#was just thinking about how nearly everyone in their crew went to college or has higher education to a degree

[madokasoratsugu]

love the idea that sherlock and liam get so caught up in each other's worlds when theyre bantering (flirting) sometimes they forget that they are also around equally educated people. sherlock quotes othello and moran mumbles for them to suffocate him while theyre at it. liam turns a forensic observation into a flirt and john quips how that is not scientifically possible. silly things :"))

#moriarty the patriot #sherliam #was just thinking about how nearly everyone in their crew went to college or has higher education to a degree #barring fred and moneypenny i think ? and miss hudson maybe. #its just funny to me bc i feel like theyd get so caught up with how the other is the only person to match their intelligence and speed #that they forget some things are still easily picked up by other people #like quotes from famous authors or a specialised field #also moran is rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken....hes such an interesting character PLEASE give him a backstory.......

[starlightstevie]

fic recs / may 2021

Happy summer! I know I missed last month’s fic recs so hopefully I’ll make up for it with these brilliant fics. Hope you guys enjoy!

warm water by @xbuchananbarnes​ Thor x reader: Thor comes home to find his love.

*passionate & burning by @peachyteabuck Thor x reader: You’re busy with working from home, but Thor has other plans for the day.

but i just wanna hear your voice by @blackberrybucky Thor x reader: Thor comes back after they defeat Thanos and tries to make things right with you.

*all there’s left to do is run by spacelabrathor Dothraki!Thor x reader: Horse warlord Thor finds you a captive in a raid of a desert village and gives you a choice. Freedom by a quick death or taking his hand and going with him, to be his. You choose life, and with it, a husband who is wild and fierce and more than you could have ever imagined.

*summoned by @darklydeliciousdesires​ Old God!Thor x villager!reader: The buffet of offerings, all of which shall placate, appease and satiate every whim and desire of the gods is laid out and ready, you amongst them.

ships in the night by @sugardaddytonystark Pirate King!Thor x Dora Milaje mermaid!reader: When Thor, the infamous Pirate King, lays down anchor in Wakanda, the last thing you expect is for him to ask for aid from your own king. You volunteer your assistance, leaving the home you’ve always known to set sail with King Odinson and his crew.

*cut offs by @milaonthemoon Frank x reader: You get kidnapped and Frank has to get you out.

tired by @castawaybarnes​ Frank x reader: Keeping yourself awake waiting for Frank was getting easier once you got used to the bitterness of black coffee.

*ash painted lips by @sebbytrash Frank x reader: Frank is your lifeline, protecting you like only he can do but you harbour not-so-secret feelings for him that threaten to shake the foundation of this steady, necessary partnership.

scales of justice weigh the consequence by @inspiresimagine​ Frank x reader: the world is black and white until you find your soulmate. you’re a single mom in NYC accustomed to life as-is, but apparently, the universe has other plans. namely? frank castle.

*generosity by @pumpkin-stars Frank x reader: AKA: The five (or more) things Frank usually does when he fucks you, and the one time he does something different.

poltergeists for sidekicks by @bubble-tea-bunny​ Frank x reader: Frank’s lost count of the days he’s come home to you already fast asleep.

*frank + overstimulation by @honeychicana

*frank + rough sex by @sweeterthanthis​

*frank + breath play by sweeterthanthis

*frank + doggy style by @honeydulcewrites​

*frank + gun play by honeydulcewrites

*frank + gun play (2) by honeydulcewrites

*frank + gun play (3) by honeydulcewrites

*frank + overstimulation by honeydulcewrites

*frank coming home to you by honeydulcewrites

*untitled frank smut by @luciilferss​

*playing with frank’s hair by inspiresimagine

frank + praise by inspiresimagine

*frank putting you in a headlock while fucking you by @punani​

*nobody else but me by @allaboardthereadingrailroad​ Shane Walsh x reader: Shane knows exactly what you need.

the comet by @mcubabydotcom​ Steve x reader: You and Steve witness a once-in-a-lifetime celestial event.

*the punishment by ozarkthedog Nomad!Steve x reader: You disobeyed Steve and now you must make it up to him.

*headinthequinjet by xbuchananbarnes Steve x reader: Steve’s having a hard time breathing.

*shotgunning with chris by ozarkthedog

*cockwarming with chris by @buckyssimp​

*a teal crushed velvet ride by @ozarkthedog​ Chris x reader: You love Chris’s Teal Velvet Pants. He notices and decides to indulge you.

*don’t look away by ozarkthedog Chris x reader: Chris fucks you against a mirror.

*keep the heat by ozarkthedog Andy Barber x reader: Andy fucks you in the coat.

*i don’t work jobs (i am a job) by @peachyteabuck Andy x reader: Andy needs to teach you that “staying at home” doesn’t preclude a little thing called “work.”

*worst behaviour by buckyssimp Professor!Bucky x reader: Bucky notices you staring at him during class. 

*lipstick stain by @xbuchananbarnes​ Bucky x reader: Bucky could recognize that laugh anywhere.

bucky takes care of you by @buckyblues

*you better act like this dick belongs to you by buckyblues

*lazy day with bucky by buckyblues

*pegging bucky by buckyblues

*bucky tit fucking you by buckyblues

something new by @mxsamwilson​ Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes: Fellas is it gay to receive an intimate haircut from your boy? (ft Bucky being hopelessly in love with Sam but too much of an idiot to tell him).

*the magic word by @whateveriwant Bucky x reader: Bucky agrees to try something you’ve always wanted to do with him, but only under the condition that a certain word be employed if need be.

warm by @revengingbarnes​ Bucky x reader: “The fire alarm in our building went off and you rushed out without a coat. Wanna share my blanket?”

patterns by @xbuchananbarnes Bucky x reader: Bucky plays with your hair.

pretending to not feel alone by blackberrybucky Bucky x reader: Bucky, hopeless romantic, meets you, committed cynic. What could go wrong?

*bucky’s first time in 70 years by @luciilferss

*fluorescent adolescent by @ohbuckie​ College!Bucky x reader: Bucky fucks you on his bedroom floor.

*it’s a cruel summer by blackberrybucky Bucky x reader: You and Bucky are friends with benefits, but what happens when you realize you want more?

*sex on legs by @navybrat817​ Bucky x reader: Bucky looks good in anything.

ride with me by @jurassicbarnes Detective!Bucky x Biker!reader: When his best friend forces him to third wheel on a road trip, Bucky doesn’t expect for it to become so eventful, let alone find something, or rather someone worth staying for.

*going live by @ritesofreverie​ Camboy!Bucky x reader: Your new neighbour looks familiar, where had you seen him before?

*stranded by @honeysucklesteve Dad’s best friend!Bucky x reader: When your car breaks down on the side of the road and your dad can’t come rescue you, he sends the next best thing.

if i could fly, i’d be coming right back home to you by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: Exile over, Sam comes home to you.

baby, i still see ya by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: Sam comes home, the future calling to him. He sees you again, and gets a little caught up in the past

*if you ever want to be in love by blackberrybucky Sam x reader: How your relationship with Sam falls apart and comes back together.

taller than me by @kaitsukibakugo Katsuki Bakugo x Izuku Midoriya: Katsuki has found love with someone who years ago he never would have expected. Now Deku is his husband and he’s noticed something else he never thought possible: Deku is taller than him.

*would you like to stay forever? by kaitsukibakugo Pro Hero!Kirishima Eijiro x reader: Sparring with Pro Hero Kirishima Eijiro in his private gym at his home doesn't seem like a bad idea if you don't count the fact that you really, really like him.

how your bnha fave acts when they realize they’re in love by @inthorantine

*bnha love island headcannons by @doinmybesthere​

*first time bj headcannons by @shoutogepi

*the best pussy eater of mha by @dearestdynamight​

passing the night stars by @hoe-doroki Hitoshi Shinsou x reader: The party was neon and you needed darkness.

*let’s talk about deku’s hands by @rat-suki​

*waking up deku by spacelabrathor

*deku comes home after a late shift by doinmybesthere

*slow stroke king izuku by @sems-diarie​​

*champagne problems by @some-kindofgnome​ Katsuki Bakugou x reader: You were slipping between Bakugou’s fingers faster than ever now. Instead of letting it happen he clung to you even tighter. Instead of letting you go, instead of accepting that he’d driven this relationship into the fucking ground, he’d promised himself that he could still save it.

*presented by @tteokdoroki​ Dragon King!Katsuki x reader: On the twenty-first birthday of Katsuki Bakugou, an offering is made in his honour as he becomes chief of the dragons. Clans usually offer up sacrifices of berries or nuts, salts and fresh catches. But for those of Dargon’s blood, their offering is a mate... And that mate is you.

*domina by rat-suki Katsuki x reader: He’s just so hot when you get under his skin. You can’t possibly stop now.

*baby, i’m a haunted house by @ketslketslketsl​ Yakuza!Katsuki x reader: It’s been a long six months since you last saw him.

i’m a liability, get you wild, make you leave (i’m a little much for everyone) by @willowser Katsuki x reader: There��s no reason for Katsuki to be here. It’s all he can think, bitter, as he stares at the paint peeling from the door, exposing the wood grain underneath its thin coat. Old and distant, this house; too far from the city to make the trek worth it, for your job to make sense; too ancient to be lived in by the number 12 hero in Japan. If he closes his eyes, he can hear Lake Biwa from his position on your porch and the soft sway of the water almost calms down the storm that’s been building in him since he boarded the train, since he nearly snapped his phone in half.

*we are the foxes (and we run) by @spacelabrathor shoyo hinata x reader: After everything, the end of the world and the chaos and destruction that reigned after society fell, it takes a lot to surprise you. And yet, when you come to the edge of the pit, a gasp wrenches from you like someone gripped it in their fist and yanked. Laid out on the bed of leaves at the bottom of the pit is...something. Someone. Or, Hinata falls into reader’s pit trap after the end of the world. This is the story of how she pulls him out, drags him to her bunker, and they grow together. 

*dark priest!Obiwan Kenobi by @mandosmimi​

you’re the former babysitter of zemo’s son by @helahades​

*mando doesn’t realize how big his dick is by @cptnbvcks​​

#masterlist #fic rec #fics rec #fic recs #starlightstevie #thor x reader #thor odinson #thor smut #frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle smut #the punisher #bucky x reader #bucky smut #bucky barnes #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers smut #sam wilson smut #sam wilson x reader #deku x reader #deku smut #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bnha masterlist

[yehet-me-up]

Reboot

Pairing: Jongdae/Chen x reader (female)

Word Count: 26,971 😬 read it in a mobile web browser if it crashes! 

Rating: (PG13) for swearing + sexy vibes (nothing more explicit than a kiss on the page though)

Summary: Chen’s Electronics is a mystery, both how the store came to be and the man running it. When you start working as a receptionist for the enigma that is Kim Jongdae, you’re determined to be the one who unravels the mystery. You’re prepared for anything, except for falling in love with Jongdae himself. 

Part eight of the Exodus Mall series (Can be read independently, but you’ll get some extra backstory if you read the other parts first!)

A/N: I’m SO delighted that Jongdae is getting his IRL happily ever after and I’m so excited to wrap up his fictional counterpart’s story today, so he can have his ending as well 💕

March 15th, 1997

Capitol Hill is in full swing, the promise of spring drawing the sleeping city from its winter hibernation. The silver dress you wear is far shorter than you're used to, but the denim jacket is big enough to properly cover your ass, which is something at least. In your platform boots, borrowed from your roommate Liz, you're almost tall enough to see over the busy street to Cal Anderson Park up ahead.

'Come on,' Liz says with an excited glint in her eye. 'The club's just on the far side of Boylston.'

You nod distantly, eyes wide as you try to take in all the people around you. After spending the last two years buried in a book in the UW library or at internships or in class it feels startling to realize how much youthful, passionate energy beats at the heart of the city so close to where you've been existing. Not that you never go out, but now that you’re approaching the end of your master’s degree you feel like a diver finally reaching the surface to draw breath. You’re ready to celebrate.

A door opens to your right and music surrounds you. An impassioned man sings about an even flow, accompanied by an aggressive drummer and what you can tell is skilled guitar playing. The people on the sidewalk beside you press in, screaming and cheering and trying to shove their way into a club. A faded sign above announces it as Moe's Bar.

Your roommate's hand finds yours and she pulls you out through an opening in the crowd.

Once you’re free again you laugh and brush your hair behind your ears. Dozens of other clubs and bars and late-night restaurants you pass are the same. Men with mohawks in every color of the rainbow. Women in combat boots with plaid jackets tied at their waists. A group of teenagers skateboard down Broadway, hollering into the night as they fly by, the clack of their wheels muffled by the lingering rain dampening the streets.

Everyone seems taken by the revelry. It would be so easy - to disappear into the thriving mass of people celebrating music and community and being alive. Now, with graduation so close you can finally taste it, you surrender to the sensation. Tilting your head back you look at the round full moon above, peeking out through the clouds, and give a joyful, if tentative, howl.

This makes your roommate turn and squeeze your hand. Liz smiles with pride. 'Now that's the spirit!' she says with a fist pump and howl of her own.

The nightclub is unassuming, especially amongst the neon and metal venues you passed to get here. Two simple brass lamps spotlight the enormous carved wooden doors. Bass thumps from within, the slight rattling of the doors is the only indication that life exists within. Shari’s reads the hanging sign.

Liz practically glows under the lights, a North star leading you into a whole new world.

After so many years of keeping your nose to the grindstone - success gained through effort rather than extraordinary intelligence; advanced classes, extra college courses during the summer, every extracurricular you could pack in before you cracked, a high school diploma by sixteen, bachelors by twenty and MBA by twenty two - you would follow her anywhere as long as it didn't involve studying or a business suit.

She guides you through the heavy wood door into a small entry room. A large man with so many piercings he'd have a terrible time at the security scanners at the airport checks your IDs. It's stayed in your wallet, practically untouched, since the official one came last year on your twenty-first birthday.

Finally inside the club you bite your lip to hide a wide, giddy smile of excitement. Bodies fill the dance floor, joyously swaying to the beat. A DJ booth rises from a far corner like Sauron’s tower in the Lord of the Rings. A man with dark hair that falls in his intense eyes runs the booth; a king commanding his loyal subjects.

Liz finds her group of friends from the mall she works at spread over two successive tables with circular cushioned benches behind them. Their names and faces blur together in the low lighting, but everyone is welcoming, offering you a smile or a shake of a hand. A cheerful blonde-haired man, who you swear says his name is Bacon, takes you and Liz’s coats and purses and adds them to an overflowing pile beside him.

Before you can even think of sitting down Liz guides you onto the dance floor. Normally you’re the one in control. The one with the plan. The group leader or the one who organized the debate team fundraiser/supply closet at work/networking mixer. But it’s… nice, not having to be the center of everything, keeping it together with your effort alone. 

She gives you a teasing smile as if she can read your thoughts and you roll your eyes with a laugh. ‘No overthinking this!’ she commands with a raised brow as you find a good spot.

As if I have any other way of thinking. ‘I promise nothing!’ you shrug and smile at her.

Your movements are slow at first, awkward, and you laugh to yourself with amusement. Self-deprecation has never been your poison. Along with an unshakeable drive to make something of yourself you've always had a healthy sense of self-esteem. Who cares if you aren't the best dancer?

You get into the swing after the second song and shake your ass with delight at the energy in the room and the incredible job the DJ is doing loosening you up. He’s remixing “Semi-Charmed Life” with an older techno hit you don’t recognize.

Before long Jongin, Liz’s crush and co-worker from the KOKO exercise studio, captures her attention and you end up dancing with Baekhyun (tragically not actually named Bacon) and a girl who calls herself Hitchcock. You recognize each other from a seminar last school year at UW and take a long break to catch each other up on your lives over shots at the table. 

She tells you about her dual jobs at Microsoft and the movie theater at the Exodus Mall. You fill her in on your thesis project and she offers to look over your resume as you plan to apply to a similar track at the tech giant after you graduate.

When Liz said she was forcing you from your obsessive, ahem dedicated, studying for your research paper you didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t all of this. Reconnecting with a friend. A potential foot in the door at your dream job. Dancing so much that your back gets slick with sweat. Laughing with Liz so hard your stomach aches as Baekhyun attempts to breakdance, nearly falling backwards into no less than four people.

As if the night couldn’t get any better, something else catches your eye. Someone else - the DJ steps down from the booth on a break.

His black pants, white shirt, and tie would be overly formal and out of place in the nightclub, but his pushed-up sleeves reveal muscled forearms. The neon yellow sunglasses and loose piano pattern of the tie he wears make him look sexy, in an off-duty retro businessman kind of way. His face reveals none of his emotions as he slips off his shades, tucking them in his jacket pocket. But the corners of his lips tilt up with amusement as he scans the room.

Clearly he’s impressed with the atmosphere he’s created here tonight. As he should be, you think. You imagine for a moment what it would be like if he noticed you. If this was a meet-cute or the start of something. But his focus is on the bar now, not lingering on you or anyone else in the club. Dating for you was a rocky road and absolutely nothing like the way it looked in the John Hughes movies that were your guilty pleasure growing up.

Between your parents' support and your own innate thirst for success, you always felt like an outsider in terms of relationships. Extroverted and empathetic enough to make and maintain friendships, but boys were tougher. You could never figure out dating to your satisfaction in high school and you left when most of your peers were just finishing up Sophomore year.

In college there was hope. Studious and hardworking men with glasses and a love of Emily Dickinson and black coffee. Law school-bound guys who rowed crew and whose confidence was just on the right side of attractive instead of insufferable. John Cusack types with easy smiles and crates of vinyl they carefully collected, who performed at the Comedy Underground in hopes of ‘being discovered.’

It was both thrilling and irritating. You went after dating with almost as much determination as you did your school and career, set on experiencing everything possible.

But the English major wanted someone in a pastel dress and tights, who volunteered at an animal shelter and didn’t eviscerate him at Scrabble. The future lawyer was looking for his future trophy wife, to stand beside him at fancy dinners and fraternity mixers. And the Lloyd Dobler wannabe needed a muse, a beautiful and ethereal woman to be his object of longing, to laugh at his jokes and pass through life without worry about the future.

Not that you were jealous, or even bitter. Just because you weren’t what they were looking for wasn’t anything personal and you never took it like it was. The women they wanted existed and were wonderful in all their own ways. But it grated at you, how you always felt like a square peg in a round hole. Never being the right fit.

All your life you’d gotten used to knowing, and getting, what you wanted. It was insanely frustrating to not have found anything that stuck. Failure in any form made you frown, but thankfully romantic mishaps always took a backseat to school, friends, and your future, so it was easy to ignore. Until now.

The DJ passes close enough to you and Liz that you can see the echoes of dark circles under his eyes and the rich brown of his hair in the passing neon lights. For some reason that same intuition, that same hunger and drive that had propelled you to awards and scholarships and countless other successes, tells you to follow him. Whatever it is about him, your body and your desire react before your mind and conscious rational thought.

'I'll be back,' you yell to your roommate over the music. She nods and gives you a thumbs up as she's drawn into Jongin’s embrace once more.

Like a missile you weave through the crowd, target in sight. You watch as the DJ leans against the end of the bar, carefully positioning himself so he's at the end with no one behind him. You wonder if it's out of a dislike of people sneaking up on him or if he's a predator, sizing up the crowd.

With a casual hand he orders a drink from the bartender and surveys the crowd coolly. Too high on life to care too much, you take the seat two over from him, carefully avoiding eye contact, feigning nonchalance. ‘Self-possessed,’ that’s how your fifth grade teacher described you. Independent and old beyond your years. It always thrilled you, the praise and respect of adults. You wanted to earn more of it, to be seen as capable and mature.

But something about the man beside you makes you feel younger. Raw and playful in a way you’re not sure you’ve ever been before.

Admiring the cut of his jaw, you imagine kissing it. His hands on the bar are graceful, strong, befitting his profession. You want him and you want him to want you. The thought makes you inhale a deep breath, not even sure what that would mean. Adrenaline and delight fill your mind and you briefly fantasize about him holding you close on the dance floor like Jongin does to Liz. His hands on your hips and his mouth teasing your neck.

The bartender reappears on your side of the bar, his bald head gleaming in the lights of the club, and you snap back into reality. The flames tattooed across his knuckles shine as he slides a drink down the length of the bar, towards the DJ. An impulsive, reckless daring you've only ever felt before at debate tournaments makes you reach out and catch the glass of dark liquid before it can reach its desired recipient.

In one smooth motion you lift it to your lips and turn to meet the DJ's deep brown eyes. With a smirk you raise the glass. In two gulps you down the drink, the bourbon burning its way down your throat, reminding you how good it feels to be free, to be alive. 

To challenge someone who feels like a decent opponent.

He watches you, his eyes flaring with surprise before fading back to indifference. He looks like a tiger in a cage at the zoo, pacing in front of a glass divider. His fingers tap impatiently on the lacquered bartop and he tilts his head, watching as you lick the moisture from your lip, savoring the taste. You wonder if he'd be just as heady and strong on your tongue.

You have the feeling that with the slightest pressure in the right place and the glass would shatter, unleashing the beast within. The thought makes you clench your thighs together, a heat filling you that has nothing to do with the people pressing in on you trying to get the attention of the bartender.

The DJ seems just as self-contained as you are. A voice inside you whispers of unstoppable forces meeting immovable objects and you wonder which of you would cave first.

Before you can say anything, before you can even wipe the satisfied smile off your lips or ask his name or offer to pay for the drink, he drops a bill to the counter and slides off the stool. He pushes into the crowd, disappearing as if he'd never been there. As if he hardly noticed you.

But you didn't miss the interest, the arousal, the animal within him rising to your challenge. He slinks back up to the DJ booth and resumes his position of power, thirst unquenched.

You don't know his name, or anything about him. Aside from the fact that the way he looks at you feels so wrong it's right, and that his hands are the first ones you've ever wanted wrapped around your waist so badly you can feel it beating in your palms.

But you know one thing, as you rejoin your roommate on the dance floor, whatever has started between you and the enigmatic DJ isn't finished.

May 21st, 1997

You straighten your blazer, looking in the mirror to make sure your outfit is perfect. It’s not your first interview this week and it certainly won’t be the last, but it is the one you’re the most curious about.

The position as a receptionist and accountant for an electronics repair store isn’t exactly how you pictured your first job after getting your MBA, but the pay and the opportunity to work alongside the enigmatic tech genius Kim Jongdae is a chance you can’t pass up.

All that’s left is the graduation ceremony in June and then you’re free. Your final exams are done, your thesis is defended, and you’ve completed a thorough and perhaps slightly obsessive spreadsheet documenting all your connections who might have an in at your most desired companies. Now knee-deep in the process of interviewing for jobs it strikes you all of a sudden that this is what you’ve been working for… almost all your life.

The lighting in the bathroom of the mall is stark and a moment of uncertainty makes your knees weak.

Since your test results in elementary school came back top of the class it’s been the same refrain. Get good grades. Impress your teachers. Study and diversify your interests and push harder every year and eventually it will all pay off, right? You’re damn proud of what you’ve done, but now, here in the after, all you can think as you watch your own reflection is - now what?

Frowning, you wonder how many other applicants there are for this job. Anyone in the tech circle in Seattle knows about Jongdae. Rumors abound that he was set to be the next Bill Gates when an investment deal went south. Or that he was kicked out of Harvard for embarrassing his professors with his superior smarts. Someone in your Econ seminar once told you she’d heard that he was contracted by the NSA to spy on foreign hackers.

Whatever his history, he currently runs a computer and electronics repair store in a very unassuming mall in Capitol Hill. You want to stand out, and what better way to do so than the track down the mystery of Kim Jongdae, the prodigy turned hermit. You infuse your veins with confidence, knowing you can handle anything thrown at you. Or so you think.

The mall is quiet and peaceful in the mid-morning on a Wednesday. A couple of tables in the food court are filled with older men and women playing cards and board games. A group of moms walks past you talking about a storytime at the bookstore in the mall.

The slow and steady hum of activity in here is a far cry from where you thought you’d be working. Professors encouraged you to head to IBM or Oracle. With your skills, business sense, and intuitive ability to pick up each new trend in technology they told you that you would have your choice of opportunities.

But while you’re no stranger to hard work and a competitive work environment, the idea of clawing your way to the top of yet another group of high achievers just sounds… awful.

You long to travel, to finally see some of the exotic and culturally rich places you’ve stuck photos of to your fridge. You want to be able to actually go out on the weekends and see your friends. Whatever your future holds you want to finally enjoy your life outside of school and work, even if it’s only for a year.

You could always recognize the friends who were interning at Amazon because they looked like they’d come off a week of no sleep. Many of your fellow MBA graduates were flocking there, as the company finally went public earlier this month. But something just felt - off to you. Like a canary in a coal mine.

Purpose, fulfillment, financial security, and a challenging work environment? Yes.

Burnout, no free time, and living and breathing for ‘the company’? No, thank you.

At the salary Jongdae had advertised you could easily continue to afford the apartment you shared with your two roommates and work on paying off the remaining student loans your scholarships hadn’t covered. And you could hide away a small amount of your check every month for the trip to Amsterdam you’ve been planning for years.

The gentle music in the wide, bright lobby of the mall makes you sigh in relief. This job is a win-win and you’re more determined than ever to get it.

You finally see the shop. If you weren’t looking for it, you’d have missed it between the black and neon purple exterior of KMS Music and the narrow security office tucked behind the lively pizza restaurant. There’s a line winding its way in front of the music store and you assume it’s for an album release. Until you realize that the line is leading straight where you’re going and stop in your tracks.

Chen's Electronics. The mall is full of colors and bright shop fronts. But this is almost bleak in comparison, as though it's resisted the outright displays of joy and liveliness that seem to be at the heart of the mall. The sign is red neon against a black and steel facade. A simple poster hangs in one of the two wide windows that frame the door.

We do: - Hard Drive Repair - Internet Connectivity Issues - Computer virus protection - Turntables, record players, and other portable home audio systems - Radios - POS/credit card system repair (For stores in the Exodus Mall only)

We do not: - Sell computers or computer parts. Don't ask.

You raise a brow at the last note. The harsh exterior of the store and the brusque tone definitely match with what you've heard of Chen's Electronics - that the man who runs it is a computer genius, but that his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. Perhaps that's why the job posting emphasized 'superior customer service skills.'

The line you join grows, others coming in behind you, and you wonder if Jongdae told everyone the same 10am time frame or if he staggered interviews throughout the day. As you wait the line slowly dwindles. A woman leaves crying a few minutes later, and you watch her go with surprise and attempt to peek into the store. You’re still too far back to see in, so you’re left to wait and wonder.

Finally you’re next, waiting just outside the store. A printed piece of paper is taped to the door. CLOSED FOR INTERVIEWS it says in big, bolded letters.

The tall man who was ahead of you in line isn’t visible at either of the two work stations set up inside the shop. There must be a back room of some kind. You take the moment to check out the space. The store is organized chaos. Rows of shelves line each of the two walls, full of equipment - computers in various states of disassembly, old transistor radios, a VHS player, a few turntables, and endless coiled stacks of cords interspersed.

The walls above them and the two walls behind the work stations, on either side of the hallway leading to the back, are blank. No advertisements or personalized touches to make the business seem welcoming. Just bland, empty beige walls. One desk has only a computer, keyboard, and mouse. The other is full of parts and tools that extend over the desk to not one, but two shelving units behind it. Like Jongdae was in the middle of a project and the interviews are a rude interruption.

A muffled angry shout comes from the back, behind the gray curtain hung up over the entrance to the rear of the store. The tall man moves it aside with a sneer as he charges across the floor. With a voice practically a growl he shoves open the door and you jolt back to avoid being hit.

He looks you up and down and shakes his head. ‘Good luck. You’ll need it.’

After a last straightening of your jacket you swallow and push through the door. It's quiet inside, almost reverent, as the door closes behind you. The fluorescent lighting overhead isn't the most welcoming and the tan carpet is terribly dated. No one comes to meet you. The man on the other side must be waiting, like a dragon in his lair.

Your hand closes over the strap of your purse and you hesitate at the curtain, not wanting to move forward without being invited. 'Hello?'

Footsteps come down the short hallway and a hand appears, moving the curtain out of the way to reveal a man. Your jaw almost drops. Oh, shit. It's not at all who you were expecting the famed Jongdae to be - a studious man with glasses and a bad tie.

No, this man is handsome in an aggressive way. His black hair is styled back in a neat wave. His high cheekbones and strong brows hold no humor or friendliness. Only the catlike upturn of his lips stands in rebellious contrast to his unwelcoming face.

This isn't the first time you've seen this face either, you realize, and it's like being run over by a train. He seems to connect the dots at the same moment and his eyes widen, eyebrows raising. It’s the DJ from the bar. The drink. The - oh, god.

He presses his mouth together, smothering his surprise and sitting down harshly in the chair at the crowded desk in the main room. 'What are you doing here?' He keeps his voice tightly contained, not minding in the least that the other potential job candidates are surely watching you both right now.

You give yourself a small shake and remember you're not here to hit on him. You're here for a job. 'I have an interview.'

Best case is ignoring the whole thing. It didn’t happen. Not here in the light of day. His poker face might be good, but yours is better. You keep your breathing even and hope that the racing of your heart isn’t making your cheeks red.

He tilts his head to the side, pressing his lips together in amusement. ‘Alright then.’ Turning to the side he stands and holds the curtain open, allowing you to pass by him into the small office behind.

Holding his focus, you pull out the chair in front of the desk and sit down. You place the resume and references on the table between you and fold your hands on your lap, waiting.

Jongdae takes his place opposite you as he slides the papers across the desk. His eyes dart faster than you can imagine anyone reading. He doesn’t seem flustered, but the tips of his ears are just slightly pink, his nose flaring a bit too much, and you realize he’s just as caught off guard as you are.

Finally, he finishes. 'I… don't think this is going to work.' He looks up, his hand resting on your paperwork on the desk. His face gives away nothing, but his eyes are wild and full of emotion you can’t decipher.

'Why is that?' You keep your voice steady, determined. He’s not going to dismiss you so quickly. Realizing the DJ and the tech wunderkind are one in the same has only heightened your desire to show him you’re the best person for the job.

Jongdae stares at you. This time, there's heat in his expression. You feel his eyes move over you, not taking in the professional attire, but clearly remembering the dress you wore from the club instead. 'I think you know why,' he says under his breath.

Clearing your throat you lean forward, drawn to him by some force you can't define. Like something is shoving you towards this job. 'I don't know what you mean. The posting was for an office manager and bookkeeper. I'm qualified in both and I have plenty of experience. Are you really going to decide I’m not a good fit without even asking me a single question?'

He groans and runs a hand through his hair, his composure faltering for an instant. 'Why do you want this position? You know nothing about me.'

He states it like a fact, not an opening for discussion, but you jump on it anyway. 'I know plenty.'

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when he narrows his eyes, raising a brow. 'I do my research, Mr. Kim. I’m top of my class at UW and I didn’t get there by accident. With such a small team I could get a far broader experience than I could being just another cog in the machine at Microsoft. I might not know you personally, but your reputation precedes you. I plan to excel in the tech industry. And to do that, I need to work with the best. Simple as that.'

'And I'm the best?' He leans back in his chair. Resting his elbow on the armrest, he drags a finger across his lips in appraisal.

His quick responses remind you of the competitive tennis you played growing up. The way it felt to thrive when paired with an equal opponent, someone who could match your speed and precision. Someone who gave as good as they got. How it made you better, sharpened your skills and reflexes up against someone who you couldn’t easily defeat.

'Are you trying to tell me you're not?' You cross your arms and look around, feigning surprise and curiosity. 'If you tell me who is, I'll happily go apply to be their office manager.'

He almost laughs in amusement. You can feel it. But he covers it as a cough instead and tilts his head to the side, sizing you up. 'And you know what this job entails?'

You repeat it easily from memory. 'Being the face of the business. Greeting walk-in customers. Helping them figure out if what they need is something we do. Conferring with you about pricing. Scheduling service appointments over the phone. Processing payments. Ordering supplies. Occasional advertising assistance. Other assorted duties as needed.'

'That about sums it up.'

In the charged silence you hear the muffled noises of the mall - children squealing with delight, orders being called out at the pizza restaurant next door, people talking - but it's all separated. You wonder if the distance is intentional. Many stores have roll up gates or at least have their doors propped open to draw in customers. But not Jongdae. It’s almost as though he’s actively trying to keep visitors out.

You favor boldness and decide to push him, what have you got to lose? 'So, when do I start?' Leaning forward, you give him a relaxed smile. ‘Unless you’d like to terrorize a few more applicants before you choose me? I’m happy to wait, Mr. Kim. But you can’t scare me away. And you don’t intimidate me.’

With equal decisiveness he cracks a lopsided grin and shakes his head, with both amusement and resignation. 'How's now for you?'

You give a passing thought to the other jobs, the ones you’d already interviewed for and the ones on your schedule over the coming days. They all go up in a whiff of smoke as you extend your hand across the table to shake Jongdae’s hand.

‘Now is perfect.’ His palm is warm against yours and you do your best not to react to the contact, but you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you.

Jongdae withdraws his hand quickly, and you note with pleasure that he seems a bit shaken as he stands. ‘I’ll be right back. You can leave your things here.’ He motions to the coat hooks on the wall by the door and the tall, thin bookshelf with a few cubby slots.

Aside from a black scarf and a few extra office supplies on two of the shelves the rest of the space is empty. You wonder what he isn't saying. 'What made you want help, all of a sudden?’ He pauses and turns back to you. ‘From what I can tell you've been in business for a few years. Why now?'

He sighs. 'I'm too busy to keep doing this by myself.'

'Ah. And you hate that, don't you?'

The ghost of a smile graces his lips. 'Yes.'

Jongdae disappears through the curtain. You follow him after putting your coat on a hook and your purse in one of the spotless cubbies. The rest of the space contains a few filing cabinets, stacks of boxes, and a small safe resting on a narrow table.

When you appear back into the hallway you see a door to the left that must lead out the back. And on the opposite side is an archway with a kitchen sink, a microwave, a small fridge, and a few cupboards inside, along with a small circular table. The table has only one chair. You smile to yourself. Clearly he's accustomed to doing everything by himself.

When you emerge the other applicants are dispersing as he peels the taped sign off the door, balling it up in his hands.

Jongdae gets you set up on the computer at the other desk. It’s a relatively simple customer management software and payment system, both of which you pick up in no time. He runs you through the pricing list, pulling a laminated form from the top drawer. His filing system for customer accounts is simple and alphabetized.

Neither of you speak about that night again, but oh, do you feel it - the electricity between you when he stands too close or you meet his eyes.

Until lunch he alternates between training you and assisting customers who come in every so often. It's all straightforward, nothing you haven't managed before, and by the afternoon you're already scheduling appointments in the large old-school appointment book he keeps open to the current week.

Despite the passion and intensity in the music he plays, he keeps an even keel throughout his day job. It's almost as if you went to sleep last night and somehow woke up as someone who's worked here for years. Before closing at 5:30 he remembers other things and hands you a packet on the way out. Tax forms, an employment agreement listing the salary and benefits, and a non-disclosure form. Most of it is standard, but you wonder what kind of secrets he needs to protect at an electronics store.

You gather your things and wait outside while he closes down the shop, turning off the lights as he goes. It’s still quite sunny outside and with a shock you realize that there’s nothing waiting for you, now that the work day is done. No papers to write or projects to finish or internship to head to. The idea makes you feel unexpectedly buoyant, and when Jongdae steps out to lock the doors you give him an easy smile.

He returns it, giving you a small one of his own in response. ‘So, I normally take Tuesdays off and keep the shop closed. Wednesdays are normally pretty slow. How does Thursday through Monday sound to you? I know today is Wednesday, so if you wanted to take tomorrow off instead that’s fine with me.’

‘I’m happy to come in tomorrow.’ You want to wince at the eagerness in your voice, but instead you stand firm, holding your purse in front of you with both hands.

Jongdae slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nods, looking at you for a long moment before speaking. ‘Sounds great, I’ll see you then.’

You nod at him too, turning back towards the department store to head out to your car. After a beat you look behind you and see he’s still watching. His gaze is unfocused on the floor before he shakes his head, seeming to come back to himself. He heads the opposite direction, towards the movie theater. In a few seconds he’s disappeared behind the pizza place, out of sight.

Jongdae takes the longer route home today. His apartment overlooking Lake Union is the one he grew up in, his grandfather’s place. When he passed away a year ago he left it to Jongdae and it never occurred to him to move. He walks along the water, breathing in the early summer air, wanting to laugh at himself. How long has it been since he let himself be impulsive? To act on instinct. To want something.

He’d settled into a routine these past few years, since everything changed after graduation. Working at the store. Reading. Playing Go and chess with his grandfather and the other older men that lived in the building. They’d go fishing out on the peninsula or to the local symphonies that his grandfather loved. Routine had saved him when his world fell apart once, but now, with his grandfather’s absence, he’s not sure how to pick up the pieces anymore.

The seagulls on the pier are loud today, hungrily gobbling up the bread and Ivar’s french fries tossed to them by the kids gathered around. They giggle and laugh, running to their parents for more offerings. Jongdae frowns for a moment, the sadness that he doesn’t often acknowledge creeping into his heart.

His parents were gone before he really even had a chance to know them. His father to lung cancer, from the awful smoking habit he picked up in the Navy. His mother moved back to Korea to be with her family, unable to cope being in the city without her husband. Jongdae didn’t blame her, but the distance grew and they drifted apart as he became an adult himself.

Jongdae’s father’s father settled here after World War Two, along with a few of his friends. From what he remembers there wasn’t a discussion about it after the funeral - if he’d stay or go back to Korea with his mother. One day when he was young he knew his father had passed. His mother left. And with two duffle bags slung over his shoulders and little Jongdae in his arms his grandfather had moved him into the apartment with the pretty view of the water. 

And that’s the way it was, ever since.

In school his friends might have joked that Jongdae was an old man himself. Doing the New York Times crossword puzzle on Sundays, getting his hair cut at the same hole-in-the-wall barber shop in Chinatown as his grandfather, and hanging out with more octogenarians than people his own age. But he loved his grandfather and the two of them were so close that he never stopped to question whether he should change to fit in with the rest of his classmates.

The only aberration came when he started DJ-ing at eighteen. The crowd he fell in with and the partying he did was short lived; they crashed and burned, went up in flames. Everything else faded as quickly as it had come, but the club scene was his escape and it stayed with him.

These days it feels like the only time he recognizes himself, now that his grandfather is gone, too. Until you walked into his store today, that is. You looked him dead in the eyes, unafraid. Just like the night all those weeks ago in the club when you came up to him, flirted with him and challenged him.

He doesn’t know how to move on with his life.

He doesn’t know what’s next.

But wanting you, inviting you into his life, is going to change everything. He knows it in his bones and for once change excites him, instead of frightens him.

June 18th, 1997

For an achingly slow two hours on Thursday the only sounds in the shop are your typing and Jongdae’s tools hitting the metallic insides of the radio he’s fixing. You should be processing yesterday's supply orders. Or cleaning up the books to get everything ready for the days' billing before you make a run to the bank.

But instead you watch in your periphery the way the muscle in Jongdae’s jaw moves when he's focusing. How his brows pull together and his lower lip sticks out slightly, making him look as though he's perpetually pouting. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in school. If he was always so... uptight. Or if he was freer, looser. Not that you’re the picture of ease yourself, but he seems to almost vibrate with tension.

You watch as he turns back to the computer, his fingers fly across the keyboard and you admire the absolute focus he shows toward the screen in front of him. The past few days he’s handled repairs and projects for businessmen and women, families, and two gentlemen in suits that screamed ‘government’ to you. He could be repairing a nuclear warhead in front of you and you imagine his expression would remain the same.

His standard white button-up shirt bunches around his biceps while he works. A mischievous part of you wonders what it would take to make his robotic exterior crack again. What it would take for him to show joy or anger or arousal. Emotion from him is a precious, rare thing and you want to grab them when they do show, holding them tightly as proof they exist.

You jolt, realizing the unintended destination your thoughts have arrived at. Arousal. Where did that come from? With a cough and a shake of your head you refocus on the financial statements in front of you.

If you hadn't seen him that night at the club you'd have wondered if he ever enjoyed himself. He wasn't smiling that night, but the music and the dancing and the palpable energy seemed to soften the hard lines of his face. You want to see more of that Jongdae, the one that feels so much closer to who he really is, underneath it all.

However he started in this business, in the tech scene, he works away at it as though it's his sole purpose in life. He's clearly talented enough to fix anything, code anything. You’d asked him last week how he knows what to do, as you looked into a complicated mess of wires sticking out of a broken CPU as though it were gibberish.

All he’d said, in a gruff voice, was that his grandfather liked to tinker and take things apart before putting them back together, to see how they worked, and that he’d picked up the habit.

'Why do you work by yourself?' The sound of your voice is much louder than intended, breaking the hush in the store. You want to swallow the words, unsure why you didn't stop them from escaping. Instead you bite the skin on the inside of your cheek and watch as he lifts his head to look at you.

Jongdae raises a brow. 'As opposed to?'

You stop typing and lean back in your chair. 'You could have worked for anyone, I bet. After you graduated college. I’ve heard a few of the rumors about you. It sounds like you could have done anything you wanted. What made you want to start your own business?'

He mirrors your pose. 'What makes you think I went to college?'

You blink. For so long your parents' idea of a prosperous life - good grades, extracurriculars, graduate from a top college, get a lucrative, secure job - had been so ingrained that it surprises you to imagine that someone like him didn't go to school. 'You didn't?'

He smiles, the dimple appearing briefly in his cheek. 'Alright, fine. Yes, I did. I went to M.I.T. and I, uhm, graduated at seventeen.'

'Seventeen?' The competitive drive that buried itself in your bones early on wants to prove itself to him, awed by the size of his intellect.

'With my PhD.' He winces. Just for a moment, but you catch it.

'Oh,' you say with a stunned laugh.

He goes back to work with a quick shake of his head and a sigh. 'Yeah, that right there is why I don't tell people.'

You’re surprised by his assumption that you’d view it as a bad or repulsive fact. 'It's amazing. You should be proud of it. Why would you want to keep that a secret?'

His lip pouts again and irrationally you think about what it would be like to kiss him. 'Because now you'll look at me differently. Like I'm some kind of freak of nature.'

'I don't think it makes you a freak.' Your answer is immediate and emphatic.

'Oh really?' He gives you a side-glance, keeping his tone neutral.

'No, it makes you a genius. And intelligence is never a bad thing. Quite the opposite, in fact.' It does nothing to help the attraction you feel for him. Rather than dousing the flames, it pours gasoline on them.

