#it feels so real and expansive and it does such a good job of capturing the amount of time that it covered
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anyway, as someone coming at this movie from not having read the book but being an avid rom com fan, i kind of don't like how rwrb is being called not original or not creative or not inventive or silly or basically not good
i mean. i get if you don't like rom coms. i do, they're truly not for everyone. but like. this movie was really fucking good. maybe rom coms just don't get credit for how hard they are to do well?
like idk actors repeatedly say how comedy is harder to do than dramatic, serious scenes, which is probably why there's a whole group of actors who are known for doing comedy, because it's really hard and a specialized skill set. getting those comedic beats right, the expressions that have just the right amount of irony and im in on it is hard!
and with romance, you need to have that chemistry, that rhythm it's really hard to do well because there's nothing external to the characters to distract from their performances there's no cool effects or world at stake plot or menacing villian
and rom coms?? really hard to get right. the whole genre has been in a decline for like the past ten years if I've been honest. so many recent rom coms have not been good at all! horribly written, terribly edited with really bad pacing, the flattest acting with no chemistry and not to mention uninteresting sets and costumes and stagnant camera work
meanwhile. rwrb is brilliant. it's written so well, with hilarious one liners (thank you zahra) and so much humour and comedy from the couple, the actors went all out with phenomenal performances, the shots showed so much care and attention to each scene, and the pacing was perfect for what it is - a rom com.
like so many recent rom coms take 4k way too far and it looks so bad, but rwrb looks so beautiful in every still. every single background was gorgeous every set, every detail with costuming. and this is important in rom coms! the two leads look so incredible!! taylor looks like a greek god with his long legs and his abs and his eyelashes to his nose while nick looks like a beautiful angel. (sorry it had to be said)
and the thing is, this is really hard to do. I believe rom coms have been in decline as the industry grapples with how much technology has pervaded dating recently, from dating apps to communicating constantly through things like texting and facetime, which it's really struggled to show convincingly on screen. the last good rom coms were before things like smartphones really took off
and rwrb did that so well!! romance as a genre in books recently has kind of been leaning into the tropes we're nostalgic about while incorporating those more recent aspects of relationships, and rwrb translates that so well on screen. the way they did the text messages was honestly innovative!!
the way it kind of led up to having henry physically in the room was an amazing way to capture growing closeness and how we now perceive text conversations to be just like real conversations, while still highlighting the kind of difference of actually being there which is actually really hard to portray and not really something the industry has figured out how to show well imo.
i loved the chemistry in that scene, and i loved how they did the emails as well because those are two different things!! and how it was able to show their togetherness while they were apart. even the way that ghosting works and alex literally storming a castle was shown so well!! that's not easy or done before!!
all this to say, i for one really appreciate matthew lopez's vision and will be rewatching this movie just as much as movies like 27 dresses, bridget jones' diary, and the proposal and i can't wait for a new wave of (queer!) rom coms
#rwrb#Im js#really loved this move#haven't read the book yet!!#i also really loved how many different sets there were like that makes it feel so lived in#like it may not be something you notice right away but it adds so much to the production value and the overall feel of the movie#it feels so real and expansive and it does such a good job of capturing the amount of time that it covered#and the lives of the characters!!#again different from recent rom coms which can again be really flat and have like two sets
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Creature Feature – Capturing The Curious Story Of Palworld
New Post has been published on https://thedigitalinsider.com/creature-feature-capturing-the-curious-story-of-palworld/
Creature Feature – Capturing The Curious Story Of Palworld
Three words come to mind when looking at Palworld: Pokémon, absurdity, and ambition.
Since its official reveal in June 2021, Palworld has raised eyebrows with its vibrant, expansive world teeming with dozens of monsters ripe for catching but in greater fidelity than Pokémon’s recent entries. In addition to capturing them and harnessing their abilities in battle, you can also wield realistic firearms and other weapons to blast them apart or, more hilariously, arm your cuddly critters with some serious heat.
“Pokémon with guns” has become the shorthand description of Palworld, but the experience packs in survival mechanics, base-building, a central narrative, and other bells and whistles. With so many promises, some have deemed Palworld too good to be true, a sentiment its Tokyo-based developer Pocketpair finds puzzling.
Chief Dev Hiroto Matsutani (right), Founder/CEO Takuro Mizobe (middle), Chief Artist Daiki Kizu (left)
“Palworld is not a ‘fake game,’” Pocketpair founder and CEO Takuro Mizobe tells me over email. “We are really surprised that some people say that.”
Palworld hits Steam Early Access in January, giving skeptical players a chance to see just how real the game is. But despite Pocketpair releasing numerous gameplay videos, an air of mystery still surrounds Palworld. How does its sizable feature list blend into a cohesive experience? Where did this wacky idea come from in the first place? Perhaps most importantly, just who the heck is Pocketpair?
The answer to the last question begins with Mizobe. A lifelong fan of video games, the NES ignited his childhood love for the medium before he graduated to the Super Nintendo. Mizobe says the turning point came when he discovered free games available through the internet in elementary school, which allowed him to sample a variety of genres easily. His broad palette is evident in his short list of all-time favorite games, which range from The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time to Age of Empires to Serious Sam to Soldat, a free multiplayer action game. This exposure set him on the path of becoming an indie developer; he created his first game at 11 years old, which won awards at his school.
Fast-forward some years, and Mizobe, now a university student at the Tokyo Institute of Technology, got his first taste of professional game development by participating in the Nintendo Game Seminar. From 2005 to 2014 (with a break between ’11 and ’12), the yearly event invited Japanese game design students to learn the tricks of the trade and then work in teams to create an original title. The cream of the crop would then be released as free downloads on platforms like DS Download Play or the Wii U eShop. For the 2010 edition, Mizobe and his college friends created The Tentai Show, where players use black and white holes to absorb incoming meteors before they strike Earth. It was released as DSiWare in Japan in 2011.
In 2012, Mizobe graduated from university. He would spend a few years working “normal” jobs like JP Morgan Securities before founding Pocketpair in 2015. The team released its first title in 2019: Overdungeon, a real-time tower defense card battler that garnered a generally positive reception from players. For its second game, Pocketpair tackled something a bit more ambitious. Enter Craftopia, a game that feels like the precursor to Palworld. It, too, is a sprawling open-world survival game boasting features such as farming, crafting, dungeon crawling, base-building, pet breeding, and multiplayer. Craftopia has been playable in Steam Early Access since 2020, so it’s technically still in development. Despite this, Pocketpair is tackling perhaps its most ambitious title yet in Palworld.
Mizobe tells me Pocketpair develops games in a style that borrows ideas from others the team enjoys playing. Overdungeon takes clear influence from Slay the Spire and Clash Royale, while Craftopia has elements of Zelda, Harvest Moon, and a litany of survival games. Palworld draws from games like Pokémon, Age of Empires, Grand Theft Auto, Elden Ring, Valheim, and Fortnite to create what Mizobe calls a “unique gaming experience that is different from existing games.”
Palworld unfolds on the Palpagos Island in the Pacific Ocean. Strange monsters called Pals, of over 100 varieties, occupy this tropical land undiscovered by humankind for generations. That eventually changed, and now various factions have set up shop in pursuit of their own interests. Players control an explorer who washes ashore on the island following a shipwreck. Thus, survival is your primary goal, and you need the Pals’ help to accomplish this.
Pals are based on real animals and cultural myths from places like Europe, China, and Egypt. They come in several attributes: Neutral, Flame, Water, Grass, Electric, Frost, Earth, Dark, and Dragon. Resistances and vulnerabilities follow the rock/paper/scissor format of Pokémon: Water is resistant to Flame, for example. However, Pals can learn attacks opposite their types, so you can teach a Flame move to a Water Pal. Players can also breed Pals to create new species. This opens the door to a plethora of possible combinations, and while not all of them result in a completely new creature, others carry the traits of their parents. Mizobe says designing so many uniquely talented Pals, including the long list of breeding offspring, has been the most formidable development challenge.
Pals roam freely, with players catching them by blasting them with weapons, like guns, to weaken them. After that, you toss a blue spherical device to capture targets. Pals can then be used in battle, and the number you can use at a time varies depending on the situation. You can let Pals handle combat by issuing commands or picking them up and using them like living firearms. Pals also come with their own unique partner skills and abilities.
Your non-living arsenal includes clubs, bows, and spears to heavy gun weapons like shotguns, ARs, miniguns, and rocket launchers. As effective as these killing machines can be, some Pals can’t be beaten using conventional weaponry. Pocketpair doesn’t elaborate, only teasing that these sturdier Pals require more clever methods to defeat them.
Outside of battle, you can put Pals to work farming crops to cook beneficial dishes and constructing buildings and factories to create settlements. In fact, some Pals are better specialized for labor than fighting. Trailers have shown assembly lines of cute critters building weapons and looking decidedly unhappy about it. This plays into the game’s dark humor. You’re free to be a jerk by, for example, illegally poaching them in forbidden zones, attracting the attention of a corrupt police force that monitors the island. Mizobe tells me morality doesn’t factor into the storytelling, so if you want a (mostly) consequence-free excuse to be a monster, go right ahead.
Regarding survival mechanics, Palpagos features a day/night cycle and changing climate, meaning you need to cope with uncomfortably hot or cold temperatures. With all these spinning plates, Pocketpair tells me the general gameplay loop looks like this: You craft vital tools, gather resources, build a base, explore some more, perhaps fight a boss along the way, and repeat. In between that, you catch Pals since they’re necessary for almost every facet of play.
Additionally, multiplayer allows players to explore Palworld together. Up to four friends can play normally, but dedicated servers support over 20. With so much going on, Mizobe tells me feature creep has often reared its ugly head. Thus, cutting ideas to prevent Palworld from becoming bloated and unfocused has been an ongoing challenge. “At the beginning, we thought about having a huge underground world and the ability to live in outer space, but we decided to give up on these for the time being,” says Mizobe.
According to Mizobe, Palworld carries lessons learned from the studio’s previous efforts. Mainly, simply mashing together disparate genres isn’t enough and should be done carefully. Pocketpair had trouble defining the rules of Overdungeon because it was so focused on replicating the RTS elements of Clash Royale. Craftopia had so many ideas that some mechanics clashed, which the team is still correcting.
“Palworld is being made with the awareness that ‘we are working through difficult game design problems in order to keep the consistency of each genre,’” Mizobe writes. “We try to not tackle too much at the same time while being focused on meeting the players’ expectations. We’ve made a lot of mistakes along the way, but overall, we think it turned out well in the end.”
We can only hope that the team continues to zero in on what makes Palworld click, even if they still have some more tough decisions to make in the long road ahead.
“We recently noticed the potential for a PvP mode in this game and are now reconsidering if we should expand on it,” says Mizobe. “That has us facing a difficult challenge again. Game development is always difficult.”
This article originally appeared in Issue 360 of Game Informer.
#air#Animals#arm#Article#awareness#Blue#Building#buildings#Capture#CEO#challenge#China#climate#craft#Cute#cutting#Dark#defense#Design#Developer#development#earth#Egypt#email#Europe#factor#Factories#farming#Features#Fight
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pink - mark x gn reader
fluff, smut, cw: submissive!mark, 2k
The concept of colour is an intriguing one. Much like seeing, seeing itself is intriguing. Intriguing as well is the notion that seeing is believing when the blind trust so fiercely. They must trust the yellow of the sun resembles the middle of daisies, and runny yolk. They must trust the red of a ruby resembles that of flowing blood. They must trust that at any given time, the blue painting the skies can resemble that of bluebells, blueberries, and all blue things.
The concept of colour is not an admissible one. It is convoluted and complex. The pink of a rose, of a poked eye, of a healing wound, of a stained linen. They all contain a bounty of hues; some dimmer, paler, or truer than others. They all carry their own meaning, things we assign and ascribe to an item; be it clothing, furniture, text. The point to all this is, you do not think you will ever be able to truly explain how perfect the pink that colours Mark’s lips is. You try every morning you are fortunate to wake beside him - when you are first to wake that is. You peel open your eyes one by one, blinking away sleep and tears from the strobes scorching your corneas, falling victim to the allure of sunlight that lures you from your dreams, only to wake to another.
Pink. It is too simple a word to describe the creases in his lips that sit a couple shades darker, not enough to call magenta nor red. Every morning, you ache to run your fingers along the ridges, to rouse him from sleep, punish him like the rising sun did you. You never do. You lay there, watching as silent breaths cause the rise and fall of your lover’s chest, perturbed by the riddle that curses you every other morning.
How does one describe the indescribable?
It is your job no? To spread word of such wonder. A man who proves the existence of a higher power. A man whose face cannot be a product of the algorithms of colliding comets, nor of destiny. Hands of an omniscient being carved this face, moulded him into the wonder that you wake to every morning. That pink is not just pink. It is a perfect combination of the richest red and a waxen white. God needn’t have spent long, given his almightiness, but he did spend more time than on others. For that reason you think it selfish to waste this time, to roll out of bed and busy yourself with the trivial, menial tasks of readying for work. No, you must solve this riddle. You must find a way to proclaim what you have thought since the very first moment you laid eyes on Mark Lee.
“How are you real?”
One glance and he knew you hadn’t meant to ask it aloud. It is a regular action you do in regards to him; thanking God for the blessing that was Mark Lee’s creation. It occurs at all hours of the day, both verbal and non verbal, physical and non-physical alike. Whether it be the sudden airiness in your laughter, or twirling strands of his hair betwixt your fingers. Every time your eyes settle on his face, your senses heighten while your sense diminishes.
“Morning, angel,” he mumbles, tugging you from your angelic pose on his chest and pulling your lips to his. He offers you just a press, but should it be your last, it would still be enough. Mornings spent in his company always make for an easier start, one full of wistful goodbyes but wishful hellos. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” your lips fall to his toned pec, offering scattered pecks. “Did you?”
Mark hums groggily, head falling to his pillow, failing to follow your sudden flurry of kisses. He finds the energy to speak just as your lips closed around his hardened nipple, as you begin to suck ever so slightly. His hands find your hips, clinging onto your frame as you kiss a path down his chest, marking his skin on your descent. “It’s almost eight,” he regrets to inform you, wishing nothing more than to enjoy this extended dream. “Won’t you be late?”
You show no signs of stopping, journeying south at a most leisurely speed. He relinquishes his hold on you, instead finding purchase in the bed linens, his fingers clasping around the duck down feathers. When your lips suddenly leave him, Mark fears the worst, that his reminder had a delayed effect. That is reluctant warning, seemingly good deed is now working against him. He soon finds his concerns were in vain as your lips close around the clothed head of his cock, sucking long and hard on the darkened material. His hips rise toward your mouth, chasing the stimulation you offer up to the deity beneath you, the one you call Mark. The one you call yours.
Your fingers grip his waistband, slowly lowering the material to the tops of his calves. His hot length meets the cool air with a hiss, his jaw tightening as you offer a languid tug from his base to his tip. A strangled moan fills the air, coating either end of your name. As you slowly pump him within your closed fist, you admire how the morning light always caught the beautiful tone of his arms, the shadows casting over his chest. He is more firm beneath your palm, more concrete, more real. When he casts his gaze toward you finally, finding some room for restraint within your steady pace, he allows himself to admire the gentle knit of your brows, the smirk upturning your lips as his breathing changes when you tighten your fist. He gasps when your eyes fly back up to his, your fist stilled at the base of his abdomen, a silent question in your eyes, a small lick at your lips.
He nods, watching you lower your weight, resting on his tensed thighs. He is breathless, eyes stuck on the plumpness of your lips, your pink tongue sweeping over your bottom one, teeth catching the skin as you run your closed fist over his cock once more, gripping tighter as he mewls.
Words escape him as he offers up devout concentration to his breathing, praying he does not crumble under the warmth of your touch and sweetness in your eyes. His eyes squeeze shut when you thumb his slit, a hard shudder passing through his bones, his hips bucking in time with your closed fist. Mark whines beneath you, the patience he forces is admirable, his whitened knuckles gleam as they blend in with the cloud of sheets. And still you wait, feeling his skin burn as his precum gathers in your palm, squelching in the air.
“Minhyung,” you breathe suddenly, fearful you might shatter the moment. “Are you ready?”
“Yeah,’ he chokes out in response. ‘I want you, please.’
You chortle at his sweet plea, capturing the skin of his thigh in a slow kiss as you pump him harder, puckering your lips along the skin at his base as his thrusts start to increase. “Slow down for me,” you whisper. Mark loves what you are doing, reducing him to the shell of himself as you lure his first orgasm of the day from him. He grips your hand then, ready to chase a release he knows you will not give him.
“Please,” he begs softly, skin a flaming pink, lined by the morning light and in a light dew.
Pressing a final, fleeting kiss to his tip he wishes to chase, you release him, drawing his brows together as you slow down before climbing off of his lap. He frowns as you kneel beside the bed before patting his shin, “come ‘ere.”
He bites his tongue, stuffing it in his cheek, “I know you’re teasing me.”
“No,” you laugh, “you’re just impatient,” you coo, watching as he follows your instruction anyway, shuffling to the edge of the bed. You tug his pants down to his ankles before you are hovering over his cock, admiring the gleam as the light reflects off his slick head. He sighs as you do, your breath cooling his angry tip, a twitch running through his cock as you just hover. He almost whines again when you pucker around his slit, the tip of your tongue passing over it ever so slightly.
His sweet moans fill the air, his breaths laboured as you tease him, lapping at his shaft as he toys with your hair, moving it aside so he can see you. He watches you take him, burying his lithe cock between the hot confines of your mouth before sucking around him, humming as he mewls beneath you. He assigns no time to keeping himself together, instead admiring how quickly you render him powerless. How you swirl your tongue around him, pump him as you suckle on his head, swallowing around him. He is completely at your mercy, his cum threatening to pour down your throat as you push on his abdomen, sending his back into the mattress. He huffs as he falls, sighing as his stolen release is remedied by your cool, slick coated finger prodding at his puckered hole.
His moans are unintelligible, garbled mumbles filling the air as you glide your finger into his ass, curling ever so slightly as you pump the digit. “I think I-,” he starts, unsure how, or just unable to finish.
“It’s okay, Mark,” you breathe on his cock, curling your finger harder with every suck you offer his leaking tip. “It’s okay, you can come.”
“Fuck- I’m-” his voice escapes him before he can help it, the mere thought of it forcing you to suck harder. His release tears through him like molten iron, encrusting his every nerve, setting him alight. His cum coats your throat as he bucks into your mouth, your name barely comprehensible as it pours from his lips. It is pleading, prayer like, something you repel. It was Mark who was God like. Mark who was heavenly.
He humps up into your mouth while grinding down on your finger, milking himself, using you, silently forbidding himself to succumb to the oversensitivity of his orgasm. He clings onto the nape of your neck, lodging his tip in the back of your throat while chasing the finger pressed beautifully to his prostate as his mind and body struggle to process the endless limits of his pleasure, though the two can agree it rests in your hands.
When he is somewhat present, Mark quickly recognises your figure lying by his side, your unsoiled hand massaging the expanse of his chest. He gazes up at you with fatigue in his eyes, and a sickly adoration. And something else he thinks he is ready to name.
“Y/N?” Mark calls, still a little breathless, failing to notice the way your eyes catch the time. “I think I-”
“Shit, it’s past nine! Mark, I have to go.”
You disappear down the hall, your presence made known only by a flurry of rushed sounds before you return in the peachy pink shirt you left behind last time. He can’t figure out how it looks better on you every time he sees it. Much like the pink of your lips when circling his cock or the more innocent pink lining your tired eyes. Even the pink hearts that fly around your head as he watches you rush around the room, glancing at him every so often, laughing to find him still watching you. Each time you do, he sees that nothing beats the colour of the red raw love he feels for you. Mark hopes to tell you this some other beautiful morning. For now, he smiles against your lips as you bids him farewell before letting him return to his slumber.
He dreams only of you.
#eeeeeeeeek nervous#took this off my old blog rip#mark lee smut#mark lee x reader#nct mark lee#nct mark#mark lee fluff#mark smut#mark fluff#nct smut#nct fluff#nct dream smut#nct 127 smut#ncitygirls
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Dave being hired to be a bodyguard for a high profile diplomat and she has a huge crush but can't risk it. And so they have to have a secret affair 😁
In the Future
note: we’ve got ourselves a spicy kiss, fellas. an unexpected 2.3k.
“Dave, please, I can’t deal with this right now.”
“Then when can you? Because you’ve been avoiding me all day.”
You have to laugh. “Avoiding you? You have been with me the entire freaking day. I have been busy. You think I can just disappear for a while? I have a job to do, and so do you, so do it.”
You try to walk past him, wishing you could just disappear from everyone if just for a moment, but he catches your arm.
“Hey,” his voice is softer now, his attempt at calming you down, pleading with you for your attention like he always does. It works. Every time, unfortunately, and you’re reminded again at why exactly he’s been clinging a little tighter to you today.
You don’t want to think about it now. But it’s the last day you’ll be here in Belgium. You’ve met with the representatives already, finished sending emails that may just go ignored to administrators within the European Union. Your bags have been packed, your private flight back to DC is scheduled to be on time. All that’s left is to actually get to the airport and...part ways with your security detail.
You look up and finally meet his eyes. You can see the hint of sadness, the look of concern, but he’s being stern with you. The same way he was stern when you met, when he probably saved your life. The same stern look he gave you when he told you that you were more than just an entertaining fling, that you were not just some fantasy to act out.
It’s annoying really, how you listen to him so easily. You hadn’t been sure if it was just a fantasy for you, to fall in love with your bodyguard. It may have started that way, but you know its more than that now. Even still, your time here is up, and you promised Dave a conversation.
You glance both ways down the hall before you tug on his arm. “In here,” you say, pulling him into an unlocked maintenance closet. It’s big enough for the two of you to stand without touching each other, giving you enough space to breathe easier.
His brown eyes look you up and down, his forehead creasing. In the closed room, he doesn’t feel the need to hide sorrow in his gaze.
“Last night you said we’d talk.”
“I know.”
“Your flight is in three hours.”
You look away from him, stare at the door instead. “I know.”
He looks to the side too, putting his hands in his pockets and glancing over the shelving unit in the back. “If you want to end this here then just tell me--”
“Dave, no. Stop. That’s not why I’m...” You don’t know what you’re doing. It had started as nothing more than heat of the moment, giving into a mutual attraction and maybe a childish infatuation on your part. It’s been three weeks now here with him, not even a month, but day in, day out he’s been at your side. Every morning, every meeting, every meal. And then every night.
You didn’t want to think how it would end. But here the two of you stand, moments away from when you’ll separate with no idea when you may see him again.
“You said you would be staying here right? What am I supposed to do?” You ask it quietly, almost a whisper. Anyone could hear from outside the door you think, even if the real reason you can’t speak up is standing in front of you, refusing to look at you.
Without him staring you down, you take the chance to really look at him. His hair is neatly combed, the black suit and tie fitting him well, even if at this angle you can see the outline of his gun. His shoulders are tense, and you watch the pout of his lips when he looks down at his shoes.
“You told me you loved me.” He speaks just as quietly as you. Your heart drops at the statement.
It’s true, you had said it. But standing here now with him, you can’t tell if you regret it. He never responded when you blurted it out, still lying in bed. He had kissed your head softly, but that was it. No return of the sentiment, no discussion. You had hoped after that maybe it would just be forgotten, that you could move past it to save yourself from any embarrassment. It seems that at the end of things, you would have no such luck.
“I did,” you respond. Your throat constricts. “I shouldn’t have said it. I wasn’t thinking--”
“Did you mean it?” It’s his turn to interrupt you. He looks up at you finally, and you don’t know what he’s thinking. He wants to know. His eyes dart between yours, searching for the truth, and as scared as you are, there’s something in them that puts you at ease enough to answer.
“Yes. I did mean it.” You leave it at that. It’s the honest answer, and maybe you are foolish for falling so quickly, but what would life be if you didn’t love easily? It’s better than not loving at all. Either he feels the same, or he doesn’t. And that will be that.
He lets out a sigh at your words, whether one of disappointment or relief you don’t know. He pulls his hands from his pockets as though he’s going to reach for you before they fall back down. You don’t know how to say goodbye to him. It’s an uncomfortable situation. He still has to drive you to your flight. See you off in front of everyone.
You step forward and try to speak. “Dave...” your voice is barely even a whisper.
Before you can say anything more, he’s moving in to meet you, large hands grasping your shoulders and holding you chest to chest with him. Your hands unclasped to settle at his waist as you look at him.
His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words to answer you, and you prepare yourself to be disappointed.
“I can’t say it back to you.”
Being prepared doesn’t make it any better. You duck your head so you don’t have to look at him, so he doesn’t have to see the heartbreak on your face, but he ducks his head down to follow your gaze.
“Hey, hey. Look at me.” You look at up him briefly, allowing him to say his peace even if you hate what is running through your mind right now. “I’m not ready to say it back to you, but I want to be able to.” His hand comes to tilt your head up so he can look you in the eye. “In the future. But I need to know you want that too.”
You tell the man you love him, that you mean it, and he still needs to know you want to see him again?
“Dave, I would put you on that plane myself if I could. You have to know that.” You take his hand from your face and hold it between you. “I know you have an assignment, I can’t interfere with that.”
“Then tell me you’ll wait for me.”
You laugh at that. Wait for him? Suddenly you feel like two teenagers, so out of control of your futures. The fact you both are hiding in a closet isn’t lost on you.
With a squeeze of his hand, you answer him. “Yeah, alright, I can--”
He leans forward to capture your lips with his. His hand moves from your shoulder to drift down the expanse of your back, and your eyes close as you melt into his body. You release his hand to reach for his hair, fingers curling to tug at the short strands. His mouth opens over yours as he pants at the action, and you take the opportunity to slip in your tongue.
You can feel his smile at the action, and his hands come to grab right under your ass, making you lift up in surprise. You gasp as he starts pushing you backwards, his mouth still moving desperately against yours. He guides you back, and you cling to him, holding your body flush to his. He doesn’t stop the kiss for anything, not when you almost stumble back, or when your hand flails out to grasp at anything, or when your movements knock over broom to bang against the door.
He finally gets you against the wall, trapping you with his body and greedily taking control of the kiss. His tongue traces your bottom lip before diving into your mouth, making you moan and push yourself into him. One of his hands slips under your pencil skirt, grabbing the bare flesh of your thigh and slowly creeping upwards.
You sigh at the sensation, breaking away for a breath to bump his nose with yours. His eyes never open as you blink slowly, and then he’s going for your mouth again, pressing his lips to yours fiercely before pulling away to do it again. His other hand palms your breast over your shirt before coming up to cup your jaw, guiding your movements as you kiss him. His lips slow against yours, coaxing your lips open and his tongue darts in briefly before he tilts his head and pulls one of your lips with his.
“Dav--”
He covers your mouth with his to silence you. He moves against you languidly, drawing out each drag and pull of your lips. You try to memorize the feel of his plush lips on yours, the taste of him. It’s a gentle kiss, and it breaks only for him to come back to press against your lips again. And again. The hand under your skirt holds your thigh, his thumb brushing over the juncture of your hip and thigh. It feels good, distracting, but you want to enjoy it. He pulls back for a moment, looking at you with half-lidded eyes.
Whatever you were going to say you don’t remember, and you already miss the taste of him. He must feel the same, and his head dips again to kiss you. Your hands cradle his head, hold him close, your thumbs stroking his cheek bone. This kiss is much different than the passion of the first, or the careful affection of the second. This one he just holds you close, taking in the feel of your body fitting to his, the touch of your fingers, the taste of your lips, the beat of your heart.
You try to forget that you’re leaving him. That even with a promise, maybe you won’t see him again. You try to hold on to what he asked of you. Hold on to the fact that he wanted a moment ‘in the future.’ You try to tame the love in your heart into something that cherishes this moment with him, that wishes him well and prays that he will be safe. You don’t want to leave with thoughts controlled by greed, wishing he was with you.
It’s not a goodbye you remind yourself. It’s an until we meet again.
His lips leave yours with a quiet smack, his nose pressed to your cheek to breathe you in. He whispers your name, and you like the hoarse way it sounds. Your eyes flutter open, gaze drifting from his eyes to his lips and back up again.
“Dave,” you start again. Only this time, it’s not him who interrupts you.
“The car just arrived, and we have the bags in transit. Does anyone have eyes on the minister?”
The crackle from the comm breaks the both of you from the moment, reminding you again you have somewhere you need to be.
Dave’s face morphs from the soft bliss you shared to one of frustration. He takes a deep breath before reaching to answer the call.
“I have eyes on the minister. She’s...finishing up a last minute call.”
You appreciate his ability to think on his feet. Your hand still caresses the side of his face, the other holding to the lapel of his jacket. Throughout the interaction, Dave never pulls his eyes from yours.
“Copy that. We should be on the road in fifteen.”
Dave’s hand comes to the piece at his ear again. “I copy.”
You know you should be fixing your appearance. Ensuring all your items have been gathered. Checking your tablets for updates. But you can’t stop looking into the warm gaze he gives you.
“We should go,” you finally whisper. He just nods. He takes his hand from under your skirt to rest at your hip, and you pull closer to his warm touch.
Together, the two of you walk to the door, never taking your hands from each other. He says your name again softly, and if you had been any more distracted you would have missed it. You stop and stand with him for a moment, before you’re both pulling each other in for one last kiss.
It’s short. Much too short to be any sort of satisfying, but it’s all you can afford at the moment. There are people waiting and jobs to be done.
“Until we see each other again, Mr. York,” you say with a sad smile.
He returns it, holding a hand to your face for a moment before opening the door. “In the future, Minister.”
.
tagging: @perropascal @ficsilike-reblogged @yespolkadotkitty (message me if you would like to be added/removed from my everything tag list!)
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The Witcher: The Games vs The Books
Coming to the fandom this late, I can only assume the relationship between the Witcher games and the original novels has been long since talked to death by others. But I'm far too fascinated by the whole glorious mess that is this canon not to want to get down some of my own thoughts about how it all fits together.
See, on the one hand, the games (Witcher 3 especially) are arguably only too dependent on the novels to stand alone. They do a wonderful job of picking up a number of unresolved plot points the books left hanging, and a woeful job of explaining so much a player coming in cold would really like to know – Ciri's history with Geralt, Yennefer, her powers and the Wild Hunt itself just to begin with. This is an issue that only increases as the games go along: cliche as Geralt's amnesia may be, it's used to good effect to introduce the world to the player in the first game. By the third, Geralt has all his old memories back and two extra games worth of new experience, and good lord is it all alienating to the newcomer.
On the other hand, so much about the games (again, the third especially) contradicts the novels in painfully irreconcilable ways. That wouldn't necessarily bother me – adaptations are allowed to rework and reinvent, stories can and should evolve in the retelling – except, well, see point one above. So you're bound to come out of the games with a lot of unanswered questions if you haven't read the books, and just as many if you have.
Spoilers to follow, of course, for both the books and the games.
Here's one of the big ones: just how did the world – Ciri included – discover that one of her long-presumed-dead parents was actually alive and well and now ruling the entire empire of Nilfgaard? Fucked if I know. Neither the games or the novels have any explanation. In the novels, in fact, the world at large believes Ciri is married to the emperor of Nilfgaard. Naturally, this 'Cirilla' is a fake, but the scandal were the full truth ever revealed would redefine Emhyr's reign. Yet somehow, in the games, everyone seems to know he's Ciri's father, and that whole awkward incest angle is never mentioned. Continuity has been tweaked pretty significantly, and it's left to the player to guess how. If that wasn’t bad enough, the games apparently still included a Gwent card of the fake!Cirilla (artwork above) just to ensure maximum confusion.
Before I get too sidetracked with all that stuff that doesn’t add up though, there really is a lot to be said for what does work about how the games expand on the plot of the novels. The Wild Hunt itself is the big one. The spectral cavalcade appears several times through the novels and hunts Ciri across multiple worlds in the final book before apparently losing her trail and vanishing to make way for the 'real' big bad, never to be mentioned again. While TW3 left me pretty underwhelmed by the revelation that the spectral Wild Hunt were just a bunch of dark elves in skull armor, the books had introduced the Hunt and let us spend some time on the dark elves' world before we get the reveal that the two may be one and the same. So for all the ranting I could do about missed opportunities regarding the Wild Hunt, they're the natural candidate for the games to pick up on as their new big-bads.
To my surprise, Geralt and Yennefer's "deaths" and subsequent recovery in pseudo-Avalon also comes straight from the novels. That everyone thinks Geralt dead at the start of the first game isn't, as I'd first assumed, a convenient excuse to have him reappear with amnesia, but simply how the novels end. Why Ciri leaves them and goes world-hopping isn't clear, but "because the Wild Hunt was after her again" is as good a theory as any. So, another point to the games there.
And there's so much more. The Catriona plague has only just appeared at the end of the novels, but we know it's posed for a major outbreak – one that’s in progress by the time of the games. The second game in particular does a terrific job of taking the ambitions of the expansionist Nilfgaardian Empire and the still-relatively-new Lodge of Sorceresses and building an entirely new conflict around them – even taking two of the least developed members of the Lodge (Sabrina Glevissig and Síle de Tansarville) and expanding them into major players. Dijkstra similarly ends the novels on the run from those in power, and having already taken the same assumed name 'Sigi Reuven' he's using in the games – while the books assure us that prince Radovid will grow up to pay back his father's assassins (ie. Phillipa) and become Radovid the Stern.
The twisted fairy tale origins of the novels are something the games actually seem to have gotten better at as they went on: the 'trail of treats' to the Crones is the great example, the monster-frog-prince and the land-of-a-thousand-fables of the expansions are two more, and many more are hidden in sidequests. And I'd be remiss not to mention that in again asking Geralt to pick a side in the conflict with the Scoia'tael, the first two games not only recreate a scenario Geralt repeatedly deals with in the books, but a major theme. It's interesting too how much the broad structure of the third game feels like an homage to the books, with Geralt searching for Ciri, interspersed with sections from her POV. You can nitpick the detail of any of these examples, but the intent is unmistakable, and a lot of credit is due for it in the execution too.
Some of the detail that's gone into translating the world of the Witcher books into the games is just insane – not just in the geography and history of the place, but right down to the names of the wine you can pick up. There's the fact the Cat potion makes Geralt see in black-and-white, or the fact the basilisk and cockatrice monsters are clearly based on the same model, but the basilisk is reptilian where as the cockatrice is more avian – which is exactly how Geralt describes the difference between them in The Lady of the Lake. There's a point where Book!Regis recounts a detailed list of all the lesser vampiric species, ending with the only two violent enough to tear apart their victims: almost all can be encountered in the games, and the last two (Fleders and Ekimma) are indeed the most animalistic. This kind of thing is everywhere.
My favourite examples tend to be those that blend into the background if you haven't read the books, but will get a grin from those who have, such as a peasant in Velen who will call out to Geralt (paraphrased from memory, alas) "Sir, sir! We be up to our ears in mamunes, imps, kobolds, hags, flying drakes... oh, and bats!" – which is a lovely little reference to a couple of conversations from Edge of the World wherein Geralt explains that most of the monsters the locals want him to take care of don't actually exist. Or all those soldiers chanting "Long live King Radovid!" – natural enough, but it takes on a whole new life if you've read the passage in Lady of the Lake where the young prince Radovid grumbles internally about having to sit and listen to the city chanting 'long live...' to every other notable figure present except him.
Really, it would be faster to list the things the games introduced that don't come from the original source material in any obvious form, because it's a struggle to come up with very many. The villainous Crones of Crookback Bog and Master Mirror of the Hearts of Stone expansion are the biggest ones that come to mind, along with a great deal of the vampire mythology from Blood and Wine. To the witchers themselves, they’ve added mostly game mechanics: the use of bombs and blade oils, the names of most of the potions, and three new witcher schools (all with their own specialised gear). There are a number of new creatures and monsters – Godlings, noon-and-night-wraiths, botchlings, shaelmaars and so on – and though trolls are mentioned in the books, the games take credit for giving them so much character. Obviously, there are new characters, like Thaller and Roche – but not technically Iorveth, because a Scoia'tael commander of that name is mentioned in the books, if only in passing. And already, short of just listing off every new character the games introduced, I’m running out of ideas. Credit where credit’s due on that front: most of the new characters and locations they’ve created feel authentic enough that Kalkstein or Thaller would be right at home in the novels’ world.
But for all their dedication to the detail, it's hard to feel like the games have really managed to capture the spirit of the books in their storytelling: the mundanely corrupt bureaucracy that does so much to bring the world to life, or their cheerfully cynical sense of humour, or the flamboyant wonder that is book!Dandelion, or their enthusiasm for putting women in positions of power, or the bigger themes about the differences between the story that gets sung by the bards and what really happened – or so much else from the novels that came as such a surprise to me when I started getting really sucked in.
And if we’re going to talk about all the little things they got right, it’s only fair to point out there are just as many little things they got wrong, and sometimes pretty glaringly at that. "I thought you bowed to no-one" says Emhyr to Geralt – almost as if book!Geralt doesn’t happily bow in most every situation where it would be polite or diplomatic to do so. "This would never have happened if the council was still around!" says Geralt upon finding a sorcerer's lab full of human experiments – as if none of his experiences with Vilgefortz or the wizards of Rissberg ever happened, back when the council was very much still around. In TW2, he mocks the idea of a woman like Saskia leading a rebellion – almost as if women like Falka and Aelirenn haven't led some of the most storied rebellions in history (and we can't even blame the amnesia, because Geralt himself mentions Aelirenn later – oh yeah, this one annoyed me particularly).
Book!verse 'Lady of the Lake' is basically just Ciri being surprised while bathing
Yennefer's studious aethiesm and willingness to desecrate Freya's temple is entirely in character – but only if we forget that she had her own personal religious experience with the goddess Freya herself in Tower of the Swallow. And then there’s the fact the Lady of the Lake is now a literal lake nymph who distributes swords to the worthy, as if no-one writing for the games ever got past the title of that particular Witcher novel (let alone got the joke). And the list goes on. It's easy to get overly caught up in contradictions like this – it's hardly as if Sapkowski's novels don't contradict themselves in places, as almost any long-running series eventually will – but it's going to stick out to those who’ve read the novels nonetheless.
While we're talking about how the games pick up where the books left off though, the big contradiction that has to be touched on comes in bringing Geralt back at all, at least in any public capacity. There's plenty to suggest that Geralt survives the novels' end and even goes on to have further adventures, but it's also pretty explicit that the history books record his death in the Pogrom of Rivia as final. The last two novels by order of publication (Season of Storms and Lady of the Lake) go so far as to feature characters far in the future with an interest in Geralt's legacy, and they discuss the matter in some depth. As far as the world knows, Geralt is dead.
Book!Geralt fanart by Diana Novich
But it's hard to blame the games for ignoring this – true, thanks to Geralt's longevity, they could have set their conflict many more years after those future scenes – maybe even used Ciri's established time-travel powers to let you pop quietly in and out of the past (and, okay, now I've thought through all that, I'm kind of sad they didn't). But there comes a point where that kind of slavish devotion to preserving the source material really doesn't do a story any favours, and I'm not sure I could name any other successful adaptation that's bothered.
Besides bringing Geralt back at all, most of the bigger changes pertain to Ciri. In fact, as much as I'm about to get deep into the nitpicks below, you can make a surprisingly good case that the games have made only one really big change, and that's in simplifying the prophesies surrounding her. See, in the novels, all those world-saving prophesies aren't technically about Ciri, they're about her as-yet-unborn child. Who gets to impregnate her is the big driving force behind most of the villains of the books – one that all the main contenders seem to see as more of an awkward necessity rather than the inspiration for violent lust, but even so. To Emhyr, having to marry his own daughter is a bug, not a feature – but he's willing to do it to become the father of the savior of the world. But if Ciri is capable of fulfilling those prophesies herself, then Emhyr is already the father of the savoir of the world, and the revisions to his relationship with Ciri start to make a lot more sense.
