#Misplaced Inventory
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I SAID THE THING ABOUT WANTING A NUDE STATUE OF MYSELF AS A JOKE. IT WAS A FUCKING JOKE WHY IS IT. AAAAAAAA????? AAAAA????
#I LITERALLY OPENED MY INVENTORY AFTER TO BUY SOMETHING FROM POPPER AND I WAS LIKE. HOLD ON I SEEM TO HAVE MISPLACED A LOT OF GOLD#I WAS KIDDING WHY IS THERE NO CONFIRMATION OR ANYTHING#circus of the last days#per plays#bg3#calm down per
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WHELP I was stupid with my money and now I’m going to be eating canned tuna and maybe rice for about 4 days
Thankfully I’m going back home on Tuesday and I’ll get like 4 days of eating restaurant meals and desserts. Perfectly balanced.
#I made an inventory of all my expenses throughout the month and I still managed to misplace like 200 pesos??#like I have no idea where I spent them#hugo talks#(don’t look at me I’m stupid with money it’s horrible)
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Could someone please tell me...
...why human evolution apparently stopped?
...why there is often not enough time to be on time?
...why I always have trouble falling asleep when I have to get up especially early?
...why I only notice after supermarket closing time that the dishwasher tablets and vacuum cleaner bags have run out?
...why there is more good weather on weekdays than on weekends?
...why no one has taken on the task of doing an inventory of the basement for me?
...why shirts do not iron themselves?
...why one notices his increasing age especially in the morning?
...where my son has misplaced his key?
...why there are more questions than answers?
#thoughts#aperçu#funny#please#evolution#humanity#being on time#not enough time#falling asleep#getting up#supermarket#dishwasher#vacuum cleaner#good weather#weekdays#weekend#inventory#ironing#increasing age#misplacing#questions#answers#tell me
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My boss, coming back from a conference: how’s everything been here?
Our staff:
#it’s not even THAT BAD#but like. on Thursday we discovered our inventory system is 300 off of something#either that or we somehow managed to misplace 300 of an item#🤡#kira liveblogs life
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working retail really do be like: Everyday i wake and come to this place and just as sysiphus must roll that boulder up the hill, i must shove trash drown the compactor shute BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE IN THIS GOD FORSAKEN BUILDING DOES
#most of em just put it at the entrance and close the door and then i find it hours later with bags and boxes aplenty to try and throw away#retail#customer service#of course there are also the customers and misplaced product and corporate only giving us the hours to have 3 employees in the store#and the online orders and the broken inventory program and the customers and incorrect sku codes and changing prices without notifying us#im in a timeloop and i can't even try to escape because it's paying me (barely) and nearly no one else is hiring except other timeloops#plus i've already trauma bonded with most of my coworkers
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When Self Becomes an Idol
WE EACH HAVE AT some point in our lives made decisions while thinking only about our own interests. Not every selfish decision is equally damaging, but a pattern can develop that is quite difficult to recognize. I have been talking with people about this subject since my hiatus on December 22, 2022. As a result, I came face-to-face with my idol of self, and I was not pleased with what I found. A…
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#God&039;s Providence#Idol of Self#little-g god#Misplaced Worship#New Nature = New Self#Personal Inventory#Pride#Selfishness
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Extract from: The Human Guidebook:
Tip 87: Ensure that your humans are provided with every tool they require to do their respective jobs. It is also advisable to conduct an inventory at least every 30 rotations to make sure that no tools have been misplaced or destroyed. Lost or broken tools should be replaced as soon as possible.
~ Most intelligent species who see they do not have the correct tool for their task will postpone the task, or pass the task on to a being who does possess the necessary tools, humans (most of the time) do not. Humans have a saying, "If all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail."
Be very cautious of humans who do not possess the correct tools.
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Video Girl - Seonghwa x Reader (NSFW)
📼 Summary: On the cusp of 1998, your quiet life working at a department store is upended when an attractive new coworker named Seonghwa awakens your desire for sexual exploration.
📼 Word count: 22k
📼 Genre and warnings: smut one shot. coworkers to lovers. fem pronouns for reader. use of a camera during sex. oral sex. unprotected sex. creampie.
📼 fic playlist here.
this fic is not meant to represent seonghwa in any way, shape or form.
Monday, October 6th, 1997
“What happened to the stack of CDs I put right there?”
“Right where?”
“Right there,” You gesture to the empty space that once housed a cluster of CDs that needed to be put on the shelf.
Your coworker, San, pops his head up from where he had been busy sorting through one of the boxes of new inventory. His brows furrow while staring at the spot as if he could magically make the CDs appear.
“What was it?”
“The new Janet Jackson album.”
“The new…oh shit, wait, I might’ve knocked it into this other box,” He ducks back down out of your view and you hear him wildly rummaging around.
With a sigh, you slump against the shelf and stare out at the store which closed half an hour ago. Now, you’re stuck restocking new releases in the CD and VHS section for another hour before your shift ends. At least there are no customers, you think gratefully.
“What’s it called?” San asks, still trying to find what he accidentally misplaced.
“The Velvet Rope, I think,” You reply, wishing your feet didn’t hurt so much.
The stack of CDs really isn’t that important but you just needed an excuse to take a break. It’s been a long day, working a double to cover for someone else, and you were sick of being here about three hours ago. The vest you have to wear while clocked in has long been discarded, tossed onto the counter as soon as the last customer finally got the hell out.
“Wait, I found it,” San says with the same enthusiasm of someone completing a lifelong goal. He circles around the aisle, holding the pile of CDs, “Where should I put them?”
“I’m just stacking them next to Mariah Carey,” You reply while taking them out of his hands and turning back to the shelf, “I don’t care.”
“Fine by me.”
You’ve worked with San for two years now and know him as well as one can know another coworker. He rarely missed a shift, probably because he enjoyed flirting with the women who wandered into the electronics section too much. There were two things San liked to do outside of work: work out and go clubbing with his best friend, Wooyoung. He was good looking to the point that even the ugly work mandated vest couldn’t take away from his jawline sculpted out of marble.
“Thanks for helping me out,” San says.
“It’s cool, dude. I really did not feel like working in my department tonight.”
“You’re sick of organizing all the tube tops? Don’t see any of them you want for yourself?” He jokes, knowing how bored you are of working in the women’s clothing department.
You make a face. “Ugh, as if.”
San leans against the shelf, crossing his arms. “Did you hear about the new guy they hired for the men’s department?”
“No,” You reply, uninterested.
“I heard he’s good looking,” A thought strikes him and in an alarmed tone, he goes, “You don’t think he’s better looking than me, do you?”
You shove the last CD onto the shelf although it teeters close to the edge. You stare at it, willing that it doesn’t fall and when the case stays in place, you finally turn your attention to San. “Why, worried you’re going to no longer be the Resident Hottie?”
“Pfft, no. But…you’ll let me know, won’t you?”
You lean down and pick up one of the boxes of CDs, balancing it on your knee until you get a better hold on it. “Why are you buggin about a new hire?”
“I’m not buggin about him,” San protests quickly.
“Yes, you totally are. I’m sure he’s nothing special. Don’t worry about it,” You turn away from San, getting ready to head down another aisle to finish putting the CDs away, “I can’t even remember the last time we hired someone who impacted me outside of asking and then promptly forgetting their name.”
San looks mollified, taking comfort in the fact that everyone knows he is the hottest guy working in the store. You plop the box down, sorting through it to see what to put away first.
The routine is comforting in that sort of mind numbing manner, the same pace of your life unchanging with no disruptions on the horizon. Tomorrow, you’d wake up and be here again to sort out ugly women’s clothing and clean up the fitting rooms after old ladies leave piles everywhere.
That’s how it always goes, how it will continue to go.
Tuesday, October 7th, 1997
“I don’t want this one,” A customer declares, thrusting a crushed velvet mini dress into your arms, “Or this.” A denim dress is tossed as the customer saunters off back into the aisles of clothing racks.
You stand there, momentarily bunching the fabric in your hands with irritation before collecting your features into a pleasant expression. You go back to organizing the clothing from the fitting room racks to put them away. There are two hours left in your shift and your feet hurt yet again.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt,” A voice cuts cleanly through the music being piped into the building. It is deep, almost melodious and you look over your shoulder curiously, expecting to see a lost looking man trying to find something to buy for his wife or girlfriend.
There is, in fact, a lost looking man standing there but his blue vest indicates he’s a coworker. The slightly confused expression combined with the outfit leads you to believe this is the man San had been talking about the other night.
“I just started working here yesterday and the person who was supposed to be training me called out so I’m running the men’s department alone. I just had some questions and was hoping you could help me.”
The man is tall and slender with black hair carefully combed. The ugly blue vest does nothing to take away from his uniquely pretty face – beautiful brown eyes with a strong nose, perfectly straight white teeth and full lips. In his hands is a small collection of clothing, long fingers splayed out across to stop it from tumbling onto the floor. His shoes look brand new, the shine making it obvious. A belt loops around his small waist, wearing simple dress slacks.
You’re so used to going through the motions at work, typically zoned out that only something absolutely wild could shatter you from that usual feeling. Seeing someone so pretty against the backdrop of the woman’s department brings you up short.
“Uhhhh,” You go before managing to collect yourself swiftly, replying, “Yeah, I can help you,” Your eyes fall onto his nametag, and you tentatively say his name aloud for the first time, “Seonghwa.”
He smiles, a sort of strange smile in which he looks vastly uncomfortable, saying your own name after reading it from your tag. You trail after him, cutting through the organized racks of the women’s department into the general shitshow of the men’s.
For some reason, it was impossible to keep a full team in the men’s section. They always quit or just stopped showing up. Over the two years you worked here, you normally didn’t speak to anyone in the men’s department too much since they never seemed to last long. That meant the department always looked like a group of wild school children tore through it regularly and today is no exception.
Seonghwa takes you to a large box dumped unceremoniously onto the counter near the men’s fitting rooms. “I was told to process these returns but I don’t…actually know how to do that,” He admits bashfully.
“Oh, it’s not difficult. I can show you.”
He looks relieved, thanking you. As you begin to show Seonghwa the process, you sneak a glance at his face out of the corner of your eye. His eyelashes are long, his lips prettily plump and his skin seemingly perfect. What planet did this dude come from? You wonder, unsure how someone like him stumbled into working at a store like this.
“You know how to fold the clothes the right way?” You ask at one point.
“Yeah, I’ve worked retail before in my last town.”
“Oh, you moved here?”
Seonghwa looks up as you hand him a particularly ugly dress shirt made from a shiny fabric. In the horrendous fluorescent lights which make almost everyone look garish, he seems to be immune.
“Yeah, just a couple weeks ago. Not far away, just a few towns over.” He quickly changes the subject off himself, “Have you worked here long?”
“Around two years.”
“Do you like it?”
“It’s retail,” You reply dryly, “I think it is the same everywhere.”
The corners of his lips turn up for a second. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Seonghwa turns his attention back to the pile of clothes, folding them swiftly. You watch the way his long fingers smooth out the fabric before expertly folding it. Every movement of his seems to be precise and completely under control, a far cry from yourself.
“Are you settling in okay then?” You ask, trying to wiggle more information out of this professional handsome guy who for some reason is working at this shitty store instead of modeling overseas somewhere.
He carefully folds another shirt while replying, “Yeah, I’m doing alright. Have you always lived here?” Another deflection. It’s growing obvious Seonghwa doesn’t want to talk about himself.
“Yeah, I have. It’s really nothing special though. Pretty generic place.” You study his face while asking the next question, “Why did you pick here?”
Without missing a beat, he goes, “It was convenient. What do you like the most about living here?”
You find his answer curious but decide asking Seonghwa questions is pointless because he only swiftly tries to put the conversation back on you.
Stumped by his question, mostly because nothing really comes to mind, you finally settle on, “The weather is alright.”
He tilts his face in your direction at your answer, one eyebrow slightly raised. “That’s it?”
You shrug, “Yeah, I guess.”
His gaze is heavy on you, a beat too long before turning his attention back to folding the clothes. You swallow hard, wondering why you feel so unnerved. As beautiful as Seonghwa is, he has the sort of intense presence that knocks you a little off balance, almost as if he can see some part of yourself that most people cannot.
“Alright, finished.” His voice brings you back to the moment as he picks up the clothing, “Do I just put them back now?”
“Yup, that’s it. Do you want me to help you?”
“No, I got it. I should start learning where everything goes,” He turns to go and then stops, looking over his shoulder, “Thanks for your help. I appreciate it.”
“It’s no biggie. You can pop over again if you have any other questions.”
He smiles again, exposing the most perfect teeth you’ve ever seen. “Alright, thanks. Talk to you later.”
You give him a small wave, turning around to head back to your section, wondering why you feel so thrown off balance over someone you’ve known for ten minutes.
*
“So, how is he?”
“Who?”
“Don’t play coy with me,” San says, leaning closer to you, “The new guy.”
You’re in the break room, poking at the unappealing lunch you brought. The break room is covered in tacky motivational posters, a bulletin board filled with random flyers about things like worker safety, requesting time off and a garage sale ad. A small TV in the corner shows the local news. The image, as usual, is extra grainy due to the bad signal off the cheap antenna. There is no break from the harsh fluorescents even in this room.
“You saw him, didn’t you?” He presses.
You relent and reply with a casual, “Yeah, I saw him.”
“And? What’s he like? Is he hotter than me?”
Another noncommittal shrug. “He’s…different. He’s friendly, don’t get me wrong, but he seems distant. I guess he moved here from a town nearby. That’s all I know about him.” San is staring at you with a serious expression on his face. You shift uncomfortably in the hard chair, finally glaring at him. “What?”
He points at you sternly. “You do think he’s fine.”
“What?” You bluster. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”
San gestures wildly. “It’s written all over your face! We talk about every new hire in detail and now suddenly, you give me a couple of sentences. What spell did he cast on you?”
“No spell,” You say crossly, irritated at somehow being too obvious when believing you played it cool, “You’re caring too much about my opinion.”
He slumps back in his chair, crossing his arms, pouting. With a sigh, you push your meal away and turn to face him.
“Come on, dude. You’re giving a new hire way too much power. Everyone knows you’re all that and a bag of chips. You think the confused old ladies who still don’t understand what a cordless phone is are not gonna be charmed by you? That they’re suddenly going to head to the men’s department instead?”
“They tip me, you know,” San says defensively, “That’s why it’s important to me. They give me a couple of bucks when I finish explaining what a portable CD player is compared to their 8 track.”
You skirt around the fact it is against company police to take cash tips from customers, opting to continue reassuring him instead. “Don’t give someone else so much power. I mean, look at the size of your arms. No one in the store can compare with that.”
“That’s true,” He says begrudgingly, “Fine. And I’ll give the new guy a shot only cuz you think he’s fly.”
“I don’t – will you stop –” You sputter.
San stands up, snatching his work vest off the table and slipping it back on. “Alright, I’m going. Talk to you later.”
You say bye, now alone in the break room. Normally, you relish the quiet moments here without a coworker talking your ear off. But you’re longing for a pointless discussion, some sort of distraction from the fact that you’ve spent ten minutes around Seonghwa and are seemingly attracted to him.
You’ve fallen into such a routine between work, occasionally going out on the weekends, and watching TV that suddenly finding someone hot is like an electric bolt to your chest. Things have been quiet for so long, in both your mind and life, that the last thing you want to deal with is forming an attraction to a coworker.
Luckily, Seonghwa seems intent to keep mostly to himself. The emotional distance should help, you think, should make it easier not to get swept up in some guy.
Wednesday, October 8th, 1997
Once it hits 4pm, all you care about is punching out and getting home. You’re so wrapped up in this that when you turn around to dart out of the back room, you collide immediately into Seonghwa.
It’s like striking a wall. Even though he’s slender, his body is firm, resulting in you ungracefully flailing for a moment. His hands go to your upper arms to steady you, allowing yourself to recover from toppling back against the wall.
“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” You’re embarrassed by being so spaced out.
Seonghwa, who you have successfully avoided all day, doesn’t seem to be impacted by the collision. He’s still in his work vest but today he’s wearing a long sleeve black shirt. His hands rest on your upper arms and your eyes drop to his fingers, taking note of how they look against the fabric of your clothing.
He clears his throat gently, a mild noise of embarrassment, before dropping his hands back to his sides. “No, I should have let you know I was behind you. My shift is done too so I was just punching out.”
�� You shuffle to the side, letting Seonghwa finish up. Your heart is beating quickly in that annoying way you’ve been trying to avoid since your last relationship. You should just say goodbye now and head out. But your feet refuse to obey and you find yourself lingering to walk out with Seonghwa.
After shaking out of his work vest and tossing it unceremoniously into his locker, he leans against it, watching as you fumble with your own lock.
“How was your day?”
“Uh, it was alright. What about you? You settling in okay with everything?” You successfully open your locker, shoving your own work vest in there and grabbing your bag.
Turning to meet Seonghwa’s gaze, your eyes unintentionally flick down to his torso. His long sleeve shirt fits him a little too well, is a little too snug, and you’re now acutely aware of his small waist on top of the fact he’s definitely in shape.
“Yeah, it’s going well. A bit disorganized but it’s fine.”
The two of you are leaving the backroom together, cutting through the electronics section. San is milling around in front of a display of Tamagotchis which is already half empty. He glances up and notices you, waving.
“Hey,” He goes, “Oh, you’re the new guy, right?”
You’re secretly hoping San doesn’t embarrass you. Even though you denied thinking Seonghwa is attractive yesterday, you know that San doesn’t believe you for a second.
Seonghwa introduces himself and then glances at the display. “These things go fast, don’t they?”
“Tell me about it. I end up having to restock the display every shift,” San replies disgruntled, “I don’t get it. An electronic pet?”
“I had a Tamagotchi,” Seonghwa muses, “It kept beeping while I was sleeping so I shoved it in a drawer and forgot about it.”
“What happened to it?” San asks.
“It died,” He replies seriously, “I felt pretty guilty.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” San says just as grimly.
You glance between the two men and their bonding moment over a dead Tamagotchi before clasping your hands together. “Okay, well, this has been truly touching but I don’t wanna miss my bus. See you tomorrow, San.”
As you turn to leave, you hear Seonghwa mumble a quick goodbye before catching up with you. “You take the bus to work?”
“Yeah, no car.”
“I can drop you off at your place if you’d like.”
You glance at him in surprise. “You don’t even know if I’m completely out of your way or not. We could live on opposite sides of one another. On top of that, how familiar are you with the town? You got a map in your car or something to help you get home afterwards?”
Seonghwa looks perplexed. “I guess I didn’t think of that.”
The doors glide open as you step out into the late afternoon air. The temperature has dropped since this morning, a chilly bite that cuts through your t-shirt. Seonghwa had the right idea with the long sleeve, you think. Feeling flustered by his invitation to drive you home, you stop walking and turn to face him.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to come across so harsh. I just wouldn’t want you going out of your way on my account.”
“I get that,” He replies, a wind kicking up and blowing some of his hair into his eyes which he impatiently brushes back, “But I really don’t mind. I need to learn where everything is anyway.”
Chewing on your bottom lip, you fight the urge just to agree. Logically, you should just take the bus home. If you’re trying to steadfastly ignore the fact that Seonghwa is attractive then obviously being in his car will not help things. But on the other hand, being alone with him also sounds too good.
“Alright, fine. But if you get lost, I warned you.”
He smiles and you can feel it in your chest. Following him to his car, which looks as though it has seen better days, you get into the passenger seat and toss your bag on the floor, looking around. A pair of small dice swing off the rearview mirror, the only decoration in the car. There is nothing else to learn about Seonghwa in here – the car is neat, clean and smells nice.
He stretches out his long legs in his seat, starting the car. You are trying very hard not to stare at him, not notice how smooth his skin is nor how his muscles pull against his long sleeve shirt.
You open your mouth to tell him your address when suddenly Wannabe by the Spice Girls begins to blare out of his car speakers. Startled into silence, you can only watch as Seonghwa looks mortified, quickly slamming his hand down onto the eject button which spits the CD out of the player in his car dashboard.
He grabs the CD swiftly while going, “Uh, I didn’t know – I forgot – ‘’
“Seonghwa, it’s fine,” You reassure him, “It would be stranger at this point if you didn’t own that CD.”
He turns his body to grab something off the back seat, plopping the CD holder into his lap. Quickly, he opens it, flips to a random page with a spot available and hastily shoves the disc inside before closing the big binder of albums. Seonghwa seems to collect himself after a second or two, returning the binder to the backseat and quietly clearing his throat while turning on the radio. Sunday Morning by No Doubt quietly fills the car.
“Alright,” He says, neatly skirting around the Spice Girls incident, his hands wrapping around the steering wheel, “Help me get to your place.”
You give him a couple of directions and soon enough Seonghwa is on a main road. You make a mental note to eventually Map Quest some stuff for him later so he can learn the town layout faster.
Wanting to fill the silence before your brain gets swept up in the mental image of sitting in his lap, you go, “Are you excited for Halloween? Hopefully we don’t get stuck working late.”
“Do you usually do something for Halloween?”
Of course he deflects immediately. You should have known better than to ask Seonghwa a question about himself. “Sometimes. Last year I went to a party but it was a total buzzkill. I don’t know what I’m doing this year.”
“Do you like horror movies?”
“They’re okay. Do you?”
“Yeah, I like them.” Wow, finally an answer out of him! Progress.
“Oh, wait, turn right at this light,” You say as Seonghwa shifts into the other lane.
At the red light, he looks out the side window and says, “So far, this is near my own place. Maybe we don’t live too far away from each other.”
“Maybe.” Did you dare ask another question? “Do you live alone?”
Seonghwa hesitates for a moment and then replies, “Yeah, I do. What about you?”
You spare an extra second to study his face. Every interaction with Seonghwa, while friendly enough, gives you the feeling that he is constantly holding back in some respect. Aspects of himself are carefully hidden, making you wonder what he is like behind the perfectly pleasant façade he shows at work.
“Yeah. Do you like living alone?”
“It’s a little different than what I am used to,” Seonghwa says carefully, glancing at you for a moment.
You point to a road ahead. “You can turn down here.” After he does so, you ask, “What are you used to?”
Seonghwa’s hands tighten around the wheel. You get the sense he is struggling to answer, torn between talking about himself and staying private.
“Listen, Seonghwa,” You begin, “I get the sense you really don’t like talking about yourself. That’s fine. I don’t want to come off all ‘hey, tell me your life story’ and shit. I know we just met.”
There is another red light and the car stops. Seonghwa tilts his face to look at you. You’re struck again by how handsome you find him and how his intense gaze startles you into silence.
“It has nothing to do with you. I don’t mean to seem so closed off.” He turns his attention back to the road, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel before saying, “I moved here because my girlfriend and I broke up recently. I’m not used to living alone because I lived with her.”
