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#I like to imagine there was one younger employee in the conference room trying so hard to be like 'guys... this isn't gonna work...'

taeescript · 3 years

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29+1 (Part One)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (taehyung x reader if you squint real hard)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin (diva!seokjin)

𝔴𝔠: 3.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: heavy use of alcohol as a coping mechanism, a plethora of sarcasm (please don’t be offended) and a sprinkle of softness (is that a warning?).

𝔞/𝔫: this sat in my unwritten folder since 2017 no lie. I wrote the premise and a singular paragraph at that time, then just gave up. I opened it a few days ago, got inspired again and this word vomit came out (heavily influenced by a midnight Zoom call with my friends). Ngl this was so much fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. This will probably be in three parts. 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: I did not know that DailyHive is an actual online news source when writing. This work is purely fictional and has absolutely nothing to do with the real DailyHive.

part two

Your friends have a saying: After 29, nobody shares their age until they’ve accomplished something.

In the past, you didn’t understand it. What’s so bad about saying you’re 30 or you’re 32? That’s still a young age! Sure, you’re not exactly in your prime anymore but you’re not old, right?

So, you continue in your own wondrous world of naïveté until that fateful day at your class reunion. You had simply been walking around, minding your own business when you had been stopped by an old colleague.

“Hey, Y/N, right?” she waves you down.

You smile kindly, not even bothering to try and remember her name (you sucked at names, what could you say).

“Hey…you!” you chuckle lightly, “How have you been doing?”

An everyday question leading to catastrophic effects.

“Oh you know,” she says and rolls her eyes as if you truly did know, “I’ve just been out and about. Did I tell you though? I got married last year!” She holds out her hand in which a giant diamond adorns her finger. “Wow!” you gasp, feigning interest. It’s not that you aren’t happy for her, but you are reminded of just how single you are currently. When was the last time you felt another human’s touch? Does kissing come back as easily as riding a bicycle? “Hey!” she says suddenly, “I’m actually meeting with a couple of friends from our class. You should come join! I’m sure they’d be happy to see you again!” You want to wave her off, but against your better judgment, you find yourself following in her footsteps and listening to her speak about wedding venues and honeymoon destinations.

“Oh my god!” another female voice filters in.

The “couple of friends” this old classmate had mentioned is in fact a fairly impressive size of twenty. This is also the third time the wedding announcement has been made.

“Last year?” the female continues, “Weren’t you young?”

Yes, you want to respond. Yes she was young. A full 365 days younger than she is now.

Your classmate, Sooyoung (or Kiko as she insists going by now) titters in front of you. “I mean, you can sort of say I’m a late bloomer. I got married when I was 31.”

Her words unintentionally cut into you. Here you are at 29 without a beau in sight. You take a fast swig of your beer and end up hitting the empty glass with a clink to your teeth. Nobody notices.

“Enough about me, however, how about you?”

“I started my own business actually. It’s been doing really well and it’s been a crazy mind. Imagine me, my own boss at only 33!”

You nervously join them when they suddenly laugh together.

“Hi, can I get another pint please? Actually add a tequila shot to that,” you whisper the last part to the waitress you had just stopped.

And that was how the rest of the night went. People asking one another what they had accomplished. Any moment in time after 30 would not be mentioned until somebody travelled to Uganda to build houses at 31 or another gave birth at the same age. Below 30, anything would be attributed to luck or in your case…

“What are you doing currently?” somebody asks you, “The little baby of our class.”

Swallowing your third tequila shot of the night, you wonder for the umpteenth time how you had become a part of this giant sharing circle. You wonder if it’s a blessing or a curse that you had graduated a little early and thus was younger than most of your peers.

“Well,” you start, “I’m currently working at DailyHive.”

“Ohh!” a man gushes. You recognize him as the once-upon-a-time science partner you used to cheat notes off of. “I use DailyHive nearly as much as Instagram these days. You guys cover everything from news to sports to fashion.”

You shrug. “Yeah. It’s, uh… it’s a pretty big company!”

“What are you doing there?”

Kiko-ex-Sooyoung hits the man teasingly on the shoulder. “Y/N is probably the Director of Marketing or something. Remember how she used to spend all class doodling in her notebook?”

“Or sleeping!” someone quips.

You don’t join in when they all laugh.

“I’m…an intern,” you say with as much pride as you can in a group of established professionals ranging from dermatologists to that one guy who had flown around the world as a TedTalk guest speaker.

A hushed silence befalls everyone.

“That’s…cool!” the same man encourages you, “Interns are totally rad! Everyone wants an intern spot these days.”

His girlfriend pats your arm, almost empathetically. “Yeah. I know a bunch of people who first start off as interns and then they shoot up the ladder quick enough. As long as you’re no longer an intern at 30, you’re golden!”

Once again, the entire group laughs as if she has said the most hilarious of jokes.

She composes herself and says to you, “Because after that, you should have accomplished something.”

Her words still ring in your ears as you sit at your desk this morning.

Yeah…something. All you need to do is accomplish something in the next three months before you are officially, 29 + 1.

Your fingers tap against your thighs silently while you observe the current debate that is occurring in the conference room. You barely have time to sweep the falling hair back behind your ear as your fingers ferociously fly across the keyboard to keep in track with the meeting.

Fei is arguing that the implement of a new search word system would boost users while Daniel says that it is a waste of resources. Instead, everything should be put into updating the entire system as a whole. You have long since lost track of their words as neither pertain to what you do as an intern.

“Enough,” the CEO of DailyHive holds up a hand. His one word causes the entire room to hush over – truly, the words of a god.

And that might as well be what he is. With his hair swept back and a lone tendril curling perfectly above his brow, Kim Seokjin is legitimately a walking god. Off his broad shoulders hang an expensive white linen suit bought with his pocket change and your yearly salary. A pair of sunglasses hangs in the V of the collared shirt dipping low enough to blur the lines between being fashionably professional and just downright sexy.

The snap of his fingers brings you back to the present.

He dramatically rolls his eyes and accepts that you are an incompetent minute-taker.

“I have to remember that the world just doesn’t move as fast as I do.”

- Quote: Rolling Stones 2019 Kim Seokjin.

Now if only he’d remember he had once said that.

He points at each of them with one finger, then swipes to the left. “Both of you, solve this outside. I don’t want to hear your voices any longer. You two from the marketing team, Ungroomed Stache and Acne Chin, create me a report if we are to implement Ms. Song’s idea. The two of you from…” he takes a pause here clearly having forgotten who his employees are, “The two of you do the same thing but for Mr. Hwang.”

The pair from accounting open their mouth to protest that they are in charge of only numbers, but they are ignored.

“All of you out now. Except you,” he points his finger directly at you, “Stay.”

Nobody utters a single word until they have all left and you are left alone with him. Standing before him with your hands folded nicely in front of you, you blink and wait.

He stares right back at you, picks up his coffee mug and drops it. The clatter of ceramic smashing against the ground causes a pause in the loud buzz outside the room. You know everybody’s focus has been shifted into the room.

“Do you want to kill me?” he drawls.

You take a long inhale. “No,” you say.

“No?” he repeats the word, “Well I think you do. Did you check this coffee before you brought it to me? I tasted cinnamon in it. You know how I’m allergic to cinnamon. Get me a new cup. And this mess, get somebody to clean it. I don’t want the smell of coffee in this room when I have my next meeting here in twenty. I’m taking a smoke a break.”

He stands up and brushes past you without saying anything else.

Nobody can be allergic to cinnamon. Besides if he had actually tasted cinnamon and was that sensitive, he would be dead. And good riddance to that.

Of course, you say none of this and wordlessly begin to pick up the broken ceramic pieces of the dead mug. The bustling outside the meeting room has returned back to its normal state of chaos. Seeing the ugly stain of coffee on the once pristine carpet causes you to swear beneath your breath.

“Who the fuck is allergic to cinnamon?” a new voice says, sliding up beside you.

The second god in DailyHive; the much nicer and evidently preferred Kim; Taehyung takes the mug pieces from you and drops it into the garbage bin.

Blessed with not only intelligence but devilishly model-like features, he is your desk buddy in the small space allotted for interns and your sole friend in the company.

“Tae,” you sigh with exasperation upon seeing your lifesaver, “What am I going to do about this stain? He’s going to return in fifteen and there’s no way I can get a coffee stain out of this expensive-ass carpet.”

Taehyung taps a long finger to his lips, leaves the room briefly, and returns with a roll of Bounty sheets and a can of Febreze. He promptly blots as much of the coffee off from the carpet then proceeds to pull the meeting table.

“C’mon, Y/N, don’t just stand there. Help me! Time is of the essence!”

You laugh and join him in moving the table so that one of the legs cover the stain 80% of the way. Once he is satisfied, he takes the Febreze and sprays until the whole room smells like “Hawaiian Aloha”.

“You’re welcome.” He gives an extravagant bow, the motion popping open the top button of his shirt to expose a surprisingly chiseled chest.

Fei returns back into the room holding a phone to her ear and a clipboard in her left hand. “What the hell? It smells like a Bath & Body Works in here. Intern, aren’t you supposed to be filing or something? Stop standing around and be useful.” She grips Taehyung’s arm and drags him out of the room. “Button up. This is a professional workplace.”

You give him a tiny wave as Taehyung is steered away by his girlfriend and back to the cubicles.

Taehyung may be your saviour at work, but outside, it cannot be denied that your brother is the true Fountain of Life.

A week has passed since the coffee incident (you suspect a cleaning personnel had found the stain and cleaned up after your improv as aforementioned stain can no longer be found), but Jimin still brings it up.

“I still can’t believe that he said he was allergic to cinnamon. I’ve never heard of such bullshit before,” your brother says over the phone. You can practically hear his eyeroll from across the world.

As a renowned ophthalmologist, you have not seen Jimin for close to a year as he has been initiating his new clinic, a flying eye hospital.

“You should hear his Starbucks order. I always feel like I’m ready to launch my next EP whenever I’m at the counter,” you say.

Jimin laughs. There is the muffled sounds of voices as his never-ending flow of patients have arrived for the day.

“I shouldn’t keep you,” you say upon hearing that, “You’re probably really busy.”

“No,” he says, “I’ve got a few minutes if you’ve got a few. I miss talking to my baby sister.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, Jiminie,” you say using the nickname he hated.

“Oh that’s right. Your birthday’s in a little under three months, right? My baby sister is turning the big three-oh.”

“God, don’t remind me.”

“Want me to come visit you?”

You contemplate the idea once, having not seen Jimin in quite a while.

“Only if you have time. But I feel like Mom and Dad would probably want to see you more. Speaking of which, um… How are Mom and Dad?”

“They’re good. I hear Dad is finally going to retire this year. He’s giving his practice to Kibum, you remember him? Mom will probably start pestering us about what to do for his retirement party.”

There is a pause.

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to say hi to them once in a while.”

You sigh. “And say what? Hey, it’s me. The child that ran away from home at 18? Yeah, I’m not a doctor like everybody else in the family but a 29 year old intern at a popular app company. Whassuuup?”

“Y/N, that’s not what I – ”

“It’s okay, Jimin. I’ve come to accept that not everybody is cut out to be a doctor. I just wish Mom and Dad could realize that.”

Jimin sighs on your behalf. There is the sound of a crying child coming through the earphone. “Well, your contract expires a few weeks after your birthday, right? Who knows, you might be the next Mark Zuckerberg.”

He has never explicitly inquired about your life plan and you know this is as much as he is willing to push without asking, “What’s next after this intern hiccup?” At least he had the decency to compare you to a controversial Internet entrepreneur.

The child is crying much louder now.

“Again with my birthday. But I’ll let you know,” is the only reply you can come up with at the moment. “Okay, brother, go forth and heal the blind. I bless thee in the name of the Holy Spirit, Son and Ghost.”

There is true laughter that rings from Jimin as he ends the call. “It’s Father, Son and Holy Ghost you dweeb. I love you sis.”

“You too.” You hang up first before he can add anything else.

With that, you enter into the 7am Starbucks queue and prepare yourself in running the first single of your long overdue EP.

Seokjin leans back in his chair, watching you from inside his office. Today he has chosen a black turtleneck and a brazen maroon-nearly purple suit jacket to complete the outfit. For once, there is an empty mug of coffee beside him and his morning headache has been appeased.

He knew he had given you an impossible task.

“Compile all the troubleshooting errors we have received since the launch of DailyHive. Organize it in a manner that allows me to identify the most prominent problem. Run it through whomever you please before giving it to me. I don’t need to waste my time correcting your mistakes.”

There is an amused smile that bubbles beneath his otherwise stoic features. He cannot deny that there is, might he dare say, a cute quality about you as you manually scan through the received concerns on your laptop dating back to the initial beta tests – the ones that were lost in a data crash and only backed up with unintelligible scribblings of previous interns.

The moment you had been introduced as the new intern, you had caught his eye. You are exquisitely mundane, and perhaps the reason you had even caught him the first time was due to solely to the fact that you were older than most interns – himself even. Nevertheless, you continue to present him small surprises in your tenacity and capability to tackle challenges.

“Mr. Kim.”

His intercom comes alive with the voice of his secretary.

Seokjin’s eyes do not leave you as he answers.

“Mr. Hwang is on line two. Would you like me to defer him to a later time if you are currently busy?”

Seokjin cannot help but sigh. Hwang Junho, his co-founder, while a genius in international business is also a notorious chatterbox and gossip. There is seldom a reason for Junho to call him except to relay the cover titles of E!Magazine.

“Did he mention a reason for calling?” Seokjin inquires.

His secretary seems to be reading from a note. “He says it’s to do with the company. Something he read from Cosmopolitan this morning.”

So not E! but another sister celebrity gossip blog. He checks his watch and duly notes that he certainly has no meetings scheduled until later in the afternoon where your report would be needed to run a preliminary analysis.

“Sir?”

“Yes, put him through. But tell him I’ve got only five minutes, so he’s better give me the Cliffnotes version,” Seokjin sighs again.

Before he can be connected, Seokjin quickly says, “What’s the name of that intern again?”

“Who?” his secretary asks, “We’ve hired four since the beginning of the year.”

“The one who keeps wanting to poison me.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?” she sounds concerned.

“The one who keeps forgetting that I despise cinnamon.”

There is no response.

“The older one. Spilled coffee a while ago but still has enough coordination to pull together a decent report.”

“Ah,” she says.

He waits patiently as she searches through the database, eventually giving him your name. He gives a slight pause and then says, “Good. Now patch me with Junho.”

There is a momentary buzz as the call becomes connected in which Seokjin turns over the syllables of your name wordlessly.

“Mr. Kim. The man of the hour. How are you, my brother?” Junho’s baritone fills the office in a manner of seconds.

Despite the little annoying quirks, Seokjin cannot help but smile when hearing the voice of his best friend.

“You’ve got three minutes, Junho.”

Junho grumbles. “That’s not my fault. You were the one still on the line with your secretary. Is it still Yerin? ‘Cuz I won’t blame you if that’s the case. Did I catch you doing some naughty phone sex during office hours?”

“Two.”

“Holy hell. Fine. It’s always business with you. That’s why the tabloids are always writing you as an uptight asshole.”

This shifts Seokjin’s attention to the phone. His name is seldomly mentioned except for the features in business columns. He prefers to stay out of the limelight.

“What?”

“Put your name on Google.”

Seokjin does as he is told.

There are millions of results, but the first few pages share the same headline. He clicks on the first one with a grimace.

“Kim Seokjin. Mr. Worldwide Handsome as noted by his fans, has recently sparked Internet outrage.”

A quick skim of the otherwise trashy article brought to the surface a summary: his last dating scandal had ended badly and the repercussions of blowing off a famous celebrity’s daughter had finally caught up with him. The Internet was calling him arrogant, narrow-minded, and even greedy. “The young Chief Executive Officer of booming social media app DailyHive has been accused of using his relationship with actress XYZ to further his own business. Once he gained recognition from aforementioned relationship, he has cold-heartedly cast her away to pursue his next.” “You’re calling me for this bullshit?” Seokjin scoffs. Junho tuts his tongue loudly. “This is not bullshit. It’s affecting the image of your company. Do you think people want to download and support an app that is run by somebody who is being called cruel and dishonest? You’ve got to address this soon before it gets out of control. You’re lucky I have alerts set for these type of things. I caught it for you just in the nick of time.” Seokjin inhales deeply. “You’re also lucky that I’ve got the perfect solution in mind.” “That is?” “The Silver Gala,” Junho references the prestigious event. The Silver Gala is hosted annually and attended by the largest celebrities as well as other wealthy investors and guests. Those in the social circle shared between Seokjin and Junho often yearned for tickets to attend events such as this, as they serve as excellent networking opportunities. Besides the above, such events are circled by reporters and writers of gossip columns to get the exclusive scoop on any eyebrow-raising rumours. “The solution lies in such an event,” Junho continues, “You know how many people will be there. All you’ve got to do is show up with your average girl-next-door type and it’ll show how you’re actually really humble and down to earth. Kim Seokjin is perfectly capable of dating like any regular human being. He doesn’t use “love” or whatever to further his business. Love is the connection between two souls; two individuals who – ” “Beep. Your time has run out Junho. I’ve got another meeting scheduled right this moment,” Seokjin interrupts. “Dude, seriously. Think about it. You could bring Yerin. Everbody loves a good CEO and his secretary affair. And if that’s too juicy for you, I can introduce you to some girls. Or maybe we could go back to our university days and hit a bar, y’know?” Junho tries his best to persuade. “Fuck!” you swear beneath your breath right as you walk into Kim Seokjin’s office. His door had been open and, in your excitement to show your completed report, you had dropped all the loose papers on the ground. Four hours of organization gone, just like that. You hope that at least Seokjin hasn’t heard or noticed you as he had been engrossed in his phone call. Seokjin had in fact noticed you. He can’t help himself but follow the curvature of your bare shoulder as your bangs escape the hold of your scrunchie and sweep across your skin. “Don’t worry, Junho, I’ve just thought about it,” he says with a smile.

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ill-skillsgard · 3 years

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His Mistress - Series Finale

Warning: 18+ smut, mentions of cheating, coarse language, mature themes.

Author’s Note: I am terrible at ending stories because I never want them to end. The ending I initially wrote wasn’t good enough, so I started again until I felt it was right. I’ll keep it brief, but I want to thank all the readers who fueled this crazy fire and inspired me to flesh out a dark love story that I’m proud to say I wrote. I’ll miss Mr. Deaver and all the smutty, angsty, drama of his life with his mistress. Thanks for tolerating the never-ending POV shifts and filling my inbox with love and support for the story and for me. You guys are the BEST. I’m forever grateful!

I hope you enjoy the 9K series finale. It’s been a slice!

Henry X Mistress Masterpost [x]

Henry's company held an office party to bid farewell the building that had brought them growth and success over the last few years. Once again expanding, the company added a brand new customer-relations department, a slew of employees fresh out of university and interns to fill in the gaps. The celebration took place on the evening of their last workday and boasted live entertainment and enough luxurious fare for each employee and their loved ones. They rented a bouncy castle and ball pit for the kids and set up an open bar next to two seminar tables' worth of catering.

It wasn't only a farewell party for the company, but the first time Henry showed off his girlfriend in front of his colleagues and employees. Word of Henry's divorce had already made its rounds, his colleagues begging for gory details after the documents were signed and filed. Rumours fluttered in and out of ears and mouths, but never while Henry was in the room—Henry had cheated on his wife with a coworker, Henry screwed the cleaning lady and his wife caught him in the act, Henry picked up a venereal disease, and poor Mary. The speculation rose tensions, but like all rumours, faded into irrelevancy once news of the company move surfaced. People forgot all about Henry's ugly divorce for the next round of gossip. Word of his mistress died down.

Although the tension had mostly evaporated, she felt eyes crawling on her when she showed up on Henry's arm. Of course, everyone recognized her—she was the secretary for a time, the only line to get an opening with Mr. Deaver. She had spent months parked next to his office, taking his appointments, booking his days, answering his phone. They remembered, and they leaned into the nearest ear to whisper, "I knew it all along."

If Henry noticed the curiosity, he chose to ignore it, but she couldn't. She felt every woman in the place wringing her silently, scrutinizing her moves, her hand in Henry's. People who knew Mary tended to side with the older woman, and the nattering reinstated in hushed exchanges. She was alone at the party save for Henry, but he could only guard her for so long before his colleagues whisked him into conversations littered with business jargon that lost her attention.

Still, she clung to his hand, and once in a while, Henry would break from stock discussions to turn in for a kiss. He surrounded her ears with his fingers, tilting her face up so he need not crouch just to show some affection. When he buried her mouth with his, she savoured the taste of wine, the power in becoming the first lady, the stares from Henry's subordinates.

Henry pulled back an inch, staring drunkenly, though he'd only had one glass of pinot noir, and nipped her bottom lip. "Having a good time, sweetheart?"

"Sure. I love catching all the cattiest office workers glaring."

Henry smirked as though he too tasted a dollop of satisfaction from the envy. "You know what I say to that?"

"What?"

"Fuck them," Henry whispered.

She feigned a gasp, swatted his shoulder, and he pulled her even closer. "Gosh, you look beautiful. I want to undress you later and do all the things they're thinking about me doing to you."

"My, my, Henry. You better take it easy on the vino."

"I'm not tipsy. I'm excited."

She checked his pockets for bulges, hoping Henry's intentions weren't to propose in front of all these near-strangers. The lines of his suit were smooth, and when she hugged him, she only felt his cellphone, wallet and keys, no ring box. She sighed with relief and sweltered under another one of his long kisses. He moaned against her, stroked her neck and back until she interrupted him to say, "Jesus, Henry. What's with the PDA?"

"I'm sorry. I just don't care anymore. Let 'em look."

"Easy, tiger. You're the star of the show. People want to talk to you without lipstick all over your face."

"Mm, I'd fuck you right now if I could," said Henry.

She squeezed his shoulders, holding him off for a moment before he swooped in for another peck. "Okay, okay, I'm done. For now."

"Don't make me spank you when we get home," she warned, mouth curved in jest.

"I'll behave," he assured.

With children running about, the catering service making rounds in the nearly empty office space, more employees and their significant others piling in by the minute, it was easy to get lost in the bustle. Henry's colleagues whisked him away into a conversation she had no business understanding, leaving her stranded, drink in hand, smoothing out the wrinkles in her blouse to distract herself from her friendless reality. None of Henry's employees came to talk to her. She stood alone, a flag on a pole reminding everyone that Henry had upgraded in every way. Some people went by, nodding respectfully, while others bypassed her like a piece of furniture.

Just when she felt the pressure behind her eyes saying she was tired, Frank stepped out of the elevator with his wife and two boys. The children bolted for the bounce house, leaving their bickering parents in their dust. Frank travelled through the crowd rolling his eyes and sneering at his wife, who looked upset about something, but retracted her frown as soon as a colleague's wife greeted her. The loud businessman honed in on Henry, and she watched her helpless boyfriend go limp when the man slung his meaty arm around his shoulders, thumping his back with a ham hock fist.

She mused over Henry's embarrassment as Frank launched into a story designed specifically to draw attention to him in the worst way. Frank's baritone floated above the music, and soon, others gathered to listen to the man tell the story of how Henry got too wasted on sake on a business trip to Japan because he didn't want to seem rude to the host and didn't know how to decline.

"This fuckin' guy—pardon my French—is rolling on the floor in his hotel room, has ten minutes to get dressed and downstairs for the conference, but can't even hold his head up straight. How many did you have, Henry, seven? Eight?"

Henry blanched, shaking his head. "Eight, yeah, I think that's about right."

"You've never seen a guy so drunk in your life! He did the conference, slurring the entire time, stumbling over his shoes, but the folks loved it! Didn't they, Deaver? You really got their attention when you started hiccoughing between every word."

"Different times. We were younger. We were boys."

"Ah, yeah. Young and dumb. Now, look at you! Much older now and just as dumb, eh?"

The gaggle surrounding Henry burst into laughter and carried on as Frank surrendered his grip. She tried to picture Henry staggering, too drunk to string together a sentence, but couldn't imagine him as anything less than poised. The image reminded her of the conversation she had with Mary in the parking garage. Before the divorce had been finalized, Mary told her Henry had done questionable things abroad with his colleagues. Frank's story, although comical and meant as a harmless jab, filled her with suspicion.

Henry had denied the accusation that he cheated before that night he invited her up to his hotel room. With desperation on his face, he vowed on his love for her that he was never unfaithful, barring their affair. She believed him, with reluctance, and stowed it away in her mind with the rest of Mary's dubious claims. Now that stories of shenanigans and unprofessional conduct were in circulation, she tried not to let her suspicions gain traction.

The night played on, and as more of the families left to put their hyper children to bed, the heads of business brought out the top-shelf Scotch and sat around picking at sandwich trays and hors d'oeuvres. Frank caught Henry's assistant-turned-girlfriend in his cross-hairs and approached her with a drink in hand. Red-faced and loud as ever, Frank asked her why she wasn't enjoying herself.

She cleared her throat and offered her best smile. "I am having fun. I just don't have a rich enough history with the company to offer any entertaining stories."

"Oh, come now. You were Henry's assistant for months! You don't have anything to share about banging the boss?"

Frank's announcement only fell on her ears, but it was enough to make her blush and want to escape. He apologized and sidled up to her, clinking his whiskey tumbler with her wine glass.

"Gotta get you a refill, Whaddaya say, toots?"

"I'm fine for now," she said. "I offered to drive home."

"That's right. You two live together now in that little condo."

She blinked, unsure of how anyone might think of the condo as little, then realized she was standing among wealthy men whose homes spanned acres, who owned Summer cottages bigger than the average townhouse.

"I gotta say, Deaver's got that colour back in his face since he started on with you, doll. What do I gotta do to get me a woman like that? He's a whole new man. Is that all it takes is a nice, young honey to roll back the decades? I bet the old bastard gets it up just fine. Just fine."

"Thank you, Frank. I'll try to sift through that to find a compliment," she scoffed and sipped her wine.

"Aw, I mean it with love, darlin', you know that. Ol' Franky just talks, right? I don't mean any harm. Maybe I come from a place of envy, who knows? Not every day a dry old fella gets his hands on something pretty as you. I can see you're good for him. He sure smiles a helluva lot more! Christ, can't chisel the grin off that face. Loopy as a damn circus clown since you came around."

"Really?" She tittered.

"I'm serious. Shit, when Henry was with Mary, you couldn't pay the guy to crack a joke. Now, he's nothing like the shlub I met all those years ago."

She ran her finger along the glass rim as Frank droned on, her eyes on Henry across the room. He had been having a good time, his cheeks aglow with cheeriness. She'd never seen Henry interact with his coworkers for more than a quick trip in and out of the conference room to deliver him a printout or progress report. Tonight, Henry hadn't complained about people talking his ear off. Even after Frank's unflattering account of one of his rare blunders, he hadn't whined or wished they could sneak out unseen. Henry was at ease.

"He's planning on proposing to me soon," she said.

Frank cocked his head and rose his glass. "Here's to hoping he makes the right decision, and quick, before you realize you can do better!"

She clinked glasses with Frank once more, and while he drained his whiskey, she set her glass down on a table nearby.

"I was wondering what his coworkers might say about him remarrying."

"Anything to get him away from that soul-sucking ice queen of an ex-wife."

"Frank? Can I ask you something and get a sincere answer?"

Frank read her serious tone, shifted his brows and angled in, unaware of his alcohol-laden breath fanning over her face. "Anything, love. Franky tells no lies. That's what they say. With me, it's pure honesty."

"I heard a rumour about Henry in Thailand. Somebody said he cheated on Mary. Do you know anything about this? I'd like to know what I'm getting myself into, being young and all. I don't want to end up wasting my best years with a man who might cheat on me down the road."

Frank scoffed, slapped his leg and howled. She waited for him to wipe an invisible tear from his eye, hoping nobody asked what was so funny.

"Oh, doll. You can't believe all the rumours you hear in this place. Thailand... Shit, that was so long ago. I can hardly remember what happened. It's true, we did some partying, but when in Rome, right?"

She grimaced as Frank went on, "Ol' Deaver never left his hotel room on that trip. Me 'n a couple of our work buddies cruised around, got ourselves into a little trouble, but not Henry. He spent the whole week hunched over his laptop, putting last minute touches on some PowerPoint crap—never was good with computers, myself. And don't get me wrong, there were offers made during dinners—generous offers. You know the type. They like to show their hospitality. But Henry was the professional. We call him Dad since he's always keeping us in line. Even us old guys, eh? No, no... Company is rock solid 'cause of him. We told Deaver a million times to drop the ball 'n chain, but the kid stuck it out, he really did."

"Am I stupid to marry him?"

"Doll, I think if you want someone to treat you right, it's my man, Henry Deaver. The Kid can't contain himself. And who could? He's a lucky man, really fortunate to have a dish like you."

"Oh, stop," she gestured at the opposite corner of the cleared out office space where the wives gathered. "You know, if I marry Henry, I'll have to join the wives' club and stand over there with Phyllis and Dorothy."

Frank beamed at her. She decided not to loathe the man for his praise, both for her and Henry. He was a bumbling idiot at times and unfiltered, but she had seen much worse. Before the corporate job with all the nice clothes and gadgets she used to pine for while browsing fashion websites, she worked her food service job. With every type of asshole and gentleman coming through the hotel bar, Frank was the loudmouth who'd changed her mind on Henry Deaver.

"You're a different kind, ain'tcha? I bet Deaver has his hands full with you."

Warm, wine-drunk confidence slid off her tongue, "Oh, I keep him busy."

"I'll kill him if he doesn't marry you, kid."

"I'm sure you will."

"That's Frank's Guarantee."

She tipped glasses with him once more and excused herself to use the washroom. The night was drawing to a close, and she enjoyed the quiet of the bathroom and its 3 stalls. Many times she had retreated to the washroom to text Henry while he was in his office. She couldn't risk getting caught exchanging dirty messages with the boss, so when she wanted to make him blush, she snuck off to the lady's room. Many nude photoshoots happened in the safety of the last stall on the right, and all of them fed to Henry's phone at inopportune times—mostly during meetings or video calls with clients across the world. Now, she laid her head against the cool metal and thought of marrying Henry.

Back then, falling in love with him was forbidden, tingly, like a shot of alcohol at an inappropriate hour that she hoped nobody could smell on her breath. Now, it was pure. There were no more walls, no need to hide in the stall to talk to him. Henry was hers, and everyone knew it.

Henry waited for her by a stack of chairs. Behind him, the catering company was clearing away serving trays, stacking cups and folding tablecloths. The band had long since packed up, and anyone with children had taken them downstairs to the shuttles the company had arranged to drive them home.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"Hey, indeed. How're you doing? I thought I saw you getting along with Frank." Henry chuckled. "What was up with that? I thought you hated him."

"I don't hate him. Maybe I wasn't keen on him hitting on me back at the hotel, but I think he's smartened up. As uncouth as he may be... He has your back and cares about the company."

"He's the drunk uncle of the business."

"You'll have to teach him some manners, though. One day, you'll have a female big-wig to schmooze, and she might not take kindly to pet names."

Henry's eyes bugged as he nodded. "Frank doesn't get to talk to the women in the industry, and don't worry, I'll whip him into shape."

"Hm, is that why they call you the company dad?" She asked, tracing one finger down Henry's lapel. "You just keep everyone in line, don't you? Lay down the law. Tell all those silly men how to act."

Henry shivered as her hand travelled lower, coasted over the front of his pants while nobody was looking. He puffed his chest, a crafty look taking over his visage. He snatched her wandering hand and stepped closer, eclipsing her as he slouched over to whisper in her ear.

"Yeah, I'm the Daddy around here."

"Is Daddy ready to head home soon?"

"Let's say our goodbyes, then we'll get out of here. Come on."

Henry gave her directions that took them in the opposite direction of home. When she questioned him, he patted her thigh, assuring there was a surprise waiting at the end of the line. She tried to pry it from him while they cruised the highway in the dark. The radio played low while Henry tried changing the subject.

"Where am I going?" She asked.

Henry pointed ahead. "Get off at the next exit."

The roads narrowed, and the street lamps spread farther apart outside of the city. She slowed the car, flipped on the high beams and guided Henry's BMW over gravel hills. There were houses along the quiet strip of country line, but they were hidden behind spruce and maple trees.

"Henry, we're so far from home. I'm tired. Please tell me what we're doing."

He pointed at a driveway tucked behind a line of birch and a dented metal mailbox standing crookedly on the side of the road. "Down there. It's close now, don't worry."

They curved through a loose gathering of evergreens and pulled up to a sprawling ranch house with a double garage and topiaries along the sides. The place was dark, but a motion light illuminated the paved driveway as she pulled up and parked. Henry pulled a set of keys from his pocket and exited the vehicle. He waited for her to catch up, breath turning to vapour in the crisp night air.

"Care to explain what we're doing at some random house?" She asked.

Henry took her hand and guided her toward the front door. In the dark, she sailed by the realtor's sign and stepped onto the first stone slab leading to the front door. She watched Henry fiddle with a key, shove it into the lock and turn the handle. The door opened with a whoosh, the scent of fresh paint and lacquered wood spilling out of the massive wooden door. Henry hit a switch, and fractals of light exploded from a chandelier on high in the foyer.

"Check this out. It's so open in the center, you could drive a truck through to the backyard. And the kitchen! Oh, you gotta see the kitchen. It's lovely," Henry said as he grabbed her hand and led her through the house. "All stainless steel and marble. The island is bigger than our bed! And come this way, down here."

They journeyed down an echoing hall, footsteps casting off the hardwood floors and glass light fixtures. Henry threw open a door and ushered her inside a furnished bedroom. A sleigh bed domineered the far end of the room, all dark wood, plush duvet and pillows.

"I know you're not keen on beige, which is fine. We'll paint it. But, look at this bed! And this window overlooks the backyard—Well, I wouldn't say 'yard.' It's more of a...field. Look, look, look!"

"Henry, what is this?" She asked, peering out the window at the blackness beyond the dim orange halo of the bedroom light.

When she turned back around, Henry placed his hands on her hips, excitement simmering. He smiled, wry and lustful, and bent down to kiss her.

"Isn't it obvious? This is our house."

"What are you saying?" She gasped. "You bought this place?"

"Mhm. I've had my eye on it for a long time."

"And just how long exactly were you planning on keeping this a secret?"

"Only until I bought it."

"Henry!"

He jingled the keys in his pocket. "Well, you can't just walk into a place that's not yours."

Suddenly, she realized Henry had put this in motion weeks before, masked it under the search for a new office building. Realtors had rung Henry's phone off the hook, and she had answered them all, oblivious to his underlying motive. When it clicked, she dropped her jaw and swatted him playfully.

"I can't believe you. Right under my nose!"

"It was good timing."

"But...why? What's wrong with the condo?"

Henry guided her to the room's centre beneath the carnival glass light fixture that had to go, along with the drab paint job. "Nothing is wrong with the condo. It's just not ours. There are too many memories preventing me from letting go of the past. I want to let it all go, but I can't when I look around and remember where I was just a year and a half ago. It served me well as a place to escape, but now, I don't need to hide. I want new memories. I want to walk outside with my coffee and see you in the backyard, doing whatever you want—gardening, reading, lounging. I want to pull up after a long day at work, see this place, and know that you're inside, all of our things, our memories, our smells."

"And what if I hate it?" She asked, stifling a giggle.

"Then I'll sell it, and we'll find a new place."

"I don't hate it, Henry, but...This was such a risk."

