#the last thread of sanity i currently have left thanks to this show

[currentlyonstandbi]

#the last thread of sanity i currently have left thanks to this show #the sandman #sandman #neil gaiman #morpheus #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #despair of the endless #death of the endless #delirium of the endless #destruction of the endless #rose walker #joanna constantine #hob gadling #the corinthian #lucienne #john burgess #roderick burgess #dc sandman

[bratkook]

queen of broken hearts. jjk (m) part two.

Block my posts and my stories, I’m sorry I can be annoying, I go ghost without warning.

part one. part three.

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: smut, heavy angst word count: 6k warnings: jungkook is still in lurv and oc is still a toxic bitch, mentions of infidelity, oral (m receiving), explicit photos being taken after said blowjob, jungkook cries a little but reverse uno cards oc ha author’s note: this was definitely not supposed to get a second part but for some reason i just couldn’t stop writing it so here it is. i might make a few more drabbles bc i like writing this toxic ass relationship but who knows lmk what u think byeeee

A frown is etched onto Jungkook’s face as he eyes his phone, his thumb constantly dragging the screen down until the loading circle appears and shows him the same screen thats been haunting him all day. 

No posts yet. 

That same line has him morbidly smiling to himself, how could you have no posts yet when he had just liked a selfie of your last night? 

Your profile picture in the top left corner mocks him, a mirror photo you took in a room he was all too familiar with. A room he hadn’t been inside of in over two weeks, which was a long time considering you usually called him over every other day. 

And now he was apparently blocked.

Jungkook racks his brain for anything he could’ve done, any words he might have let slip out in the throes of passion the last time he had seen you, but he comes up blank. He had done a good job so far keeping his emotions locked up and tucked away, never letting anything more slip out since he first met you years ago. 

Sure when he’s in the moment he absolutely wants to spill his heart out, serve it on a silver platter for you and hope its to your liking, but once the heat of it’s all gone and his mind settles he realizes that he missed his chance. His window of opportunity was long gone, the relationship you had now was too twisted, tangled up like roots of a tree that were running rampant, jutting up between the cracks of Jungkook’s sanity. 

Back when you first met, being the older sister of the boy he was tutoring, he had no idea that this was what would become of it. You took a liking to him instantly like a lioness latching onto her prey, something new and exciting for you to play with before you took a bite out of him. 

He was attractive that much was obvious, his hair was shorter then, giving him a slightly boyish charm that didn’t match his physique of broad shoulders and slim waist, his thick thighs stretching out his jeans in such a delicious way that made your mouth water. 

He noticed instantly when you’d linger around the kitchen while he was busy teaching your brother about the pythagorean theorem, mocking him in your low cut tops and tiny lounging shorts, offering him a popsicle as you suckled on one right in front of him. A giant flashing sign hanging over your head that showed him your intentions, showed him just what you were after when it came to him, and he walked right into it. 

Jungkook wasn’t inexperienced, having far too many notches on his bed post to explain why he was so god damn intimidated by you, so enamored by a girl who was clearly as cold as the ice pop you were making a show of sucking. 

You were filthy and shameless, turning the charm off the second your parents walked in or your brother turned around when he noticed Jungkook was distracted. The second anyone else became aware you’d tug your shirt up and your shorts down, giving your father a smile so sweet it would rot Jungkook’s teeth if he didn’t know the act behind it all. 

Jungkook still doesn’t know if he’s thankful for the chain of events that lead to you two sleeping together for the first time, he doesn’t know if he’d take it all back to save himself the torment his heart was currently going through. 

Would he have changed his course of action? Chosen to leave immediately after tutoring your brother instead of running up to the bathroom before leaving? 

You weren’t even on his mind then, you had been taunting him earlier but after fifteen minutes you retreated into your room, leaving him to focus entirely on being the tutor your parents were paying him good money to be. 

So when he pushes the bathroom door open and sees you standing absolutely naked with your wet hair dripping down your body and not an ounce of embarrassment written on your face, he doesn’t even realize he’s shut the door behind him until he hears the soft click of the lock. 

You had been loosely planning this all day,  hoping he’d end up in your room, but when you heard him trekking up the stairs and towards the bathroom you yanked off your towel and unlocked the door in record time, a tiny oops leaving your mouth when you see his wide eyes. 

Jungkook groans into his palms now as he recalls it, how he had taken you on top of your bathroom counter, knocking over the toothbrush holder and soap onto the floor in a loud clatter, the way you had refused to kiss him during it even then, choosing to suck hickeys onto his neck to muffle your cries of pleasure as he stretched you open. 

He still remembers the guilt he felt when he exited the bathroom and said goodbye to your brother as if he hadn’t just fucked you raw inside your bathroom when you two had barely spoken a word to each other. 

Jungkook should’ve spoken up then, right at the beginning of this all, but instead he let his dick control everything, allowing this to continue. 

You had no complaints, getting dicked down by a man as beautiful as Jungkook with no strings attached was god sent, choosing to keep him around even as he stopped tutoring your brother, even after you moved out of your parents’ house and into a place of your own. 

Jungkook felt the first spark of hope in his chest at you keeping him around, the possibility that maybe this was more than just sex, more than a quick fix. But then he started noticing the texts to your phone that you’d get while he was balls deep inside of you, different boys with different hearts lined up at the end of it. Thats when he began trying to convince himself that he was just confused about his feelings, that all of this was just lust. 

He was wrong. Obviously. 

If all he felt was lust he wouldn’t be so upset over being blocked from your instagram. It wasn’t even as if you two interacted on the app, never dming each other, you’d occasionally like the thirst trap gym photos he’d post just to get your attention whereas he’d like every single post of yours. 

His finger hovers over your contact name now, opening up your thread of messages and seeing the last one being from him two weeks ago. A simple “i’m outside” text after you had invited him over. 

His digits swirl on top of the screen, desperate to shoot you a text, wanting to come across as casual in asking why you blocked him but how could he ask that without exposing that he frequently checked your page.

“No.” He grumbles under his breath, carding his fingers through his long hair and choosing to text his friends instead. An invitation to meet at a diner near by for some greasy food and good conversation, something Jungkook desperately needed right now. 

Taehyung and Jimin don’t know about you, none of his friends do so when they push through the entrance of Mel’s and he spots the reason for his distraught emotions he can’t even explain to his friends why they need to sit at the furthest booth from you. 

You don’t spot him, you were too busy staring at the boy in front of you with heart eyes he wishes could be aimed at him. A straw is between your teeth as you slurp on your milkshake, covering your mouth to laugh loudly at something the purple haired boy said. 

It only irritates him further, his fingers gripping the edges of the menu so hard they pale in color. He knew this was the boy that had text you last time, the purple hearts matching the color of his hair perfectly. Was this why you had blocked him?

“You alright?” Taehyung speaks up, noticing the turmoil brewing on his friend’s face, the way his brows were pinched together, the indent on his forehead deepening every time your laugh filled the diner. 

“Yeah.” Jungkook breathes, hoping the simple lie sounds more believable out in the open than in his head.  He sets the menu down with care, trying to shake the feeling inside of him before it spread throughout him, morphing into something ugly and green. You didn’t owe him anything, he tells himself, you could do whatever you wanted. 

Jimin eyes him carefully, catches on to the way he continues to glance at the corner of the room every now and then. His curiosity gets the best of him so he turns to look over his shoulder and spots you, and you must sense the attention because your eyes move from the purple haired boy over to Jungkook’s booth. Jimin instantly turns around at being caught but its too late, he had been spotted and in turn so had Jungkook. 

You continue to slurp on your shake, allowing Namjoon to feed you some fries from his plate while you stare at Jungkook, calling him mentally and hoping he’d look over so you could give him a smile and wave as if you hadn’t ghosted him with no warning. 

He can feel your piercing gaze, how you refuse to look away until he stares back but he wont give you that, he wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of seeing the way his face crumbles at you being with another guy after throwing him to the curb. Instead he chooses to continue staring at his straw wrapper like it was the most interesting thing in the world. 

His friends can sense his discomfort, not commenting on it and allowing him to guide the conversation until he’s relaxing in his booth, stuffing his face with food until the Jungkook they know reveals himself once more, all smiles and laughs instead of the moping version of himself he was earlier. 

That same Jungkook lingers for a while after leaving the diner, a new set of determination in his mind to move on. You had gone ahead and blocked him, did the first part for him and if that wasn’t a sign for him to pack up his feelings and take a hike then he doesn’t know what was. 

He finds himself glad he hadn’t asked you for coffee two weeks ago, his nerves getting the best of him being the saving grace for what would’ve been further embarrassment. If you had said yes out of pity only to block him before even going out he probably would’ve dug himself a grave and face planted right into it. 

For the first time in a very long time he finds himself not thinking of you, resuming his earlier activities of dating the girls who pursued him. He hadn’t realized how much of you consumed him until he was with someone else, kissing a girl who was kissing him because she wanted to, not because she was trying to muffle a confession she knew was coming. 

By the fourth week Jungkook is proud of himself, applauding his strength for not succumbing to you, caving and texting you for an explanation. He wasn’t weak. 

He wasn’t. 

Until his phone dings with a notification. 

His hand freezes on its way to his mouth, cheeto dust coating his finger from snacking while he binge watched random shows on Netflix. Jungkook doesn’t know whats waiting for him as he licks his fingers before grabbing his phone, the cheeto dust going down the wrong pipe as he saw your name flashing on his phone in the form of an instagram notification. 

He pounds on his chest with his fist, uncapping his water and gulping it down to get rid of the scratchy feeling now lingering in his throat. 

You had just followed him. 

You followed him again after blocking him weeks ago. 

Jungkook just stares at the screen until it fades to black, his own reflection looking back at him until he lights it up once more to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. His finger swipes the screen to unlock it, checking the notification and seeing that you had in fact unblocked him and refollowed him, your grid of photos filling up the screen in a way they weren’t before. 

He was at a loss of what to do, just staring at your profile, the blue follow button taunting him, begging to be pressed, pleading for him to once again get sucked under your spell. 

You must be watching your notifications, waiting to see any new activity on your page because the second Jungkook follows you back you’re shooting him a text faster than he can blink, not being able to take back what he did before his phone is buzzing with a message. 

Jungkook is faced with a realization at this, he was in fact very weak. 

His brain works on its own accord, opening up your thread of messages and seeing the new one sitting nice and pretty in the bottom left corner. 

y/n 10:48pm : hey kookie, you busy?

He eyes the message for a few minutes, not knowing what to respond with. Was he busy? Technically if you considered a netflix binge to be important. But that stupid voice in the back of his head, the one that sent him to your beck and call speaks up, loud and clear, yelling at him to text back and say he always had time for you. 

jungkook 10:53pm : oh hey, no whats up!

jungkook 10:53pm : *?

The three dots of you typing pop up instantly only giving him seconds to prepare before your message swoops in. 

y/n 10:53pm : wanna come over? i’ll make it worth your while

Suggestive emojis finish off the message and he wants to slap himself when his dick stirs to life at the thought of what you’d do to make it worth it after the hell you’ve put him through recently. 

It’s just lust. That’s all this is, thats the only reason he send you a text saying he was on his way so fast theres a typo in it, getting to your apartment faster than he ever has. 

When you swing the door open you shock him when you wrap your arms around him and pull him in for a kiss, its messy, mostly tongue and teeth as you tug at the hair along the nape of his neck in desperation. 

It takes Jungkook a minute to react to it, you were kissing him, something you’d never allowed him to do during sex. He wonders what this meant, a small bite to his lip being what snaps him out of it and forces him into action. 

His large hands wrap around your waist, tugging you closer to him before he hauls you up, getting you to hook your legs on his hips as he blindly guides you towards your bedroom, a route he knows very well. 

“You got here fast.” You breathe out as you pull away, laughing when he chases after your lips, getting a taste of the way they feel during the heat of the moment he wanted more of it, wanted to swallow down your moans in ways he’s never been able to before. 

“You told me you’d make it worth my while.” He plays it off, latches his lips onto your neck as he throws your bedroom door open, walking the both of you towards your bed and letting you flop down onto it. 

“Did you miss me.” You tease, an evil glint in your eye as you kneel on the bed, your hands resting on his shoulders while you stare at him like the innocent angel you aren’t. 

“You blocked me.” He huffs, allowing you to slide his shirt off even though he was still upset about that, tossing it behind you without a care. You move onto your own shirt, an oversized grey shirt that belongs to Namjoon but you’d never tell Jungkook that, either way his attention lands on your exposed tits, the shirt and who it belongs to not even crossing his mind now that he had an eyeful of your pert chest. 