“Oh,” You mumble as the light turns green, feeling awkward, “I didn’t mean to – I mean…”
“It’s okay,” He reassures you, his attention back on the road, “I’m a private person but I don’t want to come off rude.”
Quietly, you point out the next turn. It doesn’t take long to stop at the small apartment complex you’ve lived in the past year. Grabbing your bag, anxious to get out of the car after fumbling straight into making Seonghwa feel as if he needed to explain himself, you stop just in time to remember he might not know how to get to his own place.
“I can figure it out,” He claims while you rummage in your bag for a stray sheet of paper and pen.
“No, no, you were nice enough to drop me off. What’s your address?” After he says it, you scribble down rough directions that he can follow and thrust the paper in his direction. “Here, this should help.”
When he takes the paper from you, his fingers brush against yours. Your breath catches at the small touch.
“Listen, I meant what I said,” Seonghwa says, “You don’t need to feel bad.”
“Yeah but I didn’t want you to talk about anything negative like a breakup. That is way uncool of me. It isn’t any of my business why you moved here or who you live with.”
“True but I also don’t wanna come off like a jerk.”
“You weren’t, I just…” You’re struggling to find a safe sentence to land on. How did you not say that you wanted to learn more about him because you were immediately attracted and therefore curious? “Wanted to be friendly. Since we work together.”
“We’re chilling, don’t worry about it. Let me walk you to your door, at least.”
“You don’t need to do that,” You protest even though your heart skips a beat.
“I don’t mind.”
You know that you’re probably supposed to refuse again until Seonghwa relents and even though you still have anxiety from the misstep of having him open up about his past, your desire to be around him for longer wins out. You nod in acceptance, getting out of the car and rubbing your arms in the cold air, reminding yourself to bring a hoodie tomorrow.
Seonghwa circles around the car, waiting for you to shuffle over. The apartment complex isn’t anything special, just two floors and a run down looking pool in the middle that is currently closed for fall and winter. You lead him up to the second floor, stopping in front of your apartment. Seonghwa is peering over the railing to look at the pool. Some of his black hair falls in front of his eyes. His hands are shoved in the pockets of his pants to keep them warm. Your eyes drop to his slender waist and you swallow hard. Everything about this man seems to have been specially created to drive you up the wall.
“You ever use the pool?”
“Not really. Why, do you like swimming?”
“I do. My apartment complex doesn’t have a pool though.”
Without thinking, you offer, “Well, when the pool reopens, you can come here.”
He looks over at you, something flickering across his eyes quickly. Straightening up, he nods, giving you a small smile. “Alright, that sounds sweet.”
Shifting the weight of your bag onto your other shoulder, you go, “Well…thanks again for the ride. Try not to get lost on the way home. Do you work tomorrow?”
“I do.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Seonghwa lingers for a moment. Once again, you get the feeling he is restraining from doing or saying something that might expose too much of himself. It is a curious thing, you think, especially given that you just assumed the whole ex-girlfriend thing is why he was being so reserved. Maybe that’s just him as a person though. Just really private and constantly filtering his behavior through a thousand nets.
“Alright, talk to you later.”
“See you later, alligator,” You reply and immediately chastised yourself for ending on such a corny line.
Seonghwa turns around, walking back towards the staircase. You trace the curve of his shoulders underneath his shirt, getting a brief mental image of your hands flat against the top of them while you’re under his body. Shaking your head to fend off the fantasy, you turn away.
He’s probably incredibly boring in bed. He’s an attractive guy but he’s so mild mannered and pleasant in an easily digestible way. Why get distracted into some annoying crush when the end result won’t be worth it?
Thursday, October 9th, 1997
“Wassup?” San plops down in the chair next to yours while gesturing at the TV. “You watch this?”
Once again, it is mid-afternoon in the break room. You’re eating lunch, staring at the grainy image on the TV that is showing a Buffy the Vampire Slayer ad for the new episode on Monday night.
“No, do you?”
“Nah but Yeosang records it every week to watch.”
Yeosang is San’s roommate. That information doesn’t really surprise you seeing as he also watches The X-Files religiously.
“Well, I bet he will enjoy this episode,” You squint, looking at the ad closer, “About a gigantic reptile thing in a frat house.”
It is at that moment that Seonghwa steps into the break room. He is wearing a short sleeve black shirt today along with the ugly blue vest and a pair of black jeans. San waves when he enters.
“Hey, dude. Are you on break?”
“Yeah, I am.”
San kicks out the chair on the other side of you, motioning to it. “Wanna chill with us?” When Seonghwa isn’t looking, he winks at you. You fight the urge to punch his shoulder.
Seonghwa nods, stopping to get something out of the fridge before settling in next to you. He catches your eye and gives you a small smile. Your cheeks feel warm so you turn your attention back to your sandwich but you can still feel his gaze.
“Damn, I wanna see this,” San interrupts whatever the hell was passing in between Seonghwa and yourself.
“I think the title is kinda goofy though,” Seonghwa remarks.
“You don’t like I Know What You Did Last Summer? I think it sounds a little mysterious. You know, it’s by the same writer as Scream,” San nudges you, “What do you think?”
“I think I haven’t seen Scream so that sentence means nothing to me.”
“Whoa, what, you haven’t seen Scream?” Seonghwa’s attention is back on you, “The sequel comes out soon. You should watch it. It’s really good.”
Slightly desperate for something new to discuss with Seonghwa that didn’t involve asking questions leading to awkward moments, you leap at this opportunity. “Alright. I guess I can see if Blockbuster has it.”
San scoffs. “Are you serious? I’ve been asking you to watch Scream for months – ow!” He winces as your foot collides with his shin under the table.
Seonghwa frowns. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” San wheezes, “I always forget about the metal bar under the table. Just whacked my leg against it.”
“He’s fine,” You say quickly, shooting daggers at him.
Seonghwa tilts his body in your direction and goes, “I own Scream. I can bring the VHS tape tomorrow if you’re also working.”
“I don’t have a day off until Sunday so I’ll be here. But are you sure? I don’t want you to lend me anything…”
“Yeah, it’s okay. Don’t go to Blockbuster. I always do and then forget and end up owing them an annoying amount of late fees.”
San has quickly forgotten the shin kicking incident and nods in agreement. “He’s right. Avoid it if you can.”
“I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
“Okay, well, thanks.”
“Hey, when you’re done watching it, can I borrow it? Yeosang still hasn’t seen it either,” San goes, “He’s so bad at watching movies.”
“Yeah, that’s no problem,” Seonghwa replies, “I’m still unpacking but I know where it is.”
“Great, thanks dude,” San exclaims before turning his attention back to the TV.
San says something else but you don’t really hear him because Seonghwa is still looking at you. Even though Seonghwa is friendly yet distant, your body seems to react to him in a way that takes you by surprise every time you’re close. It’s the warmth of his body so near combined with his toned arms and perfect skin. The effect is slightly dizzying. Toss in the fact you haven’t had a crush on someone since your last relationship ended three years ago, you are struggling between thinking his personality doesn’t match up with yours and wanting to throw yourself at him. The entire thing is confusing.
Seonghwa’s lips are slightly parted as if he was going to say more but falls silent while staring at you. There is something brewing in his eyes, something you haven’t seen before. It’s intense and your stomach swoops as if leaping off a cliff. His hand presses down hard against his knee to steady himself. He suddenly looks away towards the window, cutting the moment short.
You’re breathless, wondering what the hell that had been about. The way Seonghwa looked at you mingling with the feeling that he was reigning himself in, closing something off – you don’t know what to make of it. Could it be he also is attracted to you and is trying to hide it? In all your interactions with him, he’s been kind and considerate but nothing indicated he saw you in a physical way.
You force yourself into focusing on whatever San is saying, trying to push all the swirling emotions out of your mind.
Friday, October 10th, 1997
You sigh, plopping down on your bed, stretching out. Work today was a chore but Seonghwa had given you his copy of Scream. With San bothering you to watch it quickly so he could let Yeosang borrow it, you figured you’d just watch it tonight before going to sleep.
Leaning over the side of your bed, you rummage through your bag until your fingers feel the edge of the VHS tape. Pulling it out, you gaze at the cover for a few seconds, lost in thought. You’re thinking about how Seonghwa looked today right before his shift ended. You were on your break and he was at the lockers, tugging a hoodie over his head. His white shirt lifted up so slightly that if you hadn’t been already staring at him, you wouldn’t have noticed the quick glimpse of a few inches of hard abdomen. That was enough to send your body into overdrive, something you still hadn’t calmed down from when he came over to hand you the Scream VHS.
“Thanks,” You mumbled quickly, hoping that he didn’t have the ability to read your mind.
“Not a problem. You can just give it to San as soon as you’re done with it. I’m not in any hurry to get it back.”
He gave you that same easy going smile, the type of smile that made you wonder what he would be like if his kind demeanor cracked and he had you pushed against a wall with his lips against your neck.
“Right, yeah, cool.” You said in what you hoped was a casual tone.
When he turned around to leave, your eyes lingered on his waist before turning your attention back to your food, the VHS tape in your lap like a heavy weight.
Dragging yourself back to the present moment, you pull the tape out of the sleeve, finding it a bit curious there isn’t a sticker with the movie name on it. You wiggle to the edge of your bed, shoving the tape into the player. There are a few seconds of VHS tracking and then the picture pops into view.
You’re staring at a palm tree against a blue sky, slightly out of focus. The tape goes grainy for a moment and then the camera swoops downward. Someone’s face comes into view, filling up the lens before their hand pushes the camera away while they are laughing.
Uh, okay, this is not what I thought the movie was gonna look like, you think while squinting at the TV.
“Can you get the camera out of my face?” comes a familiar voice.
“Stop, you love when the camera is on,” A woman replies coyly.
The shot snaps into focus then, showing Seonghwa against a wall. He is wearing a sleeveless white and blue striped shirt, his black hair ruffling in the wind. The sight of him is like a punch to your chest, knocking the air out of your lungs. His smile is bright, completely different from the ones you’ve seen at work. It is unguarded. Even his posture is relaxed with none of the slightly stiff professional nature he has at work.
Entranced, you can only stare as the scene continues. Seonghwa runs his long fingers through his hair, his smile turning into a grin.
“So do you,” He counters.
You can hear the sound of ocean waves just off screen. He turns his face to the side, the camera lingering on this for a moment before it lowers for a second, showing a wooden pathway. It cuts suddenly, immediately shifting into another scene.
Seonghwa is standing on the beach now, slipping his shirt off and tossing it onto the blanket that is on the sand. You didn’t think it was possible to see him look so comfortable in his own skin. He doesn’t seem to be shy at all, staring at the camera with a challenging look on his face. On top of that, the sight of Seonghwa shirtless is bowling you over. He is toned, tanned and has muscles you want to press your hands against.
“What?” He goes.
“Nothing,” The woman says, “I can’t film you getting into the water?”
“You’re just filming me undressing.”
“Well, it’s not the first time, is it?”
He rolls his eyes but there is a good natured expression on his face. He shoves his thumbs into his swim trunks, tugging them down half an inch before exploding into laughter and turning around, jogging towards the water.
Another cut. New scene. This has to be him and his ex. I need to turn this off. It’s obviously not meant for me.
Seonghwa is sitting at a table in a diner, looking over a menu. He raises his eyes, making eye contact with the camera then he laughs again. He looks relaxed, his smile bright and posture resting comfortably against the booth.
“You look wicked good tonight,” The woman remarks and Seonghwa playfully shakes the menu in her direction.
“Good thing you’re getting it on camera, right?”
“Exactly.” She zooms in a little more. “Do you want to tell the imaginary audience what we’ll be filming later?”
“Oh, well, I think the imaginary audience knows by now what we like to film,” He says with a mock seriousness that makes your heart constrict. “Isn’t that right?”
The woman giggles and the scene cuts suddenly. This time the camera is in a bedroom with the lens focusing on Seonghwa once again. He is shirtless, close to the camera.
“You gonna keep it on while I fuck you?” He says in a low voice.
The woman doesn’t reply, just giggles.
Seonghwa’s eyes drop for a moment before locking back onto the camera. You’ve never seen such an expression on his face – a combination of lust and reveling in the fact the entire thing is being filmed. It is as if the exterior you’ve seen on him since he began to work at the store is all bullshit, a lie in which he hides behind, and you’re seeing him for real now through the lens.
“Maybe I’ll film you when my cock is down your throat,” He continues, “You want that?”
The woman titters again before going, “Yeah, I want that.”
Seonghwa grins, moving back a little so that his entire body is in view. The low light makes it difficult to fully make him out but you can see the curve of his shoulders, the stiffness against the fabric of his boxers, and the way he motions for her to come closer.
“Then give me the camera and get on your knees,” He says sternly while lowering one hand towards his boxers, starting to pull them down –
The sight of Seonghwa about to expose himself finally snaps you out of your shock. Quickly, you lean over and smash the eject button on the tape, yanking it out of the machine and dropping it to the floor as if it is going to burn you.
You stare at it, breathless, your mind spinning. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where that tape was going to lead. After all, people still talked about the tape of Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee; it had been covered in media for months and was still often a topic of conversation.
You are aware Seonghwa just moved and the tape must be misplaced. Do you tell him? Do you just pretend you watched Scream and not mention it? But San wanted to borrow the copy as well. Obviously, he couldn’t get his hands on it. You could lie and say the tape didn’t play. But the excuse wouldn’t work because Seonghwa would try it on his own player and realize what was really on it. You could pretend you lost the tape and destroy it. But that also didn’t seem right. It wasn’t your tape, after all, and eventually Seonghwa could put the pieces together and believe you kept the tape to watch or worse. It felt as if the only choice would be to come clean to Seonghwa and let him know he accidentally gave you the wrong tape.
On the other side of things, you couldn’t believe how different Seonghwa was on camera. There was such a relaxed, casual demeanor to him. He seemed more at ease in front of the lens than in reality. For the first time since meeting him, it felt that you truly saw him. The quiet confidence, no hint of shyness in the way he spoke or removed his clothes. On top of that, his body was absolutely banging in a way that made your thighs clench and hands bunch up in your blanket.
Then give me the camera and get on your knees.
You think about that moment in the break room when Seonghwa’s eyes were heavy on yours and his hand gripped his knee. The little bit of his true personality coming through before being shoved back down, perhaps? Just an hour ago, you thought everything about Seonghwa had been figured out. Not anymore.
Your mind flashes back to his smile and the expression on his face while the camera filmed. Unguarded. Exposed. Hiding behind nothing and leaving everything, including sex, on a VHS tape.
What would such a thing be like? A small voice in your head wonders.
Saturday, October 11th, 1997
“Hey, good morning.”
You jump out of your skin, slamming your locker door shut and turning to see Seonghwa standing there.
“Hi, Seonghwa! How’s it hanging?!” You exclaim loudly with such false cheer that you inwardly wince.
Seonghwa outwardly winces. “You’re at an excitement level I can’t quite reach given we are at work.”
Then give me the camera and get on your knees.
You make a garbled noise in response, eyes darting all over the place. You can’t stare at Seonghwa’s face because then you think of his unguarded smile. You can’t stare at his chest because then the mental image of his abs pops into view. You can’t even look at his small waist, something that had been giving you great pleasure to sneak glances at during the week, because you’re picturing the way he was tugging down his boxers.
“Are you…uh…feeling alright?”
“Yeah, just didn’t sleep well,” You say quickly, “Tired.”
His eyes move to your locker and he gestures to it. “Oh, did you watch Scream?”
Your head turns sharply. The VHS tape is poking out of the top of your bag. You stammer out a collection of gibberish, stalling for time. You didn’t want to have this conversation right now; you had been picturing it after work, maybe in his car or something. Not in the break room before it hits ten in the morning.
Seonghwa looks perplexed once again. You don’t blame him.
Finally, you settle on, “I would really like to discuss the tape with you.”
His features brighten. “Yeah, sure.”
“After work?”
Confusion once again but he slowly replies, “Alright.”
You scurry past him, shouting your goodbye while exiting the room and hurrying to the women’s department. Seonghwa’s smile from the tape is still blazing across your brain in vivid colour and no matter how much you try not to think about it, you can still see the lascivious look in his eyes as he began to remove his boxers.
You’ll tell him after work, you think desperately, even though it will be mortifying and he most likely will never speak to you again.
As long as you get through this shift without losing your cool, everything should be fine. Just don’t think about him on the tape. Don’t think about him having sex and recording it. Don’t think about how relaxed he looked. Don’t think about how sexy his body looked.
Should be simple.
*
You manage to avoid Seonghwa the entire day, including an awkward moment where you wedged yourself into a clothing rack as he walked by. You were worried about blurting out what was on the tape in the middle of his work shift or even worse – admitting that you were curious about how he filmed himself doing such things and how it felt to let go with a camera on. In quiet moments when a customer wasn’t bothering you, your mind travels back to him like an overplayed record.
You have a difficult time wrapping your head around the Seonghwa on the tape and the Seonghwa in reality. Always polite, yet distant, always kind but professional, in the few days you’ve known him, you’ve bounced between wanting him physically and believing his personality would keep a deeper connection from potentially forming.
But on the tape, you viewed Seonghwa as to how he truly is. There is no façade when the camera is on him. You see him unfiltered. The hint of mischief in his smile, that sense of freedom when he was jogging towards the waves, his quiet confidence when he was talking dirty – why were such things hidden in his day to day life?
By the time the end of your shift comes, you are anxious to get the tape and tell Seonghwa you need to talk. Since you were finishing shifts at the same time, you figured you’d wait for him in the break room. It is a little past seven by the time you enter. The break room has a couple of employees milling around but not San, who snuck out an hour earlier in order to hit up the club with Wooyoung.
Standing in front of your locker, you reach for the lock but as your fingers graze the cold metal, you realize with a jolt it is unlocked. With a small sigh, you realize San must have opened it earlier. You had a bottle of ibuprofen in your locker that he would use occasionally and eventually gave him your locker combination so he would stop bothering you.
But as you reach for your bag, your eyes narrow. Heart thudding, you rummage around in it with growing panic. The VHS tape isn’t in the bag. The tape isn’t in the bag.
“What the fuck?” You hiss in between your teeth, your heart plummeting.
You are about to upend the bag onto the floor when Seonghwa’s voice cuts through. “Hey, finishing up too?”
Surprised, you jump, flattening your back against the locker, clutching the bag against your chest. “Seonghwa! Hey! Hi!”
“Lots of enthusiasm for work today,” He notes, removing his work vest. His slender fingers twist the dial on his locker. You stare at them, momentarily transfixed. He glances at you. “What?”
“Nothing. No, that’s a lie. Seonghwa, I seem to have misplaced the tape.”
“Oh, Scream? Nah, San came to me earlier and said he noticed it was in your locker. I told him you watched it and he grabbed it before he left to give to his roommate. He said he was cutting out early to head to the club or something. Yeosang…that’s his roommate, right? San mentioned that Yeosang was gonna watch it with him and everyone else later tonight.”
Every word out of his mouth, every word tumbling out of his beautifully plush lips, makes you want to sink into the planet’s core. The panic that had been wiggling in your brain while looking for the tape is now washing over your body like a cold wave.
You picture Yeosang, whom you have only met briefly before, hitting play on the video. A room filled with his friends plus San and Wooyoung. The video starting, them seeing Seonghwa. How long would they let the tape run? Probably to where you ejected it. Enough for them to know what is on that tape, enough for them to know what Seonghwa does for fun.
You drop your bag to the floor in shock, reaching out for Seonghwa. Your hand grips the front of his sweater. His eyes widen in surprise.
“Seonghwa,” You say in a choked voice.
He looks a bit flustered, eyes darting over your shoulder to see if anyone else is seeing this. “H-hey, I…” He swallows hard. “I…”
“Seonghwa, that movie isn’t on the tape.”
His nerves, possibly because he thought you were literally throwing yourself at him during work, are now washed away in confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Scream is not on that tape. It’s…something else,” You steel yourself, plunging forward, “It’s a home video. Of you and your ex.”
The colour immediately drains from Seonghwa’s face. Your grip loosens on his shirt, watching as he goes through a myriad of facial expressions before settling on something that looks blandly neutral. You’re amazed at how quickly he collects himself.
“I didn’t watch it,” You say hurriedly, talking a mile a minute, “Well, I watched like 3 or 4 minutes but then it was starting to get a little….anyway, I shut it off then. I was going to tell you. I brought it back today so I could tell you after work. I just didn’t think San was going…okay, it’s fine. It’s fine. We’ll page him. He’ll know to call here, right? I’ll just page him.”
Seonghwa takes a slow deep breath. You can’t tell if he wants to scream, cry, or punch something. His calm demeanor does nothing to relax your own nerves. You don’t know what he is thinking. You go back to digging through your bag, pulling out the tiny phone number and address book you keep in there. Quickly, you head to the break room phone, yanking it off the receiver while flipping through the book to find San’s beeper number. You page him, hurriedly inputting the phone number of the store before hanging up.
“Okay, we’ll just wait here for a few minutes. He’ll call back.”
You aren’t sure if Seonghwa heard you. Looking over your shoulder, you see him standing in the same exact spot, his back to you.
“Uh…Seonghwa?” You say tentatively. “Are you freaking out?”
He turns around then, his features still amazingly collected in an extremely calm appearance. “Do you know where San lives?”
“Where he lives? Yeah, I do. Oh, you want to go there?” You glance at the clock. “Yeah, I mean, it might be too early for him to be at the club. But shouldn’t we wait in case he calls?”
“No,” He says curtly, “You’ll come with me and show me where his place is.”
“Oh – oh, okay. Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”
You can hardly keep up with Seonghwa’s long strides, scampering behind him as you exit the store and into the chilly weather. Tightening the hoodie you’ve managed to shove yourself into while following him, you get in his car silently. Even though Seonghwa is amazingly calm, you can tell he is on edge. The veneer he portrays to the world is on thin ice and you can almost feel the roiling tension under his skin. He starts the car and the radio plays softly.
Pulling out of the parking spot, Seonghwa gets to the exit and grunts, “Tell me how to get to his place.”
“Okay,” You say, adding on, “You’ll take a left at the light,” You hesitate before going, “Seonghwa, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.’’
His hands tighten on the wheel, the only indication of his stress. “It isn’t your fault. I should have checked the tape before I gave it to you. Due to my move and breakup, things are all over the place. I don’t even know how it ended up in the Scream case.”
“Even so, I should have turned it off immediately. I just…” What do you even say? I was entranced by how different you were on camera. I’m deeply attracted to you and I want to get to know the version of you that was on the tape. I’m curious about what you do for fun. Maybe a little too intrigued for my own good.
“It’s fine,” Seonghwa interrupts you swiftly, “I really don’t want to discuss the tape while this is on.” He gestures to the radio which is currently playing Supermodel (You Better Work). “Just a little too ridiculous for me right now.”
You fall silent, the words tumbling around in your chest. “A right up here,” You mumble after a couple of minutes.