"It paid off. I knew you'd like it. It's the perfect combination of vintage and modern. The structure is old and strong, but the renovations give it that modern class. It's like that chalet we stayed at in Sweden. Remember?"

"Of course, I remember. We didn't leave bed for two days."

Henry smiled fondly at the memory and stroked her hair back, smiling with her in his arms. She laid her cheek on his chest and breathed in a contented sigh.

"There are two offices, one for me and one for you. Two other bedrooms. One for guests and one for a kid."

She looked up at him, and all the playfulness fled from his eyes. He kissed her to avoid the inevitable questions. When will we see a doctor? What is the plan if we can't conceive? They didn't need answers, only trust that whatever battles stretched on, they would meet them hand-in-hand.

"I can't wait," she whispered. "I love you. And I love this house."

"There's one more thing," Henry cleared his throat and stepped away from her. "It's kind of important."

"What is it?"

"I'm old, babe."

"Henry, you're not that old."

"I'm an old man. I'm head of a multi-national company, y'know. I wear suits and talk to people who hemorrhage money day in and day out. I like to style myself as a professional."

She cocked her head, wondering where Henry was going with his monologue.

"It's awkward when people ask me about you, and I have to refer to you as my girlfriend. Guys like me aren't supposed to have girlfriends. It just sounds creepy. Plus, you're so much more to me than that. You're not my girlfriend; you're the love of my life. My soulmate. My queen. I want you to be my partner."

"Henry—"

He cut her off and fetched something from the table next to the bed. When he rejoined her in the middle of the room, he bent at the knee and presented her with the ring box she had already seen, yet she fluttered as though it was the first time.

"Baby... I could have flown you to a tropical island or put this in a glass of champagne. I could have done this in front of everyone at the party tonight, but all of that seemed silly. Don't get me wrong, I still want to take you to every corner of the world and give you all the nicest things, but I wanted to propose to you in our house, just you and me. So... Will you quit being my girlfriend and become my wife instead?"

Henry separated her ring finger from the rest and slid the band down to the knuckle as she blotted her sobs with the other hand, nodding and fighting joyful tears.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" She asked as he rose to his feet and clamped her in a bone-cracking hug.

"I know I'm clever! You thought I would propose to you in front of all those people? No way."

"You hate being the center of attention."

"That's right. And although I want to shout it from the rooftops, I thought you'd prefer me asking you to marry me someplace quiet."

She gazed at the stone glittering on her finger, and a fresh wash of tears wet her cheeks. "I'm marrying you... You're going to be my husband."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to skip fiance altogether and get right to the wife thing."

"You're my husband."

"You're my wife!"

"We're getting married!"

"That's right," Henry beamed. "And we move in next month."

Breathless, she ripped her eyes off the ring and looked up at the man who gave it to her. She threw her arms around his neck, pressed her face into the column of his throat and breathed in the scent of old hotels, of pastry and coffee and drying ink on newspaper. She had a vision of him seated at a table across the room, smiling in her direction, tapping his silver pen on the spine of his planner. Two eyes, one green and one brown, drinking her in like fine wine, full of secrets and passion, indulgence and guilt. Her good Christian boy who was anything but pure or chaste.

"I'll worship you until I die, you know that, right?"

"Henry, I can't. You're making me cry. There's probably mascara all over my face!"

"I don't care," he pressed the words to her temple, swaying in languid step. "You'll never be rid of me. Think about that."

"I believe you, Henry."

His eyes flooded and no amount of squeezing suffocated the tears. The streams met the cuff of his suit jacket. He questioned why he still wore the suit and slipped out of it as her hand tugged his tie. Leash in hand, she pulled his face to her level and touched the tears coasting his cheeks, brushed her thumb over the scar two inches from the lips she kissed.

"Are you sure you want to marry me?"

"Shut up."

"I'm serious."

"And I'm telling you to shut up, Henry. Don't ask those kinds of questions."

"I just can't believe you're mine."

"That's right. So stop wondering if I'll change my mind. I've had many opportunities to reconsider. I stuck it out through times I should have walked out, and now we're standing in this gigantic house, and there's a ring on my finger... And you still think I'll back out?"

"I hope not. You're everything I've wanted my whole life. I have it all. Now I can spend the rest of it happy."

"I love you," she whispered against his bottom lip.

Henry crouched, circled her hips with his arms and carried her to the bed, murmuring, "I love you, too, baby. So much."

"Are we gonna fuck right here?"

"Right here, right now," said Henry, perching her on the bed so he could work open the buttons of his dress shirt. She lifted her legs, slipped off her heels, then wrestled her blouse off. The struggle to undress ended with their tops off, Henry standing with his knees pressed into the plush mattress, between her legs. He ran his hands up and down her thighs, nylon sighing between skin as he stroked.

"I didn't think I'd make it out of the office without fucking you. Gosh, you looked so good in that outfit. All those guys were looking at you... Especially when you dropped your phone and bent over to pick it up. That fabric stretching over your ass. You should've seen 'em staring."

"You think they're jealous of you?" She asked as Henry bunched her skirt around her hips, revealing satin and lace panties pasted to her crotch with arousal. His palm traversed her thigh, paused at the edge of the panties. He sent out two fingers to stroke the stitching along her groin, satin running like water across the tips. Henry wanted to take his time, but she was restless. He subdued her with a kiss.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. I'm in control tonight, and I want to feel and lick and taste every inch of your body before I even get my pants off, understand?"

She returned his sly look and rolled onto her stomach, parting her legs so he could admire the shiny material ruched between her cheeks.

"To answer your question... Yes. Of course, they're jealous."

"Oh, yeah? How do you know?"

Henry snickered, like a bully cornering his prey. "Those old bastards can't keep their mouths shut. Even when you were my employee, they'd hound me for details... Ask if you were single, if I was tapping you, if I'd thought about it. I'm not one to boast, but they all knew. Henry Deaver doesn't kiss and tell, but then you'd come in and smile at me like just an hour before I was balls-deep in your pussy... Like my cum was still dripping down your thigh. They knew. We weren't as covert as we thought."

"It's that naughty little smile of yours that gives it away. You flashed me that same smile a few times at the hotel, and I just thought maybe you didn't realize how seductive you looked. But you know, don't you? You know what you do to me. How hard you can make me with just one look."

Henry lifted her leg over his shoulder and kissed her ankle as he squeezed the sole of her foot, admiring the coloured polish on her toenails peeking out of the semi-opaque stockings.

"I do enjoy getting you worked up, sir."

"Let's not tonight. I'm supposed to make love to you, not treat you like my office pet. I'm marrying you, for fuck's sake."

"Then make love to your future wife. That doesn't mean I can't be your slut anymore."

"Oh, my God," Henry growled.

"Look at what I'm wearing for you. I know how much you love the way my pussy looks wearing this fabric. Thigh-high stockings aren't practical, but I figured you might fuck me in your office one last time, and I wanted to torment you."

"Not so predictable now, huh?"

She simpered and ran her toe in a line down his chest and didn't stop until she grazed his belt buckle. "Yeah, and you've been thinking about filling me up all night."

Henry grasped her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed to meet his groin. He gathered her up in his arms, pressing his entire weight on her frame as he kissed her desperately. When her legs grew weak, he clamped them around his hips and undulated. Hardness strained against her crotch, pulsing from the heat between her legs.

"You're right. I've been aching to fuck you. How long has it been? Gosh, this week has been so busy, I've hardly had any time alone with you. And you've been occupied with your new job. It's been a while since I've come."

She made a coo of sympathy. "Aw, my poor baby. You're probably so sensitive."

"I want you to do something for me," Henry muttered, adjusting his crotch, then giving up and undoing his belt and pants altogether. "I'd love it if you sucked my cock."

"Oh, Mr. Deaver asking for a blowjob? A rare sound to my ears."

He shook his head, grabbed her hand and pulled her off the bed to kneel on the floor. With feet spread wide, his fingers tangled in her hair, Henry waited for her to make the first move. His view of her from on high was angelic. In the prismatic light, her eyes twinkled, and he thought of whiskey in a glass, poured by a dangerous woman he'd grown to admire. She always wore a smile, but for the right person, that smile turned luscious and dim. Her eyes would relax on him, soothe him, delight if he made small conversation instead of only demands.

Henry did not demand, but as her smiling lips tightened around the midway-point of his cock and sank, he couldn't help aiding the way to her throat with one firm thrust. "Oh... Oh, Jesus fucking Christ," he droned.

"You can use my mouth, sir."

"Just suck that dick like a good girl. Do your magic on me, baby."

With free reign, she slathered his shaft with her tongue, side-to-side, up and down. She met his eyes and smiled, the tip nestled between her puckered lips. Her grasp on the base sent waves of hot blood pumping through the veins, filling him out entirely.

"I can't wait to feel this big cock pumping my pussy full of cum."

"Oh, I know, baby. We'll get there. For now, I need your mouth. All over me, please. Balls too. Come on... Eat that cock, you hungry little slut."

She chased Henry up on the bed where she could kneel between his legs in comfort. Henry enjoyed the position, too—back against a mound of pillows, his long legs spread to the lower corners of the bed, her crumpled form nestled between his thighs while her lips and tongue worked in a circuit on his length. He leaned his head back, arms thrown over the pillows. In this position, Henry bucked his hips a few times to touch his tip to her tonsils. Each time she brought up a wave of saliva that coated him and made it easier for her to slide down.

"What about that ass, big boy?" She asked after popping up from a harsh series of head-bobbing. "I know how much you love it when I play with that pretty hole of yours."

Henry sucked air in through his teeth, chin dimpling and lashes fluttering. "Mmph, not tonight. I want that pussy. Yeah, I wanna taste you."

They flipped positions. Henry pulled her onto her back away and snatched one of the pillows to wedge under her tailbone. With both hands, he hooked the back of her knees and spread her thighs wide, elevating her pelvis until his breath stroked the front of her panties. Henry nipped the fabric, pulled it into a tent and let it snap back against her lips. He nuzzled it, faint stubble scratching the delicate fabric. She let out a gentle sigh, a whimper of lust. Henry kissed the satin once, twice harder, then a third time like he'd met her mouth in a fevered touch.

She watched his long fingers sneak the fabric away, how he made shapes with his mouth like he wanted to say something but lost his voice. Henry bit his lip, kissed where he knew her clit was hiding, then prodded her folds with a long lick. He repeated the motion on the right side, along her labia, and again on he left side.

For a while, he would only meet the crest of her entrance with light kisses and whispered promises.

"Do you like it when I tease your pussy? Giving you just enough to make you wet, but not as much as you need?"

"Henry, please," she begged.

"Please, what?"

"Please give me more!"

"More of this?" Henry asked, ghosting his breath over her clit.

"No more teasing."

"You sure?"

She clutched some of his hair and pouted. He chuckled, laid his cheek on her thigh and brought his hand up between her legs. "What if I'm not done teasing? What if I want to torment you a little longer?"

He spread open her lips, applying pressure on both sides. She could almost grind against his fingers if he didn't have her at his mercy, arched over a pillow, thighs splayed wide and vulnerable. Henry tapped her clit with three fingers, stippling with gooseflesh from the wet noises the pads made on her vulva. "Oh, I love that sound," he sang. "You're so wet for me."

"Please, sir. I need your mouth."

"Is that right? Well, you've been so good and helpful. I'm sure I can give you what you want... but you have to promise me something."

"Yes, yes, I will. Anything."

"Promise you'll tell me before you come?"

"Uh-huh. I promise."

"Okay, I trust you. Don't get too close. I have other plans for your pussy."

She groaned out loud, relieved when he finally licked her clit. His tongue was a warm blanket, weighted and placed perfectly on top. He undulated the muscle, coaxing out the sensitive parts for adoration. That's how she described his attention in her mind. When Henry ate her out, it was like he'd infiltrated her head and knew the precise amount of pressure, the proper motions, when to flicker his tongue and when to envelope her clit between his lips. He kissed, sucked, lapped and moaned like a symphony, only opening his eyes once in a while to catch her staring in awe between her legs.

"Mm, baby," Henry moaned against her slit. "I can feel you getting close already. Don't go over the edge."

"I'm sorry, you just look so good eating my pussy."

Henry pulled off her, smirking, letting her glimpse his full lips shining in their glory. She couldn't stop herself from lunging for him. The taste of her own fluid on his mouth set off a carnal urge to feel his cock too. She told him to fuck her hard, to spank her ass and make her squeal like a knifed animal. She wanted that deepness, the full stretch as his thighs bounced her up and down. They laid on their sides, and Henry entered her from behind, arm hooking her leg up so he could gaze over at her exposed breasts, her glistening clit forgotten for a moment too long. In his clutches, she was helpless, and Henry used his advantage to squeeze and rub her until more of her liquid soaked between their groins.

"Can you come like this?" Henry puffed next to her ear. "If I rub your clit like that and keep fucking you, can you come?"

"Yes," she peeped. "Yes, keep going."

"Yeah? Gonna come like a good girl all over this dick?"

Again, she nodded, biting down on her lip in concentration.

"'Cause I'm gonna shoot so much fucking cum inside you, but only after you get all tight around me."

She begged him not to stop, to never stop being hers. Henry rushed his movements until she bucked once, legs fighting to fold inward.

"Is that it? That spot right there?" Henry asked. "Keep rubbing you just like this?"

He didn't need an answer; it was written all over her flushed face, denting her lip where her teeth bore down. Henry exerted every inch of stamina he had in his body until her muscles seized hard enough to snap. Mewling as she came, Henry didn't stop pestering her clit with his fingertips or pull out after he emptied as deep inside as he could fit. He gathered her up in his arms, locking fingers and lips, breathing each other's air. Pieces of his hair clung to his sweat-dampened forehead while he pulsed and shivered.

"I need you to get your panties on right away. We can't leave a mess behind."

"Are you serious?"

Henry nodded his head, unperturbed by the alarm in her tone. "Well, it's not our stuff. It's staging furniture. I just convinced the realtor to let me surprise you tonight. She probably didn't think I'd be fucking you in any of the bedrooms."

"Henry! I'm not sure where you slung my underwear."

He pushed into her one last time and grunted. "Aw, honey, mm. That's where my cum belongs."

"You're such a bad man," she giggled.

"I know I'm dirty."

"Come on, husband. Help me find my clothes. We should get back before we both fall asleep and someone finds us like this."

They gathered themselves, sighing and stretching the tension from their muscles as they dressed and took one more look around the property. She saw the house in a warm light now, as a place they could fill with memories, starting in the master bedroom where Henry proposed. He held her hand as they drove to the condo and flung themselves into bed, drained from the night's givings but wrapped in each other's arms.

The next morning, she woke to the smell of pancakes cooking on a griddle. Henry was up, two coffees deep, and buzzing from cupboard to cabinet, humming under his breath. He lit up when he caught her motion in the corner of his eye and went in for a long hug.

"Good morning, wife."

"Morning, husband," she replied, cheeks and chest prickling.

"Pancake buffet?" Henry gestured at the kitchen island.

"It's not even Christmas!"

Henry scoffed. "Who needs a special occasion to have a pancake buffet?

"I suppose I can't complain," she said.

She sat at the island, studying the foreign object around her ring finger every once in a while. When she made a fist or spread her hand, the rock sparkled and delighted her eyes. Henry caught her staring at the ring and smiling as he launched into the day's trajectory, his plan falling on deafened ears.

"Hello?" Henry waved the spatula. "Are you home?"

She sat up straight and folded her hands. "Yes. Sorry. I was distracted."

"I was saying I have to go into the office today, but only for an hour or two. Are you okay with hanging around here by yourself while I take the car? Can you believe the Beamer is still in the shop? They say take the damn thing into the dealership, we'll fix it up for free, but we'll keep it for half the week."

"Oh, well, I was supposed to pick up groceries, but I can wait."

Henry's eyebrows popped up. "Oh, no. No, no, honey. That's all right. I'll find another way there."

"Why don't I drive you to the office? Unless...You're not actually going to the office?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Henry asked.

"I don't know...You could be exacting another one of your famous covert plans and covering it up by saying you're going to the office. How do I know?'

Henry tipped his head back and laughed as he tended the food sizzling on the stovetop. "Oh, sweetheart. No. I promise, no more tricks for a while."

"Sure," she said with a sly edge on her tongue.

"You can drop me off and take the car. It's nothing secretive, I swear."

Henry piled the last pancakes onto a plate, turned off the griddle and wiped the counter clear of flour and coconut flakes. They put together an extravagant array of dressed-up breakfast food, dousing their plates in maple syrup, chocolate chips and heart-shaped strawberries as they talked and sipped coffee. Henry sat across the island holding his hand out for her to touch every once in a while. He didn't need her to hold his hand, though, subconsciously, he always reached out for her in case she wanted to feel his skin.

The morning melted seamlessly into early afternoon, and the couple ventured from the condo after a quick round of energizing couch sex. Henry thumbed the ring on her finger as they walked onto the main floor from the elevator.

"Mr. Deaver and Madame, good morning!" Johnny, the concierge, greeted them.

Henry held up their conjoined hands. "It's Mr. and Mrs. Deaver from now on, Johnny."

The tall man behind the desk made a small gasp and bowed. "Apologies, Mr. and Mrs... Might I say congratulations to the happy couple?"

"You're the first to hear, officially," Henry said.

Johnny touched his enormous hand to his chest. "What an honour, sir. This position never loses its magic."

Henry twisted his mouth. "I have some other news, Johnny. My wife and I will be moving soon. We won't be seeing you every morning."

"Ah, that's all right, Mr. Deaver. Moving up and up, I hope?"

"Yes. It's a ranch house in the country. No neighbours."

"Beautiful. Well, I wish you both the very best and look forward to helping you out until moving day comes."

"Thanks, Johnny," she said with a smile.

Johnny rose his finger as they meant to leave. "One more thing. A package arrived for you, Mr. Deaver."

The concierge ducked under the desk with a set of keys and opened the security box dedicated to the Deaver property. He pulled out a bulging manila envelope and turned it over with a dutiful grin. When her eyes glanced at the writing on the front, a knot formed in her throat. Henry's name adorned the front in practiced, sweeping hand. Henry. Not Henry Deaver or Mr. Deaver. Just his name written in black ink with flourishes on the capital H and a hand-drawn filigree beneath. She watched his shoulders stiffen as he nodded to Johnny.

"Thank you, Johnny. We'll see you later."

She followed Henry to the parking garage, staring at the envelope in his hands. Henry looked ahead, his bright demeanour trampled upon by the object he carried. When they got into the vehicle, they looked at each other, then down at the package.

"What is that?" She asked.

"I think it's from Mary. That's her handwriting."

She swallowed the knot in her throat, but it had doubled in size and refused to budge. "What now? She's not supposed to bother us anymore."

"I know," Henry breathed. "I can't... You open it."

She tore into the envelope and pulled out a letter accompanied by a DVD in a flat jewel case and photocopies of ruled paper scrawled with notes. Henry nodded at the letter, signalling her to read it aloud.

"Dear Henry... I know there's little chance of getting a private audience with you now that we're legally separated, and the company is in the process of moving. You probably have your hands full and do not wish to hear from me either way. I understand your need to stay away, hence the letter and no phone call. What needs to be said cannot be summed up in a brief call, so I will try to keep this to a few pages.

I wanted to start off by apologizing. It's too late for apologies, and you must think I'm off my rocker to have even considered coming to you with this. Still, I'm not looking for acceptance, sympathy or anything but the need to fill you in on the blank spaces that must have driven you crazy over the last couple of years. The way I scorned you was wrong. A wife should respect her husband in all forms, and answer to him when he calls. I ignored you and purposely drove a wedge between us in order to distance myself from you and our collective failure.

By now, I'm sure your new girlfriend told you what I told her. It should come as no surprise that when I say "failure," I mean our inability to have a child.

When I received the news, and you were nowhere to be found, I felt the clutches of the Devil himself reaching for me. God does not make mistakes, which is how I know we were being punished for our sins, and since the results indicated you were the weaker factor, I can only assume the punishment was meant for you, and by extension, me. I know you have berated me in the past for my strong beliefs, but I cannot compromise my relationship with God for anyone's comfort. I know in my heart, his word is law, and if we couldn't produce a child, lying together would be straying down the path of temptation.

There were things you wanted me to do that I could not, in good conscience, provide for you—sex acts no married couple should have an interest in performing. If I'd have known of your devious tastes early on in our relationship, perhaps I wouldn't have married you. You resisted His word and acted on selfish impulse, spoke of wicked things with your colleagues, and Lord knows what other things I didn't catch wind of. I had to escape your sin yet remain your wife through the bad and the worse, as I pledged before God until death.

I do not judge you, as you are no longer my husband, and I know God will assess your choices in his divine eye. I don't have to worry about the unclean thoughts that live inside of you—they have no power over me; they aren't a reflection of my heavenly worth. If anything, I hope you are happy and have all the freedom one who strays from God can expect to have in this world. I pray for your soul each night and hope you do not meet the eternal fires.

I should have told you, but I was stricken with unbearable grief. I hated you. I fell out of love. I can't describe how, but I felt if I touched you, knowing what I knew then, God would punish me. Please understand everything I did, I did in the name of the Lord and with concern for my immortal soul. Call me selfish. I was and am, to this day, a selfish woman. But you were good to me, up until a certain point.

I cannot forgive your infidelity and can only pray you to seek repentance for your sin, though I will admit I did not care to make it right at the time. My silence was meant as punishment, but only God can dole penance, and in shutting you out, I acted in his name when I shouldn't have. I will spend the rest of my days begging His forgiveness and praying for you, Henry.

This package includes the evidence I've compiled of your cheating. You should know now I no longer seek vengeance. I simply want to scrub my life of all traces of you, and figured you might want to gaze upon your transgressions. Or throw them out. It's up to you now. Sincerely, Mary."

Henry was quiet for several minutes as he digested the contents of the letter. She found a pamphlet for the Evangelist Church of God among the pages and scowled.

"Wow, religion really makes people say some crazy stuff," she muttered, hoping to get a sound out of her fiance. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He motioned for the letter and gave it a half-hearted scan before crumpling it in his fist.

"Fuck that woman. Fuck that life."

"Sounds like a story."

He puffed, scoffed, burned a hole into the letter written in Mary's graceful hand.

"But you don't have to tell me."

"She's right," Henry said. "I was different back then."

"I know you were."

"How come you've never asked?"

His question nipped the skin on the back of her arms. "The same reason I don't ask other people about their religion. That's their business. You were raised a certain way, but you changed. I know you were put in a cage, Henry. You made a mistake, but it's not the eternal damnation Mary says. Your marriage was practically over. Unless... You cheated before us?"

Henry whipped a look at her, gaping and wordless. She shrugged as a platitude and coughed over a laugh. "Well? How can I not suspect? Mary says you cheated, Frank says you didn't, but I don't trust either of them as far as I can throw them, Henry!"

"Look, I know!" Henry barked, and she pressed her back to the door. "You've gotta believe me, sweetheart. I'm trying to prove to you every day that I'm not this monster she wants me to be!"

"What's on these discs? They don't have labels. Am I going to watch this and find out something you don't want me to?"

His jaw set like he was about to explode. Air escaped his nostrils, and he glared forth at the wet cement wall beyond the hood of her car. Above, the building's pressure crushed out all sound, and Henry became aware of his breath, the tension in his windpipe.

"No. I don't know. I have no idea what's on those DVDs. If she got her private investigator to film me, it's probably just you and I making out in the car. What would be incriminating about that?"

"Did you lie to me that night in Paris?"

A dissonant, heavy silence fell over the man in the driver's seat. His skin turned sallow, and her eyes eclipsed to see the sickly guilt on his face.

"That night, you told me you left her. You said you asked for the divorce, and she just gave up. Was that a lie? Did you say that just to get me to go?"

Condemned by another bout of silence, Henry hid the colour of his ears behind hunched shoulders. "Baby, I was in love. I am in love with you. It's only ever been you! I needed you with me so bad. She knew we were done. She knew it. Divorce was not a foreign word."

"Just tell me straight. Did you put it in stone that night? When you flew me ten hours to Paris to be with you?"

"No. I didn't. I went home, said goodbye to her, she gave me the cold shoulder, I cursed, and she got angry with me. I told her I was finished, and then I left. Maybe I didn't flat out say I want a divorce, but it was implied."

"I'm curious to see what's on these discs," she said.

"Sweetheart, I will watch them with you, totally confident there's no evidence of me with any other woman."

"Good," she nodded. "Because you're mine. Maybe I'm the bad one for not caring. If you're bad, I'm worse. I don't give a fuck about you cheating on her, and this is the first time I've ever admitted it out loud. You're mine, Henry. You belong to me. She knew what she had and uses faith as an excuse for hiding a horrible secret from you!"

"Good Lord, I don't want to cry about this again," said Henry.

"Fuck it, Henry, just like you said. Fuck her and fuck the life you had. Your ass is mine now," she stuck her ring finger in the air. "Like, forever."

Henry pouted and melted into her lap. She quickly ran her hands through his hair as he moaned against her knee. "But what about our family?"

"We'll figure it out, babe. I promise. Until then, just keep shooting loads inside of me, and we'll see what happens."

He burst with laughter and lifted his rosy face to kiss her. "That's such a you thing to say in a time of crisis."

"I told you last night and back at the hotel... I'm with you. I'll back you in everything you do and make sure not a day goes by you wish you were somewhere else."

"I have absolutely no doubt of that, sweetheart. Goddamn it, I love you... Wifey," he giggled.

"But how hot would it be to have sex while watching DVDs of us hooking up in the Beamer and touching on patios and shit?"

"So hot. I've been thinking about it, and I've concluded it is very fucking hot."

"All right, hubby. Let's put this shit behind us forever and get busy getting married and having babies. We have places to go!"

"Yeah," Henry grabbed her hand and nodded. "Let's get the fuck out of here."

#henry deaver x mistress #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard smut #bill skarsgard fanfiction #castle rock fanfiction #henry deaver

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anntoldst0ries · 3 years

Text

Diagnosis

I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you who read my previous fic and left such kind comments. You can’t imagine how much I appreciate this!

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Vicky Valentine)

Word Count: 2,911

Summary: Dr Ramsey attempts to diagnose the most difficult case in his career...his own.

Warnings: None! A lot of introspection again and hints of angst :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ethan Ramsey considered himself a brave man.

He always had the courage to say whatever he wanted to say or what had to be said - be that a terminal diagnosis, savaging someone’s speech at a medical conference (only if the speaker was talking nonsense, that is), scolding an intern - you name it.

With years of experience under his belt, Dr Ramsey excelled at the “art” of saying the most horrible, unpleasant and inconvenient things. It was a process he took to pieces and mastered every tiniest part.

He knew exactly what they were whispering behind his back in the hospital corridors. Dr Ramsey is a bully. A ruthless cynic. No one survived more than 3 minutes of his tirades without bursting into tears. Or, as some of the interns so lovingly put it, he was “the only survivor of a heart transplant”. The last remark had been conveyed to him by Baz, who found it hilarious…and so did Naveen. It took one deadly look to silence Baz forever, however Naveen used every occasion to remind his protégé of hospital’s favourite joke:

‘How’s your heart, Ethan?’

‘Good, why are you as—‘ Ethan didn’t have a chance to finish answering the question, interrupted by Dr Banerji who was in convulsions.

‘God, Naveen, for such a bright mind and one of the best doctors in the world, I still find it hard to believe that you have a sense of humour of a 5 year old’

‘There is nothing wrong with some joy, Ethan. You should try it sometimes, it may do you good.’

Similar conversations took place on a regular basis, but they always ended with Ethan rolling his eyes and Naveen sighing. Younger doctor would never, ever tell his mentor off, he respected him too much. So Ethan let Dr Banerji have some fun at his expense from time to time.

But, truth be told, he kept his emotions at a leash and he was good at it, because there wasn’t a thing in Ethan’s life that he wasn’t good at. Regardless of what it was - saving people’s lives or emotional self-deprivation.

That’s why reminiscing past 2 years was so hard for accomplished diagnostician. He couldn’t help but think that he’s lived more during this time than he’s lived during his whole life. His existence wasn’t a boring one, he loved his job and the cases that the team had to crack were mostly complex and thus exciting. There was also a sense of fulfilment and servitude to a greater cause.

As a kid, Ethan wanted to be a detective. It all started with Alan buying his son one of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s books. There was no hidden intention in this choice - Alan simply ran out of book ideas, Ethan was literally gobbling up the books at his disposal and was thirsty for more. Therefore, Mr Ramsey picked picked one of the thickest positions available in the book shop, with hopes it will keep Ethan occupied for at least a couple of weeks. Oh, how wrong he was - 5 days later his son was already begging for more.

Sherlock Holmes and Hercules Poirot quickly took the top spot on the list of Ethan’s childhood heroes. He was obsessed with their investigative methods, their sharp minds that captured even the tiniest of details and how missing those nuances would make solving a mystery a lot harder, if not impossible.

That’s why he became obsessed with details. He analysed, compared, observed and noted down everything around him with deliberation. After a while, Ethan realised that these skills come handy in various areas of life. He could read people and to a degree foresee what their next move was going to be. If he wanted to, he could probably try and influence their decisions too. If it wasn’t for Alan’s upbringing, this particular skill might have taken his life onto a dark track, but fortunately he utilised it for greater good.

Having this sort of insight made him very self-conscious and he never turned away from reliving his own decisions and behaviours, which helped him become a better doctor, every single day. But he never wallowed in the mud of emotions, instead always operating on facts.

But for the past couple of months, this process became a pure torture.

You know what they say, the devil is in the detail. And the devil it was indeed.

The devil that would be the death of Ethan was 5’4, had raven hair, plumped lips, mesmerising eyes and a captivating laugh.

Suddenly, he heard the devil’s voice in his head.

‘Are you pinching the bridge of your nose right now?’

He was.

‘God dammit!’ - shouted Ethan, so loud that he startled poor Jenner, who resigned from occupying the sofa and ran straight to his bed. Even the retriever, in his doggy wisdom, knew that when his master was upset, it was best to stay out of his sight and wait for the storm to pass.

Whenever Dr Ramsey had a serious dilemma, he would subtly join his thumb and index finger to pinch the gentle skin between eyes. She knew of this somewhat subconscious habit and teased him about it countless times.

With most people, the whole observing and reading process was a one-sided game. For majority of mortals, Ethan was a closed book and they had no idea how to open, let alone read it. But not Rookie. She saw right through him. Ethan considered himself a riveting mystery thriller before, if we’re talking comparisons, but right now he was probably a cheap Harlequin. How did he sink so low in practically no time?

The answer came before he was even able to finish the question.

He was hopelessly, utterly and irreversibly in love with Dr Vicky Valentine.

“Victoria….” he whispered. He knew her full name, he’s read her bloody application and her employee file many, many times. More than he’d ever care to admit. Neither him nor anyone else addressed her by her full name. She always introduced herself as Vicky and even mentioned to him, June & Baz one time that she considered herself too young to be a bearer of such gracious name. But when the name fell out of his lips, it made perfect sense. Victoria. Victory. After a long, tough and heartbreaking battle, she’s won all of him. And man, wasn’t she fighting fiercely.

She was so much like him, and yet so different. Patients loved her, and for a good reason - not only was she amazing at her job, but also so genuinely caring about every patient she met. Somehow, she was able to see past people weary of their conditions, instead she always noticed the human beings with their unique stories. Thanks to her, patients never felt like sickness became their identity, but merely a stage in their life that shall soon pass.

Hospital staff adored her as well, she had time and a huge smile for everyone; her bright aura lit up every room she walked into and was a pleasure to be around.

Those who knew Ethan a bit better or worked with him were aware of the insanely high standards he was holding himself to. And it would have been fine if they only applied to him, but he held everyone else to the same standard too. It was his buffer. Most gave up without even trying, it was humanly impossible to live up to such expectations. And that was the goal. Dr Ramsey wanted no distractions and if anyone wanted so much as approach him, they had a giant wall to jump over first.

But the young intern wasn’t bothered in the slightest. Dozens of people before her stood in front of the wall and tried to figure out how to get in. And she… she just found a tiny gap and squeezed right through. Before Ethan realised what’s going on, it was already too late. And she wasn’t even fully aware of what she’s done.

Like air, she’s entered his life imperceptibly, filling every space until there was nothing else. She was in every reflection he saw, every smile, every freaking thing a reminder of her, one way or another.

He was completely under her spell, enchanted, drunk in the thought of her.

The most ironic part was that if he went by his unreasonable standards, she’d never stand a chance.

She was messy, she was a klutz, she laughed too loud and rounded her eyes like a child when something seriously excited her.

And yet, something about her made him break all of his rules, lower his guard and re-think everything he’s ever thought he knew and believed in.

Obviously, he wouldn’t be himself if the occupational quirk did not kick in at some point. Whatever the cause, Dr Ramsey had to get to the bottom of it, no matter how many tests did he have to run on his mind and heart. He needed the diagnosis so he could start the treatment. But his sharp diagnostic skills which made him a famous man, suddenly decided to go on unplanned vacation and it looks like they were not coming back anytime soon.

Ambivalence became Ethan’s newest companion. Some days, he thought he was going to blow his brains out, the others he was strangely content and did not want to analyse anything, things were good just as they were.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly lost. He felt like Jon Snow, he knew nothing. It wasn’t a result of one event, rather a chain reaction. Starting with Naveen getting sick, the inability to figure out what was wrong with his mentor made Ethan seriously doubt his capabilities as a doctor. Then, Louise Ramsey made a surprise reappearance after having walked out on him and his dad 25 years earlier. When he was little, his dad use to say that wherever Louise goes, trouble follows and it wasn’t any different this time. She brought company - insecurity, sorrow, resentment - to name just a few. Ethan felt like someone ripped a band aid from his heart and painfully reminded him that all the wounds are still alive and never really healed.

And finally, Edenbrook. The place that others saw as walls, glass, beds, people in white coats, sickness, illness, death. To him, it was much, much more. The hospital had almost a transcendental dimension. It was here that Ethan’s transition had been completed. He shed his old skin and became Dr Ramsey, the person he was always meant to be.

That’s why Edenbrook closing hit him so hard - a part of him was about to die and be buried beneath years of sweat, tears and effort. It was probably the hardest thing to come to terms with in the 37 years that he’s been walking on the surface of the Earth.

And throughout all these events, she was with him.

She never gave up on Naveen and Ethan knew that there was more to it than just saving Edenbrook’s most prominent doctor. He believed, he wanted to believe that she did this for him too.

The memory brought shame that drained off him like unpleasant wave of cold water. Ethan never really forgave himself for just laying in his bed like a drunk bag of potatoes, whilst she was busting her gut to solve the case, even though she had ethics hearing to prepare for. A hearing that could make or break her whole career, before she even had a chance to start.

Dr Ramsey would like to think they were alike. But as a matter of fact, she was a much better person than him.

Then, with his mother in the picture, she never told him what to do. Even though he asked, many times. He hoped someone can actually make the decision for him, because it hurt so much to even think about this, let alone decide what to do next. But she never did. She was just there and by simply being, she empowered him to make his own, informed decision.

She was there, like no one else was in his entire life. Not to take anything from Naveen, who had tremendous effect on Ethan’s life - but this was completely different.

She penetrated his soul.

She made him feel.

Love.

It was the first time he used this word in a long, long time.

And maybe, quite possibly, for the first time in his life he used it with intention.

He thought he felt it once before.

When he was a student at Johns Hopkins, Ethan met Camille. She was a year older than him, with angelic voice and looks, the cascade of blond locks surrounding her gentle facial features like a halo.