Ciri's history with the Aen Elle elves seems to have been similarly revised – if not quite so cleanly. Avallac’h and Eredin are, naturally, both book characters – in fact, a lot of personality has been left behind in the books, since Avallac’h originally had a rather camp flair, and Eredin is less the power-hungry kingslayer you might imagine. When Geralt meets Avallac’h in the books – which happens briefly in Toussaint, for one of those "everything you're doing is going to make everything worse because prophesy" conversations – he's busy decorating a cave with fake prehistoric paintings in the hope of confusing future explorers. (Surprisingly, there does seem to be official art of this moment on one of the gwent cards – see above – though the Avallac’h who jokes about adding erect phalluses to the picture and admits his vanity won’t allow him to resist signing it hasn’t entirely survived the transition to the new medium).
We also meet the former Alder King, Auberon, whose death we see in flashback in the game. (Fun fact: Auberon is actually blowing bubbles through a straw in a bowl of soapy water when we first meet him in the books, hence the straw in the illustration below. The books just have more whimsy than any of the games would know what to do with.)
Ciri spends some time in the final book as a prisoner on the world of the elves, who are as keen as everyone else for their king to father her unborn child. Avallac’h eventually convinces her that this is all for the greater good: her child will be able to open gates to allow the people of her world to escape when the apocalyptic White Frost arrives. But their king, like most older elves, is impotent, leading to multiple nights where Ciri allows him to take her to bed (in some of the frankly more disturbing scenes of the series) to no result. Eredin, moreover, doesn't appear to have intended to poison the king: the vial that kills him was supposed to contain some sort of fantasy viagra, and even Eredin seems genuinely shocked to learn its actual effects.
Regardless, Ciri eventually discovers that Avallac’h and the Aen Elle have deceived her, and intend to user her child's powers to invade her world, not save it. Neither world is threatened by the White Frost for at least several millennia, it's just a pretext to make her cooperate. And so she flees, and Eredin (already leading his Red Riders aka The Wild Hunt long before he was crowned king) pursues her.
With the books as context, why Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h is very hard to understand. It's a little easier if that whole awful episode with her and the former king is subtracted out – Ciri's child is no longer necessary for Eredin's goals. So it's odd that the game still references the deadly vial Eredin gave to the king. Are we to suppose the vial genuinely contained poison in this version of continuity? I'd rather it didn't – Avallach's ruse is far more interesting if he underwhelms Eredin's support by revealing a half-truth – but the games aren't telling us.
And then we have to factor in that one last detail I'd forgotten when I originally started playing with this theory: TW3 does contain one last, dangling reference to the time the old king spent trying to impregnate Ciri, when Ge'els very reasonably asks why on earth Ciri would ever trust Avallac’h now. It's a damn good question, and the game offers no real answers. So in Avallac’h, we're left with a character who is vital to the final chapters of the games, who comes out of nowhere without the books as context, but whose role makes no sense with that backstory in mind. Frankly, the writers would have been much better off avoiding the whole mess altogether and inventing some new character to take Avallac’h's place.
The treatment of the White Frost is even more confusing. The books are ultimately fairly explicit about just what the White Frost is: a ice age, most likely caused by the same mundane climactic factors that produced the real ice ages of our history. The only escape is intergalactic emigration, as Ciri (or her children) might some day enable.
In the games, the White Frost has instead become some sort of nebulous, free-floating apocalypse which will eventually reach all worlds, which is basically fine – up to a point. We briefly visit a dead world that the Frost has decimated, and even the Aen Elle are now supposedly planning to invade Ciri's world because it threatens theirs as well (I mean, apparently – their motivations are so underdeveloped you could miss them by accidently skipping just one or two lines of dialogue). When the Wild Hunt appears, it's always in a haze of cold. Their mages can invoke its power still more dramatically through portals which can freeze you in your tracks. So obviously, the Frost has already reached their world, and time is running out, right?
Well, no – you visit their world too (again, briefly – to meet a character who has never been mentioned before and won't be again, for reasons which have also never been mentioned before if you haven't read the books) – and there's no Frost in sight, apocalyptic or otherwise.
So why does the White Frost follow the Hunt around? No idea. It's never explained.
At the very end of the game, a second "Conjunction of the Spheres" occurs (possibly because of the Wild Hunt's appearance?), and the Frost begins to invade (or possibly Avallac’h summons it, so Ciri can go into it and destroy it?) It's all painfully unclear. The game is too busy pulling a bait-and-switch over whether Avallac’h's betrayed you to tell you what's actually going on instead.
But if Ciri could destroy the Frost completely (at great personal risk, but still) why is this not more clearly set up? Why did the Aen Elle think that escaping to another world (which will ALSO eventually be destroyed by the Frost) was a better solution than sending Ciri to face the Frost directly? For which matter, why do the Aen Elle need Ciri at all if sending enough ships to carry an army is no problem? Why does Ciri spend so much of the game questioning Avallac’h's true intentions, if they were ultimately so noble? When did he tell her the truth? If Avallac’h did summon the Frost, why did he pick that particular moment? And if he didn't, and it all just happened spontaneously, we're back to questioning why invading that world ever seemed like a good solution to Eredin – it all collapses in on itself.
None of these questions couldn't have been answered with a little creativity, but then the game would've had to dedicate some real time to explaining its backstory and developing its core conflict – something it's bizarrely reluctant to do. And if you think I may be drifting from the point a bit in the name of getting all my gripes about the ending down in one place, you're not wrong, but I feel Avallac’h and everything surrounding him is pretty much the ur-example of what doesn't work about the way The Witcher 3 depends on the novels: the backstory the writers are building on doesn't actually exist in any format available to the rest of us.
There are plenty of ways TW3 could have incorporated its backstory into its own narrative (yes, even excluding the method "by expecting people to read many many more pages of text from in-game documents", because that's bullshit and always will be). There are times it does this brilliantly, such as in the quest ‘The Last Wish’: everything you really need to know is covered in Yennefer and Geralt's conversation in the boat, and without ever making the dialogue sound unnatural. In fact, TW3 has even more options here than many works with the same problem, because Geralt is famous and people already think they know his story. You could have bards singing Dandelion's ballads, you could have characters confronting him with misunderstandings about his past to force him to correct them. You could also have Geralt visiting people and places he knows Ciri remembers fondly because of the time they spent there together, or include playable flashbacks similar to the time you spend playing as Ciri. You could stick chunks of backstory in optional sidequests or scenes old-school fans can skip through quickly. So many of my questions (how did Ciri get so close to Yennefer if they were never at Kaer Morhen together? Why has no-one tried training Ciri in her powers before? What does the Wild Hunt even do while it's not hunting Ciri? Why is Ciri princess of Cintra if her father is Emperor of another country altogether?) could have been answered so easily.
Seriously, summarising the Witcher books is not that hard. Lots of things happen, but only a fraction of it is really relevant in retrospect, and you could hit all the major plot beats in a handful of paragraphs. (Heck, I’d do it here if this post wasn’t already ridiculously over long.)
But then, TW3 has a bizarre problem with leaving so much of its best material off screen, even from its own story. It's criminal that we never get to see any of Geralt's time (or Yennefer's) with the Wild Hunt, even in flashback or dream sequence. This is material that directly sets up the relationship between the main hero and the main villain, and the most we ever hear about it is a few vague allusions to it being like a strange nightmare. Really? That's it? What was it like? Was Geralt in a trance, unable to control his own actions – was he brainwashed into believing he belonged there, or was he merely unable to escape? What atrocities might Eredin have forced him to commit? Did he visit other worlds? Was he paraded among the Aen Elle as a captive? There is no way this isn’t a part of the story worth talking about!
We never see the moment Ciri rescues Geralt from the Wild Hunt. We never see how Avallac’h convinces her to trust him, we never see the moment he was cursed, or any of her efforts to save him – all these big, story-defining moments are left off-screen, to be vaguely recounted to you later in dialogue. Then there's the entire political situation in Nilfgaard – you hear about it second-hand, and it's all resolved off screen. And the list goes on. Yet you and Ciri still have time to run around Novigrad so she can thank a bunch of throwaway characters you've never even heard of before, nor will again. The priorities on display here are baffling.
The Witcher 3 was such a wildly successful game that it’s obvious these sorts of issues didn’t seriously hold it back, and it’s such a big game that I could have sat down and written just as many words focusing only on the parts that do work without much difficulty. It boasts stunning visuals, addictive gameplay and some truly wonderful characters, and so many parts of the story work brilliantly in isolation that it’s strange to come out of it feeling that it ultimately adds up to so much less than the sum of its parts.
I’m glad TW3 exists – if it hadn’t been such a runaway success I doubt I’d ever have discovered Sapkowski’s universe at all, but for myself, TW3 will probably always be remembered as a somewhat-overlong introduction to the really good stuff, in the expansions and the original novels it came from. I looked up the novels after finishing TW3 in large part because I’d been left with so many unanswered questions – and I’m glad I did, but I’m honestly surprised more people weren’t turned off by TW3′s scattershot approach to its own narrative. You’re allowed to change and rework in moving to a new medium, but I can’t imagine it would’ve hurt games’ success to tell a complete story in the process.
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honey on the third column.
➡ summary: the third column of the publicity section on the local newspaper belongs to baekhyun’s salon. women and men gather with the desire of feeling a change—as if some snips on strands of hair could be the highlight of their day. a columnist in the sports section like her could not understand it.
➡ title: honey on the third column
➡ pairing: byun baekhyun x reader
➡ genre: hairdresser!au ; newspaper columnist!au ; strangers to lovers!au
➡ word count: 19,357
➡ type: fluff ; romance ; humor ; angst
Walking under the rain had never been important until she had to do it on her own.
She does not appreciate, perhaps, that her notebook has welcomed some splatters of the rain, orange umbrella moved by the wind of the lilac skies, home of the details of her column. A pointed arrow goes to the jersey that clads her body, far too cold for the unexpected appearance of a rainy afternoon, for there is something so inherently busy about writing for the sports section of the newspaper.
One moment of the year, it is baseball season. Soon after, she has to rush for the soccer season, the busiest one of the year. Not to forget the importance of preparing for the Olympics, far more complex in the amount of sports that they hold under their weight. With every boxing match that happens, she has to study the most hidden of portions of an athlete’s life, and getting an interview is almost impossible. That, paired up with the rain, is enough to bring a frown to her face, moving through the sides of the street with her sneakers becoming brown with mud.
Had it been another year, this would have not happened to her. Her feet would be propped up on her coffee table, instead of covered in socks that hold onto them like a nest to a tree. Her arms would be caged in the warmth of the person that would have probably held that small, old thing that she dares call an umbrella—and his name almost passes her head. No. It does. Time may have passed, if two months is even considered time, but with one push towards the glassed doors of the nearest restaurant, she scoffs at the annoyance that bubbles inside of her, along with…attachment for what she can’t have anymore.
This restaurant is familiar, reason as to why she was invited to come here after work on the first place. It exudes elegance, just as it keeps her grounded in exactly what she should be worrying about—sports. Something about its spaciousness brings a sense of being accompanied, for people who can’t get enough of being surrounded by others. This is clearly not her choice; over everything, she prefers separated tables, small establishments and more often than not owns her watchful gaze for games to only be shared on the expanse of her living room. Yet, saying that it is not her style does not mean that it is not anyone else’s, and it fits the concept of the man that writes the sports column on the local newspaper with her—
Kim Jongin. Honeyed skin heartthrob. Way out of anyone’s league. Unexpectedly venturing away from magazines and their impossible beauty-standards and going for something more simplistic. Restaurants filled with chatter. Columns that are read, but not remembered. And a partner in his column that tries her best to sneak a smile when he catches her gaze, but she is unable to.
Smelling like rain, mud, and something of the like of humidity, she thinks it is an uncertainty if she would ever smile again. To the world. To Jongin. To her job. Not even watching her favorite volleyball team win could ever give her the benefit of feeling happiness again.
The day she met Kim Jongin remains a tale as old as time. He was twenty-three at the time, chocolate brown hair cascading on the sides of his face when he peaked his head from behind his own cramped office. The computer had covered half of his face, keeping a secret his plush lips and that lop-sided smile, the stutter that had left him had almost been laughable. Scary, Jongin had once said she was, enough to make a bone feel flaccid and a lake to stop moving.
These days, she may still be so. Jongin is no longer affected, beige cardigan thrown over a white t-shirt, fingers splaying his chopsticks before taking another bite of meat, his attention clearly diverted by the game on the television screen. She hears the commentators saying something about Messi, and for the briefest of seconds, she finds herself engulfed in the Real Madrid against Barcelona match. Typical enemies that, somehow, have divided people in the world more than they already are. There, with her bag extending on top of the table and her notebook placed on its surface, she starts to wonder what makes her scary…
Is it, maybe, that she has a rough tone on her voice?
Is it the frown that never leaves her, the obstinate state of mind that makes her a hater of everything that screams happiness and joy—?
Or is it that, once again, just when she feels like her life is being shown a glimmer of hope, given a slice of love, it is taken away from her by ghosts of memories that scream out those words that she knows too well?
I don’t think I can stand being with you anymore.
Pathetic, she knows that is the perfect adjective for her romantic life—and as a columnist, she has studied verbs and adjectives more than the vowels. In a limbo, she exists, one in which she opens the gates of her heart to a man that captures her with silent charisma and just when she thinks she is bound to leave it all in the name of love, they scavenge away from her.
“You ordered without me?” Finally, her back comes in contact with the warmth of a seat, navy cushions welcoming the expanse of her muscles.
Jongin’s lips are puckered up, a glimpse of sauce on the corner of them, when he nods with widened, innocent eyes. For having almost every woman from ages twenty to sixty-five in the office going head over heels for him, Jongin’s heartthrob phase dulls upon seeing his truest colors. Softened, like coffee with milk and just a hint of caffeine in there. “You were taking too long.”
“If you would have gone with me to this interview, you would have known what I was facing.” She answers, eyes pulling away from the screen to snatch the menu on the middle of the table. Her ears are ringing, perhaps from the loud noise of the device, or because she had to hear the shouts of over twenty parents screaming at her to just ask one more question. “The local baseball team are lucky that they have a social media presence, because they are not that good.”
“They’re children,” Jongin says, just in time for her to skim over the salads and go for something stronger. A nice, tall glass of beer sounds right about now—paired with a vegan hamburger and the densest of sauces paired up with it, garlic-based just to bring that punch of something to make her feel alive. Even a stomachache would be welcomed by now. “Don’t be so harsh on them.”
“You know, just because they are children doesn’t mean we don’t get to tell them that they have to practice harder to become someone in life.” And that, along with Jongin’s scowl, is enough to show the determination of her dread. Younger, she had once been, and an athlete at that. Wrists itching after practices were over, jumps done to smack the ball on the other side of the game, cheering loudly upon winning along with her team. Loose shorts and little-to-no-attention from anyone at school, being part of the volleyball team had worked well for her. Enough to have knowledge in other sports and earn a spot at her workplace, but not good enough to be the next Misty May-Treanor.
Everything had ended before graduation. The regionals were the main goal for the female school team of volleyball, only to integrate a new leader and have her out of the game before the main event. Gone were the days of practice after school, of aches on her legs that made her feel as if she had somewhere to exist and live in. Never had she gotten a new opportunity, neither had she been brave enough to know what happened to those whom she had considered her best friends after graduation. Hell was an understatement for what she felt at the time.
On and off again, she discovered by her own that playing was not fun when not around those who believed in her at the beginning. If anything, her talent must be the cause of the exchange. Limbs too fragile, perhaps, or too much determination on winning—competitive to the point it got the worst of her. Screams. Shouts. Demands. It was just a game, but it had become her life.
Jongin tilts his head to the side, inspects her for a second before he puts his chopsticks down, dipping the meat in some sauce, taking a big bite after. “The news hit you that hard, then?”
“News?”
“Yes. The news.” The brown-haired man speaks, not much different from the first time she met him, only growing fonder of him with the passage of time. Jongin’s cubicle is right in front of hers, one push of her weight over the desk is enough for her to talk to him with, somehow, a little bit of privacy. By their side, however, the publicity division of the newspaper work with might and charisma. One that she can’t really stand at this moment. “It’s normal for you to feel betrayed for what Ingook did, but just know that none of this is your fault—”
Ingook. The cubicle next to hers, normally holding a pair of rounded sunglasses that he never wears on the corner of his desk, the picture he had of them replaced by one of his team. He is far too silent, his breaths are normally not even heard in the entirety of the office—a fan of spicy food, videogames, with a strange soft spot for the remake of Beauty and The Beast. Oh, of fucking course she knows who Ingook is.
Her ex-boyfriend.
The appeal of a man like him shows the default of her ideals. Silent, somewhat secretive, a glint on his eyes whenever he looked at her that could only be seen from up close—difficult to get, hidden from the world, dulcet to the taste and unforgettable when in his arms, under his touch, with his breath fanning over her face and he finally becomes vocal. Ingook had been the picture-perfect display of what she had always imagined to be the love of her life, only bringing a flutter to her chest when three years ago, upon his arrival at the office, something had grown in between them. In between coffee breaks and column reviews, a relationship had been kept a secret until two months ago.
It was all settled by a text, though, because Ingook may be a silent lover—and a good one, at that—but he is a coward. His eyes would waver under the mere presence of her after their break-up, never meeting her gaze and definitely, never speaking to her again.
“Wh—What? What did Ingook do?” Her voice is too soft, unlike her, her jersey trailing off one shoulder when she leans forward to listen with more intent. Years of working for a newspaper has taught her to take care of every single word she hears. “Betrayed? Why should I feel betrayed?”
“Because he has a new girl…?” Jongin trails his voice, eyes looking at all her features before he rests both hands over his mouth, concealing the gasp that had just left him. “Oh fuck, you didn’t know—!”
A few seconds are enough for her to feel a variety of sentiments on the pit of her stomach. The first one rages, it moves so quickly from her abdomen to her ears that it almost gives her whiplash—a beeping is heard, and she knows it comes directly from her brain, blood flowing faster than ever. Clear as day, her body reacts on her own, blinking rapidly as if to stop tears, but tightening her fists as if ready to fight. What a fucking cliché.
Two months and she is over and done with. Forgotten. A toy that he used for years, and yet, he needed something else. She rubs her face with open palms, groaning and sighing both at the same time to collect her thoughts. Jongin, apologetic perhaps, reaches forward to rest one hand over her hand and she has to swat it away.
“Don’t you dare pity me.” She answers, battling against the muscles of her cheek and mouth to put a smile on her face. It may look crooked, but it is the best she can do when her heart is being stepped on. Over and over again. “I’m totally fine.”
“You don’t look fine—”
“What do you know, Jongin?” Moving her head fervently, she looks him in the eye before sighing. “But I didn’t know, you are right. Is this a new thing or—?”
Jongin leans back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest as he ponders on telling her or not. “I don’t know. All I know is that people were talking about how they confirmed it just a few days ago.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“I have no idea.”
“Damn it.”
“Why would you want to know?”
Pulling away from her fingertips, pressed directly to her lips, Jongin’s watchful gaze captures her in her ministrations, because she is angry. Ingook had promised the moon and back, made her fall and go against the dating ban of the company just to be together. His payback was more than she had expected, and worse, too. “I don’t want to know,” She replies, two shrugs of her shoulders to emphasize what is a lie. For, it’s not always that someone rips her heart out and tosses it in the air a la football player. “What I should be worrying about here is that you didn’t want to tell me.”
Jongin, caught by her own words, takes a sip of his drink before smacking his lips together. “Touché.” He answers, calling the waiter over with his hand. “And that’s why I’m getting you extra beer and I’ll pay for it.”
“Thanks.” Though, that itch on the tip of her tongue stops her from concentrating on the game they had reunited to watch. “Are you sure you don’t know who Ingook is dating—?”
Jongin sighs, waving his hand with more insistence. She is getting to his nerves, clearly. “We’ll figure it out, but this shouldn’t change anything. Two months have passed by already.”
Sixty-one days are not that long. Not when her deepest fantasies still make out the figure of him and how her own lips crave for the warmth and touch of his. Sixty-one days are not justice to the nights in which he wraps himself in her dreams and how she still keeps his shirts in her closet, just in case he ever dares go back again. Sixty-one days don’t erase years of falling, of feeling, of going on and off again when imagining what could’ve been of the two of them.
“It isn’t changing anything. I had the opportunity to find someone, too, but I’m just not looking for a relationship right now.” That’s a lie, it spurts out of her with so much ease that she almost dares believe herself. She has moved on, she wants to say, but Jongin’s chocolate eyes glimmer at the mere sight of her.
Before he could ask anything else, however, the waiter arrives with a bow of his waist and a simple: “Can I get do anything for you?”
Sixty-one days are not enough to forget a lover, just like it isn’t enough to forgive them for moving on. At least, not for her.
###
“You know, I’ve yet to see you heartbroken.”
Orange colored tea is settled underneath her gaze, using two spoons to let the honey fall on the concoction she has made for her coffee-hating friend, and coworker to be exact, Kim Jongin. His eyes are trained on the side of her face, in the frustration she had when the honey doesn’t fall gracefully inside the two cups of tea she had prepared for their lunchbreak, and she has to take a deep breath upon the correlation of Jongin’s words.
“That’s because I am not heartbroken.” And he believes it, the pout on his face just dares to tell her that he is ignorant enough to believe her heart is not in ruins. Her eyes had only closed last night, but that did not mean that she had gotten an ounce of sleep. Her neighbor had gotten to her nerves. Her car almost ran out of gas. And, right now, her line of sight is trained on Ingook, seated in front of his cubicle, rice pushed past his lips as he watches something on his computer. Tranquil. “It hurt me more when Iker Casillas dropped out of soccer.”
“Right. I remember you were super sad and In—” Jongin stops himself right there, her eyes sending daggers his way when the unnamed man was almost mentioned in between them. With one last dip of the spoon inside the teacup, she passes it over to him before sighing deeply. “Is it okay if I mention him?”
“Yes.” Though, her voice becomes too high, leaning back on the table that holds the coffee machine and the kettles to watch Ingook from afar. “It’s not like I love him anymore, either way.”
She had never been a liar. Not until now.
This is the sentence that she needs to pay, to look at him and not touch him, to love him and not have him, to feel betrayed for him loving someone else when he had once promised the world to her. Silently. He is not a man of many words, and how she wishes he could’ve been more than her favorite enigma. Some puzzles are nice to solve until someone else does it in a quicker time than her, and her athlete blood still boils at the sight of competition.
He is not a price, however, Ingook is a memory that she wants to call horrid but can only consider beautiful. He is more than beautiful. Square-faced with soft eyes, the roundness of her fingertips knowing the feeling of his jaw under the smallest pressure, lips that she had kissed plenty of times, colored as an ode to cherry blossoms, wide nostrils but a thin and high-sloped bridge. She remembers kissing the freckles on his skin on the mornings, when the coconut scent of his shampoo was the first sense that welcomed her, the tuff of wavy hair parted as ever. Sixty-two days after, her heart still aches for the beauty of him, inside and out.
Tears that had been washed away by him, insecurities of hers that were traced with delicacy, a man that had thought of her stretchmarks as lines in a canvas and that relished on the laughter that they shared. Ingook’s intelligence was always her favorite—he remembered the smallest of things. From the first cut she remembers getting when falling down when she was a child, a line on her knee that she will never get rid of; to her first love, that he had always been too nice about.
Once, he dared to say: “It’s not about who gets there first, it’s about who gets there last.”
Maybe, she had been too prideful. Ingook loved her first, he had said, though he was no stranger to romance. Raw, he had loved just how raw she was to feelings. Her laughter is loud. Her feelings are boisterous. She cries with all her heart, loves with her entire soul, hates forever. And strangely enough, she doesn’t hate him.
She hates whoever got there last.
“Mhm, yeah, if you say so…” Jongin trails his voice, taking a sip of his tea before she mimics his actions. What is it worth to be someone’s first love? Some say that it is the most memorable one, but she doesn’t feel like such when Ingook lets a smile grace his features thanks to whatever he is watching, one leg crossed over the other while he wears the one shirt she had hated on him. Disgustingly shiny in navy blue. “So, you wouldn’t care if I told you I found out who is his new girl last night.”
Freeze-frame worthy is her face when she turns her head to look at him. Her movements are so precise they may be considered a dance by now. “Oh, fuck no, I do care.”
“You said you don’t love him anymore, though. Why would you care?” Jongin is too nice for his own good. Never tainting anyone’s life, neither confessing anyone’s secrets, he is the perfect friend, but not the one for this situation.
“Because.”
“Just admit you still love him.”
One blink, then two and a prideful answer after, she dares say: “No. I don’t love him.”
“Then, I won’t tell you who it is.”
She grabs the side of his vest, gray against a white button down, and she pulls him closer to her before speaking lowly. “Jongin, please.” Her voice becomes insecure, terrifyingly so. Back to square one, she is afraid of becoming that one kicked out leader of the volleyball team. Once again left alone, she is off to fend for herself. “If I didn’t love him, do you think I would be asking?”
The tea warms itself more under Jongin’s understanding gaze, who runs his free hand through his brown locks, calling her name to capture her attention. “I think it’s time to let him go.”
“I just can’t do that.”
“You can.”
“I can’t.” Her eyes shake, concentrating from one of Jongin’s eyes to the other before she bites down on her bottom lip. Crying, that’s something that she has done a lot for the past few days. “I love him, Jongin. He’s all I’ve known for the past few years. All I’ve had.” She utters softly, only to finish off with a: “But now he is someone else’s.”
“Jeonghwa from the politics column. She is the one dating him.”
Jeonghwa?
The newspaper works with simplistic rules. Always be truthful to the matters that happened. Never exaggerate. Be available for every task that could be photographed or written about. Don’t date fellow columnists, photographers or anyone from the staff. The last rule was broken by her, and by Ingook, too, proclaiming to love each other in the shadows and outside of the establishment. Hands pulled away from each other’s on the work meetings or dinners. Weekends explained to the boss with details that were spared. And Ingook had been enough of a hypocrite to fall into the same trap again.
With angel-wings, beautiful lips, sweet speech Jeonghwa. Intelligent, delicate, made for the politics section. Her voice had that depth of professionalism with an ounce of sexiness, enough to make any man crazy. Not only that, but Jeonghwa had always been a nice friend of Ingook’s.
The three of them had dinner together.
Jeonghwa had complimented them on their perfectly structured relationship.
Ingook had always preferred the politics section over the sports section.
Two lying bitches.
Tea left forgotten on that table, her struts towards Ingook are not calculated, anger far from dissipated inside of her the more she moves towards him. Her hands spread on the armrest of his chair, twirling it around until she is facing him. His eyes widen, eyebrows raising the slightest in surprise, as if he is a cat that had been stepped on accidentally. That waft of his coconut shampoo reaches her again, but it makes her sick. Longing for him, she realizes there is not a way in hell he had just fallen in love with Jeonghwa in less than sixty-two days.
“You’re the worst asshole you’ve ever met in my life.” She speaks, voice ragged when Ingook does so much as part his lips to sigh delicately. “Jeonghwa, huh? When did you two start being together?”
Caught in the headlights, he tries to turn around, but her grasp is tight to keep him caged. “It’s not what you think—”
“Ingook, you told me you couldn’t stand me. You made me feel like shit for being a bad girlfriend when in reality, you wanted to leave me for Jeonghwa!” She could’ve said more, but the thought of the two of them together brought the acid in her stomach up her throat. Her voice has lifted, and Ingook looks around, shushing her soon after.
“Stop making a scene. I’m not your boyfriend anymore.” Someone as silent as him is clearly affected by the attention, but she can’t bring herself to care.
“For how long?”
“It wasn’t—”
“That bitch was always around us, there is no way you did not even cheat on me emotionally. How long?” Ingook closes his lips tight then, even managing to rest his hands on top of hers to take them in between his. She has no strength when around him knees buckling, heart falling in love and breaking at the same time. A poor boat that had collapsed and rested on the depths of the ocean, forgotten by the sailor that had wanted a ship instead, that is what she is right now.
Joining her hands in between his, Ingook whispers: “Two months.”
Sixty-one days.
He had not even grieved their relationship. He had just gotten straight into another one—with the one person that had always claimed that they were the best couple.
“Let go of me.” She struggles against his hold, Ingook standing up and surpassing her in height. The difference had always made her feel protected, but now it made her feel small in comparison—as if she was being mocked.
“Hey, no. I didn’t cheat on you physically. It just happened—” Pursing her lips together, she pries her hands away from his hold with all the strength she could muster, taking the lunchbox he had brought with him and tossing the rice at his chest. An outburst, perhaps not the best for her reputation, but it was what had boiled inside of her. Years of being betrayed by everyone she loved did that.
“You’re a fucking liar!” No longer levelled and remembering where she is, her entire body shakes on the weight of memories. Ones that she had not seen, but she could imagine. Ingook, who has always liked to hold the nape of her neck when kissing, would be doing the same to Jeonghwa. His laughter is now shared with her. The prominence of his hip-bones would press to her when throaty groans took his most sensual of sides away. He is no longer hers, and the worst part is that he had tried to mask it throughout the way. “My fault? This is entirely your fault.” The sticky rice gets stuck to that horrendous shirt, her finger rubbing against the fabric to punctuate her words. “You two made fun of me—”
Someone’s arms wrap around her waist, trying to pull her back with soft ministrations. “Hey, it’s enough. The boss is coming—”
Neither Ingook nor her are listening, at this point. “I just wasn’t in love with you anymore. Did you want me to say that?”
Something wants to snap inside of her. Cry. Scream. Throw something else at him. Ingook could not have fallen out like that. “…I can’t believe you, I really can’t.”
“It’s not my fault you still love me. Stop making a scene.”
“It’s not my fault you hurt me by cheating on me.”
“Emotionally cheating on you.”
“I don’t believe you!”
“You two, stop right now!”
The booming voice, albeit a bit old, belongs to no other than her boss. Her fists are tightly glued to her side when, from the corner of her eye, she catches a glimpse of the boss. The old man stares at Ingook, then at her, back again before pointing at his office.
“Let’s talk it out in the office instead of screaming your business out to everyone.”
If Jongin had yet to see her heartbroken, this is the time to do so.
Her hands are shaking by the time she is explaining everything to the boss. Her eyes can’t stop getting blurry, though not a single tear has dropped down her skin. Ingook is silent, as expected, playing with the edge of one of the folders on the boss’ desk as he lets her say exactly what had happened. Hidden relationship for almost three years, but keeping away the fact that Jeonghwa was his newest romance. The last. The one that had gotten him.
The boss is silent for a second, and she takes this time to count the wrinkles on his face or the few hairs that are left on his head in the color of white and gray. He is plusher than the last time she saw him, cheeks healthier, and his marriage seems to be going strong after forty years with the band that still wraps around his finger. His entire office is decorated in pictures of his family—his wife and his son, soon to take up after his steps. Pictures of their trips, his son’s graduation, his wife’s birthday…
That is someone who loves. Not whatever Ingook had paid her with after so much adoration.
“Thank you for, uh, for telling me the truth.” Their boss says, putting his hands together and interlocking his fingers. A frown is on his features, that can’t be a good sign. “But I can’t condone these types of activities happening in the office—”
“Please, boss, don’t fire us.” Ingook has finally spoken, leaning his weight forward and accidentally brushing his feet against her leg. She can’t help but pull away. “I didn’t intend for this to happen.”
“You’re two of my best columnists. I can’t do such thing.” Lucky bastard, he gets to be in the office with his new girl and now she will be on first row watching it happen. “But, I need to teach you a lesson.”
“Oh, boss, please don’t.” She says, sharing a glance with Ingook who pays attention to her. “I’ve already gotten one hell of a lesson today.”
“Stop it, you two.” With a scolding, her boss finishes. “More of a reason for me to follow through with this plan…” His voice lowers, opening the folder that Ingook had been playing with, sighing along the way. “Ingook, you’re going to be working on the sports column. You,” Sending a pointed look at her behind his glasses, he turns his attention to his folder. “You’re going to the publicity column. I need you to sort out your differences and understand that you are coworkers here, not lovers, and you’re both important to this newspaper.”
“What?!” Now Ingook has heightened his voice, shaking his head while he speaks. “Boss, that can’t be. I know nothing about sports—”
“Kim Jongin will help you with that. Learn.” The boss continues, soon after writing something down on the folder. “I’ll be giving you new cubicles, as well, I don’t want you two near each other for more than necessary. If I see any changes in my columns, you two will be out of the job.”
The publicity column is a nightmare made words. Ingook had always been overexcited whenever he spoke about his job when they were together, but it was boring. The newspaper is paid to write the things that he puts into paper and online, the most he does is get free stuff here and there whenever he goes take pictures and interview the workers to make sure it is valid enough to end up in their newspaper.
“Boss, but I am very happy with my position.” She includes, extending her hand towards Ingook. “I agree with this thing right here.”
“I won’t change my mind.” He stands up then, hands extending on top of his desk to conclude his actions. “Tomorrow morning, I will have the security guard lead you to your new spots, and I will be asking for weekly updates.” Not only was she cheated on (emotionally, she can hear Ingook say inside her head), but now she has to write for the most boring column in the entire newspaper. “Out of my office, and don’t fight anymore.”
With a bow and a scoff, she leaves the office, eyes trained on her when she walks towards her cubicle, head thumping against the keyboard to finally let out the few tears that she had been saving.
A few that turn into a hundred.
###
Day seventy since Ingook broke up with her. Still heartbroken.
And the new cubicle is too cramped.
Another rub at her eyes, her elbow accidentally bumping against the corner of her desk, stars going up from her nerves to the rest of her arm, leaving her lips parted with a stuffy nose. Allergies could only make her day worse, knees tattered in bruises thanks to her clumsiness in her new spot. The computer screen blinks back at her, the noise of people working on their keyboards reminding her that there is, still, one more article for her to edit. Written by Ingook, just like the rest she had worked on while being part of the publicity column.
The worst part is that, even in his writing, he is unforgettable. Nice with words. A seller. The art of being a columnist in its natural form, just made to grasp someone in and make them want to go anywhere he recommends. Ingook has a talent, but he also is the only person recurring her thoughts as of currently.
Emotional cheating, though bad on its own, she had tried to excuse it. That’s the power of being delusional, she tells herself, and she is afraid of speaking her mind out to her friends in hopes of getting the same answer, but said out loud. Ingook may have liked someone else, but his lips had not traced Jeonghwa’s skin, his eyes had belonged to her while they were together…
Damn, she really is delusional.
Cutting the sneeze off to make the sound less prominent, she lifts her gaze once again, rubbing her hands with some hand sanitizer before continuing with her job. The typing continues, needing Jongin’s voice to fill the air with some talk about whatever he is watching on TV, or speaking about his own romantic life that is much wilder and less trapped. She gets neither of those things.
Instead, Ingook’s partner in crime appears before her, a burning cup of coffee resting beside her hand in the matter of seconds. Dani, with brown hair tied behind her back, a cute button nose and sporty clothes cladding her body. She must go to the gym, if the contraction of her muscles when she pushes the cup closer to her is anything to go by.
“I thought a cup of coffee would be nice.” One of the few people that was friends with Ingook that she had not talked to that much was Dani. Maybe, if she had surrounded herself with Dani instead of Jeonghwa, her world would be different. She may have been in the sports section, writing diligently, still very much in a relationship.
She takes it, but to keep the distance in between anything that shows weakness towards Ingook and herself, she speaks just before she takes a sip of her drink: “I didn’t ask for coffee.”
Dani blinks for a moment, chuckling to herself only after digesting her words. “Listen, I may not be Kim Jongin, but we need to make this work in between us, okay?” Her tone of voice is light, contrary to the persona she holds. Powerful, albeit a bit strong.
“Got it. Can I go back to editing?”
“You can’t keep editing Ingook’s work today. We actually have some establishments to visit.” Dani leans her weight against her desk, one leg crossed over the other when she takes a sip of her own coffee. Tea is better, if not iced and super sweet coffee, and she deeply misses the time she used to spend with Jongin in between articles. “Someone asked for our presence.”
“Oh yes, because the publicity team is the Team Rocket of our newspaper.” She comments, saltiness in her voice when she downs the rest of the coffee, not caring that it scalds her tongue or that her cheeks inflate the slightest to hold the liquid there before swallowing it in two cuts.
“…I never considered that, but we could totally be Team Rocket…” The sarcasm has not yet downed on Dani. Either way, she doesn’t feel like going out at all. The publicity team are barely even there in the mornings, more often than not running errands on the places that ask for their publicity. Newspapers may be dying, but with their website going and their Instagram presence, there is something to be done. One or two people over the age of seventy may buy the newspaper, too. “Much more now that we are going to the hair-salon.”
Hair-cutting and dyeing doesn’t sound like a great deal. She drags her chair away from the desk, sniffling her allergies away. “Do I really need to go?”
“Yes.” Dani cuts to the chase, taking a sip of her coffee. “The boss is asking me for updates on your efficiency, and this hair-salon visit would be your first performance as part of Team Rocket.”
Shit.
Did she have to open her big mouth and say Team Rocket?
But what else could go wrong in her life? She has lost her position in her precious eighth column to be left in column number three. She has lost her boyfriend. Her cubicle. Her time with Jongin. Her dreams are shattered. Her tongue is burning at the mere contact with her palate. All matters that make her grab her cardigan to pull it over her body.
“Let’s just go.” She comments, sneezing twice before looking up at Dani.
“Are you sure you are alright?”
The answer is that stepping on a million roses would hurt less than letting out a breath right now. She has nothing, when she had once thought she had everything again. This is her curse and like a warrior, she has to battle against it. With a nod from her, she answers Dani:
“I am well.” She answers. “But let’s keep out of each other’s business from now on.”
Thick air and serious eyes, she knows this is no way of living. Pushing people away in fear of them getting too close, burning words that could ever mean the slightest bit of charisma. The sweet Dani can’t say anything, just nod in hopes of finishing this sooner.
That’s just how life is. Trusting someone always leads to abandonment.
###
Long strands of hair, cascading down her back, he always liked those. Why is it that she remembers exactly what Ingook liked?
He’d grasp them in between his fingers from time to time. They’d thread through her hair, hand on her nape, when he kissed her with fervor, tongue connecting with hers, clashing with teeth, pants leaving his lips. He loved to play with the ends of them when he was holding her by the waist, paying attention to his friend’s words but still keeping her in check by tugging at the strands to tease her. Ingook had always liked this hairstyle, which is why upon the presence of a hair-salon, she can already feel a bit of dread.
The gates of hell are presented through glass doors. A lot of people bustle and live with happiness, talking loud enough to drown the music. It’s an open space, too, creamy walls with lights on them, leading to wide mirrors and white seats. Around ten workers try to make others feel beautiful, spending their money on confidence and speech. Some are washing hair. Some are cutting it. Some are chatting. And there’s an intense amount of happiness.
Liberating—more than in a club with some drinks, more than in dinner with friends. This place is liberating, enough to have Dani clasping her hands together upon greeting the man at the entrance door. Color Theory, the place is called, and it must sound too complex for it to be a hair-salon, much more when she looks towards the man at the main desk.
Orange strands of hair are sleeked back, yet curve at the forehead, to present a model-like stoic face. His brows, dark with the natural color of his hair, are perfectly crafted and sleek—straight, too. Plush and short lips, as well as a straight nose, this man clearly is a nice image for the establishment. Though, having ‘color’ in the title of the hair-salon when he is dressed in a black button down and trousers is a bit contradictory.
“Good morning,” Dani greets, softening the frown on the man’s features when he nods, standing up with a notebook in between his fingers to take notes of whatever she is about to say. Perhaps, to catch an appointment for her. “I called in advance. We belong to the publicity column of the local newspaper and we are doing a revision of the hair-salon before its appearance in our column next Monday.”
The embroidered name on the button down catches her attention. Oh Sehun. “I see,” Now, much less interested, he lets the notebook fall into place before looking around the establishment. “I’ll have you talk with one of our hairdressers.”
“You can’t help us out yourself?” The words leave her lips fast enough for her to regret them, and Sehun seems a bit displeased when he looks up and down her features, taking extra time on her eyes to send a glare before shrugging his shoulders.
“I’m busy, can’t you see?”
And he leaves it at that, excusing himself to go look for one of the workers at Color Theory.
Dani, finally on her tipping point, turns around and gets closer to her. Similar in height, she doesn’t have to move her neck much to stare straight into her eyes. “I know this is difficult for you, but I take my job very seriously. Please, try for me here.”
