#I was like ‘I cannot possibly take you seriously’ and they were like ‘just glides right over your smooth head doesn’t it? it couldn’t

[wickershells]

tiktok sucks soooo much ass i know everyone wise already knows/knew this including me for the vast majority of the year when it is not on my phone but oh my god. just got into a pseudo-argument with someone who swore the audience participation facet of the rocky horror picture show’s nonpareil cultural tradition is deeply harmful and detrimental to its very serious themes. and i was like alright i’ll bite the themes i can conjure off the top of my head are those of acceptance and expression and repression of desire which are only furthered and made metatextual through the context of audience participation & recreation and they were like no actually themes like powerful men (such as frank n furter) using their charisma to take advantage of repression through sexual assault and narcissistic tendencies (which are overlooked by the audience because they do not perceive him as bad enough) & also para-eugenics (through his match-making of janet and brad) at the hands of dr van scott. and the liturgical chanting and repetitive behaviours have created the same structure within the queer community as a church. and like. how does one even respond to that

#update: I did not post the draft. here it is #to be clear it started because someone said they went to a showing of rhps and were upset people were talking and I said oh it’s #tradition! definitely not for someone who has never seen it before haha and then a completely random person jumped in with that #I was like ‘I cannot possibly take you seriously’ and they were like ‘just glides right over your smooth head doesn’t it? it couldn’t #POSSIBLY be as bad as a church because it’s QUEER! that’s how you sound’ and I had the most gillian anderson quirked eyebrow of all time #mine

[honourablejester]

PF2e Ancestries That Intrigue Me

So I’ve been browsing the various PF2e ancestries and heritages on Archives of Nethys, and I just want to mention a few that sparked joy.

Ancestries:

Grippli: Frog people! Frog people are always a guaranteed sell for me, I seriously just love frogs, and grippli are specifically arboreal frog people. You are a tree frog. There’s even a specific heritage, the Windweb Grippli, that eventually lets you be a gliding tree frog. I love it. I just wanna be a frog, man.

Leshy: You’re a plant. You are even, depending on your heritage, a specific type of plant. Want to be a tiny fungus being? Fungal Leshy. A squat grumpy cactus person? Cactus Leshy. You can be a vine, a root, a seaweed, a fruit leshy. If you decide you want to be a pumpkin leshy and choose the Gourd Leshy heritage, you don’t have a brain (your knowledge and personality are stored in your spirit) and can store things inside your empty pumpkin head. Which makes them harder to steal. I don’t … I can’t even. Amazing. Also, cannot possible overstate this, leshy are adorable. The art is just amazing.

Ysoki/Ratfolk: Much as with Grippli, sometimes I just wanna be a rat, dude. Possibly specifically a Sewer Rat, although the Longsnout Rat is also cool, and has a feat called ‘Plague Sniffer’ that lets you smell disease on people, which feels interesting and evocative of a lot of things. Also, the bit of me who grew up with The Pied Piper of Hamelin as my favourite fairytale wants to go in a lot of directions with a ratfolk character.

Fleshwarp: Bit of a switch of direction here, but … me and horror, me and cosmic horror, me and dark fantasy. Fleshwarps are fantastic. You have been horrifically transformed/manufactured by magical/alchemical/otherworldly forces. Each fleshwarp looks completely different, depending on what their particular horrific transformation did to them, so you can go absolutely wild with the body horror details so long as you keep to a broadly humanoid shape (bipedal, one head, four functional limbs – you can have more if a) they’re vestigial and non-functional or b) you take a feat). The heritages for fleshwarps are essentially how you were created, and you’ve got some options from ‘made in a vat’ to ‘warped by wild magic’ to ‘magical cybernetics ate your emotions’. And their feats are fucking gnarly. Weapons grown from your bodies, making enemies pay for wounding you by sickening them with the sight of your innards and the strange behaviour of the wound, gaining a sheen of acidic slime on your skin … Like. Okay. Body horror is not usually my horror cup of tea, but hot damn I would play around with this! They are fantastic. And there’s a lot to play with thematically with the consequences of such a difficult and warped existence. Like. Lots of story meat on this ancestry. Amazing.

Kashrishi: You know that thing where unicorns might have been rhinos? And the slight difference in vibe that gives? Kashrishi are halfling-sized empathic rhino people with crystal horns. I repeat. You are a three foot tall, built as hell bipedal psychic rhino unicorn with empathy and a crystal horn that glows when you use magic. Whoever came up with this idea and then put it in a book so that people could actually play it, I hope you got paid big money for it. This ancestry somehow hits a perfect bullseye dead centre on the venn diagram of the bits of me that love dwarves and the bits of me that love unicorns. I want it.

Versatile Heritages:

Firstly, I’m gonna say that I love the idea of taking these and making them heritages and not ancestries, so you can put them on any base ancestry. DnD 5e was starting to head this way with the dhampir and reborn, but because of 5e’s structure when it comes to races/ancestries, they still mostly just replace the ‘original’ race. PF2e’s ancestral heritage and feat structure lets you have both from the get go and choose elements of both to build on. I can have a tiefling dwarf. That’s still dwarfy. I can have a dhampir dwarf. An aasimar dwarf. An elemental dwarf.

And yes, instinctively, I pretty much do want to put all of them on a dwarf. I just like the idea of taking the quintessential dwarfness of a dwarf and adding something bonkers onto it. Dwarves are just so solidly dwarfy that they warp whatever you put on them around it. A dhampir is one thing, all cool and gothic, but a dhampir dwarf is something else. An aasimar dwarf is the grumpiest, most pragmatic half-angel on the planet. The sheer … solidity of dwarves just shifts the vibes, and I love it. Get your dwarf vibes all up in planar business!

Though, you know. Once my brain lets go of dwarves a bit, I can see some interesting potential for other combinations. An aasimar fleshwarp, for example, would be interesting. Which came first, the destruction or the grace? Were you born beautiful and blessed, and warped from jealousy or cruelty or bad luck? Or did some benevolent deity recognise the beauty of your spirit even in your shattered and twisted physical state and confer some touch of celestial grace upon you (my personal favourite)? How much of the aasimar shows through the ruin of warped flesh? I love the image of the halo feats you get from an aasimar on a fleshwarp. You are a shambling mound of twisted and tortured flesh, but you shine with a gentle heavenly light, that possibly even heals people. An absolutely stunning combination of the profane and the divine. I love that.

Versatile heritages are just a fantastic idea. Pulling those out and letting them be taken by anyone. You can have a heavenly frog. You can have a vampiric cactus. You can have a demonic dwarf. Absolutely excellent system decision. I love it.

A specific new-to-me versatile heritage that sparks interest is the Duskwalker, a heritage where your soul was basically allowed to knowingly reincarnate by a death deity. There’s a lot of psychopomp-adjacent lore and abilities that definitely intrigue me.

Specific Heritages from Ancestries

For those ancestries where it’s a specific heritage that sparks interest for me as much as the ancestry as a whole:

Witch Gnoll: Don’t get me wrong, I definitely do enjoy gnolls as an ancestry option in and of themselves. Gotta love the chance to play a hyena person. But the Witch Gnoll in particular just makes me want to play exclusively that heritage, because it’s a spooky gnoll. It’s the hyena laugh made manifest as a heritage. You’re a sly, shaggy, dark-furred hyena person with spells to throw sounds and freak people the hell out. I love it. I want to play a witch gnoll saboteur rogue, for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

(Sidenote: Between gnolls and kashrishi, I’m strongly considering trying to get my hands on the setting source books, Mwangi Expanse and Impossible Lands. They look cool)

Trogloshi Kashrishi: You’re a subterranean empathic rhino unicorn. With subterranean albinism, and you automatically get the kashrishi feat that makes your crystal horn shed light. Not going to lie, probably going to be my first choice for kashrishi.

Death Warden Dwarf: Look. We have discussed that I like spooky dwarves, along with generally weird dwarves. And the Death Warden cannot help but evoke the childhood memories of the Mines of Moria for me. You descend from a line of tomb guardians. You get bonuses against undead. Your family stood watch in the dark against the defilement of the dead. I just. I like it.

Unbreakable Goblin: I suspect this heritage probably annoys people in play and possibly in concept once it gets old, but I just really enjoy the entire idea of a small creature heritage that boils down to ‘we bounce and we don’t go down’. You’re just a tough, excitable, bouncy little dude. Heck yeah.

Summary:

You can possibly tell where my general interests lie from this selection. Heh. But yeah. I like a) cute things and b) spooky things. And dwarves. And generally short, stocky creatures who may or may not be also unicorns.

I do want to doodle out that aasimar fleshwarp character, now that I’ve been waxing poetic about it. Gonna go have a further think. Heh.

I do think Pathfinder 2e’s structure for character progression, the way it’s built on feats per level, does make ancestries and heritages a lot more flexible and customisable and combinable. Your ancestry is not just one-and-done, it’s a thing you consistently interact with and consider over the course of your character’s career. I like that. And I love the versatile heritages and how they can be added to anything. Ancestry feats were an excellent game design decision.

And, to reiterate, whoever made the stocky rhino unicorns? You deserve a raise. Full approval!

#pathfinder #pf2e #ancestries and heritages #dwarves #rhino unicorns #cosmic horror #the profane and the divine #such cool options

[walkerismychoice]

Queen of My Heart - Chapter 36

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake X MC, Liam X Olivia, Hana X OC Lydia

Rating: NSFW (I didn’t intend it but it just happened

Summary: Liam finally clears the air with Constantine, and we go to the Fire and Ice Ball at Lythikos, the final social season even before Liam chooses his future Queen.

A/N: Umm, I don’t even want to know how many years it’s been since I updated, but it is with the encouragement of you readers that I was compelled to finish.  My tag list is probably way outdated and I’m sure I’ve missed some poeple who’ve asked to be tagged along the way. Feel free to let me know either way if you want to be tagged or removed from the list.

Tag List: @khakie4 @dreadpirateemma @ritachacha @blackcoffee85 @choices-fanatic @boneandfur @butindeed @simplyaiden-blog @bobasheebaby @traeumerinsworld @theroyalweisme @umccall71 @lizeboredom @debramcg1106 @enmchoices @jadedpixiescribbles @withice @viktoriapetit @mfackenthal @drakesfiance @drakelover78 @speedyoperarascalparty @silviasutton1989 @krisnicjack @devineinterventions2 @choiceswreckedme @notoriouscs @blackcatkita @hamalu @akrenich @drakewalkerfantasy @jamielea81 @andy-loves-corgis @jlouise88 @jovialyouthmusic @sleepwalkingelite @i-miss-trr @dragonball-luver @gkittylove99 @lovingchoices14

Word Count: 2861

Queen of My Heart Chapter Index

“Hello, Father.” Liam greeted Constantine as he walked into the hospital room. He noted the King's color was back to normal and he seemed in good spirits.

"My son, I knew you'd come!" Constantine reached towards Liam with arms outstretched.

Liam just shook his head and held up a hand to stop him. "This is not that kind of visit. I'm here because I know... I know everything."

"What-" Constantine choked out before a coughing fit ensued.

Liam fought the instinctual urge to comfort his father. "Enough with the theatrics. I know about Madeleine...about you threatening the show if they didn't help her win...as if me choosing the woman I plan to spend my life with is some political game to be won."

 "How did you find out? I gave strict orders that my demands were confidential."

Liam scoffed. "Seriously? I just told you I found out you tried to have the producers manipulate me into marrying a woman I don't love, and that's all you had to say for yourself?"

"You have to understand," Constantine pleaded. "Madeleine is what's best for Cordonia, and what's best for Cordonia is what's best for you."

"Unbelievable!" Liam felt the anger rising in his chest like a simmering pot ready to boil over. "You may have told yourself that to feel better about choosing your commitments to Cordonia over happiness, love, family... Maybe you’ve lied to yourself for so long you’ve actually started to believe it, but it's one hundred percent bullshit. I know I'll be a more effective leader if I get to choose the woman I want by my side, and that woman is Olivia."

Constantine's jaw dropped and there was a long pause before he gained his composure to protest. "Absolutely not. You know her family's history. I'd rather have you on the same page as me, but I am still King-"

"Save your breath," Liam shut him down. "You should know that your perfect candidate Madeleine has displayed some behavior quite unbecoming of a future queen, and it is all on film. I know Cordonians are generally flexible with their views on monogamy, but I don't think Madeleine sleeping with the host of the show while she's trying to compete for my affection will look good in anyone's eyes. She has been eliminated from the show and is no longer in the running. That leaves only Riley aside from Olivia, and I know you know what's going on there."

Constantine's face fell momentarily in resignation, but then he perked back up again. "Well, then you can bring back someone else. Kiara is quite lovely and is fit to play the part."

"Enough!" Liam practically shouted much too loud for the thin hospital walls. "Not that I owe you an explanation, but Olivia is stronger, smarter, and more capable of ruling a country than anyone you could hope to pair with me. You seem to forget that I am the son who stuck by you and am now the rightful and only heir to the throne. Your reign is coming to an end, and you have no choice but to accept my decision."

Unexpectedly, Constantine's demeanor changed, a sly grin creeping across his face. "My boy, I've always been a bit worried you were too soft to be king. However, seeing you stand up for yourself today gives me hope. I still don't approve of your choice, but I will no longer stand in your way."

Liam shook his head and let out an incredulous laugh, reeling from Constantine’s sudden change of course. "Bastien will take you back to the palace. We can talk more when I know it's not just the medicine that's gotten to your head."

-----

“Well, this place certainly explains a lot about Olivia.” Riley mused aloud as she scanned the ballroom. Ornate floor to ceiling windows with deep alcoves were surrounded by walls with intricate, gilded accents leading up to a hand-painted ceiling measuring at least 3 stories high. The grandeur of the space was both intimidating and beautiful at the same time, much like its owner.

“Has she shown you all the toys in her armory yet? That too says a lot about Olivia," Drake chuckled at his own joke.

Riley laughed along. “No, but she does constantly remind me she keeps a dagger hidden under her skirt. Are you sure Liam knows what he’s in for?”

"Heh. Better him than me, that's for sure. Liam's warm and fuzzy exterior can make him seem like a pushover, but he can hold his own when it matters. Olivia needs someone who can roll with her mood swings but still call her on her bullshit when needed."

"You know, I admit I had a little trouble wrapping my brain around Liam choosing Olivia, but when you put it that way, it makes sense. Now I suppose I need to find Kat so I can figure out if I need to dance with Liam or something. Ugh, I cannot wait until all these balls are over.

Drake almost doubled over laughing. "Oh, Bennett, I hate to break it to you, but this shit never ends. Next will be the coronation, then some charity gala, Liam's wedding...the list goes on. Welcome to your life as a noble woman."

Riley stared ahead blankly as a giant wave of realization washed over her. It was all so much, so fast. She'd never had time to think past the next day to consider this was all ending soon, and then what? Did she stay with her new-found family and live this life that was still foreign to her in so many ways? What about her life in New York? Sure, she didn't have much going on at the moment, but she still had her aunt Susan and best friend Sarah along with some good friends at work like Daniel. Becoming a therapist was still one of her goals, at least it was until the day she left for Cordonia. Now everything was so unclear, and she could hardly breathe.

Drake must have noticed her face looking some kind of way because he placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her to an open doorway to a nearby balcony. "Why don't we get you some air before you go off and do your thing for the show?"

Once outside and around the corner of the wraparound balcony, Drake pulled Riley into his chest, holding her securely, and she was almost instantly calmed. All the what-ifs fell away, and it was just them. All she needed was the be with him, wherever that turned out to be, and everything else would fall into place.

But what if Drake didn't quite feel the same? They'd been talking as if they'd be together indefinitely, but in reality, they'd only known each other two months. The anxious fluttering in her chest started up again.

Drake pulled back to look her in the eyes. "Riley, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. You know, we're both still half American. We can move back to the states....or uh, I mean you can move back to the states if that's what you want." His eyes darted bashfully to the ground.

Riley's face lit up, the nervous thumping in her chest giving way to excited butterflies. "I like the sound of 'we' better if that's what you really meant. You'd really move back to the U.S. with me? I mean I've hardly had the chance to think about what I want, so that may be irrelevant, but you seriously see a future with me?"

"I do." Drake smiled earnestly. "I'm sure anyone who knows me will think I've gone mad, but whether it means being in New York City and putting up with cramped apartments and way too many people, living a quieter, simple life in Texas, or stealing moments away at dreadful Cordonian events such as this, I know we can make our own happiness...together."

"Wow, the Drake Walker I met two months ago would not believe what's coming out of your mouth right now." Riley touched the back of her hand to Drake's forehead in jest. "Are you sure you aren't running a fever?"

"Haha, very funny." Drake swiftly but gently pushed Riley back again the stone wall. "I'm not feeling ill, but I know how to make your temperature rise.

"You pushing me against duchy walls is becoming a thing, huh? Must have really enjoyed the almost public sex last time."

"Possibly," Drake teased as he slipped his hand through the side-slit in her icy-blue gown, gently gliding his fingers up her thigh. Riley braced herself as Drake neared the place she wanted him the most. Goosebumps gave way to a burning need before she remembered where they were.

"Wait." She pushed a hand against his chest. "We're not exactly alone here, and we've gone to such lengths to keep this under wraps. Someone could walk out here at any moment."

Drake shrugged. "I know it may be a bit reckless, but honestly at this point, I don't care. I just want you."

Riley opened her mouth to protest but nothing came out before Drake swooped in for a searing kiss. She instantly melted into him, Drake continuing his earlier action and deftly plunging two fingers inside her, his eyes widening slightly in surprise when he noticed there was no fabric barrier to work around. A strangled moan escaped Riley's throat as he stroked the exact spot he knew always left her at his mercy.

Drake pulled back with a satisfied grin. "Do you want me to stop? Just say the word and we'll go back in right now."

Instead of answering, Riley yanked him by the collar and crushed her lips to his. Drake responded by hoisting her up and over to the balcony. He perched her atop the railing, one hand grasped firmly around her waist and the other making quick work of undoing his pants.

Teetering on the narrow ledge two stories high, Riley clamped her hand tightly to the railing on either side of her and Drake noticed. "I've got you Bennett, no need to worry. I won't let anything happen to you. I'm just doing my job after all," he said with a smirk.

She smiled at his reference to what was now an inside joke between them. But all joking aside, he always made her feel safe. She released her grip, flinging her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

Drake eased his cock free and Riley could tell how hard he was just by sight, the skin stretched taught from his perfect proportion of thickness and length. He lifted her dress and she couldn't wait any longer. She pulled him in and he took the invitation to thrust inside her. Even as wet was she was, his size created just the right amount of fullness and friction to take her breath away.

Riley moaned and gasped with each thrust, which in turn seemed to turn Drake on even more. The thrill of being up so high with nothing but him to hold her only added to her excitement and when he began rubbing circles over her clit with his thumb that was all it took to push her figuratively over the edge. She tightened around him everywhere, her orgasm eliciting immense heat and pleasure with every pulse, resulting in Drake picking up his pace until his own release followed shortly thereafter.

Drake carefully set Riley down before putting himself back together. "I'm almost a little disappointed we didn't nearly get caught this time."

"If I don't get back in there immediately, that's still a possibility." Riley had no idea how much time had passed but it was probably more than she thought. "Fuck, Kat is going to be pissed." Riley straightened her skirt and started towards the ballroom door.

"Wait!" Drake puller her in for a quick kiss. "I love you. Just so you don't forget."

Riley rolled her eyes but smiled. "You know you have nothing to worry about. If Liam's charms haven't wooed me yet, I think you’re safe. But I love you too. Now go do your job." She smacked him on the ass before hustling back to the ballroom, Drake following shortly thereafter.

As expected, Kat was frantic when Riley found her. “Where the fuck were you? You were supposed to meet up with me twenty minutes ago?”

Overhearing Riley’s scolding, Olivia smugly sidled up next to them. “I mean, I didn’t mind getting extra time with Liam, but you know Jo and Kat and there ‘ratings’, Olivia said while gesturing with air quotes. She scanned Riley from head to toe and then glanced over to Drake on the perimeter. “Ugh, I can tell you exactly what, or rather who she was doing. Gross. I guess that just makes my position more secure, but really, couldn’t you have waited until after my ball to fuck him?”

Riley sheepishly smoothed her hair and adjusted her dress. “I just needed some air, that’s all. I was having a moment.”

Olivia scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you want to call it. Although I still cannot fathom why you chose Drake, I suppose I should be a little easier on you for eliminating yourself from the competition and allowing Liam to break free of his distraction of the shiny new object.”

“Aww, Olivia, that’s so sweet. Next thing you know we’ll be best friends,” Riley replied sarcastically.

 “I don’t know about friends...but I do dislike you less than the rest of them.” Olivia tried and failed to hold back a smile.

“I’ll take it,” Riley said with a laugh before turning to Jo. “Okay, now tell me where I need to be.”

Jo set Riley up with Liam on the dance floor. It still wasn’t hard to pretend to be into Liam because it wasn’t all pretend, but there was no lingering pining between them.

“Well, I spoke to my father this morning.” Liam spun Riley around and brought her back to face him.

“Finally!” Riley exclaimed. “How did that go?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around it to be completely honest, but it went surprisingly well. I told him I knew everything, and he no longer had a say in my decision. He tried to argue with me at first, but somehow something I said made him respect me. He still may not agree with my choice, but I think this is finally all over! I am free to choose who I want without any threat or blackmail hanging over my head.

Riley pulled Liam in and hugged him tightly. “That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you, and for all of us.” The weight on Riley’s shoulders was suddenly ten times lighter. She hadn’t let herself think too deeply about how much was at stake, but now that the air was clear, she realized how stressed she had been. “Now all that’s left is for you to tear my heart to pieces on national television, and you get your fairy tale ending.”

Liam chuckled. “I’ll try to let you down easy.”

-----

Drake stood in his usual position off the side of the dance floor. This may not be the last of these events he’d have to endure, but at least it should be the last time he’d have to stand on the sidelines watching Riley dance with someone else. He was secure in what they had, but it still didn’t stop that twinge of jealously seeing her and Liam together talking, touching, and having fun. But it wasn’t a bad thing that his best friend and girlfriend get along so well. Girlfriend...that’s the first time he’d used that term for anyone he’d “dated”, even if only in his head. It was hard to believe everything was falling into place.

Drake took his eyes off Riley to scan the perimeter. What he saw didn’t immediately register as out of the ordinary, but then he quickly recalled this person walking towards the dance floor wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Bastien, check out three o’clock.” Drake altered Bastien via his radio earpiece. “How did she get in here without security clearance?”

“I don’t know.” Bastien replied. “I’ll check with the other guys to see who let her in. Keep an eye on her.”

Drake watched in concern as Madeleine marched towards the dance floor. She’d been banned from the rest of filmed events after her stunt. Not wanting to let her cause a scene, Drake was about to stop her from getting any closer, when she pulled out an unmistakable object. She had a gun and it was pointed right at Riley and Liam.

Before Drake could alert the rest of the team, people started to scatter. He heard a familiar click and knew he had to disarm Madeleine immediately, but it was too late. A shot went off and he didn’t hesitate. Drake dove between the bullet and his two best friends on the dance floor, and that would be the last thing he remembered before he hit the floor.

#QOMH #TRR #drake x mc #ns*fw #playchoices fanfiction #the royal romance #my fic

[starlightxsvt]

Sweeter Than Sweets

Pairing ➳ CEO!seungcheol x baker female!reader

Genre ➳ kinda enemies to lovers, arranged marriage au, romance, angst?? clicheeee :)

Warnings ➳ hella cursing, reader's going through a lot lol

Word count ➳ 2.5k

part 1 l part 2

Part 1: THE BEGINNING

The plot owner is going to visit you today. I'm sincerely sorry for my mistake, I misunderstood. Please resolve the issue with him gently.

You scoff at the message. What the actual fuck? Fury floods through your blood and you clench your fists.

This cannot be happening.

After such a long time you had finally scraped enough money to lease a place for your bakery shop. It's been your dream since so long and after years of hard work it was finally coming true- until today. Apparently the real estate agent is nothing but a fathead and for whatever goddamn reason, she leased you the place when it was clearly not up to be leased. The building owner is on his way now- to possibly kick you out.

No, you cannot let that happen. It is their fault and because of their miscommunication or whatever you are not going to give this place up which you worked so hard for.

If he thinks you'll give in so easily, he has another thing coming.

A Mercedes Benz pulls up in front of your shop just as you finish screwing one of the decoration lights.

He's here.

You take in a deep breath and march out of the shop as a tall male comes of the car. You almost stop in your tracks to gape at him- broad shoulders, gorgeous rich black hair that matches a sculptured face- he's simply breathtaking. No one should be that gorgeous. And he's young- why the fuck is he so young? Does he seriously own this building?

No no no. Stay focused.

He takes long steps towards you and even before he can reach you, you snap, "I'm not giving up this place so don't waste your time."

He stops right in front of you, his hands in his pockets and raises a brow at you. He chuckles- how dare he, before saying, "You do know that this is my building, right?"

"So?"

"So, it means I can kick out a nuisance like you anytime I want." His eyes go dark as he stares you down.

Nuisance? What the fuck? You take in a deep breath, trying to stop yourself from reaching out and choking him. He's so fucking gorgeous and infuriating, damn it.

"Mr. Choi, I've leased this place for two years and if you want it so much, come back two years later and we can talk about it."

"Leave while I'm being polite," his tone is gravelly and his eyes bore into yours. You shiver slightly.

"But I paid for this place! This is mine now!" You yell, unable to hold yourself together. "If you were so concerned about your building then you should have been careful that your agent was leasing it!"

"I admit that it was her fault, a huge one at that matter but I need this building. I'll give you 3 days to take everything and leave. My workers will start their renovation work from next week." He says and turns around his heel, ready to head back.

"No! I will not be moving out! I've worked so hard to lease this place! I even brought all the furniture for my shop! You have no right to do this!" You shout at him. Fuck that son of a bitch.

He stares at you with a bored look, "You've 3 days."

"No!" You whine, stopping him in his tracks again. "If you really want this place then give me some more time. At least a few months."

He marches back to you, his jaw ticking, "Do you think I'm here to play games? You move out in 3 days or my men will drag you out from here." He warns, eyes glinting.

Motherf-

You can't hold in your temper. So you walk past him and towards his fancy car and draw a long nice scratch on the body using your screwdriver. After being satisfied with your handiwork, you turn back to him.

He stares at you, dumbfounded. His driver looks the same except he looks a bit scared. You smirk at Choi, crossing your arms.

He still looks surprised and he scoffs as if he can't believe what happened. He rakes a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched.

"Expect a call from my insurance company. You'll have to pay for what you just did." That's all he says before walking past you to car as his driver quickly fires on the engine.

You mutely watch him leave.

Fuck. Oh fuck.

What have you done?

-

You stare at Choi's personal number that you managed to get from the real estate agent. Shit. You've to call him. You've to apologize. You're in no condition to pay for his damn fancy car.

Shit. Shit. Why did you do that?

You bite your lip, staring at your phone screen, mustering up the courage to call him. You've to apologize and somehow get him to forgive you.

Oh heavens, here goes nothing.

With shaky hands you ring him up and hold your breath. After several rings he picks up, his voice gruff, "Choi here."

You clear your throat and inhale deeply, "Mr.Choi, it's me, ___. We...uhm, met earlier today." You try to stable your voice.

The line is silent for a moment and you're afraid he has hung up but he speaks, his voice laced with a chuckle, "Well, well, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

You swallow, "Mr.Choi I called you to um... apologize for what I did to your car. Please understand that I was really angry then and I sincerely apologize for what I did. I'm so sorry."

"Okay," is all he says. You ask nervously, "So, will be please be kind enough to cancel the charges against me?"

"Do you think that a sorry from you will repair my car?"

"I- please, sir, you've to understand that I'm in no condition to afford for the damages... I-I know I'm responsible but please understand-"

"You want to keep the place to yourself, you want me to drop the charges against you- what you think I am? Some sort of genie who'll grant all your wishes?"