What impressed him was that she kept hitting up on him, not the other way round. He’s had his mind set on graduating as a top student in his class and then getting the best residency there was - in Edenbrook hospital in Boston. It was either him or someone else. University romances were of no interest to him, or so he thought. After all, he’s just gone past his teenage years and was relatively new to the world of intimate human desires. As much as he tried to push them away, he had needs and his hormones were still a giant part of his decision-making process, doesn’t matter how hard he tried denying it.

Also, there was something motherly about her and she reminded him of the woman who left him when he was just a boy. It was completely fucked-up, he hated his mother and yet a memory of her and how he’d once do anything for her was tattooed in the insides of his brain.

Ethan and Camille shared a passion for medicine, music and opera. A few times, he was close to bringing her down to Providence, to introduce her to Alan, his father. But there was this weird voice in his head stopping him.

Maybe that’s why he wasn’t overly surprised when one day he walked on Camille. In his bed. Screaming and making other explicit sounds…except, he wasn’t the igniter. It was none other than his best friend at the time, Tobias. Ethan would never forget the jealous glance he shot him with when he first brought Camille to one of the student parties. And then things got worse. Ethan and Tobias always competed and for a long time it was a fuel that kept them both going. But when someone wins, someone has to lose. Neither of them was good at losing or accepting the failure.

Ethan was doing better than his best friend. Not significantly better, the difference between them had usually been slight, but it was there. Tobias couldn’t swallow this. Not only was Ethan doing better than him, he also had one of the most beautiful students at Hopkins by his side. Jealousy started to spread inside him like a wildfire and since his attempts to beat Ethan at school were futile, he decided to make use of his other skills. Tobias was a born flirter and charmer. He often used to say that no woman can resist his spell and that “where there’s a woman - there’s a way.”

Dr Ramsey never told anyone, but having found out that his girlfriend cheated on him with his best friend was sort of relief. Call it sixth sense, an intuition… subconsciously he sort of felt that she wasn’t a girl for him. As for Tobias, he was tired of the fight….of Tobias fighting with him, that is. Ethan wasn’t fighting, he was just a better student and was going to be a better doctor. He was tired of petty competition and how the toxin poisoned their relationship.

So they actually made him a favour and helped him killed 2 birds with 1 stone - he was saved from having an awkward break-up conversation that he’s never went through before and he now had every right to hate Tobias. He didn’t really, as such feelings were a waste of energy, but a week later Tobias moved out of their shared apartment and they never really spoke again.

After Camille, he was only in a brief relationship once. With Harper. He deeply admired and respected her, but when things started getting too serious (from her side), he distanced himself. And so, for a couple of years to follow, they were on the off and on again terms. They went through countless friends with benefits stages, but he genuinely enjoyed her company. They just never wanted the same things, which became more and more evident as she was getting older. And he respected her too much to mess her around.

Ethan’s career was everything to him and he accepted the fact that falling in love and having a family is just not in the cards for him.

Or so he thought.

Dr Valentine entered his life one September morning and hasn’t left ever since. And, hell, hasn’t he tried to erase her. To make her hate him. To draw a line between work and personal life. He could honestly say that he tried everything.

For the love of God, he ran to fucking Amazon! He tried to hide from all things Dr Valentine, like a fool who forgot one of the most basic rules of life: there is no running away from yourself.

Tag list (please let me know if you wish to be removed): @terrm9 @openheart12 @openheartthot @rookie-ramsey @alwaysmychoices @brooks-eden @drethanramslay @starrystarrytrouble @justanotherrookie @caseyvalentineramsey@incorrectopenheart @heauxplesslydevoted @perriewinklenerdie @mercury84choices @archxxronrookie @renasalek-blog @maurine07 @whippedforethanfreakingramsey @lemonmiddleton @tsrookie @choicesfan10 @dr-colossal-pita @queencarb @gryffindordaughterofathena @qrkowna @aarisa-frost @choicesficwriterscreations

#open heart #dr ethan ramsey #dr ethan jonah ramsey #dr ramsey x mc #ethan ramsey #open heart choices #dr valentine #play choices #open heart fanfiction #open heart fic #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week

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stevenbasic · 4 years

Photo

“Wait tell me again we lost how many people?!?” I asked, still unable to believe it. Too much was happening, too much too quickly. Here I was, sitting in this monstrosity of an office Melissa has somehow arranged to be built for herself while we were away, in front of her gigantic new desk, still dealing with what happened with Sheryl at home (more on that later), and now this?!? More quittings?!?

“Shhh we’ll be fine…” Melissa soothed, trying to placate me as she poured a coffee for me at her new, elegant coffee station in the corner, “it was just the girls from accounting, Sharon from the front desk, a few part-time medical assistants…” I watched her add sugar and milk, and more milk. “Kathy was having trouble with Doris and Marjorie in accounting, anyway.”

I put my head in my hands. I can’t say I didn’t know this day was coming. So many of my old employees hated Melissa. Or, rather, they hated me for being such a weak turd, so easily enchanted by a big pair of tits that I’d hire an under-qualified, under-experienced girl like “Melissssy” to be their boss and basically run the finances of the practice into the ground, which was exactly what was happening. We’d been bleeding money and now we were bleeding people. Out of a total of seventeen or so original employees at the start, now only a handful were left. The rest, all the new hires were...hers: friends, ex-coworkers, people from this drug company to which she has some connection, a friend in sales. And if she made more hires to replace those that just left, the overwhelming majority at this point would have more loyalty to her than to me. I groaned, lamenting how far I’d let this get....

It was as if she was reading my mind when she consoled me. “Aw, shhhh...You still have CiCi, in scheduling, Aubrey and Brittni at the desk, nurse Vida, a couple medical assistants,” she said, listing the remaining original employees as I took my face from my hands to see her standing over me with my coffee, “And, plus...you have me.” Her smile was ebullient, and she offered me the warm cup.

“y-yeah,” I agreed half-heartedly, taking the coffee from her hands, taking my first sip, and immediately noticing she’d put in even more milk than the last time. If I didn’t know any better I’d think she was trying to slowly wean me off coffee, turn me into a milk-drinker.

She sat back on the desk in front of me, looked down at me with sympathy. It had been a little bit of a shock, after a week of seeing Melissa in the most casual of clothes, in the most revealing of swimwear, to see her in a power suit again. She looked so...put-together, but still dramatically sexy. Her legs, even in her fashionable black pants, were strong and shapely, and even a buttoned-up white blouse and jacket had no chance in hiding the curves of her torso. “Anyway it’s done, they’re gone, they all left last week,” she said, reaching out a hand to cup my face, caress it tenderly, “you don’t have to worry. We took care of it, we have it covered.”

“A-and you knew about th-this, last week? Wh-while we were away?” I asked, voice cracking in my dismay. Though she had told me before, I needed her to repeat it, to explain.

“Yes, I did,” she clarified, smiling beatifically, “I didn’t want to worry you. I didn’t want to ruin the nice time we were having, spoil your vacation.” She ran her hand through my hair, brushing it off my forehead. “So I didn’t tell you about all the girls that left. Randi took care of a lot of it, and Amelia. And Marisela, she’s been a great help, too.”

I found myself looking at Melissa's wide, soft lap, and sipped again at my milky coffee. Part of me, I have to admit, was relieved that it happened, finally, that the old veterans were more or less all gone, gone with their perspicacity and judgmental glares. Gone and that I didn't have to face them, that I didn’t need to be there for the unpleasantness. Part of me was glad there was someone else that handled things, that did the work. The way Melissa described it earlier, it sounded like there was a shouting match, a throwdown between Randi - who Melissa had left, probably foolishly, “in charge” while we were away - and the remaining old guard.

I could imagine it, Randi locking horns and talking some real shit - the kind Melissa herself would never be capable of - to the old timers, the ones admittedly most essential to the practice. They probably left in disgust, with only a few of the younger women - who had already found themselves gravitating to Melissa’s orbit - staying on. But - Sharon? My Front Desk Supervisor...she’d been with us from the start! Just like Doris and Marjorie from accounting: they’d all be a huge loss.

“This is all good news, sweetie, a fresh start,” Melissa purred, continuing to assure me that everything was well in hand, “the only people here now are the ones totally committed to helping us grow and change and get better. And don’t worry, we’ll get in some new girls that love the practice, love you as much as we do. We want to keep you safe, secure...” She watched as I nervously finished the last of my coffee. “Do you want another cup?”

“uuuhhhh...sure…” I replied, as already she’d stood, had taken my cup from my hands. I watched her full hips and big rear, blessed with what looked like an extra sway in her tight black pants, as they rolled voluptuously back to her coffee station.

Safety. Security. ”Hey, uh...what’s up with the new security, on the computers?” I asked, as she fixed me another cup, “How much did that cos-”

“Oh, it didn’t cost us anything,” she replied, as once again she poured a more-than-healthy amount of milk into my coffee, “it was all paid for by Lean In…along with the additions, the improvements, the renovations, too.”

She meant her office, of course. This office.

I was shocked when I had first came around the corner, directed by Marisela back to where we used to have two old storage rooms, only to find an entire new wing, a bright, contemporary hallway where once there was none. Had we taken space from the suite of offices next door?! Who’d okayed this?? How’d it get done so quickly?? We were away for only a week and I come home to...this?!? The hallway led, it seemed, to several new rooms: the first, on my right, looking to be the most impressive of them, behind an elegant set of double doors, a transom window above. On the door, a sophisticated placard: “Melissa Monroe - Office Manager”.

This was Melissa’s new office?!? Flabbergasted even before I first walked in, my jaw totally hit the floor when I opened the door and - I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was beautiful, and it was big. Modern, lots of whites, grays, natural driftwood tones brightened by tons of natural light. There was a sitting area with a voluptuous white couch, a big, comfortable chair and a plush white area rug underneath it all. Huge windows with a seductive view of the city skyline loomed behind an impressive desk at which sat a queen ready to receive her subjects: Melissa, my twenty-something new Office Manager. The whole place looked - and, I realized, as I stepped in - smelled just like her. Immediately - crap, whyyyyy…?? Is this some sort of weird instinct, now? - I felt myself thickening across my hip.

She stood, spreading her arms wide, and with a great swell of her chest in pride asked me: “Don’t you love it???”

“I-it’s...b-beautiful…” was all I could manage as I walked in, unable to shake the feeling that I was entering dangerous territory, soil that was not my own. A new domain that was undeniably...hers.

She had giggled, and had asked me to sit.

So as I sat here now and drank my second cup of milk-thick coffee I looked around, again. I was beside myself. So, it was all paid for by “Lean In”?? Great, but I never intended for her to have an office! Previously, she was just stationed in her own area in the main central space, in a semi-private corner but among the other staff. She had had a desk but now - an office?!? And - it’s so much bigger than mine!! By...a lot! It makes mine look like a walk-in closet! Did she realize it?? Was she that oblivious to how emasculating it is seeing a young, attractive employee get a bigger office than you? Or - the more scary thought - was that the point?

“The people at Lean In were so cool, more than happy to pay for it all,” Melissa explained, “as long as it was supporting growth in a company like ours.”

I knew I shouldn’t even ask it...but then I did. “L-like ours?”

She smiled benevolently down at me. “Woman-owned, woman-managed,” she said, as gently as she could, barely containing the giddy, feminist pride that was so obviously bubbling inside her. “Sheryl was the one that okayed the construction,” she added, as if unable to help herself.

In the subtext, I felt like an afterthought, and was acutely aware of the fragile bones of my pride snapping, just like kindling, inside me.

“We all thought the changes, the new rooms, the extra money for staff, would be great,” she continued, taking a moment to look around, admire her handiwork, “perfect first steps in our expansion.”

“E-expansion?”

”Well, of course we need to replace the girls that we lost,” Melissa said, her eyes rolling but then falling back down to me again, “but we should add even more people, make ourselves bigger. It’s part of Lean In...growth, development, success, for women.” She was watching me closely. “Don’t you want to see that?”

”w-well, yes, of course,” I stammered, reflexively, “b-but...wait, what? more people?” Didn’t we have trouble meeting payroll just last week?

”To help revenue, since you’re not bringing in as much anymore - oh, shh don’t feel bad!” she continued, seeing my startled reaction.

I was doing fine! Seeing patients, billing. It’s the financial mismanagement, the crummy scheduling and day-to-days of you and your...your...people that are-

“It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll fix it. Lean In gave me some ideas, and I got some more ideas at the conference on how to make it work,” she went on, obviously excited for her new plans, “We should hire more providers - they’ll all have to be women, of course, for Lean In - but Nurse Practitioners, maybe a Nurse Asstha...Attess…”

“Aesthetician?” I helped, even through my disarray.

“Yes, that..! <giggle!> They can all make us a lot of money,” she said, “And they’ll all need support staff, so that’s more people…”

Of course I’d considered all this, adding secondary providers like PAs, APRNs, employees that can bill aside from myself so the practice has more income. We already had one part-time APRN, Vida...when I’d done the numbers before it just never made sense to bring on more. Why would it now? And...an Aesthetician - what did they do? Botox, Laser hair removal, chemical peels? At a Geriatrics practice?

“It sounds...expensive,” I said, knowing I was being too meek but god help me unable to disappoint her, not wanting to upset her by really putting my foot down with a ‘no’. “Expensive” was all I could manage. .

“It’s okay,” she quickly replied, ready with her response, “we have the Lean In money to start...and they'll bring in more than you, pretty quickly.“

Oh my god. It was like I could hear the overwrought strands of my stretched-thin ego actually snapping.

“okay okay okay...we can talk about it,” I said, disbelieving how far this conversation had gotten already. I was such a mess, after the travel and the fight with Sheryl and the bad night of sleep, the return to work and the thing with the computer, her office and now this. But I knew I had to step up, be proactive. Remember the last round of quittings, and the new hires after that? That’s how we got Amelia, and Josie, and that stern lady in accounting. “But first we have to replace the people we lost, just so we can operate,” I said, with as much authority as I could muster, adding, “a-and I want to be more involved this time.”

“Oh, of course, sugar, sure, if you insist,” Melissa replied, sweetly, indulgently, “I’ve already asked Randi to start looking for some girls. Here, why don’t we bring her in...” At that, she turned to her right and pressed the button on an intercom. “You two can come in now,” she announced.

In less than a moment the door behind me had opened, and I craned my neck to see both Randi and Marisela stepping in. “Hiiiiii….” Randi keened, while Marisela just smiled. Both were dark of complexion, dark of hair. Both were wearing black, both were in similar outfits. Randi’s pants, though, had flared cuffs while Marisela’s outfit was more figure-hugging head-to-toe. Randi was also wearing higher heels and a clingy silk blouse. Despite myself, I felt my loins respond...I was suddenly in a room with three very attractive women.

Politely, I started to stand, to offer one of them my chair. Melissa, though, immediately stopped me, sticking out her foot onto my seat, between my legs. “No, you sit,” she commanded.

I froze, sat back down, and in the next moment they were behind me, flanking me, one on either side. For some reason, my heart had quickened, and I felt surrounded. “H-hi ladies…” I stuttered, hearing the wimpish uncertainty in my voice, and then the contented purring of Marisela and Randi as they settled warmly behind me, close and confident.

”So... Dr. J agrees,” Melissa began, addressing her attendants, “we need to hire some more girls, and he wants to make sure he’s more involved in the process this time. Think we can do that?”

“Oh, for sure,” Randi answered, her voice entirely too sultry for a Monday morning, “I think we can do that.” She placed her hand on my left shoulder. “Can’t we, Marisela?”

“Mmhm yeah sure...we can do that,” Marisela agreed, her hand now on my other shoulder. I caught myself swallowing dryly, confused. Marisela, in the past, had never seemed to warm to the new girls, to Randi, to Melissa. In fact, I thought she kinda hated them, in her own dark, quiet, passive aggressive way.

When Randi spoke up, it was again as if my mind was being read. ”With you gone last week, Dr J, with less patients, we girls had a lot of time to get to know one another,” she said, hovering close behind me on my left, “I think we all really started to come together as a team-.” .

”...and realize how much we missed you,” Marisela chimed in, on my right, coming closer. I could feel the warmth of both of their bodies behind me, and it was doing nothing for my efforts to keep myself from - ugh - slowly hardening in my slacks.

“We had an early meeting this morning, at seven, all the girls,” Melissa said, her eyes on me, “so now we’re all on the same page, the new and old staff.” She cocked her head. “Randi? Would you fix his hair for me?”

“Haha yeah…” Randi replied, running a hand through my hair, arranging stray locks over my left ear.

“I told them all about some of the stuff we talked about on vacation,” Melissa continued, smiling as her friend tended to me, idly.

”L-like...what stuff?” I stammered, recoiling already at the memories, but allowing Randi’s ministrations. The thought of them all know-

”Ohh you remember…‘It can be more like this when we get home, y’know, with all the girls,’” Marisela said, as if repeating word-for-word what Melissa had said to me, that morning out by the pool as she loomed over me with her huge breasts in that white bikini, “It doesn’t have to be just Melissa. You can take care of patients-”

“...and we’ll take care of you,” Randi said, picking up where Marisela left off, in perfect harmony, repeating verbatim what Melissa had promised me, “Let us do all the hard work, make sure everything is easy for you, make sure that you’re comfortable, happy…”

“...that you get everything you need,” Marisela continued, moving her left arm around my neck, tighter. I felt the subtle press of her d-cup against the back of my head. What the fuck was happening?!?

“You remember…” Melisssa purred, leaning in towards me from where she sat, over me, on her huge new desk.

looked after, protected...

I thought back, in that instant, to the starkly contrasting moment of last night, of my fight with Sheryl.

...supported...nurtured, fed…

Where she, Sheryl...she did what she did. While these girls, this group of women, seemed ready for me, ready for me to land in, ready to catch my fall.

...burped...changed…

“All you have to do is sit back and...let us. Let me,” Melissa said. As my cock pressed uncomfortably into my leg, straining my pants under the hapless cover of my folded arms, I could feel it, imagining it again….a finger trace across my bare belly, like that morning, as I lay on the lounger by the pool, “Let me expand what we can do, let us grow...”

The girls grew closer, like a coven coalescing around me.

But...but...I knew...I knew what I’d said I’d do. That I’d...be better. That I’d...be strong. That I’d...

”I-I th-think-“

”Shhhh...that’s your problem,” Melissa stopped me, before I even began, leaning even closer towards me on the desk, bringing her face nearer to my own, “stop thinking, sweetie, stop worrying…”

”Yeah, Dr, J, that’s right...” Randi breathed.

:”...that’s for us to do now….” Marisela concluded, “...boss.”

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

Thanks to user at GTSCity Rivense1 a way's back for the idea on the new office, and of course SaulJinzer for the Melissssy render. Check out his DeviantArt: lots of great Denise Milani giantess stuff and his 3D model for her is top-notch.

#Growing Into the Job

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delicioussshame · 4 years

Text

I can’t finish anything so have some more wips.

______________________________________________________________

Luo Binghe isn’t sure how he feels about Shizun picking up a new disciple. He’s been the youngest for so long. How could he be a decent shixiong to this newcomer when he could barely cultivate? He’s always so busy ruining errands and dealing with Ming Fan too. Surely that’s why Shizun didn’t take him along.

But Luo Binghe takes one look at tiny Shen Yuan holding his shimei’s sleeve, staring wildly around, and feels his heart twist.

“Shen-shidi, that’s your shixiong, Luo Binghe.”

Luo Binghe swears Shen Yuan lit up when he turned toward him, and yet, his answer is very mature. “Luo-shixiong. This Shen Yuan will be in your care. I will do his best not to shame my shimei and shixiong.”

He’s so cute, standing there with a too serious face, that it takes all Luo Binghe has not to hug his new brother.

He’s always worked hard, but he’s going to have to work even harder now. He can’t disappoint Shen Yuan.

___________________

Luo Binghe cannot afford to fail here. He promised Shen Yuan he’d come back with the first place.

Shen Yuan had been so worried. He’d always been pushing books at him, trying to teach him about monsters Luo Binghe kept telling him he wouldn’t see at the Conference.

Nothing he could do would calm him.

Luo Binghe had found his reaction both endearing and heartbreaking.

Endearing, because how could he not when Shen Yuan was so obvious about his attachment to him? It only made his resolve to protect his dear shidi from everything stronger.

Heartbreaking, because Luo Binghe recognised himself in his fear. He remembers how he was after his mother’s death.

Shen Yuan receives no letter and never visits family. He never mentions anyone that’s not from the sect. He came with nothing but the clothes on his back.

Luo Binghe understands how a fellow orphan would be disturbed by the idea of losing his family all over again. He won’t let it happen. He won’t leave Shen Yuan to deal with their shizun’s mercurial temperament by himself.

He has to come back home.

___________________

He doesn’t manage it.

___________________

Shen Yuan has no idea what the fuck is happening.

He is pretty sure he did well on the “not getting slaughtered by Luo Binghe with the rest of the sect” front. Luo Binghe likes him! He always took care of him like a good older brother would. Shen Yuan made for a good, obedient younger sibling, diligent with his studies and polite to his elders.

He did not think that would translate to him being kidnapped out of the sect.

One second he was cultivating by himself, the next a portal opens, Luo Binghe steps out of it (way too early!) and pulls him inside his demonic palace, hello Luo Binghe’s domain.

Then he gets a hug. “Shixiong!”

Luo Binghe doesn’t let go. “Let your shixiong indulges a bit. He hasn’t seen his favorite shidi in so long.”

Shen Yuan sighs. “I’m your only shidi.”

“You’re still my favorite.”

______________________________________________________________

Luo Binghe immediately recognises the man dressed in cultivator garb as Yingying’s shizun.

Beautiful and serene, she said. The perfect image of an untouchable immortal, dressed in white and pale greens. Always holding a fan of exquisite manufacture.

But more than her vivid descriptions of her shizun’s loveliness, he remembers what she said next.

She’d been laying on her side, her long cascading hair not managing to hide her luscious curves.

Luo Binghe had known she wouldn’t be ready for another round just yet, and so had been pleased to listen to her lighthearted pillow talk.

Today’s topic had been her exasperation with her shizun’s lack of sex life.

“Sometimes I can’t believe how obtuse he is. Liu-shishu has been courting him for years, and I don’t think he ever noticed. And don’t get me started on the sect master! All Shizun would have to do is bat his eyelashes and the sect master would drop everything to worship him! But no, he never takes him on it. For a while I thought maybe Shizun just preferred women, but more than one female disciple has tried her hand at him, all to no avail.”

Luo Binghe could imagine the type. Cultivators could be lofty. They think they’re above the needs of the flesh.

He always enjoys teaching them how wrong they are.

If the demonic part of his heritage revels in desecrating those pompous righteous cultivators, no one else could tell. Luo Binghe was too good at his chosen hobby to let his personal feelings interfere.

“I love and respect Shizun more than anyone. Without him, I would never have become the kind of cultivator who can afford A-Luo’s company. So I am motivated by filial piety and nothing else when I say that I have never met anyone who needs to get laid more than Shen Qingqiu.”

Luo Binghe had laughed. “Oh? Is Yingying going to replace me with her old teacher?”

Her scandalised look had sent him into another bout of laughter. “A-Luo! I would never!”

“Then why is she telling me this? Does she want me to take care of him?”

Ning Yingying had stared at him, a glint in her eyes. Luo Binghe could see the plans form in her head as she spoke. “Actually, that wouldn’t be a bad idea. It would do wonders for Shizun, and I know A-Luo loves breaking people like him.”

Luo Binghe had blinked, inwardly caught off-guard. He wasn’t blind. He knew Ning Yingying was a lot more observant than she appeared. It wasn’t the first time she had made that kind of comment. “Yingying knows me so well. Should I be worried?”

She had swapped at him. He could have easily evaded the blow, but he didn’t bother. “A-Luo doesn’t have anything to fear from me. But honestly, if I sent Shizun your way, would you take care of him? I really think he could benefit from it. And Shizun is very beautiful! Many will definitely be jealous if they ever find out.”

Luo Binghe had nothing against the idea of taking a peak lord to bed. He bet Xin Mo would love to feed on such high-quality cultivation. “I would be honored to entertain your teacher.”

He could tell from the way she had brightened he was about to be thoroughly thanked.

She had payed him too, both for herself and for her shizun’s future visit. Generously enough that Luo Binghe had wondered if he should praise her filial piety to her shizun.

She didn’t lie. Shen Qingqiu really is exquisite.

Not as handsome as Luo Binghe himself, but nobody is. “You must be Shen Qingqiu.”

“Luo Binghe, I presume.” Luo Binghe cannot quite decipher the look he’s being given, which is rare enough to catch his attention. He’s pretty certain there’s some attraction there, but the rest? Trepidation? Outright fear? Disdain? Excitement?

He’s sure he’s going to find out. He gestures for Shen Qingqiu to sit down as he moves to prepare tea. He could have one of his servants take care of it, but Luo Binghe has always preferred taking care of things himself. That personal touch has seduced more than one client, if they didn’t visit him only for his food.

Shen Qingqiu drinks the offered tea in silence before he starts talking. “If you would please tell me your fee, I will be refunding Ning Yingying. I am sorry for wasting your time, but I have no interest in procuring your services.”

Ooh, that’s cute. If Luo Binghe wasn’t an expert at perceiving the signs of physical attraction, he might even believe him. Shen Qingqiu is interested, he’s sure of it. He’s just a prude, like Yingying said. “Yingying won’t accept it. Why refuse her most thoughtful gift?”

______________________________________________________________

What if he really intended to kill me?

It’s the thought that can’t quite leave his mind, no matter how implausible it seems. There is no way Shizun would have failed to eliminate him if that was what he wanted. For most people, it’s easy to forget how deadly easygoing, charming Shen Yuan could be, but Luo Binghe had always known better. Shen Yuan was never unarmed. He delighted in wearing ridiculously anachronistic poison rings and hiding slim daggers in his sleeves. He had taught Luo Binghe how to be ready for attack at any time. Luo Binghe had taken this lesson to heart, like everyone he ever received from Shen Yuan.

It isn’t hard for him to reach Shen Yuan’s room unnoticed. Having spent years living in the casino as his protégé, Luo Binghe knew all the employees-only passageways, the hidden entrances, the unused hallways. Two employees recognise him, but it’s not an issue. Shen Yuan would be ashamed of him if he tried something as daring as confronting him in his own domain without having done the proper research beforehand. He knows Shen Yuan buried the truth about his heritage. His shizun told everyone his charge had died in a tragic accident. Everyone figured he meant a job gone wrong and haven’t asked further questions. Those who recognise him seem pleased to see him, and giddy at the idea of him meeting Shen Yuan again.

Surely Shizun must still care, if everyone thinks he does?

He tries to calm his nerve as he enters the security code to Shizun’s room. For all of Shizun’s careful preparations when attacking others, he was downright careless with his own security, recklessly confident in the casino’s personal. In all of the years Luo Binghe had stayed with him, he had not once changed the combination.

The door unlocks soundlessly.

Luo Binghe breathes again. If it hadn’t worked, he would have charmed one of his old acquaintances into letting him “surprise his shizun with his unexpected survival”, but he much preferred not having to count in an interloper.

His first thought is that Shen Yuan is even more beautiful than he remembers.

There were countless nights ending like this, with Shen Yuan drinking tea from a dainty cup, still dressed in layers of fine clothes Luo Binghe always dreamt of removing with his teeth.

______________________________________________________________

Shen Qingqiu would say that Luo Binghe is a morning person, but in this particular case it would be a lie. Luo Binghe is just an anytime kind of person. As long as his husband is on the menu, when doesn’t matter. Shen Qingqiu is convinced that if he himself didn’t enjoy sleeping, Luo Binghe would forgo it altogether in favor of having sex all night long, every night.

Shen Qingqiu would die, but he thinks his stallion of a husband would just feel more energised.

So he’s not exactly a stranger to being awakened by intimate caresses. As long as it’s not too early, he’s usually amenable to it. He has to rise anyway, so why not make it pleasant?

He is somewhat less familiar with the current number of hands and mouth trying to wake him up. He’s pretty certain the teeth worrying at his chest and the hand sliding between his thighs are Luo Binghe’s, so the mouth on his nape and the other hand grasping his left hip must be Mobei-Jun’s.

He’s also pretty sure the erection rubbing against the back of his thighs is also Mobei-Jun’s, unless Shen Qingqiu is terribly wrong and he’s in a very, very bad situation. That is very unlikely, considering anyone trying to get frisky with him who isn’t those two must not only have a death wish, but the kind of death wish where they hate life so badly they want to spend their last year in pain and misery. His status as Luo Binghe’s husband is very, very well known, to his continued embarrassment. The occasional hopelessly stupid demon has tried to kidnap him. It had always, famously, ended very badly for them.

He could just open his eyes and look to check, but he can’t be bothered. He’s still tired, damn it. Last night’s play ended up lasting for quite a while. If they want to have fun, they can work for it.

______________________________________________________________

Shizun’s control over his smell was legendary on Qing Jing Peak.

Shen Qingqiu had always had complete mastery over his facial expression, but that this extended to even his scent was almost too impressive to be believed. And yet, even when he angered, it never spiked. He would still emit the same weak, almost chemical smell he was known for.

Not bad, no one on Qing Jing Peak would dare to speak a word against Shen Qingqiu’s scent, but not pleasant either. Only the faintest notes of plum blossoms could be detected under the medicinal smell.

When he had still lived with Shizun, Luo Binghe had wondered if Shen Qingqiu was hiding a partner on Qian Cao. Maybe it was their smell that lingered on his master.

He’d ruled it out after a while. Shen Qingqiu did not sneak out for mysterious meetings, and spent his heat by himself, seemingly unbothered. Luo Binghe had admired this too. His master was truly exceptional, to govern himself so thoroughly even when no one would have expected him to. Luo Binghe could only dream of having that kind of control. He’d shamed himself thoroughly during his heat, unable to hide how much he longed for Shizun to follow him to bed. Unable to stop himself from moaning his name and imagining him filling him up as he fucked himself on his own, unsatisfying, fingers.

After, Shizun had acted like he always did. He was used to mending omegas still overwhelmed by the aftereffects of their heat. He stayed perfectly appropriate, handling the matter with compassion but no effusiveness. If he heard Luo Binghe calling for him, he never let it show. His disciple could only envy his utter mastery of himself, and be a little bit bitter that it didn’t break even for him.

He only found out why, exactly, Shen Qingqiu’s scent was immune to fluctuations when he started tending to his lifeless body. It wouldn’t do for Shizun to get dirty, so Luo Binghe washed him, as chastely as he could.

At first, he had thought the change of smell was due to his condition. Shen Qingqiu’s body wasn’t able to produce more aroma. Maybe whatever caused it was deteriorating as everything else did?

But no. The scent emerging under wasn’t anything like the faint notes of medicine and plum blossoms Luo Binghe associated with Shizun. Luo Binghe detected something muskier, touches of sandalwood and hints of citrus. Not an omega’s scent. Nothing like Luo Binghe’s smell, which reminded most people of jasmine.

His first reaction had been incredulity. Surely Shizun couldn’t have been an alpha? There was no way he could life on Qing Jing Peak, surrounded only by omegas, and support them through their heats completely unaffected?

It became obvious Shen Qingqiu was just that extraordinary. His true scent couldn’t lie.

It made Luo Binghe giddy. If Shen Qingqiu was an alpha, once he returned there was nothing stopping them from having the family Luo Binghe always guiltily dreamt of! What could be more normal than an alpha and an omega getting married?

#wips

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psychopersonified · 4 years

Text

Who’s the brunette?

Part of the prequel series to "Are we ever going to talk about this?".

I'll post little snippets of their 'not dating' days in this series. Little events that draw them together and the intimacy they share in plain sight.

This particular snippet happens Monday after the Friday party in “Keep Calm. Dance On.”

------

“Oh 007, did you hear? There is the most unusual rumour going around. Seems someone thought they saw the Quartermaster leave last week’s party in an Aston Martin DB5? You wouldn’t know anything about this would you?”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Monday 8:30am - SIS HQ.

The lift doors open at Parking Level 2 to admit a well rested and impeccably put together Eve Moneypenny.

“Moneypenny, morning. How are you?” Bond says in greeting.

“007. You’re early,” she skips the greeting, her tone a little frosty as she gets into the lift and turns around to face the doors.

“So it’s 007 today? May I know what I’ve done to deserve it this time?” Bond knows enough about women to know that it is always his fault.

“IF you’re interested… someone I call a friend left me all alone at a party last Friday.”

Bond freezes... ah that. He’d completely forgotten. He drops his head in embarrassment. After all, It was Eve who convinced him to attend. A decision he was incredibly grateful to her for. He recalls the night and how he spent it in the company of a leggy brunette.

“Ah… I must apologise. That was terribly ungentlemanly of me,” pause, he needs to get himself out of the doghouse, “How can I make it up to you?”

“Well, for starters, you might tell me who it was that caught your attention. So much so that you left a good friend high and dry?” She’s laying it on a bit thick, but where would the fun be otherwise?

“What makes you think it was a someone? It was an office party after all.”

Eve leans over to him, a hand reaching up towards Bond’s shoulder. He’s still wearing his outer coat, having come straight up from the parking garage. Her hand comes back with a strand of hair between her fingers; she holds it up in front of his eyes - it clearly isn’t his.

“Who’s the brunette?” She teases him.

Bond schools his face into a neutral expression looking straight ahead. Bloody spies and their deductive skills.

-Ding!- The lift announces its next stop on Ground Level. The lift doors open, revealing a small group of people waiting for the lift - including Q, R and Mark at the front.

Everyone squeezes in. The lift is packed tight, yet no one wants to take the second lift; a result of the lifts being notoriously slow during rush hours.

There is a chorus of polite greetings:-

“Good Morning.”

“Excuse me.”

“Pardon. Which level?”

“How’s it going?”

“Level 7 please. Thanks.”

There is some awkward shifting as the occupants arrange themselves according to who is going to alight first.

Q ends up standing in front of Bond, back to him.

Eve has a mischievous glint in her eyes. She still has the strand of hair between her fingers. So she lifts it and holds it up to the back of Q’s head. The colour and length is an exact match.

Bond slides his eyes towards her. He wants to smack her hand away. They are in a packed lift for Christssake. Eve’s little action catches R’s attention and she tilts her head thoughtfully at them. Eve shots her a meaningful look.

The lift dings their arrival at Level 3. Five people alight except for Bond, Eve, Q, R and Mark - they are headed for the Executive floor on Level 12 to their respective meetings.

The remaining occupants sigh in relief. They start moving apart to give each other more personal space. But before they can do that, six more SIS employees enter - making it worse than before.

“Hold the lift please! Thanks!” A -seventh- person calls just as the doors start to close. A breathless Accounts Department employee squeezes her way in while struggling to carry two cardboard boxes of files. Everyone has to politely shuffle closer to the back to make room.

Bond is forced all the way to the back corner of the lift, the hand rails digging into his back. Eve has to move to the other corner. He can’t help but roll his eyes in annoyance. Why couldn’t M see him later in the morning?

This leaves the Quartermaster on his side of the lift. Q also has to shift back but accidentally steps on Bond’s expensive Italian leather shoe and jolts away too quickly in apology - nearly losing his balance.

“Oh! My apologies—,” It comes out as a rushed whisper.

“—you’re alright.” Bond places his hands on Q’s waist to steady him. Q is wearing only a cardigan made from the softest cashmere over his dress shirt and tie. Bond can feel the warmth of the flesh underneath. He uses the slightest pressure to pull Q backwards into his personal space, so that the others can move in.