There may be a hundred things going on badly in her life right now, but Dani holds no blame on that. Upon inspecting the expensive looking spot once again, she decides that it could not be half as bad as she is imagining it. She may get a snack or two here and there while Dani actually tries the place out. “Sorry.” For the first time in a while, she finds it in her to apologize. “I will try for you.”
“Thank you.”
“So, what do I do?” She asks, placing her hands inside the pockets of her jeans for leverage. “Am I just your pretty companion of the day or do I get to do something newspaper-related?”
“Mhm, Ingook is normally more active with this kind of stuff but…” Dani must not notice what she is doing, and she really is trying her best here in not caring about the name that escapes her lips, but it hurts. The wound is fresh, it palpitates, shines in red and deep purple—a little bit of fuchsia, too. “You ask questions about the number of clients they get, what they offer…what their specialties are. Oh, don’t forget to ask what differentiates them from other companies. All of the like.”
“I can do that.” She answers, watching the tall receptionist come back with an extended hand to lead the way.
“Come with me, ladies.” Sehun instructs first, a movement to his hips while he walks to the farthest spot on the hair-salon, nearer to the people that are getting their hair shampooed. “Our most popular hairdresser is available right now. I am sure he can fill you in with the details of Color Theory.”
Dani, more in touch with this place, holds her hands in front of her chest. “Oh, isn’t your most popular hairdresser Mr. Byun Baekhyun?”
Sehun nods, prettily wrapping his lips in a smile. When his stoic expression is not present, he looks less like he’d eat her alive if she dared talk back to him. “Indeed.”
“I talked to him over the phone, oh my God!”
“Yes, he’s been taking care of this place in behalf of our boss, since she’s old and can barely hear from one ear.” Sehun says it so sincerely, opening the clear doors of the shampooing spot before clearing his throat. “Baekhyun, please shampoo their hairs and give them a trim while they ask you some questions. They’re from the local newspaper.”
She doesn’t know what she expected when she heard Byun Baekhyun’s name, but it wasn’t exactly what had been presented in front of her.
If the word allure could be personified, it’d be given to Baekhyun. Fresh, clean, a smile on his face that is dulcet, everything about him is fitted for this place, but there is no way in hell that a man like him does not have, at least, a variety of people hitting up on him on the daily.
Recently ironed is the black button down on top of his body, a bit oversized to encage his wide shoulders but growing loose in what seems to be a small waist. His name is also embroidered in his shirt, alike to Sehun. Somewhat thick thighs that give the benefit of mischief to his beam. A fresh undercut is what styles his black hair, a few strands ticking out of the gelled hair, slightly arched eyebrows presented from this. His eyes, however, windows to the soul, rake over her body to make her feel sticky, as if honey is conveyed in his soul.
“Welcome,” Baekhyun says, placing his hands on top of the black ceramic that would be, in a few seconds, filled with bubbles and shampoo. “I’m Baekhyun, the head hairdresser here. My boss is currently not doing so well health-wise, so I was the one to contact you.”
Someone like him must definitely have enough social media presence to not need any of this extra publicity bullshit, but she may be wrong. Dani takes a seat on the chair before Baekhyun could ask anything else, though he wraps a cloth around her shoulders to keep her clothes intact. “Yes, you talked to me. I’m Hwang Dani, the person in charge of the publicity column in the newspaper.”
Before her, it had been Ingook that had been in charge, equally as successful in his career as her. She utters her name when Baekhyun looks at her once again, lifting her hand in a small wave. “I’m new in the column, not in the business. I will be the one asking you some questions.”
When he twirls the sleeves of his button down up, honey skin is presented. Skilled, long fingers in delicacy pull Dani’s hair away from her ponytail, giving it back to her. “Huh, it’s okay. I can answer whatever.” He turns around to look at the rack of shampoos, all labelled by function and scent. “I was half expecting to be able to do your hair.”
The punctuation in his tone indicates he is talking about her, and she absentmindedly grabs at the edges of it. “Oh, no way.” Letting go of his old, long hairstyle would make her feel unlike herself. Perhaps, she has grown to like it—or she is afraid of not sporting something that Ingook likes. “It’s been a long while since I’ve done something to my hair. I don’t want to.”
“Bummer.” Baekhyun is professional, letting the water pool on Dani’s hair to wet it nicely. “Not to say you don’t look good with your hair like that, but I pride myself on my skills.”
With his body pressed to the sink, shampoo resting on his palm before he rubs them together and washes Dani’s hair, she can’t help but have her mind wondering on what kind of skills he is talking about. “What makes your skills different from everyone else, Mr. Byun?”
Quirking one of his eyebrows, he seems to have caught up on his little two-meaning game, biting down on his bottom lip as he works a few knots out of her hair. “Color Theory is just better, I guess.” Trying to be professional, or perhaps she had imagined the flirtation in his tone, Baekhyun’s slender fingertips spread the mango-scented shampoo on Dani’s hair. “We care about the client in ways that other salons don’t. Inclusivity is what we work with—in other salons, you’re paying for a set way of doing things, they don’t care about the way your hair reacts to the shampoos they use or the way they blow your hair. We take out client into consideration,” Then, he spares her a glance, pushing his lips together to stifle a smile. “Of course, like any other salon, we tend to gossip. Our difference is that we remember our clients.”
She scoffs at that, because this is not much different from a sports parlor or a game. No athlete remembers the people that talked to them. “I don’t believe that’s true.”
“If you’d let me do your hair, you’d be believing in other things.” Baekhyun replies, followed by another question from her.
“I imagine you get a lot of clients, then.”
Rinsing the first wash, Baekhyun’s fingers rub circles on Dani’s temples, making the woman close her eyes with a smile on her face. “You can see for yourself.” There is pride on his tone and one look at the salon is enough to confirm that there are a lot of clients, indeed, all joyfully talking to their respective hairdressers.
“What do you offer them?”
“Anything hair related.” Baekhyun shrugs, once again bringing her attention to his shoulders. For the first time in a while, she gives herself the benefit of looking at another man—Ingook had been the reason of attraction inside her head, but upon looking at the hairdresser…she starts to believe there are other good looking men in this world. “And some. I’m a good friend for my clients.”
“You’re knowledgeable in your job, Mr. Byun?”
“I know my stuff.” He conquers, taking some air conditioner in between his palms, rubbing it once again and putting it on the ends of Dani’s hair, delicacy at its finest. “You said your name was Dani, right?”
Taken away of her daydream as Baekhyun massages her scalp, the woman swallows thick saliva before nodding. “Yes.”
“Dani has very straight hair. It’s malnourished at the ends; I would love to give her a trim right now. Nothing crazy. We have to give it some kind of volume at the top because straight hair tends to look flat.” The knowledge is given to her, leaving her dizzied. She knows about kicks and dust, not about prettiness and hairstyles. “Also, I used mango because I feel like it would be better for her hair color. She dyed it auburn a while ago, I can see it in the ends. We need to get rid of that.”
The timbre of his voice is there, and Dani seems excited about a makeover, but she is left with little to no questions. He sounds legit. This place seems as though it is the castle for whoever wanted to be a royal for a day, going home to the scent of them and them only. In this place, confidence is built—in a way that she can’t understand, but deeply admires.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to do something to your hair?” Baekhyun asks, patting Dani’s hair dry with a towel, careful not to pull at the strands, his eyes trained on her. Still standing, the man maneuvers the towel around her head, keeping it in place as he takes off the cloth that covered her clothes.
“Not today.”
“Huh, so some other day?”
“We’d have to see.”
He clicks his tongue, something deep in his chest rumbling like a chuckle, before he lets go of the subject. Dani has sat up by now, and with the excellent wit of a hairdresser, he speaks up. “What are we feeling, Dani? Bleach for heartbreak? Brown for a simple look? Do we want to go all out or keep it simple?”
“Would my hair look good when bleached?” Dani asks, clearly putting her trust in someone like Baekhyun. Her senses say that a smirk like that is not to be trusted, but who is she to know? She had trusted the most silent, secretive, shy of men and ended up getting cheated on.
Not emotionally. There is no way he just cheated emotionally and got a girl a day after their break-up.
“Sure! I wouldn’t go for pure blonde. I’d go for a platinum instead. I think we could create some waves, too.”
“You get me!” Dani says, Baekhyun’s hands resting on her shoulders when he moves away from the shampooing room, her footsteps trailing right behind them.
With one look over his shoulder and an air of confidence, he completes: “I’m just good at reading people, Dani.”
She wonders, then, if he had read her too, enough to consider that she needed a break from the persona that had been inherently in love with only one man. That continues to do so, even when she has an Adonis in front of her.
###
Dulcet orange in a can, artificial yet satisfyingly fresh, enough to keep the heat away from her body during the lunchbreak. That is what she craves for, given to her by a vending machine, scolded by her kidney if she keeps this habit up.
Tiresome, the past month has been, and with every moment that she spends with the charismatic and chirpy Dani, the more she misses Jongin. Something about him resembles this odd day, sun shining and made to cast down on his skin. The words bubble inside of her most of the time—how much she hates having to edit everything she writes over and over again to fit the standards of the people who want publicity, and how whenever she is working, she remembers Ingook. None of those concerns leave her, they choke and choke until she is left with a short breath, the one that is keeping her sane.
Today, orange is the color she has seen the most. The sky has been shining in ode to the sun, leaving heat on its way contrary to the rain that had overtaken the city. Ridden of energy from the heat, she is left to go to the vending machine, feet dragging across the sidewalk, old sneakers asking to be changed for something more professional. Maybe, it is time for her to learn how to get rid of old memories.
There is not a lot of people in the streets, most of them are in restaurants or in their workplaces, so that leaves her to feel accomplished when there is no one in line for the vending machine. Three blocks away from the office, yes, but worth it with that orange soda that has been calling her name since a week ago. She has had it too much, sure, but she can regret it later. For now, she needs something strong to wash any thoughts away.
It is difficult, she realizes, to feel out of place. The worst feeling in the world, if she is being practical. Starting over again in a life that had been planned will never be easy. Sometimes, she lays on her bed and stares at the ceiling with fear of what may come next. Perhaps, the next person she trusts will stab her in the back. Or she will never trust again, cursing the name of friendship and love alike.
The vending machine is pink. The glass is a bit tainted from fingertips of children, too low to be someone else’s, and she slips a few coins there to earn her well-deserved treat. Maybe, she could buy one for Jongin and try to spend time with him during the lunchbreak. Though, the orange can moves the slightest, tries to slip away from its confines before it stops entirely.
Fuck my life, are the first words that cross her head.
Her hands wrap around the vending machine, wider than her when she shakes it to get the can out. Nothing. A few kicks to it and it still doesn’t budge. It is at this point that she starts to believe that she is truly cursed. A witch or something of the like must have made a voodoo doll and someone is playing games with her, leaving her heated, angry and at the verge of crying.
Because it feels lonely, over everything, more than it feels like she is powerless. Impotence engulfs her in this limbo of her life in which she can neither move forward nor step back. The trigger is there, in the form of a vending machine that is not working at her favor, and suddenly her world is crumbling down once again, making her feel ridiculous in the way she has lived her life.
Out of the volleyball team.
Shaken away from the opportunity of majoring in anything sport-related.
Once working in the newspaper in her own column, she fell in love with someone and he cheated.
And now she doesn’t even work in what she likes anymore.
Her hair cages her face away from the crowd to be looking at her, forehead pressed to the arm that has extended over the vending machine, so she doesn’t notice that someone has neared her. Pristine and elegant shoes are the only thing she sees for a second before she hears her name being called, in between an amused chuckle and with a foreign tone. Not too deep, not too sensual, but with that flirty air that she had not experienced in a while.
“Who the hell—?” Before she could snap at the unwanted visitor, she lifts her gaze and pushes her body away from the vending machine. The person in front of her, holding a plastic bag by the crook of his elbow, is romanticism in its modern form. His undercut is fresh, still, black hair styled as per usual. This time around, the glimmer of the sun surprises her with a piercing on his right ear. His uniform is still the same, broad shoulders under a black button down with his name. The world gets to be introduced to him even without asking. “Mr. Byun.”
“The one and only.” Baekhyun answers, lifting the arm with the bag up to take a sip from his coffee. “Is there a reason why you’re crying against a vending machine?”
Not a single tear she had dropped, but she was very close to it. Good at reading people, he once said he was. “I was not crying.”
“Sorry. Strong woman who doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit, I forgot that was your brand.” Baekhyun trails his gaze over her features, surprise and annoyance taking up on her face.
With an amused chuckle, she crosses her arms over her chest. “I am a strong woman who doesn’t take anyone’s bullshit, that’s true.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Baekhyun conquers, slipping a few coins inside the vending machine and selecting the number for the orange soda. “But even the strongest of people need some help every once in a while.”
If she was a child, she would be surprised by the way two cans of soda fell out of the vending machine. Baekhyun picks both up in between his slender fingers, made for washing hair and styling it perfectly, before giving them to her. Both cans. “Thank you.” She answers, because it has been a while since someone has tried to help her—or at least, has asked for the reason behind her turmoil. “I’m sorry I was of inconvenience.”
“You weren’t, and you never will.” Baekhyun, once again, takes a sip of his coffee before leaning against the vending machine. Toned legs and a nice neck are highlighted thanks to the position. “Were you about to have lunch?”
“I was.” She says, looking down at her phone before putting it back in her pocket. “I should try to find a restaurant that is not packed and buy something. I haven’t been preparing my meals for a while—”
Baekhyun shakes the plastic bag in between his fingers then, the name of the restaurant imprinted on the white bag. “I have some extra food here. I promised Sehun food, but I can go back and buy him something. I’m my own boss for now, after all.”
Shaking her head, she can’t fathom the idea of being given food just to avoid standing in line. “No, no, take that food to Mr. Oh.”
“We’re not old men, you know?” Baekhyun asks, an eye-roll to his statement. “Baekhyun. Sehun. You can call us those, it’ll be fine.”
“Well, Baekhyun, I still can’t accept.”
When she tries to move past him, however, the plea of her name in his voice has her stopping on her tracks. “Come on. Let me just have lunch with you! Please?”
She turns around then, watching as he points to one of the benches nearby. “Why would you want to have lunch with me?”
Confidence and adulthood seep from him then, a shrug of his shoulders that matches the waltz of his step. “You’re pretty,” He says. “Can’t blame me for wanting to know if you’re equally as pretty on the inside.”
She finds herself nearing him, step after step to oblivion. “Good luck with that. I doubt it.”
Placing the bag down on his lap after taking a seat on the bench, she realizes then that she has bitten on his trap, right then and there. “Those who fear being complicated are never complicated to start with.”
Those words dizzy her. They make her heart ache, her soul beg for an answer, simply because she has always considered herself to be too complicated. Complex enough to never get a happy ending. “Are you calling me easy?” Trying to push the subject away from her, she takes the seat beside him just to watch Baekhyun open the white container for her, filled with some fries and a hamburger. Golden and tasty-looking.
“I could read you if I wanted to, honey.” Baekhyun breathes out, gold bathing his skin when he looks up at the sky, away from her, teasing her. “But you’re lucky I like mysteries.”
“I can read you, too.” She says, opening the hamburger to place the fries inside, pushing the contents back together to take her first bite. Swirls of sauces and vegetables meet in a pleasant taste. “Overconfident hairdresser that thinks he knows everyone just because he knows a lot of people.”
He chuckles at that, breathy and nice, like he is actually having the time of his life by just a simplistic conversation. His fingers open the can for her, and she takes the first sip of the orange glory. “Try something else,” He indicates. “Overconfident hairdresser that likes a challenge and talks to a taken woman, if the promise ring on your finger is anything to go by.”
Truth is, she is unable to take it off. The rose gold band reads his initials on the inside, and the day of their beginning. It fits her so perfectly that sometimes, on the dead of the night, she imagines that it was only made to be worn by her. It’s not. Romance is nothing but a speckle of capitalism—this ring would fit anyone with the same finger-size as her, and it glimmers under the light the same way it does for everyone else. The memories are crafted by her mind, like a peek of stupidity and even when someone as handsome as Baekhyun would be enough of an excuse for her to take it off, she doesn’t.
“I’m not taken.” She says, taking a bite of the hamburger and coming back with a fry dangling from her lips. Slicing it with her teeth, she continues. “I just haven’t been able to take it off.”
Baekhyun’s eyes stare at her profile, they feel like they are burning her or judging her, but instead he says something unlike anything she had expected. It’s a question, not a retort. “What happened to him?”
“None of your business.” She answers, feeling pathetic above all and all because she doesn’t have an excuse. He fell in love with someone else, and she still loves him enough to think he will come back. “Figure it out. Aren’t you an intelligent guy?”
A whistle later, Baekhyun nods. “You’re pissed off about me asking, so it must be something that hurt you.”
“Don’t all break-ups hurt?”
“Mine don’t.” He concludes. “Love is different for everyone. For some, it’s not even love.”
“Well, it was love for me.” She includes, trying not to be too pointy or not have a fighting mechanism destroying everything for her. Her words are not measured, they come out in roughness, and it’s a surprise that Baekhyun is not annoyed yet.
Instead, he looks and looks. She would be naked if his eyes could pierce through clothes. Continuing with her meal, twenty minutes left of her break, Baekhyun comes up with an answer.
“You got cheated on.”
And that’s enough to know that Baekhyun is just too overconfident, but for a reason.
She cackles, comes directly from the depths of her pain, and Baekhyun has a smile on his face even from his accusations. “I must have the face of a woman who got cheated on, or is the type to get cheated on.”
“Not at all. If someone dares cheat on that face, they are up to no good.” Baekhyun has crossed one leg over the other, searching for another sip of his coffee even when he has run out of it. His lips smack together when eating, licking some sauce from the corner of his lip. “But you were pissed off and you said ‘well, it was love for me’ or something like that. It means that you feel as though it wasn’t love for him.”
“…And you get all this talent of reading people just from being a hairdresser?”
“I know the story of almost every marriage in this goddamned city.” Baekhyun answers, leaving her with a chuckle as she imagines the man, doing magic with his fingers by threading them through the client’s hair, feeling as though Baekhyun is the closest thing to a confidante. “Tell you something, it doesn’t end up good for most people. You’re not alone.”
But she is. She knows she is. Not in the sense that this has not happened to anyone, but in the sense that she is so unaccompanied that she remembers it all. It is pathetic, above all, because she knows everyone will tell her to get over it—and she needs to. Maybe, she should push herself to do so.
“I know,” With a kick of her leg forward, she finishes the small hamburger before taking a small sip of the can of orange soda. “What do you do so break-ups don’t hurt for you?”
Shrugging, as always, as if life doesn’t interest him or he thinks he is above it all, Baekhyun responds. “You just don’t make it serious. It doesn’t hurt if it’s not serious enough to hurt you.”
“Yeah…I can’t do that.”
“You’re a serious type of woman?” Baekhyun is playing around, a quirk of his eyebrow when he nudges her side with his.
A smile appears then. “You could say. If I love someone, I’d rather for them to be with me.”
“That’s expected.”
“Stop trying to make yourself sound like such a mentalist.” Perhaps a bit tired of his intricate way of thinking, she stands up, gifting the other can of soda to him. “That’s yours,” She indicates. “And thank you for lunch. I have to head back if I want to get to my office on time.”
“Mhm, I got to have lunch with someone interesting.” The tone of his voice drops while he stands up, picking up after the mess they made. “I shouldn’t be thanked for that.”
Not knowing what to say, a mere nod is what she can muster, kicking fake dust from the floor before raising a hand in the air to wave at him. “I’ll see you…some other time, then.”
“Wait!” Slipping a card in between her fingers, her eyes train on the shiny introduction card with Baekhyun’s name. Definitely something that he wouldn’t give someone for a first impression or a date, but to a client instead. It includes his number, his e-mail, his social media and some nice font to match. “Just tell me when and we’ll meet. I can do your hair and talk. Or we could do something else, whatever you’re comfortable with.”
“I won’t do my hair.”
“Don’t deny it until you try it.”
“I’ll call you up someday.” She concludes, finally turning around with a thumping heart and guilt dragging her down. Without reason, she is a single woman, and the contrast of Baekhyun’s introduction card against her promise ring is weird. One means forever, the other means for once. Maybe, she really needs to try new things.
And get rid of that fucking ring.
###
The quickest and easiest way to get rid of a headache, for her, is a cup of tea. Dulcet, calming, something about even making tea has always felt liberating. Upon arriving to her workplace, not a soul in place but Ingook, her concentration is fully of the thumping of her head, the rubbing she does on her temples at the glance of him brewing himself a cup of coffee. Today, he is sporting a pair of glasses. The ones she had given him.
But she doesn’t live in quick or easy ways. She endures the headaches because, as an athlete, she has been taught that pain leads to fulfillment. Toxic, it is in every way, and she tries to get rid of that thought as she nears the small table with the kettle and coffee machine, sniffing the scent of his coconut shampoo.
For a moment, Ingook feels like the man she had fallen in love with—whose jaw parted to give her the briefest of greetings before sneaking a kiss away into the empty office. Today, however, is the day in which she finally realizes that he is no longer hers. He never was. People are not physical matters; they are not things that belong to others. Those glasses are his. The decisions made were his and his life is, well, his.
But when she places a teabag inside a boiling cup of water, her eyes inspect the architecture of him. Even when she thinks she is in the road of moving on, the dulcet feeling of wanting him just trances her and dizzies her both at the same time. Ingook is homely. He is all she has known for the past few years.
How to watch golden sunsets, when his eyes have already been touched at that hour and nothing could compare to the cinnamon speckles in them?
How to kiss other lips, when his had molded against hers like they were made for her?
How to open her heart to another person—a friend, a man, a woman, a neighbor or a therapist, when he was the last one that listened…and yet, he had not remembered to not break her heart along the way?
Her fingers hold the cup, the rose-gold ring that had seemed part of her skin long gone, when she inspects his side. Underneath his gray jacket and his black button down, there are glimpses of purple and blue. Scattered across his neck, perhaps nearer to his collarbone, not properly covered at all. Ingook had never liked for her to leave marks, but with Jeonghwa’s lips, tongue and teeth grazing his skin, he did not seem to mind.
It was Jeonghwa, after all.
“You seem to be having fun.” Calling out for him, Ingook stops pouring his teaspoons inside his mug of coffee (three, he has always liked sweetness). He pauses, shaking eyes lifting themselves until they glance at the wall, the ceiling, finally her eyes.
She wants to smile, but she doesn’t. “What do you mean?” He answers, poised tone always present. She doesn’t know if she likes it still.
Her fingers are vividly brave when she tugs at the collar of his neck, barely even making much movement to watch the hickeys on it. “You’ve become a sex god in the blink of an eye,” Her voice is tiny, her eyes inspecting his features when a blush rises, taking a look at himself on a spoon. If she is pathetic, he is much more in this situation. “…Why Jeonghwa?”
Ingook drops the spoon there, gorgeous eyes and a frown on his face that she was only familiar with on the last few days of their relationship. “Stop it. I’m not having this conversation.”
Moving her hair away from her shoulders, the length he has always liked going unnoticed by him, she retorts again. “I just don’t get it.” She starts. “You could’ve gone for a million people, but you went for the one person that always supported us.” This time around, her voice is calculated, aware that anyone could pop by at this point—she is just early, just like Ingook, but they are still at the job. “Why her?”
“Why not her?” Ingook answers, his lips quirking up when she reaches for her purse, pulling her makeup bag away from it. Not that she uses it much, but she thinks she has some old foundation there. “You don’t get the right to question my current relationship—”
“But I can question our previous relationship.”
“It’s over.”
This stops her, because she is mere centimeters away from him, his voice has dropped to a lullaby, his height making her feel small. She is not small, neither is she weak—life had given her a thousand punches and they will all heal. His Adam’s apple bobs, then, and she wonders what she has seen in him past the beauty and comfort of him. Love has to be more than that. “…I fucking know, Ingook.” She tells him, running the brush across his skin to cover his hickey. “And I should let people see the cheater that you are. You’d probably get off to people seeing the marks Jeonghwa left on you—”
“Stop talking about her like that.”
“Like the bitch that she is?” Watching the color fade, though not perfectly, into his skin is not relaxing. It feels as though she is erasing the truth.
Ingook sighs, the breath fanning on her face like the wind of a spring day. “You need to think differently.” Ingook adds, the movement under her skin indicator of the contraction of his neck. Tension. “All this hate you keep stored inside of you will only do you wrong.”
Shrugging her shoulders, she downs those words like a glass of tequila. All this hate, no one dares to ask why she is so bitter at life. Why, oh why, she is magnetified to betrayal. It always comes back to her, reminding her that there is no one that is necessary in this world. Not the ants that lift leaves. Not the leaves that hang from trees. Not the trees that make paper, only to be ripped. “I guess,” She says, patting the skin with the brush one last time before fixing his collar. “But thank you for putting another penny inside the hate-bank. Appreciate it.”
Ingook stares back at her, he blinks—one, two, three times. Every breath reminds her that she loved this man with the mightiness of a warrior and the soul of a starving woman. She loved like it was her last day of leaving and she had yet to give a kiss. She loved as if it was her first time, only to be forgotten. “Can we talk about this some other time?”
“I don’t know. Can we?”
“I just don’t know how to go around this subject.” He rubs the back of his neck, nervousness seeping from him. Her brush glides across her palm, leaving imprints of the foundation before she puts it back in place.
“Then, we don’t need to talk.”
Only she would feel this hard, like hell is ripping at every sin she has committed to steal another sigh from her lips, like every touch of Ingook burns in her skin and penetrates in her glands and cells. Her fingers tighten, working harder into finishing this week’s column, only thinking about the hair salon they had promoted weeks back. The hair that cascades down her back feels heavy, it reminds her of how many times she had fallen asleep with his fingers patting her hair. It reminded him that she had burned herself by feeling too strongly.
The day goes by a little bit longer, taking its precious time in wanting to make her cry, covering her tears when she gets out of the job earlier thanks to her hard work. The wind sweeps at her hair, the cars passing by carelessly as another woman in this world gets her heart broken. The burn of the fabric of her shirt rubbing against her eyes as she makes her way to this hair salon, by foot, aching through her heart and head, she feels it all.
Her head tells her: it’s time to get over it.
And her heart has finally said: I think you’re right.
It’s enough.
Because she has lied. Oh, she has lied through her entire life. She is not doing well; much less is she getting over this. Change is needed, the type that rocks her world, that comes with stomp of her feet and rubbed-off makeup, pushing the gates of the heaven that is Color Theory. Her blood is boiling, perhaps enough to match the red in Sehun’s hair when she nears him, hand extended on top of the main desk to battle this fight that has started from the moment she got betrayed.
Back in high school. Back in university. Back with Ingook and her boss, who has some stupid fucker in the sports column when she is the best in her position.
“I want to cut my hair. Dye it, too. I don’t care.” Maybe, she is too straightforward for the sassy-looking man. Sehun quirks one of his defined eyebrows, putting down the magazine he held up to his face before pushing his lips together.
“Oh yes, do that.” Putting the magazine down, he grabs his pen to look through the notebook he holds in his desk. “You need it.”
At this point, not a million burning words from Sehun could make her feel worse than the past few months. She doesn’t enjoy feeling stepped on, but the thrill of being there—of following after Baekhyun’s words—that one makes her feel powerful. “Is Baekhyun there?”
“Mhm, I like how my name sounds in that voice.” Someone stands up from one of the sofas in the establishment, dark hair still matched with an undercut, a nice movement to his legs when he leans against the wall that separates the main area from the entrance. The ever-flirty and confident Baekhyun is smiling, a little bit of sleep existing in his eyelids, hooded in a sinful way. “I should be having my break right now, but how can I say no when I have Rapunzel right in front of me?”
She chuckles at his words, watches him as he nears her and takes the strands of her hair behind his fingertips to inspect it. “Get rid of it. I don’t want to have long hair anymore.” Because he liked it. He touched it. She wants to be able to forget the part of her that wanted to please him.
“Rapunzel is lame anyways.” Baekhyun wraps one arm around her shoulder, the taut and slightly trained muscles caging her in a hold that feels comforting. For one moment, she gets addicted to this feeling. Defeating. “I’ve never liked princesses. Too…elegant for my liking.”
Upon reaching the shampooing room, curiousness comes to her. Dani had been over the moon after Baekhyun styled her hair, and the bleach did her well. Whatever he used had been a blessing. “You sure know what you want.”
“The world is like that.” Strangely enough, there is not a lot of people in the shampooing room. Most of them are getting their hairs dried and styled at this point. Pushing a button on his phone, Baekhyun hums and swings his hips to some R&B song. Relaxed and mocking the world, someone like Baekhyun seems to not have a single issue in this world. “People are wolves. You have to know what you want in life, and who you want there, and there will be no one that can stop you after that.”
“Words from a hairdresser?”
The water cools her head. For one moment, she can think rationally, her shoulder blades in an awkward position, but with someone taking care of her. Even when she probably will have to pay him a lot after this. It’s cold but refreshing, not distracting enough to fight the noise of Baekhyun’s music, along with his voice. “Words from just someone.” Baekhyun says. “Let me prove if my guesses are right. Do you know what you want?”
Time stops for a moment and she really has to think of her answers. Stop. Go back. Months ago, all she had wanted was her small space in her column, to watch the game with her boyfriend and to have a future with him. She had always jailed herself with what she could have, not what she wanted. What does she want?
Want in the sense of desire. In the form of going crazy once, just for the sake of getting what she wants.
Not what anyone else wants.
What she wants right now is to forget.
“I used to think I wanted something else.” She replies.
With an amused tone of his voice and a smile when she opens her eyes, she watches his back retreating to look for shampoo and conditioner. “Ooh, that’s a strong answer, but still not the one that I asked. What do you want?”
“To go back to my column.”
“Wait, what?” His tone fleets from its usual deep vibrato to something of the like of a falsetto. “You are not part of the publicity column?”
“No. I’m a sports column gal, but I got transferred to my ex’s column because of some…issues.”
Slender fingertips work at the knots of pressure on her temples, dragging down to her nape and making her part her lips. Every bit of exhaust dissipates into the thin air, and it’s at moments like these that she trusts words from magazines. Some massages are, indeed, better than sex. “Sports?” A hum comes from her, swallowing thickly to stop the signs of drooling just at the nice sensation. “Ew.” Opened eyes, she tries to send a glare to Baekhyun, but he tuts his tongue. “Keep your eyes closed, darlin’. I still have to try this new shampoo mix I did out.”
Did sounds like him, and for him to be making this type of shampoo is unexpected. Foamy, dense, nice scented, but it could be ratchet in its treatment to her hair, for all she knew. “What do you mean ‘ew’?”
“There are things that I like that include getting sweaty, mind you.” Baekhyun starts with that bite in his tone that characterizes him, far too flirty for his own good. “But sports? Athletes have this thing of screaming at each other all the fucking time, and listen, they’re the littlest bitches—”
“I’m an athlete. Well, was.” Expecting him to retreat like a scared puppy, for it is clear that he likes running his mouth, the water that pours down on her head prove her wrong when the sound of his voice matches the song of the liquid.
“Look me in the eye. Wait, don’t look me in the eye, you could get shampoo in there but—” Trying to stifle her laughter, her smile plasters itself on her face—permanent, it has been a while since it felt like it could stay there. “Look me in the eye, metaphorically speaking, and tell me you haven’t feigned being in pain just so the other team loses.”
That’s typical of soccer, but that does not mean her youthful self had not fallen to her knees just to think of the next strategy. “Guilty as charged, reader-guy.”
“Or, they do this thing where they can’t hide their anger. Catch an athlete losing and you’ll get the best view of your life.”
She is one of those examples. When her toes are curling, fists tingling and her mouth can only be perched by a frown. The thirst to try harder had come for her at the time, but it was all for nothing. A columnist, above all. “You seem to know a lot about athletes. Does Miguel Cabrera dye his hair with you?”
“Mi—who?” Baekhyun asks, the tapping of a lid coming after this statement. “I don’t even know who that is, but no. I just used to sit at the bleachers when I had P.E class in high school.”
Black hair up to the style of the era, probably in the shape of a bowl with the typical disheveled school uniform, Baekhyun mustn’t have been too far away from said image. “That’s where you learned?”
“I’d do other people’s hair while being there, yes.”
“You started early.”
“Indeed,” With one swirl of a coconut scented shampoo, memories come back to her—and bitter, it feels like. He, whom shall not be named, used a similar scent, but the sound of Baekhyun’s voice is enough to remind her that she is not there with him. “None of those athletes were half as pretty as you.”
A scoff leaves her lips then, peaking one eye open when water hits her hair again. “Thank you for generalizing the athlete population just to make me feel special, Mr. Byun.”
“Baekhyun,” He corrects, the pat of some product on the edges of her hair tingling up to the root. “And my pleasure, darling. I’m here to make you feel special.”
“I am not sure about how I feel with the whole ‘flirty guy’ vibe we have going on right now. Not my style, maybe?” With a hint of amusement in her tone, she hopes her sarcasm comes through when Baekhyun rinses her hair one last time, hands fiddling with a towel.
“I supposed it,” Baekhyun conquers, the corners of his lips tilted up when he speaks. “But that’s just because you’re comparing me to that ex of yours.”
Rose-petal words and sweetened lips that caress her skin even from the distance are not matters that she would compare to Ingook. “You think?”
“I know so,” Baekhyun replies, making her stand up as his hands rest on her shoulders, bringing her out of the washing room to a small group of people, other workers doing their best with their own clients. Over the noise of the hair dryer, his dulcet tone continues dancing with her ear drums. Tango, maybe, sensual enough to wrap up on the idea of him as a lover. “That’s to be expected, though. When you smell so much shit, you can’t help but notice when there is a flower in between it all.”
Cackles leave her lips upon seated on the comfortable white leather chair. Saring at herself in the mirror, Baekhyun’s fingers work through her hair to brush it. Gentle swipes, starint from the ends, moving towards the middle only when every single knot is gone. “What a metaphor.”
“I was part of the drama club for like a month. Thank you very much.”
“Got kicked out?”
“Dated the lead of our play and then, got dumped.”
“You got dumped?”
Looking up from the strands of her hair, Baekhyun’s melted chocolate eyes glimmer under the harsh lights of the mirror, quirking one of his eyebrows up. “Precisely.” The vastness of his answer settles on an empty stomach. Not enough. “But I learned two things from Shakespeare. To be or not to be an asshole—” Baekhyun lifts his hand romantically in the air, pretending to hold what may be a skull in there before pursing his lips. “To be. But you’ll get kicked in the nuts in the middle of the play.”
“Ouch.”
“That was the death of my career as an actor.” The sincerity in his tone must be the reason why he gets so many clients. “Gong Yoo would have totally been crushed under the weight of my talents.” And then, that sincerity is gone and changed for the lightweight sense of his life. A feather in the wind, Baekhyun falls and rises, passes by with a tickle to reminisce and shiver to.
“Would you have been an actor if you could?”
With a smile on his face, Baekhyun moves towards the vanity, scratching the side of his face while gentle fingertips look through his instruments. Her eyes trail up and down his body, tight pants doing wonders to his legs, shoulders that go unnoticed under that button down. If she saw him casually, what would he wear? Is he preppy, sporty, the devil wearing elegant clothing?
“And miss meeting you? Not in a thousand years.” He knows his way through his words, playing with her heart like a guitar. Plucking string after string, going for an alternative rock. Dangerous, though a bit fun.
“Baekhyun, stop it. Just tell me.”
“I would not,” He goes back to his spot behind her, his foot almost touching her calf when he lifts the chair the slightest. “There’s something about making people feel better, you know? People come here and they’re…looking for change. I give them that. Some people really need it, too.” The burn of his word scalds her, even when it most likely won’t be about her. “What are we looking for in your little change?”
Heaven is given to her when his fingers rake through her hair, brushed through every portion of it, treating it with knowledge beyond her understanding. “Cut it up. I want to donate it.” She starts. “Besides, I want to get back into volleyball…and shorter hair is better for athletes.”
“Up until here?” His hands frame just below her ears. A shaky breath leaves her then. It had been that short once, back when she was in high school, and she thinks she had not cut it since then—
“I like it.”
Changes are made when Baekhyun lets the first portion of hair glide across the blade of the scissor before falling pathetically. Like the promises Ingook made. Like the cheating that happened. For the first time in years, she is doing something for herself. Be damned the memories the two shared, for welcoming new ones is her utopia. The favorable blank space that she gets to paint with new memories.
Because she will go back to that column, and she will do it as a new person.
###
The world hates her.
Or not. Maybe, just her Boss hates her.
That, or the red and yellow self-help book that he keeps on his desk is doing wonders to make him believe that forgiving opens the path towards happiness. Her path now, with dragged steps of her sneakers and her recently cut hair caressing her dangling earrings, is directly towards Jongin’s cubicle. She wishes, really, her friend would be the person she has to help—but, like said before, her mind is certain that her boss hates her, because Ingook just had to ruin the latest article about The Champions League.
Rounding around Jongin’s desk, her eyes settle on the man before her. Back hunched, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose even when his face is too close to the screen, a few blemishes making home out of his chin. Ingook always gets those when he is stressed, and she hates herself for remembering. In the holiday season, to be exact, when his birthday approaches just at the same time that the New Year’s celebration does and he has to welcome his family into his household.
Her hand hovers over his back, patting just the slightest to fix his posture when a roughened throaty sentence calls out for him. “Straighten your back.” A command that he follows soon enough, looking over his shoulder that she dares drag with her hand before taking the empty seat beside his own. “How the fuck do you not understand the Champions League, Ingook?”
His face softens, nostrils letting out one of those sighs that are barely audible. Peace engulfs him then, leaning back on his seat when he extends his hands to click on the document he had been working on. “Everything.”
With a push of his chair, their shoulders come in contact, her eyes inspecting the screen with reading skills that she is proud of. Enough articles have passed by her, edits done at the last minute, to be able to finish an article in no time. “You should’ve stayed with me watching soccer games when we were together instead of complaining.” The mumble that leaves her lips is drowned by the tapping of her fingers against the keyboard. His eyes burn through her face, though she doesn’t know what kind of expression he holds—he’s looking. “First, you can’t write Madrid. That’s the geographical spot in Spain. The team has to be Real Madrid.”
“I see—”
“Why are you mentioning David Beckham?” She asks, looking over her shoulder to see that Ingook is too close, mouth agape and widened, innocent eyes while he tries to speak to her.
“I—I wanted to make a comparison…”
“Stupid.” She comments, deleting the man’s name altogether. “David Beckham is retired, and while he still shows support for fellow soccer players, you’re taking away the attention from article. People want someone to explain to them the intricacies they must have missed from the game.” This knowledge comes to her easily, for all she has done since her departure from athletics is bask in articles and magazines, turn her eyes square from watching too many games. “But do check his social media and see if he says anything. Ronaldinho’s, too. If they say anything interesting, put it in another article and post it to our social media. Do not print it out, of course.”
A few more clicking and editing around is not enough to depart his gaze from her profile. Sweat pools at her lower back, her bottom lip caught in between menacing teeth as she tries to get it over and done with as soon as possible. Though, the world hates her, she has already stated this before. “I’m sorry.”
“No, really. You don’t know shit about sports, it’s okay—”
“Not about that.”
The tips of her fingers freeze when she feels a hand resting atop her wrist, tugging at it softly to get her attention. That is the way Ingook would get her to look at him when they were arguing, a soft caress that reminded her that he would never hurt her. But he did.
He did, and she was doing so well in getting over him. That is until she looked at his eyes and they held the sincerity that she had looked for in him.
Breaths mingle then. Ingook, too close, too beautiful, too sharp at his edges and yet, repugnant in a way. His coconut scented shampoo feels old. His voice? Monotone. His apology? Unnecessary. “Shut up. We’re in the off—”
“I’m so sorry for cheating on you, but I mean it when I say I really…was not with Jeonghwa when we were together.” She has to turn back then, tugging at her own wrist to keep it away from his prickling hold as she continues with the job the Boss had asked for. “Hey, listen to me.”
“You’re in a relationship with her, Ingook—”
“But I can’t live well knowing I’ve hurt you.”