“No I didn’t.” You lie so effortlessly, having the motions down to a science. The tilt of your head, the squinting of your eyes that painted an image of you not knowing what he was talking about. The slight lift in your tone in what he mistakes as genuine confusion is what starts the swirls of doubt in his brain. You knew though, you knew very well that you had indeed blocked him. 

“Yeah you did.” He pushes, trying to lean in to kiss you again but you seemed to be over that, the initial neediness you felt leaving you and he feels the sting he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jungkook pushes it away and chooses to let his mouth kiss your jaw and begin sucking on your neck once more. 

“Hm, no I didn’t Kookie.” Your voice sounds so sure, so confident that it has him second guessing himself. Had you really blocked him or had he just gotten it mixed up? 

His lips pause on your skin from his inner debate and you know you need to move this along before he questions you further, pulls out a screenshot of him clearly being blocked with no chance of deniability. 

“Let me make this worth your while like I said, that sound good?” You ask, smiling when he nods against your skin, the topic of whether or not you blocked him leaving his mind, destined to come back again once he’s at home laying in bed and having a crisis. 

Jungkook’s mind short circuits when you reach for his pants, your hands palming the growing bulge contained in them, begging to be taken care of because it’s been so long. 

“Yeah, yeah okay.” He stutters out, letting himself get moved around until he was sat on the edge of your bed while you hopped off. Jungkook takes it upon himself to yank his jeans off, his hunger for you taking over, wanting to move this forward until you were sinking down on his cock, the pleasure clouding his common sense. He needed that because he was having an inner debate on if this was a good idea or not. 

You fall to your knees it front of him after shimmying out of your shorts, a surprising turn of events that he doesn’t see coming judging by the look on his face. That same teasing laugh is sent his way as you tug at his black briefs, his hips lifting off the bed to slip them off, his cock springing free and he sighs at no longer being confined. 

You lick your lips over as you stare at his cock, the thickness of it making your mouth water as you trace the pretty veins wrapped around it with your eyes, leading up to his red tip, leaking beads of precum. 

Jungkook groans when you wrap your hand around his length, the second you texted him he was half hard, aching and needy for release of any kind. He swears he could cum then and there when you noisily spit into your other palm, gliding it up his length to spread the wetness around and starting a slow rhythm. 

“Feel good?” You ask innocently, faux sweetness he knows far too well dripping from your tongue, thick like syrup and he finds himself wanting to lap it up. 

Jungkook knows you’re getting a kick out of it, watching the way you’re biting on your lip and smiling when his face screws up at being touched, the slow pumping of your hands only teasing him and pushing his head further under the stream of pleasure  

“Shit, yeah.” He mumbles out, his stomach hiccuping when you lean forward and let a glob of spit land on the head of his cock, the way it drips down his length and pools at your hands as you continue your motion only serves to send Jungkook deeper into a frenzy. 

It’s not until you finally take him into your mouth, slow and gentle as if you didn’t like to deep throat his cock until you’re choking, that Jungkook lets a moan finally slip through the gates of his teeth. It urges you on, the first rock being thrown at his glass exterior, a tiny sliver of a crack exposing itself and giving you a way in again. 

Jungkook forgets how to breathe for a minute, his mouth slack jawed as he watches in awe at the way you sink your mouth further onto his length. Your pretty lips pulled tightly around his girth, your cheeks hollowing up as you suck your way back up with a noisy slurp. 

“So good.” He groans out, his hand creeping its way around you until he had a fistful of your hair in his grip. Jungkook smiles now when you go lax in his hands, your mouth widening up when he starts to push your head down, his cock nudging along your throat and making you gag, muscles spasming around him but he doesn’t relent until your nose is nuzzled along the small patch of hair around the base of his cock. 

He sighs out, feeling as if the balance of everything had been restored now that you were kneeling pliant between his legs, mouth stuffed with cock, not being able to fuck with his mind with your sweet sounding lies and convincing eyes. 

When he finally pulls you off of him you gasp in a breath, wet and stuck to your throat, your eyes watering up from being choked but the arousal dripping down your thighs showed how much you loved it. Jungkook pouts at you, a clear sense of mockery in it and it makes you want to laugh at how the tables turned. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb smearing the drool around your mouth and making a bigger mess of it all. 

“What, thats it?” He taunts, his eyebrow raising up as you roll your lips together, “You choke on my dick and forget how to make this worth my while?”

His words make you squeeze your thighs together, seeking any sort of friction to ease the pressure building in your core. You loved when Jungkook got like this, flipped a switch in the middle of it and bossed you around, it was the main reason you enjoyed pushing his buttons, wanting to get him to the point where he’d do it back to you. 

“No.” You rasp out, your head lolling to the side as your tongue glides along your lips, visions of tied up cherry stems and sharp words trailing behind it. 

“Show me then.” He orders, thighs spreading further apart as his hand gestures for you to get to it, for you to show him exactly why you called him over. 

As you sink back onto his cock, he wonders if the reason you invited him today was because one of your boy toys had flaked on you, left you high and dry and you needed a fix like you always did. Another part of him wonders if you finally messaged him to keep him close, to not let him stray too far away from you, leave him open and available for you whenever you decided he was needed. 

Jungkook seemed to be getting the good end of this deal right now, whatever it may be so he rides it through, letting grunts of pleasure slip through the seam of his lips when you find the right pace. Your hands word in tandem with your mouth, twisting and pumping in unison. 

He begins rocking his hips up towards your face, a crooked smile on his face at the mess you’re making on his cock, he likes it too much. The wet thump of your fist pumping down, the way you slurp on his length like it was that damn popsicle you used to taunt him with. 

“So fucking dirty.” Jungkook’s voice is husky now, drawn out while he lets himself get lost in it all, heavy with the lust clouding his brain. His words just encourage you, working past the aching feeling in your jaw as you try your best, needing a distraction from the night you’ve had and thats what Jungkook was best for. 

The simmering warmth he feels growing in his gut starts to boil over when you grasp one of his balls, your fingers fondling them in a teasing motion before you switch off and latch your mouth around them instead. 

Jungkook can only curse under his breath, his fingers weaving through your hair once more and tugging at the strands, feeling you moan against his skin at the sting on pain at your scalp. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum–“ Jungkook warns, trying to pull you away from him but you stay put, your hands continuing the motions your mouth was no longer doing, “Don’t you want me to fuck you?” He wonders, if he came now you’d have to wait a while before he was ready to go again and he knew you weren’t the most patient person. 

“No, wanna make you feel good.” Is all you mumble out before slipping his length back into your mouth. The warmth that envelops his cock has him groaning out once more, his mouth dropped open as his chest heaved at the oncoming orgasm.  

“Ah,” he whines when you sink all the way down until your nose nuzzles against his skin, “where do you want me to cum?”

It’s breathless and needy, making you pop off of him with a sultry smile, “My face.”

Jungkook nods, half delirious as he stands up on his weakening legs and fists his cock, the spit lathered on it helping him glide as fast as he needed to. The way you’re sat in front of him, your palms pressed to your thighs, mouth wide open with your tongue sticking out and your eyes locked onto him, sends his mind reeling. 

The angry tip of his cock peaks out with every pump of his fist, only needing a few more flicks of his wrist before his stomach was caving in and flexing as he came. 

Jungkook lets out strangled moan, thick ropes of cum streaming out and landing in globs on your face in short spurts. Your eyes fluttering shut when you feel it land on your cheek, your nose, and dripping down onto your awaiting tongue. 

He’s panting above you as he comes down, his hand raking through his own hair as he tries to calm his breathing down, the tingling feeling spread throughout his body dulling down. When your eyes blink up at him, he can just tell you’re up to something when you stick your tongue back in your mouth and swallow, an evil smirk spreading across your cum streaked face. 

“Here let me grab you a towel.” He starts to move towards your bathroom but your palm reaches out to grab his thigh, stopping him in his tracks. 

“No, do me a favor.” You ask him in that tone that made him shiver, your hand pointing at your desk, right at the white polaroid camera you had propped on top of it. Jungkook doesn’t know what you’re planning but he reaches for it anyways, handing you the device only to have you thrust it back in his hands. 

“Take a photo of me.” You say it so sweetly, like you’re asking him to take a photo of you smiling with flowers in your hair. 

Jungkook’s face twists up in confusion. You wanted a photo of yourself covered in his cum. You were definitely planning something and it was clear now that Jungkook was an accessory to all of this. 

Still he nods and points the camera down at you, begging his slowly softening dick to not spur back to life at the face you give him. Your hair’s messy from his hands yanking at it, your eyes wide and innocent as you scoop some of the cum off your cheek and pop it into your mouth for the photo. 

The flash goes off and you hum around your digit, slipping it out of your mouth as Jungkook grabs the exiting photo from the top of the camera. 

He sets it all down and is ready to go about the routine the way you always did but you stop him once more, “Wait, take another one.”

And like clockwork Jungkook obeys, the hex you had on him controlling his motions until he has the camera in his grasp a second time. He presses it against his eye and looks down at you, a strained gasp leaving him when you grab his sensitive cock and let the tip of it slip into your mouth. 

His fingers press on the shutter button immediately, capturing the moment on a little rectangle of film, the flash filling the room. When he goes to hand it to you all you do is shake your head and stand up on your sore legs. 

“Keep it.” You shrug, pulling your hair up into a pony tail and reaching for the other photo on your bed sheets. 

“I don’t think your boyfriend would like that.” It slips out without warning, an unknowing jab sent your way and Jungkook’s eyes widen at the words he just said as he steps into his jeans after slipping his underwear back on. 

You freeze as well, the grey shirt that belonged to the man he was talking about feeling heavy on your frame. “You mean Namjoon?” You question, not an ounce of shame in your words, knowing very well that Jungkook had spotted you out with him a few weeks ago. 

The name feels bitter on your tongue, trying your best not to let your distaste show on your face as you stare at him. Jungkook didn’t need to know that Namjoon had called it quits with you, the sneaking suspicion that you were messing around with someone else being too strong. It was the main reason you blocked Jungkook on instagram, he had become prime suspect number one thanks to the way he bombarded your photos. 

You needed to keep your distance from Jungkook in order to keep your relationship with Namjoon afloat, at least in the beginning, then you could go back to your routine. But Namjoon was too observant, and all it took was finding a pair of underwear that didn’t belong to him slipped under your bed for the mirage to come crumbling down around you. 

It angered you more because you had been careful, stopped sleeping around, but because Jungkook had left a pair of underwear weeks ago in his haste to leave it became a chain reaction the lead to Namjoon slamming the door behind him as he left your place a while before Jungkook stumbled his way through. 

That was too much information to tell Jungkook, you didn’t want to give him the impression that you searched for his comfort in the form of physical touch after your boyfriend left you. You didn’t need him to know that he was the only constant in your life, slot in between every failed relationship, maintaining his spot as the one you called to when you needed a distraction. 

Jungkook’s eyes narrow at the name, remembering the flashing ‘joonie’ on your phone screen. He only gives you a nod in response, his confusion deepening when you laugh. 

“He’s just a friend.” You lie through your teeth, setting the photo you knew you’d be sending him later onto your desk, grabbing a small towel you had and wiping your face clean with it. 

Jungkook doesn’t fully believe you but he doesn’t fight it, choosing to finish getting dressed in silence. If he was just a friend and was able to get you to go out on a date with him that what were Jungkook’s chances? What were the odds that his own name wasn’t some cute version of ‘kookie’ with an obscene amount of hearts at the end of it?

That was all wishful thinking though, he knew deep down that his name was just a plain and simple Jungkook, he knew the minute he’d ask you to go have lunch you’d ghost him like you did before. 

You watch him curiously as he puts his shoes on, seeing the way his mind was working on overdrive, overthinking everything and talking himself into circles. You needed him to stay close, to not let him get a taste of what life would be like without you so you approach him with that same saccharine smile. 

“Thanks Kookie.” You whisper out, cupping his cheek and leaning up on your toes to press a gentle kiss goodbye on his lips. He kisses back instantly, needing to feel more, wanting to wrap his arms around you like he did earlier but that was gone now and you were stepping back too quickly. 

A small yawn escapes your lips and he gets the hint, stuffing the dirty polaroid into his jean pocket and giving you a half smile, “Yeah of course, I’ll see you later Y/N.”

You flop onto your bed and wave at him as he exits your room but once the door shuts behind him you flip onto your stomach and groan loudly into your pillow, unaware that Jungkook could still hear you from his spot in the hallway. 

He decides not to open the door back up and check on you, making a swift exit and rushing to get into his car like he was running from something. And in a way he was.

Now that he’s confined inside his vehicle he slips the photo out of his pocket, turning the overhead lighting on to look at it properly now that it was developed. 

Your eyes were half lidded as you stared into the camera, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock while the tip of it prodded at your cheek, face covered in ribbons of his cum. It was the most explicit photo he’d ever had and he can’t even let himself get excited over it. Instead he opens up his center divider and stuffs the photo into there before slamming it shut. 

