit. Taehyung, upon noticing this, makes sure to touch it with every new grind against you. He smirks when you whimper into his mouth and chuckles a bit when you break the kiss to whine his name.

“What is it, baby,” he coos. He grounds his hips harder into yours, erupting moans from the both of you. “Ah, shit, I could just cum like this,” he hisses as his mouth hovers over yours.

A little smirk tugs on your lips at his words. Yes, you may be helplessly falling apart with every passing second. However, watching him come undone from the impression of your pussy against his cock, is a rather prideful moment. You tilt your head and begin peppering his chin and cheeks with open mouthed kisses, staining his face with your saliva now as well as your cum.

“Then, just cum, TaeTae,” you whine.

Perhaps if you didn’t sound so desperate, he probably would’ve switched back into his own submissive state. But, it’s the squeal in your voice and mischief in your tone that only drives him further down his power trip. He pulls away a bit, holding your horny gaze with an unimpressed one of his own. He realigns his hips as his jaw shifts. He’s pretending to chew gum again. Holy shit, he’s going to fuck you senseless.

He does not push into you though. Instead, he pulls you onto him by the deadly grip he has on your hips. You stare up at him as a loud cry escapes you with every inch that stretches your walls. Taehyung looks back with very little remorse in his eyes. The sight of you so small in his arms, whipped for his cock, makes his tip twitch a bit. But he is not immune to the action of entering you, sucking in a sharp breath.

“I can’t believe I forgot how tight you were,” he whispers, voice breaking.

And you thought you could never forget how big he is, but here you are. Eyes rolling back, you relish in his size like it the first time. “Big,” you mewl as he bottoms out. “Tae, you’re so big.”  You sound just as broken as he does.

He cannot even find it in him to be cocky about it. He hears the realization in your voice. He knows you’ve forgotten too. A flash of pain twinkles in his eyes. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and whisper. “Remind me, Taehyung.” His brows quirk up and you add, “Remind me how good you make me feel. And I’ll remind you the same.”

Taehyung presses a gentle kiss on your forehead. Then, his hips snap in action. Holding you close, he starts hard and fast. He’s naked and growling into your ear with every thrust. You’re clothed and whining with every rumble of his chest and jerk of his hips. You didn’t even have to beg to bring out such a feral side of him. Could it be that he’s looking for the same thing you are? A lost lover?

Clay smeared fingers pressing into his skin, you push away that thought and scratch at his back. That once blank canvas of muscle and skin will now be lined with your lov- lust. This is just lust. You have to remind yourself of this fact every time he pushes into you.

He quietly hisses with each streak until he pauses his thrusts. You pout, leaning back a bit to ask if anything is wrong. But before you can even part your lips, Taehyung is readjusting his grip from your hips to your tube top.

“You’re a fucking slut to dress like this for him,” he growls. Then, in one swift motion, he pulls it down. You gasp as your breasts spill out, not out of exposure, but simply shock. He grips onto the rolled down top and smirks. “They’re a little uneven,” he points out. “But, I like that about them. Does he too? Does he get to see you like this, slut?”

You’ve got it wrong. It’s not your use of his nickname that has sent him spiralling into a pit of dominance, but rather that you went out to see another man. Is that why he ripped your pants apart? He’s destroying the outfit he thinks you wore for somebody else. Not only that, but his words only confirm that he is indeed sculpting you. All from memory, Taehyung has been molding your naked body down to the precise imperfection of your slightly uneven breasts.

And while you’re still trying to make sense of it all, he slaps one of them causing you to moan and throw your head back. Taehyung grabs a hold of your chin and drags your head back down to meet his gaze. “Answer me,” he seethes. “How much of you does he have?”

“None!” You shout. Your breathing is uneven, and you have to swallow the lump in your throat to continue, “I don’t even remember his name; he’s irrelevant.”

Taehyung circles his hips around yours, clearly pleased with your reply. But he does not pick up where he left off. “You haven’t been able to remember a lot tonight. Is that all irrelevant to you too?”

The shake of your head is reactive. You barely even had to think about it. This act of pretending that you don’t feel anything for him anymore has clearly fallen. “That’s not it, Taehyung,” you whine, hooking a leg around his waist. He wipes the tears streaming down your face as you continue, “I just didn’t want to remember us.”

Licking his lips, Taehyung slowly pulls out and eases himself back in. You tremble, watery eyes twitching in bliss. “Tell me how long you’ve been needy, baby,” he whispers.

“Have I not said enough already?”

You clutch onto his biceps and buck your hips up to meet his. He gasps, unable to hide his smile. You can tell he wants to finish this conversation but, with the way your walls are tightening around him, he doesn’t seem like he’s able to. One look in his eyes and you can tell he’s consumed by the pleasure all too much to reply.

Taehyung lets one hand fall to his side when he starts to pick up his pace. You shift one of your hands to his shoulders while the other holds onto the table’s edge. He holds you by the grip he has on your rolled tube top and smacks his hips against yours. It’s almost as if he’s riding a horse with the way he’s fucking you. And if you don’t whine loud enough, he’d slap each of your tits and force those screams out of you, growling, “You can do better than that.”

Removing your hands off him and back to the table, you accidentally rest your hand on one of his palettes. You gasp, looking over to find your hand smeared with blue and yellow hues. Taehyung laughs and rams into you faster. “You’re just making a mess wherever you go, hmm?” he teases.

You pout. He’s having too much fun making a mockery of you. Granted, you’re loving the attention, the way he’s fucking you into submission and realization, but you cannot let all this go to his head too much. As he smacks your breasts once more, nipples a little raw as they sting, you wipe your hand on him, down from his cheek to his collarbone.

He gasps, but his hips never stutter. Before you can even register his actions, Taehyung readjusts his grip from your top to your breasts and shoves his face between them. He transfers the swirl of dark blue and gold all over you as he fucks you as senseless as you predicted.

And as he playfully punishes you, blowing raspberries into your chest, you find yourself missing this, missing him. How could you have forgotten he likes to get playful, that he can switch between his two demeanours so seamlessly? He giggles when he pushes your breast into his face and further stains them with paint.

“The only one making a mess is you,” you rush to whine as your impending orgasm nears.

Dipping your hand in more paint, you rub the colours on his back and shoulders. You’re going to colour him yours if this is the last thing the two of you do together. Paint on his skin, in his hair, all over him, you’re going to make your impression here last through all the moans and whines and lewd slouches of your sensitive wetness around him.

Taehyung kisses his way up to your lips. He slips his tongue in once he reaches them and rolls his hips into you particularly harder than before. He can feel that he’s got you trailing the edge of your high. Thrust upwards, Taehyung reaches your most sensitive place. Every ram into it makes you shudder, toes curling and moans pouring into his mouth. One of his hands shifts up to your breast, massaging the smeared paint in, while the other holds your hips in place.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whines against your lips. “Come back to me.”

He can’t do this. He can’t beg you to come back with his dick shoved so deep in you like this. You’re so fucking close and he knows this. He can feel every inch of you tighten around him and desperate to be released. It’s cruel of him to manipulate you like this, to kiss you like he’s lost in the moment when he’s really just lost in you.

Kissing his way to your ear, Taehyung feels your pussy quiver. He smirks, thrusting hard enough to move the table back, and growls in your ear, “Come back to me, my muse. Cum.”

You fall back onto the table, body a total shaking shock as your orgasm washes over every inch of you. With one hand trembling over your lips, your other grabs onto one of your tits in an effort to brace yourself from the rush of ecstasy that overcomes you. The moans and whines that leave you are no exception to your convulsing state. Their breathless, broken, and blaring as you practically scream out in bliss.

Taehyung enjoys the show, watching you forget how to breathe from his place between your legs. He’s still going fast and hard, groaning when he feels you coat his cock in your cum. Mesmerized by the sight of your unheld breast bouncing with each of his thrust, he slaps it. You squeal at the sting.

And as you try to look at him, still riding out your orgasm, Taehyung’s cock twitches only to paint your inner walls with his missed affections. He falls forward, over you, burying his face between your tits again. You push them into his face and shake them against his cheeks, hearing him growl over your heart.

At some point, he stops thrusting and opts to circling his hips into yours. It’s all the same to you. Your legs continue to shake and your heart still races. Drenched in sweat, paint, and clay, you two lie there for a second longer. Even while growing limp, Taehyung feels so full in you.

He peels himself off you. His face, glistening in paint, looks like Van Gogh’s starry night, his eyes being the sparkling stars. He smirks down at you before trailing his gaze lower. That smile falls with every part of you he realizes he has ruined. Your chest is exposed and covered in colours, shirt non existent, pants clay stained and torn straight down the middle, and pussy a sopping mess of your mixed cum when he pulls out.

“I did make a mess,” he pants.

One step back, then two, then three. He distances himself from you as if ashamed of his work. You slowly sit up and cross your legs. Already, they feel strained and sore. But, they’re the least of your worries. It's the way that Taehyung winces at the sight of you, that has your heart somersaulting into your stomach. You swallow thickly between heaving pants and watch him carefully. He’s completely bare and looks even more broke than you do. His gaze looks vague and face sickly. Shaking his head, Taehyung runs a hand through his hair. He looks so annoyed with himself, he cannot even find it in him to laugh at the fact that he only got more paint in his hair.

Crossing your arms over your chest to cover yourself up a bit, you say, “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He blinks repeatedly, snapping his attention back up at you. “Why aren’t you disturbed by this?” He questions, voice all but breaking.

Your eyes scan up and down his frame before your brows knit together in confusion. Is he referring to his naked body, or that the two of you just came to the thought of dating each other again? Still, why is either of those things worth being disturbed over? A naked Taehyung post sex has never been a bad sight and, though things did end horribly, the thought of being with him again doesn’t seem so bad now. Did he not mean it when he asked you to come back? Was it just something to get off to? Are you just something to get off to?

“What?” You whisper now that your anxious train of thought has robbed your voice.

“Aren’t you dating?” He clarifies. “That poor guy. I can’t believe I just let us do that.”

You’ve never seen him this distressed. He walks back to you, just to grab his jumpsuit and briefs. He can’t even bear to look at you as you stare back at him in complete confusion. What does he think happened here? That you cheated? Clenching your jaw, you can't believe that he could think that low of you. Then again, you never did blatantly say that it was your first date since the break up. In fact, now that you think about it, you did make it seem like you were in a relationship with someone else.

Taehyung hastily gets dressed as you try to hop off the table without falling on your face from how weak your legs are after such a fucking. “Tae,” you start only to have him walk away. With a sigh, you call after him. He ignores you.

What the hell are you supposed to do now? You sure as hell can’t follow him with your legs so sore and he doesn’t seem to want to talk to you. And even if you could walk, your clothes are ruined and it would take a while for an uber to get here with all the snow coming down out there. The distant spray of the shower directs your attention to the hallway Taehyung escaped down to get away from you. Great, he’s showering and left you here to figure this all out yourself.

Taking a seat on the floor, you decide to give your legs a moment to rest before ordering yourself an uber and hoping that this night ends soon. You should’ve listened to your gut and rejected his call. You shouldn’t have agreed to this, or come here, or let him remind you just how much you miss and love him. All you ever wanted was- is him. If it haven’t been for this whole stupid issue about moving in, you’d still have him.

But, no. You had to force him into a step he wasn’t ready for. You lost him then and you came back to watch yourself lose him again. Is that it? Is that why you didn’t even explain yourself to the poor guy that was sitting across from you at Rollos. Yes, Rollos; that’s where you went for drinks. Wow, your memory really hasn’t served you well tonight. You hope you forget this tomorrow. You hope you'll be able to forget how pathetic you feel, how hurt he sounds, and how you lost him all over again.

“Get up,” Taehyung orders. His voice is rough, like he had been sobbing.

Looking over to him, you find that could’ve actually been the case. His face is tear streaked now as well as paint smeared. He stands a good few feet away from you, glaring down at your woefully ruined frame. “Taehyung, I’m not-”

He doesn’t seem to want to hear any of it. “Get up,” he repeats. “Go shower. I have some clothes for you to wear then I’m taking you home.”

“Tae, just liste-”

“Delete my number. We never talk about this again. And if you’re at all like the person I loved, you’d tell him the truth.”

Is he seriously judging you right now? You’ve barely even had a chance to explain yourself. He really doesn’t want to listen to anything you have to say, cutting you off like you’re less than him. You cannot help but scoff at him and his words.

Taehyung sighs. “Just please get up, (Y/N).”

“I’m not dating anyone.”

His superiority falls. The life returns to his face as he approaches you but you recoil into yourself the moment he steps forward. Pausing, he tilts his head at you. “What is it?”

What is it? This man is going to be the death of you. “You just shamed me for something that wasn’t true, Taehyung!” You shout.

“I thought you were cheating with me!”

You use the table to help yourself up and dryly chuckle. “Ha, yeah because lying is such a normal thing to do, right? I’m as twisted as you, Taehyung.”

“I lied because I knew saying no would hurt you. Why can’t you see that I was just looking out for you?”

That one sentence makes you freeze in place. Is he really that fucking dense? He can’t seriously believe that looking out for someone you love involves lying. Slowly turning to face him, you don't even make an effort to hide your tears anymore. “You were looking out for yourself and you know it!”

“I just didn’t-”

“Want to grow tired of me.” You finish for him in a mocking tone.

Taehyung huffs, shaking his head. “That’s not what I was going to say. Would you just let me finish?”

You’re done with this stupid conversation. All you want to do is go home and get as far away as possible from him and the way he smells and the fact that even though you hate him so much right now, you want him to come and hug you and tell you everything is going to be okay. But, he’s just so annoying. And you can’t bear to look at him anymore with that cold glare consistently being directed towards you. You’ll wait outside for the uber. Hell, you’ll just walk back to your apartment. Anything to get out of here and away from him.

In an attempt to follow through, you try to make your way towards the door, but your legs almost instantly give out.

“Jesus, babe,” Taehyung hisses, rushing to your side.

It’s not even just the fact that you’re sore but your ripped pants are starting to rub up against your cum leaking pussy. You whine a bit and try to shake him off in order to jump back onto the table. But, you’re thankful he stays by your side because you definitely cannot get up there alone with your lacking upper body strength.

His hands linger on your thighs, softening eyes locked on yours. A hint of a smirk plays on his lips before he says, “I remember doing this to you often.”

Yes, leaving you limping around the apartment was his favourite pastimes. He liked to watch you struggle to walk after every intimate moment. In fact, he always felt like he didn’t do his job right if you’re not limping. He’d go ten times rougher the next time around and then cuddle you to his chest, cooing reassurances in your ear. Was it bad that you wanted that all the time? That you wanted to sleep and wake up in the same bed he does everyday?

Slow tears roll down your face as you take his hand art stained in yours. “It was my first date since our break up,” you confess. “Sumni asked for your number… and for permission to go out with you. I just felt a little hurt that you were moving on.”

“She called.”

Your heart has shattered too many times tonight to even react to his words, but you can feel your soul shudder. She called. And did he answer? Did he have a drink with her too? You want to ask but your pride swallows your questions whole. All you can bring yourself to say is, “She’s a nice girl.”

He nods. Squeezing your hand, Taehyung wraps his arm loosely around your waist and stands in front of you. “I told her I wasn’t really ready to see anyone else yet,” he tells you, pressing himself against you.

The gesture is not at all sexual and you do not interpret it as such. Rather, it is tender and comforting. He releases his hold on your hand to wipe your tears, letting his own fall. Licking his lips, he whispers, “What’s his name?”

You shrug.

“Come on,” he half-heartedly nudges your legs. “Tell me.”

Does he think you’re trying to spare his feelings? Meeting his gaze, you can’t help but smile. He looks so cute, so precious in front of you. Playing with his hand, your fingers looping around his, you reply, “I don’t remember. I only spoke to him for half an hour or something.”

He cannot hide his smile, but avoids your gaze. Even still, you can see the relief within them. He seems to be pleased that you’re just as miserable as he is, pining after someone you cannot have any more.

“Is that why you came over?”

You shake your head before you can even think the action through. And the words leave your lips just the same, “I just missed you.”

“I really missed you too,” he croaks, rushing to say the words like he can’t believe them himself. “God, I’ve just wanted you back for so long.”

He’s all but sobbing in front of you. Parting your lips, you’re about to tell him that he doesn’t have you, not yet anyways. The fact is that he still lied, and has continued to lie to manipulate you. This cannot be forgiven so easily. You love and miss him dearly, but surely you cannot just take him back without discussing the cause of your break up first.

But then, Taehyung burrows his face into the crook of your neck and lets himself fall apart. Hugging you close, he cries into your skin. You cannot hold back the sob that tears through your throat just from the mere sound of his choked breaths and wet tears against you.

“I’m so sorry,” he cries as you cradle his head. “I’m sorry.”

The broken tone of his voice is enough to make you whimper into his hair. He sounds so fragile. This break up, you realize, has torn him inside out too. Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, you try to console both of your fears. But every sob trembles your courage and every drop of his tears makes you recoil in guilt and shame. How could you have done this to him, to your relationship?

He shudders a breath as he pulls away. Red in the face, wet streaks staining his painted cheeks, he cups his hands under your jaw and says, “Look, you can move in right now, okay? Alright? I’ll get your things tomorrow. I’ll give you Jungkook’s key. He only comes here to steal our food anyways.” Just stay, please (Y/N).”

His voice is shaky and tone all but heartbreaking as he chuckles at his own little joke. The desperation is real and hard to deny. You cannot even open your mouth to even voice your reservations about dating again. Clutching onto his jumpsuit, you try to revert your gaze to your lap in hopes to find your courage and tell him that you need to talk first. Only, Taehyung dips his head low to catch your eyes again. He’s determined to have you stay. And your silence only provokes more tears.

“I promise I’ll never tell another lie,” he sobs. “I promise I’ll never let my worries get in between us again. Please, baby, just please stay. Say that you’ll stay.”

You cannot watch this for another moment longer. There’s lots you still have left to discuss, like why he’s so worried about growing tired of you, and why he felt the need to lie in the first place. But his promise to never do it again is enough for now. And you just can’t sit here watching him cry any longer. You pull him towards you, pepper his cheeks with gentle kisses then cradle his head.

“I’m not going anywhere, Tae,” you mutter into his hair. “Mostly because I can’t.”

Your attempt at a joke causes him to choke out a chuckle. He showers the crook of your neck with wet kisses, muttering into your skin, “I love you.”

Rapturing in a relieved frenzy, your nerves dance within your bloodstream and repair your ruptured heart. You let out a deep breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. “I love you too,” you cry.

The last four months haven’t granted you a shred of peace. You’ve lived and re-lived that argument over and over again, praying you can just go back and fix it all there and then. But, maybe… maybe it all needed to fall apart to fall back into place. Maybe it needed to rupture to rapture.

tags: @miinoongi​, @jenotation​, @allannahmalik​, @taeshuworld​

note; please do not leave hate towards me or any other readers. please do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work without my permission.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 21 - Losing My Religion

Masterlist; Chapter 20

Summary: After Tallinn, you use the opportunity and visit Neil’s apartment. What you find there, only increases the confusion, just as the pieces are set for the endgame.

Warnings: Swearing; angst.

Author’s Notes: This was a challenge, and it’s a little different too, a breather before the real fun begins... or something. After this we move onto the icebreaker... (and things). I’ll shut up now, hope you’ll enjoy and all kind of feedback are greatly welcomed! 

The clean up after TP’s little accident on the highway was difficult. And tiring. By the time you have dealt with the mess and could call it a day, you wanted nothing but to sleep. And also disappear from the face of the Earth. That second thing was rather tricky to achieve. Unfortunately. You had to settle for the slightly awkward space given by the rest of the team and the fact that you were bound to return to London the next day. That was something. Even if it meant having to debate whether those damned keys were to be used.

The journey back was uneventful. Only Wheeler seemed capable of talking to you without looking as though she has been trapped in some metaphorical web of ineptitude that the others got caught in. That was alright. At least she knew how that conversation in the container went. Her company was good enough to keep you from going insane for the time being.

The moment the car arrived at the London quarters, you practically bolted out through the door. Eager to finally have your own space to reflect, cry, and try to move on after the unimaginable. But it was not exactly meant to be given…

“Y/N, wait!” Ives’ voice rung out through the reception hall as you skidded down the corridor.

Crap.

“Yeah?” cautiously, you stopped in your tracks, facing the squad leader.

Making the mistake of glancing at the reception desk, you met Anna’s watchful gaze. Of course. Even though you knew she had no clue about anything that transpired between you and Neil, it still felt like a painful reminder.

“I…uh...” the hesitation in Ives’ voice made you frown, “I just got this, and I’m not sure…” he passed you his phone with a strange expression on his face.

A text from TP. Just like the ones you received before. Right… This one had a familiarly succinct form: “Invert for eight days with the army from tomorrow. Then get to Trondheim, awaiting further instructions”

“Is this from him?” you looked up to see the blue eyes boring into yours with confusion.

“Yeah, it must be” you nodded and handed him back the phone.

At that exact moment, you got a text as well. Hurriedly you took out the device and read the message:

“Invert along with Ives and the rest”.

Short and simple. Yet not at all. Without a word, you showed your companion the text message and stifled a heavy sigh. Inversion. Eight days. Trondheim. That most likely confirmed your worst fears. The end of it all was near, and you were needed there. You, Neil, and everyone else still had their parts to play in the most important of showdowns.

“So, I guess we’re going back” you could feel Ives’ inquisitive stare on you “Just like they are” he added, awaiting a response.

Meeting Neil after those eight upcoming days sounded like a nightmare. Because a week was never enough to fall out of love. Or to even attempt it. You were a lost cause.

“…yep” nodding halfheartedly, you could feel another weight settle on your shoulders.

“Excited?” the intensity of Ives’ look convinced you towards his intentions.

Evidently, he tried to get a clue towards your state, probably assessing whether you could endanger the mission in any way. Despite everything, you were a professional. A Tenet agent. That had to come before any personal issues you might have had. Forcing a smile, you met his gaze with sincerity.

“Not really” a shrug completed the response.

But it was enough as he grinned back and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s alright. Have today off and be ready tomorrow morning,” he ordered with a feigned sternness.

“Aye aye, sir” you saluted, enjoying the laugh it prompted.

Maybe not everything was utterly shit.

“Your edge is still intact, I see,” he commented once the laughter died down.

“At least something is then” you grimaced slightly and walked off with a wave.

A day off. What could one possibly do with something like that after everything? The set of keys in your pocket felt heavy for something that small. And insignificant (in theory).