"No- sir-"

"Besides you don't even sound so sorry," His voice sounds teasing and you exhale loudly.

This son of a-

"I don't have time for this bullshit so-"

"No sir please! I'll do anything, please cancel the charges. Then we can talk about your building, I'm sure we can come to a conclusion."

"Are you trying to make a deal with me?"

"Sir- I just-, please, please understand my situation," you almost beg.

The line is quiet for a long time and you're about to break into tears but then you hear his voice, "Fine, I'll text you a place. Meet me there at 8 tomorrow evening. Don't be late." Then the line is dead.

-

You're not dumb enough to go where a stranger tells you to go without telling anybody. So, on the morning of the appointment, you tell your friend the location of the restaurant and in case you were found with a slitted throat, at least the police will have a lead. After that you decide to google Choi, wanting to have a little bit more info on him. Sure enough, he's the son of a filthy rich businessman well known in the country and Choi, himself is the creator of two business companies.

Sure, it'd be nothing for him to dump your body in the water or poison your food.

-

Evening comes quicker than you expected and you rush to get ready. You pick a maroon knee length dress that is what you believe- hope- to be appropriate for the fancy restaurant. It's not like you have a lot of dresses to choose from. You take a cab and just as the clock hits five minutes past eight, you're rushing into the restaurant.

The receptionist asks you if have booked a seat to which you reply that you're here to meet Mr.Choi. Then you're led through a fancy lobby and into the private dining area, where the said male sits. He's dressed in a grey vest and a pressed linen white shirt underneath, with the sleeves rolled up, showing his muscular arms- damn.

His eyes meet yours and you feel an electricity jolt up your spine.

Lord please help me tonight.

"Good evening, Mr.Choi," you murmur, gently sitting down.

The bastard has the balls to smirk as he crosses his arms over his chest, "Good evening, Ms___. I was wondering if you bailed out on me."

You chuckle nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He grins, motioning towards the menu in front of you,"Shall we order?"

Your eyes glide over the fancy food and the fancier prices. 85$ for a fucking piece of meat?

After chewing on your lip and thinking too much about what to order, you go with a plate of salad and pasta.

"Do you have any wine preferences?" He asks, eyeing the wine menu. Why's he acting so nice? What's his deal?

"Er...I'll let you choose," you say.

After ordering a fancy bottle of wine, Choi folds his hands over the table and looks at you, a small smile playing on his lips.

"So..shall we talk business now?" You offer, unsure.

He nods but stays quiet which you take as a sign to start first, "I only have two things to ask for. Please cancel the charges and please give me a little more time to look for a place. It's impossible to find another place in 3 days. I've paid for the lease here and I've also ordered the furniture. And then there is a monetary issue. Please understand my situation."

He pretends to think, pursuing his lips, "Hmm, I'm afraid that's too much you're asking from me."

"Mr. Choi, I'm sure a man like you can help me with that much." You try to butter his ego.

"Again, I'm afraid you don't know me. If you had any idea about a man like me, you wouldn't say that." His eyes darken.

Fuck. He won't bulge. Why is he so stubborn?

"Sir- please, I sincerely apologize for my actions yesterday, I wasn't in my right mind."

"If only sorry could cover it," he says, nonchalant, leaning back into his chair. He eyes you quietly, his eyes scanning you carefully as your palms grow sweaty.

You are interrupted as the waiter serves you your dinner and pours you the wine. As soon as he's gone, you gulp down the wine, trying to calm yourself.

Damn, it tastes nice.

Choi laughs at your actions before an evil smile crawls up his face. You swallow, meeting his gaze. What's he thinking?

"You see, nothing comes for free. I'll take off the charges against you and I'll give you time to look for another place- actually no, I'll pay for a nicer place for you to open your shop. But in return you've to give me something."

Fuck. You eye him warily.

"What?" You squeak.

"Marry me."

You choke on your food very unceremoniously followed by a lot of coughs. You sputter, trying to get yourself under control. Meanwhile he simply watches you, a playful smile on his lips.

When you can somewhat speak, you breath, "I...I think I misheard you."

"You didn't. I asked you to marry me."

You gape at him, utterly confused, almost certain this is a dream or nightmare. He simply offers you silence as you try to process what he said.

You're left even more confused.

What? Marry him? What the actual fuck?

"Would you please... enlighten me?" You murmur.

He grins, leaning over the table, "You're thinking too much. It'll be a pretend marriage. I need someone who'll pretend to be my wife for a year or so, so that my father hands over his company to me- which he won't unless I get married and settle. It's as simple as that."

Your mouth only grows wider. That's nowhere near simple.

After processing his words in your head for a long time you mumble, "So...you need me to be your pretend wife for like a year and in return you cancel the charges and give me more time to look for a place?"

"It's actually more than that sweetheart. I'll pay every penny for your shop. I'll make sure you have a successful business. Be my pretend wife and I'll give you the biggest and best bakery shop this country has ever seen."

You're dumbfounded and you can only squeak out, "Is this some sort of a hoax?"

He chuckles, "Say yes and I'll have a contract prepared with all our terms and conditions."

"I- I need to think about it," you rush out. Think? Damn it, were you seriously considering it?

Yes, yes you were.

This is a lifetime opportunity.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Choi nods, "I'm sure you need to. But I expect an answer quickly. You've until tomorrow evening."

"H-huh?" You're lost.

He stands up putting on his jacket, "You've my number, call me when you make your decision." He gives you a look and just like that he's out of the room.

You're left with your half eaten plate of food.

-

"So you are telling me that a filthy rich, smoking hot motherfucker asked you to marry him?" Jane's voice echos through the phone.

You rub your temples, staring at your lap, "Yes."

"Bitch if you don't want to do this then give me his number. I'm more than willing to help him out."

"Jane, I'm serious."

"Me too, babe."

You groan, flopping into the bed. "Can you believe it? I still can't wrap my head around it." You whisper.

"You're thinking too much. It's not like you're going to be married to him forever."

"I know but still it's so scary...If I say yes I'll be living with a stranger for the next year."

"A sexy as sin stranger for that matter."

"Gosh- will you stop!"

"Okay okay," you hear her sigh. "Listen I know it's scary and all but this is a win win situation for you, think about it. You're going to be living as a millionaire's wife and when you're divorced you're gonna have your own shop. This is a lifetime opportunity, I mean how many of us gets this? This is like one of those romance movies where-"

"Okay I get it. Thank you for your precious help." You roll your eyes.

" You're welcome!" She laughs. "I'll be waiting for updates!"

"Piss off." You laugh, hanging up.

You stare at the ceiling, your mind numb. This is overwhelming- unreal. Why can't he just marry someone prettier, richer? He can have any woman he wants. Dozens of questions gather in your mind but despite the answers, you've made your decision.

You're going to get married.

A/N ➳ heyyy~ it's ya girl's birthday today lol! I've been wanting to write a fic like this for quite a while but yk, couldn't muster up the courage. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Please please leave your feedbacks, my ask box is always open- I'll really appreciate it! 💖

Masterlist

Tag list: @chimikima @all-i-needislovee @peekabooseoksoon @masterpiecejoonie @sorrywonwoo @sweetiescoops @diamondsvts @insidesvt @bononswife @ayla-hathway @kpopssuregi @justasoftstan @top-crop @wainrain

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #seventeen au #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen scoups #choi seungcheol #svt imagines #svt fluff #svt scenarios #svt angst #svt fanfic #svt fic #svt scoups #svt social media au #svt smut #kpop imagines #kpop drabbles #kpop seventeen #kpop scenarios

[wizardofahz]

Sentinel vs. CatCo

Kara sighs internally as she spots the Superfriends whiteboard.

While it has become a permanent fixture in Andrea’s office, it doesn’t always feature so prominently. The focus of the meetings determines its location. If it’s an internal meeting unrelated to the Superfriends, it can be pushed off to the side: towards the balcony or in front of the cabinets. If the meetings involve board members or anyone Andrea wants to impress, it’s tucked into a corner and discreetly covered.

Today, the Superfriends whiteboard stands right beside Andrea’s desk, which means their meeting is going to entail more requests for Superfriends interviews.

Kara braces herself.

And then Andrea says some of the worst words possible: “I want an interview with Sentinel.”

Kara wills herself not to react. On the other side of William, Nia actually snorts.

Nia has worked her way back into Andrea’s good graces, but Kara very much doubts that openly snorting at their boss’s request will lead to another mental health day. Before Andrea can react, Kara says, “I, uh, I don’t think she likes giving interviews.”

“That’s what Nia said about the Superfriends,” Andrea says, completely undeterred, “and we have since gotten interviews with most of them.”

As much as Kara hates to admit it, Andrea’s right. They never participate in puff pieces about what they do for fun, but when they have a cause to promote, they lend their voices in support.

Through his PI work and with his deep ties to the alien community, J’onn had been encountering many others who were also the last of their kinds. With an interest in preserving these alien cultures, he had dedicated a portion of the Mars space in the planetarium to a rotating exhibit of those cultures. He had also teamed up with Kara to revive her Aliens of National City series for a special feature.

Brainy had volunteered for a live public service announcement when a toxic chemical spill had breached the boundaries of an industrial complex and threatened nearby neighborhoods. He had been a little too thorough with the technical details though, and Dreamer had had to intervene to make it more vernacular friendly. His PSA had been big with the scientific community, where some of his equations had been beyond current understanding and sparked contentious debates.

Nia had done a fantastic interview of the new Guardian about marginalized human communities. To quell any curiosity, Guardian briefly mentioned that she wasn’t ready to reveal her identity, but she did reveal that she had the previous Guardian’s blessing to pick up the mantle. Annoyingly, most media outlets chose to focus on that rather than the deep dive into intersectionality.

Alex hadn’t done any interviews. None of the Superfriends had thought twice about it.

Until now.

Knowing how private Alex is, Kara can already picture her reaction to this request.

“If it’s about the ratings, I could get another exclusive from Supergirl,” Kara volunteers. “You said she’s the ideal Superfriend for interviews.”

“Mmm, but we’ve had Supergirl,” Andrea says. “We’ve had all the other Superfriends. We don’t know enough about this Sentinel.” She taps the board under Alex’s picture where it says “HUMAN?”. “Is she fully human? What is her motivation? If she is human, how did she come to join the Superfriends? I want to know.”

“And if Kara’s right?” William asks. “We seem to get interviews with the Superfriends on their timeline, not ours.”

“Then get yourselves on their timeline,” Andrea says. “But I’ll be generous and give you a week instead of 24 hours. If you still fail, well, you’ve heard me say your alternatives enough by now.”

On their way out of Andrea’s office, Nia passes by Kara and mutters, “I’m not touching this one.”

Kara cannot disagree with that life choice.

“What did Nia say?” William asks.

“Nothing.”

...

Alex looks up from her console as Kara enters the Tower. “Hey, what did you want to talk about?”

Knowing how little Alex will appreciate the conversation, Kara says, “You love me beyond measure, and that will never change, right?”

Alex turns around completely, resting her back against the console. She crosses her arms. She knows the difference between Kara approaching her abandonment issues and something Alex will find unpleasant. “Yes? Am I going to change my mind?”

Kara grimaces. “Andrea wants an interview with Sentinel.”

The look of horror on Alex’s face would be hilarious in any other circumstance. “Why?”

“Because you’re the last Superfriend not to give an interview. Andrea thinks that makes you mysterious and intriguing.”

“Not happening.”

“I figured as much. I tried offering up a Supergirl exclusive instead.”

“I love you.”

“Well, she didn’t bite.”

At that, Alex’s head drops back, and she stares at the ceiling.

“I'll write something up anyway,” Kara continues. “Hopefully it will keep Andrea happy in the meantime.”

“Thanks.” Alex gestures for Kara to come in for a hug. “I know you don’t like puff pieces either.”

“It’s okay,” Kara says into Alex’s shoulder. “I’ll find something meaningful to write about.”

...

Alex glances around the downtown street. Luckily she, Brainy, and J’onn had arrived in time to stop an Infernian from destroying a private lab. The police had also shown up and set up a perimeter, which was helpful as a crowd had developed to the south.

“Sentinel!”

Alex spots William Dey at the front of the crowd. "Oh, hell no.”

She normally likes William well enough, but given what Kara told her about Andrea’s request, he’s now on her list of the last five people she’d want to see at any given moment.

“I gotta get out of here,” Alex tells J’onn. “You and Brainy got this covered, right?”

They look over to where Brainy is explaining his containment technology to the police officers taking custody of the Infernian.

William says her name again.

J’onn glances at William then back at Alex with amusement. “Go. We’ll be fine.”

...

“Sentinel!”

Alex looks across the chaos of overturned cubicles and office supplies to see William Dey approaching.

Alex frowns. How did he get here so quickly?

Luckily they are on the fifth floor of the building, which means Alex has an exit strategy William doesn’t. “Supergirl, meet me outside.”

“Copy that.”

A few of the windows were broken in the fight. Dreamer already has the offending meta-human contained, so Alex doesn’t feel bad leaving William behind.

Alex picks the window with the cleanest break and jumps through.

...

Andrea drops something on Kara’s desk. “What is this?”

“An interview with Supergirl,” Kara responds after a quick look.

Andrea sighs. “Kara, I know you heard me when I said I wanted an interview with Sentinel, not any Superfriend.”

Kara shrugs. “I couldn’t get ahold of Sentinel, neither could William, and Supergirl had something she wanted to say.”

“Did you ask Supergirl about talking to Sentinel?” Andrea asks expectantly.

Kara blinks. “I think they have more important things to do than to act as messaging services to one another.”

“It’s not your job to think about their priorities. It’s your job to think about CatCo’s priorities,” Andrea says. “Get me an interview with Sentinel. You, specifically. And again, I don’t think I need to give you the consequences spiel. You have 24 hours.”

Kara reaches out to clear the Supergirl interview from her desk, but Andrea snatches it back up.

“I’m still publishing this.”

...

Kara looks apologetically across the couch.

Just as Kara had tried to give a Supergirl exclusive to spare Sentinel an interview, Alex is now giving an interview to spare Kara’s job.

“Okay, I have to make this on the record, so let’s maybe do a rehearsal.”

Alex sighs but shrugs her agreement anyway. “Yeah, okay.”

Kara hands over her notepad where the questions are written out. “These are the questions I’m going to ask you.”

“You already know the answer to most of these,” Alex says as her eyes glide down the page. “And there’s no way we can publish them.”

“I know. That’s why we’re rehearsing. We’ll have to come up with something that’s real but not revealing.”

Alex balks. Kara doesn’t have to wonder which question its at because Alex reads it out loud. “‘You’ve been a super hero for a while now, but this is your first interview. Why now?’ Seriously?”

Kara grimaces. “Yeah.”

“Because my little sister’s boss is a pain in the ass.”

“Alex.”

“Right, come up with a fake but real answer.”

But their quest for acceptable answers is a tedious process that comes up short.

“I can’t do this,” Alex groans and flops back into the couch cushions. “How about I promise that when I have something to say, I’ll say it to you? You can have that promise on the record.”

“I’ll try,” Kara says. She’s also tired, and she hates forcing this on Alex.

Andrea won’t be thrilled with it, but Kara will make it work.

...

The next day Alex sighs in relief at Kara’s single emoji text.

A thumbs up.

#supergirl #alex danvers #kara danvers #andrea rojas #moments in the life of superfam

[softboywriting]

Hard To Love | Nathan Bateman | Ex Machina

Summary: You’re Nathan’s personal assistant. He’s an insufferable bastard. Both of you have unchecked tension and feelings for each other. What could possibly go wrong? [swearing] [sexual themes/situations] [arguments] [exhibitonism - implied] [pining] [Dominant!Nathan] [Nickname use - pet name/non derogatory] [Nathan being Nathan] [nsfw - kissing, lap sitting/grinding, heavily implied masturbation!f reader] [F!reader/Nathan]

Word Count: 7k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Nathan is...well... Nathan. Insufferable, workaholic, egotistical. He is a lot to handle and doing so isn't always easy. You had a lot of breakdowns, screaming matches, some nearly coming to blows. But you didn't give up and you learned to work around him, and coax him out of moods, serve him back the same dry humor and disinterest. After finding out he had gone through four assistants, two that never made it past their first week, you knew you couldn't give up on him. There was a diamond in the rough and you were going to find it because despite all of the hard times, you care for him. He's a fucking bastard, but he's your fucking bastard.

"It's been six months." Nathan says over breakfast one morning.

You look back from where you're cleaning up the pans you used to make his vegetable omelet with soy egg substitute. His favorite. You had taken over cooking from Kyoko three months ago when she began to malfunction. You're not sure what happened, or if maybe Nathan staged the malfunction to give you more to do. You suspect the latter.

"Six months? Really?"

"Don't act like you don't count the days."

"I don't actually." You set your plate of food on the table and he reaches for one of your toasts. He has his own, well, had. He ate it already but he has egg left so he wants more toast. "I stopped months ago."

He chuckles softly. "I still don't know why you won't quit."

"Why do you want me to?"

"I don't."

"Then why do you bring it up?" You raise your eyebrows and he shoots you a look over his vitamin water. "Cat got your tongue?"

Nathan folds his hands, elbows on the table as he shakes his head. "Most people in your position, having dealt with what you have dealt with, would be itching to get as far away as possible. Surely you must be mentally unstable to stay with me, gaining some sick pleasure from our fights and shit. I almost feel bad."

He almost feels bad, as if he were to blame for nothing. Typical. "And if I am fucked up? Gonna fire me?"

"Fuck no."

You smile over your coffee. Decaf. He won't have regular in the house after he nearly went into cardiac arrest from an over abundance of caffeine. He did it to himself. Slugging back redbulls with his vodka after drinking his pre-work out mix that had far more than he needed in it. He may be a technical genius but he can be such a fucking moron.

"You like me." You tease, rubbing your barefoot on his leg under the table. "You would miss me if I left."

He snorts indignantly but does not deny your observations.

"How was the food?"

"Perfect." He sits back, foot bumping yours now, running up the side. "Don't know how you do it."

"Perfect? Wow. High praise from you." You swat his foot away with yours and he starts trying to pin it down by stepping on it. "Better than Kyoko's?"

Nathan hums. "I programmed her with cooking skills from top chefs across the internet. Technically she should be the greatest chef on the planet. So the fact that you can make me food that is better floors me."

You hook your ankle around his and he lets out a little grunt. "Cooking is an act of love. Yes you can program an AI to make things perfectly but technical skill doesn't equate to preferred taste. Come on, Nathan, you're smarter than this."

"Questioning my intelligence now?"

"Every day." You jerk your leg back as he lifts his other foot to trap it. "Cheat! You cheater! One foot only!"

Nathan lets out a boisterous laugh, head falling back, hand over his chest. "You get so worked up over that!"

You roll your eyes and stab your eggs viciously. "Fuck off Nathan."

"No need to get so mouthy."

"Mouthy." You scoff. "Rich coming from you."

He stands, catching your chin in his grasp. "I got you to break."

"You- oh God damn it." You jerk away, arm extending to shove him.

He chuckles proudly to himself. "I'll be in my lab. Find me if you need me."

"Gonna let me in today?"

"I might."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you later."

____________________

Nathan could have the AI clean the house, but then you would run out of things to do. Honestly your job could be done by any one of his creations, humanoid or not. You don't actually need to be there at all, and yet Nathan keeps you around. For a man who is hell bent on privacy and secrecy surrounding his work, you have no idea how he has let others in. He laughs when he says that he had the men who built the complex killed after the fact. Surely it's a joke. You think. Though you've never asked, never dared to investigate the truth in his words. It's best you don't know.

The house doesn't need cleaning that often. Just laundry, dishes, some sweeping and mopping should you or Nathan track in mud after a hike. Most chores take a few hours out of one day a week. Your title is assistant and yet you don't actually assist him. Not in his work anyway. You feel like your title should be maid or housekeeper. It's fine, you really don't care because he pays you so generously that you would do whatever he needs you to.

"Kitten!" Nathan's voice comes from the intercom system built in the house. "Come to the lab, kitten."

You scowl at the nickname. He dubbed you Kitten your second day at the complex because he thought your wandering around perplexed by the maze like design of the house was akin to a new kitten trying to find its way in the world. You suppose there could be worse names he could call you, and there are ones that have come out in screaming matches, but kitten has stuck.

"Lab. Now. Come on."

"Fuck." You groan, tossing aside your book you were getting very into.

"I heard that."

"Of course you did." You lift your badge and scan the door to your room to head out into the hall. One of the AI walks by and you think her name is Lily. She's beautiful. Unfortunately her programming has failed and she cannot speak. "Hi Lily."

Lily raises her hand in greeting.

If she is out then that must mean Nathan has been working on her. You turn away from the AI and walk down the hall to the junction that splits left to Nathan's room and right to another hall that goes to the lab and test rooms. The lab door is open, the light blue on the access pad.

Nathan spins around in his chair. "Kitten, you've made it."

"As if I could get lost."

"I have something to show you."

"Do you? I thought you didn't want me involved in your work."

Nathan gives you a hard look. "Do you want to fucking see it or not?"

"I don't even know what it is."

He grabs a small item off his desk and brings it to you. "This is it. My newest AI."

You take the small flash drive from him and turn it over in your hands. "This is a new program?"

"Yes. My best work yet. I'm going to build her this week."

"Exciting."

"Please show some enthusiasm for fucks sake." He snatches the device from your hand. "I'm kind enough to share this with you, you could at least say thank you."

"I never asked."

Nathan slaps the flash drive down on the desk and stares at you. He is not used to being served his own cold attitude and he never will be. Since you started going toe to toe with him, he has been on top of his game. It's like you engage his mind beyond his massive ego. "You're insufferable."

"Likewise." You smile and he smiles back. The pissing match has ended. "I need to get groceries soon."

"You know what I like."

"Of course I do." You fold your arms over your chest and he averts his eyes for a moment. You know he's staring at your breasts, pushed up in the tank top you had chosen to wear while deep cleaning your bathroom earlier. "But what do you want?"

"Loaded question, kitten."

"Going that route today?"

"Maybe." He saunters towards you and catches your hair between his fingers. "I want... something sweet."

You raise your eyebrows. "You're craving sugar? Are you ill?"

He chuckles. "A little. Just in the head."

"Seriously."

"Yes I want something sweet. Get me some donuts." He puts his hands on his hips. "Get yourself something too."

"I always get myself stuff. Do you think I only buy your groceries?"

"It's my house, of course I think you buy my shit."

You reach out and touch his beard, fingertips gliding along his cheek. You don't miss the way his eyes flutter at your touch. "Do you need your beard oil? The conditioner stuff? Looks dry."

He grabs your hand and curls his fingers around yours. "Yes, I do. But don't touch it."

"Possessive today huh?" You smirk and he groans irritably deep in his throat. "You live for my touch."

"I live for you to leave me the fuck alone."

"Then fire me."

"No."

"Then suffer." You bring your other hand up and pat his opposite cheek. "Does physical affection bother you Nathan? Does touching another human bother you so mu-"

He backs you against the wall and pins your wrists. His face is only inches from yours, body pouring heat onto you. It sparks something deep inside and you feel heat pooling in between your legs. "Don't you have somewhere to be?" He murmurs, grip tight on your skin.

"Don't you have some issues to work out?"

"Fuck you."

"You'd like to."

Nathan drops your wrists at that and retreats into the lab, the door closing and locking behind him. It drives him mad that you're not one of his AI that he can order around and do what he pleases with. You like to think that's why he keeps you around, to remind him that he's human and he needs someone that isn't an algorithm to keep him sane. Maybe he also let a little piece of you crave out a chunk of his icy cold heart.

You rub your wrists and look at the reddened skin. They might bruise. You straighten your clothes and head back to your room. You'll need to wear something more appropriate to the store. It's cold out these days.

_____________________

"Do you get lonely?" Nathan asks one evening over drinks in the lounge.

You put down your laptop and give him your attention. It's the first time he's spoken to you in two days since the wrist grabbing incident. "Lonely?"

"Yeah. Do you miss relationships? Hook ups?"

"Not really. I was never super social to begin with."

"Right."

"Why?"

"Just curious." He takes a long drink, emptying his tumbler. "Why do you think I want to fuck you?"

You feel your cheeks redden. The way he is staring at you makes your arousal rear its ugly head. Staring shouldn't turn you on. He hasn't done anything. "I think you're desperate."

"Desperate?"

"Yeah. You decommissioned Kyoko months ago, Lily doesn't have a vagina and yes I know this because you told me in a drunken stupor ages ago. So you haven't fucked anything or anyone in months."

"You think I need to fuck?"

You stand and walk over to him, knocking his knees open to stand between his legs. "Nathan, just fucking admit that you want me. That you keep me around because one day you'll grow a pair of balls and ask me to sleep with you."

His hands come up and grab your hips. He pulls you down and you straddle his lap, thin pajama pants hardly acting as a barrier between you and his cock in his gray sweats. "I keep you around because you piss me off." He grips your ass and you roll your hips against him. "You piss me off and make my blood boil like no one else."

"So you hate me?"

Nathan brings your head down to meet his. "I couldn't hate you if I tried."

"Then what are we doing?"

"We're having a moment." He grabs your hair and you snap at his nose with your teeth in response. "Behave."

You let out a moan as he begins kissing up your throat. "This was your plan all along."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"No."

"Then I'll make you." His hand closes around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you stop talking. "Why do you have to be so in my head? Why..." He kisses your shoulder, biting the junction between it and your neck. "Why did you have to show up?"

"You hired me." You whisper and he drops his hand from your throat in favor of sliding it up your shirt. "You selected me."

He rolls his hips up against you, biting down on your skin to elicit a yelp from you. "You're damn right I did."

You grind down against his cock and he grabs your hips to still them. You let out a soft whine from the lack of pleasure and he grips harder.

"Get up."

Your heart sinks, and you stare at him in confusion. "What?"

"Get up. We're not doing this." Nathan pushes you off of his lap and you stumble to your feet.

You straighten your clothes and walk around the coffee table to grab your laptop. You can't say you didn't expect this. It was a long shot to begin with and you initiated it so you knew he would shut it down. Still, it hurts. His rejection isn't disinterest, it's personal protection. He won't let anyone that close to his heart.

"Good night, Nathan." You mutter as you head for the doors to the inner workings of the complex.

"Night, Kitten."

_____________________

It is three days before you see Nathan again. Locking himself away isn't uncommon practice. It's a Thursday when you see him out on the deck with the punching bag. You happened to catch a glance when you were preparing breakfast as you had every day. He didn't eat with you, but you still made it for him and left it under the warmer. The plate was always gone when you came back, so at least you know he is eating.

You grab a few grapefruits from the basket on the counter and start juicing them. It'll be a nice surprise for him. You grab a cup from the cupboard and tilt the juicer to dump its contents for you. It looks good, smells tart but it is not your type of juice. Fitting for a man like Nathan. Bitter, tart and sort of hard to swallow. You rub a bit of the squeezed rinde around the top of the glass and grab the sugar dish to sprinkle some around the rim. A little sweet to lessen the bite, a representation of you in this metaphor.

"Kitten, good morning." Nathan says as you approach with his juice and a towel. "What's this?"

"Grapefruit."

He raises his eyebrows. "Fresh?"

"Yep." You hand him the glass and he inspects it suspiciously. "No poison. Promise."

A smile creeps it's way across his face as he gulps it down. He takes a moment at the end to lick the sugar clean from the rim, keeping his eyes on yours the whole time. It's far more sexual than you think it should be, and it was never your intent to get this response.

"Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes." You pass him the towel and take the glass.

Nathan scrubs the towel over his face and rests it around his neck. "I'm going for a hike later."

"Okay?"

"You're going with me." He turns back to the punching bag and starts his routine back up. "Be ready at nine."

You sigh. "Alright."