You know it is a morally grey area to keep thinking about Seonghwa in the bedroom, talking openly about getting his dick sucked and filming it. You know it’s wrong to wonder what the rest of the tape looked like. Your curiosity feels like a mark against your moral code.
Fifteen minutes later, you have pulled up to the apartment complex that San resides in. Getting out of the car, you study the building, trying to remember what number his apartment is.
“The door,” Seonghwa points, “You don’t happen to have a key to get into the foyer, do you?”
“No. I guess we can buzz and see if anyone answers. But I…I can’t remember his apartment number.”
He looks at you swiftly. “Please try to remember.” You can tell it is taking him great effort to keep his voice even and not start shaking you.
But you’ve only been here a couple of times so nothing appears in your head. Seonghwa takes off towards the door, giving you no choice but to follow. He stands in front of the door, looking around to see the chances of someone coming by so he could slink in after them.
“You remember it yet?”
“No, sorry.”
He turns to the set of apartment numbers written out across the buzzers and randomly hits one. No answer. He presses another one.
“Is this your plan?” You ask.
“Yes,” He replies calmly.
“What are you going to do if someone answers?”
“Lie.”
You aren’t sure what to say. This is yet another new side of Seonghwa, one driven by the desperation of someone seeing the tape and finding out what he’s really like.
On the fourth buzz, someone gruffly goes, “Who is it?” The speaker crackles.
“Hi, I live a few places down from you and forgot my key,” Seonghwa says smoothly, “I’m so sorry to bother you. I just wanted to get buzzed in real quick.”
“Yeah, whatever.” The door clicks open and the speaker goes silent.
Seonghwa grabs the door handle, shooting you a look as he holds it open. You slip past him into the entrance of the building. Once you stand in the foyer, staring at the row of small mailboxes, the apartment number bounces back into your brain.
“It’s #1117!” You declare, happy at your brain’s ability to recall such a fact.
“Great, let’s go,” Seonghwa says while walking towards the elevator, pressing the button.
The foyer is silent as the two of you wait for the elevator to come down. You bounce on the balls of your feet a little, your nerves getting the best of you. You’re worried about Seonghwa, you’re worried about someone seeing that tape and his secret getting out and you’re still dealing with the fact your mind won’t drop mental images that it shouldn’t be thinking about.
In the elevator, Seonghwa exhales slowly. It is the only sign of tension brewing in him. You marvel at how calm and collected he is. If you were in this situation, there would be no chance of being in control. You’re barely in control of your emotions now, dealing with something that technically would have no impact on your life.
The doors glide open and Seonghwa marches down the quiet hallway. His steps are muffled against the carpet, coming to a stop in front of San and Yeosang’s apartment. He rings the doorbell but there is no reply. He tries again. Nothing.
“Maybe they really have gone to the club already,” You suggest.
In response, Seonghwa bangs his fist against the door before resting his hand against the wood, closing his eyes. You can feel the energy crackling off him, just like that moment in the break room the other day - that same sensation of him wrangling himself under control, shoving his real self into a small box and tying it up with a bow.
“Do you know what club they go to?”
“Yeah. It’s nearby.”
“Let’s go.” He turns around to return to the elevator.
“Wait,” You hurry after Seonghwa, “We’re just going to go to the club and what?”
“Ask where the tape is. If it’s in the apartment, I’m going to ask for San to get it for me. If he still has it on him, I’ll just ask for it back.”
“How are you going to explain why you need it so badly without…you know.”
The elevator arrives and he steps inside. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out when we get there.”
You stand next to him, feeling the warmth off his body. He’s wearing a form fitting white sweater today due to the temperature and you cannot help but notice how it lays across his chest. His black jeans are also snug against his slender waist. It is difficult to look at him and not picture the images of him on the beach and in the bedroom. Cheeks getting warm, you stare steadfastly ahead at the elevator doors, which finally open to release you from the ever growing tension.
Back outside, Seonghwa is hurriedly walking back to the car. The sun has fully dipped below the horizon now, the last strands of dying daylight long gone. You cross your arms, the cold seeping into the fabric of your hoodie.
“Seonghwa,” You say tentatively as he reaches the car, “Do you wanna talk about it now? Since Rupaul isn’t playing, I mean.”
“I really don’t.”
“I don’t want to make things awkward between us.”
His hand, hovering over the handle of the car door, drops back to his side. His eyes are on you, focused in a way they haven’t been since the news of the tape landing in San’s hands were uttered to him. You suddenly feel exposed.
Seonghwa crosses the small gap in a couple of seconds, looking at you intensely. “What do you want to talk about exactly? You want to discuss something, surely, and I don’t think that it is about your apology.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” You mumble quickly, balking at the way his eyes tear through your defenses.
“You want to know more about the tape? You want to know what I do in my spare time?”
“N-no!” You lie, “No, I just didn’t want this to mess up anything between us.”
Seonghwa shakes his head, pulling away from you and exhaling slowly before he loses his cool. “There isn’t time to sit and chat about everything. Can you please just get in the car and tell me where this club San goes to is?”
You nod silently and Seonghwa turns around, getting into the car. Rooted to the spot for a moment, your heart thrumming in your chest, you try to ignore that little voice in your head – a voice entirely new, one that you don’t know what to do with.
What if you stopped getting yourself back in control, Seonghwa? What would that look like? I want to see what it looks like. I want to see what the real you is and I want to keep pressing against that exterior until it cracks.
You’ve never dealt with such a desire before. It is as if a giant dog is tugging you along on a leash and you can’t pull it back. You can dig your heels against the pavement, yank on the leash and beg for the dog to stop but it doesn’t work. The little voice in your head, the centre of your curiosity about Seonghwa mixed with your attraction to him, is a dangerous thing.
Perhaps it isn’t just Seonghwa who is always struggling to remain cool, calm and collected in every situation. Maybe you’re not so different from him.
*
Twenty minutes later, Seonghwa is parking at the club San frequents. The place is crowded with a line snaking around the outside of the building. Seonghwa stares at the line quietly after turning off the car. You know what he is thinking – time is important and he isn’t going to waste it waiting in a long line with the risk of the bouncer saying no. His fingers are curled lightly around the steering wheel, his brows furrowed together in concentration.
“What’s the plan? You gonna gank someone’s VIP pass?” You joke lightly.
He shifts, pulling his wallet out of his pocket and opening it. His fingers glide across the bills inside as he counts them quickly before looking in your direction. “How much cash do you have on you?”
“What?”
“I’ll pay you back,” Seonghwa says impatiently, “We’re just going to bribe the bouncer and skip the line.”
“Is – is that allowed?”
“No.”
“Oh. Uhm,” You fish your wallet out of your bag. “I have a hundred bucks.”
“Great, and I have two hundred,” He holds out his hand, wiggling his fingers at you.
“Wait, we’re going to give the bouncer three hundred dollars?” You ask incredulously.
“No, we’re going to start with a hundred and go from there,” Seonghwa explains, “They might be content with that. Your money is last resort.” When you hesitate, he sighs. “I told you, I’m good for it. I’ll pay you back immediately. I’ll pay you back tonight. As soon as I get the tape. Don’t start wiggin out on me now.”
“I am not wiggin out,” You say defensively, “I just have never bribed someone before.”
“Technically, I’m bribing. You’re merely watching.”
As soon as the words leave his mouth, an awkward silence settles across the car. Seonghwa neatly averts his gaze, pretending to be fascinated with the money in his wallet. You swallow hard, unable to stop yourself from thinking about the tape.
You thrust the money at him which he takes with a mumbled thanks before getting out of the car. You look down at your hoodie and work pants, unable to recall if this place has a dress code or not. Probably, given the long line. You sigh, opening the car door and trailing after Seonghwa.
He stops at one point, looking over his shoulder at you. “Are you comfortable pretending we’re on a date?”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m going to bribe the bouncer under the guise that I’m trying to impress you. Can I put my arm around you when we get up there? I won’t do anything else.”
“How do you come up with this shit?” You say without thinking, “The entire night, you just seamlessly come up with these ideas and lies and stories.” Every interaction we’ve had before tonight has been pleasant and normal to the point where I thought you were attractive but a little boring, is what you don’t add on to the sentence, and now I’m seeing all sorts of sides to you I never thought lurked inside.
Seonghwa ignores the question, instead asking one of his own. “Are you comfortable with me putting my arm around your waist?”
“Yeah, fine,” You mumble although the idea of him touching your body is making your skin warm.
“Alright. Try not to look so nervous.”
Seonghwa walks towards the club with a confidence you cannot hope to possibly mimic. Gone is the easy going attitude he carries at work. Instead, he acts as though he owns the place and is merely popping by to give it a look. His arm circles around your waist as the bouncer comes into view. You can hear people complaining about him cutting the line but Seonghwa doesn’t pay them any attention.
His arm around your waist is distracting in an agonizing way. Every nerve in your body has awakened to him and the desire is dizzying. As you approach the bouncer, Seonghwa nods his head in the man’s direction, extending his hand outward and slipping the hundred dollars in his palm.
“How’s it hangin?” Seonghwa asks casually, pulling you closer against him.
The bouncer glances quickly down at the money and replies evenly, “Could be better.”
Another hundred dollars is given and the bouncer pretends to study his clipboard and nods, moving to the side. “You’re on the list. Have a good night.”
Seonghwa nods, guiding you past him and into the club. On the way in, he brings his lips close to your ear and murmurs, “See? Didn’t even need your cash.”
You’re feeling slightly in awe of the Seonghwa on display tonight – gone is the fake work personality, just someone tackling the situation at hand in whatever way would work best even if it included lying. His arm is still around your waist, his body angled at a slight slant as he leads you through the crowd of people and onto the main dance floor.
The music is loud, cramming your skull immediately as a crush of people squeeze against Seonghwa and yourself. The flickering lights dance over Seonghwa’s hair as his grip tightens on your waist so the two of you don’t get separated. He pulls you along until he finds an alcove, releasing his hold and facing you.
“Do you know where they’d be?” He shouts.
“The dance floor! San always talks about dancing a lot when he’s here!” You yell back.
Seonghwa scowls. “I fucking hate clubs!”
Your hand reaches for his, pulling him out of the alcove and towards the main dance floor while This Is Your Night blasts so loudly that you can feel it vibrate along your bones. Wiggling through the vast swarm of people, you successfully make your way to the main dance floor. It is impossible to find San in the crush of people. Seonghwa tugs on your hand, getting your attention while pointing to a large staircase leading to the second floor.
You nod and he takes the lead, quickly lost in a sea of gauzy club clothes in colours that could cause someone’s retinas to bleed, seeing more cleavage and mini dresses than you thought possible in one space. Your hoodie and work pants and lack of high heels have you receiving a few confused glances as Seonghwa works his way through the crowd.
Of course, you also notice that Seonghwa is attracting a lot of attention in his own way. No one seems to care that his outfit isn’t club attire in the same way they cared about yours. While making your way up the stairs, you can hear giggles follow as people check Seonghwa out. This sparks an intense irritation in your chest for reasons you can’t fully explain.
Standing on one of the stairs, you gaze out across the dance floor, squinting to try to spot San or Wooyoung. Someone bangs into your side, cursing at you standing there. Seonghwa turns around sharply, glowering at the woman with such an intensity that she scampers up the rest of the stairs, wobbling on her strappy sandals with huge heels. His hand is on your lower back protectively.
“We are standing right on the stairs,” You shout at him.
“I don’t care,” He says crossly, “They can move around us. The staircase is huge.”
Seonghwa’s gaze is steady on yours and for a few seconds, time seems to stretch out. The music becomes background noise, his hand against your back, his body facing yours. He has one strand of hair that has come out of place, betraying his inner turmoil that he has been attempting to hide all night.
You bring your hand upwards, pushing his hair back into place before you can stop yourself. He reaches for you, fingers gently wrapping around your wrist. Your breath catches, thrown off by his touch and the intensity of his stare. For a brief second, you think it is finally going to happen – the fissures that have formed in Seonghwa’s carefully constructed polite personality are going to shatter –
But then, over his shoulder, you spot San weaving his way away from the bar, holding two drinks over his head, heading towards a small table where Wooyoung is.
“I found them!” You exclaim and the moment passes as Seonghwa looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowing as he spots San.
He swiftly turns around to head back down the stairs, holding onto your hand again. His impatience is exposed through the way he practically shoves his way through the crowd. The time the grumbles are not of admiration but of annoyance. Seonghwa doesn’t seem to care.
San’s eyes widen when he spots you and one eyebrow raises at the sight of Seonghwa holding your hand. Suddenly embarrassed, you pull your hand away from him although Seonghwa doesn’t seem to notice. He’s on a mission and only one thing is on his mind.
The print on San’s shirt defies logic and reasoning, distantly reminding you of a Taco Bell you stepped into a few weeks ago. Paired with even more colourful pants, you are unsure how it took this long to spot him in the crowd.
“What are you two doing here?” San exclaims loudly.
Without preamble, Seonghwa goes, “I need the Scream tape back.”
“You came all this way for that?” He asks confused.
Wooyoung slides out of the small booth he was occupying, plucking the drink out of San’s hand. Tonight, he’s wearing a nylon dark pink button up with three of the buttons undone, exposing his tanned chest. His pants are so tight that you aren’t sure how he even got into them.
Wooyoung waves at you and goes, “Who is your friend?”
“New coworker,” San exclaims over the music before turning his attention back to Seonghwa. “I don’t have it. I gave it to Yeosang when I got home and he took it with him when he left.”
Seonghwa’s hands flex at his sides, a motion only you notice. “Where is he?”
“I think he’s out with Mingi and Jongho tonight. They were gonna watch the movie at Mingi’s place. We were going to meet them there later.”
“Where is he now?” Seonghwa grinds out between clenched teeth.
San is picking up on the tension, glancing at you but your expression gives nothing away. “Is everything alright? Why do you need the tape back so badly?”
“I’ll explain later. I just need it back tonight,” Seonghwa replies.
Wooyoung, who has been silent this entire conversation, his eyes bouncing between the two men, throws his arm around San’s shoulders while pointing at Seonghwa, still holding his drink. “Who is this guy? I like him. He gets right to the point. He’s very money, you know what I mean?”
You interrupt quickly. “It’s to do with me, San. Please don’t ask any questions.”
It’s a lie, of course, but you know San will respect your request. You can feel Seonghwa’s eyes flick to you for a second.
“Yeah, it’s no problem. I don’t mean to be pushy. Yeosang is at the minigolf course. The one with the big wizard in the middle, you know it?”
“I do, yeah. Thanks for the help.”
“It’s all good,” San replies.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna hang?” Wooyoung asks Seonghwa, “We’re just getting started here.”
“I appreciate the offer but we gotta bounce. Nice meeting you.” Seonghwa is already turning away, eyes darting towards the exit.
You give the two men a small wave and then it is back to being smushed in the crowd, wiggling through the writhing bodies as the music pulsates around you. You’re walking behind Seonghwa, his hand searching for yours so the two of you don’t get separated. Your fingers curl around his and you find yourself studying the curve of his neck, the way his shoulders look in his sweater. From this angle, you can just make out the muscles underneath the tight fabric.
Seonghwa glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re alright. You can’t read his gaze; something shifts behind it, ever changing and unfolding. In that moment, it feels as if you’ve known him forever, in a thousand different locations across a thousand different universes.
Back into the night air, Seonghwa turns to face you. “Do you know what minigolf course San was talking about?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Great, come on.” He takes off across the parking lot towards the car. His back is illuminated by the neon from the sign of the club, dousing him in a bright blue that his hair soaks up.
You follow, catching up with him as Seonghwa asks, “What are you gonna tell San when he asks why you needed the tape?”
“I don’t know. I just said that because I knew he would drop it.”
“Well, you bought us time,” He remarks, opening the door to the car, “Tell me how to get to the minigolf course.”
Back in the passenger seat, you can still feel the tension rolling off Seonghwa. Unable to help yourself, you try to reassure him. “We’ll find Yeosang there. I’m sure he will have the tape on him. It’s nearby too.”
Seonghwa brushes off your words. “Just tell me how to get there.”
*
It takes fifteen minutes to get to the minigolf course. A large garish wizard hat juts out of the centre of the course, covered in purple lights to make it glow. There is an assortment of other tacky objects sticking upwards – palm trees, a poorly made replica of the leaning tower of Pisa, a UFO that used to rotate five years ago but has since broken down and not been repaired.
Seonghwa gazes at the sight through the windshield, clearly assessing the situation before getting out of the car. You take off after him, fighting the urge to grab his hand. It made sense in the club, not here.
As you approach the entrance, the sound of top 40 radio plays loudly over speakers. Seonghwa bypasses the ticket booth completely, instead opting to head directly onto the course. But a bored looking employee glances up from the magazine he’s reading and gets to his feet quickly.
“Whoa, hey there, homeslice. I need to see the ticket.” He extends his hand out to Seonghwa.
“I’m not playing,” He says quickly, “I just am getting something from a friend.”
“Sure, I can just let anyone pass by without a ticket,” The man rolls his eyes, “No ticket, no entrance.”
“It’ll take less than five minutes,” Seonghwa protests, the agitation at being so close and so far starting to get to him.
You hover by his side and quietly go, “Seonghwa, let’s just go buy a ticket.”
“I don’t want to buy a ticket. The ticket is for playing minigolf and I’m not playing,” He grinds out, staring at the attendant, “So, just let me in.”
The attendant, who is stuck wearing an ugly polyester blue button up, looks positively thrilled at finally having something interesting happening. “No can do, dude,” He says gleefully.
You grab Seonghwa’s upper arm, briefly distracted by the firm muscles underneath, before carting him away from the entrance. While gesturing to the ticket booth, you go, “Let’s just buy a ticket. Do you really wanna throw down with the guy working the minigolf course? We won’t get to Yeosang that way.”
“I don’t care,” He says stubbornly, “He’s being an asshole.”
Your irritation gets the best of you. “If you could wrangle your repressed anger under control for two seconds –”
“My what?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Seonghwa. The entire night, you’ve been furious at me and just won’t say it. So, you just shove everything down and ignore it and pretend you’re so calm and collected but you’re not –”
Seonghwa takes a step towards you. His demeanor is icy cold now. “Not everything is about you,” He replies in a tone that could frost over a window, “As much as you want it to be.”
Your eyes narrow. “What the hell does that mean?”
“If I’ve been repressing anger all night, you’ve been holding back too. The multiple attempts to steer the conversation back to how sorry you are, how you found the tape, how little you watched of it.” Another step closer, close enough to touch now. “Why don’t you stop bullshitting and just admit you wanna ask me questions about the tape and what I do in my spare time?”
You hadn’t thought it was that obvious. Seonghwa striking the centre of your heart with his accusation makes your breath catch. You can’t bring yourself to reply.
“The tape not only has me on it but also my ex. It violates her privacy for anyone else to see it, not just mine. That’s the most important thing going on right now, not you having some sort of sexual awakening at seeing a few minutes of it.”
You make a strangled noise in the back of your throat, knowing Seonghwa is correct but also feeling exposed at the same time. He stalks off past you, going towards the ticket booth. The employee at the entrance is gawking at the two of you although he didn’t hear anything said.
“You and your boyfriend are pretty intense,” He says over the din of top forty music.
�� “He’s not my boyfriend,” You mumble, looking over your shoulder at Seonghwa.
Seonghwa is smiling casually at the person working the ticket booth. All earlier signs of irritation are wiped clean from his beautiful face. He is chatting as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. Was I really that obvious? Or is he just that good at reading people? You are embarrassed but manage to make your facial expression look as placid as possible when Seonghwa returns to you.
“Ready?” He asks as if the two of you hadn’t just been at each other’s throats a couple of minutes ago.
After you nod, Seonghwa thrusts the tickets at the attendant who takes them in an over the top gesture and tacks on, “Have a good night!”
Entering the minigolf course, you stop to grab one of the little putters. Seonghwa notices and drawls, “Really?”
You hand it off to him. “Yes, really. You wanna blend in or look like the weird guy stalking across a golf course?”
He takes it, holding it daintily with his long fingers while studying it. “You were right. About the ticket. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
You’re holding your own putter now, staring at him. “I know. I wouldn’t think clearly in your situation either.”
Seonghwa looks at you for a long moment. You get the sense he wants to say more but he gives a small shake of his head, turning his attention back to the course. “Come on. We’ll just start at the first hole and wander around until you spot them.”
The next ten minutes are spent navigating the busy course which includes a moment where Seonghwa ducks to avoid a little kid swinging the putter and another where you almost lose your footing and awkwardly trip off a tiny fake bridge. There are a few questioning glances shot in your direction as the two of you bypass playing completely while you try to spot Yeosang.
Finally, near the gigantic wizard hat, you spot him along with who you assume is Mingi and Jongho. Yeosang, in baggy jeans and an oversized green hoodie, looks to be talking very animatedly with a tall man who is wildly gesturing. The other man is watching them with an amused expression on his face as if it is a very funny TV show.
“There they are.” You nudge Seonghwa to get his attention. “Are you doing the talking or am I?”
“You start and I’ll follow. Yeosang is familiar with you and doesn’t know me.”
“Alright, let’s go.”
You cut across a particularly ugly ice cream cone that is the centre of hole number ten and call out Yeosang’s name. He looks up in surprise but waves when he sees you.
“Wassup? Didn’t know you like minigolfing,” He says as you and Seonghwa stop in front of the group. “Mingi and I were just having a disagreement about how many hits he took to get the ball in the hole.”
The tall man, who is dressed entirely in acid wash denim, protests. “It was four strokes. You’re saying five and that’s not true.”
The other guy, who must be Jongho, goes, “Can we please move on? I want to get an Icee.”
“In this temperature?” Mingi asks, momentarily distracted.
Jongho tugs on his long sleeve, wearing a plaid dress shirt with all the buttons undone, a black t-shirt underneath, topped off with a simple pair of jeans. “It isn’t that cold in this.”
Seonghwa, who is already radiating an intense energy that will be overflowing at any second, swiftly interrupts, “Sorry, but I was talking to San and he said you had the Scream tape?”
Yeosang nods. “Yeah, it’s in my bag. Oh! You must be the coworker he is borrowing it from?”
“That’s right. I just need to see it for a second please.”
“Sure,” He turns around, scooping his bag off the ground which it had been unceremoniously dumped on and pulls out the tape, handing it to Seonghwa. “There you go.”
“Thanks so much,” Seonghwa replies calmly.
He immediately pries his fingers into the slots and begins to unspool the tape, wildly tugging it out onto the ground. Everyone, including yourself, falls silent, watching as Seonghwa then drops the plastic shell onto the ground and begins to take the putter to it. His hair falls out of place as he beats the shit out of the VHS tape with the putter, the shell cracking from the sheer force at which he strikes it.
“This dude is wacked,” Mingi mumbles.
“I heard Scream was a good movie,” Jongho says, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Guess we won’t find out now,” Yeosang replies dryly, “I suppose we’re watching Mystery Science Theater 3000 tonight.”