He pulls out of his parking spot and takes off back home, that hollow feeling in his chest returning when he remembers the words you told him today. He knows you were lying to him, Jungkook wasn’t stupid, but he just doesn’t understand what he did for you to constantly treat him this way. 

He feels the stinging at the back of his eyes, the streetlights becoming blurry at the edges as his vision got misty. An idea pops into his head so he pulls over onto a random corner, blinking away the tears before they could fall as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. He knew what he had to do, for his own sanity.

You two weren’t right for each other, he was tired of being this puppet on strings for you to play with until you got bored and moved on to the next shiny new thing. Jungkook was sick of dreaming about taking you out, sick of wondering what lies you’d tell him next because you knew he was wrapped so tightly around your finger that he could never fight you on it. 

So he opens up instagram and goes to your page instantly, not letting himself think twice before he’s clicking on the block button, locking his phone and throwing it on the passenger seat before resuming his drive home, begging himself not to succumb to you once again.

And as you sit on your bed at home, scrolling through instagram and taking a peek at his page, knowing he usually posted an instagram story of whatever song he was listening to after leaving your apartment, you’re shocked to see the same words that haunted Jungkook for weeks. 

No posts yet. 

He had blocked you. For the first time in the years you’ve been fooling around you finally get a taste of the way you’ve been treating him. And as you sit in bed having the same dilemma he had before, wondering what you did or said, debating sending him a text, you feel the first twist in your heart that Jungkook had grown accustomed to and you don’t like it.

#ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #btswritingcafe #yoonkooknetwork #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #bts smut #new

[majoraop]

In Which His Eyes Are Shown

Surprised? I know you are… You were expecting to see me in a predicament, weren't you? Maybe hanging from chains in a dark and dirty cell, injured and starving. Or, if you were feeling particularly sadistic, you would probably be imagining me crucified like in a parody of my miserable childhood. Not at all. Look around you. The cell is small, but shackles at my wrist and ankles aside—a mere formality—it doesn't feel like a prison at all. I have a proper bed, books, even a gramophone! Music was an unexpected occurrence for the uneducated prisoners locked at the bottom of this pit, but they haven’t complained. Not that it would have made any difference. I've connections—yes, even here in Impel Down. They get me newspapers too, so I know what’s happening on the surface even while sitting here in a replica of my feather coat. (Its shade is wrong, but it isn't so bad: reddish-pink matches better with my current black-and-white striped clothes.) As expected, people are still killing each other as they always do. I'm laughing my ass off while the marines—the so-called "protectors of justice and peace"—are desperately trying to avoid the world crumbling under this mess caused by the pirates of the “Worst Generation”. Fufufu… as if my generation was any better! At least, down here a certain “Emperor” (a sloshed lunatic) won't find me. Then, after the fall of those cursed Celestial Dragons, I'll rise again and take back what's mine. You weren’t expecting to see me enjoying my confinement like this, were you? I bet you wanted me to shatter, to go insane—or worse, to change... Don't make me laugh! I've seen too much, learned too much, to change at this point of my unfortunate life. Sure, I may tone my ways down a little to play along with whoever will find usefulness in my skills and knowledge—granted, only if such... partnership were beneficial to me too. But I digress. I know why you’re here and what you want to see, so let’s get to the point. I know perfectly well what you crave for, each time you check on me in one of your sick fantasies and imaginary scenarios in which I'm what I’ll never be. I know what you yearn for, and what you've been waiting for all this time. And since I'm in a particularly good mood—say thanks to the top-grade wine they brought me earlier today—I’ll show you what your inquiring eyes have been silently asking for a while now. Be attentive though—I will concede you just a moment: my time is precious even in this so-called “hell” (I've seen worse). I won't waste too much of it for a mere peasant like you. Are you ready? I hope that after this you'll leave me alone at last. “...” Why that expression? Are you disappointed? You sure love to fantasise about me! I don’t know if I should feel flattered or crept out by your morbid curiosity... I'll just laugh it off, I guess. And no, I won't put off my glasses for you again, so don't bother asking. Now, shut up and get lost! I need to think... A clownish monkey and a whiny duckling blew up my plans last time, but I'm already weaving my web again: connection after connection, thread after thread... people are so easy to corrupt! My strings get everywhere, farther than what you would ever imagine even in your wildest dreams—or nightmares. I must be ready, and you should start preparing too: the craziest part of this treasure hunt for the “One Piece” is yet to begin. --- Doflamingo jolted awake. Panting, he tried to get up into a sitting position but couldn't move an inch. A dream...? He blinked behind his glasses, trying to control his breathing and slow down his heartbeat. Next, he tried to get up again but to no avail. Slowly, he recognised the sicking sensation of the seastone chains binding his arms, legs, and torso. With his limbs spread open like that and his back pressed against the cold ground, he felt utterly vulnerable. Where is the music? Where are the wine and the newspapers...? Doflamingo’s thoughts raced frantically while he tried to remember. Why had he been imprisoned? However, he only recalled a wrongly coloured coat and useful connections… But all of that had disappeared now, and he was alone with his glasses and his nightmares. The assassins! While fighting against his mind, which was going crazy from isolation and boredom, he started remembering. The assassins may be here already! Doflamingo laughed. Loudly. He wondered if someone could hear him down there, the deranged “FUFUFUs” sounding alien to him since his voice was hoarse from lack of use. How long had he been into solitary confinement? Weeks? Months? Years? He didn’t know, but he knew he had no influence nor relevance down there. They're here to kill me! His worst fear assaulted him again: he knew the secret of Mary Geoise, so he had to die. But to his surprise, he almost welcomed death now. Anything would be better than being unable to move, alone in a damp cell, with whatever was left of his sanity inexorably slipping away from his grasp. His threads had been severed. He felt impotent. He was a weak child again, screaming in fear while an angry mob vomited its hate on him. Stay away!!! Doflamingo's breathing turned frantic. As much as he tried to gulp air down his sore throat, it never was enough. He pulled at the chains around his wrists desperately, craving for oxygen. He felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes but fought them back: he would not cry again, no matter how painful it was. He hadn’t been able to hold back his tears as a child, hanging from cruel ropes while flames scorched his skin and smoke intoxicated him. Or when he hadn't been readmitted back to his homeland, his father's blood still on his hands. But now it was different. It had to be. The assassins from back then... they’re still after me! Doflamingo felt nauseous, defenceless. He hated that feeling: he was born to rule, not to succumb. And yet, even in the depths of hell, his ambition was still miraculously intact: he was a king—he had always been. But now that he was alone in that isolation cell, he felt the weight of his failures. He had killed his father—his brother too—but it all had been for nothing. He finally understood why he had surrounded himself with people not bound to him by blood and had made them his new family: he felt alone. He had always felt alone since that damned day when his mother died. Curse you, father! His mother had been the only person he had ever loved. Only Roci, his brother, had come close, but it hadn’t last. Flashes of Rocinante joining his pirate crew appeared in Doflamingo’s feverish mind, mixed with more memories of his terrible past. He recalled hastily eating trash in the streets together with his little brother, people beating them, and the smell… That lingering, disgusting smell as they lived in a shack hidden in a rubbish dump. Doflamingo took a few deep breaths not to throw up—as much as the chains around his chest allowed him to do that at least. He felt pain in the areas where the cold metal bit his flash, the black and white prison uniform not offering much protection. I’m miserable right now, aren’t I? He tried to laugh that feeling off but failed to do so. Enshrouded in complete darkness, Doflamingo realised not even his glasses could hide the helplessness filling his eyes.

Short story written for @callmedrafter, for the Set Sail! One Piece Mid Year Exchange @setsailexchange. The draft of this fanfic had been sitting in my folders for way too long, and this was the perfect occasion to edit and publish it at last! (When characters start talking to you and even mocking you for the way you write them, you know it's time for them to reappear in their canon glory… which Doffy actually did after I wrote the second draft of his story—meaning that this fanfic isn’t completely canon anymore. I should have expected him having connections in Impel Down, too.)

#setsail2020 #onepiece #one piece #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo #opfanfic #opfanfiction #majoraop #(As usual if you find any typo or something else to fix please let me know! ^^ ) #queued

[japanstopbrawler1992]

READ ME

ZERO TOLERANCE FOR RACIST CHASERS/GAY-FOR-STRAIGHT-CONSUMPTION/OOC TRANSPHOBIA/ANY RACISM WHATSOEVER UNLESS SHOWN AS BAD BY NARRATIVE AND CONFINED TO AGREED UPON PLOTTING

I set Savers in its airing year, so Masaru was born in '92. Can take place anytime after episode 49. However, there just won't be any explicit sexual content regardless of when the thread takes place. I also don't auto-ship: I'm here to walk a character through things, so ships will all be more slow-burn. Also, while Masaru's just pan, I'm actually asexual, so don't even expect me to present beyond a textbook understanding of sexual attraction

Masaru's kind of a jerk. My other two muses are generally at least kind unless the other person isn't, but Masaru's kind of abrasive and gleefully violent. If we're playing, I'll probably warn you beforehand, but Masaru may snap at your muse if your muse isn't a little kid. If your muse didn't deserve it, he'll probably apologise at some point, but yeah, this muse is even less like me than 02's Ken (Bleach's Ichigo is my muse most like me)

I'm on mobile. Period. I can't cut threads. I usually just tag "long post." Can't cut threads.

Seen JP ver only. Haven't seen any others, and I have no reason to bother--the original's in my native. Why would I bother with "orange juice bomb"?

Masaru is mixed race here. In a planned project that's a sister project to my Bleach project I already got a bit of stuff up for, Masaru's mum is Japanese and Russian, and related to Junpei of Frontier, and Masaru's dad was Japanese and Afghani. Masaru actually does speak Japanese, Russian, and Persian.

Masaru's also trans here. He never got puberty blockers, but he finally got testosterone at 13. So his voice changed at a pretty normal age. But he does need a binder and all that. (He loved that black tank top he wears after the memory wipe because it was just the right cut to cover the binder while showing off his arm muscles!) He does someday want kids, and Japanese law, like most US states or most places, requires sterilisation to recognise gender change. His papers also say a different first name. Of course, this probably came up with Satuma. Satuma and payroll at DATS probably know all about it. But being trans isn't *as* hard in Japan as the Anglophonic world. Especially thanks to Kamikawa Aya advocating on outlets like NHK radio since '95, which Masaru would be three then.

I toss the epilogue. Don't like the losing their digimon, and Masaru ditching his family he feels so responsible for and his dad he just got back?

Actually, in my project, ep 48 never happens. Suguru is dead, DATS remains, and Sayuri gets BanchouLeomon as her digimon partner.

Oh, another rule--poor spelling and grammar is acceptable if you are not a native speaker. It infuriates me to no end that I'm supposed to be an idiot for being fluent in three just because English is not my first, but native speakers get to run around spelling "bins" "ben's" and congratulating themselves for "kohnichuwa" but I get beaten/decried for actually knowing the language... And also, ,ZERO TOLERANCE for "garnish my human default English with exotic Japanese uwu" See "zero tolerance for chasers and racism"

Totally available to play in Japanese or Spanish, but you must be fluent.

Masaru lives in Tobechou, Yokohama. I went to the Chinatown in Yokohama once with my dad, but I lived in Koube. And we didn't leave Hanshin region all that much. My knowledge of much outside there being a Chinatown in the '80s (obviously still there, as it was the setting for the Savers movie) and big landmarks like Minatomirai is minimal. I also haven't been back to Japan period since '94. My relatives there are all deceased since the '90s, and flights alone are 1,000$, which, until recently, was definitely over a month of rent. Two for a studio, one plus a couple hundred for a 1 or 2LDK, depending. Might even have had 1.5 baths. By the time Savers was airing in Japan, I was able to keep up with Japanese news via now-gone Japanese-language broadcasts in California, as well as the Web, which is also how I saw Savers. But my knowledge of Japanese things may run the risk of being almost 30 years out of date. Or it might be completely current because I still read Asahi News, the most left-leaning paper I can find. Unsure if related to Hanshin region channel 6, but channel 6 was the best when I was there.

The Daimon family didn't move when Masaru came out, but he came out pretty young. It's just difficult to get trans care for minors. That being said, most peers don't know he's trans. They do know he's mixed, though. That being said, it's not like it's *only* him fighting racist bullies. It's only partially that. Like I said, I fully acknowledge he's pretty abrasive. So he's not completely blameless for all the fights. He could easily someday be the kind of parent who gets arrested for punching a rival dad. Violence is not a last resort for him. It's the best resort.

