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jincherie · 4 years

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fox rain | five

• ☽ — pairing: bts x reader • ☽ — genre: crack, fluff, angst, college/uni au • ☽ — words: 9.9k+ • ☽ — rating: sfw • ☽ — warnings: stop two on the angst train express!!! not as blatant, more reading between the lines here...... have fun! • ☽ — notes: bros... it’s only downhill from here. cowa-fucking-BUNGA amirite cowboys???????!?!?

— posted; 18.09.2020

When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

— • masterpost | prev. | five | next • —

You lay in a sort of placid, bewildered shock, the kind that is sourced from confusion as opposed to an unpleasant surprise. After waking to blearily turn off your alarm before it blasted through the entirety of Dancing Lasha Tumbai, you’d unlocked your phone to find this curious set of messages from a number you haven’t saved. You’ve been lying in place for several minutes as your tired, wired brain slowly kicks into gear and attempts to debunk the mystery. After another unsuccessful few minutes of staring blankly at the screen, you’re saved from impending cranial combustion when your phone lets out a delightful little tinkle and another message hastily joins the others.

Ah, that makes so much sense now! Except it doesn’t. Actually, it kind of adds to your bewilderment. Taehyung… is texting you? You don’t think you’ve ever in your life had any correspondence with him that didn’t either take place in the presence of Jimin or under the influence of alcohol… also in the presence of Jimin, now that you think of it. You haven’t really interacted with Taehyung outside of Jimin. So it is particularly odd to wake up to a series of messages that are from him, and pertaining to such an odd topic. You’re still so tired you can’t even fathom what would warrant a text from him. Maybe you dropped something at one of your tutoring sessions and Jimin asked him to give it back to you? It would make sense, since after the rollercoaster of a ride the last week has been for him (in particular, the questionable events that took place at the hands of one Kim Seokjin but somehow ended up with Jimin and Hoseok making up? You don’t really understand it but you’re not even going to bother to try to at this point) he has ended up a little preoccupied.

Tapping the screen when your inactivity leads it to go dark, you take a moment to scrounge a response from the empty barrel bottom that is your brain. Once satisfied, you drop your phone onto your bed and flop yourself back to the position you’d been in before your own alarm woke you so rudely. Technically, you don’t have to be up and about for another hour…

With faith that your additional hour of sleep will revive your ability to think, you allow yourself to slip somewhat self-indulgently back into sleep and pass the fuck out like a woman who has spent the night trying to forget.

(Which you are, and did do, except with maybe a little less alcohol than what that sentence implied.)

X X X X

It has been almost a week since the unfortunate end to that tutoring session on Monday, and while you’ve managed to stay off social media enough that you haven’t triggered yourself by accident in the entirety of that duration, every time you come on campus it’s like for however many steps forward you took, you take double the amount backwards. University students are such gossips! Well, the jobless ones are, anyway. The students that work and study are too busy dragging themselves around campus in a stunning rendition of the undead from various media to be bothered with the latest plot twist in the resident school drama. Which is to say, there has been no twist. The population is still shamelessly up Sera’s ass in the belief that she is the author of the poem, and as has become the norm you find yourself resisting the urge to hunt the bitch down and go in for round two on her face. Surely, your self-control has earnt you the title of a saint by now.

You’re blasting some angsty shit on the way to your music history class and pretending you’re in a music video for some indie band (it’s cathartic, and you will argue that fact to your grave), when you make it a few steps past the entrance to the food court and have the absolute living daylights scared out of you. Thudding footsteps reach you through your earphones and two hands clamp on your shoulders to halt you in place and spin you around like Barbie Ballerina.

“You’re a disgrace!” It’s Seokjin who has halted you in the middle of the hallway, every bit as dramatic as you’d come to expect. “You skipped drama class? And you call yourself an acting major, PSH!”

Yanking your earphones out, you nail the tall, pink-haired idiot with a glare. Very bold of him to be approaching you after you nearly chopped off Lil’ Jinnie barely a few days ago for his bastardous antics. Perhaps he’s getting a bit big for his glittery pink rainboots.

“First of all, will you please listen to me when I tell you I’m not an acting major?” Unfortunately, when you speak your voice comes out more exasperated and less threatening than you intended. “Second of all—very bold of you to be approaching me right now. You’re lucky you escaped with your life, you meddling bastard. You want me to bite the rest of your dick off?”

“You should know by now that I take that as a compliment,” Seokjin sniffs, haughtily, ignoring the latter part of your threat. “And do you know how boring it is for me to crash your class when you’re not even there? No one threatens me like you! It’s getting harder and harder to get it up these days, you know. I need a hit of the good stuff.”

For a moment you’re simply stunned into silence, staring at him and wondering just how and why he seems to have been sent here with the sole mission of making you want to kill him and then yourself. Nothing you could think to say really is enough, so you settle on simply turning and walking away.

Of course, you forgot that no one turns their back on Kim Seokjin and gets away with it.

“YAH!”

You wince—you think he actually just broke a sound barrier, or maybe your eardrums— or both. Seokjin quickly scrambles to place himself in front of you, arms out. His eyes are wide in something you suspect he thinks is a puppy-eyed look, but actually comes across more like he’s trying not to shit himself.

“Promise me you won’t skip drama again!” Seokjin says, pointing a finger at you in borderline accusation. When he doesn’t see your expression budge, he quickly changes tactics. “If not for me, the most charming prince in the story of your life, then at least for Jungkook, that poor virgin—”

You blink, distracted for a moment by what he said. “Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?”

“’Wait, Jungkook is in my drama class?’” Seokjin repeats in a voice a few octaves higher than your own. “Listen to you, not even knowing who is in your own class. For shame! But have no fear, since you clearly skip so much I will happily extend my generosity and take you under my wing. Tutelage fee starts at $55 with an extra $5 for every question you ask that I don’t know—”

“Do you ever actually hear yourself talk?” you ask, feeling your will to live draining out your ears. “Like, the shit that comes out of your mouth? Do you hear it? Because—wait, are you saying you would charge me for questions that you don’t know the answer to?!”

Seokjin shrugs, “It’s a little unorthodox, I know. But—”

“I would literally be bankrupt! Thousands—no, millions of dollars in debt!” You exclaim, grabbing him by his stupid big shoulders and shaking him about. “Do I look crazy to you?!”

“Oh, what, you think you can do better?!” Seokjin demands, voice wobbling from your shaking. “What’s 2x2?”

“Fucking four!” you wail, releasing him in your despair. You can’t do this, your day only just started and you are not exhausted enough to micronap while he talks like usual. “I’m leaving, don’t follow me. DELETE MY NUMBER.”

“Haha jokes on you!” you hear Seokjin holler from behind you, voice rapidly growing quieter from the speed that you’re powerwalking away. “You never gave me your number!”

You make it to class barely on time due to Seokjin acting as one of the biggest inconveniences in your life, and while you manage to push him from your brain for the duration of it, you wish you could say that is the last time you see him,

It’s probably the fact that you busted his ass being a weirdo with Jimin and Hoseok last week that has him so…. attached this week, you suspect. You’re at your third Seokjin encounter for the day and you’re honestly considering whether you should trip to the campus pharmacy and look for some pepper spray, or maybe an umbrella. Pepper spray would be more effective, but the umbrella…. You can’t argue against the satisfaction it would provide.

You’re trying to sneak your way into a library on the Arts side of campus, one you don’t usually go to, so you can study without worrying about going absolutely batshit insane in the presence of Seokjin. It was hard, but you think that you’ve finally managed to shake him. What on earth had him so determined to tail you today? Was it seriously because you skipped your own class? Nutcase.

You peek your head around the corner looking not only for Seokjin, but for another thing you had happened to notice every time you were ambushed. You have yet to determine whether the glimpse of phenomenally bright floral print right before Seokjin pounces you is causation or correlation, and it makes you a bit nervous. Cautiously, like timid forest animal, you creep around the corner and begin to make your way into the building, eyes flicking from the library door right at the end to the rest of your surroundings. The café coming up on your right tempts you greatly, but you know it is too great of a risk. Out in the open, you’d definitely be seen.

This area is almost like a courtyard, an undercover area between three separate buildings. With a looming cement and glass ceiling, though, it feels like a building of its own. The library sits nestled in the corner of the largest building, and although it isn’t very wide, it spans several floors. You plan on going to the highest one and hiding in a corner near a window.

You’re close, so close to reaching the library in fact that you’ve fallen into a false sense of security. By the time you register the sound of pounding footsteps approaching behind you, for the second time today, it’s too late.

“Ah, y/n! Wait!”

Instinctively you prepare to burst into a sprint to get away, but at the last second stop yourself. That doesn’t sound like Seokjin… that sounds like—

“Taehyung?” you ask, turning in surprise as the boy comes to a screeching halt in front of you, bending with his hands on his knees as he attempts to catch his breath.

“I’ve… been trying….” he huffs, “To talk to you…. all day….. hah…Why are you so….. good at running away?”

He looks absolutely wiped out, cheeks red and sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. You’re just beginning to feel guilty when you notice his shirt, the bright floral print that you literally don’t know anyone else bold enough to wear, and you realise he’s really not lying. Poor Taehyung, just like you he has fallen victim to—

“That Seokjin bastard,” you say, completing a quick scan of the area to make sure the mention of his name didn’t somehow summon him. “He’s been harassing me all day. I’ve had to really up my game. By the way… are you okay? Please breathe… also what did you want to talk to me about?”

Taehyung straightens, eyes closed as he attempts to control his breathing. One of his hands comes to sweep the ashy hair from his face, the ends slightly damp with sweat.

“I’m fine,” he says, sounding slightly like he’s about to pass out. You prepare to take a step forward and catch him if he does, but he opens his eyes in the next second and shoots you a dopey smile. “I’m fine! Apparently just… whoo… really out of shape.”

“Your sacrifice is not in vain,” you say, smiling when he lets out a sudden laugh. Another shaky breath rakes past his lips before he straightens, eyes blinking a little wider. “Ah, right. I was looking for you because, um… you didn’t respond to my text… and I needed to ask you something that’s a little time-sensitive…”

“Your text…” you wrack your brain, sure that you remembered responding to it this morning in bed. Your mouth shifts into a wince, though, when you can recall writing a response, but not actually sending it. “Oh. I am so sorry, I’m an idiot. I was kind of half asleep when you texted, and I swear to god I typed a response but I think I fell asleep again before sending it…”

There is not a shred of accusation on Taehyung’s pleasant features, lips instead slightly curled in a smile. “That’s fine,” he chirps, rocking on the balls of his feet for a moment. “I do it all the time too. I’m just glad I caught you.”

You return his smile, before a thought that had been nagging you earlier returned and you acted on the urge to voice it. “By the way…. How did you get my number?”

Your question seems to be unexpected and, for some reason, flusters him slightly. He reaches to scratch the back of his neck, averting his gaze for a moment. “Uh, Jimin gave it to me. It was for something stupid a while ago but I never needed to use it.”

You raise your brows at what he said, but get the feeling he’s not going to elaborate. Instead, you remain quiet and wait for him to continue his thought from earlier. He shuffles on his feet, returning his gaze to your own. “Anyway, the reason I was trying to catch you all day was because I wanted to ask you something…”

“I know it’s not really any of my business, but I kind of noticed, and Jimin mentioned lightly that things haven’t been, uh…. great for you lately.” He doesn’t even give you time for that statement to sink in amongst your shock, continuing without pause despite the way his cheeks begin to flush, “And, uh, my exhibition is this Friday, and I was gonna go with Jimin but he double-booked himself with Hobi, so now I have no plus-one and I was wondering… if you wanted to go?”

When you simply stand there, dumbfounded, he clears his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the cuffs of his button-down. “To um, you know, take your mind off things… maybe… you don’t have to, of course, but I just thought I would—”

Snapping out of your stupor before he can take back the invitation, you hastily step forward and outstretch your hands. “Oh, no I would love to go! This is really—” you clear your throat, trying to ignore the light sting of your eyes “—sweet of you. I’d like to go, if it’s ok. You’re sure Jimin doesn’t mind…?”

Taehyung seems shocked, and you suspect he might have thought you would turn down the invitation from the way his eyes seem to light up. Have you really been walking around campus looking like that much of a gloomy bitch? You need to check your facial expressions when you get home this afternoon.

“He won’t mind,” he says, waving his hand excitedly. “Great, perfect—um, here is the little info sheet. I’d stay to tell you more but my class actually started a few minutes ago, so…”

“Oh!” you exclaim, taking the sheet from his hand before waving him away. “Go! Go to class! I’m sorry I made you late! Thank you for this, by the way!”

He seems slightly dazed at your enthusiastic thanks and farewell, but he shakes himself out of it and before he goes he sends you a smile that you can’t think of any other way to describe except dazzling. “It’s no problem, y/n. See you then.”

And then he’s off and you’re left standing alone in the pseudo-courtyard, clutching the exhibition pamphlet in your grip. Your eyes sting ever so slightly, and you can’t help but think how kind of sad it is that one person goes out of their way to think of you in the midst of everything you’re dealing with and you’re so touched you’re nearly driven to tears.

Hormones suck and you want a refund.

X X X X

Taehyung was right when he said that what he had to ask you was time-sensitive.

You hadn’t realised it at the time, but Friday was only a few days away— and in the midst of classes, schoolwork, and everything else, those days went fast. Before you know it, it’s Friday morning and a panicked glance at the pamphlet Taehyung had given you reveals that the exhibition opens officially around 4:30PM. That works out surprisingly well for you, considering your last class ends at three o’clock and you can easily reschedule your session with Hoseok and Jimin.

There’s a lot about the invitation you haven’t gotten to really dwell on, and that continues to be the case as the day flies before your very eyes. By the time your music theory class comes to an end and you finish scribbling down the last few lines of note from your teacher, the event is even closer than you anticipated. From your recent examination of the pamphlet, you’d found earlier that Taehyung’s exhibition is being held at a small university-sponsored gallery downtown. It shouldn’t take you too long to get there from your house, and on the way home after packing your things, you plot out the route you’re going to take. It’s about a twenty minute trip, as you discover, since there is by some stroke of luck a bus that goes straight there from a street just around the corner from your own. Taking that into account, you should have around forty minutes or so to get ready.

Considering you’re one of many poor university students populating the area, it’s not often you actually put the effort in to get dressed up. Around these parts, there is a distinct culture of sweat pants and comfortable tops and more often than not a socks-and-slides combo, something you take part in more often than you’d like to admit. Still, you feel that considering the nature of the event you’ve been invited to and what you know of Taehyung’s works, you should probably be putting in much more effort than usual.

While you might act like a slob sometimes, this isn’t actually a problem— even goblins like you can have a stash of decent clothes somewhere in their cave. Yours happen to be pushed to the back of your closet on hangers that haven’t seen the light of day in months. What can you say? University takes its toll in mysterious ways.

Standing before your closet, eyes boring into the portion that’s been held in its depths for longer than you can remember, you wonder which way you should go with your outfit. Exhibitions are fancy right? Should you dress it up? Logic says you should, but on the other hand what if you are the only one dressed up? That would be humiliating. You pause for a moment to think about the type of garb you usually see Taehyung in— you have a feeling that he will probably dress the same way tonight. Recalling his bold, avante-garde taste in fashion is about as helpful as one might imagine, but it does comfort you to know that no matter what you choose, most eyes will likely be on him anyway.

Comforted by that fact, you make up your mind and pull out a set that isn’t too over the top, and won’t make you look like a rat. Once you’ve slipped into those, you freshen up and wash your face, trying to make yourself seem a little bit more alive afterwards and not like you had an 8AM class today. You’re successful, to a degree, but you’re a little tight on time so you can’t really dwell on it. Feeling your stomach rumble as you grab your bag and key, you can only hope that this exhibition has free food.

x — x — x

“Ah, y/n! You’re here! You… you look nice.”

You were so busy staring at the large, shiny building before you that when Taehyung’s voice rings out in greeting, it startles the hell out of you. You don’t even register what he says before you’re pointing with eyes and mouth wide open, “Your exhibition is in there?!”

His expression of surprise melts into one of amusement, a laugh tumbling from deep in his throat. You don’t even notice the way his cheeks are flushed ever so slightly as he meets your gaze.

“Fancy, right?” he says, wagging his brows. “Some loaded alumnus who actually enjoyed his university experience practically donated it to them. So now they use it for, uh… for most exhibitions.”

“For the best ones, you mean,” you say, your grin widening when he scratches the back of his neck, bashful and blushing. “But yeah, damn. I was expecting it to be nice but I wasn’t expecting it to be this nice.”

Taehyung laughed again, clearing his throat. As he takes a moment to collect himself, you let your eyes scan over his form. The second you do so, you feel a foreign flutter in your stomach, heat flushing to your face. There is truly no other way to describe his choice of outfit for today except for painfully boyfriend. Perhaps on anyone else it would look a little less than presentable, but on Taehyung’s model-esque form the loose chestnut pants and an oversized leather jacket over a boldly patterned shirt work wonders. How does he look so effortless yet so…?

If you’d attempted to wear something like that you’d end up looking like the local court jester. Perhaps you should just make peace with the fact that God has favourites and Kim Taehyung is clearly one of them.

“It, um. It started a few minutes ago, shall we head in?”

Taehyung offers you his arm, a gentlemanly move that completely contrasts the boyish grin on his face. Ignoring the sudden sensations in your abdomen, you make a show of curtsey-ing before you take it, eliciting a laugh from your company as the two of you head to the entrance and the full exhibition experience begins.

As soon as you enter there is someone by the door, who seems to be at the very least taking note of how many people enter, a table with flyers and booklets beside him. Taehyung parts from you only to move over and grab a few, brandishing them as he returns with a bright grin.

“Here is all the information about the event, madame,” he says, with an extremely exaggerated air of grandeur, presenting one of the flyers with a flourish. You take it, unable to help your soft snort.

“I would have thought I had something better, what with the very artist behind the event accompanying me,” you say, grinning when you see his cheeks turn an endearing pink as he flashes a bright, boxy smile.

“True,” he returns, folding the other flyer and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. “You can’t ask a flyer questions in real time. Anything that crosses your mind, you can ask straight to the source.”

“Oh? Then, may I enquire as to what the theme of this exhibition is?” You’re enjoying the playful air that drifts between you now, unable to rid your face of the smile currently displayed on it even if you wanted to.

Taehyung’s eyes flick to you, a lopsided smile tugging his lips to accompany the sly accent to his gaze. “Ah, a tough one right off the bat. I think telling you straight-up would be too easy. Let’s see if you can try to guess it as we walk through.”

You turn to him with an affronted look, having expected him to easily supply you with the answer. Taehyung is a little cheekier than you remember. You snap your mouth shut, cheeks heating when you notice he has offered his arm to you once more. Taking note of the other people in the room walking around in a similar manner, you slip your arm through his and try to ignore the way you feel your ears light on fire.

“Okay, you’re on,” you respond, if a few moments too late. He doesn’t comment on the delay, simply sending you a smile that you can’t quite decipher the emotion behind. You don’t get to dwell before the two of you are off, beginning on your journey through the building and starting on your tour of the exhibition.

You’d kind of always known that Taehyung was talented, considering he managed to make such a name for himself on campus in such little time with such ease. Hell, he’s well-known enough to have made it onto the list of suspects for the muse of your poem. Still, this knowledge is only compounded the further into the building you go and the more of the exhibition you see. Taehyung is truly talented, the images blown up and displayed on the wall each capturing a certain emotion that you don’t have a name for, yet is so familiar that each time you see a new one it gives you pause. Viewing his works, seeing into this part of him and witnessing this bit of his soul he has bared, you can’t help but feel a slight sense of kinship.

It’s something that rests in the space between your lungs and diaphragm, something that tickles but also something that aches. You do know this feeling, so familiar yet so out of touch and far from the tip of your mind’s tongue. You do try to guess the theme of the exhibition as you go, throwing out the occasional dumb guess to elicit a laugh— he always laughs, and it always makes you smile— but you don’t quite manage to pin it.

“The five senses,” you shoot into the dark, standing before an image that has made you stop and stare for a good five minutes now. It’s not quite black and white, and it’s not a particularly unique image— but something about the composition, something about the movement in the two hands that are so close yet so far from actually touching, speaks to that hidden part of you. The way one of the hands simply hangs, unbothered and neutral, but the other, the one slightly closer to the foreground, has fingers ever so slightly outstretched, reaching but never quite committing to the movement and the unspoken consequence of the hinted action.

Of course, you know the answer even before Taehyung says it. He laughs, hands in his pockets, “Nope, ddaeng.”

“This is hard,” you whine, without much heart behind it. The smile stays on Taehyung’s face.

“Whatever. You’re smart, I know you can guess it. It should be easy, for you.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and you have to turn away so that he doesn’t see your cheeks warm. The two of you had parted when you caught sight of the snacks table; you’d been prepared to abandon him and make a beeline over, but Taehyung had surprised you by marching over himself and coming back with a loaded plate. He’d confessed with a sheepish smile that he hadn’t had lunch, and really you were in no place to judge since you hadn’t either. By this point in your journey, though, the plate is almost empty. There’s only two tiny cupcakes left and you’re letting the rest of the things you scarfed down settle before you go in for more.

Perhaps it was a little dangerous, coming here with Taehyung. He looks so fine, even while shoving sweets in his mouth, that you spend about the same amount of time looking at him as you do at his artworks. It takes all of your willpower to tear your eyes away every time you catch yourself looking at him and admiring the truly boyfriend fit he has donned for this occasion. Every so often he will simply stand before one of his works, scrutinising it with a fresh perspective and ever-criticising eyes, and the sight of it will make something nameless and foreign well within you. You don’t quite know what to do with it, so you ignore it. Or at least, you try to.

It feels a little too similar to what you know of yearning. It leaves you confused.

You stop not long after in front of another piece, this time a combination of three images that act as separate snapshots of smaller parts of a larger image. You admire the way he has set it out, revealing not too much but just enough that the viewer gets a sense, a feeling, but isn’t confronted with the message. It allows everyone to take their own sensation from it. You like that a lot about his works— he doesn’t tell people what to feel as they view his images, but merely hints, prompts and nudges. He sets the stage and allows people to take what they need, see whichever bits draw their eye most and spell meaning from elements of their choosing. He’s talented, you find yourself marveling again, so incredibly talented.

But still, you can’t put a finger on what the theme is.

By the time you make your way completely though the exhibition, having doubled back at a few points to look again at a select few of the pictures, you’re still no closer to guessing. It has you deep in your thoughts as you stand outside, waiting for Taehyung to return from thanking one of the guests who had recognised him for coming.

“Guessed it, yet?”

You turn, pinning him with a look that you hoped didn’t look as dumb as it felt. “Leave it with me,” you say. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

At your words, Taehyung laughs— it’s one of the full-bodied ones you’ve come to enjoy, where he throws his head back a little and shakes his hair back into place after. You have to snap yourself out of it before he catches you staring.

“I’m sure,” he says, unable to keep the cheeky grin off his face. It does slip ever so slightly though, just for a moment, as you watch a thought cross his features. “By the way…”

You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue. You feel an odd combination of at-peace, and unsettled. Holistically, this is the most at-peace and relaxed you’ve been in weeks. However, when you take a moment to tune into the inner machinations that make up your being… something in this exhibition has reached into your insides and fiddled around, moving things where they shouldn’t be and touching things that aren’t meant to be touched. It’s odd, and you acknowledge that it gives you quite a bit of cognitive dissonance. Even so, you’re calm enough that you have no trouble being patient while you wait for Taehyung to continue and say what he seems so nervous to say.

“Um, I know I initially only asked you about coming here, to the exhibition…” he begins, reaching to rub the back of his neck in what you recognise to be one of his nervous ticks. “But, I actually have these vouchers I won in a competition a while ago for a paint-and-sip session that are about to expire, and I was wondering… would you like to go? Now, I mean. Since they actually kind of expire tomorrow. Unless you’re busy, because if you are that’s—”

You decide to put him out of his flustered misery, reaching to nudge his arm. “Of course, that sounds fun! Plus, you were right the other day; I could really do with the chance to relax. Thank you, for all this. I really appreciate it.”