'Tell that to -' he stops himself, pressing his lips together. The bitterness in his voice makes you jerk back in your seat. ‘Nevermind. It was a long time ago. Forget I said anything.’

But you can fill in the gaps, no stranger to the judgement of others. 'Clearly you need better friends.'

He blinks, vulnerability filling his eyes. 'Like you?' His expression softens and he gives you a half-smile.

You blush, realizing what it must look like that you’re so passionate about defending him. 'Sorry, I didn't - all I mean is that it’s attractive.’ You curse yourself and cough delicately, trying to appear impartial. ‘An attractive quality. I just got my master’s and I thought I was advanced for my age. So I just meant to say… I get it. And you’re not a freak.’

The moment stretches out between you, the air in the space seeming to pause. The muted, reverent silence fills the distance once more. But this time it’s charged, tense. Waiting. He breathes in deeply, the shirt he wears stretching across his chest and yet again you long to touch him. For a beat his gaze drops to your lips and he swallows, opening his mouth to speak.

But he’s interrupted by the door opening. The ding of the motion sensor makes you both jolt, turning to see who it is. An older woman comes in carrying a heavy looking bag. She coughs and leans against the door to rest.

Jongdae bolts up from his desk, clearing his throat. 'Here, let me help with that.'

He bows to her with a warm smile, holding his hands out to take the bag. She nods and Jongdae slings the bag over his shoulder, wincing when it collides with his back. With a gentle arm around her back he helps her into the chair opposite his desk.

'Thank you, young man,' the woman says with a smile.

'Not at all,' Jongdae says, resuming his post on the stool. 'How can I help you today?'

You're certain your mouth has fallen open. To difficult customers he's brief, almost condescending, and for the nice ones he’s reserved and polite, but nothing like this. For over an hour he patiently connects the woman's computer to his power strip and walks her through how to use it. 

Again and again he shows her the links and how to work the web browser. Installs a complimentary virus protection program. Makes sure she can find the Solitaire application she loves. And only charges her $20.

But after she leaves the next customer is a businessman dressed in what looks to be a very expensive suit. Jongdae spends the laughably short visit practically sneering at the man. And he charges him at least twice what it says on the pricing list he gave you.

As soon as the door closes you release the laugh you’ve been holding in. 'You know, for someone who runs a business, you seem hell bent on driving some of your customers away.'

He shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes. 'He was a moron. You don't buy the Rolls Royce of computers if you don't know how to drive it.'

'So the only exception here is kind old ladies?'

Jongdae barks out a laugh, meeting your gaze and looking younger than you’ve ever seen him. 'Exactly.'

June 28th, 1997

Moments after you walk out the door for lunch during a bustling Saturday it pings again, announcing yet another customer. This one is probably his scheduled twelve o’clock appointment, Jongade thinks as he looks distractedly at his watch.

He turns to greet them and his entire body recoils. 'What do you want?' Jongdae practically hisses, but he keeps his tone even with all his might.

Since you’ve taken over scheduling Jongdae hardly looks at his calendar anymore. If he’d known Julian Danforth was seeking his help he would have told him to fuck off. Unfortunately Jongdae’s hesitation in talking about his past means you could have no possible idea how much the man standing before him used to matter.

Julian strolls in with a computer in his arms and a smugness on his mouth that Jongdae wants to punch off. His sunglasses are perched on the top of his head and his khaki shorts have neatly pressed lines, clearly not done by the man himself, who drips with privilege.

He'd thought these feelings were long buried, but they roar in Jongdae’s chest. The friendships and the future he almost had are now scattered behind him like a trail of carnage, all the fault of this man. The burn of sadness and embarrassment that fills Jongdae’s stomach was supposed to be gone, relinquished to ashes. But seeing one of his former best friends again Jongdae feels like he's ten years old, stuck in a class with far older students. Young, inexperienced, an outcast.

‘Good afternoon to you as well, old friend.’ Ignoring the daggers Jongdae is staring at him, Julian steps forward, setting the computer down on the desk. 'Like I told the woman on the phone I'm having a problem with some computer virus.'

He says it like it’s a slimy, living thing that had crawled into his machine. Displeasure colors his expression; annoyed at the mere thought that his money and status don’t render him immune from such commonplace problems. ‘You know I don’t trust anyone else with my system.’

After what you did I should smash your computer open. Jongdae doesn't speak as plugs the machine into the power strip he rigged to his desk, not willing to risk what he’ll say.

It's a far more expensive model of computer than most of his clients bring in. Those who purchase such a high end version fall into two camps - enthusiasts like himself who know what they're getting, or the rich and famous who buy them as status symbols and have no clue how to work them. Julian, unfortunately, falls into the latter category.

The computer starts up and Jongdae’s mind goes into work mode, tuning out Julian. The virus has rendered it unusable, only a blur of symbols and lines of code flit across the screen. None of the normal exit keys brings up the desktop. Jongdae purses his lips and slides in the floppy disk he keeps beside his own monitor, an anti-virus he designed.

He leans into muscle memory as he runs through the start up and sets the program to do its job. With any luck the idiot just found some simple malware from some incredibly obvious email spam or downloaded a bug on a porn site. In all social and business sense Julian is a shark; he'd never have fallen for such an obvious scam in real life. But when it came to computers and technology he was hopeless, and thus Jongdae had come into his life years ago.

'How long have you been set up here?' Julian asks with a dismissive glance at the machines and equipment stacked on the shelves.

'Why do you care?' The question comes out harsher than he intends, but the emotion isn't entirely unearned.

Once upon a time he and Julian met in Seattle, after Jongdae was fresh out of M.I.T. and Julian had flunked out of yet another University. They were determined to build a business together. If he had more energy Jongdae would wear this store and his reputation proudly, built from no family connections or money, just his own intelligence and drive. After how thoroughly Julian severed Jongdae’s life he should rub his success in Julian’s face with pride.

Instead he ignores him, determined to move on.

The program finishes its run in rapid time, as though it knows how quickly Jongdae wants this moment to end. The virus dissipates and the desktop loads like normal. He's tempted for a second to indulge his curiosity to see what Julian has been up to. Last he knew Julian had gone to work at his father’s investment bank, dreams of standing on his own cowed by the reality of the world outside of his comfortable bubble. Without Jongdae there’s no way the business and the program held up to scrutiny. 

For a second Jongdae stares at the screen, remembering how good it had felt to have found his people. Tech nerds, hungry to build something that would change the world. Julian, who wanted to cast off his father’s legacy and strike out on his own. Julian’s girlfriend Marissa and her soft heart, who wanted to help people. Their friend Albert, with the plan. 

Once he knew them so well he hardly knew where he ended and they began. But now, all these years later, they’re strangers.

Jongdae looks up and watches Julian as he absently admires the collection of turntables on the wall behind the desk. He knows Julian well enough to know this might be an act of contrition, his way of bridging the gap he created to reach out the olive branch of friendship once more. But Jongdae’s curiosity already killed the cat once, spectacularly, and he has no desire to repeat the mistake.

He unplugs the machine and watches the screen go dark, shoving it with both hands across the polished wood surface towards Julian. 'There. It's fixed.'

For customers who are far more polite and far less acquainted with Jongdae he might have explained what caused the virus or recommended an anti-virus software or even shared best practices to avoid getting one in the future. But, for Julian, he'll do what he was hired for and nothing more.

Julian stands and clears his throat uncomfortably. 'How much do I owe you?' A hint of guilt as he pulls out his wallet.

The motion reminds Jongdae of vacations to Marissa's family home in the San Juans or partying with Julian, Albert, and the rest of them in Capitol Hill. When they turned on him it was like the sun went out. He managed to take his pride and his love of music and DJing and escape. Once Jongae rebuilt his life the doors to the past firmly closed.

Anger finally peeks through as he waves a dismissive arm at Julian. 'I don't want your money. Not spending a second longer in your company will be all the payment I need.' He stands as well. Their business today is done and he lets his memories of the past fall before him like ashes.

An awkward beat passes between them and finally Julian breaks eye contact. With a nod to the ground he pushes out the door and disappears, carrying his computer.

He breathes out a sigh of relief, folds his arms, annoyed at how his position and his continued presence here in Seattle occasionally brings him into contact with people like Julian. He should have moved, he thinks. Gone to Singapore or Berlin or London or New York. But for some reason, he stayed.

Through the front window he watches you laugh with your friends in the food court and smiles to himself, thinking of how you call him Scrooge. It should unnerve him, how quickly seeing you or speaking to you or simply thinking you makes his day better, more hopeful; chases away the shadows that linger in his mind when he's left alone for too long. No, left alone isn't the right word. When he isolates himself.

Jongdae doesn’t really know you, not yet. But already he wants to make all of your dreams come true, he wants to make them real. 

The thought is so sentimental and kind and soft that it brings him up short. He bites the inside of his lip and tries to fight the warm feeling in his chest as he watches you laugh. But as he resumes his work he acknowledges that maybe there was a reason he stayed in Seattle, after all.

The mall is packed during lunch; it’s one of the only days you and your roommates and Hitchcock all work together so you’ve christened it Saturday girl’s lunch time. But Baekhyun and Chanyeol of course crash in, as they always seem to. Loud and raucous and happy. Others from their wide circle of friends drop by to grab slices or to make plans for tonight.

Baekhyun sticks two straws in his nose and makes what are probably very scientifically inaccurate walrus noises. As you laugh so hard you almost snort you can’t help but feel like something is missing. Someone is missing. You look back to the shop, drawn to Jongdae as always.

He works away, resuming his repairs after chasing another customer away with his attitude. You sigh, watching the blonde preppy man carry away his enormous computer, muttering to himself. You rest your foot on the edge of your chair and drop your chin to your knee. From this angle, surrounded by the stark design of the store and the fluorescent lights from above, Jongdae looks like he’s trapped inside of a screen himself.

You bite your lip, debating. He’s made it clear that whatever happened between you at the club isn’t something he will discuss, or repeat. But friendship? Community? You work together five days a week and it wouldn’t kill him to get out of his enclosure once in a while. It’s done you good this month, to be out and about with people. Like you can finally breathe for the first time in a long time. And you decide that it’s high time Jongdae do the same.

Liz and Jane, your roommates, call you ‘determined.’ But they say it in a way that clearly means ‘like a homing missile,’ when you want something. Your nature has served you well; you can cut through the bullshit and figure people out almost instantly. It’s helped you both professionally and personally. Allowed you to know immediately which friendships would last, which ones were worth the effort.

Maybe it’s how Jongdae looks like an island, all alone in the shop. Maybe it’s the large Coke that infused you with far too much caffeine. Maybe it’s your insatiable curiosity. But you can’t keep watching him from afar, not when there’s something you can do about it.

‘I’ll be right back.’ Pulling on your denim jacket, you march over to the store. You lean inside the glass door, holding it open with your shoulder. ‘Hey, you.’

Jongdae looks up at you, confusion tugging his brows together, making him befuddled in the cutest way. You tell yourself to stop thinking of him like that, even if you want to.

He blinks and refocuses on you. ‘Back already?’

‘No, but we’ve got more than enough pizza. Why don’t you join us?’ You grin, making a show of looking around the empty office. ‘It’s finally slowed down, and you deserve a break.’

‘I’m on a deadline with this.’ He gestures to the modem that is scattered around him.

You fold your arms and lean against the door. ‘You can fix that in twenty minutes. I know you.’ He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. ‘And before you throw another excuse you should know I’m very persuasive when I want to be. I don’t think you have another option.’

Jongdae barks out a laugh, dropping the tools in his hand to the desk with a thud. ‘Determined to drag me from my lair, huh?’ He holds your gaze, his expression filling with something akin to heat. Finally he gives you a rueful smile. ‘You’re not going to give up on this, are you?’

You meet his eyes and raise a brow, smiling with satisfaction. ‘Nope. Absolutely not.’

The certainty on his face turns into sadness, so fast you can’t be sure it was really there. Then he closes off and he’s quiet, more so than normal. ‘It doesn’t come easily to me.’

Wondering what could have changed so quickly you step forward, letting the door close behind you. ‘What, pizza?’

It shakes you how desperately you want to know. To peel back his skull and see inside his brain, just to understand what makes him tick. His history and where his future is headed. That small voice inside you whispers that once you figure it out, it still won’t make you care less about him.

‘Friends.’ He says it on a gasp. Looking at the floor fixedly, avoiding your eyes, he seems haunted.

The silence surrounds you both and he finally meets your focus again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The pieces start to come together. He’s intelligent, preternaturally so, and so advanced in school you can’t imagine he’s had much experience with people his own age. And now that he’s in his mid-twenties he’s built himself a fortress. Close enough to the rest of the world, but distinctly separate.

Irrationally you want to reach across the space and wrap his hands in yours. Tug him into your growing group of friends and fix the ache in your chest his expression gives you. Not sympathy and certainly not pity, but some sensation that’s like butterflies in your stomach. But- he’s your boss. You’re not his keeper and you don’t think whatever dangerous emotion lives in you is what would help him.

He’s not yours and you don’t have the right to push, much that you want to.

‘Ah,’ you say. ‘I see. Well, more often than not we have Saturday pizza out there. The offer always stands. I’ll leave you be if you want to be alone, but just -’ you swallow and give him a tentative smile. ‘Just know that we’d be happy to have you join us. I’d be. Uhm. Happy if you joined us.’ It comes out in a rush and you groan.

With a shake of your head, an uncharacteristic gesture of uncertainty and embarrassment, you wave at him and push back out the door into the noise of the mall.

It’s a shame you don’t turn back. Or no, he thinks, it’s better this way. Jongdae feels far too much for you to keep it contained behind his normally stony expression.

You seem like the kind of person who would take that moment of openness and pull on it, until he unravels in front of you. Fear tells him you would take everything and when you're gone he'd be even more alone than before, now that he knows what it's like with you here.

Looking out through the glass he watches you rejoin the lively group. Always he’s felt like a science experiment, or some kind of circus exhibit when he was growing up. If he didn’t have his grandfather’s steady support and gentle guidance he surely would have become even more isolated.

With a shake of his head, he attempts to refocus on the project at hand. For some reason it doesn't fill him up like he wants it to, his usual joy and satisfaction is missing when he picks up the screwdriver once more. This is where he thrives. Computers and the internet and coding.

To other people it's a labyrinth, impossible to figure out. A world and a language they can speak and learn with effort and intention and study. But to him it's always been as easy as breathing.

His grandfather took his skills from the military and parlayed them into a business as a prolific handyman. It was the world they shared. A place where Jongdae’s creativity and his intelligence could soar. Anything he wanted to build or make, he could. Coding a rudimentary game to pass the time after school, when he could hear the neighborhood kids playing soccer outside.

It took him many wonderful places that he wouldn't have been able to reach if he was, for lack of a better word, normal. As a child and even in school it was so easy to hide behind his grades and his projects and the pride and hope of the adults around him. But now, at twenty five, there’s nothing to keep him hidden anymore.

When lunch is over you return and join him with a nod. He hopes you don't regret asking. He nearly hopes you'll try again. Maybe next Saturday.

For how confident he feels in some spaces - DJing at Shari's, here in his ‘lair’ - at the thought of joining a group of friends he feels again like a nervous thirteen year old sitting in his first college course. Like everyone around him knew how to do things he couldn’t comprehend.

He keeps his thoughts and his feelings to himself; he’s already shared more than he planned. But you draw him back into conversation easily enough, asking about the afternoons orders to be picked up. You don't shy away from him or give him an angry offended air. Inexplicably you still look at him warmly, openly, and he wants more than he's dared to let himself want in a very, very long time.

July 11th, 1997

He doesn't normally leave the office at lunch, preferring to eat his meals in his back office alone, but today Jongdae braves the food court.

It’s a Friday not a Saturday, but it’s a start. He makes brief, yet friendly, conversation with Chanyeol at the pizza place. The taller man smiles at Jongdae, easily, as though he doesn’t second guess the action. He asks if Jongdae had caught the Mariner's game over the weekend and they talk about how Griffey might finally lead Seattle to a World Series this year.

For once he doesn't feel like going back to the office and burying his head in his work. Jongdae awkwardly pulls out a chair in the cluster of tables between the bookstore and the record store. As he takes a bite of his pizza he hears a familiar laugh. Turning around he sees you through the glass of the bookstore.

You speak to the woman who owns Greyhame Books, standing beside someone he thinks is possibly called Jane. It all seems so… easy for you. Tucking your hair behind your ear you lean against the counter, discussing the stack of books in front of you with your friends.

Jongdae gives a rare laugh to no one but himself.

When he imagined hiring an accountant and administrator for his flourishing business he thought he'd get someone older. A person with experience and a similar level of wanting to be left alone. They could ignore him and he could ignore them, delegating filing and payments and customer questions and not have to think about them again.

An employee was supposed to reclaim the silence and peace that his work used to bring. Technology is so much simpler and predictable than humans and he’d really prefer to cut other people out of the equation entirely.

But you are the opposite of simple, and you absolutely aren’t someone he can ignore. From the moment he recognized you he knew he had to hire you. With your intensity and your impressive resume and the way your mouth pulls to the side when you’re trying not to smirk.

He doesn't regret it. But he feels raw in a way he hasn't allowed himself to in years. Jongdae doesn't let people get close. Not anymore.

'Hey, Jongdae!'

With a pizza slice halfway to his mouth Jongdae spots Junmyeon approaching, waving, a large Starbucks drink in hand.  He wants to turn away and hide in his pizza. He isn't good at this - making friends. For months Junmyeon has asked him to join in their monthly networking events here at the mall, or asked him to get a drink at Flanagan’s after work to chat. Jongdae’s all out of excuses.

He imagines his life as a circuit board. There’s his life now - pieces and wires scattered around him - and there’s the life he could have. If he’s brave and if he tries. He imagines the pieces fitting together and what they might build. He wonders if you might fit in, if you’d want him or let him.

His knee is jiggling and he’s nervous, but he takes a deep breath and waves back. ‘Hey Jun! Want to join me for a bit?’ Jun’s expression is surprised - the man doesn’t know how to keep back any of his emotions. ‘If you have time, I mean. No pressure.’ He stutters, pulse racing and cheeks reddening.

Jun grins and sits down opposite him. ‘Absolutely. About time! I thought you’d turn me down forever,’ he laughs. ‘Thanks again for helping me with that broken radio last month. You’re a pro. So, how’s business?’ He sips his coffee and waits patiently.

They can talk about business, something so easy? Jongdae wants to laugh with relief. Maybe he can do this after all.

Junmyeon is amused.

After ten minutes of talking shop with Jongdae he watches as you and Jane leave the bookstore next to their lunch spot. He’s owned a business two doors down from Jongdae for years, but he’s never seen him smile before. When you pass by it’s like someone flipped on a light switch. Jongdae has always been somewhat quiet, somewhat serious, except when he DJs. Now he sits straighter, his face softens, and his eyes fixate on yours like a magnet.

The two of you claim the other seats at the table, showing off the books you purchased. In between sips of his coffee Junmyeon balances his own flirtation with Jane and observing - okay, spying - on you and Jongdae.

He’s warmed by not just the caffeinated beverage. There’s a soft energy here- It’s a warm summer day and he’s discussing books, one of his all-time favorite topics. His mind whispers the words ‘double date’ and he smiles to himself for a moment before blinking.

“Are you alright?” Jane asks, gently resting her hand on Junmyeon’s wrist on the table.

He blushes and gives her a reassuring nod and asks if she’s read the Octavia Butler book on top of her stack yet. It’s an attempt at distraction and he knows it. But thankfully Jane’s eyes crinkle in the corners when she talks about the author, not pausing or seeming to notice the way he was fantasizing for a beat.

Across from him you and Jongdae are arguing about the merits of Isaac Asmiov. Jongdae is more articulate, more animated, more alive than he’s ever seen him. Gesturing emphatically and saying something about how robots are friends, not foes as you interrupt him by reminding him about Terminator. Neither of you seem to acknowledge the attraction between you. It’s been months since you started working at Chen’s, if Junmyeon remembers correctly.

In his periphery he sees Temptation, the chocolate store, and thinks of how Yixing and his girlfriend met on the job. One of his favorite poems mentions how love mirrors the lover; that everyone falls in love in a way akin to their personality. Yixing, passionate and insatiable and spontaneous, fell for Lavender in minutes and days. He saw what he wanted and after a slight pause to make sure it’s what Lav really wanted, he made the move.

Jongdae is nothing if not the complete opposite. Calculating and reserved and inscrutable.

His potential new friend is falling, if the lingering looks he gives you and the way he’s almost touched your shoulder not once but twice are any indication. But it’s a mystery to Junmyeon if, or when, Jongdae will ever make a move. You aren’t the same kind of romantic as Yixing’s girlfriend, someone playful and open with your emotions. You’re driven and witty and warm in your own way. Clearly you care for Jongdae, but in a quieter sense.

Junmyeon imagines this will be a marathon of love, not a sprint.

Eventually lunch hours end for all of you. There’s clients to see and paperwork to do and as he waves to you and Jane he wonders what will become of you and Jongdae. If you’ll stay as co-workers, always flirting and secretly wondering what might be. Or if either of you will push the other into action. The chess board is laid out, pieces waiting to be moved. It might just be his imagination, but Junmyeon hopes that one of you gets the game going.

He does also, perhaps, focus on you and Jongdae as a way to ignore how his own heart beats a bit faster around Jane. How he can’t stop staring at her dimple when she smiles or the head tilt she gives him when she’s really listening. Like he’s the only person in the world. No, he absolutely doesn’t think about Jane’s feet i n his lap as they both read on the couch in his living room. He doesn’t wonder what it would be like to kiss her or hold her hand. Absolutely not.

Instead he invites Jongdae to the monthly Settlers of Catan night he has with Minseok and some other folks from the mall. Much safer territory than wondering about his own love story and if still waters truly do run deep where he and Jane are concerned.

August 11th, 1997

On a surprisingly rainy yet unsurprisingly dead Monday morning Jongdae forces you away from your insistent attempts to organize his paperwork to the market a few streets over. The quiet bakery on the hill above Pike Place has a view of the misty Sound beyond. He sits close beside you, carefully keeping his knees away, lest he bump yours and you do the same, perhaps letting them linger a moment each time they collide.

It’s nice here, you notice suddenly, as you take the first sip of your coffee. The smell of dark roast and fresh almond scones. The breeze coming in through the open door. The soothing, distant sound of jazz from the overhead speaker. The pleasant warm lighting, far different than the aggressively bland fluorescent kind he chose for Chen's. Everything puts you at ease, wraps around you the way you wish Jongdae’s arms would.  

'This place reminds me of Amsterdam.' You smile, looking down into your cappuccino to avoid Jongdae’s eyes.

‘Have you ever been?’ he asks, voice softer than it normally is.

With a shake of your head you trace the edge of the teal and white ceramic cup in front of you. ‘No, but I’ve seen pictures. I used to love photo books growing up. Atlases and travel guides. It’s always been my favorite section of the library.’

He hums for a moment, considering. 'If you could go anywhere in the world, is that where you'd choose?'

Tucking your hair behind your ears you bite your lip to avoid grinning at him. He’s making you remember long-forgotten parts of yourself. Before school and work became the end point, the be-all end-all that your life was funnelled towards. Back when you imagined exploring every country on the planet. Taking photos and making memories. A long time ago, in the days before you realized how expensive it is to actually be a wanderlust-filled adventurer.

Finally you look at him. Something in his irises makes you swallow; an endless, nameless emotion that lives in him you can never seem to place. Elusive and frustrating and tempting all at once.

‘Yes,’ you admit. Voice dry and heart racing you look back to your coffee in avoidance. ‘It’s my dream to travel there. I’m a bit obsessed with it, really.’

'You? Obsessed?' Jongdae smirks, a boyish grin you want to cover with your own mouth.

You roll your eyes, tracing the handle of your mug. 'Hush. It's such a beautiful city with all the canals and the architecture and history, and the food is to die for. Every quaint European city fantasy in one. What about you, have you done much traveling?'

He shakes his head. ‘Not personally. But - my grandfather went everywhere in Europe, after the war.’ His admission is so quiet you almost miss it. But it’s as if your soul is waiting for every crack in the door to Jongdae you can find, and you don’t pass up the opportunity. ‘What was he like?’

It happens sometimes, when you’re working together. The times there’s no customers around and the mall gets empty and you can’t help but be aware of him. Against your skin and with your hands, eyes feasting on him when the rest of you is forbidden from doing so. In the moments when he isn’t putting on airs of being the tech mogul or the reclusive jerk or the awkward, secretly friendly nerd around Jun or Minseok.

Those times when Jongdae meets your eyes and you see the real him, beneath it all. Wanting and alone and scared. Your breath catches in your throat just as it does now and you long to ask him plainly if he feels the way you do. Being honest with your words and not just your jokes or looks out the corner of your eyes when you catch him watching you too.

But those feel too fragile, too dangerous to utter. So instead you ask him about his family, someone close enough to Jo ngdae’s heart to glimpse the core of him; like a sun during an eclipse you can only look for a moment, lest you get burned.

'My grandfather?’ Brows furrow, the corners of his cat-like lips tilting down for a moment. You nod gently, cupping your drink for something to occupy your hands.

Jongdae looks out at the water for a moment, his mouth tugging to the side as he ponders. ‘You know when you finally solve a puzzle you’ve been working on for ages? Hours of struggling to find the right combination and finally it’s all laid out, perfectly in alignment.’

You nod, trying not to smile and ruin the moment, but softened by him nonetheless. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean.’

When his gaze lands on your hands he pauses, like he’s wondering if the two of you might fit in a similar way. But it’s gone before you can grasp onto the moment. Sadness colors his features then. Not the aching kind that gnaws away like a feral monster, leaving nothing in its wake, but the beautiful, bittersweet sadness of a love greater than grief.

His voice is thick when he next speaks. ‘My grandfather was that person for me. We just - fit. He understood me better than my parents did. More than any of my classmates or the few people I’ve ever gone out with. We didn’t even need to speak.’ Jongdae pauses and taps his fingers on the counter.

You give in and reach for his hand, not to hold it - not yet. But to cover it with your own for a moment of understanding, of comfort.

He smiles at you, the crease between his brows disappearing for a moment. ‘He was fifty one years older than me and he was my best friend.’

‘I’ll bet you miss him quite a lot?’ You realize how incredibly inadequate the sentiment is and shake your head, moving to withdraw your hand. ‘Sorry - that’s - of course you miss him.’

But Jongdae doesn’t let you retreat. With his free hand he holds yours in place. Warmth floods your body from the connection point and you’re unable to take your eyes off him. ‘It’s alright, I know what you mean.’ He traces your thumb with a barely there motion, seemingly without intending to. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’ You ask, a bit breathless and unable to mind.

‘For always asking. For always listening.’ He says it simply, as though it’s a novel concept. Perhaps, given what you know of his life, who he is, not many people dare to ask. Or bother to listen.

Soon paperwork and customers and regular life draw you back to Chen’s Electronics. He doesn’t mention the way you reached for him and you don’t either. But when you go to leave that afternoon Jongdae holds out your jean jacket for you to slip on. And when you thank him he gives you the soft, secret grin you’ve learned he saves only for you.

On the way home you think that Amsterdam might be the most beautiful city you can imagine, but that it pales in comparison to a hole-in-the-wall cafe in Seattle, as long as Jongdae is seated beside you.

September 9th, 1997

The summer turns into fall and one Monday evening, seemingly without his noticing, Jongdae realizes that his appointment book is full to bursting.

On Tuesday night he's playing Settlers of Catan with Minseok, Bookworm, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon. They meet up in the food court after the mall closes at nine, second Tuesday of every month.

Wednesday he has lunch with Jun and some other business owners in the mall for their monthly networking/commiserating 'sesh' as Yixing calls it. That afternoon he's promised to help Minseok install the new upgrades to his store's database software that 'make him want to rip out his hair' in exchange for a few coveted LPs Jongdae's had his eyes on for a 70’s/grunge remix set at Shari's.

Thursday night there’s a L.A. Confidential screening at the theater that Baekhyun talked him into, after their argument about whether or not Russel Crowe could actually act or if he was just handsome.

Saturdays are pizza and raucous laughter to break up the busy weekends full of work and clients and deadlines, followed by long nights of DJ-ing and circling you as if you are a sun, drawing him in with the pull of your gravity. He’s merely a comet attracted by the force you give off and he’s not even upset at the realization.

Sehun, Jongin, and Yixing practically bribed him into joining their 'Sunday morning brunch and biceps' workout group, saying that they need a fourth and everyone else is normally sleeping off their hangovers or works the opening shift.

It’s other people’s names all over his schedule, but what he feels is you. Everywhere, all over him. He knows it’s you. Not intentionally, perhaps. But you opened a door for him with your ease and generosity. One Saturday pizza lunch and somehow he’s gotten to know more people in two months at the mall than he had in the years before combined.

You’d wave him off if he mentioned it or thanked you. With that adorable tilt of your head you would smirk and tell him that all he has to do is give people a chance. That they don’t bite.

Irrationally he wants to do things for you - not just as a friend but in the romantic sense - like buy you flowers or have you by his side at Thursday movie screenings or take you to Amsterdam, just to watch you bloom among the flowers. But that would be… crazy, right? He sits in his favorite armchair unable to focus on the book in front of him and runs agitated hands through his hair.

He’s not your boyfriend or your partner. He’s your boss or your co-worker and possibly your friend. Why does he think of holding your hand and walking along the canals of some foreign city every time you look in his direction?

Why does the once-comforting quiet of his apartment feel more and more empty when you’re not laying on the couch across from him, reading and teasing him? Why does he wake up and wish that someone besides himself filled his bed? Someone with your expressions and your joy and your stubborn insistence.

He briefly makes a mental note to ask Yixing how he ended up dating Lavender before suddenly tossing the book to the floor, standing with a groan.

‘What a ridiculous idea!’ he yells aloud to the empty apartment. Jongdae paces circles in the carpet of his living room and wonders if part of being in love is going slightly insane, if everyone who manages to do so finds the madness enjoyable or if love is simply folie à deux?

He looks at his calendar, spread open on his grandfather’s old, wooden desk and tries to comprehend how his life could be so different one year to the next. Like he’s grasping at straws or wisps of air. Aside from work and his grandfather and music, what did he have before? The occasional alumni event or guest lecture at his alma maters?

For a minute his chest feels too full to breathe, unable to let in anything more. Panic tugs at him for a second. It’s too much, all at once - too many people and too many events. Too many opportunities to mess up and these people? He can’t sever his life completely like he did from Julian and his friends. They're so connected to this space he's made his business in. What will happen when he inevitably falls out of favor with them?

He imagines himself shunned and the idea hurts worse than before. Back then he had chosen isolation; to have it thrust unwillingly upon him, unasked, is too much to comprehend.

Once he walked naively into friendship, believing it was easy and that it would last. That there was no rug that would be unceremoniously swept out from under him. But people change, faster than he can believe.

Jongdae sits on the floor, his pajama pants brushing his crossed legs, and forces himself to steady his breathing. These people are not his old friends at Microsoft, he reminds himself. Nor are they the kids in school who teased him, or his classmates in college who resented him or treated him like an annoyance.

Like he’s always practiced, he turns to facts to calm his mind. He’s safe - the apartment is his and he has plenty of money. Not just from his business but from his grandfather’s life insurance. If he wanted to leave - if he was forced to, he thinks he could do it. But something within him howls at the idea of leaving what he has now.

For the first time in ages he has ideas, plans, and dreams for what to do with his life. Now he has people he cares about, people who he trusts to be kind rather than fearing they’ll betray or leave him. You’re at the center of it, if you let him. Determination takes hold of him and doesn’t let go. After a few moments his panic subsides, washed away by the bright promise of a future he’s never dared to imagine before now. Before you.

September 13th, 1997

By the end of your second drink you contemplate being the one to risk it all and ask Jongdae out.

In the months you’ve worked together you stopped seeing him as a challenge and started viewing him instead as the push to your pull. The yang to your yin. The - you sip on your rum and coke and get lost in the tug of his brows and the set of his lips as he spins rather than finding another apt metaphor.

The first time you met him you knew there was something underneath his hard exterior, but you had no idea how correct you’d be proven. Somehow he walks the tightrope between being harsh and being softer than you thought possible. But rather than turn you off you find you’re drawn to his bewildering mix of wry humor, nerdy fixations, and raw emotion. It unlocks all the jagged parts of you that you try to keep so nicely pressed together.

For someone who has been deemed too much to handle finding a man who seems to do it with ease is staggering. He loves your bossy, charismatic nature and your ideas about new things to try at the store. He listens intently when you rattle off obscure facts about your favorite books and movies. He sees your dreams of traveling, of being part of community here, as a complement, not a detriment to your professional career.

A voice startles you. “So when are you going to jump his bones?” Baekhyun is the kind of puppy dog, glowing cheeks, wide-eyed endearing drunk you wish you could hate.

He waggles his brows at you and you snort, shoving him away with your shoulder. “I have zero idea what you’re talking about.”

You weave your way around the perimeter of the dance floor, trying and failing to not fixate on Jongdae with every step.

“Come on. Admit it. You’ve got a thing for the DJ.” His mouth tugs into a smug grin and you groan. “And word on the street is he wants you too.”

“He’s my boss.” The last of your drink burns your throat and you belly up to the bar to order another. “Get real.”

Always a hoe for gossip, Baekhyun leans one elbow against the bar and drops his chin into his hand to watch you. Rather than speak and risk your wrath again he merely looks between you and Jongdae, waiting.

You pride yourself on not giving into temptation for all of ten seconds and then blurt out - “What are you doing?”

Baekhyun presses his lips together to suppress a grin. He raises a finger and holds it up. “You’ll see.”

The bartender is tied up with a group at the far end so you sigh and turn, resting your back against the bar top. With folded arms you observe the club. “We’re about to be abducted by aliens? Jongin’s going to breakdance? Minseok and Bookworm are -”

He clicks his tongue. “So impatient. You two really are a match made in heaven.”

“Me and Jongdae?” If you weren’t already buzzed you’d deny it more. But the permission to speak openly about your feelings for the DJ is too tempting. “You think so?”

Before he can tease you again a motion up ahead catches your focus. Jongdae looks up without tilting his head. His eyes cut to the left, to the two overflowing booths that are filled with the usual crew from the Exodus Mall. With amusement you follow his eye line as he scans the dance floor, looking for something. He never breaks the movement of his hands, spinning the vinyl and working the controls.

Finally his focus lands on you and Baekhyun at the bar. Jongdae’s eyes widen and that unreadable expression settles on his features, no emotion escaping. Your heart picks up, cheeks heating with awareness. There’s nothing to do but hold his gaze for long seconds while the club pulses with life around you. Isolated and together, even across the room.

And then Baekhyun ruins it.

With a comically large wave he smiles at Jongdae. The motion breaks Jongdae’s focus and he rolls his eyes, shaking his head at his friend’s ridiculousness. A smile tugs at his lips and he gives you a look of commiseration and you laugh, reaching over to ruffle Baekhyun’s blonde hair.

The song changes and Jongdae finally looks away. A second later the bartender appears, asking you for your next order. Baekhyun waits patiently beside you, arms folded against the bar, his smugness a tangible thing in the air between you two.

You bite your lip and look at yourself in the mirror behind the bar, visible between the clear shelves of liqueurs and syrups. Could he feel the same way? Does Jongdae imagine holding you, kissing you, being with you the same way you do with him in your unguarded moments?

The two of you already do so much together - work five days a week. Meals alone or with friends. Nights here, separate but still united in the bubble of the dance club. It strikes you just how thin the line is between friends and coworkers and … something more. A four-letter sinful word that starts with L and implies dangerous things like hands touching hands followed by lips and skin and teeth. A different four-letter word full of softness and commitment that has no place being in your mind at the same time as Jongdae’s name.

A hand rests gently on your shoulder. “I told you,” Baek says sincerely. He disappears after waggling his damned eyebrows one more time and leaves you at the bar, wondering.

Half of you wants to confess to him out of genuine affection and desire for connection; you can’t escape the way he makes you long to be reckless and daring and bold and romantic in the kind of grand gesture sense that you’d have rolled your eyes at before you met him. The delicate balance makes your palms sweat and your glass shake slightly as you raise it to your lips. From nerves or excitement or a mix of the two.

You could make the first move, but the logical half of your mind wins out. Instead you swallow your drink in three gulps and head over to the DJ booth to talk to him and nothing more. Close enough to be comforted by his nearness but keeping your desire closeted behind your fear. Tonight that’s all you can manage.

Passing by Yixing and Lavender dancing is a reminder of all the good love can bring. Yixing’s hands holding her close, her arms folded around his neck and their foreheads together. Intimate words are shared that aren’t meant for your ears, even if you could hear them over the sound of the music.

But just beyond is Baekhyun and Hitch. She laughs and dances out of his way as he tries to tickle her. They’re obviously in love to anyone who watches, so why haven’t they admitted it and had a go at being together? Maybe it’s for the best, you wonder. If trying and failing and ruining what you have it worse than never trying at all.

Before you can wander too far down the road of doubt and consequences you remember how it felt to have Jongdae’s hand on top of yours. The thought of tomorrow and the days after disappear altogether when you feel Jongdae’s eyes on you once more, drawing you closer to him, whether he knows his effect on you or not. When you reach the booth you decide to stop thinking in general, and let yourself feel instead.

Saturday night and he's in his element. In the booth, far away from the rest of the crowd but still a part of it. Adrenaline in his veins. Music is Jongdae’s therapy. An alter ego much like the comic book characters he read about growing up. It's the skin he can put on when he's tired of being himself. A place where he can set down the baggage of his identity for a night and get lost in the beats.

He closes his eyes, savoring the pattern of the vinyl beneath his fingertips.

Suddenly, he feels you. Of course you're here. He's never free from you, he thinks with a rueful smile. First you invaded this place, his escape and his temple. Then you wormed your way into his business as though you always belonged there. Now you're occupying his senses the way you occupy his thoughts at all hours.

For a beat he admires you, standing at the bar rolling your eyes while Baekhyun waves dramatically. He drinks you in with a last look at your fabulous legs before reluctantly turning back to switching out one album for the next. Lately you’ve taken to joining him for a bit while he spins and he hopes that once again you’ll come up to the booth tonight.

He's not a patient man, or a subtle one. If he wanted to be rid of you, you'd be gone. Severed with the kind of brutal finality he showed to anyone from his time after M.I.T. There are no second chances as far as he's concerned. But still, you remain. Infuriating, exhilarating. Never far from his consciousness.

'You look like you're having a good time!'

Sooner than expected your voice breaks his trance and he lifts his eyes to look at you. His heart thumps painfully in his chest and he swallows harshly. He doesn't know how you do it - how you effortlessly change to match your surroundings.

One minute you're his office manager, polite and respectful and skilled. Already he sees the business taking shape, becoming more cohesive and smooth beneath your talented mind and heart. And your feisty insistence that he upgrade and finesse his marketing and finally finish putting together a website for Chen’s.

The next minute you're leaning over the edge of the booth, chest coming forward and revealing your neckline. The red is fitting on you. It brings out the natural flush in your cheeks and makes you look perpetually alive. He feels stagnant by comparison, a man of stone who remains unchanging while the world passes him by.

The tumble of hair across your shoulders and the delight in your eyes are so beautiful he wants to reach for you. To reach for more, be more than who he has been - afraid and alone. Bitterness lives in his heart, swatting away anyone who gets too close. But here you are, knocking once more on the door of his being.

He finds his voice, his hands thankfully moving on muscle memory as he drops in the next remix. 'It's good energy tonight,' he fumbles. 'I love this song.' You nod in agreement.

It’s easy, being with you. Together you talk about work and the music he plays and your group of friends. Chanyeol and Bijoux, who finally got together again after what seems like months of back and forth. Bets on how long Minseok will wait before he proposes to Bookworm, now that they’re an official item. Joking about Baekhyun and Hitch like always.

He shows off for you, just a little. Spins 'Scream' by Michael and Janet jackson with a bit more pizazz than usual. It strikes him as amusing how much he always hated being watched before this. Not that many people pay particular attention to him as a DJ, but he thinks he might like the way it feels to be watched by you.

He wants to watch you, too, for as long as you let him. He already can’t take his eyes off you. No matter how much that idea might terrify him. When he drops the next mix and the crowd cheers at ‘Tubthumping’ he gives you a rare broad smile and it's like being punched in the chest when you return it with an unexpectedly shy one of your own.

Jongdae almost invites you into the booth. He sees it as though it were one of the romantic comedies that are so popular right now. You would take your place in front of him. He'd get to rest his hand on top of yours, guiding your movements. Maybe as you got the hang of it he would slide them to hold your hips, keeping your back to his chest as his mouth finds your neck.

Liz invites you to dance and Jongdae wipes the probably awed look off his face with effort. He needs some cold water, immediately.

Friday September 19th

Jongdae is upset about something. It’s not so much that you now seem to be able to pick up his moods with ease, which is true, but the fact that he is nearly tearing his hair out. A piece of paper sits in front of him on the desk but it’s too far away for you to read.

By the time he groans for the fifth time you finally speak up. ‘Are you alright?’

His head jerks up and his eyes are tired when they meet yours. Not ‘it’s been a long week’ tired, but something sad in his expression that makes him look fragile and younger than his years.

For a moment he shakes his head. Then he picks up the paper and waves it in the air, opening and closing his mouth in rapid succession. The confusion on his normally self-assured face would be comical if it wasn’t such an obviously distressing situation. Finally he drops the paper and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand along his jaw.

‘I just got word that they’re demolishing the apartment building I live in. I have to move by November 1st.’

Instantly you want to hug him or hold his hand. ‘Your grandfather’s apartment?’

Jongdae nods. ‘They’re tearing it down so they can put in some luxury condos. Yet another classic neighborhood about to be wiped out in the name of progress.’ He sighs, looking at the ceiling to compose himself. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so-’

‘No, it’s -’ you start, unsure of your destination. ‘It’s an important place. And it’s your home. Don’t apologize for being pissed off about it.’

He nods, taken aback. ‘Exactly. It’s where I grew up. I’ve also never had to look for an apartment or move, either. So this will be dreadful.’

You bite the inside of your cheek. The offer to help practically leaps from your mouth and you hold it close for a moment, making sure you don’t rush into something that’s out of your depth. But as always your logic overrules your fear.

‘I could help, if you like?’ He’s just your boss slash co-worker. It’s innocent. It’s harmless, right? ‘I’ve moved so often with school and everything. I know my way around the city.’