I do multi-para and don't use icons. But I'm not asking for an exact word count match. All I ask is give me stuff to go off of in replies and for Heaven's sake, do *not* format like House of Leaves when you play with me. Format button abuse looks like a visual panic attack, and is just too chaotic for me to read.

I may go spotty on replies with you. I'll still chat with you via the messenger thingy, and I don't play with people I've never spoken to, even if I've started the interaction, because I need to filter for my sanity, so I need to know the people I play with aren't gonna pull racism or something on me, but when my replies slow, it's because I work on-call at a shelter for seriously physically ill people, I'm also disabled myself, and I don't have the ability to put enough energy for the high-quality replies I strive to give in at the moment. I'm stalling because I want to give you my best. If I want to drop a thread, which is admittedly rare, I'll let you know. I won't leave you guessing.

Some h/cs just for fun

Masaru loves metal. The metal I know is 70s prog and 80s glam metal and stuff. I don't really like much music past about '94, and exactly two albums after 2000 (neither are metal)

Masaru has always had the same kind of attention span I have now even though I completely didn't when I was younger. He's running commentary if you watch an movie with him, his biggest problem with school is the whole sitting and passively listening to a lecture part, he thinks he doesn't like reading because others always talk about sitting there and reading for hours on end (if he's older, he may have realised it's OK to read for 20-minute bursts, something I eventually realised, too). He only really learns by doing. That being said, depending on age, he may not have had the chance to *realise* that yet.

He wouldn't become a sumo wrestler, but he totally watches it. Honestly, any fighting sport, and he's there.

He's very Japanese as far as religion. Sort of takes part and believes in a lot of them at the same time, but none are a overly influential part of his life. This is a thing.

Crossovers with any season preceding Savers are pretty easy with this blog considering my project. The project will eventually merge with the Bleach project, toi, so I also have a thing for that. Overall, I welcome crossovers with most animated media. Live action, I'll consider if you don't use icons with me (it ends up looking like Who Framed Roger Rabbit in my head) I don't do any real person stuff beyond, say, having Masaru listen to real bands or know of other public figures.

There is also a flexibility in playing Masaru in other countries. He could visit family in Russia or Afghanistan, he can be sent over from DATS to help with digimon appearances in countries allied with Japan (coughcontroloverjapanliketheuscough) or I totally ship him with Touma, so he could be in whatever that country is (obviously a Germanic nation in Western Europe)

He's definitely leftist, but his tactics aren't really common among the left. Typically, it's the fascists that will throw the first punch. Except Masaru will, as well. Unfortunately, this means he can take *away* from, say, antifa efforts to counter demo anti-Korean rioters.

He looks down on most weapon use, but probably none more so than guns and other weapons that remove the user from the target. To him, anyone who hides safely behind a weapon and makes the fight so one-sided is a coward. To this extent, he thinks war should be done away with and the leaders of the countries should duel instead of America just wiping out thousands of Japanese (WWII) or Afghani (during his lifetime) civilians (well, in that war, it was definitely not the Afghani government's fault, as that was a radical rebel sect powered initially by Regean, but it was most certainly civilian deaths en masse)

Masaru cannot meditate at all. He's also very reactive. To that extent, he's never really done well with martial arts. There's a lot less focus on self-discipline in boxing and wrestling than in Aikido or karate or what have you. He'd probably love the intensity of Krav Maga or CQC. I just don't know if Krav Maga has a self-discipline component. CQC almost certainly doesn't--it's American.

More when I think of it.

#rules #about #about muse

[tatooedlaura-blog]

The Road Home

This third series reads as follows:

Shattered … Desolation … Determination … Us and Ours … Ratty Towels … The Sleepover … Skinner and the Punch … Oregon … Impossibilities … Something from Nothing … Out of the Car … Partners … News … Never Replace You … The Chip … Date Night … Evidence of Things Unseen … Maggie’s Walter … Glasses … Maggie’s Truth … Waiting Words … Fuzzy Fleece Pants and Creamsicles … Nuptials … The After … Tuesday Perfection… The Last Little Bit Before … The World went Quiet … But the  Sound of Thunder … Woke them all ... A little bit of me, a little bit of you

First series … Second series

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&&&&

“No, Mulder, I’m sitting up here. There’s no reason to sit in the back. Will’s asleep, it’s 10 minutes to home, it’ll be fine.”

Mulder, who knew from watching things and observing people and absorbing information, would have bet hard money on her wanting to ride in the back with their son on his first terrifying ride home, traffic trying its best to kill them all and speeds above 15 MPH guaranteed to damage his bones, brain and future accordingly unless she held his tiny, gripping hand, “really?”

Settling in as carefully as possible, “I’m fine. It’s fine. Can we just go, please? I’d like to not have to sit on this seat any longer than I have to.”

“Okay then. Homeward it is.”

He was feeling pretty good abou things until he actually turned the key and the engine rumbled and roared, then, whatever had been laying in wait reared it ugly head. His stomach jumped, his butt clenched and sweat inexplicably began running down between his shoulder blades; hand still on the key, he pictured crashing vehicles and blood spilling across the highway, never mind they weren’t going anywhere near a freeway, ambulances and flashing lights and calls for oxygen and IVs and gigantic Band-aids and …

Holy shit, he’d better get a damn grip or they’d be sitting in the patient pick-up line until Will was, at minimum, 18 and larger than his father, “Mulder?”

He finally got both hands up on the steering wheel, deep breath in, “yeah, yeah, sorry. Momentary loss of cognitive function, wondering if I really should have been given a driver’s license but I’m good now.”

Looking at him, seeing naked panic flitting around his eyes, she felt her own unease screaming to be let out of the box she’d crammed it in the moment they’d hit the elevator, “would you like me to call Walter? Mom?”

“No. If this kid finds out I didn’t have the courage to drive him home from the hospital, he’ll walk all over my ass for the rest of my life.” Pushing break and moving from ‘park’ to ‘drive’, “here we go.”

The turnaround and the parking lot navigation wasn’t bad, Mulder got his bearings, loosened up a little, began to see the world not as death trap but familiar place once again. The first main road wasn’t bad, Mulder wanting to pat himself on the back for making it through that turn and light like a trooper.

You go, Mulder.

Scully, for her part in the role of ‘let’s get ourselves home’ was losing it quickly. She couldn’t see her son, she couldn’t hear him, she couldn’t see if he was still breathing, still sleeping, still in the seat at all …

Out of sight, out of existence …

Good holy God, did she not have any grip left on reality …

Of course he was back there. She put him back there. Every sliver of logic in the world told her he was still back there and fine and no, he had not managed to work the buckles and straps and pull himself up and out of the seat and find the automatic window button and push it and climb out and …

Fuck …

“Mulder, please pull over.”

“What? What’s wrong?” He did not need this when he’d just remastered the speed limit and discovered that it really wasn’t such a bad law to follow, “you okay?”

Very nearly ready to crack, her voice betrayed what she had hoped was a cool exterior, “I’d like to get in the back, please.”

Not about to argue with her in her current state or any state, really, except possibly Texas, “give me a second to find a parking lot.”

Hands fisted against her thigh, she nodded, holding tight to a final thread of sanity until the Jeep stopped and she was able to awkwardly slide herself down to the ground and pull open the door, discovering that her son was intact, still asleep and more beautiful than ever. As the tears of idiocy and relief flowed down her cheeks, she shut the door, walked around the car and climbed in beside her son.

Once buckled in, she managed to meet Mulder’s eyes in the rearview mirror, not finding judgement but understanding, “sorry. I guess I should have just gotten back here in the first place.”

And of course, he finished off with humor, “or we could have put his car seat behind me instead of behind you.”

“Just take us home, Mulder.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Maggie and Walter were waiting for them, having cleaned and cooked in preparation for their arrival. They’d waited to share Will’s full name until now and Walter teared up as closely as Walter could tear up when he heard he had a part in the new baby’s name; nose got a little red, eyes a little wet, smile a little wobbly, but then, Marine returned, softened slightly but still with ramrod straight posture, “thank you.”

Scully, sitting on the side of the bed in the apartment, home for five minutes and itching to move around, show Will his new digs, as Mulder called them when he walked the family inside, “you’re welcome. It’s a good name, Walter, from a very good man.”

Mulder interrupted the moment with hovering, now that he had the kid inside, “hey, wanna feed small fry here?”

That was a cue no one missed, included Maggie, who knew Skinner probably didn’t want to see his agent breastfeeding, “come on, Walter, let’s get out of here and leave them in peace.”

Apartment finally cleared, they got down to the business of keeping a small human alive with eating, burping, changing, sleeping, rocking, more eating, spitting up, wiping, cleaning and eventual, watching Will on his back in the basinet beside the bed, Scully with her hand over the side, holding tiny fingers while Mulder pressed in behind her, finally feeling safe enough to enjoy his little world.

Scully felt the change in demeanor and tension, asking quietly over her shoulder, “will you tell me what happened?”

Knowing he had to, he shut his eyes, finding the soft back of her neck to aim his words, “Krycek put a receiver in my ear and spent a month controlling my every move.”

Knowing he had to, she shut her eyes, stroking her son’s arm while she listened first then asked, “do you remember any of it?”

“Every last fucking moment … sorry … shouldn’t be swearing in front of the kid.” One kiss then two just above her scar, “I remember everything and I can’t tell you what I did but I need to tell you what I did but I don’t want to tell you what I did but I have to tell you what I did.”

“Mulder …”

“That was a terrible sentence, I’m sorry. I just … fuck … I just want to … not have to … I don’t want to … shit.” By now, he was carefully but tightly hugging her back against him, “if the boys are any good at what they do, you probably saw most of what happened from surveillance cameras and tracking but,” oh, he really didn’t want to say this part to her, ever, “there was more.”

“It’s okay. I won’t hold any of it against you, I swear.” Finally letting go of her boy’s hand, she rolled over with a minimum of speed and groaning, muscles pulling, parts aching, until she could see him clearly, 3pm sun filtering in, backlighting, throwing him in shadow, “you can tell me anything, Mulder and given I don’t have a red M&M for you at the moment, you’ll just have to trust I’m going to love you regardless of any and all nonsense you are about to tell me.”

Rubbing noses with her, “it’s not nonsense.”

“Sure it is. Krycek is the epitome of nonsense and whatever he made you do, is just as much nonsense so spill it so we can move on.” Hoping her semi-light tone would make him feel a modicum safer in telling her, she kissed his chin, “please, Mulder, you’ll feel better once you tell me and so will I.”

Eyes holding hers, locked and unblinking, “he made me find women, in bars and restaurants, to take back to hotel rooms.” He paused as her pupils contracted slightly but eyes didn’t blink, “he had me kiss them, undress them, no sex but just …” body shuddering, “I didn’t want to, I promise you from the bottom of my fucking … shit … damn it … I didn’t want to do any of it.” Tears rolled out now, down his face, onto the pillow, nose running instantly, mess of Mulder 0.2 inches from her, “I’m sorry.”

Scully’s arms wiggled under his, around his torso, squeezing him as best she could, “I’m going to overuse the word nonsense now but it’s all nonsense, remember, all God-damned nonsense that means nothing at all.” Kissing once then twice, “and yes, I swore in front of our two-day old son, he’ll get over it.”

Soggy chuckle through inhaled stutter, Mulder kissed her back, hard, possessive, pulling away only when he realized she was crying, too, “I’m sorry. Please, believe me.”

“I’m not crying because of what you did, Mulder, I’m crying because I’m angry at the world, because it’s never going to end. We’re going to be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives and,” burying her head against him, “we will never be able to let our son out of our sight.”

This went south at a rapidly catastrophic pace and needing to salvage anything good to vainly attempt a recovery, “I’m thinking that donut shop idea has more and more merit with every passing minute. What do you think? Quit and bake all the damn day long?” Fussing Will made Mulder pause, sliding back off the bed, “stay.”

“Like I could get anywhere fast right now, Mulder.”

Sooner than later, Will was back asleep between them, parents contorted enough to keep foreheads touching as they watched their son, “I will quit tomorrow, I swear to God, Scully. I will quit and walk away and never regret it for an instant.”

“I’ve never made a donut in my life, Mulder.”

“We’ll use the new-fangled interwebs and learn how.”

“Can we worry about that tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Time lost meaning as they lay there until across the quiet, Mulder asked her, “I need to tell you everything.”

“I’m here.”

#msr #that drive home from the hospital #good lord #hopefully the last of the angst for awhile #but you never can tell #xfiles #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #my writing #Life part 3 series

[taeken-my-heart]

Pasticceria

Summary: Sometimes food really is the way to the heart

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Light fluff

Word Count: 2448

He worked in a bakery. With an easy confidence that guided the store and its employees through the steady stream of customers in search of white chocolate lemon truffles and treacle tart. And you watched him from the corner, sipping on the rim of your coffee cup.