*** It took you one hour of staring at the wall, a thirty-minute-long shower, and two coffees to decide to make use of the keys. After all, what was the harm? It was a way of spending the idle hours. And maybe to understand him a little better. Even if it was too late to save anything. You wanted to know him. To know his mind and heart. You dug out the note with the address Ives gave you and typed it into the maps app. Your hands were shaking the whole journey. Even though it was not far, it turned out to be challenging. Often you were catching yourself glancing at the phone, expecting him to call or text as he always did.  But then you remembered, making the nerves come to the surface again. You wondered whether it was because of the absolute wreckage your relationship became or because you were unable to contact him in any way. Walking the streets leading to Neil’s apartment, you realised that it was probably both. You missed him. Simple as that. And equally complicated at the same time.

Google maps led you to an old docking space transformed into posh loft spaces in two store buildings of dark red brick. The residential area was completed with a large parking lot (full of rather good cars), making the first question of the day pop into your head: Did Neil have a private car? Something that unimportant yet entirely mundane only made you realise how little you knew of his life. But this was exactly why you came here. The second thought was something you always knew yet never took time to ponder on: the fact that he undeniably had money. It did not matter, of course. Just another fact that could as a trigger for the intrusive ideas to appear.

Ignoring the spiraling thoughts, you made your way to the indicated building, keying in the code at the door and following the stairs to the second floor. The apartment door no 4 looked like any other you have passed on the way. Turning the key in the lock, you took a deep breath, gathering courage for god knows what. Perhaps just being alone with everything that had to do with Neil… The door opened soundlessly. Faint daylight from the corridor fell onto the furniture and objects gathered in the hall, helping your eyes adjust to the darkness. You closed the door and locked it. The least you could have wanted was for someone to break in on your watch. Now that would have made him hate you. If he didn’t already, that is. Taking off the shoes, you scanned the hall. Hooks with various jackets and coats on the wall. Including a slightly weathered leather one that perked your interest. With fingers ghosting the material, you were unable to block the images of Neil wearing it. That was enough to make you blush and curse out loud. That won’t help with getting over him. As though that was even possible.

Next, your eyes landed on the shoes rack in the corner showing off Neil’s questionable taste in footwear. You grimaced when spotting another pair of brogues (that would have to go… if there was any future for you) and then smiled involuntarily at something as casual as old converse on the top shelf of the rack. So, he could dress more… normally. Interesting.

The rest of the space was filled with a large mirror and a cupboard full of random objects such as spare lightbulbs, shoe care products, and cleaning supplies. On top of that cupboard, there was a succulent (practical, you had to admit), a desk calendar, and a small notepad filled with Neil’s writing. The contents ranged from shopping lists to quantum physics, making you grin fondly when looking through the pages. The latest entry was written down in haste and barely eligible. What you deciphered made your heart stumble for the first time that day. It seemed like Neil was planning to invite you over after Tallinn, prepare dinner, and apparently do all that ‘he wanted to for a while’. Brilliant. The notepad fell from your hands as the implications dawned on you. He wanted to set everything straight, to talk and potentially tell you important things… But now, it did not matter. There was no post-Estonia. Just you alone in his cold, darkened apartment, full of doubts, regrets, and worries.

Shivering from both the chill and the anxiety, you ventured into the living room. It was an open space with a large leather sofa, TV, record player with shelves full of albums and vinyls. There were also bookcases filled to the brim and a dining table for four. Once your gaze fell onto the black piano in the corner, you did a double-take. Obviously, Neil was musically talented. All those times when he has been desperate to annoy you by singing various corny love songs in public were an indisputable example. A moment like that from Tallinn flashed before your eyes…

You and Neil sat in a restaurant on one of the ‘dates’ you had managed to fit into the schedule before TP arrived in Estonia. Cozied up in the corner on a comfortable sofa, you felt perfectly at peace. Instead of taking the seat opposite, Neil got as close as it was possible without raising eyebrows of the fine clientele. You were chatting about everything and nothing, occasionally taking sips of the coffees and letting your hands rest on each other’s knees. Other times they would be interlocked on the table between the plates, showing to the world that this was no platonic meetup. Using the natural break in the conversation, you finished the remains of your latte and watched as Neil focused on the radio somewhere in the background. By this point, you should have known better, but still, the second he started singing took you by surprise.

‘Pretty woman I don't believe you, you're not the truth No one could look as good as you, mercy’

His gaze settled on you without that mercy, awaiting a response. His lips curled into a deadly smirk, making the matters worse. For a moment, you wanted to ignore him, to deny him the satisfaction. But the way he stared, enunciating the song lyrics with precision and aiming them at you, triggered the familiar desire to stake your claim. To make him (and everyone else) understand that he was yours. Especially with a voice that beautiful and eyes that looked at you with boundless affection.

‘Pretty woman that you look lovely as can be Are you lonely just like me’

It was the cheesy growl at the end of that stanza that did it. Combined with the huskiness of Neil’s voice and his hand appearing on your thigh underneath the table, it was enough to convince you to shut him up the best way you knew. You leaned in, placing your palm on the inside of his thigh, just close enough to remind him. Capturing his lips in a kiss, you did not have to wait long for Neil to invite you closer. You began the intimate dance, getting lost in the moment entirely. With him being in public did not matter. Especially not when he was giving you everything he could on a silver plate. Those days every kiss threatened to evolve into a full make-out session as you tried to get ever closer to him. That is why when you heard an awkward cough followed by “Miss, Sir, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to leave” you could only start laughing. That was two days before your walk, which ended in the alley. The rest was history.

Shaking your head slightly, you let go of the memory. Has it gotten even colder? Shivering, you spotted a sweater draped on the side of the sofa. Crossing the space, you glanced at the instrument that caught your attention. A simple black Kawai piano with a Chopin music score opened on the fallboard and the stool underneath. If there even was a future, you wanted to hear him play something. You could almost picture it. Those long, elegant fingers on the black and white keys, hitting every note with perfection and the flourish he applied to every single task. His gaze focused. Golden hair falling into his eyes carelessly. Lips parted, tongue poking out in concentration. He was bound to be a sight as usual.

Ignoring the waking up flutters that always accompanied every thought about Neil, you picked up the sweater. It was the colour of dark red wine, simple and yet sophisticated in its simplicity. Cashmere. He really is posh. Giving in to the sudden whimsy, you breathed in the smell. That was a mistake. The moment Neil’s essence overwhelmed your senses, you felt a surge of feelings. The musky scent, the hints of bergamot and lavender that always brought comfort. Before you could second guess everything, you put the sweater on, letting the smell envelope you like his hugs always did. It was another thing that you missed. The ability to rest within his strong embrace, safe and wanted. The feeling of his arms cradling you with care. Without the solidity beneath your hands, it was hard to remember how it felt. The sweater had to do. You rolled up the sleeves and approached the large window, drawing back the curtains to see the view and let in light. The sight certainly was not disappointing with the lookout on the Thames and the docking ships. The area looked peaceful, like the place you could want to go out on walks and spend the rest of your life… No, stop. That was a dangerous line of thinking. After all, you only came here to satisfy the curiosity. And because you could, with nothing left to lose. Well, maybe apart from your sanity.

With the day shedding some light onto the furniture and objects in the room, you could more closely assess the type of person Neil was. The décor was rather posh (nothing surprising there) with leather, dark wood, and refined fabrics gracing the space. But upon a closer look, you could see the hints of Neil’s personality shining through the bounds of the stereotypes. It was visible in the chaos of the little details. Billy Idol album discarded on the CD player making you smile. The dying plants on the windowsill. The opened book on the coffee table right next to a bar of chocolate and some bullets. What even… 

Looking around the space, you could easily picture him there. It was like entering a museum of Neil’s life and heart, and you were just a mere visitor. A trespasser even though you had the keys. Lost in the thoughts, you approached the bookshelves, looking over the titles. Young and Freedman’s University Physics with Modern Physics with a worn-out spine and a library stamp on the title page (a theft?). Griffith’s Introduction to Quantum Mechanics with scribbles on the margins, making your head hurt. More Quantum Mechanics but only getting increasingly complex. Spacetime and Geometry. In between the textbooks, there were classics of English and American literature, proving your theory that Neil knew the canon well. All those quotations had to come from somewhere… You looked over the further titles relating to the nuclear area of Physics and relativity of time, only to be thrown out of the moment when your eyes landed on a photograph in a wooden frame. A grinning young man with warm brown eyes and curly dark hair sat on the bench in the park. Alex. Picking up the photo, you took a closer look, feeling inexplicable heaviness in your chest. He looked just like Neil described him – an essence of goodness and understanding. The lump in our throat was strange. He still loved Alex that was a fact and something you took for granted. For a second, you wondered whether you could ever be half that important to him. But that was selfish. And wrong.

Swallowing hard, you put down the frame, focusing on another one nearby. In that photo, you recognized everyone. Ives with slightly longer hair grinning widely, next to him Wheeler with her practical bun and amused eyes, TP relaxed like always when in the company of friends. And then… You would recognize those eyes and sharp jaw anywhere, but… He’s not naturally blonde? You stared at the man who was undoubtedly Neil but with light brown hair, just as messy as usual. Interesting. You did suspect he dyed the hair but still having confirmation was unexpected. Staring a little longer at the photo, you already knew that it did not matter. He was a work of art, full stop. The rest of the photos depicted the Tenet crew, apart from the one you assumed was a family snapshot from years ago. Two happy boys with mundane looking parents and a Labrador retriever (Charlie!). Upon a closer look, you could tell that Neil got his blue eyes after his mother and the smile after his father. It was an interesting discovery. Other objects littering the shelves included postcards, trinkets from travels, and a strange collection of obscure coins. Also, more notebooks with Neil’s equations and theories and music scores. There was no order, just fate, and fancy. Just like him.

Wandering into the kitchen, running your fingertips over various instruments and surfaces, you wanted to soak in the atmosphere of the apartment. So far, the new information was almost overwhelming. But also fascinating in the fact that you already felt like you knew him better. Glancing at the fridge in passing, you froze. Among the cheap promotional magnets and old shopping notes attached to it, there was a rather familiar writing visible. A note you made Anna pass to him many weeks ago. “I’ll be at the shooting range. Meet you for dinner after 5” signed with your initials for practicality. Why has he kept it? It did not make sense. You forgot about the existence of something that inconsequential, yet here it was. Kept in place with a blaring orange magnet from Sainsbury’s. Suddenly feeling a little faint with the implications of the moment, you poured tap water into the glass and sat down on the stool by the kitchen island. You could still remember Anna’s offended stare when you gave her the note with the instruction to pass it to Neil later. That memory triggered another one, much more recent…

In the days leading up to Tallinn, you went out with Neil for a lunch and walk under the guise of planning the logistics of your journey. Sure, there was some planning being done over the tea and sandwiches. But there was also a lot of hand-holding, kissing, and gazing shamelessly. It was during those days, and then the idle hours in the safe house, that you have allowed yourself to love him. The feelings were there for months (most likely), but only after Oslo and the candid conversations in your room, you felt more at ease with them. So far, that PDA was not all that terrifying. And so, when you came back to the London quarters that afternoon, your fingers intertwined, you only realised how it looked like from the outside when Neil tugged you in the direction of Anna’s desk.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, hoping the woman was too busy to see you.

“I told you, need to get that ID sorted,” he explained, matching your conspiratorial tone, completely oblivious to your struggles.

“Yeah, but…” you raised your joined hands as if to show him the issue.

Neil grinned, waving his free hand dismissively.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s not like that’s against the rules�� ending the sentence, he took the final step separating you from the desk.

Great. Plastering on the most pleasant of smiles, you met Anna’s accusatory glare. You could not blame her.

“Anna, hi” Neil’s bright grin got met with a cold face of stone.

You vividly remembered that first day at Tenet, when you were filling in the paperwork, observing him flirt with the woman behind the desk. Back then, you were baffled by her reaction, the fluttering of eyelashes and lovesick smiles. Now you wondered how you got to that point and why you were seemingly luckier than she could ever be.

“Yes?”

“My ID is expiring soon. Was wondering if you could give me the form for the new one?” Neil’s chirpy tone made you hide a smile by looking at the floor “I want to get this sorted for after we’re back” he added, with that hopeful gaze barely anyone could ever say no to.

Anna was not any different.

“Naturally,” she spared you a final spiteful look before turning around to use the computer.

Glancing around the empty lobby, you hoped to survive the rest of the encounter without any additional awkwardness. But Neil had other plans. He stepped in closer, nose brushing over your ear, tearing down any illusions about the nature of your relationship. You stifled a sigh when his lips placed a small kiss over your temple.

“Shall we go to yours after this?” the whisper complemented with a ghost of his fingers on the side of your neck made you shiver.

“Maybe…” you cast a wary glance at Anna, but her back was turned.

Thankfully.

“I thought we could resume the planning…” upon the suggestive tone, you turned to meet his gaze.

Surely enough, the playful sparks were there. And the smirk too. Of course. Planning, in this case, most likely meant more cuddling… and potentially kissing. His hands getting accustomed to your body, leaving countless promises for the future. The thoughts alone made you blush. Before Neil could get any closer, Anna’s voice interrupted the moment:

“Here’s your form,” nothing but ice and fury.

So, she must have noticed…

“Thanks” the polite nod made you snicker.

During the next few terribly long minutes, you did your best to avoid looking at the other woman. Or at Neil. Your gaze roamed over the ceiling, the walls, and the floor. Reading the same fire evacuation instructions for the fifth time, you felt a gentle touch on your arm:

“Can I put down your details as my emergency contact?” you looked up straight into those inquisitive blue eyes “I’ve had Ives the last two years, but I think you’re a more accurate option these days,” he explained as though it was obvious.

Emergency contact? You always assumed those were for best friends and spouses. You were not sure which fitted the criteria.  

“How so?” blurting out the only viable question, you met his perplexed gaze.

“… because I’m with you and not with him” the bluntness of the reply made your heart stumble.

“Right”

Of course, you agreed. As a ‘thank you’ that afternoon, Neil kissed you until there was barely any breath left for either of you. Now you missed the feeling of being that desired.

And yet, that stupid note was right there, in your eyes a bright red spot that you could not ignore. Because surely, he must have cared at some point? You finished the remains of water and washed the glass. Then, just for the sake of a distraction, you went through the kitchen cupboards. Nothing surprising. Appliances that looked barely used. Canned food every Brit would be expected to have. The amounts of frozen meals in the lower fridge compartments confirmed another thesis - Neil did not like cooking. That was fair not everyone could be Jamie Oliver. Not that you would prefer him. Certainly not. Shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the thoughts, you opened another cabinet. Wine and glasses, triggering the memory from your date night in Oslo. The way Neil tried to emulate his swank further by pretending to be a sommelier, making you laugh with his fake French accent and sparse knowledge. Upon the efforts to name something else than tannins (that Sauvignon Blanc had little of), you stepped in, shutting him up with a fingertip tracing the outline of his lips, collecting a stray droplet of wine. And then licking your finger clean, much to his shock. The strange snapshot from one of the most eventful nights in your life was a good cue to leave the kitchen and trod down the corridor.

You stepped into the bathroom, curiously glancing at the contents of the cupboards and around the sink. Nothing remarkable. Giving in to the temptation, you sprayed the cologne he used on your wrist and inhaled deeply. Closing the bathroom door, your eyes landed on the room at the end of the corridor. Neil’s bedroom. Involuntarily, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Bedrooms were always a sacred space. The most private of places in the house. The stage set for life’s crucial events. Love, life, and tragedy all began to play out (and end) in there. If there was a room closest to the heart of the owner, it would be the bedroom and its contents. With a shaky hand, you pressed down the handle and opened the door. The interior was almost too mundane. The bed with dark grey covers and decorative pillows. Some artworks on the walls and drawn curtains, forcing you to turn on the ceiling lamp. A small bedside table with a night light and books. A walk-in closet with the sliding doors partly opened. That was what drew you in first, crossing the space you peered inside. Only to be overwhelmed with that Neil smell that made sure to make your heart rate pick up. Gently, you ran your fingers over the suit jackets and sweaters hanged on the rails. He had a multitude of those, in different colours. Eyeing a suit in dark blue, you could imagine how it would bring out his eyes. There were a few sweaters in different shades of green, confirming the suspicions that he liked the colour. Further along, you found a drawer with ties of various patterns, making you grin at one olive green with Labradors on it. Now that was a classic Neil accessory.

Just when you were about to end the ‘snooping’ your gaze landed on a more casual part of the wardrobe. Jeans folded on the shelves, t-shirts, and polos. Even a jean jacket somewhere in the back. In the drawer, you found socks with questionable patterns, only increasing the fondness you felt for the owner of such an eclectic wardrobe. And then you made the mistake of letting your curiosity get ahead of you. Another drawer. Underwear. Your face got warm as you slammed it shut. Enough. Thinking about that could lead to the dangerous territory you would rather not venture out to. At least not when alone in his apartment, overwhelmed with memories and feelings. There would be time for this too later… Hopefully.

Sliding the doors shut, you took in the room again. The pile of books on the bedside table caught your attention. Gingerly, you sat down on the bed, doing your best not to think about the specifics of that moment. You, alone in his bedroom. This was certainly not how you expected to end up in there for the first time. But that too was beyond the point. Sighing, you picked up the stack of books only to drop them onto the covers with hands shaking. You would recognize the cover everywhere. Your favourite book. The exact copy you had last seen in Oslo when you gave it to Neil. That memory was rather unforgettable…

Hanging out in the hotel room, waiting for Mahir and TP to come back from a small errand, you did your best to ignore Neil’s piercing gaze from across space. That was the day after your careless dancing and that evening’s developments when he asked you out. Just before the mission. And Neil was staring, shamelessly so. It was getting on your nerves.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” putting down the itinerary, you broke the silence and faced him.

The satisfied smile was enough to make you groan. He knew exactly what he was doing, as though waiting for the moment to strike when you were alone.

“Actually not, no” the grin widened as he shrugged nonchalantly “Plus you’re quite the sight. As usual” propping his chin on his hand, he kept on gazing.

The bastard was impossible.

“Jesus…” sighing, you rummaged in the bag at your feet “Do you want a book or something?” you took out a worn-out paperback “Because all that staring makes me want to…” trailing off, you met his inquisitive glare.

Want to kiss him. For starters. But he need not know that.

“What? Tell me” Neil spread his legs casually, leaning back in the armchair. An object of pure poise. And the challenge, aimed at you only. That was Neil at the top of his game, sure of what he wanted and how to get it. But you were not going to give it to him easily.

“Better not” the slight shock in his eyes gave you confidence “If yesterday taught me anything, it’s that your ego is big enough” offering him a sly smirk, you took a sip of the water.

When you looked up again, Neil was staring at you with an exaggerated pained expression on his face.

“I’m wounded” he put the hand over his heart like the drama queen that he was.

Scoffing, you laughed at the spectacle. Two could play the game.

“Good,” the offended whine only increased the satisfaction “So do you want that book?” you picked up the paperback, showing it to him “I’ve got my favourite one with me. Could kill some time”

“Yes, please” he got up and crossed the room, taking the book from you “I’ll have a chance to see what’s in that head of yours” Neil leaned down to your level and kissed you on the forehead “Apart from the desire for me, of course” he added, once he moved out of your reach once again.

Fucking hell.

“Neil”

At least there were some fun memories to come back to, you thought, looking through the copy you borrowed Neil. Then you noticed another thing. Under your book, there was another one of the same title. Brand new. Pages filled with Neil’s scribbles on the margins and underlined passages, highlighting the exact same quotations that made this book become your favourite. My god. The realization hit you with a gasp and a shiver. He read it. And not only that, but he also tried to understand you through something you held so dear. Reading the notes he made, you knew he was listening to every word you said. No matter the moment, the stage of your ‘relationship���, evidently, he cared enough to be interested in your thoughts and feelings. You were holding the proof in your hands. In some margin notes, Neil even referred to you using your initials, pointing out why it could resonate with you so much. The more you read, the more it felt like you have encountered his diary, in some form. That would be it when it comes to getting over. Putting down the books, your head was spinning. Too much.

You needed food. And sleep. It was at that moment that you decided to stay. It got late enough to make the journey back inconvenient. And everything was right here. Feeling like Goldilocks personified, you made use of Neil’s frozen food assortment and put on the music. Once you got over the initial shock of the afternoon, it was almost too easy to pretend that Tallinn never happened. That you were still alright. That he still potentially loved you. With the somewhat soothing sounds of Billy Idol and The Darkness, you went over Neil’s notebooks with equations. You understood nothing but the possibility to read his notes and theories was as comforting as it could get. Then, feeling your eyelids get heavy, you cleaned up and moved to the bedroom. Lying down in Neil’s bed felt like sacrilege. But the moment your head rested on the pillow and you inhaled the scent, it was all excused. At least in your eyes. Giving in to the foolish daydreams, you could almost imagine him next to you. The warmth and comfort the cuddles always provided. But you were alone, still wearing that sweater that smelled too good to be given up. It had to be enough. You fell asleep thinking about those damned blue eyes and the man that took the ownership of your heart for good.

*** Upon waking up in the cold apartment the next morning, you wanted nothing but to leave as soon as possible. In the daylight, with dreams of happiness haunting every corner of your mind, the feeling of loneliness was more persistent. You made sure to get rid of any signs of your intrusion, cleaned the kitchen, and made the bed. The only keepsake you could not deny yourself was the cashmere sweater that you stuffed into the bag. Even if he would not want anything to do with you, you could give it back along with the keys. Surely he would understand… right? After everything that you found in his flat, nothing seemed certain anymore.

You made it back to the HQs with just enough time to shower and pack for the next week of sitting in the inversion chambers in the sealed off part of the complex. That did not sound good as it meant more time with too many people in the cramped quarters. You had enough of that at this point. But then that was the prize of getting the most incredible of jobs. That and getting your heart broken. Again.

You joined the rest of the army by the larger turnstile, used purely for long-term inversion, instead of training. Accepting friendly nods from both Ives and Wheeler, you took your place in the queue. No one knew exactly what the purpose of this was. Just that you were supposed to go back eight days and then travel to the Norwegian coastline, awaiting instructions. The intuition that was rarely wrong told you that you were in the endgame from this point onwards.

And so, the next week was restricted to trying not to lose your sanity locked within the four walls. The only escape from the small room was the kitchen (always full of people that wanted to know too much), bathroom (that always had lines of people waiting by the door), and the small courtyard, where you could not step out without the oxygen tank and a mask. Overall, it was not the most pleasant of experiences. Especially when most days you wanted to curl up in bed and contemplate the mess that your life became. And to marinate in pain that became a constant companion. The sweater could only help so much. Accompanied with nerves and worry, you felt objectively shit and did everything to preserve the solitude. That is how you found yourself in the small kitchen at 2 am, eating toasties and drinking tea. Earlier the compound was too busy, and you preferred starving than facing the others. Only with everyone asleep, you could catch up on the meals missed. Well, almost everyone…

“How are you doing?” a voice interrupted your brooding.

You turned in the seat only to see Wheeler enter the room with a small smile on her face. Her you could tolerate, as an exemption.

“Bad” the candid answer seemed only appropriate “But I don’t mind the company, so please… stay” you added upon her hesitation.