In the ensuing pause Jongdae’s solemnity returns, his mouth and the lines of his face don’t give away any emotion. But, as always, he holds you in place with his expression. And his eyes have that fire within that he seems to only show to you. ‘That would be wonderful, thank you.’

You nod, case closed. Turning back to your computer you lie to yourself further, pretending not to notice how his voice lowered. As though he knew you weren’t just offering for help with his living situation. But something more raw and painful that he isn’t prepared to hold on his own just yet.

For how picky you thought you were about apartments, Jongdae has you beat by a mile. Student housing accustomed you to wonky flooring and cramped kitchens and the charming yet ancient windows on many older Seattle homes. But his grandfather’s gorgeous pre-war unit had made Jongdae’s tastes quite particular.

On Tuesdays and on weekends you pulled up listings and showed Jongdae around the city by way of it’s apartments, condos, and houses. He enjoyed the nature surrounding Greenlake, the affordable houses north of UW in Ravenna, and the vibe of Ballard and Fremont. But he ruled anything north of 520 out quickly as ‘too far from the store.’ The luxury of walking to work on nicer days was something he wasn’t willing to part with.

The same unfortunately ruled out a townhouse in Alki that you had salivated over, a block from the beach. Pioneer Square had some great lofts that would have been perfect for a music-lover like Jongdae, but he vetoed those as well. Along with all the trendy industrial lofts near the stadiums, claiming he hated all the construction going on nearby.

It should have been frustrating, to spend endless hours watching him nix perfectly wonderful places. In Queen Anne he hated the hills. Westlake he disliked the mall. Madrona, Leschi, Montlake, Magnolia, and Lake Union all came close but still he shook his head and said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ to landlord after landlord.

It should have driven you mad, but all it did was make you like him more.

Falling in love with Jongdae isn’t what you had planned. But from the first night you saw him at the club some part of you knew it was inevitable, the way the rain in autumn starts off as a light drizzle and before you know it becomes a torrential downpour, blanketing the city and saturating every exposed corner.

He always brought you coffee and insisted on buying breakfast or lunch. He always picked you up, right on time. Held doors and made sure he didn’t walk too fast and did the thing where his arm hovered over your back when the two of you were in crowded spaces. Not touching, but close enough you could feel him protecting you. On anyone else you would have absolutely hated that, but of course from him, you craved it.

Day after day you listened to music in his car as the two of you drove around little neighborhoods hoping to find something, complaining about how tight and ridiculous the parking situation always is. Joking about your friends or the news or the latest books you’re reading. They hardly felt like dates. No, they felt like something even more insidious. Like being in a relationship with him. Easy and warm and friendly and the kind of thing you could get used to.

But eventually it had to end, before it seemed like either of you were ready.

On a surprisingly warm Tuesday in October the two of you walk into a place that no one could object to. The building is in south Capitol Hill, close to Cal Anderson and only a fifteen or twenty minute walk from the mall. It’s designed in the classic Victorian style of the neighborhood, but was completed just three years ago. Small pane windows and a fireplace with a carved mantle and dark spires on the roof, all with brand new insulation and appliances.

Sunlight floods the corner unit on the top floor and you gasped as soon as the door opened. Jongdae stands beside you as the landlord goes over the details of the square footage and the building amenities, but neither of you are listening anymore.

‘What do you think?’ he asks softly. The five-story building sits on a slight hill and overlooks the rest of downtown, with a partial water view around the tall downtown skyscrapers.

‘I think it’s as close to perfect as you’re going to get.’

He moves closer and rests his palms on the window sill, looking around for a moment before turning his head to watch you. ‘Good.’

After a long pause Jongdae pushes off the windows and politely interrupts the landlord, who is currently opening every single cabinet in the kitchen and giving a detailed run down of his wife’s favorite tupperware, asking about the deposit. The way he phrased it along with the attentive way he waited for your approval makes you wonder if he wasn’t just picking this apartment for himself.

Imagining yourself there scares you. If he was seeking your opinion… surely he would be hoping you’d come over? Neither of you have spoken a word about the bizarre yet undeniable attraction you have, but that hardly forms the basis of a relationship. A boyfriend who wanted to be sure you liked his new place would be one thing, but your friend and co-worker who has never admitted to even liking you is quite another.

You lean against the edge of the window and run a finger along the ledge. A small part of you whispers that you’re supposed to be doing something else, eventually. You won’t work at Chen’s forever, but it wasn’t meant to be this hard to leave. It’s just a stop on the way to your final destination. So why do you want to get off the train altogether and make a home here?

Would it be so terrible, to be with him? It’s been a fantasy for so long that imagining real life with him makes you suck in a breath as though you’ve been punched in the gut. It could be a fresh start for you both. The end of one adventure and the beginning of a new one. You remind yourself that being in love doesn’t mean you can’t travel or change the world. Being with Jongdae would hopefully only encourage your dreams, not stifle them.

As they discuss deposit and applications and timelines for moving into the apartment you wander into the other rooms.

The bathroom has a large tub and dual sinks. You can only imagine what your expression must be like right now, given your swirling emotions, and avoid the mirror altogether. The second bedroom is more like a cozy office, narrow enough for a desk and a couch and perhaps some bookshelves. In the bedroom you hesitate at the doorway, reaching up to play with the pendant of your necklace.

Windows run along both sides, meeting in a corner. You think of plants lining the wide ledges and going to sleep with the setting westward sun and how short of a walk it would be to get breakfast from your favorite bagel shop that’s just a block away. It’s close to the mall and the club. It’s truly perfect.

As you watch cars pass and people walk by down below you space out, the image blurring and becoming Jongdae on a bed in this room, leaning back against the pillows with a book in his lap. Smiling at you and pulling you close since he knows you refuse to get up earlier than you have to on your days off.

Inexplicably you want to cry and you huff out a laugh, squeezing your eyes tightly only to find that they’re damp. It’s not anger that the vision inspires in you or even sadness. It’s frustration and amusement that war inside you as you think about how you fell in love with him without your consent. Rational thinking should have stopped this long ago, but all you can think as you stand there is how nice it is to be with him. And how you wouldn’t mind being with him for a long while.

The only thing that helps ease the tension in your chest is how he looks at you on the drive back to your place. You fill the time with discussions of moving trucks and hiring a company to help with the heavy lifting, but you’re both clearly distracted by other thoughts. He pulls his car up to your apartment and you try to avoid looking at him as you say goodbye, but he briefly rests his hand on your knee to get your attention.

Your hand stops in its motion to grab your bag and ends up nearly on top of his, but you make no movement to break the contact. ‘Thank you,’ he says softly. ‘I mean it.’ Jongdae turns his hand and holds yours, giving it a quick squeeze and looking like he never wants to let go.

October 12th, 1997

You’re eating cheesy bread at Barada with Hitch, but today she’s different - evasive and nervous in a strange way. 'So I - uhh. I have news,' she finally says. She sips her drink and looks at the table rather than at you. 'I don't know if I should tell you though.'

Pausing in your chewing you raise a brow. 'You can tell me anything, you know that.'

She awkwardly runs a hand along her neck. 'No I know. I just -' she huffs out a breath and blows her hair off her forehead..

'You and Baekhyun finally had sex and you're pregnant?' You smirk at her as she chokes on her soda. 'Come on, just spit it out.'

She waves and hand and very quickly says - 'There's a project manager position open in the gaming division. Some new big thing and they're looking for an upstart to head up operations.'

You frown and tear off another slide of bread, not understanding her odd behavior at all. 'Okay… and you're thinking what, thinking of applying?'

'No, you dork. I'm thinking you should apply.' She tilts her head like she assumed your reaction would be more immediate. 'You wanted me to keep an eye out for you, right? I didn't want to say anything since - '

'Since?' you ask, both afraid of what she'll say and dying to know. Terrified it will have to do with Jongdae and the swirling mess of feelings you have for him.

It’s her turn to be wry. 'Since you and Jongdae have been attached at the hip.'

'Really?' You stall, taking an enormous bite.

Hitch tosses a balled-up napkin at you. 'Yes. When I met you in college I thought 'there goes the most intense person I've ever met.’ And then I met Jongdae after he opened Chen’s and he gave you a run for your money.' She dusts off her hands. 'You both could be making millions someday. Taking over countries or saving the world or something. We all know it. I don't know, I didn’t want to mention this because together you guys seem happier. Softer? Something like that..'

'And you think me getting a job there would ruin that?' Her words mirror your fears exactly and your stomach drops.

'It's taken me years to get Jongdae to even look at me after I told him where I worked. He hates Microsoft. With good reason, from what you've implied. I'm sure you could make it work, but trust me when I say if you get swept up into that upper management spiral, we probably won't see you again.'

'I won't completely abandon you guys just because I get a new job.' But doubt whispers in your mind. The long hours and the endless meetings and the extra work to always be the best, to always be ahead. 'Okay fine, I see your point. I still have to try, right? I should at least apply.'

She rests her hand over yours where you have your napkin in a death grip on the table. 'You don't have to do anything, babe. We'll always be here for you even if you become a tech mogul overnight. But will it make you happy? Whatever comes next... do it for yourself, okay? Not just cause you think you should.'

You smile and hold her hand for a moment, wrinkling your nose. 'Thank you, Hitch. I needed that. What about you? You said you were going to apply for that transfer to the NYC office, are you still considering it?'

She blows out a deep breath and pulls her hand back, dropping her forehead to it for a moment. 'God, I don't know. My whole life is here. And I'd have to leave the theater.' She rests her chin on her palm and looks up at you with a dramatic frown. 'My friends are all here. My family. I love where I'm at, but I know that something eventually has to change.'

'Baekhyun?' You grin at her, wondering if the move might finally force them to admit their feelings.

Hitch straightens and looks across the food court to the movie theater. 'Yeah, something like that.' She gives you a dramatic waggle of her brow. 'Jongdae?'

You groan and fold your arms, sinking lower into your seat. Even your roommates ask about him now. Everyone can surely see how you light up around him. The way you gravitate towards the DJ booth on club nights like a moth to a flame. The way you draw him into conversations and brag about him. It should be forbidden territory, as untouchable and unreadable as he is. Not to mention he's your boss.

But worst of all he still hasn't said anything about it, nothing more than the occasional flirtatious comment or lingering look. Even after all your time together and the way he looked at you in the new apartment. For all you know he sees you as a very stubborn employee who happens to force your way into things.

You cover your face with your hands and sigh. 'Something like that.'

Hitchcock stands and takes your shared tray of dishes to the bus station with a throaty laugh. 'That's what I thought.'

November 1st, 1997

Jongdae is frantically packing up more of his bookshelf when the doorbell rings. He smiles on instinct. It's not something he can help anymore, not when he knows it's you on the other side. Right at nine in the morning, just when you promised the movers would be here. With a last look around his living room at the organized chaos he wipes his hands on his sweatpants and stands.

It surprised him how quickly you agreed to help with - well, everything, really.

When he told you about his move he didn’t expect anything would come of it. It's his problem, not yours. He didn't imagine for a moment you'd give the announcement more attention than a sympathetic word or two. But you stepped to his side. Put up with his grouchy persistence in believing that there's no place in the world, let alone in Seattle, that would be as amazing as this apartment. As it always seems with you, he found himself proven wrong.

You didn't let him wallow and guided him with your decisiveness through the checklist of everything he'd need to do. A few months ago he would have waved you off. Decided you were being bossy or nosy and turned down the help with a cold shoulder. 

But now he wants you around for everything and the thought makes him pause with his hand on the doorknob.

He made sure you like his new apartment too because - when he isn't expecting it he imagines you there. Not just as his co-worker or employee or even as his friend. As someone more permanent. Lasting. It's not that he needs you to run his life for him, he's perfectly capable of doing things on his own. It's just that he loves how you barge your way into his world and refuse to let him be alone.

Jongdae doesn't know how yet, but he wants to show you how he feels in return. It's like trying to run with a blindfold on, but he desperately hopes that he can figure out how to care about you in the way you deserve. Bringing you coffee and asking about your day and giving you all the freedom you want at work are a start, but they barely scratch the surface of how much he feels for you.

He's got one idea. A big one. An insane one, that you'll probably call him nuts for suggesting. If he ever gets up the nerve someday.

The buzzer sounds again and he shakes himself out of it. Finally he pulls it open and is greeted by your smiling face in the morning gray light. Hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in a long black shirt and faded overalls. He leans against the doorframe, wondering if he's ever seen anything more beautiful than you on his doorstep.

'So, I have a surprise,' you start. With a free hand you nervously brush your hair behind your ear. It's so unlike you that he immediately wonders if something is wrong.

'What is it?'

Before you can answer, noise in the parking lot draws his focus. His front door faces the open-air walkway that leads to the stairs down to the parking lot. He expected a moving truck and several buff men in logoed shirts. Instead it's a scrappy group of your friends - his friends now, he supposes - looking tired but ready to help.

Junmyeon and Jane drink coffee and pull furniture dollys and heavy blankets out of a Uhaul truck. Liz and Jongin are leaning against the cab of Sehun's car and laugh at him as he and Yixing sleep peacefully in the backseat. Chanyeol and his girlfriend are paused on the landing below making out, a tape gun in each of their hands. Another car catches a break in the flow of traffic and pulls into one of the guest spaces. Minseok and Bookworm step out and yawn, tying sweatshirts around their waists.

Jongdae repeats his question. Or at least he tries to, but emotion catches his throat and all he can do is stare at you with a mix of surprise and what he's sure is a very naked expression of affection.

'How did you do this?' he asks when he can finally breathe again.

You tilt your head and grin at him, pride making you radiant even in the dull mist of the morning. 'Is this okay?' For a moment you look worried, tucking your hands in the pockets of your overalls and taking a step back.

'I know I said I'd hire the movers, but I thought this might be better? I didn't think everyone would be here, especially after the Halloween party last night. Soo and Sunshine are working, but I think - wait,' you turn and yell down to the group in the lot. 'Has anyone heard from Baek and Hitch?'

Chanyeol reluctantly pulls away from his girlfriend and replies. 'Yeah, he messaged me at the ass-crack of dawn. He said he and Hitch are fine, but they won't be able to make it until later.'

With a curious look you thank Chanyeol and turn back to Jongdae. 'Okay, so almost everyone came.'

'It's because you're incredible,' he agrees, heart warm and in awe of you. Stepping back, he shoves the door stop in with his foot to prop it open and gestures for you to come in.

He doesn't get two steps before your hand finds his bicep, stopping him. 'No, I'm just absolutely amazing at organizing things,' you laugh. ‘But they didn't just come for me Jongdae, they came because they're your friends. They wanted to help.'

The intensity in your voice makes him pause. Like you're trying to say far more than your words. He gets lost for a moment in your beautiful eyes and swallows harshly. His past, the negative parts, haven't come up much - his failed first business, the trail of broken friendships he's left behind him, the ensuing guard he's had up since - but you've paid far more attention than he realized.

He doesn't miss the meaning behind your words, or the look in your eyes; what you're asking of him. To trust you, to trust them. To release his death grip on the walls he keeps up to protect himself. But no matter how determined you are he knows he has to be the one to dismantle them. His heart is nervous and he instead focuses on your hand on his arm.

For a beat he wants to kiss you, then and there with almost all of his and your friends just outside. Instead he lets his actions speak when his mouth isn't able to and pulls you into a hug. You freeze for a moment, stiff with surprise. But after a moment it melts away and you hold him back, wrapping your arms around his waist. His head spins when you rest your forehead against his shoulder, unable to process the fact that you’re in his arms in reality, not just his dreams.

'You're the most amazing person,' he murmurs against your hair.

The sound of loud voices and thumping of boots on stairs make him pull back. You give him another smile, warmer and softer this time. Something that's private for him only. 'I know.'

He barks out a laugh as Sehun and Jongin come in through the doorway. 'Let's do this!' Sehun calls, clapping his hands together.

'We promise we won't steal anything,' Jongin jokes, looking around Jongdae's place with obvious fascination.

Bijoux organizes the packing party while Chanyeol grabs Jongdae's keys so he and Sehun can take the first load of boxes over to the new place while Junmyeon, Jongin, and Jongdae load up the bigger furniture pieces into the Uhaul. Jongdae lets out a rusty laugh as Junmyeon dubs them ‘the J squad.’ You work around them, collecting all the random trinkets and knicknacks that have escaped other boxes.

He closed Chen’s today to hopefully knock this entire project out in one swoop. Ripping it off like a Bandaid. After the first big load everyone splits up into teams. Sehun and Yixing pack and load the rest of the boxes and smaller items into the cars. Jongin, who is absolutely not trusted around breakable items, goes with Junmyeon to return the Uhaul to the rental shop and pick up lunch and drinks for everyone with the cash Jongdae insisted they take. 

And Minseok leads everyone else on a cleaning checklist he’s created with military precision. It's been so long Jongdae doesn't even know if he has a damage deposit. His grandfather took excellent care of the place and he kept it up in his absence, so he hopes it's not too much work to tidy.

Yixing’s boombox keeps up a steady flow of music throughout the morning and lunch time. With everyone’s help, and of course with the added fuel from the pizza and beverages, things are just wrapping up at the old place. You stay behind with Jongdae to take a last look around and turn in the keys, forcing him to take a few photos in the space to remember it.

‘This is it, I guess,’ he says, holding out the key and laying it on the kitchen counter with a small metallic sound.

‘How do you feel?’ You lean your hip against the fridge and drink from a water bottle.

Sunset over Lake Union is his favorite time of day and it’s hard to stand the thought of missing out on a last one. It’s barely two in the afternoon and it’s hours until golden hour. Rather than lie he simply says the truth. ‘I wish I could see the sun go down one last time.’

You come and stand next to him, close enough he can smell the light scent of your perfume and see the flush of your chest from the day’s exertion. ‘We can wait.’

He thinks of everyone at his new place, unloading boxes. ‘But everyone-’

‘Jongdae,’ you start. ‘They’ll be fine. You know Sehun has probably fallen asleep on your couch already. Baek and Hitch and the openers from Barada will be heading over soon. Some people have to head out for closing shifts but it’s already been decided that we’re doing movie night and Chinese take out tonight at your new place.’

‘Oh really?’ He presses his lips together to try not to laugh.

‘I don’t think you have much of a choice,’ you tease. ‘Trust me, they’ll be fine for another few hours.’

‘Alright then,’ he says after a pause.

The two of you sit on the bare hardwood floors and talk until the sun finally sets, just before five pm. He doesn’t yell his feelings for you at full volume like he wishes he could. He doesn’t dance with you or kiss you slowly in the empty apartment, there’s far too many emotions in his heart today to try and cope with more. But after he locks up and leaves the keys behind he does take your hand to help you into the car. And he does hold it for far longer than necessary before pulling back to shut the door. 

It’s not much, but like his new apartment it’s the start of something.

November 3rd, 1997

You’ve got to tell Jongdae now, but nerves eat away at you and your resolve lessens minute by minute. Since the move he’s been warmer, more open, and you don’t want to ruin that. But you can’t keep this from him any longer.

Applying at Microsoft was supposed to be a long shot, a shot in the dark, or some other kind of shot that never meant to lead anywhere. But still it’s one you took and one that ended up paying off way faster and more successfully than you’d planned. After two interviews last week you sit with a job offer on your answering machine back home and a choice to make.

They need your decision by tomorrow and as Monday winds into early afternoon your deadline approaches. You bite your lip and vacillate wildly between thoughts. On the one hand this could be a good thing - if you’re no longer working at the same place, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from being together, right?

But what if Jongdae can’t see past his hurt and freaks out, assuming you’re leaving him like everyone else has? Or worse, what if he never cared about you that way at all?

Your stomach drops at the thought of walking out of here into your dream job, but feeling empty, leaving behind someone who has come to mean so much to you.

Your roommates Liz and Jane, Hitch, hell even Baekhyun weaseled the truth out of you at Shari’s on Saturday. Stone cold sober and still you let out everything to him sitting in your group’s favorite booth. About how you might in fact love Jongdae and how badly you want this opportunity, how utterly terrifying and exhilarating change can be simultaneously.

None of them told you to choose one way or the other. They didn’t say ‘take the job’ or ‘turn down the job,’ they all said that the decision is one only you can make and that they’d support you no matter what you picked. And maybe each time you cried a little and all of them were good enough friends to just hug you and not mention it.

But all of them told you one thing that now sits lodged in your throat. Whatever else happens, you both deserve to know. Jongdae deserves the truth about what you’re considering, and you deserve to finally know once and for all how he feels about you and what he wants.

After he locks the doors and starts cleaning up, you rise, holding your hands behind your back so tightly your knuckles are most assuredly white. ‘Hey, can we talk for a minute?’

Jongdae nods. ‘Of course. I’ve got something I wanted to discuss with you as well, actually. But you go first.’ He folds his arms and leans against his desk, giving you that affectionate close-lipped smile of his. You desperately hope what you’re about to say doesn’t wipe it off his face.

Not one to beat around the bush you dive in. ‘I applied for another job.’ The words sound blunt and harsh. You swallow and try again, hating how his brow furrows in confusion. ‘Not because I don’t like it here. But Hitch told me about an opening and it sounded - sounds perfect for what I want to do in the long run. It’s on the new gaming system division… at Microsoft.’

He doesn’t say anything for a long pause. Instead of meeting your eyes his have dropped to the ground and you wish you could reach out and touch him. Anything to make sure he hears you, understands you. But a whisper of fear makes you keep quiet, worrying the connection you had wasn’t meant to last, if something so trivial could break it.

‘I thought you were happy here,’ he says finally.

You hold your hands out in front of you, palms up in a gesture of entreaty. ‘I do, Jongdae. It’s not that at all. I thought this might - be good for us. If we’re not working together, then -’

When he finally looks up his gaze is distant, his mouth a thin line. The shutters have fallen over his face. ‘By going to work at the one place I despise?’

Anger makes your skin hot and you fold your arms as well, in defiance. ‘But you talk to Hitch and Baekhyun? They haven’t turned into the devil incarnate yet.’

He gives a quick, harsh shrug. ‘I like them both, sure. But being friends is one thing. This is quite another.’

It’s almost a declaration, yet so far from how you dreamed this moment might go. ‘What are you saying, Jongdae?’ You need to hear it. After so many weeks of trying you need him to at least do you the courtesy of speaking it out loud.

‘You know how I feel about you.’ There’s hope in his eyes. But it’s so buried amongst hurt and suspicion it’s not even close to reassuring. ‘I want you to stay. Here.’ With me, he doesn’t say, but you feel it.

Nothing drives you more up the wall than being told what to do. His words fall against your own shield and the plea within goes unnoticed. ‘Would you really shut me off if I took this job? Does hating them mean more than wanting what’s best for me?’ You finally step forward, reaching a hand for his arm.

‘I’ve supported you in everything,’ you start, unable to stop now that you’ve started. ‘In finding community here. In your move. Even in the business, who was the one who pushed you to keep growing? I don’t intend to stop being there for you, but I need you to support me in this. Please.’

He just watches you, not saying a word. The clock on the wall ticks loudly in the silence. People outside the glass doors go about their day, shopping or getting an early dinner, unaware of the standoff taking place merely feet from them. You wonder what it would take to make his guard truly ever come down.

With how quickly it snapped back into place you feel tired all the way down to your bones. Maybe it will never be enough, even if you did stay here forever.

‘I’ll pay out your PTO in these next two weeks,’ he says softly. ‘No need to come back into the office. If that works for you?’ His last statement is thrown on as a hasty addendum. Like he’d realized how harsh it sounded and he wanted to dull the sting. It’s a sliver of kindness, a glimpse at the man he almost allowed himself to be. But it’s not enough.

‘Fine with me.’ You move past him, into the supply room to grab your purse and jacket, proud of the way your voice doesn’t waver. Pausing in the hallway you turn to look back at him, still frozen against his desk. ‘I’m leaving this job, I’m not leaving you.��

He turns to look at you, running a hand through his hair and messing up the ends. ‘It will go the same way, I know it. In the end you’ll disappear too.’

‘Jongdae, I’m trying. I need you to at least meet me halfway.’

You don’t wait for his reply, if one was ever even going to come. Instead you continue down the small hallway and push out the back door into the mall. It’s only once you’re in your car that you remember he mentioned something he wanted to discuss. You wonder what it was, and if you’ll ever find out.

Jongdae stares after you for long seconds after you’re gone. He doesn’t hold out hope that you’ll come back, not after the way he treated you. Instead he feels stuck in place, like if he holds his breath and doesn’t exhale then the last five minutes didn’t happen.

But his lungs burn and his chest aches, and when he finally sighs it comes out ragged. He fumbles for the switch and the store descends into darkness. Shafts of light still come through, angled in from the glass ceiling of the mall’s concourse. Jongdae stands just outside of it, protected. With no one to see he sinks into his desk chair and drops his head into his hands.

The tears that clog his throat are at first unexpected, but as the minutes drag on he finally gives into them. He should have known they were coming all along. Not just from the moment you walked into his life, but from the day his grandfather died. From the day his father passed and his mother became a ghost rather than a permanent, tangible figure. 

From the day Julian took Jongdae’s designs and credited them as his own to the investors, cutting Jongdae out of not only the business they were building, but out of their group of friends as well.

Misery and hopelessness whisper against his skin and for long minutes he lets himself wallow. He knows it’s no one’s fault but his own that he ruined things with you. His grandfather taught him long ago that other’s actions are theirs, and that it’s what Jongdae does in response that is his responsibility. But he can’t deny that he indulges in thoughts of blaming the cruelty of life for making him so goddamn stubborn.

He swallows and leans back in his chair, feeling as though his body is made of hard, unyielding stone. Maybe it's better this way, he wonders, drumming his fingers on the wood desk before him. Perhaps he should let his worst fears dominate his life, believing that the risk is far greater than any potential reward that love or friendship could offer him.

Is it better to be alone, knowing that he’ll always be safe, free of anyone who might hurt him?

Jongdae groans. The voice inside him that whispers No sounds first like his grandfather, both encouraging and feisty at the thought of Jongdae giving up. Next it sounds like you. He knows you’d roll your eyes and call him grouchy, always thinking better of him than he does of himself. You’d tell him his bark is far worse than his bite and to get over himself already. At this thought, at any thought of you, really, he smiles.

Familiar voices make him look out into the mall. Sehun and Jongin walk by carrying sodas, rubbing their stomachs. He can imagine how they’re complaining about eating too much Barada pizza, as always. 

They pass by quickly but the image stays with him, of their friendship. Jongdae thinks of Chanyeol and Kyungsoo’s, how opposite and yet how similar they are. Baekhyun and Hitch, who are always teasing each other but who he knows would do anything at the drop of a hat.

He’s held himself back the past few months. First a reluctant observer. Then a tentative participant. The endless exhaustion of being careful, keeping his distance, catches up to Jongdae as he sits in that chair. If it weren’t for you maybe he’d never be brave enough to try again after how hard it was growing up. But if he is to be the kind of person, the kind of partner you deserve, now is the time to make the attempt.

It’s up to Jongdae to be the one to try, to reach out. He can’t let others find him anymore. For the first time in a long time Jongdae stands up and goes looking for a friend.

Junmyeon still has an hour before his store closes and he looks up at Jongdae as he walks in through the door of Guardians. ‘Hey, JD! How’s it going?’ If he notices that Jongdae’s been crying, he’s kind enough to not mention it.

‘Are you busy?’ Jongdae’s throat is raw but Jun has a young son, surely tears won’t bother him.

‘Not really, I’m just organizing some shipments going out tomorrow,’ Junmyeon answers. He sets down his pencil and rests his hands on the counter. A crease forms between his brows the longer he watches Jongdae. ‘Is everything alright?’

He wants to do this right, but all he can find are inelegant words. Junmyeon is as close as he has to a best friend at the moment, and he hopes he doesn’t inconvenience him. ‘Not really.’

Jun tilts his head and gestures to the door, picking up Jongdae’s unspoken request and running with it, just like he’d hoped he would. ‘I can close up shop a bit early. Want to talk in my office?’

Jongdae runs a hand over his face and nods. Grateful and relieved he manages a small laugh. ‘That would be great, thanks.’

After Jun locks the doors and flips the sign to closed he motions for Jongdae to follow him. The back room of Guardians is much warmer that at Chen’s Electronics, in style rather than temperature. Jongdae sits on a beige sofa that’s even more comfortable than it looks. The walls are filled with framed photos and art prints and various other pieces that give the space an art gallery vibe.

With a sigh Junmyeon tidies up the mess of papers and crayons and various cups with kid lids. ‘Sorry, Sungmin loves to draw but we haven’t quite nailed the clean up yet.’

‘Don’t worry about it on my behalf,’ Jongdae says sincerely. ‘I’m just grateful you’re willing to listen.’

The space has a narrow hallway leading to a back door and a closet that’s probably full of supplies, much like Jongdae’s store. Jun takes the cups to a small sink in the mini-kitchen in the corner. His brow lifts in confusion. ‘Why wouldn’t I? We’re friends, right?’

Could it be that simple? No need to prove himself or do everything possible to impress Junmyeon, like he did with Julian. ‘Yeah, we are I suppose.’ He laughs and shakes his head. ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to imply I don’t consider us friends, I just - well, have a few trust issues when it comes to that sort of thing.’

Junmyeon dries his hands on a dishtowel and blows his hair off his forehead with a huffed laugh. ‘We’ve all got a few issues, don’t we?’ He moves to the table and takes a seat, sliding a glass of water towards Jongdae and sipping from one of his own. ‘I’ve got the time. So quit stalling and tell me about yours.’

He sags into the couch and drinks from the glass. ‘Alright then.’

For once he doesn’t second guess himself or try to read the minutiae of Jun’s expressions to see if he’s annoying him or being too boring. Jongdae simply tells him the truth, trusting his friend to listen. 

He mentions his family and how hard it hit him when his grandfather passed. How strange and yet unbothered he is by the lack of relationship with his mother. The way he was teased growing up and how he was probably the only person in his Master’s program going through puberty. The fact that the mall is the first place he’s ever had friends his own age since childhood.

It’s satisfying to see how pissed off Jun gets when he tells him about Julian and all the bullshit he put Jongdae through. For a while there Jongdae had convinced himself that he was the one in the wrong, that there’d been something he’d done to earn his exile. That it was a deserved punishment. But his friend’s muttered curses remind him that true friends don’t normally backstab each other for money and notoriety.

And finally, he talks of you.

How much he values you at work and how sassy and insistent you were about bringing him into ‘the fold’ of their friend group. The ways in which he wants to be with you and care for you and all his worries of whether or not he’ll be any good at it, given his lack of experience. Junmyeon is neither surprised by his feelings for you nor willing to let him wallow.

‘I even brought prom tickets,’ Jongdae finishes with a groan. He pulls them from the pocket of his jeans and lets his arm fall to the couch cushion. ‘Me. At a prom.’ He almost snorts.

But Junmyeon just purses his lips. ‘Is that really such a stretch?’

Jongdae hums a noise of contemplation. ‘No. I guess not. All our friends are doing it.’ But before Jun can continue he shakes his head. ‘But I’ve messed this all up, so it doesn’t matter either way.’

Loneliness aches in his bones, his hands tired of not holding yours. Wishing he was enough, somehow, to keep you here and keep you warm; enough to make you stay, to make you happy.

Junmyeon raises a brow. ‘I think you’re missing the point entirely my friend. She told you what she needs. All you have to do is listen. She’s asking you to trust her. This job is something she’s worked for and she’s not leaving you for it. She’s just leaving the job. If you want to know you have to ask.’

He sighs deeply. ‘You’re right. But what if it all goes wrong? What if I try and it’s all for nothing in the end?’

Jun dips his chin to his chest, looking at the ground lost in thought. ‘That’s fair. I know a little of that myself, Jongdae. But all you can do is try. There’s sadly no guarantees here. I think you want to make it work and from what I know of her, she wants you as well. It’s time to make the big gesture. Or any kind of gesture, really.’

He groans and smiles, knowing his friend’s fondness for ‘I think you’re right.’ He even has an idea, two in fact. One that’s lived in the back of his mind for weeks and one that’s brewing right now. ‘Will you help me?’

‘Absolutely my friend.’ Jun claps him on the shoulder, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

November 19th, 1997

It should have been wonderful news to you that it was a clean break at least. No mess, just walking out the door and leaving behind the man and the job in one fell swoop. But of course, it wasn’t.

Microsoft was delighted when you told them you could start ASAP, but honestly you did it to jump into work rather than spend your time missing Jongdae. Filling your schedule proves to be the easiest way to avoid thinking about what hurts. You still had your roommates and Hitch and everyone else to hang out with, even if you weren’t ready for any Saturday pizza lunches or Shari’s nights quite yet. Both brought you far too close to him to bear right now.

Liz and Jane and Hitch are wonderful and you’ve had not one but two sleepovers since ‘the Jongdae incident.’ If not for their friendship and constant presence you’re sure you would have walled up the hurt and hid it away, not one to normally speak about your pain openly. Not while it’s so fresh. 

Distantly you hope that Jongdae is okay and that he has someone to talk to. If he’s even hurting. 

For all you know he’s completely fine and unaffected by the entire thing. Maybe he’s already found a new office manager and has forgotten about you. But those are the kind of rude and painful thoughts that only come to you at three in the morning when you can’t sleep, when dreams of his hands and his voice and his smile keep you up.

Jongdae calls one Tuesday to ask you to swing by Chen’s to pick something up the next day and you’re suspicious. He wouldn’t say any more, just ‘please come by at six. I have something to give you and I’d like it to be in person.’

You put on your favorite black dress and blazer that make you feel both sexy and confident and head to the mall. If he’s just calling you to twist the knife in deeper, you’ve already decided to leave and not bother letting him hurt you more. But if he’s calling to reconcile… you shake your head, not willing to get your hopes up. Instead you park in your old space and fix your make up in the rearview mirror.

It delights you to see that your old desk is returned to its former state. Just the computer, keyboard, and mouse remain. No one’s personal possessions have taken over the space like yours used to. It shouldn’t make you so happy to see he hasn’t replaced you, but it does.

Jongdae sits at his desk. His hair is in its usual perfect wave but his white button down and slacks have been swapped today for a dark green sweater and tan chinos. He looks ridiculously handsome and you grit your teeth, wishing you could turn off your attraction to him with a switch inside your brain.

He looks up at your knock on the glass door. For a moment he simply stands, drinking you in. Then he moves, walking closer to unlock the door and let you in. 

‘Hi. How are you?’

You blink and try not to laugh. ‘How am I? Jongdae, how do you think I am?’

‘Right, sorry.’ He shakes his head. Carefully he looks you up and down, not bothering to hide his own attraction to you in his hungry gaze. With a swallow he remembers himself and grabs a cardboard banker’s box from in front of his desk. ‘Here. I didn’t want to come by and drop it off. It felt wrong.’

The box holds all the random photos and personal belongings you’d left in your desk, in your haste to leave. Postcards from Amsterdam and family photos and lotions and your favorite scarf you’d been missing. He steps back, resting against the corner of his desk and folding his arms. When you take it he doesn’t say anything, which is not what you’d hoped by any means, but silence is definitely less painful than you’d feared.

‘Well, it’s been an adventure,’ you manage. You lean against your desk and move the box under one arm, holding out a hand to him to shake. Ready to be done with this officially.

He doesn’t move. You can feel words held on the tip of his tongue. Months and months later you know how to read his tells. The tightness in his jaw and the widening of his eyes and how his hand grips the fabric of his sweater. But seconds tick on and still he says nothing. 

He should speak or you should leave. One of you should do something. Instead you’re frozen in time. Eventually your arm aches and you set the box down beside you. You could go first, but pride demands he be the one to confess, if there’s going to be any confessions tonight.

Neither of you caves; twin pillars of resolution, stubbornness, and desire. It’s a game the two of you could play for hours. The tension in the air pulls tighter than a violin. His gaze drops from your eyes to your lips, unabashedly. His lids grow heavy as he breathes deeply, close enough to smell your gardenia perfume, but just out of reach of being able to touch you.

So this is what it feels like to meet my match, you think, finally acknowledging just how deeply you want him. Enough nights had been spent imagining kissing him, being with him in far more intimate ways than just a holding of hands or a hug. You want more, but only if he wants you, too.

You'd always been told that you were too driven, too smart, too self-sufficient to attract a man. Even in your MBA program where ambition and intelligence were supposedly rewarded, it apparently made you too something to find a good man to date.

But now there’s one right in front of you, looking at you as if you’re the answer to Fermat’s Enigma; a rare and priceless gem he’d been hunting for all his life. But he doesn’t look at you as if you’re art to be admired, a prize to be won. The guard lifts steadily and when he looks at you now it’s as if you’re the kind of miracle he wants to sink his teeth, his tongue, and his fingers into.

Your cheeks grow warm and you’re sure you look just as amazed and turned on as he does. If you had to guess, you’d bet that the number of people who challenge him these days are few, and the number of people who attempt to see the man behind the curtain even fewer.

While everyone else in the world might just see a monolith of a man, a genius, a hardworking and brilliant anomaly, you see the passionate, warm heart that beats in his chest. You know that the tin man really does have feelings and needs, and your heart almost breaks when you realize he’s been searching for you just as fervently as you’ve been searching for someone like him.

The silence in the room is almost too fragile a thing to break. On one side of the moment is a spark of something, a chance to see if this connection is real and deep, or if this is just chemistry and biology combining into lust. If your mind has taken the small gestures of passion and kindness and friendship from him and built it up to be something more than the sum of its parts.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he breathes, voice catching in his throat. Releasing his folded arms he rests his palms on the edges of the desk.

‘I’ve missed you, too,’ you admit. Your hands curl in on themselves, trying to fight the way emotion and physical longing make it difficult to be in such a close proximity to him.

‘Okay, then.’ He breaks first, moving with purpose and striding to you in two steps, sliding his hands along your jaw with such softness that you gasp. 

And then, finally, you feel his lips on yours. You grasp his hips, hands freed and aching to touch him, to feel his hard body press against yours with surprising heat.

You meet him with equal passion, working your lips against his steady assault on your composure. For a solid minute you’re in awe that you could feel this much, that his lips and his hands could undo you so rapidly. That they could rebuild you into someone who belongs to him in such a short space of time, after weeks of endless doubt.

He groans against your lips in what feels like similar shock and surrender. Who would have thought that he would cave to your touch just as you did to his? How could someone so grumpy and strong-willed also be so open and vulnerable to this tentative thing between you.

But as he drops a hand and brings it to rest securely on the small of your back you realize there’s a name for this feeling.

You could call it fate. You could call it destiny. You could call it that damned four-letter word or you could call it Darwinism for all you care as his teeth bite gently into your lower lip.

You just know that nothing has ever felt as good and right as his hands claiming you for his own and the smell and heat of him wrapping themselves around you and burrowing their way into your heart.

A whine works its way from your throat as he licks along the seam of your lips, seeking entrance. When you open your mouth to him, his tongue slides along your own and you almost lose your balance. With a giggle you could swear you’ve never made before in your life you let him guide you up onto the desk.

He steps between your legs instantly, gripping your hips and continuing his tasting of you. Heat and electricity race down your spine as you fist your hands in his hair, pulling him closer to you until there’s no separation.

Banging on the glass doors and whistles come from out in the mall and you freeze. Instead of jerking back in shock and alarm like you’d expect him to, Jongdae confounds you once again. He pulls back slowly, opening his eyes and lifting his hands to gently cup your face. It can’t have been more than fifteen minutes but in less than the time it takes to watch one episode of Friends he’s turned your world on its axis.

You and Jongdae smile at each other and both turn to wave at your group of friends, who are celebrating and clapping. Baekhyun eats from an enormous bag of popcorn, wearing his theater uniform. Jongin and Sehun take large handfuls and Hitch whoops with joy. Liz and Jane and Junmyeon are all smiling, and attempt to force some of the group away to give you privacy.

Jongdae’s hands flex on your waist. ‘I want to try. You’re everything I want, will you please give me the chance to be what you need?’ His voice is raspy and his lips are red and you can’t help but grin.

‘I just want you, okay?’ You fix his messed up hair with both hands and sigh with relief. ‘And for you to admit you like me.’

‘I far more than like you.’ Jongdae rolls his eyes and kisses you once more. ‘You just want me to say you’re right.’

With a laugh you ease yourself off your desk, standing close within his arms and bending to whisper in his ear. ‘I’m always right. I just love when you admit it.’

‘So,’ he starts with an amused quirk of an eyebrow. ‘Will you let me take you to dinner? Us, officially, on a date.’

Your chest feels as if it’s a balloon, expanding so rapidly it might burst. He looks so young and boyish and hopeful your heart feels like it turns to liquid gold. With a delighted grin you lean forward and press your lips to his again, unable to resist.

Joy swims in his irises as he holds you in his arms. He looks at you through his lashes, his lips tilting into lopsided smile. ‘Is that a yes, then?’

‘Yes,’ you answer. ‘Of course.’

‘How’s right now for you?’ He motions to the doors and your friends have finally been corralled to the side of the walkway, revealing an elaborately decorated table in the food court.

You gasp and grip his arm. Jun and Sehun hold the doors open and Jongdae escorts you out. A red tablecloth is spread out over the circular table. The chairs have added plush cushions and several candles have been lit. A bottle of wine and two glasses rest beside several plates of food. You recognize the pizza from Barada, the rest looks like a mix from the other restaurants in the food court. 

With high fives and hugs from your friends they finally leave you and Jongdae alone. Well, almost alone. It’s not a busy time at the mall, but there’s no way to avoid some of the customers turning to watch with amusement and curiosity as they pass by. You pay them no mind as Jongdae holds out your chair and helps you sit. 

The two of you fall back into conversation easy enough, aided by the enormous amount of food and how you no longer have to move your knees away when they bump under the table. Jongdae reaches for your hand and holds it, in full view. He stares at the joined digits with warmth before looking up at you. 

Doubt passes across his face, marring the beauty that contentment lends his features. ‘I don’t -’ he struggles. ‘I don’t know how to keep this much good in my life. I worry that I’m going to mess it up.’

Neither of you are the type to openly acknowledge such things. Merely the fact that he’s voicing his fears to you shows you he’s doing what he said - he’s trying, he wants to change. And truthfully so do you. 

‘I worried for the longest time that I’d be alone forever,’ you say softly. ‘I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who understood me or who could handle all my - well, you know how I am.’ 

Jongdae smiles then, lifting your joined hands to his lips to press a kiss to your skin. ‘I love who you are.’ 

Your eyes mist at that and you groan, trying to blink them back. ‘Good, because I love who you are too.’ With your free hand you reach for his, needing to hold both of them and all of him at once. Not wanting to give his overly-analytical mind a chance to override the fragile hope you’re both building tonight. ‘You know what to do when a computer overloads?’