It takes a second for your words to register, but when they do the most blindingly bright smile spreads across his face; he’s practically beaming at you.

“Of course,” he says, with barely a moment’s hesitation. “I’m really happy you agreed to come— I’m glad you said yes to the paint-and-sip, too, because it’s one of my favourite places. Come on, let’s get going. If we get there at just the right time, we can get a really good seat, hopefully by the window.”

The journey continues, Taehyung leading you through the city while chatting easily all the while, a stunning twilight cityscape backdrop and the gentle glimmering surface of the river meandering through buildings providing the perfect scenery. If you had a little more faith in your artistic ability, you might try and paint the image you see now; Taehyung in the colours of dusk, soft and natural against the bright lights and harsh lines of the metropolitan landscape. But alas, you aren’t as talented as the man besides you, and you don’t even want to think of how it would turn out if you attempted to paint such a thing. You quickly throw the thought from your mind before it can linger and get up to more trouble than it’s worth.

“Here we are!” Taehyung’s cheer breaks you out of your stupor, bright smile directed your way once more as he stops in front of a large establishment with long strips of window and a colourfully sewn awning.

‘Brush & Bar’, the cursive, neon sign reads above the door, flickering between soft pink and peach orange. It’s an interesting aesthetic the place has going on, but when you look over and catch sight of Taehyung once more it suddenly makes sense why he likes it so much. The style of this place is very similar to some of the more outlandish things he tends to model around campus. Before your reverie lets you remain abandoned outside, you hurry to follow after the ashy-haired boy, grabbing the back of his jacket when you almost trip over the door frame. He spares a look over his shoulder to make sure you’re okay before he continues, moving towards the counter and smiling with more charm than you can personally handle at the staff member there.

It’s a woman, who you suspect is in her mid-thirties, and she is pretty enough that it takes you by surprise when she rolls her eyes heavily at Taehyung’s approach.

“You again, boy?” she asks, though it sounds more rhetorical than anything and you catch the slightest tinge of humour accenting her words and it soothes your hackles. “Don’t you ever get sick of hanging around here?”

“Nope!”

She cracks a smile, lines appearing at the edges of her eyes. “Well, I suppose that’s a good thing. We’d miss you an awful lot if you ever stopped showing up here.” Her eyes flick ever so slyly to you, and then back. “Say, is today the day you’re finally gonna make good on those vouchers you won? I know you said you were waiting for the right chance to ask that g—”

“Yes!” Taehyung cuts in loudly, eyes wide and cheeks flushing darkly. “Yes, yep! I brought the vouchers! They do expire tomorrow after all!”

The woman, Bora as you now see from her nametag, simply smiles, something sly about the action intriguing you. Taehyung clears his throat, reaching to scratch the back of his neck sheepishly. “So, um… I will use them now. Is the window seat free…?”

Bora nods, a fond curve to her lips now as she rummages around behind the counter and takes the offered vouchers from Taehyung to punch holes in them. “Your favourite spot? Of course. I had a feeling you were coming, too, so I’ve already gone and set it up with some canvases and acrylics.”

She hands the vouchers back, and Taehyung slips them into the pocket of his jacket. “Paintbrushes and jars are in their usual place, and I know you don’t normally drink while you’re here but if you’d like some tonight just take your order up to Kyungsoo. Oh! And tonight’s special for snacks is tea cakes, so definitely make the most of that. There are some good ones in the display.”

At the mention of food and alcohol, your gaze had already started to wander on its own— you catch sight of the display of cakes and other sweets and feel your mouth water. Ridiculous, since you were kind of full before, but what can you say, you’re a complicated woman. Lots of layers, not unlike an onion. The thought almost makes you snort.

With a gentle nudge to your arm, Taehyung is bringing you back to the present moment and leading you over to the window, where a medium-sized table has been set up with two square canvases and a basket of paint bottles, palettes leaning to the side. Taehyung instructs you to take a seat, informing you with a smile that he’ll grab some paintbrushes and water for the two of you to use. At his suggestion, while he is gone you open up your phone and search for something to paint. Something that’s not too hard and not too easy. Because your skills are… well, they’re not nonexistent but you’re not about to go around tooting your horn in front of someone with actual art skills and talent. Apparently there is usually an image supplied for each night, but Taehyung says it’s not strict and that tonight is one of the nights where all the patrons just have free reign.

You sort of get distracted part way through the activity, eyes subconsciously seeking Taehyung’s leather jacket amongst the decently filled establishment. It’s really quite nice inside, actually; the walls and general decor are soft and neutral, with pops of colour everywhere that bring each corner and table to life. A lot of the furniture is wooden, natural and polished underneath specks of paint that decorate in layers that tell of time spent well. The lighting is soft with the exception of the bulbs stationed above each table, which are brighter and angled towards where the canvas would be. On one of the walls, the one near the bar, it is completely covered by greenery— vines that, as far as you can tell, aren’t actually fake. A soft, almost jazzy tune filters lightly through the room, complemented by the low hum of chatter and paintbrushes hitting glass. You’re incredibly impressed and, admittedly, you like this place a lot. It has the kind of vibe that just… makes you content.

“Here we go!”

You startle at the sound of Taehyung’s low register, looking over to see him placing a bundle of paintbrushes in between the two of you and a jar beside each of your canvases. He takes his seat across from you, smiling brightly. “Did you decide what you want to paint?”

You hum, turning your gaze out the window for a moment to see if it grants you any inspiration— it’s a gorgeous sight, the twilight sky broken by the outline of buildings with glimmering insides, but it doesn’t help much. You don’t know what you want to paint. Of course, there is this big, expanding feeling inside you, the urge to express it somehow filling you to your fingertips, but what do you do with it? You don’t even know its name.

“No,” you answer, reaching for one of the palettes propped up to the side. “But I’ll be okay. Maybe I’ll just see where the vibe takes me.”

The smile Taehyung gives you at that is softer than most, and he eagerly follows suit in grabbing a palette and beginning to set it up; he squirts a big dollop of white, blinking at it for a moment as though he hadn’t intended to put that much. “There are some pencils and erasers to the side there, too. I prefer the moldable one.”

You thank him for his advice, before realising as he puts his own pencil ever so lightly to canvas that he hadn’t told you the subject of his painting. “What are you going to paint?”

“A secret,” he says, leaning around the canvas to grin at you. “Since I don’t know what you’re painting. Let’s swap paintings after, though. I do want to see eventually.”

That makes you laugh, but you don’t bother pushing further. A surprise is nice every now and then, you know. So long as it’s not the kind that ruins your life as you know it indefinitely.

But you’re here to have fun and relax, so you’re not going to get into that. You’re not even going to think about it.

Taehyung clears his throat, catching your attention immediately. “Right, before we start we should probably order. Did you—”

“No need, my boy!”

Two new figures appear at the side of the table, one a youthful man on the shorter side, the other older and plumper with grey beginning to speckle through his hair. The shorter one places two drinks onto the table, colourful cocktails in a generous glass, and the older laughs before placing down two plates, each with a different kind of cake slice situated neatly in the middle.

“On the house,” the man continues, chuckling at the shocked and somewhat flustered look on Taehyung’s face. “You’ve given us a lot of business so don’t even worry about it. Plus, we heard you were finally making the most of those vouchers so… here’s a little something to start the night off well!”

“...Thanks, Mr Kang,” Taehyung finally manages, shooting them a smile that could honestly give Hoseok’s own a run for its money. “You too, Kyungsoo. Do…. do I wanna know what’s in this?”

He’s gesturing to the drinks, a somewhat fearful look on his face. The shorter man shakes his head, thick brows curved in mirth as his lips twitch into a lopsided smile. “Nope. Tastes good though, so you got nothing to worry about.”

You can’t tell whether Taehyung is relieved or concerned, and so step in to save him a moment of reprieve. “Thank you so much— this all looks amazing!”

Happily, the two men soak in your praise. “I assure you,” Mr Kang says, patting his chest proudly. “It tastes as good as it looks.”

Kyungsoo snorts, but doesn’t disagree. He gives the two of you a small smile. “Right, we should be on our way. You two enjoy yourselves, and if you want refills just come let me know.”

Taehyung nods, thanking them again, and then it’s just the two of you once more.

“Well,” he says, licking his lips and reminding you of a puppy as he stares intently at the slice of strawberry crepe cake, decorated with a generous drizzle of syrup and two fresh, sliced strawberries in a dollop of cream beside it. The other one, a coffee-caramel blend you presume from the heavenly aroma reaching your nose, looks just as good but is nowhere near as successful at capturing his attention. “I guess… let’s begin!”

Whether he meant painting or devouring the food, you end up doing a bit of both. Each mouthful of cake that enters your mouth is announced with an explosion of flavour so rich it lingers long after you’ve swallowed the mouthful down. The drinks, too, are delicious. Fruity but not too syrupy or sugary, you suspect Kyungsoo had used spirits and tempered the fruity flavour with a bit of lemon or lime.

You still aren’t really sold on what to paint, but in the meantime you end up sketching out the flowers that sit on the windowsill a little behind Taehyung. They don’t seem too complicated, and if they end up looking terrible you can just smear the canvas with paint and call it abstract. Of course, part of Taehyung’s shoulder cuts the vase off from view so he’s probably going to end up making an unwitting appearance in whatever mess turns up on your canvas.

Even though neither of you have any idea what Kyungsoo put into those drinks, you’re sure its something strong. Before long the two of you are already giggly, conversation flowing easily as you put paint to canvas and attempt to make something decent. It’s around the time the two of you are almost finishing your drinks that the conversation takes a delightful turn, which consists of Taehyung telling you about his little fluffball, Yeontan.

“Oh my god,” you say, fingers gripping the paintbrush tight as you try to pet the urge to pet a dog that isn’t even here. “He’s so cute! Look at his grumpy little eyebrows!”

Taehyung laughs, having taken a break from painting to show you his dog like a proud parent. He takes his phone back and slips it into his pocket, paint-flecked hand returning to the brush he’d abandoned. “He’s such a smart dog, but he’s also super dumb. Runs into shit all the time. And there was one time that a friend came over and brought a new camera that he hadn’t seen before—”

Taehyung has to pause recounting the story, he starts giggling so hard. It makes you erupt into laughter as well simply because of how contagious the sound is. “He got so mad, he ran in front of me with his little legs and started barking at it like he was trying to protect me. I love that little dog.”

“I love him too and I haven’t even met him,” you giggle, using your pinky (the only finger you’re sure you haven’t gotten paint on yet) to wipe under your eyes. You don’t think you let a tear slip but you’ve been laughing so much you can’t be sure.

Taehyung beams at you from around his canvas, brush held midair. “That’s exactly what Jiminie says.”

That gives you pause. “Wait— Jimin hasn’t seen your dog? But you’ve been friends for ages!”

You catch the photographer smiling as he delivers a few soft strokes to his painting, affection hidden in his tone as he responds, “Yeah, a few years. Since… the last? Second last year of high school? Maybe? It was a wild start to the friendship.”

“Wild?” you echo, intrigued.

“Yeah. What really kick-started our friendship was this one time I came over while Jimin was really upset about something. I can’t remember exactly how it happened but we ended up at some wack university event nearby. It was boring as hell, and somehow we figured the best way to be entertained would be to commit a mild crime and get away with it.”

Once more, the ashy-haired male has to pause his story to get the giggles out of his system, taking the opportunity to sip a little more of his cocktail. You do the same, not one to pass up much of any drink these days.

“Long story short, he ended up streaking across the field and earning himself a title at the university as ‘mooncheeks’ or something equally dumb and funny, earnt himself a bit of a nude legacy.”

You pause, the alcohol beginning to slow your mind just enough that it takes a little longer for you to connect the dot between his story and something you’d shoved so deep in the back of your mind years ago that you’d almost forgotten it.

“Wait—” you smack your paintbrush down, eyes wide as an accusing finger is thrown his way. “That was— he ran into me on the way back! Oh my god I almost forgot, that was you two?!”

Taehyung erupts into laughter that is an octave or two shy of being too loud, having to place a hand over his chest to brace himself. He’s nodding wordlessly, eyes pinched shut, and it’s probably the alcohol making your eyes blur but for a moment you could almost swear he’s glowing.

“Yeah,” he finally manages to articulate, wiping a stray tear or two from his eyes, sniffling. “It cheered him up, though, so I think it’s worth the potential trauma.”

That makes you laugh, another sip of your drink going down. A lot of the spirits must have settled at the bottom, because this one had a little warmth as it went down.

The night goes so easily it’s like a dream, the atmosphere and alcohol in combination with Taehyung’s company making you feel much like you did before this whole shitshow, back when it wasn’t so hard to release the tension in your shoulders or to muster a genuine smile. Taehyung happily gets you a few refills, refusing to let you pull out your card— which is probably for the best because you’re not sure where your wallet is and you’re not coordinated enough to look right now.

You’re on the further side of tipsy, teetering on the edge of pleasantly drunk where nothing makes sense but you’re still somewhat coherent, and everything is funny. Taehyung has almost dipped his paintbrushes in his drink instead of the jar a few times, resulting in a long round of laughter and sore stomachs each time. Eventually, you’d moved his drink to the other side of the canvas and he’d offered you a sheepish smile.

Surprisingly, your painting doesn’t look too bad, either. Currently it has a bit of a blurry, undefined quality to it, but in your current opinion it kind of works for it. Taehyung’s shoulder did end up making a feature and as the two of you talk you find yourself distractedly painting patterns in the ‘leather’, swirls and hearts and hell, even a few triangles. Eventually, you reach the point where you think that you really can’t do anything more to make the painting better in the time you have, so with a contented sigh you place your brush down and instead turn your attention to Taehyung.

Even as he talks to you and wobbles a little in place, he’s still so incredibly focused in his work, in every detail that meets canvas at the direction of his nimple finngertips, that you don’t think you even see his hand shaking while he paints. Which, your hand was— a lot. It’s the main factor responsible for this one squiggly flower stem in particular you can see in your painting.

As you sit there, happily listening and laughing at each anecdote Taehyung offers you about his life, you find your mind wandering a little bit. Back to the exhibition, and the works and even the way you caught him regarding them. You recognise the critical lens that he viewed them through, because it’s one you adopt yourself for your own creations. Something wells in you, an urge to reassure him in case he ever had any doubts about his own talent; you’re far too many drinks in to be in a place where you can stop yourself.

“Taehyung,” you begin softly but seriously, with minimal slur. He doesn’t stop his motions, but you see him pause for the briefest moment before humming in acknowledgement. “Taehyung, I have to tell you…”

You’re figuring out how to best word your impression of his works and his talent, but you must take longer than you thought because Taehyung lets out a soft huff, giving you a smile that you can’t quite decipher.

“Don’t worry,” he says, flicking the paintbrush back to rest the wooden stem on his knuckles. “I already know I’m not the muse. You don’t have to worry about convincing me.”

For a second, all you’re able to do is blink. Taehyung simply goes back to his painting, expression neutral and his soft hum brushing your ears beneath the soft melody floating from the speakers. You realise quickly that you don’t know what to say to that, and that the full implications of his words haven’t really sunk in yet. He must have noticed that you’d been trying to go around and convince all the suspected subjects that they aren’t the muse of the poem… you feel oddly ashamed, for some reason. Your cheeks feel hot, and not just from the alcohol flush.

“Done!”

Taehyung’s voice breaks you from your reverie, his cheery smile greeting you once more. “All finished?”

You nod, offering a smile of your own and taking the opportunity to say what you wanted to earlier. “Yep. I’m excited to see yours, you’re so incredibly talented, Tae.”

His smile turns shy at that, a bashful laugh tumbling from his lips as he does his best to clean up his area. You do the same, standing up for the first time in a while and having to reach out and stabilise yourself on the table so you don’t fall. The drinks hit you a little harder than you first thought!

“Thank you,” he finally mumbles a few moments later, collecting the brushes. “I’m excited to see yours, too.”

You let out a short laugh at that, knowing that whatever you threw onto that canvas isn’t going to be able to hold a candle to what he made.

Quicker than you can keep track of, the two of you finish tidying and then before you know it you’re saying your goodbyes to the staff and stepping outside. You shiver at the unexpected breeze that greets you, people along the other side of the street huddling together. It’s a windy night and the breeze carries a bit of a bite.

“Oh, right,” Taehyung starts in place, offering his canvas to you. “Careful, it might still be a bit wet…”

Somewhat mindlessly, you swap paintings with him, smiling brightly before your gaze is drawn to the side. By nothing but absolute chance, it passes over the line in front of a bar popular with students at your university, and you almost blink and move on before your eyes halt in familiarity. At the hands of nothing but stupid luck, there is someone you recognise over there. Yoongi stands, face indicating a loud complaint before it even leaves his mouth, and there are a few others around him that he seems to be with who are laughing as they wait in line.

Your head feels so messy, like the wind has managed to get inside your skull and fling everything about like leaves on the autumn breeze. You’re so distracted in the moment that you don’t see it as Taehyung follows the direction of your gaze, and his expression drops. When you jerk out of your reverie, it’s just in time to see his eyes flicking from your painting, to his, and then back to you.

You’re about to peek at his painting and fill the silence with a compliment, but he beats you to it. Something is different about his expression, and not just because he’s no longer under the warm light of the paint bar. The glow you’d noticed so easily earlier seems to have dimmed a bit.

“Did you figure out the theme of the exhibition?”

At his question you startle, gaze flicking to the side as you try and figure it out on instinct on the spot. You’d completely forgotten to think about it, and considering you spent about as much time looking at him as you did his works while at the exhibition, you can safely determine you’re still nowhere closer to the answer. “Ah… no.”

As though drawn like a magnet, your gaze ends up over in the direction of Yoongi for the briefest second. You struggle to tear it away.

“It’s anaxiphilia.”

Even through the inebriation slowing your thoughts, his words reach you immediately. It’s as though your heart has turned to stone and dropped straight through your chest. That unspeakable, unknown emotion wells and bubbles within you, swelling to twice, thrice its size and blocking words before they can even reach your throat. Your eyes are on Taehyung again, but his are still centred where yours had been— had he also noticed Yoongi? You didn’t know they knew each other...

“Oh,” you finally manage, swallowing down that nameless sensation. Taehyung’s gaze slowly slides back to you, dark eyes full of so much… something, you think it would take you years to unpack and familiarise yourself with it all.

For a second, the two of you stand with your gazes locked, both of you too deep in your own thoughts to do anything about it. Taehyung is the one that breaks the spell.

“Well, it’s getting late, I shouldn’t keep you out any longer… There is a bus stop here, and tons of ubers in the area…” His eyes flick away as he talks but return as he murmurs this last bit, “Thank you for coming today. I hope you had fun.”

“Of course I did,” you rush, finally finding your voice amongst the shambles in your head. “Thank you for inviting me, Tae. I really… I really needed this. Thank you.”

He nods, smiling at you, but you notice it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Please get home safe,” he says, and you nod immediately, making his gaze soften. “See you later.”

“Bye! Thank you again!” you wave, Taehyung turning quick and already a decent way down the street after his farewell. He offers a wave over his shoulder and you catch it just in time before you turn back, gaze unconsciously seeking out the familiar figure across the road. Distantly, you observe that Yoongi is no longer in line for the bar and has switched to the bubble tea place a few stores down.

Taehyung’s exhibition and it’s theme swim through your mind, a sudden impulse welling within you in response that spurs your legs into a motion. You’re about to go across the road in a sudden spurt of something like bravery, but for some indecipherable reason, you stop before you can get more than a few feet. You turn your head, gaze thrown over your shoulder, eyes seeking without an explicit goal in mind.

You catch sight of him just before he rounds the corner and disappears from view— even from the back Taehyung presents a handsome figure, but in the split-second you manage to view him, the most notable things about his retreating form is the slumped curve of his shoulders and the lowered angle of his head. He’s gone before you can blink leaving you for good this time with nothing but your messy head and the one thought that swims to the surface that says after seeing him glow in happiness for the better part of the evening, sadness doesn’t suit him much at all.

Clutching the painting, your turn back to the front and try and focus on the present for just a minute or two, like whether you’re going to catch a bus or uber it home, but each time you start a new thought it always brings you back to the odd mix of guilt swirling deep in your gut. There’s something else there, the familiar hollow pit of yearning, but for once… you can’t quite tell who it’s for.

a/n: thank u so much for reading! i really hope it was worth the wait and that you look forward the future parts as fox rain begins to slowly draw to a close!! pls let us know u liked it w a like and rb and screaming in our inboxes is always ALWAYS welcome!! thank u !! love u !! <3

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el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle · 3 years

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Marcela and Armando had so much resentment bottled up towards each other and it just hits them in the face during that scene. Armando resenting Marcela's mistrust and the way she holds the commitment of marriage over him even though she knows he's miserable with her. Marcela resenting Armando's infidelity, his lack of interest in her, and the conflicting ways of viewing their relationship. Neither of them had the courage to end the relationship, they throw the responsibility at each other hoping the other will be the one to break things off, but neither is able to do it, especially with everything that it entails. It's just so heartbreaking, and Natalia and JEA nail it completely!

I second your list! Although most of those things don't bug me that much with the exception of: Patricia’s reduction from a well rounded antagonist to mere comedic relief. I can deal with the fillers and the unnecessary storylines(fast forward is my friend lol)as long as it didn't negatively affect the main storyline, but the way they made Patricia's character so obnoxious the last portion of the show is disappointing, especially because she was genuinely enjoyable. The episodes where Betty comes back to Ecomoda, Patricia's character is so unbearable, and not funny at all... The time inconsistency/contradiction is annoying, but for the sake of enjoying the story, I choose to ignore it 😅. And with Armando, his constant screaming at el cuartel (his employees and Betty friends) when he was trying to get her back, was not a good look for him unfortunately😔. But there's still significant details that reflect his change so i'm not too mad at that. But that reconciliation scene tho, filled with extras, and that whole anti climatic confrontation with Daniel and Don Hermes 🤦🏽‍♀️... we deserved so much better than that 😭.

Yeah, I feel for them both during that scene. It’s the first time they’re facing reality and it’s just… so soul-crushing. Marcela especially made me feel so sorry for her… even though I know she saw him as a trophy, I can’t help but feel bad. That’s how amazing the acting was!

Patricia’s reduction was one of the things that bothered me the most lol she had a promising story, especially after the horrible things that happened with Daniel (that scene of her crying after he left her apartment and how she calls Mario because she needs comfort, and meanwhile he’s cheating on her with Aura Maria… it crushed me 😭). But no, istead she became comedic relief… And the way she started saying “dooosgraciadooo” so exaggeratedly was so annoying 😭

The story fillers bother me because that time wasted on them could have been used for more useful scenes. For example, getting a flashback about how Marcela’s and Armando’s relationship officially started, or when the family got yhe news about the Valencias’ death, or a key scene to understand Daniel and Armando’s rivalry, or getting to know Camila, or when Camila revealed to the family she had gotten married + was pregnant. Anything that could have given us something valuable to the story, really! Especially if it helps us see more and understand more clearly how the Mendozas and Valencias’ relationship was 😣😣

Yes! I see and believe Armando’s change, but in some aspects I feel they could have made it more clear. My main issue (I forgot to add it to the list lol) was how openly flirtatious he was with Alejandra, but not getting to know how she started playing such an important role in Armando’s life. In my view, her role was a mixture of Catalina’s and Michel’s: Catalina was the fairy godmother that helped Betty change, listened to her, and became a source of support, which are all roles that Alejandra played for Armando. Michel was the Perfectiong Incarnated that showed Betty that she was beautiful on the inside as well as on the outside and could charm this amazing person that showed her there was much more out there besides the people she’s known and have harmed her, which is also a role Alejandra played for Armando. It’s a shame we didn’t get to see how this started, and even a greater shame that they had such fierce chemistry, because it really left the impression that Armando hasn’t change fully… even if he rejected her at the end, that flirtatious chemistry was too much. They should have lowered down the tone for that, like Betty and Michel: Betty evidently like Michel, but only as a friend. It’s abundantly clear, but with Armando and Alejandra… ☹️

Daniel’s ending was the most anticlimactic thing ever 😭😭😭 I was really hoping the dude ended up in jail…

#ysblf #betty la fea #yo soy betty la fea #armando mendoza #marcela valencia #daniel valencia #beatriz pinzón solano #catalina angel #el cuartel de las feas #michel doinel

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frizzy-hoot · 3 years

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Neuroessentialism and mental health

Hi!