She just nodded and proceeded to make a cup of tea. The silence stretched, but for once, it was rather pleasant. Finally, she finished the task and took the seat opposite you, giving you a quick once-over. You knew what she saw. Tangled hair, reddened eyes from lack of sleep, and hours of tears. The sweater that became the only comfort in those early morning moments when nothing seemed real and yet everything was too much.

“Is the sweater his?” she asked plainly, and you could only nod.

At this stage, surely, nothing was bound to surprise her.

“Yeah… Maybe it’s silly, but I took it from his place just to have something… tangible” you explained, consciously running your fingers over the material. Instead of judgement, you got a smile in return.

“No, I understand” Wheeler took a sip from the mug before asking, “Did the apartment give you any answers?”

You have not shared the story with anyone, unable to process it all even in the quiet of your mind. But maybe this was a chance to let it out…

“Mostly whiplash,” you let out a bitter laugh “It’s like… he cares… or cared,” you stumbled over the tense “But then in Tallinn after the shoot-out, he just closed off completely, and I don’t know why” raising your hands in defeat, you planted on your face on the table.

Anything goes. After a moment of utter frustration, you met Wheeler’s inquisitive eyes again. She did not seem bothered by your antics. Just a little concerned by the picture you were painting.

“Maybe it’s trauma” the seriousness of her expression made you think.

You did consider that option. But even knowing what happened with Alex, his reaction seemed too violent. You were alive, and yet he was trying to push you away. Plus, that way of thinking implied something else. Something you did not dare consider.

“That would mean he… loved me” getting the words out was a challenge “And I don’t think he does” you stared at the table, giving in to the thoughts once again “Whatever is going to happen now, I think I need space. Some distance. Trying to get over this won’t work otherwise”

Formulating the feelings that were overwhelming your heart and mind felt somehow relieving. Even if the prospects were anything but good.

“Is that what you want? To let him go?” the straightforward attitude of your companion was helpful.

“I don’t know,” sighing, you met her gaze, “I want… him, but if he doesn’t feel the same then…” with reddened cheeks, you let the sentence trail off.

She would understand, you were sure of that. And, if the slightly suspicious look in Wheeler’s eyes was anything to go by, she had her ideas about the topic.

“You should probably try talking to him again” she spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Last time that ended terribly,” you replied, arching your eyebrows, begging her to remember how bad that container conversation went.

“I know,” Wheeler patted your shoulder reassuringly, “But I also know that sometimes Neil needs a proper kick in the ass before he sees what’s right in front of him” she got up and went to the sink, picking up both of your dishes.

With the soothing soundtrack of the washing, you could feel almost sleepy. If it was not for that never-ending chatter of your thoughts.

“If you say so…” you murmured when she turned the tap off.

“Go to sleep. It’s just two days more of this torture” giving you a final smile, Wheeler left the kitchen.

You could survive two days. After that? Who knows. But it had to be alright.

[isolemnlyswearpevensie]

Lightning in a Bottle | Edmund Pevensie x Reader

Warnings: None :)

Time/Era: Modern AU

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Music is Edmund’s love language, apparently. 

Request: Hey! Could you possibly do a cute high school au with Edmund? Maybe they’re both crushing on each other and everyone knows except themselves, anything you wanna do really haha 😂 thanksss :)

A/N: Thanks for the request!!  God, I love Edmund so much. And here, we have indie boi Ed. This oneshot is inspired by  Electric Love by Børns. (Specifically, the video linked) This is one of my favorite songs, and I thought it fit the indie-main-character-high-school vibe :) I didn’t really nail the “everyone knows but them” thing, but still crushes! Enjoy ~

masterlist | here is a playlist of the songs in the mixtape mentioned | read on ao3

Edmund Pevensie was obsessed with listening to music, particularly with old musical technology. While it wasn’t uncommon to have a fascination with cassette tapes or vinyl records, it hit a special chord within Edmund’s heart. Something about listening to music, old and new, on the outdated tech made the music sound better, hit harder, and stick in his mind better. He was the type of guy who took the AUX on long car rides to play one of his thousand Spotify playlists. 

Another notable thing about Edmund was that he was very intelligent with very high standards for himself. He was a natural at academics, having been in advanced classes since he was young, and he was the guy everyone hated in math class. After dozing off in class, and mouthing off to the teacher every now and again, he still came out as the teacher’s favorite and a straight-A student. 

The majority of the time, though, he tended to keep to himself. While he was genuinely liked by his peers and was rather charming, he didn’t really consider anyone his friend. Unlike his older brother, Peter, he liked to remain closer to the shadows with earbuds in his ears. He knew he could never fill his brother’s shoes; Peter had basically come into Cair Paravel High School to be captain of the soccer team. He was so good that even though his grades were subpar at best, he received a full-ride scholarship to Archenland University to study sports medicine and play on their soccer team. 

Then there was his older sister, Susan, who won her Student Body President campaign by a landslide. Everyone liked Susan; she was patient, gentle, and got along with pretty much everyone. She too got a pretty large scholarship to Beruna State College and is double majoring in child education and European history. 

Finally, there was Edmund’s little sister, Lucy. She was only a freshman at Cair Paravel, and very into student council. Edmund thought she was practically made to be an ASB kid; she was excited, friendly, and much too kind. Lucy made the switch to high school seamlessly and had a big group of friends by the time the final bell rang on the first day. 

Edmund was a senior now and he couldn’t wait to get out of high school. The people were unintelligent, he was constantly compared to his siblings and he was ready to start his life. Edmund had high ambitions to become a lawyer, specifically criminal law. He didn’t really have much to leave behind at this school, so he was just trying to get through it as soon as possible.

One thing he would miss was the quiet girl that sat behind him in his music appreciation class. Edmund didn’t really want to take the class, but at the last minute, he discovered he needed to fulfill an arts credit to graduate. He appreciated music and liked easy classes, so he chose this one. Little did he know it was mostly analyzing classical pieces. 

Y/N was super cute in Edmund’s eyes. She always mumbled sarcastic comments whenever their easily excitable teacher, Mr. Tumnus, would stretch when over-analyzing a stanza of music. By the time October passed, Edmund had grown quite fond of the girl. She almost always was reading a comic book of some sort instead of paying attention in class. Y/N even ended up lending Edmund a few for his viewing pleasures; he always made sure to return them in the exact condition he received them. Batman seemed to Y/N’s favorite. 

Y/N loved watching Edmund write. He held his pencil wrong and always had ink smudged all over his hand. Maybe it was because he was a leftie, or maybe it was because he wrote too fast. Probably a little bit of both. His handwriting was also weirdly slanted to the right, which didn’t make any sense to Y/N. He was left-handed but his letters slanted to the right? Not the mention how half of it was in cursive and half of it was in print. It was definitely messy but, oddly enough, still intelligible. 

“What are you listening to?” Y/N asked Edmund. “Better not be Christmas music. Christmas was last month.”

Edmund pulled an earbud out of his left ear and turned so he was sitting horizontally in his chair. He leaned an arm on the top of her desk and grinned. “Currently, I’m listening to Can I Call You Tonight? By Dayglow. What are you reading?” 

“Currently, I’m reading Volume 1 of The New Teen Titans,” Y/N copied Edmund. “I’ve never heard of Dayglow, are they good?” 

Edmund smiled, offering her his earbuds. “Listen and see for yourself.” 

As she listened Edmund searched her face for any clue to what she’s thinking. Her face housed a small smile so he concluded that she enjoyed it. Once the song ended, she took out one of his earbuds and placed it on her desk. 

“I like it,” She concluded, listening to the next song. 

“Good, so do I. It fits my mood for today.”

“What’s got you so happy today? You have a great way of showing happiness, by the way.” Edmund was dressed in all black with his hood up. Edmund rolled his eyes. 

“What I can’t be in a good mood?” 

“I never said that, Pevensie. You just look very Edmund-y today.” Y/N pulled the other earbud out of her head and held them out to him.

“No, keep listening. I’ll play some music for you throughout class and maybe you can tell me what you think at the end?” He pulled his hood off of his head and smoothed out his hair. “And what do you mean Edmund-y?”

“I don’t know, all black, hood up, dead look in your eyes.” 

“I don’t have a dead look in my eyes!” Y/N giggled at her own joke. “Just for that, I’m going to take this.” He snatched the open comic book that laid open on her desk. 

For the remainder of the class, Edmund dictated what Y/N listened to from his phone. He played everything from The Beatles, to The 1975, to COIN, to Duran Duran. Every now and then, Edmund would peek his head back to see her eyes glued to the back of his head. Her body swayed to the music almost lazily, and a smile graced her features. For some reason that made his stomach feel fuzzy. 

She returned his earbuds at the end of class, and he returned her comic. 

“That was fun,” Y/N complimented, shoving her materials into her bag. “I like the get better song you played.”

“I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers,” Edmund corrected her as they left the classroom. Music Appreciation was the class of the day for them, seeing as they were seniors who left at lunch, so the two started making their way towards the parking lot. 

“You have to meet your sister right?” Y/N asks, pulling out her I.D. so she could leave campus. “The really sweet freshman girl? Honestly, you two are so different I wouldn’t have guessed you were siblings.” 

“Oh, Lucy, yeah. We grab lunch every Thursday before I drop her back off for the remainder of her classes.” The two showed their I.D.’s to the campus aid and walked into the parking lot. 

“That’s sweet. We should grab lunch sometime, or something. It could be fun! We could do our analysis questions about Bach.” Y/N started to walk in the opposite direction and Edmund felt his cheeks warm. Luckily, Y/N���s back was now towards him. 

“Yeah, sure. Don Giovanni, right?” 

Y/N’s laughter could be heard as she grew further away. “That’s Motzart, Pevensie!”

Edmund shook his head and met Lucy. She was leaning against his car looking bored. 

“Who was that? Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy asks, opening the door once Edmund unlocks the car. This made his cheeks flush more. 

“No, she’s just the girl that sits behind me in Tumnus,” Edmund puts the key in the ignition and starts the engine. 

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not, Lucy. It’s just hot in the car, it’s been sitting out here for ages.”

~

 One day in the middle of March when Y/N walked into Music Appreciation, she noticed a small rectangle box on her desk. Upon opening it, she found a cassette and a note. The note looked as if it was typed using a typewriter. 

Y/N,

I’m not very good when it comes to words, but I’m good when it comes to music. Hopefully, this says it all. Enjoy, my love. 

Side A //

Electric Love / Børns

I Love You So / The Walters

Fallingforyou / The 1975

Your Song /  Elton John

Someone To You / BANNERS

Side B //

Babe, Can I Call? / The Hunna

Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy) / The 1975

Luv, Hold Me Down / Drowners

love somebody like you / joan

TV Dream / Larkins

Y/N didn’t recognize most of the songs, but just reading the titles made her blush. 

“Mr. Tumnus? Did you happen to see who left this on my desk?” She held up the cassette so he could see. He shook his head. 

“No, sorry.”

Other students started to trickle in and soon the bell rang, no trace of Edmund. It wasn’t uncommon for him to skip this class, it was basically pointless, but it made Y/N sad every time he wasn’t there. 

The door swings open and a drenched Edmund steps into the classroom. Without even looking up, Mr. Tumnus addresses him. 

“You’re late again, Mr. Pevensie.”

“Sorry, I got stuck behind a group of Sophmore girls who wouldn’t move.”

“In the rain?” Mr. Tumnus raised an eyebrow.

“No, if it was in the rain I would be wet right now, sir.”

He plopped into his seat and started raking his hands through his wet hair. His cheeks were slightly rosey, as were his nose. His lips were pinker than usual and they stayed slightly parted. Hair stuck to his forehead as he ran his fingers ran through it and the hair on the nape of his neck dripped down his back. Y/N had to stop herself from staring at him with her jaw unhinged. 

“What’s that?” He whispered, noticing the open present on Y/N’s desk. He had taken up sitting horizontal in his chair at all times so he could more easily talk to Y/N. 

“It’s a mixtape. It was left on my desk when I got here,” Y/N responded and handed him the note. Edmund took it and began to read; his eyes scanned the paper and his lips moved slightly as he read. Y/N couldn’t help her this time, so she allowed herself to stare. His lips were always so pink and so puffy. She fantasized about how soft they must be. 

“Wow, looks like someone really likes you,” He comments, placing the paper back on her desk. “Do you have a cassette player?”

Y/N didn’t even consider that. Who the hell has a cassette player in the year 2020? Apparently, her answer was evident on her face, and Edmund chuckles. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a walkman and a pair of earbuds. 

“Here, you can have mine. I got a new one last month and I don’t really use this one as much.”

Oh, Edmund has a cassette player in the year 2020. 

Y/N smiled, taking the player from his hand. “Thanks, Ed.”

“Wouldn’t want you to miss out on those songs. Whoever made that has good taste, you’re lucky.” 

~

When Y/N got home tonight, she took out her walkman. It sat easily in her palm, just big enough for the cassette to fit inside. On the bottom, “E.P.” was scratched into the plastic. She smiled and put her mixtape inside. 

As she listened, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander to Edmund. They had grown much closer in the past few months, even going lengths to hang out outside of school. Y/N learned that not only was Edmund extremely intelligent, but he was the funniest person Y/N had ever met. He always had a sarcastic comeback or joke to offer her, no matter the subject. He had also let many of his walls down, letting Y/N get to know him better. It all felt so comfortable and natural. No longer was he just the cute guy from Music Appreciation, but he was the pain in the ass that Y/N had fallen for. And Y/N had fallen hard. 

Against her first impression of the mixtape, Y/N had actually heard all of these songs. After the first day in January, Edmund had lent her his earbuds near-daily and she would listen to whatever he played for her. Her eyes widened. 

Why would Edmund carry around a cassette player he didn’t use? And to school for that matter? And the note; it was typed because Edmund had such distinct handwriting! Y/N rewound the cassette and listened to it again. Why didn’t she realize in the moment?

~

“Hello, Y/N,” Edmund greeted in the parking lot the morning, he happened to park next to Y/N. He gripped the coffee in his hand and got his backpack in the trunk. “How are you on this fine morning?”

“Tired, I stayed up, like, half the night listening to that cassette I got yesterday.” Y/N slung her own backpack over her shoulder. He closed his trunk and locked his car. 

“Yeah? And what did you think?” The two started walking towards the building. 

“I thought that the songs all sounded oddly familiar.”

Edmund took a long sip of his coffee. “Like you’ve heard them before?” 

“Mmhm,” Y/N hummed and walked onto campus. She held one of the straps of her backpack as she walked. “Almost as if this dumbass guy I know played them for me a while back,” Y/N’s voice was teasing and light. 

“Yeah? Who is this guy?” Y/N stopped walking and looked up at Edmund. 

“Thanks for the mixtape, Ed.” 

“Whaaaat...just because this guy has great taste in love songs doesn’t mean it was me. I’m flattered though, really,” Edmund took another long sip of his coffee. 

“Oh, what a pity. I actually got excited when I figured out it was you. Considering normal people don’t just carry cassette players in their backpacks. Especially not ones they don’t use anymore.” Y/N’s voice was thick with sarcasm. 

“Excited?”

“Yeah. I’ve kinda liked that Edmund guy for a while, but he doesn’t like me back so…”  

“You like me back?” Edmund was grinning from ear to ear. 

“Yes, babe, I like you back. I have since October since I started letting you borrow my comics,”

Edmund placed his coffee on a bench and pulled Y/N closer to him by the hips. 

“October, huh?” Y/N smiled bashfully at Edmund’s tone but nodded. 

“What? You’re cute, I couldn’t help myself. Plus, now you make me cute mixtapes.”

Edmund leans down and places his lips against hers. They were just as soft as she had imagined. Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers quickly finding the hairs at the nape of his neck. He pulls away and leans his forehead against hers. 

“Be my girlfriend, then?”

“You nerd,” Y/N took a small step forwards and pecked his lips again. “I would love to.”

[jewish-space-laser]

Miles & Black Coffee - Part One

“When you’re on a golden sea, You don’t need no memory, Just a place to call your own, As we drift into the zone...” 

-Island in the Sun by Weezer

Hello, and welcome to part one of M&BC! She’s split up into parts, a day late, and a bit rusty... but she’s here! It’ll be my first new piece of writing since I rejoined tumblr, so it’s a bit nerve-wracking. Thank you to Kate @andwhenshesays, Anne @oh-honey-styles, and Anna @for-fucks-sake-h for organizing this entire challenge, you’ve brought so much joy to our little tumblr community. We love you all dearly ♥️ (4.5k words)

xoxoxox Tile

Warnings: mild drinking, mild drug use (just weed)

You and Harry would never be friends. You were up and down, night and day, oil and water. You just didn’t mesh. He was your roommate’s insufferable older brother, and that is all he would ever be. Well, at least that’s what you thought before….

or

the one with campfire conversations, cabin getaways, and enemies that were never really enemies after all.

MONDAY

Pine trees and cornfields flew by in a blur as you stared out the window of your roommate’s minivan. Every once in a while, there’d be a pasture of cows or a horse ranch. It had been exciting at first, but now you were just bored. 

“How much longer?” You called over the music, trying to keep the whine from your voice. It had been hours since you left your apartment this morning, and you’d only stopped once to stretch your legs and take a bathroom break. 

“The GPS says we still have an hour and a half to go,” Callie groaned, stepping a bit harder on the gas pedal.

Normally, you loved road trips, but this particular drive was more cramped than you’d bargained for. There were seven girls packed into the van, and you’d been unfortunate enough to get squished into the backseat with your twin sister and her girlfriend, who hadn’t stopped with the obnoxious PDA since the car got on the freeway. 

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, trying to will away your nauseating carsickness. This week had been marked into your calendar for months, and you’d be damned if you let this god-awful car ride ruin it for you. 

Callie, your college roommate, had a cabin in northern Wisconsin that she’d been raving about for years. She’d been going there with her family for decades, every summer since pre-school, she’d said. According to her, it was a beautiful property, equipped with a private lakeside beach, fire pit, and a full bar. 

It was going to be the perfect getaway. You and Callie had rounded up all of your girlfriends, packed all of the essentials for a spa night, junk food, board games, movies. You’d packed four swimsuits just in case; the weather forecast looked fantastic, high seventies and low eighties all week long. 

It was going to be the perfect vacation. Well, almost perfect. 

Harry was going to be there.

Harry, the constant thorn in your side. Harry, Callie’s older brother. Harry, the one who eats all of your food whenever he visits. Harry, the one who constantly picked fights with you. You and him had never gotten along, not even for a second. 

There wasn’t a single person alive who got on your nerves more than he did. Generally, you got along with most people, but Harry was the exception to the rule. You couldn’t seem to shake him off. 

You weren’t about to let him ruin this trip, though. There were going to be fourteen people staying at the cabin, so it should be a piece of cake to avoid him for a week; there were plenty of other people to interact with. And even if you couldn’t avoid him, you were going to let his inevitable snarky comments roll off of your back. Well, you’d try to, at least.

Perhaps that’s what annoyed you most about him, the reaction you’d have from the smallest fight. With anyone else, it was water under the bridge… with Harry, you thought about it for days afterwards, thinking of better comebacks you should’ve said or ways you could have changed your schedule to steer clear of him altogether. He made your skin prickle with irritation, and turned you into somebody you didn’t like very much. 

It had been months since you’d seen him, not that you’d been keeping track. He typically visits Callie a few times a semester, but his senior year was more intense than he had anticipated, according to his sister. He just couldn’t spare the two hour drive from his university to yours.

But now it was summertime. Gone were the papers, projects, and responsibilities… it was finally time to relax and have fun. You only had one year of college left before graduation, so you and your friends wanted to make the most of it. Harry and his friends had just graduated, so they were at the cabin for their last hurrah before real life kicked in. 

If you were being honest with yourself, you were excited that Harry was bringing some of his frat brothers along. You and your ex had just ended things recently, and you were finally feeling ready to get back into the dating game. Being trapped in a cabin with a handful of cute guys felt like a dream. 

Finally, after what felt like centuries, Callie slowed the car down and turned onto a dirt road. The other girls in the car started desperately peering out the window to get a glimpse of the lake and surrounding forest. 

The moment the cabin came into view, your jaw dropped. You knew Callie’s parents were loaded, but this hardly looked like the rustic getaway you were expecting. There were three buildings, each labelled with a birch bark sign. Two speedboats and a pontoon were docked at the beach, inflatable tubes and paddleboards littered around the sand nearby. 

It wasn’t until Callie parked and shut off the engine that you heard a heavy bass thrum coming from the building marked MAIN CABIN. The other two buildings were labelled GUEST CABIN and SHOWER HOUSE. You were snapped out of it when Olivia and Jane, who had been sitting in the middle bucket seats, swung their sliding doors open and practically fell onto the ground. 

“I don’t think I remember how to walk normally,” Charlie, a girl from your art history class, groaned, “like, we were sitting in that car for so long….”

“Oh, shush,” your sister, Morgan, scoffed, “at least you got to sit up front. I was crammed into the back between these two.”

Both you and her girlfriend, Isobel, huffed in protest, but it wasn’t worth picking a fight over. You’d have plenty of time to bicker later. For now, the fresh air and cool breeze were like heaven after a long road trip.

“The boys beat us here,” Callie remarked.

Sure enough, there were two other cars already parked in the driveway. Back behind the main cabin, a plume of smoke rose into the air. You could hear loud laughter, loud enough to drown out the trap music they had playing. 

“They’ve started a bonfire!” Olivia squealed, clasping her hands in front of her chest. “I’m ready to get partying… it’s four in the afternoon and I’ve spent all day in a car. I need a drink.”

A few others were laughing and nodding in agreement, already making their way towards the boys, but you hung back. You’d party later, but after spending an entire day stuck with six other people, you just wanted to be alone. Plus, you wanted to drink tonight, and you’d never get around to unpacking your bag if you were wasted. 

You managed to dig your duffel bag out from the pile of luggage in the trunk, letting it fall to the ground with a thump. Callie had just been finishing up with a phone call when you looked up. 

“Hey, you’re not joining the others?” She asked. “I was about to head over, they’ve got a fire going. Just had to call my mum to let her know we made it.”

“I’ll join in a bit,” you promised “but I want to unpack my things first… where are we all staying?”

“You’re in the main cabin, I have you sharing a room with Charlie, is that okay?” She questioned. You nodded quickly, relief flooding over you. You liked all of the girls who came on the trip, but Charlie was by far the easiest to get along with. “Harry and I each have our own room in the main cabin, too, so you won’t be alone. Everyone else is in the guest cabin, though.”

“The guest cabin,” you giggled, slinging your bag over your shoulder as Callie lead you into the main building, “this place is swanky, Cal.”

“We host all of our family reunions here,” she shrugged, “we need lots of space. Plus it’s fun for occasions like this… we’re just lucky my dad is letting us use the boats. He treats those things like they’re his own children, only Harry is allowed to drive them this week.”