_____________________

Nathan's idea of a hike and your idea of a hike vary greatly. You view a hike as wandering around the forest along trails and seeing the beauty of nature before you. Leisurely pace, breaks, maybe a snack or two and some photos for the memories. Nathan however thinks hikes are treacherous climbs up cliffs and rock jumping across rivers and streams. He goes as quick as possible as if he's trying to get somewhere and he's going to be late. It's hardly relaxing.

"Come on, why are you so slow?" Nathan barks from atop a rock some several yards ahead of you.

You're panting, legs pushed to their limit from the half an hour long uphill climb you've just endured. You have no idea how he isn't even winded.

"Fuck off Nathan!" You huff, grabbing a scrubby looking tree for support as you haul yourself up over a broken chunk of the path. A game trail, not even a proper walking path.

He laughs, his voice echoing off the cliffs surrounding you. "You can do it, Kitten! Get that little ass up here!"

You finally reach him, your lungs threatening to explode. "First of all, this isn't a hike it's a rock climbing marathon." You hold a finger up to his face threateningly. "And second, my ass isn't little."

"Oh I know." He folds his arms over his chest.

"So you stare at my ass a lot then?"

"I'm a heterosexual man. Of course I'm going to look at your ass."

You roll your eyes. "Thanks for the objectification."

"You're welcome."

"Can we take a break here? My legs are killing me."

Nathan stretches his arms up and back. "This is why I brought you with me."

"Why?"

"So you can get some exercise. Your stamina is shit."

You glance to the drop off below then back at him. "You wanna keep insulting me?"

"Facts are not insults."

"I will push you off this cliff, Nathan."

He steps away from the edge and closer to you. He doesn't say anything about it. Doesn't apologize for the comments about your stamina and needing to work out more. He reaches for your face, plucking something off of your cheek. "Eyelash."

"Make a wish."

"Wishes are for children." He flicks his finger off to the side.

"I wish my boss would get his head out of his ass." You smirk triumphantly. "Is that a child's wish?"

Nathan flicks his eyes up and down your face, eyes settling on the bite bruise peaking out from under your sweatshirt collar. You had forgotten about it until this very moment, when you realize he hadn't seen it yet. "Is that mine?"

"Of course. Who else has been biting me out here in the middle of nowhere?" You reach up to touch it and he shoves your hand away to pull the fabric aside for himself.

"No one else can touch you."

Heat blossoms in your stomach at his jealousy tinged words. Possessive Nathan really does it for you. But he isn't your boyfriend. He is your boss. "I'm not yours Nathan."

His fingertips ghost over the nearly healed bruise. "Yes you are."

"I'm not."

"Then why don't you leave?"

You shove his hand off your shoulder and he gives you one of his famed deadly glares for doing something he doesn't like. "You don't want me. So I can't be yours."

"It's not that I don't want you, I can't have you." He turns and starts walking away, resuming the hike. How very like him. He says something stupidly cryptic that only makes sense to him. Whatever. You're not here for his affection and approval. You're here to be his assistant.

____________________

"I'm out of alcohol." Nathan states plainly, looking into the cupboard that usually has a few bottles of his favorite liquors. "Where is my shit?"

You look over from the fridge and smirk to yourself. "I thought you were on a detox again."

"I'm done with it. Where..." He turns and looks at you. "You didn't buy anything."

"Nope. I was told not to."

"By who?"

"You."

He purses his lips and looks around as if thinking about when he would have ever said that to you. He looks perplexed and you feel so smug. "Since when do you ever listen to me?"

You laugh softly. This is your fault now? Following his orders and not buying alcohol? Really.

"You're my boss. I usually follow your orders."

Nathan kicks the cupboard closed lightly. "Stop that."

"Stop what? Following your instructions?"

"Stop fucking with my head." He leans on the counter and takes his glasses off to dig his palms into his eyes. "You're so fucking irritating."

"Sure am." You gather some utensils from the counter that you left to dry and begin to put them away. "I live to make you suffer."

Nathan pulls his hands from his eyes and stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. It's like you're a puzzle and he's trying to see the solution. "Sometimes I wonder."

"You're being a baby."

"Excuse me?"

You walk over and stand in front of him, hands on your hips, mimicking his pose when he explains things to you. He doesn't fail to notice this as his eyes sweep over you in assessment and he raises his head as if challenging you. "You're only saying I'm irritating and making you suffer because you can't drink. It's been what? A week?"

"Eight days."

"A week. I'm sure you can make it another two weeks."

"You're fucking joking."

"Nope. I'm not going into town for groceries again until absolutely necessary. It's a three hour flight there and then back, remember?"

Nathan clenches the edge of the counter top with white knuckles.

"Get as pissed as you want." You lean in close and he nearly moves back. You know he won't back down from a challenge. "Maybe you'll have to face your demons sober. Maybe you'll figure your shit out."

"I didn't hire you to be my fucking therapist."

"Yet here I am."

Nathan pushes off the counter and grabs the bottle of water you set out for him before he goes off to lock himself in his lab for God knows how long. Ever since you came on to him he seems to be jumpy around you. You don't know why he won't just admit that he likes you, that he wants you. He is going to get blue balls sooner or later. Well, maybe not because he can jack off but actual sex isn't the same and you know he has a sex drive through the roof. You used to hear it at all hours of the morning before he deactivated Kyoko. You'd be lying if you said you didn't get off on it a few times.

_____________________

Days and days pass without a word from Nathan. Ten is now the most you've ever gone and after five you start to wonder if he is even in the house. Maybe he went for a walk and fell in the river. Maybe he pissed off his AI again and it finally strangled him. You would have no idea because the place is so huge and quiet for the most part. Aside from living quarters the complex is soundproofed. One would think Nathan's room beside yours would be for privacy but it's not. The freak. He wants people to hear him.

At the twelfth day mark you actually begin to worry. A twenty day sober Nathan may be a new kind of animal and you're not sure if you truly want to interact. Distance makes the heart grow fond though and while he is insufferable you do care for him and wish to see his stupid smug face. It's a risk but one you need to take.

The light on the lab door is red. Locked. You raise your key card and it buzzes, remaining red. He's denied your access to the lab. Shocker. You press the com button on the wall but it doesn't connect. He's shut that off too.

You lean your head on the cool cement wall and sigh. One more day. You'll give it one more day. If he doesn't show his face you'll get the override key card that resides in the hidden box in the bathroom. You found it ages ago, by pure accident. You've never used it and he has no idea that you even know about it. But you'll do what you have to do.

______________________

Morning of the next day you find yourself in bed, looking around the soft cream colored walls. An idea comes to mind. A dirty, dirty idea. You know Nathan has cameras in every room. He's too anal about protectng his work not to. Plus he has major trust issues.

You lean over the side of the bed and pull open the nightstand drawer. Inside is a small vibrator that you brought with you when you moved in. There's another box in there too. One that was there when you opened the drawer the first night. On the top it says "For your needs, because you're only human."

Of course you opened the box out of curiosity, Nathan had said everything in the room was for you so it wasn't snooping. In the box was a dildo, some lube and a little bullet vibrator. You had never used them, finding the gift too personal and odd. Complimentary soap? Normal. Complimentary extra blankets and pillows? Thoughtful. Complimentary sex toys? Insane. Until you got to know Nathan, you thought it was the weirdest thing ever. In fact, you forgot about the box after a while as you hadn't had the urge to get off until recently. Today however, you're going to make a show of it in hopes of getting his attention.

You dump the contents of the box on the bed and pick up the dildo, wrapping your fingers around it. It's life like, fleshy and soft but firm enough for it's intended use. It's bigger than you might usually prefer but nothing you can't handle with some extra time. And you've got nothing but time. You take a glance around the room, not seeing any obvious surveillance cameras. This may be for nothing.

You make quick work of your pajamas, toss aside the blankets and prop yourself against the headboard. You decide to keep your gaze fixed on the television, imagining it's where he is watching from. You close your eyes and let your hands start to wander, doing thier thing while your mind runs wild.

Time passes slowly as you work yourself over, adjusting to the dildo and working yourself into a heated frenzy. It would be easier if you had something to watch, some porn or something. You're not intent on making yourself come, but you will if it comes to that. You just want to put on a show to draw him out. That's what you're telling yourself anyway.

The power goes out, darkening the room and thrusting you into silence. The back up system announces its engagement and the emergency lights come up red. You sit up and lean your head back against the headboard. Great. You toss the toys aside and get up, pulling on your pajamas. You go to the door, punch in the code for manual override during power failure. Nathan is such a nerd. It's not a specific number but rather the theme to Star Wars.

The door clicks open and you go out into the hall. No one in sight, not that you really expected anyone. "Nathan!" You call out, heading for the lab door. Everything is eerie red and you don't like it. "Power is out!"

No response.

"Nathan James Bateman!" You sing song as you slide your card on the lab door. It buzzes. "I know you hear me you fuck!"

"Power restored. All systems active."

The hall turns white, back to the bright daylight simulated lighting. You lift your key card up in hopes that the system turned off his lock out coding for your card. Sure enough it turns blue and the door clicks open. Relief washes over you as you step into the darkened office where his computer is set up, notes on the wall, security feeds pulled up on two of the monitors. The door to the actual lab is open and you walk through into the bright area.

"Nate?" You call out, the nickname slipping out as your voice wavers a bit when you don't see him anywhere.

"Kitten?"

You spin around and see the man you seek emerge from a doorway. It's the server closet where the breaker box is. "Hey."

"How'd you get in here?"

"The power failure reset the lock codes."

"You can leave."

"Nathan, you haven't been out in almost two weeks. I'm starting to get worried. What are you eating? Are you sleeping?"

"I'm fine."

You give him a once over. Wrinkled clothes. Disheveled beard. Hair grown out longer than you remember, still buzzed but not so close. His skin is dull and lifeless. "You look like shit."

"What's new?"

"Oh come on. You're more vain than that. What are you doing in here anyway? Why the power failure?"

"Fuck off."

"What an original come back. I've been trying to get your attention for days. The fact that it took a power outage for me to get to you is sad." You walk up to him and touch his chest, there is a little bit of dried blood smeared on his shirt. A cut on his hand most likely. "Nathan, talk to me."

Nathan pushes away from you and goes to his design table where there are blueprints laid out for an AI.

"Nathan."

"Leave." There is no venom in his tone. If anything he sounds pleading.

You decide to make a bold move and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He stiffens, hands stilling on the table, pen falling from his fingers. "Please talk to me."

"Just go. I don't want to talk to you."

"Fine. Dinner is at six." You pause at the doorway to the office area. "Did you hear me?"

"Six."

"Good."

_____________________

Things fall back into a normal rhythm in the days following. You do your work and he does his. You eat together, go for walks, talk about his progress on the new AI. Everything seems to be back to it’s usual flow, how it always happened after big arguments or falling outs.

So while you’re sitting in the lab watching him work one day and he asks you about the dildo in the bedside table you're thrown for a loop. It’s far from his usual choice of topics and you had actually forgotten all about it. His mentioning of it brings back the memory of when you were laid out on your bed, literally masturbating to try and get his attention. Christ what a desperate move that was. Stupid.

"So have you opened it?"

"The dildo box? Yeah I've opened it." You try to remain casual as you discuss something so personal. You definitely aren’t thinking about how good it felt.

He smirks. "Used it?"

"No." A bold lie. He has no idea. He never saw you in your bedroom. At least you don't think he did. Why would he ask about it if he had? Why is he asking about it at all?

“You’re a shitty liar.” He turns around in his chair and faces you, pushing his glasses up off the end of his nose. “Did you like it?”

“I haven’t used it.”

“Do you want me to bring up the video? I will.” He stands and heads to the office. “Come on, come here.”

You slide off the table and walk behind him in your shame, cheeks hot. You knew you shouldn’t have lied. Of course he was testing you. It's Nathan for fucks sake. He gestures to his rolling chair and you take a seat while he leans over the desk and clicks around on files on the desktop. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yeah. It is.” He opens a play back window and you can see the view of your room. No surprise. You try to figure out where the hell this camera is based on the angle. It seems to be the top left corner above your closet but as far as you remember there is nothing there. “Oh, there you are.”

“Nathan.”

“No, no watch.” He points to the screen as you toss and turn on the bed. He speeds up the playback as you get into the drawer and get the box out. You deliberately clear the bed, undress, get back on the bed.

You roll your eyes, looking away from the screen and he places a hand on your head and turns it back to watch. “So? I’m masturbating. Whatever. You do it too. If I wasn’t supposed to use the damn thing why did you leave it for me?”

“Oh I don’t care that you used it.” He clicks a little audio icon beside the playback screen. “I just want to know why you lied about it.”

“I am embarrassed? I don't make a habit of talking about my-”

“Nathan.” Your voice plays back on the audio coming from the video playback and you wish you could sink into the floor and disappear. “Nathan, harder please!” Of course he has audio on the fucking cameras. Of fucking course he does because why not right? It’s his house, his research facility.

Nathan looks at you over his glasses. “You’re embarrassed about talking about masturbating or you’re embarrassed that you think of me when you do it and I found out? Actually don’t answer that because this looks deliberate.” He takes a seat on the desk, blocking the view of the monitors. “Now, are you going to lie to me again, or tell me what this is about?”

“I wanted to get your attention.”

“Well you got it honey.” He clicks a button on the keyboard and it stops the playback.

“I wanted your attention to get you out of the fucking lab. It had been almost two weeks since I had seen you and the only way I can reach you from outside is through the cameras. So I thought, maybe there is one in my room because you’re a fucking control freak. Low and behold I was right, but it didn’t work how I planned it to.” You fold your arms over your chest and he chuckles. “What’s so funny?”

“You.”

“Me? How is any of this funny?”

“What kind of person thinks that masturbating on camera is going to get someone’s attention? No, seriously, why wouldn’t you try flash signalling the cameras in the halls? Set up a cue card with a message? Who says I’m gonna fuck myself for my bosses attention?”

You take in a deep breath and clench your jaw. He’s right, kind of. You hate it but he is. In any other situation you never would have done this. So why did you? Why did your brain go straight to exhibitionism? Because it’s Nathan and you’ve got it bad for him and you wanted him to see you. He’s got your brain just as fucked up as he has his own.

“It was wrong, I’m sorry. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Nope.” He kicks his legs hanging over the desk. “I wanna know if you liked that dildo.”

“It was fine I guess.”

“Not too much?”

“Nathan, why do you fucking care?”

He hops off the desk and shakes his head as he heads into the lab. “I’m curious is all!”

“You’re a freak!”

“And yet you still like me!”

“I’m starting to wonder why.” You push up out of the chair, close the playback on the computer and leave the office. You’re covering that stupid camera and throwing that dildo in the trash chute. You should have known he’d get some weird complex out of watching you say his fucking name while plowing yourself with a toy. In a weird way it turns you on, but it also pisses you off because he won’t actually admit that he liked it. He won’t ever admit anything.

_____________________

“Can I ask you something?” You say to Nathan as he sits beside you on the couch. You’re in the lounge together, dinner long over, watching a movie as you wind down for the evening. He’s got his arm around the back of the cushions and your legs are pulled up under you, feet pressed against his thigh. You’re close, but not too close.

“I don’t know. Can you?”

“Don’t be a dick for ten minutes please.”

Nathan holds his hand up in defense. “Ten minutes. Shoot.”

“Promise you won’t be a dick? For real?”

“Yes. Ask me the damn question.”

You take a deep breath, knowing what you’re about to ask is going to be rough on him. “When we were on our hikes a few weeks ago, you said it wasn’t that you don’t want me, it’s that you can’t have me. What does that mean?”

Nathan stares ahead at the movie on the tv over the fireplace. A moment passes, a moment that is too long and makes the room fill with awkward tension. You expected this.

“Gonna stay quiet for the ten minutes you aren’t going to be a dick?”

“Shut up.” He says softly, no venom in the words.

You stare at him expectantly, awaiting a better answer than just shut up. “Seriously, would you just-”

Nathan’s arm comes up from the back on the couch and his hand catches the back of your head, dragging you closer to him as he presses a kiss to your lips. Your blood boils in the best way and you chase his lips as he pulls away. “That’s all it takes to shut you up?”

“Answer my question. Ten minutes aren’t up.”

“I can’t have you because you’re going to leave. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day you’re going to leave.”

“I’m not leaving Nathan.”

He scoffs. “So if I stopped paying you to be my assistant, you would stay?”

“Yes.”

"You're fucked up." He shakes his head. "You're fucked up and it's my fault."

You stare at him at a loss for words. Did he just admit fault for something? Are you hearing this correctly? Is Nathan Bateman, tech genius and egotistical maniac admitting he has done something? Holy shit.

"I did this to you. I made you stay here and endure my mood swings and drinking and all my shit. I stockholm syndrome'd you and I didn't even realize it." He leans his head back and closes his eyes. "You don't deserve this."

"Nathan, you didn't make me stay here. I chose to stay."

"Where the fuck were you going to go? Run off into the woods for days and days until you hope to find someone? What option did you have? I trapped you here. I've kept you caged in this house like an animal."

You lay your hand over his and he grabs it, threading your fingers together. "You don't think someone could actually love you, do you?"

"What?"

"You don't think someone could fall in love with you because you're insecure. You push people away, you push me away because you think it's easier than letting yourself feel something for someone."

Nathan looks pissed but he holds his tongue.

"I'm not trapped here, you aren't twisting my arm and making me stay here against my will. I know what I signed up for, I know what I signed in those contracts. I could have told you to fuck off and shove your head up your ass months ago and taken a helicopter back into the city. I could have just run away on any one of my dozen grocery runs in the last several months. But did I?"

"No."

"Why is that?"

"I don't fucking know."

You lay the hand not held in his, on to his cheek and turn his face to make him look at you. "Because I love you, Nathan."

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do. You're a real son of a bitch sometimes and I want to break your nose and choke you to death every once in a while but I care. I care about you, about your work, about your life. I want to be here, I want to be a part of your life Nathan. You don't have to be afraid. I'm not going anywhere."

Nathan gets up and you hold your joined hands tightly.

"Don't run away damn it!"

"I'm not! Would you let go!"

"I swear to fucking God if you lock yourself in that lab again I am going to get a battering ram."

He takes his glasses off and presses them into your palm. "Take these as collateral. I'll be right back."

You sit back on the couch and glare at his form as it disappears into the house. You clean his glasses carefully with the edge of your shirt and set them on the coffee table. He has to come back for them, he's as blind as a bat without them.

Nathan returns shortly with a small box. "I made these." He hands you the box and you open it as he puts his glasses back on. Inside are two black bands, rings.

"I don't understand."

"I made them because I know I can be difficult." He plucks one from the box. "They track the wearers vitals, change colors based on varying indicators, and they will work no matter how far apart they are."

"You made high tech mood rings."

He shoots you a glare. "I made them for you." He places the ring in his hand into your palm. "So you will know that I'm alright when I'm working long hours. I know I'm not the easiest to read and I don't have the easiest time expressing myself sometimes."

You put the ring on and it lights up a soft pink color. The moment Nathan slips his over his finger you can feel a soft steady pulse coming from the ring. "Is that your heartbeat?"

"Yeah." He holds his hand out and you can see his band is the same color pink. "I'll give you a breakdown on all the colors and functions later, but pink means the body is at ease."

"Do you love me? Just tell me, straight up no games."

"Yeah." He cups your cheek and brings you in for a kiss. "I love the shit out of you."

You break away from his kiss and press your foreheads together. "Can I ask just one more question?"

"Fire away."

"Is the dildo a mold of your dick?"

A smile spreads across his face and you already know the answer before he says it. "It is."

"You're a freak."

"And you absolutely love it."

You smile as he presses his lips to yours and pulls you over into his lap. "I guess I do."

The end

Please reblog if you read or like. Thank yo so much for reading! -A

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[x0401x]

Jeweler Richard Fanbook Short Story #6

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Moonstone’s Charity

“The moon is beautiful, huh!”

By the time that we exited the Shiseido Parlor, it was already completely dark outside. The moon loomed a faint blue, as if overlooking the night view of Ginza. Putting his coat back on, Richard silently averted his eyes when I looked back at him with an “isn’t it”. At any rate, I had gotten wholly used to eating out with this guy on Saturdays after work. It was worth making him puddings as payback, I thought.

“Speaking of which, the stone you sold to today’s customers was a ‘stone of the moon’, wasn’t it?”

“Please call it ‘moonstone’. There are other rock specimens that are referred to as ‘stones of the moon’. Confusing the meaning of the words is deplorable.”

“Is that so?! Aight, I’ll take it to heart.”

Today’s customers were the parents of a naïve young lady, and the goods they bought were a moonstone jewelry set for her. It seemed that the young lady, who still had childish facial traits, was going to get married, so her parents ordered a necklace from Etranger for her to take along when the time came. Bearing a rainbow light over a milky blue color, the cabochon-cut moonstone was combined with white diamonds for the necklace and bracelet. It overflowed with a soulful beauty, almost as if it had borrowed the glow of an aurora from a Scandinavian sky.

Apparently, the moonstone, which was also one of the June birthstones, had been familiarized as a power stone since the distant past, and was renowned especially as a stone that celebrated the well-being and fortune of women. Having the commemorative jewelry delivered to her as a surprise, the young lady had cried until her eyes were bright red, but she recovered by way of a sweet royal milk tea, expressing gratitude to her parents with a sniffling nose. I believed that there were several forms of joy depending on each person, and what I had witnessed today was unmistakably one of them.

Even as we headed to the parking lot where Richard’s jaguar was, the moon followed us from the gaps between the buildings. As I walked while looking up and repeating, “It’s really pretty, so pretty”, Richard seemed exasperated.

“‘The moon is beautiful’, huh. Are college students not familiar with anecdotes of their own country’s literary figures nowadays?”

“Don’t they read that stuff? I’m in the faculty of economics, so there’s lots of people with names written in horizontal characters on our textbooks. Like Marx Weber or Mankiw.”

“What about Futabatei Shimei or Natsume Souseki?”

“I’ll ask you back: have you read them?”

“Yes.”

Uwah. As I cried out, the gorgeous jeweler sighed. “Honestly, today’s youths,” he said.

I ended up laughing at him without thinking.

“What is it?”

“You say ‘youths’ but you’re pretty young yourself.”

“I merely disagree with the worldwide trend of thinking that classical literature is an enjoyment for old age. The world, matured by the various interpretations of our ancestors, is deep and wide-ranging, as well as something that envelopes our hearts, just like stones.”

“Feels like the part where stones come up is ‘just as expected of Richard-san’.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

“I am complimenting you. I have the feeling that I get smarter when we talk.”

“For you to be the kind who is satisfied with just ‘having a feeling’, my existence must be a harmful one.”

“I shall take this to heart... Aah, by the way, in sociology or some other class, I heard that the phrase ‘had a feeling’ has increased too much in pop music. Why is that? I guess it’s because, when they assert, ‘I can be strong!’ instead of, ‘I have the feeling I can be strong, I find myself inwardly wanting to retort with a, ‘Nope, nope, it’s not like that’ and the mood cools off.”

“Unfortunately, I have not studied the trends of modern Japan’s younglings. But if we are to speak of such things, even the power invoked by stones is a matter of ‘having a feeling’.”

“Is it okay for a jeweler to be saying that?”

“We are already out of business hours. Besides, this is not a negative subject in particular.”

Having arrived at the parking lot, Richard glanced at me and folded his arms lightly. He was a beautiful man from the top of his head to the tips of his toenails, like a doll made of moonlight. I was used to looking at his figure, but beautiful things will be beautiful. I could look at him without ever getting tired and it would put me in a good mood, just like the moon.

“W-What? What’s up?”

“I mean that people can become strong just from ‘having a feeling’. The power of belief is namely the force of human beings who seek hope even in a small gleam. Is that not a wonderful thing? On nights like these, when we ‘have the feeling’ that we are being protected by the light of the moon, people are sure to be in some sort of calm mood.” Saying this, as if to copy me or something, Richard looked up at the night sky above the buildings of Ginza and murmured, “The moon is truly beautiful.” He then smoothly got on the jaguar’s driver seat. I followed him on the passenger seat.

Still, this car’s seat base did an exquisite inclination no matter how many times I sat on it. It felt like a chair sticking to your body.

“Well, are you okay with dropping off at Takadanobaba?”

“Thank you. By the way, should I reply with the ‘I could die now’ already?”

Richard’s face at that moment was a spectacle. His mouth and beautiful eyebrows distorted as if to say, “Haah?”. His eyes stared dangerously at me.

“I mean, isn’t that the context? Futabate Shimei and Natsume Souseki, right?”

“I love you”.

Apparently, the literary masters of the Meiji Era had racked their brains about to how to translate a sentence that didn’t originally exist in the Japanese language. This would be a standard drinking party talk. Well, I didn’t know if there was a standard for all kinds of drinking parties, but just recently, during a drinking party we held with a group of men from the Department of Letter’s Faculty of Japanese Literature, we got fired-up over that topic. “Girls like this kind of talk, so you guys from the Faculty of Economics should also keep it in mind every once in a while,” they told us. Futabate Shimei used “I could die now” as a code for “I am yours” and Natsume Souseki used the anecdote “the moon is beautiful, isn’t it” as what was claimed to be a good anecdote for “I love you”. We were thankful for the trivia. That being said, none of the members who attended the drinking party had girlfriends, so I had thought there would be no opportunity to use this trivia, but to my surprise...

Richard, who had been stiff for a moment, exhaled with a loud “haaah” and turned the engine key. The body of the iron machine shuddered.

“That was terrifying.”

“So even you got freaked out! I can say some Japanese-like things too.”

“I will proceed to kick you if you say the same thing again. Be quiet for the time being.” Richard pulled the car out of the parking lot from backward, and as he stepped onto the accelerator and we got out into the street, the car trundled on with us in silence for a while. After we had passed four or five buildings, the beautiful jeweler opened his mouth again, “These words are not meant to be spoken lightly. A sentence taken out of context is like a lonely stone removed from a bracelet. In what kind of situation did people say, ‘The moon is beautiful’ or under what circumstances did they think, ‘I could die now’? What matters is the process until things arrived to that point, and not scraps of words. In the past, during the times when the people of this country were not as filled with imported mentalities as they are now, they probably understood this very well.”

“Hey, why’d you think of reading Natsume Souseki?”

Richard didn’t respond. I’d known for a while now that there were lots of things this guy didn’t want to answer, but his silence at the question was unexpected. Was something up?

Something related to moments when he might feel like saying things such as “the moon is beautiful” or “I could die now”.

It was clearly not a topic that I should pry too much about. Pretending to have found something interesting out the window, I put on a smile with no particular connotation. Leaning my body against the window, I looked up at the sky. “Ah, I can still see the moon.”

“You do not say. Is it beautiful?”

“Yup, but you’re more beautiful.”

Richard’s hand instantaneously glided in a swift motion. He pressed the car stereo switch. What played at an explosively loud volume wasn’t the Finnish rock that I had listened to before. It was a sutra in an ethnic-sounding female voice. That was all I could say. What was this? As I asked in a loud voice what language that song was in, he said it was Bengali. Was it an Indian song then? I couldn’t talk to him unless I shouted in one breath.

“HEY! IF I PISSED YOU OFF, SERIOUSLY, I’M SORRY!”

Richard’s mouth moved in the form of an “I cannot hear you”. It seemed he wasn’t in the mood for conversation. But he didn’t look angry. The corners of his lips were smiling just slightly. Like he wanted to say that this was so stupid it made him laugh. He appeared a lot more relaxed than when listing up the names of those literary figures, so I became kinda happy.

When I got out of the car, the southern country atmosphere was gone at once. At the roundabout in Takadanobaba, Richard took off with the jaguar as soon as he said goodbye. As the same old habit, for whatever reason, I ended up watching him off until I couldn’t see him anymore.

As I looked up the blue moon was floating in the black sky, unchanged. This was also a matter of “having a feeling”, but this emotion I was feeling today at this moment was a definite form of happiness too.

Honestly, the moon was beautiful tonight.