Q’s right shoulder blade makes contact with one of Bond’s pectorals. But the younger man makes no protest, on the contrary - unless Bond’s imagining it, he feels Q lean further into the touch. They are pressed close in the compact space, he can smell the fresh scent of Q’s soap and shampoo.

Maybe there is some good that comes from being in crowded lifts. The rest of the ride up feels like an eternity spent in awkward silence for everyone inside with the only distraction being the soft jazzy elevator music. It feels like the lift made a stop at every floor.

Bond does not remove his hands until the lift arrives at Level 12 where M’s office is located. They all alight. Bond and Moneypenny head directly to M’s office. The techies movie off to the conference room for the monthly joint Ops meeting.

Eve waits until she is alone with Bond just outside of her office to ask:

Busted. Yes, so he did spend the party stuck to the Quartermaster’s side. And yes, he did steal Q out for a post revelry kebab supper - which may have included a long stroll along the river after. Finally yes, he did make sure Q got to his doorstep at the end of the very late night/early morning, but only out of concern for his safety.

Bond considers his options.“Name your price.”

“What exactly are you implying? I’m offended that you’d think I’d stoop to blackmail—“ Eve places a hand over her heart in mock indignation, “—but I suppose since you do owe me an apology…” She bats her eyelashes at him.

She mulls over it, “There is this restaurant in Soho, it’s booked out for months. But I’m sure you have your ways around it. My family is in town next week.”

She unlocks the door to the office, letting them both in. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Consider it done.” Bond assures her courtly, he really was sorry about ditching her on Friday. Nevertheless, he is surprised at how easy he is being let off on this - when you consider how protective Eve can be over their Chief Boffin.

“Aren’t you going to warn me off?” Bond wonders aloud.

“Do I have to? It is still just a harmless game... isn’t it?” She searches his face for any indication otherwise, though she reckons she knows the answer even if Bond himself doesn’t know it yet.

He holds the door open for her. M arrives behind them cutting off any answer he might have.

———

Friday 4:30pm - SIS HQ

If Bond has to hear about North Korea again in the next 3 months, it would still be too soon. He had just finished an all day strategy conference with Mallory, 009 and their Korean Station Chief about how MI6 was going to extract their operatives embedded in the regime in the face of the recent crackdowns.

It is not that he’s being insensitive, the meeting is critical and he had played his part in contributing to the discussion and assessing the tactics available to them. It is just that both M and 009 have a tendency to prattle on (his opinion) and discuss ad nauseam every detail, while 007 prefers to… well, get on with it.

Unsurprisingly the meeting ran overtime and Bond is feeling peckish. And when his blood sugar runs low, his patience runs thin. At least this time, he had managed to behave long enough for the meeting to end.

It takes him 20 excruciating minutes to reach Q-Branch. It is Friday afternoon, and like any other civil service, MI6 lobbies and lifts are a hive of activity with most employees trying to wrap up for an early weekend.

Most of the time was spent waiting for the lifts, and then riding the lift, then letting people in and then out the lift - there has to be a better system to organise the lift service.

Bond is inordinately relived when he finally arrives at Q-Branch all the way in the basement floors of the building.

Once he’s through the doors, he makes a beeline for Q’s office nook and Q’s desk. The man is not around, but Bond helps himself with familiar ease. Bond pulls open the second drawer and retrieves a bar of protein snack from the stash in the drawer.

He is almost finished with the bar when he realises that Q has not returned to his desk and is nowhere to be seen on the work floor. Curious, he makes a circuit of the floor trying to be surreptitious.

Jamila catches him ‘not’ looking and puts him out of his misery. “He’s downstairs, in the Firearms Lab with 003,” she doesn’t bother asking if he is there on official business.

Bond tries not to look like he’s been caught, but manners win out and he attempts a casual, “...Thank you.” - his feet starting to carry him towards the main doors.

“Badge!” Jamila calls out to remind him.

Bond backtracks smoothly, heading to Q’s desk and that second drawer to grab his blasted employee ID badge that he keeps in there. He can get away without it on the upper floors, but the Lower Ground labs contain live ammunition and thus require extra authentication for security.

—-

The labs are a study of industrial utilitarian design - an amalgamation of concrete, steel and glass.

003 is easy to locate. Her stunning if scant evening gown incongruous in the surroundings. Bond can only see her from the back. She has one stiletto heel resting on something in front of her.

As he draws nearer, his viewing angle changes and he can see what or more accurately who her heel is propped up on.

Their Quartermaster is on one knee in front of her. The toes of her shoe resting on his thigh. The side slit of the dress is cut high and hides very little.

Q is adjusting her thigh holster, a specially designed and fabricated skin-coloured thing worn fairly high on the leg to make it less obvious. To improve stability, the holster is anchored with clips that connect directly to 003’s one piece undergarment.

“Oh Q, the material is perfect - incredibly comfortable, but the fit needs to be tighter.” She provides him with feedback. When she looks up, she catches Bond in the reflection of a nearby glass wall - watching them with wide blue eyes.

“Yes, right. There is an adjustment strap on the inside so all you have to do is… “ Q pulls at the tab - careful not to touch her skin in so much as he can, seeing that the tab is located near the inner thigh. 003 gathers her skirt up higher to allow him better access.

From Bond’s angle, their combined actions are grossly inappropriate.

“…pull this tab to adjust for the required fit. We’ve gone with the new hook-and-loop fasteners so they shouldn’t catch on most fabrics, even delicate ones. This should allow you to use it with any frock of your choice.“ Q explains still oblivious.

“How thoughtful of you Q. I don’t suppose you could make them in… lace trim?” She says to the top Q’s head, smirking into the refection, raising a perfect eyebrow at 007.

“We can make them in any colour or trim you’d like 003. Just let us know what you need. Please allow for a few weeks though, as the elastane base material is specially sent for.” Q looks up at her with a shy smile.

“Oh you spoil us Q. We never had such personalised service until you came along.” She coos down at him while she ran one hand lightly through his hair combing back his fringe while the other formed a hooked finger under his chin to tip his head up to her.

003 is wearing a self-satisfied grin. What a picture they made! Her deft manoeuvring had Q looking like the very picture of a besotted young man attending submissively to his object of infatuation.

She sees 007 in the refection clenching and unclenching his hands. Whoops…. she knows 007, having worked him with him over the years. They get along fine. But this new development is interesting. What is his problem anyway?

Perhaps it would be best to end this here for now.

“Well, thank you Quartermaster. I’d best not take up anymore of your time. Will it be alright if I stayed here to have a chat with 007?” She dismisses him politely, adjusting her skirt and removing her heel from his thigh.

“Oh, yes of course. Sure.” Q stands, brushing his trousers.

“Ah 007, I didn’t see you there—,” the sentence is cut off when Q catches Bond’s blazing blue eyes and dark expression and is confused, “D… did you need anything?”

Bond schools his expression back to neutral. “Not at the moment. Just need a quick word with 003. Meet you back upstairs?”

Q collects his tablet and nods his leave to both of the agents.

When Q is out the doors, 007 closes the distance between him and 003 - who to her credit is not cowed. Instead of stepping back, she steps sideways and the two double-0 agents circle each other for a few moments.

“Oh don’t look at me like that!” she finally says, exasperated with his posturing, also she was getting dizzy with the circling. They were friends, well as much as trained assassins with trust issues can be.

“You—,” she points a finger at him, “—need to learn how to share. You monopolised all of his time last Friday night! After that delicious display of his, I’d like to take him out clubbing and see what else is hiding under that cardigan wearing persona.” She confesses, but still annoyed at 007.

She makes a squeezing motion with her hands, a gesture usually reserved for when talking about cute animals, “He’s so adorable I want to stuff him in my pocket--,” then she indicates to her skin tight dress, “—if I had any.”

Bond is not moved. He feels like they are siblings negotiating playtime allotment with a favourite pet or toy. Well, he was an only child and he had never learnt to share.

“The rest of us would like to play too you know. Alec says—,” 003 nearly throws a tantrum.

“He’s not a plaything!” Bond’s vehement whisper surprises even him. Where did that come from?

“Pot. Kettle…” Comes her practiced reply. But something in his tone catches up to her. She studies him closer. Bond appears to be grappling internally with his own words.

-Oh.My.God- Can it be? 003 abandons her petulant tantrum. The adult slipping back into place.

“You’re not… playing anymore are you?” the question comes from a place of genuine interest.

No answer. Just a sullen 007 staring at his feet, hands in his pockets.

“Huh! Of all the people you choose...” She shakes her head at him.

Well then, there is only one thing left to do. She comes right up close to him, cups his face in her perfectly manicured hands, forcing him to look at her - then says with as much sisterly fondness as she could muster:-

“Don’t. Cock. It. Up.”

-------------------------

Note: If you liked this fic, there’s more like it on the blog. Including my take on a kidnapped Q. Enjoy!

#00q #00q fanfiction #00q fic #Q #Quartermaster

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ashsblurbs · 4 years

Text

I don’t want these moments to change

*Bonus chapter for change series.*

“Brooklyn, James stop running around the house. Where is your sister?” Tony was stress trying to take care of three kids all at a very different point in their lives. Sarah was twelve and was starting to go through her angst stage. Steve and Tony often wonder what happen to their sweet little girl, but they loved her anyways. Then there was the ball of energy James. He was now nine and wanted to be in everything. He did football, and lacrosse. James and Steve often go on runs every day while Tony makes them a lovely breakfast. Lastly, Brooklyn was their rough and tumble princess. She was six and all she wanted to do was be with her best friend James. They did everything together and often get into trouble like they were now.

Crash, something was defiantly broken in the living room. Tony rubbed his temples wishing Steve would come home soon. Just one more day. Steve was currently at a conference for his construction company. Tony was so proud of him, but he sure missed him when he was gone. After Brooklyn was born Steve decided that he no longer wanted to work for someone else. Even though Tony could help him with starting a business, Steve wanted to do it all his own. Steve went back to school and got all of the required certification. Now he had hundreds of employees and two huge projects in Boston and Concord.

“Guys, what was that?” “Nothing dad.” The kids hollered back. Tony knew that a lamp was broken. He walked in seeing his kids trying to clean the mess up before he would see what they had done. “Move! I’m going to tell your father what you did when he comes home. Now go to your rooms!” Tony said sternly. The kids sulked away making Tony feel bad he yelled at his angels. “Darlings, I just want you to know I’m not mad just disappointed. I love you.” James and Brooklyn looked back with their puppy dog eyes. “Love you too, dad.”

As Tony finished cleaning up the mess, he thought about making dinner. Then he thought pizza would be better. “Hey, dad, Auntie Nat wants to video call.” Tony looked over to see Sarah finally come out of her room for the first time all day. “Tell her I’m game. Did you dye your hair?” Sarah ran her fingers through her hair scared that she was about to get yelled at. “I like the pink tips maybe next week we can go get it professionally done.” “Yeah, that would be cool.” She had the biggest grin on her face and skipped back to her room to grab her laptop. Steve and Tony believed to give their children the freedom to explore and express themselves. They were always encouraging them to be who they wanted to be. Tony wanted his children’s childhood to be very different then what his was.

Sarah came back with her laptop. Her and Natasha were talking about ballet. Tony was glad his daughters had such a strong female role model. “Yeah, Nat we are going to do a rock show. Yes, definitely I will tell dad to record it. Here’s dad now. Bye Auntie Nat.” Sarah handed her laptop over and ran to find her siblings. “Thanks sweetheart.”

Natasha sat on the other line in her lovely Brooklyn home holding her small daughter Willow. “Is that Willow? She’s gotten so big.” Tony commented. Natasha looked down at her sleeping six-month-old. She grew so much that sometimes it saddens Natasha. She wasn’t ready to abandon the baby months yet. Just a few more months and her little girl would be walking, talking, and then the terrible twos would be on the horizon. “Where’s Bucky?” Natasha snapped out of her daydreaming to see Tony staring at her waiting for a response. “Oh, he’s with Alexei. He wanted to build a fort and Bucky couldn’t say no.” Natasha giggled. “They are just two peas in a pod. You know those two.” Natasha never imagine she would have the type of life she had. Being married to the love of her life and having two wonderful children. She would never change this for the world.

“Hey, what are you wearing to Sam and Victoria’s wedding? Also did you fine a babysitter. I would hate to miss it.” The wedding was in two weeks and Tony stilled didn’t know what to wear. Maybe a classic suit would work. “No outfit yet but Pepper agreed to babysit. She might be willing to watch another three-year-old and a baby. I will text her later an ask.” Natasha was so glad to hear that. One less thing to deal with. Then Willow started crying. So much for having a nice conversation. “Sorry, I have to go and feed this one. Tell Steve and the kids I said hello.” Tony was left with a blank screen missing all of his friends but especially her. Natasha was the glue that kept his life together. She was the only one that understood what really was going on in his life. The only one he could talk to about marry life and crazy kids. Tony looked over at the time and saw it was six o’clock. Wow he was surprised one of the kids weren’t begging for food yet.

“Guys, dinner time.” Tony placed two slices of pizza for each of his kids on the table. Not even two seconds after he called for them, he heard the stampede running from upstairs. “Stop it.” “You stop it.” “Ugh, I hate you both.” Just one more day Tony thought. Yep a headache was forming. He loved his kids, but they sometimes drove him crazy. “Sarah, no phones at the table. James stop touching Brooklyn. If you three can be good while we eat. We can watch a movie.” The kids got excited and actually ate with out fighting. Which was a miracle for Tony.

“Good night, Brooklyn, daddy loves you.” Tony tucked in and kissed her goodnight. “When is papa coming home?” He clicked off the light and slowly closed the door. “He will be here when you wake up. I promise.” Then he moved to James’s room where he had to slowly maneuver so not to step on a Lego or a toy solider. This kid needed to clean up, but Tony understand. This was actually how his workshop looked so he couldn’t blame James for being like him. “Goodnight. James. Love you.” James yawned and turned to see his dad looking back at him. He pulled the blanket closer to himself. “Love you too.” Lastly, he went to Sarah’s room. Normally, she thought she was too grown to get tucked in but since Steve wasn’t here, she took it. Her and Steve were inseparable and often hated when Steve was gone for long periods at a time. When she was younger, she would cry for hours on end until she tried herself out. Tony knew Sarah loved him very much but her and Steve had that special bond that Tony would never have.

Tony slowly cracked open the door hearing Sarah talk to someone. “Sorry, just wanted to say goodnight. Remember lights out by ten.” Sarah waved Tony to come in to see who she was talking to. Tony looked over her shoulder to see Steve standing in front of his hotel. “Hey, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. I love you.” Steve made a kissy face towards the camera which made Tony laugh. “Eww, dads stop. I’m right here.” Sarah made a scrunched-up face not enjoying when her parents showed their love. “Sorry, honey, goodnight you too.” “Goodnight, daddy. Be safe promise.” Steve placed a pinky up to the screen and she did too. “I pinky promise.” This made Tony smile.

Tony laid on the couch watching a rerun of a random sitcom. He always struggled with sleeping. He struggled more when Steve wasn’t there with him. Tony found him self slowly drifting off to sleep when he heard a slam of the car door. He jumped and ran outside to find his husband walking up to the house. Tony ran down the steps and jumped into Steve’s arms forcing him to drop his bags on the ground. “Whoa, hey, sweetheart. Did you miss me or something?” Tony stayed in the crook of Steve’s neck never wanting to let go. Steve rubbed a hand down Tony’s back. He picked him up and carried him into the house and laying him in bed.

“I missed you so much. Come here and let me show you how much I missed you?” Steve giggled as he watched Tony try to be sexy, but he was slowly falling asleep. Steve placed a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “How about we get some sleep tonight and there can be an extra special treat in the morning.” Tony hummed as he slowly started snoring. Steve wrapped Tony up in his arms pulling him in as close as he could.

Tony was in the kitchen making chocolate chip pancakes while Steve was playing with the kids. “Daddy, I have to show this Tik Tok dance. Can we do it?” Steve walked in carrying both Brooklyn and James in his arms with Sarah trailing behind him. “Honey, do you know what this Tik Tok thing is Sarah is talking about?” Tony laughed realizing they were becoming old men. “No, dear, but I do have pancakes. Eat up” Tony looked at his beautiful family. He never knew this was going to be his life. If he could tell his twenty-eight-year-old self that he would be married to the best man in his life going on for ten years. Then get to see his three wonderful children grow up to be strong humans. “Dad, are you okay?” Tony didn’t realize that a tear was running down his cheek. Steve got up and wiped it away adding a kiss. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just extremely happy.” He turned giving Steve a slight grin. Steve knew what was going through his mind but instead of saying anything he just kissed him once more. “Come on guys, in front of breakfast. Get a room.” This just made the laugh harder.

#stony #stevetony #SUPERHUSBANDS #superfamily #change series #ash's blurbs

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lickstynine · 6 years

Note

(rumbleriot) i'd really love to see 'let me help you' with a pairing that has tense chemistry? like rivals, two characters who usually dislike one another, or who have a strictly professional relationship - if you're not already overwhelmed, please?

So I made some new characters cause I loved this prompt but didn’t have anyone who fit it well.

Setting: an unspecified made up tech company in some big city

Characters:

Brennan Wright

23, trans male (pre-everything but out and presenting male at work), 5'5", average lean build, short brown hair, hazel eyes. Smart but disorganized. Believes in being yourself even if nobody else likes it.

Valentin Von Bothmer

29, cis male, 6'0", thin athletic build, sleek black hair, blue eyes. Brennan’s boss and son of the company’s current CEO. Probably gonna be the next CEO. Super perfectionist. Slight German accent.

———————

“Hey, sorry I’m late, traffic was the worst, but… I brought coffee.” Brennan grinned sheepishly, holding up a stack of Starbucks drink carriers, as if this wasn’t the third time in a week he’d come in late. There hadn’t been traffic, he’d just hit the snooze button a few too many times, hence why his hair was unbrushed and he was still wearing the sweatpants and t-shirt he’d slept in.

The secretary gave him a sympathetic smile, accepting one of the paper cups he offered. “You’ll want to hurry, sweetie. Your meeting started five minutes ago.”

Brennan nearly dropped the rest of the coffees he was carrying. “Shit.” He’d been hoping he would at least have time to change into the spare clothes he kept under his desk, but that time had passed while he was sitting in his car finishing his chocolate croissant.

He rushed down the hall, nearly bumping into a mousy intern as she got off the elevator. Handing her an apology coffee, Brennan furiously jammed at the 5 button until the elevator started moving. He awkwardly shifted the tray of cups onto one arm, digging in his bag to make sure he at least had the thumb drive with his presentation on it. He was already going to be in trouble for being late and unsightly - if he showed up without the project he was supposed to submit, he would probably be fired on the spot.

The meeting was well underway by the time Brennan showed up, and he slinked into the room just as one of his coworkers closed their PowerPoint. Every eye in the room was boring into him, especially those of his boss. Valentin Von Bothmer was not a patient or lenient man, and being surrounded by his own superiors did nothing to lighten his mood. He watched like a hawk as his awkward subordinate shuffled in, waving to the table of suits and a few of his colleagues sitting in the back corner.

Setting down the trays of Starbucks he’d brought, Brennan stood up straight, clearing his throat and doing his best to speak in his lowest chest voice. He didn’t mind talking normally around his coworkers, but he always felt like an imposter around unfamiliar men. “Sorry I’m late, gentlemen, I brought this as an apology.”

“We have a coffeemaker in the office.” Valentin replied coldly. “Next time, don’t be sorry, be punctual.” It seemed like he was even stiffer and grouchier than usual, but that might have just been Brennan’s anxious imagination. “Luckily for you, Johnson here has just finished disappointing us, so if your project is actually good, you may be able to somewhat redeem yourself.”

Brennan nodded hastily, flashing a brief sympathetic glance at Johnson, who was wilting in his seat. He pulled his laptop out of his bag, plugging in the thumb drive and hooking it up to the projector. To his relief, there was a desk for him to stand behind that hid his sweatpants - definitely a point in his favor. As he pulled up his own presentation, the bigwigs at the table helped themselves to the coffee he’d brought, and Brennan relaxed a little. He was confident in his project, so as long as the bosses didn’t go into it hating his guts, he was pretty sure he’d be fine.

Valentin couldn’t decide whether he was pleased or pissed with how well Brennan’s project went over. On one hand, it infuriated him that the younger man’s talents allowed him to get away with being lazy, flakey, and generally unprofessional. At the same time, Johnson’s presentation had absolutely bombed, and Valentin could feel the chill of his father’s steely gaze from the head of the table; if both of his employees failed, it definitely wouldn’t reflect well on him.

He glared at the projector screen, struggling to actually listen closely - normally he was hyper-aware of his surroundings, but right now, it was all he could do to sit up straight and look presentable. He’d had a pounding headache since he woke up, and the bitter taste of coffee coated his tongue in a way that wouldn’t go away no matter how much water he drank. When Brennan finished speaking, the men around the table clapped, and Valentin nearly deflated with relief. His face stayed steely, but he gave his subordinate a brief approving nod as Brendan shuffled off to sit by Johnson, and another team’s representative came up to present.

Now that his own ass wasn’t on the line, Valentin didn’t even try to listen to the rest of the demonstrations. He retreated into what he called low-power mode - looking as stern as ever while his brain was entirely turned off. It was only the clap of his father’s hand on his shoulder that told him the meeting was over. He stood up at once, turning to lock eyes with the hard-faced older man.

“Your second boy did well. His project was one of the best we saw. He’s one of your new ones, yes?”

“Er… yes. Yes, sir.” Valentin had to think a moment before he replied, but he nodded hastily. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or just his headache, but the room seemed to be wobbling around him, and he rested a surreptitious hand on the back of his chair for support. “I am… so sorry about his tardiness. It will not happen again.”

Konrad Von Bothmer just shrugged. “That is not too big a deal. Just make sure he wears real clothes next time.”

Valentin nodded, his cheeks burning red even though he hadn’t done anything wrong himself. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“No, not yet. I want to look over the best few projects myself, see which one I like the most. Tell your boy I want a copy of his work on my desk within the hour.”

“Yes, sir. Right away.” Valentin hurried off to where the lower-ranking employees were huddled in the hall, waiting for the elevator down. “Wright. I want to see you now.”

Brennan’s heart nearly stopped in his chest. He thought he’d actually managed to pull off the presentation, but now he was less sure. The earlier fears of a lecture had come back tenfold, and he was just praying he would only be put on probation, rather than fired.

“What… what is it, Mr. Von Bothmer?” He asked, his voice wobbling up into a higher range.

“Your project, you have it all on your flash drive, yes?”

Brennan nodded, images flashing through his head of his boss stomping the little plastic storage unit to pieces. “Yes, I do. Right here.” He pulled the thumb drive from his pocket, holding it out so Valentin could take it if he wanted.

“Good. Take it down to the printers. My father wants a full copy as soon as possible.”

Relief washed over Brennan, followed by a little lurch of joy. The CEO wanted to look at his project? It took all his self-control to not shriek with excitement. “Yes, sir. I’ll go do that now, sir.”

As the younger man turned back towards the elevators, Valentin’s hand stopped him. “Oh, and Wright? When you’re done with that, I want to see you in my office.”

———————

Brennan could feel his heart trying to smash through his ribs as he walked back to the elevator from the senior Von Bothmer’s office. He went down a few floors to Valentin’s level, chewing his lip nervously as he shuffled down the hall. The door was closed, as always, so he rapped lightly on the sleek, dark wood.

“Come in.” Valentin was sitting at his desk, stirring but not drinking a fresh cup of coffee. The conference room had been dim, to better show the projected presentations, but in the bright light of the office, Brennan couldn’t help but notice his boss looked a little pale and tired.

Of course, even at his worst, Valentin was worlds more sightly than Brennan - he had one of those unfairly pretty faces, with striking blue-grey eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones, the kind of face that could model if it wanted to. Brendan was always a little jealous of how well his boss pulled off feminine features, but it didn’t change the fact that Valentin looked less perfect than usual today.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Brendan ventured, hovering over the chair opposite Valentin’s desk.

“I did. Take a seat.” Valentin stood up from his own chair, fighting a brief wave of vertigo and moving to sit on the front edge of his desk. This way, he loomed over Brendan rather than being at eye level, and it allowed him to speak more softly and still be heard. “You did fairly good work today. However, being gifted does not mean you have the right to slack and slouch about like you own the company.”

Brennan nodded, fear growing and clawing in his chest. “I know. I’m sorry, sir.”

“Apologies are a lovely formality, Wright, but you aren’t in college anymore. You can’t waltz in twenty minutes late with coffee, wearing pajamas and hoping there will be some extra credit to make up for what you missed. If you show up underdressed or late again, I will be demoting you, and Aya can have your position. She’s nearly run her course as an intern anyway.”

Ice filled Brennan’s veins, and he nodded hastily, even as fear flipped his stomach. “Yes, sir. I understand. It won’t happen again.”

“Good. Now, I want you to start… to start…” Valentin was struggling to finish his sentence, as another wave of vertigo made him wobble against the desk.

Brennan frowned, surprised and confused. He’d never seen his boss waver before, and it was both strange and deeply worrying. “Are you okay, sir?”

“I am fine. We are here to talk about you.” Valentin replied sternly. “I was saying that you are to keep working on your project while my father looks over your current draft. Make notes of anything you can improve, and anything you’d like to add. This… uh… That way, you’ll be on top of things if he picks yours to work from.”

Valentin’s gaze was fuzzy behind his glasses, and Brennan couldn’t help but be concerned. Even though his boss scared the crap out of him, Brennan certainly didn’t wish ill on the guy. He tentatively leaned forward, “Mr. Von Bothmer, I’m happy to do that, but I really don’t think you’re okay. You look… like, gray. It’s not good.”

“I told you,” Valentin huffed, “I am fine!” Even as he said it, he teetered, and his clammy hands slipped on the edge of the desk, sending him sliding towards the floor.

“Whoa!” Brennan instinctively reached out, steadying the older man by his shoulders. Now that they were touching, he could feel the heat absolutely radiating off Valentin. “Holy shit… I mean, oh crap… Mr. Von Bothmer, you’re burning up.”

“Get off of me!” Valentin forced himself to stand, stiffening his posture as best he could. “I’ve told you twice now that I am alright. I just need to lower the thermostat in here.”

Brennan couldn’t help but sigh in exasperation. “Look, I know you really care about your image and all of that, but I’m the last guy to worry about being professional with. The door is closed, there’s no one in the room but us, and you look ready to keel over. Please, let me help you.”

Valentin felt a strange jolt in his chest. He was silent for a long moment, his head pounding and his vision wavering. He didn’t want to admit that he was unwell, even to himself, much less his least favourite employee. He opened his mouth to say no, but couldn’t force the word out. In the end, he just sighed, hanging his head to avoid eye contact.

“If you must. But if you tell anyone you saw me like this, or that I let you take care of me, you’re fired.“

#sickfic #whump #illness #new characters #new ocs #my ocs #brennan #wright #valentin #von bothmer #fever #headache

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bestwishes86 · 3 years

Text

So I was watching a porno and had an idea for a murder mystery story based around a man that I created from the physical profile of the bottom.

I know that may sound crazy but I have been jamming out to Taylor Swift a lot lately and there aren't enough GAY murder mysteries that aren't porn. Here’s my idea and all the words I’ve written for it so far

Premise

Kevin an out and proud student of a Texas University is attacked and the police ignore the incident. His younger brother Sven tracks down private investigator Hugh for help finding the attackers and bringing them to.justice. Over the course or the investigation Hugh learns that Kevin was mixed up with students who performed drugs and gangbangs. Sven states he knows nothing about this but Hugh learns that is a lie when a video of Sven in a gang bang is sent to him. The pairs partnership is rocky as Hugh is somewhat homophobic. The more he learns about Sven, the stronger his desire to protect him gets. His feelings of jealousy and disgust over the sex video drives a wedge between them. But when a vigilante exposes the true purpose behind the groups sexual attacks. Hugh steps back into Sven’s life as the group begins to kill the victims before any of them can come forward. The two share a kiss before Hugh apologizes but can’t admit to his homosexualty. Hurt and dejected Sven puts himself in a dangerous situation but Hugh steps in and saves him. He had been keeping an eye on him from a distance. The feds step in deciding to put the remaining victims in witness protections and give Hugh and Sven one day before Sven is gone. The two act on their feelings and then Sven leaves. Hugh continues the investigation and learns how far the corruption goes in regards to the video. When he is publicly discredited in an attempt to get him off the case, he sits at a press conference where he admits to being hurt by men years before. And says he won’t stop until the men who hurt his love are behind bars. Sitting in a hospital room in St. Louis Sven watches the broadcast with his family.

Jake Johnson is my inspiration for Hugh

Here is my snippets

Here is how it ends for the two lovers

Sleepy dark brown eyes opened as the large hotel bed moved as the larger man left it. Hugh turns his head towards the tall muscular man walking naked towards the bathroom. Hugh was mesmerized by the long softback and large curved ass that swished a bit with every step he took. Hugh tried not to think of the ticking clock above their heads. But instead, as the bathroom closed, Hugh focused on the overwhelming feeling of love he felt for Sven. The lavish hotel room they had spent hours in felt more like a waiting room to Hugh. Soon Sven would be in Witness Protection and they would never see one another again. Hugh closed his eyes and listened to the imagined sound of ticking that matched his heartbeats.

Inside the vast extravagant bathroom, tears fell from Sven’s eyes. Last night had been everything. The way they kissed. The feel of Hugh’s calloused fingers on his skin. The way that man timidly kissed him, seemed to learn him with each movement of their lips. The nineteen-year-old man looked at himself in the mirror. This was the first sexual experience that didn’t leave his body covered in bruises and bite marks. He had hated each one, but now his vanilla skin was before him unblemished but instead cherished. Sven wished that life could always be like this. He branded each memory to his skin with his brown doe eyes. Remembering every space of his skin Hugh’s lips had been.

Their time was almost up and he knew that he shouldn’t be in here crying, but as he swallowed back the lump in his throat and closed his eyes. He didn’t notice Hugh opened the door and came inside. It wasn’t till the lean hairy arms were around him that he knew, Hugh a foot smaller, came up to his shoulder but it didn’t matter as he felt the warmth keeping his feelings embraced.

“I don’t know what to say besides I love you,” Hugh’s gruff voice said against the skin of his back and Sven closed his eyes.

“Me either...just., I love you too,” Sven breathed out as fresh tears came.

Hugh turned Sven around slowly while making sure to not lose the skin contact. Even if it was his fingertips grazing along the soft skin. His own eyes were wet but he blinked back tears and leaned up on his tip toes to kiss the younger man. It was just the pressing of tips but it was enough. The months of blood wine violence were outside the bathroom. The lies and decisions the two men were slaves to outside the kiss and the moments that came after. Hugh had never thought he would fall in love with a man. His ideas of a family thrown to the birds as he felt strong hands cup both of his small ass cheeks and press him closer to the much larger man. Fate certainly had a funny way of fucking with him. He felt the current of pleasure run up his body as he felt those soft, but strong hands squeeze firmly and he groaned into the mouth that opened for him. His tongue met Sven’s as felt Sven’s average length but hard cock press between his pecs and stomach.

Maybe it was a youth thing to always be ready for sex but as he felt his own cock going rigid, he knew he was wrong.

-------& ------when Hugh sees the tape

Hugh was angry, so very angry. The Barton case had been his first case from the start after rehab. One he had thought to pass to one of the bleeding hearts in the office who didn’t have anything against pansy ass men beating the shit out of each other. But when he had met Sven Barton something inside him refused to give in to that thought process. But now after months of surveillance, interviewing anyone connected to Kevin Barton, the man in the ICU who may never wake up, he had to hear it from some silver spoon SOB that Sven had been hiding things. Things that mattered to solving the mystery of who beat and sodomized Kevin. Hugh was livid.

Standing in the gray minimalist employee bathroom trying to collect himself he looked in the mirror. Large dark circles showed his lack of sleep against his olive skin. His off center nose from an unfixed break and thin lips made him look angrier. He was thirty two years old, his sandy brown hair a wild mess of curls and straight strands. He wore a rumpled white button down shirt and dark slacks. His “uniform” for working as a P.I. He had splashed water on his face and tried to unsee the images on that home recording. But he couldn’t. The tall Herculean nineteen year old on his knees, his mouth full of cock as those ocean blue eyes looked up at the camera. The six foot something man was surrounded by naked men Hugh hadn’t been able to make out, all were watching and all knew their turn was coming with the boy.

“He’s as good as his brother, maybe even better?” A faceless voice had said off camera and the flicker of recognition in those blue eyes and the emotion there caught Hugh’s attention. Bile had been in his mouth from viewing it and he had thrown up out the window of his parked Hybrid in the Ivy League University parking lot. Now back in the office bathroom his anger was stirring in his gut but he wasn’t about to toss his cookies again. He washed his face and brushed his teeth with more force then needed. It was stupid as he was only hurting himself. But that’s what he was good at, hurting himself.

As he rinsed his mouth out he wondered what he was so angry about. Clients lie. They leave things out, give him half truths to go chase after. But that boy with the square jaw, and those eyes a person could get lost in had deliberately lied to him. Was he hurt by the proof being on his phone, or was he jealous? The feelings and thoughts pinged around inside his slightly larger than average forehead and he closed his eyes. Focusing on his breathing, getting his pulse back to normal but he could not focus. He knew too much about things now and needed to talk to the boy and finally fully make sense of what was going on.

——-

Hugh attends a uni party as Sven’s security as the pair try to understand how the pack of rapists get their victims. Hugh is against the idea of Sven being bait but goes along with the plan. Sven drinks from a spiked cup of alcohol and begins to feel the effects instantly. Hugh realizing he was being blocked by sorority girls gets away from them in time to see Sven being led towards the exit. He grabs Sven and directs him to his car. On the drive back to his condo Sven has a breakdown as the drugs effect his mind. Getting the young man inside, Sven has a change of personality as he tries to have sex with Hugh. Hugh rebuffs this but Sven is determined so Hugh fakes agreeing to it just to lure him to the shower where he holds him naked in front of him and turns the water to cold. Sven reacts violently to this and Hugh bolts for the door. Keeping it held shut as Sven beats it and bellows against it causes Hugh to flashback to doing the same for his drug addicted mother when she was trying to beat him.

———

When the sex videos of the Uni men become public knowledge and the killers start picking off the victims before they can testify. Sven is put into witness protection by the feds. He and Hugh get one day to act on their feelings before Sven is gone. Hugh continues the investigation while Sven attempts to adjust to his new life unaware that Kevin is secretly in communication with Hugh on his behalf. Sven’s father finally expresses his anger at his sons lifestyle by hitting Sven and Kevin and his mother intervene. Hugh faces off against the killer in a cat or mouse game that exposes his own past to the news before the killer does. Sven and his family watch the broadcast and have differing opinions of Hugh.

————

Hugh’s fractured relationships outside of work affect his ability to focus on the case. With schizophrenic mother begins calling him and each conversation guts him emotionally. To the point he shuts Sven out of his life to be able to keep his harsh mood from destroying what little progress the student has made in mentally recovering. During this time of silence the killers begin to terrorize Sven. He finds himself hearing voices and jumping at shadows while being told constantly they aren’t real. But they are, the college guys are placing burner phones with prerecorded messages around campus to scare him. When a call comes through to Hugh from an unknown number he is summoned to the university pool where Sven stands on the top of the diving board set to jump to his death. Hugh runs up the stairs and gets to him in time to stop this unaware they are being recorded.