You made a face at the mention of her brother. “I’ll be staying far away from the boats, then.”

“Oh god,” Callie groaned, “I know you two don’t get along very well, but please try to be civil… we’re here for a whole week, after all.”

“I’m always civil,” you protested innocently, “it’s him you need to worry about.”

“Always civil,” she scoffed, “we both know that’s not true, but I’ll let it slide.”

Okay, so maybe you had a slight temper when it came to Harry, but nine times out of ten, he was the one who started the argument. You were never the type to actively seek out conflict, but Harry seemed to thrive off of it. Whether it was eating all the food from your half of the fridge, throwing his dark blue t-shirt in with your load of whites, or playing his guitar in your living room until three in the morning when you had a test the next day… it felt like he was out to get you. 

And he was never apologetic. Of course not. He probably got off on watching steam blow from your ears. 

You took a deep breath as Callie led you up a wooden staircase, trying not to let yourself get worked up. The cabin was gorgeous from what you’d seen on the main floor. Though you hadn’t lingered, you’d noticed that there was a bookshelf that took up an entire wall, packed to the brim with books with faded spines, vinyl records with worn edges, and an assortment of candles and bookends sprinkled throughout randomly. You couldn’t wait to explore the entire property. 

Photographs lined the walls of every hallway, snapshots of Harry and Callie running around as kids. There was a hilarious picture of a young Harry crying as he held a fishing pole, a bare hook dangling from the line. The Styles family clearly had a great sense of humor. You made a mental note to take a photo of it on your phone later; it would be perfect ammo for the next fight that Harry would inevitably start. 

“This is the bathroom…” she drawled, “no shower though. We all just use the shower house, which isn’t really as bad as it sounds. Just make sure you bring clothes with you, otherwise you’ll have to walk across the lawn in just your towel.”

You grimaced at the thought. As she continued to lead you down the hall, you saw two doors, one with CALLIE’S ROOM written in bright pink bubble letters, and the second with a wooden plaque, the word HARRY written in what was clearly a child’s handwriting. 

“This is technically my parents’ room, but we use it as a guest room if it’s just us kids,” Callie explained, stopping at the last door in the hallway, “they have a king bed, so I figured you and Charlie could just share.”

“That’s fine,” you assured her, not hesitating to drop your heavy duffel onto the side of the bed closest to the window, “this place is awesome, Callie.”

“Right?” She grinned. “I’m stoked for the week, it’s gonna be so fun.”

“You should go down to the bonfire,” you told her, placing a hand on your bag, “I’ll come join as soon as I’m done.”

Luckily, your roommate of two years understood that you needed alone time sometimes, so she left you without protest. 

This was exactly the recharge time that you needed. You were the kind of person who loved being around friends, but there was only so much socializing you could handle before you needed a break to be on your own. Even though you hadn’t spoken much on the ride to the cabin, being squished into a mini-van with six other girls drained your social battery. Giving yourself a moment to breathe and relax was necessary if you were going to rejoin the group.

Pressing the shuffle play button on your spotify, you smiled when the soft melody of your favorite folk song thrummed through your headphones. You swayed from side-to-side as you unzipped your bag, which had been packed to perfection. 

Four swimsuits, a different outfit for each day (plus a few extra items… overpacking is better than underpacking), sunscreen, bug spray, all of your toiletries. It was fun to organize everything into the empty wardrobe by the window; looking at all of your stuff just made you more excited to be here.

Time flew by as you danced around the room. Most of your things were put away, and you’d stashed your empty bag under the bed. The one thing you hadn’t put away yet was your assortment of swimsuits. It had been difficult picking out which ones you wanted to bring, but you’d settled on three bikinis and a one-piece with the sides cut out. You were itching to change out of your leggings and t-shirt; they felt gross against your skin after sitting in the van all day. 

Just as you went to pick up your navy blue sequined bikini top, a hand abruptly clamped down on your shoulder. 

“Holy shit!” You spun around on your heels, hand flying to cover your beating heart. You were less than pleased to find Harry standing there, wide-eyed and trying to mask his amusement by biting down on his lip. 

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” he chuckled, “forgot how jumpy you are.”

“I’m not jumpy,” you frowned, pulling your headphones out of your ears and crossing your arms over your stomach, “what are you doing in here?”

“Nice to see you too,” he scoffed, dimple indenting into his cheek, “I was just using the loo, then I was gonna go back to the party, where we’re having fun. Foreign concept to you, I’m sure.”

You rolled your eyes, turning around so he couldn’t see how hard you were scowling. He always knew just what to say to get your blood boiling.

“Are you implying that I don’t know how to have fun, Harry?” You asked sarcastically. 

“Ah, I knew you were smarter than you looked,” he grinned. “Cute swim top.”

It was only then that you noticed his attire. Well, lack of attire. He was wearing the smallest swimming shorts you’d ever seen, his chest tanned from the sun and completely bare apart from a single cross necklace that hung over his sternum. His hair had grown out since the last time you saw him, and it looked a bit ridiculous with his sunglasses on top of his head. 

He looked good, not that you’d ever admit it. Luckily, you were fantastic at masking your wandering eyes; he had a tendency of walking around your apartment in his boxers during visits, so you’d had plenty of practice.

“Shut up,” you groaned, throwing the bikini top back onto the bed. You’d been planning on wearing that one, but Harry ruined it with his gross comment, just like he ruins most things for you. 

“I’m quite incapable of shutting up,” he mused, throwing himself down onto your side of the bed, “you should know this by now.”

“Trust me,” you were completely unamused, still standing with your arms crossed over your stomach, “I’m well aware.”

“You should come join the party,” he continued speaking as if you hadn’t said anything, seemingly unfazed by how visibly irritated you were, “it’s the first day and you’re already being a buzzkill. Maybe you should try like… try stepping out of your comfort zone, just for the week.”

“Thank you so much for that lovely unsolicited advice,” you said sarcastically, “now if we’re talking about comfort zones, you laying on my bed is definitely out of mine.”

“Please, you love me on your bed,” he smirked, closing his eyes, “this is a dream come true for you.”

“Are you delusional?” You were running out of patience. “Did you hit your head?”

“Why?” He said innocently. “Are you thinking about playing nurse? Because I hate to break your heart, but I’m not into wet blankets. Maybe if you loosened up a bit.”

If he wasn’t gone in thirty seconds, you were going to scream. He seemed to be enjoying himself, arms crossed behind his head with a twinkle in his eye as you stared daggers at him. 

“Are you quite done?” You spit. “I can feel my IQ dropping every time you speak. Plus, I need to change before I come down.”

“Ooh, can I watch?” He waggled his eyebrows. 

That was it. “Harry, get out, okay?”

“Jeez, okay, fine,” he grumbled, rolling clumsily off of the bed, “so bossy, you are.”

You pointed a finger towards the door, leveling him with the steeliest glare you could muster. “Out,” you repeated.

“You should come down sooner rather than later,” he said, completely unbothered, “I’m sure you’ll be much nicer once you’ve had a drink or two.”

He was gone before you could think of a response. The annoyance bubbling inside you was so intense, you felt like you wanted to break something. Instead, you punched your pillow a few times to release some tension, taking a deep breath to compose yourself after.

You wrinkled your nose at the blue bikini top, choosing to wear an orange floral patterned one instead. You’d never give Harry the satisfaction.

~~~

The fire was absolutely roaring. 

It was perfect. The fire pit was lined with wooden logs, the tops shaved off to make benches. There was hardly enough space for all fourteen of you, but you managed to squeeze in as you all roasted corn and hot dogs over the fire. It wasn’t too windy, so you didn’t have to worry about smoke blowing into your eyes, but the bugs were relentless. 

The air around you smelled of smoke, bug spray, and good food. There were a few different conversations happening, and every once in a while, a few people would break out into loud, contagious laughter. 

Harry had tried to talk to you when you came down, but you’d avoided him like the plague. You had absolutely nothing nice to say to him after his snarky comments in your room, and any further interaction with him at this point would just end in disaster. Thankfully, he was quickly distracted by some of his frat brothers, and he hadn’t tried to approach you again all night. 

Now, you were chatting with Olivia and one of the boys, Luke. By the time you’d gone down to the bonfire, everyone was several drinks in. You’d been forced to play catch-up by way of tequila shots, so you had a pleasant buzz running through your veins.

“This is a perfect summer night,” you sighed happily, pulling your skewer from the flames to keep your corn from burning. 

“Almost perfect,” a boy named Archie corrected, “we haven’t been out on the lake yet.”

Harry and three of the other boys had arrived a night early to get the boats ready, and now that Archie mentioned it, the pontoon was looking mighty tempting. The sun hadn’t fully set, but dusk was beginning to settle in, blanketing the forest with pink and orange hues, a gorgeous reflection of the sunset above you. It was the perfect time to go out on the water.

“How do we feel about the pontoon?” You wondered out loud. There was no way you’d all fit, but you could go in groups. 

“It’s too buggy to be on the water,” Callie wrinkled her nose, “I’m getting eaten alive as it is.”

“I’m down, as long as I can smoke a spliff while we’re out there,” James, one of the other boys, shrugged, “obviously I’ll share, I brought tons.”

A few others around the circle chimed in with their interest, and before you knew it, people were standing up to make their way over to the docks. You weren’t the best with names, but much to your relief, you’d introduced yourself to everyone going on the boat. Obviously, you already knew Morgan and Isobel, and were somewhat friendly with Jane, Archie, and James. 

“I’ll come along, too,” a voice behind you yawned. When you turned around, you immediately felt yourself melt. Ryan, a boy you’d had a single class with freshman year, was stretching his arms out as he stood up, and he was looking directly at you with a flirtatious smile. 

You’d had a major crush on him for the entirety of your class together, but you’d been too shy to say anything to him. He was a whole year older, after all, and that had been intimidating when you were eighteen. 

You returned his smile, biting down on your bottom lip shyly. 

“I guess I’m going too, then,” Harry sighed, shoving the last of his hot dog into his mouth before dusting his hands off. 

Immediately, your face dropped. Harry snorted when he saw your expression, digging around the pocket in his swimsuit to retrieve a key. 

“I’m the only one allowed to drive the boats, remember? Dad made me promise.” 

Your shoulders slumped. You’d completely forgotten that Callie had mentioned it to you earlier. You weren’t about to turn down a sunset boat ride though, especially now that Ryan was coming along as well. 

Everyone scarfed down the rest of their food in a rush as Harry went over to untie the boat and make sure it was good to go. You watched as he leaned far over the edge of the dock, so far that nearly fell face-first into the water before righting himself and trying again.. 

“Hey,” Ryan had walked next to you, following your line of sight, “he’s gonna fall in, isn’t he?”

“I hope so,” you giggled.

“You were in my History 204 class, weren’t you? Sophomore year?” He asked.

Your entire body flushed. You didn’t think he’d noticed you at all, let alone enough to remember you years later. Having Ryan up at the cabin, talking to you, felt like a dream come true.

“I was a freshman, but yeah, I think so,” you nodded nonchalantly, “I hated that professor.”

“Oh god, same!” He laughed, shaking his head, “such a drag, just constant pop quizzes!”

“Ugh, yes!” You turned your body towards him fully. “And that midterm assignment….”

“Don’t even get me started,” Ryan pretended to shiver in fear. 

You laughed loudly, and from the corner of your eye you saw Harry turn to glance in your direction. Upon a closer look, he’d managed to wrangle the boat so it was right up against the dock. 

“All aboard!” He shouted.

You rolled your eyes at his ridiculous antics. He always thought he was so funny, especially when you were the butt of his jokes. You hoped he’d be too busy driving to bother you. 

Luckily, Ryan seemed keen to stay by your side, even helping you step into the boat by taking your hand to keep you balanced, so Harry didn’t have much of a chance to say anything. By the time the boat was moving, everyone was sitting in a circle on the floor, clipping in the life jackets that Callie had forced us all to wear. 

As soon as the wind blew through your hair, you tilted your head up and closed your eyes. Lakes didn’t smell great, but you’d always loved it. It was classic, nostalgic. You’d spent every summer of your life swimming in Midwest lakes, so it felt just like summer.

James was true to his word, and pulled out four fatly rolled joints, passing them around with a lighter. You didn’t do this often, but it felt like the perfect moment. The sun was disappearing fast, and soon enough you’d be able to see the stars.

At some point, Harry slowed the engine down to a gentle hum when the boat reached the middle of the lake, getting a couple of the others to help him throw the anchor over the edge. Afterwards, he moved back over to the driving console and fiddled with a few buttons until quiet, staticky music sounded out. He then sat down across the circle from you, immediately accepting one of the joints from Archie. 

You stood up on your knees, and looked around. Water lapped lightly against the sides of the boat, so it took you a moment to find your equilibrium. The silhouette of the tall pines surrounding the lake were awe-striking. 

Nobody wanted to break the silence, so you didn’t. The weed was starting to take effect, making your body feel heavy and your head feel light. You started to lay down, unclipping your life jacket to use as a pillow. Slowly, your friends followed your lead, the sounds of shuffling and buckles popping open momentarily interrupting the tranquil silence. 

You watched the sky change from pink to a deep blue, only turning your head away when the first stars became visible. Morgan was laying next to you, staring straight up at the sky. To anyone else, she looked like she was lost in thought, but you knew her better than that. There was a slight frown, watery eyes, a little crinkle across her forehead... she was worried about something. 

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, trailing a hand down her arm. She let out a long exhale. 

“This is gonna sound so soppy,” Morgan sighed, “but I can’t stop thinking about like… how different I would be if I could just, change things about myself.”

“I like you the way you are,” Isobel frowned, sitting up slightly to look at her, “plus, you can change things about yourself. People do it all the time. New hairstyles, piercings, clothes. You could completely rebrand yourself anytime you want.”

“She’s not talking about her appearance,” you said softly, squeezing Morgan’s hand, “she means… like, changing who you are, at your very core. Things you can’t help.”

“I get that,” Ryan chimed in, “I think about that, too. If I could change one thing about myself, I would make myself more motivated. My life would be so different if I could just… alter one tiny thing.”

“Exactly!” Morgan nodded. “I would… make myself less impulsive, I think. I have so many regrets, and it’s all because I never properly think before I act. I’d be so much better off if I could just learn to be more careful.”

“I like how spontaneous you are,” Isobel hummed, “but I think I know what you mean. If I could change anything about myself, I’d make myself less anxious. Anxiety has always held me back so much… I mean, fuck… I haven’t even come out to my family yet, even though I know they’d support me. I’d be so much happier if I could appreciate the good things in life, rather than stress about how to keep them.”

“I’m with Isobel,” Harry spoke. He’d just taken a rather large pull from the joint, so his voice came out rougher than gravel. “Anxiety is such a bitch, and it’s like, out of our control. It’s kept me from talking about my feelings so many times, and I feel like I’ve missed out on some really good friendships because of it.”

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, you felt happier than you had in a long time. You’d smoked just enough to feel numb, and the waves were rocking against the boat so gently that it felt like you were floating. You took a deep breath in through your nose, feeling the crisp forest air fill your lungs before exhaling. The stars were shining in the cloudless sky, crickets were chirping along the shore, and soft music was filtering through the cheap boat stereo. It was peaceful, listening to your friends pour their hearts out. 

Each person took a turn sharing what they would change about themselves. Archie would get rid of his bad temper, James would become a better listener, and Jane would be less self-conscious. 

“What would you change?” Morgan turned to look at you. 

You and your twin sister were very different people. So different, in fact, that you sometimes forgot that you were identical. In moments like this, when her eyes were watery and hooded, voice thick with sadness and hope, that you were reminded of how similar you could be. 

“If I could change anything about myself….” you mused, closing your eyes. “I think I would… let things go.”

“Let things go?” Archie echoed.

“Yeah,” you nodded, “like, let go of the past. Whenever something bad happens to me, I let it really get to me. Negative memories and feelings just… constantly eat away at me. I wish I could just wake up in the morning and think about the future… because thinking about the past is exhausting.”

Nobody spoke after your confession. Nobody tried to assure anyone that they would be okay, or convince anyone that they didn’t need to change. There was something comforting about lying in a circle with your friends, your sister… even Harry, because you were all flawed, and none of you knew what the future would bring. You all found solace in the fact that you were here, right now, laying in a circle on a boat, with an old jazz song ringing through the air.

And who knows… maybe someday, you’ll all find a way to change the parts of yourselves that bother you. Maybe you’ll learn to appreciate them. Maybe your flaws will end up helping you in the long run. 

But for now, none of you were alone. And that was enough.

~~~

Thank you for reading! I love getting feedback, so let me know what you thought! xoxoxoxoxoooooxxxxxxooooooxxxoooo Tile

[sleekervae]

The Neighbour [0.3]

Something was irrevocably different with Remington; Emerson picked it off right away. On an early Tuesday afternoon, with the air thick and humid and the sun beating down like a plague (no pun intended), Remington was fussing over himself more than usual. He had changed out of four or five different outfits, playing with his hair, and was it appropriate for him to wear makeup? Eva hadn't seen him with it on, yet. No, it was probably best to keep it casual for now. Then again, he had a fantastic highlight that worked absolute magic under the sun...

It was around eleven thirty when Remington finally came down, dressed down but still presentable in a simple pair of ripped skinny jeans and a t-shirt. Emerson and Shy were sat on the couch as they watched Netflix, Pepper situated between them. Remington stopped short when he saw the pair cuddled up on the couch, he smiled deviously.

"Eugh! You guys are so flippin' cute it's gross!" he gushed, putting on his diva voice.

Shy chuckled softly, "Hi Rem,"

Emerson's attention diverted to his older brother, intrigued to see him all ready to go out somewhere.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Coffee with Eva," Remington replied simply.

"The neighbour with the cat?" Shy said.

"Yeah," Remington nodded, "Emerson tell you she gave us a loaf of bread last week?"

"He did," she smiled, "Poor thing, I felt for her. She looked so flustered at the pool,"

"Well, moving is a bitch already. Throw in Covid 19 and you got a real thorn in the ass," Emerson said, then turning back to his brother, "You gonna' be social distancing?"

"We're going to drink our coffee and walk around in the park," Remington replied, "She works from home anyway,"

"So, who asked who for the coffee?" Emerson asked.

Remington shrugged, stopping at the hallway mirror to fix his hair again, "She brought up how she hasn't had a chance to get around the neighbourhood, so I offered, she accepted. She has our vinyl too,"

"Which one?" Emerson asked.

"Boom Boom Room,"

"Side A or B?"

"A,"

"I'd approve either way,"

Shy couldn't help but subconsciouly squeeze Emerson's arm, a glimmer of excitement bursting behind her eyes, "So, she's a fan, too?"

"Took her a minute to figure it out. Didn't even bring up Em or Seb, so clearly she pays more attention to me," the blonde smirked.

Emerson glowered at his brother, "Yeah, yeah, go for your cup of fuck-off-ee," he grumbled.

Across the street, with her room strewn in discarded clothes that just didn't make the cut, Eva finally felt confident standing in her denim skirt and black tee. On any other day she'd have paired the ensemble with her pleather jacket, but it was too damn hot out. Even with the window letting in a cool breeze, the air was uncomfortably humid. What did she expect when moving from the Emerald City to Los Angeles?

Eva made sure to close and latch the window shut before she left, not eager for Pluto to go off on another reign of terror. Stopping to grab a fresh face mask, her phone suddenly began to vibrate in her purse. She figured it might have been Remington sending her a text, but the screen flashed to the Blocked Caller ID. Eva rolled her eyes and denied the call.

Stepping out into the humidity, Eva waved her hand over her face as she stepped out of the complex courtyard, just at the same time Remington was locking the door to his house. As soon as she caught his eye, he was all smiles.

She was glad to see him; a little relieved, even. He looked cool, cool enough to appear on some grungy magazine cover. All he needed to complete the look was a cigarette and maybe a skateboard, too. The messy blonde hair, the glimmer in his eyes brought back the warmth she associated with his presence and as she came to meet him at his car, his spicy cologne danced up her nose and imprinted itself in her olfactory memory.

Remington had never been more wary of how his hands shook, his left hand he stuffed into his jean pocket and the right he gripped his car keys with a vice-esque grip. He found himself mesmerized briefly by the fit of her skirt, her black t-shirt tucked in smoothly but not too tight to over expose her figure, but just enough to give Remington an idea. Her short brown hair fell delicately over her face, one side pushed back behind her ears and exposing her stormy blue eyes to the sunshine. She was the embodiment of innocence and grunge wrapped into a perfect five-foot-six package.

"Glad you didn't stand me up," he grinned.

"Well, I kind of happen to live right over there," she drawled, pointing to her balcony, "It'd be kind of awkward and hard to hide if I tried,"

"You look really nice," he nodded after a brief moment.

"So do you," she agreed with confidence, "Where we off to?"

There was a forested park not far from where they lived. Despite the pandemic, the fields were filled with older kids playing games of soccer and basketball, there were vendors out trying to sell their ice cream, a couple girls were scattered across the grass and sunbathing. It almost all seemed so normal, if not for the fact that the kid's jungle gym had been fenced off so no child could climb upon it.

The pair walked side-by-side, him with his iced black coffee and her with a green tea frapp -- no whipping cream. The gravel path they walked was shaded by a canopy of lush green trees, providing some relief from the hammering heat. Remington kept his gaze locked on her, worried to miss a moment where she'd crack a smile or briefly run her tongue over her lips. Her fingers appeared so dainty yet he could spot the small calluses at the middle joint of her thumb, and some paper cuts on her middle and index fingers.

"So, how does a ghostwriter get hired?" Remington asked, "Do you just openly advertise 'hey! If you're a lazy author, come hire me'?"

"No," Eva shook her head with a giggle, "I used to write articles for the newsletter at my college, and then a friend of mine forwarded me an email about a client who was looking for a ghostwriter. I didn't know much about it but the money was pretty good. It was a grant application for requesting financial aid for survivors of residential schools,"

"Sounds depressing," Remington said.

"It was pretty heavy shit," Eva admitted, "But, I did get fifteen-hundred for a six page application. Well worth it, I'd say,"

Remington blew an impressed whistle, "So you make pretty good money off of this?"

"Let's just say my student debt has decreased significantly since I took up the profession," and she took a brief sip of her drink.

"You ever publish anything under your own name?" he asked, "Eva Kuznetsov is a cute pen name. Evelina sounds more mature, though..."

Eva shrugged, "I think about it sometimes... but it's just easier to write under someone else's name and let them have all the glory. Say, if they happen to do something stupid to forever tarnish their career, that won't come back to bite me in the ass,"

Remington smirked, "Like a particular fantasy author who's made some pretty heavy comments concerning the trans community?"

"Let's not even talk about that, my heart still breaks when I think about it," Eva sighed, "To answer your question, however, if I got confident enough I may try to publish something in the future,"

"What else do you like to write?"