The strain in his voice chains her down to the chair. It stops all ministrations, breathing ragged, mind cascading with the uneasiness of hearing those words. An apology had crossed her head, she wished to get it sometimes, but now that she has it…she can’t accept it. “But you did.” She mumbles.
“I’m sorry, I said.” Ingook plays with a strand of her hair, pushing it away and behind her ear. Suddenly, the strands feel longer than they really are.
“Stop it.”
“I loved you a lot, I mean it. I don’t want us to have bad blood in between us.”
“How would you feel, Ingook?” She asks, pushing a few words into the document before standing up from the seat. Her hair is ruffled by her hands, narrowed eyes glaring arrows at him. “If I kept thinking of Jongin or someone else as we were together. If I dated him or anyone just a day or a week after I broke up with you? How would you feel?”
“I would have understood.”
A scoff follows soon after. “You wouldn’t have, I know you.” She replies, putting the seat back in place before staring down at his parted lips, gleaming eyes in the form of an apology. “But I’m not you, and that’s what makes us different. I loved you, with the entirety of me. I wanted to be the person you would love the most in this world, but I don’t anymore. And I want to forgive you, because I know you wouldn’t have done so if it was me.”
She wants to say that she didn’t cry at the memory of heartbreak, and for the first time in a few months, she doesn’t.
Chirping birds on a sunset-filled afternoon come after work hours, a dance in her steps while she goes directly to where she shouldn’t. In happiness, perhaps, beaming with a smile that makes her feel free. Her hair no longer weights, neither does her heart. Orange-based soda can in one hand and a promise of a memory caged in the other one inside her purse, she feels like the world has forgiven her. What for? She doesn’t know, but the closure of a book that had lasted for far too long dizzies her with the desire to start a new one.
A handsome face can do so much. In clubs, she has met them. In beds, she has had them. In relationships, she has suffered them. Only when that handsome face has a bit of a spark is when she finds herself interested. Maybe, this is the wrong way to go and pushing those glassed doors is the cause of her doom. To be lone is better to be badly accompanied, but she can’t help but want to know more about him. Listen to Baekhyun’s laughter one more time, not over the phone when he sends her a voice note, but in real life, instead.
It may come as a mistake, but she has already committed many of those.
Pushing the glassed doors open, Sehun is patiently seated in his spot as always, this time around his feet are propped on top of the desk, one leg crossed over the other as he reads a magazine with intent. A glance is spared her way, followed by absolute silence from him.
“Is Baekhyun in here?” Hope gathers at her chest, just in time to Sehun’s finger pointing towards one of the seats.
“He’s cutting someone’s hair. You can wait if you want.”
“Can I give him something to drink?”
He lowers the magazine then, narrowing his eyes at her before a small smile takes his lips. “If it’s something alcoholic, I’ll have to taste it first.”
Taking the orange soda can from her purse, the magazine creaks its pages when Sehun opens it again. “It’s orange soda—”
“Not interested. Bring it to him.”
“Thanks.”
Taken away to dreamland is what it feels like to watch Baekhyun from afar. A friend for now, perhaps, one of those that she pines for on the long run. Honeysuckle in the way he distributes his happiness to the world, in how her heart seems to take in a bit of light at the radiation of his smile. The gray hairs of his client are curled by his fingers, laughing at whatever he is saying about her husband, just in time to be interrupted by the sound of her voice saying her name.
Baekhyun stops his ministrations then, sparing her a glance across that mirror that does no justice to the beauty of him. Sculpted by everything nice in this world, the sun shaping its rays and putting it in his curious gaze and sweetened lips. Enough to kill with one of his smiles.
“I brought you some soda.” Her voice is smaller than necessary, pushing her lips together when the old woman looks at her at the same time that Baekhyun lets the hair-curler rest on the vanity, grasping the can in between his fingers.
“You came all the way here for that?”
With a shrug of her shoulders, she nods. “Yeah. I was expecting you’d accept going out for dinner after.”
The sound that left his lips was not a laugh, but a giggle instead. The tips of his ears are a simple petal pink, flowers growing out of sunshine and needing the water that is her. “I have five clients to go.” Baekhyun answers when he has already opened the can, taking a sip with glee before hissing at the cold taste. “So, I don’t think I will be out before ten at night.”
“Oh…” A deflated balloon exists in the depths of her chest, just in time to watch Baekhyun widen his eyes.
“But I do want to take you out on a date!” He tells her, hands wrapping on her shoulders and shaking her the slightest. “I mean, I was waiting for you to give the step first since I felt like you were not ready but…just…not today?” His voice has dropped the slightest, tilting his head to the side to inspect her features up and down. “You were asking for a date, right?”
Well, technically no. But, some things are better when they are too good to be true. “Sure.”
“Not today, then. Tomorrow?” The hope in his voice drips, but she has to sigh.
“I have a dinner to attend to with my Boss.” She excuses herself. “The day after tomorrow?”
“Mhm, I could make it work.” Baekhyun, as busy as ever, picks the hair-curler up before his lips wrap up in the tightest smile. “Text me with what you want to do, okay?”
“Are you okay with watching the game?”
With a hum from his tone and a bit of a frown on his features, Baekhyun nods soon after. “It’s okay as long as I get to spend time with you.”
And why does that feel so different?
###
Chances are made to be taken. Mornings are meant to be new beginnings. Nights, actually, should be spent with a smile on her face with the tiredness of the day that represents another hardship that she passed by. It’s not always like this, but the recurring existence of Baekhyun in her weekends has made it, likely, a bit of a rule. Saturdays with tea. Friday nights out to dinner or to dance. Sundays that are quieter, but not so quiet when he is around.
His car is sleek, and he prides himself on the way he treats it. Has a name, too, but he will never catch her saying the name Clyde to some car. For the first time in the three weeks she has spent back-and-forth with Baekhyun, Mondays are taking the name of him. Insisting on taking her to her job, she is starting to get used to the hum of his voice when he listens to a song he likes or the way he is a bit more careful than she expected him to be.
His black button down is gone for today, packed in the backseat—more like hunched—for him to put it over his white t-shirt once he gets to the job. His hair, the pride of his brand, is pushed away from his face today, giving a glimpse of the constellations of moles on his face, the peace in his features, how he holds himself with confidence yet tranquility. For once with him, the world is silent…and she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Though, upon taking a spot in front of the building, her eyes are blessed with the image of another person. Inside the black car, she gets a view of Ingook getting out of his own car, ruffling the messy strands of his hair with a free hand and—unluckily for her—turning to his left to lock his car, just to come in contact with an image that stops him for a second.
And he looks at her.
She looks at him.
They look at each other.
But what does she feel?
“Is that your ex?” Baekhyun asks, voice levelled—not at all angry, just like it doesn’t seem to be annoyed. The flutter of his fingers expanding on top of her knee to grasp at the skin is not enough to bring her out of her trance, watching Ingook who dares to mouth a small ‘who is that?’ to her. She can only nod to Baekhyun, the confirmation leaving her lips in a mere whisper. “He looks smelly.”
“He’s not.”
“That hair—”
“He’s not smelly.”
“His hair looks like a smelly guy’s hair, sorry but also…yeah, I’m not sorry.” A smile creeps up her face then, turning to her side as if forgetting the black and white image of the movie that is Ingook, to concentrate on a three-dimensional version of the newest film in the industry. More expensive, more scripted, way better. “You know what I want to do? But only if you feel like it.”
Pressing her cheek to the headrest, she sighs. “What is it, Baekhyun?”
“I really want to kiss you.” The presence of Ingook must have enticed something in him. Possessiveness, maybe, or some kind of competitiveness that comes ironic to someone who complains about athletes. Her smile doesn’t falter, looking down at his lips for the briefest second before chuckling.
“Just because he’s here?”
“No. I’ve wanted to do it after I saw you the first time but…” Baekhyun shrugs then. “Something doesn’t settle well with me when some asshole who cheated on you dares to ask you who I am, and stand there like a fucking statue.”
“You’re jealous.” She tuts, not noticing how the man leans forward just the slightest, a strand of his gelled hair falling on his forehead.
“And what about it?”
“Do I kiss jealous guys?”
“Well, you kiss dumbasses like Ingook. You could try it out with someone so much better.”
Hands threading on the soft black strands of his nape, she brings him a bit closer, tilting her head to the opposite side of his when she breathes against his lips. “And you’re that much better guy?”
The coldness and minty-ness of his breath brings goosebumps to her skin, the flutter of his lips touching her own in what seems to be a peck far from sedating. When drinking teas, she likes to take nice gulps, a little sip shall never suffice for someone like her. “Two hundred percent.”
“Prove it.”
“How?”
“Didn’t you say you wanted to kiss me? Prove it.”
Silky lips trailing after her own, the beginning of it all is a mere touch, the glide of his skin coming in contact with her lip-gloss, savoring the touch before he asks for more. The swipe of his tongue, the breath that leaves his lips, the change of tone when he cups her jaw and lets the sound of his whispered words come in the contact in between the kiss. Lips smacking against each other, slowly, surely, like every worry and question that comes with being with Baekhyun is brought to certainty as she thinks of him. More than she has ever received, trying harder than anyone has ever done for her—
Someone who likes her for who she is, and will pride on the person she is, enough to kiss her in the bare daylight only to pull away and see that Ingook’s figure has departed towards the office. Not that she can care when she takes Baekhyun’s cheeks in between her hands, pressing another kiss to his lips to open the gates of laughter for him.
“I still have fifteen minutes before I have to get inside.” Baekhyun laughs even harder at her words.
“Inside of where?” The teasing tone in his voice and the implications of her innuendo has her hiding her face in his shoulder, nose tickling the junction of his neck.
“The office.”
“Right…”
“You dirty bastard!”
“Hey, you kissed this dirty bastard, not me. And with consent.”
“Stop talking and let me kiss you again.”
###
“Sehun.”
Silence.
“Sehun.”
Silence, but he does flip one of the pages of his favorite magazine. Her fingers come forward to grasp at the edges of the magazine, half of her body splayed on top of the main desk while the man glares back at her. Petty until the day he dies, still not forgetting her attitude from the first time they met.
Heated food in plastic bags is hanging from her fingertips, the skin taut and aching from walking all the way towards the hair salon. “Sehun. Is Baekhyun here?”
The question has lingered in between them the past few months. At this point, she thinks she is simply asking him because she can—and she will. The frown on his perfectly styled eyebrows is enough to know that she has gotten through his brain, irked one nerve that had him tossing the magazine on the desk, arms crossed over his chest.
“He is always here, newspaper girl.” But no longer in the third column. With much work from Ingook, who asked her plenty of questions to get on the right track in the sports section, and a little bit more interest from her part—and Dani’s speech skills—, she had gotten her spot back. With Jongin, and the chance of talking about the things she likes the most. “Listen, let’s set the record straight: I don’t like you, and you should really wash your shoes before they gain life of their own.” Trailing her eyes down, she inspects the sneakers that she wears the majority of the days. They are comfortable…but how in hell had Sehun been able to see them from his position? “But Baekhyun is dating you, so I have to compromise.”
“Okay…”
“Wear some other shoes. The washing machine is calling, and it says you haven’t used it in over a year.” Muffling her laughter behind her first, she flips the plastic bag to stay on her other hand to ease the pain on the other. “And stop asking if Baekhyun is here. Just enter, make yourself at home, and don’t touch my magazine again.”
“What’s with you and that magazine?” Sehun huffs then, leaning back on his seat to sport a pout that she had yet to see on him.
“I’m cutting coupons.”
“What?”
Lowering the magazine, he speaks a bit louder. “I’m cutting coupons, okay? Just get it going!”
“Okay, okay!” She can’t help but laugh as she sprints inside the salon. The hairdressers are more known to her know—Mirei, the one that normally stays beside Baekhyun’s vanity, a woman with bright blue hair and the most gorgeous vibrato to her voice. Dina, one of the oldest. Even the owner herself, that had given the hair salon to Baekhyun after her departure from the business.
Speaking of the man himself, his hair has changed. The words still clung to her once—bleach for heartbreak, he used to call it, coming from personal experience of his own. Though, the smile on his face is beaming while he paints one of his client’s hair. Half red. Half white. Beaming model eyes and nicely put-together conversation, she sees this man every month or so, one of Baekhyun’s favorite clients—
“Hi, Taeyong.”
“Hey!”
Passing by him, she receives the greeting, going over to Baekhyun, head tilted to meet her lips in a brief touch. She had once thought that kisses grew duller the more they were given; not that important, they were a glimpse of affection that trailed behind a night of passion or a morning of talking, a greeting to be exact, but with Baekhyun it feels different. Shares every secret of his with her when their lips meet, just as he studies her expression right after they pull away.
Books always said it. Magazines also do. One of the columns in the newspaper, based in love, relationships, sex, health and all of the like, has stated it as well. Love is always going to be boring. Ways to spice up someone’s romantic lives are always given, when asked or even when they are not. People are expected to get tired, to disrespect each other after a while. After her heart got broken, the same thing had been engraved in her brain.
“I read your column today,” Baekhyun juts his chin towards the newspaper on the vanity. He buys it everyday if necessary, reads it online when he can, and he never misses a game now. Not to say that he likes them, his head most likely resting on her shoulder, lips scattering touches along her neck, but he tries. “You really go off when it’s about volleyball, don’t you?”
“Kind of.” She answers, letting the food rest on the vanity beside the newspaper. The pages are opened, the third column coming forward with two names that she knows well. Dani and Ingook. Written there for the world to see. This time around, their publicity is for some local bakery, enough to capture her attention as she unloads the lunch they are going to share.
His words still hit her sometimes, even when seeing and talking to him is not the same anymore. That…respect is there, as a fellow columnist, the one that tells her that he was the one to edit this article, the one that reminds her he is the first person she loved. Ingook’s relationship with Jeonghwa may not have worked, but now she knows that hers with him wouldn’t have done so, either.
“Babe—”
The sweetened tone of Baekhyun’s voice has her dropping the honey topping she had brought with the meal when buying it on top of the third column. His name becomes stained, the paper latching into every drop of the sauce just when she sighs. “Sorry, let me clean it up.”
“Just one thing!” Baekhyun says. “Can you check my laptop to see the designs for the bottles of the shampoo line? I’m not sure if I like them…”
And the way he trusts her is so different for everything else she had had. Everyone else. The third column is now forgotten when she looks at him, heart swelled with the sunrays that touched the snow, the splatter of honey that now stands on her pages—him.
The rain may fall today and she wouldn’t care, because if she goes alone or not doesn’t matter. Not when she has him there, in her soul.
Falling in love is difficult, it doesn’t come in the blink of an eye—but maybe, she is unaware of how in love she is with him.
Something it is. Something powerful.
####
playlist: maye - tú ; taba chake - walk with me ; chevy - sweet boi ; cavetown - lemon boy ; mxmtoon - cliché
#baekhyun scenarios#baekhyun#exo scenarios#exo#baekhyun fluff#baekhyun angst#writing#exo fluff#exo angst#hairdresser!baekhyun#undercut!baek made me do it#also this is like the first piece i write in two months that is not queued so my brain was Fried#but i hope you like it?
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forever in one night.
miya atsumu - word count: 5877
still not accepting requests for the miya twins. don’t send them. they will be deleted.
disclaimer: this is my first time writing for atsumu, and please note that i ended up writing him far cooler than he actually is, simply for the narrative’s sake. honestly, i think i could have done a better job at capturing his character and who he is, and i know that in canon/fanon, he is a lot dorkier and very often lamer than i’ve written him; pls look over it a little bit. of course, i would love any feedback you have. thank you.
* nsfw below featuring: dirty talk, blow jobs, “casual” sex, mentions of one night stands, mentions of atsumu’s previous relationships, friends to lovers, atsumu being really bad at feelings
-
Dry hands.
That’s the first thing you noticed when Miya Atsumu put your face between his palms: just how abrasive the pads of his thumbs were.
He saw your small flinch. It should have been his cue to back off. He didn’t. Instead, he hummed your name in a way he hoped you’d like, and pulled your face closer to his.
“Tell me, how long have you wanted me?”
“Since I realized I didn’t have a chance with Osamu.”
He laughed. His nose scrunched up and there was a crinkle in the corner of his eyes. It was cute, but for some reason it didn’t look real. None of the smiles he gave you ever did. “Ouch.” One of his hands fell from your face, taking place on your knee instead.
Even in this intimate setting, the man in front of you was daunting. You expected that, though. That’s what made you interested in him years ago. He didn’t drop that intimidating gaze for anything - he didn’t let his guard down for even a second.
It made you wonder how many times he’d done this if he was so confident and ready, if he didn’t mind faking laughs and touching you wherever he pleased, if he had his walls built before you had a chance to get so much as a peak over them.
“A while, then?”
You shrugged.
“Don’t be shy, I know you aren’t shy.” He ran his fingers through your hair; you scooted even closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder. He smelled warm. “Tell me,” he was whispering, “how long have you wanted me, princess?”
He looked down and watched as you bit your lip. He had a feeling you’d like the nickname.
“Probably not as long as you think,” you replied. It was honest. “I really did have a crush on your brother.”
“When?” Atsumu asked with a playful scoff. You shook your head.
“In middle school…”
You eyed the expanse of his neck, the sharp curve of his jawline, the freckle underneath his chin, the prominence of his Adam’s apple - you wanted to kiss every inch. To remember every detail.
“Until our second year of high school, I guess.”
No one had ever told him that they liked his brother first, but Atsumu wasn’t surprised. Osamu probably would have been a better fit for you. At the same time, however, you were a better fit for Atsumu - it’s no wonder his twin never showed interest.
Atsumu still felt a sense of pride in getting the girl, even though his brother couldn’t care less.
And it’s not like he had you. This wasn’t going to be anything more than a typical one night stand, and whether you knew that or not was none of his concern.
“Your honesty is cute,” he told you. “So you’ve liked me since our third year, Y/N? That’s a long time of pining.”
“No,” was your short reply, and you left it at that because you didn’t feel like being honest with him anymore. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to see if he’d let you leave a few marks with your mouth. You wanted to savor this moment of faux intimacy, feeling like you were his and he was yours, being in his arms and smelling his cologne and seeing him so up close, because you knew this wouldn’t last forever. It’d probably go by too fast.
So you let yourself kiss his neck. And you were too happy when he didn’t push you away. His chest seemed to deflate with a long exhale, and you hoped that was a good sign rather than a show of annoyance.
It was neither. Atsumu was purely along for the ride. You just hadn’t noticed that the control you currently had was given and temporary.
He planned on taking it back after just a few kisses, but he hadn’t expected it to feel so nice; your lips were soft and gentle and kind, you were kissing him on all the places he liked to be kissed - places others had rarely taken the time to show attention to.
He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it even though he knew he shouldn’t. And he thought about the short date he had taken you on - not even an hour ago the two of you were sat in a cafe. Of course he was eyeing you up the entire time, and of course you noticed but didn’t care.
You had been waiting far too long to be on that end of Atsumu’s gaze. Years of watching him flirt with everyone but you made you hungry for it, and Atsumu liked that. He liked knowing that you wanted him.
And he wanted you, too. He really did. He liked you a lot. It was a shame, though, that this would likely be over before it even started. Before he even had a chance to get you.
But he’d let you get a taste of him. And maybe, if you were able to handle that, then…
Before he could even realize, you had slid your leg across his lap and were well on your way to sucking a good sized bruise into the side of his neck.
“Well aren’t you brave.”
And then you bit down, holy shit - with all of his experience holding the moan and keeping his cool, right now he couldn’t stay quiet if he tried. “F-Fuck, Y/N,” and the sound made your hips jolt forward.
You had managed to find Atsumu’s one weakness very quickly - most of his partners never get the chance. Knowing you, he should’ve seen it coming.
“You’re feisty, aren’t you?” His next words came to him as if they were a light turning on, a heavenly gate opening, a pants zipper coming undone. “What about putting that mouth to even better use, hm?”
You pulled back from him to nod, but it wasn’t good enough for him. He took your chin in his hand and tapped your bottom lip with his thumb - he was completely enamored by your mouth. He couldn’t remember the last time he wanted someone’s lips around him so badly.
“You want me?”
Another nod. He was getting frustrated.
“Say it, tell me,” he said. “Do you want my cock in your mouth, princess?”
He’d said those exact words so many times that right now he felt like he was reading from a script. And for some reason, he really regretted saying something so generic to you.
But your eagerness lifted his spirits. “I do,” you told him, “Please, ‘Tsumu…”
Even though any other time he hated hearing that nickname in bed - or his name at all, for that matter - he’d let you get away with it, because you were familiar. For some reason, it felt right. You were close. You had always been. A neighbor, a classmate, a friend - now, a date. So he’d give you more leniency than he would with anyone else.
He’d let you say his name, kiss him, leave a hickey, because he felt that was the decent thing to do. It wasn’t because he wanted to hear it, feel it, have it. It was because he knew you more than he knew his other frivolous partners, and he had an innocent soft spot for you. Innocent.
That’s what he’d been telling himself for awhile. Every time his late night thoughts drifted to you, every time he was embarrassed to be caught staring, every time he wished for this very moment. His feelings were innocent and trivial and barely there.
The man was a professional at lying to himself.
“Let’s go to my room, then.”
You stood up and led the way because you didn’t need him to take you there. You already knew where his bedroom was in this small apartment after you had been here countless times - never doing this, but always kind of wanting to be.
“You cleaned your room!” you said, absolutely delighted.
“You expected me to bring a date into a dirty bedroom?”
“I don’t know what I expected from you,” you replied, and he had to admit that you had a point. “I kind of got used to seeing your underwear on the ground and dishes on your nightstand.”
“You’re right,” he chuckled, “you already know the real me. There was no sense in cleaning, then, was there?”
“Yes, Atsumu. There was.”
“You’re supposed to be puttin’ that mouth to better use,” he grumbled, hands on his hips, attempting to size you up. All it did was make you laugh.
Without thinking you said, “Your accent is so cute,” and before you could stop yourself you put your hands on his cheeks - the same way he had done to you earlier - and pulled his face close to yours, giving him the sloppiest pecks on the lips just because you felt like you could.
And he let you, but he wasn’t patient, even though he enjoyed the affection. He wasn’t necessarily reciprocating but you didn’t notice, and you made it quick, so he didn’t have to complain.
He pulled back, examined your face, and ignored the feeling he got in his chest when you matched his eye contact. Then, he tapped your lip with his thumb again, and thought up another overused line.
“Get on your knees, princess.”
Not all of his lines are grand - sometimes he just had to get to the point.
Yet again, something felt off.
You fell to your knees, of course. You were more than ready to do this for him. Atsumu was almost proud of you for it. He brushed your hair out of your eyes and recalled what his next words were meant to be.
“I’m not going to be gentle,” he said, and for some reason he couldn’t look you in the eyes when he did. His confidence seemed to disintegrate and he didn’t know why. “I… I’m just warning you, because, you know - you might not… be able to handle it.”
Why was he saying all of this to you? His words weren’t hot, and it’s not like he’d been planning to treat you rough, but what else was he supposed to do? He wasn’t going to be tender and loving - this wasn’t supposed to mean anything. So why the hell did he feel so awkward when he was meant to look cool?
This is going to go just like it always does. Atsumu would be too much for you, because he was too much for everyone. But you’d give it your best shot until he was finished, and then he’d drive you home, wouldn’t let himself give you a goodbye kiss, and tomorrow he wouldn’t text you back.
Rinse and repeat.
All he needed was that reminder.
“Do you think you can handle it, princess?”
But god was it hard to look down at you and not completely falter in his intentions.
You nodded, absolutely ready and hardly taking him seriously. “I think I can,” you said, giggling.
“I can go easy on you if you need me to.”
“No,” you replied. “I want everything you can give.”
Those words took his breath because he knew you meant them.
“Then I’ll give you everything.” He wanted to bite his tongue, hold those words back, but he couldn’t. He was being just as honest as you were, and he was tired of saying things he didn’t mean.
He heard his zipper coming undone. “Everything?”
“Everything.” He was watching you with a keen eye, absolutely loving the view of you on your knees for him. The few dreams he’d had back in high school about doing this were unexpectedly coming true. “You have my word. As long as you show me you can take it, darling.”
You yanked at his tight jeans and he laughed at your effort, then shimmied out of them so you didn’t have to work so hard. He slipped his shirt off quickly as well.
You had to force your next words through the lump in your throat as you eyed the outline of his girth covered by his tight underwear. “I’ll do my best,” and your voice had lost its confident edge because you were done forcing it.
Atsumu spoke low, “I know you will.” His hand slid onto your jaw, his fingers curled into your hair. With that hand he pulled your face against his thigh, and now the tip of your nose was just grazing his bulge. “Give me your best efforts, sweetheart.”
He had a tight grip on your face and you knew his free hand was raring to take hold of your hair. And as your hands slid up the muscle of his thighs, as your fingers teased the skin beneath the underwear hems, as you pressed your face into his stiffness in a show of desperation, something in the room shifted.
He was looking at you differently. You could see it. He wasn’t eyeing you up out of curiosity like at the cafe, and he wasn’t trying his hardest to give you a flirtatious gaze anymore; he was just watching you. Really watching. Simply because he wanted to be looking at you.
You pressed into him even harder; to Atsumu, it literally looked like you were nuzzling into his cock. He pulled you even closer.
“So cute.” The words just slipped out. Maybe they weren’t the best, but he was hardly thinking. And as you pulled his underwear down his legs, the rest of his thoughts seemed to land on the ground with the fabric.
Atsumu was more impatient than he usually was. As you took your sweet time he felt like he would go crazy. But he didn’t know that you were going slowly on purpose - not to tease, but because you needed a few seconds to remind yourself this was real.
And you looked at him. His thighs were gorgeously sculpted and his hips were perfectly prominent and you still wanted to kiss every single inch of him: the place below his belly button, the smooth skin at the top of his legs, his inner thighs, the small scar above his knee. Because he deserved it. Because he was perfect in the funny way you always knew Atsumu to be. Because you just wanted to.
Above you, he was getting restless. You didn’t care. You kissed him anyway.
“You look nice,” you said with your lips against his lower stomach, and he wondered what you meant. Usually girls made simple comments about the places he always pulled their mouths to before they could say too much. Or they said nothing at all. That was usually his preference.
“Stop teasing.”
You looked up at him. “I wasn’t teasing. I meant it.”
“That’s not what I meant.” He had to pick his resolve up off the floor because this was going too far off script. “You aren’t doing what you were told to do, princess.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“You still want to, don’t you?”
“I do,” you said before licking your lips.
“Good,” he replied. He pulled on your jaw - you got the hint to open your mouth. With his other hand, he guided his length to your lips. “I’ve been dying to see my cock between these lips all night.”
When he finally got to see that sight, the way it made him feel confirmed that this would be over far too soon, but the rest of the night would be long lasting.
You were eager and Atsumu thought it was cute. You tried your best right from the start, didn’t even try building yourself up, but he wanted you to take your time. It may help him last a bit longer.
“Look up at me, princess.”
But this view wouldn’t - with your eyes wide and your mouth full of his cock, you looked up at him with a confidence you weren’t even aware of but Atsumu could see. He loved it. His hips jerked once, then again, and on that second thrust he felt his dick slide in deep - it made him gasp and try it again, but you pushed his hips back when you gagged.
He was feeling cocky when he said, “Can’t you handle me, princess?”
“‘Tsumu…”
“Ah-ah,” he tutted. “None of that, no whining. Tell me. You can’t handle this, can you?”
You didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to give him the benefit of being right, didn’t want to make him regret this. You wanted to give yourself to him. If that meant pushing yourself and stretching your limits thin, then you would do it.
You would make yourself his.
“I can,” you said. The tears that poured from your eyes defied you. You clawed at his hips, desperate and sad. “Please, ‘Tsumu, let me. I want you so bad…”
Atsumu supposed he should’ve gotten a kick out of this. Usually, he did. A beautiful girl brought to the point of tears begging for him should have gotten him even more excited. That was usually his goal.
This time, he felt guilt.
He ignored it.
“Okay.” He swallowed hard. “See if you can…”
His words trailed off as you tried again, perilously attempting to take all of him into your mouth and down your throat. You weren’t doing any better than before, but Atsumu didn’t find himself caring.
“What a pretty sight,” he mumbled, and then you looked up at him with those glossy eyes and once again, he was a goner.
You watched his resolve fall apart. The stoic mask he’d been wearing all night was crumbling, and underneath was Atsumu in all of his gorgeous glory. Eyes squeezed shut, blonde hair hanging in his face, mouth fallen agape, moans leaving his throat coming straight from his chest. And it only made you push yourself even more - this is all you’ve wanted and you were getting it. His fake smiles, teasing words, snarky attitude were all gone, all because of you.
He gripped your jaw harder. You held his hand in place there.
“That’s it,” he said as you let his cock slide even deeper, “That’s my good fucking girl.” He moaned loud as you let him fuck your throat, as your lips reached his base, as you choked on his thick length.
He felt himself teasing the edge and that’s all he could focus on. He couldn’t see the tears pouring from your eyes. He didn’t hear your strained noises around him. He couldn’t feel how tightly you were gripping his hand. All he wanted was to cum in your mouth and down your throat. Any second now, you were going to get him there.
“So fucking good,” he moaned - he didn’t even realize he was saying it out loud. “Your mouth is fucking - goddammit - it’s so fucking good,” and he couldn’t believe how much he meant those words, he couldn’t believe how good you were making him feel.
He was moaning and cursing and so close to cumming; you were hoping that this was enough for him.
It was more than enough. You had given him more that he’d ever had. His hips didn’t still, there wasn’t a single falter in his movements. His moans getting louder was the only warning he gave you before you felt his eruption shoot down your throat. And it was hot - it really reminded you of a volcano erupting, and you focused on that absurd thought to get you through it, because the last thing you wanted to do was fall apart when he needed you to stay together. If you stopped now, this entire thing will have been for nothing, and you had to show him that you could handle him. Anything he had, anything he’d give, you could take it and then some.
You felt your throat tighten, threatening a nasty gag, and you held on for as long as you could before your body took over. Atsumu was already pulling away but you pushed his hips to force his length out of your mouth and the coughing started, tears streaming down your face, and you watched your control shatter.
Atsumu hated hearing it. It made it hard to feel good about what just happened.
You heard him walking away and your heart sank.
You were only trying to find your composure, but it didn’t change the fact that you couldn’t manage to hold yourself together for him.
That was it. Were you really that bad? He wasn’t even going to help you up off the floor?
Maybe he was too much for you and you weren’t enough for him. You knew Atsumu’s standards were high, they always had been, but you tried your best and hoped you would be enough. Maybe you weren’t.
You weren’t expecting him to come back. He sank down in front of you and grabbed your face, pushing your hands away, then brought a warm damp cloth to your skin.
You were confused, to say the least. “I’m sorry -”
“Someone made a mess of herself,” he said with a smirk, doing his best to ignore the feeling in his stomach and the words you were trying to say. Pretending to be cool because it was the only thing that would keep him sane. “But I have to say, princess, you do look beautiful with my cum dripping from your mouth…”
You were flustered all over again. “Atsumu…”
“I’m only being honest.” He wiped your face clean; tear stains were kissed away and the evidence of what you’d done was erased from your mouth. “What do you say I return the favor?” His tone was lacking its usual edge. His voice sounded softer - gentle, even.
“You want to?”
“Yeah, of course,” he replied. Pretend to be cool. “It’s only fair.” Another line from his script, but one he meant. “What, you weren’t expecting me to get you off?”
“I don’t know what I was expecting.”
“I know,” he replied, not even knowing why he said it.
He supposed he’d made his decision for how this would go.
“Wanna go lie down?”
“Only if you’re coming with me.”
He took your hand and helped you up. “Cumming with you sounds lovely.”
You hid your eye roll as you turned away from him, but of course you agreed with what he said.
“Just lie down,” he told you, following behind you to his bed. You sat and he pushed you softly, offering some encouragement. You fell back easily and he quickly followed. “I’ll take care of you, Y/N. Promise.”
You got a head start by unbuttoning your top for him, and you hoped he could tell that you were ready to move this along. He watched you pull your shirt off, leaving you scantily clad and a sight for his sore eyes.
He dipped his head down to kiss you, wanting this to go smoothly, and kissing you was natural and easy. It was one thing he didn’t have to think about doing, and he was done thinking so much tonight.
You continued blindly stripping as he gave you lazy kisses, and he pulled away to watch your bra fall to the bed. And you made him lose his breath.
“You’re so pretty,” he said honestly, kissing your jaw and pulling you closer. His hands moved up and down the expanse of your waist. Your skin was soft and warm and he loved touching you in these places he’d never seen before.
Before he could trap you underneath his hips, you tugged your skirt down. Atsumu didn’t help at all, he was too focused on kissing your chest, but you got it off.
“‘Tsumu, just put it in.”
“Already?”
“Don’t you want to?” He raised a brow at you, and you lifted your hips up to feel for what you were suspicious of. “You’re already so hard again. I want you just as bad, Atsumu, so please…”
Everything he did following your words was pure instinct. Your underwear was pulled off in seconds and then he was lining himself up, with your help, to position his length at your entrance; he was inside of you before you could even think about asking for it again.
And Atsumu felt you on every part of himself. He felt like he had been devoured, either by you or by his feelings for you, and for the first time ever he felt happy to feel this way.
He was going to lose himself in you - he knew that. Hell, maybe he already had. But he was okay with it and he was admitting it to himself now.
Being with you made him feel so much, and he didn’t know what to do about it. He’d just keep fucking you, taking you as well as he knew how, and let himself feel however he wanted, because not holding back made this worlds better.
Atsumu very rarely kissed with purpose. Kisses were only ever a means to an end - the only times he shared a kiss with someone was when it was initiated by them or when he needed an excuse to shut them up and get things started. But hovering over you, watching your pretty face contoured with pleasure and looking up at only him, he couldn’t stop himself from kissing you. His lips seemed to fall onto yours on their own.
You moaned into his mouth and his eyes rolled back because a kiss had never felt so good. He brought a hand down to your face, his thumb ran along your cheekbone, touching you so gently you thought you’d be brought to tears.
As his lips molded to yours, the movement of his hips slowed. Your legs wrapped around him, pulled him into you and held him there, and he was trying to rock into you hard.
You pulled your lips free just so you could moan his name and Atsumu was in heaven.
“God, fuck,” he moaned - his voice was ragged and thick, “say my name again, baby, please.”
If you weren’t in such a daze you would have said something to tease him - if Atsumu wasn’t so blissed out, he would have just made you say it rather than tell you to, but neither of you were thinking that clearly. Unlike usual, he wasn’t thinking two steps ahead. And you were so lost in the moment that you had stopped reminding yourself to savor it.
So you moaned his name again, because you’d have done anything he asked. Atsumu so desperately needed to clear his mind and get a hold of himself but it felt way too good to be out of control for once - at this point he wasn’t sure if either of you were controlling this, but he really hoped that you were lost at sea with him.
All he knew was that he loved the way his name sounded when it was coming from your lips; he wanted to hear it so badly that he’d push his new need for having your lips on his to the back of his mind.
It was only then that he remembered what this was supposed to be.
A one night stand. A quick fuck. This wasn’t supposed to matter - not to him - but those original intentions had gone out the window. He’d thrown them out himself and hadn’t even realized it. How had he not realized it?
He was pulled out of those thoughts easily when he felt your delicate hands caressing his face.
“What is it?” you asked him, because he’d completely stopped everything. You didn’t know that something had changed.
“Nothing,” he lied, shaking his head. He nudged your nose with his own. “It’s just - you’re…” He swallowed hard. Thick. “...Addicting.” The shaky breath he released was nothing but a sign of his vulnerability. “I hope this never ends.”
You kissed him again, soft this time for the sake of making it short. “Fuck me, Atsumu,” you said, your lips grazing against his as you spoke, and Atsumu was intensely aware of the fact that he was the only person in the world who could hear your words. “And make it last forever.”
He would.
He wanted to do anything you wanted him to do. He’d do whatever it took. Forever was a long time but if it always felt like this then he didn’t mind.
You pushed the sand dunes of hair off his forehead, smiling up at him as you did. Even when his thrusts into you increased, you didn’t lose it. And he never wanted to look away from you.
Atsumu had dropped saying that stupid nickname in favor for moaning your name, because it was the only word he had never called anyone else and he’d be damned if he treated you like you were just something to be charmed and used. Not again.
“Fuck - fuck, Y/N,” he moaned into your neck. You arched your back into him; his hands wanted to roam your body but if he didn’t keep holding himself up with both arms he was sure he’d collapse. “Y/N!”
Your nails raked his back, trying your hardest to pull him impossibly close. Even though he was as close as he could ever be, you felt like it wasn’t enough. You were sure there was some part of him you still hadn’t gotten.
He was giving you everything, though. Just like he’d promised.
Both of you felt so incredibly good; you were drunk and Atsumu was high - your fixes were each other. And you were both about to peak.
It came slower than you expected - it really felt like Atsumu was building you up one thrust at a time, and each time his hips collided with yours you felt just a bit closer to cumming. You were curling your toes in preparation and your head was rolling around the pillow beneath it, shaking back and forth as if you were denying it because an orgasm meant this was over.
And then you heard Atsumu moan loud. He hadn’t finished, not yet, but he was definitely about to. Something about it told you to just cum, and as his hand found yours and held on tight to it, you did.
He grunted and cursed and came when he felt you tighten so much, pulsating around his throbbing cock desperately. It felt like your body was begging to be filled by his dick, by his cum, by him. And there was no place he’d rather be.
Everything was you. You were all he could feel or smell or hear; the warmth of your cunt, your perfume mixed with sweat, your delicate whines of his name; your hand squeezing his, your shampoo that was so familiar, the sounds of him sliding in and out you. And he was thinking about all of it at once.
He had never felt so good in his life, he knew that for a fact. He squeezed your hand hard and filled the room with broken moans as he thrust even quicker than before, trying to carry on this feeling for as long as possible.
Even when he had finished and the over stimulation got uncomfortable, those thoughts didn’t go away, because unlike every one night stand he’s had, this one wasn’t over the moment he came.
He didn’t pull out. He didn’t let go of your hand. He didn’t even stop moaning. There was one thing Atsumu wanted, and it was to kiss you.
So he did. He kissed you hard, taking hold of your jaw to keep you kissing back as his body relaxed. He was basically laying on top of you now, lapping his tongue into your mouth because he wasn’t ready to be disconnected from you. He couldn’t handle being apart right now, and you were the only person who had ever put up with his odd clinginess for this long so he planned on stretching it out.
But you needed to catch your breath; both of you were still panting through the kiss, and it was too much bordering on uncomfortable. So you pushed his face away, only a bit, but for Atsumu it was still too far from you.
And he realized that right now, he was feeling the desperation and vulnerability his partners usually feel when the sex is over and Atsumu stops letting them kiss him; when he got too wrapped up in his own weird insecurity to let his clinginess show and the desire for attention and affection was gone.
Right now he was performing without a script. He didn’t have something to say that was practiced and proven successful, something that would make you swoon and fall under his spell.
He was panicking, because he didn’t want to have to convince you to let him keep kissing you. He knew that sometimes he couldn’t help being stuck to people like glue, but that’s why he’d worked so hard to grow out of those things. To see relationships like these as menial and only for pleasure. To not get attached to anyone who would only end up ripping themselves away from him.
He held onto you just a bit tighter, as if that would make you stay. Because despite his fears and doubts and insecurities, he really wanted you to.
“Don’t go,” he said, his eyes shut tight and voice a sad strained.
You were literally taken aback by his words. You needed to take a second to realize what he had just said, to examine his face and see that he meant it.
“Atsumu…”
He finally gave out, falling and tucking his face into your chest, catching his breath and pulling his cock out of you and putting himself back together.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, bringing your linked hands up to his lips.
“I was going to stay until you kicked me out, babe.”
“I was never going to kick you out.”
“Are you sure?”
He scoffed. “Yeah.” It was annoying how you could always see right through him, but right now he wasn’t going to worry about anything besides kissing each of your fingers.
After a long moment, you tried tugging your hand away. “Can I have my hand back?”
He pretended to think about it before replying. “Why?”
“Because it’s my hand.”