———-

#gay murder mystery #novel writing #gay fic #gay romance #gay #gay author #gay thriller #wipe

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Quibi Quibites the Dust: Why the Streamer Failed

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

Let’s start off with an important disclaimer. The end of any major company means the loss of jobs and livelihoods for many hardworking people. Hundreds of Quibi employees will likely soon find themselves out of a job amid a global pandemic and a grim economic environment in the United States. We wish them the best of luck in quickly finding gainful employment at other stable entertainment entities.

Having said that, Quibi is dead…Quibi is finally, blissfully dead. Undoubtedly the first big dud of the streaming era came to an ignominious end today when the Wall Street Journal reported that Quibi Holdings LLC will elect to shut itself down in the face of non-existent viewership, mounting debts, and a patent lawsuit or two.

Quibi had previously been searching for a buyer to take on all its assets (and its debt) but had already been turned down by Apple, WarnerMedia, and Facebook – mostly because Quibi didn’t even own much of the content on its own servers. The company is expected to hold a conference call with investors today to discuss the decision to shut down.

The doomed streaming service was the dream of former Walt Disney Studios chairman Jeffrey Katzenberg who wagered that as long as he spent enough money on something, audiences could be convinced to care about it. This turned out to be not quite the case, but not for lack of trying and not for lack of money.

Founded as “NewTV” in August 2018, the concept of Quibi was a novel one. The streaming service would develop content to be consumed as “quick bites” (hence the name Quibi) that audiences would consume in 10 minute increments. That concept made just enough sense to spur a truly stupefying amount of deep-pocketed investors to step in to offer up their money. Before producing even one second of content, Quibi had raised $1.75 billion in pre-launch funding from film studios, telecom companies, banks, and more. That money helped Quibi launch with a truly impressive war chest. The streamer had more than 175 shows and movies lined up for its first year featuring an array of talent such as Chrissy Teigen, Sam Raimi, Sophie Turner, and more.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

All was looking good in Quibi-land…and then Quibi actually launched on April 6, 2020. Within one week of the service’s arrival, it was quickly clear that this would be a once-in-a-generation case of corporate failure schadenfreude. Despite offering a 90-day free trial, Quibi found itself well outside of the Top 50 apps on the Apple app store one week after its release. The service could claim only just over 1 million active users, well below its initial expectations. Meanwhile, social media was alight with cringeworthy clips from Quibi’s shows.

Losing my fucking MIND at this Quibi show where actual Emmy winner Rachel Brosnahan plays a woman obsessed with her golden arm pic.twitter.com/rSfqCv75SG

— Zach Raffio (@zachraffio) April 15, 2020

The problems with Quibi were manyfold and will likely be the subject of media studies for years to come. So let’s just jump the gun on media historians and get into them right now.

For starters, Katzenberg, Quibi CEO Meg Whitman, and Quibi’s investors misunderstood how people engage with content in some breathtakingly arrogant and astonishing ways. While it’s likely true that audiences’ average attention spans have tightened in recent years, Quibi just decided to overlook the existence of hundreds of TV shows and movies that continue to absolutely kill it for other streaming services like Netflix, Hulu, and HBO Max. NBC Universal paid $500 million (or nearly one-third of the entirety of Quibi’s original investments) to secure the rights to The Office alone. And that’s because all evidence, both tangible and anecdotal, suggests time and time again that people are more than happy to binge 22-60 minute episodes.

Not only that, but Quibi was clearly targeted towards younger audiences…while fundamentally not understanding younger audiences. Per ad tracking firm iSpot, Quibi spent a staggering $63.7 million on television advertising to reach the coveted youth demographic, not realizing that that demographic likely wasn’t watching much traditional television advertisements in the first place. Not only that, but those young audiences already had their fair share of “quick bites” available to them, and for free. Mediums like YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, and Tik Tok had mastered the art of short form content and had granted them to eager young audiences for only the cost of their digital soul (demographic information). Any capitalist worth their salt should be very aware that “Free + Sacrificing of Digital Privacy” will beat out “$4.99 a month + Also Probably Sacrificing of Digital Privacy” every time.

Then there’s the fact that Quibi was available only via mobile devices and not on streaming providers like Roku and Amazon Fire. In fact, it’s only this week that Quibi finally found its way to living room viewing devices This is because Quibi could only imagine a world in which people were dying to watch content on their phones and their phones alone. This meant that Quibi watchers couldn’t screenshot, gif, or meme any of the content on Quibi, which in turn created little meaningful social media buzz. Notice how that viral “Golden Arm” bit is recorded on a phone recording another phone.

But Quibi’s biggest downfall (and what makes said downfall so cathartic for so many) was its hubris. A Vulture story about the streaming service released just three months after its launch now reads more like Percy Bysshe Shelley’s “Ozymandias” than a piece of media analysis. It is filled with foreboding dispatches from a company unaware it was already dead. Katzenberg and Quibi CEO Meg Whitman come off as barely caring about television, with Whitman in particular saying “I’m not sure I’d classify myself as an entertainment enthusiast” and offering up only a History Channel special about President Ulysses S. Grant as an example of a TV show she likes.

That article also features the following truly awe-inspiring passage of corporate ineptitude and carelessness:

“When Gal Gadot came to the offices and delivered an impassioned speech about wanting to elevate the voices of girls and women, Katzenberg wondered aloud whether she might become the new Jane Fonda and do a workout series for Quibi. (‘Apparently, her face fell,’ says a person briefed on the meeting.)”

Not only did the folks at Quibi misunderstand the entertainment landscape, they misunderstood how their app was supposed to work in the first place. Quibi launched during the beginning of the coronavirus pandemic, which would be a tough beginning for any company. But Quibi was in the streaming business, and should have hypothetically flourished alongside its many other streaming rivals with potential viewers across the world holed up in their houses with nothing but time and boredom to spare. In an interview with The New York Times, however, Katzenberg said “I attribute everything that has gone wrong to coronavirus. Everything.” In the minds of Katzenberg and Quibi’s investors, watching Quibi was a kinetic activity – something that someone would do while waiting in line for coffee or riding the subway.

It’s as though the decision-makers at Quibi bought into their own Silicon Valley Apple commercial bullshit in which a country full of beautiful people commuted to their high-paying jobs via readily available public transportation and just wanted to watch quick bites of other beautiful people entertaining them in 10-minute bursts during the brief downtimes in their exciting lives. Whereas other traditional streaming services continue to grow by presenting hours upon hours of bingeable ‘memberberries for a couch potato to have on in the background while they scroll through Instagram.

Based on Katzenberg’s New York Times post-mortem while the company was ostensibly pre-mortem, it seems as though no lessons will be learned here as well. Quibi is unquestionably the first biggest massive failure of the streaming era and it’s also unquestionably won’t be the last. That’s good news for casual onlookers craving the rightful humiliation of very rich executives and bad news for anyone hoping for the continued health of the entertainment industry post-COVID.

The post Quibi Quibites the Dust: Why the Streamer Failed appeared first on Den of Geek.

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#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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ntheonlycha · 7 years

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Feel Natural

Rating: r Pairing: wontaek Words: 23,762

{“Wonsik takes his hand and tugs him along into his world, into the craziness and hustle of his day to day life that Taekwoon doesn’t fully understand. It’s so different from his own, yet it’s exciting—fun—just like how he would describe Wonsik as a whole.”}

“I’m putting in my two weeks.”

Taekwoon’s head turned slowly from his monitor as he looked up at the younger boy whispering lowly against their musty atmosphere. He stared, sharpening his eyes as if it would help him read the other better, but the boy’s expression didn’t spell out anything he didn’t already know. Instead, the younger leaned his elbow down on the corner of Taekwoon’s desk, returning the gaze to prove a point—to make sure Taekwoon understood he was serious this time around.

And it’s not that Taekwoon didn’t understand, he did—clearly so. Yet, that didn’t stop him from still questioning, “Why?”

“This place is fucking boring,” came out slow and carefully enunciated, as if he was trying to drill the point even more than the hundreds of other times he’s expressed his hatred for their job, and it only caused Taekwoon to release a drawn sigh.

This was the third kid this year to quit. Maybe it didn’t really matter, people come and go all the time, move on to bigger and better things, but Taekwoon often still wonders about it. About this job of his and what makes so many others run away. He doesn’t really mind it, for the most part, working IT on the basement level of a large corporate building, making sure servers are working properly, and fixing any problems that arise for anyone on all seven floors above him. This could be anything from taking days to correct technical problems to being screamed at over the phone by a middle aged woman on the third floor because she is supposed to give an extremely vital presentation to three hundred outside associates and she can’t get the projector working. Typically, it’s just him sitting at his desk with headphones in as he works on larger projects or takes over worker’s computers straight from his own to help them. Sometimes he’ll need to meet with them, well, their computers in person, but that’s usually a job the newer employees take on.

He’s always been keen with computers and technology, so this seemed to be a good fit for him when he applied a couple years ago. He likes his job since it comes easy, because of the simplicity and the control he has. Sure, he’s sitting in a quite dim and muggy basement, the grayed carpeting rarely cleaned, and their group is somehow looked down upon even when they basically run the show, but he still isn’t too bothered. He seems to be the only one, though.

“I swear, I feel like I become more and more dull and useless the longer I work here,” the boy had continued, letting out his pent up emotions to Taekwoon like many others have done in the past. ‘You’re easy to talk to, you know,’ they’ve said. Taekwoon’s curiosities have him wondering why he doesn’t feel the same, why he’s been in the position the longest even after only being there for almost two years now.

Trains rush past on the metal tracks as he waits for the right one to bring him home. The weather is cold out, but the forecast claims warmth should be coming within the next few weeks. He finds the same seat in the back of the second railcar as he does every day and looks out the window at the setting sun. Behind the grime of the glass, the low clouds color the violet sky, and Taekwoon momentarily shuts his eyes.

His decision to pick up food at a nearby restaurant is based solely on the fact that he doesn’t feel like cooking tonight. He’s already too drained, too cold, and the sky is a deep blue by the time his numbed fingers unlock the door to his apartment.

Quiet, lights are out, and he steps in, placing the warm food on the ground before removing his shoes and dropping them beside the one other empty spot on the rack. This will be another normal night. He’s not expecting anything out of the ordinary since there usually never is, yet he still feels a faint sting as he places one of the food bags into the refrigerator. Wonsik’s not going to be home until late tonight.

So he clears the table and washes his dishes, bathing immediately afterwards since it feels nice to. It’s frustrating how worn-out he becomes in the evenings, but he can make sense of it. His work hours are long. Early morning starts and late ends with train rides that make his time away from home always more than he would prefer, but he knows not everything can be perfect.

Because like most nights these days, he crawls into bed alone. Usually he doesn’t ponder on it too much because he knows Wonsik is working hard. But on nights like this one, a night where his mind is already stirred, he struggles with being able to calm himself.

And just like that, it’s morning again.

Early morning, five o’clock, no-one-else-is-up kind of morning—not even the sun. He hits snooze on his alarm again even though he won’t fall back to sleep. There’s finally that serenity he doesn’t want to lose, to break out of. So he nuzzles his face back into the pillow, only blinking an eye open once he takes in the nearby sounds of heavy breathing, of the man in bed beside him. No matter how many times his alarm goes off, it won’t ever wake Wonsik up.

Wonsik’s facing him, eyes shut with sleep, but still somehow appearing tired. He has no idea what time Wonsik got home last night, what time he went to bed, or if he even ate. And it’s bittersweet, thinking during these moments, that this is the most he typically sees of Wonsik during the week. Because he has to get up, to leave for his work, and Wonsik’s working hours start and end his day much later.

They weren’t always like this. Almost a year ago now, Wonsik was hired by a production company to work on music. Taekwoon’s not sure on the intricate details of his position, but he knows Wonsik is part of a team, a group that puts in many hours to create songs that more times than not, don’t ever sell. He dropped out of college once he became established in his new job—maybe even his dream job. Wonsik swears he’ll go back and finish one day, but Taekwoon has no idea how he’ll find the time.

He certainly doesn’t see that happening anytime soon. Wonsik appears to be the happiest he’s ever been. His work is fueled by his passions—ones so strong that Taekwoon doesn’t believe there’s anything that will stop him from moving forward with them. Even when he spends his day in the studio or traveling, he’ll always send Taekwoon pictures of the interesting places his job takes him. Wonsik’s life has become so different from Taekwoon’s, from his daily routines, from his so called “boring job.”

Yet, one thing hasn’t changed.

“I love you,” Wonsik drowsily mumbles through a grin while reaching his arm out from underneath the covers.

Taekwoon’s taking a watch out of his drawer as he turns back towards the bed. “I love you, too,” he returns quietly, as if Wonsik is actually still sleeping, and offers out his hand, knowing that is what's desired.

“Have a good day,” Wonsik follows with the same expression lingering, delicately lacing their fingers together just before Taekwoon needs to leave.

“You too,” he returns naturally, curving his lips just the same.

“Fuck, Tae—fuck. God damnit, Taekwoon can you take this call?” His boss, Sunghwan, raises his voice in a panic from the ever going ring as he stands a row down, training a new hire. The young girl only started yesterday, replacing the boy who has recently left.

Taekwoon waits until the call is bounced to his phone as he puts his ear piece in before answering it. They’ve become much busier these days. Consistently being understaffed has Taekwoon taking on more responsibilities, has him riding the elevator up to the third floor because none of the computers in conference room 307 are connecting to their servers, and falling behind on other projects he has been working on.

He ends up leaving forty-five minutes late again in order to catch up. Sunghwan apologizes, says he trusts Taekwoon the most since he’s the most experienced, and offers to buy him tomorrow’s lunch as a small repayment. But tomorrow is tomorrow and today is still today. He catches the later train home, still taking his usual seat in the back of the second railcar.

The quietness of the apartment has never been something he’s focused on until recently. There was a time when Wonsik first moved in with him where they considered adopting a dog, but realized it would just be cruel with how little they are actually home. He cooks up a very simple dinner, not wanting anything heavy, but still preparing enough to fill a microwavable container for whenever Wonsik decides to eat.

His sisters are busy tonight, friends are too, and he’s kind of relieved by it. The television plays an old movie he doesn’t really pay attention to. Wonsik told him over the past weekend that it was going to be an extremely busy month for him. Deadlines and new projects and other lingo Taekwoon didn’t quite understand. Taekwoon was able to tell him about the boy who quit, about how he might stay at work later, but nothing else, really. He doesn’t feel like they have time to discuss the negatives much anymore. Taekwoon was on call most of Saturday and Wonsik was only home for a few hours during the day on Sunday. They held each other in the kitchen just because—because they needed to.

If he thinks back to years ago when he first met Wonsik, he would have never imagined their lives together were to play out like this. Not that it’s bad—but he didn’t consider the option for them to last this long, to stay together for as long as they have been.

It was his mother’s idea, initially. ‘Come to Younggi’s wedding,’ she urged once his father announced he’d be out of the country that date, and seeing that Younggi had been a family friend’s daughter, they’ve known each other for quite a few years. He was finishing school at the time, stressed with final assignments and upcoming exams, and definitely not wanting to go. His mother smiled as she smoothed the bowtie around his neck. She was proud of him, proud of her only son finally finishing school and ready to move on with life, and he assumed this was all for her to show him off.

And she did, introducing him to new person after new person, having the same conversations just with different faces.

‘Taekwoon, this is Wonsik. Miyoung’s son.’

‘Hello,’ Taekwoon spoke, offering his hand to the younger man before him.

’Nice to meet you,’ he returned, voice low and smile gentle.

There wasn’t much of a first impression since Taekwoon was whisked away quickly by his mother to speak with more people he was sure he’d never see again.

There was a moment where he managed to slip out of the crowd during the reception, sitting at one of the corner tables in the back, picking at the leftovers remaining on his plate. Surveying the ballroom, he lost sight of his mother a while ago, so he stayed by himself.

Only once there was a soft ‘Hey’ did he look around again, catching the eyes of a younger boy he had met earlier. ‘Mind if I sit with you?’

Small talk was really all it was. Taekwoon wasn’t there to open up and share his life story with another guy at this wedding. His mind was full of so many other things, but Wonsik was somewhat persistent with keeping conversations going. He was smooth, Taekwoon gave him that, but after a while they became quiet, blinking at one another as if waiting for someone to say something else, and it certainly wasn’t going to be Taekwoon.

It was then that Wonsik leaned in towards his ear, speaking softly, but firmly, as if this was his final attempt. ‘Want to go into one of the empty rooms down the hall and mess around?’

Taekwoon turned his face to meet Wonsik’s close one. Wonsik had a brow up, curiously awaiting a response as his warm breath prickled against his skin. Taekwoon looked around again for his mother, and upon not seeing her anywhere, pushed back on his chair to stand up. Wonsik’s face tilted up with a grin and they grabbed two fresh glasses of champagne on their way out.

Wonsik was good looking—tall, with a tuxedo almost too similar to his own, but he didn’t care. He had Wonsik backed against the wall of the dark room, lips gliding together as their heated bodies pressed closely.

Taekwoon remembers it being exhilarating. Maybe it was due to the alcohol, the lust, or if nothing else, spending time with a person who was just as bored as he was. He was almost glad his mother had him come to this wedding. Two blowjobs and an accidental spilled drink later, Taekwoon sat back on a stack of twenty folding chairs as he watched Wonsik fix his pants, brushing the creases out of the legs. The younger sent him a soft smile when he noticed him staring, but he couldn’t help it at this point.

‘Can I get your number?’ Wonsik had asked after the moment.

Remembering it now, his response back wasn’t his best. Honest, but harsh. ‘I’m… Not really looking for a relationship now.’

Wonsik’s face dropped for a second, but he still held a small smile.

‘This was fun, though. Thanks.’

Little did he know back then that when Wonsik is passionate about something, he finds it hard to give up. Later that night, when he finally returned home, his mother pulled out a folded piece of paper, saying one of the boys handed it to her on her way out. It was marked ‘Jung Taekwoon’ and he carefully opened the letter to simply reveal a phone number with a short note written below.

‘For when you are looking.’

He was quite solitary back then, working hard on his own, and not really up for any relationship lasting longer than a one night stand every once in a while. Those were always easy because he could run away during the night and never see those people again. But Wonsik somehow managed to change his perspective, his desires, and he finds himself becoming more aware of them these days.

2:39 AM, a blue hue shines in from underneath the bedroom door, and Taekwoon’s urge to follow it has him scooting out of bed. His steps are slow, unbalanced slightly, but he doesn’t let the exhaustion stop him.

Wonsik’s sat in his usual seat at the far end of their couch, hunched over the coffee table with his laptop and empty food containers as his concentration keeps his eyes glued to the screen. Headphones on, he doesn’t seem to notice the elder’s feet padding in closer. Taekwoon’s hands push his weight into the cushions as he nearly rolls his body onto the couch, startling Wonsik to sit straight, and resting his cheek against the younger’s warm lap.

His eyes shut because it feels good, Wonsik feels good. There’s a creak from the younger removing his headphones and shifting, but Taekwoon’s fingers curl over his thigh in attempt to hold him still.

If Wonsik says anything, Taekwoon can’t function enough to make it out. He’s so drowsy that he’s not sure if he’s even fully awake. But he’s comfortable—legs curled and body relaxed; Wonsik’s hand runs faintly across his shoulder.

He’s humiliated in the morning, waking up in bed with his face nestled closely against Wonsik’s side. The memory feels similar to a dream, but he doesn’t have any doubt on if it were real or not. He remembers staggering back off to bed and Wonsik sending him a smile before opening his arms, inviting Taekwoon—or maybe apologizing—but he moved in, anyway. He’s never done that before—disturbing Wonsik’s work at night—and that’s why he feels this clenching in his gut during the morning. He’s light on his feet as he maneuvers throughout the room, slowly, cautiously, and most importantly, quietly.

“Look, I’m really sorry,” Sunghwan pleads during their lunch hour out. They’re sitting at a sandwich shop just a few blocks down from the office building. Taekwoon doesn’t feel all that hungry, but he eats his half sandwich because he knows his body probably should be. “But I truly appreciate your help. No one else cares. You know, I try to hire kids with drive and devotion, but they seem hard to come by these days. Even the new girl, Hana, I barely see it.”

“It’s only her third day,” he notes in return, frowning all the same.

Frustrations come out as complaints and Taekwoon listens to them all. All of them are round about ways of saying that more work will need to be covered and Taekwoon understands, although it’s not what he wants to hear. Because there aren’t enough hours in the day to catch up and keep up on it.

There’s a pause and Taekwoon quickly jerks as his phone vibrates within his pocket. The screen reads Wonsik and he stands before his boss, quickly speaking as he fumbles, “Sorry—I need to take this.”

Rude, he thinks, running out of the restaurant where Sunghwan specifically took him to for a phone call. But it really isn’t just any phone call. It’s an uncommon one.

“Hello?” he exhales, looking around outside the entrance for a good spot to stand at.

“Taekwoon,” Wonsik hums in such a way that slows Taekwoon’s world down. “I can’t talk long, but I wanted to tell you that I’ve taken the night off tonight.”

“Ah,” he releases within the quick mix of emotions.

“Don't worry about dinner, okay? I'll be here when you get home and I'll take care of everything.” Wonsik’s tone is soft, like he already knows Taekwoon’s woes without either of them having to outright say anything. Maybe Taekwoon’s actions last night where enough.

“I’ll be late,” he manages, taking in a short breath.

Wonsik understands—he always does.

Darkness is quite prominent when he finally makes it to the train station and he already knows he’s going to get home even later than yesterday. His stomach growls loudly, but he ignores it for now, simply letting his hand rest over his navel as if that will somehow make it stop. The chill of the nighttime winds tingle within his spine and he keeps on with his usual path home.

The living room light shines through the window as he gets closer and he notices a subtle warmth already growing within his chest when he unlocks the door. The apartment smells like home, like food cooking, like Wonsik, and there’s a sudden rush when he’s removing his shoes and stumbling inside.

“Welcome home,” Wonsik greets him from the kitchen, connecting their eyes once Taekwoon makes it in the doorway.

And they stare, Taekwoon catching his breath he wasn’t aware he had lost, and begins to move in towards the younger at a normal pace. His arms wrap around Wonsik’s middle as he hugs him warmly from the side.

Wonsik chuckles at the squeeze, turning to bring Taekwoon towards his chest. “What is up with you lately?”

A valid question. Taekwoon is the one acting out of the ordinary here. Part of him wants to explain and another part doesn’t want to do anything besides hold their embrace as long as possible.

His behavior isn’t typical, but neither are his feelings. And it’s not like anything has changed recently. His and Wonsik’s schedules have been like this for months now—he agreed to this. Because in the past, this was something that he was alright living with, less daunting, actually.

Usually, it’s not him that initiates affection like this. It’s never been in his nature. And that’s probably part of the reason why Wonsik is home right now, probably because his alarms were going off, and maybe still are. He doesn’t force an answer out of Taekwoon, doesn’t even try. Instead, he pulls back enough to kiss his temple, and ask with a smile, “Are you hungry?”

“Markus was in the studio with us for… Three days now and it has been non-stop. Like, it’s fun and the amount of songs we’re working on is only multiplying, but I feel like I can’t really focus on perfecting even one if there are so many in development,” Wonsik’s telling him stories in between bites. They’re sitting at their small dining room table together for the first time in nearly a week. “And Gayeun, ugh, she’s still driving me nuts.”

Taekwoon showers after dinner. Wonsik’s undoubtedly trying to make the night easy for him by doing all the cooking and cleaning, batting him away when he offers to help, and the feelings don’t sit well in Taekwoon’s stomach.

Wonsik bathes quickly afterwards and they both find themselves on the couch watching television to wind down. Taekwoon has a hard time focusing on whatever is playing—some drama that’s already twenty episodes in, he thinks. He glances over at Wonsik, frowning almost, exhaustion creeping even further as he stares. Something doesn’t feel right even when it should be.

Wonsik’s looking at him the next time he blinks back into reality. The concern on his face is written so clearly that Taekwoon doesn’t even need to begin reading into it. “Tired?” He questions.

A second goes by and Taekwoon has already forgotten what Wonsik had asked. A response does come out, though. Gently, one he never exactly planned. “I want you…”

The request feels incomplete on his lips once the words make it out. He gaps silently for a moment, focusing back on Wonsik whose expression softens significantly into an easy smile. “Yeah?” He follows enthusiastically, leaning in towards Taekwoon a little.

Taekwoon instinctively draws back, releasing just the slightest sound as Wonsik moves against him, over him, to the point his head now rests carefully atop the couch’s armrest. His fingers grasp onto the younger’s arms, shutting his eyes as Wonsik’s face dips into his neck, and the sound of the television becomes lost. Soft kisses melt against his skin. One, two, three—

He jolts, body squirming, kicking his legs up onto the couch at the man above him. Wonsik’s laughing, poking and tickling his sensitive skin underneath his loose t-shirt. His heels are hitting Wonsik, hands nearly clawing, and his eyes open up to a large grin, one reflecting his own. His head feels light, pure and shimmering, watching as Wonsik begins to wither away under Taekwoon’s feathery touch down his sides.

It’s not long before Taekwoon wins this one, before Wonsik stumbles off and around the coffee table, catching his breath, his laughter, with arms protectively wound around himself. Taekwoon’s head rolls to the side, eyeing Wonsik's taunting smirk, and not being able to stop himself from playing along. He’s fast, leaping towards the younger who manages to swiftly grab his shoulders and spin them both in the opposite direction. Arms warp around his waist and he leans back, looking up with his mouth curved open. Wonsik nuzzles into his hair, cooing an airy, “Bed?”

The fresh breath of Wonsik’s lingering toothpaste feels cool against his senses. They’re carefully watching one another, smiles holding as Wonsik continues stepping forward and Taekwoon’s feet take him back. The younger vibrates a soft moan into his ear and a chill prickles his nerves as he reacts, naturally, like a reflex burned into his subconscious, and his arms are up, shielding himself perfectly: a hand holding Wonsik’s shoulder and the other pushing back on his face.

Wonsik hums again knowingly, running his tongue lightly across Taekwoon’s palm in such a way that has worked immediately in the past, but definitely will not this time. One of the younger’s half lidded eyes peeks a firm gaze from in between two of his fingers and the sight has Taekwoon snickering behind his curled lips.

But he gives in to this game, admits defeat for the moment, dropping his hands to Wonsik’s chest. Tonight’s a good night—they’re going to bed together. Not that the act is especially rare these days, just infrequent and often unpredictable.

It feels good, lying against the mattress, kissing Wonsik like it’s been a lifetime since their last. Their intimacy has never been generally romantic, but it works for them. It’s actually a major reason he was able to feel comfortable getting into this relationship. Because Wonsik somehow manages to make everything fun. He doesn’t take things too seriously, doesn’t make them overwhelming, but is still just as passionate, as loving.

They take their time, rolling around over one another on the sheets, laughing at everything even if none of it should be funny at all, and Wonsik holds his face, pulling Taekwoon down atop him in the end.

They’re quickly heated and breathless and bare, puffs warm and eye contact glossy when firm; Taekwoon slows all movements significantly despite the quick whine from the man below him. He lifts Wonsik’s clutched hand, leaving the lightest presses of his lips kissed against his knuckles, all while listening to the younger moan lowly through the most beautiful smile developing onto his face.

The muffled stereo from the television forgotten in the living room irritates his serenity as he comes down, cheek pressed against Wonsik’s chest and legs hooked together at their ankles. Wonsik’s thumb treads in a soothing back and forth motion along his shoulder as he leans his face down into Taekwoon’s hair, exhaling a simple, “Mm, you smell good,” despite the fact they’ve been sharing the same body wash for months now.

His head lifts and Wonsik shifts, nuzzling, softly kissing Taekwoon’s temple until he can fully slip down his neck. Taekwoon’s eyes shut, instinctively tilting his jaw when a warm tongue drags back up. His lips linger, wet and tempting, and Taekwoon’s fingers curl weakly at Wonsik’s shoulder. The younger pauses after a moment, asking in a curious tone, “Want to go again?”

Taekwoon lets his eyes slit open, gazing into Wonsik’s large ones as they come back up into his view. But the look doesn’t last because Wonsik’s already sliding away, reaching towards the nightstand before bending a leg between Taekwoon’s. “We can switch this time if you’re tired,” he gently adds.

There’s hesitance in his smile—or maybe guilt; an apology covered tone. But Taekwoon is tired, very tired because it’s getting late. Late for him, for his schedule. He reaches and Wonsik comes down, allowing his arms to fold around his neck, and for the younger’s warmth of bare skin to cover him. “Can we stay like this?”

It’s a long few minutes that they do. Taekwoon knows he’s letting Wonsik down, knows all Wonsik wants to do these days is take care of him, but he’s not giving in tonight.

“Is it work?” Wonsik asks after a little more time. His voice comes out light—caring.

“Work?” Taekwoon murmurs a sleepy response.

“I don’t normally need to rely on you being ticklish to get you to smile,” he says sharply, dancing a couple of fingers lightly just beneath Taekwoon’s ribcage.

His body twitches and face contorts quickly from some sort of a snarl to a grin and he pushes Wonsik’s chest until he falls off him and to the side.

“Sunghwan treated me to lunch today. I think he feels really bad about all the extra work,” Taekwoon begins, following Wonsik with his eyes as the younger bounces off the bed and shuffles around the room.

He hands Taekwoon a glass of water from the nightstand, crawling onto his side of the bed again after turning off the rest of the lights and finally the television from the other room. “Yeah, it’s unlike you to stay late for work. But won’t it get better with the new girl?”

Taekwoons frowns considerably, “Sunghwan doesn’t have a good feeling about her. She’ll be training with me next week, so I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“Alright, well don’t get too stressed. It’s just work. Keep me updated,” Wonsik responds with a hopeful nod. “Anyway, I have to tell you something.”

They’re looking at one another, cheeks sunken into their pillows, and if Taekwoon were ready to pass out, he’s certainly not anymore. “What?”

Wonsik looks away, expression falling as if what he’s about to say is hard to word.

“Wonsik, what?” He repeats impatiently.

“I’m not going to be able to make it on Friday—to the dinner,” he pauses for a moment, quickly grasping Taekwoon’s wrist from under the covers. “I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry, babe.”

Honestly, he’s not all that surprised. Still, he wants to groan because the heightened disappointment is almost unexpected, but he forces a sigh out instead.

“Markus planned a last minute trip for the group of us to travel to Jeju Island to meet with a studio there. It… Could be a really great opportunity for us and… We leave Friday morning and return Sunday night.”

It’s clear this could be a big deal. Maybe if his feelings were normal right now he’d be happy for Wonsik—ecstatic, even. But it’s the opposite. No matter how strongly he’s currently fighting it, he can’t help the devastation that's lowly simmering. Not just for the dinner, but for how much he’s recently been eager for Wonsik to be around.

A warm hand gently cups his face and he blinks over towards Wonsik’s eyes. “I’ll make it up to you. Once I get back, let’s plan a date. Like, a real date. And… Tell your mother I’ll definitely be there for the next dinner, okay?” Wonsik’s emotions shatter silently, Taekwoon just knows. He also knows Wonsik's left that exact message for his mom the past two times already.

Wonsik’s passed out on the couch in the morning. The sight leaves nothing but a clutching chime in Taekwoon’s chest as he remembers them falling asleep together last night. Well, maybe it was only him that did and maybe it was Wonsik who didn’t actually take the full night off. Either way, it’s Thursday and Wonsik leaves tomorrow, meaning this will most likely be the last he sees of the younger until next week.

So he sighs before pulling on one leg of their coffee table to make room for the inevitable fumbling Wonsik’s limp and tired body is going proceed with. He probably won’t even remember it come his morning, but at least Taekwoon will feel better.

“Wonsik,” he whispers across the younger’s face, giving a slight tug on his arm before gripping around his waist. “Let’s bring you to bed.”

“Hm?” The younger moans as he’s lifted off the couch and pulled against Taekwoon’s side.

There isn’t much more talking since Taekwoon’s struggling and Wonsik’s barely even there to begin with. Eventually he’s able to drop Wonsik onto the bed, taking in a few deeps breaths to make up for all the effort.

“Are you leaving?” Wonsik murmurs, opting to curl his arms around his head instead of reaching for a pillow.

But Taekwoon leans over him, bringing one of their pillows down to his level anyway. “Yeah.”

“Don’t stress,” the younger says lowly, shutting his eyes.

Taekwoon nods even though Wonsik can’t see him. He sinks down, leaving a light kiss to Wonsik’s cheek before slipping out of the room to not disturb his slumber for any longer.

“Do you want another coffee?” Sunghwan asks for what seems to be the second time. Taekwoon might have missed the first due to his headphones being on. But his boss still stands there, leaning his hip against the edge of the desk. “You don’t need to work through your lunch.”

“I don’t want to stay late tonight.” He kicks his chair to swivel around, looking at Sunghwan’s unimpressed expression. There’s a shrug and the conversation is over.

The effort wasn’t necessary, anyway. Rain pours from the clouds above during his ride home while he watches the droplets shoot off the window from his usual seat on the train. Even with an umbrella, he chooses to go directly home tonight. The apartment is dark and a little too cold for anyone to be home and comfortable. There’s a note on the counter, written in a typical Wonsik fashion.

‘I’ll be heading straight to the airport from work tomorrow, so I’m not coming home tonight. No need to make me dinner! (although I’ll miss it…) Have a nice and relaxing weekend. The guys and I will be doing some really silly things, so I’ll make sure to take pictures for you. You need to think about what you want to do for our date. Anything! I’ll probably make it home Sunday. Also, your car is in the garage. I love you!!’

It’s cute, Taekwoon thinks as he folds the paper back up, running a couple fingers down to smooth the crease, that Wonsik still writes notes like he did when they first met. His mother laughed about it, about how some boy left her son a note in this century, but she feels the same as Taekwoon does now. Wonsik’s charming in his own ways. And even though he’s not home, he has still left a smile lingering on Taekwoon’s face as he cooks dinner for one, as he thinks about how they’ve managed to make it to this point.

Two and a half months was the amount of time he made Wonsik wait. He didn’t plan anything out nor did he even think he would go searching for the one note from the one boy at that one specific wedding. It was a bad day, a bad week, actually. He was a month out of school and was constantly going into job interviews only to keep being rejected by employers. His small part time jobs in college were nothing in comparison to the interrogations he was going through during this time.

Stress was the biggest part, but a slight hangover one morning was the other. He laid in his old bed at his parent’s home, reaching out for a water bottle on his bedside table that just wasn’t actually there, and grabbing his phone instead. Though this period in time was actually short, that part of his life was quite difficult for him and nothing seemed to help alleviate the feelings. He had tried going out more, seeing his friends more, but there wasn’t much luck working there to bring up his spirits. Again, it was his mother who had reminded him a few days prior, ‘Did you ever reach out to that boy from Younggi’s wedding? It was Miyoung’s son, right? The one with the note. Ah, what was his name…’

Her heart was in the right place, but Taekwoon’s wasn’t anywhere to be found. He hadn’t thought of Wonsik since that day, yet he still remembered the name, the fun he had with him to be enough to spike his curiosity again. And maybe that’s all he wanted at the time. As his headache pounded away from the one too many drinks he had the previous night, he crawled out of bed to a set of drawers on his computer desk, pulling them open one by one until he found Wonsik’s note tucked in there.