Seonghwa exhales, his cheeks puffing out while doing so, tossing the putter to the ground while scooping up the remains of the VHS tape. He runs his fingers through his hair although it doesn’t fix it.
“Thanks guys. Have a good night.” Seonghwa says as if he just didn’t go postal in the middle of the minigolf course.
He glances at you before taking off back the way he came. You give an apologetic look at Yeosang, unsure what to say and settling on nothing. Following Seonghwa, who is still holding onto what little of the tape remained, with the cheery pop music playing over the sound of laughter and people talking, you aren’t sure if speaking right now would help him. Does he need comfort? Is he relieved? He showed no hesitation in destroying the tape immediately. Had that been his plan the entire night?
Luckily for the attendant working the entrance, the exit loops around the other side of the course, taking you both into the parking lot before Seonghwa can start bickering with him again. He drops the pieces of the plastic casing into the nearest trash can although he is still holding the film, wrapping it carefully around his slender fingers.
“Seonghwa,” You say tentatively and he stops, looking over at you.
In the lights of the parking lot, Seonghwa is a slim figure with his black hair glowing. His breathing is slightly uneven, his features not nearly as collected as they’ve been all night. There is something raw wiggling underneath the surface of his composure, something you desperately want to touch.
“I’ll take you back to your place now,” He says roughly, “Come on.”
You don’t know what to reply with so you merely nod. A few minutes later, the car is pulling out of the parking lot and back onto the main road. You quietly tell Seonghwa how to get to your apartment from here. The tape is in his lap, the film nestled like a snake in between his thighs. You wonder what he will do with it. Set it on fire, maybe. He seems intent on destroying it completely. You understand why but still feel a pain of regret in your chest. There would be no viewing the rest of the tape now.
You suddenly feel very tired. Between work and the entire events of the sex tape, you’re ready to crawl in bed and sleep in tomorrow. You lean back in the seat, staring idly out the window. The radio is playing music quietly and Seonghwa doesn’t say a word. You still get the sense he is wrangling himself in. Does he do that all the time? Why bother? Why shield yourself from people to the extent he does? You see his smile from the tape in your mind once again. To your surprise, you feel a spark of jealousy buried in your chest. His ex got to see the real Seonghwa while you’ve been seeing his façade. You want to know him like that. You want to touch him like that.
The silent admission to yourself is unsettling. It’s been ages since you’ve wanted someone. Your attraction to Seonghwa earlier this week seems easier to digest when you thought your personalities wouldn’t be compatible. But his words outside the minigolf course were correct – those few minutes of him on your TV screen are making something deep inside you stir.
The streetlights swim lazily across Seonghwa as he drives silently. They blend in with his white sweater before appearing on his tanned skin, small pools of light that travel over his body before eventually being lost behind the car.
When he parks at your apartment complex, he goes, “I’ll walk you to your door.”
This time, you don’t refuse. Back into the cold air, you stop at the outskirts of the pool near the staircase to the second floor.
“Seonghwa,” You say again, your hand resting against the cold metal of the banister, “Now that you got the tape, and everything is sorted out, I really –”
“Don’t,” He says swiftly, “You’re going to apologize again. It isn’t your fault. I already told you that.”
“I know what you said,” You are two steps up on the staircase, looking slightly down at Seonghwa, whose hand is inches from yours on the banister, “But outside of the golf course…”
“Was I too harsh?”
“I just don’t understand why you’re pretending all the time,” You say after a beat of silence, “When I met you earlier this week, you were pleasant enough. But it’s obvious that isn’t what you’re really like. Just the few minutes of the tape showed that to me. And I’ve caught it once or twice before, at work, when you are obviously shoving your real self back down. Throughout tonight, I’ve seen glimpses of who you actually are – the quick lying, the flashes of irritation, your nerves at someone seeing the tape…I just don’t understand why you hide it everywhere but on a VHS tape.”
There. You said what you’ve been thinking the whole night. Seonghwa’s face doesn’t change the entire time you speak. But you aren’t fooled by it anymore.
Seonghwa places his feet on the first step of the staircase. He’s extremely close to you now; his body’s warmth seeps into your skin. You fight the urge to place your hands against his chest to pull on his sweater so that he will kiss you.
You aren’t sure what his reply was going to be but you aren’t prepared for the way his voice drops to almost a murmur. “You’re really intrigued about the tape, aren’t you? I wonder what makes you so curious. It is the idea of letting the camera see all of you for who you truly are? Is it just the idea of fucking and recording it that you find so compelling? Maybe both.”
You’ve gone still, frozen in surprise at the words leaving his mouth. He leans forward, his lips so close to your ear that your heart skips a beat. “Do you regret turning the tape off when you did? Your conscience prevailed; you did the morally right thing in a few minutes. Others would have watched the entire thing. But some part of you wishes it kept it running so you could watch me fuck my ex, listen to what we talked about. You know, I was so focused on getting rid of the tape, I don’t even know what one this one contains. We filmed so many,” He lingers on the last word as your brain fills up with mental images of tape after tape of Seonghwa, “What happened in the first few minutes of the tape?”
Shakily, you manage to whisper, “You were on a beach. And then in a diner. Finally, a hotel room.”
You don’t see Seonghwa smile but you can feel it, like an arrow in the dark, so fast that the sensation is gone in a second. “The vacation tape,” He pauses and continues, “I prefer being on film. Being seen. I feel comfortable and at ease. The camera misses nothing. The lens cuts through everything. All the noise and the bullshit. It isn’t about watching it back later. It isn’t about sharing it. I fill a tape, shove it in the collection. Destroy them when the relationship ends. Rinse and repeat. It’s about capturing that one moment and putting it on film. Everything when the camera isn’t on feels like bullshit. I feel like bullshit.”
“Why?”
Seonghwa shakes his head. “Dunno. Just always have. I only exist when the camera is on. Otherwise, I can’t be myself. Been that way forever. I’ll ask you again – did you regret turning the tape off?”
It doesn’t even enter your mind to lie. “Yes.”
“You wanted to watch me fuck my ex? Or did you want to be on that tape with me?”
Your body is growing hot all over. You wish Seonghwa would touch you. His hand is so close to yours that you would settle for him just to brush his fingers against your skin.
“Yes,” You whisper so quietly that if he weren’t so close to you, it would have been impossible to hear. You aren’t even sure what question you’re answering. Maybe it is both.
But Seonghwa pulls away abruptly then. With his warmth gone, it feels like a hole has opened in your chest. He runs his fingers through his hair but you take note of the slightly uneven way he is breathing. You want to grab him, see him for who he really is with no pretenses, have the camera lens on his body while he –
“I need to get home. I won’t be able to relax until I finish destroying the film,” His eyes trail along your body quickly and it feels deeply personal to have Seonghwa look at you in such a manner, “Goodnight.”
You don’t want him to go. You want him to follow you to your apartment and fuck you silly. But he turns around and in a couple of seconds, he has rounded the corner, leaving you alone with your thoughts, your desires and the briefest glimmer of the man Seonghwa truly is.
Monday, October 13th, 1997
“You gonna explain why Seonghwa opened up a can of whoop-ass on a VHS tape in the middle of a minigolf course on Saturday night or am I not privy to that information?”
You stifle a groan, unable to duck and dodge San any longer. You had yesterday off, which didn’t end up being as fun as it sounded, due to the fact all you did was lay in bed running the events of Saturday night over and over in your head.
And you still hadn’t come up with any sort of realistic story to tell San about the tape especially since Seonghwa had opted to destroy it with a minigolf putter.
“It’s complicated,” You finally settle on.
San’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “Complicated? Should I be concerned about your little work crush? Could he be a little…unwell?”
“He’s not unwell,” You say defensively, “It’s just complicated. Can you just drop it, please? It was his tape, after all.”
“Just makes no sense. You said the situation had to do with you. But why did Seonghwa go postal on the tape like that?”
You’re starting to get a headache. You’ve had way too much coffee before coming into work and your nerves are frazzled between the idea of seeing Seonghwa and how much time you’ve spent analyzing his words to you Saturday night before he left. Yes you told him on the staircase, yes you wanted to watch the entire tape, yes you wanted to see him have sex with his ex and yes, you wanted to be on film with him. A jarring admission, one that you’re still grappling with.
“San, my break ended a few minutes ago. Just please, for the sake of our friendship, I’m asking you to drop the entire thing.”
He holds his hands up in a gesture of innocence. “Fine. Consider it dropped. However, it is not forgotten.”
“I’ll take it, thanks,” You reply, heading quickly to the exit. “Listen, I’ll help you with inventory sometime this week, okay?”
“You’re just sucking up to me.”
“Yes, but you hate inventory,” You fire back over your shoulder.
“I do so I’ll accept it!” He calls after you.
Back in the store, you meander your way towards to the women’s clothing department. Part of you is desperate to run into Seonghwa while the other part is dreading it. What do you even say to him? Just a simple hello? How can you look him in the face knowing his entire personality is carefully curated bullshit to hide who he really is? How can you talk to him after what he said to you last night? How can you hold a conversation when you are so desperate to have him?
You end up avoiding the shortcut through the men’s clothing section. Even so, your eyes carefully scan the area for any sight of him among the racks of ugly dresses and t-shirts. Once you’re safely in the dressing rooms, reorganizing and cleaning out the mess people leave behind, you relax slightly.
You wanted to watch me fuck my ex? Or did you want to be on that tape with me?
Seonghwa’s words bang around in your brain no matter how much you try to push them away. Even as you go through the motions of work, your mind lingers on how warm his body was so close to yours on the stairs, the low timber of his voice in your ear, and how he saw through you and all your pretenses.
In fact, you’re so swept up in work and your thoughts, that you don’t realize Seonghwa is in the dressing room area until he says your name. Flinching in surprise, you look over your shoulder.
He stands there in his blue work vest, his arms so full of clothes that it looks like they could spill onto the floor at any second. Seonghwa’s face is beautifully impassive. You get the sense he has also been avoiding you.
“Wanted to drop off all the women’s clothes that ended up in the men’s dressing rooms before my shift ends,” He explains in a clipped tone.
“Right. Thanks.” You move closer, trying to take the clothes from him.
But there is simply too much and a good portion falls onto the floor. Your hands brush against his in the mess of fabric, sending your heart racing so quickly that it almost makes your chest hurt. Seonghwa is staring at you through his long lashes although his eyes dart away when yours meet his.
You manage to wrangle a good chunk of the clothes away, tossing it onto the small table at the end of the hallway that you use to organize them. “You can just dump the rest here.”
Seonghwa does so and then an awkward silence settles across the empty dressing rooms. The store closes in ten minutes. You didn’t think you’d be seeing Seonghwa at all today. We filmed so many he had whispered, teasing you with the mental images of whatever lurked on those tapes.
“Do you want any help?” He offers.
“I got it, thanks,” You say quickly, knowing the longer he stands next to you, the higher chance there is at the conversation going sideways.
His fingers are touching one of the t-shirts, his expression unfocused. “I wanted to apologize.”
You hesitate and then go, “For what?”
“I was pretty…intense Saturday night. I also talked to you out of line at the end there,” He swallows, staring at the pile of clothes as if they were a fascinating creature, “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”
You feel stuck. It would be simpler to accept the apology and put the entire thing in the past. But a much larger part of you has shifted since discovering what Seonghwa is really like, brought to life by his words and the images on the tape, growing louder every passing moment. It is difficult to ignore these new feelings inside your chest.
“It’s all good. It was a stressful situation. I think it would make anyone start trippin although San is asking questions and I have nothing to tell him. It is a little harder to come up with a story when you…beat the shit out of the tape in front of everyone.”
“Yeah,” He looks at you sheepishly. “I lost my cool for a sec.”
“Cracked your pleasant exterior there,” You joke quietly.
His lips twist up into a smile for a brief second. You’re feeling hot all over, knowing it would be far easier just to let the conversation stop here. Easier to return to the way things were before the tape. Let Seonghwa be a work crush and nothing else.
“But, uhm,” You pick up a shirt, carefully folding it so that you don’t have to look at him, “I didn’t mind how you talked to me. At the end of the night.”
Seonghwa’s breathing changes slightly, something you wouldn’t have noticed a few days ago. But it is as if viewing the tape, learning about who he is and spending Saturday night with him has synced you up to Seonghwa in a new way.
“Is that right?” He finally replies, his voice even and without emotion.
“Yeah, I’ve been…thinking about what you said,” Your voice trembles slightly, betraying your nerves.
Seonghwa moves ever so slightly closer to you. Relief swoops through your body at his close proximity. “What about it?” He murmurs.
You take in a small breath and go, “I was thinking about asking you to come over. Tomorrow night.”
He hesitates for a small second. “To your place?”
“Yeah. I mean. If you’d want.” You are a mixture of anxiety and desire.
But you push through it to look at Seonghwa’s face. You recognize the expression this time – he is teying to maintain his calm exterior, aware that he is at work and in a public setting.
“Should I bring anything?” He asks in a forced nonchalant voice.
Your grip tightens on the shirt. After spending all day trying to dodge Seonghwa, you can’t believe how you’re cracking after a couple of minutes around him. But perhaps avoiding him was your own way of denying what you wanted.
“Maybe your camera,” You say with forced casualness.
But the words seem to crack Seonghwa. He moves closer to you, just as close as the time on the staircase. In a strangled voice, he goes, “You’re not making fun of me, are you?”
Surprised, you exclaim, “What? No, not at all.”
His hand reaches out for you but then thinks better of it. Falling back to his side, he flexes his fingers. His voice drops to a whisper. “I work a closing tomorrow but I’ll come over afterwards.”
You’re done work at five tomorrow which gives you plenty of time to get ready for…whatever you’re getting into. Seonghwa’s gaze is heavy, his energy buzzing. You want to push him, crack him open fully so that you can experience what he is like without any barriers…and maybe you want the same thing for yourself too. You want to know what it would be like being stripped away of all things you carefully hide behind without even realizing it. You just didn’t know that such a thing was so desired until you saw Seonghwa on that tape.
You nod, wanting to say more but nerves getting the best of you. He pulls away, trying to control his breathing. There is a slight flush of colour creeping up his neck. You get a vivid mental image of being on top of him, your hands against his chest, taking him fully inside you –
Quickly, you look away, afraid your thoughts might be all over your face. Seonghwa wishes you a goodnight, leaving the dressing rooms quickly before the energy crackles and explodes, spilling out into work.
He works so hard to keep everything separate, after all.
Tuesday, October 14th, 1997
You’re looking out the window of the living room, staring at the unremarkable view. The neon of the Taco Bell sign washes over the street, bathing the cars in the bright colour for a second or two as they drive by. You can just make out the interior, a swirl of pink, blue and purple, like a little lighthouse in the night.
You don’t think you’ve never felt so nervous staring at Taco Bell before.
It’s past ten which means Seonghwa will be here in about twenty minutes. Having invited him on a whim, driven by a combination of lust and curiosity, you’re now dealing with the reality of what you suggested. In asking him to bring his camera, you’ve basically admitted to him and yourself that you want to see what filming together would be like. And while you’re aware that you can change your mind and tell him to forget it once he arrives, the truth of the matter is that you don’t want to do such a thing.
Your attraction to Seonghwa has only been heightened since seeing the tape, and your own sexual exploration seemed to be spilling out of you with a mighty need. As nervous as you feel, you also have no interest in denying it any longer.
You aren’t sure how long you stare out the window, spacing out, but a soft knock at the door startles your thoughts away. Exhaling slowly, you cross the small living room, opening the front door to see Seonghwa standing there.
He’s wearing a very colourful button up tucked into a pair of blue jeans. A bag is slung over his shoulder and his hair is a little messy from the chilly wind. Your heart skips a beat violently at the sight of him.
“Hey. Oh, uh, come in,” You say awkwardly, moving to the side as Seonghwa walks past, “How was work?”
“Fine, the usual. You know how it is. I like your place.”
You blink. “Really? I don’t think it’s anything exciting.”
He glances over his shoulder. “Well, I didn’t say it was exciting. I just like how comfortable it looks.”
“Thanks. How are you doing with unpacking your own place?”
Seonghwa places the bag on the coffee table while replying, “Besides the mishap with the tape, it has been uneventful.”
He speaks of the tape so candidly now although given the circumstances, why wouldn’t he?
“Did you and your ex live together long?” It no longer felt awkward to mention his last relationship – so much is different now with Seonghwa.
“We did although that seemed to be our undoing. Only lasted a few months after we moved in together,” He replies while turning to face you. “For the sake of honesty, I haven’t been with anyone else since my relationship ended. Does that bother you?”
“No because I haven’t either. I find those things…distracting. I just was focusing on work and other things in my life.”
“Am I a distraction?”
“What?”
He repeats himself.
Your cheeks grow warm. “I mean – technically, yes.”
Seonghwa is fighting off a smile. You can tell by the way he tilts his face away from your direction to look at your TV.
“Do you want anything to drink?” You offer.
“Just some water is fine, thanks.”
“Alright. Uh, please sit down. Don’t feel like you need to stand there.”
You scamper out of the living room, wishing your nerves would settle. Now that he is here, you feel scattered. Your attraction to him has grown tenfold in the last few days and you can’t remember the last time you’ve wanted someone this much.
Returning with a couple of glasses of water, you sit down next to Seonghwa on the couch. Desperate to fill the silence, you turn on the TV, immediately blasted with a Surge ad.
“Listen,” Seonghwa says after a few minutes, “We don’t have to do anything tonight. I don’t want you to think I went into anything with expectations.”
Hurriedly, you reply, “I know that.”
“I understand you’re curious because the concept is new to you. But that doesn’t mean you’re going to be into it.”
You turn to face him, your fingers wrapped around your glass of water. Seonghwa tilts his head in your direction.
“I am curious,” You say quickly, “And I don’t really understand why. I’ve never thought about something like that until I saw those few minutes of the tape. And I…” You swallow, feeling shy. “Well, I only think about it with you. I was attracted to you right away but…you seemed so…nice. As if there wasn’t a lot going on underneath the surface. So, I assumed the attraction would never deepen. But after I saw the tape…I felt like I saw you.”
“And?” He prompts.
“And I was intrigued. At you. At the idea of filming stuff like that. The idea of a camera around, catching all these private moments. I started realizing how much you pull yourself under control, how you’re wearing a mask all the time.”
“Everyone wears a mask in public. Most people just don’t realize it.”
“You think I’m realizing it now then?”
“Maybe. I don’t want to speak over your feelings or pretend I know what you’re thinking of. But yes, you’re right about me. I struggle with being vulnerable, being myself. I always switch into this false personality. I don’t even mean to do it.”
“But you don’t do it while recording.”
“That’s right. Something about seeing that little red light on switches it off.”
“And what about…” Your shyness deepens.
“Filming myself having sex?” After you nod, Seonghwa goes, “It just turns me on. Makes sex better. Makes me more relaxed. In that moment of filming, I feel free. Capturing those moments of pleasure…it feels crucial to my enjoyment.”
“Has everyone you’ve been dating into it too?”
“After I realized how much I like it, yeah. When the relationship ends, I destroy all the tapes. Just out of respect. Recording it isn’t really about watching it back anyway. It’s just about that moment of filming the intimacy of it.”
You fall silent, battling more questions and your ever growing desire for Seonghwa. He turns his attention back to the TV, although you get the feeling he really isn’t engrossed in the episode of NYPD Blue playing. Your eyes land on the large bag he brought.
Could you record yourself sleeping with Seonghwa? Knowing that moment would be captured on a tape with him? It’s all you have been thinking about since discovering Seonghwa’s secret. But now that you can make it a reality, your nerves are still battling for dominance.
“Could I see it?” You ask suddenly, “The camera, I mean.”
“Sure,” He replies, leaning forward and pulling the bag towards him.
Unzipping the bag, he pulls out a large and chunky camcorder, resting it in his lap. He runs his fingers along the side where the spot for the tape opens while saying, “I was reading that they’re making these new cameras that are apparently a lot smaller and would be digital, if you could imagine such a thing. Would make filming a lot easier than this heavy thing.”
“So you don’t…hold it during…”
He laughs. “No. I just plop it down on a table or something during sex. But if the digital cameras end up truly becoming a thing, I suppose I could hold it during sex. Or you could,” He immediately realizes what he casually said and looks embarrassed. “Not that I meant – I don’t mean to assume that we would sleep together. Or you would be comfortable filming anything.”
You reach for the camera, grabbing it out of his lap and into your own, studying it. It isn’t as though it’s your first time holding such a thing but it has been a while. “How do you start recording?”
“You insert the tape and then press this button,” He leans closer, showing you where it is located.
You study his face, eyes lingering on his lips. “Where’s the tape?”
Seonghwa meets your gaze for a beat before moving away to retrieve it from the bag. He presses a button, the side popping out so he can insert the VHS tape. Snapping it shut, he says, “Then you can hit record. Each tape can roughly film for two hours.”
You hesitate for a moment before reaching for the camera. Your fingers touch his, an electric vibration that sparks along your skin. You can hear Seonghwa’s breath catch slightly but he relinquishes the camera. You look into the camera’s viewfinder while popping the cover off the lens.
You know what you want – Seonghwa and the exploration the recording will bring. Even though it is something you’ve never thought of until that moment you saw Seonghwa on your TV, with his beautiful smile, toned chest and low voice talking dirty, it seems to have awakened something deep inside you. Something that won’t rest, won’t stop, until you explore your desires.
You press down on the record button, making sure Seonghwa is in frame. You know he can see the red light, aware that you’re recording.
“Tell me about the first time you filmed yourself having sex,” You ask bluntly.
Seonghwa raises an eyebrow although the chuckle he emits makes it clear he isn’t offended. “You interviewing me now?”
“A little.”
“It actually wasn’t my idea, if you can believe it. My girlfriend at the time brought it up to me one night after she noticed how much I liked recording home movies.”
“Did she notice how comfortable you seemed on camera?”
“Yeah, she did. It felt like a natural progression to me like oh, why hadn’t I thought of it? I was always trying to get in front of the camera ever since I can remember. But she was the first one to suggest taking it that far.”
“Were you nervous?”
“No.” Seonghwa looks relaxed now. The tension you hadn’t even realized he carried has now softened, his shoulders are lowered while he leans against the couch, still facing you. His hair grazes against his cheek from the angle. You catch yourself admiring his face, the slope of his nose, how his fingers rest in his lap. “No, I felt comfortable right away. What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You ever think about filming yourself having sex before?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Not until my tape.”
“That’s right.”
“You like filming me?” He asks and after you nod, he goes, “This time, you don’t have to shut it off before it gets to the good part.”
“A little cocky now, don’t you think?”
He gives a casual shrug. This is the Seonghwa you saw on the TV – relaxed, confident, letting each emotion come easily without judgement. This is the Seonghwa you’ve wanted.