Time for a little rant about neuroessentialism.

The aim of this post is to provide the opportunity to be conscious of the things that influence us when it comes the way we think about mental health and to challenge stigma around mental health.

First off, I’m not a doctor and the information here cannot serve as medical advice. Always consult your doctor before changing your medication or treatment approach.

Secondly, a lot of the information I present here is elaborated on and further discussed in an episode of the Psychiatry and psychotherapy podcast called “Free will in psychotherapy and psychiatry Part 3” and while I will link to as many things as I can, you can also find a lot of the source material on the website for the podcast. https://www.psychiatrypodcast.com/psychiatry-psychotherapy-podcast/2020/7/22/free-will-in-psychiatry-amp-psychotherapy-part-3

So, I see a lot of people talking about mental health on here through a neuroessentialist perspective in memes or text format and I don’t think they’re aware of it so. I’d like to talk a bit about it.

First, I’ll offer a definition of neuroessentialism:

" Neuroessentialism is the view that the definitive way to explain human psychological experience is by reference to the brain and its activity from chemical, biological and neuroscientific perspectives. For instance, if someone is experiencing depression a neuroessentialistic perspective would claim that he or she is experiencing depression because his or her brain is functioning in a certain way.” - Schultz, W. (2018)

I see people talk about, for example, depression in this way often: in memes when people say "I have a literal neurotransmitter deficiency, Karen." or " God forgot to add serotonin when he made me".

Now, why can this be problematic?

Before I get into the issues with this perspective, I will first acknowledge that one of the reasons this view has become so prominent lately is because it aims to reduce stigma around mental health issues.

In the podcast episode mentioned above they point out that “Efforts to reduce stigma should be praised, but they should also be critically analyzed to determine if they meet their goal.”

And that’s the thing neuroessentialism, while aiming to reduce stigma and shame it only does so short term and ends up contributing to stigmatizing attitudes about mental health.

I want to say that it's great to see people fight back when it comes to stigma around mental health. That's what I see people do in these memes. But the effects of neuroessentialist perspectives end up othering people; making them inherently “bad”, “defect” or “helpless”.

Here the deterministic aspect of neuroessentialism comes up - it tells us that there’s something wrong with our brain that we can’t change. It alienates people because it chips away at their and our belief in their ability to change. If you believe that someone's mental issues are rooted exclusively in brain biology, you're less likely to believe that they can control their behavior and so it is less worth the effort of getting them better. This brings about more stigma.

Another thing that’s important to talk about is how neuroessentialism is an extremely simplistic perspective on mental health. And that’s also one of the reasons it has become so big- because it offers a simple explanation to very complicated illnesses.

Here, I want to add a quote by Psychiatrist and psychotherapist Dr. David Puder:

“There are prominent theories out there that we know just aren’t true anymore and that get propagated because they are simplistic ways of explaining things; for example, depression is because you have low serotonin in your brain. That’s just not true. It’s a whole lot more complicated than that.

You could probably show 20 or 30 things that are going on in the brain during depression. Inflammation. Like initially I thought ‘oh depression is inflammation!’

Well, it turns out not all depression has inflammation. Maybe, only one third [of patients with depression] have inflammation markers in the brain.”

We have been looking to neuroscience for an explanation when it comes to mental health and been satisfied with the idea of a simple "chemical imbalance" but truth is that there are many more neurotransmitters which significantly affect our brains when we talk about depression – it’s so far from just serotonin.

Another example of how neuroessentialim can oversimplify mental health is with brain scans. So, in the podcast episode mentioned above, Dr. Puder talks about how he was really interested in emotions and especially studying anger and he was looking at all this research on the different areas in the brain involved in anger. After a while, he says, he began to understand that it’s really complex and you can’t just point at one area and say that’s the area that’s involved in the emotion anger. There are several areas involved in just that one emotion and different studies show different things.

The truth is that the manifestation of mental illness in the body is a very new area of research and we haven’t found physical manifestations for most mental illnesses and the important thing to note here is that despite this we still do have ways of treating all of them.

Alright, all this can seem quite removed from us so how does neuroessentialsim affect us?

In the episode the guest star, Mathew Hagele, further discusses the article which provided the definition on neuroessentialism above: “Shultz looked at studies investigating how patients viewed their own prognosis and later the same with professionals.

The study found that biochemical or genetic attribution scores were a significant predictor of longer expected symptoms duration and lower perceived odds of recovery.” (Lebowitz et al., 2013, p. 523).

Now, this means that the more a patient attributes symptoms of their psychopathology to genetic (inherited disorderes) or biochemical (serotonin deficiency for example) factors, the longer they expected to struggle with their disorder and the smaller the belief that they can recover.

If a person doesn’t believe they can be helped or get better they’re a lot less likely to try and a lot more likely to feel scared and hopeless.

The other side of this coin is the effect the neuroessentialist narrative has on clinicians which Matthew Haegel dives into in the next part of the quote:

“Another study shows that clinicians believe psychotherapy to be less effective when shown biological descriptions of mental health pathologies...

They took a couple different disorders that these clinicians were looking at and one group had a biological explanation and the other did not- had a different type of explanation. And [in] the results that were across disorders, the biological explanation yielded significantly less empathy than the psychosocial explanation. They also did some additional analysis and they found that biological explanations yielded less empathy than the psychosocial explanations among both MD’s and non-MD’s…..”( Lebowitz, M. S., & Ahn, W. K. (2014). )

So, in these studies we see that a neuroessentialist perspective lowers empathy for the patient in medical health professionals and people who weren’t medical health professionals.

Okay, so how does this perception of the patient’s illness affect the patient’s treatment?

I’ll start with a quote where Hagele elaborates further:

“…and finally, that clinicians perceive psychotherapy to be significantly less effective when symptoms were explained biologically than psychologically…[ Lebowitz, M. S., & Ahn, W. K. (2014). ]

basically, linking the idea that the diminished importance of psychotherapy among mental health professionals ascribing to the concept of neuroessentialism is doubly harmful when considering the multiple contexts in which psychotherapy matches or outperforms pharmaceutical interventions.”

What Hagele points out here is the way neuroessentialism can lead to a less effective and ethical treatment of mental illness. It makes us approach an issue in one manner only- fix the brain, fix the behavior. But sometimes what can treat he issue in the brain is, working on the behavior. This can be talked about in terms of meds vs. psychotherapy.

So, seeing mental health from a neuroessentialist perspective, completely excludes the effects of psychotherapy. A classic example is CBT (cognitive behavioral therapy) in which we have “Cognitive restructuring”: a psychotherapeutic process in which a person learns to recognize maladaptive or distressing thoughts and teaches their brain to consider other perspectives or different thought pattern. This is an example of “work on behaviour to better brain” rather than “working on brain will fix behavior”. According to strict neuroessentialism therapy shouldn’t work as well as it does but there is a really big body of science backing psychotherapeutic intervention and its efficacy compared to psychopharmacological intervention.

I feel I should address the discussion of Meds vs. therapy before I continue, (it is a whole topic worthy of a post on its own) but to be brief, they work best together and if you’re weighing one against the other psychotherapy has more long-term effects and barely any side effects compared to medication. There are other factor affecting what would be the most effective treatment approach that further nuances this discussion.

Now this is all a pretty big picture but how is this seen every day?

Well, its seen in the downplaying of the importance of therapy. Often, I see this as people normalize behavior where they kind of devalue the importance therapy or put off working on their issues in therapy with the excuse that it’s only for “crazy” people or not something worth the effort.

Therapy then increasingly is seen as this unimportant, extra thing rather than, in most cases, the most effective and safe treatment. And the less crucial therapy is considered, the less accessible it’s going to be – in the U.S. it can often be easier to get your insurance company to cover for a doctors visits where the treatment would be for your GP to prescribe you an antidepressant than an inpatient or outpatient treatment with a mental health professional.

Another point I wanna put out there is that that neuroessentialist narrative is incentivized by pharmaceutical companies. Dr. Puder talks about his own experience in the podcast episode and makes sure to stress that practitioners are humans too and will of course be biased towards something if that something writes them a check or pays some of their expenses. In the episode they discuss a way in which we have seen the neuroessentialist narrative progress:

“Second, there is evidence that the significant increase in direct-to consumer (DTC) advertising for antidepressants is related to rising prescription rates (Park & Grow, 2008). Such advertisements portray depression as a biological medical condition that can successfully be treated with medicine (Lacasse & Leo, 2005; Leo & Lacasse, 2008)” (613).

Now, medicine is an important tool in psychiatry and there is a lot of unnecessary stigma around medication for mental health conditions. I am under no circumstances arguing that medication is bad and therapy is the only right way to treat mental illness. That would be an extreme simplification and invalidation of human experiences. I also wanna acknowledge that being able to go to therapy in many places in the world is a matter of privilege. Therapy simply isn’t accessible for everyone and people can choose an “only medication approach” for many valid reasons. And if that’s the only treatment that was accessible to you I’m really proud of you for taking care of yourself and doing what you can.

If your doctor has prescribed you a medication please take it and know that the purpose is to help you and that you are worthy of help and good health care. The situation where I would suggest to be a tad critical is when people come in with disorders and issues that they have dealt with for years and most of their life and they are just prescribed an antidepressant and sent home. That simply isn’t effective and ethical care. In that case it is worth investigating getting access to a mental health practitioner as well as continuing with medicinal treatment.

I could talk about this for hours but the last thing I wanna get across is that this is a societal problem. I don’t suggest we turn away from pharmaceutical intervention which saves thousands of lives and helps people get better, rather that we work to make psychotherapy (which can be and is crucial for long term remission and recovery) more accessible for when it’s appropriate.

When your doctor tells you that this invisible illness is because of your biology most people feel validated and experience less shame. The fact that people feel like they need to have a tracible biological “anomaly” in their brains to be worthy of treatment and care speaks to an invalidation that many feel. But the issue here is that we're taught to invalidate invisible illness in society which in the end makes people delay critical treatment or blocks access to ethical and effective care.

We also have to acknowledge that with the technology we have now we are not able to know whether all mental illness manifests in the brain in a way we can see so hinging our worthiness of help and care on the definition is in the end harmful.

TL;DR

Neuroessentilism can validate a patient and bring relief of shame short term but ends up contributing to stigmatizing attitudes and thus doesn’t help reduce stigma overall.

The neuroessentialist narrative can downplay the efficacy and criticalness of psychotherapeutic intervention

Neuroessentialist perspectives foster lower empathy levels for patients in medical providers and non-providers alike.

Neuroessentialist perspectives of a patient significantly increases levels of prognostic pessimism which leads to worse treatment outcomes

Neuroessentialism arose because of a real invalidation people feel around their mental health and it is a societal issue we need to work on

We can combat neuroessentialism and stigma by working to make psychotherapy more accessible and talking about our experiences openly as well as giving each other kindness and empathy.

#i tried to make this a readable as possible but shoot me a message if i missed soemthing #neuroessentialism #rant post #mental health struggles #recovery data #psychiatry #medication #psychotherapy #therapy #psychology

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goneseriesanalysis · 3 years

Note

2, 3, 13, 17, 18 🥰

2.) What, in your opinion, are Michael Grant's strengths as a writer?? Weaknesses??

Oof this is such a great question. I'm gonna get the negative out of the way first, and you probably knows whats coming but...

Romantic relationships. He just, for some reason, cannot seem to get the formula right. Sam and Astrid do not work together - they are both great people separately but all of their relationship scenes make me like them a little less. They should have broken up- but that's another post entirely.

Caine and Diana are slightly better - because they are written to be imperfect, but it's still not great. And all the other romantic relationships are entirely forgettable. It's a shame because one of his strengths is...

Platonic Relationships. Sam and Dekka?? Perfect. Sam and Edilio?? Perfect. Sam and Quinn?? Lovely - delves into the question of the longevity of childhood friends. Is it only proximity that keeps you together, or something more?? There's betrayal and redemption...amazing. Caine and Drake?? Interesting dynamic, lovely. Howard and Orc?? Again, so interesting, so complex. Dahra and Lana?? Beautiful. All of these relationships are so different and so complex and so beautifully written. It really is a shame he couldn't do the same for his romantic relationships.

And another strength, that I just have to mention because it is one of the many reasons I fell in love with this series. The way that Michael writes desperation is so heartwrenching and real and raw...it's honestly difficult to describe. Every time I read the scene in Gone where Lana calls out to her mother, alone and afraid. I get literal chills. Because every time I can perfectly imagine her pain and fear, it's palpable. It truly is amazing the way he portray such a complex emotion so effortlessly and it never ceases to amaze me.

3.) Which characters of your choosing do you think wear make up (at least pre FAYZ)?? Which don't??

Do:

Diana - Not much because I get the feeling that Coates doesn't allow it. Just some concealer and a bit of lip tint. Maybe mascara is she wants something off of Caine. She also sculpts her eyebrows regularly.

Taylor: Same as Diana really, concealer, lip tint. Not sure if this counts but I think she would wear fake tan as well.

Lana: Everything. Foundation, eyeshadow, mascara, lipstick. Her eyebrows are professionally done. She has to keep up with her Las Vegas friends after all.

Mary: She uses concealer to cover her dark circles so as not to draw attention to herself and she always contours her cheekbones as she thinks they never stand out enough :(

Dahra: Not sure why, but I get the vibe that she really enjoyed doing make up. She would watch make up tutorials for fun and try to recreate them.

Don't:

Brianna: Who has the time??

Dekka: She admires girls who can do make up but can never get the hang of it herself. It never seems to sit right on her face, luckily it's never been a source of insecurity for her.

Astrid: She tried wearing mascara once, forgot she had it on, and rubbed it all over her eyes whilst deep in thought. Since then she's avoided it. However she does have a 10 step skin care routine.

13.) Body type headcannons

Dekka is MUSCLY. She is heavy-set with big biceps and tones legs. She's probably quite tall as well - pretty intimidating to look at. Could be a Greek goddess in disguise.

Astrid is tall and narrow and sharp and pointy. She has a lump on her middle finger from where she holds her pen and multiple scare on her fingers from paper cuts.

Diana is pretty short- around 5"3. She's curvy with a short upper body and longer legs. The inside of her lips are torn up from where she bites them and her stomach constantly has a red line across it because, in private, her posture is appalling.

Mary is tall and skinny, although she, of course, doesn't see it.

Dahra is short and chubby, but her legs are very toned as she constantly is walking alongside Ewood as he trains for his running.

Sam and Quinn are relatively toned from surfing all the time. Sam (5"8) is shorter than Quinn (5"10) and he hates it. Quinn has a bit of baby fat on his stomach that he can never seem to get rid off. He thinks it makes him look unappealing - it doesn't.

I don't care what mg says, 15 yr old Caine Soren does not have a six pack. He is around 5"7 and he's toned but not muscly. His thumb is misshapen from biting it all the time.

Drake is tall. Like 6ft at 15 kinda tall. And he's so gangly. He doesn't know where to put his limbs and there are constantly bruises on his knees from where they knock together. He has long fingers that he cracks - constantly. If he started wearing eyeliner he would look like he belonged in a grunge band.

Orc is tall (5"10) and a terrifying mixture of fat and muscle. Howard is small (5"4) and barely has enough meet on him to last.

Edilio is average height and pretty stocky. He has broad shoulders and a thick body. This is a great source of pride for him.

17.) Hairstyle headcannons??

Honestly I don't really have any other than what is already stated in the books.

All I habe to add is that I think pre FAYZ Astrid kept her hair is a bob so that if Petey was ever relating, and wanted physical contact from her, he wouldn't be out off by his hair in her face.

18.) What would your ideal gone fanfic look like??

Honestly?? It would be a long fic with nothing other than Sam and Astrid talking out their issues, and settling on a compromise that can lead to a healthy relationship. Boring, I know, but it's what my heart needs.

Thank you so much for the asks!!

#the gone series

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smoochkooks · 4 years

Text

—the (un)holy cock-up (m.)

⟶ pairing: park jimin/reader

⟶ genre: smut, angst

⟶ word count: 14.5k

⟶ warnings: explicit sexual content, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, profanity, unnecessary amount of biblical puns, some critic on catholic church, this is a heavy read be aware

⟶ summary: there is a quite long list of circumstances, with student loan and rent on the very top of it, that led you to work in the sunday’s spirit editorial department, a newspaper overally known among fellow catholic community of busan, with park jimin as your boss.

when your small cock-up goes unnoticeably out of your hand, you find yourself in a situation painted in all shades of wrong.

or, alternatively: when it’s forbidden, it tastes bittersweet.

a/n: please, before you read this: take the warnings seriously. this is not a light read, it touches some heavy and quite controversial topics. tit also involves a scene where a person in charge exhibits inappropriate behavior towards their subordinate which I do not condone, however it’s all done with consent.

ps. im really proud of this work so give me some love please:(

Fingertips typing furiously on the keyboards, sights focused on the computers’ screens, brows furrowed, minds utterly concentrated and all of this accompanied by angelic voices of various religious songs playing in the background.

This is how a typical day at Sunday’s Spirit editorial department goes by.

The newspaper is a local source of information for the catholic community not only in the city of Busan, but in the whole country. Its history starts in 70s, when Park Min-Sung with his wife started publishing the very first version of the Sunday’s Spirit, selling copies in front of churches. Young activists definitely hadn’t anticipated such a big success, especially due to hard times of the military dictatorship in Korea, but two decades later they have become one of the most affluent families in Busan. The newspaper remains the Park’s legacy till these days, being owned by Min-Sung’s son, with the original founder’s grandson Jimin as an editor-in-chief.

Sometimes you ponder how did you end up in this kind of situation. Sitting at your desk with eyes glued to the screen, working for the catholic newspaper with Mary did you know and other holy songs playing from the Spotify’s Blessed Hits playlist.

First of all, you aren’t quite a Jesus stan yourself. Not a regular churchgoer, Bible reader or a person who lives according to God’s will with Ten Commandments written on your heart and soul.

Someone may wonder, what a young, aspiring journalist like you is doing here? Yes, that’s right.

Money is the reason.

The perspectives of wealthy life as a presenter in the national television or a host in the radio were just a mirage, because after receiving your master degree in journalism you realised that, unfortunately, a bright future was bright only in your unreal dreams.

The case was simple. You needed money. Your bank account was literally screaming at you to get your shit together and figure something out before you end up under the bridge. So you started searching for a job, looking over various offers on the Internet for two weeks straight. A waitress? Nah, too clumsy for that. Jewelry seller? Definitely not, since you are a happy owner of a few pairs of earrings from etsy-like online shop that certainly have nothing to do with real gold. You were almost convinced you’re destined to be a sexworker but then you stumbled upon an offer from the Sunday’s Spirit.

It was your chance. A God himself decided to take pity on you.

In that exact moment the genre of the newspaper wasn’t important. The vision of bankruptcy was enough for you to wear knee-length black skirt, white button-up shirt and a pair of high heels you’ve never worn before and go on a job interview with plastered smile on your face, looking delightful like you have just given birth to Jesus Christ in Bethlehem.

All the Hollywood actresses could be put into shame after your Oscar-winning performance you acted out on the interview in front of middle-aged woman in checked jacket that no one wears since 90s. Your enthusiasm and assurance you live good, catholic woman’s life, along with your master degree and motivational letter (you added a quote from The Letter to Philipians at the end of it to spice it up) was enough to be accepted for the position of Ask and you shall find column creator.

The job itself wasn’t complex or tough. The newspaper on its online site has a page where people can create an account and send asks to the author of the column who responds to them. You did something wrong and you aren’t sure it should be considered a sin? Having problems with regular praying on mornings and evenings? Write to us and we will solemnly help you with the God’s blessing, it says.

This is basically how it works. Each week, the said journalist chooses the most interesting questions and answers to make an article to the Sunday’s Spirit’s next publication. Of course, you can’t answer those questions the way you would like. You must do it according to the catholic laws and God’s plan (the True God’s plan, not Drake’s). A woman who interviewed you even gave you a notebook full of already made-up responses and a list of things you definetely mustn’t write if you still want to be employed.

To be completely frank, you don’t hate your job that much. You actually feel kind of nice, helping other people with their problems. You’ve been doing this for six months now and during this period of time you got used to some things.

A ‘Jesus, I trust you’ framed picture you swore your mother gave you on your 16th birthday standing on your desk. Holy beats blasting through the speakers until you leave the office at 5pm. A big-ass cross hanging right in front of the entrance to the editorial. Lee Chin-sun, the Weekly News column author, rushing to Park Jimin’s bureau every day at different hours in her pencil skirts and high heels knocking on the floor.

There’s only the Pentecost in the middle of the office that could actually surprise you.

“Looks like our Mary Magdalene is going to Jesus cave again,” mutters Kim Taehyung, the newspaper’s main photographer, friend from your desk and, actually, the only friend you have here. Very much gay and just like you, in desperate need for money. “It’s her third visit today. I wonder what it is this time. New prayer to Pope Francis she found?” he whispers and you chuckle at that quietly, looking around if anyone pays attention to your conversation, but everyone seems busy doing their own stuff. “Maybe she’s sucking his dick right now and we all think they are playing Who said it? Bible edition,” he adds in a hushed tone.

You start thinking about it for a while. Is that really possible for someone like Park Jimin, the editor-in-chief of the Sunday’s Spirit to have a sexual relationship with his coworker? The man who has a smaller version of Pietà in his office?

“I mean look at him. I would smash that ass too.”

You roll your eyes at Taehyung words, going back to your previous task but every time you try to concentrate, the face of your boss appears in front of your eyes uncontrollably.

Truth to be told, Park Jimin was a sight.

Blond hair, always perfectly styled and simply parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. Dark, sharp eyes that seem to pierce right through your soul and full, plump lips which could only be described as kissable.

He wears only high fashion brands, wandering through the office in Prada and Tom Ford suits that hugs his sculpted body just right. You think that as for a person who never misses Sunday’s mass, Park Jimin has also nice thighs. And a fine piece of ass, as Taehyung would describe it.

Newest Rolex that costs probably more than you will ever earn in your entire life on his wrist, Mercedes who just got brought out to the international market standing on his parking spot in front of the building, an apartment in the most luxurious area in Busan.

Park Jimin inhales God’s mercy and exhales money.

You spoke to him more explicitly only once, on your first day at work. He greeted you and wished good luck, saying that everything will be fine because you know, God’s good. Since that day, Park Jimin seems out of your reach. You contact him only through email, sending articles for him to check and approve, occasionally receiving some short message from him to improve this and that. He rarely leaves his office during working hours but when he does, it’s either for business meetings outside the editorial or for a lunch at nearby restaurant.

There’s also one, special occasion, every Friday, that’s a sacred time for all the employees. The clock hits 12am and so it begins. The angelic voices stop singing and everybody shifts on their sits.

“Oh, Holy Judas. I almost forgot about my favourite part of the week,” Taehyung sighs, standing up from his desk. And by that, he means-

“Friday’s Bible contemplation lunch break, everyone please gather up at the cafeteria.” Park Jimin’s sweet as honey voice says through the speakers.

You stand up from your chair with reluctance. Taking food with you, you go to the cafeteria, following Taehyung.

That’s actually the next thing you got used to while working at Sunday’s Spirit. Bible contemplation meetings are, as you found out from Taehyung, Jimin’s idea after he became an editor-in-chief almost one year ago. Every Friday all the workers sit together, eat their lunches and listen to Jimin as he reads a certain chapter from the book with true admiration written on their faces. After that, he usually asks some questions holding a discussion among the participants who, unlike you, happily takes part in.

The cafeteria looks rather normal, like any other lunchrooms you see in offices. Painted in bright yellow colors, with a few tables and a typical kitchen set in the back. Except for one thing.

A replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s The Last Supper hanging on the wall.

You decided a long time ago that you don’t want to know how much money it cost Jimin to have something like that here.

The newspaper’s workers, almost like the twelve Apostles, sit together by the tables. Lee Chin-sun at the very front, looking completely mesmerized by today’s Park Jimin’s appearance. He’s wearing navy blue suit that Taehyung swears it’s from Hugo Boss. The place next to Chin-sun is always occupied by tall, black-haired guy named Choi Eunwoo, main graphic designer, hopelessly in love with her since his first days at work. Behind them there’s a group from emendation department, with their leader Min Yoongi and other journalists. You always sit with Taehyung at the back, near the kitchen, not necessarily paying attention to what’s happening in the front.

Jimin, as on every Friday, walks to the small podium, designed to look like a pulpit in the church and opens the Bible. But one thing is odd: Jimin ain’t no priest or altar boy himself and he certainly dosen’t look like one, flipping through the pages of what you think it’s New Testament this time.

From your point of view, you could practically see how Chin-sun sighs with content expression on her face, lacing her fingers together on the lap and straightening her back. Eunwoo, on the other hand, shifts uncomfortably on his seat, sending Chin-sun quick glances full of unspoken longing she never acknowledges, to his dismay.

Then, Park Jimin clears his throat and the whole cafeteria goes quiet.

Truth to be told, you never really listen to what he’s reading. This time is no different. You just chew on your avocado sandwich, occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Your boss’ smooth voice reaches your ears faintly but you don’t pay attention to it, focusing on eating and Taehyung’s hushed rumbling instead.

“Look at our Mary Magdalene, she looks like she might burst a nut just by listening to CEO Jesus,” he says, making you peek at the girl.

Mary Magdalene is a nickname that Taehyung made up for Chin-sun when he started working at Sunday’s Spirit, mainly because of her attitude and relationship with Jimin. It’s rather platonic, at least for now. She looks at him with pure admiration on her face and she literally melts everytime he smiles at her. But Chin-sun’s ‘stalking’ isn’t unreasonable. Her father is a well-known philanthropist in Busan. He donates catholic charities, churches and, what’s the most interesting – he has some connections with Jimin’s father, the owner of Sunday’s Spirit.

And here’s the thing: Chin-sun’s hare and hounds definitely have some hidden reason. Maybe the whole marriage thing that has become a gossip in the office is true. Which makes poor Eunwoo’s situation even worse.

“Sometimes I wonder why has he fallen in love with her in first place,” you whisper, pointing at the graphic designer. “He knows he stands no chance against Jimin.”

“What can I say, you can’t help who you fall in love with.” Taehyung muses almost poetically, shrugging his shoulders.

You hum at that, placing your coffee cup on the table and looking around the cafeteria. It seems like Jimin has ended his reading session for today and now he invites everyone to join the discussion about the topic. He flashes Chin-sun a gentle smile and you could swear the girl is biting her lip.

On the corner of your eye you see Taehyung smirking.

“What?” you ask.

Taehyung takes a sip of his coffee lazily (it’s always caramel macchiato), peering at Jimin. “Oh, nothing. I was just wondering if our boss really wants to settle not only with Chin-sun, but anyone in general,” he says languidly.

You furrow your brows. “What makes you think that? I mean, look at him. He probably waits with sex till marriage.” you snort.

Taehyung chuckles at your words. “Ah, sweetheart, you really know nothing about Park Jimin.”

“What do you mean?”

He moves closer to you, leaning towards your ear. “What I mean,” he whispers, “is that Park Jimin isn’t such a prude everyone thinks he is. At least he didn’t use to be.”

You raise your eyebrows at him with disbelief. “What? He’s secretly gay?” you mock.

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “I wish, but no, he isn’t,” he answers with a sigh. “Do you know Min Yoongi from emendation team?” he then asks, pointing at grey-haired man with feline eyes sitting behind Chin-sun.

You nodd your head. Min Yoongi is a hard to read guy. Always suspiciously silent, practically never leaves his office. Something makes you wonder how did Taehyung end up befriending him enough to casually gossip about the boss. You will ask him about this on another occasion.

“So here’s the thing,” Taehyung begins, lowering the volume of his voice. “He used to study at the same university in Seoul with Jimin. They even had been together in the fraternity. Yoongi-hyung told me some juicy details about our boss’ life back then.”

You frown at his words. “And you are telling me this now?!” you hiss.

“I found out literally two days ago!” Taehyung exclaims, maybe a little too loud, so you quickly place your index finger on your lips, shushing him.

“Fine. Continue.” you whisper, looking around to see if anyone pays attention to you.

“Well, Park Jimin used to be a trouble back then. A golden boy of his family in Busan, but a campus fuckboy and obnoxious heartbreaker in Seoul. He smoked cigarettes, drank enormous amounts of alcohol, got wasted on every weekend, missed classes and changed hair colors as often as his girlfriends. By the way, don’t you think he would slay pink hair?”

“Taehyung can you please–”

“Okay, okay. Enough thirsting over Jimesus. So, as you can see, there was no place for Sunday’s mass and Bible contemplation meetings in his life. And here’s the awaited plotwist. His parents somehow found out his son wasn’t living good catholic life on his studies and got extremely pissed off. They simply gave him an ultimatum: if he doesn’t stop his shenanigans, they will cut him off their money and they won’t make him Sunday’s Spirit heir.” Taehyung stops his rumbling for a while, letting you proceed all the bewildering informations about your dear boss he has just revealed.

Your eyes simply widen at the revelations.

Park Jimin, the man who organises Bible contemplation lunch breaks, a regular churchgoer, someone who you always thought has a cross tattooed on his back, was a playboy who slept with a half of the female community in the university?

Interesting.

“Rest of the story is simple. He changed his behavior, got a master degree in journalism and came back to Busan to work here. What is funny, his first position was the same as yours now,” Taehyung ends his story with a light chuckle. “Now you understand why it’s hard for me to believe he really thinks about getting married and having at least three kids.”

You look up at Park Jimin, who’s standing now in the centre of the cafeteria, with his arms crossed over his chest, nodding at one of the journalists words. His gaze is so intense and filled with such an authority that makes you understand why Chin-sun literally squirms when he looks at her that way.

It’s not hard for you to imagine him in much different surroundings.

Him, standing with a cup of beer in his hand in the middle of the crowd of drunken people at some frat party. There’s a leather jacket on his shoulders and he’s wearing tight-fitting pants that hugs his gorgeous thighs much better than his usual slacks he puts on every day before he sets off to work. He scans the room with a mishevious smirk dancing on his features, biting and licking his lips as he looks for his prey for tonight.

He then spots her, his pick for the night. He runs his fingers through his silky locks and approaches the girl, whispering dirty promises to her ear as he sways their bodies to the rhythm of loud music blasting through the speakers. Later that night he has her underneath him, begging him to touch her. He fucks her hard, leaving bruises all over her limp, exhausted body. There will be soreness between her thighs in the morning and a few violet love bites on her neck, a gentle reminder that all of this wasn’t just a dream.

But there’s no warm body next to her she could wake up to, no ‘good morning, baby’ or a second round of love making between the sheets. Because Park Jimin isn’t like that. He waited until her breath slowed down and eyelids fluttered shut, drifting her off to sleep. He left in the middle of the night, a cigarette caught between his swollen from kisses lips. He fumed the poison and smiled to himself, wondering what his parents would think when they found out. A golden boy of his family, future heir of the Park’s legacy, coming back from one of his sexcapeds with girl which name he didn’t even remember.

The Lord himself must have already cursed him and he’s currently planning the punishments for him in depths of Hell. But does Park Jimin look like he really care?

You stare blankly ahead, imagining those scenes in your head. You can’t help but squeeze your thighs because God, yes, Park Jimin is hot, even if he reads Breviary before he goes to sleep. What a shame he has changed.

A smooth like honey voice pulls you out from your airy-fairy slumber.

“Miss Y/N?”

You jolt in panic after hearing your name, glancing around and praying that wasn’t the person you think it was. But this silky, melodious voice you would recognize everywhere.

God hates you though, he knows what kind of scandalous things you were daydreaming about and now it’s his time to punish you.

Looking up, your gaze settles on no one other than Park Jimin, who stares at you with his left eyebrow raised, pursing his lips. He extinguishes the aura of pure dominance around him and you involuntarily blush, squirming under his intense glare. You’re royally screwed.

You clear your throat, trying to calm down rapidly beating heart. Without success.

“Yes, sir?” you manage to answer innocently. Certainly not like you weren’t thinking about being fucked by him minutes ago. You don’t even have time to be surprised he remembers your name.

Park Jimin looks unamazed by your sweet tone; he almost seems bored, but definitely irritated. “I asked you a question and I’m waiting for your response.” he says lowly.

Fuckfuckfuck. God have mercy on you. What was the question? Shit, you don’t even know what fragment he had read before.

In act of complete desperation you elbow Taehyung for help but this little shit pretends he has no idea what’s going on, looking at The Last Supper with sudden interest.

You are purely, loyally, utterly fucked.

You adopt the most charming smile you could muster, knowing that it will have zero affect on Park Jimin and ask, “Could you repeat the question one more time, sir? I’m afraid I didn’t hear you correctly.” Jesus, when has your voice become so high-pitched?

A cruel smirks forms on Park Jimin’s lips. He shakes his head, tsking. Taehyung mutters something under his breath that sounds dangerously close to “It was nice meeting you, sweetheart.” You gulp, waiting for your sentence and hoping Pontius Pilate will be gracious to you.

“My, my,” Jimin muses. It makes you feel like a little girl being scolded by the teacher due to her outrageous behavior. You bite your lip so hard you might draw blood, waiting for your boss’ next words. “Of course you didn’t hear my question, because you weren’t paying attention to our discussion.”

In the corner of your eye you see Chin-sun shaking her head with detestation. What a bitch, you think to yourself.

You take a deep breath then, nails digging crescent moons on the skin of your palms. You don’t like being in the spotlight, you never did, but now you have no choice but face the consequences. “My deepest apologies, sir. The behavior I exhibited was highly inappropriate,” you say, bowing your head. Jimin eyes your figure from head to toe and you might actually feel his burning gaze on your skin. Your cheeks flush in crimson even more.

The editor-in-chief seems to deliberate with himself for a while, turning his head slightly to the side, not breaking the eye contact with you. Finally, after a moment that seems to last an hour, he speaks.

“I think you need a lesson that will teach you to pay attention to our weekly discussions, miss Y/N. That’s why I want you to write a 4000 words long paper about the role of Mary Magdalene in Jesus Christ’s life which we had discussed today but you, unfortunately, didn’t acknowledge it.”

You freeze. Like a scene in the movie, everything stops. The embarassement you felt earlier is quickly replaced by pure anger and irritation. He wants you to write a fucking paper? What is this? University lectures?

Never before in your entire life have you felt so humiliated. All eyes are on you; you could practically sense how they are trying not to laugh out loud. Eunwoo and Taehyung look at you with apologetic faces while Chin-sun smirks, whispering something to Jimin’s ear.

“I apologize once again, sir,” you grit through your teeth with a forced smile. Jimin nods then, not even bothering to look at you again. You’re dismissed, that’s what his behavior is saying.

“Our meeting is over, you can go back to your work.” Jimin announces and walks away from the cafeteria with Chin-sun by his side.

You wait for everyone to leave and the you let out a groan of annoyance, burring your head in your hands.

“Hey, it could have been worse. He didn’t fire you after all.” Taehyung laughs but he quickly shuts up as soon as he sees your glare. You stand up from your chair with a scowl written all over your face, and storm out of the lunchroom.

And may the God help you.

Later that unfortunate day, you sit by your desk again, scrolling through the Ask and you shall find page absentmindedly and waiting for the new asks to come. Everyone has returned to their work like nothing has happened but it doesn’t stop you from feeling all those eyes constantly on your back. Maybe you weren’t fired but the humiliation and embarrassment of being told off by your boss publicly makes you want to disappear and never show up at the editorial again.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. You look up at him and find the man smiling at you lightly. He’s wearing a long, camel coat and a big scarf around his neck with ridiculous patterns that reminds you of Persian diwans. He places his black camera bag on the desk, which means he’s leaving the office. “I’m free of office work for today so I just wanted to say goodbye.” he explains and you just nod.

“Bye, Taehyung. See you on Monday.” you say maybe a little bit to wryly and he feels that, letting out a long sigh.

Taehyung seems to deliberate with himself for a moment before he decides to speak again. He clears his throat audibly. “And I, uhm, I’m sorry. It’s my fault that you are in this situation. I started this conversation and I should be the one writing this stupid paper for Mister Prude.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the new nickname Taehyung gave Jimin. The anger you felt before drifts away from you slowly, and you smile at your friend apologetically. “Oh, God, Tae. I’m such a bitch sometimes, sorry,” you blurt out.”I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at him. Besides, maybe that’s good I’ve got homework. I don’t remember when was the last time I wrote some-”

Your words are interrupted by a loud laugh that resonates through the office. You look in the direction of the voice just to see Chin-sun with her manicured hand on Jimin’s chest, throwing her head back from the laughter, too dramatically for your taste. She seems to have changed her clothes, a black pencil skirt long forgotten and replaced by a red, bodycon dress. Her dark hair is also styled differently, curled and loose. She looks beautiful, matching Jimin’s appearance perfectly.

“Where are they going?” Taehyung whispers to you, furrowing his brows. You shrug your shoulders, tearing your eyes of Chin-sun and Jimin. “Maybe our Mary Magdalene’s plan to win Jesus’ heart is working. Poor Eunwoo,” he sighs, looking at his watch to check the time. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to drive all the way to some shithole near the city to take photos of an old lady who swears she saw saint Francis or other dude with halo speaking to her,” he grumbles and you giggle at his words. “Good luck with your paper, sweetheart.” he leans and places a small peck on your cheek.

“Bye, Tae.” you say, watching him leave the office right after Jimin and Chin-sun.

You let out a long, tired sigh, counting the time to leave the office and finally be back home, with a bottle of red wine and new season of Game of Thrones that are waiting for you to watch the whole week. Then, when you’re about to stand up and make yourself another coffee, a new ask pops up in your inbox with the title ‘Sex S.O.S’.

You raise your eyebrows because honestly, what kind of title is this? Curiosity wins the battle with a hot cup of an americano and you click the show more button. You put on your prescription glasses and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyfriend. And here’s where the actual problem begins. I’m from the catholic family with long traditions, and as you can guess, he isn’t.

We’ve been together for almost 2 years now and since my parents don’t want me to live with him before the marriage, there’s also no sexual life between us. I was actually surprised they agreed I can date a non-religious person in first place, so the rules weren’t that horrible at the beginning.

My boyfriend always seemed to be understanding about the fact that I’m catholic and he has never had issues against it because I stated this on the start of our relationship, but lately… he’s been distant. We meet up less often and I feel like simple kissing after 2 years isn’t enough for him. I even thought about initiating something that wouldn’t necessarily involve the real intercourse but I’m too inexperienced and shy for that. We are slowly drifting apart.

I don’t know what to do. I love him so much and I don’t want to lose him just because of some stupid rules I need to follow. I’m scared he will leave me for some other beautiful girl who wouldn’t have anything against sleeping with him, especially after considering the fact that he isn’t virgin unlike me and he experienced this kind of pleasure before.

I hope you will help me.

Yours faithfully,

Kang Seoyeon.

You blink once, twice. Read the message again and then, something snaps in you.

To Hell with these stupid, old-fashioned rules straight from the Middle Ages. To Hell with celibacy till marriage, masturbation prohibition and living according to God’s will. To Hell with Park Jimin and his ridiculous moral code (and his Bible contemplation lunchbreaks).

Unofficial eleventh commandment: If a girl wants a dick, she deserves to have it.

And that’s exactly what your response to the girl is in a nutshell.

Your blood boils in your veins with anger as you’re typing furiously on the keyboard, not even bothering to check if your sudden outburst makes any sense.

Dear Seoyeon,

It’s Y/N here, the journalist who you wrote this message to.

I don’t know what kind of response are you expecting from me but honestly? If you think I’m going to recommend you some praying to Saint Rita then you’re wrong. I’m done with this shit.

Let me make this straight: if you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy.

They are plenty of worse things in this world than having sex with the person you love. Look at me. I’m literally writing to catholic newspaper while using words like ‘God’ and ‘Fuck’ in the same sentence. And that’s not even a small piece of what I’ve done in my life.

So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this. You have my blessings and Jesus is giving you metaphysical thumbs up from above. Sex is amazing thing and you don’t have to wait for it until you say ‘yes’ in front of some guy in black cassock. Just go with the flow.

May the God help you!

Love, Y/N.

P.S. Watch out that guy. He seems suspicious. If he’s been really sex deprived for two years he will die after you give him a head.

Sent.

You exhale loudly, staring at the screen. You did that. Six months into working in Sunday’s Spirit and the time when you lost your temper has finally come. You should probably feel ashamed or have some type of conscience pangs but actually you aren’t even near this state.

Grinning to yourself, you delete the message you had sent to the girl from your inbox and check the time. It’s almost 5pm and it looks like you haven’t even realised you’re the only person at the office right now. Since it’s Friday and Jimin has already left, seems like everyone has decided to set off earlier too.

You turn off your computer, packing your things to the bag. Wrapping a scarf around your neck tightly, you leave the building, welcoming the coolness of the early Spring evening in Busan.

When you’re about to cross the street, your phone buzzes in the pocket of your coat. You stop for a moment, smiling to yourself when you read the message.

[04:23pm] from Tae: hey

[04:23pm] from Tae: i know you are probably planning an evening with mary magdalene n jesus but

[04:23pm] from Tae: wouldnt u want to go for drinks with me tonight?

[04:23pm] from Tae: same place as usual

[04:24pm] from Tae: as a wise man once said: nothing helps better for the writer’s block than vodka

[04:24pm] from Tae: so what do u say?

You don’t need to think twice when you quickly type a response. Game of Thrones and wine can wait till another time.

[04:26pm] from me: how could i say no to kim taehyung and vodka?

[04:26pm] from me: see u there

Kim’s is a place like no one other in Busan.

You wouldn’t even know about its existence if it wasn’t Taehyung who took you there first when you started working at Sunday’s Spirit, solemnly promising free drinks. Who would you be if you didn’t agree to that?

When you arrived at the bar, it eventually turned out the alcohol was costless hence it’s his family business since over thirty years and his brother Namjoon is a bartender, not because Taehyung willingly decided to pay for you.

Kim’s is located in rather industrial part of the city, sandwiched between factories and huge housing estates, not looking really inviting at first glance, but the place has its own, unique charm. There are some stories, shrouding the building’s history in mystery. Some people say it used to be headquarters of the most dangerous mafia in Busan, some even believe it served as the secret arsenal during the Korean War.

But what’s definitely true, it’s the fact that Taehyung’s parents bought this place in swinging times of 80s for a small amount of money and turned the place into disco bar which had become a must-go spot for young people in Busan.

Kim’s on the outside, with its large red neon sign hanging above the entrance, looks more like a night club than a bar, but on the inside the magic of kitschy 80s still remains the same (Taehyung swears retro is in fashion these days and that’s why he didn’t let his parents redecorate when they wanted to).

You always feel like you’re traveling back in time when you visist Kim’s.

The place is quite big, with a large dancefloor in the middle and red leather sofas strewn around the place along with the tables. Walls are made of brick and colorful, vibrant neon lights are shimmering on them. Oh, not to mention the huge disco ball on the ceiling. Everything accompanied with the quality music provided by Namjoon.

There are few billiard and foosball tables in the corner of the bar, always occupied by the same group of middle-aged men on weekdays and university students on weekends. But the thing that attract attention of the customers the most, is the bar with Namjoon behind it.

When you enter the place, you spot Taehyung and his blond mop of hair immediately. He sits on one of the bar stools, talking to his older brother. He’s wearing beige pants and floral button-up shirt that seems to match colors with his pinkish-looking drink he holds. You notice a new pair of sapphire earrings and a huge ring from the same collection on his forefinger. Classy, as always.

Taehyung grins broadly when he sees you. He puts his drink on the counter and stands up to greet you. His breath smells like strawberries and vodka when he leans to place his usual, small peck on your cheek. “Hi, sweetheart,” he says with his signature smirk plastered on his face, scanning your figure. “You look gorgeous. Last time you did this kind of make-up you wanted to get laid.”

You rolls your eyes at his words, sitting on a stool next to him. “Hi, Taehyung. Thank you for appreciating my efforts to look like a decent human being but no, I’m not planning on getting laid tonight.” you answer, waving to Namjoon who makes drinks for a group of girls a few meters from you. He smiles bashfully at you, showing his dimples.

“I’m not saying you want a fuck, calm down. I just assumed since it’s not everyday that you put eyeliner on,” Taehyung explains himself. “So let me do that again,” He takes a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest in a dramatic manner. “Y/N, you look absolutely breathtaking. I could stare at you for hours and I wouldn’t mind that even a bit. My homosexuality is at risk right now.”

You ignore his exeggarated outburst, rolling your eyes. “I’m not using eyeliner everyday because there’s something called dresscode in our work, you know?” you say. “Besides, my mum says you should look good on every occasion because you don’t know when you will meet the love of your life.”

Taehyung puts a hand on his heart and sighs with relief. “Thank God I always look good.”

You chuckle and then your eyes wander for a moment to Namjoon, who seems busy listening to whatever the pink-haired girl is telling him with polite smile on his face.

“Here,” Taehyung nudges your side, bringing your attention back to him. He hands you the same pinkish drink as he was drinking when you arrived. “Hyung told me it’s their new specialty or something. It’s called Flamingo’s Beach,” he says and you take the glass in your hand. “I have no idea what Namjoonie-hyung put here but as long as it looks good, it’s good. Cheers!” Taehyung sips his one and watches you with raised eyebrows as you’re taking a generous gulp of the drink. “And…?” he asks.

You lick your lips, humming to yourself. “Not bad. Tastes like strawberries.”

Taehyung opens his mouth to say something but he gets interrupted by his brother. “Y/N, hi. How are you?” Namjoon approaches you with two beer mugs in his hands.

His hair is back to his natural brown color now, purple strands long forgotten since the last time you saw him. It looks like he’s been working out lately, his posture more bulky and it makes his black shirt stick to his body tightly. Namjoon’s good-looking, you always knew that, but he seems to be even more handsome now.

“Hey, I’ve been good, thank you,” you greet him with maybe too much enthusiasm for your liking. You always had a weak spot for him. “How’s the bar going?” you ask.

“Busy, as you can see,” he replies, chuckling to himself. “I would love to talk to you more but I have some work to do in back room, so…” Namjoon trails off sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head with his hand.

“Oh, it’s okay. We can catch up another time.” You smile at him and you could swear his cheeks flushed.

“I’ll be going. See you.” Namjoon stammers out, not even waiting for your response before he disappears from your sight.

The pregnant silence sets in between you and Taehyung, something heavy hangs in the air and you feel it, tapping your fingers on the counter to the rhythm of one of the ABBA songs, waiting impatiently.

Taehyung looks like he’s debating with himself in his head. You narrow your eyes. He’s adopted a face you know pretty well, too well even. He looks everywhere but keep avoiding your gaze. He wants to ask you something, you’re sure of it, but he doesn’t know how.

Finally, after a moment of awkward quietness, Taehyung finally opens his mouth. “So, here’s the thing,” he starts and you wait for the bomb to drop.

Last time when he approached you like that, he asked you if you would be down for a threesome with him and some guy he met on Tinder. Your eyes almost popped out of your head when you heard his blunt proposition. You were eating lunch at cafeteria and the words casually slipped from between his lips as he chewed on his egg sandwich, like he didn’t just propose you having sex with him and instead asked for a lift to home after work.

Taehyung begged you for a whole week, pleading and convincing it’ll be fun. When you eventually agreed (sex draught make people do stupid things), the other guy didn’t show up. You ended up drinking tequila shots with Taehyung that night in his apartment, and you can’t quite recall how it happened, but somehow you found yourself unzipping your friend’s pants and the rest is history. He passed out right after he came. Now when you think about it, you feel a sudden urge to ask him if he remembers that.