He nods. ‘Of course. Often it’s just a simple matter of turning it off and on again.’

‘So,’ you say, lifting your shoulder in a shrug. ‘When we mess up or freak out or say the wrong thing, we’ll just start over again. As long as you want me and I want you, we’ll figure it out.’ 

Jongdae softens, his shoulders dropping and ease coming back into his eyes. ‘I didn’t know I was lagging until you jump started my life.’ He waggles his brows. It’s a gesture that’s all Baekhyun, and a pun so terrible that Junmyeon would be proud. You can’t help but laugh and squeeze his hands. 

‘I’ve got one more surprise,’ Jongdae says, reluctantly releasing one of your hands to pull two narrow slips of paper from his pocket. ‘Do you have any plans for Christmas?’ 

The tickets are in both your names. First class round trip from Seattle to Amsterdam. ‘Oh my - Jongdae, what is this? You and me in Amsterdam?’ 

‘I figured it was about time,’ he says with pride. 

You lean out of your chair and reach for him, tugging him closer to kiss him fully. Noise reaches you - clapping and cheering from the shops around the mall. When you look around you see Sehun and his girlfriend leaning out of Starlight Apparel. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo smiling and fist bumping as they work on closing up the shop. 

Hitch nudges Baekhyun from the theater booth and he jumps in excitement. And from Guardians Junmyeon leans on the counter, resting his chin in his hand, giving a thumbs up. 

You roll your eyes and wave. ‘We maybe should have gone somewhere outside the mall, huh?’

'No, I think this is perfect,’ Jongdae answers. He then covers your mouth with his and holds you so tight that it drowns out the chorus of cheering that echos around the space. 

#jongdae fanfic #chen fanfic #exo fanfic #exo angst #exo fluff #exo au

[serendipityunho]

Cheat Codes (M)

❀ Genre: smut, angst, college au ❀ Pairing: dom!Seonghwa x brat!Reader (fem.) ❀ Word Count: 5.3k ❀ Warnings: explicit language, intoxication, brat taming, hair-pulling, fingering, biting kink, blowjob, teasing, clit play, dirty talk, begging, explicit sexual intercourse, a little bit of a fight between seonghwa and yunho, yunho got his feelings hurt :( 

❀ Synopsis: "This party's boring, wanna get out of here?", may have perhaps led you to make the biggest mistake of your life by sleeping with your best friend's other best friend, your best friend who happens to be in love with you.

Another year, another number changed on his age. Despite that change, Yunho would always remain a child at heart, getting excited and wide-eyed at the birthday cake you’d always bake him. But for the past couple of years, there’s been a twist, he was able to drink legally. Since then, parties and gatherings were always wild, bringing a new meaning to the word ‘celebration’.

You’d do anything for your best friend, and he’d do anything for you. Yunho was there for you since you could remember, he was the first to show up with a bandaid when you fell off your bike or when you tripped over the rock chasing him around his house. It was an unbreakable bond, everyone knew it, they could see it, how close the two of you are. 

“One time for the birthday bitch- Ow! What was that for?” Mingi shot Yunho a hurtful look as he rubbed his arm from Yunho’s warning punch.

“Call me a bitch one more time and let’s see where that leads you,” he was obviously kidding, who in their right mind would ever dare to harm Mingi? All he does is just vibe in his own little world, smiling at every living thing.

This year, it was a whole lot more different compared to his usual birthday bashes. The girls, the beer kegs, the rave lights, the party animals? Not a single one in sight. Yunho thought it was time for a change in the annual scenery, it definitely let the both of you breathe a little bit more.

To be honest, it felt quite unusual without the booming music and sweaty bodies sexually grinding against one another. Not that you were complaining, it was a relief not to witness any more wild scenes.

Last time, San had to get stitches on his head as a result of slipping off the diving board. And Mingi? Let’s spare the details and just say his chest was in pain from a Hennessy-drunk-Wooyoung trying to vacuum his ‘tiddies’. Don’t ask how he managed to secure a vacuum in the first place. 

“Happy birthday, shithead,” was the first thing you say to him, pulling yourself onto one of the kitchen stools as you watch him gulp down a cup of whatever mix of alcohol he had swirling in there.

“Thank you, shithead, want a drink?” Yunho always offered you drinks whenever he had the chance, getting you drunk was always his favourite thing to do. Why? It was so he could freely express his feelings for you without the fear of you remembering it the next day. 

How did you know that? Yunho had once underestimated your drinking ability. It was quite a night to remember when Yunho mistook your fuller cup of alcohol for his, making him spew out the most cooing confession you’ve ever heard.

It honestly didn’t come as a surprise. One of you was doomed to fall for the other, he just happened to be the first. 

“No thanks, we’re keeping it calm this time, remember?”

“Right, right. Calm.” 

Several of his friends had been invited to Yunho’s little birthday gathering. They had just been as confused as you were when you were told there was no big party this year. But, of course, none of them questioned the birthday boy of his intentions.

You’ve familiarised yourself with their faces around campus, but San and Wooyoung were the only two you’ve actually brought yourself to talk to beside Mingi occasionally. The two were tight-knit, maybe even more so than Yunho and yourself. A pair who wreak chaos and havoc everywhere they go. No one could ever forget the time Wooyoung walked the walk of shame with nothing but a pizza box covering his lower region and San’s beanie on his head. 

“You never told me what’s with the sudden change,” no one had really asked Yunho, maybe that’s what he liked about them, the suppressed urge to ask a million questions. “No girls accepted your party invites? Shocking.”

“No, it’s not that,” Yunho sighed, leaning back against the counter with his hand wrapped on the edge. “I can’t have big loud parties for the rest of my life, you know?” 

“And what about it?”

“Don’t know, I just felt like having people I actually care about here,” it was rare to have a friend like Yunho, sure he was easy to talk to but that doesn’t automatically make someone his friend. “A time where I don’t have to fake a smile for an entire night because that shit just makes my face cramp.”

“Oh, please, don’t get all soft on me now. It’s your birthday, cheer up a bit, yeah?” You punched his shoulder playfully before hopping off the stool, grabbing his hand to lead him to the yelling boys in the backyard. 

“Pftt- I’m not getting soft, you know it’s the Vodka.” oh, the excuses always amazed you.

You could feel goosebumps poking out from under your cold skin, the night was chilly with a few waves of shivering breezes, you couldn’t help but mentally scold yourself for forgetting to bring a jumper with you. Yunho probably had none left considering you’ve stolen almost all of them to bring home.

It was a mystery how none of these boys reacted the way you did to the cold, it was as if their skin was ice itself. They just continued yelling and throwing arms around each other like it wasn’t a single care in the world. The brooding effects of alcohol, you could say.

Yunho wasn’t particularly a wild drunk, but when he was, it was something that needed to be recorded and watched the morning after. He was never wildly drunk at his big birthday bashes but tonight was, as said, different. Drowning himself in bottles of soju until his pale skin flushed bright red, Jongho could probably mistake it for an apple and break his skull. God hopes that doesn’t happen.

Despite familiarising yourself with the new crew, there was one who you couldn’t help but pay attention to more. He wasn’t like the others, he didn’t give off San and Wooyoung’s chaotic behaviour, he didn’t carry Hongjoong’s talkative manner and he definitely doesn’t seem like he would replicate Mingi’s clumsiness or Jongho’s bright personality.

The best you could assume from this boy was that he would probably share the same bluntness as Yeosang. Cold and blunt. Nothing else.

Park Seonghwa.

There was something about him. Maybe it was the sense of mystery that caused him to occupy most of your headspace. He looks like he holds a lot of mystery, mysteries you were eager to explore. 

You didn’t even realise you were staring blankly at him until the brooding pair of dark brown eyes met yours from across the circle of fold-out chairs, making you choke on the cheap liquor before quickly snapping your gaze away from the boy and to the drunken group of boys looking like they were playing ring-around-the-rosie.

It was just the two of you. Sitting in the array of seating with live entertainment before your eyes. Entertainment as in watching Mingi trying to lick his elbow. You could’ve sworn the people in front of you were simply just children in the bodies of grown men. Where did Yunho even find these boys?

Amusement from watching the chaos unfold before you quickly washed away as you kept your seat warm, watching your liquor hitting the sides of your cup as you lazily mixed it. Laughter boomed recurrently throughout the backyard, something that was honestly keeping you awake for the night.

You hate to say it but, you were bored as fuck. 

Sure, it was nice to stray away from Yunho’s regular birthday bashes but a little more entertainment rather than alcohol and snacks would’ve been a little nice. The several bodies of young men seem like they’re having the time of their lives just dancing on the edge of the pool right now, one was surely destined to fall in and cause a chain reaction.

Seeing Yunho so happy and not actually fake smiling was enough to convince you to stay and not drag him to the closest nightclub. What the birthday boy wants, the birthday boy gets.

“Hey,” the voice was nothing like you’d expect, soft and comforting but deep and brooding at the same time, making you snap your attention to the boy sitting down on the chair next to you.

“Hi,” was he as bored as you were? Looked like it. His cup was nearly as empty as yours.

“How long have you known Yunho?” Seonghwa asked, slouching back against the flimsy chair as he downed the last of his drink.

“Since we took our first baby steps. Childhood friend, and you?” 

“Known the big guy since highschool,” that’s weird, Yunho never mentioned a guy named Park Seonghwa once in his life till now. Let alone, you’ve never even seen him around school since the two of you went together.

“I don’t remember him telling me about you until now. Did you go to the same school as us?”

“I studied abroad in Australia, that’s why he never mentioned me. Thought our friendship wouldn’t last by the time I got back so there was no point in bragging about it.”

Well that explains it then.

“Huh, interesting,” despite sitting a few feet away from the pool, the lights had illuminated his face perfectly, showing off his sharp features you were able to admire from up close when he moved seats next to you. There was one thing you were captivated by the most. His eyes.

They were very alluring eyes, it was as if they were hand-sculpted by an almighty deity itself. 

His leather jacket framed his figure perfectly, a beautiful man with a sense of style? Makes you wonder if he has a girlfriend.

“Yeah, look,” Seonghwa sighed, running a hand through his sleek black hair before inching closer to you. “I don’t know how to say this but, this party is getting boring. Wanna get out of here?” 

And so you were right.

“As much as I would like to, I don’t think I should keep him out of my sight.”

“We can just go somewhere more calmer like upstairs if you want?” You wanted to snort at his desperation. It was clear what his intentions were and he obviously wasn’t trying to hide it. Yet, you weren’t willing to hide yours either.

“Yeah,” you smirked, licking your top row of teeth before pushing yourself off the chair. “We can go upstairs.”

Seonghwa didn’t even bat an eye before taking a hold of your hand in his, literally dragging you back inside the house where he discarded his empty solo cup in the trash along with yours. The source of laughter grew quieter as the two of you descended further into the house, silently navigating up the staircase with nothing in mind other than the fact that both of you were obviously desperate for some sort of action.

Your easy agreement probably made it sound like you were one of people who slept with anyone they could, but that wasn’t the case. Turning down boys was practically your profession. But with Park Seonghwa? You wanted a taste of that. 

You wanted a taste of his mystery, you wanted a touch of that tattoo strip on the side of his neck and the ones on his fingers. You just wanted to feel the flexed bicep underneath the tough leather jacket and the alcohol kissed lips against your neck and preferably on every inch of your body.

Who could blame you for wanting to?

“I didn’t think you were the desperate type,” Seonghwa lows, pushing you against the bedroom door as he locked it. 

“I’m not,” your eyes flicker up to his, smirking as you place a hand on the side of his neck, tracing his tattoo with your finger. “You just happened to catch my attention recently.”

“I’m flattered, really,” Seonghwa smirked, eyeing your features with his arms caging you between his body and the door.

“Just fucking kiss me already.”

“Oh, you’re so desperate for me to just fuck you right now aren’t you?” Seonghwa growled, grabbing your waist and pushing you backwards onto the bed until you were flat on your back.

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to beg for it,” patience wasn’t really on your side, you weren’t gifted with it at all. Especially when it came to fucking.

“Alright, bet.” 

A pair of luscious lips slammed against yours in a matter of seconds, Seonghwa was pushing your body deeper into the mattress as his knee pushed open your legs and hands sliding up from your sides to your hands. It was as if you were kissing nothing but mouldable chocolate that tasted of a faint strawberry chapstick, kissing it so hungrily.

“You think I can’t make you beg? Just watch,” Seonghwa’s lips hovered over yours, barely parted as he pushed your legs further apart with his knee, fingers popping the button of your jeans before pulling down its zipper.

“I don’t give in ea- shit,” your head lurched forward as Seonghwa pressed his fingers against your clit, rubbing it slowly before guiding it down to your folds and cloaking his fingers with your wetness.

“Fuck, what was that? Starting to get wet for me?” 

“Don’t act like you don’t have a stiffy here,” you could feel Seonghwa’s hard-on underneath his jeans rubbing against your thigh, making you smirk before subtly moving your leg.

“Are you trying to make me beg? No, I don’t play like that,” Seonghwa lowered his face against your neck with a low groan, sinking his long fingers into your pussy with ease before pumping them in and out, earning a quiet whine from you.

“Tsk, tsk, I can do this all night, you know?” You could feel a smirk against your neck, the chilling inhales and exhales against your skin sent shivers down your spine as Seonghwa quickened the pace of his fingers pumping in and out of you, causing your knees wanting to shut close.

“Fuck- Seonghwanggha,” he wasn’t kidding when he said he could make you beg. You were literally on the verge of it. His fingers weren’t enough and he knew that, they were just enough.

“Aw, are you getting needy? Hm? Do you want more?” The tease sent your brain into a frenzy, cloaked with a thick film of haze as Seonghwa starts to rub your clit with the palm of his hand while still fucking you with his fingers. 

“Yes, jesus fucking christ- yes!”

“Yes what? Hm? What do you want?” 

“You.”

“I need you to say it.”

“Ohmyfuckinggod- I want you to fuck me.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t hear that.”

“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me- ughhnah fuck,” a sharp pain brews against your neck, Seonghwa had caught the flesh of your neck between his teeth, biting it while pulling your jeans and panties down to the floor. 

A moan slips out of your mouth as Seonghwa licks the spot on your neck, kissing it before sucking on your jawline. The sudden idea of where you were and what you were doing left your mind like a flash, all you could think of was being touched, touched by Seonghwa and kissing his tattoos on his fingers that were knuckles deep inside of you.

“Told you I would make you beg.”

Underestimation was always your weakness, tonight was a clear sign you should probably stop doing that. 

“You flatter yourself too damn much,” you grit, flipping Seonghwa onto his back before lowering yourself onto the waistband of his black jeans, eyeing his bulging erection with a smirk.

“But was I wrong? I don’t think so,” Seonghwa sits up, holding the side of your face in one of his hands before sliding them up to your hair. Your mouth shoots wide open as Seonghwa suddenly grabs a hold of your hair, pulling it back to expose the bruised skin on your neck.

Oh, how much you wanted to just rip his tongue out for his reckless teasing. It was driving you wild, too insanely wild. But you love it.

His belt unbuckled with ease as you yank his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, freeing his hardened cock that just hit his stomach. Your shirt already found itself discarded onto the floor with the rest of the items pulled off your body, as if they were just another decorative piece on the floor.

The longer he watched you with a cocky smirk, the more you wanted to just slap it off. But you were so turned on. So, so turned on you could practically feel your wetness smearing between your thighs.

A small wince shot out from above you as Seonghwa hissed through his gritted teeth, staring down at his dick in the palm of your hands, squeezing it lightly before slowly pumping. You knew if you decided to tease him, it wouldn’t end well for you, what else could you expect from a man like this?

“Jesus fucking christ,” Seonghwa moans, head falling back as he props himself up with his elbows. The tip of his dick was itching to hit the back of your throat any second now, just waiting for him to buck his hip up into your mouth.

It was the brief groan from the back of your throat that sent Seonghwa’s thighs squirming and abdomen tensing hard. You could tell he was enjoying the way your tongue swirled around the base of his cock, pressing against his length with enough pressure to have him gripping your hair.

Just the sound of him reacting to your mouth sent your head into a cloud full of lust. You wanted more and the best you could do at the moment was just rub your thighs together in anticipation as your eyes shot up to Seonghwa’s, droopy and filled with nothing but desperation.

“Fuck, you’re good,” his scrunched up face said it all. “Come here.” 

You remove your lips from his throbbing length with a kissing sound before climbing on top of him only to be flipped right around, wrists pinned down on either side of your head. It was impressive how he could do that so nonchalantly with nothing but a cocky smirk.

“I should’ve guessed you were a brat,” Seonghwa hissed, brushing his tip against your clit. The urge to just buck your hips against his was killing you but you knew it would only do more harm than pleasure.

“Then I guess you better fuck me like one.”

The fire in his eyes was more than any sentence. His desire was fuming inside him, eager to cloud his judgement the moment your hole stretched from his length suddenly sliding into you.

He sure knew how to work his dick right when a grunt outed from your mouth as Seonghwa hooked his hips at an angle before thrusting. The eye-rolling pleasure only lasted a few seconds before Seonghwa quickened his pace, starting to snap his hips into you as he hooked both of your legs over his shoulders.

Fuck, you wanted to kiss him, but he knew what he was doing to you. He was doing it on purpose. There was no way he was going to let you kiss him. No way to busy your mouth as moans escape it recklessly.

“Ohffuck-” your head was growing lighter and lighter by the second, back arched off the mattress by now if it wasn’t for Seonghwa pushing your knees against your chest.

It was quite embarrassing hearing just your moans bouncing off the walls of this room as Seonghwa was pile-driving you deep into the bed, it only made you more desperate to crash your lips onto Seonghwa’s to deafen them. You really didn’t want to bite down on your arm, but you were more desperate than ever.

“Aw, why are you being so quiet hm? Is this dick not satisfying you enough?” Seonghwa smirks from above you, parting his lips so you could finally hear his staggered breathing.

“Y-Yeah, something like t-that- unghh,” sarcasm was undoubtedly your go-to method to cope with certain situations, but this time it was sarcasm that would get you more than you asked for.

“Oh? You really want to fucking play like that? You’re not going to be able to walk once I’m done with you.”

Emptiness looms in your heat as Seonghwa pulls out, latching either side of your waist before flipping you around on your stomach in a flash. A surprised gasp left your lips as he stingingly squeezed the flesh of your ass with a chuckle, hoisting you onto your knees.

“You really think you’re different from everyone el- mhmmh,” your snarky remark was cut short when you felt a hand push the side of your face against the mattress, legs twitching as Seonghwa thrust himself into you once again.

“You’re getting on my goddamn nerves,” Seonghwa snarls, keeping a tight grip on your hair in his fist as the other hand smoothes over your side.

The pumping pleasure coursing through your body felt electric, making you feel like you were above the clouds with each hard thrust. You could feel your ass bouncing as Seonghwa’s thrusts became sloppy, louder as the room echoed with nothing but a mix of your lewd moans and slapping skin.

“Tsk, I can feel you shaking underneath me. Regretting it yet?” 

“I can fucking handle it, shut up,” you weren’t raised as no weak bitch.

“I really hope so,” well fuck. You could feel your thighs quivering as Seonghwa slowly pushed your legs further apart, stomach falling closer against the mattress. Just barely above it. “Impressive.” 

It was a new angle that had you wanting to cry, with the way his cock hit deep in you and both of his hands either side of you holding him up. You couldn’t help but let your face fall against your arms, breathing as if it were your last and brows furrowed so hard you could feel your face about to cramp.

“Seonghw-aaahhmhm,” your legs twitched, pushing themselves higher off the mattress as your ass hits Seonghwa’s stomach with no choice. You couldn’t hold the position any longer unless you wanted to burst into tears from the burning in your thighs.

“What’s the matter huh? I thought you could handle it.”

“P-Please,” you cry.

“What do you want?”

“Kiss me- just please fucking kiss me,” your voice grew deeper and louder, desperation dripping from your tongue like poison as you push yourself off the mattress and flip Seonghwa onto his back with no time wasted in hoping your soaking wet cunt back on his length.

“Get your pretty lips here then,” your lips crashed harshly onto one another, teeth clashing as saliva coated your lips. The weak taste of his strawberry chapstick was still there and you loved it, love the way his lips moulded perfectly with yours each time as his hips snapped up into yours.

Seonghwa’s hands grip your hips roughly as he tries his best to hold them up with your legs quivering. His hips were snapping up briskly with a slap, shooting immense pleasure through your body like little sparks bottling into a ball in the deepest pit of your stomach.

“Oh fuck, right theremhmmgh right there,” you whisper a moan against his lips before letting your face fall in the nape of his neck, hand cupping the side of his face as the other grips the bedsheets.

Seonghwa just couldn’t control the loudness of his breathing anymore, grunting through gritted teeth as he shut his eyes close and glutes on fire with how rapid he was moving his hips. It was a breath-taking moment with your knuckles turning white and nails on the verge of tearing into the bedsheet as the pleasurable feeling of his cock pounding into you from below just pushing you to the edge of your combustion.

“Uggnghh- shitohmygod!” your fist loosened on the bedsheets before slamming them closer to your body, pushing yourself off of Seonghwa’s chest with a high-pitched moan and wide mouth as your brain turns into mush. Nothing but electrifying pleasure washed over you like a tsunami, making you clench tight around Seonghwa’s cock and gazing into his droopy lust-filled eyes. 

A white film casts over your vision as you lower your lips onto Seonghwa’s, giving him a slow intent kiss as his hips calm down. Legs still quivering with the slightest movement as you lowered yourself with him, making his length slide out of you with ease and just poking at your stomach.

Seconds which felt like minutes went by with nothing but silence. Just basking in your own silent thoughts in your own heads.

You should’ve felt anything. Anything but guilt.

Why guilt? Out of all emotions, why guilt after fucking a stranger you just met? A stranger who was brought to you by your best friend. Your best friend who once confessed he loves you.

“This was a mistake,” you didn’t think twice before scattering to get your clothes, rushingly putting them back onto your body as Seonghwa was left there with confusion written all over his face.

“Wait,” he booms, “what do you mean this was a ‘mistake’?” 

Seonghwa replicated your actions and started putting his clothes back on in a swift, still waiting for an answer after you responded with nothing but silence. He should’ve known, he was Yunho’s best friend too after all. 

“Listen, just forget this ever happened, please,” just thinking about this night would eat you alive, and it would definitely kill Yunho from the inside.

Before Seonghwa could say anything, you dashed out of the bedroom door, skipping down the stairs with your heart pounding like crazy, ready to jump out of your chest. It wasn’t long before you could hear footsteps following you closely behind, which made you even more uneasy as you could tell he was desperate for answers.

“Hey, what the fuck is your problem?” Seonghwa grabs you by the arm, halting you in your escape before letting go with a piercing stare. “You can’t just beg me to fuck you like that and say, oh, ‘this was a mistake’.”

You could tell he was mocking you, but you really couldn’t blame him. The only person to blame here was you. You should’ve known better than to sleep with one of Yunho’s best mates, especially when you knew the boy had deep feelings for you.

“Because it is a mistake,” you grit, “we can’t tell Yunho what happened… it’ll break him.”

In all honesty, it would break you more than him. Guilt was a more deadlier disease than heartbreak, it was worse when it came down to friendships more than love itself.

“Wha-”

“Can’t tell me what?”

Your eyes widen in shock as you snap your attention to the familiar voice behind you, already feeling a pang in your chest as your eyes locked onto Yunho’s innocent ones. Seonghwa kept quiet as you tried to choke out a few words to Yunho, flickering his gaze back and forth between the two of you.

“Um, nothing! Nothing, we were just getting to know each other, that all,” you try your hardest to make your fake smile not obvious, but it clearly wasn’t working with Yunho’s confused gaze turning into a suspicious one.

“Getting to know each other huh?” Yunho poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, running his eyes up and down the two of you.

“Yeah.”

“I could tell,” an octave drop in Yunho’s voice sent you breathing harder as his facial features hardened, soft brown loving eyes turned into a cold glare. “You fucking bastard.”

Yunho’s attention wasn’t on you anymore, it was focused on the person standing behind you. Everything happened so quickly, next thing you know, Yunho was pinning Seonghwa up against the wall by his collar, faces close in proximity with jaws clenched and fists balled.

“You fucking knew,” Yunho snarled, “and yet you still fucked her. I thought you were my best friend, Hwa. What the fuck happened to that huh?”

“H-How?” could he smell Seonghwa’s cologne on you? What the heck.

“Your shirt is inside out.” 

Well, fuck. Not only did he catch you lying straight to his face but he caught his two best friends fucking each other, his best friend and someone who he had poured his heart and soul to.

“Yunho, please. I can ex-”

“You can explain? Yeah, alright go ahead, let’s hear what you have to say and if this motherfucker has anything else to add to it.”

“Yunho, get your hands off of me or we’re going to have a problem,” Seonghwa tries his best to pry Yunho’s grip from his collar, standing on his toes as he faces his deadly glare.

“We already have a problem, Hwa,” Seonghwa drops down with a thud as Yunho finally lets him go, throwing his glare back onto you. “Go ahead, say what you have to say.” 

“I-I… we just… we were desperate, Yunho,” it wasn’t the best and most plausible excuse but it was honestly it.

“Desperate. Out of all people, you choose him? Are you serious? I don’t know if you got my hints, but fuck!”

“Yunho, I am so so sorry. Please, just-” 

“God, I hate being in love with you!” 

It was at that moment, you could see your world crumbling down as Yunho bites back a quiver. His eyes glossy and starting to frame with red as Seonghwa also couldn’t help but wear a remorseful face.

“Hey-”

“Don’t fucking touch me, Hwa,” Yunho aggressively brushed off Seonghwa’s hand on his shoulder, throwing him a side glare as he lowers his head. “Go home.”

“Woah, what is going on?” all three of your heads snapped up to a red flushed, drunk Mingi with a half empty bottle of soju in his hands stopping mid way with a questioning look on his face. Soon enough, the whole group of boys were here, standing behind Mingi with a replicated confused face.

“Everyone, go home. I’m not feeling good tonight,” Yunho pushed through the group of boys, passing to the kitchen where he grabbed a new cold bottle of soju from his fridge.

“Man, you sure? Want us to stay just in case?” Jongho spoke, brows raised as he was concerned for his gloomy looking friend.

“Mingi can stay, I don’t trust him alone at home while he’s drunk. Everyone else go home, please.”

“Yun-”

“I said leave,” you could barely even choke out his name before getting cut off again, guilt slowly but painfully chewing away at bits of your soul.

“Alright, you heard the man. Leave him be,” Yeosang took the liberty to usher everyone out with swaying arm movements, clueless of what had unfolded before everyone had walked in.

Mingi smiled brightly, waving his goodbyes and yelling his goodbyes as he joined a slouched Yunho in the kitchen. You couldn’t help but plaster a fake grin to fuel his happy hour before leaving out the door, embraced by the cold once more. But this time, you weren’t just cold on the outside, you could feel it inside of you. As if you had just turned yourself into a cold-blooded killer.

Murdering whatever trust and happiness Yunho had left in that big body of his.

Like everyone else in the entire world, you had to live with what you got, what you’ve done, what you can’t take back.

-

Copyright © 2020 by serendipityunho

    All Rights Reserved

#ateez smut #seonghwa smut #kpop smut #park seonghwa #smut #fanfiction #ateez oneshots #kpop oneshots #ateez imagines #kpop imagines #ateez angst #kpop angst #seonghwa angst #yunho angst #badboy!seonghwa #bestfriend!yunho

[whump-town]

The Blood That Haunts Me

post-scratch fic

no pairings

Hotch has a bad heart

word count 6k

In Savannah Hayes’ experience, Saturday’s are typically for parents with screaming toddlers looking for emergency medicine to soothe their fears about whatever toy their child has shoved up their nose or to ask an aged nurse what to do with this croup that just won’t go away. It’s scrapes and bruises from a fender bender with kids just learning to drive and roughly two to three broken arms from seven-year-olds learning to ride a bike without training wheels. With any luck, there will be only one underage kid in a banana bag and the college kids will be in and out for stitches and gone as quickly as they come. There’s always the regulars - older men and women that buzz with the opportunity to be out of their houses even if it’s to withstand the pain of stitches and staples on their thin skin.

Rarely has Savannah faced a Saturday where she knew someone being pulled into her emergency room. Virginia isn’t the biggest place but her friends are young and healthy and Saturdays are for squirmy children and stupid teenagers. When she sees him with his ankles stretched out over the end of the stretcher and a large hand weakly fighting with the paramedic to hold the oxygen mask over her face she’s certain of his identity. She’s good with faces and his is unmistakable.

“You shouldn’t be on break yet, baby.” Derek picks up on the first ring, the sound of Hank babbling loudly in the background making him chuckle deeply as he moves. The phone pinched between his shoulder and cheek, she can hear him pick up their son. Talking back to the baby.

Savannah is sitting in the emergency room, camped out behind the desk as she catalogs patient information. Despite it being a Saturday, the hospital is startlingly pretty timid (knock on wood). When there is a new patient the clatter is noticed. So when Hotch came in, supine but weakly fighting against the oxygen mask pulled down over his mouth, Savannah noticed. Even drugged and combative, he’s distinctly himself.

And as Savannah tells Derek, describes the man she’s quite fond of, he doesn’t believe her. Hotch doesn’t go to the hospital and no one’s heard from him in forever, he’s probably not even in Virginia. Garcia said Jack started high school last fall and if they were home and situated again with no contact then… Well, what are they supposed to do? “Derek--” Savannah can hear the pitch change in his voice. Derek goes from dismissive to genuinely worried and now pulling at strings because no one has talked to Hotch in months (nearly two years) and the idea of seeing him now is terrifying. “I am positive that it’s Hotch.” She leans around the monitor, frowning as she watches some nurses she knows buzz around him. Throwing out words she can’t make out entirely but she can see what they’re doing and it makes her heart jump a little to hear medications that they put orders out for.

Hotch makes a noise - it has to be loud for her to hear it from the distance she’s at. “Baby,” she stands and it makes her heart do a weird clenching thing when she catches a glimpse at his face. Sees that he’s crying and clearly upset. “Derek, he’s getting all kinds of agitated. I’m gonna call you back in a second, okay?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and tosses her phone down on her chair before calling out for one of the nurses she recognizes with a wave.

The nurse smiles when she sees Savannah - she’s got a particular gift with patients like Hotch.

“I know this one,” Savannah says, approaching the bed. “What have you got?”

Savannah doesn’t have all the details on the accident that occurred in 2009 with George Foyet. It’s not Derek’s story to tell and it’s not exactly the easiest one to bring into conversation. She’s aware of vague things like his collapse a few years later from scar tissue that caused him to bleed internally and that Hotch's ex-wife was killed by a serial killer. Mostly, she knows that Hotch is dependable and secure and that when he went into witness protection nearly two years ago his absence had crushed them all. Even if the likes of Emily Prentiss and her just as stubborn as hell husband would never admit it.

“Mild tachycardia and respiratory depression -” The nurse tells her about Hotch’s underactive thyroid, something he’s supposed to take medication for ever since the stabbing damaged the organs function. How it’s throwing his heart into tachycardia and it’s getting worse, not responding to medicine yet.

Savannah may not know what happened with George Foyet but she knows Derek regards Hotch as this infallible wall of a man. One she’s come to understand he thinks can’t ever fall down and one that, despite how fondly he’ll speak about him, annoys the hell out of him. Personally, Savannah thinks Aaron Hotchner is just a sweet man. She likes him and his little quirks. He’s quite the odd pairing when he gets together with Emily and Dave but they’re a funny crowd.

What she isn’t expecting is the mess of scars littering his chest. Experience allows her to date some of them by sight - their distinct shape and coloration clustering them into the same time frame and she can’t imagine how someone gets over half a dozen wounds like that at once. They don’t end there. On his right side, there’s a nearly faded out of existence scar from a chest tube. A puncture wound- something blunt she’d assumed by way of its roundness. Even a few rougher-looking, jagged scars that she assumes are shrapnel because Derek has nearly identical ones.

Savannah is a few moments too late to prevent Hotch from being pulled down by a sedative but he’s fighting it, blinking slowly to try and remain awake. “Hey,” she greets softly, turning his wrist over so she can see IV sight in his elbow. It’s secure and there’s nothing special to note but it’s going to bruise. “Long time no see Agent Hotchner.” She squeezes his fingers, smiling at the recognition behind his eyes even if his lips only form a silent mouthed version of her name.

With a smile - remembering the first time they met and how gently he’d taken her hand before shaking his head and admonishing “everyone calls me Hotch” - she reaches down and fixes his hair. He’s let it grow out since he left the BAU. Derek had been livid when he got word that Hotch wasn’t coming back despite the fact that he too left the unit. “How are you feeling, Hotch? Can I call someone?”

His eyes slide shut and for a moment she thinks he’s given in, sunk down low where his pain and his ailments can’t get him. He taps a finger against her palm and she understands he’s still here. “Morgan?” he rasps.

She nods, “Derek already knows you’re here. I imagine he’ll have the whole crew here in no time.” He grimaces, cracking an eye open to give her a look she understands entirely. She’s only ever faced their smothering worry once when Hank was born but she knows it’s a lot. It’s hard to imagine they’re going to somehow be less present and attuned with him than they with her. He’s not looking forward to that and it’s understandable. “Don’t worry,” she promises, “I’ll have your back when they get here.”

He nods, dull eyes sinking back under his eyelids. She holds his hand until she’s certain he’s fallen asleep.

“So,” the nurse asks softly. She moves and tubes and wires around so that they’re not laying against his bare skin. Folding the blankets over Hotch’s hips and leaving his chest bare. He’s still tachycardic, breathing laboriously through inflamed lungs. “How do you know this guy?”

Savannah sits down on the edge of the bed, taking Hotch’s hand into her own. Working her thumb in gentle, hypnotic motions between his knuckles and smiling sadly at the relieved rasping sigh that leaves his parted pale lips. “Family,” she answers because she’s not sure what the answer really is but in some way… yeah, family.

The nurse nods, going about what needs to be done while Savannah stays on the edge of the bed. She does what she can until she clears her throat. “Hey,” the nurse smiles, sympathetic to the soft faraway look in Savannah’s eyes. “Doctor Hamilton admitted him so I need to take him up to the--”

Savannah stands immediately, nodding. “Yeah,” she lays his hand back down on his chest. Stepping away from the bed, “sorry.” She shakes her head, stepping back as the brakes come up and he’s set into motion. “Second floor?” Savannah assumes.

The nurse nods, “he’ll be in room one seventeen. I’ll let the desk know he’s one of yours.”

Savannah watches him disappear down the hall, met at the mouth of the hall by other nurses and staff nodding as they take him to the right floor. She’d been there long enough to see his heart monitor and to identify the ventricular tachycardia plaguing him. He’ll likely need a pacemaker and she’s already racing to a solution. He’ll need to be monitored after surgery but can go home. Hank’s a little too small still but they have the guest room. If Derek cleans up the mess he lets Hank make in there--

Savannah’s heart sinks to the floor and she turns around. Hit with the sudden memory of the last event she saw Hotch at and remembers slowly that Hotch has a son and someone needs to find him.

All morning something had been off, Hotch didn’t have to say it for Jack to know. The oatmeal was made oddly, Hotch’s hands trembling so much he’d gotten the measurements wrong. Too much brown sugar but Jack hadn’t seemed to mind it being too sweet. He’d been distracted by his oatmeal and unalarmed by signs he hasn’t learned to be aware of. If Hotch had gotten up late or made breakfast and then laid down on the couch then Jack would have noticed. Bad days come frequently and like most storms look and sound distinct.

High anxiety days are an early rise, the sound of lights being turned on and off as Hotch fails to get comfortable in any room. Coming out of his room and finding his father curled up on the couch. His knees drawn up and a pillow pressed into his chest, a heated blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. It’s lightly tiptoeing around the house so Hotch stays asleep and avoids him once he does move and allows his aching back to stretch out. Jack knows to keep his music down and to call Jessica if Hotch locks himself away.

Though time has dampened it’s severity it’s not impossible to find his father trying to work through untreated PTSD or ride out an intense wave of depression. Leaving him immobile or desperate for a distraction. Jack knows those things. He understands them and, like the blasting siren that screams out before a tornado, Jack knows when to duck for cover and ride out the storm.

But Jack had no idea what a heart attack would look like. What to expect or even if a heart attack had been what he’d seen.

Hands over his ears, Jack Hotchner sinks into the emotionless walls surrounding him. Trying to find the place past his body where everything ceases to exist. Insistently, against his will, he’s pulled back to a decade ago. To the sound of gunshots tearing through the only home he’d ever known. To Emily wiping his tears away with the palm of her hand, their backs to the carnage his father created in the fall. To a hospital not unlike this one where his father was patched up - open wounds covered and drugs numbing his rough edges - until Jack had finally been able to see him. The feeling of his father’s chest, broad and forever, solid as he’d curled his legs into his lap. His father cried softly as he explained what happened, what he’d done.

“Mommy isn’t coming home, buddy.”

Pinching his eyes shut, Jack rocks himself back and forth. He can’t go there. Not alone. He can’t go back to Foyet. He’s too old for those silly games. Too old for nightmares and monsters hiding under his bed. Unaware of the ones still crawling out of his father’s closet, wrapping their cold fingers around his ankle and threatening to pull him into the darkness with them.

You’re never too old for monsters.

Spencer had found the time to confide in Jack about being raised by a mentally ill single mother. His intent was to demonstrate to Jack that not only did he understand the pre-teens intense fury with his father but that the emotions would abate and Jack would have only a few moments to decide what to do next. How Spencer had turned eighteen and had to have his mother committed to an institution. A decision that haunted him but that he ultimately understood it was simply the only option. One day, Spencer clarified, Jack would understand the way his father worked.

Until that moment, Jack had been more or less paying attention. When it came to all things Uncle Spence, Jack typically has a longer attention span and all the patience in the world but the moment Jack realizes this was a one-on-one sort of deal he was done. He wanted out. But Reid stuttered. That one day, and the words had come out so quickly if he’d had a chance Reid would have stopped them, Jack would realize just what that meant. He’d look at his father and all the magic of his childish love would fall away and Jack would be left with his father’s bare bones. And it would be terrifying but, often, that’s all love is: all the bits bleached down to their true forms.

He gets it now, okay? The nutty academic parent with bouts of deep depression, an obsession with their jobs, and no idea how to say I love you like everyone else. He gets the comparison now. Can he be done? He wants to go home. He’s done learning this stupid lesson about love or whatever bullshit this is supposed to represent. When does it end? It’s going to end, right?

Derek Morgan falters in the doorway, stalled like an engine as he stands at the edge of the messy room. Hank hums in Derek’s left ear, bouncing his foot against Derek’s hip as he stands stationary and trying to wrap his head around everything happening. It’s overwhelming. Derek hasn’t seen Hotch in two years and if the sight of him alone - laid out right here - doesn’t bring its own intense wave of anger and longing then the sight of his uncovered chest is it’s own thing as well.

Hotch is on the bed, curled slightly to his right with the blankets leaving his pale chilled skin open. Even with his face turned into the pillow behind his head, he looks deathly pale in comparison to the white bedspread. Entirely too limp, too still as he lays there pulling in breaths audible over the hiss of the canal running under his nose. Nearly drowned out, consumed by the natural hums of the hospital and constant motion of the monitors to his left and the dissatisfied beep of the blood-pressure cuff around his right arm.

Savannah warned him of what he’d find once he got inside in case she got called away to a patient when he got there. She told him the buzz around the staff, what Hotch’s cardiologist thought and it stung to hear her warn him ahead of time what Hotch looked like, worse, she imagined, than what Derek was imaging. Weaker, she’d said as if the word was some sort of betrayal. He’s weak and Derek can’t push him and he’d wanted to advocate for himself but he couldn’t.

With tears in his eyes, he’d promised to be on his best behavior and Derek realized just how awful he and Hotch could be towards one another. How everyone sees it. He’d wondered if… Well, if Hotch hated him for it. They’d been close once. Partners. Haley used to joke she half expected he’d steal Aaron away from her. That old joke used to make Jason laugh so hard, the two of them together were the cause of all his worry and stress. Now…

Well, now Derek is standing in a room that can’t be more than a 120-foot space with far too much equipment in it feeling like he’s never been so far away from Hotch. So disconnected.

Hotch makes a soft sound from the bed, twitching his nose and flexing his fingers. There are more drugs than blood in him, keeping him weak and tired and unable to pick apart his surroundings. Hazy eyes blink open, peeled apart like they each weigh twenty pounds, and the simple act of keeping them open burns. He can’t make out the world around him very well but he sees the empty chairs on his left and the expanse of white all around. The hospital, he knows, and no one showed up.

Maybe they finally got wise and are leaving him to his own devices. Leaving him to rot where he won’t be missed. Sinking into the fibers of the bed and disappearing. They’ll stop pumping him so full of drugs and just let him wilt away. He wants it, craves the nothing he knows he’ll find. No masks or deception or this anger he feels burning and rearing its ugly head. Just nothing.

Derek steps into the room, sniffling to draw in some noise before he steps into Hotch’s line of sight. Hoping not to startle him, as he clears his throat, meeting Hotch’s gaze for only a moment looking down at his shoes. “Just me and Hank,” he offers. He tucks his hands into his pockets. He can feel Hotch still looking at him, hearing those painstakingly slow, labored breaths. He wishes he hadn’t come. To escape all this restless vulnerability.

Hotch’s eyes sink back shut, pale lips parting to mumbling, “Derek,” under his breath. Savannah told him Hotch wouldn’t even likely know he was there. The drugs are affecting his mental facilities, sedating him to keep him calm while they run tests. When he can remember what’s happening he’s scared and when he can’t… he has a baseline memory that hardly differentiates friend from foe. It’s the latter of which Savannah needs him to be aware of because Hotch’s heart can’t handle the stress. His mind is too clouded and his body too weak, he just needs someone to hold his hand. Someone to distract him.

Derek’s expecting a conversation. For Hotch to say something. To apologize for running off or to pay Hank some sort of mind. There’s not even a stiff silence, Hotch looks so weak, so pliant Derek isn’t sure he can even speak. He realizes that despite all the hefty warnings, despite everything that he was told he still walked into this room expecting Aaron Hotchner. He wanted, he needed the man in the suit, with that stern scowl, and gravelly voice. He’d needed the mask and instead he got the man. The man without the armor, just blood.

And it scares him.

It scares Derek that Hotch can’t put up his shields, that he can’t hide and play their cat and mouse game of anger and misunderstanding. They only have blind defeat.