He genuinely hesitated before letting it go, because he felt like everything would unravel if he did. He tried not to think about it.
“Thank you,” you said with a giggle that Atsumu loved, and then he felt both of your hands in his hair. His eyes widened at the feeling.
With the head scratches he was really able to relax, and you were basically squished underneath him but you didn’t care.
All Atsumu thought about was you. He wondered if he should tell you, but no words came to him. Anything he said would probably be gibberish, anyway. He couldn’t convey the way he felt in words that would make sense, and even though he knew the two of you should have some kind of discussion he decided it could wait. He felt okay in this serene uncertainty, because he had a feeling you were staying right there with him. He trusted you enough to believe that.
There was only one thing worth saying. One thing that he meant, that you would hopefully understand without explanation.
“I hope this never ends.”
If that moment did last until the end of time, neither of you would mind.
“Then make it last forever.”
-
this has a part two!
#feedback is appreciated and needed honestly lmao#if u cant tell i cannot figure out how i feel about this fic#i absolutely love some parts but i really dislike other parts#and ive been working on it for nine days straight and just want to be done with it so im posting it as is#ive done literally all i can to it lmao this is absolutely its final form#so yeah#sorry if i didnt do atsumu justice (i really dont think i did) im definitely not ready to write for him i think.....#but yall tell me what you think (in a nice way pls)#miya atsumu#miya atsumu x reader#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu imagines#not family friendly
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aAAA the joy of seeing an update on your current favorite fanfic is just aAAA
I always felt that kiwami 1s Nishiki was just a bit too,, I dont know how to describe it; but essentially he just felt off, granted yakuza 1 is a product of its time and therefore the plot is a bit dated and whack as all hell
The way you write Nishiki just feels so much better and realistic; in the original he just seems so uncaring towards Kiryu? which just feels kinda OOC? You'd think he still cares about Kiryu despite it all, especially when you take Yakuza 0 into consideration; and i feel like you portray Nishiki much more accurately
I never thought much about Yumi, because honestly, in the original she was kinda just, there? You actually made her a very interesting person! like I'm actually invested in her in your story! (side note you ever think about her clone who got tortued and died? yeah who WAS that???? thats never brought up is it??)
Theres so much more to talk about but in short; This is the best fix it/rewrite of a game plot I have read to date and it brings me joy in my current stressful school life. and no I will not stop praising it or the author, because this work has made me very happy. ;)
I just have a gift for picking favorites that end up dying,,aand another favorite of mine is Mine
imo theres a lack of soft, reassuring Minedai, i just feel like he'd need a reminder that people love him as a person and not just for the money he can provide, even if its obvious
I'd love to see how you'd write them, but I understand if theres more interesting/appealing drabble requests!
- Carp
CARP, thank you for this <3 this is so sweet!!!!! I’m so happy you enjoy my Nishiki! I had fun playing with what Yakuza 0/the Kiwami additions gave us about Nishiki’s personality and outlook on the world, and trying to reconcile that with the plot that Yakuza 1 initially had. Ultimately, I fell on the side that you did: even if Nishiki’s ambition took him down a monstrous path, I don’t think he’s the sort of person who neglects to pay back his debts. And he’s aware of the huge debt he owes Kiryu. Not to mention, their bonds of trust and love vanishing completely because of jealousy felt unreal to me. Their relationship becoming twisted or strange? Yes, but vanishing entirely felt unsatsifying to me.
And Yumi!! I had so much fun excavating her character from the clues we get of her in canon. I worry sometimes, that she’s unrecognizable, because you know, I’ve given her a college education, and a whole bunch of interests beyond hostessing alone, but people seem to like it and like her, which is great!! I hate fridging women characters, so keeping her and Reina alive was important to me, hahaha. (RE: fake!Mizuki, there’s this substory in Kiwami that actually addresses who she was, BUT IT’S EVEN MORE HORRIFYING. So that’s why Yumi in my fic is the one captured and tortured by Nishiki’s men, because the thought of this poor innocent woman getting dragged into the mess was just untenable to me.)
Anyway, thank you for your support and kind words, and I hope you’ll continue to read and that my fic can continue to relieve stress. I--tried to write this about Mine, but Daigo kind of stole the spotlight a little??? I hope you still like it--if not, I will try a ficlet from Mine’s perspective too. I enjoy minedai a lot, but I haven’t had room to think out their dynamic yet, so this took me a while.
Daigo’s no stranger to being desired. He’s attractive, he knows this—his mother’s beauty lives in his veins, and he’s always had the money to look after himself. Fancy soaps to wash his face, the invisible retainers to keep his teeth straight, fancy suits and skin-tight shirts to show off his frame. For all that Kiryu insists his charisma is something that comes from the soul, Daigo knows it wouldn’t be able to draw the sort of attention he does without being attractive.
Which is to say that Daigo’s not especially thrown off by the intensity of Mine’s gaze. It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. The thing that surprises him is how much he relishes in being seen by Mine.
Maybe it’s because Mine’s an island in a stormy sea, one of the only yakuza his age who’s sensible and level-headed enough to make it big. Maybe it’s because Mine’s gaze is always so reserved, polite, never overly lusty or overstaying its welcome, and Daigo has so rarely been desired so quietly. Or maybe it’s because Majima and Kashiwagi so clearly disapprove of him—Daigo’s always been something of a rebel, and he hasn’t shaken that off, even now he’s in his thirties and is the arbiter of rules for the Tojo Clan.
Daigo can’t quite put a pin on why he’s so comfortable with Mine’s yearning looks, but he’s never been one to hold back when he wants to indulge in something good. Not exactly a hedonist, not by yakuza standards, but Daigo has never kept himself from enjoying life, in the name of some dubious ‘honour.’
Which is why, in an after-hours meeting with Mine, as they eat cheap takeout sushi together, Daigo takes his chance. A momentary slip, the slightest hint of wasabi left at the corners of Mine’s lips and Daigo swoops in, rubs a thumb over the corner of Mine’s lips. Mine stutters to a stop, mid-sentence through a rundown of the real-estate that the Hakuho Clan’s been purchasing up, and stares at Daigo, eyes bewildered.
“Sixth Chairman?” he asks, his voice still remarkably composed.
“Wasabi.” Daigo says, nonchalantly, as if it’s nothing, and sticks his thumb into his mouth, slowly licking it off with a lingering lave of his tongue. He feels a sharp stab of satisfaction as Mine’s eyes turn darker, and his gaze follows Daigo’s hand down.
Daigo straightens up, languidly, and cracks his neck, casually. At this point in the day, he’s untucked his shirt, and he knows that a slight strip of his stomach will be visible when he stretches out his arms towards the ceiling. And as predictably as clockwork, Mine’s gaze darts downwards, to that pale expanse, to catch that brief second of skin. Daigo can’t help but feel warm. Something about being watched by Mine is exhilarating.
“Smoke?” offers Daigo, but as usual, Mine refuses, with a polite shake of his head.
Daigo knows from hearsay that Mine’s something a health-freak, so he’s not entirely surprised. It’s already too late for Daigo to preserve his health—he knows that his liver’s already been pretty ruined from long nights of binge-drinking as a youth, and this job’s too stressful to withhold from vices like smoking and drinking, without an optimal end-goal. So he walks over to the window, cracks it open a little, and lights up.
The breath of nicotine curls over his body, a tender caress, and Daigo feels his shoulders drop, as the relaxation hits. He pulls off his cufflinks, tosses them into his pockets and rolls up his sleeves. He takes it slow, runs his fingers over his skin a little more than strictly necessary. Surreptitiously checking the reflection in the window, Daigo watches Mine watch him, and smirks at how intense that gaze is, how Mine’s mouth has opened, and Daigo can just see the soft pink of his tongue.
“Dojima’s just fine, you know. When it’s just us two.” Daigo says, turning over his shoulder. He smiles, one of those charming smiles that had always gotten him whatever he wanted as a child, “We’re same-aged friends, after all.”
“Dojima-san.” Mine acknowledges, after a brief pause.
Daigo turns around, to properly look at Mine and lifts an eyebrow. “Dojima. Or Daigo, preferably. Dojima-san’s always my father in my head.”
Mine nods, face impassive. Daigo can’t read him like this. Maybe that’s why he likes when Mine stares at him, filled with longing. At least then, Daigo feels like he knows him. In moments like these, his implacable gazes might as well be a brick wall. “Right. Your Father was also in the Tojo Clan.”
Daigo smiles, wryly, and blows out a puff of smoke. “One of the most horrible men I’ve ever had the misfortune of meeting—and I had to call him Father. But damn if he wasn’t good at the job.” He sighs and stubs the cigarette out against the ashtray. “...sometimes feel like I’m competing with his dead spirit. Everybody’s looking at me and wondering if this is what my Father would do. Or what Kiryu-san would do.”
“You’re doing better than any of them.” Mine says, immediately, with a vicious ferocity that Daigo wasn’t expecting. He can’t quite stop his eyebrows rising in surprise, and Mine straightens upwards, looking self-conscious immediately. Daigo regrets his instinctual reaction, immediately. “That is to say, Dojima, that I think that you’ve pulled this Clan into somewhere far more respectable. From what I’ve heard of your Father, he didn’t have the temperament to do proper business on this level—too insistent on formal obeisance and unable to be flexible as the times require. And Kiryu-san might be very honourable, but we are yakuza. There are certain things you have to do as a Chairman, that he couldn’t bring himself to do. But you are practical and do what is necessary, while also not overstepping into excessive violence. You are uniquely suited for this job, Dojima.”
...he’s taken aback a little, he can’t deny it. Daigo wonders if his cheeks are colouring, wonders if his obvious shock is offputting, wonders if this is how Mine feels every time Daigo teases him lightly about his obvious attraction. A startling warmth spreads through his chest, and Daigo can’t stop the slight smile that touches his face. Has anybody ever said something so unreservedly kind and measured about Daigo before?
Maybe this is the difference between everybody else’s gazes on him, and Mine’s gaze. It’s based on something more than desire alone. Respect.
Daigo runs a hand over his slicked-back hair and ruffles it free, with a rueful smile, a smile that he couldn’t take away from his face, even if he tried. “I appreciate that. You know I couldn’t do it without you, right?”
He’d never really believed himself capable of attraction to a man like Mine. All of his previous childhood crushes had been on bright, cheerful conversational, pure-hearted people. Daigo had always figured they would balance out his sardonic cynicism. He’d never thought someone as reserved and principled as Mine would ever make his heart flutter. But then, there was something about that deep hunger and passion that Daigo craved. Perhaps it was because he was no longer the gloomy punk of his youth. Maybe his tastes have changed towards tall, dark and handsome. Maybe Mine’s just that special.
“Dojima—” Mine says, clearly trying to refute it, but Daigo cuts him off.
“I mean it. Everybody in this fucking Clan wants me to do something or be somebody else. Kashiwagi-san wants me to be my mother. Majima-san wants me to be Kiryu-san. Everybody else expects my Father. But not you. You deal with me honestly, and with candour, and never hold any expectations against me except success. I appreciate your faith in me.” Daigo takes a couple of steps forward, until his shoes almost brush up against Mine’s own. He leans down over Mine’s chair. “I could not do this without your backing and help. Truly. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone like you in my life. A true friend.”
Mine tilts his chin up to meet Daigo’s gaze, a hungry devotion in his eyes, and Daigo, for a moment, wonders if this is wrong. If he should hold back, like Kiryu would. But Daigo is Daigo, and Mine clearly wants him anyway, so he leans down and kisses him.
Mine’s mouth is velvety smooth and wet and hot and it is oh-so satisfying a feeling to put his hand against Mine’s broad neck and feel his warmth up against Daigo. He pulls back, with a satisfied sigh, and feels the burn of wasabi across his lips, a final parting kick.
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Business and Pleasure Part 3
Billie x Fem!Reader
Warning(s): NSFW, Cunninlingus, Fingering, D/s Dynamics, Some Language
Summary: This is the first time seeing Billie since having sex with her, but how do you navigate your working obligations and your feelings for Billie? And does she even feel the same way or are you expendable?
Word Count: 6210
A/n: Here’s part 3! I have a family gathering so if there’s errors I’m sorry! I’m trying to post this really fast. 😬 This one is less fluffy, but I still think it’s not too angsty. Definitely not as angsty as A Lasting Mark pt. 4. 😅 I hope you enjoy!
Part 2
After having Saturday off, on Sunday morning you wake up at 7:00 in the morning to get ready for the day and find yourself putting a little more effort into your makeup and hair. It’s not that you didn’t before, but it feels different when you see a person who you like and realize the feelings are reciprocated.
By 8:00 you’re out the door and driving over to Billie’s house. However, on the way there you stop at a nearby Starbucks to get her usual order: a grande nitro cold brew in a venti cup with two shots of espresso, two pumps hazelnut syrup, one pump vanilla syrup, a splash of almond milk, and a light sprinkling of cinnamon on top. You just order an iced coffee with an extra shot of espresso to keep you going. But you’re not finished yet.
Next you drive to McDonalds and buy the medium’s guilty pleasure: a sausage biscuit with hash browns. There weren’t many details in the NDA you signed when hired by Billie, but one of them was not disclosing her favorite breakfast choice or how much she ate it.
After purchasing the items, you speed over to the medium’s house so the items are fresh and before you get out of the car, you put the sausage biscuit and hash browns into a Starbucks bag you specifically requested to partially conceal her meal of choice, leaving the discarded fast food bag in your car. Because you’re working today, you let yourself in and hear Billie speaking from the nearby sunroom.
So you walk to the room that’s always so sunny and warm because of the expansive windows that span from floor to ceiling along the length of one of the walls. This is one of your favorite rooms in Billie’s home because you can see her polished backyard and it never fails to impress anyone who sees this gorgeous view, including yourself.
Billie sits in one of her cushioned chairs facing the windows so the natural light illuminates her face while one person does her makeup and another person fixes her hair. When she sees you walking in, a smile forms on her lips making your cheeks warm.
Fuck. Keep cool. Just like you practiced: calm, cool and collected.
“Morning, sweetheart.” She greets you. You give her a smile back but try not to act out of the ordinary since there’s others around. It’s not like the stylists take much notice. They’re used to you being around and are busy working on Billie. But honestly…you want to tread carefully. You sport a polite smile when you reply, “Good morning, Miss Howard. I got a small breakfast for you.” Then you hand her the coffee and paper bag with her food items.
That makes her eyes light up and she tells you, “Thank you.” letting her fingers linger on yours for a second longer than necessary. Before you can get too flustered you back up take out your legal pad filled with notes from your tote bag and say, “While you eat and get your hair and makeup done, I can tell you what to expect for the interview.” After finishing your sentence, you glance up and she says, “Go on.” Waving her hand as an emphasis.
You look to your notes and try to hide how your hands tremble in nerves. It feels like it’s your first day with her all over again. Then you clear your throat and begin, “The person interviewing you will be Robin Harker. She works in the television and film section of the New York Times and has interviewed Jennifer Aniston and Chris Evans in the past year.”
You venture to look up again and her response is to nod you on with a casual smile while throwing her hash brown packet in the bag.
What did you expect? For her to drop everything and proclaim her love for you? Get real. This is Hollywood.
So you continue with your notes, “I read through those interviews to get an idea of what to expect for questions and came up with some possibilities.”
“In both interviews she asked about how they got started and I’m sure she’ll ask you too. A couple ideas for responses are to explain the first time you saw an apparition and what that felt like. Or you could explain what inspired you to start a TV show documenting something so intimate. Those reading won’t be interested in the production details of a tv show. Something that will keep their attention is reading about the phenomenon of capturing the paranormal on camera. Sensory terms always keep people interested.
“I would also expect a question about what a typical day on you tv show is like. People will want to know things like if you see ghosts every day, how you prepare and protect yourself, and what happens after the cameras shut off. Basically, how you decompress. My suggestion would be to use more general terms. Crystals and stones are very popular at the moment so you could mention that. On the other hand, I would stay away from talking about essential oils, perhaps choosing incense or sage instead. There could also be a certain tea you drink or a bath product you use.
“I don’t mean to repeat myself, but the key is incorporating the five senses. For example, with your white light of protection you could explain how that feels both physically and mentally. Maybe you feel an electricity to it. The reader wants to feel a special connection and resonate with your words. The happy middle is sounding exclusive enough to stand out, but also relatable.”
You pause for a moment, knowing this is a lot. But this time you don’t look up before speaking,
“I promise I’m almost done. The final thing I would expect is a question about the validity of communicating with the paranormal. Rather than trying to reason with science, it will be more effective to take the angle of how much we don’t know. And how the concept of communicating with ancestors or non-human beings is not new and has been around that for thousands if not millions of years. You’re just using the tools available in the 21st century to provide insight and more information.
“There is also a chance that she’ll mention the influx of phony mediums out to make money on people’s grief. But if you bring up the large amount of people who claim to be doctors, psychologists, lawyers, and other professionals and base their knowledge off of google searches it should be sufficient. You can also remind her that viewers can take as much or as little as they want from the show. But don’t put it on them too much. People don’t like being blamed even if it’s the truth.”
You take a deep breath and pause a moment before slowly asking, “Does that make sense?” When you look up from your notes her face is partially obscured by the make up artist applying finishing touches. But she hesitantly replies, “I think so.” You back up a little to keep out of the way and assure her, “In case you forget something, I put the basics of what I said on a couple of post-it notes.”
Right away the medium lets out a sigh of relief and tells you, “Oh, thank you, sweetheart.” Your body warms at the praise and you’re glad you don’t have to look at her directly in this moment. Instead you calmly reply, “You’re welcome. I’ll plug in an extension cord with your charger so there won’t be a risk of your computer shutting down. And I’ll set up the post-it notes so you’ll be ready to go.”
When you begin to walk away, you hear Billie praise, “You really are an angel.” You smile and look back to thank her. However, it feels like a punch to your gut when you see she looks at her reflection and speaks to the makeup artist.
Shit. That hurt more than it should. You should’ve never done anything. There’s a reason for professional boundaries.
Before anyone can take notice, you step over to the formal sitting room that’s set up to look casual without being used.
Fortunately, the laptop and table are already set up so you begin your search for an extension cord, a sun filter to make her look well-lit, her wireless headphones, a box of tissues, and a water bottle. Finding all of those items is a job in itself. Then you start to set up, placing the laptop so it’s able to keep connected to the charging cable and you use the laptop’s camera on yourself to find the best angle.
It’s much quicker to complete the tasks of setting the water bottle and tissue box nearby but out of frame. Next you place the sticky notes along the top border of her laptop screen, but not obscuring the camera. So if she needs to reference them, she won’t have to look down.
Finally, you position the filter and set her fully charged wireless ear buds that are still in their case right beside the laptop’s keyboard. Once you’re finished you stand back to admire the set-up, feeling proud of yourself.
You may have screwed up in fucking your boss, but you’re a damn good assistant.
“Well look at this.”
You whip around and hate the fact that your heart flutters when you hear Billie’s voice. This time she’s alone and saunters up to you with a familiar smirk. Before you can make direct eye contact with her eyes and melt into a puddle of affection, you back up and gesture to the table while saying, “I think this should be everything you need.” She looks to the table and lets out a satisfied hum, but quickly returns her gaze to yours before purring, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, y/n.”
Then she moves to take your hand, but in your panic and self-preservation you back away, stammering, “I-I actually need to make a couple phone calls. And emails. Plus, I-I wouldn’t want to mess up your make up.”
For the first time you actually see her suave expression crack and you feel horrible right away. You know she needs to go into this interview feeling good, so you take both of her hands with your own and soothe, “I’m sorry, Billie. I didn’t mean to come off harsh. After this I’ll have lunch all ready for us to eat.”
Her lips return a half smile, but her brown eyes still flicker with doubt. So you continue and genuinely mean it when you say, “I know you’ll knock this interview out of the park. She’ll love you.” Then you place a light kiss to her cheek, taking care to not disrupt her makeup.
By now her confident demeanor is restored and you ask, “Do you need anything else before the interview?” She smirks and lowly teases while squeezing your hands, “I can think of a couple things, but we wouldn’t have the time.” You roll your eyes at the comment, but smile and ask, “Well would you like anything specific for lunch?”
Billie pauses for a moment before answering, “I’ll take some…Mexican food. I’ll say a taco salad.” You nod and tell her, “One taco salad will be out there for you when you’re done.” Then you release her hands and say, “I have your phone so there won’t be any interruptions, but if you need anything at all I have your messages set up on your laptop. And I told housekeeping to not do anything too loud or come around to clean this part of the house for the next two hours. So you should be good to go.”
Her eyebrows raise and she comments, “You’ve really thought about everything, haven’t you?” The compliment makes you look down and stammer, “Well I—I try to.” She chuckles at your bashful demeanor and murmurs, “I should thank you for getting all of this ready for me, sweetheart.”
You dare to look at her face and reply, “I’m just doing my job. But I’m glad you’re happy with it. I’ll see you at lunch.” Then you wish her luck one more time before walking out. After closing the door, you lean back against it, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to re-center yourself.
Stop overthinking this. Pull yourself together and move on. You can look for another client after these two weeks. That’s it and you can make it two weeks. You’ve got this. You can handle anything for two weeks…
An hour and a half later Billie enters the kitchen to see you setting up her requested lunch with a freshly made strawberry lemonade to drink. She struts over and takes a seat at the island while saying, “Thank god. I’m starving.” You smile at her hyperbolic statement and watch her begin to eat. Then you return to your seat at the island next to the blonde to finish the remnants of your burrito.
Not wanting to stir up anything between you two, you ask, “Did the interview go alright?” She nods and replies after swallowing her bite, “It went exactly as your notes said. Of course there were some additional questions, but they were manageable.” Then the medium turns to face you and teases with grin, “It’s almost like you know what you’re doing.”
Your cheeks warm at the compliment and you look down to your plate, resting your chin on one of your hands as you twirl your fork in the remnants and murmur, “I only write down some tips. It’s your charisma that makes it good.” Billie chuckles and comments, “We make a good team.” For a moment you still your movements and glance at her out of the corner of your eye. But she’s looking to her salad. However, her gaze meets yours and she compliments, “Your hair and makeup look good today, sweetheart.”
She noticed. Billie Dean Howard noticed.
You can’t contain your smile but look back down to your plate before meekly saying, “Thank you.”
Billie continues to eat her meal while you throw away your takeout plate and utensils. Then you empty the clean dishes out of the dishwasher. However she breaks the silence by asking, “Did anything come up while I was in the interview?” You shake your head, finishing up as you respond, “Nothing for you to worry about. Just some requests for you to promote different products or companies.”
So she picks up her halfway finished beverage and tells you, “In that case I’m going to start packing things. But I’ll have my phone on me if you need me.” You automatically nod and try to conceal the crack in your voice when you reply, “Of course. And don’t worry about your trash. I’ve got it covered.” The blonde gives you her devastating smile and purrs, “You’re the best.” The butterflies in your stomach make a reappearance and you shyly tell her thank you before she steps out of the room.
After making sure she’s gone you let out a breath and lose the façade of being perfectly okay with everything. You try not to take it personally, but her distance affects your replies to phone calls and emails you respond to. Of course, you don’t sound upset or disgruntled. You remain professional, but don’t have the zeal and passion you usually have.
By late afternoon, you’ve contacted everyone who contacted you on her behalf. So you go onto google and search for PA openings. If nothing else you can leave at the height of her tv premier and make a clean break. However, before you can get to the second page, Billie texts you, “Could you come upstairs to my bedroom for a minute?”
Knowing her needs are your first priority, you exit out of the website and quickly reply, “Of course. Headed there now.” Then you trudge up the stairs, trying not to have any expectations.
When you enter her bedroom, she has numerous different clothing items laid out on the bed and you hear her rustling around in her massive closet that’s a room in itself. But she must hear you enter because she walks into the main room and says with a smile, “Y/n, just who I wanted to see.”
She sets the clothes that were draped over her arm onto the bed as she says, “I need some advice.” You step a little closer and reply, “I’ll try to help.” So she holds up one hanger that holds a silky, floral blouse and another that has a simple ivory undershirt with a dusty pink cardigan over it. Then she looks to you and asks, “Which one do you think looks better?”
You bite your lip and look between the tops, hoping this isn’t a test. Then you slowly answer, “I think they both look good…but the cardigan and shirt would be more conducive to the cooler temperatures in New York.” Billie grins and takes your advice right away, setting it next to her suitcase, however you hold up your hands and tell her, “Wait, I’m no fashion expert or anything. I can call your stylist to come over.”
The blonde chuckles and purrs, “Sweetheart, the only opinion I care about is yours. Now help me out with these other shirt options.”
The choices start off innocent enough, but soon she’s having you choose her sleepwear and intimates. While the whole thing feels a little arousing, you keep to the other side of her California king bed trying to be extra cautious. But she foils that plan by suggesting, “How about I try these dresses on and you can tell me which one looks better.” That makes you pause, but you can’t deny your curiosity to see her after she’s seen all of you.
And if she really didn’t want you to see her, she could change in her bathroom or closet.
So you nod and rasp with your suddenly dry throat, “Ok.” But her smile grows, and she asks in a voice dripping with innocence, “Y/n, would you be a dear and unzip me?”
You know exactly what she’s doing. But are you really upset? You’re finally getting what you’ve wanted since this morning.
At this point your throat feels too dry to speak so you dumbly nod and walk over to her side.
The medium’s eyes sparkle in lust and mischief when she purrs, “Thank you, sweetheart.” Then she turns so her back is to you and you walk up, feeling like you’re in a trance as so many emotions run through you at once.
The first thing you do is gather her silky smooth hair in your hand and drape it over one of her shoulders so most of it is out of the way, save for a few stray curls. Immediately her jasmine perfume envelops you and she doesn’t miss your deep inhale of the intoxicatingly sweet fragrance. Then your trembling fingers come up to the top of her dress and you take the zipper between your thumb and pointer finger, struggling to keep a grip of it with your shaky hands.
The room is quiet enough to hear the zipper slide down the back of her dress, stopping at the small of her back. You look to the well-endowed swell of her ass but flick your eyes up before she can catch you.
Billie twists her head to look back at you and once again your faces are inches apart from each other. Rather than saying anything, she leans towards you with hooded eyes and presses a light, questioning kiss. Then her eyes look to see your reaction and you reciprocate, slowly brushing your lips against hers.
Both of you move slowly while Billie fully turns around to face you and places her hands on the small of your back. The way you both take your time cautiously opening up to each other makes it seem like it’s your first kiss. But it feels nice to slow down and savor the moment.
This time when you smooth your hands up the exposed skin of her back she doesn’t protest. Rather she presses up against your body even more to get closer. So you work on the clasp of her bra and somehow undo on the first try.
Your lips part from each other and she helps you shrug off her dress and bra so the only items she wears are her panties and her pearl necklace. You pause and look over every part, trying to take in every detail. Meanwhile the blonde just smiles and tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear while crooning, “You like what you see, sweetheart?” Your eyes scan up her toned middle, briefly pausing at her rounded, perky breasts, before ascending past the string of pearls on her neck to her proud face.
You’re practically drooling when you whimper, “Yes. Billie you look…god you look perfect.” Her cheeks threaten to turn red while her smile expands and she murmurs, “Just like you do.”
Automatically you shake your head and look down so your hair falls forward to guard your face. But her hands cup your face and guide you to look back at her. Her palms feel smooth against the sides of your face when she kisses your lips and affirms, “You are perfect, honey. Now, how about you make yourself more comfortable and take off those clothes for me.”
In the far reaches of your mind, the thought of confronting her about everything passes through. But Billie Dean Howard is here, completely exposed to you and you don’t want to stop.
Your eyes flick down and you grin as you reply, “O-ok.” So she backs up to let you pull off your shirt and bra. But when you move close, she places a finger on your sternum in the valley between your breasts and says, “Ah, ah, ah, pants too.” You bite your lip to conceal your demure smile, ducking your head as you tug your pants down. After kicking them aside you come back up to the medium and being to kiss her again.
While it felt nice to kiss Billie the other day, actually feeling her flesh brush and meld against yours makes it even better. Every time you think you’ve peaked; she takes you higher than before. When you break to catch your breath, Billie breathes, “Where do you want me, sweetheart?”
Your brows furrow and she grins before asking the same question. The thought of ordering her around sends a thrill through you and you look around the room before hesitantly saying, “On the edge of the bed.” The medium nods and playfully answers with a wicked grin, “Yes, mistress.”
Now that makes you laugh and tell her, “If anyone is a mistress it’s you.” You move her clothes that were laid out on the bed to the side so they won’t get in the way and the blonde helps while teasing, “I’ll grant you the title of mistress for one day.”
Without thinking you roll your eyes at the supposed ‘generosity,’ making Billie raise her eyebrow and say, “Unless you don’t want to do this?” You place your hands on her shoulders and push her to sit on the bed while quickly answering, “I do!”
Your intense reaction makes her chuckle and purr, “Well your wish is my command, sweetheart.” Your body simmers with arousal and you guide her legs apart enough to step between them. Then you look down at Billie’s face and your hands come up to cup her face. In response she slides her hands up to rest on the swell of your hips.
However, you raise your eyebrow and mimic her when you ask, “Did I give you permission to touch me?” Billie takes her hands away and looks up to you through her long lashes when she says, “Sorry, mistress.” Letting her lower lip jut out enough to give a perfect pout before biting down on it. The way she worries her lower lip drives you wild.
But you want to tease her more. Why not take this opportunity all the way?
So you lean in to kiss her lips, but when she leans up to meet you, you back up to kiss the tip of her nose.
Her darkened eyes glow and the blonde chuckles before murmuring, “Such a tease, y/n.” That makes you giggle and this time when you lean down to kiss her, you meet her desired location. And even though your lips and tongues intertwine with each other, Billie stays true to her word and lets you lead her along. So you keep going, and don’t move her hands back when she smooths them up your thighs and pulls you closer to her after gripping your hips.
For once she’s the one who gasps for air and you take the opportunity to place slow, deliberate kisses along her jawline down to her neck. Your lips gently kiss and suck at the delicate skin of her neck, but pause when Billie moans, “Don’t get me wrong, sweetheart, this feels amazing. But I don’t know if the makeup artist will appreciate having to cover multiple hickeys for filming tomorrow.”
On no. You completely forgot about that.
You automatically back up and stammer, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Billie. I never even though about that.” She silences you with a kiss and soothes, “It’s ok, sweetheart.” But the medium can tell you’re pulled out of the immersion so her thumbs brush along the swell of your hips and she purrs with a smile, “Now what do you want me to do, mistress?”
Her reassuring smile makes you smile and respond, “Stay.” Then you gently kiss down her neck to her collarbone. Along the way your lips brush against her pearl necklace, but when she moves to take it off you command, “No.” Her eyebrows raise, but she grins and answers, “Yes mistress.” Those words send shivers down your spine and by the low hum of amusement emitted from her throat you can tell she knows.
Then you resume your descent starting at her collarbones down to the swell of her luscious breasts. The medium gasps when you take one of her nipples in your mouth and tease her by sucking and nibbling at her sensitive bud. You look up to her face to see she closely watches you use your mouth on her one nipple while you tease the other with your fingers.
Then you switch sides and by the time you’re finished with her buds they are peaked and stiff. The sound of breathy moans and whimpers is unfamiliar to your ears, but progressively gets louder when you continue down to her navel. After teasing it with your tongue enough to make her gasp, you back up and pull off her lacy, cream-colored thong.
Once the garment is cast aside you take a moment to look at her most intimate area practically dripping with arousal. Then you look up to Billie with wide eyes and your mouth slightly gaped in shock. Before you can ask, she smiles and croons, “That’s all for you, baby.”
That’s all you. She gets that aroused because of you.
Your eyes gloss over with a concoction of happiness and unbridled lust and rather than taking the time to instruct, you grasp her legs and place them over your shoulders. Then you lean close and inhale her sweetness before delving your tongue into her velvety folds.
Her muscled calves flex against your back and she moans, “Oh god.” as your mouth sucks and licks at every part of her. But she lets out a guttural moan when you find her clit. Her low sounds of pleasure go straight to your own soaked pussy and you can’t help but squeeze your thighs in need. You look up to her face while you continue to tease her sensitive pearl and see she watches you with lust-blown eyes and her lower lip worried between her teeth.
You grin and back away before taunting, “Now don’t hold back, Billie. I want to hear all of those pretty little sounds you make.” That makes the blonde toss her head back in laughter before breathily praising, “Wow, you’re pretty good at this whole dominatrix role.” Even now her praise drives you wild. You grin up at her and reply, “I learned from the best.” Before diving back in.
This time her head falls back for an entirely different reason and she groans, “Fuck, sweetheart, that feels so good.” Her words make your stomach warm in arousal and you increase your movements driven by her praises in words and moans of pleasure.
Before long Billie crosses her ankles behind your back, effectively pulling you close to her pussy and unable to back up like before. But you couldn’t care less. Eating her out feels like everything you want and more. Your mouth mercilessly sucks and nips at her sensitive nub and she whimpers in a higher tone than even her regular tone, “Just like that, baby. I’m almost there.”
You happily listen to her request and within a minute her legs lock up, keeping you in a vice-like grip while she gasps. Then she cries out and unravels before your eyes, moaning and whimpering in a way that sounds like music to your ears while you lick up all of the sweet nectar she provides.
Before you get the chance to rile her up, she takes her legs off of you and scoots further back on the bed as she breathes, “C’mere sweetheart.” You whine at leaving her sweet core but listen and she guides you to straddle her lap so you face each other again.
You cross your legs behind the blonde so your ankles rest against the small of her back and wrap your arms around her neck before dipping your head to kiss Billie’s lips. She smiles against you and slides her hands up your back while kissing back, not afraid of getting a taste of herself. Even though you wished to remain buried in the juncture of her thighs a moment ago, being held close in her embrace as she takes your breath away is nowhere near a downgrade.
When you pause to catch your breath, you still keep your forehead down against hers and ask, “I take it you liked it?” She gives that warm chuckle that feels like an embrace in itself and purrs, “Oh I loved it, sweetheart.” Then you let out a squeak of surprise at her hand sliding beneath the elastic band of your panties.
How did she sneak her hand around to your front without you even noticing?
Your small sound causes her to smirk and she says with a dramatically innocent voice, “Let’s see how you’re doing.” And that smirk on her lips morphs into a shit-eating grin when her fingers slide down to find your core practically dripping with slick.
Your hips roll of their own accord when the pads of her two fingers brush against your clit. The instinctual reaction prompts Billie’s eyebrows to raise and she begins to make torturously slow circles over your sensitive bud. Meanwhile your arms shift so your hands can grip her shoulders while whimpering, “I’m not going to last long.”
The blonde giggles at your claim and leans up to kiss your lips, gradually moving her hand faster. Then she gets closer so she’s right beside your ear when she murmurs, ‘Are you all worked up from telling me what to do?”
Oh, you are definitely not going to last long at all.
A gasp leaves your lips and you shift in her lap responding, “Yes.” Now she moves her fingers in a steady motion and purrs, “But I think you liked something else too. I think you liked licking my pussy until I came. Is that what’s got you all hot and bothered, sweetheart? Acting so dirty and eating me out has you nearly creaming yourself?”
Her words prompt you to cry out, “Oh god, yes!” squeezing her shoulders and letting your head fall forward.
Her pearls feel cool against your perspiring forehead and her fingers speed up to the point of making you get those pre-orgasm twitches as Billie taunts, “Are you gonna cum, y/n?” Your eyes slam shut and you moan, “Yes!”
However somewhere in the recesses of your mind you remember her comment about good girls and whip your head up to look at Billie before blurting out, “Wait! I mean, can I please cum Billie?” The golden flecks in her darkened orbs spark in approval and with a satisfied smirk she responds, “Good girl. Go ahead and cum for me, baby.”
Your eyes slam shut just before a burst of white light shows up and you desperately cling to the medium, toes curling as high-pitched moans and whimpers fall out of you.
This time your aftershocks pass sooner and when she withdraws her two coated fingers you watch her languidly suck off any remnants of your juices. You’re still in a daze when she asks, “Do you wanna know what you taste like?”
Your brows furrow, but…you can’t deny that you are a little curious. And Billie had no problem indulging in herself. So you nod, albeit hesitantly. She chuckles at your timid behavior and teases, “I promise it’s good.” Then she takes your chin by her thumb and index finger to tilt your head down to meet her lips.
The taste has a tangy bite to it but also a subtle sweetness similar to the blonde, but not quite the same. Before you even realize it, your tongues are tangling with each other and your lips search and press for one another.
It feels so nice to be so close to Billie without all of the glitz and glamour. You’re together, unguarded, and sharing a passionate exchange for both parties. All that has stock in the world is you and her. However, eventually you have to breathe.
So you reluctantly break from her lips and come closer to tuck your head into the crook of her neck. At the same time your hands move to her back so you can hug her close. Her lips come down to rest on the crown of your head and you feel her lips curve into a smile. Then she shifts so her cheek rests against you, softly teasing, “I still need to try those dresses on.”
However she makes no move to get up.
So you snuggle further in, tightening your arms and legs around her and murmur into her hair, “Pack the red one.” She chuckles and smoothes her hands along the length of your back while asking, “What about the other one?”
You let out a sigh of contentment and bury your face further into the bend of her neck to conceal your embarrassment as you reply, “Than one looks good…But the red one…it’s flattering at all angles…and it hugs your form well…Trust me the red one will turn heads.”
She laughs and leans close to your ear when she murmurs, “I’ll pack it for you, baby.” Her voice immediately calms your nerves and you feel at home in her arms. After sitting in silence for a moment, you mumble against her neck, “What would you like for dinner?”
She slides her hands down to grip your ass as she replies, “You.” And that provokes your higher-toned schoolgirl giggle. Then you say, “Ok besides that.” Her lips trail down the side of your face until she reaches your jawline and murmurs, “How about…Italian.”
You feel her hands massaging your butt and before things get too heated you ease into sitting up straight to see her brown eyes slowly scanning over you. But you cup her face with your hands and guide her to look at your face, saying, “I’ll get dinner ready and you can finish packing. Ok?”
She grins and turns her face to kiss one of your palms before she teases, “As long as you can be dessert.” Then she moves further up to kiss the pulse point on your wrist and purrs, “And an evening snack.” Then she kisses the inside of your forearm, looking to you with a mischievous grin as she continues, “And a midnight treat.”
You shake your head at her behavior, but chuckle and respond, “Ok.” The medium smirks in victory and releases you from her hold. You slowly stand up, making sure to not lose your balance and throw on your clothes.
Before you walk out, Billie takes your shoulder and turns you to face her. You look to her with a questioning gaze and she pecks your lips, but keeps close when she purrs, “I’ll see you in a bit. Oh, and be warned, my stamina is insatiable.” That makes you giggle, and you assure her, “I think I’m up for the challenge.” Then Billie releases you with a smile and you walk out to the kitchen, not regretting spending the night here whatsoever.
Tagged: @marilynroselleprentiss, @saviorinsilk, @chokemepaulson, @versonstar, @find-me-a-constellation, @cordwliagoode, @psychobitchtess, @midnight-lestrange, @mysweetdelia, @venablesbitch, @peachesandlesbians, @nerdaroo, @cordeliafoxxe, @leskaksel, @lovelymspaulson, @grilledcheeseandguavajelly, @whatabluddymess, @natasha-danvers
Let me know if you would like to be tagged in later works!
#AHS#ahs fanfic#ahs murder house#ahs hotel#ahs apocalypse#ahs billie dean howard#billie dean howard#billie dean howard imagine#billie x reader#business and pleasure
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Floral : Tattooist!Cal
Summary: Renowned tattoo artist Calum Hood doesn’t take apprentices often, but when he does, he tackles the challenge like everything else in his life: with the utmost professionalism. Until he meets Lily, a learning artist, and Calum falls head over heels before he can help himself.
Warnings: there’s smut. but its super slow burn.
Cal Mood Board: Lily
Word Count: 13.3k
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The young, heavily tattooed man sat at the receptionist desk in his parlour. His head was bowed, chiseled jaw set, eyebrows furrowed as he studied the papers scattered in front of him.
Art littered the sheets and after a good, long look, the man would either add the paper to a pile on his left or on his right.