#housekishou richard shi no nazo kantei #housekishou richard #jeweler richard #the case files of jeweler richard #richard #nakata seigi #richard ranashinghe de vulpian #richard ranashinha de vulpian #jr short story collection #tsujimura nanako #yukihiro utako #novel #my translation

[zorohezoro]

Parts 3-4: Sanity

Warnings: NSFW, SMUT CUNNILINGUS, SMACKING, PRAISE, DEGRADATION, SLIGHT ORGASM DENIAL

Summary: Matsumi finally gives in to her desires for one of the men she’s been fawning over these past 6 months.

You can find the full story here

Gojo x f!reader

AFTER WHAT SEEMED LIKE a short amount of time spent with Nanami, I had to leave. It was finally getting dark outside and I almost forgot I had plans to meet Gojo at the office for this so-called surprise. Nanami was sleeping peacefully on my lap and I hated to wake him up.

"Nanami....sweetheart I have to go. Let's get you into bed so your neck doesn't hurt from sleeping here on the sofa." I said. He groaned and clenched my thigh. "No stay," he said. I smiled to myself and slid from under him. He groaned a little more so I decided to let him stay. I made him comfortable with a few pillows and spread a blanket over him. I decided to leave him a note.

Nanami, I had to go but hopefully, we can do this again sometime. Don't you dare fall asleep on me :)

Xoxo, Sumi <3

As soon as I walked out of Nanami's, I got a sudden call from Gojo. "Hi sir, I'm on my way now! I'm just leaving Nanami's." I said. "Good girl. Feiten should be arriving as we speak. See you soon darling." Gojo replied. It was a short ride to the office. Feiten finally arrived and I popped open the back door and quickly got in. The tone in the car was quite different. There was a bottle of chardonnay and a note left by the single glass.

Matsumi, I hope you enjoyed your time with Nanami. Stop by your desk and change into what I’ve left for you and meet me on the helipad.

Kisses, Gojo

We finally arrived at the office and Feiten came around to open the door for me. "Thank you Feiten. Now tell me, do you know what Gojo-san has in store for me?" I looked at him with puppy dog eyes. "Now you know that I know Matsumi. However, I cant tell you. You know that I'd lose my job if Gojo-san found out, and of course, he knows everything." Feiten said. "Awww Feiten, not even for me?" I asked as I got out of the car. "Absolutely not Ms. Tanabe. Now hurry along before Gojo gets impatient." Feiten replied.

I sighed and headed towards the elevator, curious as to what Gojo possibly had in store for me. Especially since it sounded like he was going to use his helicopter. I finally arrived in the elevator and decided to scroll through my phone. I had a text from Nanami.

“Had so much fun with you gorgeous. Let’s do it again sometime.”

“I’d love that. Next week?”

By the time I finished texting Nanami back I was already on the top floor. I walked out of the elevator to find two boxes and a note on my desk.

The red one is for a different time. Don’t open it just yet, I’ll know if you do.

Xoxo, Gojo

He was acting differently than usual. I'm honestly surprised he doesn't have other plans tonight. He usually has some fling with a woman. Wouldn't expect anything less from well-known pretty-boy player Gojo Satoru. I opened the black box and noticed some red tissue paper inside. I quickly took it out only to see a black strapless dress. It paired well with the heels that I wore today. He noticed. Since no one was on the floor I quickly slipped out of my clothes and changed into the beautiful dress. I slipped back into my heels, put my clothes in the empty box, and headed towards the elevator to finally go up to the helipad.

The elevator doors slid back open and I saw Gojo standing there with a smug grin on his face. "Hey, gorgeous," Gojo said. "Hey? What is all this?" I questioned. "Oh, nothing out of the ordinary. Let's get dinner." "Gojo please, if you wanted to get dinner I could have met you at the restaurant, no need to take the helicopter," I said. "Yes but that's not what matters. All that matters is, you followed my instructions. Kitten, it's cute that you thought we were going to a restaurant. I think you should let me handle things from now on." He smirked

"Kitten" Working for a man of his stature definitely has its perks. He really knows his way with words. It's becoming harder and harder every day to keep this little secret feeling I have for Gojo inside.

"Well Gojo, lead the way. You know I'll always follow. Especially if you keep looking at me with those eyes of yours." I sighed. "Well Sumi, these eyes want to see you get into the helicopter," Gojo said. I darted a quick look at him and proceeded to get into the helicopter. He followed and placed his hand on the small of my back making sure I don't fall.

Don't worry, I wouldn't let it happen if I didn't want it to. I get that he's my boss but who doesn't love a spicy romance?

"Great view kitten. I can't help but think of what else I could see from behind." He said. I was finally settled in my seat and my cheeks flushed a bright pink. I seriously cannot with this man. Always making snide comments at my body shape. Not that I mind, he's always complimented me every chance he got.

Gojo

I watched her through my blindfold. Her cheeks were flushed. How cute. She makes me nervous. Yes, Sumi is my assistant, but I just can't help but think of the possibilities with her. The way her body moves when she's around me makes it seem like she has taken a liking to me, not just platonically. We finally settled into the helicopter and waited for lift-off.

"G-gojo, I have to ask you something," Sumi said. I could see that she was trying to hide her face. She was looking down at her legs. "Go ahead doll, I'm listening," I replied.

MINORS DNI

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, and if you have to f-fire me because of it I understand." She paused. "These past six months have been wonderful working with you every day. There would be no reason that I'd fire you, Kitten." She sighed. She looked up, wiping her clammy hands on the blanket she always kept in the helicopter. She was nervous, I could tell that whatever she had to say was a great deal based on how she's acting. I lifted my blindfold and grabbed her hand, she was slightly shaking. "Sumi, let's just wa-," I was interrupted. "N-no! If I don't say this now I won't ever say it. Satoru, being by your side every day for the past 6 months has made me feel whole. I know you're my boss and I know it's wrong but I just can't hold back thes-," I cut her off crashing my lips into hers just as we took off.

Her lips were soft, she tasted faintly of chardonnay and green tea mochi. We continued like this for a while, with her right here with me the view of Tokyo from above didn't matter. I felt her tongue glide across my bottom lip asking for entrance which I gladly gave. The intensity of just this one kiss made me forget about all of the other women I've ever been with. Her tongue intertwined with mine as we started battling for dominance. I couldn't let her win, I wrapped my hands around her tiny throat eager to take this further. She proceeded to wrap her arms around my neck never breaking the intense kiss. I roamed my free hand around her body lightly squeezing her thigh making my way under her dress. I reached just before her pussy and I could already feel the heat coming off begging me to touch it, I laughed slightly. She moaned into my mouth when I touched her inner thigh. I started kissing down her neck reaching her collarbone letting my hand rub small circles around her already swollen clit, her panties were soaked. Cute little moans escaped her pretty little mouth. I stopped.

Sumi looked up at me pouting. "Darling, we can continue this later. No need to pout." I smirked. She looked me up and down with lust in her eyes which made me want more. We finally landed at my home.  Her cheeks were flushed red, eyes were slightly watery.

"I hope so," Sumi replied, a slight smirk forming on the left side of her mouth.

Pt 4

Matsumi

WE FINALLY LANDED. Gojo broke the kiss which left me all hot and bothered. "Darling, we can continue this later. No need to pout." He smirked. My cheeks were still hot when he looked at me. "I hope so," I replied.

Gojo got up first. "Welcome to..." he paused looking at me for a second too long. It seemed like he was at a loss for words when he saw me get up. "My house." he finished.

"Satoru, did you catch a cold? I've been here before more times than I can count on all my fingers." He did seem like he was acting out of the ordinary. "Well kitten, I know that but you've only come as my assistant," Gojo replied.

"What more could I be?" I asked. "Doll, titles aren't necessary. Now, about your surprise. Follow me." He offered his hand for mine and I gladly accepted. He abruptly stopped. "Ah! Before we go inside, here Doll-face." He took off his blindfold and put it on my face. I never understood how he could see through this, I guess I never will. Under the blindfold, it was pitch black. "Gojo how do you see under this? It's pitch black but yet you wear it almost everywhere." I questioned.

"That is for me to know and you to hopefully never find out little one. Now stop asking questions and start obeying orders. Let's go." We walked a few meters, I heard the sound of Gojo's elevator open. "Watch your step doll, let's not ruin that pretty little face of yours," he said.

MINORS DNI

The elevator doors finally closed. The silence in this elevator was deafening. Gojo still had my right hand in his so I used my other to roam around his body since I couldn't see the other four senses were heightened. I felt his abs through his shirt and blushed immediately. "Like what you feel doll?" Gojo slightly laughed. "Yes actually, seems like you do too," I smirked

I felt his trousers tightening as I roamed my free hand around his body. He let go of my other hand shortly after which gave me the freedom to put my hand on the back of his neck. I stopped caressing his body and brought his face down to mine and started to kiss him. Shortly after I felt him lift me. I wrapped my legs around him, the next thing I know, I heard the emergency stop ring. This excited me. I kissed his neck biting slightly then moving up to his earlobe nibbling on it. He slapped my ass hard making me grind on his toned belly. He put me down and I started to remove the blindfold. "Don't take it off princess, if you want me to fuck you in this elevator you'll keep it on," Gojo whispered in my ear. I obeyed, a little scared of what he'd do otherwise.

GOJO

I stopped the elevator, eager to finally fuck Matsumi as I intended as part of her surprise. I can't fathom her doing this with any other man especially  Nanami Kento. When Kento told me he was developing feelings for Sumi, I knew I had to do something. "Don't take it off princess, if you want me to fuck you in this elevator, you'll keep it on," I whispered. I placed my hand around her waist and lifted her dress just above her ass with the other.

Her scent was intoxicating. The slight scent of peaches lingered on my nose as I got on my knees in front of her. I had my hands on the back of her thighs ready to rip her panties off this instant. I wasn't going to do that though. I want to tease her, make her beg me to fuck her. I caressed her thighs littering kisses all over. Her legs were already starting to give out. I slid her panties off and lifted her legs resting them on my shoulders. God even her pussy is pretty. I held her legs up and proceeded to slightly bite her inner thigh a little making her jump and let out a soft moan. "Don't be quiet for me princess, I want to hear all your pretty moans," I said, planting kisses between words.

MATSUMI

Gojo licked and sucked my inner thigh slightly biting it every so often making me jump. God, I just want him to devour me already. "P-please, more." I moaned slightly. "Not so fast little one, let daddy work his magic. You're already so wet for me, you're doing so good," he said.

My grip on reality slowly slipped, focusing on Gojo's touch was all I needed to worry about. I felt his hand on my stomach just above my pussy. His mouth was getting closer until I finally felt his tongue slide on my slit. Ahh yes. His tongue circled my clit making me jump. This was my first time feeling this aroused. I felt him slip a finger inside me, pumping his finger in and out at a steady pace while still sucking on my clit. Don't stop. I felt a ball forming in my stomach, knowing I was going to cum soon. Gojo added a second finger which made me moan even louder. I felt him curl them up towards my g-spot pumping them in and out faster and faster. I clenched around him signaling that I was right at my orgasm and he suddenly stopped. "W-why did you stop," I whined.

"Shut up. Get on your knees." Gojo said while lifting my legs off of his shoulders. I immediately got on my knees and waited for him to do something else. It sounded like he was unbuckling his pants. "Open your mouth."

I opened my mouth slightly. Gojo laughed and I felt him grab my face "Don't play with me doll, wider." Gojo demanded. I did as he said. I didn't even get a chance to say anything before he shoved his dick down my throat bottoming out. "Your throat is so fucking tight babygirl. Stick your tongue out for me," he groaned. He started pumping in and out slowly letting me get used to his size in my throat. He slammed back into me causing me to cough and gag making my eyes water. He lifted the blindfold uncovering my eyes. "You look so fucking hot right now swallowing my dick like this princess," Gojo said. he kept pumping his dick inside my throat, I could feel his strokes start to get sloppy signaling that he was about to cum. He slammed into me one last time releasing his load in the back of my throat. "Swallow it slut." I did as he said. I opened my mouth showing him proof. "You're such a good little cumslut do you know that princess?" he said. I shook my head up and down. I slowly got up only to be picked up and pinned against the wall. "You want me to fuck you like the dirty little whore you are Sumi?" Gojo asked. "Y-yes," I replied. "Yes what babygirl?" he grinned. "Use your words now, I know you're not shy the way you just swallowed my dick whole." he continued. "Y-yes daddy make me yours already." I stuttered.

He grabbed me by my throat. "That answer is fine for now because I want to fuck you so bad, do better next time." he grinned. My throat was let go and he quickly picked me up and positioned his dick at my entrance, rubbing it up and down making me whimper. "G-Gojo p-please." I moaned. "Please fuck me now." Those four words were all it took for him to slam his dick into me. Not giving me enough time to adjust to his size, he slammed into me again and again. It hurt so well. Ah yes, daddy make me cum! I was already on edge since he denied me twice already. "Don't cum until I tell you to okay princess?" he slowed down his thrusts to allow me to answer. "Yes, d-daddy." He kept going faster after I replied making me clench around him. I was already going to cum. Another ball formed in my stomach. The lewd sounds of my pussy filled the elevator as he continued slamming into me. My back arched in his arms as he hit my sweet spot again and again. He hasn't given me permission to cum yet but I can't hold back. I clench one last time making him slam into me once more which sent me over the edge. I came. "I'm sorr-" I was cut off my Gojo slapping me across my face while still slamming into me. I couldn't form words he continued to quicken his pace until I felt like I was on cloud nine. I continued to cum 3 more times, slapped twice more. I nuzzled into his neck, tears streaming down my face ruining my makeup. I was seeing stars. I could feel him slowing down his thrusts getting sloppy. He pulled out of me and got on his knees still holding me. "Open your mouth." I agreed. He quickly got up and stroked his dick a few times before shoving it in my throat one final time groaning as he was releasing his fluid in the back of my throat forcing me to swallow again.

"Good girl. Now let's get you cleaned up yeah?" Gojo said. I tried getting up but I couldn't feel my legs. I noticed he had a Cheshire-like grin on his face. He's enjoying this. "If you're going to stare can you at least help me get up since you did this?" I pouted.

"Of course. You just look so beautiful when you're freshly fucked. Just wait until I have you in a bed. You think you can't get up now?" Gojo laughed. He scooped me up again lifting me like I was a feather and pressed the button on the elevator. We finally reached his room and he undressed me fully and laid me on the bed while he filled up the bathtub. I was exhausted so I drifted off to sleep waiting for Gojo to finish and come get me.

#jjk smut #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut

[cannotgiveafuck]

HEY SORRY ITS BEEN A FEW MONTHS HAVE A SHORT BBATTOWLB SNIPPET.

I put it up on AO3, though it may not be completely compliant in verse, but hey whatever.

Billy's identity has been revealed and he's dealing with the not quite immediate fallout.

(Spoilers for post BBATTOWLB main story line.)

-

The first time Marvel tried to leave Fawcett City, J'onn was there to stop him.

"I cannot allow you to pass city limits, Captain." He said, and moved to push Marvel back every time.

.

The second time Marvel tried to leave, Green Lantern was there.

Just lounging about in a hammock from his ring, looking at his phone like he was enjoying a relaxing day out.

"Sorry, bud," he said, only glancing up with a shrug. "You know the rules."

.

The third time Marvel was actually able to leave, because there was nobody around to stop him. Because they were all out at Metropolis fighting an army that didn't really exist because, well. Illusion magic.

Marvel really felt they could use a hand from the Champion of Magic himself.

Apparently, the others did not feel the same.

From the moment he showed up, those that noticed told him to stay aside, that they could handle it, that he could get hurt, that he should leave it to them.

"This isn't your fight, kiddo."

"Go back home, champ."

"Watch your back, kid."

Yeah. Well. This kid just saved their collective magic inept butts, so...

Superman did not see it that way. The second the fight was over, he was right there, back straight and shoulders broad and brows furrowed.

"That was reckless, Billy. You were not called in to join the fight, and if you had misstepped in the slightest someone could have seriously been hurt."

But he didn't misstep. This was a magic fight and hello, did they forget what he's good at? They could suspend him all they want, they couldn't keep him away from where he needed to be, they couldn't freaking ground him.

Something hot and uncomfortable unfurled in his chest. He felt his fists curl at his side, involuntary sparks of electricity snapped around them. On the inside, Billy felt like screaming. On the outside, Marvel felt his jaw clench.

"I understand that, but--"

"Do you?" Superman interrupted. He didn't believe him. "Do you really understand how much damage was done? How much more could have been done? This is why you're on suspension, Billy. You can't just go around getting into every fight--"

"Marvel."

"What?"

"My name is Marvel," he ground out with surprising calm. "And every fight that needs me is my fight, Superman."

Superman crossed his arms and stared him down, like Marvel wasn't as tall as him, as broad and muscled and powerful as he was. Like Marvel hadn't just saved their asses.

Marvel kept his chin up and eyes forward. He would not back down. Not even from his hero.

"Go home, Captain."

With the threat neutralized, the team watching, and civilians and news reporters starting to venture back out, Captain Marvel knew there was nothing else left for him there.

A bolt of lightning struck him.

Rather dramatic, as exits went. But like hell he was going home, where he was sure another Leaguer would come patrol, where he was being commanded to stay - so the Rock of Eternity it was.

.

He didn't try to leave Fawcett City for awhile after that. (At least, not in any way that they would notice).

.

There were no missions, no patrols, no monitor duties, no cafeteria hang outs or briefings or alerts. His communicator was forfeited, his access to the Watchtower denied, his place on the Justice League all but officially revoked.

However, with how often one of the other heroes showed up to assist him with his own city's emergencies, Marvel felt like he was seeing the League a lot more than he had before his suspension.

Since they couldn't really stop him, they interfered as much as possible.

The Flash would stop by and want to grab food, always ready to take Billy somewhere to eat, and sometimes he’d drag Hal with to mess around at an arcade, and well, would you look at that, there's a bank robbery taking place, lemme get that for you.

Green Arrow and Black Canary came to town during the week, asking him about his home life and family and schooling and what he wanted to do, as if there was anything besides being Captain Marvel, and they tried very hard to be very nice and very friendly and very nosy.

Kori frequently came blazing by. She would greet him with a hug and be excited to see him. Like she actually wanted to. Every time, she would excuse the lack of Roy and Jason, stating that they wanted to give him space. She would ask him if her presence was a burden, was unwanted. And every time Billy would say no and hold her hand just a bit tighter. There were never questions about his memory loss, about what he came to remember, as if she understood the precipice he was balancing on and only wanted to remind him she was there. Billy appreciated that a lot.

Even Doctor Fate showed up. Suddenly next to him in the middle of the night as he glided through the sky. Not saying much of anything, though Marvel could feel his stare, feel his assessment. There were questions he wanted to ask, answers he wanted known, but still he didn't push. He just floated alongside Marvel until he vanished again. It was creepy, but it could've been worse.

Very rarely, in the corner of his eye, he would spot Batman or Nightwing, just on the edge of a building's shadow. A few times during the day, Billy caught sight of Bruce or one of the other batfamily. They would be strolling through the streets like it was a normal occurrence for them to be in Fawcett, and every time, Billy ran the other way. The thought of meeting them like this, as himself, as street rat Billy Batson made his heart race and head dizzy. He couldn't do it. Not now, not yet.

.

Captain Marvel could hardly go on patrol without another hero showing up at some point, all of them seemingly taking shifts to watch him, to baby sit him in his own city. Like he couldn't be trusted any more. Like he couldn't be the hero he had been this whole time.

Billy couldn't sleep at night. Couldn't lie on his bare mattress in his apartment without jumping at the slightest of sounds. As if the others would barge in and take him as he slept. The wards that were put up awhile ago did not help soothe this fear. Tawny's reassurances that they would not let anyone take him only comforted him in so much that he did not want his Familiar harmed, either. Not for him, not because of him.

He spent a lot of time sleeping at the Rock, where at least he felt safe.

.

Superman never stopped by. Aside from that first confrontation in Metropolis, Marvel hadn't seen him. No lectures, no orders, no commands, not even static silence. Nothing. Word from Hal was he had originally wanted to actually ground Billy. Keep him at the Watchtower where he could be easily monitored and cared for. But the idea was shot down and he'd been a little miffed about it. Still, that didn't stop the spike of paranoia Billy felt upon learning it.

Diana never contacted him, either, surprisingly. And that hurt more than he thought it would. Marvel remembered the look of sadness on her face, the hidden anger in her voice, and the passion she gave as she tried to defend him, as he stood before the League and confessed to his deceit, to his lying. She looked like he betrayed her. Even if she showed up, Billy had no idea what he could possibly say to apologize, to make it better.

Victor's position in the League was on the line, too, and Billy hadn't heard any more from him except that he'd be out of touch for a bit while he was essentially grounded. For him, that meant staying at his Detroit home with supervision whilst on duty at the Watchtower. The curdling feeling of guilt that he had brought this onto his friend sent Billy into such distress he didn't leave the Rock for the whole day.

Constantine thought the whole thing was bollocks. Said they had no right to control him, to stop him. He also said a few curses about them and the Wizard, but Billy let it slide. It felt nice to have someone truly in his corner. When John offered to whisk him on a vacation for awhile, see the other side of the pond, Billy regretfully declined. He felt like that was running away from his problems and he hated that notion most of all. Still, he thanked John for talking to him, even if it was just through the mirror. It helped elevate the ache in his chest.

.

Billy hadn't felt this way - this distant, disconnected, and closed off way - in a very long time.

.

"You keep returning here, young Tháv̱ma."

Don't look at him, don't talk to him, don't listen to him.

"Over and over again, you grace these stone halls."

He's goading you. Don't fall for it. Don't fall for it!

"Tell me, do you miss the cold throne and all the power it holds so much?"

Don't fall for it! Don't listen! Don't--

"Or are you here for something else?"

Don't react! Don't--

"Perhaps you wish to find the echoes of the old Wizard's ghost haunting this Rock?"

Don't cry, don't cry, don't--

"Or perhaps... perhaps you wish to find solace in a familiar presence?"

Don't cry, don't--

"Tell me, how heavy is the burden of being both Wizard and Champion?"

Don't--

"You seem lonely, young Tháv̱ma."

I am.

Billy was so, so lonely.

"I know loneliness, and all its dark corners, very well."

Really?

"Oh, yes. Spent thousands of years trapped and alone."

Of course, Teth Adam would understand.

"I am here."

Please.

"I will listen."

Please.

"Talk to me, young Tháv̱ma."

Billy didn't want to be alone anymore.

#Billy batson #captain marvel #shazam #justice league #fanfic writing #dont comment if you're just gonna say some shit about how u think characters should act #gettin real tired of folks tellin me how to write my own fic #anyway. billys trust is correlated with his support system. and they are both in shambles around him #he has no idea where to turn. who to turn to. bc hes avoiding everyone in JL. #they know who he really is. and hes being treated like a kid. and he hates it. and its makin him real vulnerable #so he feels like he cant go to any of em except constantine. but. well. even he knows thats not the best choice for support #but then again. being coaxed by black adam is also Not Good At All. #theres a lot for the JL to debate when considering billy and marvel and his position in the league #like. this is not a decision they can make lightly or quickly. especially when they barely comprehend HOW marvel even works #and especially when marvel is not going to stop. but also he is bound to a great position within the mystic community #they cant stop that. they cant interfere with that. that is a whole other can of worms and they dont even know how to fish

[mcwriting]

call me, beep me

In which I wrote a Kim Possible AU :)

Ship: Tom Holland x Reader

Word Count: 3865 

Warnings: literally none lol it’s all fun and fluff

#

“Toooom!” you exclaimed in a loud cry. He had clumsily knocked over part of your science fair project, a diorama of the solar system. His misstep caused Pluto to pop off the wire and dented Neptune a little.

“Oh my gosh, y/n, I’m so sorry, let me get that-” he started to reach down and grab the littlest planet at the same time as you, causing both of your heads to bump together.

You each jumped back again, exclaiming “ow!” and rubbing your temples simultaneously.

Things had been off between you and your childhood best friend lately. 

You’d been attached at the hip since preschool, and though you had your ups and downs, had always stayed friends. You were partners in (fighting) crime, but now it was like you were out of sync and couldn’t figure out why. 

“It’s okay, Tom. Seriously. I can fix it myself. You need to work on your project anyways, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. If it makes you feel any better, most people don’t even consider Pluto a planet anymore, so I kinda did you a favor.”

“You take that back! Pluto is so a planet!”

As you both laughed it off, a familiar four-toned beep came from your pocket.

“What’s the sitch, Jacob?” you asked into the phone, where your friend could be seen sitting at his computer.

“Hey, y/n. I was checking out Dr. Gyllenhaal’s purchase history lately, and well... tell me if this sounds fishy: 200 pounds of cherry flavored jello mix. That might not sound too bad except that he’s at the villain convention and just snatched the last 30 liters of mind-control juice. The first person you look at after ingesting some can control what you do unless you can reverse it. Oh, and he invited you and everyone else in town to a cookout at the park tomorrow.”

“Well, definitely doesn’t sound like any regular cookout. I’ll check things out. Give me location on the convention and we’ll head over,” you responded, annoyed that you needed to take a pause on your project that was due the next morning.

“I’m gonna ask him why he chose cherry. I mean, really. All the flavors in the world and you pick cherry!?” Tom said incredulously. You rolled your eyes in amusement and grabbed his arm.

“Come on, jello boy. Let’s go.”

#

The year’s convention was the place to be.

The villain counsel had gotten together and gotten a spot at the biggest venue in Rio, and everyone had been able to share conquests and victories along the beach.

Which is where Dr. Gyllenhaal was happily sipping on his frozen drink in the sun as his henchwoman, Daisy, lounged nearby.

“So you really think jello is the way to go, huh? Not a mixer at the club? It’d be a lot more fun that way,” she trailed.

“Y/n y/l/n and that... that... buffoon of hers are in high school. They cannot go to clubs. But jello! I mean who doesn’t love jello!?”

“Well... me for one. And cherry, really? Cherry? Couldn’t have at least gone for strawberry?”

“Cherry is the best flavor and you know it! Now let me enjoy my drink in peace before we head back to the lair.”

“Better sip quickly. I think that’s her and her little friend on the parasail that just disconnected from the boat,” Daisy said nonchalantly, sunglasses pulled down to see you gliding towards the beach.

“WHAT!?”

He threw the drink aside and sat up quickly.

You and your parachute were floating down gracefully as Tom was struggling. His naked mole rat, Tessa, was desperately trying to detangle him but to no avail, so he decided to bail, dropping into the ocean with a large splash. 

You couldn’t help but shake your head as you detached and landed on the beach, doing a somersault to break your fall. 

“Miss y/l/n, nice of you to arrive,” Dr. Gyllenhaal sneered as you stood. You were about to answer when Tom was clumsily thrown onto the sand by the crashing tide. 

“And you brought your little boyfriend, too.”

You looked down in surprise at Tom, who gave you the same deer-in-the-headlights look.

“We’re not- I mean he isn’t-”

“Y/n and I would never- What are you-” 

You both stammered. 

“Oh how cute. They’re blushing.” Daisy teased. “Now, time to kick your butt.”

With that you ensued in typical hand-to-hand combat along the beach, using your tumbling skills to narrowly avoid Daisy’s glowing fists along with other beach obstacles. 

“Where’s the juice!? I know you have it!” you exclaimed between handsprings.

“Isn’t that a funny question. You know I have some right here but-” Gyllenhaal pulled out a flask with the liquid to gloat, but tripped, the lid popping off and liquid beginning to splash out. “Oops!”

It was heading towards both you and Tom, so you turned to say, “Don’t let it get in your mouth!”

Some splashed onto yours and Tom’s faces. He cringed and ran towards the ocean.

“Tom what are you-” you couldn’t finish the thought, because as you were watching, a drop fell from your lips onto your tongue.

Suddenly, you felt inclined to do whatever Tom said. He was washing his face off with the salt water when you turned back around to look at your nemesis.

"Ooh let’s see if this works. Okay y/n. Tell me I’m pretty,” Gyllenhaal said, looking at you expectantly. You furrowed your brows. 