Derek sits down in the visitor’s chair, shushing Hank when he squirms with agitation. Hank immediately starts touching everything in sight. Reaching and leaning dangerously out of Morgan’s lap, to touch the bed and smack his hand against the rail. A sound that makes Hotch’s eyes peel open to slivers before they shut again, unbothered. “Don’t touch that,” Derek pulls Hank into his lap, redirecting his attention.

He knows, from the low whine Hank lets out, that this isn’t going to work for very long. Mercifully, there’s a knock at the door and Savannah peeks her head in. Waving at Hank who fights his limbs out of Derek’s hold to be placed on the floor so he can propel his body in the direction of his mother.

“Hello baby,” Savannah scoops him right up. Grinning at that way he toddles, that quick toddler pace because he doesn’t know how to pump the brakes. How to set himself into motion that isn’t just guided by leaning forward and running.

Derek stands from his chair, clearing his throat and glancing down at Hotch before looking back to his wife and son.

Savannah can see his hesitation, his worry. “Why don’t we go to the cafeteria and get a snack? Hmm?” She jogs Hank up in her arms and he brightens at the offering - knowing pudding or a cookie is coming his way. “Derek?” She offers out her hand to him, “come on. I’ll explain everything to you downstairs.”

“Ugh--” all he can see is Hotch shivering. His skin slick with sweat from the strain on his body but the way he’s curled into the side. Trying to produce warmth where it isn’t. “Just give me a second.” Derek knows he can’t just throw the blanket over Hotch and he works himself up, gets upset just thinking about the mass of awful scars keeping his friend held together. All the old scars are bare for anyone and everyone to see. If Hotch had the presence of mind for it, he’d be upset.

With a gentleness born with great amounts of stress, Derek gently works the lower half of the blanket over Hotch’s leg. He folds the lower half over and hesitates, stares at Hotch, and wonders just how much he’s allowed. Hotch is cold and Derek knows that means his arms too but that crosses their line. They’re never spoken out loud, only shot through glances about trust and touch but Hotch is asleep or maybe lost to his haze of drugs (and Derek’s not really sure if there’s a difference between those two things). So, he picks up Hotch’s hand, swallowing against the uncomfortable swell of his throat when he feels just how cold the other man’s skin is. He tucks Hotch’s hand carefully against his chest.

Hotch’s face twitches, a grimace that makes him jerk his head but he doesn’t move his hand so Derek leaves it. Carefully, still watching and waiting for some explosive reaction but none come. Derek turns the heated blanket up to the highest setting, making sure even Hotch’s shoulders are covered. Tucking the blanket just under his chin.

Hotch groans from the back of his throat, a startling noise that comes with blinding panic. His eyes fly open, darting around the room and to Derek but not seeing. Derek can’t tell if it’s pain or fear but the machine over his shoulder picks up pace, reflecting Hotch’s distress. Hotch swallows thickly, mouth opening and eyes flicking around the room. Twisting, fighting his body in a futile battle where he loses no matter the outcome. Kicking out and dislodging blankets as he’s blinded by his pain.

“Step back Derek.” Derek just stands there, frozen. Savannah grabs him by the arm and pulls him back, allowing other people to come into the room. “He’s okay,” she mumbles, eyes glued to Hotch. He’s fighting blindly, anything and everything. His heart can’t take it, her eyes flick from his bare skin to the monitors. To the staff also taking note. “Derek, we can’t be in here.”

They pull the crash cart close, preparing vials of medicine before their eyes.

“What’re they--” Derek can’t move. He stands there watching them move blankets out of the way. Listening as they pull open a drawer and settle a machine on top and he knows what it is. Doesn’t need to be told what’s happening next. “Savannah.” He stumbles back, shaking his head. The machine wines, a high-pitched squeal that makes Derek’s heart pick up.

He doesn’t see, doesn’t watch.

He’s standing in the hall when the machine fires off. Can close his eyes but can’t unhear the sound of Hotch’s low groan, a punched-out sound but he’s alive. Still pulling in breaths.

“Morgan?”

He was still a baby the last time Morgan saw him. Quickly trying to climb to his father’s height but every bit as graceful as a colt, and angry. Angry with his father for falling into this same repeated history and questioning what he knew. How much of his father’s strength is something else? What does he really know about the man who raised him? Because he got himself a chunk of history, started to understand the man he’d always blindly turned to. His hero. Instead, he got glimpses, stories about the boy his mother knew and he could no longer recognize him.

But standing here now is a whole teenager. Blonde hair grown out and even taller, built unmistakably like his father with all height in his legs and pale.

“Jack.” Morgan stumbles back when Jack collides into him, long arms wrapping around him. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “When the hell did you get so big?” He’s standing there, a whole armful of the kid he used to give piggyback rides to.

Jack pulls away and wipes his eyes, furiously wipes his eyes so that Morgan can unsee the tears streaming down his face. “My-- My dad,” he asks. “Did you see him?” Jack looks at the room, alerted by the sounds coming from within, but Morgan steps in the way. “Morgan is he-- is he in there?” Jack worms his way out of Morgan’s arms, a whole tangle of long limbs.

Hotch would be proud to know Jack is exactly like him, real scrappy. A lot of fight for such a lanky person.

“Jack,” Morgan pulls him away from the door. Despite how much he wants to go to Hotch too, that’s not where Jack should be. That’s not what Jack should see. “Come on, kid. We can’t go in there. Come on.” The fight leaves him easily enough, he’s really just a kid standing there looking for someone to tell him what to do. Anyone to point him where he’s supposed to be.

Jack still wants to turn, as if pulled by strings.

“I called Rossi,” Morgan offers. Something to distract him, something good. “Everyone else? Reid and Garcia and Emily? They’re on their way, okay?” And even with loaded promises Jack can’t find the nerve to respond. Their names used to be a solace. Someone to call when he needs help with his math homework. To show up with books on whatever cool thing he’s into this week. His family.

People he hasn’t seen in forever.

They do come.

Hank’s ambling about, babbling to Morgan as he pulls his father around the waiting room. It’s his excited squeal that alerts them to the other’s arrival. To Reid holding the door open so the others can pass. The pile-up that happens, shocked inhales and silence as they stand there and look at the carnage. At Jack’s tear-stained face and Morgan going where Hank pulls but empty, fearful.

“Uncle Dave?” Jack stands up, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

Dave smiles, “hey kiddo.” He doesn’t argue against the armful of Jack he gets, just closes him up. “Christ,” Dave whispers. “You’re a giant.”

“What is he feeding you?” Jack turns around and finds Emily and all she can do is laugh as he hugs her too. Finds herself all wrapped up in his long arms. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” she whispers, “letting you get so big.” She squeezes him tight, cups the back of his head.

There’s not much more time for reunions, never much time for anything.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

Never get used to this part either. The sitting. The waiting. The calling.

Savannah was right about the tachycardia.

“With your permission - ” and it’s important that detail be added. That Hotch can’t make this decision for himself anymore and it’s resting entirely on the shoulders of Jessica or Dave and Emily alternatively. That doesn’t mean it’s not like a kick to the gut. A cruel taunt. “We would like to prepare him for the surgery now while he’s stable.” Stable? Is that what he is? Laying back there with defibrillator pads on his chest and sedated to the point that Morgan wasn’t sure Hotch could even recognize him.

Jack sniffles, ducking his head and whispering to Emily. Attached to her hip, clinging to her. She shakes her head and brushes his hair back, “it doesn’t work like that, Jack.” Jack’s lower lip trembles and it breaks Emily’s heart so she interrupts the doctors. Despite the voice at the back of her head telling her this isn’t a good idea. Despite the sour twist in her stomach. The way she knows Hotch wouldn’t want this. “I know there are strict rules,” and that alone should be enough to know they’re likely to be shot down. “Is there any chance he can go back before the surgery? This is his son, he’s fifteen. He’ll be sixteen soon. You’re hardly breaking the rules at all.”

Soon is a bit of a stretch. Jack’s an October baby.

The doctor looks at Jack and sighs like this is really putting him off but nods. “Yeah, quickly. Five minutes, do you understand? You can’t be back there long,”

And Jack thinks he’s won something grand. That he’ll be faced with the same mirage Morgan was expecting. His dad will be sitting back there tall and strong, probably just tired like he’s sick. But he takes one step into the room and wishes he hadn’t come. Hadn’t asked.

They haven’t removed the defibrillator pads on his chest just pulled a blanket over his stomach but that only minimally covers the damage. There are still visibly warped bullet wounds and jagged surgical scars to be seen. But Dave has seen all that. He’d been there to watch the blood spray out when the scar on Hotch’s shoulder took place. Shouted as the gunshot sprayed out and Hotch grunted, being sent back into the wall behind him. But that was… God, that was a lifetime ago when Hotch was just a kid.

Dave turns behind him and sees Jack frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jack nods but he can hardly move, can’t force himself to move further into the room. He’s seen his father shirtless, not enough times to really gather anything but he’s seen the damage of years of this job has caused. But this is different. Jack isn’t six, isn’t watching him shave. He’s standing there watching him pull in laborious breaths, struggling to keep living.

“You know,” Rossi sits down in the visitor’s chair. “When you were born he cried so hard that Gideon had to call me.” He looks back at Jack, watching his face for some inclination that he’s going to either come into the room or run away. “Haley was exhausted but… She was beautiful, always was. No matter if she was showing up at the office to haul your father home by the ear in her pajamas or crying her make-up off in the waiting room waiting for your knucklehead father to get out of surgery.”

But he’s missed the point.

He chances a glance to Hotch, watching his pale face twist in discomfort. “You were born at eleven at night and by that point I was already in bed and done for the night by ten kind of guy.” He can still remember sighing and almost ignoring his phone when it had gone off. “I got to the hospital and your dad was sitting on the floor just outside the room, sobbing so hard I thought he’d pass out.” It’s still pretty surprising he didn’t pass out. “Didn’t think he could do it. You were so small, small, and pink and screaming your little head off.”

Jack huffs, smiling as he kicks at the ground. Looking everywhere but his father or Dave.

“But I picked him up,” grabbed him by his shirt and forced him to his feet. Managing the tough love Gideon couldn’t bring himself to enforce. “I don’t think he stopped crying until he fell asleep. Just sitting there with you in his arms crying.” Rossi sighs shakes his head. “Honestly, you were tiny. Had a-- Had a thing with your heart and…” Rossi had held Jack after Hotch and Haley finally managed to catch some sleep. A nurse had figured he or Gideon one had to be a grandfather, why else would they be there? They’d sat there with Jack for about an hour just gushing over how small and cute he was. Trying to keep the baby content so Haley could get some sleep.

Drowsily his voice cuts through the silence, nothing but a ghost of a whisper. “An atrial septal defect.” It’s all he can manage but it’s enough to get their attention. Jack had been born with an atrial septal defect and they knew about it in advance just after Haley’s pregnancy got tricky. It was just a tiny little hole in his atrium, closed before he was a whole year old. That doesn’t mean it didn’t scare the hell out of them first. Leave them to check his bassinet every few hours. To make sure he was okay, still breathing.

“The doctor said I shouldn’t play soccer because of it.” Jack manages a few steps and comes to the very end of the bed. His fingers just barely touching the bed frame. “But you let me play anyways.”

Hotch clears his throat, shakes his head. “I didn’t. Jessica did.” He grimaces, shifting uselessly to find a position that doesn’t hurt. “Said-- She said if you were anything like me you’d find a way.” He’s talked himself breathless, gasping and fighting to breathe. “Might as well-- Might as well make it easy on myself. Just let you do it.” So he had. He signed Jack up for soccer despite his own fears and went to every match he could. Every practice. Until he was the only parent paying attention.

He coughs softly, setting off a weight and ache in his lungs. “Jessica--” he cuts himself off, coughing until he holds his breath and fists the sheets in his hand to keep from still.

Jack looks away, fixes his eyes on the floor.

Dave calls it. Hotch won’t admit he’s not okay and Dave would venture Jack has that same stubborn-streak, doesn’t want to think that Hotch isn’t okay.

“Come on,” Dave motions for Jack to follow him. “Times up, better get out of here before they kick us out.” Five or so minutes, that’s all they had and that’s passed. “You’ll be fine,” Dave promises.

He struggles to get his breath, to say something coherent. “Wait,” he grabs Dave’s shirt. Hospitals are so cold, they’re scary and miserable and he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m sorry.”

Dave pulls Jack on, can’t leave him behind, and can’t stay any longer.

“What did he mean?” Jack asks. He keeps looking back, looking over his shoulder to the room. “Why’d he say that?” He has to run to keep up with Dave’s pace. “Dave, please. Why’d he say he was sorry?”

Dave stops and just stands for a moment, looking at the hall before them. “He’s scared,” Dave answers, finally. “He’s just scared, that’s all.”

He doesn't think he’s going to make it. That’s the horrible ugly truth. That’s why he apologized. Just in case.

“Come on,” Dave holds out his arm. Smiles a smile that doesn't even try to make it to his eyes and wraps an arm around Jack. “It’s going to be okay. You know that?”

Jack looks back over his shoulder once more, to the room. He doesn’t buy it for a second but he nods anyway. “Course,” he answers.

“Good. That’s good.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #savannah hayes #derek morgan #hank morgan #jack hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (1)

        jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: strong language, accidents caused by drunk driving (DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES, DRIVE WHILE DRUNK OR AGREE TO RIDE WITH SOMEONE WHO’S DRUNK!!!)

words: 4.4k

                       chapter one.

The music coming from the stage was deafening and headache-inducing but the ambience of the club itself was absolutely energizing, and you kept switching between regretting the decision to come here, and thanking your roommate for convincing you to. Glancing at the girl next to you – she’d already finished her fourth drink and you weren’t sure if she realized it because she seemed to be hypnotized by what she was seeing on stage – you smiled even despite knowing that you’d be stuck helping her battle a killer hangover tomorrow.

“It’s crazy,” Inna said suddenly as if having read your thoughts, “isn’t it? I mean, they’re driving the whole club insane, look at them!”

You did look but not at the band on stage. The second floor of the club provided you with a great view of the first floor and the sight of your heavily intoxicated and barely legal peers dancing so close to the stage, they were nearly on top of it already, distracted you – it always amused you to see the duality of the top students in your class.

“Yeah,” you said. “But Parental Advisory brings the insanity with them wherever they go. I saw some people who brought actual posters to the club.”

“Shit, I should have thought of that,” Inna said, hitting herself on the temple with her palm in disappointment.

“I don’t even get it,” you started and your roommate was already groaning. Even drunk, she could recognize the tone of your voice when you were about to complain. “I mean—”

“Come on, you said you wouldn’t complain!” she whined.

“I said no such thing,” you disagreed, “and I’m not complaining, anyway. I’m just saying how they’re nothing special. Everyone’s only listening to them because they’re the only band on campus.”

Inna looked like she wanted to argue – like she’s done a million times before – but then she decided to let it slide and finish her drink instead.

“You’re only saying that,” she pointed out then, the straw of her cocktail still in her mouth, “because you have a weird prejudice against their lead vocalist.”

You raised your eyebrows with a skeptical scoff. “Jungkook? I don’t have anything against him. I just think he’s an overrated, arrogant asshole.”

Your roommate glanced at the stage again, seemingly losing herself in the performance for a minute, before she agreed to give you the benefit of the doubt, even though she always suspected that there was something more there – she knew you and Jungkook had history and she felt like your open dislike for him was concealing your deeper feelings.

“He may be arrogant,” she said just as Jungkook tossed the towel he’d used to wipe the sweat on his forehead off into the crowd, “but that’s just because he’s aware of how good he is.”

“Or maybe it’s because his dad owns a successful business,” you said, “and he’s just an entitled heir.”

“Sure, that could be a factor. But being an heir wouldn’t make those girls so devoted to him,” she was only half-joking as both of your gazes immediately fell to the side of the stage where a group of girls was already waiting for the performance to be over.

“There’s always a crowd of girls wherever he goes,” Inna continued, her eyes glistening. She chuckled then, “and, let me tell you, word is, they’re never disappointed.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes even despite having heard the rumors on campus as well. It wasn’t that the members of Parental Advisory slept around – or maybe they did but they weren’t ones to brag about it – but they knew what to give their audience to make them satisfied. That included their shows on stage and their parties back at their shared house – a notorious place already, known all over campus as the only spot where a party could stay alive and burning all throughout the weekend.

“Do you think his groupies leave reviews?” you slipped into sarcasm without meaning to. “Do they rate his performance on and off the stage out of five stars?”

“No, are you seriou—okay, that’s enough for me. I’m going to get another drink,” Inna stood up, choosing to focus her energy into having a good time rather than trying to get you to see the band from her point of view.

You debated stopping her -- she’s already had more drinks than she could handle -- but the determination in her eyes as she turned around and crossed the room towards the bar stopped you. You didn’t dare to interrupt a woman on a mission.

Finishing your own drink as you waited for her to come back, you took this time to focus on the atmosphere of the club. Despite the fact that Parental Advisory was, obviously, not one of your favorite bands, they did play good music – even if you could already feel a headache creeping in – and, there was no denying, they definitely knew how to put on a show.

You watched Jungkook lean into the crowd with his mic stand, his white shirt almost see-through from his sweat – and everyone who was close enough to touch him went wild. It was almost as if he ignited wildfires inside of them with his eyes – just one look and everyone around him dropped all of their inhibitions and started to live.

You knew of the effect he had on people even before he joined the band as you found yourself reminiscing about all the times you’d listened to Jungkook play a very strained version of Für Elise on his grandfather’s old piano. He’d always look at you after he finished playing and the glitter in his eyes made you feel as though you’ve just listened to the most harmonious melody in the world, even if his family’s cat wouldn’t stop hissing, begging him to stop and get away from the piano.

Somehow, listening to Parental Advisory – even though they favored alternative music and stayed clear of Beethoven – always brought back the memories of Jungkook at the piano. It softened you until you started to understand why every person at the club was completely at his will, responding to his every gesture, and, for a little while, you could relate to them as you followed Jungkook on stage with your eyes.

You didn’t like these memories – they lowered your walls against your will – so you were glad to get distracted by Inna as she plopped back down on her seat next to you, a new drink in her hand.

“Man,” she said and then took a sip, “if I’d brought a poster too, maybe we could have gone to the after party.”

Of course she wanted to go to their after party. When it came to Parental Advisory, after parties were basically a part of their performance, so she couldn’t just leave in the middle of it.

“You can still go even if you don’t have a poster,” you said, already coming up with a plan of how you were going to get home after the final song ended. “It’s not like their parties are exclusive.”

“Well, they sort of are,” Inna said. “It’s different when you just show up to the party. The people who matter arrive with the band. And they usually invite some of the girls with the posters backstage after the show.”

“The people who matter,” you repeated with disgust, “I hope you realize how pretentious that sounds. You’re not a loser if you don’t roll up to the party with the band.”

“It’s—okay, maybe it’s a little pretentious,” she said. “But I’d still like to be a part of that crew. Or, at least, arrive with someone.”

She wasn’t trying to conceal her wistful tone and even if she was, she probably wouldn’t have been very successful, because her wish to get a glimpse into the inside world of Parental Advisory was obvious in her eyes as she watched the band play out the final chords on stage.

Despite dragging you to gigs like this nearly every weekend, Inna was, all things considered, a good friend and you felt like you owed her this one thing because tonight really wasn’t as torturous for you as you may have made it seem.

You still couldn’t help but sigh before speaking to let her know how difficult saying this was for you (all so she wouldn’t expect you to do this every time you went out, really), “I suppose we can go to the party together. I’ll make sure you don’t feel like a loser.”

Her whole face lit up as she turned to you. “Do you mean it? Because I’m too drunk to recognize it if you’re mocking me right now.”

“I mean it,” you said sincerely. “If you don’t mind arriving with me instead of the band.”

“Oh, who cares, the band will be inside,” she dismissed her previous stance immediately, “thank you! I’ll make sure to repay you by getting you a clean cup of beer so as not to repeat my last mistake.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, frowning as you tried to resist the memory of Inna’s last mistake that involved accidentally making a cocktail of beer and tequila and then leaving you to fend for your life as you battled a hangover that seemed to last the whole week.

“Let’s not go there,” you said, “I’ll get my own drinks this time. Or, actually, maybe I’ll stay sober. One of us has to.”

Inna chuckled. “Good! I think it’s a little too late for me to do that.”

As it turned out, your roommate wasn’t the only one who got drunk way before the after-party started, because, by the time you returned to campus and reached the large building Parental Advisory lived in – courtesy of their rich parents, of course – everyone there was already wasted and in the middle of a very intense game of how-many-stupid-things-can-I-do-in-one-night. The guy who dived head-first from the roof into the jacuzzi in the backyard – no clothes on him whatsoever – must have been winning.

“Did you see that?” Inna laughed, her eyes lighting up like a child’s in the presence of candy. “There’s a reason why people won’t shut up about the parties here.”

“Hmm,” you looked around, more concerned about the girl from your Philosophy class who was attempting to do a keg stand all by herself. “But how do they not have accidents here? Everyone’s drunk out of their—”

“Oh my God, there they are!” your roommate squealed as she stopped walking suddenly and you automatically bumped into her. She turned to you, completely unbothered by the fact that you’d made her spill half of her drink. “Do you want to say hi to Jungkook?”

You lifted your gaze until you saw the four members of the band make their way towards the kitchen – which was, conveniently, directly behind you –  and then scoffed.

“Not at all,” you said as the group approached. “But even if I did, watch how he successfully ignores me.”

But your expectations weren’t met as Jungkook – still mid-laugh about something someone had said to him – stopped right in front of you.

“Oh!” he looked surprised to see you, but not nearly as surprised as you felt when he stopped to talk to you. Inna had stopped breathing as she watched you from the side and, frankly, you thought your lungs had given out, too. “Nice to see you here. Having fun?”

You hadn’t talked to Jungkook in seven years at least – a lucky number, one would think – and now that he was suddenly addressing you again, you weren’t sure if you’d ever learned how to talk at all.

“Sure,” you ended up saying because what else was there to say? “I like what you’ve done with the place. Before the party started, I mean.”

He laughed, giving the space that was once his living room – but was now a dance-floor with a couch that was nearly tipped over by some couple that was making out on it – a good look and then turning to you again.

“Thanks,” he said. “My mom took care of it.”

“Of course,” you let it slip. Acting like you didn’t know him was obviously not going to work because you did know him, and you knew very well that his mother was an interior designer because she was the one that designed your parents’ house, too. “Hope she’s doing well.”

“She is,” Jungkook said but it sounded a lot like the automatic response you’d given him before – “sure, I’m having fun at this party” – and he realized that as he cleared his throat, “she, uh, she’s still in touch with your mom, I guess, yeah?”

“Well, they’re best friends,” you said. Once again, your mouth opened before you could control yourself and every single word came out sounding overly sarcastic and borderline snotty. It was like you were trying to live up to his arrogant nature while he was pretending to be humble. “Anyway, it’s, uh, good to see you, I guess. I’m going to—”

Your eyes were already on Inna – who was no longer as amused by Jungkook as she had been moments ago, and was currently ogling Taehyung, another Parental Advisory member, who was talking to someone a few feet away from her – and you were already in the middle of taking a step past Jungkook and towards her, when he suddenly grabbed your forearm, stopping you.

The act – or, his touch, to be precise – shocked you so much that you turned to him with parted lips but weren’t able to express your surprise out loud.

“Wait, you guess?” Jungkook asked, sounding oddly amused. “So, it’s not really good to see me, then?”

For a moment, you didn’t understand what he was saying at all – because you weren’t thinking what you were saying when you spoke to him – but then you realized and pulled your arm out of his grasp.

“I’ve made small-talk with at least a dozen people I didn’t know before tonight,” you said, “it’s been good to see them all.”

“You know me, though,” he insisted, grinning now. It was like he listened to the sarcasm in your voice but deliberately chose not to hear it.

Still not really sure why he was talking to you now of all times – you’ve been going to the same classes for three years now and there have definitely been opportunities for you two to interact but you both ignored all of them – you figured he was just bored. Doing the same thing every Friday night – performing and then going home to get drunk with strangers who basically worshiped him – was bound to get tiring after a while and maybe he was looking for new ways to entertain himself.

“I knew you,” you clarified, not wanting to become his newest form of entertainment.

He shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the seven years you’d spent not talking. “You still do.”

You scoffed and were clearly about to disagree, so he jumped in before you could.

“We can always catch up,” he said with a nod towards the kitchen. “Let’s get a drink.”

“Why?” you asked. You couldn’t help it, this was too weird.

“Why not?” he countered, ever the opportunist. You didn’t reply. “What’s with the frown? Do you still plan everything out in advance? Should I make an appointment with your secretary before you can agree to get drinks with me?”

You felt the frown he’d mention deepen as your skeptical expression turned into a full-on scowl. You didn’t appreciate being mocked.

“You should,” you said. “But, fair warning, I’m booked until graduation.”

You were already turning to walk away – and noticed that Inna had disappeared – but, once again, Jungkook pulled you right back in by speaking louder.

“Aw, that’s disappointing,” he said in a way that made him sound more excited than disappointed. “Won’t you make an exception for an old friend? You used to.”

You felt goosebumps rise on your skin as he said this but didn’t even attempt to defend yourself. He had always been the exception to everything in your life – no matter how busy with homework you were, no matter how many school events the student council needed your approval for, you always made time for him – and, somehow, that came back to bite you in the ass.

“I haven’t talked to you since we finished middle school,” you said, purposefully not sticking to the day in discussion for too long or Jungkook would have undoubtedly used that against you, too, “lots of things changed. I only make exceptions for the people who matter now.”

Jungkook – who was absolutely going to discuss your middle school graduation in great detail if you’d stopped talking after you mentioned it – grabbed his chest and threw his head back dramatically.

“Ouch,” he fake-moaned, “that’s really cold, you know. I’m just trying to reconnect with you.”

“I think you have more important matters at hand,” you said, finally finding an excuse to walk away – it came in the form of three girls who had appeared by his side, evidently too tired to be waiting for his attention from across the room.

He hadn’t even noticed them at first – which was surprising, considering how strong the scent of their combined perfumes was – but, as soon as he turned his head to finally look at them, you walked away.

Instead of being annoyed by your abrupt exit, however, Jungkook seemed to grow even more amused. This was the first time you’d left him hanging – things really have changed.

“I’ll call you!” he called out across the living room but you didn’t turn back so he assumed you didn’t hear. Sighing, he turned back to the girls by his side. Taking the one closest to him by her hand, he pointed towards the kitchen. “Ladies.”

When you finally turned around to look at him – because you did hear what he’d said – he was already guiding the group of girls into the kitchen and filling their cups. An unexpected sense of disappointment settled in your chest but you tried to shake it off.

He was the one who decided it’d be better if the two of you stopped being friends at the beginning of ninth grade. It couldn’t have taken him seven years to change his mind.

A loud commotion outside distracted you from the conversation you’d been having with someone who, apparently, lived in a dorm room across the hall from yours – funny how you haven’t even seen each other before tonight – and you both turned to look out of the window.

“What the fuck was that?” you heard Yoongi, another one of Jungkook’s bandmates, ask himself, as he hurried past you. “Is that fucker fighting again?”

Your heart rate picked up as you realized that the “fucker” in question must have been Jungkook. Thinking rationally, you knew you had no reason to go out there and check what was going on, and yet the possibility that Jungkook was in a fight – and not for the first time, apparently! – was enough to send you right after Yoongi, until the two of you stopped in the backyard, both looking around to see what was causing the loud noise.

“Do you see him?” Yoongi asked you, too drunk – and too busy looking after his lead vocalist – to question why you were outside with him when everyone else settled on watching the scene play out through the windows of the house.

“Why do you think it’s him—oh. Yeah, I see him,” you pointed to a black car parked at the far end of the backyard – clearly, the car belonged to one of the members – and Yoongi saw Jungkook as soon as he turned to look.

Frankly, it was hard not to see Jungkook because he was being unceremoniously thrown on the hood of the vehicle by a guy that was about twice his size. And yet Jungkook seemed so much more aggressive than him as he pushed himself off the car and attacked.

“Fuck,” Yoongi muttered briefly before breaking into a sprint. “Jungkook! Shit, get the fuck away from him. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”

Profanities continued to spill from his mouth as he attempted to break the fight up. You found yourself running to catch up with them – which was a blessing for Yoongi because he struggled to hold the other guy back when Jungkook kept throwing himself at him – but you didn’t dare to intervene just yet.

“What are you doing?” you demanded – no one paid any attention – and then cleared your throat before trying again, louder, “Jungkook!”

Still, the boy was far too focused on his opponent – who was being cradled by a huffing Yoongi – so you had no choice but to step in – literally – and place both hands on Jungkook’s chest, pushing him back into the car roughly.

Taken off guard, he stumbled and fell on his back, landing on the hood of the car yet again and nearly taking you with him as he had angrily grabbed your wrists before he fell. He was seemingly ready to push them away before he looked into your eyes.

“Fuck,” he exhaled as soon as your gazes met, his grip on your wrists softening but not disappearing as he held your hands against his chest that moved up and down, his heart beating rapidly under your fingertips.

After waiting until his heart rate slowed down just slightly, you pulled your hands out of his and stepped away so he could stand up from the car.

“What the hell happened?” you asked. You could feel yourself start to shake but it wasn’t due to the chilly evening air.

“He’s being a dumbass again, that’s what happened,” Yoongi snarled, pushing the guy he’d been holding back off of himself and glaring at him and Jungkook both. “You need to get your shit together, man. I’m sick of looking after your sorry ass.”

The last part was directed at Jungkook who groaned, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie down. The guy he’d been fighting spat on the ground, gave him one last frustrated look, and returned to the party. Jungkook looked like he was going to yell something at him but Yoongi cursed loudly and gave up right then and there, turning around towards the house.

“I don’t need you to look after me!” Jungkook yelled after Yoongi, who pretended not to hear him as he walked away, and then – much to your surprise – the younger boy threw the driver’s door of the car open.

Confused and seriously concerned, you watched Yoongi leave before turning back to look at Jungkook. “W-what are you—”

“Just go!” he snapped at you as he got into the car.

“You can’t drive!” you protested in panic, grabbing the door before he could close it.

“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Jungkook snarled, looking at you with a fire so prominent in his eyes that you ended up letting go of the car door out of sheer surprise. You’d never seen him like this before.

And then, as you turned away from him for just one second, searching for Yoongi – surely, he’d come back to stop him – Jungkook started the engine of the car.

You swore under your breath, knocking on the window of the car but it brought no response from him. “Jungkook! You can’t—”

He said something and you automatically stopped pounding on his window to listen. The engine of the car was drowning out his words and you expected him to lower his window and repeat what he’d said, but Jungkook used the moment when you took an unconscious step away from the car, and pushed the pedal.

You swore loudly as you watched him drive away, running your hands through your hair in desperation. For the next minute, you watched the car maneuver around the front yard clumsily and then drive down the main street. When he disappeared from your field of vision, you pulled your phone out from your back pocket but you didn’t know who to call.

Looking around again, you realized that Yoongi had gone back inside, and suddenly, you weren’t sure what would be faster, calling the police so they’d be on the look-out for a drunk lunatic behind the wheel or finding the rest of the Parental Advisory members so they could hopefully find a better solution.

But before you could reach a decision – it all seemed to happen in a split-second, honestly – you heard a loud crash. With your heart immediately falling down to your stomach and then plummeting all the way down to your feet, you ran across the yard and towards the main street, hoping – praying – that the sound was unrelated to Jungkook.

And yet, as soon as you stopped on the sidewalk and looked down the road, you saw the same black car right there, next to where the road split into an intersection. It had been forced to stop by a lonely lamp post, the view of which was partially blocked by a large tree trunk, but even so, you could tell that Jungkook had slammed the car right into it.

Struggling to breathe, you listened to people pour out of the house. They seemed to be much more alarmed than they’d been when they first heard someone fighting.

You didn’t think you could move.

“Call an ambulance,” you whispered, your eyes glued to the smoke that was coming out in dark, angry swirls from underneath the totaled hood of Jungkook’s car. “Someone needs to call the ambulance!”

Your own phone was lit up with the number of the police that you’d dialed mere seconds ago but you couldn’t find the control in your fingers to press call. Then, you heard cursing and realized that the people from the party weren’t going to help. They didn’t even consider helping.

They were running away. Escaping from the accident which seemed to them like the perfect reason for expulsion from university. They no longer wanted to be a part of the special club that got to arrive to Parental Advisory parties with the members of the band themselves. 

Inhaling deeply, you realized that no one else was going to do this for you, so you finally managed to pull yourself back together again.

You pressed your phone to your ear and with each beep of the dial tone, you cursed the Parental Advisory parties more and more – they were an accident waiting to happen. An accident so awful, it could erase seven years of silence as you hoped Jungkook would be able to talk to you again. 

keep reading | masterlist

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts fanfiction #bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #fanfiction #bts angst #bts smut #bts fluff #fluff #angst #smut #god i haven't tagged my works in so long #jungkook fanfiction #jeon jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #GOD BLESS 190811 jungkook #this entire fic is essentially based on that performance alone lmao

[marvelfansince08love]

My best friend and my sister

Word count: 3714

Pairing: Tammy x Miller!Reader (Lou’s younger sister)

Prompts requested: 1 “Why didn’t you tell me” 18 “How could you be so irresponsible?” 

A/N: For my sweet Anon, I hope you enjoy x Sorry it’s taking so long to get these out, I’ve been very burnt out recently but I’m back on track now! 

Tags: @waitingfortheendtocome @natasha-danvers @saucy-sapphic @witchxaf @creepingwolfberry​ @chewbacca0805​ @coconutlipss​

Prompts 1 & 18 

You and Lou had always been close growing up. Having such a cool older sister had its perks. Like when you were eight years old and you had pleaded and begged for that toy you had spotted in the window but your parents had shook their heads, not having enough money to afford ‘special gifts’. Those were only reserved for birthdays and Christmas’s. You had walked out of the store devastated with tears in your eyes until Lou walked you around the corner and revealed the toy from the depths of her long coat, a finger to her lips and a wink keeping the secret gift between you both. Lou had been seventeen then and was struggling to find a part time job to help pay some of the family's bills and so she could buy you gifts. 

“Every kid should have a few toys growing up. Including you, Y/N.” She would say. 

Once Lou had reached the sweet old age of twenty-one, an opportunity had presented itself before her, one that she just couldn't refuse. One right where the tall green statue stood proud overlooking the city of dreams. New York City was Lou's chance to make something of herself and, who were you to deny her of that?

"This could be good for us, Y/N! I could make enough money to bring you over and you can live with me!"  She had exclaimed, excitement filling her youthful blue eyes. You had nodded and basked in her excitement, the dreading feeling of abandonment slowly creeping its way through into your chest.

Once you had turned eighteen, Lou had kept to her promise of bringing you over to the big city, flying first class from Australia and leaving your parents down under, ready to start your new life; a better life. 

You had lived with Lou while studying in New York. Your apartment was small, but enough for the two of you. That was, until Lou introduced you to the infamous Deborah Ocean. The woman was beautiful and mysterious, her words carefully calculated, her dark eyes taking in the room before she had even stepped into it. You thought she was pretty badass compared to your older sister, especially when you found out what they did for a living. The ‘jobs’ that they did helped keep you both afloat through your first few years in New York City, especially when the bigger jobs were coming through, which helped you move into a bigger, fancier place that you could call home. 

That was the day you fell in love with the most breath-taking human you had ever laid eyes on. The woman was average height, her blonde hair resting against her breasts in soft curls. The small dark freckle on the corner of her upper lip drawing you in and oh, that wide smile that lit up her whole face making her brown eyes sparkle ever so slightly under the sunlight that seeped into the open living room space where you had stood, staring a little too long at this stunning woman.

"Stop drooling, kid. You're gonna end up needing the mop at this rate and we haven't even put an offer in yet," Debbie had whispered to you, teasing your love sick expression. You had snapped out of your gaze at that remark, stuttering over your words trying to defend yourself. You both stood and watched as Lou and this beautiful blonde discussed the price by the bay window overlooking the busy streets of New York. Tammy was her name, and it was the most beautiful name you had ever heard of, her soft voice showing a tiny hint of a lisp making you swoon just that bit more for her.

She was an old friend of Debbie's who knew just the right places for the best prices around the area, she had also helped with some of the more high profiled jobs when needed, mainly moving various illegal items across borders. You looked at the sweet blonde in awe, wondering how a woman like that could look so innocent and sweet. 

You had never gotten over that first meeting with Tammy but as the years went by and you matured into a strong minded individual, you realised that you'd rather ignore that pining feeling and continue on with your life as if nothing had changed within you that day. As if you hadn't pictured her breathless beneath you while you buried your fingers deep inside her throbbing heat or how good her left hand would look with a diamond ring on her finger letting everyone know she is yours and you are hers.

No, she was a friend of your sister… your older sister, and a good friend at that.

'Still, it doesn't stop you from thinking about how sweet she would sound moaning your name,' You think bitterly to yourself, hating that you still have this pull to her. 

That’s why you totally weren’t stalking her social media page as you entered your shared apartment with your older sister and her best friend. Briefcase in hand and your eyes glued to your phone screen, eyes transfixed on the sweet blonde who’s smile still makes your stomach flutter. 

You were so invested in your scrolling that you had missed the knowing smirk shared between your sister and her best friend. 

“Hey Kid, how was your first day on the job?” Lou asks, hiding her smirk beneath her coffee mug as Debbie lays out the new flooring plans for their next big job. You look up at the sound of her voice, taking in the blue papers on the living room table.

“Yeah, it was good! The students were lovely and eager, which was encouraging.” You gush, the excitement from your first successful day distracting you from the breath-taking photos of your secret crush.

“God, just the thought of college makes me shiver now. Thank god I develop my skills as a con artist.” Debbie jokes, her eyes trained on the carefully mapped out plan. You move to sit next to her, leaning your chin onto her shoulder pointing at an unmarked area on the layout plans. 

“If you place the camera chip by the corner on the east wing here, that should cover up to the left side of the entryway down the hall.” You mumble, before grabbing Debbie’s hot coffee and taking a sip. Lou scoffs from her seat across but you can spot the pride in her eyes. Living with two very intelligent con artists has its perks. Debbie kisses the top of your head with enthusiasm.

“You’re the best, pumpkin. Still think you’re going down the right career path?” She questions, a playful smirk appearing on her lips making you shake your head as you move towards your bedroom. 

“You guys have your thing, I have mine. Besides, I’m far too good for your lil crew, Ocean.” You joke, turning to wink at the brunette before heading into your room. You falter slightly upon closing your door hearing your sister’s voice shout through to you from the other side. 

“The ‘crew’ are coming over later to go through the plan. You wanna join us?!” You bump your head lightly against your wooden door, already feeling the knowing smirks coming from both women. 

“Maybe. I’ll see how I feel later.” You reply against the door, before moving away and removing your work clothes piece by piece, leaving a trail of material towards the en-suite bathroom. 

Placing your phone on the drawer by the bathroom door, you head in for a shower completely missing the new text message from your favourite blonde.

Hey darling! I hope your first day went well. Can’t wait to hear all about it tonight! Tam x

***

Writing up the last few lines for your lesson plans, you look towards the digital clock on your desk as your stomach flutters in anticipation at seeing the blonde. You see, you may have never seeked out your intentions with Tammy but you would be fooling yourself if you thought you were over your silly crush on the woman. 

A loud knock on your door interrupts your thoughts. 

“Y/N! They’ll be here soon, are you joining us or not?” Lou’s deep voice came muffled from the other side of your door.

“Uh, yeah. Let me finish up this lesson plan and I’ll be out.” You reply, distracted by your thoughts. Shaking your head, you refocus back onto the task at hand before you can let your thoughts trail off into a much more filthier place.

You continue to write in your planner making sure that every detail has been looked over at least twice wanting everything to be perfect, completely unaware of the unannounced presence that stands by your doorway leaning heavily against the doorframe, soft eyes gazing lovingly at your hunched over figure. 

“Hey, you.” 

The voice startles you from your productivity, making you gasp and swirl around swiftly at the unexpected voice. Hand on chest, you try to catch your breath as the sweet angelic sound of Tammy’s laughter echoes throughout the bedroom. 

“Oh my god, Tammy! You gotta warn me next time.” You breathe, turning back to rearrange your notepad and planner. Tammy chuckles this time before pushing away from the doorframe and making herself comfortable at the foot of the bed.

“I’m sorry darling, but we’ve been out there for nearly an hour and well.. I missed you. We haven’t hung out with you much lately and we’re missing our most valuable member of the crew.” She confesses, a small smile playing on her lips as she takes in your room. You feel your heart flutter at the thought of her missing you, but you quickly squish down the thought knowing she didn’t mean just her but the rest of the gang. 

“Oh shit! I hadn’t realised the time. You guys haven’t ordered yet, right?” You ask, eyes hopeful and mouth watering at the thought of some delicious greasy pizza. 

“We have..” You pout at her words before watching her smile wide at you. “But don’t worry Y/N, I ordered your favourite.” She informs you with a smug expression. You leap out of your chair and practically leap towards her, placing your arms around her shoulder you press a big kiss to her cheek before moving away just as quickly heading for the living room.

“This is why you’re my favourite, Tam Tam.” You exclaim, already out of the room before she could blink. Within your excitement you missed how the blonde touched her cheek where you had placed the kiss onto her scorching skin, a tint of pink blushing across her cheeks. 

Yeah, you weren’t the only one smitten. 

***

Over the next few days, you had helped your sister and her crew form the perfect plan to take over the new Randervelt Museum and their very expensive art pieces. Debbie had dropped enough hints that you ended up being a part of the plan. 

“We can’t do this without you, Y/n.” 

“The money is good.” 

How could you say no? After all, you were a Miller and the thrill of a heist had always been appealing to you ever since your sister brought you along to your first one when you turned 21. “It’s tradition”, Lou had said. 

During that time, you had noticed Tammy had been awfully quiet around you. Sometimes you would catch her staring just a little too long at you before she would turn away and engage in conversation with one of the others, as if nothing was wrong. You had tried to talk to her about her odd behaviour but every time you got her alone, she would make some kind of excuse to not be around you. 

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t hurt but the plan had gone smoothly with everyone accounted for, all except for well... you. 

“Where is she, Constance?” Tammy raged through her earpiece, getting ready to jump back out of the van and go searching for you herself. 

“She’s got caught up with that big ass guard. I’m going to intervene to see if I can get her out of the way.” Constance replies, far too calm for her liking. 

“What do you mean caught up with the guard?! What’s he saying to her?” 