You will do it next time, you promise yourself.

Taehyung though doesn’t ask you about having a threesome or robbing Park Jimin’s house this time. His intentions are pretty much different.

“See, Namjoon split up with his girlfriend few weeks ago,” he says and you prick your ears. “He’s not in good condition right now, as you can see. It was a nasty break up, he found out she’s been cheating on him,” He lets out a long sigh. You bite your lip, imagining Namjoon’s disappointed face when he discovered the truth. What a bitch cheats on someone like him? “So, I thought maybe you could… cheer him up a little bit?” Taehyung ends hesitantly, with a glint of hope in his eyes.

You frown. Cheer him up? Did he just imply what you think about?

“Look, I get it, he’s sad and angry, but what the fuck, Taehyung? What do you want me to do? Do you want me to be his rebound? Make him forget?” you exclaim. Taehyung quickly shakes his head but you don’t let him say anything. “I feel sorry for Namjoon but I’m not going to take advantage of him when he’s literally still hurt.”

“No, it’s not like that!” Taehyung rushes to explain. “Well, maybe it sounded like that but I swear, I didn’t mean that!”

“Then what should I do? Wipe his tears? Tell him a joke? Or maybe-”

“Of course he wants you to suck his brother’s heartbroken dick, doll.”

A sudden, low voice interrupts your conversation. Your eyes follow the direction when it comes from, looking to Taehyung’s left where not even a meter away a very familiar grey-haired man with feline eyes sits.

“Min Yoongi,” you say matter-of-factly.

The leader of emendation team from Sunday’s Spirit editorial raises his hand in which he holds whiskey, greeting you and Taehyung. “Hello, doll. Hello, Taehyung,” he says, not even bothering to look at you.

You elbow Taehyung searching for explanation but he shrugs his shoulders, turning to face the man as well.

“First of all, since when do you call me ‘doll’? We have never spoken a word to each other. Secondly, how long have you been sitting here and listening?” you ask Yoongi.

He snorts, smirking. “Long enough to know how Taehyung comforts his brother after break up.” he simply answers and Taehyung’s cheeks blush in crimson at his words.

“You come here often? I’ve never seen you here before,” you continue, crossing your arms over chest.

Next to you Taehyung lets out a sigh. “Yes, he does. Albeit I haven’t seen him for a while here,” You look at him in confusion. “Yoongi-hyung is Namjoonie-hyung close friend from university days.” he clarifies.

You raise your eyebrows at that. “So Namjoon went to the same school as Park Jimin?”

“Not the same. We met under different circumstances.” Yoongi cuts in.

“They’ve been together in underground rap group, or some shit. Didn’t like each other at first but eventually stuck together till the end of studies.” Taehyung ends and grey-haired man nods.

You can’t help but chuckle at that.

“What’s funny in that?” Yoongi scowls.

“Nothing. I just imagined you and Namjoon in snapbacks, rapping about the unfairness of social hierarchy,” you say, grinning at him.

“Well, you may believe me or not, but we even made a mixtape.” Yoongi reveals proudly, taking a sip of his whiskey.

Your eyes widen in curiosity. “Then what happened? Why aren’t you in Seoul now, still producing music? Why do you work in this stupid newspaper and Namjoon’s a bartender?” you ask interrogatively.

“Life happened, doll. We didn’t have enough money to publish our works so we decided to quit it.”

“Oh,” you breathe out.

You could see the nostalgia written across Yoongi’s face. You feel sorry for him, for Namjoon. Everything is always about the money. That’s why you’re working in Sunday’s Spirit even though it was never your dream in first place. Even though you have much higher ambitions than being Ask and you shall find column author.

Ever since you were little, you loved writing. You never complained, not even once, when your teachers in school assigned you to write something. They kept saying you have an extraordinary talent and it would be a shame if you didn’t do anything with that.

During your high school years, you were the leader of school newspaper’s team, still writing your own works every time you didn’t have something different to do. After that, you got to the university in Seoul, your another dream came true. You got a master degree, an apprenticeship in the Korean version of highly popular, world-widely known magazine. And then, nothing. No job applications available. No newspapers or publishing companies wanting you, dismissing you right away because they didn’t have any vacant places.

This is how Sunday’s Spirit, even if that’s not your dream job, happened. And quite literally saved your ass.

“I’m sorry.” you say after a while.

Yoongi smiles but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t be. What’s in past, stays in past.” he ends the conversation, drinking the rest of his whiskey.

You find this as a perfect possibility to do what you’ve come here for: get wasted, forget about this prick Park Jimin and his stupid assignment. You turn around on your stool to face the bar again, calling for the red-haired bartender named Hoseok who’s substituting Namjoon right now. You order a round of tequilla shots and quickly pours two of them in one go.

“Easy, tiger,” Taehyung teases, still sipping his pink drink as you wipe your chin with the back of your hand. Taehyung has stated a long time ago that he enjoys only casual drinking, which makes you and you lightweightness snort at him.

“Loser,” you mumble under your breath, deep down knowing you’re oh so much going to regret this after.

You focus your attention on the dancefloor now; technicolor lights glittering as the crowd of sweaty people bounce to old Madonna hits. You feel like your spirit might actually experience new kind of awakening during the chorus in Like a Virgin. You mouth the lyrics, the vodka already half-way to your bopping head. Your drunken self almost asks Taehyung and Yoongi if they would agree to be your backup dancers.

You eyes scan the room carefully and then, you spot him. He’s sitting in the corner, his arms splayed over the backrest of the red couch. A devil himself. A black horseman of the Apocalypse. A man who looks like every girl’s next mistake. Taylor Swift’s ‘we are never ever getting back together’.

A true sin.

Jet-black hair parted in the middle, onyx eyes and lucious smirk written across his lips as he bites them purposefully. He’s wearing a leather jacket and you wonder for a while if you would find inked tattoos on his body. He cocks his head to the side, his eyes glued to the same spot as he waits for something, or rather someone.

“Who’s that?” you ask, not even hiding your curiosity at this point.

Taehyung turns around as well, his eyes glancing to the dark-haired man briefly. “Ah, this, sweetheart, is Jeon Jungkook, Park Jimin’s best friend.” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You raise your eyebrows, watching as Jungkook’s face expression immediately changes when waitress approaches him. He says something to her that makes her roll her eyes. She tightens her grip around the tray she’s holding, asking him for his order.

“Don’t worry. You are not the only one thirsting over him. I would let him top me too,” Taehyung whispers to your ear and you flinch.

“I’m not thirsting over him! I came her for drinks, not to get laid, I told you.”

“Okay, okay, loosen up a little. Tequilla makes you aggressive. Besides, it looks like he’s got his pick for tonight.”

Jungkook stretches out his hand and fixes the waitress’ glasses that seem to rode down her nose a little. The girl frozes in place because of his action and he grins, calling her cute.

“He’s trying to ask her out for two months,” Yoongi interrupts suddenly, again. It looks like he has nothing better to do tonight. “I’m serious. He’s here every Friday. Normally, he would have given up after the second time she had rejected him but there’s might be something in this girl that makes his dick hard and his heart soft.”

Jungkook’s eyes girl’s body as she bends to pick up the glasses from other tables and maybe that’s the alcohol swimming in your veins but you could swear his face lights up when she sends him another irritated glare when he calls her name.

“Does Park Jimin comes here often as well?” you ask before you could stop yourself.

Both Taehyung and Yoongi shake their heads.

“I don’t think so. Jeon comes here because he lives nearby in this huge ass apartment complex. His father runs a chemical factory and he works there.” Taehyung explains.

Jeon? Chemical factory? Something clicks in your brain. Right, you know who his father is. The King of Washing Powder. Another rich as fuck Busan’s snob.

“God, I hate him. I fucking hate him. What a prick. Douchebag. Asshole of the century,” The string of profanities leaves poor waitress’ mouth as she walks to the counter with tray in her hands. “How’s your day, love? You look beautiful today, love. Fucking leave me alone, love!” she mutters to herself, taking the beer mugs from Hoseok abruptly which makes the bartender raise his eyebrows in confusion.

“How’s your assignment about Mary Magdalene going on, doll?” Yoongi asks then, startling you.

You roll your eyes at him. “I literally got it today, Yoongi. I haven’t started yet.” you answer, gulping another shot.

On the corner of your eye you see Yoongi’s smirking. “I’m surprised, to be honest. You aren’t the only one who doesn’t pay attention to shit Jimin’s says,” he trails off. “I work for him from the moment he started this ridiculous Bible lunch breaks and I swear, he’s never called out someone like that before.”

“What do you mean he’s never called out someone before?” Taehyung joins in curiously.

“Look, I slept through the majority of these sessions and Jimin knows it, but he has never lecture me about it,” Yoongi remarks. “Maybe you’re an exception. Or he’s become more strict because of this bitch Chin-sun.”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused. You know Chin-sun has been making heart eyes for Jimin for a long time but what why it might have an influence on his behavior?

“Lee Chin-sun? What the office’s Mary Magdalene has to do with that? Besides the fact that she’s drooling for his dick every time she sees him,” Taehyung snorts.

Yoongi chuckles lowly. “Oh, so you two really know nothing about what’s going on between them right now,”

“What’s going on right now? Spill.” Taehyung says abruptly. You sigh when you see the way his eyes flicker with mischeviousness. One thing Taehyung loves more than photography and fashion is gossiping (and dicks).

“First of all, Chin-sun is a fucking bigot. And well… she might be closer to being miss Park than we thought.” Yoongi muses.

Taehyung eyebrows practically disappear in his hairline. You’re sure you mirror his expression right now.

Yoongi asks Hoseok for another glass of whiskey and continues. “My friend Seokjin’s wife is Jimin’s personal assistant and secretary. She heard this and that, quite juicy things I must say,” he says in a lower tone, like he’s revealing government secrets to them. You lean closer into his direction along with Taehyung. “Chin-sun’s father recently bought the claims to the most popular, conservative TV station in whole South Korea. But, what is more interesting, it looks like Park senior has some shares in it as well.”

You’re astonished. You knew there’s something looming in the air but you didn’t expect this. A TV station? Even your slightly drunken brain can calculate it’s very interesting.

“So the marriage between Chin-sun and Jimin would be pretty convenient for their families, especially after considering the fact that Jimin is the heir.” Yoongi adds, gulping the first sip of his new whiskey.

“Poor Eunwoo,” you whisper to yourself.

“But why so soon? Why do they want to legalize their relationship so suddenly?” Taehyung asks.

Yoongi lets out a heavy sigh. “There’s a rumour going around that Jimin’s father isn’t in good condition right now. Seokjin-hyung mentioned something about the heart disease. So, if that’s really true, you have the answer why he wants his eldest son to settle down already. Everything’s about the money, I told you.”

Taehyung whistles. “Woah, so Mary Magdalene is really about to be CEO Jesus’ wife soon!” he exclaims, clapping his hands. “Brilliant. Finally something spicy is happening in this boring editorial.”

“I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic if I were you, Taehyung. This kind of business never ends well,” Yoongi says coldly, placing his glass on the counter and standing up from the stool. He glances at his watch and throws a few bills next to his empty glass. “I’ll get going. It was nice talking to you, doll.”

“What about me?”

“Shut up, Taehyung, you’re not pretty lady.”

“I feel offended.”

“And I don’t care,” Yoongi mutters. Maybe that was alcohol swimming in her veins but you saw Taehyung lifting the corners of his lips in amusement. Weird. “Good luck on your assignment, doll. See you all on Monday.” Yoongi glances to your way one last time, adjusting his jacket.

“Bye, Yoongi.” you wave to him and a small, even sincere smile appears on his face when he as well raises his hand lazily and leaves. “Why didn’t you tell me he’s actually nice, Tae? I was always too scared to start a conversation with him because I felt intimidated.” you say after a while.

“I’m sorry, should have I set you up for a date with him?” Taehyung mocks.

A groan escapes your lips. “Could you please stop insinuating things?”

“You need to get laid, seriously. Like soon-soon. You get easily irritated recently. You need a d i c k,”

“I don’t need a dick!”

“A cock, Y/N,” Taehyung emphasizes. “A penis in your precious vagina.”

“Shut up!”

Several shots and a few drunken dances to Cindi Lauper and Bon Jovi, you’re pretty much wasted. And maybe, just maybe, you need a dick. And Taehyung, like a dipshit he always is, thinks that’s actually funny.

“Don’t wanna homff,” you slur, supporting your weight on Taehyung’s arm that shakes with laughter at your drunken antics, as well as his whole body. “I wanna danfce witfh somebodyyy,”

“Holy Mother of Jesus, you must be really drunk if you started referring to Whitney Houston’s songs. And you smell like booze,” Taehyung mutters under his breath and you whine, tugging on his arm.

“TaeTae, Taehyungie, pffleasee, can we go back?”

Taehyung ignores your grumbling completely. He exists the bar, walking (or rather dragging) you to the cab. As he tries to push your body to the car, he sees in the corner of his eye Jeon Jungkook, standing in front of his black SUV. The waitress from earlier accompanies him as well. It looks like he’s trying to convince her to let him give her a lift to home. The girl shakes her head at first but eventually gives up, stepping into the car. Jungkook grins to himself then, clenching his fists in gesture of pure triumph.

“I fuckin’ hate Park Jimin and his stfupid newspaper,” you mutter incoherently as you bury your head in the crook of Taehyung’s neck in the back of the cab. Old, korean songs are playing in the radio when you’re driving back home. Taehyung smiles to himself, hearing your light snores. But then, he falters.

Ah, yes, he almost forgot. It is going to be a long way to the third floor of your apartment building.

Next day, you wake up in the middle of noon with raging headache and an abrupt need to throw everything up. Frankly speaking, you had worse hangovers during you university days but it doesn’t change the fact that the state you’re currently in still sucks.

“Oh, good God, what have I thought?” you mutter to yourself while standing in the shower, letting the water cool you down.

Truth to be told, a drinking escapade when you have a whole ass paper to write in two days wasn’t the smartest idea you could come up with. You know that for sure, when you’re sitting down in front of your laptop with prescription glasses on your face and a cup of tea in your hand.

There’s a blank document opened on the screen, with only your name written in the corner and the title in the middle. You feel pathetic and useless, staring at it for 30 minutes straight. If you keep sitting like this, you might actually call Park Jimin right now and beg him not to fire you due to your incompetence.

“Get your shit together, Y/N.” you say to yourself, clenching your fists.

At first you fought about making some mind-map, outlining the most important parts of your essay, as you always used to do when you were studying. But there’s a huge difference between what you’re working on right now and what you usually did during academic days. Above all, at that time you were writing about things you had more knowledge about, not about Mary Magdalene and her role in Jesus Christ’s life.

“Ah, fuck it.”

You open an online Bible page and quickly type ‘Mary Magdalene’ in browser. All fragments when she’s mentioned shows up in front of your eyes. You fix your glasses and before you could stop yourself, you whisper, “Let’s get it.”

You don’t know how much time has passed since you started reading, but when you glance a the clock it’s nearly 7pm.

You went through every single page in the Bible when Mary Magdalene appears or when for some reason her name comes up in conversations. You read two thesis in which you found quite interesting facts about the heroine of your work. Also, you watched some conspiracy theories on YouTube about her, in which people claim that she was actually Jesus’ wife. You were bewildered, even in your post-hangover state.

And after all of this researching, you have settled a plan. You’re a journalist for God’s sake, you’ve been writing your entire life and none assignment will break you. So you start typing on the keyboard, filling the blank document pages with words, hoping that Park Jimin will approve your efforts.

On Sunday, you look like a ghost.

You’re a mess, cured from hangover but still in bad shape, especially after spending the whole night writing in front of your laptop. There are bangs under your eyes and you hair looks like you could cosplay a scarecrow. Your eyes are sore from staring to the screen for so long and you feel like you might collapse anytime if you won’t drink coffee in five minutes.

In between writing next paragraphs, you answer a call from Taehyung.

“How’s your assignment going, sweetheart?”

You let out a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s fine, I guess.” you respond to him.

“That’s lovely! I knew you would slay this, babe,” you hear him saying.

“I’m not done yet, Tae. I still have like a half to write,” you mumble and then let out a yawn, closing your eyes for a brief second before you speak again. “I would love to talk to you more but I really need to get this shit done as soon as I can, so I could have some decent sleep before Monday. I don’t want to look like an old witch when I hand in the paper to Park Jimin.”

“I know, I know. You got this, sweetheart. I’m sure you will make Mister Prude’s dick hard because of this.” Taehyung assures you.

You crack a tired smile even though you know he doesn’t see you. “Thank you, Tae.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” he says and hangs up.

You take another gulp of your coffee and start writing again.

It’s a little past midnight when you’re, with your last amounts of force you posses, typing the last words of the paper. As you look at your laptop screen, eyelids half-closed, you dream about nothing but going to sleep.

You did that. You really did. You wrote this stupid paper for Park Jimin and you’re actually proud of it. You carefully save the document three times (to be hundred percent sure) and as soon as you close your laptop, you pass out.

Little did you know what is waiting for you in editorial in a few hours.

You stare at your reflection in small mirror you hold, thanking God that he has enlightened the person who discovered make-up. You won’t say you look stunning but, after five hours of sleep you had in last two days, you would risk it all and say you appear much more than decent looking. You’re wearing your new black jumpsuit that makes your legs look longer and you even used a different shade of lipstick, painting your lips in crimson red.

And all of this for nothing, because when you stormed into the Sunday’s Spirit editorial to give the paper straight to Park Jimin’s hands, his secretary with polite smile said he’s coming to work later today.

You pursued your lips and handed the woman your blood, sweat and tears (you’re actually sure a few tears rolled down from your face on the keyboard while you were writing it), wishing you saw your boss’ face when you place the printed pages on his expensive desk.

“I changed a little bit the topic of my work while I was outlining it,” you tell Taehyung as you both sit together by your desks later that day. “I focused more on a role of Mary Magdalene character in world ruled only by men. I showed how a powerful woman she was, standing at Jesus’s side even though the church for the centuries referred her to whore,” you explain.

“Wow,” Taehyung muses. “You turned Mary Magdalene into feminism icon fighting against patriarchy.”

“It’s not like that!” You hit him in the arm. “You may laugh as much as you want but I actually got into her story.”

Taehyung smirks. “Looks like being scolded by Park Jimin wasn’t that bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up. I got humiliated in the middle of fucking cafeteria. I still hate him. And also, I don’t know what he thinks about my essay.” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry. He’s probably having an epiphany right now while-”

A voice from the speakers that certainly doesn’t sound like gospel choir interrupts him.

“Miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.”

“-or he isn’t.” Taehyung ends.

Once again, you’re frozen in place. It’s okay, you tell yourself, maybe he just wants to talk about my essay. But what if he didn’t like it? What if your sudden feminism outburst about Mary Magdalene was too much?

“Holy fuck.” you blurt out quietly.

Taehyung gives you an encouraging smile but he doesn’t look much convinced in positive intentions of summoning you to their boss’ office, he just doesn’t say it aloud. “Well, maybe it won’t be that bad! Maybe he wants to congratulate you,” he tries to comfort you, without success. You look horribly pale and scared to death.

“I repeat: miss Y/N, please report to the Park Jimin’s office immadietly.” Jimin’s stone cold voice pierce through the silence again. You shiver. The journalists in the editorial send you impatient glares.

“Whatever happens, remember that I love you.” Taehyung whispers, squizzing your hand, which makes you even more nervous. He gives you thumbs-up and you take a deep breath, trying to calm your trembling body. A whole Sunday’s Spirit team follow your movements with their eyes.

You stands from your desk on wobbly legs and walk to the door with golden sign hanging on its surface.

Park Jimin

Editor-in-chief

You take the knob in your shaking palm and twist, stepping into the lion’s den.

The atmosphere seems to shift when you walk into the room. You could hear your heart rapidly beating through the dead silence that lingers in Park Jimin’s office. “You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask after closing the door, subconsciously cursing yourself for sounding so weak already.

“Yes, have a seat,” Jimin says. “Give me a second. I need to finish something.” he adds when you sit down, not even bothering to spare you a look.

Jimin sits behind his desk, eyes glued to the computer screen. His hair is pushed back from his forehead, his jaw clenched. Oh, great, he looks pissed, you think to yourself.

He isn’t wearing his suit jacket like usually, which surprises you. His white shirt’s sleeves are rolled up, revealing a glimpse of veiny hands and his Rolex. This is the first time you see him like this. He looks so… unlike him.

Strange.

You use the time you have to take in your surroundings. Jimin’s office is painted in fair tone of grey. The rumors were actually right, there’s a smaller version of Michelangelo’s Pietà standing proudly on of the drawers. Behind the desk, on the wall, hangs a wooden cross with gold-plated figurine of Jesus Christ, and just underneath it there’s a framed picture of Lady of Fatima, which he once proudly showed to the whole editorial team on one of the lunchbreaks, saying his grandmother brought him this from her pilgrimage.

You focus your attention now on the wall filled with numerous diplomas and certificates, all of them signed with Park Jimin’s name.

You had read some of his works before you started your job in Sunday’s Spirit and you must admit: Park Jimin is a talented, smart journalist you aspire to be one day. It’s actually sad, you think, that he can’t pursue his career, wasting his abilities by working in catholic newspaper owned by his father. And as you know from Yoongi, his situation isn’t going to change soon. Maybe he was right after all. Money really does rule this world.

After a few minutes that seems to last forever, Jimin breaks the silence. “Do you know why are you here?” he asks, finally averting his attention to you. He stares so deeply into your eyes that you feel you might faint from the intensity of his aura.

You clear your throat, and then respond. “I do believe it’s about my paper I handed in to you this morning.”

Jimin raises his eyebrow at that. “Your paper? No, everything’s fine about it. I read it and I must say, you did a great job,” he says and you furrow your eyebrows. So if nothing’s is wrong with your essay then what does he want?

“Then… why did you call me in, sir?” you hesitantly ponder.

Jimin laces his fingers together and leans closer over the desk. “Well,” he begins, “Maybe you forgot or you really didn’t know about it, but I used to run the same column as you do now,” You nod your head, recalling what Taehyung told you recently. Jimin continues, “I was actually the one who created it. That means I am still, for this day, its administrator. Which leads to another conclusion: every single ask that is send to our editorial and your responses to them can be monitored by me.” he explains, gauging your reaction. You still don’t have an idea why is he telling you that, so you just sit still and wait.

Then, Jimin reaches for the paper that lays on the left side of his desk and hands it to you. “Could you please tell me what is this?” he asks, pointing at the paper.

You glance at it briefly. “These are the questions I got last week and my responses to them.” you reply straightaway.

Park Jimin doesn’t seem much satisfied after hearing your words. He then takes another paper and gives it to you as well. “And this particular one, Y/N? Could you please read it and tell me what is this?”

Ignoring his forego of ‘miss’, you take it to your hands and start reading.

Dear Sunday’s Spirit editorial,

My name is Kang Seoyeon. I study medicine at the University of Seoul, I’ve got an amazing group of friends and a loving boyf-

You gasp and immadietly put a palm over your mouth. Under Seoyeon’s ask there’s also, clear as day, your much inappropriate response to her. In which you persuade the girl to suck her boyfriend off.

Holy fuck. Jesus Christ. Shitshitshit!

Jimin said he monitors everything that people send to the editorial along with the responds. Of course he had to read it. Why have you been so dumb? How could you believe that simple deleting from your inbox would be enough? Why can’t you do something properly for once?

You gulp, trying not to cry because good God, he’s going to fire you. He will kick you out and write a bunch of negative letters to your future employees, in which he will explain in details how disobiedent, reckless of a worker you are.

“Did you also forget how to speak?” Jimin asks. You almost cry out right away from the coldness of his voice.

You muster up a courage and look at him, and that’s a huge mistake because as soon as your eyes meet his, you’re lost for words.”I-I don’t know what to say, sir,” you stammer out. “I have nothing for my defence. I can only apologize for my irresponsible and inappropriate behavior I exhibited.” you say, bowing your head down.