“Hmm. Maybe it needs to be an action. Y/n, go get me another piña colada.”

“What do you think I am, your slave?” you retorted sarcastically. His jaw dropped. 

“But I- I bought so much... WHY ISN’T IT WORKING?” he cried out.

Tom appeared next to you again.

“Hey y/n could you tell me if my hair’s messed up?”

You looked at him and without a thought answered.

“Oh yeah it’s parted weird. Lemme fix that.” You reached out and flopped a strand over. 

Dr. Gyllenhaal had a startling revelation.

“Oh no. Oh my gosh. YOU.YOU BUMBLING IDIOT. You’re the one who has the power to control y/n now? Oh dear. Daisy, we need to go at once!”

With that they sped off on a scooter, getting away once again. 

“What was he talking about? Oh hey, my shoe’s untied. Could you get that?” he asked. Usually it was a joke between you that you’d never tie his shoes, but immediately you were knelt down double knotting his laces.

You stood up, confused at what had overcome you, but quickly realization washed over your face.

“You...” you whispered. “I drank the juice, and now you get to control me until we can figure out a remedy...”

“What? No way, y/n. That’s crazy talk. If I had the power to control you, I’d tell you to eat an avocado and you’d actually do it.”

Ugh. Avocados.

One of your least favorite foods. They disgusted you, but without second thought you ran to find one, ravenously peeling off the skin with your bare hands and eating the soft fruit inside.

Tom looked at you in shock and horror.

“OH MY GOSH I”M CONTROLLING YOUR MIND!” he exclaimed, hands thrown upward onto his head. He started pacing and muttering to himself nervously.

You quickly finished the avocado, tossing the skin and pit aside. You wiped your mouth and immediately you were disgusted with yourself, the taste still lingering in your mouth.

“Ugh. That’s what I was trying to tell you!”

“Well call Jacob and figure out how to undo it!”

Immediately you pulled out your phone and rang him up, explaining the situation.

“... and it would really be nice if Tom could get me some water,” you muttered after telling Jacob what had happened.

“Why don’t you get it yourself?” Tom asked, prompting you to run to the nearest snack shack and grab yourself a water. You drank it in annoyance as Tom looked at you sheepishly.

“Well... here’s the problem... so far there’s no known antidote, y/n. Sorry. I’ll see if I can figure it out though,” Jacob explained. You groaned.

“Yeah, okay. Keep me in the loop. And while I’ve got you, could you send us a ride home?” 

“Sure thing, y/n. I’ll be in touch,” Jacob added, screen going black as he ended the call.

“Welp, y/n. This is going to be fun, right?” Tom asked enthusiastically.

“Sure. Fun.”

#

You were quickly putting together Tom’s baking soda volcano as he lounged nearby on your bed. He’d used his new power to get you to finish his project for him.

“As soon as we figure out the cure, I’m so gonna pummel you,” you said as you painted red drips around the rim and sides.

“Maybe it’s best that we don’t find that cure...” Tom started, until you shot him a glare. “Kidding! Kidding. Seriously though, y/n, I’ll repay you for doing this. It’s just, we all know you’re the smart one in this pairing.”

You perked up and looked at him funny as you continued to work.

“Pairing?”

“Well, yeah sure. I mean I couldn’t say couple, and well... I couldn’t think of a better word. Friendship doesn’t sound right either.”

You turned around, cheeks warm.

“What do you mean by that?” you asked quietly.

“We’re more than just friends, y/n. Everyone knows that. We’ve been at each other’s sides for forever. I just feel like only calling us friends doesn’t really encapsulate our relationship.”

“Oh... yeah. I see,” you said, a couple nervous chuckles leaving your breath as you moved on from painting lava to gluing fake trees around the volcano.

“What do you see it as, y/n?”

You felt the urgency to answer truthfully but wasn’t really sure how to. Like you’d said before, it was complicated.

“Well I... I don’t know. You’re my best friend, Tom. I’m not really sure what else to say.”

Tom looked down at Tessa, who was asleep in his hand. 

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, of course. I mean, that’s probably how anyone else would describe it...” he trailed. You felt yourself deflate in the same way Tom did, but you’d been honest.

You kind of had to be, after all. 

After a few minutes of rare silence between you two, Tom spoke up again.

“Hey y/n? You don’t have to keep working on that. It looks incredible as it is and I owe you a million for it.” You stopped what you were doing and leaned away from the project. 

“You know, I think I’m gonna head home. Tessa’s pretty much konked out and I’m pretty exhausted, too. It’s probably best that you finish up your work and hit the hay after I leave.”

You knew his statement wasn’t supposed to be a command, but now you’d be doing just that as soon as he was out the door.

He got up to leave, stuffing the sleepy mole rat into his pocket where she often hid and you stood from your place on the floor. 

“I’ll get all this stuff in the morning when I come to pick you up, okay?” Tom said. You nodded, a slight, lopsided grin on your lips.

You both stood awkwardly for a second before you leaned in, giving him a hug like you often did when parting ways. His arms engulfed you.

“Good night, y/n.”

“Night, Tom.”

With that you parted and he was out the door. As soon as you heard the front door shut, you were back to fixing your solar system.

#

As you got ready in the morning, thoughts about the prior night came bubbling up.

You hadn’t really had much thought about it before, because you’d been “ordered” to do your school project and go to bed, not leaving much time for reflection.

Are we just best friends? Are we not? I mean we aren’t a couple but we’ve got more going on than the average best friend, right? Am I just saying this because we fight crime unlike everyone else? Do I like-

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your  younger twin brothers called up, signaling that Tom was at the door. A few moments later he appeared at your bedroom.

“Mornin’ y/n,” he said, chipper as ever. It seemed that he was going to put the previous night’s events behind him. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, just a second. I forgot to take your project to my car before you got here.”

“Oh I can get mine,” Tom offered, stuffing a tri-fold under his arm and picking up the volcano with his hands.

“You- you’re not gonna make me do it?” you asked.

“What? Nah. I’m actively trying to not mind control you today. I feel bad about doing it.” 

“It’s going to happen eventually, you know. But come on. I don’t want to be late to the science fair.”

#

Yours and Tom’s displays were next to each other in the gym and for the most part, everything was going well. 

He’d slipped up a couple of times in the mind control department, but they were simple questions, so no one really picked up on it.

As you were preparing for the fair to start, you rolled your eyes as your co-caption on the cheer squad (and high school enemy) Zendaya walked up.

“Oh my gosh, y/n. What’s this? A solar system? That’s it?”

“I mean my dad’s a rocket scientist. And did you forget the fact that I’ve been to space? Maybe if you read my poster you’d understand that my project is about more than just some floating space balls.”

“Ugh. Whatever. Mine’s gonna win either way,” she bragged, earning another eye roll.

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” you grumbled. 

She flicked her hair and turned on her heel, headed back to her area. You huffed at her annoying arrogance.

“Don’t worry about it, y/n. You’ve got this,” Tom encouraged. Suddenly all tension left you.

Maybe this mind control stuff isn’t always bad. At least not when you’ve got the best kind of cheerleader by your side.

You looked at Tom with a soft smile. He was paying attention to Tessa, so he couldn’t see the way you were studying him. 

Over the years, you’d seen more of Tom than practically anyone else had, but yet you still found yourself trying to memorize every little mark and freckle on his face. You analyzed each curl of his hair. The way his lashes fluttered when he blinked.

You snapped out of it when he looked back up at you.

“You okay, y/n?” he asked.

“What? Oh, yeah. Just got distracted for a second. That’s all.”

Before he could press you further, your phone beeped. 

“Hey Jacob. Any updates?” 

“Well... I have an update, but it’s not necessarily the best news. There aren’t any known antidotes for the juice yet. I even emailed the seller under a fake name and he couldn’t give me a good answer. I got my hands on a little and will send some to the lab. Hang tight. Oh, and good luck with your project.”

You said some parting words and hung up.

“Well great. We’re no closer to solving this and we have to figure out a way to get everyone in town to not eat the stupid jello unless we can find a cure. This is shaping up to be just the best.”

“Hey. It’s okay. Just focus on presenting your project for now and beating Zendaya, okay? You can definitely do that.”

And once again, you felt yourself succumb to his words as the judging began.

#

“See. I told you you could do it,” Tom said excitedly as you carried a large trophy home.

“I had a feeling I would anyways, but I was kind of under order to win, so there was no way I’d take anything less than first.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s my girl,” Tom said offhandedly, taking a second to realize the implications of what he may have said. “And- and by my girl I don’t mean my girl I mean you’re just my best... um.. you know...”

“Tom. It’s okay. I get it. We don’t need to start this again right now. Now we need to focus on stopping Gyllenhaal and finding a cure. Plus, I need to change into a cute outfit for the cookout.”

# 

Hours of brainstorming and you were still no closer to finding a solution, but most of town was now gathered at the park feasting on hot dogs, hamburgers, and all the chips and potato salad they could handle. 

The jello had yet to make an appearance on tables, and there was no sign of Dr. Gyllenhaal or Daisy as you and Tom approached the families chowing down and having fun. 

You couldn’t, however, ignore the large curtained stage on one side of the park.

After hanging out with Tom and some other friends, the curtain suddenly opened, revealing your nemesis on the stage, microphone in hand.

“Good evening, friends. I’m your friendly neighborhood Dr. Gyllenhaal, and tonight I’m going to be your musical entertainment. But first! We want everyone to feast on the finest dessert, so jello for everyone!” he exclaimed.

You stomach dropped.

“Tom we gotta act fast. You help stop people from eating the jello and I’m going to try to get him off stage.”

As you split up, you got another beep on your phone.

“Hurry, Jacob. I don’t have much time.” 

“Okay, okay. I think I just solved your problem. You remember that movie Ella Enchanted?”

“Uh, yeah. I don’t see the correlation.”

“Well remember when at the end, the only way Ella breaks her curse is by talking to herself in the mirror..?”

“Oh my gosh you’re a genius. If the first person you look at is yourself, then you’re still in control! Anyway you can hook us up with some mirrors?”

“Already on it. But first, you need to test it on yourself just to make sure. I think Gyllenhaal has some extra juice hidden behind the stage if you can get your hands on it.”

“On my way. Thanks, Jake. You’re a lifesaver.”

You sprinted towards the stage, now in a different pursuit than before. You darted around the side, looking around to see if there were any bottles you could grab a quick swig from.

“Oh no you don’t,” a voice called from behind you. Daisy.

“Look, I just want some of the juice for myself alright? Nothing else.”

Yet.

“Oh we’ve got a good girl gone bad, huh? I don’t buy that sister.”

She lunged at you and once again you were in typical combat, flipping around and swinging off stage rigs, trying to get to the lone bottle of juice that was resting in the bed of a truck.

After a couple minutes, you were able to outsmart Daisy and grab the bottle. You pulled a compact from your pocket and looked straight into the mirror.

“This better work,” you muttered, tossing back some of the liquid and looking into the eyes of your reflection.

You didn’t feel any different, so you swung up onto the stage and knocked Gyllenhaal over, searching the crowd for Tom as you tried to trap the mad scientist.

“Tom! Tom tell me to do something!” you cried out upon seeing him. He was furiously rushing between tables trying to prevent people from eating the jello.

“What? Like what? I don’t want to ruin the mission!”

“Just say whatever! Hurry!”

“Okay fine! Eat another avocado!”

Dr. Gyllenhaal looked up at you expectantly, but you had no desire to find the green fruit, not even a twinge. Instead, you continued what you were doing before.

Dr. Gyllenhaal, on the other hand, paled. 

“Oh dear,” he whispered nervously, realizing you had found a solution to the problem he had created.

“Daisy get the helicopter! Hurry!” he cried out, slipping from your grip and running away like he always did. 

You let him go to focus on helping anyone who had eaten the jello, those of which Tom was trying to round up so you could help them.

After getting everyone cured, Jacob had called the lab he was working with to get the jello and dispose of it properly, allowing them to run more tests, too, now that they knew the cure.

You stood aside, arms crossed in satisfaction, as Tom approached.

“So you’re you again? Nothing I say can affect you?”

“Well I wouldn’t put it that way, but I’m definitely not eating any avocados or tying your shoelaces in the near future.”

He gave a chuckle and you started slowly walking home from the park.

“Hey, um, now that you’re cured and everything, I’m really sorry about last night. I accidentally put you in a weird position and I get it if you’re mad at me. I’m okay just calling us friends and ending it there if that’s what you want,” Tom said. 

You thought for a few moments about his proposal.

“You know, I was technically being honest last night, but my answer has changed since then.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well... These past couple of weeks, things have felt really...”

“Weird? Off?” he interjected.

“Exactly! We’ve been so out of sync and I couldn’t figure out why! But after last night I realized that it’s because we aren’t simply friends. And I don’t know where you stand on this, but... I think I have feelings for you? And if you want to stay just friends I understand, but I just hate when we aren’t honest with each other.”

“Wait. You do?”

“Yeah. I really do.”

You braced yourself for him to shoot you down and put you back in the friend zone, but his reply surprised you.

“I guess now is the perfect time to tell you that I’ve had feelings for you for... well... ever.”

Now it was your turn to be shocked.

“You have!?”

“Well, yeah. Of course. You’re strong, smart, and beautiful. You kick butt like nobody’s business and above all, put up with me every day. You’re like the most incredible person ever. How could I not be into you?”

You felt yourself blushing as you approached your front porch.

“You’re amazing, Tom. You know that?” he jokingly waved you off, but then you were standing quietly.

“Sooo... monthly movie marathon tomorrow at my place? I’ll provide the snackage,” Tom offered, reminding you of your scheduled hangout. You looked down at the ground with a smile, then back up again, nodding.

Usually this was the part where you’d say goodnight and maybe hug, but this time you took it a step further.

You reached up and kissed him on the lips. It was only for a second, but both of you were stunned upon pulling back.

“I know I usually tell you not to bring anything to movie day, but could you please bring some more of those with you?” Tom joked once he snapped out of it.

“Oh my gosh,” you replied in amusement, giving him a light shove. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Night, y/n.”

And with that, the man you realized you’d loved for years turned around and made his leave.

#

A/N: yooooo I actually really loved this. I really tried to fit the KP vibes but sorry if anything felt off. There’s just not much as iconic as the og Kim and Ron, ya know?

Anyways thanks for reading and as always please feel free to send an ask or message anytime!

Send a message or ask if you’d like to be added to my permanent or series taglists so I can verify you’ve been added!

Tag list: @readheadwriter, @jackiehollanderr, @one-big-fangirl, @agentnataliahofferson, @spider-babe,  

#call me beep me #tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #jacob batalon #tom holland fanfiction #kim possible au

[psychemeanscure]

PART 26

“How are you, señorita?”

The first thing the man uttered the moment her directress left them to converse. She was obliged to tour the unexpected guest while the former needed to call her attention after sensing her spaced out actions.

Picking up a random book from a shelf, the man seemed to understood her circumstance. “Is it my poor Spanish that bothered you, or were you actually expecting someone other than me? Isn’t it, Ms. Sung?”  

Right then, she awakens from her reverie as she turns with embarrassment. “M-my apologies, sir…”

Igor Oblonsky, the Russian mafia boss himself only smiled as response. Truly, she didn’t see it coming and damn Judy for planting another rumor to her. When will she learn anyway for in it comes to him, she’s always been blinded with possibilities to possibilities. Proven how she end up dealing with a related one at this time.

“How long has it been? Three years, is it? Yet, I can still remember how you purposely scold me about him after thanking me for saving your foster parents. You’re one hell of a Gal indeed, Ms. Sung. You made this elite one a puppy, what more to him. No doubt, he’s into you.”

For she can only hide her blush by its words. “Disappointed, aren’t you?”

“S-Sir?”

“Having to expect me instead being able to see him.”

She went silent. “Ms. Sung, want me to tell you a secret? Guess, I had to share this to you anyway.” Then she listens.

Putting down the book he picked out, the elite man rested his arms at its back as they continue to walk in small steps of the venue. “You see Ms. Sung, when that boy came to me, he was a wimp but he is diligent. The first time I set my eyes on him, I knew he has the potential.  Much more after learning his true intention of joining my organization. That wise underdog kid who only clasp a hand just for his own experiment of SIESTA drug.”

“SIESTA?”

“Yes, SIESTA. You somehow heard about the drug?”

She was surprised, that’s for sure. How can’t anybody know about the famous drug which occupied most of the headlines back then including the mysterious person behind it. Just for her to learn that it was her loco all along? He’s hell of a wise man indeed for how can this important thing slip through her!

She can only look down then as she admits her incompetence. “W-who wouldn’t know about it sir, it’s been a talk in town back then, but I… I didn’t know he was involved. Into just how...” stuttered by her thoughts, the elite man openly answered for her.

“A risk taker he is, yes. He might not know about this, but I’m proud of that young man Ms. Sung. Then things happened, he became stronger while I became obsessed of his work. We bond, we became fond of each other or rather was I the only.” He laughed perhaps remembering a certain moment. “You see Ms. Sung, that lad was just too reserve on his own that you’ll actually be the one to adjust for him. A closed book I thought won’t open until you came.”

“Sir?”

Her abrupt response after hearing its last word as the Oblonsky just smiled to her. “I maybe ruthless young lady but I still do care for him like my own son. I do have a soft spot for that boy that It was easy for me to grant his wish to part ways with us. Did you know what I actually wish for him as well?”

She only looks at him as an answer, thus the latter looks back at her. A knowing stare she can’t seem to understand for she finally asks for it. “What is it, sir?”

Maintaining its smile as he wanders by the sight of the orphans. “I had wished that he’ll found a life better than he imagined. And thankfully it did. Thank you, Ms. Sung.” She was left confused.  

“I… am not following, sir. Sorry?”

Igor Oblonsky can only laugh hard as she looks flustered afterwards. “Oh, Jesus. I never thought I could still witness a cheesy lovesick schemes at this age. Child, have you ever wonder how he manage to ask this elite man in front of you to save mere strangers despite his long parting? For a mafia leader being dictated by a former man, that’s a shame on the ego you know. But how can I? I’m sure you know a bit of our little rules, try guessing.”

Indeed, she does. How can’t she if she was once surrounded by corrupting officials whom majority obviously, policeman openly boasting their petty achievements as one she repetitively learned about them was the fact that you can’t easily deal with gangs, unless…

“Consequence. H-He offered, didn’t he?”

Words starts to crack for she can actually imagine his surrendering decision back then while the latter is simply impressed as he urged her with heads on. “A smart girl you are, I see. Now, I want you to try more. Let me hear it.”

Then the rest has been bestowed upon her. All what she wanted to know, the Russian leader shared it not leaving an inch as guilt eat her once again. Because of her, he had to open the box he should have forgotten. The SIESTA drug he had to endure to remember from the failure of his lifetime. Her damn fault as it is.

Sensing her self-rue, the Russian man needed to speak. “Don’t blame yourself child. I’m sure he wouldn’t like it for you either. And even I as well.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

He turned to face her as he plastered another smile. “Like what I said I should be thankful of you, child. And this? This sponsorship is indeed my way of gratitude to you.” Ear to ear, the latter even spread its arms as a gesture of his work. Before turning to rest it behind again.

“Honestly, SIESTA was just an excuse for me to stay contact with him. I never take it seriously for I know he won’t give in anyway. It brought a nightmare to him, you see. Then that suddenly happened. A request I never expected to came through. A weakness I once tried to strike out into him was simply pluck by you. Did you know what I realize back then? Wow. My little boy, the Jang Taeyoung I once raised has finally found his life. A perfect match he wanted for a lifetime.”

Distinguishing where the topic will bring her once again, she needed to retort. “S-sir, I know what you’re thinking, but we… we weren’t like that. Our relationship, or so not even one, was just a product of hurdles needed to be compensated.” Screw herself for stuttering even.

But she was only responded by its shaking head. “I’m no love guru or something but if that’s not it then what more reason he’ll risk his own will just to save you? Compensation? Please, I had known him for so long and I never once saw him went all out for someone but you. As simple as that, child.”

Speechless. That’s all she could react for. She’s not dumb to understand either for she felt it as well. They both are, but being busted like this seemed to be a big slap for her. She’s not worth it, that’s how sudden she thought for herself.

~

Reprimanding from the downcast she felt on herself, she’s thankful how the opening of the event brought her back to distractions, letting her forget from another awakening despair as they both split turning to how their separate agenda should be. Enthralled instead from the book fair’s success like she always wished for.

She thought that was it. That was the last conversation she’ll have with the Russian leader not until the event has ended and was called for her attention once again. She was block by its car as soon as she went out of the event’s entrance. Gliding down its backseat window, she waited. “Señorita! Glad I still catch you, though.”

Peeking in, she needed to respond. “Sir?”

While the latter simply handed her a book and stilled her. The same one where she found the mysterious sticky note. This time, it was a folded one. She was bewildered for she needed to look back to the Oblonsky who practically answered her questions with swiftness. “This probably the last time I’ll be a matchmaker. So please just stop chasing games you two, will you?”

~el único arrepentimiento que tendré al morir es si no es por amor~

Reading another quote from its author as her name is next to it which actually became a sentence…

‘The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love, Sung Eunyoung.’

The Russian man knew something. Before she realized? It was too late. The matchmaker has fled to answer her proceeding ones. For their she is again, taking a never ending hope in mind for she can only hold on to the breeze she needed to breath as the shore’s solemnity would bring her peace.

Dwelled by the shutters of her eyes, alters of the blurs, she finally released the strain of her thoughts. ‘Find me, Sung Eunyoung’ Allowing herself to guise back by the puzzles of notes in her hands. She urged to remember the past.

“Why? Why did you have to say that in the first place if you intended to play with it anyway, cabrón?”

~

‘Te amo.’

That hasn’t been voice out yet she can clearly hear it. The last words which made her shatter from leaving. His dreaded frame she cannot fade away. It was all because of it. Stupefied of waiting.

Not knowing the person who’s currently occupying it has finally decided to show himself.  Full and whole, in front of her...

“Jang Taeyoung.”            

#Kim soo hyun #kimsoohyun #seo ye ji #seo yea ji #seoyeji #seoyeaji #Korean Actress #korean actor #ko mun yeong #real #nightlife ventures #realkoreanmovie #moon gang tae #jang tae young #jangtaeyeong #sung eun young #sungeunyoung #by quantum physics #quantum physics #crossover #slow burn #hyunjicouple #hyunji #hyunji fic

[alolowrites]

The Point of No Return

Summary: Your relationship with Toshinori is put to the test after he refuses to back down from his responsibility for being the Symbol of Peace.

~~~

Mirai called you at work.

He never called you unless it was an absolute emergency about Toshinori. As thousands of worst case scenarios raced through your head, your finger jabbed the phone’s screen to answer the call.

Mirai’s frantic voice attacked against your ear like a massive tidal wave that crashed on the beach shore. He never paused to breathe, his words foaming out of his mouth with no end in sight. You barely understood what he was saying, but you realized something was wrong.

He was frustrated and that was never a good sign.

Through his hysteria, you managed to piece together the most important clues: “Toshinori…severely injured…in hospital…come down now!”

Dashing to the elevator, the only thing your coworkers saw was your swiveling chair and files carelessly scattered around the office.

You didn’t care how long it took you to rush to the hospital or the painful blisters you’ll receive on your feet afterwards. You’ll deal with that later. Right now, your beloved was in critical condition and you needed to reach him before it was too late. Fortunately, the hospital was only about thirty minutes away from your job if you walked—ten minutes or even less at the speed you’re going right now.

Shoving the glass doors open, you ignored the disgruntled screams of staff members and visitors before running up the stairs to the fourth floor. Skidding around the corner, your eyes spotted Mirai’s trembling figure in the middle of the hallway. Sweat trickled down everywhere on your body as your lungs gasped for air, but you coughed out the lanky man’s name. He turned and marched towards you while tugging his glasses off to rub his eyes.

“He’s gone insane,” Mirai complained and your eyes hectically searched for your lover over his shoulders. “I’ve tried to stop him. I’ve tried to make him understand the danger he’s in, but he won’t listen to reason anymore!”

“Where is he, Mirai? Where is Toshinori?!”

The sidekick sighed, pointing his finger down the hall. “He’s in his room. I told him I called you and that you would come. He’s still there, but I can’t stay.”

Releasing your hands from his suit, you darted to the pro hero’s room. However, Mirai’s fingers gripped your wrist and you froze mid-step. Sending him a confused look, the dark forest haired man weakly lifted his gaze at you like a defeated soldier coming home from war.

“You’re our only hope,” he quivered and the severity of the situation slowly sank into your mind. Mirai was pleading with you. “Please convince him…he can’t go down this path…he’ll die if he does.”

Die?

Oh, no…

Toshi…what were you thinking?

Mirai’s hand slipped from your wrist, watching you wobble to the same war zone he barely survived from. You gently knocked on the small window before slowly opening the door and sticking your head through the gap.

“Toshi, dear,” you whispered to make your presence known to him. Your eyes stared at your lover who was still in his hero form. The sky-blue hospital gown failed to obscure his enormous muscles, but you became alarmed at the amount of bandages wrapped around his arms and left fingers. You slipped through the ajar door and closed it to make sure you both had privacy.

Toshinori sat at the edge of the hospital bed with his face down. The fresh bruises and scars he received in battle covered his face, but that didn’t surprise you. He was All Might, the Symbol of Peace, the number one Pro Hero who was admired by everyone on this planet. Yet, the man in front of you was not the same one who graced the front page newspapers with a jubilant smile. No, he was your beloved Toshinori who was damaged and fighting his own demons right now.  

You took a seat next to him, your hand intertwining with his unbandaged one. From the corner of your eye, his fingers absentmindedly twitched at your touch. It was the first movement you’ve seen from him since you entered the room. Your right thumb caressed his injuries on his face as if you had Recovery Girl’s quirk to heal them. A deep breath escaped from his mouth as he cherished your loving strokes.

They were heavenly to him.

Gliding your fingers underneath his chin, you forced him to look into your worrisome eyes. Harrowing light blue eyes gazed straight back at you, the usual sparkle gone. Sighing, you asked: “How are you feeling?”

“I’m…I’m not sure…” he admitted, holding your hand tighter with his. A deep frown fell upon his lips. “Mirai…he severed our partnership. He wanted me to retire as All Might and look for a successor who can inherit One For All, but I refused. I just couldn’t do it, there’s too much at stake.”

You were walking on thin ice. “Toshi, I understand how much being the Symbol of Peace means to you, I really do. But, you cannot neglect your health, my love. You’re pushing your body to the point of no return. Maybe…maybe you should consider retiring—”

“No,” he growled at you while yanking his hand away from your grasp. The cold reaction you received from that simple word left you stunned. Toshinori rose from the bed, hissing loudly as he clutched his stomach. Yet, he still trudged away from you which caused you to gape at him. As your bewilderment subsided, you felt your anger quickly boil inside your body. Glaring behind his back, you immediately shot up from your chair with your fists clenched together.

“Are you serious right now? Toshinori you are hurt—”

“I’ll heal!”

“You’re not invincible, Toshinori! You will end up seriously injuring yourself to the point that you could…” Your voice wavered towards the end and the blonde hero glanced over his shoulder with curious eyes, almost daring you to finish your sentence.

“That I could what?”

You released a shaky breath, your shoulders feeling as though they were carrying a large bolder for quite some time. “That you could die, Toshi.”  

The man remained silent while staring at the door before murmuring: “So you know…”

“I don’t know all the details, but Mirai was worried for you!” You barked at your lover, fiercely thrusting your finger on your chest. “I’m worried for you, Toshi. Why the hell are you still considering doing this to yourself?”

“Because I need to!” Toshi glared at you, feeling offended and betrayed all over again. First Mirai and now you? His one true love? He began to shake from all the pressure that was surrounding his fragile state, but he powered through to stand his ground. “I can’t quit! There’s so much at risk if I retire. There are villains who can take over All for One’s place unless I’m there to stop them—”

“Do you love me, Toshinori?”

Your lips trembled once you brought those words to light. Now it was Toshinori’s turn to feel astonished, his throat becoming dry once he heard those five words echo into the open space. The pain from his injuries faded away, but his chest suddenly ached as if someone threw their own Texas Smash punch at him.

“W-what?”

“Do. You. Love. Me?” You gritted each word between your teeth. His bandaged fingers gripped his hospital gown while his wide, exasperated blue orbs pierced towards you.  

“Of course I do!”

“Then you will stop!” You screamed like a madwoman, chest rising and falling as you no longer cared to hold back your rage. “For me!”

“I can’t do that!” He roared like a caged lion desperate for an escape. Toshinori’s hands flew to head and grabbed his hair so tight that a few strands possibly broke off from his scalp. You stumbled backwards at his answer while tears dangerously surfaced in your eyes. “I can’t stop being All Might, don’t you understand? The world needs me! They need the Symbol of Peace! They need All Might—”

“And you’re also Toshinori Yagi!” You bawled with pure rawness that you didn’t know you possessed. The tears finally flowed down your flared cheeks and you endured the agonizing screams swirling inside your heart. “My fiancé! The love of my life! Does that not mean anything to you?!”

“Yes it does,” he professed like a broken man. “B-but the people—I can’t let them suffer.”

It was useless.

He crossed the point of no return.

Your watery eyes gazed at the gorgeous engagement ring nestled around your finger. Toshinori proposed to you almost seven months ago when he returned to your shared apartment after a long and tiring day fighting villains off the streets. His All Might suit engulfed his skeleton frame as he opened the door to enter inside. You knew whenever Toshinori stayed late on hero patrol he would be hungry so you always made him his favorite meal.

The delicious scent of your cooking tickled his nose and he wandered into the small kitchen area to see you stir some vegetables inside the pan. Turning the stove off, you carried over two plates to the tiny table near the window which showed the clear, night sky. As you two ate in peaceful silence, Toshinori nervously shifted in his seat with his fingers tapping the square box that held the diamond ring.

He debated all week as to when he should propose to you. He never thought he would ever pursue an intimate relationship considering he was the number one Pro Hero and—most importantly— the Symbol of Peace. It was not easy balancing his hero life and an almost nonexistent personal life. He even thought it was impossible to find someone who loved him, the man hiding behind the All Might mask. The one who was more reserved, calm, and not exceptionally handsome.

But you proved him wrong with each day after running into him at the store during his grocery run. He was impressed with your witty mind and cheeky humor, earning a few chuckles from him. A few more meet ups at the supermarket and you, to his surprise, initiated the next step by asking him out for a casual date near the park. He remembered stuttering and his face feeling hotter than Endeavor’s flames, but he managed to cough out a yes to your delight.

Slowly, your relationship blossomed like a spring flower after the harsh winter months passed by. Whenever Toshinori doubted his worthiness, you always reassured how much of a wonderful partner he was to you and that you enjoyed being with him. For once, Toshinori’s walls were down and he felt at peace every time he saw you. Throughout the years, you were one the pro hero’s closest confidants, probably the closest one in his life, and he decided to let you in on his secret of One For All and being All Might too.

He expected the worst. But when your hand squeezed his boney ones and thanked him for sharing something so personal with you, he realized you were the one. Back at the dinner table, his leg anxiously bounced as you continued eating without noticing Toshinori’s inner struggle. The blonde hero pushed aside all his fears and bravely went for it.

Going down on one knee still in his deflated suit, Toshinori asked: “Will you marry me?”

You fondly remembered that night as your fingers grazed the engagement ring he gave you. The sun’s rays shined through the hospital windows and twinkled against the diamond. You proudly wore the ring, feeling over the moon knowing that you were going to live the rest of your life with Toshinori: your best friend and one true love. You were supposed to make more lasting memories with him; grow old together and die together.

Not watch him willingly die alone in a war he was woefully unprepared for.

“You already decided,” you sniffed through your tears. Your fingertips circled around the ring and fought against the turmoil brewing inside you. “You’ll still walk down this road knowing it will kill you. I thought you truly loved me, that maybe our relationship was important enough in your eyes to reconsider your choice, but…I guess I was wrong.”  

Slowly, you removed the ring from your finger and held it up for him to see.

“W-what are you—“ he hopelessly stammered and faltered sideways when he saw the ring off your finger. The same one he carried inside his pocket for so long.

“You’re a hero, Toshinori,” you sorrowfully wept and you found it difficult to even speak now. “I always admired that about you. You might be okay sacrificing your life in such a reckless manner, but I can’t follow this path with you…I can’t stay with you just to see the love of my life die. Not like this.”  

You placed the ring on the bed and Toshinori started sobbing. “No…please…please don’t do this…”

“I’m sorry,” you croaked as fresh tears ran down your face again. Your were suffering from a broken heart that was taking its last breath. “Goodbye, Toshi.”

Without looking back, you disappeared from the room and closed the door to a future that no longer existed.