“I dunno but, uh… it seems like he’s flirting with her.” Tammy gulps slightly at that, feeling her stomach drop. 

“Well, get him to back off before I come in there and do it myself.” She says through gritted teeth.

“Alright girl, chill the F out. I’ll go get your girl.” She mumbles into her ear. Tammy’s eyes widen at the blunt statement as she hears quiet chuckling from the others. 

“Ladies, can we please focus? This is my sister and I swear to god if anything happens to her I- just… Constance, go and get her. Me and Debbie are going to bring round the other truck so we can transfer the paintings over to you, got it?” Lou’s authoritative voice crackles through the earpiece. A collective of sorry's are mumbled across the team as everyone returned back to the task at hand. Tammy holds her breath, waiting for Constance's confirmation of a safe exit with you in toe. 

“Got her. We’re on our way out now, be ready for us.” 

She can finally breathe again.

***

The journey back to the warehouse was quiet and tense. Tammy tried to let go of the pent up frustration and unwanted anger of having you in such a situation in the first place, but she couldn’t seem to drop it. That is, if her knee bouncing rapidly had anything to say about it. 

You kept your eyes fixed on the empty seat across from you, knowing that a certain pair of  brown doe eyes were burning into your skull from the spot across. Once you had all entered the apartment, the team disperses towards the living area bringing in the pieces one by one. 

Tammy is no longer able to keep her thoughts to herself, the words ready to spill from her throat. 

“How could you be so irresponsible?” She scolded, turning towards you. 

Your eyes widen as you gape at her, showing your shock at her blunt words. 

You can hear Lou chastising Tammy quietly in warning from across the room, but from the look on the blonde's face she wasn’t about to listen to her friend.  

“Excuse me?” You exclaim, taking a step closer to her. 

“You could have gotten into some serious trouble back there Y/N, if that guy had caught onto what you were doing.. You need to be more careful.” She lectured, trying to slow down her rapid breathing knowing that secretly, deep down, it wasn’t your fault. 

“Are you being serious right now?!” You question, baffled by her defensive behaviour. 

“I knew it was a bad idea putting you in danger like that. I should have said something.” Tammy mutters to herself, but her words are clear enough for you to hear. 

“What do you mean, Tam? Is that why you’ve been so weird with me? I knew there was something up with you.” You summarize, pointing an accusing finger at the blonde. You notice at the corner of your eye, the other woman silently leaving the room, clearly not wanting to be involved. 

Your eyes catch your sisters, her crystal blue eyes staring back at you with understanding and knowing, baffling you even more before Debbie escorts her reluctant form out of the room, knowing that you are old enough to deal with the problem at hand.

“Okay, fine! I was pissed off, alright? I hated the fact that you were dragged into yet another job, an illegal job might I add. You are doing something good with your life right now, darling. I don’t want you getting mixed up in all of this. You’re too good for this.” She says, indicating towards the stolen art pieces. You frown at just how concerned she is with your involvement.

“Why do you care so much, Tam? I’m just your best friend's kid sister, remember?” You mock, remembering back to the time when you overheard her conversation with Debbie about your odd relationship with the older woman. 

“She’s young, Debs. I’m merely being a friend.”  Those were her words back then and they still stung to this day. 

Tammy drops her gaze, shame evident, remembering how she saw your retreating form from the corner of her eye back when she spoke to Debbie about her confusing feelings towards you.  

“I only said that because I was too scared to admit how I actually felt about you, Y/N.” Her voice soft, faltering slightly under her confession. Her eyes bright with unshed tears, her shoulders dropping as if the weight of her secret love for you has been lifted. You gape at the woman in front of you, overwhelmed with uncertainty and hope.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You managed to croak out, unable to form further words. 

Tammy shrugs her shoulders in defeat, before slowly meeting your conflicted gaze. You could see the vulnerability in those big brown eyes, making you step towards her. That instant pull between you growing stronger just like it had during that first meeting. 

“What, and tell your sister ‘oh hey, I know I’m one of your closest friends but I’m in love with your younger sister’? I don’t think that would have gone down well back then, do you?” You both chuckle slightly realising how ridiculous this all is. 

“I’m pretty sure she’s known something was going on,” you pause for a minute, thinking carefully about your next words. “Because I dunno if you know this, but I’ve been in love with you since I first laid my eyes on you.” You confess, folding your arms across your chest as if to protect yourself from your own words. 

Before you could apologise or take back your words, scared by the fallen silence that has settled between you both, Tammy walks the last few steps towards you placing her hands gently against your jaw, cupping your face within the palms of her hands. The tenderness within her hold makes you want to cry at just how much love seeps from her one single touch. 

“I would very much like to kiss you.” She whispers, her lips an inch away from your own. You close your eyes basking in the moment before you reply. 

“Then, do it.” Her lips clash with your own at your words, desperate as if they’ve been waiting a million years just to touch your own soft lips. Her tongue traces along your bottom lip making you part your lips ever so slightly but enough for her to trace her tongue along your own, fighting for dominance. Bringing your hands up, you thread your fingers through long blonde locks keeping her close not wanting to break away just yet. You continue with this fight for dominance with your mouths before the distinctive sound of someone gagging makes you break apart. 

Turning your heads to the side, you both see Lou and the others stood by the doorway with stupid grins on their faces. All except for Lou, who was fake gagging next to Debbie who just rolled her eyes at her best friend's antics. 

“Are you guys done sucking each other's faces? Because I wanna order pizza.” Nine says with indifference, before moving into the room and towards the kitchen where the food menus lay scattered on the kitchen island table. 

The others laugh watching as you both fluster at being caught making out like teenagers. You eye up your sister who has been very quiet about the whole exchange, feeling Tammy shift uncomfortably next to you clearly waiting for your sister to react. 

You keep a supportive arm around her waist, silently telling her that no matter what you’re both stronger than the rejection. Lou walks agonizingly slowly towards you both with a stoic face, giving nothing away while Debbie rolls her eyes at her friend's dramatics, once again. 

“My best friend and my sister...” Is all she says, as if trying to piece the information together out loud. 

You gulp once she’s up close to you, standing with her arms crossed as her eyes flicker between you and Tammy. The silent exchange feels like it goes on for a century before she breaks out into a huge smile, showing her pearly white teeth and her arms out wide towards you both.

“My best friend and my sister!” She exclaims excitingly, before pulling you both into a three-way hug. You both lock eyes over your sister’s shoulder, relief evident in those perfect brown eyes making you grin softly. 

“Yeah, me and your sister, Lou.” Tammy says as she laughs at your sister's antics. Lou pulls back, holding your shoulders with her hands eyeing your now clasped hands. 

“Just don’t make it gross, yeah? She’s still my little sister and I will kick your arse if you hurt her, Tam Tam.” Lou threatens, but the tone of her voice clearly shows she’s only half joking. 

You roll your eyes at your sister’s empty threat before she bops you on the nose, which you bat away with your free hand. 

“That goes for you as well, kid. She’s still one of my best friends, you hurt her in any way then me and you will be having words. Got it?” She promises, before winking and walking back towards the kitchen where the others have been not so subtly listening in to the exchange. 

You look at the blonde in front of you, taking in her soft features and perfect smile, overwhelmed with love for this woman in front of you.  Leaning in, you kiss the corner of her mouth softly. 

“I could never hurt you Tam Tam. Who would get my pizza order right, if not you?” You tease, watching the mischievous glint burn within her brown eyes as she playfully shoves you. 

“You, dork.” Grabbing her hand quickly, you place it over your heart and whisper. 

“But I’m your dork,” you smile cheekily at her.

“Yeah, my dork.” She confirms, her adoring eyes gazing into your own thinking to herself. 

Finally.

#tammy x reader #sarah paulson x reader #oceans 8 #lou miller x reader #tammy is an angel #sarah paulson #lou miller #debbie ocean

[watevermelon]

Cheater!Akaashi x Reader

✧ Summary: (Continuation) Akaashi apologizes to the reader, seeing her genuinely happy without him (MSBY Black Jackals Era) [forgiving/peaceful end]

A/N : Slight spoilers if you aren’t caught up to 392 ;) (reader ends up with our home-boy Konoha) ➳  Masterlist ➳  Part One

--------xXxXxXxXxXx--------

Walking away from Akaashi was one of the hardest things you had ever done in your high school career. He was the picture perfect boyfriend, the one you even wanted to spend the rest of your life with. Everything about him, from his kindness to his charming good-looks, you wanted to wake-up to it every day for the rest of your life.

Until one day, you just didn’t.

And from then on, so much as a thought about Akaashi set your heart aflame, ready to fight the setter with your bare hands. You had your friends to guide you through it all, even Konoha had drawn closer to you in your circle. And with time, it was easier to breathe in the halls of Fukurodani. Some people had pushed for details regarding your separation, especially since Akaashi was suddenly romantically attached to a certain captain, but the setter had adamantly requested for the others to leave you alone.

He had pursued you three times since your break, basically pleading with you to listen from his perspective.

You always said no.

And life moved on. Akaashi became the captain of the Fukurodani Volleyball team, both Konoha and Bokuto graduating to attend college nearby. Yukie, Haruki - all the older faces that you had come to know had finally left the school for good. And while some members of your friend group also graduated, it was bittersweet goodbyes for your worst year of high school.

Time really does heal wounds and you found yourself often forgetting all about the setter that broke your heart.

In high school, everything can feel like the end of the world. Whether it be a low grade, drama within your friend group, or even breaking up with some stupid person you called a boyfriend - it incited that deep curling feeling that just felt like: that was it. The end of the world as you knew it.

And in some ways that was true, but that wasn’t always a bad thing.

Now as a graduate-school senior, you had long accepted that there were still plenty of moments that felt like that. There was always going to be drama somewhere and some absolute sadist of a professor who liked to hand you a new asshole.

And it was not like you were suddenly a pro at handling these feelings. You still had doubts, worries, but this was all pushed back with your own brand of confidence built on the foundation of your earlier teenage years. With your friends, both new and old, you were ready to take on the world.

But first, final exams.

You were basically shut out to your roommates, either sheltering yourself in your room or in the library to get some good studying in. One of them was trying to follow a similar route, but she often got distracted by social media or newly released video games. The other had accepted her faith long ago, joking that the most she studied was during the breaks of the test.

And after having shared a class with her last semester, you found out it was not a joke.

There was only one class that you were particularly worried about and the final was tomorrow night. There were minimal distractions throughout today, even your boyfriend of almost a year was busy with his own classes and so the both of you were cooped up, mutually suffering at different colleges. 

It was only until this afternoon, did your focus break, nothing helping what you received today. On your coffee table was a simple letter, but you recognized the hand-writing even after all these years.

It was a personally written invitation to a professional volleyball game, home-court to the MSBY Black Jackals.

Bokuto and Akaashi had invited you.

The moment you received it, you called your boyfriend to see if he got one as well. Apparently, everyone from the old Fukurodani volleyball club got an invite. And, in addition to their crew, you had gotten one as well.

Your boyfriend assured you that if you were not comfortable with going, then that was it. Neither of you would attend. But you smiled at him surely, saying that anything regarding the two was long behind you. That was honestly the case, any memories of Akaashi brought forth a sad numbness, but nothing else. There was nothing you had to say to him, but you didn’t exactly want to hold back your boyfriend from being present at their reunion.

Slapping at your cheeks, you reminded yourself that you needed to focus on studying.

And so a week later, excelling with flying colors on that absolute bastard of a final, you mentally prepared yourself to see Akaashi and Bokuto for the first time in years. There would be no easy way to have that conversation, but with a group this large, you hoped that there would be no one-on-one time with either of them.

Sporting a loose denim jacket and leggings, you tried your best casual look for the night. Pulling it up into a high ponytail, you rushed over to the front of the dorm when the doorbell expectedly rang.

“Hey.” Konoha greeted you warmly, pulling you into a light peck in greeting. You murmured it back against his lips, happy to feel it curl into a smile against your own.

You hadn’t started dating until you were both in a few years into college, having kept in touch long after high school as you both attended schools in Tokyo. You went to the same college as Haruki and that was the silent lifeline between your relationship. From college parties to general hangouts, Haruki was a true bro and Konoha was relentless in his pursuit of your friendship.

It wasn’t like a sudden rush overnight or like the clouds had shifted to rain sunshine down on Konoha. It was simple, you liked Konoha and wanted to go out with him. He was more than just a friendly face or a wielder of cold humor. The previous volleyball player had a genuinely kind-soul that was more than just another person from Fukurodani.

You remembered how easy it was to be genuinely happy with Konoha. It made you want to do the same for him, to put a smile on his face and remind yourself what it was like to truly be needed.

The first time the two of you kissed, it was before you were even officially dating. You two had separated from the cluster of college teens, far away from the bustle of the house-party as you sat on the edge of the property. There was a pool a ways behind you, but you had sat together under a tree together and looked up at the night sky.

The stars weren’t visible from Tokyo, the lights of the city keeping them hidden from view. But that hadn’t stopped the two of you from thinking the sky was beautiful that night, laying back side-by-side as you talked to each other candidly.

“Professor Magnolia puts the mystery in chemistry.” You complained to Konoha.

He chuckled at your awful pun, probably more out of pity than actual amusement, you wondered. Replying back, “You still did pretty well in that class.”

“I don’t want to hear it from you, mister 4.0 GPA.” You quipped, a teasing smile on your face that he recognized.

“I could always give you some private lessons.” Konoha joked, but you both knew the suggestive line that was there. He seemed to recognize it and back off immediately, “Unless, of course -”

“I want you to.” You interrupted him.

Yes, you were the more aggressive party when it came to your relationship. At least, at the start. Konoha has been your friend forever. And there was no denying that the young man was plenty attractive and very handsome. But you tended to wonder if he was ever interested in bringing it to another step.

Whenever implications got too serious, or your mutual teasing had lingered a little too long, Konoha would make sure to put a wide berth of space between and the line. You honestly appreciated this very much, since Konoha was aware of your space and never encroached on your friendship. And it was not like he had put a complete damper on your relationship either, openly flirting back with you when you tried. 

Instead, Konoha put the ball entirely in your court.

You wanted this? You had to come and get it.

“Are you being serious?” Konoha asked as he sat-up, face serious as he contemplated your last statement.

But you smiled at him as you leaned closer, “Yes.”

He reflected your expression back at you, the both of you rising to stand for whatever reason. Konoha always towered over you, but now you were more aware of that fact as you looped your arms around his neck. You gravitated toward one another, lips meeting in a chaste peck before you deepened the kiss.

But it was not like your relationship depended on you making the first move, no way. Konoha was very attentive to the communication within your relationship. Once you made it clear that you were comfortable, he would make the move you both wanted.

From your first kiss to the first night you shared together, you nearly whipped your bra at him the week before to make sure he got the message.

And he definitely got the message.

Konoha went from your sudden high-school protector to the one you desperately wanted to spend your life with. You would do anything to keep your relationship steady and would feel your heart surge when he would whisper back similar thoughts.

And now here your boyfriend was, picking you up at the dorms before the both of you attended a MSBY Black Jackals game. You honestly never thought that this would happen. Konoha had attended some in the past, along with Haruki and the rest. It was never something that bothered you either, they were his best friends and he hadn’t done anything wrong.

You just never thought you’d be attending one together, at the invitation of your ex-boyfriend no less.

But you continued on anyway, waving goodbye to your roommates and taking Konoha’s hand as he guided you through the bustle of Shibuya. He held your hand tightly and you would squeeze back when you got closer to the arena, the large poster of current volleyball pro’s coming into view.

You had seen lots of images of Bokuto in his professional career. He was basically a household name now, a reliable outside hitter to one of the best Division 1 teams in all of Japan. There were highlights of him on social media and he had even starred in multiple commercials by now.

But the image of Bokuto never really lingered in your mind. He was always a passing thought, like you knew that he existed, but never really registered it that it was true. Seeing a huge poster with many unknown faces except the owl-haired man really brought back this fact.

Scanning your tickets, you were surprised when you were guided to another area. You and Konoha were being guided to a club box, a reserved area for larger groups to mingle together during sports events.

Many of the others during that Fukurodani volleyball club golden age were already present. You had caught up with Yukie in the past year, the nutritionist still as insatiable with food as ever. Haruki was probably the one you were closest to, since the actor and you kept in touch after receiving your undergraduate degrees in college.

He had even called you a few days before, saying that he heard from Konoha that the Akaashi and Bokuto had invited you as well. Your well-intentioned friend suggested doing something to their kneecaps even now, after all these years, but you said it was not necessary.

You had a feeling of why they wanted you here.

It was written out plainly in Akaashi’s letter: to apologize.

That was when you realized that you had never actually received one before. Akaashi was quick with excuses and even more desperate to have you hear his side, but never had the setter actually said the words, ‘I’m sorry,’ over what he had done to you.

And it was not like you need to hear it after all these years. It was something you were long over at this point, not even an issue.

But it made you wonder why now of all times was Akaashi asking to do this.

It was more like, if he needed to say it, then you were patient enough to finally listen.

Konoha said that the moment you needed an out, he would give it. There was already a back-up plan that could be in motion the very second you think it would be necessary. The two boys had made it the night before - Konoha getting a bad call from his family (actually Haruki calling him) and, if need be, he could cry on cue to get you two out of there.

You laughed and called them idiots.

And to your ultimate surprise, neither Akaashi nor Bokuto made an appearance before the game. You were mingling with the group when the announcer started introducing the teams. Those around you were making comments, talking about the young Hinata Shoyou from Miyagi or how the absolute bane-of-their-high-school-existence Sakusa Kiyoomi was now ironically on the same team as Bokuto.

You watched a volleyball game for the first time in seven years. The last game ever being the one before you broke it off with Akaashi. This was different in every way possible - the quick calculate looks of the setter Atsumu Miya. It was nothing like how Akaashi used to look at Bokuto, not how you remembered at least.

And you were actually enraptured in the game, interested eyes watching as the ball launched at high-speeds to each side of the court. At some point, Konoha placed a casual hand across the back of your seat, joking with Haruki that nothing less than food would get your attention.

It was only seven minutes into the first-set that Akaashi made his appearance.

You heard him before you saw him, some of the others greeting him as he strolled in late. In his hands was a box covered by a large plastic bag, apparently an order from Onigiri Miya that ended up taking longer than expected. He greeted everyone individually in his cool, yet quiet voice.

Konoha and you stood together, walking over to greet him with your hands clasped together. Akaashi greeted the both of you warmly, a half-smile at you before his eyes dropped to your hands. There was no hiding the length of his gaze before he was called to the side by someone else, thanking him for the invitation.

It was strange and felt like anything but normal, but at least this wasn’t the catastrophe you were somewhat expecting.

Akaashi turned to the both of you once his attention was freed, “Thank you both for coming. Let’s continue this later after the game, once Kōtarō is free as well.”

You nodded, mustering the best neutral smile you could. Konoha did the same before you made your way back to the seats. Akaashi continued to mingle with the others from high school, never taking a seat and standing watch over the game. One thing that hadn’t changed since your teen days was how much Bokuto stood out, on the court and just simply in person.

While you would’ve liked to have shouted or yelled at either boy at the time, you did not hold any malicious intent after. Never had you thought of outing them to the school or ruining their reputations. Life was hard enough with high-school drama, this was not something you wanted to draw out.

Once it was all said and done, you just wanted to move on.

And seeing Bokuto did not bring back a sudden surge of unhappiness or fight in you. Rather, you felt a small drop of happiness that he was pursuing his dream. But that was quickly squashed down when you remembered the last time you saw him on a volleyball court.

Konoha held your hand the whole way through, you could feel his gaze in the corner of your peripheral. It was sweet, he was making sure that you were truly okay with this, not just saying that you were. Haruki teased that the two of you were too disgustingly cute, to which Konoha just lifted your joined hands and placed a light peck to the side of your head.

You felt Akaashi’s eyes on you then.

You begged yourself not to look, there was nothing in the world that could ever excuse what he did to you. You told yourself that you were over this, that this toxic feeling would not engulf you back then and certainly not now. There was nothing that would grant him mercy.

You looked anyway.

His bright blue eyes were looking right at you. There was no pretend smile this time, no mask he could put on in time to show that he was as neutral as he was before. Instead, you knew what was crawling at the edges of his expression - sadness, jealous, regret. 

It was only when you shared eye-contact that it lit your nerves aflame. He was openly staring back, his eyes almost pleading with you to say something. The look made you tighten your hold in Konoha’s hand. You were filling with something from the pit of your stomach. Not with hurt, but more like worry. Why would Akaashi and Bokuto even invite you here if he was still lingering on those feelings?

You had to wrestle your gaze away, turning back to the gaze and leaning further into Konoha. He wrapped a lazy arm around your shoulder, pulling you and steadying you toward him. You were able to remind yourself that, this time, you were definitely not alone. Even though Akaashi was still looking at you, you refused to turn back and it was only when Konoha turned did you wonder what was going on.

You watched your boyfriend turn to Akaashi and wave, shooting a kind smile which served as a placating look of feigned obliviousness, before lightly kissing the side of your head.

Akaashi turned away then.

You smiled to yourself, thinking no one else had seen the interaction. But Konoha knew you well and even playfully called you out in a low voice, “Oh? You liked that?”

“What? I can’t appreciate my own knight in shining armor?” You teased back, earning you a teasing pinch to your side.

“We’re here for a couple more hours, try not to seduce me any further.”

“Wha!” You contested as he flicked your forehead, “I was not.”

But Konoha just smirked at you, a fond expression on his face before turning back to the game. “You’re cuter than you give yourself credit for.”

You felt your cheeks flush, this was hardly the first time that he had said something like this. But somehow it always lit your cheeks aflame anyway.

The rest of the game went by very quickly, with your attention distracted to your boyfriend on your right. It was the simple things that you found so attractive - even so much as the small veins protruding in his arms when he flexed.

It was hot, ngl.

When the game ended, you were bracing yourself for something. Bokuto made his way to the reserved box, his loud voice above the crowd as many moved forward to greet him. You waited to the side, only moving when there was space to actually get a word in.

“(L/N)-san.” Bokuto greeted back, “I’m glad you came.”

He gave Konoha a high-five that progressed into a side-hug, boys. Somehow they had this handshake that you had never really seen before between the two.

“We hope to move this reunion back to our apartment.” Akaashi announced, many of the group agreed since it was a night before the weekend and no work the next day. They filled out individually, the rambunctious group loud against the cold walls. Haruki and Yukie lingered, you were sure since it was because you were still there.

You looked toward Konoha, there was no doubt that he would want to join in with his old-friends. Not that you really minded, it was just that now it was going to be taking place in the shared home of the two people who cheated on you. Were you mentally prepared to sit in a place that showcased all of their memories?

With the box emptying out, Akaashi approached the two of you first, “This may be the only semblance of quiet we have for the night.”

“Yeah.” You replied dumbly, unsure what to say. Konoha did not let go of your hand.

Yukie edged out of the room, but held-up a cell-phone motion as if she would call you to give you an out if needed. Haruki followed, but their pace was slow and their footsteps halted outside the door. They were probably going to wait, but just gave you your privacy. Bokuto was leaning against the wall by the door, waiting for the three of you.

“This has been drawn out for too long.” Akaashi continued once the door closed behind them, “I wanted to apologize for everything I did to you.”

“Oh?”

“You didn’t deserve it.” He stated, his kind-eyes now reflecting determination toward you, “I’ve long realized how selfish I was, trying to have both of your feelings. And it made me ashamed to think that I had never even properly apologized to you. I was so eager to speak, but never the right thing back then.”

You smiled, but said nothing. Not that you were unhappy, just overwhelmed with how earnest his apology was. You hadn’t expected Akaashi to be so genuinely repentant.

“You deserve all the happiness I could never give you and more.” Akaashi continued, his eyes lifting toward Konoha before dropping back to you. “I am so, so sorry.”

“Accepted.” You replied with an uneven smile, out-stretching a hand for him to take. Akaashi jumped at the chance, eagerly shaking your hand before shooting a grin back at you.

“Hey! Hey!” Bokuto started as he clapped a hand on Akaashi’s back, “And I’m sorry for keeping it a secret also, but...”

“But you loved him.” You finished for him. There was a time you wanted to step on Bokuto’s neck, but now you just felt nothing but understanding.

“That was a pretty dick move of me.” Bokuto continued.

“No hard feelings.” You replied back, earning a playful slap on the back from the wing-spiker that definitely hurt more than it was meant to.

“You were always the nicest one, (L/N)!” He said with a smile before turning to Konoha, “You’ve got a real catch here.”

Konoha smiled as he moved his hand to your waist and squeezed, “And I’ll never let her go.”

You gave him a similar smile, looking up at your boyfriend at feeling a fondness settle in your stomach over his kind yet protective nature. He looked down at you and couldn’t stop himself from lightly pecking you on the lips at that moment.

Bokuto let out a playful bristle and Akaashi shot you another one of his wistful smiles, but that was the least of your worries.

It had been a long time since you put those high-school days behind you. But there was a certain happiness, a content feeling inside you that had suddenly fostered at hearing his apology. You were more than ready to move onto your future, this toxic memory nothing but a stepping stone from your past.

➳  Masterlist ➳  Part One

#akaashi #akaashi x reader #akaashi x yn #akaashi x you #akaashi x y/n #akaashi keiji x reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi hcs #akaashi imagine #akaashi scenarios #hq hcs #akaashi texts #akaashi headcanons #akaashi hq #akaashi oneshot #akaashi fanfiction #akaashi angst #akaashi fluff #konoha akinori #bokuto koutarou #bokuto kotarou #bokuto x akaashi #bokuaka #haikyuu!! #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu imagines #hq imagines #hq scenarios #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu reader insert

[sprnklersplashes]

songwriter!janis fic (unrequited crush, no-very-happy-ending) 

also on ao3

It all started because she loved Taylor Swift when she was in middle school. Who is she kidding, she still loves Taylor Swift, but that’s where all this began. A middle school girl’s obsession with Taylor Swift. A confused, sad girl with a broken heart and smudged black eyeliner, finding refuge in lyrics about loneliness and anger and revenge. They became anthems for her, mantras to mutter when the warzone of middle school became too much for her.

“Someday, I’ll be living in a big old city, and all you’re ever gonna be is mean.”

“Cause I knew you were trouble when you walked in.”

“I can still see you, this ain’t the best view.”

It amazes her. It’s honestly as if Taylor Swift has managed to look into her life and given her a bundle of songs for whatever she needs. For when Regina has thrown her one too many snide looks, for when she’s standing at the door of North Shore High on her first day, for when she eats lunch alone, for when her mom is the best mom she could have asked for, for when she and Damian are lying on the grass in her backyard, staring up at the sky, laughing at absolutely nothing. The songs become the soundtrack to her life, the chords and those raw, honest lyrics an emotional outlet she so desperately craves. Taylor, and her songs, become a confidant, almost a close friend who always knows what to say.

With all that in mind, perhaps it was only a matter of time before she asks for a guitar for Christmas. She’s fourteen, braces and a slight lisp, and jumps up and down like a mad woman when she sees it under the tree.

She practices for three days straight, until her fingers bleed, but Should’ve Said No is the first song she learns off by heart. She yells the lyrics with maybe a little too much passion, but her parents applaud her nonetheless.

Like she said, that’s how it all started.

Because that same Christmas, she realises that screaming her feelings while playing guitar actually feels pretty cathartic. And that if it worked for Taylor Swift, it could work for her. So she writes stuff down, plays around with chords and strumming until the beat on the guitar matches the one in her head. She grabs a page and a pencil and writes and re-writes her innermost thoughts and feelings on the page until they sound the way she wants them to. She plays around with rhyme schemes and structure and everything she’s been taught about in English class, and a thrill runs through her as she does so. It’s the same breathless high she feels when she paints or draws, the rush that comes from creating something.

Her parents sit on the other side of her bedroom door, no doubt exchanging worried glances as she repeats the same verse, same chorus, with only a word changed. She watches them when they think she can’t see, peering through the crack in her door. The conclusion they seem to come to is ‘well, as coping mechanisms go, it’s pretty good, and she’s happy, so who are we to stop it?’.

It takes her four days to finish her first song. And it sucks. But she keeps it, writes down the lyrics and chords in one of the few empty notebooks she has, and there’s no going back from it now. She writes, and she writes, and she writes, near enough every day. She likes to think she gets better with each one. She learns more chords, buys a cheap ukulele the summer after freshman year, tries her hand at piano during a particularly difficult few weeks. She doesn’t plan on doing anything with them. They’re just her little pieces to hold on to. Her therapy sessions outside the carpeted office.

No-one knows about it. She has a reputation to keep up, after all. The loner-by-choice, too-cool-for-school, aloof art freak. Everyone has their roles to play in the ecosystem that is high school and, much as she hates the entire system, that is hers to play. And she plays it well, if she may say so. The fact that hardly anyone knows her past that facade suits her just fine. After all, if people think she doesn’t care, she can’t get hurt. No-one needs to know that Janis Sarkisian actually has feelings.

Even less need to know that she writes songs about said feelings.

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By the time she reaches her junior year, she’s onto her third notebook. She keeps them tucked away in her sock drawer, expertly hidden so only she can find them. Damian teases her about it, calling her “the protagonist of a Disney Channel Original Movie”. She just rolls her eyes and reminds him that “if either of us is gonna be Disney’s first openly gay character, it’ll be you”. He can’t argue with that.

It should be noted that when Janis said that no-one knows about her songwriting, Damian was the obvious exception. He found out just weeks after she started. There’s no keeping secrets from him.

Between all her notebooks, she’s written around forty songs.

Then she meets Cady Heron one day. The human embodiment of a labrador puppy, complete with wide, lost eyes. She likes her instantly, decides to take her under her wing because Lord knows the girl needs it. Cady’s smile is infectious, her laugh like a summer breeze. She has dimples and caramel-coloured hair and really likes maths.

She meets Cady on a Monday.

By that Saturday, song number 41-titled “Dimples and Curls” is more or less complete.

She plays it for Damian, hands only slightly shaking as she changes chords, the strumming short and upbeat, the melody strangely happy for such a bittersweet song.

He applauds her, but the subject of the song hangs in the air even after she’s played the last chord and the music fades. Unsaid, but not unknown. Just like her songwriting, Janis couldn’t keep a crush from Damian if she tried.

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“Hey, check it out.”

Cady drops onto the seat across from Janis, the whole table shaking as she does so. Like a small meteor just hit Earth. Janis looks up from her lunch, pretending like she had been doing her own thing and not watching the door until Cady came in. Pretending like her stomach doesn’t do little flips at the sight of her crossing the cafeteria. She pulls the flyer towards her and hums in amusement.

“The winter talent show,” she reads before chomping off a carrot stick. “Oh, is it that time of year already?”

“Seems like only yesterday we was welcoming the young’uns into this brave new world during the harvest season,” Damian sighs, putting on a delightfully over the top Southern Belle accent, no doubt influenced by their reading of Streetcar Named Desire in English class. Janis cackles, and nearly chokes on her lunch as she does.

“And now the cold winds of winter are descending upon us,” she replies, her accent equally heavy. She bats her eyes for good measure, because she can and because it makes Cady laugh. “Oh but I pray the children will survive this season, it is often rough for them.”

“I am never showing you two anything winter related ever again,” Cady says.

Janis just shrugs and runs her hand through her hair before her eyes go back to the flyer. Clearly, whatever sophomore they got to design it this year did their best; found the prettiest looking snowflakes on Google Images to put on the cartoon stage, decided to write in some swirling, slanted font rather than the start-studded block lettering they usually went for. It’s still the same as it is every year, meaning just as mockable, but she’ll give them points for tying.

“Well, anyone here going for it?” she asks. She looks from Damian to Cady and back again, a teasing smirk on her lips. “Last year and all that.”

“Not sure I can,” Damian sighs. “I mean, I’m booked up with Spelling Bee rehearsals and spring cabaret auditions happening next semester.” He drums his fingers against his throat. “Gotta give the little vocal chords some rest, you know?”

Janis’ response is to sing the lowest note she possibly can before turning to Cady and giving her a pointed look, the corner of her mouth quirked up.

“Who? Me?” Cady’s cheeks turned crimson and she shakes her head so much that the caramel curls bounced around her shoulders. “No way. Damian can take the stage, I’m fine with my calculators and textbooks.”

“You could always solve equations in front of everyone,” Janis says. “I could call out college-level questions from the audience and you solve them in under 30 seconds.”

“I think I’ll pass,” she giggles. She leans forward slightly, eyes glittering, and Janis does her best not to squirm. The effect Cady Heron’s eyes have on her should be studied by scientists. “What about you, Janis?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks back to when she helped on stage crew last year, as well as helping out (or taking over) with the set design. It had been fun, the kind of challenge she needed to keep her mind off the slowly-going-off-the-rails plan. And she was told it looked good on her college applications, because all people can think about apparently is college, college, college. “Maybe. They might need another genius stage manager.”

“And you’ll step in if they can’t find one?” She digs Damian in the ribs for that comment.

“But not performing?” Cady asks, and Janis freezes. Performing had never even crossed her mind before. She’s used to backstage, hell, she likes backstage. It’s not that she has stage fright or anything, and if she had, her stunt at Ms Norbury’s little healing session would have squished it. She had just never thought about it.

But Cady had, apparently.

“I-No, I-I don’t think so,” she stammers out. “Um, I might do backstage again, but not actually doing something, you know, talent related.” She bites her tongue and clamps her lips shut before anything else can come out.

“Okay then,” Cady replies slowly. She gets up from the table, her little empty water bottle in her hands. “I’m going to go for a refill, save my seat.”

“No problem,” Janis says, but Cady’s already jogging away.

She doesn’t know if it’s good or bad that Cady’s known her too long to think of her as cool, and so this kind of awkward babbling isn’t really surprising to her. Instead of thinking about it, she just sets her head on the table and lets Damian rub her back.

“You were nowhere near as bad as you think you were,” he assures her.

“Title of your sex tape,” comes her murmured reply. Damian chuckles and runs his fingers through her hair, like she’s his pet cat. It helps.

“So you’re definitely not going for the talent show then?” he asks.

Her first instinct is to say no, because of course she isn’t, because she never has before and she sees no point in breaking a three-year streak, but the answer catches in her throat. At the same time, something begins forming in her brain, pieces of a melody she’s already known, words filling in blank spots in her brain, and her fingers twitch involuntarily, playing the chords on an invisible guitar. Without a word, she grabs a notepad and pen from her bag and scribbles the words down before she forgets them, quickly becoming breathless just by sitting there. She forgets, for a moment, everything else, the talent show, Cady, even Damian next to her, and just revels in the task and the quick buzz she gets just from writing. Just like that she has one eye on the clock, itching to get home and put her notes into the rest of the song.

But with those notes came an idea, an idea so completely out of left field she almost laughs at it.

“Janis?” Damian asks, just slightly unnerved by her. If anyone else were at this table, even Cady (especially Cady), she would have had to excuse herself and run to the bathroom, or just hope the words stayed in her head long enough for her to get a quiet moment. “Did the Goddess of Music just possess you again?”

“Maybe,” is her response. He doesn’t know it, but she answered both the questions he asked in the past minute.

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She sits on her bed that night, her homework half-done and strewn across the desk, abandoned in favour of the guitar sitting in her lap and notebook open on her bed. She’s been working on his song for the better part of a week, inspiration and motivation seemingly striking and then fading whenever she gets a free moment. Abandoning it has crossed her mind-she’s no stranger to abandoning things that aren’t working-but for some reason she hasn’t quite been able to shake this particular song off.

Maybe it is Euterpe, the Goddess of Music, descending upon her because this song has to be finished, it has to be, Olympus willing it so.

Or maybe it’s because this song is one of the most personal things she’s ever written, a love letter she’ll never send, and the idea of it sitting unfinished drives her crazy.

She plays another chord and sings the line again, changing the ending slightly, and makes the adjustment in her notes.

She’s crazy. This is already crazy, her secret double life as a wannabe T-Swift, but now she’s gone beyond that. Thinking of actually playing it. On a stage. In front of people. She doesn’t care what people think of her, she stopped caring about that a long, long time ago, but holy shit what will people think of her after she does this? Life isn’t like the movies, she knows that much. It won’t be some pretty, softly-lit moment where the crowd sits with teary eyes, Cady runs onstage and kisses her and she’s offered a deal by some big shot producer, and they all live happily ever after the end. What could happen is people think she’s even more of a weirdo than they do now.

Or she gets tomatoes thrown at her head and she’s booed off the stage. That’s a possibility.

She calls Damian, because that’s the only way she sees out of her little thought cul-de-sac. She puts the phone on speaker and props it up against a pillow, keeping her hands free for her guitar and her pen. He picks up on the third ring, just as she’s strumming out a G chord.

“Oh, is someone prepping for her Grammy?” he asks. “You’re still taking me as your date, right?”

“Only if my dog can’t go,” she replies. She taps her nails against the wood, the rhythm too fast and frantic to just be a habit. Yes, she can tell Damian anything, and being nervous in front of him is laughable, but sometimes her body forgets that. “So, I was thinking about the talent show.”

“Oh? You’re going for stage crew again? Cool.”

“No-not exactly.” She knows he can’t see the smile creeping across her face, but she’d wager he can hear it through the phone. A small swarm of butterflies flutters in her chest, leaving her just slightly out of breath. “I… I. think I’m going to try performing in it.”

A burst of laughter comes through the phone, slightly tinged with static, and Janis wishes he were here so she could slap him. Even if it’s not malicious in intent at all, and she’s laughing right along with him. Slapping is kind of a love language for them.

“Okay, okay cool. What’re you going to do?”

“I’ll give you a hint,” she says, and then she plays the opening chords to her latest experiment. She doesn’t add in the lyrics, not yet. Still, she sits back and basks in his applause when she finishes, cackling into her hand. He might be one person, but he’s got enough enthusiasm to match a packed auditorium. “What do you think?”

“I’m into it,” he tells her. “So… that’s the one you’re doing?”

“Think so.” She tosses the pick between her fingers. Like he could feel her smile, she can feel his raised eyebrow through the phone, the elephant in the room poking her with its trunk. “Yes, I know.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought it,” she tells him, and he doesn’t deny it. She looks back over the lyrics she’s written and re-written. Despite some adjustments, it’s still in essence the same. Still about a girl with pretty hair who smells like vanilla and cinnamon, who has a boyfriend and is unknowingly breaking the heart of a girl with black eyeliner and paint stained fingers. Because her boyfriend is pretty and clean and smells like soap and can do math, and how is the poor art girl even meant to compare to that?

“Yes,” she says after a while. “It is about Cady.”

“Aw, my poor lovestruck songstress,” he sighs. He shifts then, and the air shifts with him. “You sure that’s the one you want to sing? I mean you have dozens of other non-Cady related songs. I’m sure Mr Duvall would love to hear Angry Teenage Lesbian Anthem.”

“First off, I gave that one a title, it’s called Shattered,” she reminds him. “And-” She freezes, the rest of her sentence catching in her throat. He’s right. She could perform one of her other songs, that are already finished and therefore removing the pressure to have this one finished, polished and stage-ready. And of course, it would mean she wouldn’t be standing in front of her entire grade and telling them all how badly she’s in love with her best friend. Showing her deepest secret to the people who have already driven her out of school once. It’s a far safer, potentially less traumatic option for her.

But…

“No,” she says. “I know it sounds crazy but I feel like… I feel like I need to do this.” She swallows thickly and picks softly at the guitar strings. “It’s like… like this way at least I’m telling her, you know? Even if she doesn’t know it.”

Of course, Damian gets it.

“That’s beautiful, babe,” he tells her. “So you’re actually doing this?”

“I’m actually doing this,” she replies firmly. “And tomorrow, I need you to make sure I don’t chicken out before I sign up.”

“Got it. I’ll just order you to do it as Senior Co-Chair of the Student Activities Committee.”

“That’s an abuse of power.”

“Then consider yourself abused baby.” He laughs and she laughs with him, and then she hears something on Damian’s end. “I have to go. A certain little sister of mine has a princess costume that needs attending to. See you later.”

“See you later,” she replies before he clicks off the call. She looks down at her paper, then at her guitar, and thinks about what she just committed to. “I’ve got some work to do.”

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The song goes through four rewrites in the weeks leading up to the talent show. The whole first verse is changed, the chorus scrapped and replaced with a new one, then that one is scrapped and she goes back to the old one. She sits hunched on her floor with a pencil in her mouth, wondering if what she’s written is too personal or not personal enough. If it’s too obvious that Cady, smart cookie that she is, will work it out and that’ll lead them down a new, scary path. She cuts some lyrics that give the game away, opting to replace one about love for numbers with love for learning, because that opens up the pool to half their grade. She writes about Cady’s blue eyes rather than specifically those double dimples that make her melt. Maybe she’s compromising her artistic vision, but it might be worth it if it’ll keep her crush a secret. She keeps the old lyrics tucked in the back of her notebook, just to have them.

Meanwhile, she’s also dealing with the fact that people know she has signed up for the talent show. That Miss Too Cool For School Loner Art Freak Janis is actually performing at a school event. And she doesn’t even get extra credit for it. They’re surprised, and curious, and none more so than Cady. The other girl appears at her side almost instantly after first period, skinny little arms wrapped around her bicep and blue eyes alight.

Oh, the things those eyes do to her.

“Janis!” she squeaks. “I saw-on the sign up sheet-your name! Oh my God, is this a joke? Did Damian put you up to it?”

“No, no, I signed up of my own accord,” Janis tells her. That only makes Cady bounce more, ponytail bobbing up and down.

“Oh wow, that’s amazing!” she says. She stops then, her mouth freezing in its place and her cheeks turning pink. Slowly, she comes down to Earth, like a balloon that had the air let out of it. Janis can almost hear the wheeze. “I mean um, it’s pretty cool, I guess.”

“It’s pretty grool,” Janis replies, and just like that Cady bounces back up again.

“Oh my gosh, what are you going to do?” she asks. “Or do you want it to be a surprise?”

“You think I have some secret knife-throwing talent?” she grins. She hesitates for a moment, looking down at Cady’s excited face, because even if this isn’t telling her… it’s telling her. “I’m… I’m going to sing.” She pulls on the strap of her backpack and avoids Cady’s eyes. “Something I wrote.”

“Okay,” Cady says. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”

“Hey!” she laughs. “I can write stuff. I can be deep.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about it,” Cady says, bumping her arm against Janis’. “But for real, Janis, I can’t wait to see it. I know you’ll be amazing.”

Warmth spreads across her pale cheeks, a pink blush no doubt colouring her face, and she somehow manages to choke out a “thanks” as her brain turns to static. Her only thought is ‘Cady thinks I’m going to be good’, and it’s written in glitter pen across her brain.