Eva opened her mouth but closed it quickly, pressing together her petunia pink lips as she visibly swallowed whatever words were about to pass through them. When she looked up at Remington again, his brown eyes dark like soaked coffee grinds that sent her into a caffeinated headrush. What would he think if she actually told him...

"I write poems, some short stories," she somewhat lied.

Remington's smile grew wider, mischief glimmering over his face like light beams reflecting over windchimes in a saturated dusk, "You hesitated just now," he spoke curiously, "What else do you write?"

Eva glanced down at the ground, a nervous giggle bubbling out and knocking the air out of her lungs, "Okay listen, don't judge me, it's just a hobby of mine,"

"Oh God!" Remington gasped, "Do you write porn?"

Eva laughed again, her pale cheeks flushing in red, "Well... I do happen write some naughty shit... in my fanfictions,"

Remington stopped dead in his tracks, taken aback by her answer. He totally thought she would say something along the lines of erotic fiction on a platform like Literotica. For understandable reasons, he had some mixed emotions about fanfictions.

"What kind of fanfiction?" he asked, somewhat bordering on the third degree.

"... Um..." she glanced at him again, the smirk on his lips compelling more giggles to burst from hers. She pressed her hands together over her nose and mouth, and Remington laughed as well.

"Okay listen, I promise," he put his right hand over his chest, "I promise I will not judge you for whatever smut you write for whoever," he assured her.

"It's not... yeah, I guess it kind of is," Eva chuckled nervously, "I usually write for stuff like Criminal Minds, but more lately I've gotten into writing for Euphoria..." she trailed off, timid as she waited for his response.

"Alright, that's actually not bad," he nodded, "I'll be honest, you didn't strike me as somebody who write fanfics,"

Eva glanced timidly at her scuffed sneakers, kicking up pebbles and dust, "Are fanfic writers supposed to look a certain way?"

"I don't know, actually," he simpered.

"I don't tell a lot of people that I do it, mainly because their first impression is either 'what the fuck' or 'OMG we should collaborate' and I'm just like," she hung her head back, "Nooo!"

"You're more of a soloist then a team player, then?" he teased.

"Let's just say I tend to work better alone," she replied, shrugging her shoulders as though the comment should mean nothing. But Remington found it odd that Eva was out here all on her own, never brought up her friends or family. He didn't see many personal effects in her apartment, neither.

"Is that why you're out here by yourself?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"Well... don't take this the wrong way, but I haven't really seen you with anybody. You don't talk about your friends or your family,"

Eva shrugged again, "They're all back in Seattle. Besides, opportunity was drying up over there and I just wanted a fresh start," she said, "Besides, Pluto's my friend,"

"Well, that's a given," he replied, "Are your parents up in Seattle?"

"My dad is," she nodded, "I don't know what my mom's doing," Remington's silent was her cue to go on, "I um... we haven't really spoken, her and I,"

"You have a falling out?" he asked suddenly.

Eva glared down at the gravel again, "You can call it that. She's a pilot and she's always flying, and so you know, I never really got to see much of her growing up. And then, she suddenly shows up for my college graduation and expects us to be one big happy family, like she has it in her head that she can make up for all the birthdays and shit she's missed. And I just didn't know what to say to her. I don't know who she is, but she's my mom," she glanced up at Remington again, "And I don't know why I'm telling you all of this,"

Remington wasn't bothered by her unloading, it seemed as though Eva needed to get things off her chest more than she realized. Her smile was sardonic and her voice petty like a comedian on stage, putting on the brave 'I don't give a fuck anymore' face.

"I find sometimes it's easier to unload to new people then it is to your friends," he said, "What does your dad do?"

"Chem professor. Which is ironic because I seriously sucked at chemistry," she replied.

"Show me a kid who didn't struggle in chem, honestly," he said, "But do you get along with your dad?"

"For the most part," she chuckled, "He's still confused as to why I choose to write anonymously, but that's his problem. What do your parents do?"

Remington chewed on the inside of his cheek, "My mom's kind of like our manager. Does a lot of production and behind the scenes stuff. And I haven't seen my dad for nearly twenty years,"

Eva was silent for a moment, studying him. He spoke with a firm grin, yet still trying to shadow that flicker of sadness within his face.

"So we both have parental issues... that's nice to know," she put on a teasing grin, "Maybe that's why we make such good friends?"

Remington swallowed thickly, "So, you are indeed confirming we are friends?"

"I am," she smiled, "It'd be nice to have whatever few I can scrape up,"

"That fact that you also live across the street means that you're now stuck with me," Remington grinned with pride.

"True," Eva hummed appreciatively, taking another sip of her drink, "Somehow, I don't think I'll mind, though,"

When Remington drove her home she gave him a sweet and polite goodbye, a hug which made his confident exterior falter for a second long enough for her to witness it through the flush in his cheeks and his lack of response. His words tripped over the length of his tongue when he tried to flush out a proper goodbye and he felt his hands began to quiver again.

And when he went to open his door, he took one last glance. The small brunette turned at the same time and met his gaze, but he was too far away to hear her sharp inhale. And when he finally went inside he fall back against the door, staring into space with the biggest grin he'd had on since... well, he couldn't remember when he last felt so excited.

[kalinodaquiri]

Haven’t Come Up With A Title For This Yet Either

Okie, I made this as an experiment of sorts, so if it seems all over the place, that’s... part of the reason. For those who might stumble upon this in the future who haven’t read my posts, I’ve headcanoned Cowboy’s real name to be Harris Malkovich, so Harris=Cowboy. Hope you enjoy! Comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.

Harris looked up from his assignment. “It’s specially organised just for me. I know exactly where everything is. If I fix it now, it’ll throw off my muscle memory.”

-----

“Are you ever gonna organise this music shelf? It’s the only thing in your room that is never organised. Everything else? Neat and tidy, almost suspiciously so… then the music shelf sticks out like a sore thumb!” A.J. looked carefully at the vinyl collection.

“That’s… actually a fair point.” She moved away from his collection and grabbed her binder from her bag and grabbed the chair from his desk. She turned the chair to face him just as Harris's dad, Victor walked in.

"Alright, I'm heading to work. You two keep outta trouble!"

"Thanks for letting me stay, Mr. Malkovich." 

"Of course. Also, Harris? Did you still want to drop by the music store later tonight?" Victor asked him. "It's open later today, so I should be able to take you when I get home."

"Yeah, that would be cool," He replied. "But are you sure you can do that? Wouldn’t you be tired from work? We can wait to go on a day you're not working…"

"It's fine. You’ve been asking me to take you for what, a month? We'll go after I get off work, I promise," Victor said, confidently.

Harris's face lit up. His father wasn’t the type to make promises unless he intended to keep them. "Alright then. Let's go when you get home." 

"You two gonna be alright? You need anything else?"

"We're gonna be fine, but you might wanna hurry up! You're gonna be late for work! Go!"

"Alright alright, I'm going. Make sure she gets home safe when you two are done studying," He said, gesturing to A.J. before turning to leave. "See you when I get off!" 

"Bye!" The two replied in sync.

A.J. opened her binder to pull an assignment out when Harris spoke again.

"Hey, you feel like checking my chemistry work?"

She looked up at him. "Oh no, I'm no good at chemistry."

"Well, you're better at it than I am. It never hurts to have it looked over anyways. If all else fails, Elle can look at it when I see her." He shrugged.

"Problem solved then, yes?" 

"Please? I might not see her until after this is due!" He pleaded.

She sighed before holding her hand out. "Hand it over."

-----

The two were halfway finished with an assignment when there was a knock on the door. 

Harris made an annoyed expression before getting up to answer the door. "Come on," he said before running down the stairs, A.J. raising an eyebrow in confusion before putting her binder away.

He saw two people, a man and a woman. He unlocked the door and opened it. "Yes?" There was a bit more bite in his tone than he meant.

"Is this the residence of Victor Malkovich?"

"Yeah, he's not here though. What d'you want?"

"I'm Detective Roy from the Brooklyn Police Department. May we come in? We have an important matter to discuss," the woman said as she held up a badge.

He sighed before letting them in. He frowned internally at him and A.J. being interrupted but maybe it was a sign that they should take a break from their work.

"Can you tell me your name and relationship to Victor, please?"

"Well... I'm Harris. Victor's my dad."

A.J. came down the stairs quietly, unbeknownst to the detectives. Harris noticed her and beckoned her over.

"Hello, Miss. And who might you be?"

A.J. looked between the detectives and Harris. "I'm A.J... Eh, Harris, are you in trouble or something?"

"Could you please come to have a seat?" The woman asked.

A.J. came and sat down next to Harris.

"Harris, there was a traffic collision near the school. Nobody survived. We identified one of the bodies as a Victor Malkovich and found this to be his address, and we were told to inform his family as soon as possible. I'm sorry." 

Harris frowned. "... You can’t be serious… What kind of a sick joke is this...? I just saw him leave for work not even two hours ago. He was here... He can't be… He told me he would..." He did his best to keep his voice steady but it was getting more difficult by the second. He felt tears streaming down his face. 

As much as he didn’t want to believe it, he knew that it was true. Unless they had a sick sense of humour, why would they lie about this? In that case, what did that mean for him? His father didn’t have any family that could take him in and based on what Harris heard from him, his mother didn’t have any family either. Would he have to go into foster care or something like that? He didn’t like that idea much, but he likely didn’t have a choice in the matter.

"Harris."

"Please get out..." He told them, not looking up at them.

"I'm very sorry, Harris. Here's my card. Please try to contact me within the week, so we can help you figure out where to go from here or if you have any questions." Detective Roy put her card on the table before the pair left.

After the door shut, A.J. spoke up. "Would you like me to leave you as well?"

"Please don't." He leaned against her with a hug as he continued crying. She wrapped her arms around him. She felt tears of her own welling up. And every time she heard another cry force its way from his throat, she involuntarily winced. She felt his grip tighten around her, and he leaned his head on her shoulder. She felt warm droplets on her shoulder which made her rub Harris’s back instinctively. "I… I rushed him out of the house, so he wouldn't be late for work. Maybe if I hadn't…"

"Harris... blaming yourself for something you couldn't control isn't healthy or helpful to you. Take your time to grieve, then go from there. I'm here-"

The phone starts ringing. "Do you want me to answer the phone for you? It might be Nikola asking about me."

"Yeah, go ahead..."

She walked to the kitchen to answer the phone, "Malkovich Residence."

"A.J.? Are you still with Harris?" A deep voice questioned.

"Yeah, I'm still here." She looked at the couch, Harris resting his head on the arm. "Hey, Nik? Is it alright if I stay here? For the night?"

"What? Hell no!"

"Nikola, please. Something really bad has happened. I don't think Harris should be alone right now. He needs somebody here."

"What happened?"

"It's… it's not really my place to say… Please, Nik… I promise I'll explain everything when I see you tomorrow. You know I wouldn't ask something like this unless it was for something important." 

Nikola quieted for a moment then sighed, "Alright… Call me in the morning, please?"

"Of course. Love you."

"Love you, too."

She hung up the phone and went back to the couch, where Harris had apparently cried himself to sleep.

She grabbed a blanket from the closet and wrapped it around him. She was about to go sit in the armchair when he called her; his voice hoarse. "A.J.?"

"Yes?"

"Could you please stay here with me…? On the couch?"

She looked at him for a moment before nodding. "Sure, I can do that." She sat down next to where he was laying, her hands running through his hair. Soon, he was back asleep. A.J. sat her hat and glasses on the table before curling up on the couch and falling asleep as well.

-----

I’ll be frank; I wrote to make myself sad and think about how sad I can make these hooligans, though I don’t think the grief hits as hard as it could, so I might rewrite it I did not write this for accuracy. I dunno what happens when a person dies due to traffic collision, or how that goes. Also, the beginning of this was rather different (Was a bit more shippy ngl. Might post what I originally had another time.), but I changed it because one, I didn’t want Cowboy’s and A.J.’s relationship to be shoved down throats/I didn’t want to romanticise Cowboy’s grief, and two, I just don’t want them to have that sort of relationship. Though, I’ll probably upload fluffy stuffs for them if I feel like it. I hope you enjoyed this. Let me know what you think!

[hecticcheer]

This is ~2,000 words of fluff, inspired by late-night brain’s inadvertent mashup of this suggestion by boxofsfic with the ending of this story by sickiepop. (If either of you are seeing this post, hi! I love your work, and I hope you don’t mind what a monster I conceived while reading it…!)

The OCs I made up for the occasion are both around 30; the sick one’s a guy, and the other is nonbinary; they’re housemates; they might be in a QPR, but I don’t think they know that yet either.

I mmmmight write the sequel foreshadowed in the last few lines? Not sure yet; depends on whether I still like what I’ve written by tomorrow. But if you’re reading this and you’d dig that, please let me know!

—

Mr. Bartholomew Fox lay on his classroom’s hard, dusty floor, trying to remember how to pronounce respite. It had been a vocab word this week in some of his tenth graders’ books, but grading their worksheets had not required him to say the word aloud. He could remember that it wasn’t phonetic—it did not rhyme with despite, like its spelling suggested it should. But did one say the word as though it were spelled respeet? Reecepite? Resspit? The remembered voice of a friend from the days of his first smartphone reminded him, You have 3G; he fumbled for his phone, hoping the dictionary app would load this time deecepit the classroom’s shoddy cell service. When he lifted his phone, however, a text from Leverton distracted him.

You ok? At a meeting I forgot about or s/t?

Barty (he was Barty to friends, Mr. F among his less-creative students) hadn’t quite felt like himself all day, though he wasn’t sure what more than that to say about it. His joints and muscles ached, sure; his head throbbed for a bit after every movement, yeah; he’d been shaky and dizzy all day, true—but none of that was weird. He guessed these symptoms must be worse than usual, but no one of them seemed enough that way to justify what an unpleasant day he’d had. Or at least, none had done so until his final class ended, when struck the irresistible urge to lie down on the floor instead of heading home. On the floor, with nothing else to think about, they all seemed urgent. He felt so dizzy it made him hot all over, his upper lip prickling with sweat. If he moved in any way, and whenever he opened his eyes, the feeling grew worse. His left shoulder, right wrist, that mysterious place in his lower back, both knees, the muscles in his neck and thighs and forearms and halfway down his right calf—all traded off shouting for his attention. The throb behind his left eye grew sharper now, more electric, like the start of a migraine (but those usually came on earlier in the day). That side of his nose was clogged. Was he getting a cold? Not unlikely, this early in the school year. Or was it just allergy season.

He’d gone about this far in his musings and then apparently quit thinking at all until something (he could no longer remember what) had made him reach for his phone. Now, having read Leverton’s text, he laid the phone down on his chest and closed his eyes, trying to think how to reply. After he’d typed I’m okay, just and then lay still for a bit pondering how to make must’ve fallen asleep sound less dumb, another text arrived from Leverton:

Just send me an emoji or something so I know you’re not dead? You’re probably just at a meeting and I don’t want to bug you, but, starting to worry a little

I’m okay Barty sent back therefore, deleting the comma and the just. They’d both long-since turned off their phones’ “Read at 4:18 PM” feature—it made Leverton anxious, and incensed Barty on principle. Sending a quick reply took priority, therefore, over explaining himself. The little green progress bar hovered for eons about two thirds of its way across the screen, which it would never have dared at home unless he had tried to send multiple photos. Making sure not to touch the phone’s sides directly, even though he knew that made no difference on this non-dinosaur model, he wrote further, No meeting; fell asleep in classroom. Somehow that one went through at once—so quickly that he’d barely had time to close his eyes and set his head back down before it buzzed again.

Oh my god

Are you ok??? That sounds so unlike you

He didn’t know what to say. The first I’m okay hadn’t felt like a lie, since in that case it was clear he meant okay as opposed to dead. But now neither Yes or No seemed like the right answer. The long pause he elected to respond with instead probably treated Leverton worse than either one:

Are you still in your classroom? Stay there, I’ll come get you

I don’t knw [sic] if I’m comfortable w/ the thought of you driving like this.

On its face Barty found this absurd. Students fell asleep in his class nearly every time he turned on the projector, and that seemed a much greater feat than dozing off while lying alone on the floor. Besides, it hadn’t been real sleep—only stage one or two. If someone had asked whether he was awake he could have honestly said Yes, without startling first. Don’t, he began typing back, but once the initial guilt wore off he thought again about Leverton’s words (Stay there, I’ll come get you). The corners of his eyes grew hot when he pictured them setting out on foot to collect him. Leverton was right, after all—Barty never fell asleep during the day. He deleted the message he’d started and sent instead, Okay.

By the time he heard Leverton’s hand on the doorknob Barty had drifted back into early-stage sleep: close enough to the surface to recognize the sound, but far enough under that it surprised him a little. He’d forgot where he was, his thoughts (now vanished) so vivid they’d seemed realer than the floor under his back. He pulled himself up onto his elbows and his sight went dark blue from the corners inward.

“Hi,” he told Leverton as the latter entered—too quietly, as it turned out, for them to hear over the sound of the closing door. They peered around the room, but it took them a few seconds to spot him; he could tell they were looking for a seated person, rather than one on the floor. Barty cleared his throat and this time said, “Hello.”

“Oh my god—did you fall? Are you alright?”

“No, I’m fine,” Barty insisted, shaking his head, and then, smiling inanely, added, “I meant to do this.”

(Meant to do that was a long-standing meme of theirs, an offshoot from Leverton’s comparisons of Barty to a cat. After a cat does something stupid, it recovers its dignity so quickly you’d think it was trying to look like the stupid thing it did was all part of the plan. Thus whenever either of them made a mistake too large to ignore but too small for a real apology, they’d say to the other some variation on, Meant to do that.)

“You just thought the linoleum seemed like a nice change of pace from the nice couch we have at home,” summarized Leverton, and Barty noticed how they used the word nice twice in a row.

He lowered his head back to the floor, feeling too dizzy and neck-sore to waste his strength on trifles. “It’s vinyl; they just replaced it.”

“What?”

“The floor.”

“Ah. Vinyl. Excuse me.” They sat cross-legged down next to Barty, on the aforesaid vinyl.

“I’m alright,” Barty said again.

“Yeah, but that word doesn’t mean a lot coming from you. Excuse my cold hands,” Leverton warned, and placed the back of their hand to Barty’s forehead and each cheek in turn, brushing some hair out of the way first so it wouldn’t get in his eyes. Barty flinched slightly, having gone from unpleasantly hot to unpleasantly cold in the time since he’d first made contact with the floor. “Feels like you’ve got a fever. Do you think you might be coming down with something?”

“You just said your hands are cold, though,” pointed out Barty.

“Well, yeah,” Leverton conceded with a snarl of laughter—“‘cause compared to a face I figured they would be.”

“Thought you meant ‘cause you’d come from outside.”

“No; I wasn’t cold out there.”

This week had brought their town its first cold snap of the season, but in California an early-fall cold snap parses out to more like absence of heat wave. The last few days it had been cool enough to keep the AC off, but it was still t-shirt weather out from ten to ten. Leverton’s tie dye, sweatpants and flip-flops attested to this—as well as to how quickly they must have hurried to meet him. Though they worked from home, Leverton usually put on jeans to meet the public. And that tie-dye t-shirt, Barty knew, had a small hole in one armpit. It pleased him to remark that he could still keep track of details like this; too bad these examples of lucidity were invisible to Leverton.

“You look pretty sick,” said the latter. “How do you feel?”

Come to think of it, the word lucid itself could also mean translucent. That was about how he felt: diaphanous, vague, barely-there. His mother always said with it instead of lucid; though she’d never said so, he’d deduced the antonym of with it must be out of it.

“Not my best,” Barty admitted.

“But you didn’t faint, or hurt yourself, or anything.”

“No. Worried I might, but figured I’d preempt it.”

“Always thinking ahead,” scoffed Leverton, combing their hand through some more of Barty’s hair. “Your hair’s all sweaty; did you know that?”

“I did not.”

“You don’t usually sweat that bad just from feeling faint, I didn’t think.”

“You’re right.”

“So again I say, You look sick.”

“I’m probably getting sick.”

Leverton sighed through pursed lips, making them billow noisily. “Well, shit, pal, this is a terrible place to be sick.”

“Such language,” mumbled Barty, without conviction. He was so unused to letting swears pass without comment in this room that it would have taken more effort to say nothing. But Leverton, rightly, ignored this comment:

“Can you stand? Maybe I could get you some water—would that help?”

“Yes, and yes. On my desk,” Barty said, pointing without looking up.

“Uhhh… ah! I see it.” Leverton stood up and brought back Barty’s bottle of water. They sat again, uncapped it, and, once Barty had sat back up on his elbows, handed it to him and gripped his shoulder, presumably to help him keep his balance. Barty gulped down several mouthfuls, broke off to catch his breath, and shoved the cold-sweaty bottle back into Leverton’s hand, eager to lie back down. “Ah!—no—wrong way!” squawked Leverton. “Are you sure you can stand.”

“Just need a minute. Can you drag the desk chair over? Seems a pleasanter middle ground than.”

“Oh—good point. Sure.” They rolled it over, apologizing for the squeaky wheel. When he had more energy, among his friends Barty would sneer and hiss at such unpleasant sounds; the chair’s squeak hurt his head now too, of course, but somehow at the moment he found it easier to withstand unpleasant phenomena than resist them.

After a minute, he did indeed pull himself up and slither into the chair. (Leverton evidently knew better than to offer a hand to help him up; such offers would hurt his pride, and possibly also his shoulders.) His hands shook as he gripped the arms of the chair to haul himself up into it; his head spun; he was so weak the exertion hurt his chest and all four limbs. When he subsided to catch his breath his head throbbed raucously. He leant it into his hand—whose support Leverton then seconded with their own hand. Their touch chilled him at first, but he lacked the strength (whether of will or body who knew) to scoot away. He hadn’t realized how much the weight of his head had hurt his wrist until Leverton’s help removed that hurt.

“You’re really not feeling well, are you.”

“Seems that way.”

“Thank god I didn’t let you drive yourself home.”

“Too bad for the kids, they’re all gonna catch it,” Barty muttered, regretfully; “as will you, of course. And I won’t do nearly this good a job of looking after you.”

“I don’t mind. You’ll do your best.”

“Will I?”

“You always seem to. From my limited perspective.”

“I don’t have your patience. Or your empathy.”

Leverton scoffed: “Empathy? Yes you do! You feel other people’s feelings just as well as I do—you’re just shyer about it. You’re just emotionally constipated.”

“Perhaps,” granted Barty. He doubted that first half, but could already feel himself smiling at Leverton’s flatteries, and knew if he tried to argue that they would hold the smile against him as an admission. So he gave his doubts no more explicit form than, “Nice of you to say so.”

“Are you ready to try and walk to the car?”

Barty sighed, sort of phlegmily—almost a hiss. “Might as well be.”