His hair was dark, tossed around the edges of his brow as though he was far too concerned with making people happy to worry about whether or not his hair falls perfectly. His lips were perfectly pouted with his nose rounded to a cute little point that you wished you could poke. You sighed, looking absentmindedly into your coffee and swishing it around.

If only you could find the nerve to talk to him. You were pretty sure that if you ever tried you’d faint and then have to go to the hospital where you’d then have to sneak away because you didn’t currently possess insurance. No, that wouldn’t do.

Coming here on your lunch break had been a little oasis for you. The office was hell this quarter, with your boss becoming a tyrant, yelling about the numbers being off, loose ends needing to be tied, and dropping a last minute assignment on your desk. Honestly, half the time you had no idea what the hell was going on. You’d slouched out of the building and towards your favorite bakery as soon as lunch began where the food was warm and the people were too.

You glanced up again, determined to keep your eyes away from the beautiful man at the counter but he called to you like a siren. He was talking with a customer, smiling brightly and waving his hands in a vivid display, as though he could bring the image in his mind to life through sheer will. You believed he could. If anyone could, it would certainly be him. He was all smiles, bright eyes, and enthusiasm.

You’d never seen him without a smile, and frankly you can’t recall ever seeing any of the other employees without a smile on their faces. What you wouldn’t give to work in an environment like that. The office, though, was a dungeon. OK, perhaps that was an exaggeration. It was like any other normal office, a little bit too much white, clean space, not enough room for your individual desks, terrible coffee, and an awful lot of office gossip.

Apparently Sooran had been sleeping around with Jungmin and now she had left him for Yoonjin…or something like that. Honestly, it was all a little too much and you didn’t really care. Despite that, you were lucky. Working in an office was a coveted job; many people would give their left arm to get the position so why did you hate it so much? Sure, you’re mom and dad had pushed you into it, and sure you weren’t passionate about it, but really, you were lucky. In this day and age what did passion really have to do with anything? At least that’s what you told yourself to keep from losing all sanity.

Sliding the lid of your coffee back on you stood, making your way through the front door and back to work. It was warm, cherry blossoms starting to bloom and you felt the magic of the early spring season coursing through your veins. In moments like these you forgot your obligations, the things that held you back, and everything you felt that left you feeling unsatisfied and just remembered the good things. The flowers, the warm breeze threading through your hair, the sun shining brilliantly, the-

Someone slammed into your arm as they passed, offering a hasty bow and apology as they continued on their way.

…-the coffee stain on your soft pink button down shirt.

You sighed, staring down at your smooshed coffee cup miserably before throwing it in the trash can and detouring to the nearest bathroom. You tried to dab at the stain, cursing in frustration as it stayed stubbornly in place.

An entire half a day would now have to be spent in this soaked pink blouse that was dripping down into the legs of your fitted black slacks. You wondered absentmindedly what your boss would say if you showed up 40 minutes late back from lunch after taking a quick detour to your place to change. Pulling your employee card from your pocket, you flashed it at the turnstiles, pushing through and making your way to the elevators.

You were completely replaceable and with a long list of strong candidates waiting for their opportunity to take your spot, you really couldn’t take the risk. There were bills to pay and taxes to file so you’d just have to suck it up and power through. Besides, eventually the stain would dry and then you’d only be reminded when you shifted and the smell of stale coffee drifted from your chest to your nose.

Sitting back at your desk you swished around the mouse to your computer, waiting for it to load back up and twisting absently in your chair.

“Wow,” someone whistled from beside you and you turned to find your friend leaning at the edge of your cubicle, dark hair pushed away from his face. “What happened to your shirt?”

“Coffee happened.” You mumbled, clicking your tongue in annoyance.

“Well maybe next time try not spilling the entire cup of coffee on yourself. I’m all for a wet t-shirt contest, but maybe not at work.”

You rolled your eyes, folding your arms across your chest. You were pretty sure your shirt wasn’t see through, but just in case. He smirked, noting your discomfort and your frown deepened.

“What do you want Jung Hoseok?”

Hoseok threw his hand over his heart in mock hurt. “Oh, I see, so we’re no longer on a first name basis, fine, I see how it is. Petty.”

You laughed, smacking at his arm and he grinned. “Ya, what do you want, Hoseok?”

“I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but the deadline on that assignment was moved up.”

You groaned, hands coming up to rub at your eyes. “To when?”

“6pm tonight.” Hoseok frowned.

“What?” You gasped, “You have to be kidding me. It’s three days of work!”

Hoseok nodded sadly, “I know. Don’t shoot the messenger. Is there anything I can do to help?”

You sigh, plucking at your shirt, “unless you can find me a new blouse, I think you’re safe from obligation.”

Hoseok smiled at you, “I’m sorry, I’m all out of spare shirts.”

“Thanks anyway.” You grumble and he nods, before leaving the space of your doorway and finding his way back to his own cubicle.

You stared back at your computer as it only just barely loads to the main screen and sigh. You really needed a new computer. Grabbing some of the files from your newest living hell, you dove in, hoping to at least get out before midnight.

 2 coffees and 8 hours later, the office now nearly empty and only a handful of overachievers left, you stretched in your seat before hitting the send button on the last of your work. Somehow you’d managed to cram 3 days’ worth of work into the last 8 hours and though you were feeling completely exhausted, you also felt accomplished.

You stood up, shrugging on your jacket and grabbing your purse from the edge of your desk. Despite the days being warm and pleasant the evenings were still a little chilly so you buttoned yourself in, tying the strap of your coat tight around your waist.

The moon had long since risen and you stared up at it, shoving your hands in your pockets and walking quietly along the pathway. The evening was still filled with life, old men out drinking with friends to forget the long day, men and women sitting together eating barbeque, and ladies sitting in cafes gossiping. Stores were beginning to close and for a moment you wondered if the bakery were still open; maybe you could catch one more glance of him.

Looking down at your watch you sighed. 9:30. There was no way he’d still be there. Chain bakeries were open until midnight but his bakery was a small little family owned business, they had probably closed hours ago.

Just as you were passing by the windows of the bakery and glancing in the windows at all the treats blinking out at you, you heard the bell of the little store chime as someone stepped out, locking the door behind them.

You turned to look and stopped, frozen, as he smiled back at you. He came to stand beside you, looking in at the desserts on their stands and his smile brightened.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

You blinked rapidly, not sure if you were imagining this or not. You’d never actually spoken to him, never even heard his voice and now you found yourself quite entranced.

“Ah, yes, they are.” You started, looking back through the window. They really were beautiful, macaroons decorated with all sorts of fanciful designs, cakes in layers of chocolate and buttercream, even rainbow doughnuts covered in glittering sparkles and layers of tie dyed pastels. “My favorite is the unicorn macaroon. They’re so colorful and happy.”

“Would you like one?” He asked, and you turned to look at him in surprise.

“What, now?”

“Mhmm.” He hummed.

“But you’re closed.”

“Yes, but I’m the boss so I can open for anyone I please.” His grin spread half way across his face, eyes crinkling.

“Well, in that case, I’d love one.” You smiled back.

He chuckled, beckoning you after him as he went to open the door, standing out of the way for you to enter. He flipped on one small light in the center of the store as he closed the door behind you and went to walk around the counter as you found the nearest seat and took your place.

He hummed softly to himself as he grabbed the tongs and a plate and put a couple of the macaroons in the center. He then came to sit across from you, raising one macaroon towards you.

“Cheers!” He said, and you hastily picked one up as well, clinking your macaroons together. You chuckled and took a bite, humming at the sweet, tangy flavor of the mango infused cream.

“Would you like some coffee?” He asked suddenly and you looked up at him in surprise.

“I would love some, but I should probably have decaf at this hour.”

He chuckled, nodding and standing. “Decaf caramel macchiato coming right up.”

It didn’t strike you as odd at first until you realized he’d never once taken your order so how in the world could he have possibly known your usual? Even more than that, did this mean he recognized you? After all this time you’d spent noticing him, had he also noticed you?

You polished off the last of the two macaroons he’d given you, chewing on your bottom lip in thought. Watching him work was even more exhilarating knowing it was after hours and he was making something just for you. You couldn’t really understand it, but you would cherish this time with him, it was unlikely to happen again.

“Here you go.” He said softly, sliding the coffee in front of you, bringing his own to his lips and watching you as you took a slow sip of your own. “How is it?” He asked.

“It’s delicious,” you murmured, eyes slipping closed at the feeling of the rich flavor pouring down the back of your throat. “How much do I owe you, by the way?”

He shook his head, “you owe me nothing.”

“I can’t possibly have all this for free. A drink and two macaroons? That’s too much.”

He smiled, taking a long drink of his own coffee. “I insist. You are my most frequent customer, after all.”

You blushed, looking down into your drink and tapping your fingers along the sides. “Ah, I had no idea you noticed me.”

“I definitely noticed you.” He said softly and you looked up at him in surprise. His smile was gone, replaced by a look you couldn’t quite decipher, eyes wide and curious.

“You did?” You whispered.

“Of course.” He murmured, “The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen orders a caramel macchiato and a sandwich everyday but never says a word to me.”

You blushed deeply, trying to steady your breathing as you shook your head. “I was nervous. And I’m not the most beautiful woman.”

“It’s my opinion, I can’t be wrong.” He insisted. “Are you nervous now?”

“Yes.” You whisper.

“Why?”

“Because, you’re the most handsome man I’ve ever seen and for some unknown reason you seem to think I’m beautiful.”

“You are beautiful.”

You laughed, “So you’ve told me.”

“Are you tired of hearing it?” He asked curiously.

“No.”

“Good. I’m Seokjin, by the way, but you can call me Jin.”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, would you like to go on a date?”

You smiled, placing your cup back on the table after taking a large gulp of it. “I would love to. When?”

“Right now.”

“Now?” You asked in surprise.

“Yes. Do you like spontaneous?”

“I love spontaneous.” You grinned.

“Then let’s go.” He grabbed your hand and whisked you into a night filled with karaoke, jjigae, and a little bit too much alcohol. A night so fun you couldn’t quite remember having so much fun before or feeling so comfortable with a near stranger. A man you’d loved from afar, gaze longing whenever he couldn’t possibly spot you.

Little had you known that every gaze was shared, every heart beat returned, and every wish sent up twice. Months of unrequited were suddenly filled with the sweetest, most tender embrace underneath the dark cherry blossomed sky as he returned you to your home on shaking feet, smiles permanently etched.

“I hope to see you tomorrow,” he whispered, as the two of you stood outside your door, his hands reaching for your own, “and the next day, and the next until the day you become impossibly sick of me. Which I hope is never.”

You smiled, blissfully happy and a little tipsy as you pulled him closer to you, wrapping your arms around his neck. “You will definitely see me tomorrow,” you murmured, “your most loyal customer has even more reason to return…but you know, you wouldn’t have to wait until tomorrow if you stayed.”

Jin chuckled, arms wrapping tighter around your waist as he leaned his face impossibly close to yours. “True.” He whispered before closing the distance and kissing you into oblivion.

…maybe you’d call out of work tomorrow.

Spur of the moment inspiration hit me again. I hope you like it <3

Copyright © 2017  by taeken-my-heart (Nora.) All rights reserved.

#jin scenario #jin fluff #Jin one shot #jin

[fortheloveofpearlet]

I feel selfish sending a prompt lol biadore but instead of Ru calling Michelle during Danny's meltdown in AS2 he calls Roy

Thank you darling! Currently not taking requestsDon’t feel selfish hun! I was the one that asked for them! I’ve weirdly missed writing Biadore…what’s happening to me?!

All Stars wasn’t anything like Danny thought it would be. He’d thought it would be a breeze. He’d found his style since leaving the show last time and he was much more confident in his drag. More confident than he’d ever been. But then Michelle Visage had ruined everything.

He felt like he could have been on season six again when Michelle laid into his drag like that. He felt like that fresh faced queen he had been back then, with no idea of what he was doing. He didn’t think it would be like this. So for his sanity’s sake he’d decide to leave, to walk out of the competition. Before he was allowed to do that though Ru had told him he’d called someone he wanted Danny to talk to before he made his final decision.

Danny leant up against the wall outside the studio, tears filling his eyes. He felt weak. He felt defeated. Things he hadn’t felt in a really long time. He had nothing but good memories from Drag Race but that had all been changed now.