“This is going to be great,” she goes on. “Oh, wait until I tell Aaron. He’s got a break in his schedule that week so he’s coming up to see the talent show! Isn’t that great?”

And just like that, Janis’ good mood falls. Her face stays the same, because she’s trained to do it, but everything behind it crumbles.

“Yeah, that’s great,” she replies. Cady squeezes her hand, oblivious, and drags her along the hallway, chatting away about some lion documentary she had watched last night.

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She finishes the song that night. She arrives home with a heavy chest, so full of complicated, messy feelings, and her conversation with Cady still so fresh in her mind, her ears still ringing from the emotional whiplash. Her parents barely get a ‘hello’ as she enters and bolts up to her room, her hands shaking, the thoughts swirling around her brain desperate to be let out.

And let them out she does. She writes so quickly they look more like smudges than words, her fingers flying over rapidly changing chords, her voice broken and panting as she sings. The words almost write themselves, like the song has taken on a life of its own and she’s just along for the ride. She barely remembers to pause, to breathe, so wrapped up in the storm she’s created with just her guitar and pen.

It’s only when she finishes and falls back on her bed that she notices the tears in her eyes. She blinks them away and pulls herself up, her notebook in her hand. It’s done. The perfect blend of her own honest feelings and just enough smokescreen to keep people from knowing who it’s really about.

There’s no backing out now, she thinks. Her stomach drops, like she’s on the top of a roller coaster about to go down. A laugh bubbles up in her throat and leaves her breathless, her head spinning while she’s still laying there.

If holy shit were am adjective, she'd use it to describe how she feels. Because holy shit.

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Being backstage when she’s not on crew is a strange experience. She stands with her guitar slung around her body, in the middle of a current of students moving around her, half with the clunky microphones and walkie-talkies she’s used so many times before. She asks five of them if she can do anything to help-because they’re her people and she needs to do something to occupy her time-until she finally takes the hint and leaves them to it. Stagehands are the most efficient parts of any production, as she told Damian once. They’re a well-oiled machine at this point.

“Yo!” For a second, Janis thinks she imagined the whisper, just one in a jumble of backstage noises, until Damian appears at her side. A tiny ‘shit’ escapes her mouth, her body jerking. Barely anyone bats an eye at her, except him. “Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you.”

“Don’t worry. I think at this point a small breeze could knock into me and I’d crumble.”

“The great Janis Sarkisian gets nervous?” he asks, eyebrow raised.

“Only when she’s doing something incredibly personal and scary in front of her entire grade,” she whispers back. She swallows past the lump in her throat. “Aside from that I’m a beacon of confidence and unshakable will.”

“Hey.” He taps his knuckles against hers. “Remember how scared you were at Norbury’s assembly?”

“You mean after I had my picture all over the school with the d-slur written underneath it?” she mutters. “Yeah, I was shitting myself.”

“And yet, look what you did there,” he reminds her. “You were amazing. And you’re going to be amazing here too. Once you get on that stage, all those butterflies are going to make you fly, kid.”

She smiles, her heart warm, and pressed her face into the crook of Damian’s neck.

She doesn’t know how she got so lucky to have him, but she knows better than to tempt fate.

“Janis Sarkisian?” She lifts her head to find a freshman girl with a headset around her neck looking at her. “You’re up next.”

“Okay.” It’s only now she becomes aware that the last minute of Fairytale Of New York is playing, the notes will soon fade out, and that’s her cue. She turns to Damian and lets him straighten her black cardigan and fiddle with the collar of her shirt. “Wish me luck.”

“You don’t need it.” He drops a whisper of a kiss to her nose. “But good luck.”

She holds her half-heart necklace as he goes, the twin to the one around his neck. It’s as close as she can get to having him with her. Her chest tightens as she makes her way to the stage and she tries to breathe through it, because the next thign she knows, Mr Duvall is announcing her name, and she’s being greeted by a blinding spotlight that thankfully obscures most of her peers’ faces.

“Uh, hi,” she says into the microphone placed out for her. It’s just people , she reminds herself. Somewhere in that crowd, second row, seat 14, is Damian, and she breathes easier. And next to him is Cady, the girl this song is about, and for some reason that straightens her spine and irons out the shaking in her voice. She takes the pick out of its holder and tosses her hair back. “This is a song I wrote about being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back.” She blinks and hopes no-one sees the tears in her eyes. “So sing along if you get into it, because we all know it’s a shitty ass feeling.”

She plays the first chord, and then any and all doubts she had about this flee her. As cliche as it sounds, the song takes over her, and she blows through the nerves in the first verse. The experience becomes cathartic instead, like releasing a pressure valve on her soul. Even with the little diversions she threw in, she hasn’t felt this open and god damn free since last year, paraded on her peers’ shoulders with both middle fingers up. Except now she’s not flipping anyone off, or proving a point, she’s just finally telling someone how she feels, and holy shit, it’s amazing. Whatever the aftermath of this is, she won’t care, it’s worth it just for this feeling.

As she sings the last word, and that final note rings in the auditorium, her hands are shaking, her cheeks wet with tears and her hair sticky with sweat. She touches beneath her eye and her fingers come away stained black.  She hasn’t cried in front of people since middle school. She doesn’t care.

The cheers of her classmates ring in her ears, Damian’s whooping the loudest of all, and as she takes her bow, she hopes she’ll remember this moment for a long time.

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“Oh my God!” she’s barely into the auditorium when Cady launches herself at her, arms wrapped around her neck and legs circling her waist. Janis nearly topples over, digging her back leg into the ground just in time, and hugs Cady with the same ferocity. “You were amazing!” she yells into her shoulder, the sound muffled by Janis’ hair.

“Really?”

“Absolutely.” She sets Cady down, but the other girl keeps a tight grip on both her arms. Janis wonders if it’s to keep herself from flying away, given the amount of bouncing up and down she’s doing. “I can’t believe you wrote that! It was so good! You need to record it, Jan. Do you have any other songs?”

“Just a few,” she says. “And I don’t know if I’m in the business of making an album any time soon.” She swings her guitar case a little. “This might have been a one-time thing.”

“Well, even if it was, it was awesome,” she says.

“Thank you, Caddy,” Janis replies. “That means a lot.”

Her mouth runs dry as Cady smiles, all baby pink lipgloss and sparkling eyes and full cheeks. If this were a movie, she thinks, this would be the part where they kiss. No need for talking, or an explanation. Because Cady would have just known. The music would turn soft and twinkly, and the lighting would match it and it would look like they’re in a dream and they’d just kiss, and it will fix all of Janis’ problems. Maybe a single tear will run down her cheek. And then they’ll run off into their new lives as the end credits roll.

How sweet that would be.

But her life isn’t a movie. If she wants anything, she has to go for it herself.

And that includes-

“Caddy.” Her name is delicate on her lips, handled with care. Cady looks at her, giving a simple ‘mm-hm’ in response, and Janis’ heart beats out of control. “That song I just sang, it-”

“Hey, guys.”

Also if this was a movie, Cady’s sweet, lovely, nice boyfriend would not be barging in right now. He’d either be a douchebag who she doesn’t feel bad about hurting, or he’d be nonexistent.

Unfortunately, this is not a movie, and Aaron Samuels exists and is the human equivalent of a squishmallow.

“Hey Aaron.” He slings his arm around Cady’s shoulders, and she leans into his touch almost instinctively. “Janis, you were great up there. I didn’t know you wrote songs.”

“It’s a bit of a new hobby,” she says, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat, and finds a bottle of water being handed to-thrown at-her.

“Hydrate those chords,” is Damian’s greeting.

“This is what I get for being friends with a theatre kid,” she sighs before she takes a drink. She hadn’t realised how dry her throat was until now.

“Okay, so we’re all going for pancakes,” Aaron says. “I take it you two are coming?”

“How can I say no to pancakes?” Janis asks. “Uh, you guys go ahead, I have to get my stuff from the green room.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for you,” Cady says. “Aaron brought his car so he can drive us.”

“Grool.” Cady and Aaron turn around together, Aaron spinning his eyes around his finger and Cady lacing her fingers through his, talking about something she can’t hear. It’s like watching them through a sheet of glass.

Not a movie. Not unless it’s one of those really, really sad movies. Sad homophobic movies.

“You okay?” Damian asks. She snorts at the question. Nothing has changed, so of course she’s okay. But then, nothing has changed, so she’s not really okay.

“I did it,” she sighs. “It’s out there. I told her, unofficially. Whether or not she works it out…” She runs her hand through her tangled hair. “That’s something else entirely.” Damian hums in agreement, a sympathetic look on his face that soon morphs into a grin.

“Hey,” he says. “I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks Mom.” They snort, Janis caught between a laugh and a sob, and squeezes Damian’s hand. She’s not optimistic about any romance in her future, at least where Cady is concerned. She and Aaron are still rock-solid and she’s happy for them, whenever she isn’t angsting about it. It’s a weird combination to have.

And at least she’s done this now. Despite a future for her and Cady not being in the cards for now, she’s glad she did it. The secret isn’t out, not entirely. Just written on the walls in invisible ink.

“Come on,” she tells Damian. “I actually do have to get my bag, and you can use this as an opportunity to double check the ghost light is on.”

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Cady and Aaron keep their promise and wait for them, waving off their apologies as they jog across the parking lot. Cady lets Damian take the front seat with Aaron and slides into the back with Janis instead. Janis frowns, confused as to why she isn’t taking her normal seat up front, and Cady rolls her eyes.

“There was a draw on the way here, and we lost,” she explains. “And now Damian has control of the aux chord,” She gestures with her head to the passenger seat, and Janis turns just in time to see him open his Spotify and scroll through his playlists. As the opening notes to Waving Through A Window fill the car, it’s met with three loud groans. Damian only turns it up louder, and adds in his own backing vocals.

“So, that song you sang,” Cady asks, leaning back in the seat. “Was it about anyone in particular?”

Janis looks down, her hands pressed together in her lap. If this is the moment the universe decided to give her, it’s a really terrible moment. Not only is Cady’s whole boyfriend sitting an arm’s length away from her, but she left her nerve back in the auditorium. Clearly, her and fate aren’t on each other’s wavelength.

“You wouldn’t know her,” she says. “She doesn't even go here.”

“Oh,” Cady replies. Her face falls, but she’s not too put out by it. Why would she be? She nudges Janis’ shoulder, a proud smile on her face, and squeezes Janis’ hand. “Well, if she has someone like you into her and she hasn’t taken the chance yet, then she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Janis only thanks her, and quickly changes the subject.

Someday she might tell her for real, but for now she'll stick to the songs.

#mean girls broadway #mean girls fanfic #cadnis #janis sarkisian #cady heron #cadnis ff #cady x janis #space safari #mean girls musical

[priscilla9993]

Killian Jones and Alcoholism

This is mainly a summary of things relating Killian/Hook to alcohol/rum. It was done for a college paper and is very long, therefore it’s under the break. To warn you, it is going to be mainly Wish Hook based since I needed to narrow it down and it was easier to show how he handled alcohol as a recovering alcoholic. Enjoy!

The character in question for this case study is Killian Jones, well known by his more colorful moniker of Captain Hook, as portrayed from the ABC TV show Once Upon A Time. He lives in a region of a fantasy realm known as the Enchanted Forest. He used to be a Royal Navy Lieutenant with his older brother Liam, straight-laced on being good and not getting into trouble in any way, especially after getting somewhere in life and no longer subjected to being an indentured deckhand like when their father abandoned them as kids. During a daring quest to Neverland to find some medicine for the king, Peter Pan said they had been tricked to bring back a poisonous plant called Dreamshade, meant to be used as a weapon against unsuspecting enemies. Killian was wary, ready to denounce his service to the king, but his brother was willing to have faith in a noble king and country. With one swift motion of the plant’s prick hoping to prove otherwise, Liam began dying and realized his mistake. Recruiting the help of Pan and some magical water, Liam was cured but soon died in Killian’s arms on the voyage back to the king, the price of the magic being death if Liam ever left Neverland with the water running through his veins. His brother’s death made Killian vengeful at his king and country as his brother had been noble until the very end and everyone else was corrupt, playing noble, proving to him that the world was at fault. From that day on, he took over the ship and decided to be a pirate named Captain Jones, pursuing freedom, and throwing away all he’s ever known because being noble didn’t serve justice. This starts his life of thievery, promiscuity, and never-ending drinking. His coping solutions to deal with his emotional pain only gets worse when he loses his hand, first love of his life, Milah, and his honor after losing a duel against Rumplestiltskin, a coward turned into a powerful Dark One; which leads him on a path of revenge to kill the Rumplestiltskin, “the crocodile”, to avenge Milah and his pride. This leads him to makeshift a hook for a hand and him going by the nickname of Captain Hook, leaving the last piece of his past behind and never letting himself be vulnerable again.

Throughout the series, whenever he or someone in his vicinity is having a rough time, his solution is to pour out some alcohol and drink his feelings away, acting like an egotistical flirt rather than expressing himself and wallowing in misery. His choice of alcohol happens to be rum, a hard liquor. The acute symptoms he has in the show are the loss of judgment, a reddened face, confusion, potentially heightened sexual desire, and sometimes blackouts/unconsciousness. There are multiple times where he’s in a tavern, pouring doubloons into drinks for his crew, rum for himself, and flirting with women/barmaids to have a nightcap with. From here on, I will refer to him as Hook unless stated otherwise. On one occasion of his usual proclivities displaying or implying such symptoms, Hook tries to seduce a woman named Emma. She manages to use his habit of drinking to her advantage, making him jolly and willing to take her back to his ship for the said nightcap; her actual objective was being a distraction while his future self did recon for info on how to get back to their timeline in a Back to the Future sort of way. He continues heavily drinking on the way back with Emma without a care for his health. As soon as the plan goes awry with Hook seeing double, Emma not realizing Future Hook was still doing recon, he gets knocked out for good measure and partial jealousy. Future Hook justifies this, saying his past self was “asking to be knocked out, will wake up upset, and blame the rum.” The lines construe how frequent the drinking was for his future self to determine Hook’s ill-mannered disposition while drunk. 

Eventually, in a parallel way that stems from drunk Hook, is a feeble and spent pirate coined as “Wish Hook”. I have and will be focusing on this iteration for the whole of the paper, but what was written before was his younger self’s background. Wish Hook is the same guy as Hook, but years older down the line, differing paths from Future Hook as he never found love again with someone like Emma and had let his grief and alcohol from more recent negative events consume him. Wish Hook had lived out most of his lifespan, having been a sober father, but cursed to be poisoned any time he drew near his daughter after a witch encounter. Haunted by his regrets and somber circumstances, he turned back to an alcoholic, spending his days eased by rum. His body and actions in this form show the physical and mental effects of chronic alcohol consumption. About ten years or less had passed between his younger self and he had become an experienced middle-aged man with a complicated history, yet he looked far older than his years and decrepit. Without a doubt, by looking at him, people could assume he was an old drunk, his liver and heart having gotten fatty and overworked from the alcohol catching up to him. His belly was rotund, his hair disheveled and gray with streaks of white, his stance crumbling to nearly falling over with each step, and clothes dirtied with filth and old rum stains. Wish Hook still had a flirty and dramatic personality to cheer himself up and mask his turmoil, rum making him courageous and numb, while his actions told another story. He didn’t have sexual desires or try to provoke anyone by that point, just wanted to drown himself in alcohol. His words typically came out slurred, his movements sluggish and unrefined, and he had low problem-solving skills when it came to formulating a plan based on anything other than motive.

In the Enchanted Forest, alcohol like rum is not hard to come by as long as money is involved. Killian Jones/Captain Hook as a pirate drinking rum all the time did not affect him negatively socially or career-wise. If anything, it boosted his status and reputation. For him to be mingling in bars asking for expensive hard liquor and fine women to spend time with was a pleasantry. Bar owners got money, the crew got free alcohol, the women got paid, and he got to immerse himself in pleasure rather than thinking about trivial or serious things. Hook was the life of the party as a pirate captain, seen as a person with good tastes and great to have a fun time with when it came to alcohol. However, when it came to settling down and being a father later on in his life, Wish Hook reserved himself back to his more vulnerable side, caring about how his alcoholism could affect his parenting or child’s perspective. There are moments like that where he’s introspective and wants to do better by others that look up to him or who he cares about. In the show, when he is parenting, there is never a time where he has a bottle or flask of rum stashed nearby or is drinking. Wish Hook deems alcohol as the problem when it affects his judgment or his perceptions on how he could hurt the way people he loves view him. Love in any form brings him back to his core of being the best person he can be.

Killian Jones’s problem originates in nurture rather than nature because his alcohol problems started after he needed a reliable coping mechanism to lean on to deal with grief and anger. Although both nature and nurture influence him, for argument’s sake, nurture has the upper hand. Growing up, his father was a person he looked up to and wanted to be like, but that changed when he found out his father was a criminal who sold him and Liam to pay a route for a selfish escape. What little of his parents shown on-screen left betrayal or sadness in him, not the desire to drink. His parents weren’t clear on alcoholics or drug users as far as it goes. The only things he inherited from nature were probably his mischievous personality, temper, looks, and a high tolerance for alcohol. Living on a ship and being a poor deckhand, Killian didn’t seem to be the kind of guy to squander his savings on alcohol or other frivolous means. However, he would be on a ship constantly surrounded by adults who drank with a captain who cared more about money rather than morals, feeling squandered by his oppressed freedom and building resentment for authority. Without his brother steering him on track, Killian was no more than a young man with impulsive rebellious nature. When Liam went to get them navy papers to earn them their freedom from Captain Silver, it took Killian an offer of temptations from Silver, as much alcohol as he could drink and a bet on his money, for him to fall hook, line, and sinker; no pun intended. Alcohol and gambling meant a reprieve from thoughts, a chance at earning more than what he had before, and the same social standing as the other men aboard the ship. Perhaps, as much as he wanted to be strong as his brother, one good force cannot shield against all of the negative parts of society and adulthood. From Captain Silver, Killian got his first taste of alcohol and his desires did the rest, leaving him blackout drunk and penniless for Liam to find. As he grew older and slowly became Captain Hook, there was nothing about pirate life, being an adult, or people to keep him from drinking. He needed people to talk to, who supported him and he could feel vulnerable in front of, but the few people he trusted in his life were dead. As anyone knows, pirates steal treasure, so they’re not exactly the forgiving or down-to-earth types. Instead, rum became the solution to drown or fuel his emotions, being the substance of celebration and de-stressor.  

Hook’s rum/alcohol addiction would fall more on the dependence spectrum rather than abuse. What had started as a small reprieve to the woes of life became a daily saving grace when he was wracked with loneliness or anger. He depended on the rum to mask his disposition of physical pain from his missing limb as well as emotional pain having experienced love and loss. Abusing alcohol meant that it would put him into dangerous scenarios, have little to no commitment to change his habits to improve his health, and he’d put off important social aspects. If it was alcohol abuse, Hook wouldn’t try changing his habits when he sees it affects others or his relationship with those he loves. Sure, he spends most of his life binge drinking and making merry with the tides of life, but when given the chance and support to abstain from alcohol, he takes it in a heartbeat. For Wish Hook, the thought of being a father who abandons his child or messes up under hazy judgment didn’t add up to him. With the birth of his daughter, Alice, he made a vow to stay with her as long as he could and to be the person he thought she could be proud of. Nevertheless, when he had lost purpose in life by something he had no control over (via death, distance, or curse), his first reaction was to either turn back to alcohol or solve his problems. Sadly, after he had spent a couple of years looking for a cure for his poison heart curse, he gave up hope and chose to go from sobriety back to alcoholism, into a form of regrettable self-destruction. Hook knew that it was not the way to go about life but he felt he had no other choice and had nothing left to lose, leading him to further prioritize and depend on rum to continue living. He built a tolerance to it, needing a copious amount to get drunk, and potentially suffering withdrawals from it after getting in too deep. From the state he was in by the time he gets old and portly, being a nearly homeless drunkard, it can be assumed that he spent most of his days looking for money to acquire more alcohol so he could feel okay.  

Finally, by the end of the series, Killian Jones had managed to go through all the stages in the Stages of Change Model. He was in the Precontemplation stage as a pirate and Captain Hook as he didn’t see a problem in his daily rum and alcohol festivities, making no commitment to change his ways. By the time he gets to be Wish Hook and becomes a father, hesitant about settling down, he could be in the Contemplation stage. He’d want to do something about his alcohol problem and not be stuck relying on it but doesn’t know how to go about it or why he should, therefore staying stagnant to change. When he has his daughter, Alice, in his arms for the first time, we see him in the Preparation stage, planning to give up his ship, sea life, status, and most importantly, rum. Hook gives himself time to think of why he would do so and how he’d commit to it, eventually telling his crew the news. By the time he is taking care of her, he has already taken the actions needed to wean himself off alcohol and apply himself towards abstinence, taking him through the Action and Maintenance stages. There is a relapse back to the Contemplation stage in the paragraph before when he becomes poisoned and loses hope. Even so, the silver lining is that he had made the hard journey back into the Maintenance stage with the help of Ariel detoxing him and others giving him a magical second chance of bodily time renewal, sparking the hope to reunite with Alice and find a cure for his poisoned heart.  

Plans go awry on this end as we get to his final iteration as he is teleported and cursed into our modern day and age as Detective Rogers. Although his memories of what happened in the past as this persona are fuzzy, he is shown to stick to his renewed alcohol abstinence and maintains that in many ways, just like when he was Wish Hook. His habits become integrated as a function rather than a hindrance as part of the Maintenance stage. As Rogers, we can see him frequent bars such as Roni’s or Flynn’s Barcade when he is invited out with others. He is shown to let others know what to get him, as a regular or not, something non-alcoholic. This usually shows up as sparkling water or regular water with a lemon slice in it. His friends and work partner continue to support his sobriety through friendly acceptance and never forcing him to drink alcohol along with them. Rogers is tempted by alcohol again when he believes a missing girl from a cold case, one he was responsible for since he was drinking on the night she went missing, is dead. He sits on a park bench alone grieving, a full bottle of rum next to him, ready to drink. As Rogers gives it a whiff, he is disgusted at himself for getting back to this state again and slams the bottle down on the bench in frustration, not even having taken a sip. He came too far that doing so again would be meaningless and would get him nowhere. Even though he is in situations full of temptation, he makes huge strides to not relapse and maintain his sobriety, with the hopes that it will eventually lead him back on the right path of happiness and belonging. Fortunately, his actions have positive consequences that ring true when the curse breaks and he gets reunited with his daughter and has the strong support of friends and family. In conclusion, Hook is a flawed human being that is more complex and his struggle with alcohol/rum is just a part of him, one he will never lose but continues living with.

#killian jones #captain hook #wish hook #detective rogers #killian jones meta #alcoholism #alcohol #stages of change #character study #ouat s7 #liam jones #slight emma swan mention

[juniper-daisy]

-my all time celeb crush-

Euphoria

Negan/Reader

It's the middle of a zombie apocalypse. You've been traveling with Negan and his crew for quite some time now, but you hardly ever get recognition from the man you idolized the most. The one you didn't dare cross, the one who spent so much time protecting your people. One night, your artistic abilities come out at the wrong time. How will you pay for it?

•••

It was the middle of an apocalypse. I was with a fairly large group of people; the leader, the obvious henchmen, and the oblivious survivors. Our leader was attractive. He could fix just about any problem with the stomp of his boot. I was intimidated by him and he knew it. We were held up in a recently abandoned house. We locked the doors and windows so no one would come in and made ourselves comfortable around the house, but I made my way to the living room. It was dim. Only three candles lit the room up, a fireplace on the other side of the room to heat the house. Our group scattered around the house. Some in the kitchen, others in different rooms, everywhere you looked you'd see our crew. I sat on the floor at the table sketching while He relaxed on the couch, head on the armrest and legs almost sprawled out in front of him. He drew his hat over his face and dozed off. I wondered how a man like him could find time to nap in our situation. Unable to find inspiration, I turned to what I could see. Him laying in front of me. I started with general shapes, then moved to forming the shape of his body. I'd look back at him every few seconds, making sure I got every curve right. I'm sure he eventually felt my glare after the slight chuckle that came from under his hat. He lifted it and stood to his feet.

"Everyone clear the floor." He eyed me, making sure I didn't move a muscle as everyone else either went outside or upstairs. I was frozen, so riddled with anxiety and confusion that my muscles no longer knew how to function. It was silent for a good ten seconds until the boom of his boots moved towards me.

His hat was over his face so I doubted he'd be able to see what I was drawing. I started out drawing him. Sprawled out on the couch with his hand up, almost reaching for something. His body lay naked and exposed. I assumed it's what he looked like under his gear, but I never had the chance to really see. Next I drew a girl. Me. Sitting on his lap with my head back, so obvious that I was drawing us fucking. When I came close to finishing the sketch, I heard a chuckle. I looked up and his hat was still on his head, but you could tell it was his laugh. I went back to my drawing, only to hear him speak.

"You're wrong, y'know. If you were really on top of me you'd be looking a lot worse than that. I'd have you screaming at the top of your lungs."

How could he have seen it? His hat... Has holes in it. How did I not realize it before? I closed my sketch book and sat on the love seat behind me. I heard the gingling of keys, or what I thought was keys. He was undoing his belt. When he was done, he unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down a little bit.

"In case you need a reference for size.." I looked up and there he was, hand around his fully erect cock. It looked delicious. He started stroking it, letting me take in the view like I had never seen a dick in my life. I had, but none as big as his. Would it even fit anywhere in my body? Who knew. I wanted to find out, though.

I grabbed my sketch book and pencil so worn out I was surprised it even drew anymore. "Pose for me, then."

He walked to the couch and laid down. He had his arm propped under him, the other on his dick to hold it up. One of his legs was bent up, the other hanging off the couch. I moved to get the perfect angle and started my work. About 5 minutes in he started finally stroking himself, and it threw my stomach into a fit. By then I had already gotten most of the base finished, all I had to do is refine my lines and shade. I tried putting my sketch book down, but he demanded I kept going.

"Don't put that sketch book down until I've seen the finished product. I cleared the floor, there's no way anyone will see."

Why should I keep sketching you when I could just use this to make a painting to give to him later? I could do it anyways, but this was special. He was letting me sketch him during the zombie apocalypse.

He kept going as he was, making small grunts here and there. I could tell he was seriously turned on by this, and I was definitely on the same boat. My body was on fire. It had never been like this in college when I'd sketch the models. I had more feelings for him than I ever did those boys. I yearned for him more than he could've ever imagined. I began to squeeze my thighs together; any way to get friction I could. I guess he noticed from the chuckle that came out of him. I had almost finished it. Little did he know, I had all the time in the world to add myself. I was on his face, his hand gripping my ass with inhuman strength, already covered in bruises from his hand, his stomach and thighs covered in hickies, cum spurting from his cock and I hadn't even gotten to see it yet.

"Finished." A smirk lay on my face, so smuggish because I knew it'd drive him over the edge. I turned the book around. The moment he got to see it he finally let loose. His cum covered his stomach and it that's what sent me over the edge. I didn't cum, but the kinky confidence, my friend. I walked to him, grabbed his face and kissed him. It was a deep, passion filled kiss and it was everything. I went to kiss his neck, then down his body. My tongue lapped cum off his stomach and he grabbed my hair. He guided me to his already-hard-again cock and forced it down my throat.

"You're so dirty. None of my other wives have ever fucked like this. Oh, I've missed this. I haven't had a girl like you since before this fucking hell hole." His head was hanging back and mouth hanging slightly open. Small grunts and moans were escaping like the fluent foul words he always spoke. Rolling off his tongue with no effort. I was doing this to him.

Soon, though, he nudged me away and grabbed me to flip me over. My face was shoved into the couch and my ass in perfect view for him. My arms became restrained behind my back by his hands and knees apart by his own. Surely I was wet enough just being on full display in front of the man I had been lusting over for so long. I felt the tip of his cock prod at my glistening pussy. I desperately leaned back to feel him inside me, but I was stopped.

"Honey, I will tear you in two if you try that. I'm trying to make you scream, not cry." He eased into me to be sure he didn't hurt me, but somehow I still wanted more. I wanted to be absolutely destroyed by him. He had finally fit, and immediately pulled out to built up pace.

"Oh, Negan!" The first time he heard his name escape my mouth it's as though it almost sent him over the edge.

"Babygirl, oh fuck. I'm... So ready... To fuck you raw..." He thrust inside me between words, still way too sure not to hurt me.

"Fuck me. Oh, please go faster. I don't think I can handle not being railed by you right now."

He immediately picked up the pace, fucking me until I was basically screaming. I'm sure walkers could hear me from two miles away but in that moment not one part of me cared. The moment was too perfect. We were scratching and clawing, he was choking and slapping. Hand prints scattered across my body, all nearly purple. My high was finally building up and all I wanted was release.

"Negan, Sir. Can I please cum?"

All he said was, "go for it" and I was gone. On a cloud higher than 9 and the only thing I could do anymore was collapse. As soon as I fell from off his cock I could feel hot spurts of his cum trickling down my back. Euphoria.

#negan x reader

[snailg0th]

random hc’s for tma characters

jon’s a picky eater

tim was super shy as a child

jon and tim met thru research, jon and sasha met at some big institute meeting where sasha used some dry humor and jon instantly went “you’re the only bitch here who gets me”

this is less of a hc and more loosely confirmed canon but oh well jon dresses up and acts super uptight and academic because as a kid they were told they’d never make anything of themselves

tim says poggers

martin worked in the library before being appointed to the archives

tim and sasha went to university together

jon and sasha bonded over being raised by grandparents

another “loose canon” one but tim is overly sentimental and keeps some of the tapes for himself because after losing his brother and (in my mind) his parents he basically imprinted on the s1 crew and dubbed them his new family

jon uses he/they

jon loves punk music

i am a “the mechanisms was jon’s college band” truther

sasha wanted to go into politics as a kid

tim is neurodivergent (adhd) and hyperfixated on architecture when he was young and then got his degree in anthropology with a focus on culture so he could study why people built things the way they did. the publishing house he worked for specialized in anthropology and archeology

sasha got a degree in english literature, hence her extensive work with leitners. she also minored in religious studies which sparked her fascination the weird esoteric stuff the institute specializes in

jon and tim don’t like bugs. sasha kills bugs. martin takes them outside.

martin attracts the weirdest animals. geese and raccoons and birds and shit just follow him around

jon originally wanted to be an english or history teacher so he got a degree in education. however, he decided he didn’t like it so he switched to philosophy

sasha does kick boxing

one day, tim wants to go and do kick boxing with sasha. she absolutely destroys him.

martin loves stars

jon is allergic to grass

jon and sasha can’t dance but tim and martin can

one day jon wears a hoodie to work and everyone loses their shit because they exclusively wear like sweater vests and shit

elias just throws out people’s lunches sometimes (yes this is based off that one post)

martin likes spiders especially because when he was little he identified with them, as he perceived them as creatures nobody else really liked (*sobs*)

georgie has red hair (i think black people with red/orange hair are so stunning so this is definitely inspired by that love)

melanie started ghost hunt uk because someone told her youtube wasn’t a valid career

melanie got tattoos because people told her she wouldn’t look good with them

melanie does nearly everything out of spite and i love this about her

martins hair turns white after the lonely thing (widely accepted hc)

basira wears the hijab (another widely accepted hc)

basira knows some form of martial arts, not quite sure which one

daisy was definitely one of those kids who always wanted to be a cop 🤢

gerry has an undercut because i say so!

gertrude was definitely hot when she was younger

martin has picked up a bunch of random skills over the years, including knowing flower language

tim definitely convinced jon to smoke 🍃 once at an institute party and the results were exceedingly funny

at the same party, elias shocked everyone with how high his tolerance was (nobody knew he used to be a stoner at this point)

elias enjoys breaking things then asking everyone “who did it”. he enjoys the chaos.

jon caught feelings for martin during the prentiss attack

gerry would definitely wear skirts

martin has a secret cottagecore tumblr account

sasha follows this account. she doesn’t know it’s martin.

jon utilizes pinterest far more than he cares to admit

elias knows modern slang and peppers it in to his vocabulary just to fuck with people

he once wore light up sketchers and called melanie into his office to see them, knowing nobody else would believe her if she told them what she saw. she is haunted with this knowledge.

tim listens to mitski

martin can sew

martin is shockingly extroverted when he’s with people he really trusts and cares about

martin can and will get aggressive with creepy guys at bars

sasha can say the alphabet backwards

in a theoretical world where tim and sasha went to sixth form together (google told me that was the british equivalent to late high school so sorry if that’s wrong) tim would be saluditorian and sasha would be valedictorian (ik the british prolly don’t have this but i’m using this analogy to show that they’re both INCREDIBLY smart)

#tma #the magnus archives #tma headcanons

[oneoftheextras]

Colour Changer | two

masterlist | tip jar

warnings: +18, jealousy, verbal fighting, alcohol, angst & bit o’ drama (also endeavour if that needs to be put as a warning)

word count: 4.4k

part 1 | part 2 |

Things were good with Keigo for a while, when you both had a day off of work you would spend hours watching movies and doing all the couplely things that you would roll your eyes to.

That was before he stopped turning up to your dates, before he stopped sitting at the bar during your shifts to help them go by quicker, and before he no longer replied to your texts.

It had been 3 weeks since you heard from him, his last response to you was “Yeah” and nothing else. You had called and text him multiple times since, but he stopped reading them in the first week.

It was exactly 3 days ago when you sent him one last text asking if you were over and he hadn’t responded - you could only take that as a ‘yes’. 

The thought of something happening to him during a patrol crossed your mind, but you’d seen through social media and the news that he’d been going out to parties and had been seen recently. There was no excuse you could have given him, he was ignoring you.

Trying to savour the last of your pride, you blocked his number. You weren’t interested in anything he had to say.

At least you still had your job. You’d actually picked up more shifts at the bar since your ‘break up’ to try and keep yourself busy, there was something about spending time alone in your apartment that reminded you of him.

It hurt, you weren’t going to lie to yourself, it probably hurt more than it should have done. But this was the first time you had let down your guard for someone, and this was how they treated you.

You tried not to think about it.

It was your 9th consecutive shift at the bar and some of your regulars had started to notice that you were working more than normal, as well as your boss.

“You working more shift’s has actually improved our business, a lot of the customers are showing up more just because you’re here more often” they had said before the start of your shift, then they proceeded to slide your pay check across the table to you.

When you opened it up and saw that your pay rate had increased, you opened your mouth to ask if there was a mistake, you didn’t want them on your ass about it later down the line.

“You earned it” they said, giving you a pat on the back as they left the bar in your hands. It was a Thursday night, so you were in charge of a small team, mainly first year college kids trying to pay rent.

This shift was going on as normally as any other, when 10pm struck the normal crew of Heroes strolled in, probably wanting to relax from their hard day of patrols and fighting.

“Endeavour, you’re looking as happy as ever” you joked with the man sitting at the bar, he grumbled slightly as you instinctively started making his usual. “What’s got you looking extra gloomy today?” you asked him, just wanting some conversation out of someone over the age of 18.

“Paperwork” he mumbled before taking the freshly made drink from your hands and knocking it back, apparently it had really been a bad day. “Oh, ew” you tried to sympathise with him, “We’ve got this whole charity Gala coming up soon and for some reason it’s fallen on me to organise it” by the time he had finished explaining he had finished his drink.

Almost like a conveyer belt, as soon as the glass touched the counter, you had already scooped it up and started giving him a refill. “Actually that reminds me-” he said, wiping away the residue of alcohol that had fallen onto his beard “-are you free this Saturday?” he made eye contact with you, something Endeavour rarely did. You felt a chill go down your spine.

Mentally going through your calendar, you remembered your boss forcing you to take the weekend off, something about labour law and you not being legally allowed to work that many days.

“I might be” you side eyed him as you put his second drink down, “Why? Are you trying to get me alone?” you casually raised an eyebrow at him, it had been so long since you had flirt with anyone, the feeling was strange but not so completely alien to you.

To your surprise, a deep chuckle and a slight smile came out of him, “Someone else has organised the catering and they’re insisting they bring their own bartender”, as soon as he said the last word you knew where this was going, “I don’t trust them, I’d rather have someone I know is capable” he never broke eye contact with you.

Immediately you were trying to think of an excuse to say no, you wished you had said you were working “I-” you started but was interrupted “Hawks will be there-” now it was your turn to interrupt him by groaning “Please don’t talk to me about him” you rolled your eyes.

Honestly, it was the first time you had heard his name since everything, “I thought you guys had a thing going on?” Endeavour asked, yet again, finishing his drink - you had no idea where he put all that alcohol. “Yeah, well, so did I. Until he ghosted me” you weren’t exactly sure why you were being so open with the number one Hero, but here you were.

“I’m sorry” he sounded as though he actually meant it, if you weren’t already looking at him, you would have doubted it left his mouth. “I still need someone, and with you I’d know the event was going to be a success, I’ll pay you more than you get here” his tone was still soft, as though he was walking on glass, but he knew what he wanted.

Poking your tongue out between your lips to wet them before you spoke, you feigned cockiness “Actually, I just got a raise, apparently people come here to see me”, before you had even finished your sentence, he had raised an eyebrow as though you were insulting him.

“Whatever they’re paying you, I’ll double it” straightened his back as though now that he was talking business the niceties were gone. “Double a shift’s wage? That’s not worth-“ he cut you off, “Double your yearly, for one night” he folded his arms.

If you had been drinking something, you’d have spat it out, but instead your eyes flickered in disbelief and your mouth parted slightly.

Smirking, knowing he’d basically won you over already, he wrote down the details on a napkin and handed it to you along with 50 thousand Yen - before you could question it, he spoke up “It’s a black suit event so get something nice for yourself”.

He didn’t wait for confirmation before changing the subject, at least he kept you company for the rest of the night.

You’d taken Endeavour’s advice and went shopping for a new black dress for the Gala, you had to at least look the part even if you didn’t want to be there. The dress you decided on was tight and hugged you in all the right places, it was very flattering, you had debated on whether or not to go for a nice dress, but you didn’t want to waste the money he’d given you.

Before you could really prepare yourself, you were setting up your space in the huge Gala hall. You’d turned up early so you could add some finishing touches to your bar before all the Heroes started turning up, you’d be more efficient if you knew where every type of alcohol was.

You’d taken the liberty of bringing some of the cocktail shakers from your work so you were familiar with the tools, but they had already supplied you with enough for a small team. Although, when the clock rolled around to 10 minutes before the Heroes were supposed to turn up, there was no sign of any other bartenders.

If Endeavour had hired you and only you, he was going to get an earful, Number One Hero or not.

That was exactly what he had done.

At first you slightly panicked, wondering how the hell you were going to manage so many orders all at once, but there were about 30 Champagne Waitresses making their rounds on the floor that kept everyone away from you.

Not to say that you weren’t extremely busy, but you were able to serve the Heroes fast enough that you were able to put on a bit of a performance, doing your normal tricks of tapping the cocktail shaker and changing the liquid contents as it was being poured into people’s glasses.

Like normal, the onlookers were amazed.

It still befuddled you that in a world of crime-fighting Heroes, someone who could change colours was something to gape at. Your quirk was more for show than practicality really.

When the majority had some type of alcoholic drink in their hand, the speeches started, everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen to the grey haired man talk about the charity that this whole thing was for and give a list of thank you’s that seemed to go on forever. 

Meanwhile, you decided to utilise this time to clean down your bar and restock some of the empty bottles, you weren’t quite sure what was going on with Gang Orca but he’d nearly finished a whole bottle of vodka by himself so you were keeping an eye on him. He seemed completely fine with no sign of intoxication, maybe his huge form was absorbing the alcohol.

You were sure as soon as this presentation had finished you were going to be swamped, even you were feeling the need for a drink, and oh boy were you right.

The moment the dim lights were brought back up and the music was turned back on there wasn’t a single space by the bar that wasn’t full. You expected people to start getting impatient because they were having to wait for their drinks, but strangely they were more than happy to wait and chat to you and each other, the amount of tips you were getting tonight would be enough to pay your rent for 2 months.

After the swarm of people were served and you had a second to breathe, you froze, golden eyes staring awkwardly at you “Shot of tequila” he bluntly said, he didn’t even have the manners to ask like everyone else was. You gave him a similarly cold response by just nodding and putting the shot glass on the metal surface with a little bit too much force and pouring the golden liquid into it, you also gave him a wedge of lime and gave him the salt shaker.

Without saying anything, he handed you the money and took his shot. You both seemed to breathe a breath of relief when the Number One Hero parted the line of people and approached the bar, you smiled maybe too much upon seeing him.

“Endeavour!” Hawks exclaimed when he saw his partner, “Have a shot with me!” he continued and you instinctively started preparing his normal tumbler of whiskey. Enji grumbled at the young heroes request, you would have died on the spot if you saw Endeavour do a shot.

After placing the his empty glass on the wood in front of him, you quickly washed your hands in the miniature sink the event space had provided you, dried them on your small towel, and scooped up three cubes of ice.

Both men looked at you with intent, you had served them enough for them to know this wasn’t your normal routine.

You allowed one cold cube to run down your palm and to the tip of your fingers, the second before it left your touch, you turned the white object into a gorgeous red. Uncurling your pinkie and ring-finger, you let the other two pieces do the same thing - changing the second one to orange and then the last one to yellow.

A small crowd of a few customers were ogling at what you were doing as though they had never seen it before, or it may have been because someone was paying attention to the Number One Hero despite everyone’s fear of him.

It was nice to see him smiling, but it was even better to see the faint grimace on Keigo’s face. Good, you thought. After the way he treated you, you wanted him to know what he was missing.

Endeavour reached out for the glass but before he could grab hold of it you slapped his hand playfully, you heard a few faint gasps in the miniature crowd that had formed, and a couple of terrified glances towards the Pro Hero on your behalf.

“Be patient” you smirked at him, you had to admit it to yourself, you were being very brave. You barely knew this man apart from his drink order, being so informal with him was a huge risk as you didn’t know how he would react.

He chuckled at your coyness, and your heart relaxed.

Cupping your hand in front of his face, you poured his favourite whiskey into your hand and let it run through your fingers, you held the bottle high enough so people could see the dark brown liquid flowing out of the nozzle and then quickly drizzle out between your fingers as a golden-yellow with bright red swirls. 

Once you had poured the right amount into the glass, you pushed the tumbler towards him and washed the remaining alcohol off your hand before it became sticky.