[asphalt-cocktail]

For the Sake of Content- Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Live Music is Boring

Summary: After walking in on your long-term boyfriend, Harrison, cheating on you and then losing your job the following day; your find yourself broke, jobless, and single for the first time in a long while. In order to make ends meet, your best friend since college, Freddie, suggests you start soliciting explicit photos of yourself, not only to help boost your confidence but to help pay the rent for his band mate’s apartment you just moved into.

A/N: Hi lil cuties! Back at it again with a new chapter for FSC. I know I said a new chapter was coming tomorrow, but I wanted to post it tonight because I can. Anyways, it’s starting to pick up from here on out! I’m hoping to build a lot of sexual tension over the next few chapters for what I have planned. Like always I really appreciate all of your lovely comments, likes, and reblogs! Seeing your interest is what helps motivate me to write! Also if you would like to be tagged please send me an ask, the comments get lost and then I feel bad when i cant find everyone :/

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex work, masturbation, sexual tension, some friendly banter between roger and reader, really corny dirty talk, it makes sense when you read it, not proof read, short chapter but don’t worry it gets better.

Word Count: 1.9k

18+ if you are a minor do NOT interact with this post. This is fictitious content and I own nothing.

Roger sat in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, dressed only in a tasseled vest and leather straight legged pants while you shuffled out in your old worn college sweatshirt and a pair of sleep shorts, “Are those my Golden Grahams?” You asked, stopping at the entrance of the kitchen.

Roger glanced up at you, his under eyes were always slightly droopy and puffy, a stark contrast to his surprisingly wide blue eyes that glared up at you, “Yeah, what about it.” He answered confidently.

“Stop eating my shit, I barely have enough money to support myself let alone you.” You said grabbing the box from the counter and shoving it into the cupboard that held your food.

Roger shrugged, loudly slurping up his spoonful of milk, “Maybe you should get a job then.” He leaned back in his chair “How do you even afford rent anyways?”

You froze, your back still facing Roger. For the last few weeks you had made a decent sum of money camming and selling photos, not that you would tell Roger of all people. “It’s none of your business.” You reminded him while you walked over and pulled out your leftovers from your dinner with Freddie and popped them into the microwave.

“How did you even meet Fred,” He asked suspicious that his friend, Freddie, would dare to have other friends.

You turned towards Roger and leaned against the counter, “College,” you answered pointedly, “We had a digital design class together and he liked the shirt I was wearing.” You answered, you might still have that shirt buried in your closet somewhere, “Where did you meet him?”

Roger continued eating your cereal, “We used to live together, went to different universities, but he needed a roommate.” You had been to Freddie’s home during college, but never met Roger. It was a nice place, but always a cluttered mess, “Now we run the shop and play together.” That’s right, Roger helped sell clothes at the second-hand store.

“What do you play? The guitar?” You scoffed momentarily, “God, I hope you can play something other than Wonderwall.” You joked.

A small smile graced Roger’s features, if you hadn’t had been looking you wouldn’t have seen it, “No, I’m a drummer.” He gave you a confident smirk, the kind that would have caused a girl’s knees to go weak, “But I do play guitar,” He quickly followed with.

You nodded your head, “Ah, a drummer,” You said pulling your food out from the microwave and stabbed your fork into the left-over chicken breast.

“You’ve never been to any of our shows, have you?” Roger pressed.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Nope,” you answered, popping the ‘p’ at the end of your short statement.

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, I don’t really like bar concerts I guess.”

Roger scoffed and made a skeptic face, “Where do you see concerts then? The back room of a coffee shop? Some of the best concerts I’ve been to have been in the back of shoddy bars.” He sounded defensive now.

“I just don’t get the point of concerts, I can listen to music on vinyl or Spotify so why should I go to a concert!” You answered back, just as defensive.

“I’m going to call Fred and tell him that you think our music is too boring to see live.” He said reaching for his phone.

You felt your blood run cold, Christ Fred would have your head on a stick if he heard you said that; which you didn’t. You lurched forward, gripping Roger’s wrist, “No!” You shouted, “Don’t call, Fred.” You struggled against his grip

Roger used his free hand to jab his finger into your side, causing you to squeal with laughter and jerk against him “Let go!” He couldn’t hide his own laughter.

You clutched his hand against your chest with your back to him “Promise you won’t tell Fred?” You said, not aware that your shorts had been pulled taut against you and hugged your skin while the crease between your ass and thigh threatened to pop from underneath them.

Roger swallowed thickly, maintaining eye contact with your upper thighs, “Promise you’ll come to our show tonight?” He asked, his voice sounded husky and sent an involuntary shudder through your body.

“Fine, I promise.” You said frowning and feeling your stomach clench at his tone. You quickly released his hand and turned to face him.

Roger’s pouty lips hung slightly ajar and his face was lightly dusted pink, you assumed it was from the struggle prior. “Promise.” He agreed, “But I’m going to tell Fred you’re going.” You groaned knowing Fred would want to doll you up for the occasion.

Thankfully you still had several hours before their 10pm show, so with plenty of time to kill you found yourself seated in front of your computer starting your live stream for the day.

You were dressed in a blue baby doll lingerie that had black lace trim, it was simple and not too revealing; just what you liked. Your colored lights lit up your room and the backdrop you had hung up disguised it for the sake of safety and the camera was perfectly positioned to only show your chest on down. By now you were regular professional.

The red light of your camera blinked and your computer screen loaded before you finally went live. Your regulars were alerted of your stream and soon people began to trickle in and soon your room was filled with a generous number of people. The tips flowed as you interacted with your regulars,

Tank3939 tipped you 50 tokens!

You smiled a sickeningly sweet smile “Thank you tank, you know these tips get me nice and wet.” You sensually said, rubbing your breasts and pushing them together. Tank was a regular, often generously tipping you, “If we reach 1,000 tokens in the next hour, I’ll let you watch me fuck myself on this fat cock.” You said holding up a decently sized dildo, you tried to ignore how much the fake sensuality in your tone caused you to cringe. The way you had to act in order to score tips was perhaps the most annoying part of the gig.

Bigboy64: shit baby how much I got to tip u to do that to me

Tank3939: beautiful sugar

Mojo_Man tipped you 1,000 tokens!

You stopped, doing a double take on at the little red mark on the screen, “Th… thank you, Mojo. I don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.” You gave the camera a wink, “Always nice to see that men know what women want.” You said leaning back and spreading your legs, quickly swiping your fingers through your wet folds and letting out a breathy moan.

The tip bell continued to ring, and your moans threatened to get louder before you stopped, a sultry laugh left your lips “I got to be careful guys, my roommate is in the room next door… wouldn’t want him to hear me,” You gave a naughty giggle, “Or would I?”

Mojo_Man tipped you 500 tokens!

Bigboy64: u ever fuck ur roommate?

Bigboy64: Id fuck u if u were mine

You couldn’t help but grin at the comment, “No, I couldn’t do it, don’t think he likes me very much.” You answered honestly. “Thank you again Mojo, I guess I better get started now that you’ve got me all warmed up. I’ll be right back.” You said, blocking the screen so you could get set up, suctioning the dildo onto the hardwood floor beneath you. You turned around, exposing your ass to the camera and twisted to take the little post-it-note off the camera, “Remember, that little bell makes my tight little pussy wet.” You said once your screen came back into focus.

You sighed, lowering yourself onto the thick cock and sat for a moment allowing it to generously stretch your walls. God, even this fake dick filled you better than Harrison ever could. You leaned forward, sticking your ass out and arching your back and rotated your hips around the dildo, whimpering as you did so.

You readjusted your legs, spreading wider and leaning further forward. Your cheeks spread and put your pussy on display for all 523 people in your live stream. You moaned, pistoning your hips on the plastic cock. Your wet pussy easily glided up and down while your hands reached forward, gripping onto your bed in front of you for balance. Your hips burned while pornographic moans left your lips and your ass bounced with your thrusts. The tip bell rang, one after another, ensuring that you would be able to not only pay rent, but also buy another box of golden grahams for yourself.

Once you finished you gave your signing of speech, “Thank you so much my lovelies!” You said slightly out of breath, “I had so much fun with you all tonight especially my biggest donor for the might Mojo_Man,” you moaned his username out and for good measure kneaded your breasts in your hand before you continued, “Remember to subscribe to my OnlyFans and Snapchat for more content on days I don’t stream! I’ll see you again next Sin Saturday!”

You leaned back against your bed after you sighed off and looked through your stats for the night, 2500 tokens tipped by this Mojo_man, wow he must have really liked your work. You scoffed a bit, poor sap, you thought before you dressed yourself in normal clothes and left to shower and clean yourself off.

A knock on the door alerted you from your shower, your peaceful alone time, “What!” You shouted over the white noise the running water provided.

Without warning, the door opened,“Fred’s going to be over with an outfit for you!” It was Roger.

You rolled your eyes and slicked your hair back and out of your face “Couldn’t you tell me once I got out?” You frowned.

The door quickly shut, “No!” You could hear Roger’s voice growing more distant as he walked further away from the door and sure enough within minutes of your shower ending Freddie was knocking at your bedroom door and soon letting himself in.

“Fred,” You whined, “I look like a slut in this!” You shouted.

“I know!” He countered, “It’s my favorite look on you, you know that!” He straightened out the fabric of your shirt and skirt he had picked out for you.

You looked in the mirror, feeling stupid, “It’s just a bar, Fred. I don’t know why I can’t just go in some jeans!” you protested looking in the mirror.

You could see Roger’s reflection in the mirror, he once again changed his outfit. This time he was wearing an open floral print button down and tight black pants with flared legs, “I think it’s a nice change from that old jumper.” Roger always had to add his own two cents in.

You rolled your eyes, “Why’d you change again? Was your ‘lounge around’ tassel vest not sufficient enough for the show?”

Roger looked at you through narrow eyes, “’Course not, unlike you I care how people see me.”

“All right you two, that’s enough. We have to go over to John’s for the pregame.”

“Wait-” you protested, “You didn’t tell me I was going to meet everyone.”

Freddie scoffed at you, “Of course you have to, you’re a regular Queen groupie now!”

You groaned as Freddie wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you through the apartment, “Why can’t I be a roadie? I can lift stuff.”

“Not dressed like this!” Fred countered, “Enough, come on now we have to get dinner. It’s the most important meal before we go out!”

You tugged the leather miniskirt Freddie had dressed you in down and frowned, reminding yourself that you were only doing this to get a break from your mundane routine.

[hazeleyesirwin]

i’ve seen you before (part three)

summary: part three of an entirely self-indulgent soulmate au in which everyone has a soulmate and past lives. 

warning: mentions of major character death, execution, pregnancy, flashbacks 

word count: roughly 3,000

I turned off my phone. I didn’t need to see the pictures. The comments, good or bad. I turned off my notifications. Weeks went by and life was easy. Ashton and I hung out with our friends, who meshed easily. Calum and Chloe started dating. Ashton gave me a key to his house, which meant we stayed there most nights. I went to rehearsal in the morning, he went to the studio, we had dinner together. It was easy. We fell into a routine which was only interrupted by occasional meetings. 

I woke up one morning, still wrapped in the warmth of the white blankets on Ashton’s bed. The warm morning light was hitting the wall opposite the bed. Ashton’s shadow moved through the light as he got to his side of the bed. He was still in his clothes from the day before. He pressed a kiss to my forehead then pulled me closer to him. “Ash, why are you dressed?” I murmured. “I couldn’t sleep,” He replied, his voice deeper than it was even in the morning,”I stayed up to write. Calum came over.” 

“So that’s why you smell like cigarettes.” 

“Mm, yeah.” 

“Second hand smoke kills you know.” 

“I know, but he tries not to do it around other people unless he’s really stressed.” 

I yawned, tearing up in the process. I was pulled even closer to Ashton’s chest. The t-shirt that smells vaguely like his cologne, but mostly like Calum’s cigarettes. I tipped my head back to kiss Ashton. Whiskey masked by mint gum. He told me once chewing gum helped him think. When I broke the kiss I pulled back and watched Ashton’s face. His eyes fluttered open after a moment,”I’m so tired,” He whispered, his voice cracking slightly like he was overwhelmed. “Go to sleep then,” I replied, brushing his hair off his face with my fingertips. 

I got up before Ashton, which was a first for a Tuesday morning when Calum was coming over to have breakfast. I wandered downstairs and saw Calum already at the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in front of him. He had on the usual tank top and sweats that he always wore this early in the morning. “Did you get enough sleep last night? You guys were up really late,” I asked, pouring myself a cup of coffee from the pot Calum had made. “Didn’t sleep at all,” Calum replied between slurps of cereal. “You can nap on the couch if you want,” I suggested. “He’s writing about you, y’know,” Calum changed the subject so fast it gave me whiplash. 

“What?” 

“He keeps writing about you. Heartbreaking shit.” 

“Heartbreaking?” 

“Heartbreaking for a guy whose been single for years and has no end in sight.” 

“You have an end in sight, Cal.” 

“Yeah, I guess, but my belief system is different than yours or Ash’s. The soulmate thing terrifies me. It brings you two complete clarity and peace. It brings me blinding fear and makes me stutter every time I try to talk to her.” 

“Chloe?” 

“Yeah, she scares the shit out of me.” 

“She really likes you.” 

“I like her too, but, fuck, the thought that this might be forever is so terrifying it makes my blood pressure go up to like unhealthy levels.” “The blood pressure thing may just be because you smoke, Calum.” 

“Okay, sure, that may be part of it, but she still makes me so nervous I can’t speak. No one has ever done that to me before.” 

“That’s sweet, Cal.” 

“It doesn’t feel sweet when it’s happening.” 

I laughed softly,”You’ll be okay. She gets less terrifying with time, I promise.” 

I turned as I heard Ashton come around the corner into the kitchen. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palm and patted Calum’s back with the other hand. He took a gulp out of my coffee cup, his face screwing up in disgust a moment later. He still complains about how my coffee is more milk and sugar than actual coffee. He’s a snob. I caught Calum’s smirk in the corner of my eye. 

“Cal, you have to eat more than that sugary shit for breakfast,” Ashton commented after pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Don’t we have this argument every Tuesday?” Calum replied, taking a huge bite of cereal in the next moment. “You do, but Ash always wins,” I piped up, already rummaging around in the fridge for eggs and bacon. 

Red vinyl. It squeaks as he sits across from me in the booth. I feel myself blush when he looks at me. He hand touches mine on the table. It’s warm, in a good way. When he suggested a breakfast first date, I’ll admit, I felt a little dirty. Only people who were sleeping together had breakfast dates. We aren’t sleeping together. Far from it. This was my first date. Ever. My mother had told me I needed to get out more, but I was newly eighteen. And he, well, he wasn’t what my mom meant. 21, wears leather. Picked me up for our breakfast date on a motorcycle. We eat breakfast. Eggs, bacon, pancakes. He pays. He kisses me while he’s sitting on his bike. Mint. Aftershave. He grabs my waist and pulls me close. He suggests we get married. I say yes. I don’t know why. 

My vision refocused on Calum eating eggs at Ashton’s kitchen counter. “Baby, you’re doing that spacey thing again, you have to eat something,” Ashton said, pressing a kiss to my forehead and putting a plate in my hand in the same motion. Calum’s phone buzzed and he picked it up almost too quickly,”Hello?” He relaxed slightly,”Hey, love.” I watched as his shoulders dropped when he fully relaxed, listening to Chloe chatter about something on the other end of the call. He glows like I haven’t seen before. 

I turned to look at Ashton and met his eyes. I leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “I love…” he paused like he was stopping himself,”That our friends are getting along so well.” “Me too,” I replied. He took the plate from in front of Calum and started to do the dishes. After Calum left to go meet Chloe, Ashton ended up napping on the couch. I covered him with a knitted, blue blanket. He looked so peaceful. 

The baby looks so small laying on his chest. So small. He has his hand on the baby’s back, rocking her slowly. He’s half asleep, but has a good grip on her. He hasn’t put her down since she was born except to change her. He always has a hand on her. The circles under his eyes are getting deeper every day. She has his eyes. Brown around the edges, green in the center. He has to go back to work in a couple days. I can see how much he’s dreading it. Most fathers don’t stay home with a newborn. That’s a woman’s job. He’s different. He loves our daughter so much. She starts to fuss and he opens his eyes, rubbing her back and kissing the top of her head. She’s so small. 

Our bubble of being this perfect couple was finally burst when I came home to Ashton one night and he was packing. “Where are you going?” I asked him, sitting on the bedspread beside his open suitcase. “I told you, love, we have a promo tour in Europe this week. Chloe’s coming with Calum,” his answer was sharper in tone than I expected. “Oh,” I stared up at him, his hair falling into his face. “Do not cry. I can’t take that right now,” he snapped at me. “Why would I cry?” I was caught off guard by his statement. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to leave?” 

“No.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Why are you snapping at me?” 

“I’m stressed.” 

“About?” 

“The promo, you, Calum and I are fighting. Everything.” 

“Okay, do you want to talk about it?” 

“Yeah. Please.” 

“What’s stressing you the most?” 

“Calum.” 

“What was your fight about?” 

“You.” 

“What about me?” 

“I want you to move in and Calum said it was too fast and now we’re fighting.” 

“Okay, well, maybe you should hear out his concerns.” 

“Really?” 

“As much as I want to move in with you, Calum knows you and he isn’t in our love bubble. He might have a point.” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’s stressing you about the promo?” 

“Being away. I know you have nightmares about me leaving.” 

“Yeah, I do, but I’ll sleep with my face in your pillow and it’ll be like you never left.” 

He smiled weakly at me. I leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. The second I pulled back he pulled me closer and kissed me so hard I thought I might pass out. He made me dizzy. When he pulled away, he sighed and I heard a rattle in his chest,”I don’t want to have to be someone different for the cameras. It’s exhausting,” He finally explained. “You need something to make you different when you’re in front of the cameras being that person rather than being yourself. Maybe just gel your hair back when you’re the character,” I suggested,”I wear a ring when I’m not acting, take it off when I am. It reminds me when I’m me and when I’m a character.” Ashton nodded, leaning down to kiss me hard again. I wrapped my arms around his neck and held him close as we kissed. “I think I’m just tired,” He whispered, partially against my mouth. “Maybe we should stop making out so you can get some rest,” I replied. He hummed softly, an acknowledgment of my statement,”Or I could rest after we make out.” 

I tried to pull away from him, but he held me in place. “Ash, c’mon, you need to sleep before you’re absolutely jetlagged tomorrow,” I hated the pleading in my voice. “Let me hold you for a minute,” I heard the pleading is his voice more clearly than in my own. “Didn’t you once say you weren’t cuddly?” I asked, almost sarcastically. “I’m not,” He protested. I ran my fingers through the back of his hair as he hugged me. His body engulfed mine and forced my heartbeat to sync with his. “I’ll miss you,” I whispered, willing my voice not to break, but it did. “Baby, please don’t cry,” Ashton replied to the shake in my voice. “Sorry,” I wiped the few tears streaming down my face away and kissed Ashton’s cheek again. He tightened his grip on me for a moment then pulled away. He pressed another kiss to my lips. Mint. Aftershave. 

The next morning I watched as Ashton walked to the car and tried to keep a happy face. I’m not going to be one of those clingy girlfriends that forces their partner to stay home all the time. I’m not going to do it. I don’t know why it upset me this much to see him go. Maybe it was the flash of a flag in my lap or soldiers at my doorstep. That was a different time though. I’ll be honest, losing him is always hard. Whether it’s for the rest of the current life or for a week. I never know if he’s going to come back for me. For the next week, Ashton called me every night, no matter what time it was where they were. When I was finally back in his arms after a week, things felt like they were in place again. This is the biggest fucking cliche I’ve ever written in my life. But, in that time, that’s exactly what it felt like. The pieces of myself being pulled back together in the warmth of Ashton’s arms. We stood in the airport, holding each other as cameras flashed around us. Without warning Ashton let go of me. I stepped away and studied his face for a moment. His eyes poured into mine. 

Fire. Sparking. Pricking my skin. I face him. He lets out a broken breath. Fire dancing on three sides of us. The only way out is behind me. “You don’t have to save me,” I hear myself say before I can stop my own voice. I feel the heavy fabric of my skirt under my fingertips. “I did this. I confessed my love to a woman who wasn’t mine to have. That confession brought us here. This is my burden to bear,” His voice is thick. He’s holding back tears. I reach out to touch him. He catches my hand before I can brush his face with my fingertips. “Please, take care of our baby,” He whispers so no one around us realizes what we’ve been hiding. It pains me to know I can’t kiss him here. I squeeze his hand that is still holding mine. I whisper a confession of love and he returns it before letting my hand drop from his and turning to face the men that are going to put him to death. I feel two sets of arms pulling me away from the fire. One voice speaking to me in a hushed tone. I feel the sobs rip through my body as I’m pulled into my room, I feel myself lose him.

[howsit-going-toend]

Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) Pt. 7

A Kwon Jiyong x Reader AU series featuring Kim Jiwon and Choi Seunghyun

Genre: Crime/Mafia/ANGST

Word count: 4,700+

Summary: You joined the police force years ago to help clean up the streets of Seoul and rid the city of organized crime. You’ve seen some shit. You’re surely prepared for anything…but how are you supposed to feel when the big bad crime boss you’ve been after turns out to be a familiar (to say the least) face?

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

(A/N: WOW it’s been a while. Buckle up because this one’s a doozie. Doosie?...Duzey? Anyway, this part finally breaks down the past and lays it all out there. I’m truly happy with this and I hope you all understand why it took so long to finally post/write. As always, enjoy!)

Eleven Years Ago

“And his laugh! Oh my god, don’t get me started about that damn laugh.” You groaned, taking a sip of wine before imitating a laugh that sounded a little too much like Tommy Wiseau.

Jiyong covered his mouth with the back of his hand, chuckling uncontrollably at the impression of your now-ex boyfriend.

“See, THAT’s genuine laughter! You know why? Because I’m hilarious god damnit.” You took another frustrated sip.

“Y/N, I know you’re kind of worked up, but maybe slow it down there.” Jiyong suggested between his giggles.

It was your nineteenth birthday; the day you were finally of legal drinking age and the same day that you decided to break up with your most recent boyfriend. The two of you dated for just a little over three months. To you, it was three months that you hardly paid attention to, focusing more on yourself and finishing your first year of university and feeling as though texting him back was more of an obligation than a joy. You decided to break things off before getting too serious. But evidently, to him, the last three months were nothing short of incredible.

You assumed your words would be met with immediate acceptance; the end that was inevitable from the beginning. But no. He was devastated. And after he drove away, and you immediately felt like garbage, you took a quick trip to pick up a bottle of wine and call your best friend over.

It was the first time Jiyong had seen your apartment, since the two of you got accepted to different universities. Here he was after gladly tossing aside his own deadlines and driving the two and a half hours it took to reach you. His parents always said “Jiyong would cross oceans for Y/N at any hour of the day or night,” and they knew you would do the same in a heartbeat.