When he saw him approach Danny’s first tear fell.‘This better be good, I had to fly in from Florida!’ Roy clucked as he approached. Danny laughed a little as he fell into the older mans arms.‘I can’t do it. It’s too much for me. If I stay it’s going to break me.’ He wrapped his arms around Roy’s neck and buried his head in his shoulder. Roy held Danny’s waist tightly.'It was just one critique baby. You stuck out season six with all the bad things Michelle had to say. What’s changed?’ Roy pulled back so he could look at the younger man. Danny’s tears were cascading down his face.'I needed that kind of critique back then, that’s what has helped shaped me into the queen I am today. But I’ve worked so hard to get where I am and for her to just write me off like that? It killed me Roy.’Roy cupped his face and stroked at his tears with his thumbs.'So you pick yourself up and you keep trying.’ Roy told him softly.'I don’t think I can.’ Danny sniffed. 'Ever since I left the show I’ve been defending my style of drag to people. I thought Michelle got it, she was so complimentary to me during BOTS but now it feels like it was all lies you know?’ His tears kept coming and Roy kept trying to bat them away as he held Danny’s face.'She’s just doing her job sweetie.’'No.’ Danny shook his head. 'She was unnecessarily harsh on me. Why should I put myself through that again? Why does she get to dictate if my drag is valid or not?’ Danny stepped back out of Roy’s hold and ran his fingers through his messy hair. 'I’m over it! I’m not strong enough to deal with it.’'Yes you are.’ Roy stepped closer again and took hold of Danny’s hands. 'You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.’'I don’t feel it.’ Danny sniffed again. 'I like my drag Roy. No, I love my drag. I’m not going to fucking crowd surf while wearing a corset am I?’His words made Roy chuckle a little.'No that would hurt.’ Roy agreed.'I like wearing sneakers and looking rough around the edges. I like showing off my boy body because guess what? I’m a fucking boy!’Roy laughed a little again and squeezed Danny’s hand.'Michelle was just doing her job baby.’ Roy reminded him softly.'I know.’ Danny sulked a little. 'But she didn’t need to be such a bitch about it.’ He fell into Roy’s arms again and Roy cradled him while he finished crying. Roy hated seeing him like this, it literally broke his heart to see him so sad. He knew the struggle Danny had gone through better than most to get people to take his drag seriously. But Danny was a sensitive soul, he always had been. And his drag was the biggest soft spot. Eventually Danny’s tears subsided and he wiped his eyes on Roy’s shoulder.'Whatever you decide to do baby, I’ll support you. 100%.’Danny looked at him through watery eyes. On the one hand he wanted to stay and stick this out. He wanted to storm back in that werk room with his middle fingers in the air and scream, ’fuck you Michelle I’m still here!’ He wanted to rock every challenge thrown his way, get to the top three again and maybe even win this time. That would be a massive fuck you to Michelle. But Danny’s skin wasn’t thick enough for this cut throat competiton. He wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten through season six, maybe it had something to do with Roy. If it hadn’t been for Roy, Danny probably wouldn’t have made it through the first time around. Danny weighed up his options for a moment. He wasn’t a quitter but he really did feel as though this competition would destroy him. Eventually he sighed; he’d made his decision.'Roy?’ He mumbled.'Yes baby?’'Take me home. For the love of god please take me home.’Roy smiled at him a little and cupped his face before kissing him softly. He threaded his fingers through Danny’s and the two of them headed away from the studio.'Anything you want baby. Anything you want.’

#biadore #biadore drabble #bianca del rio #adore delano

[bookloversreviewer]

RELEASE BLITZ

Title: Maybe Later

Author: Claudia Burgoa

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Release Date: March 7, 2019

BLURB

My personal assistant—a.k.a. half my brain—has abandoned me to have a baby. Alright, alright, I’m not a total jerk, but the temporary virtual assistant Carla left in her place is driving me crazy.

I’ve repeatedly refused to fill out Amy Walker’s way-too-friendly questionnaire. But somehow, she ninjas me into giving up details about my private life—all while suffering her oh-so-subtle jabs at my likes, dislikes, even my system for running my business.

I don’t care what she heard, I am not a problem child. I just know what’s tried and true.

At first, her feel-good P.S. quotes sounded more like B.S. Yet our emails and texts gradually take on a new dimension, and I find myself thinking of her as something I haven’t cultivated in a long time. A friend.

Maybe she’s right. It’s time I get a life. Starting with stepping out from behind the screen and putting my feelings on the line. I’ll never know unless I try.

Note: Contains a grumpy, workaholic tech CEO with a guarded heart, and a virtual assistant whose skills border on diabolical. Also, two cats named Ramen and Sushi.

GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43700253-maybe-later

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PLAYLIST

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EXCERPT

February 21st

Mrs. Jones,

Thank you for your inquiry about our services and for filling out our initial application. It’ll be a pleasure to help you find just the right virtual assistant for your need. Please, let me make sure we got some details right. On the application, you describe your current boss as impatient, aggressive, micromanaging, and somehow a social piranha.

Did I misread it? Is there a possibility that this was a typo?

If you could please correct or expand on your description, I’ll appreciate it. Mrs. Darlington explained our mission correctly. We always find the most fitting assistant for your company. Even for social piranhas. We have the right person for that. Our personnel is highly trained and holds at least a bachelor degree.

Best Regards,

E. Lancaster, CEO

Virtual Assistant Everyday Services

AUTHOR BIO

Claudia is an award-winning, international bestselling author. She lives in Colorado, working for a small IT. She has three children and manages a chaotic household of three confused dogs, and a wonderful husband who shares her love of all things geek. To survive she works continually to find purpose for the voices flitting through her head, plus she consumes high quantities of chocolate to keep the last threads of sanity intact.

AUTHOR LINKS

Website: http://www.claudiayburgoa.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ClaudiaYBurgoa

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Claudiasbooklovinchicas

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Author_ClaudiaB

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Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/yuribeans

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Claudia-Burgoa/e/B00EADAOLI

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7202946.Claudia_Y_Burgoa

Goodreads Group: https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/176276-claudia-burgoa-reader-group

Newsletter: https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/m6l6v4

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/claudia-burgoa

GIVEAWAY

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[rhodopsins]

because of you (i can’t do anything)

howon/sungjong ; 3.2k

06:43 sungyeolie: get up u lazy asses 06:43 sungyeolie: its not my fault if ur all late 06:44 sungyeolie: ok fine be late idc 06:46 woohyunie: shut up 06:46 woohyunie: i’m awake 06:47 woohyunie: i woke up at 5 okay shut up you’re so annoying 06:48 sungyeolie: wow!!!!!! 06:48 sungyeolie: as expected of our oh-so diligent president!!!!!! 06:49 sungyeolie: should i record ur speech for u?????? 06:50 sungyeolie: so u can show sunggyu-hyung????? 06:50 sungyeolie: how good u r with ur mouth??? 06:51 sungyeolie: maybe hes gonna come down?????? 06:51 sungyeolie: from seoul juuuuuust to see u??????? 06:56 sungyeolie: ok ignore me ok fine 06:57 sungyeolie: im just trying to help 07:30 howonie: fuck 07:31 howonie: why the fuck didn’t either of u assholes call me srsly 07:31 howonie: god i hate u two so much

howon nearly considers just staying home. even if he runs to the train station, even if all the trains run on time, even if he manages to avoid the morning crush, he’ll still be at least fifteen minutes late to the opening assembly on the first day of class. but he’s a third year now, and he knows that as the president of the hip hop dance club, he might get penalized if he’s not there.

he groans even as he pulls his school dress shirt over the tank he’d worn to sleep and shucks off his shorts. he ties his navy blue tie on as he’s running out of the door, toeing on his shoes as he goes. he can just imagine the looks he’s going to get when he ends up walking into the auditorium late like some lame first year who doesn’t know his way around.

by some miraculous chain of events, the train he takes to school is on time, there aren’t too many people in his train car smushed up against him, and he manages to squeak his way into school just before the gates close. he’s only five minutes late now, and as he strolls almost leisurely through the hallways, he notices a lone figure wandering around. he can tell by the uniform that that’s not a teacher, that it’s a student. he’s about to pass by to get to the auditorium when the other student hears his footsteps and turns, and howon stops dead in his tracks.

“excuse me, sorry, i’m lost. my stupid brother goes here, but he left me so he could go canoodle with his boyfriend, and i don’t know where the auditorium is. could you please show me the way there?” the other student says, and howon stares at him, not really processing any of his words. his eyes are large and round, and his voice is melodious and lilting, and when howon steps closer to him, he can tell that the other student’s a first year by the tie around his neck (they’re color coded at his school: maroon for first years, dark green for second years, and navy blue for third years). he smells good. like flowers, but more than that, like an omega.

howon hates dramas. he thinks they’re dumb and unrealistic with barely the thinnest thread of reason and sanity linking them to real life, but in this moment, he has a sudden realization that maybe dramas aren’t really as terrible as he thinks they are. he takes the other boy’s wrist and leads him through the hallways, turning the corners, until they’re standing in front of a pair of double doors.

“thank you, sunbaenim,” the student says, bowing at the waist, and it’s then that howon realizes he’s a lot taller than howon himself is. he brushes a stray strand of hair behind his ear when he stands back up and moves to open the door, but howon moves on instinct and blocks him. the first year blinks down at howon. “sunbaenim?”

“what’s your name?” howon asks, and he extends a hand. the other student takes it, bowing again, but not as far down this time. the spark that passes through howon’s body is electric, and he wonders if he’s the only one who felt it. “i’m lee howon. i’m a third year.”

the student blinks at him again before he smiles, and howon notices that he has a mole on his nose. that’s cute. “i’m lee sungjong, a first year, as you probably noticed. thank you for showing me the way here again.”

he bows one last time before he opens the door to the auditorium and goes to the right, where all of the first years are seated. howon makes his way to the left and sits down with the rest of his class, and he feels like woohyun is giving him the stink eye from where he’s currently standing on stage and giving the opening speech. he doesn’t pay attention at all, instead thinking of a soft palm against his own and an even softer voice.

howon mentally sends up a prayer and a thanks that he hadn’t woken up with his alarms this morning, that he’d fallen asleep at five, that he’d spent nearly the entire night thinking up a new choreography for his club to use for this year’s chuseok festival, because if he hadn’t been late for school, there’s no way he would ever have met sungjong, no way he would ever have bumped into him in the hallways and helped him get to the auditorium. lee sungjong. sungjong. he won’t forget that name.

he’s distracted for the rest of the day. he’s been doodling all over his notebooks when his notes are usually the nicest of them all, organized and precise. he can practically feel sungyeol’s eyes burning into the back of his head all through korean and english and math, and when the bell finally rings for lunch, sungyeol prods him in the back with a violence that makes howon rear back and slap the beta’s hand away. “what do you want, stupid?”

“fucking spill, lee howon, what’s wrong with you?” sungyeol asks, getting up in howon’s face, and he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face at sungyeol’s annoyance. “see? see? what the hell’s wrong with you? you didn’t even respond when i said we should throw tomatoes at woohyun’s ugly head during the assembly!”

oh. they really should’ve done that. maybe next time woohyun has to do a speech they’ll do that. “nothing’s wrong,” howon starts, and he can practically see a vein on sungyeol’s forehead threaten to pop. “except i met the cutest fucking omega ever.” howon preens, then adds, just to piss sungyeol off, “cuter than myungsoo.”

sungyeol’s eyes narrow at him. “okay, first off, no one’s cuter than myungsoo. you’re just blind, myungsoo’s face is an actual work of art. and his personality, too, but his face? hello? also, what the fuck? you were late and you managed to meet a cute first year? who even does that?”

“i do, obviously. you wish you were as good as i am.” howon leans back in his chair, smug, and in the seat behind him, sungyeol leans back as well, crossing his arms over his chest. he takes out his phone and taps something out, and howon takes his phone out as well when he feels a slight buzz.

12:31 sungyeolie: yo nam get ur ass over here 12:31 sungyeolie: hoaegi has a fucking crush 12:32 sungyeolie: on a first year 12:32 sungyeolie: cradle robber

“alright, describe him. let’s see if he’s really as cute as you think he is,” sungyeol says as woohyun throws the door of their classroom open and bounds over to where they’re sitting. woohyun’s in another class, and howon would miss him more if he weren’t an insufferable prick some of the time, which means all of his waking moments.

“spill, lee, we only have twenty-eight minutes and you’re wasting them all,” woohyun says, sitting down into an unoccupied chair next to them. he steeples his fingers underneath his chin. “let’s hear who’s got your heart in his hands, you fucking cradle robber.”

howon stares at woohyun. “ew, don’t say that again, or i’ll tell sunggyu-hyung, who, by the way, was the original cradle robber, that you’re cheating on him with a first year omega.”

woohyun snorts. “sunggyu-hyung knows i only have eyes for him, you dumbass. besides, i’d never leave him for a stupid first year. my boyfriend is in university. seoul national university school of law, by the way, in case you guys haven’t heard.”

of course they’ve heard. when sunggyu had gotten his acceptance letters from universities two years back, woohyun had been the first one to tell everyone, even before sunggyu himself had a chance to let people know, that he’d gotten into his first choice program at his first choice school.