You lean back against the couch, the camera still recording in your lap while motioning to the front of the TV. “Why don’t you show me how comfortable you are in front of the camera?” You can hardly believe the words after you say them. I guess it isn’t just Seonghwa who shows new sides of himself to the camera.
But Seonghwa only grins at your request, getting up and standing in front of the TV. He pulls the colourful shirt from the confines of his jeans, his fingers swiftly undoing the buttons to expose a thin white tank top underneath. Your heart rate is already accelerating at the sight of the fabric resting against his taunt stomach.
“Is this what you wanted?” He teases and your thighs clench at the fact you’re hearing that tone of voice being used on you now.
“Don’t be coy.”
Another grin. Yes, Seonghwa is correct – that little red light on from the camera changes him entirely. He shrugs out of the shirt, exposing his shoulders before it falls to the floor. Wearing just the tank top now, he hooks his thumbs into the front of his jeans, staring at you with an expression that looks almost devious.
“What?” You say defensively.
His grin widens. “Nothing. You’re just obvious.”
“What does that mean?”
“Come here and I’ll show you.”
You stand up, holding the heavy camera while ambling towards him. He reaches for the camera, taking it out of your hands and placing it on the top of the TV stand, giving the lens a view of your faces down to just under your shoulders.
After he finishes positioning the camera, Seonghwa turns his attention back to you. He is as close to your body as he was the other night on the stairs. Your breathing is uneven, aware of the camera on you, aware of everything you’ve been secretly thinking about is going to come to fruition.
“See?” He murmurs.
“What?”
Seonghwa smirks while running one finger down along your arm and your body shivers in response. “That. How much you want me.”
“Well, some of us aren’t experts at hiding ourselves all the time,” You counter.
His lips hover just above yours, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. Your body is screaming for Seonghwa, your brain buzzing with need, lips parted in anticipation.
There is no witty retort from him. Instead, Seonghwa kisses you. Softly at first, enough to shake the centre of you. His lips against yours makes you feel slightly delirious as if not realizing you were dying of thirst. The camera’s gaze remains steady on both of you while the kiss continues. His tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth so tenderly that your hands hold onto the band of his jeans to steady yourself.
Your whimper is muffled against the kiss, face warm, body responsive to this man you’ve only known for a week – and only truly known for a few days. Seonghwa’s hands are in your hair as yours circle around his small waist, pressing him against your body. He is stiff in his jeans but still his hands travel downward until they rest on your ass, squeezing it. The kiss continues, growing deeper, hungrier, breaking briefly so you can pull off his tank top.
You are pressing your hands against his hard stomach, running up along his chest until curling them around his shoulders, breathless at the sight of him. His skin is warm, inviting, and the sight of him in just his jeans is incredibly sexy.
Seonghwa brings his face to your neck, kissing along there while his grip on your ass tightens. Your eyes flutter closed for a second. The barriers of your clothing are becoming an annoyance now. You want more of him, you want all of him.
When you open your eyes, they land on the camera. A silent observer, missing nothing, no judgement to be found.
“Seonghwa,” You whisper and he stops, pulling away just enough to look at you. His eyes are hazy with lust, lips parted prettily. “Come with me to my room,” You pause for a second before adding, “And bring the camera.”
*
In your room, the camera is once again propped onto the top of the TV which gives it the perfect angle of the bed. When originally purchasing the second TV at a yard sale, a friend had questioned needing another one. Now, you’re grateful for it – where else would the camera filming the two of you go?
You are still fully dressed, something Seonghwa looks to rectify from the way he gently nudges you into view of the camera while he stands behind you.
His hands are on your waist, skittering upwards until your shirt is pulled off, tossed onto the nearby dresser. In just your bra and sweatpants now, acutely aware of the camera, your breathing grows uneven. Seonghwa’s hands continue to travel, now onto your bra, squeezing your breasts together. He is kissing along your neck once again, his lips a soft whisper along your skin.
He tugs down on the bra, exposing your tits not only to his hands but to the camera as well. The entire thing feels more intimate than any other sexual encounter you’ve had before; the camera adds to the feeling as strange as it sounds in your head.
Seonghwa’s hands are warm. He cups your breasts, thumbs brushing across your nipples. You’re soaking wet, overwhelmed by the desire you’re experiencing for him. He rolls your nipples in between his fingers, pinching them a little, allowing the camera to take in the sight of him groping you like this.
You tilt your face in his direction and his lips find yours once again. You like how Seonghwa tastes in your mouth – it is familiar, almost as if you’ve kissed him before, kissed him a thousand times. When he pulls away, the look in his eyes is heavy, laced with lust and stripped away from any pretenses he usually carried so close to him.
You brush his hands away from your body, instead grabbing him by the waist band of his jeans, moving him closer to the camera on the top of the TV. Unbuttoning his jeans, you rub him through the denim, taking note of the way his breathing catches.
You lean towards the camera, moving it to the shelf underneath the TV, giving the lens a perfect view of you on your knees in front of Seonghwa. You look up at him, unzipping his pants and pulling them down until his boxers are exposed.
The camera can’t catch his facial expression but you can see it – the way he looks at you with his plump lips slightly parted, his eyes dancing across your hands down to your breasts. It isn’t just giving yourself over to him, it’s giving yourself over to the camera too.
Your hands rub against the bulge in his boxers, feeling the warmth through the fabric. Your hands dip into the band of his boxers, pulling it down until his cock springs free. Gently wrapping your hand around him, you bring your tongue across the head, sweeping across it once, twice, three times. Seonghwa exhales slowly while you begin to pump his cock, looking up at him. The camera’s gaze is steady on the two of you, the moment you take his length into your mouth captured on film.
Your tongue presses against the tip of his cock for a few seconds before taking more of him, filling your mouth with his length. Your other hand goes to his balls, fondling them while your tongue presses along the underside of his shaft.
Spurned on by the soft noises of pleasure that escape Seonghwa, you begin to bob on his cock. Sometimes, he pops out of your mouth, the tip of him a sticky sweet mess of your salvia and his precum. It glistens in the low lights before you take him once again, as much as you can. You enjoy the way he fills your mouth, stretches out your lips with his thickness.
Seonghwa’s eyes close, his head rolling back as a guttural groan topples from in between his pink lips before he curses sharply and pulls away. His cock slides out, precum smearing against your cheek.
With a small shake of his head, he goes, “I don’t wanna finish. I want to feel you wrapped around me.”
Seonghwa helps you up, scooping the camera off the shelf and back onto the top of the TV. This time he puts more care into the angle, asking you to sit on the bed while he looks through the viewfinder until he looks pleased with it.
“Look at you, big shot director,” You tease at one point.
He raises his eye from the viewfinder. “Hey, it’s your debut,” Seonghwa says gravely but the twinkle in his eyes makes it evident he’s joking. “Lay sideways on the bed for me, will you?”
“Yes, sir,” You are still poking at him.
When he seems satisfied, Seonghwa circles back to the bed. He crawls up along your body, stopping to remove your sweatpants and underwear. You’re completely naked with him on camera now while his lips travel across your stomach, stopping at your breasts. His tongue flicks over your nipples and he gently bites down on one, tugging on it with his teeth just to hear you gasp.
Seonghwa is skin to skin with you, not an inch in between your bodies as he finally kisses your lips. Your legs curl around his waist urgently, tugging on his bottom lip with your teeth until he groans in response.
It is simple to enter your pussy, having been wet for Seonghwa since he stepped foot inside your apartment. His length fills you swiftly until his hips touches yours. The next kiss is messy, a mixture of muffled moans and whimpers as Seonghwa goes still, allowing you to get used to the sensation of being filled with his cock.
His hands snake up along your arms, gently pinning your hands above your head, just at the edge of the mattress. Almost lazily, Seonghwa rocks his hips. The motion is small, just enough to send shocks of warmth and pleasure through your body. You groan out his name in a plea for him to move faster but he doesn’t obey.
“Sorry, my boo, but I’ve been thinking about this all week and I want to take my time,” Seonghwa declares, your hands entwined together, “I saw the way you looked at me when we first met, saw the disinterest flicker across your face when I drove you home the first time.” He moves his hips, pulling almost completely out of your hole. “And I went home that night and thought about inviting you over, teasing your body until you crumbled and begged for me.” He thrusts now, all the way back inside, until your hips meet once more and you gasp, your fingers curling around his for something to hold onto.
You can recall the memory, the way you mused that Seonghwa was too pleasant, too kind in that sort of neutral, placid way that meant even though he was beautiful, he faded to the background of your memory. But there is your side of things too…
“Your veneer isn’t perfect,” You counter with a small gasp when he rocks his hips again, “Maybe to others but not to me.”
“Is that right?” He growls.
Breathlessly, you explain, “I got the feeling multiple times you were holding back, hiding parts of yourself. You were so restrained all the time.” You remember the moment in the breakroom where he flattened his hand against his knee, wrangling himself under control. “But sometimes, I would see pieces. It made me want to crack those parts open, see you.”
Seonghwa is moving your legs now, sliding his arms under them so that they fold closer to your chest. He is still as near to you as he can get physically. But the angle change is intense and you grab the edge of the bed, gasping as he begins to pump his cock deeper into your cunt.
“And now?” He prompts but you can’t focus on the conversation anymore, not when his cock feels this good and he’s finally fucking you at a pace that only heightens the desire and pleasure. After your garbled moan, Seonghwa goes, “I’ll take that as your answer.”
Your eyes flutter open, the red light from the camera like a spotlight. This moment - captured either forever or until Seonghwa and you were to break apart. Tiny parts of yourself, combined with Seonghwa, in this intimate moment for the camera lens.
Your thighs shake, your pussy tightening around Seonghwa’s cock as your orgasm approaches. He keeps up the steady pace, the bed shaking with every thrust, your legs bouncing with each jerk of his hips. Your knuckles are white from clutching the edge of the bed, your bedsheets tangled around your fingers as Seonghwa pistons his cock into your wet cunt.
And then your orgasm begins, Seonghwa’s name a shattered piece of glass on the tip of your tongue as your hips meet his. The pleasure blots out everything; it is so exquisite that you lose yourself entirely to him.
Seonghwa pulls out, allowing you to stretch out your legs. “I want to fuck you from behind,” He says, his hands on your thighs, “Will you let me?”
You know that means facing the camera, allowing it to capture every expression on your face. You nod and Seonghwa helps you get into position on all fours, your ass in the air and hands pressed against the bed. He runs his hands over your ass before tugging you down a little, towards his cock.
“Seonghwa,” You say, looking over your shoulder at him. His hair is messy, his breathing rough, but all his protections over his personality are gone. He looks sexy, inviting, warm, all yours. “I want you to finish in me.”
He stops for a moment, glancing up at you before nodding. You turn back to the camera while he enters you once again. You gasp loudly – he feels much different from this angle and your eyes almost roll back into your head from how amazing it is. Seonghwa doesn’t stop this time. He immediately begins to pump and you curse roughly as his hips smack against yours.
One hand reaches for your hair, pulling it on it in a sharp tug, keeping your head up so that the camera captures your ever changing facial expressions. You like that it’s being filmed, both you and Seonghwa’s faces being recorded as you chase the pleasure your bodies can give.
He grunts out your name as he fucks you, releasing his hold on your hair so that he can grip your waist. Your hands shake and you finally relent, lowering your front half onto the bed. This allows him to fuck your cunt even deeper. You’re cursing loudly, begging him to keep going because you’re going to cum again. He doesn’t stop and you’re sure that the camera is going to show a thin layer of sweat across his forehead from how quickly Seonghwa’s hips snap into yours, his balls smacking against your ass, your wet pussy taking him easily.
Your hands grip the bed sheets, face down in the bed now, trying to muffle how much noise you’re making because of the neighbors. Seonghwa is grunting, panting, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as his cock pounds into your sopping wet hole.
Your orgasm starts suddenly, without any warning, and your back arches. You bring your ass backwards, trying to meet his erratic thrusts. At the same time, Seonghwa groans out your name and it sounds like gravel against the bottom of a shoe. He begins to spill inside of your cunt. Together, you both cum, in full view of the camera. His warmth overflows and when he pulls out, you can feel him dripping out of your cunt.
Legs like jelly, you fall against the bed, completely exhausted. But Seonghwa slides off, reaching for the camera and bringing it onto the bed. He plops it briefly onto the sheets while his hands go to your hips, rolling you onto your back.
“What?” You mumble, slightly dazed.
“I want to see your cunt filled with my load,” He explains, bringing the camera close, peering through the viewfinder.
His other hand gently spreads your lips apart, showing his cum leaking out from in between your folds. It’s lurid, completely pornographic, and you find it thrilling.
“You’re a perv,” You tease him.
His finger dips into your cunt, scooping up some of his cum. His hand trails up along your body, along with the camera lens, and when his finger is against your lips, you open, sucking his cum clean off.
“And what are you then?” He says.
“Your new girlfriend,” You reply boldly.
Seonghwa pulls away from the viewfinder, his eyes meeting yours. In the now quiet room, the only noise is of his soft breathing mingling with yours. The past is wiped clean, replaced with the new tape, the collision of two people caught on camera, entwining together both physically and mentally.
“That sounds perfect to me,” is what he finally says and you can read in between the lines – you aren’t just privy to Seonghwa’s true self through a camera lens anymore. You get access to him all the time.
You smile up at him, fucked out completely and never been more content.
Seonghwa returns the look, his finger hovering over the button to stop recording.
“What do you want to do now?” He asks.
You think for a moment before going, “We should –”
And his finger presses the button, ending the tape.
the end.
#ateez fics#ateez smut#seonghwa fics#seonghwa smut#seonghwa x reader#kpop fic#video girl#100 notes#500 notes#1000 notes
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Help Me?
spencer reid/gn!reader
i love being in this guy’s brain there is just something so Character about him🧡 and happy birthday to you anon!!🥳
masterlist
word count: 4.5k // warnings: injury description (dislocated shoulder), mentions of injections and pills for pain relief, poor and inaccurate medical knowledge, non-sexual undressing, would you believe me if i told you the sexual tension in the second half of this was accidental? for those reasons this is 18+
“Try it, see what happens.”
You appear out of the shadows ahead of them, the gun in your hands aimed carefully at the Unsub’s back, like a goddamn guardian angel.
The guy isn’t going to give up without a fight, even with three federal agents to contend with, that much is obvious. His grip on his weapon is far shakier than any of yours, fingers twitching ever closer to the trigger. You’ve made the split second decision to launch yourself at him before he has the chance to fire off a shot.
Which means Spencer has a front row seat to the sickening thud of your side against the ground when you tackle the Unsub. He’s grateful that he and Hotch aren’t staring down the barrel of a gun anymore, but less grateful that it’s come at the price of the grimace clear on your face. You’ll be bruised for sure, going down as hard as you do.
“Are you okay?” Hotch asks you as he hauls the Unsub up by his cuffed wrists. You take a moment to check yourself over, mentally inventory every joint and nerve, before you nod. Spencer holds a hand out towards you, which is taken without hesitation and you start pulling yourself up off the ground.
The crack of your shoulder as it pops out of the socket is so loud that the vibration of it tingles through your interlaced fingers and all the way up to his own.
A sharp yelp, followed by a weak whimper that makes his stomach flip, and he drops your hand like it’s scalding hot. You pull it into your chest with your good arm, palm cradling your elbow to give yourself a little support. Maybe you’d hit the ground a little harder than you meant to. It’s definitely dislocated. He can’t help but feel like it’s his fault.
Maybe that’s why he’s manoeuvring around you, where you sit pouting in a dusty heap. It’s what he tells himself anyway, as he slips large hands underneath your FBI vest – fingers pressed snugly against your ribs, separated by only a thin shirt, and he carefully helps you to your feet. The action has his face dangerously close to yours, so close that he’s terrified you’ll be able to hear how shallow his breaths are. But you seem to be far too focused on your own breathing to really register his proximity. Hotch is ahead already, Unsub in tow, but you’re the only thing Spencer is worried about right now. Someone else can collect the abandoned firearm from the ground, he has more important things to do. Like getting you into the care of a professional instead of his clumsy hands.
“Can you walk?”
A rhetorical question if he’s ever asked one. It’s your arm he’s pulled out of the socket, not a leg. You nod anyway, gently, but you don’t pull away from him. Instead your voice is soft, unsure.
“Help me?”
Of course he does, as if he’d be able to do anything else.
Does he really need to keep a hold on you, help you across the warehouse floor and out to an ambulance? Probably not. Does he do it anyway? Absolutely. You don’t seem to mind the closeness, judging by the way you lean into the solidity of him as the two of you shuffle towards the open door. He relishes in it, just a little. Because for all the camaraderie and familiarity that has built your friendship over the past few years, touches like this are so rare. Rare and usually instigated by you, when a case has hit him a little too close to home. It’s precious. To have you in his arms the way he’s wanted, wished for, literally dreamed about. There’s an irony in his earlier misplaced attempt to help you up, somewhere. Why can he only have you this close when one of you is hurting?
Raised eyebrows from the rest of the team be damned, he’ll carry you to the ambulance if he has to. He doesn’t but he’d try if you asked.
Spencer has seen all manner of terrible things. He’s seen them happen to strangers, friends, he’s been the one under the spotlight more than once. But he finds himself wholly unprepared to watch you wince as you hop up onto the back of the ambulance, legs dangling over the edge, arm still cradled protectively close to your chest. You flinch almost violently when the paramedic approaches you with outstretched hands which, in turn, only makes you hiss in pain. Your apology is small, quiet, sheepish. Everything he knows you not to be, which only makes him feel that much worse about being the reason you’re in this position in the first place. He’s not, the little logical voice in his brain tells him it was the fall you took, but he’s the one who offered to help you up. Can’t take that back.
“Do you have to?” You’re arguing with the paramedic when his brain checks back in to the conversation.
A sling has been placed by the open medical bag beside you, but it’s the object next to it that has your eyes wider than dinner plates. A needle, carefully sealed in its little package, ready and waiting to give you the pain relief that all three of you know you’re in desperate need of. There’s no way your shoulder can be reset here without it.
“You look at dead bodies all day, and you’re telling me you’re afraid of this?” The paramedic means well, he knows she does, but the grating sound of the sterile packaging being ripped open only serves to shrink you away from it even further.
“Phobias are rarely rational. In fact, the dictionary definition refers to one as being an extreme or irrational fear of, or aversion to, something. Phobias relating to medical procedures are pretty common actually.”
The barely hidden eye roll he gets from the paramedic would suggest he’s not helping the situation, but it’s the look that you give him. The one he gets across coroner slabs and conference tables and crime scenes, that tells him he is.
“I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t want to, considering this is kind of my fault,” Spencer holds his hand up between you, wiggling his fingers in front of a sad little smile, “But squeeze away.”
“I don’t know, I might break it.” You’re going for a light-hearted joke, but your gritted teeth pay you no favours.
“Then we’ll call it even.”
You take his hand, and he wonders if he’ll need to ask the paramedic to break out the defibrillator next – judging by the way his heart stutters in his chest.
And, to your credit, you only almost break it. The first squeeze is tight, muscles in your forearm trembling as the needle plunges deep into your shoulder. It won’t be enough to completely numb you, the paramedic confirms, but it’ll go a fair way towards dulling the pain. You should really go to a hospital, a bodge job in the back of an ambulance isn’t exactly Bureau protocol, but he knows that isn’t happening. God forbid you ever get shot, he’s sure that getting you treated properly for something like that would be more traumatic for you than any injury.
The second squeeze isn’t something he’s prepared for. You hang onto his hand as though your life depends on it once the paramedic has decided the painkillers have kicked in enough, though her fingers on your shoulder still have you tensing. She tells you to relax, uselessly. Instead, you turn your head away, bury it into Spencer’s shoulder, and dig your nails into the back of his hand. His knuckles crack under the pressure, synchronised popping absolutely miniscule compared to the thunderous pop your shoulder gives when the paramedic manipulates it back into place. Tears seep through his shirt as they dampen his shoulder, the tension in your jaw gives away the sob you’re biting back. You swallow it before you pull your face from the security of his warmth – brave face, as always – and dutifully allow the paramedic to tug the Kevlar vest over your head to make way for the sling she’s prepared.
You’re too on edge to really pay attention to the instructions she’s giving you, too preoccupied on slowing your heart rate to hear about the over the counter pain meds you should take, how long you need to keep the sling on. So, Spencer listens. He remembers, as he always does. He nods and tells her he’ll make sure you do everything by the book, because he knows you won’t be on your way to the doctor’s office in a hurry if your recovery doesn’t go to plan.
JJ popping up in your field of vision seems to lighten your mood, the stiffness falls away and you choke out a laugh alongside a sarcastic comment about heroics being above your paygrade. It’s fake, the laughter. Your spine is still rigid, smile a little too tight to be true. But nobody else seems to notice. They’re just glad you’re alright. Something about your rapid mood change scratches an itch in his brain, the smallest part of it that’s just a little smug. Because you don’t let on about your fear to the others. Just him.
Spencer piles into the back of the second SUV after you, behind Rossi and Emily, and takes it upon himself to make sure you’re strapped in. Admittedly, you could manage it yourself, but he doesn’t want you to. There are eyes on the back of his head when he leans over to carefully pull the seatbelt across you, when he makes sure to steer clear of your sling, but they’re easy to ignore when you’re watching him the way you are. Your quiet affirming hum follows the click of the seat belt plug when you meet his questioning gaze, calming the pounding in his chest and he doesn’t pull back right away. Involuntarily, his eyes drop to your lips for the barest of moments.
He could kiss you.
Right here, right now. In the back of the SUV, with your arm in a sling, and your colleagues watching on. He could do it. But he doesn’t.
He knows what he wants your first kiss to be like – a little pocket of his brain is dedicated to it, plays scenario after scenario in the moments before he settles down to sleep every night. Silly little bedtime stories.
Except they’re not silly, because somewhere along the way he stumbled out of his harmless little crush and into something much more serious. He knows what it is, he won’t put a name to it. Instead, he daydreams. It’s not always the same, the location varies - sometimes you’re at work, in the bullpen or the conference room, or obscured from the rest of the team by the metallic bulk of an SUV. Sometimes you’re in his apartment, in the kitchen, by the window in the living room, in the doorway of his bedroom. Sometimes it’s just a street corner, at night, at midday, dawn, dusk. But you, you’re always the same. You always look at him with a smile that could light the entire city, and he just tells you.
Spills his guts out all over the floor, every part of him left raw and vulnerable, as he tells you he loves you - has always loved you. Maybe even before he met you. He tells you how his heart stopped in his chest that first morning you walked into the BAU office, how he nearly spilled his coffee down his shirt, how his glasses steamed up with the heat from his cheeks. How Derek, JJ, Garcia, the entire team has been teasing him for literal years. How sometimes he thinks he catches you looking at him, but that’d be just too good to be true wouldn’t it?