~~~

Thank you for reading and hope everyone is staying safe during this difficult time with the coronavirus! 

6.20.20 UPDATE: Please click HERE for the story’s sequel After All These Years

#toshinori yagi x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #all might x reader #toshinori x reader #yagi x reader #toshinori yagi #all might #bnha toshinori #bnha x reader #bnha toshinori x reader #mha toshinori #mha x reader #bnha fanfiction

[thebrownssociety]

Across The Seververse, Chapter 6.

Hey! Roxy Goth here. Hope you all enjoy this chapter, I'm not sure when the next chapters going to be, but I'm aiming for some time next week.

Thank you to @dolls-acme-brand-writing-desk for reblogging the last chapter and to all those who have liked it thus far. See chapter one for the disclaimer and let's go!

Junior was tapping his foot anxiously, looking up at the sky for any signs of life. There was rather a lot, actually, but none that he wanted. Just as he was about to give up and go home he saw some twinkling stars that were brighter than the others. He felt a wave of emotion hit him and - assuming the slightly dramatic pose he was known for - sighed. "Oh Father. How I wish you were here now so that you could see these stars to. If you come back I’ll go star-gazing with you every night, I promise!” He looked up imploringly at the sky and then frowned. Actually, now he was looking at them properly, those lights seemed to be coming awfully close to him-

-and it was a spaceship. Of COURSE it was a spaceship. After about 70 years of being a Looney Tune [albeit, a minor one] Junior really should have seen that coming. 

Without even looking properly at the spaceship, the ‘young’ cat sighed, picked up a random stick and drew shapes in the dust. What he wouldn’t give to hear his fathers silly voice again...

The doors to the spaceship opened and out of them came a familiar silhouette which was soon followed by a even-more familiar voice.

“Junior!”

“Pop!”

The two cats embraced and Sylvester swung his son around multiple times in the way that fathers are renown for while making strange noises that translated as ‘I missed you, I missed you, I missed you SO MUCH-”

Just behind them in the doors of the spaceship the other looneys watched this touching scene, all wiping tears away from there eyes. “Well.” Bugs said, trying not to sound to chocked up. “I guess Sly ain’t comin’ wiv us, is he?”

To which Tweety, laughing, said. “Unless you’re feeling brave enough to go and tell him he has to, but you may get TWO lots of cat claws...”

“We’ll leave it then. C’mon you lot. We need to decide who we’re getting next.”

After a brief but lively discussion the consensus was that it was better to get Taz on account of the fact he could easily cause millions of dollars of damage if left to his own devices for to long.

“Right, let’s go!” Bugs changed into Chungus and took the helm. “Full speed ahead! Adult Swim here we come!”

“Excuse me.” An irritated Marvin said, foot tapping rapidly. “But I think you’ll find this is MY ship.”

Bugs was to happy to even care at this point and gladly let Marvin take over.

Marvin pressed the ‘arrive as close to as possible’ button and was most annoyed when nothing happened. “This is most annoying.” He muttered, as he pressed the button repeatedly. “Honestly. You pay over 6,000 Mars dollars [= approx $12,752] and what do you get? K9′s dog house would be better than this.”

“Eh...Marvin?” Penelope said, looking up at the sky with wide eyes.

Bugs followed her eyes and promptly widened his own. “Eh...Marvin?”

“Do not bother me, earth creatures.” Marvin said, not even looking up. “I’m in the middle of-”

“-INCOMING!” Bugs screamed as Taz smacked full-force into the glass, creating a crack in the front screen. 

“Ooh!” Marvin stamped his foot. “There goes the warranty!”

The other toons were to startled to say anything, looking up at Taz like they were unsure it was him. As if to reassure them Taz stuck his tongue out and made a noise that, roughly translated, means: “Family.” Thankfully he didn’t quite start quoting ohana or anything like that, but the sentient was definitely there. 

After a few seconds Tweety asked Marvin if the martian was planning on letting Taz in or if he wanted him framed or something. Marvin shook himself out of his daze and pressed a button that made a giant metal arm come out of the side of the spaceship. The metal arm picked Taz of off the windscreen and brought him safely inside the spaceship.

Upon being put down the first thing Taz did [which really they all should have seen coming] was spin around the place making happy noises  which, roughly translated, meant: ‘I’m back, I’m back, I’m back-!”

“Okay, okay!” Bugs yelled, as the dots of Marvin’s eyes were replaced by images of fire. “We get it! We’re happy ta see ya to-!”

“Brother!” Taz threw himself at the rabbit and hugged him tightly. “Missed you.” He muttered, into the rabbits fur.

Bugs blinked before hugging the Tasmanian devil back, with a soft. “Missed you to, buddy. Right.” He said, briskly, pushing the devil away gently. “Where’re we takin’ ya then? You gonna stay with us an’ help get our siblings back or go back home and see Mrs Devil? Up to you.”

Taz considered for a few minutes, then said he’d like to see his wife again. Bugs nodded and turned to Marvin who sighed and took the controls again. 

“Yes, I know. Home again...”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Meanwhile at the exact moment Marvin was flying the spaceship back to WBC for about the 5th time in 12 hours, Pete chose that moment to check the monitor.

Rhythm was a man of his word. He had said that he wasn't going to look at Bugs's progress until the last day and that was true. He got Pete to do it instead. Initially it was once a day, but after about two months of no-progress, Rhythm reduced it to once a week, then once a fortnight. Now they were only checking it once a month. Last month Bugs Bunny had been in Tune Town, talking to the trees. Now he wasn't. Panicking Pete searched all over the rest of the serververse until he found Bugs and co heading back, as previously stated, to WBC.

Without waiting a moment longer Pete let out a series of bleaps and hurriedly glided into the next room where Rhythm was sitting idly in a chair and staring disinterestedly into space.

"Beap, beap, beeeeaaaappppp, bbbbbbbbeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaappppppppp!"*

"For crying out loud, calm down you idiot!” Rhythm snapped. “What's the matter?"

Pete beaped.*

Rhythm looked at him blankly. "What do you mean? Where is he?"

Pete started to beap*, but didn't even get more than three words into his sentence before Rhythm stood up violently and yelled. "Don't be stupid! That system is fool proof, understand!? Fool proof! There's no way into that island and there's no way out of it! If YOU-" He stepped closer to Pete, hot air blowing into his assistants face. "-Cannot find him, then you need to LOOK AGAIN - understand!? Because he WILL be there, somewhere, you just need to LOOK FOR HIM!" And with that the 'king of the serververse' turned on his heel and stalked towards the back of the room.

Pete was left staring after him with wide, startled eyes. Rhythm’s temper could be unpredictable, but up to that point he'd never seriously yelled at Pete. The blob [not sure what else to describe him as] silently glided from the room and back towards the main server.

He brought the screen up and looked at it. By now Bugs and the rest had arrived in WBC and the Tazmanian Devil was spinning around like a crazy thing hugging everybody in sight. Pete found himself smiling, it was quite a cute scene really. Then he shook himself out of it and plastered a frown on his face. He was evil, he reminded himself, he didn't do 'family.'

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. He'd monitor them anyway, even if Rhythm didn't believe him. After all. That was what friends were for, right?

Pete 1 - Rhythm, rhythm, rrrhhhyyytthhhmmm, rrrrrrhhhhhhhyyyyyyttttthhhhhhhmmmmmm!

Pete 2 - Bugs, h-he's not on Tune Town anymore!

Pete 3 - He's got out-

#Space Jam 2 Fanfiction #Across The Serververse #Space Jam 2 #Thanks to everyone supporting this so far #Bugs Bunny #marvin the martian #Sylvester Junior #Sylvester #Tweety #Next update will be next week sometime #Really busy rest of this week

[ughgclden]

bee, love, don’t apologise, please, it’s okay, and first and foremost, are you alright?? i hope you’re taking care of yourself, love, but i understand, i don’t think there’s been a year since third grade that i haven’t gotten pneumonia in the winter. I hope you’re feeling alright!!

honestly, dead poets society is one of my only personality traits anymore, i find myself drawing parallels to it constantly, for no reason but i love thinking about it. i’ve watched it so many times at this point, it��s,,, concerning. those tests always take me way less time than they give me, and i used to feel really awkward, i remember i took a bio one once, four hours they gave me, 45 minutes in, i was finished, and the moderator didn’t believe me. i aced it too, like the silly little neil kinnie i am. i’ve gotten used to the ‘worse’ side of being a neil kinnie, and honestly, now that my mum isn’t as controlling about everything as she used to be, it’s easier to deal with. i remember once, i’d gotten an 89 in algebra, and she threatened to pull me out of the fall show. that was a neil perry moment if i ever had one lol. the biggest thing these days is just imposter syndrome, imposter syndrome like oh you’re not hispanic enough, but also, you’re not queer enough, nonbinary enough, things like that. It’s exacerbated some days, but i try.

i watched the it movies on my cousin’s hbo,,, i may or may not have used it without her permission since she forgot to log out of my computer, but that’s neither here nor there. i remember having such a hard time taking the first one seriously initially, because of all the new kids on the block jokes, having a mum who was obsessed with them made it hard, especially when i actually got them all- in truth, the only midnight premiere i’ve been able to make was the force awakens, and i had school the next day too. i’m definitely a richie kinnie, and i have the internalised homophobia (only towards myself though) to prove it /hj my waterbottle has both a sticker of neil on it and a sticker of the r + e carving on it. in case there was any doubt about me lmao. stan kin makes sense for you, honestly, i can see it, i can see it.

okay so listen- no really, i’d bought them with the intention of only drinking half of one that night and spreading them out like that, but then came 9:45pm, and i had a research paper (on womens’ pockets/lack thereof) due at 10am that i simply hadn’t even started, so i downed them all in an hour and got the paper turned in at 5:56 in the morning. but i scare you huh? /hj bee, you’re too sweet, in truth, i’m fairly inelegant, but i try, as for the comforting and cosy, i’ll take you at your word, since that is something only someone interacting with me could discern. i do try to be kind to others for the most part. mainly i think because i’m usually on the other end of mean people.

i’m just perceptive like that bee, i dunno what to tell you, something just tells me, you know? /j and thank you, i always feel a little silly talking about it, because most of the tattoos i want are dead poets society tattoos, i guess some part of me, within the part of me that feels so incredibly tied to it, feels as if if i were able to get a tattoo i’d owe it to the movie in some way, if that makes any sense. i’ve already begged a friend of mine to go with me to get my first once i get to new york, the question though, is what to get first. i’ve got time to make a decision (for once in my life) i just spend a lot of time thinking about it.

honestly, i have never known a school rule to make sense. banning ripped jeans? banning dyed hair? it’s almost as if if they don’t stifle everything natural about kids expressing themselves they dont feel like they’re doing anything. but i digress. the same-sex couple rules were. awful. 12 year old me had enough going on without having an administrator yell at my friend and i for hugging in the courtyard and not leaving until we were a foot apart, but hey.

okay, jumping over a fence to go to a mcdonalds? how coming of age indie movie manic pixie dream girl of you /hj

200k words, is that a challenge? also ahaha not at all like my italian uncle up there just opened a ‘pizzeria’ /hj but mob!star au? might be a project i should start… granted, i’m not as good a storyteller as you, but i can try.

when i was little, i wanted to revolutionise things, i guess. i even actually wrote out a campaign, i wonder if its still somewhere. thank you for believing in me, but these days, bee, i’m thinking less about changing the world, and more about making it the next few weeks, and then the ones after that. little star was aware of so much, but also so little. i wonder what they’d think of me now, honestly.

i did, in fact, teach archery, it was so fun but my arms got SO SORE, and the kid who challenged my archery skills seemed surprised when i actually,, hit the bullseyes. my inner susan was happy then. incidentally the experience is also why i made a playlist called “touchstarved and wanting to teach you to shoot a bow” which low-key slaps when i’m lonely. and bee omg i cannot believe you said im better than susan pevensie i will be thinking about this for the rest of my life thank you- and yes, yes it was named aslan, however did you guess? /j prince caspian<33333

i’ll let you know my results from the tournament, as soon as they come out, and i say this having just put on pjs after taking off my suit, and sitting in the room with my cat in my dear evan hansen hoodie, frantically refreshing the results page because i’m anxious and impatient.

i hope you have a good night, with fitful and restful sleep, i’m sorry this got to be so long, but you know me, i certainly can talk. i’m honestly shocked i even made it to finals, considering i was running off four hours of sleep, having gone to bed at three last night. whoops.

all my love, hugs, and a warm mug of tea,

yours,

star✨

p.s i said yes so that?? happened?? it honestly feels surreal but we’re not gonna be in the same place anymore come the end of this year, so that’ll be something to deal with

P.p.s might just start adding spanish or latin or russian phrases to these if i keep having to translate your cute french bee /lh /hj

star my love, i know you said don't apologise, but i think the word 'sorry' makes up about 60% of my vocabulary. i'm okay!! was just a bit icky, but luckily i've recovered now!!

that's so nice - and again, makes so much sense for you. i think you would work perfectly in welton, i know it. i love bringing the messages from that film into my own life, as silly as it may sound. i'm astonished, and so fucking jealous of you. i used to finish tests maybe half an hour early, but hours is so impressive??? fun fact i did finish my physics final in about 45 minutes and slept for the other hour <3 neil would b proud my love!!! oh my god - i'm so sorry that happened??? but that is also so neil kinnie??? it seems futile me saying this, but i assure you that you are hispanic enough, and queer enough, and non-binary enough. you are enough, period. more than enough even. imposter syndrome is the worst, and i'm so so sorry you're dealing with it.

she did that to herself, you just saw an opportunity /lh a midnight premiere of the force awakens sounds so cute though omg - i hope you had the absolute best time. the r + e carving actually broke me. as a die hard reddie shipper since 2017, seeing the movie make it basically canon?! had me a mess in the cinema.

you are ridiculously comforting and cosy, everything about you feels like a warm hug from a familiar face and i love it. and the way you write is so smooth, it makes me think of a quill smoothly gliding across parchment, the deep black ink unsmudged and pristine. that seems a little pretentious of me, but oh well.

i also want some dps tattoos!! i desperately want "and still we sleep" from todd's poem, and was also so so tempted to get an outline drawing of meeks + pitts dancing on the roof. i love that, and i can't wait until the day you get it, whichever one it may be. my one concern is becoming addicted to them and making my bank account suffer - at least my piercing obsession is a little easier to fund /hj

i've NEVER gotten that - they claim it's 'distracting' but how on earth would it be?? when i got to college, no one was distracted by my dyed hair, and i certainly wasn't distracted by other people's outfits or painted nails. you were yelled at. for hugging. a friend.. what the fuck is wrong with these people??

just call me ramona flowers star /j it was possibly the highlight of my school career, sans hiding in the back room of the music room to avoid a maths test

i bet you're an amazing storyteller, if these letters are anything to go by. it would be a new york times best seller, i know it

we all have to take things one step at a time, i think. that's the only way i really get through things if i'm honest. one day after another and the cycle repeats. i love wondering what young me would think of me now - i'd probably be intimidated of myself, but i like to think i'd be proud that i'm still here, pursuing something i love

that playlist. sounds nothing short of sheer perfection. i too am touch starved and want to teach someone to shoot a bow - even though i.. cannot shoot a bow... but i can wield a sword so, it's close enough.

i saw your message about the tournament results - im so fucking proud of you!!!! you deserve it so so much and i couldn't be happier for you. see, your words and ideas are changing the world, even if you don't realise it.

ps; that is so fun???? omg im so happy for you star, you deserve tis <33 i hope towards the end of this year whatever happens leaves you both happy, no matter how far the distance.

pps; omg no.. please don't do that.. aha that would be awful... definitely wouldn't make my heart race.. haha not at all

all of my love, star. pardon the pun, but you are out of this world ;) i'll leave you with one of my favourite quotes;

il n'y a qu'un bonheur dans la vie, c'est d'aimer et d'être aimé <3

#asks <3 #anon asks! #star anon #long post

[comfy-whumpee]

Ellis in the Tower

@whumptober2020 Day 20: Medieval. Don’t @ me it’s a third Ellis AU.

@lonesome--hunter, @iaminamoodymoodtoday, @wildfaewhump, @ishouldblogmore, @lektricwhump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

The country of the enemy. The throne of that country. The heir to that throne. The fiancé of that heir.

It is a neat, sweet solution to the imbalance of power. It is non-violent, but difficult to counter. They can bargain many things for the return of the young man who is about to marry into royalty. They won’t have to harm a hair on his pretty head. The country will sacrifice much for its heir’s beloved.

These are the promises Lord Engels whispers to his King. As the court’s master of intrigue and information gathering, his opinion is respected and his intentions trusted. He is loyal, and he is indispensible. The rumours that follow him were of little matter. Court tittle-tattle, the King knew.

And so, the prince-to-be is delivered from the safety of his home nation, across the border, and into Alistair’s care.

Of course, he has prepared living quarters for the captive noble. It won’t do to treat him roughly. It is a comfortable little house, with servants, good food, and a lovely walled garden. He is provided with books and paints and games, and his dignity is preserved.

The boy – for he is just a boy, really, young and pretty and scared – nevertheless manages to put up a fight. Deep in enemy territory, without money, status or sway, he bargains. He struggles. He tries, more than once, to escape the pleasant house arrest he had been offered. He nearly succeeds.

There is little else for it. The inconvenience is too much.

When Alistair first takes him there, wrists bound under his cloak and Alistair’s hands holding him in place on the horse, he looks up at the tower with moonlight gleaming in widening eyes. “Surely not,” he says, his accent elevating his vowels. “Lord Engels, you can’t seriously mean to—”

“Be quiet.”

“Lord Engels, honestly! This structure looks ancient, and it cannot be safe.”

“Quite safe, I assure you, Ellis.” Alistair often calls him by his given name, cutting away the title and family prestige he can’t access in this land. “The interior has been improved to a liveable standard. It won’t be the luxury you were offered at my home, but...perhaps we will find this less provocative.”

He practically has to carry the captive up. He is reluctant, feet dragging, body twisting, but Alistair is stronger. Silly pampered boy, interested only in books and stars.

They arrive into the single room of the tower with Ellis locked tightly in Alistair’s arms, both out of breath as Alistair muscles through the heavy wooden door. He tosses Ellis down onto the floorboards, and the boy lands with a winded gasp.

“You stay here, now,” Alistair says, throwing a bag down after him. All of the young lord’s belongings are in there, much good will they do him. “If you’re so desperate to escape, you can jump out the window.”

Ellis barely manages to get back to his feet before the tower door slams and locks.

-

The tower is in a clearing in the woods, surrounded by foliage. Some sunlight still makes it through the sole, south-facing window, and his freckles haven’t completely vanished just yet, but it isn’t enough to feel like he is getting sunshine. There’s never any breeze, either; what wind does blow, blows from the sea in the north. The rain gets in, occasionally, but that’s irrelevant really. He closes the window on rainy days and sits listening to the waves falling down around the roof, pretending they make the tide.

On nice days, he crosses his arms on the sill and rests his chin on it, letting his fine hair fly freely in the slight breezes and gazing mournfully at the horizon. He misses his home and his family, and he misses Nic. He misses grass between his toes and he misses fresh fruit from the gardens.

The food he eats here is tough and old and preserved to high heaven so that it will last between visits from Lord Engels. He eats it slowly, carefully, in case his captor forgets to return.

Lord Engels never does. On a day four weeks after the last, he appears. No matter what time of year it is, he dresses well, gives an air of composure, and brings a jar of jam that appears to be local produce. Alongside this, he brings in a month’s food, firewood and water. He stores them in the pantry for Ellis, knowing his captive is too weak to do so, and then he...lingers.

Some days he talks. He tells stories of what is happening outside of the little tower that is Ellis’s world. He tells of the war, or the ransom negotiations, or simply of the events in the capital. At other times, he tells war stories, seemingly content to listen to the sound of his own voice while Ellis sits, hands folded on his lap, on the bed, and waits for him to leave.

By the sixth visit, Ellis’s tune changes. He doesn’t want Lord Engels to leave at all. He needs the company, needs it so badly that he’ll debase himself to get it.

Lord Engels seems to know this as soon as it happens. At first he simply basks in the attention and tells his stories, but within a few months he changes his mind too, and seems dead set on learning everything Ellis can tell him about a topic. He asks strange questions about Ellis’s homeland: their diet, their rivers, their holiday traditions, even interrogating him politely about his own childhood. Ellis gives him some of the information, but claims ignorance on others, knowing certain details would be too useful in the war. If Lord Engels leaves sooner because of these silences, Ellis tells himself he doesn’t mind. He’s fine for another month of silence and himself. He’s fine without touch. The quizzing is fine, really. He doesn’t mind it, compared to the stories and the mockery.

The worst times, however, are when he plays games.

“Kneel here,” he directs, and Ellis goes down slowly, jaw set defiantly, noble and graceful as a gliding swan. “Now tell me, Ellis. What is your status?”

“My status is nothing, Lord Engels,” Ellis states very calmly, voice betraying no emotion.

“Who are you?”

“I am nobody, Lord Engels.”

“Where are you?”

“I am imprisoned, Lord Engels.”

“Who is coming for you?”

My betrothed, you pompous fool.

“Nobody, Lord Engels.”

And Engels smiles, satisfied. “That’s right. You are most well-behaved, Ellis. I should like to take you out of here.”

Ellis allows nothing to show on his expression. Any hint of desire could be used as a bargaining chip. He will allow this man no excess power over him than what he is forced to yield in his prison.

“But no, it is not possible...” Engels sighs, and then smiles. It is a premature shift, one that gives away his premeditation. “I shall bring the visitors to you,” he decides, happy as can be with his decision. “They should all be so fascinated to meet you, the consort and the captive. It has been so long since you saw anybody but me, too. It must not be good for your nerves.”

Ellis stays upright on his knees, meeting Alistair’s gaze levelly. His nerves have been oversensitive since he was a child. They won’t stop him now.

A cohort of visitors means more people will learn where he is. The more that information spreads, the more likely it gets back to one of their spies. He must endure this gathering, even if it is full of people as abhorrent as Lord Engels. The journeys will not go unnoticed by staff. Staff discuss with other staff. Word will get out, eventually, of Lord Engels’s tower. Hopefully some will tell of the red-haired princess trapped within, like the stories of old.

“That’s a good boy,” comes the praise. Ellis is too lost in thought to do anything more than smile in vague condescension at Engels’s smug face. “I’ll be sending messages to my closest friends for a meeting with you. It will be good for you to see someone other than myself.”

“Of course, Lord Engels,” he replies, polite as a frosted dowager. “You make such excellent company.”

The lord’s eyes flared white-edged for a moment. Then he lets out a breath. “Such wit, sweetheart,” he remarked, using the nickname that made Ellis’s skin crawl. “I do believe you will be grateful for me, in time.”

Only through a sickness of the head, Ellis thinks, but this time, he doesn’t say it aloud. Best not to push. This man’s ego is his greatest foe.

“I will be back,” Lord Engels says, getting up. “Enjoy the peace and quiet.”

Ellis remains where he is, neat, patient, and untouchable. For as long as he can be.