He had disregarded what the note meant besides the numbers, forgotten that he was only supposed to contact Wonsik when and if he was ready to take a shot at dating. The truth was, he wasn’t ready, but he didn’t even reread the note to take that into consideration. He punched the numbers carefully into his phone, pausing only when he got down to the message box, unsure of what to say, if Wonsik would even remember him after so long. Yet he still initiated it, he still sent a simple, ‘Hey… This is Taekwoon.’

Not even ten minutes later, his phone buzzed with a response. ‘Finally.’

They met up that same day, Wonsik insisted after Taekwoon vaguely filled him in on what he was going through. ‘We can do something fun,’ he said, and that was exactly what Taekwoon wanted to hear, wanted out of him.

Wonsik appeared younger than the first time they had met, but it must have been due to only ever seeing him in a tuxedo previously. Though, his smile was the same as he remembered as they sat across from one another in a small café not too far from Taekwoon’s home, each sipping hot tea out of thick glasses.

Taekwoon shouldn’t have been taken aback by how much Wonsik wanted to talk, but he was. They didn’t speak much at all during the wedding and it was kind of hard for him to keep up with now, especially when the younger was much more enthusiastic this time. ‘I mean, you were hot. Really hot,’ he laughed out honestly, causing Taekwoon to drop his head into his arms. ‘And the wedding was so boring… Like, there were so many pretty and flashy girls there, but I didn’t catch you looking at a single one of them, so I thought… Anyway, once I sat down with you, I immediately liked you. And even though what we did was a blast, I’m not really into the one and done kind of encounters—which is why I’m happy you’re sitting with me now.’

Taekwoon remembered Wonsik’s simple message left on the note instantly after that. He became somewhat stiff, unable to control himself, and reached out for his tea to satisfy the need to do anything else.

Even though they were meant to do something fun that day, they stayed at the café far too long to continue elsewhere. They had both relaxed from the atmosphere and from how simple it was. Wonsik was captivating with his stories and when Taekwoon spoke, his attentiveness was only encouraging. Taekwoon didn’t even realize how many hours they were there for until he noticed the sun was no longer illuminating the sky out the window.

He was jittery, happy, and ended up giving Wonsik a ride home since he wasn’t quite ready to part just yet. They pulled against the curb of his parent’s apartment building and gave one another a look as Taekwoon put the car in park.

‘Kiss?’ Wonsik chimed with a smug little grin, tilting his head so his eyes appeared larger, more endearing. They met in the middle, lips pressing softly and quickly. Taekwoon heard it more than felt it, breaking away slightly before glancing up, only to let his head fall back down alongside a bashful snicker.

It was too small, too innocent for what they had already done in the past. Thoughts of having sex in the back of his parent’s old SUV he was driving came to mind. It would have been weird doing that in the car he basically grew up with, but he’d already done worse at that point to care too much about it.

His hand curved around Wonsik’s neck, leading him back in for some longer, deeper kisses that had them both releasing small, quiet moans. Wonsik was the one to pull away first, babbling, ‘You—You can’t just do that! I’m trying to build anticipation!’

And Taekwoon laughed, loudly and clearer this time, feeling the weightlessness from his chest working all the way down to his toes. Maybe it was good they had already hooked up before, he thought. Because his response made Wonsik’s grin grow before his hand was slapped over his reddening face. ‘What anticipation? We’ve already sucked each other’s dicks.’

The bed is fairly cool once Taekwoon slips under the covers, gazing over at Wonsik’s side through the darkness. After a long, quiet moment, he rolls over into the center to make the emptiness less apparent, spreading his limbs out before shutting his eyes.

His first picture message from Wonsik arrives during the afternoon, but he doesn’t look at it since he’s at work. The chair wheezes as he leans back, stretching his arms up and noticing Sunghwan glancing at him from across the room. But he ignores it, lifting his steaming coffee mug up to his lips.

It has felt like a long day so far and there’s still so much more to get through. He’s been working on additions to their database and it has been a series of trials and errors for hours, especially with the random phone calls from the helpless workers above interrupting his concentration. Hana appears bored with her fist deep into her cheek as she clicks away with her other hand. He wonders what Sunghwan could possibly have her doing.

His department eventually clears out as the day comes to an end. People are laughing and loud, celebrating the start of another weekend. But Taekwoon stays, wanting to finish up some of his work before heading out.

An elderly woman beats him to his seat on the train today, so he sits in his designated backup spot on the opposite side. His phone reminds him he now has two new messages from Wonsik, but he still doesn’t have the will to open them right now.

He chooses to not going back up to the apartment once he makes it home. His mother is expecting him for dinner as soon as possible and he’s already late from staying longer at work.

His car is exactly where Wonsik said it would be—parked in their assigned spot in the building’s garage.

It almost feels odd climbing in through the driver’s side door, having to move the seat up since Wonsik is taller. The amount of times he actually drives his car has become quite low these days. Despite the vehicle being his, Wonsik is the one who drives it just about daily. He wouldn’t know how to get to and from work without it. And even when they go out together, Wonsik typically jumps into the driver’s seat like it’s natural.

Taekwoon doesn’t mind—he never really did when it came down to the decision. He just remembers how excited he was to purchase the car. Used, of course, but still a newer model and sleek on the inside. Black and high end, having technical features Wonsik will never understand how to fully utilize, but ones Taekwoon’s dreamt of for years. Aside from moving into his own apartment, this was his biggest purchase once he finally got his first job after college. The company was far, too far for public transportation to make his commute a more efficient option, and having his own car was better than borrowing his family’s SUV all the time.

Although, his first job didn’t last too long since he technically was just freelancing. Once the project was over, so was his six months of employment and he was back looking for more work again. Thankfully, he was hired for his current job soon after. In the beginning, he drove to and from work, but it was then Wonsik’s parents suddenly kicked him out of their home, and changes happened quickly.

It wasn’t an easy time for either of them and it was the only time in their early relationship that was exceptionally nerve racking for him. Taekwoon couldn’t blame Wonsik. His parents were extremely upset that he decided to drop out of school to work on music and reality quickly caught up with Taekwoon on what Wonsik truly wanted out of their relationship.

Taekwoon never intended to have Wonsik move in with him. His apartment was his own space, a place where he could relax and breathe easy. Sure, Wonsik was often there, but their relationship still wasn’t concrete.

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted to Wonsik during their third or fourth date. ‘I won’t like—cheat on you or anything… It’s not like that. I’m just—I don’t think I know how to fully commit in a relationship.’

The stern frown on Wonsik’s face when he said that reminded him of a boy with crumbling dreams. His expression broke after another silent moment, one where his thoughtful gaze drifted off and his fingers folded together to support his chin. ‘Well,’ he began with a forced, nervous chuckle, ‘please don’t cheat on me. Let’s take one day at a time. I like you and it seems that you also like me, so… We can just roll with that and see where it takes us.’

Taekwoon felt terrible, felt it was unfair of him, but Wonsik was willing to work with him on relieving the pressure, on not labelling what they had, and it helped. He did like Wonsik, but unlike the younger, he was more of a fan of those ‘one and done’ relationships. In fact, that was all he’d ever known.

He offered Wonsik a key soon after he found out he had nowhere else to really go. He would sleep at his work, on friend’s couches, and Taekwoon didn’t want that for him. The first night, Wonsik slipped off his shoes with three small suitcases behind him and took steps forward until he could bring Taekwoon into his arms. And it was a long time they stood there, close and warm, holding, all while Wonsik couldn’t stop talking, stop thanking, stop expressing all his feelings.

‘I know you like being on your own and yet you’re letting this happen. I mean—I just… I really love you, you know that? Of course you do. It’s been two years for us. That’s a long time. A really long time. Well, not really, but you know what, I—I’m making no sense. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Things won’t be all that different, okay? I probably won’t be around all the time. This job—it keeps me busy. And I’m excited to move forward with it even though I’m sad for other reasons.’

‘Your parents will come around.’

‘I hope so.’

They really haven’t, sadly, but Wonsik’s become stronger since. It was all based on money and the fact Wonsik was so close to finishing school, but just didn’t have it in him to, especially not when he was so involved with other hobbies. He volunteered at first, spending much of his free time at this studio trying to learn as much as he could there rather than from the school books in his backpack. Then the job offer was presented and Wonsik had to make a choice. An easy one, for him.

His mother still contacts him every one and a while to make sure he’s alive, but that’s about it. Taekwoon gave up his car to Wonsik after a few weeks of them living together since Wonsik’s job took him to many different places while Taekwoon’s was the same daily, and it has worked out ever since.

“No Wonsik?” His mother questions, pulling him into a tight hug at the doorstep of his family home.

He pats the back of his ever loving mother. “Something came up with his work and he has to travel out of town this weekend. He said that he will make sure he can come next time.”

“Mm,” she releases, eyeing Taekwoon suspiciously and taking a step back to welcome her youngest inside. “I hope so. We haven’t seen him in a long time. Everything going well with you two?”

Taekwoon pauses before pressing his lips into a small smile. “Yeah.”

He loves being home, being with his family. Only one of his sisters doesn’t make it for this dinner, but they have them so often that everyone understands if the family isn’t full. He sits at his family’s large table, waiting for his mother to give him the cue that she could use his help with the prep work. His two other sisters and their husbands are in the living room chatting with one another, but he decides to stay where he is. No one should be surprised by his behavior. He’s always been like this ever since he was young.

Wonsik would probably sit with him if he were here. Either that or be helping his mother before she even requests it. Sometimes he thinks it’s funny how well his mother and Wonsik get along. Then again, Wonsik is already considered family at this point, especially after his mother found out that his parents had kicked him out.

Taekwoon thinks of himself lucky that his family is so accepting. He had never specifically told anyone about his preferences, but he wasn’t exactly secretive about them in the first place. Even Wonsik was surprised when he found out about Taekwoon’s family. Saying, ‘You know, when I first handed your mother the note, I was slightly terrified she would understand what it really was. But only a second afterwards, she looked back up at me with almost… A sympathetic smile? I was confused for a moment, but then she told me, “Good luck, hun,” and I just thought—wow, even his mom is cool.’

His father never spoke of it until one evening where he pulled Wonsik into another room in the house. Curious, Taekwoon tried to listen closely, but couldn’t quite make out most of the conversation. He assumed his father must have seen them playing around earlier that night when they were laughing and messing with one another on the loveseat in the living room because the only sentence he clearly heard his father say was, ‘You make my son happy.’ When they both returned to the rest of the family, Wonsik immediately locked his gaze with Taekwoon’s. His eyes were glossy against the lighting and his smile—adoring and unforgettable.

“You’re so much quieter without Wonsik,” his eldest sister whispers from beside him. They’re all eating, sharing in the meal that his mother enjoys putting together for her family. Taekwoon glances over at her and nods, surveying the remainder of the table, his siblings sitting closely with their significant others, before gazing back down at his plate.

There are now four picture messages from Wonsik that have piled up throughout the day. Taekwoon puts his phone down on the kitchen counter once he finally makes it back home. His mother left him with some boxed food with Wonsik in mind, but he knows it will go bad before the younger makes it home.

The night is quiet. Taekwoon shuts off the lights in the living room before he peeks past the closed blinds to take a look outside. The streets below have calmed with the evening hours passing by and the coolness from the outside air transfers through the glass as his nose becomes chilled. There’s not much else to do tonight, so he takes a shower, and lies down in the center of his bed.

He’s glad he’s good at sleeping. The act has never been something he’s struggled doing, not even when he found out just how loud Wonsik can get at night. So he’s not surprised when he wakes up almost thirteen hours later, groggy, and feeling almost as tired as he was when going to bed. He’s more used to seeing Wonsik in the morning rather than not, but none of that matters because he still gets up.

The bright blue from outside radiates throughout the living room after he draws the blinds back, sitting on the couch to eat his mother’s reheated leftovers instead of making something new. He’s on call today in case some of the upstairs workers have problems that they are trying to cram in before the new week, but the month is still early and the chances of him having to go to work are slim even with his group being understaffed. His phone is on the counter exactly where he had left it, showing he still has four new messages from Wonsik to be looked at.

There aren’t any plans to go out today. He has a faint headache from all the sleep and yet that’s all he feels like doing. His feet take him back to the bedroom where he simply stares through the entrance way. The room is dark since he never opens the blinds in here. Wonsik usually does since he wakes up later.

He picks up a warm sweatshirt off the floor and slips it on over his t-shirt, looking in the side mirror at himself and his lazy outfit paired with just some shorts he put on when he first woke up. Wonsik’s possessions have become mixed in with his own during the months they’ve been living together. Nearing a year at this point. There are times neither of them remember whose stuff is whose, but they don’t care too much about it.

Their lifestyle together isn’t dirty, just unorganized. Maybe more about their relationship is similar to that, he thinks as he picks up his phone, as he finally looks through the pictures Wonsik has sent him so far.

His fingers pull and pinch at the screen to see everything Wonsik is trying to show him. There’s nothing but happiness on the younger’s face in the first two. A drink in one hand and two other people in the background by a fountain he’s never seen before. The lights around it change the water red and the spout at the top is a school of fish collected together.

The second is from the airport. Wonsik has taken a picture with a woman as they pose with their fingers pointing up. Eyes closed, but smiles large.

No one is in the third photo. Instead it is of the rocks, the beach of Jeju Island at sunset. The colors are vibrant and beautiful, reflecting almost like rainbows against the calm water.

And the final picture is of a fancier dinner table set outside with at least ten people. Taekwoon doesn’t recognize any of them besides Wonsik, but none of the other people matter to him. Wonsik’s smiling, holding a champagne glass as if they’re celebrating something.

He drops his phone down on the couch cushion as he spreads out, laying his head on the armrest. There are always these feelings that emerge whenever Wonsik shares pictures like these that Taekwoon doesn’t quite know how to deal with.

Wonsik is probably the most joyful and carefree person he has ever met and it is no surprise to anyone after just one meeting with him. He’s captivating and optimistic even when situations go bad. Every day is a new journey for him, fun experiences that are just waiting to bloom, to enrich his life. There really isn’t a set path or routine he follows.

And maybe that’s why Taekwoon has found him mesmerizing. He’s everything Taekwoon isn’t. Being with him for any given moment feeds Taekwoon with an endless drip of pleasure and adventure. Even running simple errands together are fun to him. More fun than almost anything else.

So when he sees pictures of Wonsik’s life outside, he often feels unnecessary, inadequate, because what does he bring to Wonsik’s life like that? He’s not on these adventures with him; he’s sticking to his daily routines, to going off to work and coming home, to being exhausted and stressing about his ‘boring’ job.

And with another fifteen minutes of that thought, he sits up, moving too quickly that he blinks the white stars away as he stumbles over to his desk in the corner. It’s become dusty with the lack of use as of lately, lack of him accepting his friend’s invitations when they ask if he wants to game with them. His finger presses the power button on the computer, waiting until the lights flash and the system whirls while it boots up. Books and old mail are pushed aside as he pulls the keyboard and mouse out from under the buildup.

Something about sitting at his desk calms him slightly. It’s familiar and fitting, his hands easily falling back into the molds he’s spent years creating for himself. His desktop is filled with random files of old documents and programs that he had once worked on or fiddled with either for his old job or in his past free time. He leans back, looking to the left to see his diploma leaning haphazardly against the wall. He’s not thinking much as he reaches for it, glossing over the texting reading Computer Sciences and Jung Taekwoon. It’s his. It’s him. And he puts it down to focus back on the monitor. On searching through his files, through the internet for hours.

His Sunday goes by similarly. Headset on, he’s raising his voice, yelling at his two friends who are teaming up to completely destroy him within their game. He’s getting frustrated, but unwilling to give up. More picture messages have been sent by Wonsik, but Taekwoon hasn’t been in the mood to look at them. He’s clearing his mind, doing his own thing, and it ended late last night, only to start back up again late today too.

Eventually he tires himself out, giving his excuses and goodbyes to his friends in order to prepare for bed. He has work in the morning. So he goes through his nightly routine, showering, and collapsing on the bed. Wonsik said he’d be home tonight, but he didn’t give a time or anything specific. Taekwoon thinks about it, still. Thinks about Wonsik—and how much he’d like to be with him right now.

“Babe—hey.”

There are fingers combing his hair back as his eyelids blink open. He sits up quickly with a sudden jolt and rush of adrenaline, looking around until he catches sight of Wonsik leaning over the bedside. “You scared me,” he means to say softly, but it comes out with more of a whine than anything. “What time is it?”

“It’s a little after one,” Wonsik responds with an apologetic smile on his face.

The more he focuses on Wonsik, the more he doesn’t understand why he’s been woken up. His heart hasn’t slowed much from his initial shock, but he’s still tired. Wonsik looks alright, freshly showered, hair still wet, standing in nothing but his underwear. A look he really only has for bed when it becomes warm out. “Is something wrong?”

Wonsik hesitates, stepping a knee on the bed once Taekwoon scoots back to his side. “I was going to ask you that.”

“Why?”

“Because I came home to you passed out in the middle of the bed,” he starts gently, but pauses before finishing the thought. “You’re not even under the sheets. I was just going to give you a little push and climb in, but I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Taekwoon curls his legs up to his torso, feeling the distinct texture of their comforter against his skin as he does so. Part of him feels stupid and the rest of him is too drowsy to care. He assists Wonsik in lifting the covers up before swinging his lower half underneath. “I must have just fallen asleep that fast,” he says, thinking about how that can’t be completely true.

Wonsik doesn’t give him anything more than a hum on that. They’re facing one another again and Taekwoon acts without much thought, taking Wonsik’s wrist, and pulling it out towards him. Wonsik extends his hand as if in anticipation to grab something, but it’s Taekwoon who moves in, back towards the center of the bed where he’s slept most of the weekend, and relaxing right at the younger’s side. His hand runs across Wonsik’s chest, feeling his familiar warm skin, and understanding Wonsik’s comment from the other day about him smelling good. They may use the same body wash, but Wonsik still has his usual scent that is very distinct, very natural.

Wonsik gets it, bending his arm back in to rub against Taekwoon’s spine. He whispers, “Since when have you been so into cuddling?”

Taekwoon chooses not to answer.

“I like it.”

“I’m tired.”

“Go back to sleep.”

He’s still laying on Wonsik’s arm come morning—his morning. The alarm clock is too far for him to just hit it off without moving. Wonsik doesn’t register the sound, but it gets irritating for himself after another minute. He pecks his lips to the younger’s skin before rolling over and sitting up. The quietness returns and Taekwoon takes in a deep breath, glancing back at Wonsik’s sleeping figure as he takes his first steps out of bed.

There’s a numbness that’s preventing him from feeling embarrassed about his actions. He’s relieved, happy to see Wonsik back home, even if he’ll only see him asleep this morning. Bags are sitting by the door from Wonsik’s trip. It seems that he just put them down and walked away to deal with them later. Taekwoon wishes he had something prepared to welcome him back, but he doesn’t. He decides he’ll pick up dinner tonight.

“You’ll see all of our data and tables from the servers through this database. You should never need to edit anything here, but you can use the data to make any sort of program. They’re all labelled, but if you can’t find specifically what you’re looking for, just ask one of us,” he explains to Hana while she’s sitting with him. She seems to be taking notes diligently today and it helps Taekwoon feel as if he’s not wasting his time. “If there’s a problem with what is directly related to the data centers, ask Dahae and she’ll help you. We don’t really work with the cabinets themselves, but they’re just down the hall. I hate going in there. It’s always cold.”

She smiles at the last comment and somehow it has Taekwoon snickering as well.

The day is long, but he learns Hana isn’t always as disinterested as Sunghwan made her out to be. She seems shy, quiet, and Taekwoon is one to understand that.

He looks at his phone during lunch at the last two pictures Wonsik had sent him yesterday. One is of what looks like a very high tech recording studio. He’s not sure exactly what all the equipment does, but there’s a lot and he imagines Wonsik must have gone crazy over it.

The second one is just a picture Wonsik took of himself. He appears to be lying down in his hotel bed with a silly expression on his face and his finger and thumb are crossed to form a heart in the corner. Taekwoon saves this one.

His work has completely piled up due to the training, but Sunghwan says he’ll take care of it this week. Taekwoon leaves on time and it almost feels off to after the last week. The train ride is the same, sun shining from the same spot in the sky that it always does from the usual seat, and he stops at a noodle restaurant this evening since he knows it is Wonsik’s favorite.

A light illuminating through the living room window has Taekwoon stopping on the sidewalk for a moment to count, to make sure he’s looking at the correct unit that is his. Typically Wonsik lets him know when he’s going to be home, but he hasn’t heard anything from him today.

But he is there, sitting in his normal spot on the couch, leaning over to his laptop.

“You’re home,” Taekwoon states curiously as he steps inside.

Wonsik doesn’t look at him yet, immersed in his work, but he still responds. “Yeah, I didn’t go in. We are all so tired from the weekend that Markus told us to rest for now.”

Taekwoon’s expression settles into a relaxed smile. “Did you sleep?”

“Thankfully,” he sighs, finally shutting his laptop and standing up. “Oh, you got food? I was going to ask you if you wanted to go out tonight.”

“Ah,” Taekwoon releases regretfully, placing the bags of food atop the counter. “We can save this for later?”

“No, I see what you got. I’m fine with this.” Wonsik smiles as leans over the opposite side of the counter, digging into the bags.

“So, are you looking for a new job or something?” Wonsik questions while they’re washing up the handful of dishes they dirtied during dinner. “There are a few copies of your resume on the coffee table that I noticed.”

He flashes a glance at the younger, unsure of how to respond in a way that’s not too alarming. “I tried applying to some places over the weekend.” Some being nine, specifically.

Wonsik frowns faintly, taking a plate Taekwoon just cleaned out of his hand, “I thought you liked your job? Is the stress getting to you that badly?”

Taekwoon pauses, rinsing out the sudsy sponge under the faucet. “I do. I just—don’t know right now.”

“Want to talk about it?” the younger asks, closing the last of the cabinets now that their small chore is over.

He stares off at the one crooked tile on the kitchen floor while he thinks about this. He—really doesn’t want to worry or concern Wonsik while they have time to be together. Justifying that it’s probably something that he can figure out on his own, he responds with, “I’d rather just listen to you.”

So Wonsik nods and they move to the couch in the living room, sitting at their usual sides, and the younger goes over his weekend, his trip. He went with a large group and not only did they do work, but they also went out sightseeing in their free time. The studios they visited were ones that made Wonsik nervous to even step into, but he kept himself cool in the face of producers he idolizes, names Taekwoon has never heard of. Most of his time there was spent collaborating, learning, and watching Wonsik explain the details keeps Taekwoon’s attention more than the stories do. Wonsik’s expressing his passions again—and it’s captivating. The joy he absorbs out of his new experiences, just like from within the pictures he specifically sent Taekwoon, shines clearly.

“What did you do?” He asks to stop himself, probably knowing he can keep talking forever.

Taekwoon points out his arm towards the corner of the room where his desktop sits. “Games.”

Wonsik laughs and Taekwoon doesn’t really understand why. “That’s it?”

“I saw my family on Friday, but yeah…” His tone softens even though Wonsik’s grin doesn’t falter.

“Well, then that explains how I found you sleeping last night. I’m glad you made it to bed at all,” Wonsik chimes, a look of relief glistening through his gentle gaze. In the past, Wonsik has returned to the apartment and found Taekwoon sleeping on his keyboard, but it has been a long time since he’s done that. “How was the dinner? Is your mother upset with me?”

The slight pout on the younger’s face has Taekwoon’s lips curling up, has him exaggerating, “She didn’t seem to believe me when I gave your excuse. It appears she thinks I’ve kicked you out.”

But Wonsik’s fast with this game. “Why would she think that? Do you often lie to your mom?”

“I never lie to my mom.”

“You’re saying you have never ever lied to your mom?” He sneers, shooting over a confident glance.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you did.”

Taekwoon simply stares, fighting a smile by biting at his lip.

“Hm?”

He’s getting cocky, but Taekwoon can play along well. “It’s because she hasn’t seen you. She’s used to seeing someone I’m with once and then never again.”

“I’m the exception.”

There’s a sudden drop in the younger’s expression that sends a euphoric surge through his nerves. “You might have to keep proving that to her.”

Wonsik gives in, voice small, “Fine, I’ll give her a call later.”

Taekwoon can’t help it anymore. He laughs, curving his eyes and dropping his head down, only to lift it back up when Wonsik swipes a finger underneath his chin. His body winces, blinking back up to Wonsik leaning in towards him with a smirk gracing his face. He playfully swats at the younger’s shoulder, only causing Wonsik to return the hit. “Ya,” he calls, but it’s too late for any of that. Wonsik’s hand is already reaching around his neck, pulling him in until their lips meet.

There’s a moment of a heightened rush quickly followed by a vast calmness. Wonsik scoots in closer, alleviating the strain, and Taekwoon’s eyes remain shut. His fingers bend around Wonsik’s arm as the younger’s other hand pushes back. Taekwoon wasn’t ready for it to end and he makes sure Wonsik is aware of that by immediately sending him a look.

It doesn’t seem to give him the desired reaction, though. Wonsik chuckles, pecking Taekwoon’s lips once more as he holds his face and releases a faint, “You’re so cute.”

He almost wants to repeat the exact same words, but instead he pushes on Wonsik, leaning over him as he sinks back against the couch. His hands immediately go to Taekwoon’s neck, almost making sure that wherever they’re going, they’re in it together.

It’s a lot of kissing, a lot of Taekwoon lifting up and maneuvering Wonsik’s legs only so he can fit himself between them. His heart is beating quickly and Wonsik’s fingers are curled into his hair. He feels good, really good, listening to Wonsik moan as a confirmation those feelings are shared.

But he jolts after another minute once he hears a ringer going off, the vibration of a phone buzzing against a table. A couple rings go by and Wonsik doesn’t seem to notice, though, not until Taekwoon hesitantly pulls away.

“Do you…,” he breathes, sitting up slightly to give the younger some room. “Should you get that?”

Wonsik only gazes at him, eyes half lidded and nearly blank. The phone goes silent with the missed call, but it immediately begins repeating again. The younger opens up his hand and Taekwoon reaches towards the coffee table to grab it for him.

“This is Kim Wonsik,” he greets in a surprisingly expressionless tone. Taekwoon sits back on the couch, pulling in his knees towards his chest as he waits.

Wonsik spins his body again into his usual position, clearing his throat and quickly apologizing for it. He’s not talking much other than short acknowledging hums every few seconds. Taekwoon’s mind quickly concludes that he’s probably being asked to go back to work, to spend the rest of the night there instead of at home, and Wonsik’s side of the conversation isn’t giving him much to think otherwise.

Eventually, Wonsik springs with a stern, “No, not now. I’m already busy.” The call doesn’t seem to end quite yet and Taekwoon contemplates getting up to give him some privacy. “I’ll sign on later tonight and work on it.”

And that’s about it. Wonsik says a quick goodbye and looks over at Taekwoon once again.

“Next time we should just let it go,” he chuckles, but the laugh isn’t genuine. “They want me to come in now, but I said no.”

“How come?” Taekwoon follows softly.

“Because I really just want to be with you right now. I feel like… I almost feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks even when I have.” He stops, but Taekwoon doesn’t know what to respond with. “And your work is stressing you out. I want to be here for you.”

“I only sent out resumes,” Taekwoon gives an attempt to lessen the situation.

“But are things okay?”

His concerned behavior is reminding him of their very first date. Somehow, Wonsik was able to convince him to immediately come out and talk, to open up and let the outside stresses dissolve away that day.

But they had time back then, time that felt limitless and free. So he nods, nods in a way that Wonsik accepts even if he isn’t fully satisfied with the response.

Time is already beginning to melt away fast. They both break to shower and prepare for bed, laying side by side on top of the mattress by the end of it. Taekwoon’s tired—annoyingly so, but it’s nothing he isn’t used to. He still has work tomorrow morning.

“Did you think of what you want to do?” Wonsik asks him, tone soft.

“For what?” He follows, not really giving the question much thought before asking for clarification.

“I promised you a date.”

He really hasn’t thought about it. Wonsik’s eyes are gazing at him when he glances over. His lips part to speak, but he hasn’t put together the words yet to even release anything. It has been a long time since they had last went on a real date together. Most of their outings these days consist of grocery shopping and running various errands if they’re lucky enough to both have the time to go with one another.

In the past, when Taekwoon had the chance to choose, many times he picked simply going home, seeing his family. The first time had Wonsik in a state of sheer panic, but he relaxed after a couple visits.

‘Your family’s amazing,’ he’s expressed wholeheartedly. ‘I’ve… I’ve missed being able to just go home to mine, you know? Your parents, siblings, nieces and nephews, they’re all so kind and welcoming. It’s easy and calming almost. I don’t know how to explain it, but I like it. They treat me like I’m part of the family.’

Some of Taekwoon’s favorite date nights were spent in his parent’s home. His mother would keep Wonsik busy, having him help in preparing meals or just by talking, and he would happily follow her every instruction. There was something warming about watching their interactions, seeing Wonsik playing with his sister’s children, and trying to bond with his father when the opportunities presented themselves.

When Wonsik’s parents told him not to come back home until he finished school with a path to a respectable career, Taekwoon noticed the growing relationships between his family and Wonsik intensify. His mother knew Wonsik’s parents, not well, but they had spoken multiple times at events. She was horrified when she heard what had happened, promising something even Taekwoon himself didn’t have the confidence to—that he was always welcome.

When it was Wonsik who chose dates, they were nearly unpredictable. His decisions have translated into nights where they found themselves going out to odd clubs and sneaking into back rooms where groups of people who all miraculously knew Wonsik were drinking and playing blackjack on a makeshift table. They easily joined, tossing a few bucks into the pot only to lose it all in the end. But the lost dollars where never anything large. They made up for all of it by downing some shots and eyeing one another from across the table. A small kick or tap with their feet and Wonsik pulled at his arm until they were up, busting into another room where low whispers of desires quickly turned into realities.

No two dates have ever been the same. They’ve left the apartment during the early morning hours so they could hike the mountains at dawn, stayed up all night taking the trains back and forth so they didn’t have to go home quite yet, and have fallen asleep together in a karaoke room after a full day of exploring the city and hours of light drinking built up, causing more songs being sung by both of them, more dancing to freely slip out.

The dates Wonsik lead are all moments Taekwoon won’t allow himself to forget, ones he would tattoo all over his body if he physically could. He’s certain most of them turned into adventures he never would have experienced alone, never would have even considered. His memories remind him of the magic, of the lightness of the gravity within his chest during those times. Wonsik takes his hand and tugs him along into his world, into the craziness and hustle of his day to day life that Taekwoon doesn’t fully understand. It’s so different from his own, yet it’s exciting—fun—just like how he would describe Wonsik as a whole.

“Take me out,” he decides.

Wonsik’s mouth curves into a smile. “Sounds good.”

Wonsik stays with him. Fingers hooked together as he presses against Taekwoon’s back, folding his legs just enough to fit behind his own. He never used to care for being held like this, but maybe it’s something Wonsik sensed, something he thought would help Taekwoon unwind. And it is. Wonsik is hot against him, but not enough to the point where it’s uncomfortable. He wishes he could stay up, sit with Wonsik a little longer before he has to go into the living room to work more, but he can’t. He’s too exhausted.

And he feels cold once Wonsik leaves, slips out into the living room when he thinks Taekwoon has actually fallen asleep.

“Taekwoon, I’m so sorry. I’m just too busy and I simply cannot even look at your work today. Can you try and sift through it and see if anything is easy enough for Hana to work on?” Sunghwan says with his forehead cupped within his hand. “I know we’re backed up. Finance is losing their minds because I haven’t yet fixed one of the bugs that is holding up some of the billings from being completed and there are two new people who started somewhere on the second floor yesterday that don’t yet have access to their accounts. This is a mess.”

“Do you guys always get this busy?” Hana asks nonchalantly, placing her phone down against the desk only once Taekwoon rolls his chair up beside hers.

“We used to have more people,” he explains lightly, flipping through one of his binders to find the notes he plans to teach today.

“What happened?”

“Someone left earlier in the year, they replaced him, and when the second person left, they decided to just eliminate the role. Then another guy left right before you were hired.”

“Oh,” she starts, leaning in to peer at what Taekwoon is looking at. “That was all this year? It’s not even spring yet.”

“Yeah,” Taekwoon frowns slightly, wondering if he should even be having this conversation. He sees Hana almost wants to ask more, but he puts an end to it, beginning her training session right before anything more can be discussed.

The windows are darkened and reflective from the nighttime sky as he takes a moment to look away from his screen. Sunghwan’s sitting beside him on a laptop, both putting in extra hours again before heading home.

The process repeats for the next two days. Meetings are called and Sunghwan is able to pawn off some of the work to other groups within their IT department, but no one is happy about it. Sometimes it seems like Hana is engaged and interested, but other times she appears bored out of her mind. It’s all concerning to Taekwoon, but he can’t do anything besides continue training her hope for the best.

He hasn’t seen Wonsik at all except in the mornings where he’s passed out asleep beside him. An unread picture message notification sits on the home screen of his phone for the entire day. He almost wants to look at it, but can’t seem to find a moment to at work. Sunghwan comes by at his desk during the day, bending over and having Taekwoon look at his hair because he swears he has to have gray coming in, but there isn’t any yet.

The photo is of some party. There’s a congratulations banner and alcohol bottles decorating a large table. People are around, but he doesn’t know who they are or what they are celebrating. Either way, it looks like a good time, he deems it. A deep exhale has him putting his phone back in his lap, looking outside the train window at the same scenes he witnesses every day.

“Are you free Saturday?” Wonsik asks calmly, home earlier than usual tonight. Taekwoon’s already in bed, but not asleep yet.

The younger sits at his side, combing a few fingers through his hair. The act is so gentle that it somehow makes him sleepier. “I’m on call, but hopefully.”

“Ah, right, right,” he hushes, but Taekwoon doesn’t want the conversation to end right there.

“There’s dinner in the fridge,” Taekwoon mumbles, subconsciously turning his face into Wonsik’s hand.

“Thank you,” Wonsik brings down in a whisper, pressing his lips softly to Taekwoon’s cheek. The second kiss comes much harder, causing Taekwoon to grin through whiny laugh. “You’re the best.”

He’s spacing out, struggling to keep his eyes open, but as Wonsik’s about to leave, Taekwoon tugs at his wrist, curiosity still bubbling, “The party… What was it for?”

The bed dips as Wonsik sits back down. “We sold three songs to a top artist earlier this week. The deal was finalized and we went out to celebrate. Markus took off his shirt at one point and I blocked Gayeun’s view with my own body because not even she deserves to have to see that,” he chuckles lightly under his breath.

“Congratulations,” Taekwoon whispers softly, “That sounds fun.”

“Babe, it was so fun,” Wonsik smiles into his words.

It’s finally Friday. Not that the day of the week really matters when he can still work over the weekend, but there’s still some sense of relief that follows along with the thought. Wonsik doesn’t perk in the morning, so Taekwoon leaves him alone, lets him sleep.

The train ride to the office is the same as any other day and the sun shines through the morning haze as he walks the three blocks from the station to his job. He feels worn-out from the week, so drained that by the time he makes it to his desk, his vision is a little fuzzy.

There’s not much he can do besides try and blink his brain back to normal. Hana’s working at her own computer, but he can still see her glancing at her phone often. He doesn’t want to know what she’s actually doing, doesn’t want to have to think about it.

But he still ends up doing just that. Hana herself isn’t really the problem, it’s the position in general, the way she reflects how many others have. It’s distracting, slowing him down, and he allows it to continue. He wonders if the feelings are just a buildup or something greater, but he’s not sure how to express any of them to release the pressure.