The stack to his left was large and separated in two with a combined paper count of well over three hundred.
The stack to his right was substantially smaller, containing only five or six hand picked sheets.
Buzzing filled the space, one of his workers and friends, a man named Michael, was finishing up the last client of the day. His words didn’t even register to the focused man at the front as Michael wiped off the skin carefully, put a bandage over it and then walked the client to the reception desk. The woman paid and left, leaving the two large aussies to silence.
Michael looked over Calum’s shoulder, hands reaching out to pull at one of the last few sheets yet to be judged, “this is nice.” Michael stated.
Calum cocked his head, taking the paper gingerly from his friend.
He had to admit, there was something interesting to the style.
It was floral, which Calum usually shied away from, but something about this piece just captured his eye. The lines were thin and delicate, precise and deliberate, they caught his attention and drew his gaze along each light, flouncy, petal. It was realism, which was Calum’s specialty. As much as he enjoyed the more cartoony things, Calum had a reputation for making tattoos that seemed to jump out of the skin.
And this piece definitely did that.
He added it to the pile on his right.
Michael helped him decide on the last few and finally he was done, having finished with six sheets of paper that Calum then carefully picked up, “now for the hard part.” he stated.
Michael’s laugh echoed through the tattoo parlour, “those all look sick man, i don’t know how you’re going to choose, glad I don’t have your fucking job.”
“You going home for the day?”
“Might go to a bar, wanna drink?”
“Hmmm.” Calum sighed, “I need to finish this up.”
“Well I’ll tell you one thing, if you don’t choose whoever the fuck did that flower piece, I’m going to break into your application file, find them, and get them to tattoo me. Girly or not, that shit was fire.”
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Calum’s dog Duke padded around his feet as Calum walked through his apartment. His fingers held the glass of whiskey loosely by his side as he approached his work desk. Letting out a long sigh, Calum collapsed into his plush, slightly worn, work chair, setting his drink down.
The final six contenders were all in front of him.
Two of them were animal sketches, one was more geometric, and the final three were florals. As much as he tried to give each one the same amount of time and attention, his eyes kept going back to that one floral one.
Calum was very specific about taking on apprentices.
He’d only ever had two, and after he was done with them, they were almost as renowned as he was.
Thinking about the artists brought a smile to his face. His hand absentmindedly rubbed at the triangle on his forearm, just under his horse shoe tattoo.
The idea had been Michael’s originally, and it had been a joke. No one thought Calum would actually do it. So when Calum had allowed his first apprentice to graduate to full tattooist stature by taking a gun and putting whatever he wanted onto Calum’s body, everyone had been shocked.
But, his first apprentice had been kind, opting for a geomorphic animal hybrid tattoo. It was medium sized, a black triangle with a wolf face inside. Calum hadn’t looked the entire process, putting his complete trust in the man he’d just spent over a year training.
Everyone had been shocked. His friends had filmed most of it and it had gone viral.
Calum was known for his tattooing skills but he was also known for his tattoos, he could be very particular about who took a needle to his body so this was the ultimate show of confidence in his teaching abilities.
Whenever Calum found himself retreating into himself he’d look down at the lone wolf tattoo on his forearm to remind himself to open up a little, to enjoy his pack and welcome new members.
New apprenticeship applications had been abundant after that, with Calum getting at least three or four hundred applicants whenever he announced that he would be taking on someone new.
The second apprentice had gotten Calum on his stomach with his shirt off and had began to wipe down a very large expanse of Calum’s practically unmarked back when it was decided that Calum’s apprentices would have to run their final tattoo idea by Calum’s senior artists first.
Michael voted yes to having a massive dragon on Calum’s back but Calum, Ashton and Luke had vetoed that idea.
The dragon had been substantially shrunk down to a red and black little reptilian creature on Calum’s shoulder, its tail wrapped protectively around his upper arm. Whenever Calum wore shirts that showed off the intricate, very real looking piece, Michael would always joke and pretend to talk to the dragon which he had since named “lil Sebastian.” Calum had denied this name but that never stopped Michael.
Calum enjoyed the application process.
He enjoyed looking at all of the art which he insisted be sent in with a coded system that he didn’t know, that way, he had no idea of the age, gender, ethnicity, or background of any of the applying artists. He wanted to make it fair. He wanted to choose the best because their art was the best, not because of any other possible side reasons.
The floral piece made him want to know who had drawn it.
Which was odd. Usually Calum was okay with not knowing. But there was, as Michael had pointed out, something about it.
Calum took a deep breath, picking up the sheet one last time.
He wasn’t the type to ever let his heart make decisions for him, but he knew that this choice was backed by his eyes and his mind as well. Whoever this artist was, they had talent, and Calum wanted to be there to take that talent, which was already spectacular, and somehow make it better.
The decision had been made. Now all that was left was for his receptionist (who for the time being was Ashton since their receptionist was on mat leave) would call the artists.
It was a Friday, and by Monday, if the artist accepted, his parlour would have a new apprentice, and Calum would once again embark on a year to three year teaching mission that at the end he would have a new tattoo and an artist to show for it.
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Lily waited for the coffee. The long sleeves of her oversized denim were perfect for fidgeting and she took full advantage, rolling the worn fabric between her fingers.
A strand of blonde hair had fallen loose from the messy bun atop her head, dangling in front of her face, but Lily was too wired and distracted to even notice.
“Black coffee and a frap for Lily?” the cute barista guy said. Announcing her name was just a formality, the barista had flirted with Lily at the till, he knew who she was and his eyes were bright as he handed her the drinks.
She offered a small smile before rushing from the shop.
She’d had a last minute spur of anxiety about showing up to her apprenticeship the first day without anything. She’d rather be on time with coffee than early and empty handed.
Lily dodged around people on the street, her small frame making it easy, the large black denim flaring out behind her like a flag. She slowed down as she approached the parlour.
Her palms were sweating and she could feel her heart practically beating out of her chest. She took a few deep breaths. When she’d applied to the apprenticeship she didn’t think she’d actually get in.
Lily had always loved drawing and somewhere along the way she’d realized that the doodles in the margins of her textbooks could become something more. She’d been accepted to a pretty high end arts school and one of her teachers had brought up tattooing in a class.
Lily had immersed herself, and a month later, had already given herself a stick and poke but it was nowhere near as pretty as she had wanted it to be.
She’d become addicted to tattoos.
By the time she’d finished at the arts school, she’d had numerous tattoos done, all floral, of course.
Lily had found HoodTats on instagram in her second year and had been following his posts religiously since then. He only ever posted his art which was something she always appreciated, knowing that whenever that notification popped up on her phone, she’d be able to see a new piece from the artist as opposed to pictures non-art related.
When he announced his apprenticeship reopening, Lily had worked her ass off, but had accepted the fact that she wouldn’t be chosen.
When she’d gotten a call on Saturday morning and an aussie accent had told her she’d been chosen, Lily had dropped her phone to scream. Scrambling to grab her cell again, she and the man had exchanged a light hearted chuckle, and he’d given her info on what she needed to do. It had seemed so surreal, Lily was shocked she’d even been of sound mind enough to be able to jot down the information on her drawing pad.
And now there she was, standing in front of the parlour.
She stood there for a moment, just looking at the doors.
“You going in or what?” a voice asked.
Lily jumped, grip tightening on her coffee as she turned to look at the man who was standing next to her. She took in his strong jaw and golden skin, and she wet her lips absentmindedly, “yeah, sorry, I uh… fuck, I’m a little jittery today.”
He hummed, eyes scanning her too, then he reached out and opened the door to the parlour for her. Lily offered a small smile and walked in, the gorgeous man following her inside.
“Hey Cal.” the guy at the main desk said, looking up.
The guy from behind Lily grunted in response, and Lily furrowed her eyebrows, Cal as in-
“Hey!” the happy blonde grinned, drawing her thoughts away.
“Hi.” Lily forced a smile, taking a deep breath, “I’m Lily-”
“Right! The apprentice! You’re early!” the blonde said, “I’m Ashton!” he held out a hand and Lily haphazardly set the coffees down, wiping her hand on her pants to rid of the condensation that had marred her skin from the frappuccino.
She shook Ashton’s hand, making an awkward face, “sorry, my skin is cold.”
“No worries, you brought someone a coffee?” he asked.
“Uh… I figured i should bring something so I bought a frappuccino-”
“You mean the black coffee is for you?” the guy laughed.
“Yeah-”
“Offer Calum the black coffee, trust me.”
Before Lily could respond a new guy came into the parlour from the back room and he walked over with a grin, “who’s this?” he asked.
“Calum’s new apprentice.”
“Lily.” she extended the hand to the pink haired guy.
“No shit?!” the pink haired man grinned, “fuck, your art is amazing! I’m Michael!”
He shook her hand aggressively but the light in his eyes told Lily that he was just excited, genuinely excited, to meet her.
“I saw your florals? Damn, if you ever want a canvas, I have a whole leg that’s free and you can just fuck it up-”
“Michael you’re scaring her.” Ashton tutted, nudging his friend.
Michael looked between Ashton and Lily, “no I’m not! I’m not scaring you am I?”
“You scare everyone.” the gorgeous guy from before had returned, and he leaned his hip against the counter. His leather jacket was gone, revealing a black v neck that was pulled tight against his strong chest. His arms were crossed, biceps bulging, arms littered in tattoos exposed and proud on his beautiful skin.
“This is Lily, she’s your new apprentice.” Ashton stated.
Lily’s eyes met Calum and she nearly swore in front of him… again. She’d just said fuck to him outside. To her new boss. She’d said fuck.
Fuck.
Calum looked her up and down again, taking in the oversized denim that nearly hid her tiny frame. Her jeans were black and ripped at the knees and her blonde hair was in a messy bun on top of her head, one haphazard strand in front of her face. She had high cheekbones and soft looking lips, eyes that were a molten chocolate brown peered up at him and freckles splattered her cute button nose.
“So you’re the floral girl.” he said before he could help himself.
She opened her mouth then shut it, grabbing the black coffee from the counter she held it out for him, “i got this for you.”
Calum looked at it for a moment then accepted it, turning it over in his hands to look at what was written on the side.
“Who’s Greg?” he asked.
“What?”
He showed her the cup. Written on the side was a phone number, a heart, and the name Greg. “fuck.” Lily breathed, her eyes widened, “shit, I mean- fuck, not fuck, shit.”
She hid her face with her hands and all three men grinned at her.
“We don’t fucking care if you swear sweetheart, just as long as you keep it to a minimum in front of clients.” Michael assured her.
“So who is Greg.” Ashton asked.
“He’s the barista I guess. I don’t know, he was flirting with me but I didn’t check the cup.” Lily groaned loudly.
“So… do you want the number?” Calum asked, offering the cup back to her.
Lily grabbed the frappuccino, stepping back as she took a sip, shaking her head, “no fucking thank you.”
Calum tried to stop himself from grinning.
He liked her already.
-------
Calum had to admit, Lily learned fast.
He found that he only had to show her something once, and just like that, she knew what she was doing. The first week had been kind of rocky. Calum was a quiet guy by nature, and he could tell that it was making Lily anxious, although she never said anything.
The first day in particular had been interesting.
Every time she took a sip of her frappuccino, she’d make a face and Calum had found it amusing, until he found out from Ashton after she left that the black coffee that she’d given him had initially been for herself. The poor girl had been so worried about making a good impression that she’d forced down one of those too-sweet coffee monstrosities that Calum, an avid coffee drinker, would not have been caught dead drinking.
Lily got flustered pretty easily which was endearing to him given the whole edgy look she was rocking like it was nobody's business.
Wearing almost strictly black clothing that set off the gold of her hair, Calum may have described Lily as goth, but due to her lack of make up, maybe that was the wrong word. She was tiny, Calum always had to look down to meet her eyes, and she tried to hide behind oversized sweatshirts and jackets. She’d roll up the sleeves into large bunches at her elbows while drawing, and she never seemed to be able to sit like a normal human being.
Even on a stool, she’d find a way to tuck one leg underneath her, or use something nearby to rest a foot on.
Calum had always been the type of guy to be quiet and watch, noticing the small things other people wouldn’t notice. Like the way Lily would focus entirely on a drawing, hands almost as steady as Calum’s, but the moment she was done, her long sleeves would be rolled down again and she’d begin to fidget.
Lily was quiet too. Something Calum appreciated.
She didn’t ask many questions which Calum enjoyed, but it did concern him a little. As her teacher, he wanted to make sure that he was actually teaching.
He found himself asking “did that make sense?” or “do you understand?” more than he ever had in his life, always earning a small “yeah” or curt nod.
He’d also noticed the small dimple, just one, on her left cheek, that would appear rarely but it always made him want to smile back whenever it did.
Michael spent most of his free time talking to Lily, which Calum enjoyed, he was never one for small talk. Through Michael’s chats with Lily, Calum had learned that Lily had actually gone to art school. She’d been doodling all her life. She adored flowers, only partially because of her name (she wasn’t that pretentious.) But, the discussions were usually limited to art and tattoo related things, which Calum was beginning to find quite dry.
He wanted to ask questions, but Calum wasn’t the type to pry. He was never appreciative of people asking him unwanted questions and Calum didn’t fancy himself to be a hypocrite.
Besides, Calum was, in a way (in a lot of ways) her boss. And Calum was never the type to toe the line of professionalism. Which is why, when Michael suggested that Lily grab a drink with them after work, Calum thanked god for his best friend.
Lily had agreed and Calum was sure that it was for Michael’s sake, definitely not his own. After all, Calum hadn’t spoken two words together to the girl that weren’t work related.
Besides, one of Calum’s artists had been traveling for a month and was finally coming home, so it would be a good chance for Lily to meet the guy outside of the parlour.
Michael spent the entire day ranting about Luke and hyping him up to the point that if he wasn’t a six foot four, curly blonde, rockstar looking, douche bag, then Lily would have been very let down.
After closing up the parlour, the three walked down the street to the bar. Calum opened the door for them and as they went inside, all of Lily’s expectations were met.
Luke had already grabbed them a booth, and as they walked in, he leapt to his feet, coming over with open arms. He immediately engulfed Michael in a hug before turning to Lily, “you must be Cal’s new whipping girl!” he grinned, wrapping his arms around her next.
Lily was small next to Michael and Cal but with Luke? She was absolutely miniscule. So Luke had no issue simply picking her up off the ground in a hug.
A small squeal left Lily’s lips and everyone laughed.
“Fuck. You’re not a hugger are you?” Luke asked, setting her back down. His hands went to her shoulders, bending down to meet her eyes as he looked at her with concern.
“Uh… that was a hug?” she asked, laughing awkwardly.
Michael laughed, “don’t mind Luke, he’s just a big teddy bear.”
“Fuck off.” Luke said, shoving at Michael who grinned, throwing his arm over Luke’s shoulders as the two walked back to the table.
“Wow, fuck Calum then.” Lily said, voice quiet.
But Calum heard. And Calum laughed, “Luke can be a bit forgetful.”
“I uh-” Lily flushed red and hid her face with her oversized sleeves, “I didn’t mean for you to hear that.”
“It’s alright.” Calum assured her.
“I just… he didn’t even look at you.” Lily stammered, “god, I would be so worried if one of my friends snubbed me like that-”
“He didn’t snub me.” Calum said a tad too sternly, and it made Lily shut her worried, anxious, stammering mouth. She looked at him with wide eyes and Calum sighed, seeing the hurt in the chocolate brown irises. “Sorry I snapped at you I-”
“No it’s fine.” her eyes had widened and her hands were up and waving, sort of distracting Calum actually, as she ranted about how she always swore too much and needed to learn not to always say what was on her mind, even if she whispered it and didn’t expect anyone to hear, not that Calum was being nosey, he was standing there anyways so he was definitely not being nosey-
“Do you drink?” Calum asked, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably as he looked down at Lily.
“Are you offering to buy me a drink?” Lily asked.
Calum stared at her for a moment and that's all it took for Lily to freak out again, getting even redder as she hid her face, “holy fuck! Shit! You see? I have a problem. That was way too flirty. You’re my boss! Wow. I am way too anxious to function, this is such a mess-”
“I’m going to get you a drink.” Calum stated before she could continue, moving past her to the bar and leaving her standing there wanting to die.
“What’s the deal with that?” Luke asked, tilting his chin towards where Lily and Calum had just been standing.
“So the new girl Lily is an anxious little muffin nugget and Cal is…”
“Cal.” Luke finished for him, making them both laugh, “she’s cute.”
“Yeah, and just wait till you see her fucking art!” Michael grinned, “she’s talented, just Calum’s type.”
Lily had managed to contain herself again, walking over to the table where Michael made room for her, “who’s Calum’s type?” she asked.
“No one-” Michael began to say as Luke stated “you.”
Lily’s breath caught in her throat as she looked between the two men sitting in the booth. Michael was gaping at Luke but Luke was grinning, attention deliberately entirely focused on Lily.
“That is very inappropriate Luke.” Michael tutted.
“Why?”
“He’s her boss-”
“Not really.” Luke said.
“Sort of though.” Michael argued.
“Eh, is he really though?” Luke narrowed his eyes at Michael.
Before Michael could answer Calum came back, a Guinness in each hand. He set one down in front of Lily, “hope you like-”
“Guinness!? My favourite!” Lily smiled.
“Yeah, figured you like black coffee-”
“You like black coffee?” Luke made a face at Lily, “wow, you and Cal really are meant to be.”
“Luke!” Michael screamed.
“What?!” Luke threw his hands on the air.
“You left for a month and you have no filter!” Michael shouted.
“I never had a filter!” Luke pointed out.
Michael groaned, “fuck, it’s true, you got me there. Damn it.” he turned to look at Lily, “I’m so sorry, Luke’s not used to being around girls.”
“Yes I am!” Luke insisted, “all the girls love me-”
“Oh yeah? Then why the fuck are you still single?” Michael asked.
Lily and Calum both grabbed their drinks in unison, watching Luke and Michael fight.
“I’m single because a man like me shouldn’t be tied down!” Luke stated.
“Pfff, sure it has nothing to do with the whole ‘oh I don’t believe in love’ thing?” Michael asked.
“If you want to talk not believing in love, go fight Calum!” Luke said, motioning towards the silently sitting artist, “he’s the douchebag who thinks that shit doesn’t exist, not me!”
All eyes went to Calum.
He set down his Guinness, tattooed, ring clad fingers sliding along the condensation covered glass, a moment passed, “so is someone going to ask me something or are you all just going to stare at me?”
“You don’t believe in love?” Lily asked.
“Well when you put it like that-” Calum sighed.
“How else would you put it Cal?” Luke smirked.
He thought about it for a moment then grinned, bringing his drink to his lips, “touche.”
“How about you flower baby, what’s your vibe on that crazy little thing called love?” Luke asked.
“‘Flower baby’ I like it!” Michael grinned, turning his gaze to the only girl there.
“Well that’s a loaded question.” Lily said, shrinking under their gaze.
“You’re single right?” Michael asked.
“Michael.” Calum warned.
“What? I can ask her that sort of thing, I’m not her boss, plus we were all thinking it.” Michael said.
“Michael, this is bordering sexual harassment.” Calum stated, “Lily if you’re uncomfortable-”
“I’m always uncomfortable.” she interjected.
“You don’t have to answer their questions.” he told her.
Lily took a deep breath, “no, I should try to not be so shy all the time.”
“Good for you, cheers to that.” Luke said, lifting the bottle of beer he’d had since before they’d arrived, “so tell us all your secrets.”
“My money’s on single.” Michael stated.
“Why?” Lily laughed.
“Cuz if you had a boyfriend there’s no way in hell he wouldn’t have already come to the shop to check us out and make sure none of us are threats.” Michael answered.
“And then, he’d show up and fight Calum-” Luke continued.
“Can you both leave me out of this?” Calum interjected.
“But Cal-”
“Maybe just stop saying my name how about that?” Calum sighed.
Luke groaned loudly, “you’re lame.”
“So you two are friends right?” Lily asked.
“Yeah, why do you ask?” Luke said, taking a sip of his beer.
Lily grinned and Michael laughed, “they have a very complicated relationship.” he assured her.
“Your mom and I have a complicated relationship.” Luke quipped.
“How long have you been here buddy?” Michael asked.
“A while.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“A lot.”
Michael groaned, “man, I haven’t even had a beer yet and I’m already going to have to take you home aren’t I?”
“I’m fine.” Luke laughed.
“That’s your awkward ‘I’m totally not fine’ laugh.” Michael sighed, “okay man, lets go.”
“But we can’t leave Cal and the flower child.” Luke groaned.
“I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Michael said, pulling Luke to his feet.
“But I like flower girl.” Luke whined.
“And you’ll see her at work on Monday when you’re sober.” Michael pointed out.
“Promise?” Luke asked.
“Promise.” Michael said, Luke finally allowing himself to be dragged closer to the door, he turned back and looked at Calum and Lily who were both watching him, “tell them to use protection Michael, we don’t need a tattoo parlour baby.”
“I’m sure they’ll be fine.”
Luke was not satisfied with this answer, turning to look at Cal and Lily he screamed “use protection!” and half the bar turned to look at the two still sitting in the booth.
Lily flushed immediately and Calum sighed, “we can just finish our drinks and go.” he suggested.
Lily took a sip of her Guinness, “eager to get rid of me?” she asked.
Calum’s grip tightened on his glass, “look, this was probably a mistake, I’m your teacher and this feels inappropriate, especially with how Michael and Luke have been acting-”
“Have you taken your other apprentices out for drinks before?”
“Yeah-”
“So it’s because I’m a girl.” Lily stated.
Calum groaned. He was not a sexist guy. He wasn’t. Which is why he even did applications blind, so that he wouldn’t treat people differently. And now here he was, treating his apprentice differently because she was a woman. A cute woman. Fuck.
“Shit.” Calum said, “I feel like such a jackass.”
“Is it…” Lily sighed.
“Is it what?”
Lily covered her face in her hands, “fuck, now I’m making this awkward.” she peeked at Calum, “I’m going to just say it and we can pretend it never happened, we should pretend this whole night didn’t happen to be honest, like, I don’t know what the fuck has come over me today but… Luke and Michael are throwing me off big time, and, shit, is it… is it because I’m your type? Is that why you’re being so weird? Like, Michael said you’re a quiet guy but this feels more personal you know?”
“I’m just… i haven't had a female apprentice before and I guess I’m not used to it.” Calum studied her and then realized that he’d pretty much just stated that she wasn’t his type, which was a lie, and if there was one thing Calum Hood wasn’t, it was a liar, “not that you’re not my type, you are, I mean, shit, I’m your boss, sort of, and being professional is kinda my thing-”
“You’re very professional.” Lily assured him.
“I just bought you a beer, probably shouldn’t have done that-”
“I won’t tell the head of the tattooist apprenticeship board or whatever if you don’t.” Lily sighed, “Look. don’t treat me differently. I don’t want this to be so awkward, i want to be friends, after all, when this is all over i will legitimately be putting a tattoo of my choosing on your body so we should be friends don’t you think?”
“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable-” Calum winced.
“If you do, I’ll tell you, how about that?” she asked.
He considered it, “deal.”
They finished their Guinnesses quickly, standing and walking to the entryway to the bar, “well, how far from here do you live?” Calum asked.
“A little ways away, why?”
“I mean, should I offer to walk you home?” Calum tested.
“Would you offer that to your other apprentices?”
“Probably not.”
“Then no.”
“Okay well uh… get home safe then yeah?”
“Will do. I’m a big girl.” Lily grimaced immediately, “wow that sounded so weird. I’ll uh… I’ll see you at work on Monday.”
“Yeah.”
Calum almost went in for a hug. His brain was so frazzled. Whenever he took a girl out to a bar they were usually on a date and normally, if he wasn’t interested in taking them home, he’d give them a hug just to say ‘goodbye, never gonna call you again.’
Lily also awkwardly looked like she was about to go in for a hug and they both kind of stumbled awkwardly until Lily thrust out her hand and Calum laughed, shaking it, “uh, have a good night.”
“You too.”
As they both turned and went opposite ways down the street they were both cringing. It was very obvious to them that she was his apprentice and they were two weeks into an apprenticeship that could take more than two years.
They were fucked.
-------
On Monday, Lily and Calum showed up to work fully intending to stay true to their agreement to forget the awkwardness of Friday ever happened, and have Calum treat her like every other apprentice he’d had.
After a bit of small talk with Luke, Michael and Ashton, Calum’s first client arrived and he called Lily over to watch. Calum was very focused when he tattooed, staying completely silent as he worked, which left it up to Lily to make conversation with the clients.
Calum enjoyed listening to Lily chat with clients. She was always so anxious around him, but she relaxed a little bit more around other people. She almost seemed easy going, and if Cal didn’t know her, he would have even gone as far to describe her as an extrovert.
She’d make a great tattoo artist. Always calming down and distracting clients.
Calum almost began getting critical of himself because damn, did he not talk enough with clients? No one had ever complained before so Calum pushed the thought aside.
Calum realized that if he simply didn’t look at Lily, he could teach her better, not get distracted by her pretty freckles or her gorgeous brown eyes-
It worked for a week.
But because it worked, Lily got more comfortable.
It had been a full month when Lily finally got so comfortable that she took off her oversized, black denim jacket for the first time.
It was getting hotter outside, summer quickly approaching, and Lily was wearing a black tank top that exposed her arms and shoulders. As she slipped the the denim off and put it on a chair, Calum’s breath caught in his throat. Delicate tattoos littered the skin from elbow to shoulder, two beautiful half sleeves that he had no idea she’d had.
In classic Lily fashion, the tattoos were all black.
As Calum studied them he realized, “wait, did you… did you tattoo some of these onto yourself?” the art was undeniably Lily.
Lily’s skin flushed, “yeah, iI uh… I bought a tattoo gun a while ago and figured I’d test it on myself.”
“So that’s why your lines are so good already, you’ve literally been practicing on yourself.” Calum would have laughed if it wasn’t so hard core.
“Yeah.” Lily laughed, “I mean, I think they turned out alright.” she looked down at the flowers on her left arm, “the ones on this side are better because I’m right handed, I practiced with my left for ages with paper but it just wasn’t the same so only this peony is mine,” she motioned to a small, delicate flower on her right arm, “everything else was done by other artists I’ve been into for a while.”
Calum recognized the artwork on her right arm, “that was done by Cole.” Cole had been his second apprentice.
“Yeah, he managed to convince me to get a full half sleeve from him so this is all his.”
“Sounds like Cole.” Calum grinned, pulling up the sleeve of his shirt to the shoulder to show her the dragon, “he gave me this one, originally he wanted to take up my whole back but I had to draw the line with that one.”
“Yeah, he wanted my whole arm but I told him just above the elbow.”
“Would you ever get your forearms done?”
“Hmm, probably not, but I have an idea for my thigh-” before she could go into more details, Calum’s client arrived and the conversation was cut short.
That day was particularly difficult. Calum just wanted to gawk at her tattoos. She had been a ten before but now? Wow. Calum had a thing for tattoos and the whole thing about Lily tattooing herself was… well, Calum’s pants were getting a bit tight just thinking about it.
It was around one o'clock when Ashton got a cancelation call from one of Calum’s clients. Calum didn’t mind, there was a deposit for half the cost anyways and it meant he had an hour of free time. Calum sent Ashton for lunch which meant he and Lily were manning the reception desk.
Lily was drawing flowers while Calum watched. He didn’t have any floral tattoos and he had been curious from day one what they would look like on his skin. “Do you want to try drawing that on me?” he suggested.
“Uh… are you sure?” Lily asked.
“Yeah, you need practice drawing on people, last time you did, the woman said your hands were cold after.” Calum pointed out.
“Shit.” Lily immediately put down her pencil and began rubbing her palms together to warm them up.
“Here.” Calum handed her a black sharpie.
“Do you want a floral tattoo?”
“I’ve never wanted one before but... I dunno, your flowers are really nice.”
“Thanks.” Lily flushed, “so your forearm?”
Calum arms were pretty tatted as it was but his left was more covered than his right so he offered up the arm, gesturing to medium sized unmarked patch, “yeah, probably here.”
“Any flowers in specific?” she asked.
“What’s your specialty?”
Lily chuckled, looking up at him for a moment as she twirled the sharpie between her fingers, “a lily. But I do a great chrysanthemum or peony.”
“I only know what lilies look like so surprise me with one of the other ones.” Calum said. He liked surprises.
“Well I showed you my peony so-”
“So the other one.”
“A chrysanthemum.”
“Yeah. That.”
Lily took Calum’s offered arm, putting it on the table as she took the top off of the sharpie. “Free handing is okay?” she clarified.
“Go for it.” Calum said, watching as she too the first swipe of black ink over his arm.
“So you mentioned earlier you had an idea for your thigh?”
“Yeah, I was thinking of getting a few big chrysanthemums actually, but I haven’t found anyone who can draw them right.” Lily explained.
“Why don’t you just do it yourself.” Calum teased.
“Cuz it would hurt like a bitch.” Lily answered, “oh, you were joking.”
“A little.”
He watched her drawing the petals, “you know, not to rain on your parade or anything but I feel like I could probably draw a… whatever flower that is.”
“Chrysanthemum.”
“You know maybe if you wrote that down I’d be able to pronounce it.”
Lily grinned. She made it look so easy and Calum studied how she drew each delicate petal. Calum Hood didn’t do flowers, but there was something endearing about how delicate and deliberate each petal was.
After a few minutes she finished, “there. What do you think?”
It did look really good. And again, Calum Hood did not do floral. “yeah.”
He pulled out his art pad and began to try to copy her work and Lily watched, “more curve here and here.” she said, correcting his lines.
Calum grinned, “so the student becomes the teacher.”
Lily flushed, “well, I mean, it’s always been a dream to have you tattoo me, which sounds way awkward saying that out loud but you don’t do floral.”
“I’m doing floral now.” Calum pointed out.
“Still not curved enough.” Lily corrected another petal.
Calum groaned, pulling out another piece of paper to draw a new flower. As he drew, Lily only corrected it twice, and on the third drawing, not at all. Calum held up the paper smugly.
“It looks great.” Lily said.
“So you’ll let me tattoo it on you.”
“Uh…” Lily laughed awkwardly, “I mean, you drew one but I’m going for something a little bigger-”
No one had ever turned down a tattoo from Calum Hood, it was a challenge and Calum liked challenges, “how about this, by the end of the week if I can free hand a bunch of these flowers-”
“Chrysanthemums.”
“If I can freehand a bunch of these cruh-san-the-memes-”
“Nice try.”
Calum groaned loudly, “if I can draw them and you like them you’ll let me tat you.”
“Aren’t I supposed to be the one tatting you when this is all over?” Lily asked.
“Are you seriously going to turn down a tattoo from me?” Calum laughed.
Lily considered it, “fine, but I’m not going to say yes just because you’re you.”
“Fine.”
--------
In secret, Calum spent an embarrassingly copious amount of time looking at pictures of chrysanthemums online. He’d even trained on how to say ‘chrysanthemum.’ He’d drawn so many god damned flowers over the week that it almost annoyed him that he actually enjoyed drawing them.
On Friday morning, Calum showed up to work with with his top three ideas. He was anxious his entire first client, wanting time to show Lily his work and see if she liked them. As soon as the man had paid and left, Calum took out the art to show Lily.
“Okay, what do you think?” he asked.
He was never worried about what people thought of his work.
People always adored his designs. Hell, people flew in from all over the world to let him free hand an original design on their body to be permanently inked forever.
Lily scanned the flowers, “wow, these look super real, did you look them up?”
“No.” Calum said immediately.
Lily smiled and Calum knew that she knew he was lying.
She looked at one of the sketches, “this one is so pretty.”
It was one of the bigger ones but Calum supposed that's what she’d asked for, “so… you’ll let me tattoo you?”
Having Calum tattoo her had been a dream for years so of course Lily knew she was about to say yes. Especially since she had wanted something outside of his comfort zone and it was obvious that he’d put a lot of effort into making something she’d like. It was making Lily’s heart beat faster and she nodded, “you can tattoo me.”
Calum’s eyes lit up, “great, after work?”
“After work?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s kind of sudden isn’t it?”
“Well, I mean, if you want another time-”
“No, after work… works.” Lily said, giggling awkwardly, “I don’t have cash on me-”
Calum’s eyebrows furrowed, “I’m not charging you.”
“You have to charge me.”
“No I don’t.” Calum insisted.
“Cal, I know how much people pay for your tattoos.” Lily sighed.
“It’s on the house.”
Before Lily could argue further, Calum’s next client showed up.
The next six hours were busy, with Lily and Cal speaking barely two words to each other. Lily’s adrenaline was pumping. She always got excited before a tattoo and this was exciting. More exciting than she wanted to admit.
As the clock ticked down to closing, Lily got more and more fidgety.
It was just her and Cal left in the shop, not that she spent much time with the other artists since she stayed glued to Calum’s side, watching him work, all day every day.
After collecting payment from the last client, Cal turned off the open sign, walking back to Lily, “you still want the tat?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, you get ready and I’ll grab the shit.” Calum walked to his work space in the back corner of the shop.
Lily followed, taking a deep breath before she began to unbutton her pants.
“You still sure on the-” Calum turned and his voice trailed off, “placement?” his eyes went to where Lily was unzipping her jeans and pushing them down. Lily felt awkward but when did she not? Plus, Calum had tattooed many people in his life so this wouldn’t be much different.
Calum’s breath was caught in his throat as his eyes traced over the black lacy panties she was wearing.
“So I’m thinking here.” Lily said, motioning to her upper thigh, “I want it to curve in just a little inner.”
“Right.” Cal coughed, “let me draw it on and if you don’t like it we can move it-”
“Calum, I know the drill.”
“Right.” Calum grabbed his sharpie as Lily kicked off her shoes and pants, taking off her jacket and rolling up her shirt a little. Calum returned and got onto his knees, looking up at Lily one last time, “ready?”
“You’re just drawing it, this isn’t even the hard part.”
Calum nodded, “so under the underwear line or-”
Lily flushed, pulling up her panties a little, “just under the hip bone.”
The sharpie pressed against her skin and Lily tried to look anywhere but at the gorgeous tattooed man on his knees between her bare legs.
Calum was right handed and working on her left leg, so to steady her, he had to place his other hand on the inside of her leg, delicately moving the skin a little when necessary. His fingers on her bare flesh was making Lily dizzy.
Calum traced the lines across her thigh, trying to focus all his attention on working and not on how pretty her skin was. And how close he was to-
“So you must see women half naked all the time right?” Lily asked.
“Yeah.” Calum said.
“What’s the nudest you’ve ever done?”
“This one girl wanted something on her pubic bone which I told her was a bad idea but she really wanted it, we were in a back room for privacy and when I came in she was completely naked-”
“Then what happened?”
“Well, I gave her something to cover herself up and she was super awkward the whole time.”
“I can imagine.” Lily laughed.
She could feel his breath on her inner thigh and Lily’s skin involuntarily broke out in goosebumps, “you cold?” Calum asked.
“Yeah but it’s fine.” Lily lied.
Calum hummed and continued working until the drawing was done, “okay, go look in the mirror.” he said, standing up and following Lily to see if she liked it.
Her eyes scanned over it and Calum waited patiently, arms crossed over his chest.
“It’s beautiful.” Lily breathed.
“Chrysanthemums are beautiful.”
“How long did it take for you to figure out how to say chrysanthemums?”
“Too long.” Calum admitted.
“Okay, lets do it. You’ll get the basic lines done today and then shading after work on Monday or something?”
“Do you want to split it up into two parts?” Calum asked.
“Don’t you think this will take a while if you try to do it all today?”
“Yeah.”
“I figured you might have plans tonight-”
“Why?”
“Well, its a Friday night.” Lily pointed out.
“So?”
“So maybe you have a date? I don’t know-”
“Do you have a date?”
“No-”
“Great, so let’s do this all tonight.” Calum stated, “we can order take out half way through or some shit, or after, it's up to you.”
“Take out after sounds good, there’s this place down the street with amazing-”
“Shawarma, fuck, love that place.”
“Me too.” Lily grinned, “okay, I’ll sit down then.”
She got onto the chair and set herself up so Calum could access her inner thigh while Calum pulled on some gloves, sat on his stool, and picked up the tattoo gun.
Lily looked at the ceiling as the sound of buzzing began.
The first feeling of the needle piercing her skin made her sigh and Calum smirked, “you good?”
“I uh… kind of like the pain, that sounds wild, shit, I didn’t mean it in like a sexual way or anything-” Lily began to stammer.
“No, I like it too.” Calum said, cutting her off.
Lily wanted to distract herself from the flush that she knew was creeping over her skin, and It was going to take a while so she pulled out her phone, “can we listen to music?”
“Go for it.” Calum said, focusing on his lines. He didn’t talk during tats anyways so music always helped.
Some old rock music began to play from Lily’s phone and Calum smirked, “nirvana.”
“You like Nirvana?” Lily asked.
“All the old stuff is great.” Calum said.
“Nine inch nails is pretty good, Nirvana, Guns and roses-”
“Where have you been all my life.” Calum teased.
Lily smiled, a tingly feeling in her stomach almost distracting from the needle.
A particularly sensitive spot made Lily grab at the side of the chair and Calum noticed. His jaw clenched. Pain was part of tattooing and he never felt bad about it but there was something about Lily being in pain and him being the direct cause, even though it was his job, that was hurting him.
“Deep breaths sweetheart.” Calum said before he could help himself, the term of endearment slipping out before he could stop it.
Lily sighed, “can you distract me?”
“The music isn’t distracting enough?” he asked.
“Not really.” Lily winced, “shit, why did I think the inner thigh was a good idea? I knew it would hurt like a bitch-”
“It will look great.” Calum assured her.
“It will.” Lily agreed.
She could feel his breath again and she tried to focus on that but as she felt the butterflies in her stomach, she realized maybe that was not the best idea. Having him so close to her, just inches away from where she was positive he could just bury his mouth and send her over the edge in seconds-
“What the fuck?!”
Calum pulled the tattoo gun away, looking at Michael who had just entered the shop, “Michael! Jesus fuck man you can’t just be surprising people who are in the middle of giving tattoos!”
“Shit, sorry,” Michael apologize, “it just… it looked like you two were… well, Calum it looked like you were-”
“Michael. Don’t say it.” Calum warned.
They all knew what he was implying.
“I’m going to continue alright?” Calum asked, drawing Lily’s eyes to his. She nodded.
He started up the gun again and pressed it to her skin, again Lily winced and Michael walked over. “That looks sick already.” he stated.
“Hold her hand.” Calum instructed.
“What?”
“Hold her fucking hand.” Calum said again.
Michael reached out and took Lily’s hand which she immediately squeezed. “So Cal, flowers, since when did you start doing flowers?”
“It’s what she wanted.” Calum answered.
“I just didn’t know you were a fan of flowers.”
“Chrysanthemums are dope Mike.” Calum said.
“You’re wild.” Michael laughed.
Michael pulled up a chair and sat with the two of them for the next three hours, successfully distracting Lily while Calum worked quietly. It was nice to listen to Michael talk because Calum could feel himself straining against his pants and he needed a turn off, like Michael’s voice.
Calum was finishing up when Michael had to go, once again leaving Lily and Calum alone.
“So do you have a skirt or something?” Calum asked.
“No?”
“Oh.”
“Girls don’t just carry around skirts.”
“Right.”
“I mean, you’re going to be really sensitive and your jeans might hurt-”
“Fuck. How come I didn’t think of that? I’m such a shit tattooist.” Lily groaned.
Calum wiped her skin to get the remaining ink away, cleaning the area, “let me put the bandage on then I might have a shirt in the back you can wear as a dress because you’re small.”
Lily stayed quiet as Calum smoothed the see through bandage over her skin. He stood up and went to the back, returning a minute later with a shirt that he handed to Lily, “here.”
She looked at it, “Zeppelin, you have good taste.”
Lily stood up on wonky legs, grabbing the hem of her shirt as she lifted it over her head. Calum looked away but the brief glimpse of a matching black lace bra made his breath catch again.
“Okay, I’m decent.” Lily said in a quiet voice.
Calum looked at the way the shirt hung like a dress down to her mid thigh. She looked adorable slipping on her adidas. She could make any outfit work.