“I’m surprised he let her do that” someone mumbled a little bit too loudly, then another voice piped up “It’s not very hygienic”. Endeavour was happily sipping at his drink while Keigo was doing his best not to make eye contact with you still, this was too good of an opportunity to give up, so you mustered up all your courage and said in the most confident tone you could “It’s okay, he knows where my hands have been”.

If you weren’t mistaken, everyone inhaled sharply at the exact same time, all but Enji who side-eyed Keigo and then put his eyes back on you with a knowing glint - something told you that he knew what you were trying to do and understood his role. Maybe your hands would stop shaking sometime soon now that you knew he was going along with it.

“Thank you for the dress by the way” you added, gently placing your hand on his arm for a second before going back to serving the line of customers you had, you felt as though there was enough of an audience to make your point, “It fits you nicely” was all he added, it was more of a response than you were expecting. 

Deciding it was probably best to not push your luck too much with the flame hero, you turned your attention to the multiple pairs of eyes looking at you “What do you guys think?” doing a little twirl with what little space you had, of course the chorus of men erupted into whoops and cheers- you think you even heard Present Mic yelling “Hot” from one of the other stands.

Satisfied with the scene you had caused, you went back to pouring drinks, using all sorts of tricks you’d never been able to do before. You changed the whole bar to whatever colour the current customer wanted, even going as far as to change your own hair colour to gain praise from them. 

Honestly, you were starting to feel like your old self again, that was until you saw something small and red weave it’s way through the different pumps and towards you.

Slamming your hand down on the bar and hard as you could, you crushed the delicate feather under your force, “If I see another feather come across this line-“ you drew and invisible line across the wood with your finger “-I’ll cut you off” you said bluntly, throwing the feather back towards it’s owner. 

He opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted him, “Do you want to get thrown out?”, he chuckled to himself slightly and shook his head “Like you could” his tone was playful yet arrogant, “I don’t have to” you put the emphasis on ‘I’ and shifted your gaze toward Enji who had coincidentally caught your eye, he very lightly smiled at you and gave a small gesture that you assumed was a wave.

That was the last straw, Keigo’s tone shifted and he stormed away from the bar, the entire night passed and you didn’t see him again. A part of you was glad, you didn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder, but that pit in your stomach was back, and just as you had started to feel better.

On the plus side, you didn’t have to clean and close the bar, the venue had hired some cleaners to take care of all the mess after everyone was done. Thank God.

The walk home was quiet and lonely, it was about 3am and most people had gone to sleep hours ago, so the ominous hum of streetlights really put you on edge- that, and that nervous feeling of being watched.

You tried to hurry along the uneven ground as quickly as you could, not wanting to tempt fate too much; how ironic would it have been? To be attacked by a Villain after spending an evening with Heroes.

A gust of wind blew your hair into your face and blocked your vision entirely for a few seconds, it was quickly followed by a force connecting with your back and then wrapping around your front.

You felt your feet leave the ground and the harsh whistle of wind rushing past your ears deafened you - your senses were blocked off. The wind was too loud to hear, and your hair acted like a self-inflicted blindfold, you were so disorientated that you thought you were going to be sick.

When your feet finally touched solid ground and the force holding you ease up, you stumbled forwards and fell to your knees, hands spread out in front of you. “What’s going on with you and Endeavour?” you heard a familiar voice say from behind you, you could not believe this.

“What?!” you exclaimed, aggressively turning yourself so you were now half laid down on the floor, you saw Hawk’s standing in front of his open window with the moonlight shining behind him casting a silhouette. “You kidnapped me to ask me about Endeavour?” you vocalised how ridiculous the situation was.

Hawk’s folded his arms in frustration, “You seemed pretty cosy with him earlier” he said bluntly, “So what if I was?” you bit back, your emotions were high and you didn’t know which voice to listen to - you were pissed off beyond your control, hurt and mildly frightened.

You knew Hawk’s wouldn’t hurt you, but the amount of hate in his eyes made you question him for a moment.

“Is that how it is? You moved on from to my partner?” he sounded disgusted with you and to be completely honest you were glad, he had hurt you so much in such a short amount of time it felt as though he was getting what he deserved.

“What do you care?” you snarled at him and turned your head away, not wanting to look at him. “What do I-?” he started but interrupted himself by rubbing his hand down his face. “Of course I care!” he extended his arms towards you as you dragged yourself up off the floor and brushed the flakes of dust and dirt off your new dress.

“If you cared about me you wouldn’t have left” you mumbled to yourself, not intending for him to hear but it seems regardless of whether or not he heard, he wanted you to say it again “What did you say?!” he raised his voice, to match his aggression you raised your voice louder “If you cared about me you wouldn’t have left!”.

There was silence for a moment, no words, just the sound of heavy breathing as you both decided whether or not it was worth carrying on this subject.

“Take me home” you gave up, exasperated at the situation. All you had wanted for the last couple of weeks was to hear from Keigo, and for him to tell you that you were still together, but now that you were actually in front of him, you wanted nothing more than to disappear.

He took a few steps towards you, “No-” he forced the air out of his throat like a bullet coming out of a gun, “-Not until you admit it” he continued, his hostile tone never wavering. “Admit what?” you laughed dryly, “Are you fucking Endeavour?” he asked bluntly and your jaw almost hit the floor.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no I’m not” you answered him honestly, folding your own arms and glancing around towards the front door, if he wouldn’t take you home you would have to take yourself.

“How is it none of my business?” he snapped at you, “Because you left me!” you shouted over the top of him before he managed to finish his sentence, “I gave you every part of me and you couldn’t even be bothered to send a goodbye text” you finally let out what you felt like you had been holding onto for your whole life.

Taking a deep breath in and then with a sharp exhale you said, in a calmer tone “I’m leaving”, without giving him the option to respond you marched your way towards the apartment door.

Before you could take hold of the handle you felt your shoulder being pulled around and your body being pushed against the door, the next thing you saw were two golden eyes staring back at you .

“Let me go” you said through gritted teeth, “Not until you’ve listened to me” he was talking in a hushed voice as though all the anger and upset had left him in that instant, “I don’t want to-” you started but it was his turn to interrupt you, “You have no idea how dangerous my job is, the type of people I’m working with-” he stopped mid-sentence to glance around the room as though he was being watched.

“I was there every night, I watched you walk home from work to make sure you were okay” his voice was starting to crack and you could see water starting to well up in his bottom eye lid, “I missed you so much, but I had to keep you safe”.

Watching him come undone in front of you, you felt a pit fall in your stomach as extreme guilt flushed over you.

Your body moved without you asking it to and before you knew it your hands were wrapped in his hair and your lips were against his.

The kiss started as soft and gentle, but as soon as the shock had left his system he cupped your face in his hand and started kissing you as though it was the last time. 

Things got heated very quickly, Keigo pushed the hem of your dress up until it was bunched up at your waist and wasted no time shuffling your underwear down for you to step out of.

Unbuckling his belt like he wouldn’t live to see tomorrow, he let his jeans fall to the floor as he picked you up by your thighs and pushed you further into the door. His kisses became more erratic as he lowered you onto his cock.

The euphoria you both felt as the familiar sensation of him filling you again flooded to your brain, you gripped his shoulders tighter to try and stay stable. Instantly he started moving his hips, dragging himself in and out of you at a rapid pace.

The apartment was filled with a mixture of Keigo’s grunts, your moans and the door sounding as though it was on the brink of death. “I missed you so much” he mumbled against your neck as he dug his fingers into your bare thighs, his thrusts were ruthless and you could feel that you were getting close to your orgasm.

“I missed you too” you managed to breath out in between moans. You could feel the friction of your back rubbing against his door and you knew you would be waking up with a bruise. But you didn’t care.

Before either of you could say anything else you felt your walls clench down around him, emphasising every muscle and vein in his member, Ah, fuck” he growled, pushing himself even further into you as you let him pound you through your orgasm.

He grunted a couple of times and his mouth hung open, he moved one of his hands to hold your shoulder down as the pressure of his chest against yours held you in place. “I love you” he confessed, locking eyes with you, you were still panting from your own high so you weren’t able to respond, “I lo-” he started to say before he snapped his hips against yours and you felt him cum inside of you.

Flopping his head forward so your foreheads were touching, neither of you moved to allow the moment to last as long as it could- neither of you wanting your bubble of bliss to be popped.

“I mean it” he barely even whispered as he pulled his head away so he could look you in the eye, “I do love you” he repeated himself. Your heart leapt, your relationship hadn’t gone on long enough for either of you to have said the ‘L’ word yet.

But being away from him these last couple of weeks solidified how you truly felt, “I love you too” you smiled at him as he kissed your forehead.

Taglist:

@mylife-demonstrates-murphys-law @hereticpriest @enagmaticether @anxiousgoddest @kodzu-ken @moonnei @diesinspanishbcimhispanic

#hawks x reader #keigo takami #keigo takami x reader #colour changer #oneoftheextras

[musingsofanunorgainizedmind]

Top 10 Things I Love About Supernatural

It’s been almost half a year since the show ended and now that the dust has settlIed, I just want to list ten reasons I love this show. Despite it’s flaws, it’s been quite the ride.

1. Team Free Will

When I first got the idea to make this list, I originally planned on doing entirely separate entries for “Sam & Dean” and “Destiel”. Except then I wanted to pay tribute to “Sastiel”. And then I wanted to do an entry for “Team Free Dads”. By that point, I was already halfway through the list and I hadn’t even moved on from the main characters. A few months ago, I made a post about why I love every single pairing in this group. Obviously, Sam and Dean are a legendary duo. Obviously, Dean and Cas have an unparalleled story. Obviously, Sam and Cas are an underrated team. As for Team Free Dads, I’ve always had a soft spot for father/mentor figure characters and and all three tackle the role in different ways. I love Jack, too. I love how everyone in this bizarro family is “broken” in some way. We’ve got the Allistair’s prized pupil, the spawn of satan, the boy with demon blood, and the angel who nearly obliterated all of heaven. But they help each other heal by being supportive and seeing the good in each other. They all love each other so deeply and when together, nothing can stand in their way. Not Michael, not Lucifer, and not God himself. They tore up the book and wrote their own story. And it was a pleasure to watch it all unfold.

2. The Suppporting Characters

To list every single supporting character I have loved and lost in this show would take way too long. I don’t know if it’s the writing or acting performances, but I love pretty much every single supporting character on this show. Even villains like Azazel or Allistair are top-notch villains. Hell, I even like characters like Metatron, Lucifer, Mary, and John! Characters like Rufus, Charlie, Crowley, Rowena, Kevin, Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Gabriel, Balthazar, Mick...how am I not supposed to love them??? All of their stories were cut so short. I’d watch a show about any of these characters. The Wayward Sisters were robbed. So many ships were gone too soon (Sam/Rowena, Dean/Jo, Cas/Meg, Etc.). So many heartbreaking deaths. I want to be best friends with all these characters. Why be a “dean-girl” or a “sam-girl” when you can be a garth-girl? A kevin-girl? A claire-girl? A bela-girl? There are so many great characters with interesting and compelling backstories and so much untapped potential. I could go on forever on this, but I digress.This show has one of the best supporting casts I have ever had the pleasure of watching.

3. The Themes

It’s no accident that I got addicted to this show at the time that I did. Namely, my Senior Year of College and 2020. Graduating college and entering the “real world” felt like it’s own sort of apocalypse. 2020 definitely exacerbated my worst tendencies. Messages like “family don’t end in blood”, “you can write your own story”, and “always keep fighting” really resonated with me. I could definitely relate to the feelings of insecurity these character’s felt and the ways they suppressed/repressed their issues instead of facing them. I could relate to the feelings of not fitting in and I could definitely relate to the loneliness. This show helped remind me that I’m not alone. That it’s okay if my values and identity don’t line up with the what I envisioned for myself. And, most importantly, that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and that I should never give up. If Dean, Sam, and Cas can keep moving forward despite their demons and despite how bad it gets, so can I. Regardless of how the story ended, these themes resonated with me and I’ll still hold them with me. A single episode can’t take that away.

4. The Fun Episodes

This show has so many legendary standalone episodes. Changing Channels. Ghostfacers. The French Mistake. Fan Fiction. Tall Tales. Bad Day at Black Rock. When this show goes for the absurd, it goes all-in. It takes the risks it needs to take, it gets completely insane, and it pulls it off. So many of these episodes could have easily been the moment that the show “jumped the shark”. Yet, time after time, the show delivered on it’s potential. I don’t know how much I can say about these episodes except that they made me laugh out loud, made me fall even harder for these characters, and that they’re the episodes I remember best. If I were to rewatch any episode, it would be one of the fun ones. This show knew how to not take itself too seriously and how to poke fun at itself. I’ve always had a soft spot for shows that can make me laugh and cry (X-Files, Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel, Doctor Who, etc.), and this show definitely nails the fun part. 

5. The Sad Episodes

Death’s Door. Hammer of the Gods. Despair. Carry On. Abandon All Hope. In My Time of Dying. Swan Song. When this show wants you to cry, it doesn’t pull the punches. It gets downright devastating. No character is safe. Literally every character you love will either be forgotten or will die. Or both. The amount of trauma Sam and Dean have to go through is insane. Both have literally been to hell and back. Both have killed countless people, including innocents. When this show decides it wants to wreck you, it’s overwhelming. I sobbed when Bobby died. I sobbed when every single member of Team Free Will died for the final time (I still can’t watch any of those scenes). I still wish Jo, Ellen, Charlie, Kevin, Mick, and Gabriel had been given more time to tell their stories. Being a hunter means a life of endless angst. Being an angel or demon doesn’t get you off the hook, either. I remember going into this show thinking it couldn’t hurt me. My favorite character type is “mentor/father figure”. But holy hell...I don’t think every single sad moment was necessarily good writing, but when it was? Damn. 

6. The Biblical Themes

I’m not a relgious person. But, despite this show being steeped in Christian mythology, it really touched on my feelings about the Old Testament in a profound way. Well, really just Ben Edlund and Robbie Thompson did. I’ve never seen a show really hit the overall feel of the bible the way this show does. The idea of Angels as mystical and terrifying creatures. The idea of God as a flawed father figure with a penchant for wrath. The sheer epicness of the biblical stories. The idea of family members constantly being turned on each other. Cain and Abel. Jacob and Essau. Moses and Ramses. Moses and Aaron. Abraham and Isaac. The bible is full of stories of family drama. This show doesn’t always give angels and demons weight. Sometimes it’s silly and stupid and cheesy. But when it hits right? It’s epic. This is more of a personal thing I love about the show, but definitely a plus!

7. The Music

The early seasons music is so good. I really miss the classic rock of the golden era of the show. I mean, there are still some great musical moments later on, but damn. I loved hearing songs I recognized and I loved learning new songs. I loved when the song and the scene hit perfectly in time (Death’s intro. Cas’s return in Season 13.). Also Supernatural wouldn’t be Supernatural without the ‘Carry On My Wayward Son’ song at the end of every season. Even at the end of a season I didn’t love, that recap would always get me pumped. Also Chuck singing Fare Thee Well? Dean and Lee singing together? Fan Fiction? All great. 

8. The Cast & Crew

I never care about the actors or actresses in a show. I definitely don’t bother with the names of specific writers and directors or their styles of writing/directing. They’re just random people who happen to write for or play these characters I love. They’re not actually the characters. But these guys? Well, for one, I’m pretty sure half this cast actually is their character. At least to some degree. They’re also just...really cool people? Who are all friends? They make a point to do community service, to interact with fans, and to promote positive ideas. Jared’s Always Keep Fighting campaign. Misha and GISH. The fact that they all participate in fundraising opportunities and encourage fan engagement. Do they all have issues? Definitely. Have they said stupid things? Yes. But the good far outweighs the bad. They’re an entertaining bunch whether onscreen or not and I hope they all do well in whatever their future endeavors may be.  

9. The Fandom

I joined this fandom late. To be honest, I thought this fandom was obnoxious before I found myself a part of it. Now that I’ve been in the trenches? It’s got it’s ups and downs like any fandom. There are some parts that are more toxic than others. A lot of people yelling that their opinion is the only opinion. But overall? The good outweighs the bad. And the good? The good is great. Some fanfictions I’ve read are better than actual books I’ve read and just as moving. The fanart? Incredible. I love reading all the metas about random aspects of the show I never would have noticed. I love the music videos and I love the analytical videos. In real life, I’ve made many friends through our mutual love of this show. Hell, even getting sucked into GISH once or twice has given me some solid memories and brought me closer to friends. I wish all fandoms were this much like family. I’m so glad I got to be a part of this fandom and I can’t wait to continue being a fan. After all, nothing ever stays dead in Supernatural.

10. The Chaos & Insanity

Season 16 has been a time. First, Destiel went canon. Then suddenly Sherlock was having a 5th season, Putin was retiring, and Georgia was going blue. Destiel going “canon” and Joe Biden winning the presidency will always be correlated in my mind now. Things in the fandom went from quiet to blaringly loud real fast. Carry On happened. The fandom went into a civil war. I can’t even remember half of what happened in Season 16, but it’s been a wild ride. There’s been ups (my personal favorite being the french dub and the Saileen wedding). There’s been downs (Jared’s controversial statements and the original scripts being leaked). At one point Misha Collins had sex with Bill Clinton???? It’s been a wild time. It’s honestly gotten me through the end of this pandemic. At least it’s entertaining. I would say that at least all the craziness is over, but is it ever really over? Every time I say that something else completely insane happens. But it’s been fun. I’m glad I started watching this show despite my reservations and here’s to whatever happens next. 

#team free will #team free will 2.0 #castiel #jack kline #sam winchester #dean winchester #sam and dean #destiel #wayward sisters #supernatural #spn #misha collins #jared padalecki #jensen ackles

[courtneystriker]

My Thoughts on the HG Prequel

I just finished reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes and I got to say, my feelings are mixed. Below I have an entire review  for the story which included how I felt, the expectations, the biases I had going into the new book, and how I felt after reading. Please note there will be spoilers. Also this review isn’t meant to hurt anyone and if you absolutely love the book so far...good! Enjoy it fully! As an aspiring writer myself and someone who studied in college/loves creative writing I’m well aware that people just have different takes on writing. Glad you are enjoying it :)

Anyways, here it goes…

The Expectations

As the Hunger Games series is one of my favorites of all time, I had a strong bias to like this book. Since it was first announced, without knowing any details, I was extremely excited and optimistic. I re-read the entire Hunger Games series twice beforehand in preparation; once with my fiancé and once on my own. The only thing I really wanted, knowing that it took place during the tenth hunger games, was that the arena reflected how new the hunger games were. Then, when we learned what the series was about, people started voicing some concerns or were disappointed by the plot, instead wanting it to be something like Finnick’s arena, Haymitch’s, Mags’, etc. etc. I was not among this group. However, I understand where they were coming from, because I always thought the idea of the first Quarter Quell (the one where the districts voted for the tributes) was an extremely interesting concept. 

Yet I think these things are best left explored in fanfiction as they add nothing to the series and Suzanne Collins did an excellent job just giving us enough information to get the idea. At that point it’d just be a book on details, which could fall short or be a gimmicky, cheap way to keep people reading the series and keep her name relevant. And wasn’t that part of the message in her series, the thing Katniss so heavily criticized that gave a great irony to the books? Who would watch children killing each other for entertainment? Meanwhile, we as the reader are reading these books as a form of entertainment. Plus, Suzanne Collins so skillfully painted the illusion of knowing but not fully knowing their stories that it’s haunting, and I think that is one of the many reasons (along with the battle royale trope being naturally compelling, liking the characters, etc.) that a lot of us are more drawn towards these stories rather than (at least for me)  a book on Snow. 

That being said, I was not against the idea of a book on Snow because I find villain characters, especially grey ones, to be very interesting to read about, and I was pretty certain Suzanne was going to handle this beautifully, especially since you could already feel this atmosphere coming off of Snow in the Hunger Games series. I know some were really concerned about a Snow redemption arc, but to me it felt very obvious that it couldn’t be and it would be more of him sliding into evil.

I did have other concerns when I read the description for the first time. I could not believe they went with the whole tribute from District Twelve thing again. I loved Katniss and District Twelve, but I did not want Katniss 2.0. I said right from the beginning to my fiancé that she’d have to make the tribute from District Twelve extremely different for me to get on board (though I was holding on faith that Collins would). It just felt cheap and gimmicky to rehash the District Twelve thing, it sort of made me feel the same way I would have if she had written about one of the games I mentioned above. Sure, it’d sell, but it wouldn’t add anything to the series. I was thinking she better not hunt, sing, or have any qualities resembling Katniss really.  

Another thing I worried about was the love story they hinted at in the description. It just didn’t make sense to me. Because how was Snow going to ever support the games if from an earlier age he fell in love with a tribute and vowed to protect her? Then later he’s all like pro-hunger games? Just this itself could weaken the entire series if done poorly, because it would weaken the main antagonist’s motives for not only the prequel but also the Hunger Games series as well. I kept thinking either the girl has to die in the arena betraying Snow somehow (which is what I was hoping for), Snow will have to betray her, or perhaps he would have been faking love for her for some sort of personal gain I couldn’t imagine. Either way, I thought it weakened the story's appeal to me. Yet overall I was still excited, desperately waiting for the book’s release. 

And now that I have read it, I have to say it felt forced at a lot of parts and lackluster overall…

*Spoilers start here*

My Review:

Suszanne Collins’ writing style is one I’ve always loved and has consistently appealed to me. Even though this book is written in 3rd person (which some may like less if you don’t particularly like third person) it holds up well against the original series. So I really had no complaints in this regard besides the excessive use of songs (felt like fanfiction a bit). I think if you liked the original series and don’t mind third person you’ll feel right at home with her style.

The concerns others had about Snow’s redemption are completely dismissed in this book. Like I had predicted, she writes about his fall into evil, and although it’s not black and white evil (as I don’t like anyways) you can very much tell he’s a bad guy and that the hardships he faced in life only further pushed him towards obtaining status and power. Overall, he feels true to the character when we end up seeing him in the Hunger Games series, and his journey to power fits the images Finnick painted in Mockingjay. He is very well characterized in the book and perfectly unlikable while maintaining an intriguing internal dialogue (although it does occasionally feel tedious, but not enough to bother me; others may feel differently).

 The way he is written is very much in line with Collin’s great characterization, one of the reasons I always loved The Hunger Games. All the characters felt like real people. They all had an extreme depth to them and I felt they all resembled people I had actually met in real life. There were little to no characters that relied solely on gimmicky personalities to get by. Even very minor characters that seemed depthless and swallow at first--like Katniss’s prep team--had more to them. So I thought going into this book I had nothing to worry about in that regard. I didn’t even really spare it a thought, but boy was I wrong. 

I think Snow and Lucy Grey were the only characters that had (at least partly) the depth that the original Hunger Games cast had. I’ll discuss Lucy Grey later but first let me talk about some side characters. Where to even begin really? There’s a LOT of characters in this book. Frankly, way too many, which I think contributes heavily to the lack of depth in the characters. Honestly there’s so many that the names of characters were hard to keep track of while listening to the audiobook (my hard copy of the book was still in the mail and I didn’t want to wait). Things got a bit clustered in my mind quickly. There were twenty-four tributes, twenty-four mentors,  Snow’s family, The Dean and Drs at the university, Snow’s Peacekeeper crew, and the Covey, and those are just the groups that I can cluster together. At least, the ones I remember having names and getting introduced, but I think that’s everyone really important. There was no real time to develop or get to know them really, which made the tributes’ deaths more meaningless as I could barely recall their names. It caused impactful scenes to weaken significantly overall and it made characters serve only to characterize and amplify Snow’s fall into evil. 

Here’s what I mean by that. The head Gamemaker, Dr. Gaul, really was the character I hated the most while reading this. She was just evil without reason (one of the weakest villain types with little to no personality besides being evil). She even made creepy rhymes as if she was in some sort of horror movie, and the entire point of her character was to contribute a lot to some of the forced plot points driving Snow’s moral decline. For example, there were all her tests, which seemed contrived and all directly connected to getting Snow to think the Hunger Games was a good idea. She was seemingly supposed to be a Dr. Mengele type character, as this book has a lot of Holocaust-esqe imagery. I’m fine with irredeemably evil villains, but instead of getting the depth that a Dr. Mengele character could offer (as some may know, many children that were part of his experiments actually said he was kind and gave them candy, and I find that deeply haunting to this day.) She is a flat, one-dimensional character whose entire personality could be described with one word: sociopath. Evil people are master manipulators, which is how they get away with evil things. I think at one of the funerals she puts on a good public face, and she seems to have power, money and influence. Yet the book doesn’t show this seemingly present quality nearly enough to make her a haunting character. Instead we get nursery rhythms and clearly driven lessons towards evil at are contrived. Like “Write about what you most liked about the war” or the assignment to improve the hunger games? Like what class is this? Why are they taking it? And why are the young kids of the influential deciding this instead of the influential people themselves?

Another character I feel was just there for Snow’s development and to represent an opposite viewpoint but lacked Collin’s usual depth is Sejanus Plinth. As a District 2 citizen whose family got rich off the war and moved to the Capitol, he is the main opposing viewpoint of the book, presenting Snow with a chance to do the right thing. I’ve seen people say he’s a Peeta-like character, but I completely reject that idea. He lacks in the charm Peeta has, relishes in self-pity (although he’s completely justified in his sadness and has a right to be upset), and while he has a heart like Peeta, he ultimately doesn’t know how to use it. Instead of working within his position to get influence like Peeta so masterfully does, he’s hot-headed and continuously makes poor decisions that ultimately don’t help anyone. It’s like he wants to help but doesn’t know how as he’s driven completely by emotion without reason. He too contributes to some forced scenes, particularly my least favorite in the book; when they sneak into the arena. Overall, he just falls flat for me. Again, I feel I don’t know anything about him beyond what he contributes to Snow’s story line and he doesn’t come across as realistic. It’s like Collins just wrote how someone would normally react to the hunger games, slapped a district number on him and went on her merry way. 

I just wasn’t prepared for these sort of characters when the Hunger Games series made even the smallest of characters stand out dramatically. I feel neutral to annoyed by most characters in this novel. I could expand this portion, and maybe if people inquire I’ll elaborate on some of the other characters as I have strong opinions on them, but this post is already getting long, so I’ll move on to Lucy Grey.

Lucy Grey is by far my favorite character even though she is bordering towards being a character from a fanfiction. Not quite a Mary Sue in my opinion but there is a certain connection to fanfiction I made with her. You may have guessed some issues I had with her by reading my expectations earlier in the post, but that has not displaced my love for her. Her personality is very different from Katniss’s, or even Peeta’s or Haymitch’s. She had a different type of charm than all of them, is a natural performer, and seemed more extroverted. Also, the whole idea of the Covey and her “not really” being district was intriguing. It really highlighted the displacement that war can cause and how people can just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. (Although I was confused on how much mobility between the districts there were….and did District Twelve have a fence or no?) It really emphasizes one of the main themes of the book, extreme prejudice against both Capitol and District. Her spot sort of in between really drives home the point that there's literally no difference except extreme poverty, and even then there was poverty in the Capitol, only better hidden. Her bright mood (and clothes), her poised attitude, and her optimism made her endearing. She was confident in her skin yet still held the fear of a sixteen year old going into the hunger games.

There were only two main things that bothered me about her, which was of course the direct connections made to Katniss (which I’ll elaborate on) and the forced “love” story between her and Snow. I suppose that has less to do with her and rather more to do with my dislike of that subplot. And I'm a sucker for some good romantic subplots, but yikes!

I think having one strong connection to Katniss was all that was really needed in this book. I really liked the idea of that connection being the Hanging Tree Song, as I can only imagine how it made Snow feel watching “The Mockingjay” sing it in the propo. Despite me not liking that fact that Lucy Grey is also an enchanting singer as that felt like directly stepping in Katniss’s territory, I did enjoy the little twist of Lucy Grey writing the song. Yet the connections between the two when the plot took us to District Twelve went too far. It felt like it took away all of Katniss’s special places and things. The lake, her katniss roots, her gift towards music, her fondness for the meadow, sneaking into the woods, etc. I think one solid connection would have solidified their bond beautifully. Having so many seemed like it was really trying to force the reader to make the connection when it was already painfully clear I guess? Plus, having Lucy stand out at her reaping ( the whole song part read like a bad, contrived fanfiction bit to me) and having people care about her in the Capitol while moral questions of the hunger games were still surfacing made me start to think...isn’t this how the rebellion for Katniss got started? At least partly. I get it’s a different time. Too close to the war. It just felt way too similar. I guess Collins was going for the idea of a lost rebellion that in a way Lucy Grey started that Katniss later revives. Yet it feels like that invalidates the specialness of what Katniss does in the original series as it’s already happened; it just got erased. I guess history repeats itself, but I really just didn’t like it. I could see the appeal to some extent, and it could be a beautiful connection, but it just wasn’t for me.

Now on to the plot, which is the last thing I’ll talk about as this post is getting ridiculously long. A lot of the plot felt very forced or contrived, which was another shocker coming from Collins because her pacing and plot was done really well in the original series. Of course, a lot of this was driven by Dr. Gaul and Sejanus Plinth as the entire plot hinged on the moral debate of the hunger games these two represent. Other plot points just hinged on what happened to establish the games. I mean the rebel bomb explosion seemingly only happened to change the terrain so Dr. Gaul can then bring up the idea of the different arena and how that made the tributes act differently, thus creating the crazy arenas we see later in the series. I do have some praise for how Collins established the disparities between the earlier hunger games and the ones we see in Katniss day. From the way they lock the tributes up, don’t feed them, the spotty coverage of the arena, etc. All of that was exceptionally well done. The only complaint I have was that so many tributes died before they even got to the arena (though not because I wanted to see them fight). I had been expecting one to escape or something to further establish that this was new territory and was waiting to see how they handled it in earlier times, but I wasn’t expecting that many to die before the arena got started. It just seemed like a huge Capitol failure that they advertised loudly. I really wasn’t expecting that level of incompetence, just an escaped tribute that threatened to embarrass or harm the fragile beginnings of post-war Panem. Instead, most of the pre-arena stuff felt disastrous. A lot of the mentors' deaths felt forced, and it was weird that the academy never really came under fire at all from all the rich and powerful parents whose children were getting killed because of the mentor experiment. Like it seemed there should have been some interaction there, but there wasn’t. Maybe some was passively mentioned but still, it could have been a whole subplot that further established the debate of the hunger games.

While the pre-arena up to the break-in to the arena felt like the most forced part of the book and certainly I felt it needed more workshopping plot wise, it also harbored some great and powerful scenes, like Arachne pulling the sandwich away from the tribute while she was starving and laughing about it. Basically, all those interactions of poverty and captivity meeting the citizens of the Capitol were done well, but nothing spectacular (unlike the scene of Katniss screaming at Buttercup at the end of Mockingjay which is heart wrenching.)

The last plot point I’ll talk about is the “love” story. I wasn’t a fan, but it was sort of what a lot of the plot hinged on and led to the great scene at the lake between Snow and Lucy Grey. How easy it was for him to betray his “love” for status. This led to some of the most interesting and evil internal monologue Snow had in the entire book. I honestly feel the ending scene, the interaction Snow had with the jabberjays and Mockingjays in District Twelve, and the lynching scenes were among the strongest and most memorable.

The love story again felt forced (sorry I’m using that word so much it’s just so accurate) into the story. This hindered the book from having a strong plot in the same way the weaker characters caused forced interactions and plot points to move things along. Yet at the same time the kind of abusive and lackluster nature of their relationship throughout the book fit perfectly with the ending. Unfortunately, it didn’t really make it very compelling for the reader. Luckily Lucy’s  personality kept my interested during these parts. I wouldn’t say their relationship was poorly written at all; in fact the way it was written makes perfect sense. I just think the plot relied too heavily on their “love”, which was gross because of the way Snow is, and the reader knew it had to inevitably end in some kind of betrayal or reveal that there was no love at all. This creates tension for the reader, but I kept wondering: if the love plot had been ditched could we have gotten a stronger plot altogether?

So overall, like I’ve said I’m really conflicted. I know I focused heavily on things I didn’t like, but honestly the book was well written in some regards, plot bouncing between really compelling and a little contrived, the two main characters being written well enough but other characters not so much. Some connections between Lucy Grey and Katniss made at the end were powerful, I loved the Covey, Collins still excelled at writing a lot of the social issues/scenes in the book, and honestly the idea of Lucy Grey being completely forgotten in the Districts that hurts my soul a little. Nothing compared to the feelings I got in any of the Hunger Games books but there’s still something there.

I really hope someone made it through this long ass post. The book was entertaining. I mean I listened to all 16 hours of the audiobook in like a day. I can’t wait until my hardcover comes so I can look through it. Maybe once I know what I’m getting into I can enjoy the book a little more than I did, because right now it’s sitting at very average for me. Maybe I went in with my expectations too high? I certainly like the Hunger Games a lot more and probably always will. Honestly, I love new content, but I’m also the type that likes firm, planned endings to stories (even though it hurts to let things end and the fandoms can suffer from lack of content). I think fans can oftentimes get caught up in what they want and pressure the writer into writing more, which ends up a disappointment since it wasn’t originally planned in the series from the beginning. While I don’t think this is by any means the case with Suzanna Collins or that Lionsgate even pressured her to write this book (I don’t like conspiracies of that sort of thing as a writer myself that plans to have a series in which a book comes out many years after the original part of the series is released), I do wonder if this is the end of the Hunger Games for good. I sure hope so, especially if she would be writing about the other victors. I love them too much and really don’t want to feel similarly about their books, and like I said at the beginning, it wouldn’t add to the series just to my guilty pleasure lol.

Hope you all have enjoyed your reading of the book more than I did :) Again sorry if I wrote anything to upset you! Please if you loved this book ENJOY IT! I’m actually kind of jealous if you did. Feels like missing out on something special.

#The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes #suzanne collins #tbosas #lucy grey #coriolanus #Dr. Gaul #Sejanus Plinth #Hunger Game Prequel #Hunger Games #Katniss #Peeta #hunger games series #review #catching fire #mockingjay #books #writing

[scribblis]

"Shit! I'm going to be late!!" I yelled to no one in particular, getting my things together and cursing myself for the current predicament. You'd think I'd get it together by college, but i was as messy and jumbled as always.

The current predicament: I was late for a my first day of class, a class that was very important, since it was with Hitoshi Shinsou, aka the guy I'd been mad crushing on since two semesters ago. We were both humanities majors; him in criminology and forensics, me in sociology and abnormal psychology. We went to a small university in rural Oregon, with a small, dedicated staff and one main building for each individual colleges. And we were in the same STAT 305: Stats for Humanity major and PSYCH 706A: Critical Thinking in Psychology class this semester.

I grabbed everything I thought I needed, and rushed out of my room, grabbing an individual-wrapped brownie and a cotton candy energy drink from my fridge and stuffing them in my bag before rushing out the door, getting to the psych building with three minutes to spare.

I sighed, plopping into an empty desk somewhere in the middle-side of the classroom, glad the teacher was still not here. The psych professors at this college were all eccentric in their own rights, and I'd never had this professor before.

I caught my breath, scanning the room. Most everyone here was someone I knew or at least, I recognized their faces. This group of people tended to be serious, and brilliant, and I was confident it would be a good class. I sighed a breath of relief, getting my stuff ready. I pulled out my notebook for this class, turning it to the first lined page. I also pulled out two pens, a highlighter, and placed my brownie and my energy drink near the top of the desk to avoid spillage. I was so wrapped up in what I was doing that I didn't even notice who came into the room.

"Excuse me," a deep, instantly recognized voice asked, and I jumped before looking up, seeing none other than Hitoshi Shinsou standing next to the empty desk next to me. "Is that seat taken?"

"Uhhh....not that I know of?" I replied, slightly dumbfounded. Could I handle this?

"K. Thanks," he replied nonchalantly, sliding into the desk to my right. He set his cool grey messenger bag on the other side of the desk, pulling out a black notebook and tucking a pen behind his ear, setting up. I kept my body language casual, facing forward, but I couldn't stop myself from glancing over every so often, careful to not get caught.

I'd met the basically-demigod Hitoshi Shinsou in Intro to Psych, two semesters ago. It may be silly of me, but I'm pretty sure I started crushing on him the moment I saw him. He was tall, slender but solid, with purple hair that was constantly pushed back. At first, I thought he styled it that way, but having been in class with him and staring occasionally noticing him, it really was his fault his hair did that. He often sighed and ran a hand through his hair whenever he was really thinking about something. It was actually kinda cute, he did it so often that during tests sometimes there'd be a slight imprint of the base of his palm against his hairline. Was this weird to notice?

I tried to be careful, but on my third or fourth glance over at him, we accidentally made eye contact. His eyebrow twitched slightly in the brief second we made eye contact, and it caught me off guard to the point that my hand jerked, knocking my energy drink off the desk. It fell to my right, and hit the ground.

I hesitated reaching for it, and before I could grab it, Hitoshi had swiped it up and put it back on my desk, eyeing it.

"Never seen that flavor before," he stated casually.

"Oh! Yeah, haha, cotton candy is one of my favorite flavor of anything," I said just a bit to fast. Oh god, here was the perfect opportunity to make a good impression on him and here I was, blowing it. Though if he noticed my nervousness, he didn't indicate it.

"Huh. Next thing you know, they'll make a birthday cake flavored one," he said with a slight scoff.

"They do. It's okay, but kinda weird. It tastes like liquid cake and makes my mouth all confused."

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow at me, his violet eyes light and playful. "Sounds like you've got a sweet tooth."

Was this happening? Was I actually having a normal conversation with Hitoshi? I laughed, nervous, and reached for the can.

"Oh, I mean, I guess so, I'm a foodie in gener-"

"Stop," he interrupted.

"Huh?" God, had I already talked too much? Was I boring him? Before my thoughts could spiral me any more, though, he continued.

"That just fell on the floor. Don't open it right now."

I looked down, to where my hand was on top of the can tab, about to open it. I guess I was so nervous I didn't realize what my hands were doing.

"O-oh, right. Thanks," I said, warmth creeping up my neck and cheeks.

Luckily, I was saved from more awkward conversation by the professor coming in. Dr. Aizawa was one of the senior psychology professors at the school; he mainly oversaw higher levels of psych classes, and this one, Critical Thinking in Psych. I sighed, resolving to focus on the professor for the rest of class.

Later in the week, it's time for STAT 305, and I am prepared. It's my only class of the day, so I take time in the morning, eat breakfast, and shower, leaving early and slipping into a seat near the window. I stare out of it, my eyes flitting around, idly people-watching, before turning back to the classroom. It had filled up in the time I was staring out the window, and I briefly notice the seat next to me was the only seat not taken. Wait, is....

I turn my head and scan the room, but I really might as well not have bothered, as Hitoshi strode into the room just before the professor did. He had big purple headphones, and as he looked around the room, my pulse quickened. No way was I going to survive this semester if I'm both classes he sits next to me.

He spots the seat next to me and heads over. I turn my gaze down, chewing on my lip a bit as I fiddle with my pen. Should I make a joke? Should I say hi? Should I not acknowledge him at all?

I hear him set down his stuff and slide into his seat. I can't help myself and I glance at him in my peripheral. He takes off his headphones smoothly, resting them around his neck before running a hand through his hair. Luckily, Professor Nezu starts speaking, and I will myself to concentrate on what he's saying.

~~

".....and don't forget, get your books by Tuesday. I'll post the reading and the syllabus online, make sure to take a look through both before next class. Dismissed."

I started to get my stuff together, grabbing my backpack from off the floor when Hitoshi interrupted my thoughts.

"Hey."

"Yeah?" I replied evenly, looking up to glance at him while continuing my motions. An idle hope flitted by, wouldn't it be awesome if he asked to trade numbers?

"We should trade contact info."

Wait, what? Did that just happen? I looked up to him, and I guess my face gave away my surprised, because he spoke quickly.

"Not to....be weird or whatever. Just that we have a couple classes together this semester. We could study together."

Hitoshi Shinsou wants to study. With me. Luckily I regain my composure nearly instantly, thanks to years of masking.

"Oh! Sure! Great idea, it'll be more efficient," I responded. We traded phones, typing our contact information in before swapping back. Hitoshi Shinsou's phone number is in my contact list.

"Cool. See you around, Alis," he said, putting his messenger on one shoulder. Putting his headphones back on, he strode towards the door.

"Y-yeah, see you..." I quickly gathered my stuff, dumbfounded, before heading back to my dorm.

~~

The first weekend of the semester came, and with that, so did my weekly smoke sessions with the crew. We'd all met during orientation and immediately hit it off, and today was no different.

"Guess who has pizza rolls~" Hawks crowed, bringing a full tray of steamy, half-open pizza rolls on a large platter. They set it down on the table where the rest of us sat, plopping down on one of the couches. The smoke spot for the most part was the basement of Adgy's parents' house, which coincidentally was their bedroom, and our club's secret sanctuary.

"So let me get this straight," Vibby started as I took a long hit off one of the bongs being passed around. "Hitoshi Shinsou asked for your number. And wants to study together. This is your chance!!"

I laughed, a bit too hard and I descended into a coughing fit, passing on the bong and lighter to Simi, who passed it to Cloudy.

"Step one: message him," Hawks grinned, blowing onto a pizza roll before popping it into their mouth. "Step two: suck his dick. Step three: invite us to the wedding."

"God I wish," I said lightly, a nervous tinge to my laugh.

"Suck his dick! Suck his dick!" Adgy teased, and before long, the rest of the circle had joined in as I flushed, grabbing my pipe from the table and hitting the bowl.

"I wonder if the curtains match the drapes," Cloudy said idly, after the chanting had died down.

"No way," Adgy replied. "Have you seen the way he dresses? Dude totally manscapes."

"Okay, guys, I don't need to be thinking about Hiroshi's crotch right now, I can already barely face him," I joked.

"Let's take bets to see how this plays out," Hawks grinned. "Hmmm......dinner on me says he's gonna use a study session to flirt. Ooooo, maybe he'll lean in reeeeeal close when you're checking an answer together~"

"God," I sighed, leaning back. "I wish. Could you imagine?"

"Ten bucks says he just kisses shine out of the blue," Adgy said. "I bet he's totally the type to kiss you to get you to shut up."

"My money's on Alis accidentally confessing," Vibby said, nudging me slightly. "You do have a tendency to panic when you're flustered."

"Oooh, good point," Hawks replied, grinning. "He seems the type to play with his food."

"Y'all!!" I squeaked, hiding my face in my hands. God, I was going to die if this keeps up.

"Okay, fine, we'll ease up," Simi smiled, before breezily changing the topic. I breathed a sigh of relief, but the images of what my friends said kept me awake all night, my mind racing with the thought of those things happening to me.