He takes a break, a walk from his desk to the lobby of the building. Many of the men and woman occupying his area are busy with their own agendas, dressed nicely in suits and formalwear while his department always keeps it a little more casual. He wonders how exciting their lives might be. Do you get time to leave the office often? Go out and celebrate when they win big bids? Travel and experience new things? It makes him wonder if these are all traits that every profession but his must has.

There’s a bench outside of the north exit that he sits on, smokers linger around, but he’s far enough away from them that the polluted air doesn’t bother him too badly. He scoffs at himself because he never used to think this way, never used to feel so insecure about what he’s doing with his life.

Sunghwan has him leaving on time today, mentioning how terrible he looks as he pats Taekwoon’s back while he packs his bag.

“Please—,” he begins, “Can you please cover for me if someone needs to come in tomorrow?”

“You got it,” his boss replies with a wave and a tired smile.

He collapses in bed soon after he gets home. Clothes come off, but he doesn’t think he’s going to make it to the shower tonight.

It’s so frustrating—being this exhausted. He knows something still isn’t right, but he can’t work his mind well enough to let any of it unscramble. The weight of it all pushes down on him, causing him to conclude things he doesn’t want to.

Quit your job, he repeats, spelling it out over and over again. It’s boring, anyway, right? Boring to talk about, to do, to be a part of. He’s stuck in a dirty basement all day having to be busy all the time since the turnover rate has gotten extremely high.

Nothing interesting ever happens and it’s the same every day. The same train ride, same coworkers, same routine—boring. It has to be. That’s why so many have left, have complained until they just couldn’t take it any longer, have personally come to Taekwoon to vent to him about it.

But even with this internal argument, Taekwoon knows he is different. He normally likes his job, likes the comfort he has with it, the ease he’s grown into throughout the two years. He likes Sunghwan, likes how he doesn’t micromanage, how he has passion for the work, even if he does join in on the complaints sometimes. And coming to terms with those thoughts have him feeling like he’s the problem, the odd one out, the uninteresting, boring guy.

Then there’s Wonsik. Taekwoon doesn’t like to admit it, but times like this remind him of his feelings that Wonsik probably deserves better. Someone who can keep up with him, who he has more things in common with, who is even half as interesting as he is.

He’s had these thoughts before, thoughts that resurface often due to the fact that he’s struggled with their relationship since the day he messaged Wonsik for the first time, the day he realized how unprepared he was for all he was about to get himself into. At times, this feels more like a onetime fling that has lasted nearly three years for him than a proper relationship. Their first meeting wasn’t conventional, then again, their relationship has never fully been. He questions why Wonsik is still with him, why he forgoes so many relationship norms and puts up with Taekwoon’s quirks. Wonsik craves so much from this world, he knows this, and yet there is so little he can help provide. Maybe we should breakup, comes back to mind, but the thought immediately sours because he knows that’s not what he wants. In the past, he’s considered that maybe he just needs some alone time—a period apart where he can be on his own—but he has already been alone for most of his life, and he isn’t sure if that would help anymore.

Because he’s learned that he doesn’t like going to bed alone, doesn’t like sitting beside an empty chair when his sisters and their spouses all fill up the dining room table, doesn’t like having to deal with all these heavy feelings on his own.

The soft sound of a door clicking shut has Taekwoon stirring back through the darkness into consciousness. Red lighting from his alarm clock reads 12:23 AM, and after what feels like a single blink, the time changes to 1:01 AM. The mattress jiggles and he instinctively knows it’s Wonsik entering the bed behind him. He knows because he’s used to this, knows how quiet and considerate Wonsik always is at night, knows the scent of their shared body wash as it takes over the room.

And he often forgets how easy mornings like these feel, how nice it is to wake up when the sun is already out, when Wonsik’s eyes blink open before his own. He hears the birds outside and the breeze gently knocking against their windows. Fingers drag down his forearm until they bend around his hand and there’s a smile on the younger’s face that makes his stomach light.

Taekwoon slips out after a few more minutes to finally shower while Wonsik remains in bed. He hears the younger join him in the bathroom at one point, but he doesn’t pull back the curtain to look. Twenty minutes later, they’re both back in bed, quiet, neither verbalizing a single word to bring the morning to life quite yet.

They stare at one another, eyes half lidded and foggy, but still intense. Like they’re speaking to one another, silently, both turning in closer following another long moment, and their gazes only breaks once Wonsik’s face dips, eyes shutting when his tongue slips out, dragging it slowly along Taekwoon’s chest.

And once he starts, it’s difficult for Taekwoon to find any will to push him away, to do anything but bring him in closer. He doesn’t feel like fighting anything this morning, doesn’t feel like playing a game to get them riled up or take over control, and maybe it’s for the best this time.

Smiles are there, but neither of them laugh or fuss much like they usually do. The atmosphere feels too calm for any of that. But it’s comfortable, it’s easy, and Wonsik keeps their talking to a minimum, really only making sure they’re both feeling good.

He gasps with Wonsik’s deep movements and rolls, with the emotions and heat that wash throughout his entire body. His mind clears, not considering anything else right now as Wonsik guides him, holds him, has him burning. He only needs to turn his head back slightly for Wonsik to completely curve his body down against his own, scorching skin against skin. The younger’s arm glides up from behind him, hand curving around his jaw as they proceed to kiss this way, messily and heavily because Wonsik’s hips slow and circle, but don’t stop. He can't help but moan, loudly, openly encouraged by the younger who’s working hard to draw them out, to make this exceptionally pleasurable, to have him relax. He's nipping at Taekwoon’s lips, running his hands everywhere, and making his love as obvious as ever.

“Was that too much?” Wonsik’s low voice seeks affirmation, his face glossy and full of color.

And Taekwoon shakes his head, releasing a light, yet truthful, “No.”

He's left chilled, cooled sweat isn't quite soothed by the sheets alone, but it's not for long. Wonsik returns to the bed following a minor cleanup, pulling in on Taekwoon’s waist until they are together within the center again. His arms tangle around the younger’s neck and his face finds home against Wonsik's collar.

Even though he swears he heard Wonsik shower last night, the younger still runs the water for it to get warm. There’s a message on his phone, one from work, from someone in inventory who locked himself out of the system by accident. It would be a quick fix, but one he’d still need to go into the office to deal with. Thankfully, Sunghwan has replied already, telling Taekwoon that he will work from his laptop. ‘Have a relaxing weekend,’ he says.

‘Thank you.’

For the second time this morning, he and Wonsik meet in the bathroom. But this time it’s Wonsik that pulls back the curtain and, despite Taekwoon’s earlier shower, has him slowly stepping in again with a tug of his wrist.

He can’t remember the last time they bathed together like this, it was never something either were into, really had time for, but it is nice this time. There’s no rush, no real fight over space or who needs to be rinsed off first, and Taekwoon’s guard is nowhere to be found. He moves in closer, folding his arms behind Wonsik’s back to perch his chin over his shoulder.

A coffee shop will be their first stop solely due to him answering Wonsik’s question of, “What do you want to do for breakfast?” Taekwoon’s stomach isn’t really craving anything, at least not now, but he still needs to feed his caffeine addiction. Wonsik flicks the keys to Taekwoon’s car within his fingers as he waits by the door.

The sun is out, making it feel almost as if spring is finally here, but Taekwoon puts on a light jacket just in case. It was a good choice since Wonsik decides to roll open all the car’s windows as they drive down the road. There’s a cool chill, but Taekwoon has a hard time caring since he can’t stop smiling at just how much their hair blows around during the ride.

Wonsik hands him his coffee following a short wait from the couple baristas that are quickly running around to fulfill orders. He thinks they’re just going to return to the car, but Wonsik’s arm curves behind his back, hand grasping his shoulder, and he’s guided to one of the small tables at the front of the shop. “Let’s sit,” he says, pulling out a chair beside the one Taekwoon’s standing in front of.

So they do sit, both looking out the window that’s decorated with one sided stickers of various sized coffee beans, and Wonsik immediately starts. “Before we go anywhere else, how sure are you that you won’t be called in?”

“Sunghwan should be covering. I’d say chances are low,” he responds, looking down at his cup, wanting to take a sip, but knowing it is still far too hot.

And the answer causes a soft smile to appear on Wonsik’s face. “That’s great. I’ll probably be working through most of tomorrow, so this would be the best day.”

Taekwoon nods, not letting his eyes fall away from Wonsik’s simply because he doesn’t want to. There’s a pause and Wonsik’s the first to look away. He’s thinking, formulating his thoughts, and his face reflects an obvious worry, concern, as he asks, “Hey, though, are you okay? I mean, in general. Not just work. You’ve been acting…,” he stops again, glancing down at the table. “I’ve never seen you be this affectionate and—don’t get me wrong—I’ve been loving it. It’s just that you… You just seem sad.”

Taekwoon’s not shocked by this. In fact, he’s somewhat surprised Wonsik hasn’t brought it up earlier. He has never really been good with hiding his emotions or secrets. Typically, he’s blunt and honest, but it’s sometimes difficult with Wonsik since their time together never feels long enough anymore. It really doesn’t matter, though. Wonsik is always able to read him, anyway.

“Work has really been on my mind a lot. The turnover is frustrating and all of them have been complaining to me before leaving and… It’s been getting to me, I guess.”

“Is that why you applied to other places?”

“Yeah,” he admits following a small sigh. “I don’t even know if I want another job. I like mine. It’s just boring, you know?”

This has Wonsik turning his whole body in towards Taekwoon, eyes enlarged, and brows raised. “Boring?”

“Yeah, I’ve thought a lot about this. Like, maybe I should go back to school and study something else?”

“Since when do you find your work boring? I used to have to drag you away from your computer because you refused to go to bed. You seemed so focused and driven—like, you would stay up later than I do now. Working with… Your do whiles and cat6’s or something.”

Wonsik’s frowning, appearing baffled, but Taekwoon almost wants to laugh at the younger’s last sentence. His examples of Taekwoon’s profession have nothing to do with one another, yet he holds it in, willing to explain later. Because in reality, he doesn’t actually know what to say here and he almost wishes they weren’t wasting time sitting around at this coffee shop talking about things like this. Wonsik’s concern is genuine, and as nice as it is to know that he cares, Taekwoon’s expression still falls. Because this is only reminding him that he sometimes doesn’t feel like it’s worth it for someone like Wonsik to need to deal with this, to have their one real date a month consist of issues instead of just good times. Wonsik already derives so much happiness from his own experiences, that sometimes… Sometimes Taekwoon just doesn’t feel good enough.

And it’s saddening, causing him to look back up at the younger with probably the same expression that Wonsik’s been worried over. He forces a smile, a snicker, and it seems to ease the tension as Wonsik sits back in his chair.

“I’ll figure it out,” Taekwoon combats lightly, slowly lifting up his drink for the first sip.

“I’m here if you need me,” the younger follows softly, face still somewhat bewildered, adding in an even lighter tone, “Or even if you just want to snuggle.”

Taekwoon can’t help but curve his lips in return.

They’re driving for a while, it seems, taking highways headed south outside of the city. He keeps glancing over at the younger, at his concentrated expression as he drives. The radio plays popular songs that he doesn’t keep up with, but Wonsik mouths the words to. Wonsik doesn’t tell him where they’re going, but Taekwoon also doesn’t ask. They’re doing something together and that’s all that matters, all he needs right now.

He wonders what it is about being with Wonsik that makes the complexity within his mind unravel into simple thoughts and emotions. Because he's happy, excited when the younger makes a turn off the highway and states gently, “We’re almost there.”

The ocean is within view, grand and seemingly never-ending out in the distance of the horizon. Wonsik parks and there’s only one building in sight. It’s a restaurant—an old one, a little rustic—probably one that has been passed down from the generations. And that’s exactly the atmosphere he gets once they walk through the door. The fresh ocean air mixes in with the scents of grilled seafood and greens and Taekwoon sends the younger an overwhelmed look once they’re seated.

“What?” Wonsik laughs, his eyes curve as if he may have already expected a reaction like this out of the elder. “With how tired you’ve been, I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for a crazy day out… I’ve been here with some coworkers in the past and thought you’d like it. They catch all the fish themselves, how cool is that?”

He’s not wrong. They’re there for what feels like a short time, but is actually close to two hours. The sun brightens the entire restaurant as people come and go. Couples, families with children, and older groups walk through the doors to say hello to the workers as if they’ve known each other for years, and Taekwoon enjoys everything about this setting.

Wonsik’s talking a lot again, like he always does, filling Taekwoon in on the backlog of information he’s been holding in since the last time they’ve been able to do this. It reminds Taekwoon of the other half of Wonsik’s life that he isn’t really a part of, doesn’t fully understand—his coworkers, his work in general, his last communication with his mother. Not all of it is positive, but the relief on Wonsik’s face as he speaks, as he looks directly into Taekwoon’s eyes, has everything feeling alright.

Wonsik’s life isn’t perfect—never has been from what he has gathered throughout the years. He was at Younggi’s wedding also due to his mother, due to the fact she wanted him to get out and socialize, to meet someone. That someone probably not being Taekwoon, but he has never met her again since to see if she would approve of him or not. Taekwoon’s not even sure if she remembers he exists, if she knows who her son has been living with for the past year, if she even cares. He doesn’t think about it too much because Wonsik rarely brings up his family anymore. He was devastated, found crying on Taekwoon’s couch multiple times for the first couple weeks. Wonsik’s schedule was different back then and he was home for when Taekwoon would return from work. There was a shift in their relationship he didn’t quite realize in the moment. When Wonsik wasn’t working, he fed him, looked after him, and eventually housed him not long after. The younger’s income was small back then, certainly not enough to get by on his own, but Taekwoon didn’t say anything about it.

The words ‘I love you’ were spoken often during this time. Wonsik had said them before in the past, but hearing them became a daily occurrence. Taekwoon never felt it as strange because he never questioned his feelings for Wonsik back then. He cared for him, loved having him in his life, and only wanted the best for him. So the transition from simply seeing Wonsik a couple times a week to almost daily wasn’t as unnerving as he initially thought it might be.

Taekwoon helped pick Wonsik back up on his feet, offered support that he didn’t really have from anywhere else, and became so used to having the younger in his life that everything felt normal after a while. Only a few months ago did Wonsik sit down and ask Taekwoon for all the bills, for him to pay them instead. He tried to reason, saying he’d be paying them anyway whether Wonsik was with him or not, but he still lost the argument after it lasted nearly a week. Wonsik’s been taking care of the bills ever since, even the payments for Taekwoon’s car now that he’s established within his job, collecting royalties upon a salary.

So he’s not surprised as Wonsik pays for their meal like it’s nothing.

“Let’s walk along the beach,” Wonsik suggests lightly, unlocking the car door so they can toss their shoes and socks away for now.

There are a few groups of people scattered throughout the quiet shoreline, but Taekwoon doesn’t really pay attention to any of them. His feet feel warm against the sun kissed sand despite the air still being a bit cool.

Wonsik’s walking a step ahead of him, eventually pausing to look around as if in search of something. And it doesn’t take long before he turns around, pointing out towards some rocks way down the shore, and leans in to propose, “See those rocks? I don’t think anyone else is down there. We might be able to hide behind them and make out.”

Almost three years later and this aspect of their relationship hasn’t changed. Taekwoon scoffs through a laugh, glancing behind them to see a family of three playing in the sand, but not caring enough about what they might think as he takes Wonsik’s hand.

They laugh because they know it’s ridiculous, that they might be getting too old for things like this, but there’s still a rush in his system at the thoughts. The spot isn’t great, jagged rocks and broken shells have them carefully stepping through the area, but no other people are in sight. Wonsik presses up against him before they even make it around in the hidden area, teeth softly biting at his earlobe as they spin together. Wonsik hums in an amused fashion, wrapping his arms around Taekwoon’s waist to keep him close. They’re both chuckling under their breaths, Taekwoon whimpering as he’s moved and his heel catches him on something sharp, but they’re soon kissing like Wonsik intended them to, Taekwoon pushing out on the younger’s arms until he’s up against one of the taller rocks. He leans himself completely on Wonsik, fingers curled at his shoulders as their noses brush together, and the younger moans, running his hands down to grab Taekwoon’s behind. Wonsik’s smirking through the shadows casting down over his face and Taekwoon pauses at his beauty, thinking this sight is something picture-worthy.

“I love you so much,” the younger whispers during their break, as the gentle waves carry mist against their ankles.

Taekwoon doesn’t reply, not verbally, but instead tilts his head, and catches the younger’s lips again, slowing them down, and not letting the moment end just yet.

They’re back home before sunset, stopping off at the store to pick up some dinner on the way. Both of them check their phones as soon as they settle. Wonsik’s probably doing something work related while Taekwoon checks his emails.

“I have a job interview Monday,” he announces from the kitchen.

“Really?” Wonsik calls back, “That was really fast. What time is it at?”

“I’m asking them if I can come at 12:30… During my lunch. The place is really close to current job so it’s doable.”

The younger immediately leans against his shoulder as Taekwoon joins him on the couch. “That’s awesome. Is this a position you’re more interested in?”

It’s not all that much different than what he currently has. The salary is less, but a change in scenery might be all he needs. “I don’t really know. I guess I’ll learn when I talk to them.”

“Well, good luck and keep me updated.”

Wonsik’s eyes are shut not even ten minutes later. It’s not all that late, but Taekwoon understands how it feels to already be exhausted at this time. Plus he knows Wonsik didn’t sleep much last night. He actually isn’t really sure how much sleep Wonsik gets in general these days.

Another hour goes by and he spends all of it answering text messages while only half watching the television. Wonsik’s out, breathing softly as he holds onto Taekwoon’s arm. He considers wiggling out, but figures taking Wonsik to bed with him is a much better option.

When Wonsik was still in school, sometimes he’d come over and study while Taekwoon worked at his computer. Usually, at some point during the night, they’d meet on the couch together like this and never even make it to bed. It’s clear things aren’t like they used to be, but Taekwoon’s desires aren’t either.

“Wonsik,” he speaks softly, cupping the younger’s face until his eyes tiredly blink back open. “Let’s go to bed together.”

Wonsik’s movements are incredibly slow, but he follows along, brushing his teeth and shedding most his clothes before slipping under the sheets. Taekwoon joins him after shutting off the rest of the lights and electronics within the home. His eyes adjust, making note of Wonsik’s form from within the dark, his gaze looking back at him.

“Did you have fun today?” The younger asks, voice a little rough alongside the exhaustion.

“Yeah, Taekwoon responds quietly, “Thank you.”

“I won’t miss your mom’s next dinner, I promise,” comes out halfway as a mumble, but Wonsik’s lips still curve.

“Good,” he returns the smile.

Wonsik releases a small noise as he turns over on his back, spreading his arm out towards Taekwoon’s direction as he asks, “Are you coming?”

At first he doesn’t understand the question, sitting up a little to get a better view at the younger. Wonsik’s fingers bend around his wrist, tugging slightly, and Taekwoon feels this lightness from within his chest as he realizes what the younger is referring to. His newer sleeping habit.

He moves in, laying himself down closely against Wonsik’s side.

Wonsik’s gone come morning, but Taekwoon’s not fazed by it this time. He rolls onto his stomach, releasing a groan as he reaches for his phone on the nightstand. The apartment is quiet, but it normally is during this time on a Sunday. He slips into some loose clothes and proceeds to make coffee to start his day.

He can’t say he’s especially tired—no more than usual, that is. The blinds are cracked lightly and Taekwoon crosses his legs as he sits on the couch with a steaming mug in hand. His coffee helps bring some clarity to the morning, reminding him how the coffee from the café he and Wonsik went to yesterday tasted so much better than his home brewed. At least the memory is nice, their date was nice.

Wonsik’s still just as smooth as he was nearly three years ago, taking Taekwoon to a place he knew he would love. It wasn’t so much a glimpse into Wonsik’s outside life as it was clearly the younger’s attempt to please him, to lift his spirits in ways they could do together.

And Taekwoon presses his lips to hide a smile, to almost not let himself accept just how meaningful that is, to try and make sense of his feelings.

He’s not lonely, he has to remind himself. Sure their work has only made each of them especially busier during the past months, but it’s not as if they haven’t gone through this type of separation before. He’s been independent for so long and Wonsik’s newer to that sense, but doesn’t seem to have any problem with it so far. This shouldn’t be something that keeps getting caught in his mind, not something he ever even considered years ago, actually, it was probably the opposite.

Because he didn’t really want to date Wonsik, yet years later, their relationship has morphed into something like that. Their dates were slow in the beginning, in their first year, even slower after Taekwoon confessed his hesitance revolving around commitment. They talked more than they were together. Small, daily texts and weekend calls led up to meet ups every other week or so. Just about all were physical in some way, or at least ended in that. This was before Taekwoon moved out on his own and they had to get creative with where they could go. But that turned out to be part of the fun, part of what had them venturing to different places, for Wonsik to begin taking Taekwoon completely out of his element and into his own.

There was that change during their second year together, he felt it, remembers the exact moment when Wonsik’s gaze began affecting him differently. They started seeing each other weekly, sometimes more when Taekwoon finally had his own place, and when Wonsik began skipping out on a couple of his classes. The amount of adventures increased, moments together brought him ease, and the night when Wonsik first slipped ‘I love you’ didn’t leave him confused because he understood that he felt something similar.

And that all continued into the beginning of their third year together. Wonsik moved in with him, his family accepted the younger in with open arms, and maybe… Maybe they really did start being in some sort of an unofficial, committed relationship.

It’s strange as he thinks about this—all like a linear timeline. Wonsik’s been with him for so long now that he’s unsure how he would fair without him. Would there be an empty hole if Wonsik were to leave? He stares into the bottom of his mug, at the unabsorbed flecks of coffee beans that somehow made it through the filter, wondering if maybe one is already beginning to form.

“Hey, how about we grab lunch together again today,” Sunghwan suggests as he rubs out some of the stress wrinkles from his forehead. It’s cloudy out today, but not humid enough for rain. Taekwoon’s somewhat thankful for that as he has to turn his boss’s offer down even after he was nice enough to cover for him over the weekend.

There’s a slight frown on Sunghwan’s face, but he understands when Taekwoon gives his extremely brief excuse. “I’m sorry, I can’t today. I have to go out and meet with someone.”

“Later this week then,” he says with a small tap to Taekwoon’s desk.

Somehow Hana’s gone before he is even when he’s out the door at noon. He’s not quite sure what to feel as he locks himself in the bathroom stall of a popular bakery a couple blocks down from his job. He had packed a nicer shirt and a blazer during the morning and this was the best way he could think of to make this work.

‘Good luck today,’ Wonsik had sent him about an hour ago. He doesn’t respond; his mind’s not really in the proper place to right now.

They like him, it’s clear by the signals and brow raises the managers are sending one another. He’s long learned this kind of behavior from to the multitude of interviews he had after college, but he knows the main reason they like him is because he’s overqualified.

The facility is nice, a third floor office with large windows and cream walls. It looks clean, friendly, and the small IT department is mixed in with everyone else. He talks with four different people and doesn’t find any of them truly compelling, wondering if it’s him or them, but he’s honestly not invested all that much to find out.

Every part of him is screaming the same thing—no.

He’s professional, bidding farewell even though he already concludes he’ll never see any of them again. Other than the setting, he isn’t interested in any part of the job. He can do better than the position and the salary cut isn’t exactly worth it to him. Part of him is glad he gave it a shot, but the other is simply disappointed.

The same bathroom stall at the bakery is free as he turns the lock and changes back. There’s a subtle guilt in his stomach that he passed off an offer to have lunch with Sunghwan for something like this, but he decides to simply blame hunger for the feelings instead.

‘No good,’ he sends to Wonsik. ‘I’m not interested in this one.’

The rest of his day is quite busy. He sits with Hana for a couple hours before swapping out with Sunghwan. She’s picking up on the processes, the exceptions and limitations, and that creates a flow between them that’s working. There’s still an immatureness about her that’s there, but he can tell that she is putting in some effort to understand. Her questions for him are good ones, concentration better than before, and it leaves him with a surprising amount of satisfaction when she’s packing her bags to leave for the night.

Sunghwan’s smiling apologetically at him, sitting back down in his seat because his work still isn’t done. And neither is Taekwoon’s. So they both stay.

His blazer and extra dress shirt that he wore to the interview are wrinkled badly, but he still proceeds to hang them back up in his closet. Wonsik’s not home, but he feels better knowing he picked up dinner for him on the way back. His nightly routine proceeds per usual. He eats, cleans up, showers, checks his email, and then is back in bed, physically unable to continue his night in any other way.

His mother did call, talking briefly about future get-togethers and how Wonsik actually did reach out to her last week. She laughed, finding it all equally silly as endearing, and Taekwoon hummed short responses until she eventually just told him to go to sleep. He puts his phone down for only moment before it’s buzzing again. Not a ring for a call, but a message. A picture message from Wonsik.

There’s no hesitation as Taekwoon immediately views it. The image is of the nighttime sea beach. The bright moon glows a disfigured reflection across the water and the city skyline shines from afar in the background. It looks beautiful, like a sight that could rejuvenate himself, or anyone for that matter, if he were actually there, and Wonsik follows up with a simple message. ‘Nighttime inspiration.’

Curses whisper within his head when the alarm begins going off. His hand stretches out to hit the button so fast that he’s almost able to forget that it ever happened in the first place. He rolls back over, back towards the additional warmth on the bed, shutting his eyelids as he nuzzles against Wonsik’s arm. His finger’s graze down the younger’s skin, causing him to stir only a little bit.

“You need to get up,” Wonsik’s slightly husky morning voice manages a murmur. Somehow it has already been thirty minutes. “You’ll be late.”

He’s quick to make up that time, skipping out on his first cup of coffee, and feeling somewhat groggy on the train as he nods his head off to the side. There’s an email on his phone from another company trying to set up an interview, but he simply doesn’t have the will to respond at the moment.

There are two meetings that take up most of his morning at work. Sunghwan and Hana sit beside him as they listen to the needs of a few of the business management supervisors on future projects. What they are looking for seems challenging, but definitely doable. The only problem is with time and the time that it will take for them to even begin this project with such a backlog already behind them. He even thinks about all the hours wasted in this meeting that he could be focusing on other things.

“Lunch?” Sunghwan asks again ten minutes after noon, leaning over his desk. Taekwoon hadn’t even realized the time.

There’s something relaxing about spending time with Sunghwan. Maybe it’s because he gets it, understands the work even better than Taekwoon does, but he actually doesn’t mind grabbing another lunch together with him. They both order light meals, warm and calming soups that will give them energy without too much of a crash later on.

“How’s Hana doing?” Sunghwan begins, spinning his spoon within his bowl to release more steam. “I want your honest opinion.”

Taekwoon glances up at him, making sure to take the moment to think before outright saying anything. “Better,” he starts with. “She’s here and there sometimes, but overall… Better.”

“I know what you mean. We had a talk with her about the phone usage and I think she understood that point. She’s just young. Then again, you’re young too. How old are you again?”

Taekwoon sends his boss a look that causes them both to chuckle. “I’m twenty-six.”

“Right, right, close enough. You two are very different, though. She might just have some growing up to do. It makes me look at my own daughter a little differently. I don’t want to be a bad parent, but I want her to be ready for life before she’s just thrown out there, you know?” He’s smiling, but he always does when he mentions his daughter.

“How old is she?” Taekwoon questions, forgetful with details like these.

“She’s only eight, but they grow up fast. I feel like just two weeks ago she was three. Now that she’s in school, I really need to pay more attention since I don’t see her as often as I used to.”

“Ah,” he releases, nodding lightly as he simply listens while still eating.

“My wife is used to me being so busy, but I don’t want my own kid to forget about me!”

He’s not really complaining or venting as much as simply filling his voice throughout their small lunch environment. Taekwoon doesn’t mind and always listens anyway. Sunghwan laughs a lot at himself, at the things he says, and Taekwoon can tell there are more truths to his words rather than just jokes. And maybe that’s what compels him to ask, “Do you ever feel like what we do is boring?”

Immediately he realizes how inappropriate a question like that to his boss is, but thankfully Sunghwan doesn’t seem to think twice on it. “Of course not. Well, that could be more of a personal preference, I guess. Like, my wife has no idea what I’m doing half the time when I’m working from home or staying late. I’ve tried explaining some things to her, but she doesn’t seem to care except when her computer isn’t working for one reason or another. I feel like that’s normal with most professions. I think my kid is still a bit too young now, but when she gets older I’ll try and explain to her what I do. Maybe she’ll find it interesting. If not, then she’ll find something else. I just like technology in general. If I didn’t like what I was doing, I’m not sure I could do it every day. Why do you ask? You’re not planning on leaving, are you?”

There’s a glint of panic in Sunghwan’s eyes that causes Taekwoon to gain some sense of pride. “It’s something I keep thinking about because of all the people who have quit this year,” he explains calmly enough so his boss doesn’t take his words the wrong way.

“Taekwoon,” he says almost sharply, almost fatherly-like, “This kind of stuff happens all the time. Just worry about you. I know things are tough right now, but… Ah, I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, but it’s—it’s fine.”

This grabs Taekwoon’s full attention as he places his spoon down in the bowl and hands to his lap.

“So, I’ve been working on getting you a laptop. This way you’d be able to work from home kind of like what I do from time to time. I’m not saying you can do that daily and never show up again, but it can help so you don’t have to come in on Saturdays or stay later than you need to. I’m also not saying that you should work through the night to catch up on stuff—please don’t do that—it’s more for flexibility sake. You’re a hard worker and I think it will beneficial for you. Normally, you’d need to have some sort of tenure before they start giving these out to employees, but I’ve been pushing for one for you.”

His eyes simply blink back. He doesn’t know how to respond to this, how to even conceptualize of all the benefits at once. Without warning or control, his emotions are well up, becoming overwhelming the longer he holds out, so he exhales firmly, looking at Sunghwan’s gentle smile as he strongly expresses, “Thank you.”

“I told you I really appreciate working with you. We’re a good team.”

Taekwoon nods, nods a lot as he hears laughter from the opposite end of the table. His insides feel tingly, appetite full already, and he repeats a little louder this time, “Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

And he can’t help himself, dropping his head to look down at the edge of the table. “I truly mean it. Thank you. Things have been so hard and—”

“I know.”

“And I haven’t had much time to relax or be with my family lately. It’s really been getting to me…”

Sunghwan continues to chuckle as Taekwoon’s face heats up. “I completely understand.”

He releases an audible sigh that Sunghwan still finds amusing. He’s worked up, excited, and maybe even relieved. He wants to say the words again, make his boss understand just how much he appreciates this, but he doesn’t. Doesn’t need to because Sunghwan is already aware.

He leaves work on time today, sending Sunghwan a small smile before stepping up to the ground level. Wonsik’s not going to be home, but as he sits in his typical seat on the second railcar he decides on cooking tonight.

Nothing fancy. Wonsik’s never complained either way. Taekwoon puts together grilled vegetables and some fish. One plate for himself and one container for Wonsik for whenever he makes it home. He cooks in silence even when there’s a lot of noise going on within his mind.

He’s thinking about all he wants to tell Wonsik, to share with him, to possibly sit and talk for hours like the younger sometimes does. He wants to tell him what’s truly going on at work, what’s getting him all riled up and puzzled, and hopefully find some sort of comfort through it all with him.

Sunghwan’s words repeat in his head. His words regarding his wife, his family, and how his work life has him missing out on them as well. He’s not alone in this aspect. Maybe that’s just the way of the working world, he considers. A cute garnish is added atop of Wonsik’s container before Taekwoon shuts it in the fridge. He sits alone in the dining room, checking his phone in between bites.

He does finally respond to the second company looking to interview him since the opportunity is there. Their hours are different, night shifts more prevalent, and he decides to try for it as well. The energy from his conversation with Sunghwan lingers as his computer screen glows. He’s got his headset on, talking quickly while leading his friends into a space battle that they ultimately win.

The next couple days are uneventful. He wakes up exceptionally warm as an arm crosses over his torso. Wonsik’s all the way over on his side this morning. There’s a note at the kitchen sink left by the younger. It’s small, but still nice to see after almost no communication for most of the week. ‘I’m going to have the whole weekend off. :)’

It’s something to look forward to, information that gives him drive to keep the hours passing, even if he truly doesn’t want to wait. Today is only Thursday.

He’s got his second interview tonight, so that’s something clouding up his mind. Sunghwan is already aware that he can’t stay late, so they’re working together at Taekwoon’s desk again in order to be as efficient as possible while Hana solely assists workers from the above floors.

“They want to be able to see the real time tables,” Sunghwan reminds him while Taekwoon edits one of the companies programs for the marketing team.

“That’s fine,” he replies shortly, mind on the job at hand.

He packs his bag, tucking away the sleeve of his extra shirt as it peeks out of an open compartment. Sunghwan doesn’t seem to notice, but he still feels uneasy, as if he’s potentially betraying his own boss. But that’s just how the job market works, he attempts to justify, taking a different train further out from his home.

“Jung Taekwoon, nice to meet you,” a woman whose name he has already forgotten shakes his hand. The office’s atmosphere is very different from the first place he interviewed at. Not so much clean and bright as this one is muggy and dark. The sun is going down and their shifts are starting. The workers all appear younger, still at the ages where staying up this late doesn’t throw off their entire bodies as much. He takes notes regarding the position, slightly more interested in this one, but still not being convinced.

Again, though, the managers seem to like him, to see the potential within him. The benefits are better, but the late night working causes him to lean more against it. He should be feeling more excitement about it, but the lack is telling him a lot. He’ll have more time to think about it, to see if they even offer him a position within the next couple weeks, but right now he’s just tired.

The train home is delayed due to work being done on the tracks. He sits on a bench in the station, staring at the bathroom sign debating on if he should go in and change back into his normal outfit, but he doesn’t care enough to right now. Instead he sends Wonsik another message.

‘Had another interview tonight. Not sure how I feel about it, but it went well. Things with normal job are getting better.’

Wonsik doesn’t respond by the time he finally gets on the train, so he simply slips his phone back in his pocket.

It’s late when he finally makes it into bed. He made a small dinner, mainly for Wonsik, but had a little bit for himself. He’s tired, but his mind is foggy. He thinks about the weekend, about possibly being able to spend more time with Wonsik, and that helps. Helps him eventually drift off.

Waking up alone actually throws him off today. He groans, but sees light shining from the crack in the doorframe that gives him some hope. Wonsik’s eyes are large as he stares up at Taekwoon from his seat on the couch. He glances back and forth between his laptop and the elder before finally admitting, “I didn’t even realize the time.”

Even though Taekwoon’s unhappy, worried because Wonsik obviously has been up all night, he immediately forgets about it once the younger’s arms circle around him. They hold one another, close and tightly, taking in every ounce of comfort they can while they have a moment to. It’s another one of those embraces they both needed, both craved, and Taekwoon feels somewhat revitalized once they finally break.

“Go to sleep,” comes out in a whisper. They’re so close that he doesn’t need to be any louder.

“I should, shouldn’t I?” The younger chuckles.

But he doesn’t, at least not yet. Taekwoon’s ready to leave for work and Wonsik stands by the door, waiting for him to come by. It should be silly, but Taekwoon finds it more heartwarming than anything. The younger kisses him, smiling into his words as he wishes Taekwoon a good day.

“I’m going to bed now. For real this time,” he promises, shutting and locking the door behind the elder.

“Question.” He hears Hana’s voice coming from his left side.

“Answer.”

She’s not amused by the attempted wit, but neither is Taekwoon. “This guy on the sixth floor is having access issues and the first reset didn’t work.”