“Still hungry?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure I can’t force you to take money for this?” Lily sighed.
“No way. How do you feel?”
“It hurts a little but you were right about not having the added pressure of jeans.” Lily said, “so… let me grab my stuff then we can get food.”
Calum cleaned up the station while Lily put all her clothes into her bag, taking one look at the tattoo in the mirror and admiring his handy work. She couldn’t wait till she could take off the bandage and see it clearly but she knew it was beautiful.
Calum met her at the front of the shop and locked up. The night was warm, the first breath of summer having swept over the city that day, lingering in the air.
They walked in silence down the street to the shawarma place.
They both ordered the same thing, once again proving how much they had in common. When Calum pulled out his wallet, Lily thrust a twenty at the man at the till, “I’m paying for all of it.” she stated.
“Don’t take her money-” Calum warned the guy.
But Lily glared him down, “sorry man.” the vender said, taking the twenty.
Calum sighed and the two of them waited for their wraps to be made. When handed the warm food, Lily stated: “there’s a park close by and we could sit on a bench and eat or something.”
“Good idea.” Calum said.
They began to eat their wraps as they walked, staying mostly quiet but Lily was oddly okay with that. She usually got fidgety with silence and at first, that had applied to Calum, but sometime in the past little while, the awkwardness that usually came with lack of conversation had disappeared.
They sat on the park bench and ate, chatting a little. Easy conversation about apprenticeships. Calum was confident that Lily wouldn’t need as long as the others had which made Lily’s heart race. “You’re really talented.” he assured her, “wouldn’t surprise me if you’d be good to go in under a year actually.”
“I didn’t realize you could just choose how long the apprenticeship is.”
“Well, I mean, usually there are rules, but I think at the end of the day it’s based on my decision. And I could offer you a job at the parlour so that way, its sort of still like an apprenticeship.”
“You’d hire me? Just like that?” Lily asked.
“You’re really good Lily.” he stated, “I knew it the second I saw your application. And so did Michael.”
They chatted about how he got into tattooing.
They chatted until it began to get cold and Lily began to shiver. She pulled out her large denim jacket and seeing her in two things that were way too large was almost too much for Calum in some odd way.
He tried not to look at her but it was very difficult.
Especially her legs. God, he adored her legs already.
“So I should get going.” Lily said when it got to be around ten.
“Yeah me too.” Calum said as they both stood.
Again, there was an awkward moment of whether or not they should hug.
Calum’s self control disappeared as he wrapped his arms around the smaller artist, pulling her against his chest. She hugged back, cheek pressed against his front for a moment before they both pulled away, “get home safe.” he said, voice low and crackly as he cleared his throat.
“I will.”
They turned and went their separate ways with smiles on their faces.
----
On Monday, Lily walked into the shop with a short little leather skirt that, once again, had Calum’s pants getting insanely tight. She breezed in with a smile and a wave to Ashton and Michael who were gawking at her from the reception desk, walking straight to Calum. “So I took the bandage off!” she grinned.
“Let’s see.” Calum said, scooting forward on his stool with a smile. And then, Lily simply lifted up her skirt, completely flashing him a new, adorable, red and black lace thong that took Calum’s attention a moment too long before he had to force his eyes to the tattoo.
“How’s your aftercare?” he asked.
Lily rolled her eyes, “my aftercare is on point Hood.”
He chuckled, “stop flashing me.”
“Fuck, right.” Lily pulled down her skirt, red spreading over her delicate collar bones.
The first few hours were insanely difficult for Calum. It was like every spare moment, his brain would think about those god damned lacy panties.
Instead of taking a lunch break, Lily went up front with Ashton. Calum’s gaze was on her, watching them chat. He didn’t even notice Luke pull his chair over to be next to Calum as Calum waited for his next client.
“So you shouldn’t be looking because in a way, you’re her boss but I can look for you.” Luke stated.
Calum rolled his eyes but tore his gaze away, knowing Luke was right about some things and unfortunately this was one of them.
He had to be professional.
He had to be.
Another week passed and Calum managed to keep his eyes away from the gorgeous blonde and her little skirts. He was almost too good at keeping it professional and his friends noticed.
Luke, Ashton and Michael were at a bar after work when Michael brought it up, “so we need to do something about Lily and Cal.”
“What do you mean?” Luke asked.
“They need to fuck.” Michael stated, “like, I can’t focus with all the sexual tension.”
“Cal won’t act on it.” Ashton said, and they all knew he was right.
Michael groaned, “fuck, I know, we need to make him act on it.”
“How?” Luke laughed.
And that's how Michael's mission began.
His plans were never good.
He took Lily and Cal to a bar then excused himself to go to the bathroom ten minutes in.
He never came back.
Calum had sighed when it became obvious Michael had dipped out, coming up with the only thing he could think of to talk about, “so… netflix.”
Turned out they were both horror movie fans and they’d sat and chatted and agreed about everything for two hours before Calum finally suggested they head out, it was obvious that the yawning girl in front of him was tired from her long day at work.
Calum caught onto Michael’s plan pretty fast and Michael spent many hours coming up with new ways to get Lily and Cal together outside of work.
It was another month before Michael suggested that he needed a workout buddy.
Calum had cocked an eyebrow at him, “you want to work out?”
“Yeah.” Michael tried to sound excited about it but it lacked conviction, “hey, Lily, do you work out?”
“I go for a run every now and again.” she answered, focusing on her drawing.
“A run! That sounds…” for a moment he looked like he was going to try to be enthusiastic but then he broke, “I mean it sounds like torture but I need one I think.”
“Thats something I’d like to see.” Calum chuckled.
“We should all go for a run.”
“I’m in.” Lily said absentmindedly.
Calum’s gaze flickered to her then to Michael who was waiting expectantly. He knew it was another ploy but he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see Michael in workout gear. “Fine, I’ll come too.”
“Great! Sunday morning?”
----
Michael did not show up on Sunday morning. He sent a text saying he’d meet the pair half way through their run at the park and that they should go without him.
It was a beautiful morning. The day promised to be hot but the morning was cool, sun shining against the morning dew on the grass.
The two began to jog and stayed quiet as they ran.
It wasn’t a surprise when Michael didn’t show up at the halfway mark.
In fact, neither of them even noticed.
As the morning began to get warmer, they were both sweating and Calum finally suggested they stop. LIly collapsed onto a park bench pulling out her water bottle as Calum took off his shirt that was practically soaked.
He groaned at the feel of the air on his newly revealed skin and Lily nearly choked on her water at his gorgeous chest which was covered in tattoos, and perfectly muscular.
“Your tattoos-” she began.
Calum looked down at her, “you like them?”
“They’re beautiful, can… can I-” she began to ask awkwardly.
“Yeah, look as much as you want.” he stepped forward so he could be closer, giving her a better view as she began with the tattoos just under his collar bones.
He explained each one as she went down, watching her focus completely on the black marks that littered his skin.
By the time she got to his abdomen, Lily was surprised she wasn’t drooling. Completely bewitched by each tattoo and the story that came with it.
There was one particular tattoo, just above the waistband of his shorts, and it was so delicately intricate and beautiful, she couldn’t even help herself as she reached out and brushed her fingers against his skin.
His abs immediately flexed, Calum having not expected her prying digits, Lily pulled away immediately, “oh my god I’m so sorry-”
“It’s fine.” Calum assured her, knowing another anxiety ridden stammering rant was coming on, “I just wasn’t expecting that.”
She was already blushing like crazy and Calum was sure it wasn’t from being hot from the run, “hey, would you look at the time!” Lily said, pulling out her phone, “I have places to be.”
“Yeah me too.” Calum lied.
“Well! Nice run!” Lily stood abruptly. There was no awkward move for a hug, they both simply turned opposite ways and ran.
Lily’s heart was racing in her chest. She hadn’t meant to touch him, she just hadn’t been able to help herself. God. He was so fucking hot. She couldn’t even deal with it anymore.
She’d had recurring dreams for over a week of having Calum between her legs like when he was giving her the tattoo, but in her dreams he always had a very different reason for being there.
Likewise, Calum had been so god damned close to letting her explore him with her hands. Her fingers had felt so good. It was insane that her touch had brought electricity coursing through his body like nothing, even the sting of a tattoo gun, had ever done before.
As soon as Calum got home he ran a cold shower, letting the water run over his body but even the shock of the temperature couldn’t distract him. He was in deep already, and he knew it.
----
The others all watched as Lily and Calum interacted the next day.
“The sexual tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife.” Ashton pointed out.
“Do you think anything happened?” Luke asked, taking a bite out of his cucumber.
“I am one hundred percent confident my plan worked.” Michael stated.
“You wanna put money on it?” Luke grinned.
“Fuck yeah, twenty bucks says they fucked.” Michael scoffed.
“Deal.” Luke pushed off of the reception table and walked towards Cal and Lily who were going over the client list for the day. “Cal, I need to ask you something.” he said.
“Go for it.” Calum said, not even looking up.
“Privately.”
Calum sighed, standing and following Luke to the reception desk, “what do you want?”
“We want to know if you finally made a move yesterday.” Luke whispered.
“Fuck are you guys serious?!” Calum groaned, “I am not talking about this.”
He turned and walked back to Lily.
“You owe me twenty.” Luke stated.
“What? No I don’t!” Michael screamed.
“Nothing happened. He’s all wound up still. Nothing happened.”
“He’s got you there.” Ashton pointed out.
“Whose side are you even on you traitor?” Michael glared at Ashton while pulling out his wallet. He handed Luke a twenty.
It had to be, by far, the hardest day for Calum (in more ways than one.)
All he could think about was getting her fingers on his skin again.
He managed to get through most of the day but as the others cleared out until it was just him and Lily, once again, he was in a tough situation.
His last client listened to music with earphones the whole tattoo, leaving Calum and Lily to silence.
He was hyper aware of her as she watched him do the more difficult shading.
He let her wipe away the excess ink and put on the bandage, “you deal with this, I’ll be in the back, there’s a room that needs to be cleaned-”
“The private room? Michael cleaned it after he did that girls tit tattoo.”
“Like I said, it needs to be cleaned a little more.” Calum said.
She watched him go into the back and took the client to the front, taking his payment. The guy left and she locked the front door, turning off the open sign before going to find Calum in the back.
She found him in the private room, standing tall as he wiped down a table. She could only see his back but damn was it a pretty back.
Her heart was thundering in her chest.
She knew what she wanted.
And the logical part of Lily told her that he wanted it too, but the anxious little nugget side wondered ‘what if he doesn’t and you’re about to straight up try to get in your boss’s pants?’
It was a risk.
And Lily did not take risks.
But shit, she couldn’t help herself anymore.
Calum set down the cloth and turned to look at Lily, “you’re done for the day, you can go home.” he said, arms crossing over his broad chest, the tattoos covering his forearms looking absolutely delicious.
“Can I show you my tattoo? Its healed so nicely-”
Calum cocked an eyebrow at her, “go for it.”
He could see the anxiety written all over her face. And she hadn’t tried to show him the tat in a while which he was almost grateful for. Almost. He wondered where this was going to take them.
Lily hesitantly lifted up her skirt and Calum stepped closer to get a better look. Before he could help himself he was on his knees and Lily’s breath caught in her throat.
His fingers brushed over the skin, so lightly that if it wasn’t for the shocks running through her body, she wouldn’t have even been sure if he was making contact.
“Calum, I need to say something.” she said, shocked at her own voice.
He hummed, waiting for her to speak.
“This is going to be the most inappropriate thing I’ve ever said and I’ve said a lot of inappropriate things, fuck, I swear like a trucker half the time, and this is going to fuck me over so bad but I can’t just not say it anymore.” she ranted as Calum stood. At his full height, he towered over her and it distracted her momentarily, loving how he completely dwarfed her. She let out a shaky breath, eyes lingering on his lips momentarily, “fuck.” she cussed.
Calum smirked, “say what you have to say sweetheart.”
The pet name made her heart leap in her chest and she wet her lips subconsciously, “this is so unprofessional.” she groaned.
“Sounds like you have to get it off your chest. And you’re off the clock.” he reminded her.
“Fuck. I really like you.”
That was all he needed.
Calum cupped her face in his hands, pressing his lips to hers. She melted against him, her hands going to the front of his jeans to pull him flush against her. Calum bit down on her lip and Lily moaned loudly into his mouth. Calum was hard in an instant.
His grip went down to her waist as he pushed her back until she hit the tattooing chair, the impact of her bum against the chair made her groan and Calum’s hands moved farther down, grabbing at the fabric of her leather skirt that he dragged up to her hips, exposing the black panties that had been haunting his dreams since he’d first seen them.
His mouth was hot and needy against hers, teeth and tongues clashing in a fiery passion as her fingers went to his hair, grabbing at the thick, dark curls. Calum moaned into her mouth from the small twinge of pain, his grip tightening on her thighs as he lifted her and set her onto the chair.
It was flat, making it easy for him to set her anywhere he liked as he pulled his lips from hers and tore her panties down her legs, shoving them into his back pocket. “Calum.” Lily whimpered, voice needy. His breath wafted over her as he got on his knees on the ground, putting her legs over his shoulders.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as he studied the tattoo for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to the skin that he had marred forever. It was so hot, for both of them, but Lily was anxiously awaiting his mouth as if her life depended on it.
“Please.” she said in the neediest voice Calum had ever heard. He nearly groaned at the sound, turning his attention to where she needed him most.
Calum closed his eyes as he took his first testing lick, wanting to enjoy every moment, every sound, every motion. Calum loved eating girls out, he never got tired of the control, the power, that being between a woman's legs brought him.
Lily shuddered at the first contact of his tongue against her and all of Calum’s self control that he had been so desperately trying to hold onto went out the window. He put his mouth on her fully, hands gripping her thighs as he sucked her clit into his mouth. A loud moan was music to his ears as he focused on the small bundle of nerves, sucking as hard as he thought she could handle.
“Jesus fuck.” Lily moaned, tugging at his hair.
He loved it when she swore.
He loved being the cause of her swearing.
He flicked his tongue against her clit and she cried out louder, both of their grips tightening on each other.
“Fuck Cal I’m gonna-” but she didn’t get to finish her sentence. Calum sucked harder and Lily fell over the edge, moans and whimpers ringing through the small private room as he body convulsed and Calum helped her through it. She was still shuddering when he pulled away, licking his lips as he stood.
She looked so beautiful, skin flushed, just as he liked it.
He gingerly pushed the denim jacket from her shoulders and it slipped to the ground, then his fingers went to the hem of her shirt, pulling that off too. Lily’s eyes were still closed, still in a post orgasm haze as he slowly undressed her, taking his time as his fingers brushed over the tattoos on her arms.
Lily’s eyes fluttered open and Calum enjoyed the beautiful chocolate coloured eyes that looked up at him with lust. Her hands were shaky as she reached out and began to unbuckle his pants.
Calum pressed his lips to hers, reaching around to unclasp her bra. The second the fabric felt away, the slowness was gone, once more replaced by complete passion and lust as Lily pushed Calum’s pants down fully.
She grabbed his hard on and Calum moaned loudly into her mouth as she pumped him a few times, “condoms-” he groaned.
“Birth control.” she stated.
Calum moaned again, “holy fuck.”
He took off his shirt while she continued to work his cock with her hands but as soon as the fabric was gone, he grabbed her fingers, tearing them away and instead putting them on his abdomen, on the skin she’d touched the day before.
He pulled her closer, teasing her entrance with the head of his cock.
“Please.” she whimpered, one of her hands going up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his lips to hers.
Lily bit down into Calum’s lip and he smirked at the small spasm of pain coursing through his body. He plunged inside of her and Lily moaned, immediately releasing his lip from between her teeth as she gasped into his mouth.
His hands found her waist, anchoring them both as he began to thrust in and out. His hips were buckling of their own accord, Calum completely enraptured by the small, tattooed, blond sitting on his private tattooing chair.
He moved his lips to her neck, biting down against the skin as her fingers tightened in his hair, her lips near his ear as she whimpered loudly, biting down on his ear lobe.
He sucked at her neck, teeth grazing the skin teasingly.
One of her hands moved to his strong shoulders, nails digging against the skin so hard Calum was sure she would leave marks.
But, as they both knew, they both enjoyed pain.
He was getting too close to the edge and he knew it, pulling out of Lily, she whimpered in protest, only to be harshly dragged from the chair and turned around, hips slamming into the soft leather as his hand went to her back, pushing her front so she was flush against the fabric.
He entered her from behind and they both moaned, the new angle hitting a new spot inside of her that was driving them both insane. His hands on her waist easily moved her body to meet every thrust.
Calum was completely using her, and she was enjoying every moment.
A hand wrapped in her blonde hair, tugging so she was standing, back against his chest. His hand moved from her hair to wrap around her front, briefly grabbing her boob and teasing the nipple. Her back arched and she moaned loudly as his hand moved higher still, tattooed fingers wrapping around Lily’s throat.
Her heart was racing in her chest and with the added pressure on her neck, she was seeing stars. Whiney, high pitched whimpers were leaving her pretty lips and Calum was basking in the noise but fuck, he wanted to engulf them. He wanted to breath her.
But the chair wouldn’t do. It was hot, but it wouldn’t work.
This time when Calum pulled out, he dragged the two of them onto the ground, Lily landing on top. She straddled his waist, wasting no time before she sank down on top of him, her hands finding his tattoos chest to anchor herself as she began to move up and down on him.
His hands went to her waist and he looked up at her in wonder as she found a steady rhythm. Little moans left her mouth as she collapsed forward, lips pressing against Calum’s as one of his hands found her hair.
The hand on her hip tried tried to assist her, urging for her to move faster. It was amazing, but Calum was getting impatient again, wanting all the power. All the control.
He flipped them easily and Lily hissed at the cold of the ground on her back but the feeling was immediately forgotten as Calum picked up the fasted rhythm yet.
Her nails tore into his back and their mouths were close but their lips barely touched as they panted against each other. “Fuck.” Lily said, voice shaky, “I’m gonna cum.”
“Me too.” Calum moaned, pistoning into her like a wild man. They were both on the edge and one more thrust engulfed Lily, her body fluttering and convulsing around him which made Calum reach his high too.
He spasmed a little, giving a few more thrusts as their hands tore at each other, mouths hot and pressed together, tongues clashing.
He slowed down and buried his face in her neck, holding himself over her with his forearms.
Lily’s fingers traced Calum’s strong shoulders, “wow.” she breathed.
Calum chuckled, placing one last kiss to her neck before he pulled out and rolled onto the ground next to her.
They both stared at the ceiling, trying to catch their breaths.
Calum sat up and Lily got a good look at his back. She’d broken the skin in three places but it looked beautiful.
Calum groaned, pulling his jeans on. He stood up and buttoned them. Lily appreciated the beautiful man, clad in jeans, looking gorgeous.
He walked to the sink, grabbing some paper towels. He got on his knees between Lily’s legs and cleaned her up, making sure the tattoo was completely wiped. “Birth control.” he smirked, “fucking love it.”
Lily laughed, hiding her face with her hands.
He tossed out the paper towels and came to lie next to her again, pulling her to his side so he could wrap his arm around her.
“We are so fucked.” Lily groaned.
Calum laughed.
They were.
“So… shawarma?” Lily asked.
Calum laughed again, “that’s what I was thinking.”
“Really?” Lily rolled over, hand going to Calum’s chest as she looked up at him.
“We’re the same person. It’s kind of weird actually.”
“If we’re the same person, then what am I thinking right now?” Lily asked.
“You’re thinking that after the schwarma, you should come back to my place and we can trace each others tattoos, go a little slower, and I can make you cum more than just twice.”
Lily laughed, “We must really be connected.”
----
When Calum and Lily walked into the tattoo parlour the next morning, each with a black, iced coffee, it was obvious what had happened.
She was even wearing one of his shirts, paired with the same skirt she’d worn the day before.
There was a mark on her neck.
“It’s like they’re not even trying to hide it.” Michael mused.
“He’s so whipped.” Ashton giggled.
He was.
The guys waited until they could get Calum alone when Lily went on a lunch break to finally ask Calum what happened.
“So are you two finally dating or what?” Luke asked blatantly.
Calum turned to look at them and a flash of pain marred his face momentarily, “uh-”
“You okay?” Ashton asked with concern.
Calum’s eyes widened a little and Michael laughed, “did she tear up your back mate?!”
“She did!” Luke laughed, “she totally did.”
Calum blushed and everyone's eyes widened.
Calum Hood never blushed.
Ashton smirked, “So when’s the wedding?”
----
They spend almost every waking hour together that whole week.
Then the next.
Then the next.
The third week, cuddled in his bed, Duke tucked against Lily’s side, Calum finally asked the question: “want to be my girlfriend?”
He didn’t do love. But he’d never met a girl like Lily before. The past weeks had made him rethink everything he’d ever known to be true. About love, life, happiness.
Everything had changed.
Lily looked up at Calum, finger tracing one of the tattoos on his chest, “yeah.” she said, a smile spreading across her face.
Calum met her gaze, cupping her face to bring her lips to his.
He smiled against her lips, “Thank god for your fucking florals.”
-----
It was no shock that one month became two and two became three.
Attached at the hip like twins, always together, they were the perfect fit. It got to a point where it was almost like they knew what the other was thinking.
Lily was a year into her apprenticeship when Calum announced that it would be her last week. They’d gone out to celebrate, Calum and Lily had even disappeared to the bathroom to celebrate a little in private, much to the dismay of Ashton and Luke, and the glee of Michael.
Calum didn’t even bother to ask Lily what tattoo she had planned for him. He trusted her completely.
The day finally came and once the shop closed, everyone sat around with booze while they watched Lily and Calum. “Pick the place baby.” he smiled.
Lily took his right arm and chose the spot she’d drawn the first chrysanthemum on all those months ago. Calum didn’t look as she drew the pattern, not wanting to ruin the surprise.
He chatted easily, unflinching, with the guys as the buzz of the gun softly filled the room.
“How’s it looking Mike?” Calum asked.
Michael leaned over, looking at Lily’s marks, “looks sick.” Michael grinned.
A little while longer and Lily was cleaning the skin, “okay, you’re all done.” she stated.
Calum brought her lips to his for a kiss before looking down at the tattoo.
He had accepted it would be floral, in fact, he’d been excited about finally having floral.
And he wasn’t disappointed. In fact, his heart swelled in his chest.
Two beautiful Chrysanthemums and a Lily. A little, perfect bouquet, just for him.
“The chrysanthemums so we match-” she began to explain.
“And the Lily because you’re you.” Calum finished for her. Lily flushed and Calum grinned, “Can’t get rid of you now can I?” he teased, “I love it.”
And he did.
But not as much as he loved the woman who had marked his body forever.
Not as much as he loved his Lily.
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You Should See Me in a Crown by Leah Johnson
Five weeks to take myself from “Liz Lighty: Unapologetic Wallflower” to “Liz Lighty: Slightly More Apologetic Prom Queen Contender.
This is a book I dreamed about reading as a teenager, but it’s no less enjoyable or important now reading it in my twenties.
Disclaimer: I am a complete sucker when it comes to books set in Indiana. It’s where I was raised and it will always be home no matter how far away I move. That being said, growing up here wasn’t always easy and it’s authors like John Green and Jennifer Niven who aren’t afraid to explore that complexity even as they write a love letter to the midwest that produce works I can innately relate to. Leah Johnson with You Should See Me in a Crown is no exception.
Leah Johnson so beautifully captures what it’s like to grow up in small town Indiana from how Indiana rich is a different kind of rich and the sunsets that nobody believes are worth the hype until they see it for themselves to the fact that there’s nothing to do but drive and dream about getting out. Prom in my town might not have been as big of an event as Campbell County but it was still a focal point of the school year.
Liz Lighty is everything I could ever ask for in a heroine, she’s flawed and insecure but strong where it counts and watching her flourish in ways she didn’t expect and seeing her truly accept herself even in the face of people not accepting her was just what I needed.
If you’re looking for some wholesome midwestern Black Girl Joy in your next read look no further than You Sould See Me in a Crown because Leah Johnson is one to watch and I can’t wait to see what she does next.
Keep reading for just a few of my favorite quotes!
Spring in Indiana is an unpredictable thing. You’re just as likely to get caught in an aggressive snowstorm as you are to need to strip down to a tank top and booty shorts because it’s too hot to wear anything else. And then sometimes, on days like today, you’ll start the day with a cloudless sky, and by the time you hop off your bike outside your part-time job, you’re drenched to the bone from a surprise thunderstorm.
High school friend groups are something like an ensemble in that way. My friends are certified oddballs, the inkblots on an otherwise pure white page, and it’s why we work together so well. Because as long as they’re my people, as long as they’re the ones on my left and my right, sometimes I can forget that I don’t fit in anywhere else in this town.
I don’t believe in fairy tales and love at first sight and all that, but for just a second, I think this girl and those eyes and the way her freckles dot the entire expanse of her face are cute enough to make a believer out of me.
For her, there is always a way if her will is formidable enough. Though she be little, she is fierce. Or whatever it is they say about short girls with big personalities.
I already know what it would be like for me to be out and proud in a place like Campbell County, Indiana. Silence and shame aren’t the same thing—not by a longshot. But sometimes silence is simpler.
If there’s one thing I understand, it’s feeling stifled by the place we live and the people who live here. But I also understand the other part, the part of Campbell that is charming and beautiful, though I feel it less often.
“And if Princess Leia were a black girl from central Indiana with amazing taste in music and even better taste in shoes, I have to say, I think the franchise might actually then be worth all the sequels and prequels and reboots.”
She is smiling this heart-stopping smile, and I’m convinced that this is how I die. Kissing Amanda McCarthy on a sidewalk in front of a pizza place. I nod anyway, because honestly, if I’m gonna die, I want to die having said yes to her as many times as I can.
“Whatever you do, don’t let this place take it away from you. Campbell ruins good people.”
For all his posturing and prom kingliness, Jordan is still so much like that kid I used to know. He’s still soft in all the places that this school, this town has tried to make rough.
I look out at the way the sun is disappearing behind the farthest edge of the field and practically setting the whole thing fire, and I am reminded that there are some things in this town that will never cease to take my breath away.
Standing outside Jordan’s house reminds me that Indiana rich is a different kind of rich. It’s not like New York wealth with fancy penthouses on Park Avenue, or LA rich with garages full of luxury SUVs and sprawling ranch houses in Hollywood Hills. Indiana rich is a little quieter but no less impressive to me.
My face isn’t pressed to the glass, wondering what’s going on inside with all my classmates. I’m right here, right in the center of it all. I’m not just The Black Girl or The Girl with the Dead Mother or The Poor Girl. I’m Liz Lighty, and I’m all of that, but suddenly, that doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.
It’s not my fault no one thought to make a rule about profanity. For people so serious about a tradition, they sure don’t look too closely at their own fine print.
“Did you know you have the chance to be the first black queen in Campbell history?” I swallow. I did know that. Of course I know that. But I don’t like it being held against me. I don’t like the implication in her tone. You could make history if you just follow our rules. You could be a real credit to your people if you just straighten up and fly right. You could actually be worth something if you would shut up and take what we give you. And I know then what I’ve always known: Campbell is never going to make a space for me to fit. I’m going to have to demand it.
Loyalty between lifelong friends is complicated and runs deep. More deeply, even, than I think you realize, until just how different you and your friends have become is practically unavoidable.
This whole race is set up to mimic some twisted fairy tale. The queen is supposed to be the best among us: the smartest, the most beautiful, the worthiest. But the people who win are rarely the people who deserve it. Like with any monarchy, they’re just the closest to the top. You don’t earn queen; you inherit it.”
It’s the weight, the impact, of being different in a town that hasn’t learned how to hold us close and refuses to treat every part of us with as much care as we deserve.
It’s why I loved him so much all those years ago, because he’s sometimes vulnerable and always honest, and the warmth I feel for him in this moment is proof of every good thought I’ve ever had about him. Flaws and fears and mistakes all, he is every bit the friend I need him to be right now.
We’re clinging to each other like lifelines, because in so many ways, we are. And we always have been. We’re going to make mistakes. But we’re also going to find our way back to each other.
It isn’t often people get the things they deserve, but Jordan deserves this. If king and queen are really what Madame Simoné says—that they represent the best of what Campbell has to offer—then this was always his to win. He’s the best Campbell has to offer.
#you should see me in a crown#leah johnson#young adult#ya#midwest#indiana#prom#queer mc#black girl joy#coming of age#romance#books#quotes#book quotes#book blog#booklr
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@lesbiannya …. I did a thing. Wanted to draw all this but I lost the motivation so I wrote some drabble instead. hope you like it
Log Date
Log date: today is the fifth of xxxxxx year xxxxxx
It’s been about two days since I was flung into this realm by Aspheera. I’ve tried getting the mech up and running again to no avail. I’ve needed to use the staff scroll in order to move it and myself to a more secure location. I will continue to work on it so I can more easily navigate in this difficult terrain. I’ve yet to see any locals but maybe I can get help from somewhere.
Log date: xxxxxxxxx
It’s been about a week and I think I almost have everything up and running there could be some... complications though. I will make a separate video explaining everything. I hope all goes well.
Log date:????
It’s hard to tell time here. My internal clock seems to be have knocked out of commission from the constant cold. The job with the mech worked, but there are still several crucial parts that seem to have stayed in the other realm. The others should have been here by now and I’m... getting a little nervous. I’m not sure I can find a way out of this without help of some kind.
Log date:
Time feels faster here, or maybe slower??? There has been a blizzard the last few weeks or so. And it’s been hard to tell day from night, but that may just be boredom setting in. It’s been about 3 and a half weeks since I got here but I can no longer keep track of the dates. when this blizzard dies down I will attempt to leave this area and find human help, or at the very least more advanced intelligence. wouldn’t the ninja have figured out what happens by now? Perhaps they thought I had been destroyed like we had originally assumed. It appears I am on my own for now.
In other news there does appear less monstrous life here. Unfortunately the owl that wandered in here somehow got its claws on the staff. It appeared to have awakened some electrical element in the bird when it was touched (perhaps all avians have some low electrical element like the chicken?) It almost took off with it, if I hadn’t turned around for another minute it would have been gone. The staff is very powerful and definitely dangerous an animal hands, much less human. I think I will have to hold on to it from now on, but I will wrap it in cloth so I don’t get overcome by it’s power
Log date:
That was a bad idea. It’s been two days since the owl and I can now still feel the staff’s pulse of power, I think it may even have a mind of its own. It hates being wrapped up, trapped and muffled to the world. I certainly know how that feels. I think I will leave it unwrapped for now. Besides it is only dangerous in unreliable and nefarious hands.
The blizzard still rages on
Log date:
it’s been about two months since I got here. Why haven’t the others figured it out by now? Surely Aspheera was captured? Surely she would have gloated about what she had done to me, to hurt Wu as much as she could? I admit that anyone other then I wouldn’t last long in a place like this without some sort of village or homestead. They have to know what’s happened by now right? Why wouldn’t they have come for me?
What if they’re too afraid to come get me? But the ninja have dealt with other much more dangerous situations before! What if...
What if they just don’t care?
Log date:
it’s been two weeks since my last update.
The storm is still going but at least it keeps other animals from trying to get in here and taking my staff. My friends have still not come.
...
What if they were just using me this whole time
No that can’t be right. I love them. They’re my family...
That’s only because I’m the master of ice and a Nindroid. They probably keep me around just to help them. I’ve always been different. Even when I first met them they didn’t like me much
No that can’t be right. We spent time together other then missions.
Only because they don’t know what to do with me otherwise. What if it’s been like this the whole time? When I first ran off and found the bounty they called me weird and a freak.
but didn’t they apologize?
That was probably only because Wu told them to, and he probably only told them to because he felt bad, or maybe because he thought I might be the green ninja.
... sigh, I need some rest. I will continue an update tomorrow
Log date:
My friends are not coming. I have studied the data. They always just needed something from me or used me in some way. Even with Chen, they didn’t come for me, they came to make sure no one else could use me. Even Pixal hated me so much she secretly made a body just to get away from me. I think... even my own father... he only made me to aid his loneliness. Everyone just wants me for what I can give them....
I’m on my own
Log date:
I’ve started experimenting with my staff. It can create do amazing things! I accidentally shot at a squirrel trying to steal it and froze it solid, but it was still alive with a heartbeat. However, I believe time is also slowed inside the ice encasing it, I’ve essentially cryogenically frozen it. I unfroze it after and shooed it out but this is amazing.
Log date:
The storm has let up and I am going to attempt to get help from the locals. Even if my family never loved me I still would rather be in Ninjago then here. But... what if the people here are the same? What if they hate things just because they are different? My camouflage appears to be on the fritz now as well so I can’t even attempt to look human. But I still need help.... sigh. I think I will just risk it. No one here could possibly hurt me anyways.
Log date:
I’ve been wandering around for a while now, I’ve yet to see any other intelligent life. Either this land is more expansive then I thought or there is no one else here.
I wonder what the other s are doing now? I know I shouldn’t, I know it will only make me miss and resent them more, but it’s hard. I bet they are having the time of their lives now that they don’t have to worry about me. I wonder if I ever did something to them to make them hate me, or if they just don’t like that I’m not human.
Ha, look I’ve gone and made myself cry. I should try to think about other things but there’s not much to distract me here in this desolate world. I will record again when there are updates
Log date:
Today I found a man. It seems there are humans here, and they hate things that are different here as well. I ran into a man named Vex and he told me his horrible tale. Just because he couldn’t do what everyone else could he was disgraced, shamed and eventually kicked out of his home and hated by his former family. I was made to protect those who cannot protect themselves, even if it was just out of loneliness. So I am going to protect other outcasts like Vex an I. He says there is a government of some sort nearby that refused to help, so I will attempt to convince them
Log date:
things did not... go well. I’m normally level headed but the general and his men were being very unreasonable! They refused to help Vex and attempted to kick us out. I’m sick of being treated like an outsider. I’m sick of not having any real friends, loyal friends, who like me for who I am and not what I can do. My staff seemed to have sensed this. It made it so the generals men would understand me, LISTEN to me. They are now loyal friends. Friends I KNOW would never abandon me like my old ones did. Because they were already an army they did not put up much of a mental fight, but I sense I will not be able to make everyone here understand and appreciate outsiders. Still, this doesn’t feel good.... it doesn’t feel wrong right now but it doesn’t feel quite right either. I am worried the staff may be clouding my vision. I have made Vex my adviser, to tell me what to do when I worry I have been looking through a rose tinted glass. He knows this world; he will make good decisions when I can’t.
Log date:
it’s been about a year since I first came here
I have spoken to the former leader, now one of my highest ranking friends. He insists his position is general, but it feels strange to have an army of any kind. They are all now just friends who understand me and those they used to view as different and inferior.
All of my new friends also seem to have cryogenic age slowing, so even though I do not age, my new family will not either! I have heard hundreds of stories in Ninjago of those looking for a way to gain immortality, and now anyone who is my friend will be granted it! I’m so glad to see how happy everyone is because of this!
I have attempted to befriend other villages but they all run in fear from me and the others. Though I still didn’t expect anything else, it still hurts that they run away just because of what I’m not. Vex suggests that I stay in the palace so I don’t need to see them fear me while the others try to make them see reason. I think this is for the best. I have also found it harder to move much lately, my ice seems to generate around me much quicker, but I can still dispel it easily if action is needed.
Some villages are more easily befriended, but others with stronger willpower just want to see what they want to see. Vex suggest I freeze these people and let them think about it. They can still sense time pass but do not age, in this sense I am giving those misbehaving a Time Out. If the people here insist on behaving like children that is how they should be treated. And... I don’t know why but I like the idea of them paying for what they have done. They SHOULD suffer for the consequences of what they have done. In a few years I shall release them and they will decide join my family, my new army of friends
Log date: about a year and 3 months since I arrived
Vex has informed me that there is no way for me to get back home, no way to spread my new family back to Ninjago. To make my old family be loyal to me. There used to be a flower that could make a form of travelers’ tea, but it has all since died out, not to mention it wouldn’t be strong enough anyways. I think I am stuck here, but maybe that’s ok.
Log date: three years since I appeared here
It’s... been hard to think lately. My.... my mind feels clouded often, as if in between dreams. My staff tells me what is the next thing to do and Vex has taken over most of my other more boring jobs...... I feel like I’m just going though the motions.... but... it’s doesn’t feel like a bad thing.
In other news Vex has told me that more and more people are misbehaving. I have created a dragon that can create my cryogenic ice so I don’t need to leave to do it, I’ve been so exhausted lately. It’s nice to just sit and think about my new family....
I... I don’t think I will be updating for a few... years? I think I’m just... going to let go for a while...
Log date: a few..... decades???? Since I got here
The ninja are here
I CANNOT BELIVE THEM. Vex says they are here to take my new realm away from me. To free me from this world and my new family.
How DARE they come back after all this time, they are not my friends any longer, and I am not hurting anyone in their precious Ninjago. No one in this realm is using me and I am finally happy, why did they have to come NOW? According to Vex almost all villages have been changed, my world is almost perfect. I can stop soon and enjoy the fruits of my labor
But then they show their faces. They have holed up in one of the harder villages to overtake, due to their mountainous barrier advantage. I hate them I hate them I HATE THEM.
They abandoned me, and I will not hesitate if we meet face to face
#ninjago#zane#ice emporer zane#fanfiction#ficlet#my post#my art#my work#my writing#my fanfiction#ninjago au#ice emperor
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i sentence you to be exposed before your peers...
-- TEAR DOWN THE WALL!
so... once again, i’m floored. i mean, seriously floored.
i could probably say my usual nonsense, which is that i’m amazed, i’m flattered, and i’m even speechless at the amount of love, patience, and just downright kindness i have received since day one. tomorrow marks a month since this blog was opened, and i have to say that it has been one of the best months i have ever had in the tumblr rpc in all my years of rping.
that’s saying quite a lot!
i have to reiterate that i was incredibly worried about how jonathan was going to be received here. but the exact opposite has been true - if anything, you have all welcomed him with open arms, and been incredibly amazing rp partners in every sense of the word. i hope i return the attention you’ve given me thricefold. it’s true that i’m incredibly slow, keep piling on those ask memes and starters, but the real reason is because i just want to interact with you all in some capacity. i highly encourage those of you that have yet to do anything with me to send me something, and i can promise you i will get to it!
but what does any of that have to do with an appreciation post? well, it really is just me rambling about how incredibly honored i am that you all have stayed here through thick and thin despite my slowness. you are all the real mvps! in fact, i wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for all of you wanting to do things with me. really. you have no idea how much of an honor this is, especially considering that this is for an original character rather than a canon one. i just... wow! there i go again, failing to be eloquent!
the graphic above was thrown together tonight because i wanted to get this out this past weekend, but i figured the closer to my one month anniversary the better. that would have been october 1st, so sadly it’s a bit late. however, screw it! let’s throw two special occasions into one! i figured i would call it something different this time, as this is a bigger milestone than before.
so now that part one of this post is finished... let’s get to the good stuff. the follow forever list ( which i personally prefer calling it! ). read under the cut!
THE STARS WHO LIGHT THE PATH FORWARD:
the first up on this list are personal thank-yous to very special people who have made this experience so incredible. all of you have, but these are people i have known for several years, people i have grown close to quickly, or just people i have a lot of things to say to. i’ll probably even say these things to you in private in more expansive detail.
here are my appreciative ( albeit abridged ) comments to the following people:
@pistolbitten: tycho, you’re one of my bestest friends on this entire hellsite and even offline. the fact we haven’t met yet irl is fucking criminal - i hope that in the near future we can, though that might be kind of bad because i think the entire universe would just cease to exist if that happened. but we gotta try, right?? ANYWAY more importantly i want to emphasize that you are doing such a tremendous job with nack. i’m seriously impressed, and i want you to know that the work you’re putting into him is seriously amazing. keep it up because it’s clear to me you’re having a lot of fun. you really deserve it after everything that you’ve gone through in the past few years. you’re my little brother and it’s gonna stay that way! you know how i feel about you, but if you ever feel down, i will remind you again and again. you’re destined for great things, and you’re incredibly strong. but sometimes, it’s okay to feel a little weak. it’s human. you’re human.