And then your smile grows, and you take a step further into his space until there’s scarcely any room between you. That’s when you tell him you do look at him, you look at him all the time. Because you love him, just as hopelessly and desperately and effortlessly as he loves you. That’s when he kisses you. When he grasps your face in his hands and takes a deep breath of you before crashing into you with a bruising force. You take it, of course you do, just as eagerly as he pours himself into it. The kiss of a lifetime. That’s how he’d do it.
But he can’t do any of that, not now.
So, he pulls back, plugs his own seatbelt in, and lets himself wallow in the post-case stillness that settles in the car. Punctuated by Penelope’s voice through the speaker on your phone though it may be. She’s relieved, a little mad that you’d put yourself in harm’s way, but ultimately glad you’re safe. He smiles to himself at that, he can’t help but agree.
Quantico’s parking garage is dark this time of night, of course it would be, but the chill of the concrete seeps into his bones. You shiver beside him as he helps you slide out of the SUV. Goodbyes are short, sweet, exhausted. Each member of the team wandering towards their own vehicles, leaving you and Spencer standing alone under the fluorescent lights.
“Let’s get you home, superhero.” He grins at you as his hand settles gently on the small of your back, guiding you towards the street exit.
It’s not far to the train station, the streets are still busy even at this time of night. Tourists and businessmen and politicians all alike. But you don’t get jostled in the slightest, he makes sure of it - carefully weaving through the throngs to get you safely to your platform. It’s only as he steps onto the train with you that you realise his own home is in the complete opposite direction. It’s borderline unfair how fuzzy he feels at your concern for his own journey.
“I said I was getting you home, not getting you to the station.” He can’t help the fond smile that settles on his features as you look up at him from your seat. He’s chosen to stand, partially in front of you, as a sort of makeshift barrier between your injured arm and any potential commuters who might stumble into you. He holds his hand out to you expectantly and it takes you another moment to fish your keys out of your bag. They’re placed softly in his palm, your fingers barely brushing his. The touch is so gentle compared to the way you almost squeezed that same hand to death only a couple of hours earlier. He just about manages to suppress the shudder that threatens to buckle his knees, and he counts his lucky stars that your building is only a block away from the train’s destination.
The thought only occurs to Spencer when he’s halfway over the threshold of your apartment, too preoccupied with getting you back safely to realise he’s actually never been in your home before. Organised chaos is the term he’d use. The open plan kitchen and living area is tidy but cluttered, books of every genre piled on shelves with no real strategy, a haphazard stack of second hand vinyls that are mostly Tom Waits sit atop an old record player, a small collection of cacti in mismatched terracotta pots are lined up on your little kitchen windowsill. The cupboards are a deep green, which should really be at odds with the peach tinged wash on the walls, but the combination is just soft enough to work. It’s very you.
“I can take care of myself, you don’t have to stay.”
Your name leaves his lips in the same tone it usually does before he can stop it, the same heavy sigh that wraps around the letters more often than not. God, you know exactly how to push his buttons, even when you don’t mean to. You’re missing the point entirely – he wants to take care of you. It’s so rare that you let him.
“Nice try,” He says as he sets your work bag down on one of the chairs at the round kitchen table, “Get changed, I’ll fix up some dinner.”
“You will?” The teasing grin on your face is either because you don’t think he can cook, or because you can’t. He’s leaning towards the former.
“Hey, I’m a man of many talents.”
You stand there for another long few seconds, just watching him. It’s not dissimilar to the look you gave him at the ambulance, in the SUV, on the train home. Like there’s something you’re desperate to say to him; only, you’re not sure how to say it. So you turn on your heel and close the bedroom door behind you.
Spencer physically has to shake off the weight of your gaze before he can move again, even after you’re gone. His own bag finds its place beside yours, jacket folded and draped neatly over the back of the metal chair. It’s the kind of dining set he’d expect to see outside a Parisian cafe, as opposed to being tucked in the corner of a DC apartment. Chipped white metalwork and all, probably originally a garden set, but it fits the eclectic thrift store vibe you’ve curated throughout the space. He finds himself drifting towards your overstuffed bookshelf, to the beat up record player and the pile of albums - the protective sleeve of each one shabbier than the last. He’d been right at first glance, the collection is mostly second-hand Tom Waits albums - with a little Queen, The Magnetic Fields, and Fleetwood Mac in the mix. The album on top is the most dog-eared, and he doesn’t have to employ a single one of his profiling skills to know this one is the most loved, most played, and he’s sure you’ll appreciate the comfort of some background noise. So he’s concentrating on sliding the record out of the sleeve, carefully placing it onto the turntable, and setting the needle down.
The bluesy first bars of Tom Waits’ Heartattack and Vine fill the room at the same time you open the bedroom door, looking more than a little sorry for yourself. And, to his credit, Spencer does a pretty good job of not laughing at the picture of you in the open doorway.
You’ve got yourself tangled up, all wrinkled shirtsleeves and oozing embarrassment - one sleeve dangles empty by your side where the other is still firmly encased by the sling, your sole free arm pokes out of the bottom of your sweater. Your eyebrows are drawn as you look everywhere but at him.
“Can you…?” You trail off. A breath pushes its way out of your lungs, half-sigh and half-helpless laugh.
“Come on.” He erases the distance between you in two strides, hands turning you at the waist before he can even really think about what he’s doing. You shuffle into the room ahead of him, soft rug shielding your socked feet from the cold of the wooden floor. He’s pleased to find the same decorative tastes extend through to your bedroom.
Another bookshelf, also stuffed to the brim with enough material to start your own bookstore. A little wooden desk by the window paired with a chair that doesn’t match, the wall to the right of it is plastered in multicoloured post it notes - a few of them catch his eye, reminders and ideas and shopping lists. Your bedspread is the same dark green as your kitchen cabinets, although it’s mostly obscured by a mess of patchwork blankets and jewel toned decorative pillows. Your sunshine plush has pride of place balanced against the left-hand bedpost on top of the headboard. Even without an eidetic memory, he’d remember the look on your face when he won it for you. Undercover at a travelling carnival in Oregon, the job at hand was to lure out an Unsub whose tastes fit you to a T, but he’d been uncharacteristically powerless to resist at least trying to get something for you. Your cover was a couple, anyway. He’d only been in character. Not only do you still have it, but it has pride of place, and something about it has his pride rearing its head.
You’re fussing with your pyjamas, a threadbare hoodie and garishly patterned sweatpants, when he turns his attention back to you. The reality of the situation seems to hit you both in the same moment.
Spencer is going to have to undress you.
It’s not how he imagined it would be - and that is definitely not something he needs to think about right now. He could keep his eyes closed? Although not being able to see where he should put his hands is arguably more dangerous than it would be to pay attention. He has to clear his throat before he can find his voice.
“I’m going to have to take this off,” He gestures to the sling, hoping he sounds less noticeably wrecked to you than he does to himself, “But we’ll go slow, okay?”
It’s cruel, is what it is, to watch you nod your agreement, to witness your unshakeable trust that he won’t hurt you so closely. Ultimately, it’s not overly different to the way he checks over your protective vest. There’s a strategy, a system to it just the same as the task that lies ahead, and he’ll follow it step by scientific step.
The sling is first, straps carefully undone and the support sliding off your arm - you both support it, your elbow in his palm where yours settles under your wrist. The one free hand you have between you, Spencer’s, works your shirt up over your uninjured shoulder and tugs it over your head. His eyes never drift beyond what you’ve asked of him, though it isn’t for lack of temptation. He slides the remaining sleeve off of your injured arm with a touch so light that neither of you wouldn’t know it was there if not for the skim of his fingers over your bare skin. Your hoodie replaces your work shirt just as carefully, in reverse. Injured arm first, head, uninjured arm. His tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth absentmindedly as he concentrates on looping the sling over the thick cotton, securing your arm tight to your chest again. Job done, and without too much embarrassment. He’d call that a success.
“Would you mind-” You struggle for a moment, “The clasp is fiddly.”
Spencer doesn’t know what you mean at first, and then it clicks - and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room. You need him to undo your trousers. He can do that, he can do it. He might feel like he’s about to spontaneously combust over the request, but he can do it.
There’s not a whole lot he wouldn’t do for you, to tell the truth.
It takes him longer than it should to slip the hook out of its clasp, usually nimble fingers fumbling under the weight of both of your gazes. But he doesn’t stop there. Because his usually brilliant mind is buzzing with static and his hands are moving of their own accord and the teeth of the zip on your trousers as he pulls it down is loud.
Spencer pulls back like he’s been shocked, while your eyes remain firmly glued to his hands. Hands that now wring themselves with anxiety as he quietly asks if you can manage the rest. You don’t respond verbally - it takes another long second, but you start shimmying the trousers off of your hips with your free hand. The slightest glimpse of bare thigh has him spinning on his heel and marching towards the kitchen in search of food.
He’s not thinking about the soft material of your sweatpants being pulled carefully over your legs in the other room, as he roots around in your kitchen cupboards. He’s not. A can of chopped tomatoes, a handful of half-empty spice jars, just about enough dry spaghetti for two. It’ll do. A pot of water is set on the stove to boil, the noise is enough of a distraction when the bedroom door opens again behind him. You shuffle about for a few minutes, digging around your shelves and Tom Waits’ gravelly tone cuts off abruptly to be replaced by the softer voice of Stevie Nicks instead. The volume ticks down a couple of notches before you join Spencer in the kitchen as he warms the tomatoes and spices alongside the boiling noodles, moving around him with the same ease you do in the office. You pull out two bowls that don’t match - one is shallower and wider and glazed a sunshine yellow, there’s a chip in the lip of it. The other one is smaller, deeper, glazed navy blue instead and with a cheeky face etched into the pottery. Its nose protrudes slightly, rounded out on one side. He can’t help his smile when he dishes out two equal portions and the red sauce drips down onto the bowl’s nose. He swipes at the mess with his thumb before handing you the bowl.
“Thank you.” You search out his gaze this time, urging him to look you in the eye. For cooking, or what he’s sure is your favourite bowl, or staying. He’s not sure. He wants to tell you that you don’t have to thank him, he’d drop anything and everything at any moment if you needed him to. But something in your eyes has stolen his voice, a flicker of something he’s far too terrified to acknowledge. So he only smiles, takes the yellow dish in his hands, and follows you to the comfort of your vintage floral couch.
It’s not a table dinner kind of evening, you seem to have decided. Although the precarious balance of the bowl on your knees suggests otherwise, as you try to eat one handed. Spencer leans forward to pull the cushion from behind his back, his own dinner temporarily abandoned on the floor in front of him, and he picks up your bowl to slide the cushion across your lap in lieu of a tray. Your laugh is quiet, you don’t look at him, but whatever tension had built in the bedroom dissipates with the sound.
Even so, he shoots off a text to Penelope while you’re preoccupied with your spaghetti, asks if she can lend you a helping hand for the next few days if you need one. You shouldn’t need the sling for more than a week anyway. She responds with a smiley face and a kiss almost immediately. It’s not the first time in his life he’s thanked whatever mystical force is responsible for Penelope Garcia.
Spencer will corral you to the doctor’s office for a checkup in a few days, he’ll make sure you do your stretches, he’ll set alarms for your painkillers. And, ultimately, he’ll come back if you ask him to. He’ll help you in and out of your pyjamas if that’s what you want, of course he will.
Regardless of the way it sets his insides aflame. He’ll do it for you.
yes i know reader inserts are blank slates yes this apartment is basically just my own flat no i don’t care thank u🧡🧡
#acts of service as a love language is so underrated he just wants to hELP YOU!!!!#AAUUGGGHHHHHH anyway#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#the canyouniverse#lou writes
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Just a Little Taste
A/N: Welp. Somehow my breeding/breastfeeding kinks manifested themselves into a story. I wrote this sky high on painkillers and I am a little in love with the whole premise. @tiredmamaissy -I hope more than anything that you enjoy this. You deserve all of the goodness on this site. Your Masterlist is my personal spank bank lol
Word Count: 3k+
Warnings: This story is Filthy. Smut with very little plot. Breastfeeding. Pussy Eating. Slight mommy kink if you squint. Very pregnant reader getting pleasured, because pregnant beings can still be sexual. Aged up!Neteyam
You are responsible for cultivating your own online experience, please do not interact if any of these tags are triggering to you. Minors DNI.
Summary: You’re eight months pregnant with Neteyams child, and after a long day, you both need a little relief. Neteyam x Human! Reader
"Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea
Bumble-bee on the scene.
Yeah, I'd give up my bakery to have a piece of your pie"
- See You Again, Tyler the Creator ft Kali Uchis
Life in the village is always busy. Constantly bustling with life and movement as everyone; human scientist, Avatar and Na’vi alike, rush to keep things afloat.
High Camp is so different then Home Tree had been, the rage of war adding a constant edge to long days and restless nights. You miss the comfort of a slow life, of hazy days down in the jungle. The jagged cliffs of the Hallelujah Mountains still don’t quite feel like home to you.
Still, you go about your daily duties.
Being a Pandoran raised human had always given you a different insight, the two massively different cultures you we’re brought up in clashing and mending to create a skill set that was like no other- it had taken many years of painful trial and error to find your place within the Omiticaya, but healing had always come naturally.
Both holistic and surgical alike. You’d spent years shadowing Mo’at and learning the ancient herbal ways of the people, while well as taking advantage of the many PHD toting scientist back at Hell’s Gate. Medicine had no boundaries, was a way for you to feel close to both sides of yourself. To broach the gap between human and clansman.
You find your skills being needed more than ever. The ever constant raids against the RDA means your hands are rarely idle, forever in movement as you tend to the wounded. Some days you sit in the big Healers Tent with Mo’at and the other Taskarem, and others you’re in the makeshift Medi Bay, which is really more of an Avatar Pod Trailer turned OR, with the handful of human surgeons.
The long hours spent on your feet leave you sore and exhausted, but you have to pull your weight.
Even if said weight is far heavier than usual as of late-
“Y/N” you’re broken out of your thoughts by Max- as he enters the trailer with a holo-tab in hand and a concerned look in his dark eyes “What are you still doing here?”
“I was just finishing up inventory- our antibiotic stock is back way up. Jake was right, those helicopter raids were more than worth it” you’d sorted out the tiny vials of vital medicine by hand, not wanting any to be misplaced or mislabeled.
“You don't think maybe you should head home?” He continues and you sigh.
You miss your tent, and the soft bed of furs that lay inside the secure warm flaps. And the man that waits for you inside of the patchwork leather walls-
“I’m fine” you assure. And really, you are.
It's a fact you have to keep reminding people of.
Yes, you’re as big as a Strumbeast, but you are no less competent. No less able bodied.
Pregnancy is one of the most natural parts of life, a base staple in all’s existence. There are plenty of pregnant Omiticaya women who were expected to play their roles, even as the battle raged outside the safety of the mountain cave system.
It was the nature of your pregnancy that was more…fragile then average. Inside your womb grew a child that would be the first of it’s kind. A scientific mystery: no one had even known it was possible for Na’vi and humans to procreate.
And yet all of the evidence now lies under your shirt. Your stomach round and pronounced, full of growing life.
Full of the love between you and the Olo’eyktan’s eldest son.
Neteyam had left his permanent mark on you. Had part of himself growing inside of you. The thoughts we’re enough to make your knees buckle if you focused on them too hard.
“You’ve been here since 6am, you really should get some rest. Take one of the empty bunks if you want. Have you checked your blood pressure-”
You’re a grown woman. You’re not going to huff and puff and roll your eyes, but fuck, do you want to.
Everyone was so overbearing lately.
Norm and Max we’re constantly breathing down your neck; “The baby has a different growth rate then a human child, we need to monitor the way that your body is responding” Followed closely by Jake who watches you with sharp eagle like eyes and Neytiri, who used to all but ignore your presence, constantly checking in on you throughout the day. Mo’at’s always poking and prodigy, and Kiri almost always has her hands on you in some way shape or form.
You are glad for the support, happy that this baby would be so loved.
But really, you missed being treated like the competent, independent woman you knew you we’re.
“My blood pressure is fine. I thought since we ruled out preeclampsia we weren’t going to worry about it anymore” you know that it’s not going to silence his worry, but still. You can try.
Max goes on one of his science mambo jumbo spiels, and by the end of it you’re waddling out of the lab and back to your hut, annoyed as shit but placating your pseudo father figure all the same. Only a month and a half mor of this and then things could go back to normal.
Everything had just…changed so quickly.
You 're a caretaker by nature. Caring for others is easy, feels right. You’d tucked the much older scientists into bed when you we’re just a pre-teen. Made dinners. Looked out for Spider and the other Sully’s-
And the role reversal still didn't quite sit right with you. Your control freak ways didn't do well with not being the one in charge- you’d been stripped of your title so to speak. You we’re supposed to relax into your new role, enjoy being doted over before the nine month’s we’re over.
You and Neteyam’s shared tent is in the centered in the cave, close to his families, but standing on its own. As private as anyone could get in the busy, close quartered camp. The walls of the hut are familiar, adorned with your combined belongings. Cozy and familiar.
You shimmy free of your confining bra, step out of your cargo pants, then toe off your boots, releasing your swollen sock covered feet with a groan before collapsing into your well loved bed, the soft blankets and familiar scent of your mate lulling you into a deep state of peace.
It’s kind of wild how quickly you can fall asleep these days. Growing a little person from scratch tends to burn a lot of energy and the moment you relax, you’re out like a light.
You don't wake up, even when the horns are sounded for the return of the War Party.
Not when Neteyam makes his way through the camp and enters the tent. He’s wearty, grime covered and hunched over. He only softens when he sees you, tucked safely, into his bed. Your eyes still closed and face still scrunched up as he strips out of his battle band and shin covers. He’s quiet, washing off with the large freshwater basin in the corner before making his way over to his much-missed bed mat.
It isn't until he's crawled under the blankets and wiggled his way as close to you as possible that you begin to stir. His large cat like snout nuzzles into the vulnerable crevice of your neck, chuffing hot breaths against the smooth skin.
You’re not upset at him for waking you up, a drowsy half alert smile stretches over your lips as your hands run up his strong back. Gently working the tense muscles.
He gets so greedy when he comes back from the War runs. He needs to be comforted, to be held and you are all too willing to comply.
Everyone else infantiles you now, and yeah, Neteyam could get a little intense and overprotective, but your relationship had always worked because you were the one person in all of Pandora that babied the future chief.
He was such a sweet man, with so much responsibility on his plate. You loved nothing more than holding him in your arms. Letting him release any and all tension because you had him. You, a tiny soft skinned human, were the barrier between him and the ruthless world.
You’d be such a great mother to his children. His hind brain purrs at the thought. That even through all of the controversy, he knows he’d chosen the right mate. Little and fierce, he hopes the baby is just like you.
“Are you okay?” You ask, tone hushed in the darkness of the tent. The only light coming from the small dying embers of the firepit in the center of the space. Hypnotic shadows dance along the canvas walls and Neteyam's breathing grows shallow as he sinks into it.
The way you smell. The way your heart beats, strong against his cheek. The way your plump body feels so good under his wandering hands. He hadn't been okay, just moments ago. He was delirious, so sick of the fighting that he felt ill with it.
But how could any of those bad feelings exist when he had you waiting for him? Ready to welcome him into your body, your heart, your mind. He doesn't think he could survive without knowing the solace of your love.
“I’m okay, narlor(beauty). Just missed you” he mutters, still trying to dig his face deeper into your skin. He wants to escape inside of you, you chuckle at his futile attempts to mend you both into one entity. His large palms rest against your bloated belly, tenderly and your heart flutters “Missed you both so much”
Being so loved is overwhelming.
You wouldn't have it any other way.
“I missed you, my sweet baby. I missed you all day” you assure him with the words you know he needs to hear. “Our son here thought it would be fun to jump on his sa’nok’s bladder all day. It was like was playing the wokau(pendulum drum) all day long- I spent hours in running back and forth to the bathroom”
Neteyam's laugh is deep and rich. Thoroughly pleased to listen to your stories of your day, eager to hear every minute detail. Desperate to drown out visions of blood and gun smoke with your voice.
“Ah, you have to be nice to your momma, little one” he chastises the bump, raising your shirt over your head, wanting that flimsy barrier gone. His lips trail over the tight skin of your bulging belly as he speaks to his child.
Your son, still safe inside your soft body, knows his fathers voice already. Recognizes that slightly accented cadence, and squirms inside of you happily.
Neteyam usually speaks strictly in Na’vi to your unborn child-
“He needs to know the language of our people, first and foremost”
-he’ll spend hours whispering his mother tongue into your flesh. It always leaves you boneless and shaking. Feeling so special and cared for. Na’vi, though your second language, is familiar to you. You’re fluent in the language- but fuck. The way your mate speaks it is the most beautiful thing. It’s musical, he tells sprawling stories with his colorful words.
There is one English he’s very fond of though. Every time it leaves his plush mouth it makes you grin, sharp. Knowingly.
“Are you gonna be nice to momma, Neteyam?” you question him after a while. His ears quirk, swiveling on his head and his tale flicks once, in obvious excitement.
You know what he’s wanted, ever since he woke you up by nuzzling at your chest. Ever since he peeled off your top and left your heavy breasts bare. Did he think you missed the way his golden gaze would flick to them, eyeing them hungrily.
He needs this as much as you do, but as usual, your sweet boy is too selfless to ask. Won't trouble you with his wants unless you bring it up first.
You reach for his big hand that rests on your belly, and drag it to where you need him. His palm enveloping your tits, the rough callus’s catching on your sensitive nipple just right-
Your pregnancy had been different than regular humanoid pregnancies. Your body worked hard, thrown into overdrive in an attempt to keep up with the fast growing fetus in your womb. You’d started lactating months ago, far earlier then normal. Your breasts firm, full with milk. Ready to feed the child that had not yet come into the world.
At first it had been both painful and embarrassing. You had no child to drink what you were producing and the other breastfeeding women in the tribe we’re hesitant to feed their babies your tawtute(human) milk. Already over emotional due to the hormone change, you’d wept at the fact that you had no one to give what your body readily made.
The fact that you couldn't be a bigger part of your community due to your human heritage, combined with the intense pain that came from having backed up ducts had been too much,
Eventually you’d turned to Neteyam, both your eyes and shirt soaking wet. Begged him to help you. And of course, as always, he did.
It should be awkward, or shameful- but connecting with him on any level is something you cherish. Why would this be any different?
“I’m always nice to you, aren't I, love?” Neteyam gruffs as he gently works at the breast in his hands. Its firm and full of milk, his mouth waters “Do they hurt again?”
“Mhmm” you whine pathetically, and you’re not lying. The skin of your chest is now marred by stretch marks and you’d had to stuff precious, hard to come by toilet paper down your bra all day to keep them from spilling over “They’re so full, Nete”
“Oh” He hums, thumbing at your nipple “Poor momma, I’ll help you. Don't worry” his lips are wet against your skin as he kisses his way to your breast, his tongue peeking out to circle your puffy nipple. A pearlescent drop of milk tops the rosy bud and he groans as it hits his taste buds.