#medieval au #whump #captivity #medieval whump #tower whump #whumptober2020 #no.20 #medieval #ellis #alistair #creepy whumper #defiant whumpee #kneeling #isolation #my fic

[dropsofletters]

tales of a perfect rhyme

title: tales of a perfect rhyme pairing: son hyunwoo/reader genre: poet!au/painter!au/forbidden love!au/friends!au summary: Sometimes, you’re bad at exactly what you desire to become the most. That’s her case and it also is Hyunwoo’s when they realize that they are not exactly good at the arts they desire. Yet, their youthful personalities and their blossoming love seems enough to stay happy throughout their toughest times, until it is not enough. type: angst/fluff/romance/humor word count: 12,540 disclaimer: this is part of my august special called ‘the anti-love club’. each story can be read individually, however, you’d be getting a little bit more of backstory along with some easter eggs if you read each of them, as well as helping me with support. the masterlist can be found here.

Without the chirping tone of birds outside her window, what would be of her? Without the sunshine that gleams through it, the smell of fruits lingering in the air—too dulcet, yet too necessary, what would her life be like?

The question does not go through her head often, for her mind remains too busied by the beauty of the winery around her. Her house, on its own, is surrounded by fields and fields of fruits, green and blooming, the peak of existence. The oxygen in her lungs has always been easier to breathe, more lightweight, the reason as to why mischief is the first thing she thinks about when the ashes of sleep are dusted away from her face.

This room has seen her grow up into the woman she is today. With old paintings from her youthful days, running up to her uncle with paint-stained fingertips creating images of the rainbows she’d get to see after every ounce of rain. Some of them are newer—a portrait that said uncle, the owner of the winery, had gifted her for her seventeenth birthday, and clearly…some of her newest pieces of art. Nothing too excellent, mixes of colors a la Pollock, not quite looking for a shape or an imagery, but a feeling instead. One that she always dares to call normality—it may be happiness, just like it may be a routine, but in her thoughts, she knows that whichever way she decides to go, the winery will always be her home.

The paint on her walls is a contrast to her colorful sundress, yellow with daisies on top of it, but the length is not exactly what she is looking for. To anyone that has seen her walk through the streets, or simply riding on her bicycle, they’ve captured a glimpse of her style. The painted sneakers, the fixed dresses, the shirts that end up bleached or died or cut. The itch starts from her soul and ends up on the tips of her fingers, desiring to make a change in her life that can translate through her. She thinks that happiness shall be shown as long as it’s had, and it shall be prided on.

Perhaps, the reason of her happiness may be having breakfast right now and her gloss-coated lips press together while she looks at her reflection in the mirror. A pair of scissors is already going through the edge of the sundress—making it a tad bit shorter, a lesson that she learned when she had her second boyfriend and she felt more confident on her choices of clothing. The thing is…there are days in which she wants to exude the mentality that art is in herself, in a way, that as long as she can create something, her mind may never be dulled.

The fabric is shorter by the time she steps out of her room, not perfect, but sufficiently flowy for her to walk down the set of stairs and approach the cream-colored kitchen. The microwave is buzzing, her uncle’s shaggy head of hair covering the majority of the surface while he leans down to look at the coffee cup that is being heated inside the machine. The old man has done nothing but support her dream, that one memory of her youth that told her to be an artist…even when everyone else had told her that she’s not good at it.

Art is not about being good, she tries to tell herself. It’s about enjoying life in a different way. About feeling and letting others feel.

It will never pay the bills for her, but that’s why the winery exists.

Her attention is caught on someone else, sipping on a colder drink of coffee, then slurping from the spoon hovering over his rice bowl, so heated that a cloud forms on top of the breakfast. One of the winery workers, with golden skin and matted black hair, more often than not faintly moved away from his eyes, to show those small senses of gravity in their chocolate hues. His lips are plumped up, as if he’s always blowing on his meals to eat them—and that may be the case, for one of the few times in which she gets to see Hyunwoo open his mouth is when he is relishing on the taste of her Uncle’s infamous cooking.

Or that’s what the other workers at the winery say; that Hyunwoo is sweet, but too quiet. So eerily quiet that he seems to blend into any wall, any floor, any seat…though, she cannot see it that way. The moment Hyunwoo stepped into that winery, she was very well out of a relationship and promising to the world that love does not exist. She’d said she would never take any other man seriously, and he came in like a gentle breeze. Not a tornado. Not a tsunami, like the soft reminder of his laughter early in the morning, or the looks spared throughout a few months until a friendship started in between the two of them.

Her weight leans forward, staring at Hyunwoo’s eyes when he captures her gaze before jotting her chin forward. “Give me some of that,” She says, making sure that she crosses her arms under her chest, legs extending as a way of capturing his attention. And she has it, shredded glimpses of his interest in his eyes, in the way those lips quirk up and give her a foretaste of that soul that hides underneath his quiet nature. To some, he ruins the mood. For her, he creates it.

“Your uncle made you a plate.” He tells her, though his spoon is already balancing itself on the expanse of his hand, nearing her lips until they part and take a bite of the meal, paired with eggs. When the spoon is once again nearing his plate to scrape some contents off, her eyes trail to the notebook by his side, some words scribbled, others hidden under the blurred lines of a word he may not have liked…and still, Hyunwoo opts to use a pen.

“You got some writing done during the weekend?” And perhaps, a poet-to-be like Hyunwoo should really go for a laptop, and a Word Document at that, but his style is to keep it simple. Hyunwoo may not be the most profound, romantic of men—heck, he may not be one of those rooted poets that grow up to be stars every few years, creating a new wave to be remembered by textbooks, but the relaxed expressions on his features when finally having somewhere in which he can voice out his thoughts and concerns is more than she could ever ask for.

Hyunwoo nods, ready to spurt some knowledge of his endeavors back at home when her Uncle clears his throat, resting the expanse of her plate on the counter, the seat that she would be taking place in right beside her Uncle’s favorite worker. His strength has helped her Uncle endlessly, with carrying the wines, organizing them, making sure that his poor, old bones don’t struggle at the mere weight of his bent knees. “Pull your skirt down and stop fluttering your eyelashes like that.” Her Uncle says, giving her a pointed look when she simply shrugs her shoulders.

“Can’t pull it down, I already cut it.”

“One would think that once you became an adult, you wouldn’t be so…stubborn, but the older…the worse it becomes.” Though, the tiredness in his voice doesn’t dismiss the nostalgia on his tone. Days that were difficult, yet part of her growing-up process. The leather of the seat digs on the back of her thighs when she takes her spoon in between her fingers, her other hand already sneaking to reach for Hyunwoo’s notebook and read over his poems.

Something about him will always be tranquil. Just like wine, he makes her feel—sleepy, a bit heated, ready to embark in her biggest adventure but take it slow while in the process. He swirls on her tongue, intoxicates her, leaves a flutter on the pit of her stomach, a heartbeat against the other to race and see who wins, it brings her to the sky and puts her down on her feet in such a gentle, caring way. “Ah…I’ve heard that before. I’ll settle down eventually.”

Though, while munching on her meal and hearing the utensils on both men’s hands moving with precision to eat as fast as possible before getting to work, her fingers hook on the small, yellow, somewhat bitten pencil that rests in between the pages, scribbling down a note that only Hyunwoo could read.

“When will you write me a poem?” She writes first, on the last line of the one poem she read before drawing an arrow towards the piece of art itself. “Also, you’re improving.”

The pencil glides from her fingertips for him to take, and she swears she sees his expression lighten up, cheeks filled with food when he writes some words of his own. “What do you want me to write about?”

The action repeats itself, sparing one glance at her Uncle, too lost in the news displayed on the television to pay attention to her. “Whatever I make you feel.”

His response reads: “I can’t.”

She voices her thoughts out, speaking in a hushed voice while looking at him. Hyunwoo’s trembling expression turns towards her Uncle, but she knows that the old man is not what is stopping him—if anything, her Uncle would be over the moon if she got to date Hyunwoo, more seriously past this flirty relationship they hold. Instead, she basks on his presence, his manly scent, the way his white t-shirt hugs his body, jeans cladding his thick legs. “Why? Do I make you that speechless?” She counterparts, quirking an eyebrow when Hyunwoo chuckles and shakes his head.

“I just need time to think about it.” He whispers. “I’m not that good of a poet, yet.”

“You write about the winery, though. The trees, the fruits, the people here. Why not me?”

Why not her? Why not the woman that has promised herself that she’d capture his gaze and practically make it impossible to tear it away from her? To have Hyunwoo has always seemed holy, in a way, almost like getting an angel sent directly to her…all memories of the past few years merging into one single thought: that it has never happened. Without a lot of trying, and with a lot of work to do on the winery and on their preferred choices of art…it never happened. “It will happen someday.”

Though, she can only pucker her lips up, taking another bite of her meal before leaning back on her seat, arms crossed over her chest as a way to release the stress that is pent-up inside of her. Maybe, Hyunwoo would not see her a muse—that one person that takes every single breath away from his lungs, even in a place filled with trees. Or that one person who clouds his mind, even in his dreams, creating images of what-could-have-been’s that he can only fantasize about. “I won’t get younger at the pace you’re going.” The only sound she receives is his chuckle, shaking his head at her antics. This counts another day of a failed try of getting to be his muse, or simply to see more of a glimpse of interest from him. Not surprising, though somehow digging on her chest, she stands up from her seat after a few quick bites of her meal, doing her best to finish the rice before she continues on with her day.

Not without wrapping her fingers around his shoulder to speak into his ear:

“You’re lucky wine gets better with the passage of time.”

###

The trees wave against each other, dancing with the wind, singing their lonesome blues with every movement of their leaves. Instead, she finds the happiness in them—in the hope that the Sun glares down onto their existences, in the way animals seem to be happy around the winery and in the workers, too, not only Hyunwoo but everyone else, as well. Though, if she’s honest with herself, she wishes she could be a good artist, for painting Hyunwoo should be the best benefit for a person of artistic desire.

He’s far away, like he always is. So close, yet so far away when the day is welcomed into their lives. Another day in which she has to smile to hide the absolute adoration behind her eyes and another shrug of her shoulders when her uncle asks anything about Hyunwoo and herself. There’s nothing, she says, and it may be like that—if it was not for the way he smiles at her when he looks up from his position at picking up the sweetened violet grapes, because those eyes scream for her to finally settle down.

For him.

With him.

To have him.

The concept had always been foreign to her—settling down. There are too many beautiful people in this world; too many lips to taste; too many nights to remember. Plenty of times had she heard the words whore or slut used to describe her around the city, small in comparison to the ones in other countries…and she’d say that the concept is so…antique. Perhaps, she could image the word escaping the lips of a sexist man trying to sound remotely attractive while also demolishing the amount of things a woman can do…or, something easier, it’s the word that people use when they can’t understand the complexity of dating. Or maybe, she just sees it from the other end of the spectrum.

But Hyunwoo did not see her like some cheap woman who would much rather have her legs opened than her mind, because that’s not the case…and it will never be for him. The beige hat to shelter him from the sun moves a bit with the wind when his fingers stretch to wave at her, a gentle smile on his features—one that reads have a nice day, instead of the usual this is just a pleasantry before we have sex and have to pretend we don’t know each other after. And surely, with any other man she would have gotten tired…she would have simply said that not a lot of people are made for kissing and telling.

But this is Hyunwoo, the one man that saw her as an artist, as the glide of her brush against a canvas that reads…nonsensical matters. No one sees her art as worthy. No one but Hyunwoo.

When she stares back at the canvas, right after sending a wave back, she realizes that what she does is not art. If she had to conceptualize it, she’d go past Van Gogh or Pollock, past whatever The Louvre could show—that’s the history of art, but it happened way before all those people that crafted the popular side of art. Why is it that people had forgotten that they are art themselves? Art that when described, when coming to life, could be beautiful just like how it could be utterly disgusting. In her eyes, there will never be enough museums and art history books that would ever be able to help her become the artist that would showcase something to the world that matches what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

Her fingers hook around her sketchbook, moving away from the living room of the house while the flapping of wings dulls after two seconds of its initiation, her parrot resting on her shoulder. It may be a bit movie-esque, and Hyunwoo has compared her to a pirate countless times, but nature exists within her…and Hyunwoo is the tranquility that matches her softened heart. A heart that has prickled edges, too much intelligence for its own good, but that can become warm at the mere sight of him.

Art goes past colors—past the damned lines that she does in the name of showing what it is that goes through her head, past what she could ever comprehend, perhaps more understood by an expert…but she can give a name to what Hyunwoo makes her feel.

The caress of fingertips over someone’s back. Traced over lines, bumps, love handles, marks, reddened spots, moles—softly, gently, chilling, relaxing, yet so intimate. It can be done wrongly, when asking for a massage after a long day to someone who is not interested, for example; just like it can be the most miniscule of gestures that breathe out an ‘I love you’. Hyunwoo, with his voice alone, makes her feel like a teenager that has gotten her waist grabbed for the first time—not with a pull to make her feel uncomfortable, but with gentleness, the steps in between them taken far too slowly, too meticulously.

But…she’s not the type to get scared about what her uncle may think if Hyunwoo ends up dating her.

So, what is it that stops her?

Hyunwoo is kneeling down, the fabric of his pants dirtied by mud, his white tank top showing his glowing sweaty skin in the faintest golden color. With a raise of his eyebrow and a stare from the corner of his eye, he says: “Isn’t that my favorite pirate?”

Her fingers move at their own accord with her little pencil, too worn out that it creates the faintest of lines. She starts with the shape of his face—oval, with small eyes that glisten immensely, one more closed than the other as if deep in thought; his lips, plump, asking for a kiss, making her beg mentally to have him speak more. He doesn’t speak enough for how delicious his voice is to hear. “Depends. Jack Sparrow is not on your list?”

“Not when you exist.”

“Smooth.” She replies, looking at her sketch and furrowing her eyebrows. Realism is not her forte—but what is, really? Deep in this whole nonsensical heartbreaker stance that she has created for her, lost in a never-ending summer, she has tried to cover that insecure part of herself. The one woman that never grew up as a talented individual—that loved art, but was never good at it. Hyunwoo is the same with poetry, though he’s far more talented at other stuff around the winery, and an exquisite wine preparator. “I tried to draw you, but it looks like the lovechild of…a goblin and yourself, actually.”

“I wanna see.” He says, knees creaking when he stands up, nearing her body and making her pet parrot fly away. Sunny, an odd name for a parrot…but it just happened to stick around in between the staff at the winery.

Pressing the sketchbook to her chest, she looks into his eyes. “No. I’m shy.”

“You read my poems all the time—” Hyunwoo starts before squinting his eyes, smiling at her when tilting his head to the side to inspect her features. “Wait, did you just say that you are shy?”

For a woman who claims to love sex, casual dating and never getting too attached to anyone—for people are just that, equals, individuals supposed to coexist with each other to get to the end-line, she has definitely gotten attached to Hyunwoo. She’d say, even, he’s the cause of her abrupt stop in dating around. “I mean, I can be shy about things.” She starts, a shrug given by her shoulders. “Much more when those things look like shit.”

“Is it the first time that you’ve tried drawing me?” He asks, and she finds herself speechless.

“Depends.”

“Stop saying depends—”

“Would you think it’s silly of me if I had tried drawing you before?”

Twirling around after his response, a smile crept up on her features when she hears him say: “I’d think it’s sweet.” He tells her, the creaking of grass under his boots sounding behind her, holding her sketchbook to her chest, her dress moving with every movement she gives.

“I never do you justice, though.” She answers, trying to get away from him simply to tease—to have him chasing, following, at the edge of his seat for every word she says. Hyunwoo is a man that has, at least, a vast majority of the people in the city head over heels for him, and to see his quiet persona crumble into a bashful beam at her presence boosts her ego, truthfully—and gives her hope, if anything. For what? Only God would know.

“Don’t look down on your art.”

“We both know it’s not art.”

At that moment, he takes her by the wrist, turning her around until the expanse of his wide and toned chest connects with hers. Eyes to eyes, lips to lips, and when he breathes out an answer, she swears the air has sent her a kiss from him her way. “I’ll give you something and you give me your sketchbook to see how you drew me.”

Her eyes roam his features before scoffing. “Money?”

“I don’t have money, you know that.”

“Ah, a kiss?” Trying her luck, Hyunwoo raises an eyebrow, chuckling at her words.

“Not when all the workers are looking at us.”

“I’ve done worse—”

“I know,” Hyunwoo indicates. “But I’m not one of your worse moments.”

“Right, you’re the best.” She mumbles, knowing that losing him would probably hurt her as much as a blade digging into her sternum, towards her heart, dissipating to the rest of her body—electrifying her with one last breath. His fingers slip into the pocket of his baggy jeans, getting a small notepad out before putting it on her hold, snatching her sketchbook away from her hands just in time to open it.

Her eyes flicker towards the opened notepad, reading pages and pages of a supposed ‘her’. The poems are short, far too small for them to be thought-out pieces, but…they exude the kind of love that is simplistic, softened, all around a bit immature. “You know?” Hyunwoo answers, ripping the page away from her sketchbook before giving it back to her. “I’m going to keep this.”

“I’ll only keep this if the ‘her’ in the poems is me.”

Hyunwoo gives a few steps away from her, walking backwards as he speaks. “…Wouldn’t you want to know.”

The world shines brighter for a second, in the way it falls over his body and clads him in the shape of her daydreams. Where they stand will always be the reason of her reminiscing, something that shall never be taken away from her. “I do,” She adds, arms crossed, rushing towards where he is. “Because I’m the perfect rhyme for anything you think about.” She teases, knowing fully well that Hyunwoo’s mind will always be a mystery to her—but she knows there is attraction, this magnetism in between them that keeps them close, much more when he halters his steps, hands ending up on top of her uncovered arms.

A rhyme is more than tunes that sound the same. A rhyme needs profoundness, meaning, history after history behind syllables that match. “…You’re not wrong.” Hyunwoo breathes out, the wind blowing a bit on his hat, his hand reaching up to keep it in place. “Just, read the poems, don’t overthink it.”

“I won’t.”

And he leaves, blocking the noise of the birds with his steps, with the hum on his voice as he relishes on the sound of his favorite song of the week. For some reason, she feels like dancing when seeing his back depart from her and when her fingers feel the glide of the sheets of paper against her fingertips.

Her.

She’s ‘her’.

Unnamed, she shall remain—like a song that he heard on the radio, learned from one listen, and will never be able to find. But she’s there. Oh God, she’s there, settled, waiting for a smile from him, a rhyme to fit her, a moment that is not fleeting. For a chance to make Son Hyunwoo fall in love with her, and have a future with him.

But she’s not a woman to call a ‘forever’.

###

“Is this the apple wine you guys prepared this week?”

Hyunwoo has his hands crossed over his body, the light of the storage room of the winery barely powerful enough to cast down on his softened features. He quirks one of his eyebrows, a habit of his, and turns to look at her after humming. He has listened to her, she knows, but maybe he needs some confirmation, smiling at her before turning to the pristine shelves that showcase years and years of wines, all of different tastes. “Ah, yes,” He initiates. “It’s not fermented completely, well, not yet. I had to go over the recipe time and time again with your uncle—been a long time since he last prepared one of those.”

They’re not tipsy, but they’re alone. The sound of music is in the background, soft, steady, some jazz that relaxes them into—probably—sharing a drink or two. The door is locked, everyone is back at home and her uncle is certain that they’re adding the labelled stickers to the bottles to send them off to a store tomorrow. That, however, is only halfway done by the time she started to inspect the shelves. “Do you think it’s good?”

“It may taste a bit like cider, I believe.” But he doesn’t give much of an answer, instead taking another sticker and a bottle, lining it up perfectly before sighing. “Why?”

“Ooh, why must you think there is a reason behind me asking?”

“Because you’re you.”

“I’m the company’s publicist.” She defends herself—even when the title is not paired with a degree, it damn right fits her. She has done everything and anything to take the company to social media, exploiting it to getting more clients, more stores to buy their products—and of course, a few pictures that entice anyone to try their wines. “I need to know if what I’m selling is good.”

Hyunwoo chuckles, dragging a seat until he is seated in front of the spacious, glassed table where the newest bottles were placed, fresh out of fermentation. “So, you want to try the apple wine?”

“I want to try it with you.” She corrects, already looking for a switch to clear the room with more lights, smiling to herself at the sight of the city from the small windows. “It’s Friday night, Hyunwoo. And even on Friday nights, you’re always stuck here.”

Though, he can only give a soft answer. “I know.”

But why?

Why?

Why is someone like him just so given to the winery?

Her hand touches his shoulder, softly, gently, dragging her fingernails over the expanse of his t-shirt to ask: “Why?” Because she’s not one to stay with her curiousness, the questions that overtake her even at the peak of the night.

“Just because.”

“I don’t get it.” She skips the conversation, moving around until she is in front of him on the chair. His legs are extended, parted, fingers wrapped around a bottle of wine and she actually takes it from him and places it on the desk, getting lost in his eyes the more she speaks. He’d never see the poetry of him. “You’re a dancer, Hyunwoo. You’re meant to be in some club, dancing the night away with some girl—”

“I have you,” Hyunwoo replies, though they’re not a serious matter—much less have they voiced out their clear ministrations, what unites them. Their start had been simple, for Hyunwoo is a dancer, took years of classes just like her, artists that found love in some other shape of art…and ended up not being good at it. Their only choice was to get better together. “…And that wine really is calling for me.”

Slipping her fingertips on the bottle that had captured their attention, she uses a utensil to open it, grabbing two glasses with quickened movements. “I knew you’d end up trying it!”

“You always make me try new things.”

“Because you’re a boring grandpa, sometimes.” She answers, passing the glass down to him, surprised when his arm wraps around her waist, bringing her down to settle her weight down on his thigh, her knees pressed to his, his eyes staring directly into her soul after taking a sip of the wine. She follows his actions, sighing in delight. “This is good.”

“It is.” He answers, smiling at her with that glint behind his eyes. “At least, I’m good at something. Wines, you know.”

She blinks at that, letting her hands roam his face, learning every aspect of him—of the lips she has gotten to kiss a handful of times, never too profound, as if afraid of falling. But Hyunwoo is a ticking bomb, he’s waiting to grab her by the hand and drag her into the depths of bliss that is…being around him. “You’re good at everything, Hyunwoo.” She replies, leaning closer until her shoulder is against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder. “Just because you weren’t good at poetry from the beginning doesn’t mean you’re bad at it.”

“I just don’t get it,” Hyunwoo mumbles. “Poetry? Someone like me shouldn’t even be rhyming stuff.”

“Oh yeah, sure, let yourself get carried away by the supposed stigma of society that says that buff men can’t be sensitive or have a braincell sometimes.” She huffs out her answer, looking into his eyes and seeing the adoration in them, his silent stance speaking more than his words ever could. “We’re dancers—of course you’d end up liking poetry. You’ve danced to poetry, without knowing,” And her smile expands in a grin when she remembers that one night in which they did go out to dance, the night of their first kiss, the reason as to why Hyunwoo never disappeared from her brain. Hips snug together, arms slotted in fitted ways; two souls conjoining. “It’s music. Hyunwoo, if there’s anyone that does music justice in this world it’s you.” She takes a sip of her drink just at the same time that he does, the dulcet taste sticking to her tongue, begging to be taken away by him. By his kiss. “The difference is that music sticks to our brains—the lyricism of it is meant to be remembered, but poetry sticks to the soul. Let your soul speak, if it’s about the winery or about me, just let it have a voice. It’s getting better, I promise.”

His arm tightens around her waist, leaning forward until his lips press to hers softly, carefully, as if he’s afraid he’ll be caught, and he may. When Hyunwoo pulls away, his legs parting even more in the process. “You’re a doll, you know that?”

“I try to be for gods on legs just like yourself.” She replies, leaning her weight back before closing her eyes at the warmth of him. “Hyunwoo…”

“Yes?”

“We’ll make it someday.” She says, trying to sway into his heart, surprised to feel his breathing stopping for a moment, as if taken off guard. “You, as a poet. Me, as an artist.”

“I don’t think so—”

“That’s what dreams are for, aren’t they?” She replies. “It’s not for thinking, it’s for imagining, dummy.”

And she may imagine that, someday, her fingers may hook around a brush just at the same time that he reads over a book. Just at the same time that they grow away from that winery and turn into the exact persona that no one would have ever imagined them to be. And more than that, together, to be exact.

But that’s what dreams are for.

###

“Do you like Hyunwoo?”

Taking care of children may probably be one of the things she likes the least—but someone at the winery had brought their daughter to work today, and having children close to alcoholic drinks may not be the best of ideas. Hence, while seated in front of her canvas, in front of the window that sometimes shows the figure of Son Hyunwoo—just like now—, she wonders why the child that could not even braid her hair a few minutes ago now is intelligent enough to guess that she likes Hyunwoo.

Seojin swings her legs back and forth, seated on a chair right beside her, and she turns to look at her briefly, a smile on her features. “Maybe,” She answers, earning a big beam from the seven-year-old child. Once returning to her painting, a mess of colors and emotions that she cannot explain—too much green and yellow, currently, perhaps inspired by Sunny, hanging around the living room, she voices more of her thoughts out. “Why do you think I like him?”

“Because you look at him like how my mom looks at my dada.” Seojin replies smartly, moving the little baby hairs away from her face to look at the man that is kneeling down in front of the greeneries to pick up some fruits. “Hyunwoo looks like a prince.”

“He does.”

Curiousness overtakes her. “Then, why isn’t he your prince?”

Simple, she believes, the answer slips her tongue just when she stares away from her canvas, twirling her brush in between her fingers when Hyunwoo becomes a clear shadow that passes through the window, embarking a trip towards her heart. She had been touched by too many people, in love plenty of those, she had gotten drunk far more than a princess could ever tell, made mistakes that were horrendous, tainted her soul in distrust. That’s not something a princess does, or a doll, like Hyunwoo calls her sometimes. “Because I’m not a princess.” She answers, shrugging her shoulders just when she creates another line of the canvas, quickened and interrupted by Seojin voicing out her concerns.

“But you like him…if you like the prince, that makes you a princess.” Seojin speaks quickly, standing up from her spot and getting in the way with her canvas, the tips of her messy hair—still in a braid—getting scattered with a bit of paint. She does her best to take the small towel that hangs from her shoulder to clear the brown strands, but Seojin is not paying attention. “Why don’t you make him your boyfriend?”

Because it may be a bit crazy—a bit too out of what she normally does, simply date around and wait until it is over. It may mean love and part of her just fears what that could mean, or if Hyunwoo would even want something like that, for he had not voiced it out either. “I’m afraid he’d say no.”

“You’re pretty, though.”

“It takes more than being pretty to get a man like him.” She tells her, only to widen her eyes when Seojin rushes towards the entrance of the house.

“Of course not, you’re nice and cute, what else does he want?!” Seojin fires back, too overexcited when she opens the door with swinging motions, not helped by the strong wind that almost closes it again. “I’m going to tell him—”

“Seojin, no!” But Seojin moves too fast, already running to the left to go to the field in which Hyunwoo is working at. Without knowing, she stands up quickly, letting her brush fall on the floor just as she feels her heart racing at the mere words that Seojin had brought to life innocently. Someone’s half, a story to tell, a tale to finish—a fairytale, one that she has never lived, never got the chance to have with the people that she liked.

The wind moves her hair, her dress, crazy just as she wonders through the fields, hearing the giggles that escape Seojin’s lips. Just when she picks up her steps, the heels of her boots digging deeper into the grass, she watches Hyunwoo kneel down in front of Seojin, putting his ear closer to her lips just when she mumbles something to him. Slowing down her steps as she nears them, she’s met by Hyunwoo’s stare that trails up her legs and towards her features, giving her a piece of his heart in a smile.

She has never been this nervous—not when seated on his lap, not when kissing him, not when she promises herself that Hyunwoo is the reason behind her solitude these past few months, afraid of getting her heart broken, but also needing more of him. Her fingers slot with each other, trying to look for leverage, just when Seojin lifts her hands in the air, happiness overflowing. “She likes you!”