“we know. you totally don’t tell us every other second,” sungyeol says drily, before he turns his attention back on howon. “okay, shoot.”

howon lets the smile that had been threatening to break out onto his face the entire day finally show, and he catches woohyun’s and sungyeol’s expressions of disgust before he starts. “so i met him when he was lost this morning before the assembly because i was late and he couldn’t find the auditorium because he said his idiot brother left him alone to go canoodle with his boyfriend, whatever that means, and i walked him to the auditorium and he was super pretty and tall and nice and he smelled super good.” howon thinks back to that moment, closing his eyes to relive the memory. “oh, and he had a really cute mole.”

when howon finally opens his eyes again, he notices that both of the expressions on sungyeol’s and woohyun’s faces have changed. woohyun’s face has morphed into something akin to wild glee and he keeps looking at sungyeol and then at howon, while sungyeol’s is somewhere in between shock and barely-concealed annoyance. “what? i told you he’s cuter than myungsoo.”

“where,” sungyeol starts, his voice sounding strangled, “was his mole?”

what a weird question. sungyeol is weird. maybe he wants to ditch myungsoo for sungjong, but howon has the answer to that ready. “on his nose. it was really cute.”

woohyun lets out the loudest bark of laughter he’s ever heard, and he nearly falls off of the chair trying to hold his stomach. howon watches him cackle, wondering why he’s laughing so hard, before he looks back up at sungyeol’s face. sungyeol’s face is strangely placid now, smooth and uncreased, and howon doesn’t know why that unsettles him more than it should.

the lunch bell rings, and when woohyun leaves, he claps both sungyeol and howon on the backs. “good luck, guys. seriously, good luck.” as woohyun walks back to his own class, howon can just barely make out him saying to himself, “oh, this is so good, this is so fucking good,” and he wonders just what about this is good.

the rest of the day ends in a flurry of syllabi being handed out and a strange sensation prickling at the back of his neck. he feels like sungyeol’s glaring daggers into his back, but howon has no idea why. maybe he’s feeling threatened on myungsoo’s behalf. as he packs up his books to leave, he notices that sungyeol’s still in his seat. “not going home?” he asks, hands pausing on the straps of his backpack.

“i have to help myungsoo unpack some stuff for his photography club,” sungyeol mutters, his eyes fixed on his phone. “just go.”

howon doesn’t need to be told twice. he’s almost at the entrance of the school when he sees a familiar silhouette in front of him, and his heart very nearly leaps. he walks just a little bit faster so he can catch up, and he claps sungjong on the arm. “hey, sungjong,” howon says, grinning.

“hi, howon-sunbaenim,” sungjong says, inclining his head just slightly. his strides are long, and howon has to take faster steps than he usually does to keep up. “how was your day?”

“it was alright,” howon replies. he has time to kill today, and it’s just the first day of schoo, so he doesn’t really have anything to lose either way, but— “do you want me to walk you home? or to the train station? or something?”

“i’m fine, sunbaenim,” sungjong says, apology in his voice, and before howon can let himself be too crushed, he continues. “i usually take the train home with my brother, anyway.”

“ah, makes sense.” howon nods. “by the way, you can just call me hyung. no need for sunbaenim or anything like that, okay?”

“okay, hyung.” sungjong smiles, and howon wonders if he’s the first upperclassman to befriend this kid. they’re outside the gates now, and howon thinks that the reason they’d made it so quickly is because of sungjong’s long strides. “um, this is where i usually wait for my brother, but he’s a little bit late today, so—”

“it’s fine,” howon says, waving it off. if he finds out who sungjong’s brother is, maybe he can gain some brownie points with him if he and the brother already know each other. “what class is your brother in?”

“hm, i think he’s in 3-b? i don’t know for sure, though. sorry, hyung.”

3-b? that’s the class he and sungyeol are in, so he definitely knows who sungjong’s brother is. he’s about to ask when he spies sungyeol walking towards them, his hands intertwined with myungsoo’s. he almost waves to sungyeol to call him over to ask if he knows sungjong’s brother as well when sungjong follows his line of sight and he turns.

howon nearly opens his mouth to introduce the two before sungjong beats him to it. “hyung, you’re so late! i told you i wanted to get home early tonight to help umma out with dinner,” sungjong whines, smacking sungyeol on the arm. “you’re gonna have to walk aga and nari and kkong later then, okay?”

“okay, okay, i’m sorry,” sungyeol laughs, but his eyes aren’t smiling at all. his eyes fix on howon’s then, and he cocks his head in a false show of innocence. “oh? who’s this?”

howon sees myungsoo’s eyebrows knit together in confusion, and he thinks that he would be feeling the same way if all of the puzzle pieces weren’t slowly and steadily falling into place.

“oh, this is howon-hyung,” sungjong says, a smile back on his face. “he helped me when i was lost this morning. he’s very nice.”

“oh, really? howon-hyung?” sungyeol asks, that damned wide-eyed expression still on his face, and howon knows that he’s fixated onto the lack of honorific. “well, howon-hyung, it’s very nice to meet you. thanks so much for taking care of my baby brother. so good to see that there are still decent people in the world.”

“you too,” howon can only bow back numbly when sungyeol does, and when myungsoo opens his mouth to interject, sungyeol’s grabbing both myungsoo and sungjong by the arms and frog-marching them in the direction of the train station.

“bye, howon-hyung!” sungjong yells out, and howon waves at him until he can’t see them anymore. when they’re gone, he stands there for what feels like hours, and he feels a cold dread start to seep into his bones.

lee sungjong is the brother of lee sungyeol, the guy he’s known since elementary school, the guy he’s been best friends with ever since, the guy who’s on a speaking basis with howon’s own parents.

fuck.

22:13 howonie: so 22:13 howonie: listen 22:13 howonie: sungyeol 22:13 howonie: sungyeolie 22:14 howonie: my friend 22:14 howonie: my bestest friend from first grade 22:14 howonie: let’s b real 22:14 howonie: sunggyu-hyung was really lenient on u 22:15 howonie: when u were trying to get into myungsoo’s pants 22:15 howonie: so i’m just saying 22:16 howonie: if sunggyu-hyung didn’t kill u 22:16 howonie: maybe u should be like 22:16 howonie: be lenient 22:17 howonie: on me 22:17 howonie: plz 22:17 howonie: i think ur brother is rly cute 22:18 howonie: no ill intent 22:18 howonie: at all 22:18 howonie: i swear 22:18 howonie: to god 22:19 howonie: why aren’t u responding 22:19 howonie: u have ur read receipts on 22:19 howonie: plz sungyeol 22:20 woohyunie: lmao 22:20 woohyunie: lmaaaoooooo 22:20 woohyunie: lmaaaaaoooooooooo 22:20 woohyunie: g fucking g dude 22:21 woohyunie: you’re fucked lol 22:21 woohyunie: you better kiss your knot goodbye 22:22 sungyeolie: ^^^^ what he said 22:22 sungyeolie: if u speak to my brother i will end u 22:22 sungyeolie: if u touch my brother i will end u 22:22 sungyeolie: if u breathe near my brother i will end u 22:23 sungyeolie: if u even think about my brother i will end u 22:23 sungyeolie: ill chop off ur dick and feed it to my cats 22:23 sungyeolie: and we will all dance on ur grave 22:24 woohyunie: holy shit lol 22:24 woohyunie: give up now while you still can, busan 22:25 sungyeolie: r u screenshotting this 22:25 sungyeolie: and sending it to sunggyu-hyung 22:25 woohyunie: yeah 22:26 sungyeolie: k good that way hes gonna know what happened 22:26 sungyeolie: so he doesnt have to find out from his obit 22:27 woohyunie: l m a o 22:27 woohyunie: seriously dude give up now 22:27 woohyunie: unless you like not having a dick 22:28 woohyunie: or living 22:28 sungyeolie: cradle robbers arent welcome here 22:28 sungyeolie: only purity 22:29 howonie: wtf about u and nam is pure 22:29 howonie: nothing 22:30 sungyeolie: myungsoo and i r only seven months apart u shit 22:30 sungyeolie: this is the purest kind of love 22:31 woohyunie: yeah same 22:31 woohyunie: me and sunggyu-hyung 22:31 woohyunie: so fucking pure 22:32 woohyunie: emphasis on the fucking btw 22:32 howonie: ?????????????????? 22:32 howonie: dude i swear i’ll be good to sungjong 22:32 howonie: plz 22:32 howonie: plz help me don’t cut off my knot 22:33 howonie: i gotta live too 22:33 sungyeolie: die in a hole 22:34 woohyunie: sunggyu-hyung says he hopes you understand his pain 22:34 sungyeolie: i do 22:34 sungyeolie: can u tell him im sorry 22:34 sungyeolie: bc now i get it 22:35 woohyunie: he asks if you’re going to break up with myungsoo 22:35 sungyeolie: fuck no what the fuck 22:35 sungyeolie: hes mine now 22:35 sungyeolie: forever 22:36 woohyunie: he says he hopes you suffer then 22:36 woohyunie: he says he will represent busan in court if he has to 22:37 howonie: yay sunggyu-hyung’s on my side!!!!!!! 22:37 sungyeolie: shut the fuck up 22:37 sungyeolie: like actually 22:38 sungyeolie: again 22:38 sungyeolie: lemme just reiterate 22:39 sungyeolie: if u speak to my brother i will end u 22:39 sungyeolie: if u touch my brother i will end u 22:40 sungyeolie: if u breathe near my brother i will end u 22:40 sungyeolie: if u even think about my brother i will end u 22:41 sungyeolie: im going to go warn him 22:41 sungyeolie: about u now 22:41 sungyeolie: bye 22:42 howonie: wait no 22:42 howonie: wait 22:42 howonie: why 22:43 woohyunie: sunggyu-hyung says you’re pathetic 22:43 woohyunie: and that you’re a cradle robber 22:44 howonie: wtf 22:44 howonie: dude he’s in uni and ur in high school 22:44 howonie: he’s the real cradle robber here 22:45 woohyunie: ok tbh the cradle robbed him 22:45 woohyunie: if you know what i mean 22:45 woohyunie: heh 22:46 howonie: fuck off you’re disgusting 22:46 woohyunie: he says he won’t represent you anymore 22:46 woohyunie: so you’re on your own 22:47 woohyunie: sucks to fucking suck lmao 22:48 woohyunie: hope you enjoy being knotless 22:48 howonie: :(

#kktau #hojong

[hellodollfacemusic]

Hello, Morocco

Holy bank accounts, yard sales, insurances, buy-my-car, flights and goodwill!

COUNTDOWN is ON. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

This should be an incredible journey!

I spent a decent amount of time traveling and living abroad in my late teens and early twenties before moving to Colorado. I graduated HS early, convinced my best friend and our parents to let us move to Spain and study spanish (and nightlife of course) and progressed into countries all over Southeast Asia, then onto Northern Europe - a good portion of time in Sweden becoming fluent in Swedish (only out of sheer demand for the language around the world of course).

I am embarking on a trip that will be an absolute adventure and an eye-opening experience. In 2008, Morocco was a #1 bucket item, I even took the time to cut and paste a sweet photo of the markets in Marrakech to remind me to get sensory when visioning. 10 years later, here it is!

So what is this trip about? It's about opening, shifting perspective, change, and celebrating return of Saturn, being present with myself and what I have worked on and reflecting positively on the milestones,  and honestly a heaping dose of self-discovery. It is so easy to live in the future and forget what you have created. We have to take time to let in the reflection and soak up and soak in the goodness of who we are and what we create- even if it might not be what we planned, or the perfected version of our first thread of inspiration. The details of this trip span from London to Essaouira, from volunteering, recording one unfinished Hello Dollface album and one debut Loki Moon EP, exploring short film projects, hosting artist workshops, performing regularly, possible event development, a personal quest through meditation and wellness, and an overall breath of fresh - "hey this one's been on the bucket for a hot 10... 10 years later", air.

I am going through photos, ridding myself of all material non-necessities, I have played 100 less shows so far this year in only the first 4 months of 2018.... I am taking care of my body and mind more than ever, and Morocco feels right. I mean, where I am headed is literally my embarking quest upon Astapor!  (*Game of Thrones location - for all you non- GOT fans.)