He tells you that you taste good, often. The juices of your pussy, your spit soaked kisses. He’s always been greedy for it, his tongue bullying its way into your holes, desperate for your essence. Your milk is just as delicious as the rest of you.
It quickly goes from kitten licking, wide wet stripes against your pebbled nipple to sucking your big breast as far into his mouth as he could. Careful of his fangs as he gorges himself on your flesh.
He’s loudly appreciative as he suckles on your nipple. Grunting and humming and moaning at the flavor. Your arms come around him, cradling his head to your bosom because it feels so good. Having him this close, knowing that he'd do anything to take care of you. That he truly loved the way you tasted-
Many people thought you and Neteyam would never last. It was lust, they’d claim. Curiosity. A childhood friendship that would fizzle out eventually. Na’vi needed Tsaheylu, it was the lifeblood of all their relationships. Why would the much desired future Olo’eyktan stay with you if he couldn't even properly bond you?
While you couldn't deny that there we’re doubt filled moments that you yourself wondered why he’d chosen you and stayed so loyal to you…you still felt your own form of connection to him. While you’d love to make that sacred bond with him, you didn't feel any less close to your mate.
You never thought that you could be so intertwined with another being.
As Neteyam takes his fill from your breast, you massage the base of his Kuru, firm enough that it makes him hiss. You have no special braid of your own, but he’s always been very free with his when it comes to you.
You can do with as you please. Stroke it. Lick it. Massage it. Hell, he’d even let you touch glowing pink tendrils at the end of it before. Let you feel his exposed nerves, so vulnerable and raw in your hands that he had shed tears as you explored.
Nothing was taboo in your relationship. There was no space undiscovered between you.
Your bodies we’re so very different, and yet you knew his like the back of your hand. All of the strong muscles and hard sinew. The cobalt expanse of his skin didn't have one blemish that you haven't memorized. You could point out his striped pattern in a sea of other Na’vi.
And he knows you right back.
Loves to dig his fingers into your doughy hips, into your pillowy thighs. Your wide ass and ample chest. He loves your form, goes crazy for all of your alien curves. He never cared for your human modesty, he’d wanted to part your ass cheeks and stare at plump of your pussy for as long as he could remember. Wanted to strip you of all of those clothes and just stare.
The fact that he gets to do just that, for the rest of your lives, is his favorite, favorite thing.
You watch him eagerly as he slowly nurses. You can't get enough of the sight of him, his hollowed cheeks, the bob of his throat as he swallows your free flowing milk. He's so strong, his muscles flex in the dim light. All of that strength, and yet he’s so very gentle with you, his rough tongue laving at your sore buds every couple minutes. Soothing and tickling you all the same.
You giggle at a particularly quick swipe, letting out a small squeal as Neteyam’s tongue plays with the flesh in his mouth. His eyes peek open, glittering with mirth and low boiling heat as he meets your gaze. Whin his lips split into a smile, a dribble of translucent white milk escapes. Trickles down from the corners of his lips.
Heat pulses between your legs and you know he can smell how aroused you are.
Neteyam has always been able to turn you on without even trying. A well spoken word, or even a pointed look could get you running your thighs together. All desperate to get him alone and put your hands all over him.
You hate that you cant kiss him the way you want to, your Exo Mask, while necessary to your survival can be suck a fucking menace sometimes.
Your thumb traces his lips, the ones you want pressed against your own so bad. You rub the spilled milk from his chin. Cleaning him up in a way that's so simple, and so beyond erotic.
He breaks eye contact first, like he just can't look at you anymore. His brows all scrunched up, his chest raising and falling rapidly. He releases your sloppy nipple, completely covered in his saliva, and presses his face against the damp skin. Making a sound of distress.
Your fingernails skritch at his scalp, tangled in his many braids “What is it, baby?”
“I wanna fuck you so bad. Eywa, do you even smell yourself, Y/N? So good. I have to-”
“Yeah, yeah, okay” You nod, agreeing blindly. He can have whatever he wants.
“Fuck you hard, though. Gotta pound you. I know I shouldn't but it’ll be alright, huh? Won't hurt the baby?” his face is still buried in your skin, you cant even see his expression as he pleads for your pussy. It makes you so hot.
You push at his chest, needing him to get off of you for just a moment. He’s heavy as shit, a dead weight- doesn't really move until you're pouting and demanding for him to just give you a little space.
Enough that you can wiggle out of your panties and spread your thighs wide for him. Your swollen, sticky pussy on display for your mate.
His nostrils flare, and his thin tail whips wildly behind him.
When he swings your thick thighs up onto his broad shoulders, you let out a low, appreciative moan.
“Such a good boy for momma” you praise him the way the people praise the Great Mother. The cradle of your thighs a sanctuary where you both come to worship.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Welp, I should be finishing up Part Three of First Love/Late Spring or plotting out future installments of The Sweetest Sylaung, but here I am writing nursing filth. Lol I truly have zero regrets, this story was so very self fulfilling(even though it partially came from a request). I hope you guys enjoyed though
As mentioned many times before, requests are currently open. Please send in all that good shit. I could use a good distraction from real life!
#neteyam smut#neteyam x reader#neteyam x human reader#neteyam sully smut#aged up neteyam#Neteyam x pregnant reader
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Villainous Team Boss's S/o Sneaking a Team Uniform and Wearing It For Them
(being a grunt uniform, the boss's uniform, and their own admin uniform. thanks to @whoisthatcreepoverthere for the original idea!)
cw: fluff,
characters: Maxie, Archie, Lysandre, Guzma, Giovanni, Cyrus
☀️Maxie🌋
🪨 Sneaking one of Team Magma's grunt uniforms is harder than one might expect. Maxie prefers everything to be quite organised, so it would be rare that they have extra uniforms around or that a grunt would misplace theirs. However, as Maxie's partner, you had an advantage somehow in sneaking one. The Magma Leader looks up from his laptop on his desk, ready to scold the grunt who just walked into his quarters without scheduling a meeting beforehand or even buzzing themselves in. He then feels bewildered as to why you were wearing that. Did you join Team Magma? Why had Tabitha and Courtney not alerted him? Why did you not tell him yourself? He then realises you managed to sneak one of the few spare uniforms they had around when you started laughing.
🪨 Maxie feels embarrassed for getting so worked up over what was essentially a prank on him. You are asked to please return the uniform, as they need to keep track of their inventory and whatever else. Before you go off to do it, however, he does admire how nice his team's colours look on you… The maroon compliments you nicely, and the knitted fabric looked strangely… cute on you. He has to snap himself out of it because he feels less like he is ogling his lover and more like he is staring at one of his grunts.
🪨 If you manage to steal his somehow, he will be mildly annoyed. He likely only has three – a spare at home, a spare at the hideout, and the one he usually wears. He cycles through them as needed. Today was an “as needed,” and he had headed home quickly to grab the spare since it was closer than the hideout. He could only stare blankly at you, imitating his poses in front of a mirror in his uniform. There was only an ask for you to please return his clothing. He feels more embarrassed than anything about this – especially if his uniform fits you well.
🪨 Maxie would prefer his partner to join Team Magma, actually. So, in his ideal situation, you would have your own Magma Admin uniform. Naturally, he would have to approve any uniform you would design… Though, whether it be cosplay or an actual uniform, he would feel strangely flustered at seeing how it complimented you. Perfectly attuned to whatever you wanted it to focus on, so long as it kept to the red and knit style of Team Magma. Whether you go for shorts or a knitted dress, he appreciates the aesthetics dearly. He is notably more flustered if it was a cosplay, though, since he wishes you were a member of his team so dearly. Maybe now is a time to convince you…
🌧Archie🌊
💧 Getting an Aqua grunt uniform is too easy, honestly. Distressingly easy. Archie's filtering is mostly done by asking random aquatic facts and whether or not you support water pollution. Granted, not everyone did get approved since Shelly proved herself to almost be the brains of the entire operation. No one really questioned why Archie's partner was grabbing one, either. You just took it, put it on, and no one thought anything of it. Even Archie barely thought on it when you entered his quartets, busy tapping away and speaking with Matt and Shelly about who knows what. He popped a look over at you, about to tell what he thought was a grunt to come back later, before gasping.
💧 Archie instead gave a hearty laugh and a thumbs up before continuing his conversation. The Aqua Leader has no complaints or comments. You want to wear a uniform? Well, he trusts your interests align enough with his own that it will not cause any issues for him or his team. Besides, you look cute in the bandana and stripes. He almost wishes to ask you to wear it more, if anything. You look good no matter what, though.
💧 You likely have to sneak his uniform after he changes into something else (rare), so it is difficult to get the chance. Though, when you do, he finds out pretty quick since he probably wants it back. The sight of you in his wetsuit – whether it be horribly ill-fitting or surprisingly worn well – makes him grin. Though, he likely loses his mind a little if it is too big for you and scoops you up to laugh some more. If it fits, he is impressed by your form, however. He approves again, but he really needs it back.
💧 Like his dear red-headed companion, he would adore for his partner to be in Aqua with him, and it would only make sense for them to be an admin. Even if you are not, you are essentially an unofficial member with how you can come and go throughout the Aqua hideout with ease without question. So, he has given some thought to what you would wear as an admin. Granted, it would just be a themed wetsuit, but he loves the thought. So you were making it a reality? He is overjoyed and cheers on the cosplay while assuming this is your subtle way of asking him to join his team. Get ready for endless compliments and praises.
🔥Lysandre🍷
☕️ Getting your hands on a Flare uniform… Now, that was a difficult thing to do. No one was really eager to give up their 5,000,000 dollar uniform to just anyone. Well, except, maybe their boss's lovely partner, who seemed just so curious as to what one would fit like. Needless to say, you managed to get one of the bright red suits for your own. Wearing it, you almost wanted to say the price tag felt reasonable. Until you remembered why Lysandre even made his group in first place. Encountering Lysandre in the outfit had been difficult, as the average grunt was not at all allowed in his office. His café, however, served as a well enough hub.
☕️ Lysandre barely registered it at first, having been more focused on his many projects and getting a cup of coffee than any lonesome grunt. Something about you made him double-take, though. Upon a second glance, he registered your face almost instantly. The Flare Boss struggled to comprehend why you were in a Flare grunt uniform. There was absolutely no way you joined without him knowing. He then is pleasantly surprised by how well you pull off the suit. The bright red compliments you well and seems to bring out an elegant, almost handsome side that deeply respects. That almost makes him forget to question how you got a suit of your own. You do get interrogated, however.
☕️ He is mildly entertained by the sight of you in one of his suits. Naturally, it was not his only one he owned, but he found your attempt to wear some of his clothing rather adorable. Unless you are somehow both his height or build, the suit fits you improperly. Lysandre does debate having you made an outfit like his own since the thought of you in something properly fitting like his uniform almost seemed to suit you well. You are, however, his beloved lover and will be at his side of the helm in his beautiful world. The least bothered by it outside of Archie.
☕️ As for an admin uniform, assuming you go for the generic admin uniforms rather than one of the scientists, he finds himself intrigued by how long it took you to acquire the items to imitate it. He is an active purveyor of fashion, after all. There is also a minor concern about leaking among his group, but he just assumes you found out due to your connection with him. He enjoys the way it looks on you, truly, but he feels there is a certain lure that is missing and almost wants to design you one of your own. Perhaps… It was time he finally started involving you more actively in Team Flare. You opened a door that you can not close with this one.
🕶Guzma💀
□ Getting a Team Skull grunt uniform is easy. They are almost all DIY anyway, and the ones stashed out in the Po Pokemon Center are already selling some in there. You buying one barely raises any eyebrows, too. Boss's partner wants a uniform? Whatever, fine. Even when you pop into Guzma's room, he barely questions what you are doing. It does not even register with him at first until you try to sit on his lap. Then, he is suddenly aware that you have changed clothes.
□ He honestly feels a bit smug, seeing you in the uniform. The Team Skull cap and necklace look nice on you, and he barely cares to question where you got it. They have spares all around, and, once again, most are DIY made. He gets a chuckle out of it and just decides to roll with it. You were already an unofficial member. Why not let you wear a uniform? Besides, seeing you as an “underling” let his mind drift in some fun directions that it would not go for any other grunt.
□ Now, you stealing his uniform is less fun. Especially when he enters to see you sitting on his throne with his sunglasses over your eyes. He does not even want to know how you sneaked his watch without him noticing. He starts off with a laugh, expecting it to be over quickly, but you instead do a bad imitation of him. Guzma is now feeling annoyed about this. You get away with it until a grunt walks into the room and does not even realise that you have replaced Guzma at first. He is destroyed internally.
□ Team Skull's admin outfits… are not really a thing. It really is just your own flair to the general scheme they use, with a Skull necklace and black and white clothing being the only requirement. Or maybe you can match with Plumeria if you want. Either way, your wearing it intrigues Guzma. You are not an official member, no, but you do have some authority around Po town. He likes it a lot. There is almost an urge to ask you to join completely, but he gets you have your reasons. For now, he will enjoy your styling completely.
🚀Giovanni🐈
🟥 Getting a Rocket grunt uniform…. is likely easier than Giovanni would want it to be. They have spares in their hideouts, so sneaking one is not so hard. What proved a challenge was how unknown you are among the grunts and trying to navigate the den to even get a glance at your busy lovers. Too many questions and demands, or getting an order barked at you by some random higher-up. You felt like you were never going to get to Giovanni. Even trying to enter his office got you some looks from his guards, but they seemed to quickly recognise you. A questioning look was given, but the doors were unlocked.
🟥 Giovanni barely knew what to think at some random grunt, interrupting his busy schedule for an impromptu meeting, but before he could put the fear of whatever deity they believed into them, he felt suspicious Sure, he registered just the uniform at first, but when his eyes glanced at your face, he let out a sigh. Just what were you doing? He decided against questioning it and instead took a second glance at you. You really fit perfectly into the black clothing, and he would admit the bright red “R” almost felt like a claim on you. Suddenly, he will let this slide. His mind has gone elsewhere.
🟥 He barely responds to you wearing one of his suits. Yes, haha, very funny or interesting. You are even trying to get his sinister grin down but are not quite there. Giovanni claps but is mostly unimpressed. He instead recalls a time his son did something similar, and you get the feeling that he is calling your actions childish. He once again does find himself quite smug about the “R” logo, though it is quite a bit smaller on his own attire.
🟥 In a hand-crafted admin uniform, he finds himself more impressed with your talents in arranging such a look rather than you dressing up like a knock-off member. You even chose the correct styling uniforms his elite executives wore. Were you wanting a position in his organisation? He certainly hoped not because you were not getting one. Work and romance were entirely divided things for him. Though, you have given him an idea as you turned to show off the uniform. Maybe he should order you around like he did his underlings and give you a taste of the “boss” side of him.
🌌Cyrus🛰
☄️ It probably would not be that hard for them to get a grunt uniform since they most likely do have a bulk around HQ. Just go in, grab one, put it on, and give Cyrus a heart attack when you pop into his office. Saturn would not approve you as hire, he knows for sure. He wants to know where you got that and also to take it off right now because he does not like the idea of him viewing you like one of his grunts.
☄️ The Galactic Leader does hate how it makes his thoughts swirl, though. You do not look bad in it — no, not at all. It appeals entirely to his tastes. He feels so bothered by this. The last thing he wanted was for you to figure out his group's real intentions since he knows even those among his most trusted seemed to struggle with it. You truly do look good in the grey uniform. If he was not so restrained – no, if he did not lack spirit, he would allow his mind to wander more.
☄️ As for getting his, well, if the cat is already out of the bag, he is probably leaving a uniform at home to change into instead of having to wear a suit out instead. Sneak it out and discover how ill-fitting it is on you (or maybe well fitting it is if you match his height and body type). Cyrus is mildly disappointed and confused as to why you are wearing his uniform. You are not trying to join Team Galactic and usurp him, are you? He asks you to take it off again.
☄️ If you style your own commander costume, he presumably walks into your shared home to see you in it. He blinks a few times in confusion. That is certainly not one of the uniforms commissioned by him or a commander. It resembles the general theme well, but he is distressed by how you got that and why you are wearing it. Are you… pledging your support to his new world? He feels like he is left reeling by all this… You just get to watch Cyrus.exe crash before your eyes as he fails to process all this. In the end, you will be asked where you got the outfit and the explanation of wanting to try out a uniform in the style of his team leaves him bewildered and a little disappointed since he had hoped he could have your support.
#pokemon x reader#maxie x reader#archie x reader#guzma x reader#cyrus x reader#lysandre x reader#giovanni x reader#pokemon/reader#pokemon maxie x reader#pokemon archie x reader#pokemon guzma x reader#pokemon lysandre x reader#pokemon cyrus x reader#pokemon giovanni x reader#maxie/reader#archie/reader#lysandre/reader#guzma/reader#giovanni/reader#cyrus/reader#pokemon maxie/reader#pokemon archie/reader#pokemon lysandre/reader#pokemon guzma/reader#pokemon giovanni/reader#pokemon cyrus/reader
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What would the au where tango never got experimented on and as a result never left hels look like
you said that tango would have found his way to timmy eventually and that’s really interesting if they would have been friends I wonder how close they would be
the bond like the one Jimmy and tango have was only possible because tango had spent at least a year in hermit craft learning to open up and jimmy was raised not in hels
even if tango wouldn’t have the experiment trauma he still would have trauma and Timmy well I’m pretty sure he would’ve been open to it
Can you share your headcanons on the hypothetical situation please
(i know i’ve been sitting on this ask for ages but i had to turn the idea over in my mind a few times, like really let it get in there, let it simmer, rearrange the furniture. so uh, here ya go!)
~*~
“timmy,” tango calls urgently, ducking into the netherrack cave.
“yeah?” timmy pokes his head up from their nest. there are a few stray sticks caught in his hair- he must’ve taken a nap like tango suggested, thank god.
“sminor said there were blackcoats at the market yesterday, asking about hybrids.” tango talks quickly, his tone low and impersonal. he crosses over to the double chest they’ve set up, starting to rummage through it. “we gotta go, pack your stuff.”
timmy makes a noise of dismay, sitting upright. “is sean gonna be okay?” he asks tentatively, wringing his hands together.
tango scoffs. “c’mon, you know him. long as he stays outta water, he’ll be fine.” okay, that’s everything he can carry. he pops his ender chest down and starts reorganizing, trying to fit as many resources as he can. “now we, on the other hand, happen to be a bit more visibly obvious hybrids, so like i said, we gotta go.” satisfied with his ender chest, tango mines it back up before turning to face timmy. “now c’mon, scooch, i gotta burn it.”
timmy glances down at the nest, his face falling. “but i just got it how i like it…”
“well sorry, but it’s gotta go!” tango huffs, totally unapologetic, tugging at timmy’s arm. he manages not to scratch him. “now hurry up, get packing-”
“can’t we just hole up here for a few days, til they clear out the area?” timmy asks desperately.
“timmy-”
“you hid this place really well, they’re not gonna find it.”
tango doesn’t let the compliment sway him. he knows he’s hidden their base really well; countless hours were spent mining a virtual labyrinth of tunnels through the mountain, painstakingly shaped to appear as if they generated naturally. the way up to the cave is subtly marked by ever-so-slightly misplaced blocks of netherrack, completely imperceptible to anyone who doesn’t know they’re there.
but if the rumors about the blackcoats are true, that won’t be enough.
“we can’t take that chance,” tango says sharply. he jerks his thumb back at the chest. “last warning. get packed or i’m burning it all.”
sighing, timmy finally relents, climbing over the edge of the nest and shuffling over towards the chest. his head is bowed, mouth pressed into a thin line. pouting, like a little kid. fucking typical.
leaning over the rim of the nest, tango dips his clawed fingers into the brush. he closes his eyes; fire flows from his fingertips, easy as breathing. the stick-and-leaf structure catches light almost instantly. fire crackles and pops in the still air.
timmy has turned his face away as he digs through the chest, shoulders hunching by his ears and wings tucked closed to his body. tango refuses to let himself feel bad for it. it had to be done.
“how’s your hunger?” he murmurs, stepping away from the burning nest.
“hm?” timmy doesn’t look over at him, preoccupied as he sorts his inventory.
tango sighs. “timmy. your hunger.”
“oh, uh- fine?”
“did you even check your comm?”
“i’m pretty sure it’s fine-”
“lemme see.”
“tangooo,” timmy whines, in that plaintive way of his, willing tango to drop the subject.
but tango remains firm, holding out a hand expectantly. after a moment, timmy wilts under the pressure, as expected. he meekly hands tango his communicator, glancing away.
tango quickly scans timmy’s stats. full health. thirty-eight levels (it’s been a while since his last death, tango notes with no small amount of pride). two armor points, cause of the iron boots tango made him last week. and his hunger bar-
“two haunches?” tango hisses. he can almost feel his blood start to boil. “damn it, timmy, how many times do i gotta tell you? you keep it at four at the absolute lowest, in case you have to run or fly. i told you, you don’t have to ration food, if we’re low i’ll go get more.”
timmy gives him a pleading look. “tango-”
“no- no, stop it with the puppy dog eyes! i already- i told you!” tango shoves the communicator back at timmy, none too gently. “do you want the creepy scientists to catch you? huh? want them to experiment on you? you want them to do a- a live dissection- a vivisection on you?”
“hang on,” timmy protests, a nervous tremor in his voice, “we don’t- we don’t know for sure that’s what’ll happen if they find us-”
“what do you think happens?” tango snaps, tasting flames on his tongue. he knows his blaze rods must be spitting fire at this point, but he can’t bring himself to care. “everywhere they go, hybrids disappear. what, you- do you think they’re all just enjoying some super secret hybrid party, joining hands and singing kumbaya? don’t be stupid.”
for a moment there’s silence, nothing but the steady crackling of the burning nest behind them. timmy just looks at him, those big sad eyes shining with tears, and tango’s anger extinguishes.
as easy as it is to lash out at timmy, as good as it feels to get that release, tango always regrets it pretty quickly afterwards.
“hey…” tango exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “okay, okay, sorry. you’re not stupid.” he steps closer, carefully taking timmy’s face in his hands. “and- and i don’t wanna leave either. but it’s the only way to keep you safe. i mean- i promised i would, didn’t i?”
“yeah, i know.” timmy sniffles, avoiding tango’s gaze. “there’s… another town fifteen hundred blocks north?”
“no,” tango says, taking care not to let his voice harden. he picks a stick out of timmy’s hair before stepping away. “no towns for a while. we need to lay low til they clear the area. we’ll find a nice mountain in a forest somewhere, okay? maybe- maybe we can even have a little skylight.”
“yeah?” timmy asks, his voice going up hopefully.
