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0mg-bird · 3 months

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Come on Home - J Seresin x Wife!Reader

Summary: After a mission that he barely gets through, Jake reevaluates his decision of staying longer on his deployment and how much longer he can continue when he has his whole world at home.

Warnings: language- violence- mentions of war- Jake scared for his life basically- slight smut- mature- mentions of ovulation.

His head spun, his heart in his throat and when he landed - by some miracle not crashing - on the tarmac, he sat in his seat, eyes wide. He pulled his mask off, shaky hands as he tugs his helmet off too and opens his canopy. The other daggers land perfectly, on some sort of rush that this mission has gone well.

What do they consider well? The fact that they were far behind enemy lines, with advanced jets hot on them? Or was it the fact that they weren’t in the dogfight, that it was their Hangman who they tirelessly defended. They saved him, they have a reason to rejoice.

Right?

He’d been sent out with a crew of faces he didn’t really know, all except for one.

Rooster is out of the plane, watchful eyes scanning over the crew to make sure everyone landed fine. But he sees Jake hesitating on his exit, his head in his hands before he rips a small photo off his control dash. As he hops out, he blows past the guys who go to shake his shoulder in victory.

He tosses his helmet to a crew member, he’s quick to shed the equipment he wears, leaving him in just his flight suit. His steps are heavy and full of anger, everyone moves out of the way as he guides himself straight to his empty bunk room.

Something of anxiety scratches at him as he curses out loud. He sits on his perfectly made bed, fingers gripping his hair.

The moments replayed in his head. He’s never been one to scare easily, but this was no spook. It was fear, it was a nightmare, he was stuck with no visible solution. In that moment when his flares were gone and those enemy jets had him pinned, he was faced with the fact that this was the end, there was no escape. He looked at that photo stuck on his control dash, the one of you holding that beautiful baby girl, standing in the yard, wearing a yellow sundress. He shut his eyes prayed his girl would remember him in the end.

Then, by some miracle, he was out of that hot water. Now, here he was and he just wasn’t sure if he could go any longer.

He’s never been described as a soft man, his tough heart had only shed its callouses around you. But here he was, preventing himself from crying.

He reached for that satellite phone in his drawer and turned it on. Being in the middle of nowhere was a rather disadvantaged when trying to get ahold of you, all the way in Texas. So, he sat with a beat up phone, dialing your number.

It was just you and your mother in law, Jake’s mother, who were awake still. You and your daughter, Lainey, usually moved in with the in laws whenever Jake deployed. They helped you with her and it was an ease to your mind, knowing you didn’t have to sleep in an empty home.

Sat on the couch, watching late night television, your eyes started drifting closed before your phone rang. Leaning forward to grab it, Jake’s satellite phone number was on your screen. You instantly smiled.

“It’s Jake.” You tell DeAnn, and instantly the woman grins.

You answer, a cheery voice. “Hi, I wasn’t expecting a call.”

Instantly, just by his breathing, you knew something was wrong.

“Yeah I- well I just needed to hear that pretty voice of yours, darlin’.” He flirts despite his current state.

Immediately, you’re on your feet. “Jake, baby, what’s wrong?”

DeAnn grows a concerned look, but there’s nothing she can do about it.

Jake pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to choke his emotions down. “I can’t do it anymore, honey, I just, I gotta come home.” His breath is heavy, making you walk away from his mother’s eye and dash into your bedroom, Jake’s old room. “Listen to me, just breathe. Are you hurt- are you in danger or-or- Jake, tell me what’s wrong.” You stress, making him lean forward, elbows on his knees, head hung.

“I’m not hurt, I’m not bleeding out. Something happened…I just finished a mission and I-I don’t know how I’m still alive. Baby I should’ve been a goner, I almost was.”

At his words, it’s your turn to panic. Tears brim in your eyes, the thought of losing him was something you always avoided, but it’s forcing itself into your mind and you’re staring it in the face. He continues to talk as your wobbly lip gets caught between your teeth.

“How many more tours am I supposed to do? How many more times do I have to leave you and my baby? These kids out here, they ain’t got no one, they don’t have a wife waiting at their Mama’s house for them. I do and I can’t live like a young kid anymore. Damn it, I need to come home to you.” He says, voice breaking.

Tears slip down your face, your wedding ring hand wipes them away. Your love was miles and miles away, suffering and you could not get to him.

“Your time’s almost up, Jake. Just a month left, baby.” You say softly.

“Fuck that.” He breathes. “I’m getting on a flight at the next port.”

You spin your diamond around your finger. “I thought you extended your deployment for a reason? To assist with trainings?”

“I don’t care, as soon as I hang up this phone, I’m going to talk to my commanding officer and he’ll change my orders. Baby I…I have to come home.”

Who were you to say anything different? You wanted your husband beside you, you wanted his warm hands on you, you wanted to wash his dirty jeans and watch him rock that two year old to sleep. You wanted him in the mornings and you wanted him driving that pick up truck in the driveway.

“Come on home.” You say, tone broken as it comes out.

You two talk for a minute longer, then when the call is silenced, you sit for a moment, calming yourself.

“What’s wrong?” DeAnn asks as you come back out to the living room.

Your eyes linger on the framed photo, sitting next the many others on the fireplace mantel, the one from Jake and yours wedding. You stand with your hand on his chest, looking up at him in a smile while a jet flies over the top of you two.