“Seojin, I asked you not to go out running like that.” She scolds softly, letting out a sigh at her last word, only to watch Hyunwoo nearing her.

“She came here to tell me a secret.” He says.

“We both know it’s not a secret.” She replies, wary of the small eyes that are staring at them as they speak. Hyunwoo is having the time of his life with this, his broad chest shaking with laughter. “You’re not even good with children, stop pretending you are now—”

“I’m not.”

“Hyunwoo—”

His fingers go through his hair, the strands curving to cup his face softly, caressing it with the twirl of his bags. Parted, showcasing his forehead that creases a bit when he speaks. “But, I like you, too.” He tells her, speaking nonchalantly, albeit laughing a bit to himself. Perhaps, the people around—ahem, Seojin—may be the reason behind his nervousness. “What if we settle this with a date? Friday?”

“…As if you were not going to spend your Friday night with me already.” She answers, her voice cut short when a set of plucked, small flowers flies in the air and falls on top of them. The extended hands and the huff that came from Seojin is enough of a reason to showcase that she must have plucked some flowers, thrown it at them as some sort of celebration.

“You’re so cute together!”

“Ah, Seojin, don’t pluck the flowers like that. That hurts them.” Scolding, she starts, only to hear Hyunwoo muffling his laughter when she kneels down and picks Seojin up on her hands, the weight making her puff her cheeks out. “I’ll take her inside before she starts telling people that I like you.”

“No one knows?!” Seojin voices out, only to have her hand pressing down on her small mouth.

“And no one will know, Seojin.”

Turning around, she feels Hyunwoo’s eyes on her form and she swears she hears his laughter, the promise of an endless love and a date that may be the start of her doom.

###  

Living in the moment, that had always been her mantra. And what a way to live in the moment, it is, to be held in Hyunwoo’s arms.

Never had anyone taken her breath away, in a way that her chest constricts and still, she can’t have enough oxygen inside of her. But he does. Of course, it is the man that is dancing the night away with her that is doing so—the only person in this entire town that could have her thinking of a house in a hill, with not so immaculate decorations but homely ones instead, of walking barefoot on the tiles to reach him, wrap her arms around him as he downs his first cup of coffee of the day. But he does. Son Hyunwoo does, absentmindedly perhaps, simply by smiling at her, by holding her closer and dipping her into the dance floor, as if she’s a feather and he’s a bird—meant to coexist together.

Because, once every few moons, someone like her falls in love…and it is so slow and calculated in its process that she is surprised by her patience, by her abstinence in having him, but Hyunwoo is worth it. He’s worth waiting a million years, the slow music around them in the romance themed Friday night, paired with lighted up hearts in pink shapes is everything she could have never imagined happening. But here’s Hyunwoo, a predicament, the one stone in her road that had her falling and she’d go back and do it again if she had to.

…She had never been one to learn from her mistakes, after all, and if Hyunwoo is one…

This is the greatest fucking mistake of her life.

Her fingers wrap around the edge of his collar, opened buttons welcoming his taut chest that she traces with the tip of her index finger. “Showing some cleavage here, I see.” She says, sending a toothy grin that she can’t imagine herself giving to anyone but him—one of those that show her gums, make her seem a bit childish, and yet speak of nothing but excitement. “We’re twinning, then.”

Hyunwoo’s smile falters, his eyes flickering down to the neckline of her dress before laughing at his own antics. His cheeks are tainted pink, or maybe the lights are deceiving her, but it’s a nice color to match his beige button down and that rosiness of his lips that she will probably dare test later on the night. Probably meaning…certainly, as long as he’s into it. “You talk a lot.”

“And you talk too little.”

“I’m not a man of words.”

“You’re an action man?”

“I don’t know, I’d have to show you.” And with that, he presses her body closer to his, her hands stopping her ministrations to expand on top of his chest, catching her footing quickly, learned from years of dancing. Her feet move with expertise, along with his, the lingering smell in between them of fruity drinks and dinner. His hand moves on her waist, rest along her hips and sighs heavily, as if nearing their bodies will end of suffocating them but also filling them up with attraction. Past attraction, even, whatever it is that flutters on her chest and has her thinking about the beauty of being held by him instead of simply voicing it out is some magic that she can’t quite explain.

“Ooh, Hyunwoo is talking big.” She wiggles her eyebrows, trying to regain some power and speaking because—damn, it’s what he does. He gets her tongue going, her mind railing, her heart aching simply to have a piece of him. Hyunwoo seems like her future, and she’d be disappointed if this is not some sign from life that the only man that she feels like falling in love for is anything but trouble. “Let me tell you something. I’ll recite a poem to you, Shownu.” The way she spits out the poet name he had come up with has him smiling, nodding along to her words. “Roses are red, violets are blue—”

“Aren’t violets supposed to be, well, violet?”

“Don’t go smart on me now.” She replies, resting her head against his shoulder and looking towards the other couples dancing; some older, some younger, some definitely together for a long time, some learning to fall in love. Where do they fall? Where do an artist and a poet fall more than together? “You know what? I forgot. Thank you. Now, I can’t tell you anything.”

Hyunwoo closes his eyes when he laughs, rubbing his thumbs against her hips before he lowers his head slightly, bending his body in a way in which he can capture her lips in a kiss, though fleeting and soft. “My pleasure to make you speechless, doll.”

She squints at him, taking him by the face with both hands to stare into his eyes. Well, he’s not wrong, for the tip of her tongue is trying to look for words to tell him, for flirtations to whisper in his ears, for more than simple actions to clarify her interest in him, one that is already as clear as water, as the sky, as a glassed window itself. Because…she has talked enough, to other people, to people who did not want her to speak but still pretended to listen, and who would think that someone like her could find love in something as silent as art, and Hyunwoo, himself?

“You’re something else.”

“Good thing?”

“Very good thing.” She complies, leaning forward to press her lips to his, relishing on the taste of him before humming, eyes still closed. “I wish I could tell everyone just how head over heels you have me.”

But she can’t. She can’t turn this relationship serious, because it would not benefit them in the work place—Hyunwoo has more to lose than she ever could, but also because the timing of them will never seem to be right. She has to hold back, not because Hyunwoo is slow in his movements to her heart, but because he’s so skilled in his way there that she’s afraid something else could happen. What if it doesn’t work out? What if he’s indeed a prince, and she ends up running away in fear of the constricting seriousness of the situation?

“I have you head over heels?” He asks, as if he likes to hear her saying such things…and damn, he probably does.

She gasps, contrary to what one would believe. “Of course. Hyunwoo, I’ve been practically into you for the past few months and you still think I’m not head over heels?”

“Why?”

“What?” She asks, watching the way he lowers his lips and kisses her softly, delicately running his tongue on top of her upper lip, her hands trailing down to his neck, grasping softly to feel the pulse in there, Hyunwoo’s arms wrapped around her body entirely by the time he speaks again.

Rare. Of course, it had to be something important if Hyunwoo dares voice it out. “Why don’t you just show me how head over heels you are?”

This is exactly how she finds herself in Hyunwoo’s apartment, how suddenly being friends flashes in the back of her eyelids and reminds her that it has not been months, but years since Hyunwoo has taken up the vast majority of her heart. In the couch that he lays her on to take off his shirt, lips latching to her pulse points, sucking the soul away from her with each flutter of the plumpness of his skin, she had told him about the eleven years she spent in ballet classes and in between chuckles, she had admitted to being kicked out for flirting with the instructor’s son too much. The shirt that is thrown on the floor by the time he leads her to his room, hands expanded on her thighs, reminds her of the night three years ago—New Years’ Eve, when Hyunwoo couldn’t go back home to his parents and his frown was evident. At the time, she had done her best to prepare a meal for everyone at the winery to enjoy, and it was called a coincidence when Hyunwoo’s favorite meals were served on the table.

Or that bed, the background noise of the sheets the one she listens to whenever he calls her, saying how much he misses her—listening to her and sometimes, telling stories of his own. The timing with him will always be off, because she’ll forever be scared of waiting for too long, even when his legs are parting her own, strong muscles resting on each side of her head, his heart pressed to hers, skin to skin. Everyone says that waiting…fuck, waiting is the key to love.

Like waiting for someone to wake up.

Or waiting for someone to come home.

Or waiting for the day in which she believes she’ll have earned his love.

Because Hyunwoo cannot be a love affair—she wouldn’t forgive herself if she gets to taste him once or fifty times, but never forever. It’d be tragic, just like the sighs that leave her lips, the way her nails cling to him, the smile on his face that reads adoration—that sees her as more than a line in his body count, more than a friend: he sees her as art, and that’s all she has ever wanted to be.

Art is complicated, and she finds herself being egotistic, like she has always been. Selfish, in a way. Her hands cling to him, her lips press to his skin, to his neck, wants him to be more of her own, wants for every crevice of his soul to belong to her. When her eyes connect to his, his hair is done a mess, ruffled and ruined just by her, the skin of his neck bathed in sin, Hyunwoo can only reciprocate the kiss that lands on his lips, fervent, needing to have the moment last for an eternity, the one eternity that she has never wished for.

In one kiss, she expects to have her confession be read. She expects Hyunwoo to listen to the silence, like she does with him, but maybe, he doesn’t understand…that one simplistic kiss is screaming at him that she’s falling in love—

No, that she is in love. And it feels like she is floating on the shore of a beach, the tingling sensation matching with the rays of sunshine making her forget that there is a world around her, that there will be repercussions like a broken heart or worse…a fired man.

With one last breath of his name, she hopes the confession fell into his ears, one that reads a single sentence:

I love you.

###

“Where is my book of poems?!”

“What?”

Pulling her gaze away from the break-up app showcased on her phone in between her fingertips, she looks at Hyunwoo practically turning the house upside down in his repertoire to find his notebook. When entering the kitchen, well overdue the time in which he goes back home, the trails of the night seek after him when he lifts whatever surface he can to find that notebook, that damned notebook that she knows means the world to him.

“My notebook. Did you take it?” Hyunwoo asks, eyes shaking, for she knows better than anyone else that, just like her sketchbook, his notebook includes motions of his being that no one should read, or have gotten to read other than herself. His hands are already resting on her arms, as if keeping her in place will resolve the predicament, they’re in, but she simply shakes her head. “Fuck, I swear I left it on this counter earlier—”

Scratching the back of her head, she watches as Hyunwoo moves with anxiousness, for the first time showing a sign on his face that screams…hopelessness. Perhaps, he’s afraid of losing what he had worked so hard for, or he’s afraid that tomorrow morning he’ll wake up to the sound of his poems being read to the daylight, to be showcased as a comedy, when all he has done is try to find a sense to that inner voice of his. “Let me help you.” She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking around the couches in the living room, under the mat, whichever bump in it inspected by her.

“This is it. I’ve lost it.” The hopelessness in his voice comes soon enough, throwing himself over one of the seats, slumping immediately with his hands softly bounded in front of him.

“You have not, Hyunwoo. I’m here to help you out—”

“It’s not here, and it’s definitely not in my car.” He answers, not even sparing her a glance when she nears him, arms outstretched to hold him in her arms. “Goodbye poetry, goodbye that stupid dream of mine—”

“Your poetry is not hidden in that notebook, it’s in you, Hyunwoo. Stop it.” She replies, taking his face in between her hands before letting her faded lipstick create a shadow on his lips with a gentle kiss. “Don’t say those things.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll shatter this earth if that means getting that notebook back.” After months of this relationship, unknown to the world, three months of absolute joy, she’d do everything to give him the world if she could. “Make that a promise. I won’t ever give up when it comes to you.”

And what’s with this…feeling that tells her that letting go of Hyunwoo will be impossible to her? That she has found it, that thing that her friends had always talked about. That love that goes past summer nights and the heat that comes with forgetfulness, or with winter and its need for warmth—a love that stands even when a train is nearing it, when saying goodbye could be easier than staying. But, she decided to stay—to stay for a long while, as long as he lets her, and so far…it has not been so bad.

If hiding in the storage room every Friday night as a date is excellence, then so be it. If hiding their romance to the eyes of everyone at the winery is what it takes to have Son Hyunwoo, so be it.

“Don’t be scared,” She tells him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and nearing his face to her face, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulders. “I’ll find it, I promise. I’ll find it.”

“No—”

“I said I’ll find it, and I will.”

Because she’d drop a star from the sky itself if it meant seeing him at peace, like he always is.

Which is why she almost turns the entire house upside down the next day, as if looking under the sofa will get her the precious notebook that her boyfriend is looking for. Sunny is somewhere, flapping its wings and resting on her shoulder as if to help her, and she even skips breakfast to favor finding a part of Hyunwoo’s soul. It’s only when she opens the door to her uncle’s office that she finally gets to see a glimpse of a notebook, seated on top of the mahogany desk her uncle is by, and it’s opened, shown to the world to bare Hyunwoo’s soul.

The weight of the flooring creaks under her, though it is not as loud as the thumping inside her chest when her eyebrows crease, moving with precision to reach for the notebook and plater her hand on top of the pages to cover the peeping eyes of her uncle.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She says in between a whisper, hearing how her uncle stops his typing away on the keyboard before continuing, fingertips ushering her hand away so he can look at one of the poetic pieces written by Hyunwoo.

“I’m doing Hyunwoo a favor.”

“He’s been seeking for this notebook since yesterday, Uncle. That’s not helping him—” She tries to grab the fabric away, only to be stopped by a hand that wraps itself around her wrist. The glisten of happiness behind her Uncle’s eyes is clear, the document in front of him bleeding the words of Hyunwoo’s soul—sweet, caring, silent. “Explain.”

Her uncle lowers his glasses, plopping some of the blueberries on a white plate inside his mouth, munching slowly, with precision, patiently like he lives his life when he speaks: “I happened to come across it yesterday afternoon and took the time to read it. My boy has talent.” Her uncle replies, but her mind can only worry about the poems there—the little notes that they had shared in their written conversations when her uncle is in the room, perhaps dusted over with some lines on top of it caused by Hyunwoo’s precaution or if they are easily shown for the world to read. “So, I looked for some poetry contests online and I am mass sending my favorite poems—or a variety of such. The only way I can pay Hyunwoo for the support he has given me the past few years is by letting him go to something bigger than what he has right now.”

Letting him go, why is it that he is the only man that she has never thought of letting go of? His fingers always spread when around them, trapping her hand as if meant to be together forever. Sometimes, she likes to believe she’ll reach older years by his side—that one day she’ll get to see Hyunwoo with gray hairs, and he’d let his fingertips trace her wrinkly cheeks, pinching them with his usual smile on his face. Letting him go to another place, a place in which he’d become a true poet, could mean that he is simply leaving the winery, just like it could mean that he’d have to go anywhere else. Around the world, probably. Somewhere where opportunities for writers are far more fruitful.

She tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, speechless, watching as her uncle continues to type and he asks a question, one that she can’t give an answer to because she can’t listen to him. Her ears beep intensely at the mere reminder that Hyunwoo is not a forever, because the title doesn’t exist or perhaps, because it has never been meant for her. His arms will not always wrap around her waist, his sighs won’t always end up on her nape, leaving her with a trail of goosebumps that can only be intensified by a kiss.

Another muse could exist in the far future for him.

And her canvas may consist of darker colors once he is gone.

“I see,” She breathes softly, only to earn a pointed side-eye from her uncle.

“You alright?”

“Kind of.”

“I’m doing this for him. He’s always said how he wants to go somewhere else, travel the world, you know? It would be nice if he got accepted.”

That’s a promise that she has heard in their late-night conversations, a reminder that the tapping of water on the vase will sometime overflow and leave them with the taste of memories. Her fingers try to wrap around the notebook again, but she ponders on the options of badness and wellness, of destroying his future or keeping him to herself. Instead biting down on her tongue, she nods at whatever her uncle said.

“Don’t tell Hyunwoo.”

About what? About the opportunities that will surely start to appear like clouds on his days?

“I won’t.”

And with that, she slips away from the room with a saddened sigh leaving her lips. Positivism lingers with nostalgia, it seems as though there is a goodbye—a piece of her mind that reads with certainty the words:

One day, you will have to let go of him.

Because, if you love him, you let him go, huh?

###

“It’d be cute.”

“What would be?”

“If one day, when we live together, we could hold one of your paintings up as decoration.”

His arm is extended on top of his bed, knees digging onto the mattress, his hand interlocked with hers on top of her abdomen. His body is resting by her side, black sweater riding up his tanned skin, looking at her with a messy hairstyle right after the small nap he had taken the moment they had arrived to his apartment. Hyunwoo is staring at her, she realizes, cheek pressed to his taut muscles, eyes inspecting her reaction when she finally pulls her gaze away from that one movie they had been wanting to watch—the initiation of a good actor, that had both written the script with his best friend, just as he had starred in it. She can remember the name of the actor right now, but it’s not like she cares.

Weeks after Hyunwoo’s stolen notebook issue, she had been the one to deliver it back to him after her uncle had stopped signing up the poems for every contest that he could find online. The life had been returned to Hyunwoo’s gaze, and he seemed to be more tranquil, breathing normally after days of silence that meant no one had read his poetry book. Instead, she’d take up on more working around the winery, trying to distract herself from her muse and on the long run, stopping herself from thinking of the end of something she feels like has just started, even after years of mutual attraction.

She rubs her free hand against her face, a few bumpy stops that she had not tried to conceal with makeup the first thing she touches, and still Hyunwoo looks at her as if she’s the world itself. Her worries may be spurts of non-knowledgeable insecurities, maybe Hyunwoo is the one person that won’t leave her.

“You would want to live with me?” Her voice doesn’t drop flirtatiously, instead she brings their joined hands up to her lips, kissing his knuckles in hopes of one day seeing his finger glisten with a band that calls him her husband. It’s stupid to think in a long run, to imagine Hyunwoo as the man to settle down with her, but he’s the one talking about it.

“Of course.” He says, eyes twinkling when he smiles, his fingers expanding to caress her bottom lip.

“I don’t think my art would be beautiful enough to be in our future home, though.” She replies, voice going through the depths of what their home would like. Tranquil, homely, perhaps with woodened decorations and too many memories—pictures of the people they love, of themselves, perhaps with a pet going around, or some old wines decorating the shelves.

Still playing with her lips, he answers. “Stop it.”

“I mean it.”

“Your art is fine.”

“Ah, I’m not good at it. We both know.” She says, shaking her head before straightening her back, sitting up on the bed and letting her asleep legs crack at her extension. “But what is it that you see in me that has you wanting to live together? That’s a big step.”

Her boyfriend turns around until he is facing the ceiling, their hands pulled away when he crosses his own over his chest. He breathes in softly, a smile plastered on his features, almost dumbly, too many thoughts that he can only voice out in a few words. “Because I love you.”

Oh, that would make sense. For time has taken its sweet years for her to feel as though he’s the only man that will ever love her for who she truly is, past the summery dresses and the faux smiles. “What do you love about me?” She asks, in a mere whisper that has her coming closer to him, as if nearing him will make her remember every part of Hyunwoo, in case she ever dares to forget about him in any day of her life.

“Can I say everything?”

“Yes,” She laughs, trailing her fingers up and down his arm, pecking his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt before resting her nose against the material. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” Hyunwoo answers, sparing a glance at the movie before she captures his attention again.

“Your phone has gotten a few notifications. Aren’t you going to check them out?”

With his phone in vibration, he may have not noticed. “Oh yes, I hadn’t noticed.”

Hyunwoo stands up, his physique in clear view for her when he moves towards the bedside table, picking up his phone and squinting at the screen. For a moment, she inspects his room—the one piece of art that is hers and he had hung up there, in belief for her passion, and the little bits of him that rest in memories on every spot, even on the pillows that are now too uncomfortable in comparison to his body. She studies his expression, how a white light washes over his face and he reads, reads until his smile is permanently plastered on his face, until he checks his messages and whatever notification he had gotten before he wraps her up in the biggest of hugs.

Those that take her breath away, that has her chuckling at his strength, pressed down by the weight of his body, feeling every movement of his lips while they press down incessantly on different spots of her face. Her cheeks. Her neck. Up until when he decides that speaking is a necessity, that whatever has overjoyed his chest shall be shared with her.

She’ll never forget that smile—that smile that had warmed her, just like how it had turned her blood cold. Hyunwoo shows her the screen, but it is too close to her eyes for her to inspect more than the big letters. Not necessary to read more, because Hyunwoo speaks with excitement. “You didn’t tell me your uncle had sent my poetry out. I just got an offer of representation and a call to sell my book and get a contract!”

She wishes she could keep him, that she could trap him in her arms and simply tell him to stay there, to let the silence in between them fall into normality, into a sweetened lake that will take them to endless romantic bliss. Instead, she clasps her hands together, because his happiness is hers—and love is about that, giving more than receiving. “Fuck yes, I’m so proud of you! Is it for real?”

“Yes, your uncle just confirmed it!” And his lips slot with hers, in a way that tells her that he really does love her and maybe…he will stay. She will be the culprit of his poems, he will be the outline of the shadows in her paintings and their love shall remain like that. Two rhyming words, they are, joined together by a verse—and not another word could ever compare to the magic the two of them work.

“Let’s celebrate!” She cheers, wrapping her arms around his neck and squealing when he lifts her up from the bed, moving towards the kitchen to what is clearly a night filled with take-out and cheerful conversation.

Waiting for this, for Son Hyunwoo, is the best decision she has ever taken in her life. There is no regretting that.

###

That one hat that she had seen on Hyunwoo’s head plentiful of times is now on top of her hair, caging the memories to her brain the more she paints. Realism is not her forte, she will always say it, but a sigh leaves her lips when she finds herself painting the outline of him—past the muscles, the lips she dares to kiss, the eyes that look for her everywhere and anywhere, but in his soul. Hyunwoo will always be a soul in green—like the greeneries around the winery, where she met him, and the calmness of him is a representation of nature.

Love affairs are supposed to be red, passionate, they are supposed to feel like sex and carnality, they are supposed to be plenty of things…but Hyunwoo is not a love affair. If anything, he is the only man she has ever loved. The brush dimly moves against the canvas, her hair framing her face uncomfortably, but she doesn’t dare move the strands, because there is this vacant voice in the back of her head that is telling her something will happen. The twist of her gut, the taste on the back of her tongue, everything reads fear, like in any occasion she will be moved by her feet, dragged through the ground, given a piece of reality for falling in love.

Hyunwoo is somewhere around the winery, God knows where, speaking to the representative on the phone to state the conditions of the contract he will be signing with the company for the publication of his poems. This makes her nervous, but more so angry at herself.

What a fucking egotistic bitch, she can only tell herself, not because she is envious of what Hyunwoo will surely approach with his talent, but because she is afraid of losing him. Scared that one day Hyunwoo will look at his success and think of her as a loss more than a win. At some point, she lets the brush rest against the canvas for a second longer. A dot. A dot on the figure that is supposed to be her boyfriend…an ending, because dots can mean the finalization of an idea, just like how it can mean the end of a story.

She doesn’t hear footsteps, not even Sunny dares make a noise, tranquil on the windowsill when Hyunwoo lets out a sigh that speaks wonders. It has all the meaning of her world in one single breath that falls deafly, as if he knows there is something deep in her mind bothering her. His lips press to her temple, his eyes dare close to flutter his eyelashes against her skin and when he finally gives her an answer, there are undertones of happiness in his voice:

“They want me to move to New York for the publishing of three poetry books.”

And this is excellent—it’s the best of the best. It’s the opportunity Hyunwoo always wanted and the one that he deserves, but long distance is something that she doesn’t know if she could bear. She could always leave with him, live alongside him like they had always planned—but she’s tied to her uncle’s waist. The poor man, only getting older, needs to be thought about from time to time and the winery cannot be kept together without someone helping him.

So, this means that her dreams are crushed.

This means that leaving is not a choice.

“That’s good, Hyunwoo. Congratulations.” She tells him, putting the brush down and twirling around on her chair, not as excitedly as she used to whenever she wore a flowery dress. Instead, he inspects her features, a small smile grazing his features. The whiteness of the room contrasts his beam, the twinkle in his dark irises when he says:

“We could always leave together. You’d have huge opportunities as an artist there—”

“No, love. I can’t leave.”

“Why not?” His fingers stop playing with hers, trying to look for the certainty of a possibility that has been broken. That, once again, leaves her with the lack of a bound that will never be broken.

“My uncle is not getting older, and you know his health is not the best nowadays. I can’t—I’ve been selfish my own life, I can’t leave him like that.” The affection in her voice must have softened something within him, and Hyunwoo is about to drop the subject, leave the talk for later like he always does, but instead, she continues. “D—Do you think we should break up?”

“What?” Hyunwoo asks, his voice rushed, waiting for her to correct herself.

“You will go live to New York. I will stay here. I don’t know if—” She cuts herself off, looking up to the ceiling and biting down her bottom lip. She has always been the one to break relationships up, but with this one, she can’t do it. Her eyes flicker, her tongue twists and she has to grab his hands stronger for her to gain some power. “I don’t know if it will work, truthfully.”

“Is that what you think?” His eyes flutter with endless blinking, trying to process exactly what she is saying and she feels her heart being ripped when she realizes what is happening—

She is finally speechless.

And in the worst of ways.

“Tell me why.”

“I can’t…I can’t leave, you can’t stay.” She tells him, shaking her head. “And I will never forgive myself if I stop you from being the poet that you always wanted to be.”

And even then, when anger overtakes his features along with disappointment, Hyunwoo is the most beautiful man she has ever met—inside and out. Her fingers trail through his hair, her lips leaning forward to seek a kiss out of him but when they join in the sweet gesture, his lips capture her strongly, as if needing more of her, as if letting go hurts him as much as it hurts her. His soul is trying to engulf hers, to down her in the most gorgeous of memories that started with poems about her, spoken insecurities, healed hearts, too much time to waste and of course, an ending.

His arms wrap around her tightly, her lips unwrapping from his to breathe out against his shoulder, her eyes closing tightly when she repeats: “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Love isn’t enough in most situations. This is one of them.

###

Her uncle would have probably loved to see the scenery in front of her.

The bustling city, the flickering lights, the people that join and walk alongside each other, the cars passing by and the extreme comparison to the winery. Perhaps, he would have not liked it as much—but who is she to know. Instead, she tries to make her way towards the café near her hotel room, desperate for her caffeine intake before her visits to the endless museums that she had looked up online. It’s difficult to move, much more when people press to her side, but she manages.

What catches her attention is the old looking library that passes her by as she walks on the sidewalk. The windows are huge, perhaps more than one floor in the place, showcasing the newest of releases or the most classic of pieces. Her feet retract the slightest, smiling at the sign that reads poetry and looking for a certain pen-name that she knows better than her own. The simplistic cover is enough to have her eyes widening, looking around as if caught by destiny—because Hyunwoo is there, by his penname, of course, but he’s there.

With persistence, she moves inside the library, grabbing one of the copies of the book that had caught her attention—the first one, one that she had been too fearful to ever look for, but now blinks at her almost mockingly. Or proudly, really, this would not have happened if only she had been selfish and snatched the notebook away from her uncle’s hands.

Some decisions are good on the long run.

Her fingers flick through the pages, recognizing some of the poems, even tutting at the fact that some of them are edited but his being still is exuded in his art. A little bit after, however, she is surprised to see an outline that she recognizes immensely—that one drawing that she done of Hyunwoo, more of a sketch, that he had kept with him, now plastered on the edge of the first book he released. Years later, and she had never noticed this.

The poem surprises her, the words ‘her’ its title, reminiscent of how she had always wondered if it was her that he was referencing. The more she reads, the more her smile widens…because nothing has been edited, not even a single syllable, and that is enough to press the book to her chest, closing her eyes to match the tightness of her chest.

He will always be the best rhyme for her poems, but it’s time for her to start a new one.

It’s time to let go.

That doesn’t mean she lets go of the memories, buying the book and pressing it to the depths of her purse, pushing the door open to go have her caffeine intake.

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