“yeah.” tango pulls a cooked salmon out of his inventory, handing it to timmy. “here, eat.”
in hindsight, tango should’ve known they wouldn’t be safe for very long, living near a coastal town. oceans are few and far between in hels, so they get a lot of traffic. but god, it’s so nice to have actual meat for a change. he loathes the thought of going back to rotten flesh and spider eyes.
timmy takes the fish without complaint and starts nibbling on it. satisfied, tango turns to their double chest and breaks it, letting all the excess items and blocks spill onto the floor. a single well-aimed fireball sets the whole pile ablaze, leaving nothing but smoldering netherrack.
lastly, tango mines their respawn anchor. now that their spawn point is untethered, he feels the anxiety start to kick in with renewed force. a death now would strand them at the world spawn, and that would be all kinds of bad. he takes a final look around the cave; there’s no sign they were ever even here.
“alright, let’s get moving,” he says, putting his pickaxe away and heading for the exit tunnel.
timmy follows him out of the cave. they travel in silence for a few minutes, tango keeping an ear out for mobs since the only light they have is the faint flow of his blaze rods. lighting the area up would give them away, so they’ve had to get used to seeing in the dark.
“someday,” tango says quietly, “we’ll go far enough that we won’t have to worry about those guys ever again. and- and we’ll be able to make a little happy house together, nest and all.”
timmy hums, his arm brushing against tango’s in the dark, wing spread around his shoulders. “yeah, a proper home. i like it. we can- uh, d’you think we’ll make like, a farm or somethin’? a little cozy cottage, like a- a homestead, or…”
“a ranch?” tango suggests, feeling a grin pull at his mouth. like they’d ever find enough passive mobs for that. but for some reason, the idea appeals to him.
timmy huffs a laugh, something tango hasn’t heard for a while. “yeah, sure, we’ll be ranchers.”
“ranchers,” tango agrees. his inner fire has dimmed to a gentle warmth, now; some soft, weak thing he doesn’t have a name for. “team rancher.”
~*~
#hels to pay au#HTP fic#hermitcraft#anyway YES tango and timmy would’ve found each other if tango didn’t leave hels#it wouldn’t have been like it was with jimmy- not exactly#but they would’ve done the best they could#certainly not the worst by hels standards
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okay but today showed just how concerning q!tubbo's behavior and attitudes are becoming, and how it's probably going to be too late until someone notices.
i'll be honest, q!tubbo has ALWAYS been reckless and willing to throw himself into dangerous situations without much thought or consideration. but something about how he does it now has been worse, i'd say.
even since coming back from purgatory, the first couple days after he first met sunny, he was actually MORE careful. i don't think he got knocked once, was always wearing armor, was always careful. except for lucky ducks, where he gave sunny all of his armor, and lied to her about having a backup set and then went in anyway, getting knocked MANY times in the process. but even that, can be looked over.
but ever since fred's funeral. man.
it is so glaringly obvious how bad it has gotten. the actual day OF the stream, q!tubbo was jumping from the side of the hole in ways that got him knocked TWICE, and sunny had to pick him up. then, later when tallulah accidentally dropped the picture she had taken, he jumped down from the top of the wall WITHOUT PULLING OUT HIS GLIDER, and then just casually went back up. when q!pierre was shooting at them, he almost involuntarily threw himself before sunny like a shield, taking all those shots.
and then we come to today. q!tubbo hasn't gotten himself any real armor other than the chestplate from lucky ducks, he misplaced his glider in one of the chests, and then proceeded to MULTIPLE TIMES, jump down into the hole and get knocked, with the simple explanation that "sunny will save me". he fought mobs a bit slower, tanking more hits. and then he jumped back down the hole again, except this time HE DIED. he hasn't died like that on the server in a while. and then, when stuck at q!pierre's base, he decided that he has to die again, and leaves a block in his inventory so his corpse remains there, and he dies again. then finally, when he is back at the factory after all that, he just goes to the chest and pulls out the glider, and when asked about it, yeah he knew it was there the whole time.
i know a lot of this is probably just coincidence but I DON'T KNOW.... with cc!tubbo confirming (and not elaborating) that q!tubbo hasn't even showered since purgatory (my guy the smell) and then all this..... the subtle arc thats being set up and played out for q!tubbo is making me nervous.
#tw suicide#tw suicidal tendencies#q!tubbo is not okay at all and i don't know whether anyone is going to realise it until its too late#sunny has already gone from being concerned to used to it#after all shes so young how could she know#but i have a feeling its just going to get worse#and we're just going to have to watch#when i said i needed q!tubbo angst I WASN'T PREPARED TO GET SERVED IT#qsmp tubbo#qsmp
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See Me, I See You (m, cold)
I present unto you all: a fic that has nothing to do with the fic I promised weeks ago!!! (sorry) I got some GREAT prompts from that prompt list in my inbox and I used a bunch of them in this fic (mostly anons, but @sniction-fiction and @sneezycold19 both of your prompts are featured in this).
Greyson gets a cold, Elijah catches it...that's pretty much it! No real plot just colds and vibes. Oh, and there's a little bit of ~angst~ thrown in because it's me. I hope you guys enjoy it <3
cw: male, colds, contagion, fevers. 3k-ish words under the cut. Let me know what y'all think!
See Me, I See You
Greyson shifted from foot to foot in the cold of the alleyway, willing Elijah to text him back. He read the text over again for the third time, hoping it sounded nonchalant enough to avoid his boss’s wrath.
heyyy, are you on your way in?
It was already ten in the morning; normally, Elijah was already at the restaurant by now. Normally, his boss wasn’t given the chance to be aware of Greyson’s chronic key-losing issue.
Three minutes passed. His fingers were starting to tingle. Did you leave your gloves wherever you left your fuckin’ keys, moron? Four minutes. Five. C’mon, Elijah, I’m getting desperate.
Finally, at the six minute mark, a text from his boss popped up. I was planning on taking today off. Why, do you need something?
“Fuck,” Greyson muttered, pulling a frozen hand down his face. Of all days, why was today the one Elijah decided to take off?
There was, Greyson decided after a few more freezing minutes pacing the alleyway, nothing to do but tell the truth. Bracing himself for the explosion, Greyson typed out a message. uhhh...kinda. I may or may not have misplaced my keys…
By some sort of stroke of either insanely terrible timing or the worst luck known to man, the minute Greyson pressed the arrow to send his message, a second text from Elijah came through. Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me, Greyson thought, his heart dropping into the pit of his stomach as he read the text from his boss.
I caught your fckn cold, so if you need something can it wait til tomorrow?
***
On Saturday, Greyson couldn’t stop sneezing.
“Hh-! HhIGSTHH-ue! HTSHH!” For the third time in an hour, Greyson wrenched into his elbow, away from the prep table. He groaned, annoyed – prepping this tasting menu for twenty was going to take ten times longer than normal if he couldn’t get this shit under control.
“Bless, bless,” Elijah said, distractedly leafing through the inventory papers on his clipboard. “Coming down with something?”
Greyson cleared his throat, pawed at his nose. Shrugged. “Does it matter? It’s Saturday. Not like I could leave if I wanted to.” The chef washed his hands in the sink near their office, sniffling. He trudged back to his prep, checked his watch – ten thirty AM. Matt was scheduled for noon, and Greyson could already taste the cigarette he was going to savor when his sous took over this prep.
“Mmm, snippy,” Elijah said, scribbling something on the inventory sheets. “Must be a pretty bad one.”
“The fuck are you on about?” Greyson asked, sinking his knife back into the yellowtail he was slicing. He sucked in through his nose, again, again, again to keep from contaminating the fish – on the third sniff, he ducked under the table to protect his product. “HGSTHHZUE! Fuck.”
“That cold,” Elijah said, finally looking up from his paperwork. “It must be pretty bad if you’re in such a shit mood.”
Greyson’s face colored. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, flipped his boss the bird. Elijah just shrugged.
“Do you want a coffee? Or a tea, or something?” he asked, pushing himself out of his chair and approaching the chef. Greyson had gone back to thinly slicing the hamachi; he didn’t answer. “Hellooo, earth to Grey -”
“HTSHH! Huh-! HhITSZHH-ue!” Greyson turned toward Elijah, sneezing into his elbow once more to avoid the fish. Elijah jumped out of the way just in time.
“Christ, warn a guy, won’t you?” he said, checking his outfit for signs of spray. Greyson cleared his throat, put his knife back on the prep table, and slunk to the office in search of a tissue.
“Get outta the splash zone if you don’t want to get wet,” he muttered, blowing his nose and tossing the tissue. “Ndo, I don’t want any coffee or tea. I just want to get this shit done so I can have a cigarette.” The chef washed his hands again, and took his place at the prep table once more. At this point, this won’t be done until next fuckin’ week, he thought, exhausted.
“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Elijah asked, leaning on the prep table. Greyson deadpanned his boss, hoping the knife in his hand made him look at least a little threatening.
“Do I think what is a good idea?”
“A cigarette.”
“I always think a cigarette is a good idea. Don’t you?”
Elijah shrugged again, eyes trained on the knife Greyson slid through the fish. “I mean, usually. When I’m not sick as hell, absolutely.” The two of them caught eyes then, a challenge. Their stares stayed locked until Greyson was forced to turn away to cough. Elijah made a noise in the back of his throat, a mix between a laugh and a coo of pity.
“Don’t fuckin’ patronize me,” Greyson growled, his voice sticky and rough already. The backs of his eyes burned, his throat felt swollen, and his joints were aching; he wasn’t ready to admit it, but Elijah’s perception was correct. He felt like shit.
“I’m not patronizing you, Chef,” Elijah promised, pulling something out of his back pocket. “C’mon. Take a break.” He waved the pack of cigarettes he’d produced in front of Greyson’s face, motioned toward the back door. “I’ll let you bum one.”
Greyson, too tired to continue the fight, just nodded. “Alright,” he said, untying his apron. “Thangks.”
Elijah took in a deep breath, ready to say something, but instead just sighed. “Don’t mention it.”
***
Fuck, fuck, fuck, Greyson thought as he re-read his boss’s text. If Greyson knew one thing about Elijah, it was this: he’d have to be down bad to take an unscheduled day off of work. And for him to admit to illness, unprompted? The man must have been on his death bed.
Quick as he could, Greyson began typing out a response.
ah, fuck, sorry boss. don’t worry about it, I’ll text matt. sorry to bother you, hope youre ok.
Greyson sent the text, only to be filled with dread all over again when Elijah answered back immediately.
I thought Matt and Mark were doing that off property event in rochester today?
Fucking shit, Greyson thought pressing his head to the freezing cold of the back kitchen door. His mind, mocking, flashed him back to last night; Matt and Mark packing up the company van with food for a Christmas dinner one of their regulars was hosting at his mansion in the country. Greyson had waved them goodbye, told Matt to call him if he had any questions on the dishes they’d decided he’d make. In his panic, Greyson must have blacked it out.
oh, he typed to his boss. yeah, I guess they are. no worries, im sure my keys are in my apartment ill just run back and grab them.
His apartment, both of them knew, was a forty minute train ride from the restaurant. Cooks would begin showing up in forty-five minutes. The pit in Greyson’s stomach grew larger still when the bubbles that signaled Elijah typing popped up and went away, popped up and went away.
Finally, the text they both knew was coming but ate Greyson alive even so: I can stop by and let you in. give me 20 minutes.
***
By Sunday, Greyson was fairly sure he was dying.
First, he was freezing; when he came in at the ass-crack of dawn that morning to prepare for Sunday brunch, Elijah had barely been able to stifle a laugh.
“Um,” his boss said, raising an eyebrow, “what are you, uh… wearing?”
Greyson flashed Elijah a watery glare before his eyes glazed over and he pitched forward into the scarf the was wrapped tightly around his neck. “Hh...hhIGTSZH-ue! ETSCHH-ue! Huh -! hh...hhNGSTHH-ue!” He sniffled and wiped his nose on the wool of the scarf before addressing his boss.
“A scarf,” he said, his voice a low monotone. “I’mb cold.”
Elijah nodded slowly, taking the chef in. His hood was pulled over his long, shaggy, unwashed blond waves; his eyes were red-rimmed, dark-circled, and wet with irritation; the bow under his nose was damp and scarlet from wiping, and none of this was to mention the scarf-turned-tissue that had clearly seen better days. “I think… I think you should go home, Chef,” he said, choosing his words carefully.
Greyson didn’t answer; instead, he turned away to cough into the germ-infested scarf. After a few moments of coughing, her turned back and shook his head. “Brunch,” he rasped, attempting to clear his throat.
“Let’s call Matt in,” Elijah said.
“He’s workigg dinner,” Greyson insisted. Elijah pressed his fingers into his eyes, let out a long sigh.
“I think one day of working double shifts isn’t going to kill him,” Elijah said, giving Greyson a pointed look.
“I’mb ndot making my employees work a double shift whend I’m ndot,” Greyson said. “That’s ndot how I operate.”
“Greyson,” Elijah said, his temper beginning to flare, “you sound absolutely fucking awful. And you can barely stand. How do you plan on prepping and executing brunch when you’re swaying on your feet, hmm?”
There was a silence that stood between them then. It ballooned, filling the kitchen, begging one of them to break it. Finally, Greyson’s body took over; he shuddered, dipped back into his scarf and turned away from Elijah.
“Hh-ETSCHH-ue! HUTSHH-ue! Huh...Hh! Hh...hnnn.” Greyson glanced blearily at the cold fluorescent lights in the kitchen, trying to coax the last sneeze out. “Huh-! hnn...hh, huhhh…”
“For God’s sake, Greyson,” Elijah said, allowing the frustration to seep into his voice. “Would you just fucking snee -”
“HRRRTSHHH-ue!” The last one tore out of the chef, left him dazed and panting, turned into a flurry of wet coughs. Elijah winced, but took a few steps forward and placed a hand on Greyson’s forehead. Greyson didn’t have it in him to stop his boss.
“Wow,” Elijah said, raising his eyebrows as he gently pulled his hand away from Greyson’s head. “That’s some fever you’re sporting, kid.”
Greyson felt his eyes begin to water; he bit the inside of his cheek, looked away, and took in as deep a breath as he could without making himself cough again.
“Mbaybe… maybe we could call Mbatt in for brunch just this once.”
***
The twenty minute wait was excruciating.
To keep warm, and to distract himself, Greyson paced from one side of the alleyway to the other, trying to remember whether he’d noticed signs of Elijah getting sick the evening before. His boss was fairly talented at keeping illnesses under wraps in the beginning stages, but was there really a way he’d gone from fine enough to keep it under wraps to so ill he needed the day off in twelve hours? Greyson thought back to the end of last week, when he’d been hit head-on with the cold from hell his boss was now gifted with; it had moved quickly, sure, but definitely not that quickly.
Elijah had certainly been quiet last night, but that tended to be par for the course when they were busy. It had been extra busy, especially for a Tuesday, so Greyson hadn’t really seen much of Elijah. Guilt coursed through his body, and he pulled out his phone once again to text Matt and Mark in a group chat.
hey, guys. hope you’re ready for your event tonight, can’t wait to hear about it. random question for both of u: did elijah seem alright to you both last night?
The wait for a text back wasn’t long; the two younger managers were clearly bored. With several hours to go until their dinner and everything pre-prepped, they were most likely just hanging out on their phones in the spare bedroom they were staying in.
are you serious? Matt’s text came through first. Then, a moment after, one from Mark.
I mean...if by ‘alright’ you mean pissed off and sick then ya I guess lmao.
Greyson’s heartbeat thumped in his ears. He typed back quickly, pointedly. he was sick last night?
chef, u really had the blinders on big time last night lol, Matt texted back.
Which makes sense, it was busy! Mark’s text said, an attempt to cushion the blow. But ya he was for sure coming down with something. Is he ok today?
Before he could type out a response, Elijah’s car turned into the alleyway. Greyson put his phone away and waved, guilty. Time to face the music.
***
Monday, thankfully, was like a salve to Sunday’s burn.
“Morning, Chef,” Elijah said, joining Greyson in their shared office. Greyson pulled out one of his headphones to return the greeting, smiled at his boss.
“Mborning,” he said, his voice still cracked and congested.
“How’re you feeling?” Elijah asked, cutting straight to the chase. Greyson rolled his eyes, shrugged. Smiled a bit.
“Better,” he said, sheepishly. “Much better. Thangks for holding down the fort yesterday, I really owe you one.”
Elijah laughed as he clicked his mouse to wake his computer. “Chef, it’s technically my fort. It’s my job to hold it down.”
“Still.”
The GM nudged his friend, playful. “Don’t mention it,” he said. “Glad you’re feeling better. I was worried you weren’t going to make it through the night.”
Greyson barked out a laugh that turned into a soupy-sounding cough. “You’re so fuckin’ dramatic,” he said. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“Mmm,” Elijah murmured. “That’s what we’re classifying as ‘not that bad’ now? That’s wild. Don’t show me ‘bad’, okay? I don’t think my little heart can handle it.”
Greyson flipped Elijah off at that, and turned back to his computer. The two of them sat, working silently except for the occasional riff or cough from Greyson, until it was time to get ready for service.
All was well. At least, that’s what Greyson thought.
***
“HhhNGSTH-uh! HTSHH-uhn! Hh...hhRTTSHH-oo!”
Ah, fuck, Greyson thought as he watched Elijah slip out of his car. I’m an ass.
***
On Tuesday, there were a myriad of clues Greyson didn’t notice.
He didn’t notice the Elijah slunk into the kitchen an hour later than he normally did; unheard of for him. The chef had been busy prepping when his boss made his way to their office and sunk into his chair, fingers pressed into his aching eye sockets.
“Morning, boss,” Mark said, stopping into the office. Elijah looked up, bleary, and Mark’s face shifted into one of concern. “You alright?”
“Greyson’s fuckin’ cold,” he muttered, coughing hard into his elbow. “It’s a fuckin’ bear.”
Mark put an easy hand on his boss’s forehead, his face knotted with anxiety. “Take anything?” he asked. Elijah shook his head.
“Not yet,” he said. “But I will. Don’t worry.”
He didn’t notice when Elijah ducked out back to have a drawn-out fit of sneezing; Greyson was inside, lecturing Matt and Mark on exactly how to put together the dinner they were going to be doing in Rochester the next day when his boss pushed outside into the cold of the alley. Elijah had managed to collect himself just as Greyson followed him out the back kitchen doors.
“Christ,” Greyson said shaking his head and sitting down on a milk crate next to his boss. “Sometimes, man. This job is like running a fuckin’ daycare.”
Elijah nodded, unsure of how his voice would sound if he spoke. They sat in silence for a few moments, until Greyson produced a pack of cigarettes.
“Bum one?” he asked Elijah, shaking two from the pack. “I owe you.”
“Sure,” Elijah said, his voice cracking on the single syllable. Greyson lit them both up, didn’t mention his boss’s voice. He took a long drag while Elijah ducked into his elbow.
“NTSH! GTSH! HTSH!” Elijah stifled a volley of sneezes into his shirt, sat up near-gasping. He turned toward Greyson, stared at his friend, waiting – what for, he wasn’t entirely sure. Pity? Sympathy? Acknowledgment?
Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t get it. Greyson stubbed out his cigarette and stood without a word. “See you back in there, boss,” he said.
The un-smoked cigarette hung from Elijah’s fingers, burning bright in his hand. He sneezed once, uncovered, creating a cloud of condensation in front of his face. He stubbed the cigarette out, choked back a cough, and headed back inside.
Greyson didn’t even notice when, at nine PM, Elijah parked himself in their closed-off private dining room and laid his head down on the stripped table, cool marble on his overheated face.
“Lij? Boss?” Elijah heard the voice come in before he could sit himself upright. He turned blearily towards the door and saw Matt standing in the doorway, his face painted with concern.
“Shit, Lij, you look like fuckin’ hell,” Matt said, sitting next to Elijah. “I mean, Mark said you weren’t well but Jesus Christ.”
“’m okay,” Elijah shrugged, and turned away from Matt. “Huh! HhIGSTZH-oo! ITSHZH-uh!” He hitched in preparation of another sneeze, sighed when it escaped him.
“Bless you,” Matt said. “I came in to tell you that Greyson wanted your input on a dish he’s working on in the back, but I’ll tell him to fuck off. You need to go home.”
Wanted input on a dish. Elijah would have snorted if he was sure it wouldn’t have ended in a disaster of a mess; of course he wanted his input. The man was in the fucking clouds, apparently; too high to realize he’d left his best friend sunk in the muck that was this nightmare of a headcold.
“That would be great, Mbatt,” Elijah said, attempting a smile. “Thangk you.”
Greyson didn’t even notice, Elijah knew without knowing, that his boss had left without saying goodnight.
***
“Elijah, fuck, dude I’m so sorry for dragging you out here.”
The GM just shrugged, clearly too tired and ill to make a quip. He ran the sleeve of his NYU sweatshirt under his running nose and moved slowly towards the back door. The keys shook in his hand; it took what felt like an eon to open it.
Finally, the door swung open. “You’re in,” Elijah said, his voice barely a whisper. “Do you thingk you cand handle tondight on your own?”
“Yeah, of course, boss, but… shit. Lij, I’m so sorry dude. I can’t believe I didn’t notice you were sick, I mean -”
Elijah held up a hand to stop the chef’s babbling. “Grey,” he rasped, “it’s okay. We’ll call it you getti’g even at mbe for ndever ndoticing you were sick when you first started.”
“That was six years ago. You had an excuse, you didn’t even know me; I know you, I know when you’re sick, I feel like such an ass. I’ve been wracking my brain, pacing around back here trying to figure out how I didn’t realize -”
“HTSHH-oo! ETSCHHH-uh!” Elijah cut the chef off again, folded in half, his face in his sleeve. He sucked in through his nose, stood slowly.
“Bless,” Greyson said, guiltily.
“Thangks,” Elijah said. “And it’s okay. Ndo one is infallible.” He shivered, rubbed his arms with his hands. Greyson held the door open.
“Obviously if you don’t want to stay you don’t have to,” he said, “but… if you want to hang for a bit, I can make you some tea? Or soup? Make it up to you for coming out here because of my stupidity?”
Elijah attempted a scoff that ended in a cough. “Greyson. It’s really okay.”
“I feel badly,” Greyson admitted. They stood locked in that old game of chicken yet again. This time, it was Elijah that broke the spell.
“HRRRSHH-uhh! Goddamn,” he muttered, shaking his head. He looked up at Greyson, forgiveness written on his pallid face. “Mbe too,” he said, stepping into the kitchen. “This cold is a fuckin’ mbonster.”
Greyson laughed, an almost-hysterical sound that made palpable his relief at being forgiven. “Oh, Lij,” he said, closing the door behind them, “no one knows that better than me.”
#whiskeyswriting#snz#sickfic#snzfic#coldfic#snez#snzblr#male cold#male snz#this one was fun. idk. i like it#even though it's the definition of that post ghostlychill made that was like shit i love writing the same thing over and over lmaoooo
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