Jimin pursues his lips. He stands from his chair and walks to you, leaning his body on the desk. He takes the paper from you to his hands and starts reading. “If you want to fuck your boyfriend, do it. Maybe God wouldn’t approve that but don’t worry, he won’t send you to hell because of some dick in your pussy,“ he quotes your response to the girl and your cheeks flush in red; you wish nothing more than to disappear and never see your boss again. But he’s relentless and continues reading, spilling the crude words, humiliating you even more. “So you go girl, suck your boyfriend off. Make him beg. He will never leave you after this.“ Jimin chuckles to himself darkly and you shut your eyes. “Look at me when you are spoken to,” he demands. You quickly oblige, lifting your chin a little to meet his intense gaze. “Is that really how a good, catholic girl should act?” he asks in a mocking tone.

You shake your head. “No, it isn’t.”

Jimin clicks his tongue. “Do you think he really won’t leave her after this?” he asks out of the blue.

You furrow your eyebrows. What kind of twisted game is he playing now? “I don’t know, sir.” you answer honestly.

Jimin smirks. Devilishly, sultry and completely illegal. He then licks his lips and leans closer to you. You could swear his eyes are darken than before. Something has shifted in his demeanor; he looks daring. “Why don’t you show me then, how this poor girl should suck her boyfriend off, Y/N?” he whispers lowly.

Your eyes widen. Did he just-?

He didn’t. He can’t. Maybe you misheard him, maybe you started imagining things that aren’t real. Oh, sweet Lord, the look of absolute seriousness written on his face tells you very much different.

Park Jimin, your boss, the man who goes regularly on masses and reads Bible, wants you to give him a head. In his office.

May the God help you.

You should probably slap him in the face for his immoral proposition. You should save your dignity, leave and never come back again. But then, you clear your mind from all those twisted thoughts running through it and you realise that you’re walking on a very thin line. Line which is called unemployment and bankruptcy.

You think about your landlord who praised you recently for keeping up with rent every month regularly. You think about your student loans that you still need to pay.

And fuck, you hate Yoongi because he was damn right. Money wouldn’t buy you happiness, but it can provide you that.

That’s why you put away the humiliation, the what ifs. You shut your mind screaming at you and listing the future consequences. Maybe Jimin just tests you, but the way he looks at you denies it. He wants to see you on your knees in front of him. Perhaps he only wants to play before he fires you but you put that thought aside.

You at least need to try.

Jimin searches for any kind of protest in your eyes and when he doesn’t find it, he’s back to his domineering self. “What are you waiting for?” he asks, his voice an octave lower. “Get on your knees.”

He has a calm expression on his face and you wonder for a moment how many times has he been in similar situation before. Having a woman on his mercy and using her the way he likes. And now you know. All those stories you heard about, are actually true. Park Jimin isn’t a prude. He’s dirty.

You fall to the floor with a light whimper. Maybe it’s the last chance for you to leave, but the confidence that emanates from Jimin doesn’t falter your movements. You hate yourself for that but God, you want to see this man being a mess for your touch. Even if that’s fucked up.

And it’s wrong, so, so wrong, when there’s a cross hanging behind you, when he’s your boss who claims to be a good catholic, when you do that because you’re too afraid to lose your job. But in that moment, the morality doesn’t exist.

Jimin stands up to take his belt off, looking at you from the above as he slowly, purposefully pulls it from the belt loops. He doesn’t encourage you or say anything, he just waits. You gulp when he yanks his black slacks down, along with his underwear.

For a few, solid seconds, you just stare.

You aren’t a connoisseur of dicks. Dick is a dick, but Park Jimin’s length is just as perfect as the rest of him, semi-hard against his lower stomach. Your hands move to his sculpted thighs, running up and down, tracing the prominent lines of his toned abdomen. The muscles tense underneath your touch.

You don’t remember when was the last time you’ve gone down on someone. Maybe it was Taehyung few months ago when you were both too drunk to care? You can’t quite recall. Every move of yours is uncertain, but Jimin doesn’t mind. Maybe your uncertainty turns him on even more.

He watches as you take him in your palm hesitantly, hot and already stiff, stroking him several times until he hardens in your hand. The sight is purely erotic, filthy, and you lick your lips before placing a light kiss on his tip. Jimin hisses. That’s a warning. No teasing.

You pump him, trailing a thumb over his slit, spreading precum all over his cock. Jimin doesn’t say anything but from the shuddering breath he lets out you assume he likes it. You take a deep breath, wrapping your lips around his dick and swirling your tongue around the head.

Jimin groans, a guttural sound resonating through his whole body and you take it as a sign to continue. You ease more of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down around his length obediently. Some twisted and fucked-up part of you wants him to praise you, call you good girl with your lips around his dick and throbbing core. He does none of that. His hands tangle in your hair as he withdraws, and you know exactly what’s coming next.

It’s an unspoken question on his lips and your jaw falls slacks on command.

A forceful push of his hips and he’s burried deep inside your mouth till he hits the back of your throat. Tears brim in your eyes and you gag, breathing heavily through your nose. It hurts a little, a dull ache but the content sigh and fucked-out expression on Jimin’s face is worth it. So you let him fuck your mouth the way he wants, let him pull your hair harder, wreck you a little more. It’s so easy to submit to him, to let him overwhelm you in every sense possible.

Your eyes fall shut and Jimin stops his movements, pulling from your mouth. Drool dribbles down your chin and you wipe it with the back of your hand. Jimin lets out a shaky breath, staring down at you so intensely it makes your insides tighten, even if you don’t see him yet.

“Look at me,” he rasps and you do, how could you not. The sight of your boss’ flushed cheeks and sweat forming on his forehead will be imprinted in your mind forever.

You curse yourself for wanting him to fuck you senseless right against his deck, with a hand around your throat muffling your screams, fuck you so hard you won’t remember your name anymore, no matter how wrong it is.

“Good girl. You’re so pretty like this, letting me fuck your mouth,” Jimin nothing but purrs, filling you to the brim again, until there are tears forming in your eyes and running down your cheeks, until he hits the base of your throat again and again and you fight back choked gags every time. “Just like that, fuck-” he moans, lowly and beautifully, head thrown back and mouth parted.

He’s close, you could feel that, so you take him deep once again and when your throat tightens around him one last time, he lets out a gutural groan and comes. You swallow every drop of his bitter release and when he pulls out from your mouth, you nearly fall forward.

Jimin catches you, placing his hands on your shoulders, balancing your exhausted body. You look at him through your half-lidded eyes. He looks so young now, so innocent, his cold demeanor’s gone and replaced by pure bliss written on his face. For Park Jimin, cheeks rosy, disheveled hair and loosen tie, you would do it all over again.

He then does something unexpected. He reaches for your face, brushing your tangled hair away and placing the strands behind your ears. This is a loving gesture, something exclusive he definitely shouldn’t be doing. You’re frozen, you can’t move a muscle while he wipes your cheeks from the reminiscences of your tears. He trails his thumb over your swollen lips absentmindedly, faltering there. For a moment he looks like he might say something, but he quickly shuts his mouth, regaining his previous posture.

You take this as a sign to leave. You get up from the floor, your knees sore from the uncomfortable position you’ve been in. You walk to the mirror that hangs on the wall of Jimin’s office. You sigh, seeing your current state. There’s no way someone would believe you that you haven’t just sucked a dick.

Your cheeks are flushed in pink, there are smudges of mascara under your eyes and your lipstick is smeared in the corners of your mouth. Not to mention your hair is still a mess.

You are painted in all shades of wrong.

In the reflection of the mirror you see Jimin buckling up his belt and straightening his tie. He runs a hand through his blond locks and looks up, catching you staring at him. You quickly look away.

“Don’t worry. No one will notice anything. Everyone should be off for their lunchbreaks by now.” he says. He sounds so pathetically normal, yet there’s still a slight rasp in his voice.

You glance at the watch on your hand and check the time. It’s a little past 12. You brush your hair with your fingers quickly and proceed to leave, but you stop, remembering you have to ask about one last thing. You turn around to face him.

“Are you going to write a bad opinion about me to my future employees?” you ask, flinching at the hoarseness of your voice.

Jimin raises his eyebrows. “Bad opinion? No, absolutely not,” he answers, shaking his head. “I was never going to fire you in first place.”

You fight back the shocked expression that threatens to appear on your face. You quickly rush to leave this damn office and never look in his eyes ever again. What were you even thinking?

“And Y/N,” Jimin’s voice makes you stop with your hand hovering over the door knob. Single tear rolls down your cheek and you gulp. “I’m sorry.” it’s all he says.

You don’t ask him what he meant by that. You don’t deliberate if he was sincere or not. You leave the office as soon as you can, running to the nearest bathroom, closing the door behind you and leaning on it.

He wasn’t going to fire you. He just wanted to use you, demand to get down on your knees and please him the way he wants. It was all a game for him, and you became his plaything.

“I’m so stupid,” you mutter to yourself, burying your head in your hands. “God, I’m so stupid.”

You feel sick, used, but at the same time you can’t get away with creeping feeling that you enjoyed it, wishing he wanted you just as much as you wanted him in that moment.

You sigh, closing your eyes. You’re probably foolish for thinking it won’t have any consequences. You’re just about to face them.

The coldness of early Spring hits you when you exit Sunday’s Spirit editorial. You hug your body tighter with your coat, standing in front of the building awkwardly. You take a few deep breaths, trying to clear your mind, but nothing really works. There’s a vacant space inside your body, like your soul has drifted away and left nothing but emptiness.

You feel hollow.

You don’t know how long have you been standing there, inhaling fresh air and waiting for your blood to start circulating properly in your veins again. When you’re about to head to the underground station, on the corner of your eye you see Jimin’s black Mercedes. You probably shouldn’t stare but you helplessly do.

Probably if you didn’t, it would hurt less.

He approaches the car, looking perfectly fine as always, which you couldn’t say about yourself. And he isn’t alone.

You recognize dark curls of Chins-sun’s hair, contrasting her beige coat beautifully. The corners of Jimin’s lips lift when he sees her. You don’t know if it’s a honest smile or a forced one. You wonder for a while how does he look like when he’s truly happy. Maybe he’s happy now, when Chin-sun is by his side.

What you are really sure about Park Jimin, is that he’s a man of many maybes.

Something which definitely doesn’t look forced are his palms, cupping the cheeks of Chin-sun’s flushed face. He starts tracing circles on her skin in intimate gesture and murmurs something. Maybe he asks her how was her day. Your lips still tingle where he trailed his thumb over it bitten, swollen surface. Maybe he still remembers how they felt around his cock when he was relentlessly bringing tears to your eyes and stabs to your heart.

The way he leans and kisses Chin-sun’s cherry colored lips is purposeful, perfectly measured. Maybe he sighs into her mouth with content, a beautiful sound you have witnessed with your own ears, as you were working him to his climax. Jimin’s hands grip Chin-sun’s dark locks but it isn’t the similar manner he did to you earlier, as he laced his fingers through the strands, when you wished him to do nothing more than pull harder and harder, until the pain in you scalp was replaced by dull ache, until a whimper fell from your lips and eyes squeezed shut. He kisses Chin-sun lovingly and there’s no roughness in that. It’s gentle caresses and soft murmurs.

After a moment he breaks off, soothing his palms over Chin-sun’s shoulders. She sends him a smile and opens the passenger’s door, getting into the car. And then, when you swallow a lump in your throat, when you decide to turn around and go, run as fast as you possibly can, when you dream about nothing more but never seeing him again, you catch eyes with him.

Jimin looks pathetically apologetic. There’s something in his dark brown orbs you can’t read. Maybe it’s guilt, maybe regret. Park Jimin is a man of many maybes, yet he stares at you with expression you could only mistaken for sadness.

You wonder if he sees the way your eyes stare at him blankly. You wonder if he knows how he nearly wrecked your body and made you feel things you shouldn’t. If he hurts the same way as you do now. However, Jimin quickly diverts his head away from you, closing the door to his car behind him as well. You laugh quietly at the ridiculousness of this situation. A bitter laugh that escapes your mouth and deepen the hollowness inside you.

A hand touches your arm and you don’t even flinch, knowing already who it is.

“So you know the news,” Taehyung says, looking at Jimin’s car leaving the parking lot. How long has he been standing behind you?

“What news?” you ask, turning your head to look at him.

“Chin-sun is really going to be miss Park officially,” he replies. “Jimin proposed to her this weekend. The wedding is in may. But that’s not important right now. How’s your conversation with him, sweetheart?”

You feel sick. You excuse yourself, mentioning something about needing to catch earlier train and texting him later. Taehyung calls after you but you don’t listen. You start running.

You run until you couldn’t breathe, until there’s a soreness in your throat from the coldness of air. You run until you reach your apartment, stumbling into it on wobbly legs. Your back touches the wall and you slide off, sitting on the floor.

You don’t cry. The tears don’t strain your eyes. It’s only this damned, dull hollowness.

There’s written in the Bible that a guilty person is the one who broke God’s law, who committed a sin. The said person will be judged by their actions after their death. Because every human being has a conscience, the thing that sets the line between good and bad, so when we did something wrong, we should feel remorse.

When you sit on the floor and stare blankly in front of yourself, you know you have sinned.You both did. You wonder if he, trailing patterns of tender touches on his fiancee’s skin, feels the same as you. You wonder if guilt eats him up as much as devours you. Maybe there’s hollow ache in his chest, just like in yours. Maybe he doesn’t feel anything.

And may the God help you both find your redemption.

997 notes · View notes

districtunrest · 3 years

Note

⭐- What’s a scene/paragraph you’re proud of?

this scene (longer than a paragraph, sorry) from Something of Our Own. it's intimidating to try to do each character justice in a very emotionally charged scene but I like how this intervention with the trio from turned out:

"That's the plan, sweetheart." He ignores their disappointed silence. It irks him enough that he decides to open a bottle of liquor after all, his first since yesterday, except when he twists off the seal, Peeta lunges at him.

By the time Haymitch reaches for the knife in his pocket, Peeta has wrenched the bottle away. Haymitch and Katniss both watch, stunned, as the boy smashes it on the kitchen floor.

"What are you doing?!" bellows Haymitch. He stops short of tearing him apart in case this is another hijacking episode.

Heaving without exertion, Peeta's eyes are livid and unforgivingly lucid. "I can't believe you. After everything that happened this morning, you're going to drink again."

Haymitch guiltily understands this outburst, at least. He also thought he could wait longer out of fear and shame until the tremors came but maybe he takes smug pleasure in proving the boy and the girl wrong. He's dealt with himself a hell of a lot longer than they have.

"Still here, ain't I? No major harm done," he counters, scowling. "Besides, if I hadn't limited myself for weeks, the relapse wouldn't have amounted to that."

"That's bullshit and you know it! It was only a matter of time before something like that happened. You still endangered us both." Peeta shakes his head, and Haymitch feels himself shrinking back from his outraged expression. "You know, you don't need to stay with us if you're just going to hurt us."

That hits Haymitch hard in the stomach, and distantly he remembers what it felt like to have an ax slash into him with a wet thump.

"Peeta's right," Katniss says, looking very much like she wants to run away. There's the ax tearing sideways, spilling out his intestines.

"Doesn't exactly require a genius to figure it out." Peeta throws his hands up, exasperated. "Tell me, Haymitch: how can I reconcile the man who will listen to me talk about growing up with my mother with the one who will attack me if I dare interrupt his drinking?" He's glaring pointedly at the knife in Haymitch's fist, and Haymitch sheathes it in his pants pocket, his face reddening. "Or the one who puts all his energy into Katniss' trial with the one who abandons her once she gets home?"

There's a glib retort in Haymitch's throat about how he wasn't quite sober during the Mockingjay Trial or during most of his and Peeta's talks but his throat is painfully constricted and his jaw is clenched, as if to cage any of his viciously defensive words.

"Or the man who keeps doing good with the one who ruins it for himself? You're our wise-ass of a mentor - so what do you think is the problem here?" Peeta punctuates this with a shove to Haymitch's chest that he doesn't protest. Katniss doesn't intervene, either, even after an uncharacteristically desperate glance from Haymtich.

Now more than ever does Haymitch feel like a worthless drunkard trying to earn back the soul he lost twenty-six years ago. Peeta and Katniss have finally noticed this failing endeavor as well. And, sure, they're probably doing everything wrong - but this is the first semblance of an intervention Haymitch has ever had, one that is implored of him rather than forced onto him by circumstance. The whole ordeal is so ridiculous and terrifying and new that it makes Haymitch want to laugh without humor or fucking cry, and he's not up for either right now.

As Peeta goes for another push, Haymitch grabs his wrists, his own sprained wrist twinging, and halts him. Both of their hands are trembling, and neither of them can meet the other's eyes.

"You don't know what you're asking of me here, boy," he croaks. Frustration, despair, and betrayal ripple through him like heat waves, what with his sources of hope and love threatening his source of safety and alleviation - or perhaps it's vice versa. Either way, he doubts he could live without one of them.

The remaining victors have lost the majority of their kind. Beetee has to request for them to call him, and Annie and Johanna have been unresponsive so far, and who the hell knows how Enobaria is coping. Unlike them, Haymitch still has his two victors. They have him, too, but having him means finding him in various states of self-destruction and tolerating the neglect. Katniss and Peeta are all he has, and he fails them.

"There's going to be times where you can't help us," Peeta reminds him, "and sometimes it'll be because you can't help yourself. At least consider that since that's what you need; you obviously can't take care for your own sake."

Haymitch shoves the kid off him. He asks the girl tersely, "Anything to add?"

Katniss shakes her head.

Haymitch nods and just stands there for a moment, tensed for a fight that isn't coming, before retreating upstairs. As he slams his bedroom door shut behind him, he tries not to ponder whether he forgot to bring a bottle or actively chose to distance himself from the kitchen full of bottles as well as kids who care way too much about him.

send me an emoji!

#haymitch abernathy #peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #hunger games #thg #mathgirl24 #fanfic asks

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uchiharunos · 4 years

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Well hello 👋

I dislike getting involved in Tumblr drama these days because this place just gets more tiring day by day and it’s been a long while since I have shifted to Twitter. However as it is, since the root of the discourse seems to be here, I thought I would give a piece of my mind here too as I have been sharing it on Twitter.

I consider myself a consumer and a minor producer. Yes, a producer because if readers/supporters can be reduced to mere consumers of “fan creators” then these so called people are the producers. It’s the only right thing to say in my opinion. That said, if people are bent on making fandom, a space where fans of an original work join and create/enjoy being together because fandom is supposed to be a place to enjoy, a getaway from reality, an escape where you make friends with people who genuinely share the same interests and enthusiasm as you and not some fucking business transaction where consumers are merely described as “people sucking off content creators” then fuck them.

While I do support the idea of leaving fan-authors reviews(I honestly LOVE getting even one review on my work) I do not support the idea of guilt tripping and shaming people to do so. As a girl who comes from a non English speaking country, I can tell you not everyone learns English and grammar from proper sources ( it’s mostly the tv shows, movies some books here and there because believe me it’s hard to even get classic best selling books here which are readily available in other countries) and the confidence to speak/write a second or third language. It doesn’t come naturally. It hard to not doubt your grammar, your use of words while communicating with a person who you don’t know personally or have never talked with one on one. It’s hard.

So no I don’t blame readers for not always leaving me reviews because I understand. Reviews for me are an added gift. A gift I don’t even think I always deserve because I do not think I am perfect, I do not think I deserve to be placed upon such a high pedestal by people who admire me because I have written some words on the internet (which I am sure have a thousand grammatical mistakes) I don’t know how anyone else takes this, but please, please know kudos/subscribe or favorite/follow means a lot too. You are NOT trash if you do those. I understand, because I have been there once too. I understand how you can have issues, I understand how you might find me intimidating, I understand my fanfiction not being you cup of coffee, I understand. I do not believe in give and take, in fact, I thank people who have even spared a little of their time to enjoy my art/edits and fanfiction. I may not know how happy my fic made you but the feeling you felt while reading my fic? That’s something important to me. Knowing something always doesn’t make it better.

Now, don’t ever feel sad that a fanfic author left fandom because that one time you didn’t review. That one time you didn’t appreciate them. No. Every creator starts off small, and I believe when they do start creating its because they need an outlet to share their love for their ship with other people. I personally write for sasusaku, and not anyone else. I love it when you enjoy, but to me, my readers are secondary to my love and need to write/draw sasusaku and to explore them in different settings/universes. So it’s a gift to me if you enjoy what I enjoy doing. THAT MEANS A LOT BELIEVE ME.

The fandom is NOT dying. Don’t take these tumblr randoms make you believe something it isn’t. Yes it is inactive on Tumblr (I think so because that’s what my mutuals on Twitter have been telling me and from what I see) but on Twitter? It’s active as ever. Not 2014 active, because lets be honest, when a series ends most people move onto different fandoms because they get different interests and it’s been roughly 6 years. That was bound to happen.

Thankfully, Sasuke Retsuden revived most of the fandom again. I would like to believe since then many people have shifted to Twitter (because I have been making lot of new friends lately haha who told me they shifted because this place sucks!) and all in all, if you know how to block those antis on Twitter, it’s a really neat place [I can say that people on Twitter have more brains than here] I would think that we are still the most active part of the Naruto fandom there, along with Japanese artists/fans. So if you are ever considering to shift there, (there’s so much more engagement for arts/fics there too) please do so?!

Also ( I forgot to add this before) but FANDOM ISNT A ONE PERSON THING. ALL OF YOU AND ME, SILENT READER OR NOT, CONTENT CREATOR OR NOT, REGARDLESS OF YOUR FANBASE/ FOLLOWER COUNT AND POPULAR CIRCLE OF FRIENDS KEEP THIS FANDOM ALIVE.

Anyways, this has to be the longest post on my tumblr that was posted by me. Lastly, I would say the thing which I have always wanted to, review from your heart, review something that actually made you feel and support only if you want to. Everyone is in a bad place somehow,not everyone’s life is all sunshine and rainbows. Don’t review because you would be shamed if you didn’t do so, not because your conscience would keep nagging you how bad of a person you are if you didn’t leave a review. It’s not the pity I need, it’s the love I would prefer. Always remember kudos/likes are enough too.❤️

#sasusaku #fanfiction #just my thoughts on this #idc what yall say #discourse #not really a keyboard warrior #but i said what i said

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ecoamerica · 25 days

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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ofgoodmenarchive · 3 years

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Blighted Empire: 8.5

Bound by Light

Something was different.

Something was out of place.

Identifying the source of this unease was a sluggish, difficult task. Evallan attempted an intake of his surroundings, listing each detail in his mind.

Immediately he knew whatever his location, he was safe. Wrapped in blissful warmth and comfort, the world muffled by layers of blanket and a pair of strong arms. His sleeping companion was no mystery- Dorian had allowed him into his bed, no? Even if that memory eluded, the hint of fire and sweat was significant on its own.

Yet there was certainly something amiss.

We did not fall asleep like this.

He would not allow it...

Nor just that- beyond Dorian's smokey aroma the room smelled quite different from what it had. One grows accustomed to the damp within the tower, a dingy cloud lingering in every hall. It was a scent you only remember in its absence- and it was absent now- as absent as his clothes. Evallan appeared to be wearing nothing and Dorian was equally under-dressed, bare skin pressed to bare skin.

Startled, he lay stiffly and burned, trying to fathom his predicament. Eventually he realised the room was lit far brighter than Dorian's- where a window had been bricked. The ceiling here was spacious and a soothing breeze whistled through an out-of-sight opening, all fabrics and carpets dyed warm, luxurious shades.

It is me.

I am the thing out of place.

Though it wasn't terribly surprising. Cut off from the Fade, theoretically Evallan should no longer dream. Except in order to survive, he'd connected to something else- some place. With nowhere else in reach, his dreams brought him here.

Understandable. Evallan could even describe himself as grateful- almost.

Still- this timing was highly inappropriate.