You’d known each other since you were children, so it didn’t surprise you when Jiyong made a comment on you drinking that reverted back to more of an older brother mentality.

“Hey, uh, how about maybe you don’t tell me what to do?” You replied with your sassiest expression.

“My bad, I forgot who I was talking to.” He smiled, taking a sip from his own glass. “So why’d you do it today anyway?”

You groaned. “Because he was planning to take me to some wine and food festival tomorrow that was probably going to be super expensive. And knowing how long I’ve been debating on breaking up with him, I knew it had to be today. But I didn’t expect him to bring me gifts too! I tried to emphasize to him so many times that I don’t like presents and yet he brought some up tonight.”

Jiyong smirked. “Wow he wanted to buy you gifts. He sounds awful. Good riddance!”

“Ji, I swear t-.”

“I’m kidding! You shouldn’t be expected to reciprocate feelings just because the guy buys you things. What did he try to give you?”

You winced thinking back to just a few hours prior to this. “A pair of slippers, some fancy candles, and this foot scrub because ‘you always said your feet hurt.’ But he gave it all to me after I broke up with him so of course, he said that to me with his head down like I just kicked a puppy. Also just putting it out there that I’ve literally never said that to him about my feet.”  

You paused to let out a frustrated exhale and drink a little more. “But the worst was honestly the cupcake. I was pacing in my room before he got here, trying not to lose my nerve because I felt so bad already. Then he emerges from his car and walks towards my door with a stupid cupcake. One with a single lit candle that he was holding his hand up around to keep the air from blowing it out. When he got to me, I said ‘oh no, you didn’t have to do that.’ And he laughed and said ‘yes!’ Then I basically leaned over, blew the candle out and said ‘No really, you shouldn’t have done that. Listen, I’ve been thinking about this for a while.”

“Y/N!” Jiyong laughed out loud, failing to cover it up with his hand once again in attempts not to ridicule this poor boy. “That’s borderline cruel. You said it before he could even get inside?”

“I had to! It’s my birthday and I needed to.” You stated and took a long last sip of your glass.

“No, I know. I know. But you know what I’m going to say.” He smirked.

You stuck your index finger out at him. “Don’t. Don’t say it.” You got up to get a refill and shouted once you reached the kitchen. “I mean it!”

“Ok… how about I call you heartbreaker instead?” He squeezed his eyes shut, silencing a chuckle, knowing the look you were about to give him once you returned to the couch.

You didn’t disappoint. You blew around the corner, almost spilling your new glass just to stare him down. “Oh you want to throw that word around? If anyone deserves that nickname it’s you and you know it!”

“Wow, didn’t even bother to ask if I needed a refill.” He pouted.

“Yeah, well too bad. Don’t avoid that title!”

He chuckled, knowing he hadn’t lost his touch with successfully pushing all the right buttons. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He sprang up from the couch to reach the wine.

“Of course you don’t… What about that girl you were telling me about a while back? You haven’t said a word about her since you’ve been here. You already broke up with her, didn’t you! Let’s point the right fingers here.”

“All right, yeah, I did.” He uttered from the kitchen over the sound of his glass filling.

“Ha!”

“On her birthday.”

You nearly choked on your own drink. “Ji, what the hell!”

“Kidding! Stop taking everything I say so seriously. Who are you?” He returned to the couch with a plop, gracefully avoiding spilling anything. “It was Valentine’s Day.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate you sometimes.”

You bantered back and forth for a couple more hours, polishing off the bottle of wine before making a quick on-foot journey to get another. It finally being your nineteenth birthday created a nice change to you and Jiyong’s usual strategy involving you entering a store separately; you purchasing snacks while he dilly dallies around the alcohol aisle, waiting for you to leave. Tonight, the two of you could blissfully waltz up and down the place without a worry.

You were all too eager to show your ID to the cashier when it was time to pay. “Bam!” You stated before the man could even finish asking you for it, making Jiyong smack his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Do you think he knows?” You whispered as he held the door open for you, referencing your slight drunkenness in the least stealthy way possible.

“Well, I’m sure he does now.” He laughed.  

The two of you walked back to your apartment, giddy from the wine you’d already consumed meanwhile anticipating the next bottle and arsenal of snacks that you were about to. You were blissfully drunk, with a full stomach, before you knew it. All along, you both babbled on with random life updates littered among childhood memories. There was no birthday celebration that could compare to this.

“Oh hey, you brought up the record player!” Jiyong exclaimed, having made his way to the corner of your living room; where you stored all the hand-me-down vinyls you’d both grown up listening to.  

“Nope that’s a new one actually. My aunt bought it for me before I moved out. She actually said ‘you can’t have mine but this one looks like it, ok?’”

You both laughed. “I actually saw her last weekend when I visited my parents.” Jiyong said as he ran his index finger along the edges of every vinyl.

“Awh, you did? God she was probably so happy to see you. When I visit, I just get scolded for not calling enough.” You rolled your eyes in fake annoyance.

“Listen, it’s the same thing when I see my parents. If you visit them, they’re both so cheery, especially my mom.” Jiyong laughed.

You beamed. “I love your mom! Does she ask about me?”

“Literally every time I’m home. She and Dami always ask when we’re getting married.”

“My aunt does the same thing!” You started laughing in hysteric unison. Your families always wanted you to end up together and they’d brought it up for years; always giving the two of you something to laugh about.

Jiyong shook his head and smiled as he pulled out a record, having finally decided to put some music on. “All right. We’ve got to play this throwback.”

“You know: Technically they’re all throwbacks. Neither of us were alive when any of thes-.” You stopped and laughed drunkenly at the look he turned to give you for the stupid remark.

“Oh wait wait!” You announced when a certain record got your attention. “I think we should put this one on and reliv-.”

“Nooo no!” He brushed your hand away from reaching for The Temptations’ “My Girl.”

“Oh come on, Ji. I’m the only one here. Please! Just do the dance, you don’t have to sing!” You begged.

He rolled his eyes and stepped aside. “Fine. You better not record this though.” He held out his pinky to you with narrowed eyes; what might as well be a binding contract with how you both treasured it in the past. You hooked your pinky around his and used your other hand to place your phone down. “Promise.”

He took to a position that offered the most open space while you dropped the needle on the outside of the record. As the song began, you crossed your arms and stared at him with a huge smile as he reluctantly began to step back and forth.

I’ve got sunshine, on a cloudy day

When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May…

It was a performance perfectly reenacted from when you were kids; you were five and he was hardly seven. It was one of his mom’s most cherished home movies; little Jiyong performing his heart out at a family party, winning the hearts of all those around as he danced this adorable doo wop routine while gesturing to you with a bright smile.

Tonight was only a little different; that bright smile being replaced with one of red cheeked embarrassment as he extended an arm to you on each “My girl!” line. You snapped your fingers along, amused at how he remembered just about every step. When the song came to an end, you cheered and clapped proudly.

“All right, all right. We’re done with that!” He exclaimed, diving back into the rows of vinyl.

You both agreed to assemble a playlist; taking turns stacking your favorite singles out beside the turntable, one on top of the other, ready to be played in that order. Each one had a different memory attached to it that would light both of your faces with nostalgia within their first few seconds.

“Ah, ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough!’” You exclaimed as Jiyong’s next choice began to play. “Your mom used to play this when she took us to school in the morning, right?”

His smile expanded as he started to lipsync along.

Listen baby,

Ain’t no mountain high, ain’t no valley low

Ain’t no river wide enough, baby

You started to snap your fingers back and forth before you joined in on your part.

If you need me, call me

No matter where you are, no matter how far

Jiyong extended an arm out to you dramatically: Don’t worry baby

You grabbed his hand and spun into his arms just in time for the chorus. Giggles escaped your chest, preventing either of you from continuing to sing along. This closeness was nothing out of the ordinary for you two. You’d danced together like that for as long as you can remember. Your fingers intertwined with smiles so wide they’d hurt if you weren’t a little intoxicated; it was harmless.

When the song came to an end and your next choice was readied, you naturally returned to each other’s arms. This time was a slow song, but neither of you missed a beat.

Put your head on my shoulder

You smiled at each other once more before obeying the opening lyric. You lowered your head to rest comfortably above his collarbone while the two of you swayed back and forth. “God, what a song.” You grinned.

“I know. This song’s helped me put the moves on someone at least three different times.”

You lightly smacked his chest, making him laugh. “Shut up.” You sighed back into him and closed your eyes. “I swear though, wine and slow dancing go together too well. And this is the best song for it.”

“Really? Better than Elvis? I don’t think you really believe that.” He argued. You lifted your head to see him holding his index finger up towards you, silently telling you to wait a second. He scurried back to the collection. He found what he was looking for in seconds, grinning widely at you over his shoulder before interrupting Paul Anka.

You smiled sadly at him as the gentle acoustic guitar came in and he pulled you closer once again. “Aw, Ji you’re gonna make me cry.”

Love me tender, love me sweet

Never let me go

It was your favorite record. And he knew this better than anyone. You’d fallen in love with it ever since your aunt showed you your parents’ wedding reception video. Their first dance as one being to none other than Elvis Presley.

Love me tender, love me true

All my dreams fulfilled

You removed your hands from Jiyong’s and instead wrapped your arms around his neck. He moved his own arms to hold you just barely above the waist, bringing you even closer together. You nestled your head into his shoulder once again, allowing the song to run away with your emotions. He hummed along to each line, creating a soothing vibration against your cheek

“Are you crying yet?” He whispered.

“No.” You whispered back. “I’m smiling.”

He chuckled softly. “Me too.”

Love me tender, love me dear

Tell me you are mine

As your favorite lyric soon began to close out the song, you lifted your head to look at him. Maybe it was the wine, or the late hour, or just the sheer romance of Elvis’ voice, but you really looked at him.

It felt like the first time you had ever seen just how dark his hair was. Or how many different shades of brown made up his eyes, and how well his brows complimented them. Stubble lightly dusted across his cupid’s bow and cupped around his chin, making you wonder if you’d ever actually seen him with facial hair before. His full lips made you smile wider, remembering the awkward dinner moment when you’d met his first girlfriend, and she’d said Jiyong and you have the same lips. His were pulled perfectly from either end, making the smile you’ve known the best all these years.

You realized he was analyzing your features as well, making you giggle in embarrassment.

“What are we doing?” You whispered.

Without missing a beat, keeping perfectly in line with the last few guitar chords, Jiyong and you both made a move that neither of you had ever expected to make. Somehow in that millisecond of silence, your minds came to the same conclusion. Quickly, but softly, your lips met.

The only remaining sound in the room was the low muffle of the turntable, serving to amplify just how exhilarating of a moment this was. You’d never pictured yourself kissing Jiyong before, and your present self couldn’t possibly imagine why.

His lips moved with yours in perfect synchronicity, gentle and warm but also eager to take lead and set a perfect pace, like the dance you’d just finished. Beads of sweat began to form at your hairline as you felt one of his hands cup your cheek, before tracing just below your ear and firmly hold the back of your neck.

You were swooning, entirely enthralled in him. Whatever this feeling was, it was completely alien to you. You didn’t even care that it was Jiyong. You were honestly impressed. As your best friend, and the person who knows you the best in this world, just how the fuck did he know you’ve always wanted to be kissed this way? All this made you smile into the kiss. You felt him smile back before reforming his lips to yours, taking shapes that felt all too natural.

To both of your dismay, it didn’t last forever. You returned to Earth after one or two last pecks, ending it with your foreheads pressed together. You lifted your gazes to meet one another, giving an identical look of wonder.

As you stared at him, he lowered his lips to yours once more. This time was just a simple, soft peck. You both kept your eyes open; joined in awe that this moment was real.

And that’s how it happened. There wasn’t anything remotely awkward about it. The following morning, when the booze had completely worn off and all of your senses restored, the two of you simply laughed, before holding each other tight. There was never any talk of “so, now what?” or “what does this make us?” You both just knew.

And it was the easiest thing that your hearts had ever accepted.

It was your little secret for a few months; keeping the official beginning just between the two of you to ensure it really was what you both wanted. After everything was settled, you had your fun slowly sharing the news with your family and friends. Jiyong would playfully argue that you might have had a little too much fun with it. But their looks of surprise and heart bursting excitement would stick with you forever.

You’d take turns joking about how stupid you were to never realize it sooner: being together just made sense. Your friends and family always knew. (Your exes most definitely always knew.) As cliché as it seemed, you both had just been looking for love everywhere but right in front of you.

You both soon finished out your undergraduate degrees. You were this close to finishing the same semester as him, but in true Jiyong fashion: he beat you to it and finished early. Following your graduations you bought a puppy (a gift from you to him; he immediately named him Gaho) and moved in to an apartment together; something that surprisingly took very little convincing from Jiyong’s parents. (He’d claim there wouldn’t have been a damn chance if it was anyone but you) You were allowed to live in sin so long as you both moved back to Seoul and entered solid internships.

All along you treated each other better than any partner either of you had ever had; demonstrating incredible patience as you learned and grew together in ways you’d never imagined. Family members would boast about the two of you proudly, while close friends would fight the urge to scowl jealously. It was borderline sickening just how natural and blissful everything truly was. They made up some of the best four years of your life.

And never, in your wildest nightmares, did you ever think they would end.

“I’m home!” You announced.

You hummed to yourself as you slipped off your shoes and hung up your coat. The law firm had finally granted you an easy Friday workload, and you had all intentions of using the next couple of days to celebrate.

“Ji, are you here?” You spoke up as you made your way to the kitchen so that, if there, he could hear you from the bedroom. You hadn’t heard from him all day, but that was nothing out of the ordinary; lately his own internship had been especially demanding of his time. He was probably still at the office. You sighed sympathetically and decided some soup would be a nice surprise for him.

“Gaho!” You called, assuming the wrinkly monster was sound asleep in the other room. You reached for the notepad and pen attached to the fridge and began thinking of just how much you would need to pick up before Jiyong got home.

You tapped the pen on the notepad as you looked around the kitchen. You opened cupboard after cupboard, noticing just how much needed to be replenished. “Aish, did he make stew for the whole building today?” You rolled your eyes before writing down each missing ingredient.

“Gaho! Come here!” You repeated, knowing he usually slept as heavily as Jiyong. Shaking his food usually does the trick. You thought to yourself with a smile.

But as you walked over to its usual location you stopped. “Oh come on, we can’t be out of his food too. I swear we just bought some.” You put your hands on your hips out of frustration. “Awh, Gaho, I’m sorry. I hope you have at least something left in your bowl.” You muttered to yourself as you turned the corner out of the kitchen to check.

“Ok, this is weird.” Your brows furrowed. His bowls were gone. You checked the sink and saw no sign of them. Your pulse quickened as you speed walked to the bedroom.

“Gaho?” You called, hoping to see a pile of wrinkles on his bed or hear the sound of his little nails tapping on the hardwood floor. But as you stood in the doorway, his bed was nowhere in sight.

Your chest began to hurt as tears budded beneath your eyes. Gaho had spent weekends at Jiyong’s parents’ house before and even with your aunt. But you knew this weekend was never discussed to be one of them. And even if it was, they had bowls and a bed for him there. Something must have happened. You frantically reached for your phone and dialed Jiyong.

No answer.

“Ji. Ji, please call me. I don’t know where Gaho is. Please tell me you know.” Your voice shook as you left the message. There wasn’t a single sign of a break-in either. Or at least none that you were aware of.

You started pacing in the living room, thinking of all the possible scenarios. Whoever took him must have taken all that food too. You wouldn’t expect burglars to steal vegetables and bean paste, and leave behind the flatscreen, but it was the only explanation. You sped to the bedroom closet, fearing for your and Jiyong’s safes.

As you illuminated the walk-in space, the sight before you brought you to your knees. Everything on your side remained unruffled and unbothered. Nothing was even close to being out of place. Even your safe and few pieces of jewelry. But on Jiyong’s side, every last item was gone.

Every suit, every pair of pants and shoes, and even every fucking hanger was missing. As you gazed at the storage space above his side, and saw no sign of his luggage either, you collapsed.

“What the fuck.” You cried out, shaking and sobbing from uncertainty. You reached a trembling hand for your phone and tried calling him once again.

No answer.

You threw it to the side and somehow managed to pull yourself to your feet. You walked slowly to the bathroom, silently repeating “No, no, no…” to yourself. You closed your eyes as you turned the light on, nowhere near ready for what was there.

Every product, every personal hygiene tool, even his toothbrush, everything that was his: gone. And once again, whatever was yours, remained untouched. You gasped out loud and covered your mouth as sobs pulled themselves out of you. This had to be some kind of sick joke. It just had to be.

As you turned back to face the bedroom you saw through cloudy eyes the very last thing that you didn’t want to see. The item that debunked the miniscule shred of hope you were clinging to; that someone just had to have broken in so cleanly and so precisely, cleaning out everything that belonged to Jiyong, including Gaho and all of his belongings as well. You could have hung onto that ridiculous scenario for just a little while longer if you didn’t see it. There on the bed laying perfectly, and all too intentionally, was a folded piece of paper.

This time, when your body crumbled to the floor, it stayed there for nearly half an hour. You couldn’t stop crying. And for the life of you, you couldn’t move a muscle. When you finally found the strength to, you crawled to your phone. Before illuminating the screen, you begged the universe to grant you at least one text message from him.

Nothing.

You spent the next couple of hours there on the floor, endlessly sobbing and making phone call after phone call; each one feeling more useless than the last.

When you finally got a hold of yourself, you instead called a friend that lived nearby and begged her to come over. You spent that night, and the following week, at her place. It took that long for you to even walk back into that apartment. And it took even longer for you to finally read that letter.

“I love you too much to allow you to be put through what I’m going to put you through. I’m so fucking sorry. Take care of yourself and  please: be the person you want to be. -Jiyong”

You ripped it into shreds on the spot. That was it. That was the only glimpse of an explanation that he ever granted you. Just like that, he left.

And you were never the same.

His disappearance came just as much of a shock to everyone else. No one could make sense of it. Not his parents, or even his best friends. They were all furious with him and could hardly speak about it. No one could give you answers.

And that’s all you tried to obtain for the next year: just some fucking answers. You were desperate and angry, lonely and above all you were ungodly depressed. When you couldn’t find him yourself you waited. You waited for so long. You lived each day as if it would be the one that he’d come back through the front door and back into your life.

But it never came.

You became self-destructive, going through every stage of grief at least three separate times. All along you begged the universe to show you even just one reason. Anything that could have shown what the fuck you did that was so wrong. Just come back and tell me why. You mumbled this phrase to yourself a million times, and when family and friends grew worried you mumbled it to psychiatrists a million times more.

It was some of the worst and most confusing pain you’d ever experienced. You endured it for nearly two years, until one cathartic appointment allowed you to finally accept it. You were done waiting. You couldn’t bring yourself to forgive him. But you had to get your life back.

You met Jiwon the following week. It was the very same week that you decided to change your focus back to your childhood dreams. You didn’t want to be a lawyer. (Though you ended up marrying one) You wanted to be a badass detective.

You now thought deeply about everything that had changed in just seven years.

You stared at Jiyong through the one way mirror completely stone faced, trying your hardest not to laugh at the fucked up irony. Even though you didn’t know it until that night in the warehouse, when he’d reignited that deep emotional pain with a matching physical pain at the hand of his crony you realized: you’d never truly stopped looking for him.

And now, seeing him sitting there before you, wanting your superior’s attention and wishing to make a deal with your boss…your rage was unfathomable.

[thefashionableintrovert]

Valentine Gift Ideas for Guys

Hey You!  Happy February and Black History Month! 

Everyone knows February for its cold weather, BHM and for its sale of cheap candy. We also know February for the Valentine’s Day! I recently saw an article about whether women should go all out for valentine’s day for their boyfriends/husbands as they do. I was humored but not surprised to see the outrage from men in the comments, most of whom said that the guys needed to be wine and dined just as much as the women once in a while. But we all know buying gifts for guys, whether it is your father’s birthday or a Christmas gift for your brother, is difficult. How do we give gifts of appreciation to the men in our lives in a world where hyper-masculinity is still a thing, and getting flowers and chocolate will make you look “soft”, and/or he has a hard time showing emotion. Let’s break that barrier and get him something thoughtful this year and the many to come.

I have constructed a list of how you can show appreciation on Valentine’s Day to the men in your life, whether it is you boyfriend of one year or your guy friend from class that always compliments your hair. This gift ranges as low as $5 so it is perfect for any budget!

Hopefully this will be the last ultimate gift list you will need!

Gift Ideas on Valentine’s Day for Him

Get them a card. I know this seems like the lazy route, but I’ve always appreciated a nice card. Get him one with a gift card (with a store they really like but rarely go in) and a nice thoughtful message. DO NOT LEAVE THE CARD BLANK! Write about how much he means to you, how he inspires you to do better every day, or maybe something encouraging to start off the year. Words can do much more than material things.

Make a video message. A card isn’t his thing? Try creating a “video” card about him, and throw in some memories from the year you two have had. This doesn’t have to go down the sappy route, throw in some funny/embarrassing moments in your video, or some throwback photos of him when he was younger. It will surely make him laugh, and he will appreciate the effort you put in. Don’t forget to put it on a DVD or USB stick and give it to him physically.

Pay for the dinner bill. Take him out to dinner (and a place HE likes to eat). Guys like to be wine and dined too, so let him know before ordering that you will be paying for the meal. It may take some convincing at first, and he might even be uncomfortable with the idea if you bring it up too late, so let him know early that this is something you want to do to show your appreciation. 

Art. Artwork or a poster from a an artist or a graphic designer is always a great gift, especially if it is custom made. If you want to go the extra mile, find a local artist and pay them to paint/draw a portrait of your special someone. 

Buy him something practical. If you have been hearing him complain about something often, find a way to solve that problem. This is affordable yet very thoughtful, it shows that you are listening.

Does he take tend to miss the bus to his commute to work or class in the winter? Treat him to a $50 Uber Gift card so he can get a luxury ride. 

Is he trying to grow out his hair and beard? Make him a hair care package/basket with fancy shampoos, treatments and hair picks.You can even throw in The Art of Growing a Beard, a book by Marvin Grosswirth.

Does he live in the gym? Buy a small gym bag and fill it with essentials like protein shakes or Gatorade, and throw in a nice smoothie/water bottle.

See him peeking in a particular clothing store every time you go to the mall? Buying him clothes/shoes will always be appreciated.

Splurge & Get an Accessory.  Nothing wrong with a nice watch, cap/hat or designer sunglasses. Guys like jewelry too!

Get him a video game. I didn’t know how expensive one game for a Nintendo Switch cost. He would definitely appreciate it if he is a gamer. If you REALLY want to splurge, get him the whole console lol.