@destructiveglitch: farida, i can’t emphasize how glad i am that we reconnected. i want you to know that i really admire the work you’ve put into making cadillac the amazing character that he is. you are seriously an inspiration to this community not only with the positivity you exude, but with the humor you bring to the table and the way you accept people with open arms. i strive to be more like you, and i am so proud to see how far you’ve come since we met a few years ago on this hellsite. you are seriously amazing, and so is cadillac - i cannot wait to see you chase your dreams even further; you’re an inspiration!
@daiteitako + all your other blogs: don i’m really glad we reconnected after i vanished kind of suddenly - again, i apologize for that. however, i really cannot wait to do stuff properly with you, but the most important thing i really want to say here is that a.) you’re incredibly kind, b.) you’re HILARIOUS and c.) your graphics are beautiful. also, i should mention that the dedication you’ve put into making all your muses your own is just stellar. i love it and i cannot wait to see more. i always appreciate our ooc chats and i’m so glad that i get to see your antics on the dash whenever your url pops up!
@dadadaemons: che... che. what can i say. when i came back to the rpc after a couple years of being gone, one of the things i really missed was having someone i could really connect with. honestly? it’s rare that it happens. but with you, it felt pretty instantaneous. i feel really glad to have met you - i feel that we can just shoot the shit whenever, and our muses have quite the relationship. i adore it, and i really feel comfortable talking with you - i hope that its the same for you. basically what i really want to say is that i feel incredibly lucky to have come across your blog and gotten the chance to talk to you, and eventually talk more ooc, i just... honestly? your writing is incredible, a mixture between tragic and comic, and i really adore it. it stands out. it’s you, and it’s unique. this is a little rambly, but i am really amazed at what you’ve been doing with your muses ( especially cherry ) and i cannot wait to see your work in a visual novel-type game someday. with your art skills? it’s bound to happen. you’ve got me to cheer you on!
@czhng: ángel... sends you the cat meme for the 10292373747th time ( you know the one ). just kidding! i feel like in the past week or two, we’ve grown pretty close. our ship has really blossomed into something fascinating and it’s really funny because the lovely people here on tumblr have absolutely no idea what they’re in store for. but better yet, i’m really glad i got a chance to meet you - i couldn’t have imagined how much fun we would be having together! i love sending memes back and forth, and also just talking about our characters, or hearing what you were up to or how you’re doing. while these may be simple things, they mean the absolute world to me. in short, i’m so grateful that i got to meet you, and i hope we can keep being even better friends into the future!
@cardinalrot: burns! you were one of the first people i think i formally interacted with on this blog, and while we briefly knew each other on my ramona flowers blog, i recently started talking to you more in depth ooc and honestly? you’ve made my time here so much better - you’re funny, you’re getting me into a band i barely knew about until i found your blog, and i just adore what’s going on in our group chat. i can’t wait to get to know you better, and better yet, see what ridiculous things our muses get up to as things keep rolling. you’re a lot of fun to be around and listen to, and i love hearing your ideas. honestly? you’re just a bright light on the hell that is tumblr!
@citialiin: basil! what a shock to find out we actually knew each other back in 2015! that was definitely a surprise. but above all, what can i say other than i’m truly amazed by a lot of things that have happened - that ziggy and jo have the relationship they do, that there’s some real stakes involved, and above all things, that your art is truly wonderful! plus, your writing is so wonderful to read - i feel that you really capture whomever it is that you’re writing, and what i love most about you really is that you’re incredibly honest about who you are, and your art manages to reflect that incredibly well. i wish you the best in your future endeavors, and i cannot wait to roleplay with you more! also, of course, chat ooc with you and get to know you better. plus? you, burns and i are truly a cursed trio - it’s great frankly.
@themoralpuppington: the fact that i keep finding you on every blog i make after all these years ( since 2015, can you believe it?? ) is a testament to how much i adore your writing, and just you in general, hayley. i need you on my dash to feel complete, as bizarre as that might sound. your passion for your muses, most of whom are pretty niche, is really a sight to behold. i admire how much time and attention you put into crafting them to be the best they can be, and your enthusiasm and positivity is also a sight to behold. i still remember the thread we had on my old him blog between him and dot, and that was probably one of the best threads i ever had with someone to this day - can you believe that? the point i’m trying to make here is that you basically make tumblr a better experience for me, and i’m sure many others - you are an amazing person through and through!
@luckblues: kat what could i possibly say about you that i haven’t already? you were there from the beginning, and on all your blogs we had some form of interaction - usually of the comedic kind. our conversations ooc have also been immensely hilarious to read, and the thing i really enjoy is hearing your thoughts on how your muses would react - not to mention whatever posts you make on your blogs, ooc or ic. i’m very glad i got to meet you, and also interact with you because your writing is just so much fun! you always put so much work into your muses and it is seriously an inspiration. keep up the amazing work, and i hope we can get even closer over time!
@toooldforgermany: hannah! i’m really surprised we found each other again - i remember just recently how we were trying to remember which of your many blogs we interacted on, and when we finally did, things slid into place. it’s true that i don’t really talk as much as i should, but what i do have to say about you is definitely truthful: you’ve really dug into what makes arthur such an interesting character, and i mean it when i say you made me more interested than i already was in we happy few. one of these days, i’d like to watch you play it - the clips you’ve shown me have been really something special - and i can see why you’ve put so much time and effort into getting him as close to the source material as possible. that in it of itself is admirable. what you’re doing is really special, and i can’t wait to see more, both with what you do next, and what our muses do next!
THE STARS I NOTICE IN THE DISTANCE, WHO TOO HAVE LIT THE WAY:
these are people whom i have known for several years, and want to continue to know better. we may have fallen out of touch a few times, but the important thing is that we are reconnected now. all of you listed here are special to me in different ways, and i hope that i can express this properly as i continue to do things on this blog.
@guiltycharge + your other blogs / @heedingcalls / @puckish-rogue
THE GASLAMPS MADE FROM STARDUST:
now these are individuals with whom i have spoken to a great deal ooc, have had a lot of laughs with, or just in general have made me feel at home on this blog. chances are, we’ve interacted too. you have all made this blog special in a way that nowhere else on this site has made me feel before. i am having the time of my life thanks to you all.
@anammxlech / @dcfctivc + your other blogs / @loverslanetm + @aphroditetms / @psychexch / @tricksterfinale / @soughtcryptid + @horrormaestro / @hismanners / @shotbled / @richatire / @demonshe / @rubinsteind + your other blogs / @crimescupid / @crimsxnidol / @sociialpath / @pennepenned / @lovelypillar / @arizonadirtbag / @jihoney / @macabreatlas + @deathwitness / @innosen / @barbiemov / @charismastatic / @voieur + your other blogs / @flutterid / @maljefe / @spacymuses / @ryusci / @bledthrice / @bellecosebabe / @bestvictim / @bentme / @spectrisbound / @starlyht / @griefkept / @vortship / @necroticlimb + your other blogs / @gothicbite + your other blogs / @thegothfiles / @wretchedgoth / @hisnote / @dethrocuted / @justverdict + your other blogs / @stagekiller / @scarwritten / @plasticlioness / @ecentrici / @prdghtr / @drstmbrg + your other blogs / @espercr / @juvenileterror / @putrifyre / @9livin / @saturnincs / @batzie / @deceitfame / @princeternal / @autoptes / @empaethies / @vodkaraised / @censer / @maestrodarte / @ensular / @elleomet / @smallmoss + @heylincorporated / @eoleolhan / @pseudogaiety / @byerszombie / @toendwar / @rivalrus / @giftblessd / @girlrued / @godmeld / @russianllterature / @consultingsister / @desxderium / @aemiliiu / @infiltier / @yoursmary / @svperposition / @friendsfought / @reapinghook / @blossomingbeelzebug / @levyosn / @slashhers / @promdevil / @fvvckcff / @fuckingvictus / @killfame / @dnbrough / @nailfanged / @hellionrot / @hyacinthsgirl / @panamastayed / @shelcved / @spllcat / @battleridge + many many more !
THE HOMES ALONG THE STREET WITH THEIR LIGHTS ON:
the following individuals are those i watch from a distance, have yet to interact with, or admire their writing in some fashion. all of you are a joy to have on the dash ( and be mutuals with ), and i hope that we can one day do something together.
@animalcontrol / @atlantisking / @herbounty / @hxgure / @scaeld / @snowinabottle / @soleiltm / @strxnzo / @cultkiid / @clownin / @clownwork / @corpsemade / @demonwield / @orhabit / @demonicarchitect / @etrefurieuse / @unstabletm / @bulletmailed / @wordseen / @deadlcrd / @dojiryu / @garrotejima / @gothamcartel / @devilsitter / @imparist / @voicehost / @voidvoyeur / @evilwiithin / @thatcertainnight / @azircphcle / @biblicael / @ribmcde / @warwronged / @actorkills / @fourrarri / @fosterskeeper / @vicemirrored / @vmprwtch / @peacefulapostle / @honorborn / @wargod / @wonwars / @waywardsignns / @inorationis / @deathscorned / @ncisepcllution / @lycanlead / @hauntediris / @tommyhtm + your other blogs / @phantomally + your other blogs / @abisnorida / @frstpearson / @nytchld / @agentbeyond / @scouscr / @vplameni / @monikalone / @sheslayyys / @sheflirts / @skllington / @skeptus / @ultraviolentis / @greyheroes / @outlawiism / @doefied / @conseille / @seeksghosts + your other blogs / @forsesti / @blacklistcr / @betterhealing / @bowitched / @bonewitchery / @theednygma / @conseille / @soliswrote / @rebelstwo / @divisus / @diversifiedpersonas / @hisband / @grcndel / @dnawield / @soypeor / @talewoven / @yblchth / @halloweeenies / @coldslayers / @iilvecchio / @discandi / @beelzbvb / @snipare / @brenheir / @johtei / @pastfound / @necrogal / @necrophagic / @neonglowed / @halvtblod / @maskedform / @enkaioni / @deddomun / @knifewields / @kerflooey / @likespooky / @happymediium / @happykcd / @vladdad / @endheir / @curdledmiilk / @firstdraper / @thcfreak / @revengah / @lcstrega / @strlcss / @strigct / @hanahakioni / @mortuiflores / @bozojesus / @madeherchoices / @madburnishdetroit / @apostleled / @wiltpetals / @scmperviren / @rainbowsongs / @powertook / @mortiiicia / @mortuam / @macebre / @pestilencepriest / @huntsaliens / @huntpyre / @dptysns / @theppgs / @thicktville / @citylives / @cadaever / @jcinthedance / @jesteriina / @jehstr / @jenasil / @occultspecialists / @exorsista / @aislinqs / @gwaed / @obsessicn / @confcssed / @enravaged / @morbosi / @alwayscutoff / @personsuited / @edgecutting / @heaimed / @clownlike / @warjournal / @selfbest / @shekore / @senoyer / @nuiweion / @slayscryptids / @footagecaught / @toshapeshift / @eyeswaps / @eyedented / @crysbeckett / @4-6-4-1-9 / @gothsrot / @witchbonds / @vctivus / @realityrot / @realcomedian / @wulventyr / @montanaerobics / @sexwins / @coucheravec / @snapsbeast / @ordinryman / @deathtaught / @edhelgund / @herheal / @heavensdecay / @gumihc / @pestired / @byersmom / @skateshe / @wantlonger / @veiledpeak / @wasben / @apostaet / @girlquaked / @betterthanmorty / @ascotwearing / @witcheking / @yourbloodbelongstome / @omatics / @rcdteeth / @nomither / @prodigil / @prouddov / @obscenesupreme / @roguepiece / @isempath / @babaayaaga / @burglarie / @enruined / @visionsent / @spellfear / @spelltricks / @deadgirldani / @dctorsleep / @dcputyrook / @dcllparted / @huntsighted / @prceteritus / @wildardor / @vigilink / @cupidvvitch / @liftedrelics / @mediocremorals / @heamatic / @heartmiles / @omegles / @motivelacking / @mistoffelous / @bberkman / @blondieat / @starszakrew / @fraudcoded / @thequarrelsome / @deathatyourdoorstep / @egopath / @hariolor / @tolerhate / @useknives / @starleft / @jeanjacketed / @tiimedtm / @wanderlustmuses / @musewritten / @houseofwindows / @magicalshe / @ozwolff / @jigento / @cthlicdevil / @hailiing / @31daughter / @epitideios / @metareview / @fiercemarked / @iceized / @phantomwhisp / @abomichor / @luemiere / @blckaiser / @inqustve / @toheavyn / @atnoctum / @vicemirrored / @thirtnth / @pyoniumyankee / @onlycertainty / @putryd + many many others whom i’m currently following!
i wish i could have included everyone who’s currently following me, but just know that if we’re mutuals, you’re included. these are as many as i could remember, but i want everyone to know that you are all appreciated by me, especially considering how you are all really the ones to thank for making my time here so wonderful! you are all amazing, truly amazing. in the coming weeks, i will do my best to interact with mutuals new and old.
keep your chins held high. each portrayal is special, each roleplayer brings something new to the table, and if you ever need a friend, i am always here for you.
once again, THANK YOU ALL for your support!
SINCERELY,
ALEX
#SOMETHING ABOUT YOU MAKES ME WANT TO KEEP YOU IN MY LIFE. - BIAS LIST.#( i made this promo graphic like........ last week )#( or actually earlier this week and then i HAD TO REVISE IT WHAT THE FUCK )#( I... WOW )#( falls back on my bed as i go back to writing starters and ask responses AHHH )#( im gonna announce the q & a as well... perhaps ill do that sunday )#( ANYWAYS HAVE THIS )#( i tried to get as many as you as possible so... forgive me... )
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(REVIEW) All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone, by Joe Dunthorne
Is it fiction, is it poetry, is it truth — what are the rules here? Kirsty Dunlop tackles the difficult, yet illustrious art of the poet bio in this review of Joe Dunthorne’s All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone (Rough Trade Editions, 2018).
Whenever I read a poetry anthology - I hope I’m not the only one - I go to the bios at the back before I read the poems…it’s also a really strange thing when you publish a poem…you brag about yourself in a text that is supposed to sound distant and academic but is actually you carefully calculating how you’ll present yourself.
> It’s the middle of a night in 2019 and I’m listening to a podcast recording from Rough Trade Editions’ first birthday party at the London Review Bookshop, and this is Dunthorne’s intro to the reading from his pamphlet All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything To Everyone (2018). As I lie there in that strange limbo space of my own insomnia, Dunthorne’s side-note to his work feels comfortingly intimate because it rings so true (the kind of thing you might admit to a friend over a drink after a poetry reading rather than in the performative space of the reading itself). Like Joe, and yes surely many others, I am also fascinated by bios - particularly because I find them so awkward to write/it makes me cringe writing my own/this is definitely the kind of thing you overthink late at night. Bios also function as this alternative narrative on the margins of the central creative work and they do tell a story: take any bio out of context and it can be read as a piece of flash fiction. When we are asked to write bios, there is this unspoken expectation that we follow certain rules in our use of language, tone and content. Side note: how weird would it be if we actually spoke about ourselves in this pompous third person perspective irl?! Bios themselves are limbo spaces (another kind of side note!) where there is much left unsaid and often the unsaid and the little that is said reveals a lot. Of course, some bios are also very, very long. Dunthorne’s pamphlet plays with this limbo space as a site of narrative and poetic potential: prior to All The Poems, I had never read a short story actually written through the framework of a list of poet bios. The result is an incredibly funny, honest and playful piece of meta poetic prose that teases out all the subtle aspects of the poet bio-sphere and ever since that first listen, I can’t stop myself re-reading.
> This work is an exciting example of how formal constraints in writing can actually create an exhilarating sense of narrative liberation. I see this really playful, fluid Oulipo quality to the writing, where the process of using the bio as constraint is what makes the rollercoaster reading experience so satisfying as well as revealing a theatrical stage for language to have its fun, where the reality of our own calculated self performance can be teased out bio by bio. The re-reading opens up a new level of comedy each time often at the level of wordplay. I’ll maybe reveal some more of that in a wee bit.
> It’s a winding road that Dunthorne takes us on in his narrative journey where the micro and the macro continually fall inside each other. So perhaps this review will also be quite winding. Here is another entry into the text: we begin reading about the protagonist Adam Lorral from the opening sentence, who we realise fairly quickly is struggling to put together a ground-breaking landmark poetry anthology. His bio crops up repeatedly in varying forms:
‘Adam Lorral, born 1985 is a playwright, translator and the editor-publisher of this anthology.’
‘Adam Lorral is a playwright, translator and the man who, morning after morning, stood barefoot on his front doorstep […]’
‘Adam Lorral is a playwright, translator and someone for whom the date Monday, October 14th, 2017 has enormous meaning. Firstly Adam’s son started smiling.’
The driving circularity of this repetition pushes the narrative onwards, whilst the language is never bogged down: it hopscotches along and we can’t help but join in the game. Amidst a growing list of other characters/poets- that Adam may or may not include in this collection he seems to be pouring/ draining his energy into, with just a little help from his wife’s family money- tension begins to build.
> Although Adam is overtly the protagonist in the story, to my mind it is, in fact, Adam’s four-week-old son who is the real heroic figure. Of course this baby doesn’t have a bio of his own but he does continually creep into Adam’s (he’s another side note!). He comes off as the only genuine character: there is no performance, no judgement, he just is. Adam is continually amazed by his son’s mental and physical development which is far more impressive than the growth of this questionable anthology. The baby is this god-like figure, continually present during Adam’s struggles, with the seemingly small moments of its development taking on monumental significance. Adam might try to immerse himself fully in this creative work but the reality of his family surroundings will constantly interrupt. This self-deprecating, reflective tone led me to think about how Dunthorne expansively explores the idea of the contemporary poet and artist identity through metanarrative. In Ben Lerner’s The Hatred of Poetry (Fitzcarraldo Editions, 2016), he writes ‘There is embarrassment for the poet – couldn’t you get a real job and put your childish ways behind you?’ In a recent online interview with the poet Will Harris[1], when asked about his own development as a writer, he spoke about how the career trajectory of a poet is a confusing phenomenon and I’ve heard many other poets speak of this too: there are perhaps milestones to pass but they are not rigid or obvious and, of course, they are set apart from the milestones of more ‘adult’, professional pursuits. I think Dunthorne’s short story accurately captures this confusion around artistic, personal and intellectual growth and the navigation of the poetry community, through these minute, telling observations and the rejection of a simplistic narrative linearity. The story doesn’t make any hard or fast judgements: like the character of the baby, the observations just are. Sometimes, it feels like this project could be one of the most important aspects of Adam’s life (it might even make or break it) and we are there with him and at other moments it seems quite irrelevant to the bigger picture, particularly as the bios get more ridiculous. Here, I just have to highlight one of the bios which perfectly evokes this heightened sense of a poet’s importance:
Peter Daniels’ seventh collection The Animatronic Tyrannosaurus of Guadalajara, is forthcoming with Welt Press. He will not let anyone forget that he edited Unpersoned, a prize-winning book of creative transcriptions of immigration interviews obtained by the Freedom of Information Act, even though it was published nearly two decades ago. His poetry has been overlooked for all previous generational anthologies and it is only thanks to the fine-tuned sensibilities of this book’s editor that has he finally become one of the chosen. You would expect him to be grateful.
> Okay…so I said above that there weren’t hard or fast judgements; maybe I should retract that slightly. The text definitely doesn’t feel like a cruel critique of poets generally (its comedy is too clever for that) but, yes, there are a fair few judgements from Adam creeping into those bios. I am so impressed with the way in which Dunthorne is able to expertly navigate Adam’s perspective through all these fragments to create this growing humour, as the character can’t help inserting his own opinions into other poets’ bios. Of course, we are also able to make our own judgements about Adam and his endearing naivety: shout out here to my fave character in the story, Joy Goold (‘exhilaratingly Scottish’) who has submitted the poem, Fake Lake, to the anthology. Hopefully if you’re Scottish, you can appreciate the comedy of this title. Adam Googles her and cannot find any trace of her, which feels perfect…almost too good to be true.
> Dunthorne plays with cliché overtly throughout the text. You could say all the poets in this story are exaggerated clichés but that certainly doesn’t make them boring: it just adds to the knowing intimacy that, yes, feels slightly gossipy (which I can’t help but enjoy). For example, there is the poet who has:
[…] won every major UK poetry prize and long ago dispensed with modesty […] Though he does not need the money he teaches on the Iowa Writers’ Workshop. His latest collection is Internal Flight (Faber/FSG). He divides his time between London and New York because they are both lovely.
I am leaving out a fair bit of this bio because I don’t want to take away some of the joy of simply reading this text in its entirety but it is one of many tongue-in-cheek observations that feels very accurate and over-the-top at the same time (I feel like everyone in the poetry community knows this person). It is also even more knowing when you consider that Dunthorne actually has published a collection with Faber, O Positive (2019), a totally immersive read that also doesn’t shy away from poking fun at its speaker throughout. I always like seeing the ideas that repeatedly crop up in a writer’s work and explorations of calculation and cliché are at the forefront of this collection. I keep thinking of this line from the poem ‘Workshop Dream’:
We stepped onto the beach. The water
made the sound: cliché, cliché, cliché.
Interestingly, there is this hypnotising dream-like quality to O Positive - with shape shifting figures, balloonists, owls-in-law – in contrast to the hyper realism I experienced in the Rough Trade pamphlet. However, like All the Poems, in O Positive, we’re always one step inside the writing, one step outside, watching the poem/short story being written. It’s this continual sensation of being very close to failure and embarrassment/cringe. (I can also draw parallels here between Dunthorne’s exploration of this theme and the poet Colin Herd who speaks so brilliantly about the relation between poetry and embarrassment- see our SPAM interview.) Failure is just inevitable in this narrative set up. It makes the turning point of the narrative- when it arrives- all the funnier:
As Adam typed, he hummed the chorus to the Avril Lavigne song–why d’you have to go and make things so complicated?–and smiled to himself because he was keeping things simple. Avril Lavigne. Adam Lorral. Their names were a bit similar. He was looking for a sign and here one was.
> If it isn’t clear already, this is a story that I could continually quote from but to truly appreciate the work, you should read it in its beautiful slim pamphlet format created by Rough Trade Editions. For me, the presentation of this work is as important as the form: this story would have a different effect and tone if it was nestled inside a short story collection. I think a lot of the most exciting creative writing right now is being published by the innovative small indie presses springing up around the UK. Recently I listened to a great podcast by Influx Press, featuring the writer Isabel Waidner: they spoke about both the value of small presses taking risks with writers and the importance of recognising prose as an experimental field, rightly recognising that experimental work often seems to begin with, or be connected to, the poetry community. Waidner’s observation felt like something I had been waiting to hear…and a change that I had noticed in writing being published in the last few years in the UK. I could mention so many examples alongside the work of Rough Trade Books: Waidners’s We are Made of Diamond Stuff (2019), published by Manchester-based Dostoyevsky Wannabe, Eley William’s brilliant Attrib. and Other Stories (Influx Press, 2017), the many exciting hybrid works put out by Prototype Publishing, to name just a few. There is also a growing interest in multimedia work, for example Visual Editions, who publish texts designed to be read on your phone through their series Editions at Play (Joe Dunthorne did a brilliant digital-born collaborative text with Sam Riviere in 2016, The Truth About Cats & Dogs, I would highly recommend!). But this concept of combining the short story with a pamphlet format, created by Rough Trade Books as part of their Rough Trade Editions’ twelve pamphlet series, feels particularly exciting to me and is a reminder of why I love the expansive possibilities of shorter prose pieces. Through its physical format, we are reminded that this is a prose work you can read like a series of poems without losing the narrative tension that is so central to fiction. The expansiveness of the reading possibilities of Dunthorne’s short story also reminds me of Lydia Davis’s short-short stories. Here’s one I love taken from The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis (Penguin Books, 2009):
They take turns using a word they like
“It’s extraordinary,” says one woman.
“It is extraordinary,” says the other.
You could read this as a sound bite, an extract from an article, a writing exercise or a short story, the possibilities go on; there is a space created for the reader and consequently it encourages the unravelling of re-reading (which feels like a very poetic mode to me). Like Davis, Dunthorne’s work also highlights how seemingly simple language can be very powerful and take on many subtle faces and tones. I think short forms are so difficult to get right but when you encounter all the elements of language, tone, pacing, style, space, tension brought together effectively (or calculatingly as Dunthorne might say), it can create this immersive, highly intimate back-and-forth play with the reader.
> All The Poems Contained Within Will Mean Everything to Everyone. The title tells us there is a collection of poems here that are hidden: the central work has disappeared leaving behind the shadowy remains of the editor’s frustration and the marginalia of the bios. We feel the presence of the poems despite not actually reading them. The pamphlet’s blurb states that this: ‘is the story of the epiphanies that come with extreme tiredness; that maybe, just maybe the greatest poetry book of all is one that contains no poems.’ The narrative, as well as making fun of itself, also recognises that poetry exists beyond the containment of the poems themselves: it can be found in the readings, the performances, the politics, the drafts, the difficulties, the funding, the collaboration, the collectivity, the bios.
> A friend of mine recently asked me: Where are all the prose parties?…And what might a prose party look like? We were chatting about how a poetry party sounds much cooler (that’s maybe why there’s more of them). I think prose is often aligned with more conventional literary forms, maybe closed off in a way that poetry is seen to be able to liberate, but I think Dunthorne breaks down these preconceptions and binaries around form and modes of reading in All The Poems. I want to be at whatever prose party he’s throwing.
[1] University of Glasgow’s Creative Conversations, Sophie Collins interviewing Will Harris, Monday 4th May 2020 (via Zoom)
~
Text: Kirsty Dunlop
Published: 10/7/20
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It’s 𝔉𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔶 𝔗𝔦𝔪𝔢, y’all.
Well hey there, stranger! My name's Samvs and I'm kind of in the market for a new writing partner or two. Let me save you some time and give you the important deets up front:
⭐ 21+
⭐ M/M
⭐ Multi-Para / Novella
⭐ Modern or Premodern Fantasy/Horror
⭐ Discord and/or Email
⭐️ EST (if that matters? I guess?)
Still with me? Rad~
Like everyone else posting on here, I'm a huge nerd, y'all. I'm absolutely the type to make playlists for every character and universe, to make big ass Pintrest boards for muses and locations and pets (its an excuse to look at dog pics, tho, lets be real,) and I absolutely love sharing stuff like that with my writing partners. That being said, if that's not your style, that's totally fine! I'm absolutely cool with most styles of collaboration!
That's really what roleplaying is about for me - collaboration. I love writing SO MUCH, but I'm not the type of person to write out a whole novel on my own, so I absolutely adore ooc chatter about the plot, the characters, the fucking memes they would send each other, whatever it may be!
I swear I won't chew your ear off all the time, but you're cordially invited to fantasize with me ✨
As for content, I’m pretty open. Yeah, there’s those few taboo subjects that most folk agree not to touch, but violence, sexuality and dark themes are the salt and pepper of literature. Gotta have a little darkness in your paintings according to Bob Ross, and his word is law. I don’t make the rules.
I don’t like fading to black unless the scene feels repetitive, and while I don’t have any specific kinks to insert, I can’t imagine most of my characters (or anyone else, tbh,) being solely into vanilla missionary.
This is the part where I admit I'm probably not going to be a good match for you if you crave daily replies. I also crave daily replies, but I literally cannot manage my life, my chores, my job, my stupid needy cat and everything else WITH as much writing as I'd like to do a day. I'd guess my average rate of response is a day to three, but there are going to certainly be times when I can hit you back much faster.
In short, I might need a little patience, but I'm more than happy to extend the same to you.
Speaking of, I'm also really not the type to be too butthurt if you bail. It's nice to get a message, but I mean, that's really awkward and I FULLY UNDERSTAND being overwhelmed and stepping away from writing for a bit. If you wanna come back, but the fire sort of faded for the story, hey, that's fine! I have about a billion plots to launch your way and as long as we get along, I'll be here when you're ready to work on something new!
On to those plots, though, because that's the good shit, right? Like, that's what we HERE FOR. Below you'll find a list of concepts I already have rolled up fairly tight into almost-plots; they're flexible and destructible and if combinable, so if anything really speaks to you in pieces, we can work with that! I’m a huge fan of larger casts, too, so if you’re here for an expanding universe, then I am too! In most of these, I don't have a preference for role, but in those that do I've bolded the role that I would prefer <b>you</b> to play.
<I> As a heads up, I've been listening to a lot of true crime podcasts lately so you might spot a bit of a theme in some of them lmao</i>
MODERN:
⭐ Journalist x <b>Investigator/Retired Officer </b>:
<i>[A little bit like modern D&D.] A charismatic Tiefling crime journalist meets an experienced investigator through work and talks this delightfully rough subject into a series of in-depth interviews. Though they have very little in common aside from an expansive mental catalog of crime scene photography, they find themselves talking long after the recording stops each time they meet. When the journalist finds himself suddenly embroiled in real danger, and without the benefit of being able to take it to the police, he turns to his newfound friend. What seemed like simple violence is only the tip of the iceberg, though, and it's up to the two of them to do what they can to divert the Titanic.</I>
⭐ Professional Witch x Client:
<I> Magic mingles with the mundane, and like with every other aspect of western life, cash is king. As long as you have money, witching agencies will be happy to help you find a mystic solution for your mostly monotonous worries, whether you need to break a curse... or cast one.</I>
⭐️ Werewolf x Dog Lover:
<I> There’s been a big, strange dog laying in the alleyway beside your house all night, and it’s dumping rain. You can’t just leave the poor pooch out there, right? Maybe he needs a home! </I>
⭐️ Drug Dealer x <b>Cop</b>:
<I> There’s a new party drug on the scene, and it’s making habitual users go feral. Literally. The morphing power of the euphoric powder known as Glimmer isn’t intended, however, and when it’s Fae producer is confronted by an officer on the case of a disappeared partygoer, they realize that there’s more going on here than just a little too much Hoovering. Fae politics and human laws have trapped them in a tight labyrinth that they’ll need each other’s help to navigate and survive.</I>
⭐️ Bonus Concepts:
<I> Fae realms, the intersection of fantasy and politics, odd couples, modern adventuring parties with diverse casts, nonhuman subculture </I>
HISTORICAL/MEDIEVAL:
⭐️ Fae x Adventurer
<I> It’s not every day one stumbles upon a mystic being and survives, and it’s even less common to come out on top. When a wandering adventurer finds a Fae trapped in an iron hunter’s snare in the wilderness, he’s wary to wisdom about setting it free. After cajoling and bargaining and begging, the Fae finally strikes a deal with the mortal; freedom in exchange for a wish. The adventurer can’t make a decision, though, and soon realizes that the Fae can’t leave him until he does, bound by the law of his own magic. Desperate to keep the powerful and beautiful creature with him, he stalls as long as he can. Maybe his wish is just not to be lonesome any longer. </I>
⭐️ Witch x <b>Inquisitor</b>
<I>Most villages have themselves a witch or a cunnung woman, a sage whose strangeness is tolerated in exchange for advice, cures and the promise of peace and prosperity through a little magic when the gods aren’t looking. This village happens to have a cunning fellow, who, perhaps unwisely, takes in a burgled and beaten stranger found on the roadside. It’s not until the unconscious man is already in his home that the witch realized he’s carried back a debilitated inquisitor, a stranger who may bring word of such country practices back to his leaders. Afraid that the burning arm of the church might turn towards his home, the witch has to either hide, show the inquisitor that his people are harmless, or... well, the dead don’t talk, after all, even if that does go against the his vow to defend life. What’s a witch to do? </I>
⭐️ Witch x <b>Fae/Demon</b>
<I> Same inquisition, different witch. Captured by the church and set to burn at the stake, there’s little hope for this one. Resigned to die, the witch is more than surprised when an otherworldly creature offers him a chance at freedom. It comes at a cost: he will be bound to the creature, in body and soul. Depending on his chaotic sponsor’s temperament, that could mean a life of learning deeper magics... or a life of torment and enslavement. A bad life is better than being on fire, though, right?</I>
⭐️ Thief x Warlock
<I> What’s shady, nasty, and might dirk you for a copper piece? Well, it’s both of them, actually. Two adventurers squabble over the prize stored in the city auction house, having both decided to steal it on the same night in unfortunate coincidence. One desires it’s power, the other, it’s weight in gold. Neither realize that they’ve both stumbled into an ancient trap until they split the burden of the curse the artifact truly bears. The curse binds them, and they have no choice but to work together to lift it before it claims their lives. Perhaps fate brought them together... or perhaps it was the wicked call of ancient spirits, begging for release. </I>
⭐️ Bonus Concepts:
<I> Dark magic, pacts and promises, curses, metropolitan adventures and sewer spelunking, social inequality based on fantasy aspects.</I>
It’s a lot of shit, I know. I wrote it. On a <I>phone</I>.
If any of that sounds like your jam and you’re interested in writing with me, then hit me up!
Contact me at <b>[email protected]</b> and we’ll talk it out!
✨
#independent roleplay#oc rp#smut rp#indie rp#short term#long term#multiple paragraph#email#para#messenger#submission
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It's anon-whose-dad-looks-like-McGucket again! He hasn't eaten any raccoons... yet... at least that I know of... XD Having fallen into this fandom hole rather aggressively with a lot of time on my hands, I have found the episode commentaries, graphic novel, and shorts. Are there any other behind the scenes or supplementary materials you recommend?
Hey there again! And bless, bless you for falling down the fandom hole.
As far as supplementary materials are concerned, I’m going to list everything I would recommend. I’ll even list things you’ve mentioned above, in case other people reading this post would be interested learning about GF extended materials too! I’ll be listing GF content in order roughly from “most essential” to “not so essential.” Note: this isn’t a comprehensive list of tie-ins. Also note: this list talks about spoilers from the show itself.
Journal #3. If you’ve already found out about the graphic novel and gotten your hands on that, I imagine you know about Journal #3 too - but since you didn’t mention it above, or if you were going to skip it over, I’m bringing it up now! Journal #3 is a *MUST*. I consider this book as essential to the Gravity Falls experience as the show itself. (Probably because the 1980s boys are my soul, life, and feels.) Journal #3 isn’t written to be a dump of monster lore, though there’s paranormal experiences in this book, of course. Journal #3 is a well-done narrative focusing on Ford’s hubris character arc and providing it amazing resolution. It also complexly dives into the relationship between Ford and Fiddleford, and to say that that narrative has ruined me and kept me awake at night would be an understatement. It makes the scenes and events of S2 more meaningful, and just… aughghgh. There’s so much to unpack there and I keep waiting for an excuse to yak about it.It’s also got several moments I wish could have been in the show proper (though I respect the need to cut for time and focus on the Essential Essentials, and think they did a great job prioritizing). If you’ve finished the commentaries (don’t know how far you are), you may remember Alex Hirsch saying they tried to get Dipper’s real name reveal into the show sev’ral timez, but ultimately cut it and left it for Journal #3. That scene definitely reads as “should have been in the show,” and it’s a great moment. Plus, Ford’s final remarks about “trust no one”? Ohhhhhh it’s so good, and makes the resolution to the show’s events all the better.
Journal #3 Blacklight Edition. Unless you can travel back in time to preorder, or have several thousand USD to spend today (no, I’m not joking, go onto eBay and cry), you’re not going to get your paws on the special blacklight edition of Journal #3. But there are people who have photographed important notes! Such as: [1] [2] [3]
Lost Legends. A graphic novel with several short adventures. They’re all side adventures, but there’s some development on Dipcifica, and Mabel confronting her selfishness, that are nice additions and expansions to people’s characterizations. Wonderfully done, nicely arted, and feels like reading four new short episodes of the show.
The shorts, etc. I know you said you’ve gotten to the shorts, but there are so many shorts and promotional ads that I hope you’re going through the wiki pages and not just DVD menus to unearth everything. I don’t feel like pulling up my DVD to check, but if I remember right, some things like Creepy Letters from Lil’ Gideon didn’t make it to hard copy release?So anyway. I know some of these are easy to find and you’ve probably gone through them, but for the sake of thoroughness:
The Unaired Pilot
Creature in the Closet
Dipper’s Guide to the Unexplained
Mabel’s Guide to Life
Fixin’ It with Soos
TV Shorts 1 and TV Shorts 2
Mabel’s Scrapbook
Mystery Shack: Shop at Home with Mr. Mystery and its Outtakes
Old Man McGucket’s Conspiracy Corner
Creepy Letters from Lil’ Gideon
Gravity Paws
’Pocalypse Preppin’
The deleted scenes. The special edition DVD/Blu-ray provides a ton of S2 footage of the writer’s room, Alex narrating the storyboards, and through that showing us scenes that were cut or altered. There’s AMAZING stuff there, oh my goodness.It’s complicated finding all released deleted scenes materials, though, and honestly, I’m still trying to fish through the interwebs for more. You’ll find some released storyboards online for S1 and S2 that didn’t make animation. There’s a second long animation of Ford and Stan adjusting their glasses at the same time that made trailers but not “A Tale of Two Stans.” Or you’ll find things on Alex’s twitter page, like the now-notorious Dipper-snaps-Dippy-Fresh’s-neck-on-screen moment. And things like Bill’s initial introduction scene have been animated by fans. :)
Shmeb-you-unlocked website. I have fondness for this page because I love learning minor details about characters. This is a hidden website url you can uncover going through Lost Legends. Got some fun stuff on Anti-Mabel, Tate McGucket, and Pacifica, for instance.
The Episode Commentaries. Seriously, these are the most enjoyable commentaries I think I’ve watched (outside of the LOTR cast commentaries, anyway). They’ve got insight into everything, from talking about character psychology, to storytelling techniques, to storyboard artists’ contributions, to how fans’ responses literally changed how the creative team wrote the show.
The Special Features for the Special Edition DVD / Blu-ray release. All the special features on the DVDs are cool and enjoyable! Between the Pines, etc.
The Hidden Special Features. The Special Edition DVD / Blu-ray release comes with lots of hidden special features! Grunkle Stan’s hidden commentary for Land Before Swine is treasure. Like, Stan starts rambling about his childhood and embarrassing stories about Ford and stuff… it’s amazing. There’s also a Bill special feature that I love.
Cipher Hunt! Most of it’s just fun, but it’s wild to consider that Alex staged an international scavenger hunt by choice. I don’t like road trips, but I would be very tempted to travel to see that Bill Cipher statue. Because I have… fandom issues. Haha.
Dipper and Mabel and the Curse of the Time Pirates’ Treasure! Though I’ve entertained myself with this, I don’t recommend this as highly as the other stuff on here. But if you want to keep living Gravity Falls, this is one of the books out there with original non-show content. There’s even a few moments in this book that were taken from the unaired pilot or deleted scenes. It’s a choose-your-own adventure, has nice art, and stuff. While it is written by Rowe, I don’t consider this as necessary of an addition to Gravity Falls fans because the choose-your-own adventure doesn’t (to me) capture the deep heart of the show. It’s more of a light, silly, random what-have-you. It does have a hidden web link to a page with the Axolotl, though, so that’s sort of important?
The Games. Most games are simple online flash games with no informative or lore-adding content to them. You won’t get anything new out of them, so take or leave them. But ya know, they still pass time in non-objectionable ways. If you’re really craving ANYTHING GF, why the fuck not. That’s how I ended up playing them. Some games have enjoyable versions of the main theme… the Weirdmageddon: Take Back the Falls game did not have to go so rocking hard on the music, and yet it did. (I may have recorded the audio to the level select and stuff and added it to my iTunes library.)I know you’ve been watching me play Legend of the Gnome Gemulets on my twitch. The other games that I think are the most entertaining are Rumble’s Revenge and Pinesquest (mostly Pinesquest, but it’s a “sequel” to Rumble’s Revenge).
And if you haven’t gone clue hunting and decrypting yourself, and don’t want to extend the effort to do so, the cryptograms page on the wiki is a must!
Alex’s old twitter posts have some interesting things too from time to time?
I hope I remembered the main things. And I hope this helps!
#Anonymous#GF#Gravity Falls#long post#Journal 3#ask#ask me#Lost Legends#Gravity Falls Lost Legends#Gravity Falls: Lost Legends#awesome anonymous friend#analysis#my analysis#blabbing Haddock#non-dragons
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