Dorian's breathing was languid, tickling the side of his neck. Biting his tongue not to make a sound, Evallan scooted ever-so-carefully from the bed, determined to roll away and onto his feet without waking the man.

Luckily there was a robe hanging from the headboard. He slipped into the thin fabric, satisfied it at least covered more delicate areas. Not that it mattered- the true owner of this vessel was obviously comfortable to be seen by Dorian in such a way. It was just that Evallan found himself feeling rather intrusive.

Aimless, he padded around, blinking at paintings in the dim light, or frowning at books with titles he'd never heard of. After some time he settled at the writing desk and perused notes, finding most to be personal logs. Written by something akin to his own hand- his actualhand was clumsier in any language, than the careful Dalish script he poured over now.

The writing style was at least familiar; direct, to the point, sparing no time for frivolous detail but listing everything of importance in practical fashion. Yet he could make no sense of the information, lacking proper context for the endless descriptions, names, doodled maps...

Evallan debated searching out Amrallan's letters once more but never came to a decision.

“Mmn...Amatus...? Come back to bed...”

He froze, anxiety rendering him mute. Dorian's hand grasped at sheets, displeased by their emptiness. Since Evallan was unable to think of a response, the grumbling continued;

“Alright...either come back to bed or close the bloody balcony.”

At first he was lost- then recalled that gentle breeze. Indeed nearby was a balcony door, left ajar to reveal snowy mountains. Even in this life, his other self must find these quarters stuffy, needing a draft to counteract. Not having the same issue, Dorian required his partner to heat their shared bed.

Stepping towards the balcony, Evallan swung it closed and flipped the latch. He returned to the desk then and sat tensely, brooding at his knees.

After a short bout of silence, Dorian sighed with dramatic misery.

“...It'll be one of those nights, will it? I see how it is.”

Not really comprehending, Evallan observed from behind his hair. Dorian unfurled from the bed and instantly he looked away, cheeks flushed and lips thin.

“Bloody cold!” Thank the Gods for small mercies- Dorian also acquired a robe, saving Evallan from the shame of fighting with his own gaze.

To an extent, at least.

“So...what is it keeping us awake tonight, hrm? Orlais, the Chantry? Or maybe someone's just not doing their job?”

What to even say? Should he announce himself? Should he simply act as though nothing was wrong? While he thought and Dorian spoke the man also meandered for him, stretching and yawning, perfectly relaxed.

“Or, you're not...did you have a nightmare...?”

Thinking of his existence as a nightmare almost made Evallan laugh. He held himself.

Dorian's shadow fell over him, the other mage bending to his level with a sigh.

“Evallan...don't ignore me, now.”

Lips brushed against his and he seized, fingers clutching to arm-rests.

“...O-oh.” Dorian jerked back, laughing. “I-I'm so sorry. I didn't notice you at first.”

Aware his face was several shades of red, Evallan lifted it for Dorian to see.

“...At...first?” He hiccuped, forced composure. “How can you see any difference?”

The Tevinter snorted, leaning upon the table.

“Well, no offence to you at all, of course, but my Evallan doesn't tend to look around himself like a scared rabbit-” Choking, he hastened to add. “Not because of your ears- or anything! Your- your eyes. You stare around like a cornered mouse, or something. That's all I meant. Your ears are perfectly normal.”

Perplexed but not taking it as an insult, he nodded, considering-

“...That is not how you have described it to me before.”

“Oh?” He seemed amused by that, chortling. “And how did 'I' describe it before?”

“You said I scowl with only my eyes.”

This inspired peals of hilarity from the man- a calming sound. It gladdened Evallan to hear the same laughter he knew so intimately.

“Well- yes,” Dorian breathed out, wiping his eyes. “It is that- but behind the scowling- it's obvious you're quite terrified.”

Evallan's spine firmed, corner of his mouth tugging downwards.

“I am not afraid.” He stated in defence.

“Oh, forgive me,” Dorian rolled his eyes, teasing. “Distraught then, or stressed. Are those more appropriate descriptors for your terribly masculine ego?”

He bit the inside of his cheek to avoid sniling, muttering only-

“Yes.”

Which caused Dorian to roll his eyes again, though Evallan noted how affectionately he was regarded between these jabs.

This must be difficult for him...

A strange thought- not because of its content. Thus far it was the only internal dialogue he discerned as 'shared' between him and the quiet presence whose life he'd invaded. He was doubly compelled to express the sentiment, mumbling-

“I...am sorry. This must be very strange for you.”

“Ah, well...” Dorian shrugged, forcing nonchalance. “It's probably awful to say aloud...but I think I would be more upset if you had no idea who I am. Luckily, even when you're speaking intongues or drawing diagrams on the walls...you always seem to know me, so...”

“I still...cannot imagine that being so much of a comfort.”

“Well...” He paused with a sense of apprehension. “He is...still in there, isn't he? He just won't remember what we talked about. Or at least...that's how he explained it.”

“I hear his thoughts sometimes,” Evallan was quick to confirm, wanting to reassure. “I do not believe he 'goes' anywhere as such, no...”

“Good- that's. That's good.” Though he tried to seem unswayed the relief was obvious in his posture, relaxing with a huff.

“It really is you in an awkward situation here,” Dorian began again, snickering “I imagine waking up naked in another man's bed without alcohol to blame, was- wait, do you drink? I suppose you might.”

Evallan shook his head.

“No, I thought not. Well, my point stands then.”

Pondering it over, Evallan shook his head a second time.

“It is fine, really. We fell asleep in a similar arrangement, only, I, ah...both of us were clothed.”

“Oh.” Dorian snorted into his hand, stifling amusement- then abruptly straightened. “Wait a second! Does that mean you took my advice?”

He blinked, not comprehending.

“Your advice...?”

Sighing at Evallan as if he were the slowest man in any universe, Dorian conveyed;

“I told you to find me, remember!? To hold onto me?”

“O-oh-” Recalling, his face overheated. “I...Yes, I did follow that advice- but I...I forgot where I heard it, I think.”

“Typical!” He scoffed, full of exaggeration. “I don't get credit for anything.”

“You can have that credit now, if it means so much to you.” Evallan joked automatically.

“Careful, now,” Dorian chuckled, flashing a grin. “You don't know what sort of 'credit' I might ask for.”

He must have looked strange- for certain Evallan knew his mouth had fallen open slightly. Seeing this Dorian became apologetic, spluttering and waving his hands.

“Maker, my stupid mouth! It's easy to forget um...different stages of familiarity, and all that?”

“I-I understand.” He choked on a nervous laugh. “It is fine, really.”

“Well...” Dorian gestured around himself. “This is still your room, as far as I'm concerned, and it's a tad late for a tour of the castle. How about we go back to bed, and you can have a little rest before you're whisked off to whatever blighted world, hrm?”

“I would not mind that.” Evallan muttered, then tugged at his robe. “But...can we put on clothes?”

Dorian cackled at that, nodding.

“That would feel more appropriate, no?” He strode to a dresser, waving Evallan to follow. Once he'd done so, Dorian patted the top with a smirk.

“This is where you keep your clothes. It's actually the third time I've shown you.”

“The third?” Evallan perked a brow. “I do not remember the other times.”

“Yes, well...I say it was 'you' in a very...general sense.” His voice tilted between sadness and humour, though the sincerity of his smile never faltered. Encouraged but still skittish, Evallan dragged open one of the drawers and simply stared. In his reality he owned maybe three sets of robes, nearly identical. Looking at the plentiful folds of rich fabric, he couldn't imagine how this other self managed to dress himself in the morning.

“Need some help?” Dorian offered, leaning into his side.

“I only wanted some underclothes.” He ground out, massaging his forehead. “There is so much here...it is giving me a headache.”

Not an exaggeration- rooting around in these belongings provoked a throb in the centre of his skull, close to unbearable.

“I don't think it's that- you're looking somewhat green.”

A hand steadied him and Evallan braced against the attached arm with a grunt.

“I think...I am...” Incapable of completing a sentence, apparently. All at once his strength dissipated and he slouched into Dorian, who was steadfast in catching him.

“There he goes-” He heard the Tevinter mumble into his hair, holding close. “Don't worry, I'm here.”

His voice was the last thing Evallan heard, his careful touch the last thing he felt.

READ MORE ON AO3

#dragon age #dai #dragon age inquisition #inquisition #dragon age fanfic #dorian pavus #m!lavellan #lavellan #pavellan #apocalypse au #fanfiction #dragon age fanfiction #fanfic #writers on tumblr #dorian pavus x lavellan #i missed updating blighted i can go back to work now #my writing

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cheshasleverage · 4 years

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The Homecoming Job Rewatch

Here we go, another one! I want y’all to know I’ve given up on any chance of making these short so strap in

“he's cheating on you.... with a camel!” “ok it was one time”

jenny can suck my dick

I like how the first season almost always has the client say something along the lines of “I don't want the money I went them to pay for what they did” or “I want them to face consequences”

“Doc he’s cool I found him on the internet” so by now they've set up some kind of way to be found but who the hell is gonna trust that? What kind of information did Hardison/Nate put up to not only make them sound appealing but also trustworthy to people who had literally just lost everything

This nurse is so sweet and I love her. She’s obviously dealt with scammers before, and she really cares about all the vets in her hospital

Oh and her line about people not showing up to help? I feel like Nate might at one point have had that idea, but after realizing he could be the one that helps, he’s out to prove to people like her that they can trust some people

OK so yeah, Hardison and Nate have been in contact after their first con. The team must’ve split to keep a low profile, but were waiting for Nate to give that signal. BUT, I want to know how many times Hardison called Nate talking about potential clients or a new base or their website because Nate became a stable source for Hardison and Nate manages to keep him from getting distracted, gets him to focus

Sophie has absolutely no acting shame and goes ALL OUT when she thinks about a character's motivation and story. Obviously, in cons she’s able to do this more eloquently and makes it fit the situation better so I wonder what exactly causes that shift in her. Is it because at the end of the con is a goal that she’s really determined on scoring? are acting jobs just not high enough stakes for her?

Eliot’s actual style is finally here, but did he really just pull a yo mama joke and then throat punch that dude? harsh

PARKER STEALING A PAINTING WITHIN THE 3 SECONDS A GUARD TURNS AROUND AND THEN ANSWERING THE PHONE IN THE MIDDLE OF A HEIST

alright so even if Hardison and Nate were talking, they never told the others what was happening so I’m 95% sure Nate might've mentioned a business to Hardison and then let Hardison go crazy with it (while stepping into reign him in)

Either Hardison found enough time to stare at Nate until he finished a painting or he found pictures of Nate to create that beautiful painting

If Sophie bought three houses and Hardison bought all that illegal software then it’s safe to say that the hospital Nate donated to got a lot of money for their equipment (That must’ve been sam’s hospital right? that’s what's being implied)

There it is... the very first “it’s very distinctive” line

I love the way the crew will say something about the job being too dangerous or hard to pull off and all Nate has to say is something briefly, vaguely almost, that makes them realize it won’t be that hard and then they all suddenly hop on board and start talking about strategies etc.

“I remembered gravity and the squishiness of all my manly bits”

Anyone else notices that for the first few cons Parker wears that hair cap but eventually, she gives up on it and just leaves her hair down?

Ngl the first time I heard DuFert talk about buying congressmen, I had the same reaction as Hardison and Sophie. Then I also had a short crisis when I realized that’s essentially how the gov is run now :)

DuFart is yelling at Eliot for being a stupid fuck but I have no idea how the fuck Eliot managed to pull off a name like that. I guess it also kind of hints at his expertise with food

Another thing I find great, and so satisfying is when Nate (or any of the team really) piece together what’s happening

Mr. Perry flirting with Sophie despite being in a dangerous situation is a mood

Again, Eliot’s ability to spot the military and their distinctive looks. Kind of makes me wonder just how far Eliot got in the military. Obviously, a lot of his info he picked up as a retrieval specialist but he must've spent a good number of years in the military and with his skills, I think Eliot might’ve gotten pretty well known

After getting through 5 seasons I kind of forgot that everyone except Eliot had never hurt or killed people when they were on their own

Love when Hardison and Eliot have these little moments where they’re joking around a smiling

Also when Hardison tries to add some of his classic flair and Eliot has to shush him

It’s clearer after seeing Nate and Hardison share a beer and popcorn while watching Parker that they clearly seem to have bonded first and that Hardison is kind of like Nate’s right-hand man, at least in these early episodes

“Might want to ease up on that” Nate casually reminding Hardison that Parker is not like most other women and that he probably shouldn’t make comments like that about her, especially not when it’s only their second time working together

Eliot says he hates baseball but he manages to not only hit a camera from several yards away with a rock, but he manages to throw it hard enough that it shatters and if that’s not the arm of a baseball player idk what is

I missed the comment Eliot makes about Parker and Hardison having a creepy contest when I first watched this episode

Again, Nate brings up giving away money because now technically they’re the good guys and that’s something the crew will have to adjust to. Now they’re not just taking down bad guys and stealing money to steal money, now they’re doing it for someone and they’re giving that money to the people who really need it

Fucking Sophie and Nate acting like a crazy married couple who have no idea where they are or what's going on give me LIFE. Also, Nate just fucking calling this bigass dude with a gun a jackass

Hardison makes me laugh at least once an episode, but watching him power walk away from Parker, whos putting a bomb on a crate, is a big fucking mood and I love him

“This is ‘cus I'm Jewish?” His nametag just says, White. Hardison put on a nametag that says White

Real slick of Nate to pull the walk away card when everyone's standing around enjoying how gratifying it feels to help someone who needs it (even though that was definitely his plan all along)

Of course, he bought himself a tesla. With as much money as they accumulate there’s enough to help someone but still take care of themselves, and I guarantee Nate brought his car to show it off and to show the crew that they can still spoil themselves. (plus this feels like another hint toward him being surprisingly good behind the wheel)

#i might make a separate post talking about how the team has never really killed anyone but well see #skunk of rage #leverage #eliot spencer #alec hardison #parker #sophie devereaux #nate ford #the homecoming job

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missnxthingg · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love your writing! Could you maybe do one with Tom where he and the reader are best friends since forever, but they started to grow apart with time after he became a famous actor? Thank you!

Summary: Tom and (Y/N) have been friends since they met in her driveway when they were little, harbouring feelings for each other since then, but only remaining best friends for a long time. Things started changing when Tom decided to pursue his dream of being a famous actor and they eventually grew apart. Now Tom had to do anything possible to win his favourite girl back.

A/N: Sorry I took too long to get to your request, I’ve been working a lot lately (even remotely), and didn’t even get to be around Tumblr that often this week. But here I am! Thanks for the request, sweets. Also, I’d like to add that it has a little bit of personal stuff because I added my dream of having a Joshua Tree house just to fit the song title. No biggie. I hope you like it!

Words: 7.9K

Pairing: Best Friend!Tom Holland x Singer!Best Friend!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex and depression, SMUT (oral sex f receiving and unprotected sex). Also a lot of angst, but a little bit of fluff.

masterlist | main blog | gif source | quarantine playlist | song title

GOING TO CALIFORNIA

When you were ten, your parents decided to have a little trip to California, where you visited a lot of amazing places and had a lot of fun as a family. You still remember the day your mom gave you a small leather jacket and said that you were going to visit a place called Joshua Tree. That was probably one of the most amazing days of your life. You were fascinated with the desert and everything around you was so pretty. Ever since that day you dreamed of having a house there and moving away from the big city to have a different lifestyle.

That year was the year where you found out that you liked many things, such as writing and singing. Your dad said you’d lock yourself up all day in your bedroom and spend the whole day writing about anything that was on your mind, or you’d try to learn every lyric from Led Zeppelin IV and go around the house singing out loud so everyone could hear how great you were doing. You loved to draw as well, and by drawing you got your way to meet your neighbour’s son. Both your parents found you two sitting on the sidewalk talking while you drew his profile and he played with a fallen flower under the bright sunlight. Something about him caught your attention and you had been friends ever since.

“It’s a really pretty flower, don’t you think?” He asked looking at you, sticking the tip of your tongue out of your mouth, too concentrated on drawing his curls. You glanced up to him and nodded, taking in some of his details to keep drawing. “It’s a shame that it fell, such a pretty flower.” You didn’t reply, and he just sighed.

“What’s your name again?” You asked with a frown on your face and he smiled softly.

“I’m Tom.”He said and you nodded, writing his name down in the corner of the page. “What’s yours?”

“I’m (Y/N).” She said, finishing her drawing for once.

“It’s a pretty name.” He said, blushing. You blushed as well and smiled ashamedly. He put a stray of hair behind your ear and positioned the flower in your hair. “It looks prettier this way.”

“I’m done.” You said, showing him the drawing. You weren’t the best at it, but it turned out to be a cool one, and he really liked it. “Gonna look good hanging on my wall.”

“So you draw that much?” He asked, and you nodded. “Can I see the other ones?”

“Sure, come on in.”

That year was crazy for you because it was the year you got in contact with everything you wanted to be in the future. You grew up, developed those things and when you were bigger, life became a rush to accomplish those things. Your parents even got into a great school, where you could practice your music and drawings much more and get even better at it. Tom was also one of the things that were always by your side through all of those years, having himself wanting to be an actor since you both met. You became closer to Tom just as much as you become closer to music. You remember him coming over to your house and just lying in your bed listening to you playing the guitar and singing along your own songs.

You fell in love with him, just as hard as you fell in love with music. And he fell for you, and he loved you just as much as he loved acting. At first, both of you thought it was just a childhood crush, but it eventually became something bigger, but you didn’t have the guts to admit it to each other in fear to ruin your friendship. So you were both oblivious of each other’s feelings for years until one day you went to a party.

It was the last party of High School, and everyone was at somebody’s place having a big party. Their place was huge and everyone was having a good time. You and Tom were doing shots with some friends in the corner and having a lot of fun together. And every High School party had to end in…

“Truth or dare, (Y/N).” Your friend, Breana, asked after the bottle stopped at you.

“Dare.” You replied confidently, and Breana smirked, looking around the circle you and your friends did on the floor.

“I dare you to play seven minutes in heaven with... “ She stopped to give a little more suspense and looked at Tom sitting next to you. “Tom.”

“Okay.” He replied to you, and you frowned, but nodded. “Come on (Y/N).”

The closet was so tiny that you needed to squeeze really tight to fit inside. You couldn’t see anything, just feel Tom’s presence right there with you, and he didn’t dare to say a thing for a long time, just feeling your hot breath hitting his chest. You rested your hands on his chest and tried to control your breathing because you were obviously nervous. You were best friends, but this was the closest you had been since forever.

“(Y/N)?” He whispered and you looked up, and he noticed because the hot breath suddenly wasn’t hitting his chest anymore, but now it was hitting his face.

“Yeah?”

“I have to tell you something.” He said, holding your arms and gently caressing the right one.

“Anything.”

“I’m moving to the US next month.” He said and felt you tense over his arms.

“You what?” You asked, and he pressed your arms a little stronger. “For good?”

“For at least three months.” He said and you felt one tear falling from your face, and your chest burning, making yourself feel something you never felt before with him, sadness. “I got a role as Spider-Man. Isn’t that amazing?”

“That’s amazing, yes!” You said, trying to sound excited for him, but feeling a huge pain in your chest.

“I just didn’t know how to tell you.” His hands searched for your hair and he removed them from your shoulder. His fingers brushing on your neck gave you the chills and he noticed it.

“Can I do something?” You asked him. “It’s stupid, but…”

“Of course.” He cut you before you started rambling about what was on your mind.

So you stood on your tiptoes and searched for his lips in the dark, easily crashing yours onto his. You tried to pull away quickly, but his hands slid down to your waist, pulling you closer as if it was possible. He licked your lips, asking for permission, and that way he deepened the kiss. Your hands softly met his hair as you pulled him down to meet you. For a second you could just forget the pain you were feeling, but Tom could taste the salty tears hat slipped down to your lips. You pulled away, and he didn’t want to let you go just yet, giving some small pecks before you both stopped.

“I’m proud of you, but it breaks my heart.” You said to him and he pulled you into a hug.

“I know, it breaks mine too, especially after… right now.” He tightened his grip and listened to you sobbing a little. “But I’ve waited for this moment for so long, and it’s the biggest opportunity for me.”

“I know, I’m being selfish.” You cleaned your tears and he managed to find your face, caressing your cheeks softly. He touched your foreheads and you closed your eyes, swallowing thick.

“You’re not being selfish. You’re just as scared as I am. I don’t wanna leave you, but I have to do this. And I promise I’ll be back, and we can take it off from where we stopped this. I-If you want us to.”

“Of course I want to. I love you.”

“I love you too.” He leaned in and kissed you again, much more softly than the first time. “And maybe you can write me songs while I’m gone, and I would love to sit and listen to you sing to me.”

“I will, I promise you.” You said and left one last kiss on his lips

“Seven minutes are over.” Someone knocked on the door, and Tom sighed.

“We should just go.” You said and you felt him nodded.

“Should we go home?” He asked and you hummed, taking his hand to follow him outside.

The last month living with Tom next to you was the hardest. You were together, and trying to spend the most time with each other, but they weren’t official or anything. They didn’t want to rush into anything before he went away, and eventually, he did, leaving you alone with your songs and your drawings of him hanging on the wall.

Soon he was all over the place. Everyone was talking about the new Spider-Man and the new Captain America movie, and everybody wanted to know who Tom was. He was everywhere, but even though you were proud of him, you missed him very much. Of course, you talked to him, in the beginning, it was more frequent, but with time, is calls passed from every two days to once a week.

“Hey, Tommy.” You had woken up with your phone ringing in the middle of the night.

“Hey baby, why do you sound so sleepy?

“Uhm, it’s two in the morning.” You lied back in your pillow, rubbing your eyes.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot that you’re five hours ahead of me. I’m gonna let you sleep.”

“No please, don’t hang up. I missed your voice.” You said and Tom smiled on the other side of the line.

“I missed yours too. I’m sorry I’m not calling you so much, it’s just… I’ve been working like hell, but I truly miss you, darling.”

“I miss you too. And it’s okay, but it’s been a week since I’ve been trying to talk to you to give you some news.”

“News, I like news. What’s new?” He said excited and you chuckled.

“I got a record deal, and they’re gonna produce my music.”

“No way!” He sounds so excited, and in reality, he jumped out of his bed and jumped in excitement. “Oh my God, darling, I’m so proud of you!”

“Thank you!” You laughed at his reaction, trying to keep your voice low and not to wake anyone up.

“Congratulations love! I really am truly proud of you.”

“I wish you were here so I could have told you the news in person.”

“Yeah I know, but it’s just one day closer to see each other again.” You smiled, knowing he was right and he was trying to lift your spirits up. “You’re clearly tired. I’ll try calling tomorrow, so I can let you sleep.”

“Please, try-hard.” You whined and it made him smile.

“I will. Now good night darling, have sweet dreams and I love you.”

“Good night Tommy, I love you too.”

Sweet calls like this one became much rare and sometimes he would just call you quickly during his lunch just to say that he was alive and doing okay. You were busy too, working your ass off to come up with a good album, but you would drop anything you were doing when he called. Tom, on the other hand, didn’t do the same for you and it was starting to piss you off.

But the day came, and soon Tom was knocking on your door after almost three months without seeing each other. It didn’t matter if you were mad at him when he appeared in front of you for the first time in a long time, all the anger was suddenly forgotten and you threw yourself in his arms, hugging him tightly, not wanting to let him go at all.

“I can’t believe you’re right here in front of me.” You touched his face and he smiled, touching the tip of your nose gently.

“I told you I’d be back.” You leaned up and your lips met his lips into a soft kiss for the first time in months. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You said between kisses. “Don’t ever leave again.”

But of course, he was going to leave again. It was fun while he was back home, you’d hang around his place all the time, and he’d lie in your bed listening to you sing like he always did, but eventually, there you were taking him again to an airport, and this time it would take much longer for him to come back. And what before was bad, now it was worse. He didn’t have time at all to talk to anyone, that including his own mother and everyone was missing him a lot, but no one missing him more than you.