Too busy to go out to eat? Order him lunch. Send a surprise lunch order to his workplace. Not only is it thoughtful but it shows that you know what type of food he enjoys (or doesn’t enjoy).  Make sure to get the restaurant to write a nice valentine’s day note for him as well, and let them know it is a gift. If you have time you can even deliver it yourself (just make sure he is comfortable with that). Surprises are always nice. Uber Eats and Just Eat are both great, just put his phone number and the address of where you want them to go.

Get Party Favs! If your male companion is a fun extrovert who loves to entertain, get him an item that would make him be the life of any party. From collectible shot glasses to social card/board games, anything that will be fun with a group or just the two of you.

Make a scrapbook of memories. If you have a lot of photos of each other, print them off and put them in a photo album, scrapbook, a custom social media calendar, array of snow globes, string with clothing pins, mood board, etc. Always remind him of the good times you have shared with each other.

Does he love music? Make him a playlist! Super cheesy but if he is a true music lover he would love to receive a playlist with his favourite artists on a CD or USB stick. If he has a vinyl player you can be creative and make a record of the playlist. You can splurge and even get him wireless headphones, or even speakers so he can play the playlist aloud. 

This is my wonderful list of ideas, if you have any more ideas PLEASE feel free to add unto my list! Sometimes we forget that the men in our lives need love too on Valentine’s Day, so don’t forget to put thought into the gifts for your Valentine!

Sincerely, 

ArienneJay, the fashionable introvert

[genzgay]

Flustered (part 3)

Pairing: Yugbam

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: even more bad pickup lines, edgy art descriptions, awkward kissing, bts members

Fluster, verb. To make (someone) agitated or confused


Yugyeom, a quiet and shy library assistant, just wants to keep the peace. BamBam, a quirky design student, knows too many pickup lines. When they exchange numbers it feels like the world turned upside down.

based off this ask

part 1 part 2

for @cutepimook

Yugyeom stared into the void of his closet, unhappy with every imaginable combo that could come out of it. Since BamBam had essentially looked like a god at their last date, Yugyeom was taking it upon himself to not just wear a t-shirt and jeans.

He pulled out a blue turtleneck and matching blue trench coat that his brother's girlfriend had so kindly gifted him this past Christmas. They just didn't seem right though. He laid out another option: black button up, black jeans, and a tiger patterned bomber jacket. Nope. He looked over to his roommate who was boredly playing on his phone. "What do you wear on a date?" Yugyeom asked with a sigh.

"I'm calling the boys." Jungkook answered, hitting a few buttons on his phone.

"No you're not." Yugyeom didn't need more of Jungkook's friends involved. "Don't-"

Jungkook only sneered. "Yugyeom's having an outfit crisis." His smile grew. "Yes, that would be great." Within another two minutes Kim Namjoon, Park Jimin, and Kim Taehyung were waltzing into their tiny room. "Hey guys!"

"So where're we headed?" Namjoon questioned, sliding open the door of Yugyeom's closet. "Out with friends? Studying? A date?" He elbowed Yugyeom in the side.

Yugyeom grew red. "Yep! He's going out to the student art exhibit." Jungkook replied for him. Yugyeom was going to have to kill him later.

"Ah." Namjoon put his finger to his lips in thought. He bent his brows. "Oh! Here!" Within another five minutes, Yugyeom was admiring himself in the mirror.

"It's stunning."

"It's gorgeous."

"It's perfect."

"I'd fuck him."

"TAE!" They all gasped. The third oldest only shrugged.

"What?" He wasn't wrong. The turtleneck and leather jacket combo was, well, sexy, but managed to seem student art exhibit appropriate. Yugyeom found himself flaunting in the mirror. "See, he loves it." Taehyung argued, waving to Yugyeom.

"I do look good." Yugyeom said. "Really good."

At exactly 11:57, there was a knock at the door. Since it's nearly impossible to get Jungkook's friends out of their room, all four of them perked up in excitement. Yugyeom's heart rate picked up. Maybe it would be BamBam on the other side, three minutes early. Instead, a coffee-carrying, sweater-wearing Mingyu stood at the door. "Why are you all staring? Did I spill?"

"Nope, watched you walk all the way up the stairs." There was a familiar voice. Mingyu turned around, revealing a bomber jacket clad BamBam holding two cups of coffee. "Too bad I had the same idea."

"I thought you said no coffee." Yugyeom said, cursing the carrier.

"Don't worry, it's only tea!" BamBam reassured, selecting one of the pair and giving it to Yugyeom. "I wasn't sure what you liked, so I got my favorite citrus mint one." Yugyeom accepted it, the warmth spread from his hands to his heart. He took a sip. The chill of the mint layered just perfectly with tangy notes of lemon, totally reinventing what tea should be.

"Oh my god." Yugyeom exclaimed. "This-"

"Yeah. It's great. Since we're coffee free I decided that you *had* to try it." BamBam agreed, his head nodding as he took a sip of his own drink. "Also, you're a hot-tea."

Yugyeom spat his tea, misting himself with a good coating of the liquid. His cheeks were hot, not only because of the accident, but because the compliment was a cleverly constructed pun.

"That was cute." Jimin cooed. He was only two years older than Yugyeom but acted like he was ten years older. Only then did it occur to him that he and BamBam were standing in the hallway, being watched by a small collection of Yugyeom's friends. Jimin beamed at them from his front row spot.

Yugyeom rolled his eyes. "Let me, um, change."

They walked over to the arts building, and BamBam immediately began apologizing that they weren't headed to somewhere nicer. "We're both broke college students," He explained, "I spent nearly the last of my money on the tea that you so willingly shot out your nose."

"You just laid that pun and compliment down like it was nothing!" Yugyeom raised his arms in mock offense. "How was I supposed to react?"

"Definitely not by coating the Blue dorm's third floor in citrus mint tea." BamBam laughed. They stepped into the main arts hall, where the entire first floor was an exhibit of various student works. As long as you had a student ID and promised to write feedback on at least one piece, you could get in for free. It was enough for Yugyeom. They took their tickets from a girl with long, blue hair and a gentle smile.

"Here's your feedback slips! Just drop them in the box at the end." She instructed, handing them two small, neon green strips of paper.

They entered the exhibit and found that they were alone, save for a single professor. The man had his sleeves rolled all the way to his elbows, a five o'clock shadow, and a frown on his face. Clearly buried in thought, he jumped when he turned and saw Yugyeom and BamBam. "Oh, hi!" He shouted. "Would you two come over and look at this?" He gestured to a series of drawings. "I'm not sure what to think. My student did these drawings of his girlfriend while high and now everyone thinks he's the next Picasso."

A bird-woman with wings sprouting from her back and golden, windswept hair peered back at them. She became more whimsical and color soaked with each drawing. The second to last one depicted her as merely a blob of colors; the final one returned her to her true form: a girl in a blue sweater. "These are so pretty." BamBam commented. "It shows how warped our world can be with just one small change. Like, a total reality shift. Is what we see just an affect of the oxygen we breathe?"

How beautiful.

"Thanks. Name?" The professor asked.

"BamBam." He answered. "I'm a fashion design student. And this is Kim Yugyeom,"

"Dance major." Yugyeom said, filling in the blank.

The professor smiled. "I'll have your feedback strips waived then. Enjoy the art guys!" He walked off, fixing his hair in the process.

The two looked at each, back to the bird-woman, then at each other. "What was that?" Yugyeom asked.

"Bullshitting." BamBam answered. They both laughed at this, cackling until their lungs hurt.

"Shall we do more?" And for the rest of the afternoon, Yugyeom and BamBam practiced their most profound bullshitting. They turned vinyl food recreations into existential reflections on childhood and paint splattered canvases into the Mona Lisa. Then, a single painting of two guys holding hands caught Yugyeom off guard. "The Hold", as it was titled, totally stopped his snarky comments. It genuinely belonged in a museum.

The guys in the painting were made of carefully painted flowers. Blue bells made up one guy's shirt; their faces were sunflowers. Yugyeom instantly felt himself drowning in the painting. His eyes wanted to eat up every inch of it. "This," he started.

"I know." replied BamBam. They stood in complete silence for a moment. When Yugyeom looked back to see BamBam's reaction, he noticed BamBam's eyes weren't in the painting, but him.

Did Yugyeom have a stain somewhere? "What?"

"A complete masterpiece is looking at a painting."

Yugyeom's heart dissolved. The usual pick up lines were fine, but this one hit him like a punch. 3, 2, 1, knock out! Yugyeom was definitely down. "You-"

"Yes? I acknowledged how handsome and wonderful you are by comparing you to your new favorite painting?" BamBam asked, smiling. Yugyeom kinda wanted to punch and kinda wanted to kiss him.

"Did you take me here just so you could say that?"

"No, of course not." BamBam aggressively shook his head. "I definitely don't plan dates around what compliments I can give my boyfriends."

An alarm started going off in Yugyeom's head: HE SAID BOYFRIEND. HE SAID BOYFRIEND. HE SAID BOYFRIEND. HE SAID-

"I know I said boyfriend, it's probably a little early but,"

Yugyeom cut him off, "Yes!" He realized just how loudly he'd just shouted. "I mean, yes, I would totally be your boyfriend." He covered his face with both his hands, wanting to hide his embarrassment. His smile hurt.

"Great," BamBam laughed and Yugyeom realized how much he was in love with his laugh and the breathy, squeakiness of it and the way BamBam's face lit up and how his nose crinkled. They turned back to the painting and gasped at the same time.

"IT'S ON SALE!" They said simultaneously.

"How much ramen money can you sacrifice?" Yugyeom asked. It was only 25,000 won, but they were in a free exhibit for a reason.

BamBam shrugged. "Whatever it takes to get this." He pulled his wallet out and emptied it into his hand: 10,000 won and a couple of coins. Yugyeom did the same. Together they had 23,000 won and would go lunch less for a couple of weeks. When they went to the front to ask, the girl laughed and said the artist just wanted someone to take it. All in all, this date was a win.

As they walked back, they decided BamBam could have the painting on grounds of not having a single roommate to possibly ruin it. Departing at his dorm, BamBam hugged Yugyeom as tightly as he could. Yugyeom could feel his heart melting. The minute the hug broke, he missed it.

"See you!" BamBam shouted from the entrance door. "Text me, okay?"

"I will!" Yugyeom shouted back. "Bye, Bam!" He then returned his dorm, alone but not lonely.

Upon arrival, he was bombarded by questions from Jungkook and the boys (who, unfortunately, had stayed for the whole two hours Yugyeom was gone and left Cheeto dust on his comforter). "How was is Yugyeommie?"

"What did you do?"

"He's smiling guys! That has to mean something!"

"Look at his blush, isn't he cute?"

"How's BamBam?"

"Why didn't you tell us he was cute before he came up here?"

"Now he's really blushing guys!"

Yugyeom just laughed at their sudden interest. He sat on the edge of his bed (he was not getting Cheeto dust on his jacket. What heathens.) and shrugged. "I'm good, BamBam is good. We even got a painting for free."

"Any other details, Yugs?" Namjoon asked.

"He's-" Yugyeom's big smile was impeding his speech. "We are a couple now."

Jimin gasped. "No way!" And the questions kept rolling.

---

Unsure of ever getting himself to stop smiling like some idiot, Yugyeom knew he had to get BamBam back with at least one pick up line. There was only one other person as masterful at the art of cringe:

Jackson Wang.

Yugyeom began typing his message.

Yugyeom: Hey Jackson! So I need some help

Jackson: Ooooh~ With what?

Yugyeom: Remember that guy I told you about with the pickup lines?

Jackson: Mhm

Yugyeom: Well he's my boyfriend now and I NEED to get back at him with one. Do you have any ideas?

Jackson: I may have a few

For another whole hour, they debated the merits of puns, what topics would be appropriate, and if it should even be sexual. By the end, they had a masterpiece.

Jackson: It's beautiful

Yugyeom: What a work of art, thank you

He then switched over and texted BamBam.

Yugyeom: Hey, could we hang out at your dorm tomorrow?

BamBam: I'd love that!

Yugyeom: Great! Good night Bam!

BamBam: Good night Yugyeommie!

Yugyeom shut off his phone, completely content with what was to come. He fell asleep peacefully.

Yugyeom was freaking out. His hands were shaking, his heart was pounding, and he was sweating like it was the middle of July. He wasn't even sure he would have the guts to knock on BamBam's door. But then he was, his fist against a solid sheet of wood to the beat of his heart. BamBam opened the door.

"Oh hey Yugyeom! Jackson's here because he had a warning?"

Fifty hundred panic alarms went off in Yugyeom's head. They were telling him to turn around and run. He couldn't do this to BamBam; he couldn't say this pickup line without some mood.

There sat Jackson, a shit eating grin on his face. "Hey Yugyeom!" He cheered as a greeting.

"So I heard that there's a certain pickup line you want to tell me?" BamBam asked, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

That's when it clicked in Yugyeom's  head. What he and Jackson had planned wasn't the perfect pickup line. Nope, there was something much better for BamBam. "Yes, actually." Yugyeom walked up and grabbed hold of BamBam's shirt, pulling his face closer and closer until their lips locked.

For a second, BamBam froze, shocked. His eyes asked fifty questions. Then he smiled, leaning into it, and pulled Yugyeom closer, accepting it. All Yugyeom could focus on was how soft BamBam's lips were and how he had no idea what he was doing and how- oh my god is that a tongue?

It wasn't very romantic to say the least. When Yugyeom couldn't breathe anymore and they knocked noses for the thousandth time, he pulled back. "Sorry, I didn't know what to-"

Arms still around Yugyeom's neck, BamBam met Yugyeom's eyes and smiled. "It was more than fine Yugyeom. I think we just need more practice."

Yep, Yugyeom's cheeks were red and hot. He was completely flustered, but it was fine.

A Message For June: And that’s the end!! I really hope you enjoyed and waiting the extra three weeks paid off (gosh I’m really sorry about the delay)! There’s potential for a part two?????????? I have so many things that I wrote for this that didn’t make it into my final drafts. ALSO this is the first fic i’ve ever completed and wow it’s nice. Anyway, please have a good night.

p.s. wanna collab on that markjin au by @/gotnsfw???? it’s just a thought 

[angry-woman]

Perception (Part II)

I have never had an event in my life affect me as much as being on a reality TV show. And it wasn’t one of the shows where they pay you to go to Hawaii for 3 months to find A Shot At Love with Tila Tequila (speaking of perspective: Tila, you’re an immigrant, stop being a racist piece of shit and check yourself, girl). It was a singing competition. I never thought I would be the type of person who was capable of being on a reality show, basically because people can be really mean to other people, especially if they are on TV. Before social media, if you didn’t like someone on a reality show, you would just bitch about them to your family and friends and the participants of the show could carry on with their lives with nothing but their own self hatred to bring them down. Now, everyone is a goddamn keyboard warrior and feel like their opinions matter. Not to say they don’t, (as I’m writing an essay hoping people will give a shit about my opinions) but it’s difficult to know how many people think you suck without ever meeting you. The screen between you and the consequences of what you say grows as quickly and viciously as the YouTube comments section of a Justin Bieber music video. If you never have to meet someone, why feel bad about what you say to them? Maybe because that’s an actual person you’re talking to and even though you only know them through your television screen, they eat, shit, smoke, cry, and feel bad about themselves like everyone else when someone says “load up on guns and shoot this retard” (I did a cover of Nirvana’s ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ on the show).

The first time we spoke, the person in charge of my web presence told me, “If anyone says something that upsets you, let me know, because there’s a good chance it will happen”. I knew from the moment I accepted the invitation to audition that being on a reality show meant opening my life to a lot of people, something I try to avoid at all costs unless it’s my Mom who knows more about my bodily functions than she’d like, but I want to be a professional musician, so it felt like an opportunity that I would regret not taking.

I think one of the most important things to acknowledge about this experience is that the show is entirely French speaking, from the instructions given behind the scenes to the interactions with coaches and hosts on stage, and I am an anglophone from Ontario. I went for my pre-audition in the summer of 2015, and didn’t hear back for months; I received the phone call to pre-record and practice with the band for my blind audition a week before I needed to be in the studio (because someone else couldn’t do it, they told me- I never understood why they would ever tell someone that). I had to prepare a list of 3 songs in English and 3 in french for them to choose which one I performed. They obviously chose a song in French.

I’m going to skip a lot of the boring details, because I could probably write an entire book about it that would really only be interesting to me 40 years in the future as a recounting of that thing I did that one time. I made it past the first round of auditions, selected my coach, and became the token Anglo who can sing in French but can barely speak a word. This really resonated with the people who watched the show.

Everyone was really kind. I couldn’t have ever imagined being accepted the way I was, for whatever reason it may have been. I only received one message from a girl who thought I should move back to Ontario because Quebec is for French people and I embarrassed myself on the show. I tried to remind myself through the entire experience that the things people say on the Internet are not so much to hurt someone else but to make themselves feel better.

I was interviewed by an English paper in Montreal about my audition and what it is like to be on a French speaking show as an anglophone. In retrospect, (and don’t get me wrong, I’m really grateful that someone took enough interest in me to want to write an article about me at all) but I don’t really think that article was so much about me as it was what I represented. I never wanted to be a spokesperson for the anglophone community during my passage on the show, I just wanted an opportunity to progress my career, and maybe learn some French. After each performance, even if it was just one sentence I spoke in French, people would send me messages thanking me for trying. I knew that was important to people, especially in a place like Quebec where language is such a large and important part of their culture. It was important for me to respect that, especially as the show progressed and people started to “get to know me”, and somehow still liked me. It just sort of felt like at moments, people were more interested in my presence as an anglophone than in my presence as a performer.

I grew up playing in punk/alternative bands, which if you met me at 14, you would never believe. I was a really shy kid with horrible stage fright, and the idea of getting up in front of people with nothing else for them to look at but me was enough to, at multiple points in my life, induce vomit. But I really liked playing music, and I was lucky enough to meet a great group of guys in high school who were stupid enough to ask me to be the lead singer/lyricist for their band. I definitely adopted the 'punk lead singer shithead’ role very quickly. I had never felt like I belonged anywhere so much in my life, no matter how difficult it was to get up on stage. People really liked us. And if you haven’t gotten how self-deprecating I am yet, I’m not a gloater. A bloater, yes, but no gloater. I really wasn’t very popular in high school so I knew it wasn’t my personality that people were drawn to, it was the music. It’s a really liberating feeling to know you’re being yourself and doing what you love and people respond to it. I was lucky that I got to fall in love with music that way. I never felt like I had to be something I wasn’t.

When I hit my early twenties, I started to really enjoy listening to jazz. Like, gimme a cup of coffee and a Chet Baker vinyl and I’ll trade you my first born kind of enjoyment. I also find as I’ve gotten older and the style of music I write has changed, so has the tone of my voice. I will for sure still aggressively sing Rise Against in my partner’s face on road trips or let out a good pig squeal every now and again, but the sultry tones of blues and jazz make me feel sexy and speak to me a bit more now than punk music does. For my blind audition, I sang a super jazzy arrangement of 'La Mer’, which is the French version of 'Beyond The Sea’, (if you’ve ever seen a cruise commercial, you’ve definitely heard this song). I wanted to keep in this style of music for the live shows, but my coach was insistent that I play something punk.

“I’ve seen the videos of you playing your guitar, sweating, rocking out, we should show the real you”.

…the “real” me. I didn’t even know who that was. It definitely wasn’t the 14 year old girl who had no idea what she was doing and somehow stumbled upon punk music, but it wasn’t the 23 year old who sang La Mer on a reality show, either. He wanted me to sing American Idiot by Green Day because it was a popular song that a lot of people would know. I wanted to do something like Sleater Kinney or Bikini Kill, because if you’re going to be “the girl who plays punk music”, you might as well be the fucking girl who plays punk music. We settled on Smells Like Teen Spirit because it’s popular enough that the audience would know it, and I liked it enough that my pride wouldn’t be hurt singing it live in front of 2.5 million people. Even if it may be their most popular song (or hated depending who you ask), there’s no denying that Nirvana played a huge role in my musical education and was my first real introduction to grunge, as I think it was for a lot of people. Maybe that’s why that performance held the power it did, because it tapped into a part of people where they remembered that they didn’t have to give a shit. (I won’t talk much about the performance for which I was eliminated, but I got to sing 'Creep’ by Radiohead and say 'fucking’ twice on national television, so being labeled as the 'rocker girl’ has its perks, too.)

They compile a montage of your rehearsals, interviews, and your coach’s commentary before your live performance. During the interview, they asked me if I thought I could win with the song. I couldn’t outright say no, even if I believed it, so what I did say, what has stuck with me even a year later, and what never aired, was this: “if a young girl who wants to play punk music is scared of finding her way in a male dominated industry and feels inspired by what I do, that is a win for me”. They instead chose to air the phrase they prompted me to say: “I feel sexy with my guitar”. They wanted me to wear a skirt and play up the little school girl look, but I didn’t want to be seen as the girl who played punk music. I wanted to be seen just as the person who played punk music. So instead, I wore dress shoes, high waisted tartan pants, and a shirt and tie.

Honestly, people lost their shit. I won the first live show with 64% of the vote. I’m pretty sure this was mostly because people were so shocked by the performance and didn’t expect something like that from me. And to this day, I am still known as the girl who played Nirvana. If people recognize me on the street, that’s how they remember me. Not my name, not for La Mer, but as the girl who played Nirvana. I’m planning to release an album sometime this year, which to my surprise, people actually seem to be anticipating, but a lot of them want me to do something punk or rock, and that’s just not what it’s going to be. Not because I don’t still love it, and there are some songs that are upbeat and fun and raw. But there are others that are sweet and tender or moody and sad or bluesy or soft or a mix of everything. I just don’t ever want to feel like I have to represent myself by one thing, or like I have to make decisions based on what I think other people will like more than I will.

My intention isn’t to insult anyone with anything I’ve said, because frankly, I understand why anyone working on the show made the decisions they made. They need to put on the best show they can, and sometimes, that means cutting the anglo punk chick’s speech pushing her feminist agenda. Everyone is built a story so the people watching the show can feel closer to the participants. This is just the way reality shows work. The Hills, Real Housewives of wherever the fuck, all of these shows work on creating an identity for the “characters” so the audience can either love them or hate them. But the audience needs to feel something, or they won’t respond to the show. Maybe it wasn’t exactly how I would have wanted it, but the audience felt something when I performed. 8 months later, I got a message on tumblr from a girl who told me how much my presence on the show meant to her. To know that you impacted a strangers life in a profound way is a really incredible feeling, one I would not have if it wasn’t for being on a reality tv show. I don’t want to deny that that experience will always live with me, but I want to be honest about it. I want to control how I am perceived, however much I’m able to do that.

*I want to thank anyone who has shared one of my videos, liked my posts, sent me a message, followed my journey, told me 'lache pas’, or supported me in any way during and after my experience on the show. I’m so lucky to have met the people I did, experienced the things I have, and be getting closer to my dream of being a musician. There are no words to properly describe my gratitude.*