In all sincerity, this is a big step for me to let go, trust, and reset. In these past six months I have experience a huge phase of transition and growing pains, but I have opened up quite a bit of space for a new realization of my life as an entrepreneur, a founder, an artist and a musician and how all of these hats and limbs can all work together in a more sustainable fashion for my body, mind, and spirit. I have been 390430982309842309 % committed in too many directions in the last 5 years, even though I am tremendously proud of what I have learned, the people I have grown with, and the beauty, lessons and love that community, family, and my circle of my nearest and dearest artists and musicians friends have shared with and taught me. In the beginning of 2017, stepping into the role from founder to Board President 501c3 organization iAM MUSIC, while continuing as creative director, a festival producer, a full-time musician and 200+ shows, a full-time vocal coach and mentor, while balancing the fine line of sanity as an entrepreneur - left me in full-time burn-out mode seeking a major shift.  I knew it was coming. And, although truth be told much of this process has been very emotional - I know that I will be opening to a new chapter of possibility and my body, heart, and mind are thanking me.

I hope that by opening and sharing from a vulnerable, authentic space directly with you on this platform, that it will be encouraging, insightful, and inspiring for some of you that may sometimes wonder if where you are currently is ultimately where you want to be. I am here to demonstrate that journey with all of its hiccups and glory, and to be courageous and unafraid of raising the ceiling and putting a ban on self-limiting behavior while accepting my flaws and loving myself unconditionally. I am here to be a ruthless and shameless example when it comes to learning about self-love and being ok with where you are on your evolutionary path. This blog should be a fun, insightful, yet honest, sincere portal into my life while on my travels and I hope to share as much as I can while being real. I am beginning with a minimum 3 month commitment in Morocco with travel plans also in London with shows and connections in Paris (and hopefully back to Spain!) I will be posting photos, videos, music, and film-projects through the trip, as well as launching a Patreon site for Loki Moon! If you get an opportunity, check out the music/creative side of my life through that channel! I will be blogging and documenting there with my musical partner, so check it out!

I have a furnished, no-cost apartment with 2 meals a day exchange for volunteering with my incredible hosts, fellow artists and co-founders of Chill Art Hostel- an art and music hostel! I will be opening up an online portal to continue teaching vocal lessons, and I am working with a business coach to launch my coaching career and develop Empower Your Evolution with this brand and project! More coming soon!

With love, and cheers to where you are at right now. I know for many 2018 has been a wild ride so far!

xo Ashley

#morocco #africa #adventure

[flashinglights-rp]

GABRIEL SMYTHE ➝ THIRD SIBLING

AS YOU RECALL, YOU KNOW I LOVE TO SHOW OFF

◈ FULL NAME: Gabriel Alexandre Smythe. ◈ GENDER: Male. ◈ PRONOUNS: He/Him. ◈ AGE: 24. (October 1st). ◈ BIRTH ORDER: Third. Twin to Fourth Smythe. ◈ HOMETOWN: Paris, France. ◈ CURRENT LOCATION: Los Angeles, California. ◈ JOB ROLE: Psychological Researcher. ◈ SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Demisexual. ◈ ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Biromantic. ◈ FACECLAIM: Grant Gustin.

BUT YOU NEVER THOUGHT THAT I WOULD TAKE IT THIS FAR

Wealth, power, status – growing up, Gabriel Smythe was the picture-perfect example of what a child born into the upper class should be. He grew up in Paris, France, surrounded by his nannies and servants who almost exclusively watched over him and his siblings while his parents were working. His family came from old-money, dating back as far as anyone could tell, and his father’s choice of going into the law field only blessed the Smythe children with more money than they would possibly know what to do with. They were spoiled, that much is something Gabriel wouldn’t ever deny. It never even bothered him that his first word had been the name of his nanny rather than ‘momma’, or that the only time his family was ever together for meals were on the occasions when the Smythe children were whisked away to some fancy dinner party to be shown off as trophies and told not to do anything to dishonor the family. Really, it all became second-nature to Gabriel. He took it all in stride, not caring that he barely knew his parents. He had everything he could ever want, and his older siblings who he loved more than almost anything else in the world. For the first decade of his life, Gabriel was a perfectly content child.

The Smythe family moved to San Diego, CA when Gabriel was 7, thanks to their father opening up an American branch of their Parisian based law firm and wanting to overview the development. This was when things started to take a turn in the wrong direction for Gabriel. He was whisked away from his friends and the city he’d spent his entire life falling in love with, the family workers who’d been more like parents to him than his own could ever even dare to be… It was a change, to say the least. Whereas most of his nights in Paris had been spent barely registering his parents absence, now he was all too aware of how empty and quiet their new home was late at night when everyone else was asleep and his parents were out working on establishing some sort of social status. He slowly became acclimated to the new language and culture that he really had no choice but to accept, improving his English over the years as things around him started to settle, albeit temporarily.

With adolescence came a new area of adaptation Gabriel had to learn to navigate, and by the time he was 13, he had picked up a rather intense sense of perfectionism that managed to worm its way into every aspect of his life, putting an unprecedented amount of pressure on him. His parents weren’t much help, unfortunately. They had very high ideas of what their children could and should accomplish, and they made sure to let these thoughts be known. It wasn’t long before Gabriel started to crack, desperately trying to hang on to any sort of control he could find in his life. If he’d thought he’d had pressure from his parents to be perfect before, it was nothing compared to the unrealistically high standards he set for himself. Perfect grades, perfect body, perfect self- that was his goal, no matter what the consequences.

It took a drastic toll on his body and mental state, both of which have never been able to reach the level they were at before his gradual decline. It wasn’t just his eating habits and body that he wanted to control, it was every single aspect of his life. It didn’t help that, back at home, his parents were starting to show signs of breaking under the pressure as well. It wasn’t uncommon for him and his siblings to be woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of angry French being yelled downstairs. About his mother’s numerous affairs or about his father’s inability to think about anything other than work…. It never mattered to Gabriel what they were fighting about, just that he had to listen to it and act as if it were a perfectly normal thing. It made it harder for him to maintain the picture-perfect image of his family he’d deluded himself into thinking was real.

His life came to a complete stop when he was fifteen. One second, he was arriving home after his usual morning jog, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up in the hospital with doctors surrounding him, using words like ‘malnourished’, ‘dehydrated’, and ‘anemic’. It wasn’t long before a few answers from his parents and an impromptu meeting with a psychologist that it was finally revealed the damage Gabriel had done to his body over the last two years. His parents immediately placed him in therapy, demanding he ‘get over himself’ or risk being disowned for the way he’d been acting. He did as they ordered, hoping to maintain the perfect family image and keep them happy, though with every pound he gained and every meal he finished, he hated himself more and more. By the time he was 17, he was working his way back to normal, though his attitude towards food and his workout routines were still cause for concern. Nevertheless, Gabriel did everything in his power to keep himself above the water. He graduated top of his class, and after a bit of deliberation about exactly what direction he wanted to go with his life, decided to make the very long journey to New York to make his way in the Ivy League following his admission to Columbia University with a concentration in psychology, hoping it would help him put the past behind him. It did for a bit, but he would be a liar if he said his time in undergrad didn’t tend to have an overhanging thread of relapse throughout the majority of it.

Through the aid of summer classes, Gabriel managed to complete his bachelor degree a year ahead of schedule, graduating shortly after his 21st birthday. From there, he was admitted to USC’s master’s program in neuroscience, and promptly made his way back to California, though he would be lying if he tries to say that it didn’t have a less than ideal result on his recovery attempts. Although much more difficult than he’d anticipated, Gabriel completed the program in the estimated two-year time frame and earned his LLPC soon after. He was fully prepared to apply to a doctoral program when he was, instead, contacted by an executive who had received his name from a former professor. The man was in the middle of creating a new tv show, focused on the criminal aspect of the law system and meant to shed a new light on human behavior. They had a crew set up, producers, writers… the only thing they needed to pull everything together was someone who knew psychology like the back of his own hand, and who would be committed to spending hours every week researching and helping along side the writers to make the show as accurate as possible.

After a big of deliberation, Gabriel accepted the job and made the incredibly tough decision to push back his goals of obtaining a doctorate. There was no guarantee he would have been accepted into school in LA, and the thought of having to move yet again was incredibly hard to think about, especially after his parents broke the news to him that they would no longer be living together, neither one wanting to be the one to actually draw up divorce papers. Taking the gig seemed to be the safest bet for his own sanity, and the facts certainly don’t prove that thought wrong. Out of Mind was an overnight sensation, with many critics praising the accurate portrayal an representations of behavior and illness that the show quickly became known for. Having recently ended its first season with critical acclaim, Gabriel has already been asked to continue helping the show into it’s picked-up second season. He has also been approached by a handful of other directors and writers, willing to pay him big to bring to their show what he did to Out of Mind.

Although it means that he does not have time to invest in a doctoral program as much as he would need to, Gabriel has actually found himself quite content with where this strange yet fulfilling road has taken him. With his limited license, he is able to supplement additional income with the occasional counseling client, though between money he still receives from his parents and what he earns from his research, it is far from needed. LA is a city he never thought he would find himself in, but it’s soon become his home as he delves into the world of entertainment. He still has plans to achieve the title of Dr. Smythe one day, that has never stopped being his dream. He considers this to be a temporary side road, that’s all. If that road has had the unexpected consequence of allowing him to slip into a few old, less than healthy habits in regards to his body… well then, that’s not really something anybody else needs to know.

WHAT DO YOU KNOW? FLASHING LIGHTS, LIGHTS

Gabriel prefers to find the fine line between style and comfort. Blues and greys are the main colors of his wardrobe, always keeping himself clean cut and dressed to impress, should he be leaving the comfort of his home. He likes to carry himself tall yet relaxed, hoping to give the impression that he is more sure of the world around him than he actually is. He has glasses, though he can often times be found opting for contacts instead. He has a tattoo on his left wrist, the symbol of the NEDA as a reminder to himself.

#flrpgabriel #flrpsmythe

[bookloversreviewer]

COVER REVEAL

Title: Maybe Later

Author: Claudia Burgoa

Genre: Contemporary Romance

Cover Design: Hang Le

Release Date: March 7, 2019

BLURB

My personal assistant—a.k.a. half my brain—has abandoned me to have a baby. Alright, alright, I’m not a total jerk, but the temporary virtual assistant Carla left in her place is driving me crazy.

I’ve repeatedly refused to fill out Amy Walker’s way-too-friendly questionnaire. But somehow, she ninjas me into giving up details about my private life—all while suffering her oh-so-subtle jabs at my likes, dislikes, even my system for running my business.

I don’t care what she heard, I am not a problem child. I just know what’s tried and true.

At first, her feel-good P.S. quotes sounded more like B.S. Yet our emails and texts gradually take on a new dimension, and I find myself thinking of her as something I haven’t cultivated in a long time. A friend.

Maybe she’s right. It’s time I get a life. Starting with stepping out from behind the screen and putting my feelings on the line. I’ll never know unless I try.

Note: Contains a grumpy, workaholic tech CEO with a guarded heart, and a virtual assistant whose skills border on diabolical. Also, two cats named Ramen and Sushi.

GOODREADS LINK: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/43700253-maybe-later

PRE-ORDER LINKS – $2.99 for a limited time!!

B&N: http://bit.ly/2SEdPaN

Kobo: http://bit.ly/2MYmSy5

Apple Books: https://apple.co/2GjiKZ4

Amazon Live Release Alert: https://geni.us/Maybelater

PLAYLIST

Embed Code:

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Direct Link:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5ZPDkYuwl54N69UC1agTcb?si=MnJMmZU9RquFVx1hDX8E3w

EXCERPT

February 21st

Mrs. Jones,

Thank you for your inquiry about our services and for filling out our initial application. It’ll be a pleasure to help you find just the right virtual assistant for your need. Please, let me make sure we got some details right. On the application, you describe your current boss as impatient, aggressive, micromanaging, and somehow a social piranha.

Did I misread it? Is there a possibility that this was a typo?

If you could please correct or expand on your description, I’ll appreciate it. Mrs. Darlington explained our mission correctly. We always find the most fitting assistant for your company. Even for social piranhas. We have the right person for that. Our personnel is highly trained and holds at least a bachelor degree.

Best Regards,

E. Lancaster, CEO

Virtual Assistant Everyday Services

AUTHOR BIO

Claudia is an award-winning, international bestselling author. She lives in Colorado, working for a small IT. She has three children and manages a chaotic household of three confused dogs, and a wonderful husband who shares her love of all things geek. To survive she works continually to find purpose for the voices flitting through her head, plus she consumes high quantities of chocolate to keep the last threads of sanity intact.

AUTHOR LINKS

Website: http://www.claudiayburgoa.com

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ClaudiaYBurgoa

Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/Claudiasbooklovinchicas

Twitter: https://twitter.com/Author_ClaudiaB

Instagram: http://instagram.com/claudia_b30

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/yuribeans

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Claudia-Burgoa/e/B00EADAOLI

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7202946.Claudia_Y_Burgoa

Goodreads Group: https://www.goodreads.com/group/show/176276-claudia-burgoa-reader-group

Newsletter: https://app.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/m6l6v4

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/claudia-burgoa