“It’s just, he’s been away for so long, and honestly I’m getting tired of missing him.” You were having a conversation with your mom after she found you crying over your guitar.

“I know you are darling, and no one said it was going to be easy. But if you really want to keep doing this, just know that Tom loves you a lot, but he’s chasing after his dream, just like you are chasing yours.”

“Yeah, but differently than him, I would drop anything I’m doing for him if he needs me. I just don’t think he loves me enough to do the same.” She gave you some tea and you sipped the hot drink to try finding some comfort.

“(Y/N), he’s your boyfriend. And if you’re feeling this way, you should talk to him.”

“He’s not my boyfriend, well… He never asked anyway. And he’s never around to be one.”

“But he’s your best friend, and every relationship is built under communication.”

You knew your mom was right, and that’s why the next time he called, you started the conversation with a serious tone. He knew something was off with the first word that came out of her mouth. He knew something serious was going on.

“You know I love you so much Tom, but I’m getting tired of missing you and thinking that you don’t want me enough to fight for us. And you’ve been away for so long that I’m starting to forget little things about you, like your smell. It really pisses me off.”

“I know, I’m sorry. But please, let’s try again, I don’t want to give up on us just now, we haven’t even started anything, I don’t want it to be over.”

“Exactly. This is not serious for you and you’re not doing enough for me. Tom, you haven’t called me in weeks.” You said angrily and he sighed.

“You know I’ve been busy, darling.”

“Well, I’ve been busy too, you know. You’re not the only one who has dreams. And I feel like if you need me, I would drop everything for you, but you wouldn’t do the same.”

“That’s not true and you know that.” He cut you and you rolled your eyes.

“I don’t know anything anymore, and I think it’s better if we don’t keep doing this anymore. I still want to be your friend, but I don’t think I want to be… Whatever we are.”

“(Y/N). I’m sorry, can we please take it easy. I’ll be back in two months.”

“And that’s too long. I don’t think I can handle it anymore. I love you so much, but it’s breaking my heart.” At that moment, your heart was already into a million pieces and you were drowning between your own tears.

“If that’s your decision, I’m gonna respect that. But just know that I love you, I always have and I always will.”

“Goodbye Tom.”

“Goodbye, my love.”

You spent the whole week crying your heart out, and you even cried when you saw Tom’s mom taking the trash out and ended up being consoled by her. It was heartbreaking, but eventually, it got better with time. You being a little busy with your work made you forget about him and you were having the time of your life. When the day of the release came, your mom threw you the biggest party in the world and invited a bunch of people. What you weren’t expecting was to find Tom coming through the door with flowers on his hands.

“Tom. You’re back.” You said with a surprised tone.

“Harry told me about the party, and I wanted to be here with you today.” He gave you the flowers and you smiled to see your favourite flowers.

“Daisies.”

“I remembered how much you like them.” You hugged him tightly with a good smile on your face. “Congratulations darling, I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for being here. It really means a lot to me.” He leaned back and looked right into your eyes, and got hypnotized with them, just wanting to stare at them as much as he could, because he missed them.

“Is it okay if I kiss you?” He asked you, brushing his lips against yours, and you nodded, feeling his lips against yours for the first time after a long time. You had written songs about those lips, and you really missed them, and his touch. ou both didn’t care if there were many people in that party, he was the only thing that mattered.

"That was… breathtaking." She whispered against his lips and he smiled, giving her one last peck before pulling away.

"It's my way of saying I'm sorry." He held your arms and you smiled back to him. "I hope you know that I'm deeply sorry about everything, and I was an idiot, and I missed you so much, baby."

"I missed you too. And I forgive you, but we have so much to talk." You fixed his hair and he nodded.

"I know, and I don't want you to feel pressured. And we can talk about it tomorrow, so you can enjoy your party."

"Come on, let me get you a beer." She held his hand and pulled him to meet with your friends.

What you and Tom were going to be was still unknown. Maybe if things started going on differently, and if he just stays home, it could go differently for both of you. He stuck by your side the whole night, and whatever you needed to talk about could be postponed. At that moment all you wanted to do was celebrate your new accomplishment with your best friends and maybe have some good wine. It was a long night and you weren’t sure how you ended up waking up fully naked in Tom’s bedroom.

You were woken up by the chilly weather and since you were naked, you were craving for some heating. Tom wasn’t there, which only made things weirder since you don’t remember much of the end of the night. So you searched for your panties and found it thrown on the floor along with last night’s dress and Tom’s clothes. You tried to stand up, but your legs wouldn’t work and you couldn’t walk properly, which was weird, but at least you got to pick Tom’s shirt to wear it and pulled a cover over your body, heating yourself up. The door quickly opened, but the person tried to remain silent, closing it softly. You found Tom carrying a breakfast tray in hands, and trying not to make much noise.

“Morning love.” He said, sitting in bed.

“Morning.” You yawned and sat straight. “You made breakfast?”

“Uhm, I thought I’d do something nice to redeem myself.”

“That’s nice, thank you.” You smiled at him and he smiled back. “I don’t remember a thing about last night.”

“Oh.” Tom nodded and shifted his position in bed. “I think you can guess what happened.”

“Judging by the pain coming from my lady bit and that I can hardly walk, I think we had sex.” He nodded and you chuckled. “Oh God, the first time we did it after a long time and I don’t remember a fucking thing.”

“I’m sorry, we shouldn’t have done it.” He looked down to his tights and you approached him from the back, hugging him from behind and kissing his shoulder.

“It’s okay. I trust you.” You rested your head on his shoulder. “Come on, let’s eat this pretty breakfast.”

“I made your favourite tea. And I learned to make pancakes and I think you’re gonna love it.”

You smiled at him and started eating your food, sitting silently next to him. You knew that you two needed to talk and get things right with each other, but something was screaming to you not to screw that moment you were having. You lying between his legs, curled up against his chest, enjoying your breakfast and getting some kisses in return. Tom knew he couldn’t ruin that moment as well because if things went sideways, this was how he wanted to remember your relationship, as good as it was.

But you needed to talk. Bottle things up isn’t the best way to deal with relationships, especially this one that long distance could be applied at any moment. You were both loving being in each other’s arms, and having lazy kisses between the sheets and some soft morning sex. When you ended things, he lied on top of you while you were stroking his hair, with his ear glued to your chest, listening to your heartbeat.

“Are you gonna leave again?” You whispered to him softly.

“Yes.” He waited a couple of seconds before replying, and your body tensed up. “I’m doing a press tour for the movie soon.”

“And I was thinking you’d finally be home and things could finally be okay.”

“Why can’t things be okay?” He sat in bed and you shifted your position.

“Because long distance doesn’t work for us, and I told you I’m tired of missing you.” You both remained in silence for a while, just staring at each other. You got closer to Tom and hugged him. “I know it’s hard, but I always dreamed of spending my life with you, and it’s not easy when you’re never around.”

“I know it is, but I don’t remember how’s life without you.”

“I’m still your best friend Tom. Fuck Harrison or whoever you met in America. I’ve been your best friend since forever, and we have a special connection.” You held his hand and he entwined your fingers. “It doesn’t matter if we’re not together romantically, I’ll always support and love you. It’s just… It’s not fair to either of us, because we can’t make it properly work.”

“I know. I’ll always support you too. I love you so much.” He glued your foreheads and shut his eyes. “You can always come with me.”

“What? I can’t Tom, I still have a career to pursue.” You leaned back and got away from him, shaking your head.

“But you can still write and sing on the road.” He said and you kept shaking your head no, starting to spill some tears.

“I can’t give up my dream to go after yours. It’s just unfair.” You said in a whisper and started to gather all your things to leave.

“But you’re not giving up your dream. And this way we could just be together.” He stood up, watching you change into your clothes. He searched for his boxers so he wouldn’t have to be fully naked while arguing with you.

“I can’t do this Tom. I love you, and as much as I want to be with you, it’s my dream. You have yours and you’re already being successful, and I’m just starting mine. I don't wanna let it all go just because of you. And I…” You stopped what you were about to say because you knew it would get you two into a huge fight.

“And what, (Y/N)?” He asked and you finished getting dressed, taking a deep breath for what was coming next.

“And I know you wouldn’t do the same for me.” Tom tried to say something back but choked into his own words.

"(Y/N)..." He started but didn't know how to finish it. So he just walked up to you and held your hands. "Can we at least wait to break things off when I just leave again?"

"I don't know if my heart can take it." Hot tears started to stream down your face, and you saw some falling from his as well.

"Please. Just one last time, you and me."

And you did. You fell for him again, and the next three weeks were good. You did everything you wanted to do and you were always together. Being neighbours made everything easier and at some point you didn’t even remember how it felt like sleeping in your own bed, being so used to Tom’s king-sized bed. But eventually there you were, driving him to the airport once again, and you knew your heart was breaking to see him leave again. If he could just stay, things would easily get off for both of you and you could finally be together.

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his thumb against your cheeks, staring deeply into your eyes. You could feel your heart aching like it never did, and that made some tears stream down your face. He pulled you into a hug and you soaked his grey t-shirt.

“Please don’t go.” You whispered against his chest and he kissed the top of your head. “Please.”

“I love you, so much. And I’ll always be right here with you.” He whispered in her ear, feeling his chest ache like someone was adding the biggest pressure in his chest. “Are you sure you want to be over once I leave?”

“Yes.” You leaned back, looking at him, lost between your own tears. “I don’t think my heart can handle being away from you one last time.”

“I’ll still call you.” He said and she smiled, hugging him again. “You’re my best friend, I don’t think I’ll be able to not speak to you until I’m back.”

“Promise me you’ll call more often this time.”

“I promise you.”

But Tom had to learn he couldn’t promise things that he can’t keep, because now it’s been a month since he was gone, and he only called once, text a little and that was it. But you were done with the heartbreak, and even though you missed him, you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself. You came back to sleeping in your own room, in your own clothes, and not having a warm body to hold onto while you tried to sleep. At first, it was hard, but it suddenly became common, and it was like everything was back in order. You’d see him on Instagram all the time, everywhere around the world, having the time of his life. And you were stuck in London, still talking to your guitar and trying to work as hard as you could.

The thing was that after the day Tom left one more time, you couldn’t get yourself to write. It was like it was blocking your creativity and you couldn’t do it to save your life. Even though you were out and about singing your songs in every corner your recording put you to sing, you couldn’t even get yourself to put everything you were feeling into song lyrics. But that didn’t stop your work. You were doing amazing in charts and everyone was listening to you and eventually, you were the one travelling the world, ending up in Los Angeles to work on your career. Suddenly you saw yourself spending much more time in California, living in a small rented apartment in Malibu, earning money like water; Things like Tom and your heartbreak only popped into your head sometimes, when you saw him on Instagram or in every outdoor in Hollywood. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to write any songs, even if you were feeling a lot.

“We need new songs soon (Y/N). And if you don’t help us, we’re gonna have to contract songwriters to make some for you.” Your producer said to you and you groaned, leaning back into your seat.

“I’m not gonna have someone else writing about how I feel.” You said, coming back to reality. “I’m a writer, and I’m a singer. I wanna have some time before we do anything else. Just let people have the EP that’s already out and soon we’ll get the album.”

“What’s keeping you from writing?” He asked and you drank some more water before continuing.

“I don’t know. I think my head is not cooperating with relaxing for a moment and just writing what I’m feeling. And honestly, that small apartment is getting on my nerves, I hate it.”

“So get a new house. I know you’ve always wanted a Joshua Tree house, and we have a studio in there. You can work from your own dream place.”

And that’s how you ended up in Joshua Tree once again and remembered your life’s long dream of having a place in the middle of the California desert and it was just like you always dreamed of, a big house, that was really pretty but needed some painting. You put a lot of time in that place, and you organized the whole thing listening to a lot of music, and maybe you could start getting some inspiration out of it. Soon it was all decorated and comfortable, just like you always dreamed of, full of things that could get you started to write. And even though you were feeling the music, you were not getting any inspiration.

One night, you just sat down by the pool with a glass of whiskey and a notepad, but the water cooling your feet down wasn’t helping a lot with your imagination. You just stared into the water and cursed yourself for not getting anything you wanted. You wanted to scream for not being able to write, and eventually, you gave up, going for a late-night swim before bed.

Your days were getting really lonely, and even if people from work visited you every day, it wasn’t like you had a bond with them. They weren’t your family or close friends, they just worked with you, and you didn’t have many moments where you could just forget everything you were feeling and feel good. You’d call your mom every day, but FaceTiming isn’t the same as face to face stuff. You missed your friends and they wouldn’t even call you back, too busy with college stuff. Once Harry Holland called, and you spent hours talking to him and his family, but Tom wasn’t home, so it wasn’t like you talked about him or anything, but it sparkled that feeling of missing him once again.

Even though he didn’t pop in your mind a lot these days, talking to his family made you miss him. He didn’t call or text at all in the last two months, and suddenly the feeling of anger started to grow inside you, mixing with how much you missed him and wanted to be with him again. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol speaking to you, or your feelings eating you alive, but you ended up in your room, holding a beer and looking for his clothes. It still kind of smelled like him, and you were starting to forget his smell. The big Spider-Man shirt fell over your body and his scent making you feel like home. So you cried yourself to sleep that night, missing him a lot and upset because he promised you to never leave you and there you were, depressed and all alone.

The next day, you woke up writing. You wanted to put what you were feeling into lyrics and it worked because you were finally feeling like you needed to get things out of your chest. What was stuck in your throat started to slowly go down and it turned into music. You took a whole day to write one song, and it wasn’t that good in your opinion, but it was a beginning. The day that came after, you made sure to pack into a box all of the things that reminded you of Tom, and maybe this feeling could finally be over and you could move on for good. You wanted to remain friends with him, but it didn’t look like he wanted to remain friends with you. So you deleted his contact, unfollowed him on every social media and packed all of his stuff. By the end of the night, you had everything put away again, and you drank a little of the wine and made a good homemade pasta, going to sleep really early that night.

Your creativity block came back after that day and you didn’t feel like you had any emotions left to write anything, so you started trying to write about the water inside the pool, or about the desert. Anyway, you obviously couldn’t do it. It was the hottest day of the year and you couldn’t relax for one second, feeling very agitated that day. You didn’t know why, but you couldn’t relax, and nothing happened to make you feel that way. It was like you were feeling empty, and it bothered you.

The doorbell rang and it was the weirdest thing because you weren’t expecting anyone and you didn’t have a lot of visitors or any neighbours at all. It was the middle of the fucking desert, it wasn’t like it was normal to have visitors out of nowhere. But you opened the door, even though you looked completely like trash. You were without any makeup, your hair was loose and completely a mess, and you were wearing an old dress that wasn’t too hot, considering it was the hottest day of the year. You prayed that the person you were going to face right now wouldn’t think you were a freak for looking like that.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe in your own mind, especially when things like that appeared in front of your eyes or people at all. There was a sports car parked in front of your house on the highway and a boy in front of you. It was funny because you knew him, but you didn’t know him anymore. You both became strangers, but you knew so much about him that it was weird to face him. It was like he wasn’t there and you were delirious.

“Hi (Y/N).” He said softly.

“Tom.”

He looked different. Older, somehow. His muscles were thick now and you could see it through his shirt. He was slightly taller and his hair was a little bigger, curls falling recklessly from his head. He didn’t look like the Tom you met many years ago in your driveway, or the Tom you fell in love with. He looked like Tom Holland, Marvel’s big star that was in every spotlight he could get for himself, and you still didn’t know that Tom.

“Harry told me you were living in Joshua Tree now. I guess you got what you always dreamed of.”

“You got it too.” You said, crossing your arms in your chest.

“I missed you.” He said and you chuckled, shaking your head.

“No, you didn’t.” You quickly threw at him. “If you really missed me, you would have even texted me to see if I was alive.”

“I’m sorry.” He looked down to his feet.

“You say you’re sorry too much. And even though you promised me that we would always be best friends, I don’t think you even want me as a friend.”

“That’s not fair! I’ve been busy with work and you know that.” He stepped up in the stairs in front of your door. “I’ve been shooting the new Avengers movie and working on the second Spider-Man. I needed to focus on my job.”

“Yeah, I know. So why don’t you go back to your spectacular world of red carpets and movies and leave me alone?”

“(Y/N), please. Let me talk to you just a little bit.” He stepped closer to you and you leaned back, not wanting to touch him. “What…”

“You should go. I’m done with you.” You closed the door on his face and rested your forehead against the door, closing your eyes to just breath for a second.

“(Y/N), please let me in. I just wanna talk to you. I know I fucked things up and I regret it so much.” He leaned on the door from the other side and also rested his forehead against the door.

“Please leave.” You mumbled and slid down to sit because your legs felt weak and you couldn’t stand up anymore.

“Darling. Uhm, I came home two weeks ago, and Harry told me you weren’t living in London anymore. I didn’t know anything about it, so he started talking about you and how you were doing and why you were in California right now. It only made me miss you much more than I already was. Because you never left my mind you know.” He tapped the door with his index fingers and sighed. “And I started missing you more than I ever missed you in my entire life. Because this was the first time I looked to a photograph of the two of us and I realized I didn’t know a fucking thing about the girl I loved so much.” Tears were now streaming down both of your faces. “I missed you, all of you. The first night after we last saw each other, I slept alone in bed and you weren’t there to crawl into bed and just hold me until we fell asleep. I cried myself to sleep because it physically hurts to be away from you. You’re my best friend, and I just wish we could be okay again.”

“I missed you too.” You drew partners in your door with your fingers. “I missed you so much, that it blocked my creativity and I couldn’t write anymore. But I don’t feel like you care about me anymore. And I love you so much, but I wish I didn’t love you because it doesn’t make me feel good anymore.”

“Please, open the door. I have to see you.” He shot up and you slowly stood up as well and opened the door. You both saw the tears falling from your faces and your hearts crumbled together.

“I’m so mad at you!” You said and he nodded, taking a step closer to you and kissing you. He could have just hugged you, but he kissed you because your lips were the thing he missed the most about you. It was so slow and so needy. You pulled him inside of the house and closed the door behind him, pressing him against it once it was closed. He pulled you closer by the waist, slowly moving his lips against yours, as you rubbed his cheeks with your thumbs.

“I wanna make everything right with you this time.” He said between kisses. “I want you to officially be my girlfriend, I don’t care about my career or anything else. I just wanna be with you.”

“You would give up your dream because of me?”

“I would give up on everything because of you.” He said and you sighed pulling him to the couch. He lied you down and got on top of you, kissing down your neck, finding your sweet spot that made you moan softly. “Because I love you so much, and I messed things up with you, and I don’t want us to be apart again.”

“Please shut up.” You said, bitting your lips.

“What?” He stopped confused and you laughed at him.

“We can talk about those things later, you’re ruining the moment.” You glued your lips again and searched from the bottom of his shirt, pulling in off. “ I need you, Tom.”

“Fuck.” He removed your dress, leaving you only with your panties and started kissing down your body, taking a good amount of time on your nipples, making you moan softly and roll your fingers on his curls. “I need you too.”

He removed your panties and started kissing your inner thighs, tracing kisses up your body, making you shiver. One of his fingers met your core and started to tease your entrance. You were already so wet for him that it was easy to just slip one finger in and his lips finally met your folds, working down on you just like he always knew how to do. You felt your walls clenching around his fingers and lost between your own moans, you released on his fingers.

“Tom. Please, I need you so bad.”

“Just a little more. I missed your taste.” He held both of your hands, entwining your fingers and going down on you again, sucking your clit and making you a moaning mess. “You taste so sweet darling, I missed this so much.”

“Oh, f-fuck!” You screamed, bucking your hips into his mouth. It happened so fast that you weren’t thinking straight. “I’m gonna cum again!”

Tom didn’t reply, only worked a little more on your pussy, making you feel like you’re in heaven. You arched our back and cummed again on his mouth. He kissed your lips again, making you taste yourself in his mouth and you pulled him back to be closer to you. Your hands opened his trousers and helped him get rid of them. You opened your legs, wanting him to be inside you so badly. He pushed his hard cock against your core under his underwear and you started grinding on him, making you both moan between the kisses.

“Please Tom, fuck me. I need you inside me.” You cried between the kisses and removed his underwear with a little help from him.

“So needy.” He smiled to you and held his hard cock, rubbing it against your clit, making you both moan with the contact. He only put the head inside you and you bucked your lips forward, making him come inside your for once. “You’re still so tight and wet for me.”

“Uhm, shit! Move, please!” You cried, burying your nails on his back. He started thrusting inside you, picking a quick pace to thrust into. Your bodies worked like they were meant to work together and it was like every move was rehearsed. It was all so perfect and just showed how much you missed each other.

Eventually, you managed to make him sit so you could be on top, riding him as he helped you movements with his hands on your ass. He sucked on your nipples and you rocked your body over him, stimulating yourself on the clit. You were over the moon like you needed that to feel better.

“Fuck. I’m close.” He said and you started to ride him harder and rub desperately your clit, wanting to reach your high with him He started to buck his hips ups to meet yours and thrust hard inside you, making you both moan loudly with the increase of pleasure. He helped you with your clit and soon you were cumming all over his cock and right after you felt his warm cum fill you inside.

You let your weight all go over him, as you both caught your breaths again. He hugged you tightly, feeling his cock softening inside you. You turned around and sat on his lap, resting your head against his chest. You just sat there in silence together, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was like they were only feeling each other for a moment before words could ruin the moment. His fingers ran through her hair as she always loved when he did that with her and her fingers drew patterns on his nude chest, as she closed her eyes and took in his smell, just like the shirt she was wearing the other day.

“I love you.” He whispered against her hair and she smiled, leaning back to kiss him.

“I love you too.”

“I mean it when I said I would drop anything to be with you.” He said, starting to rub the back of her head. “It was a mistake leaving you and not even talking to you. You’re my number one priority, work comes second to you.”

“I really appreciate it.” You smiled at him and rested your head on his shoulder. “But you should drop work, I know it’s your dream just like singing is mine.”

“But I will never leave you for so long like this. It physically hurts me when I’m not connected with you. That’s why I went back to London, but you weren’t there when I got home.”

“I was too tired of waiting for you to come home.”

“And I don’t blame you baby.” He said, kissing her temple. “You always talked about this place, now I know why you love it so much. It’s beautiful!”

“Did you like it?” You asked with a smile on your face and he nodded.

“Yeah, I loved it. Great place to start a family.” He mumbled and pressed his lips together once he noticed what he had just said. “I’m sorry, rushing things.”

“A family. I like the idea. Good thing I bought a house with many bedrooms.” You said with a great smile on your face and it only made his smile grow wider. “But we don’t have to rush, right?”

“Right.” He nodded and you chuckled, pulling him into a kiss. “Why don’t we go take a nap? I’m tired, you know. Time Zones, flights, all tiring.”

“You can go do whatever you want to, I have to write.” You said, finally getting inspiration to sit down and write a song. “You know, I’ve had a creativity block since you were gone, but today I think I found some inspiration to write about.”

“Glad I could help. But not even a small nap? Maybe a shower, I don’t know, we look disgusting.”

“Yeah, maybe a shower is good.” You said, getting up from his lap. “Come on, let me show you the outdoor shower.”

“But we’re naked, what if anyone sees us?”

“Baby, we’re in the middle of the desert, nobody’s gonna see us.”

(Y/N) found her inspiration again, and as she brushed his hair with shampoo and played with him in the shower, lost between his kisses and laughs, she just knew what to write about. While Tom took a nap curled next to her, she just wrote about him, about the good feeling that suddenly all came back to her. She wasn’t feeling depressed or alone anymore. She had him, and that was all she needed at that moment.

Just like him, who regretted very deeply letting her go. Having her next to him again was like his world suddenly became colourful and warm again, and he was really happy that his stupid job or pride didn’t let him walk away from her. They were meant to be together and maybe that flower was meant to fall to the ground just so you two could meet and he could place it in her hair, or maybe the sun was meant to shine over them, so she could see him with a different eye and draw him perfectly. Maybe it was meant for them to grow apart so they could be closer than ever in the future. But one thing was sure, they were meant to find each other eventually.

…………………

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