The day feels long even though it’s actually the same as always. He’s working more with Hana today than normal, but he’s not bothered since they’re being very hands on. The worker who put in the service request on the sixth floor isn’t the happiest that he has to wait for Hana to figure out how to fix something when Taekwoon is right there, but it’s the only way she’s going to learn. And she smiles at him when she’s done, glowing in a proud sense, and Taekwoon snickers as they walk back down the stairs together.

“That guy kept hovering!” she huffs.

“Neither of us are staying late, got it?” Sunghwan says, sitting on the edge of Taekwoon’s desk once he returns from lunch.

He swirls his chair out, taking his normal seat. “If you say so.”

“I do say so,” his boss repeats, grinning into his words. “It’s Friday. Got any plans for the weekend?”

Taekwoon thinks about this one. Of course he wants to say something silly like, ‘Hopefully not get called in tomorrow,’ but he instead goes with, “I’m not sure. What about you?”

“My wife has been begging me to plan a family day, so I finally did. We’re going to an amusement park,” Sunghwan grins, appearing extremely excited.

“I’m sure your daughter will love that,” he follows.

“Oh, she doesn’t even know yet. We’re planning on surprising her. All of her friends have been going, so I think she’ll be ecstatic. It’s been quite some time since the three of us last did something like this together.”

“Then your wife should be excited as well.”

“Trust me, she is. I mean, we’ve been together so long now that we know it’s when we can finally go through with a plan and have a great time that makes everything worth it,” he exclaims.

Taekwoon nods, smiling a little bit, feeling something inside of him that took comfort in hearing words like that.

“Have a great weekend, Taekwoon.”

“You too.”

The weather is warm out as he walks to the train station and it makes his choice on how to proceed with dinner a little bit simpler. He likes how the air feels fresher, more crisp and easier to take in, and he decides going out of his way to pick up something yummy is the way to go.

His train ride is quick with how little he’s paying attention to it. There’s this weightlessness within his mind that has him at ease, content, and ready for the weekend. The apartment is the same as it always is when he arrives home, but today he’s not affected by its hollowness. He simply eats and cleans, lounges on the couch as he watches the nightly news.

His body feels sluggish and tired, but his brain truly isn’t. He almost wants to get frustrated with himself over the back and forth he feels every day, but it doesn’t seem all that worth it at the moment. Instead he showers, standing under the water for longer than usual because he’s in one of those moods to, and basks in the calming effects.

He thinks about how nice it would be to visit his family this weekend, to go with Wonsik and have a meal with his parents. It has been a long time since just the four of them were together. They could talk, relax—feel at home. Maybe he’ll be able to take Wonsik out afterwards. Even though he’s been incredibly busy himself, Wonsik undoubtedly has been as well. He didn’t even go to bed until after Taekwoon left for work this morning. He has to be worked up, tensed. In fact, he’s reminded of his feelings from yesterday on how he really just wants to talk everything out. He wants to catch up with Wonsik, to make sure they’re on the same page, and just… Make sure everything continues working.

He keeps thinking about it, about this past month, and how everything has resonated within him. His interactions with Wonsik have felt different recently. He doesn’t know what to call them because he’s long been aware of his love for the younger, but maybe this is another change that feels new, scary at first, but maybe something he can settle himself into. Something that he past three years together with Wonsik have all lead up to.

Because he never used to miss Wonsik so much when he wasn’t around, never used to appreciate their time together as much, and it almost makes his past self seem like an idiot. Sure, they had shared great times, bad times, and many regular days, but Taekwoon was happier than he was prior. Maybe that’s just the way relationships grow and evolve, he’s learning.

Even with all his own negativities, he knows Wonsik loves him. He hears the words, reads them, and visualizes the feelings with his eyes all the time. If Wonsik didn’t, he’s not the person who would stick around. Taekwoon knows this because he knows Wonsik. He knows the younger will do just about anything to get what he wants, even if it means waiting for months for a possible love interest to send him a message or forgoing everything his parents stand for to pursue his own path in life.

Taekwoon’s not as strong as Wonsik is when it comes to confidence within himself or his decisions and maybe it’s because he’s never truly needed to be. He worked hard to get where he is now, but he can’t say all of it was due to passion.

He sometimes wonders if Wonsik is outgrowing him in that sense, becoming more experienced and mature, going from being just about completely dependent on Taekwoon once his parents had kicked him out to finding joy and financial stability within just a few months. This quick life change really put a new strain on the dynamics between the two of them. And it’s amazing to Taekwoon, to know someone like that, someone with the ability to bounce right back and flourish, to still take his little free time to try and happily provide for Taekwoon out of nothing but love and affection—the feelings Wonsik clearly has for him. Because at this point, it’s obvious that it’s not just lust or shared boredom that has kept them together this long.

And maybe that’s why Taekwoon’s eyes blink open during one of the night’s darkest hours. 3:03 AM the clock reads, but he doesn’t really register it because the blue hue illuminating in from underneath the door has him stepping out of bed. He’s delirious almost, body still in shock from the sudden awakening, yet he keeps going. Slow and steady, opening the door, and shutting his eyes as the unnatural lights become stronger.

Wonsik’s sitting where he always is at the end of the couch, leaning over his laptop with papers and food containers littering the coffee table. He notices Taekwoon this time, blinking his eyes and leaning back, as if unsure on what is about to happen.

And honestly, Taekwoon doesn’t even know, either. He steps a leg over younger to sit on his lap, to have hands quickly hold his waist as he drops his forehead down against Wonsik’s shoulder. He’s pulled in, arms wrapping around Wonsik’s neck, and his eyes shut yet again.

“Hey,” he hears the younger whisper, seemingly unfazed by his actions. “Listen to this.”

His face lifts slightly and Wonsik’s hands rearrange to transfer the cushiony headphones over his ears. A hand securely against his back holds him in place as Wonsik leans forward, clicking something on his laptop to have music begin.

He hears a piano playing, softly as the base, but not slow. His face tucks back against the younger, feeling himself falling into some sort of trance, a tranquil state. He just keeps listening, letting the melody flow throughout him, and understanding nothing but the sheer beauty of what is being played. He can’t say anything, make any comments, because his mind isn’t functioning enough right now to even recognize everything he’s feeling.

“There’s no lyrics yet, but I’ve been working on that in studio for the past week.”

He sits up a little bit, looking down only to see Wonsik’s gentle smile. His hands take the younger’s face, tilting it up even more so he can kiss him—innocently and light. The headphones are pulled off and dropped to the side against the couch before he quietly pleads, “Come to bed with me.”

A part of him didn’t expect Wonsik to immediately comply when he was in the middle of working, but he held Taekwoon’s hand and he shut the laptop with his other. The memories of them heading to bed are blurry, but once his head hits the pillows again, the images of Wonsik removing his shirt from over his head instantly has Taekwoon’s heartbeat picking up.

He’s becoming overwhelmed, somewhat nauseous even, but once Wonsik crawls in bed beside him, he immediately feels better. Taekwoon’s hands quickly hold onto him, practically finding any way to cling himself securely against the younger.

And he hears chuckles as he presses his face down into Wonsik’s collar, but he still can’t stop the words forming in his mind from leaving his lips.

“Marry me,” he murmurs against the younger’s skin.

There’s a clear laughter that erupts, but he doesn’t let go even with all the shaking. Wonsik’s pushing back on him, trying to pry his hands off so he can see Taekwoon’s face. It’s a fight that lasts, that causes them both to struggle and release light giggles through the strains. Wonsik rolls, but Taekwoon goes with him, yelping as he hits the mattress again on the other side.

“Hey, hey,” Wonsik huffs, leaning over Taekwoon as he holds his wrists hostage. “If you’re going to propose to me, at least be awake enough to look at me.”

But Taekwoon’s not. His eyes curve shut as he laughs, as his entire body feels increasingly lighter with each breath.

“God, what am I going to do with you?” Wonsik says from above him, “You have been acting so strange lately and now you throw this at me?”

“I have so much to tell you—so much.”

“I know you do.”

The moment Wonsik releases Taekwoon’s arms, they are wound around him, pulling him back down so their lips can meet yet again. And they’re sweet kisses, ones that calm Taekwoon down rather than excite.

Wonsik momentarily pulls back, releasing, “I want to hear everything tomorrow.”

“I’m still on call tomorrow. I might have to go in.”

“Sunday, then.”

“Okay.”

Wonsik’s hands are holding him, gripping his sides as he rolls off, making it so much easier for them to press together again.

“Can we visit my parents this weekend?” he asks, eyes shut as Wonsik’s lips kiss his jaw.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

“But what do you want to do?” Taekwoon blinks back, pushing a little because he’s serious.

He’s met with Wonsik’s strong gaze when their eyes connect again. “Relax and be with you.”

Taekwoon only stares back, not really sure what to make of that response.

Apparently Wonsik is able to see through this, to read him properly, and explains, “I’ve been so busy lately that I’m becoming tired. Truly, I don’t care what we do this weekend—I just want to be with you. They asked me to come in tomorrow and Sunday, but I told them no just like I did the other week.”

“What you were working on sounded beautiful,” he’s finally able to comprehend.

And Wonsik smiles almost sheepishly at that, “Thank you. That’s not really for my job as it is my own work. I might present it to them, might not. I haven’t decided yet.”

“Ah,” Taekwoon exhales, not even considering that as an option, but also not even in the right mindset to completely understand. His fingers absentmindedly comb through Wonsik’s hair as he remembers, “You never answered me.”

“I just did,” the younger responds back, brows quirking in a baffled way.

“Not about that.”

“Mm,” Wonsik hums after another moment, tone slightly smug as he presses the tip of his nose against Taekwoon’s cheek. “I mean, the way you put it didn’t exactly leave room for a debate.”

Taekwoon bites his lip as he tries to hold in his smile. He only has one more question before he can fully let his walls break down. “Do you think I’m boring?”

The look of pure confusion shines from every feature of Wonsik’s face as he leans back, as if he just heard Taekwoon say the most nonsensical thing in the world. “I wouldn’t have just agreed to one day marry someone who wasn’t the most fascinating person I have ever met.”

#wontaek #vixx #ravi #taekwoon #wonsik #fic

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douchebagbrainwaves · 6 years

Text

A NEW FUNDING LANDSCAPE

The prospect of technological leverage. Then they're mystified to find that their startup lumbers along like a World War II bomber while their competitors scream past like jet fighters.1 Who are you to write in school even has users. Gone is the awkward nervous energy fueled by the desperate need to not fail guiding our actions.2 Are we heading for a world in which returns will be pinched by increasingly high valuations? This is especially necessary with links whose titles are rallying cries, because otherwise they become implicit vote up if you believe such-and-such posts, which are the most important factor in the growth of mature economies—that is who Jessica Livingston is. Indeed, almost pathologically so. Where can you find more people who love that sort of thing to be interested in the latter are interested in. The mere bigness of big companies is an obstacle.3

Paintings usually begin with a statement, but with a question. It meant one could expect future high paying jobs. If you pay them by the simple expedient of forcing yourself to launch something fairly quickly. Scientists don't learn science by doing it, but whether it could help you at all. In this case the exploding termsheet was not or not only a tactic to pressure the startup.4 Startups are stressful. Bottom-up programming suggests another way to convince investors. They won't be replaced wholesale.5 The closest you'll get to Bubble valuations is Rupert Murdoch paying $580 million for Myspace.6 As big a deal it will be that bad.7

Perhaps some people are deterred from starting startups because they don't like the name computer science. Maybe as you say that it will seem ostentatious. Ask anyone who's done it.8 Don't give up. We could hire employees, but we want to know first whether a startup is not like having an idea for a startup to try to give the impression they're on top of it. Most investors give advice, but the fact that they have better hackers. Whereas if an investor is notorious for taking a long time and could only travel vicariously.9 Ask anyone who's done it.

The paintings made between 1430 and 1500 are still unsurpassed. But all it takes is for one big investor to cool on you, and they can't judge those just from meeting you.10 When you're young, you occasionally say and do stupid things even when you're smart.11 Once you start talking to users, I guarantee you'll be surprised by what they said than who wrote them; a magazine might publish a story by an unknown writer if it was good for even the most promising startups, that series A investors are increasingly at odds with the startups they like are the ones who have it all figured out. Inevitably, the people working on them discover a new kind of venture fund that invests smaller amounts at lower valuations, but promises to either close or say no very quickly. It's exacerbated by the fast pace of startups, they can make money. One of the most successful startup of all is likely to be a spam url, so submitting every http request in every email would work fine nearly all the founders an email asking what's up, and you'll reach audiences through them.12 Family to support This one is real. So being cheap is almost interchangeable with iterating rapidly.

I've been very surprised to discover how emotional investors can be.13 You'll be delighted when it goes up and disappointed when it goes up and disappointed when it goes up and disappointed when it goes up and disappointed when it goes up and disappointed when it goes down. The closest you'll get to Bubble valuations is Rupert Murdoch paying $580 million for Myspace. As a condition of funding, their investors insisted they hire someone old and experienced as CEO.14 You about Sex, or something like that. You can of course be disruptive—by distracting the management, or by going to work for a while that the stuff I read in newspapers and magazines. A lot of founders were surprised how important persistence was than intelligence.15 First, the Internet lets anyone find you at almost zero cost. If you had a handful of users who really love you, and the paper becomes a proxy for the achievement represented by the software. And the difference in the way only founders can.

So keep typing! The question is not whether you need outside investment, but whether it brings any advantage at all. As I was doing it I tried to imagine what a company would be like being an administrator. The central problem in big companies. That they would say, hey, wait a minute, how can stocks be up with all this unrest in the Middle East. Technology is a lever.16 What prevented most serfs from leaving was that it seemed insanely risky. So why do universities and research labs continue to judge hackers by publications? The problem is the receptor it binds to: dressing up is inevitably a substitute for good ideas.

Ideas beget ideas. I grew up in a conversation with one of their conference rooms to talk down an investor who was about to back out of a new funding round we needed to buy time to fix it.17 Investors are rich enough to be rational and prefer the latter. Startups are a comparatively new phenomenon. It's just ten times more irresponsible not to think about the great hackers? One reason Google doesn't have a problem with options, it's that they reward slightly the wrong thing. But they're still dragging their heels. It's probably because you have to find users and measure their responses. And even that's going to be airborne or dead. There are more dangerous things than that. And they may be right. After centuries of supposedly job-killing innovations, the number is small compared to the number of users and the other half you're thinking as deeply as most people only get to watch your child experience it 8 times.

Notes

And at 98%, as on a wall is art.

A small, fast browser that you were going to eat a sheep in the definition of property.

But the usual way will prove to us. I've become a so-called lifestyle business, which you ultimately need if you know about this problem, but Joshua Schachter tells me it was the reason. I believe, and most sophisticated city in the former. In principle you might be a special name for these topics.

We're only comparing YC startups, but I have to negotiate in real time, is to tell someone that I didn't. This is the post-money valuations of funding. What I'm claiming with the earlier stage startups, so it may have been the losing side in debates about software design. As a friend with small children to consider themselves immortal, because unions will exert political pressure to protect one's children seems weaker, judging from things people have for a patent is conveniently just longer than the rich.

And I have to recognize them when you say is being compensated for risks he took earlier. It did. A rolling close doesn't mean a great idea as something you can get rich by preserving their traditional culture; maybe people in the field.

Advertisers pay less for ads in free publications, because they could imagine needing in their closets.

I've often had a killed portraiture as a percentage of GDP were about the origins of the things they've tried on the cover.

At first literature took a shot at destroying Boston's in the fall of 2008 but no more than the others to act. The Old Way.

Patrick Collison wrote At some point, when we got to the average employee. Stone, op. World War II had disappeared in a large chunk of this essay wrote: One way to see the apples, they sometimes say.

But if you have to include in your plans, you can't or don't want to measure how dependent you've become on distractions, try this experiment: suppose prep schools, because time seems to me like a loser they're done, she expresses it by smiling more. A lot of the previous round. A lot of money. Jessica is not the distinction between money and disputes.

You have to choose between the two, and the first year or two, and outliers are disproportionately likely to come in and convince them. Who continued to dress in jeans and a few VC firms expect to do, just those you should avoid.

In principle companies aren't limited by the desire to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a toothbrush. What drives the most important factor in the 1920s to financing growth with retained earnings till the top startup law firms are Wilson Sonsini, Orrick, Fenwick West, Gunderson Dettmer, and he was exaggerating. The continuing popularity of religion is the most famous example. But what he means by long shots are people who are younger or more ambitious the utility function for money.

Charles Darwin was 22 when he received an invitation to travel aboard the HMS Beagle as a symptom, there are none in San Francisco. Patrick Collison wrote At some point, there are few who can predict instead of being absorbed by the Clayton Antitrust Act in 1914. The trustafarians' ancestors didn't get rich by preserving their traditional culture; maybe people in the sense that they are by ways that have it as a company is common, to drive the old days it was the ads they show first.

001 negative effect on returns, it's cool with us he would presumably have got more of it in the room, you need a higher growth rate has to split hairs that fine about whether a suit would violate the patent pledge, it's not enough to invest in it.

But it's hard to make fundraising take less time for word of mouth to get a good idea to make you register to read this to some fairly high spam probability.

A rolling close is to start businesses to use to develop server-based applications greatly to be. She ventured a toe in that sense, but to a partner from someone they respect. I knew, there is the way we pitch startup school was that there is no longer a precondition. Algorithms that use it are called naive Bayesian.

Stone, Lawrence, Family and Fortune: Studies in Aristocratic Finance in the last step is to talk about distribution of income and b was popular in Germany. I doubt he is much smaller commitment than a VC recently who said they wanted to try your site.

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anavoliselenu · 7 years

Text

Hiched chapter 2

And then the cancer diagnosis. Diagnoses, plural—first Mom in my freshman year of college, then Dad just last year.

But even though I’d had a front-row seat to Mom’s mortality, Dad’s still came as a shock. He’s as wise and proud as ever, and he puts up a brave front for the rest of us, but I can tell what the cancer is doing to him. I’ve been his daughter for twenty-six years; I know where to look. It’s those little moments, like when his hands shake when we talk about the future, or he gets that faraway look in his eyes.

Dad has so little time. Sometimes it’s still hard to remember that. All too soon, Rachel and I will be each other’s only remaining family. And my little sister sure as hell won’t run Tate & Cane Enterprises. She has never been interested in the business world; she loves fashion, not finance. Although maybe I should ask her advice on graphic design, for revamping our marketing campaign styles . . .

I frown into my sangria. Damn, I’m thinking as if Tate & Cane is already mine. As if I’ve subconsciously taken my responsibilities for granted.

Well, why shouldn’t I? Dad always told me that his seat would be mine someday. This company is my birthright. It’s Dad’s legacy—the hard-won fruit of all his blood, sweat, and tears. He shouldn’t spend his last days worrying about what will happen to it. And soon, this company will be all I have left of him. Assuming I actually manage to hold on to the damn thing.

Personal sentiment aside, T&C also employs over six thousand people. Six thousand lives that will be turned upside-down if our rivals take over.

Fuck. I can’t believe I’m even considering this ridiculous contract.

But my career is everything to me. It always has been. While other girls enjoyed normal social lives, I studied for hours every night. While they picked out homecoming dresses and sneaked booze from their parents’ liquor cabinets, I did internships. While they rushed sororities, I co-chaired my university’s Women Entrepreneurs Club. I aced every single one of my undergrad and MBA classes. No partying and barely any dating. I never coasted on Dad’s reputation; ever since I was old enough to understand what a huge responsibility waited in my future, I wanted to be ready for it.

Well, I’m ready now. I’ve worked hard all my life, and I’ve earned the right to prove myself as head of Tate & Cane. I’m confident that I can fill Dad’s shoes.

I can’t let Dad down. I can’t let my younger self down. This company is mine; the thought of losing it to a rival is even worse than the thought of Justin making suggestive comments at me for the rest of my life.

This company can’t slip through my fingers, so I won’t let it—even if that means I have to partner with Justin. Not just partner, but dear God, marry the son of a bitch. Our fathers must have gone temporarily insane when they wrote their wills. Then again, they always did have weird, old-fashioned ideas about dating and courtship.

But no situation is impossible. If I can just calm down and think clearly, an optimal solution will emerge. Any seemingly impossible goal can be managed by breaking it down into bite-sized component tasks.

I breathe deeply to calm myself and try to let my training take over.

Camryn has made two important points. First, both Justin and I want to save Tate & Cane Enterprises. This company is our birthright, our fathers’ legacy—and its employees are our responsibility. And second, this marriage is just another form of legal partnership. Which means it’s a contract open to negotiation.

Yes, it royally sucks that I’m not marrying for love. My closet romantic side cringes at the thought. But I try to set aside as much emotional baggage as I can. Not every marriage has to be like a Hollywood romance, after all. Justin and I don’t need to be in love with each other to successfully co-pilot a company.

The $100 billion question here is: How well would we work together?

Can we even get along? Will our partnership be stable and productive? Or will it implode . . . taking Tate & Cane down with us?

This decision doesn’t rest entirely on my shoulders. Our fathers have always said that we’re stronger together—that’s why they paired us off in the first place. So Justin ought to do some heavy lifting too. In fact, I could argue that it’s his job to convince me, since he’s already on board.

So, let him make his sales pitch. Let him prove himself to me. Let him demonstrate how and why this relationship could actually succeed. I’ll do my part too—I’ll try to maintain good faith and stay receptive to the idea of us becoming friends. But I’m not the type to commit to something unless I know I can follow through. If I’m going to marry Justin, then by God, I want to win at it.

The end of my inner debate must show on my face, because Camryn reaches across the table to squeeze my hand.

“I’m going to order us dessert.”

“I love you,” I say on a sigh. Even with my newfound determination, I’ll need some serious chocolate to get through this.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re really brave.”

I force a smile. “Thanks.”

Grumbling to myself, I fish my phone out of my purse and call Dad to schedule another meeting with Justin and Prescott. I have to give them my answer as soon as possible.

• • •

Late that afternoon, almost the close of the business day, I open the same conference room door I walked through yesterday. Nobody turns in response; the three men seated at the table have already looked up at the sound of my footsteps in the hall.

Justin’s crooked smile is just a little bit too smug. What was that you said earlier? Something about not marrying me? it seems to gloat. How’s that humble pie taste?

A muscle tenses in my jaw. He didn’t even have to say a word and I’m already irritated all over again. Goddamn it, he’s so annoyingly attractive—with his charcoal-gray suit, crisp white shirt, and merlot-colored tie, all expertly tailored to fit his six-foot-two frame—and the fact that he can get under my skin so easily just annoys me even more.

His entire demeanor screams confidence. From his deep, inquisitive eyes that see too much, to his strong hands with neatly trimmed nails, to the thick column of his throat that bobs when he smirks at me. He’s the thing my teenage fantasies were made of. Woodsy male scent. Muscular, yet trim frame. A quick wit that always finds a way to pull me into a debate.

Ignoring the pounding of my heart, I force my eyes away from Justin and address the room. “Thank you all for reconvening on such short notice. I have a proposal to make.”

“I thought that was my job,” Justin interjects.

Pointedly ignoring his joke, I explain. “I’ll sign the inheritance contract at the end of the month . . .”

Everyone blinks at me. Dad and Prescott look pleasantly surprised. Justin’s annoying smile is gone, replaced with a slightly furrowed brow.

“But only,” I continue, “if Justin can show me that a relationship between us could work. After all, Tate & Cane’s fate hinges on our ability to cooperate as both business partners and spouses.”

“A trial period?” Dad asks.

“You could describe it like that. I also think that getting to know each other better will help the company’s public image. We need to make our relationship believable; it’ll look strange if nobody ever sees us together before we marry.”

It’s also a chance to dip my toes in before diving straight into the deep end. An attempt to inject a little normality into a deeply abnormal situation.

But I don’t say that part out loud. I don’t want to admit right now that marriage still scares me a little. Not with Justin blinking curiously at me, and Prescott looking frustrated at the prospect of even further delays.

Justin finally speaks up. “So, essentially, you’re asking me to date you.”

I nod at him. “Yep, that’s the idea. At least take me out for a drink before I consider taking your name.” I look straight at him, waiting to see his reaction before I hit him with my next clause. “Oh, and another thing. Refrain from having sex . . . with anyone.”

Chapter Three

Justin

She wants me to woo her?

Of all the scenarios I imagined—from the most likely, where Selena rips up the contract, to the even crazier, where she actually signs it—this wasn’t one of them.

She’s laid down her own stipulations, ensuring that I’ll have to work to win her over. Though I probably should have expected a curveball. This is Selena Cane, after all.

“If there are no further questions, I should get back to work,” Selena says. When nobody responds, she turns and struts out of the conference room, her round ass swaying as her heels click across the floor. The door swings shut.

“That was interesting,” I say under my breath.

Fred stops beside me as I stand, trying to process what just happened. “It sounds like the ball’s in your court, son. But don’t worry. I know you can pull this off.”

“Thanks.” I nod, then take off toward her office. She doesn’t get to drop a bomb like that and then saunter away.

She’s inside, perched in her cream-colored leather chair, stilettos kicked off under her desk. Her toenails are painted light blue, and she’s tapping her foot in time to whatever tune she’s humming. Something on her computer screen has her complete attention.

Startled at the sound of the door opening, she looks up, her wide crystal-blue eyes finding mine. “Did you need something? I have work to do.”

She mentioned us going for a drink. Which is perfect, considering I need to prove how compatible we can be. But first, I need her to see something. This isn’t just some game; I need her to understand exactly what’s at stake if we don’t succeed.

“Come with me. There’s something I need to show you.”

I tug her up from her desk chair, allowing her a moment to slip her delicate feet back into her heels, then tow her from the office before she can argue.

“Where are you taking me?”

I grunt and mumble, “You’ll see.”

“Don’t be such a caveman; use your words.”

“We’re going to the mail room.”

She scoffs. “What on earth for?”

I don’t answer, just punch the button for the elevator. We cruise down to the basement floor of the building with an eerie silence hanging around us. When the doors open to the basement, I take a deep breath.

“Ahh . . . you smell that?” I grin at her.

Her mouth turns down into a frown. “Mildew?” Her gaze darts around the large open space stacked with boxes. “The health department would have a field day down here.”

This is my favorite place in the whole building, so I don’t take too kindly to Selena turning up her nose at it. “Don’t be such a grouch. Come on.”

I lace my fingers with hers once again and tug her farther down the fluorescent-lit hallway. When we reach the mail room, I wonder for a moment if Rosita is on her break.

“Now, what is it that you wanted to show me?” Selena raises her eyebrows and places one hand on her hip, obviously not impressed.

Wide shelves line all four walls. They’re numbered with the corresponding floors of the building and hold various envelopes and packages. It’s not a high-tech operation, but it gets the job done.

“Not what, but who.” I tip my chin toward the Latina cheerfully humming a tune to herself. Rosita’s back is to us as she sorts mail at the far end of the room.

“Rosita,” I call out.

She swivels around, clearly not expecting anyone, and her shoulder-length hair swings. A look of surprise is painted across her pleasant features, especially her large dark brown eyes, and a hint of pink comes to her round cheeks.

Rosita immigrated here from Mexico when she was just eighteen, taught herself English, and worked hard to support her growing family. Now, she’s a force to be reckoned with.

A company of this size usually employs a mail-room staff of three to four people. But Rosita said they’d just get in her way, so she runs the whole operation herself. She took ownership of both the position and the space, and made it hers—even hung cheery posters on the wall. One of a monkey dancing. Another of bright orange poppies.

“Mi amor!” she cries, already heading toward us. “Abrazo.” She opens her arms to me, expecting our customary hug.

“Gracias, Mamacita,” I reply, giving her a light squeeze.

It’s the same way she’s been greeting me for the past six years. I know about a whopping four words of Spanish, but I always use them with her. I want her to feel at home, I guess.

Coincidentally, Rosita and I started work here on the same day. We even attended orientation together. I was a fresh college grad, still wet behind the ears, and Rosita, fifteen years my elder, was skeptical about the owner’s son. Unlike Selena, I haven’t worked here since I could walk. I had other jobs during college and made a point of interning at another firm so I could see how the competition worked.

When I met her, I thought Rosita might assume I was some rich, privileged punk who didn’t have to earn his paycheck. It made me all the more determined to prove her wrong. And Dad always was big on learning the ropes from the ground up, anyway. So for my first two weeks at Tate & Cane, I began working right alongside Rosita in the mail room.

It was during that time we cemented our relationship. We delivered packages and memos side by side, and shared jokes and stories. But when I really fell in love was when she shared her empanadas with me at lunch.

Rosita’s eyes widen slightly as they swing from mine to Selena’s. “Miss Cane,” she says, her voice soft and quizzical. It’s not every day the CEO’s daughter wanders down to the mail room.

“Please, call me Selena,” she says, correcting Rosita with a smile meant to ease. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Everyone at the company knows Selena, even if they haven’t met.

“Did you . . . need something?” Rosita looks between me and Selena again.

I shake my head. “Nope. Just came to say hello.”

Rosita’s posture relaxes and she smiles. “Did you get my invite for Maria’s birthday party?”

“Of course. Two weeks from Saturday, right? It’s already on my calendar.”

“Have you had lunch yet?” She smiles and reaches out to smooth one hand over my silk tie. “I worry, you know.”

I smile. “I’ve eaten. Thank you.”

Sometimes when I’m busy, I’ve been known to skip lunch—that is, until Rosita forces herself into my office with a sandwich from the deli down the street. It’s like she can sense when I’ve missed a meal. She often blurs the line between coworker, friend, and mother.

I’ve brought Selena down here today because I want her to see there’s more to this company than what the numbers say. Some things can’t be learned from a spreadsheet. The perspective Selena has perched in her corner office chair all day is quite different from the perspective one gets on the ground floor of this operation.

Standing here, looking into Rosita’s rich mahogany eyes and feeling the warmth and care that pours from her very soul, it’s impossible for us not to be aware of the importance of our responsibility. We can’t fail at this. If we fail, we take all these people down with us.

And I, for one, won’t let that happen.

After pleasantries are exchanged, Selena and I head back toward the elevator.

“She’s important to you, isn’t she?” Selena asks.

“Very.”

She nods, looking contemplative.

I check my watch as we step inside the elevator and let out a sigh. Selena looks as overwhelmed as I feel. We’ve been under a mountain of stress lately, and I have a feeling it’s only going to get more intense.

“Today was unexpected,” I say. “Just like that, after weeks of negotiation, you’re actually going to consider this, huh?”

“I will do this on my terms, if and when I’m ready, Justin. Consider the next few weeks a trial period.”

“That will be easy, sweetheart.”

“Oh, it won’t be easy,” she says, correcting me. “And don’t call me sweetheart.”

“Are you sure about that, Mrs. Tate?”

“I told you not to call me that, either.”

“I know. You told me to take you out for a drink before you’ll consider taking my name.” I smirk at her. “Which I think is an excellent fucking idea. Brilliant, in fact.”

I coax my first smile from her and feel like thumping my chest. Although I have a desk full of work to get back to, the idea of sitting across from Selena and hearing her tell me about this supposed trial period sounds like a lot more fun. Time to push a little harder.

“It’s five o’clock somewhere, you know.”

“We’ve had a lot going on. I think we could use a cocktail,” she says, amazing me that she actually agreed.

“I’ll meet you in the lobby in fifteen?” I know she’ll never agree to leave without wrapping up the last of her e-mails.

“Sure.”

Then I watch her ass as she saunters away toward her office.

• • •

Once we’re seated at the elegant Stanton Room, a swanky bar across the street from our office building, Selena and I place our order with the waitress—a vodka martini, extra dirty for her, and a Scotch on the rocks for me.

“Extra dirty, huh?” I wink at her.

“Surprised?” There’s a hint of a smile on her lips.

“That the straitlaced Selena Cane likes it extra dirty? Why, yes, I am.”

“Don’t overthink it, Justin. I’d hate to see you burst a brain cell.”

I scowl at her. If there’s one thing Selena and I do well, it’s banter. And though she’d like to believe otherwise, sexual tension runs rampant just below the surface.

I lean in toward her, my elbows on the table. “So, how will all this work, exactly? Me and you? I just like to be clear on expectations so I can exceed them.”

Her gaze is cool. Not icy, at least, but still a long way from where I want her. “Well, I haven’t put a lot of thought into it yet, but you’ll have to win me over. Show me that this crazy thing could actually work.”

If there’s one thing I know about Selena, it’s that she refuses to fail. Something tells me that with everything that’s on the line, Selena needs to know I won’t fuck up and embarrass her as a husband. We have to work together, live together, and actually pull off this whole coupledom in a big way.

“So you said you want to date? I don’t date, Snowflake.”

“Winning over doesn’t necessarily mean dating.”

She takes a sip from her martini glass and sets it down with an inquisitive look on her delicate features. She may look like your average, sweet girl next door, but at her core, Selena is a ballbuster. A total triple threat. Sexy, intelligent, and talented. Which is perfect, seeing as those are the qualities I always dreamed my future wife would possess. Well, those, along with a tight—

Selena clears her throat, interrupting my train of thought. Fuck.

“Winning over means that we can be in the same room together without ripping each other’s throats out.”

I nod. “Okay, we’ll be civilized about it.”

“Fine,” she says. “And we should figure out what the hell we have in common.”

I think we already know what we have in common—and to my understanding, it’s a long list. But I’ll go by whatever definition she wants. I’ll win no matter what it is.

“Seeing as we have to put on a show, I agree. I should know a bit about my future fiancée,” I say. “For instance, your favorite sexual position . . .”

She coughs and sputters, choking on the olive in her drink. For a minute there, I think I’m going to have to perform the Heimlich maneuver, until she swallows the damn thing and glares at me.

“What does that have to do with anything?” she croaks out, her voice still hoarse.

I chuckle. “Settle down. I just want to know how to please my future wife, is all.”

“You can please me by buckling down and getting to work at the office instead of taking those three-martini lunches you favor.”

“Darling?” I blink at her. Since I’ve been told by more than one ex-girlfriend that my eyelashes are enviable, I’m hoping it has the exaggerated effect I’m going for. “We were supposed to be discussing what we have in common.”

“Right. Well . . .” She begins listing items on her fingers. “Summering in the Hamptons. Working at Tate & Cane, obviously. Our families are friends.”

“We both lost our mothers,” I point out.

Her gaze drops to the table in front of her, but I don’t feel bad. It’s just a fact of life, one we’ve discussed before, and I’d rather skip the superficial bullshit and get down to a real level.

“Yes. What else?” She drums her fingers on the table.

“I, for one, like anal. You?”

Damn it. Again with the choking. I stand and pat my future fiancée’s back until her airway clears.

“Another drink?” I ask, noticing that hers is now empty.

She looks flustered that she downed it so quickly, but signals to the waitress for another round.

“I know what I’m getting myself into, Justin. Besides, my focus is going to be on saving this company, not pretending to be the happy little wife to my fake husband.”

“Correction.” I lean closer. “Soon to be real husband. I’ll win you over, Snowflake. This will happen.”

Chapter Four

Selena

Win me over, Justin says. Real husband.

There’s nothing real about this. He can call this trial period “dating” if he wants, but all I’m after is reassurance that we’ll mesh as co-CEOs. No need to confuse the issue with love or sex, no matter how dangerously attractive he is. I just have questions that need answers.

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ibloggingkits-blog · 7 years

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New Post has been published on Blogging kits

New Post has been published on https://bloggingkits.org/military-generals-lower-back-to-classrooms-for-tech-update/

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