The Navy was something that was always in your relationship, you knew the consequences going into it. All the way in the beginning, four years ago, you knew what it would entail. And you hurt, you pined, you cried and wished things were different, when you went through months of pregnancy alone, when you were sick, when the world kicked you down and all you wanted was your husband who was off being Mr. America, but you never complained. Jake loved flying, this was his job for a reason and if it truly was his wish to take a break, you weren’t going to start complaining now.

Clearing your throat, you look at the woman. “Jake’s coming home.”

~~~~~

His duffle bag slung over his shoulder, Jake crosses the airport at a determined speed. His skin buzzes, he knows you’re going to be waiting for him. His flight was long, his body ached. He didn’t care, he’d crawl home to you if he had to.

As crowds of people disperse and he continues forward, he can see your shape and instantly is soothed. He moves a little quicker, and you look up from the ground and instantly meet his eye. Your hair curled, a long sun dress over the tops of your boots, you start to beam at the sight of him.

Ten months is too long.

His bag drops to the floor, and in an instant you close the space between the two of you. His arms are constricting around you as you bury your face in his neck. He feels the same, smells the same, the heat of him is still the same. Jake is wafted with the scent of your lavender honey shampoo and the perfume you’ve worn everyday since he’s known you.

He pulls back, before you get a word out, he’s gripping your cheeks with his hands and kissing you so heavy. You could cry, feeling the utter emotion of his longing for you. Your hands hold his arms, chasing his lips as he’s done swallowing your air. Foreheads pressed together, you breathe out.

“Welcome home.”

Jake kisses you once more, adoring those words from you.

As you step back, DeAnn is coming forward, your toddler in her arms.

“Lainey.” He calls for his girl, immediately she twists in her grandmother’s hold, recognizing his voice. “Daddy!” She cheers, practically flinging herself into his arms. Her little hands latch onto his uniform, he adjusts her little romper and smooths her dirty blonde curls before kissing her cheek. “Hi, sweetheart. Hi, honey.”

Her head rests on his shoulder as he picks up his bag and kisses his mom on the cheek.

~~~~

Finally settled back in your own home after dinner with Jake’s parents, Lainey falls asleep after five minutes of Jake rubbing her back. Her night light casts stars on the ceiling and he pulls the blanket over her. When he gets up, he’s careful not to make her stir. Leaning against the door frame, you stand in a robe, stretching your hand for him to follow you. The door to her bedroom is softly shut.

You lead him to the warm bath, and the two of you settle into the large tub.

Jake’s relaxed, watching you clean off the razor in hand before leaning forward again. Half his face covered in shaving cream, he listens when you talk about things he’s missed. Carefully, you run the razor up his neck, slowly to not nick him. The stubble of his jaw is no match for your determination.

“You leave a clean cut man and come back to me looking like you got lost in the woods for a while.” You scoff, tilting his face to the side.

Jake hums. “What? You don’t like the rugged look?”

You pull away. “Baby, I have never liked the rugged look.”

Despite your fake annoyance, there was a sort of peace Jake felt when you were near. It could make him forget about his troubles, well, not entirely.

As you wipe any remaining shaving cream away, his eyes shut at the feeling of your hands smoothing down his cheeks. You kiss his stubble-free skin. “Much better.” You comment.

“I never want to leave you again.” He confesses.

You retreat back to your side of the tub, a sly smile on your face. He observes you, taking in all the features he missed. He liked it when your hair was clipped up but some pieces still escaped and framed your face beautifully, he thought it was sweet how you wore a necklace with his and Lainey’s birth stones on it.

“I’m glad that you still adore being ‘round me.” You say, but his serious tone hints to what’s on his mind. You shimmy further under the water, your knees popping up to the surface. A shiver runs through you as his hands grip them gently. “Your contract is up in less than a year…and something tells me that you’re not going to extend it.” You put forward.

Jake sighs, moving to rest his arms on either side of the tub. You know this is a serious moment, but you can’t help but feel the way your skin buzzes as you look over his toned muscles.

“I’ve been doing this for ten years, and if I was still twenty two I’d be all for it…but I’m not twenty two and a lot is different now.” He sighs, leaning his head back to stretch his sore muscles. “I’m starting to think I’m too old for this now.”

You laugh. “You are not old.”

Jake sits back up, looking straight at you. “These are kids I’m flying with, twenty something year olds who don’t even have girlfriends, let alone wives. I’ll admit, sometimes it’s nice to pretend I’m twenty five again but…how much longer am I gonna be doing this?” He says.

You nod, listening to his ramble, watching him dissect his thoughts.

“Darlin’ I can’t fly like I’m not afraid of death anymore, not like the rest of them can.” He looks down for a second, eyes turning from green to blue. “And I’ve been in plenty of tough situations, that’s just the name of this war game, but the day I called you, baby, I’ve never been so scared.”

You can practically see right through him, his face is so somber and serious.

“Those rogue bandits were on me, they were going down and I was going with them. And these guys don’t know what to do because if they shoot and take ‘em out, I’m gone too.” He swallows hard, running his hands down his face, then back through his hair that’s growing out slightly. “And Rooster- how he did it I don’t know- he got me out, made sure you didn’t have to give me a closed casket funeral.”

You blink back tears, not letting them fall. You knew the risk going into this, but hearing him say how things could have been different, it makes your lungs constrict.

Suddenly, you’re being tugged towards him, his hands cradling your neck. He looks down at you. “I’ve got so much to lose, I can’t keep leaving home like this.”

You nod, hands clasping behind his head. “This has to be a decision you’re sure on, Jake.”

You feel his breath on your face. “I could have my orders changed, I could make sure that when my contract ends, it ends for good without any risk of extension. I could wake up beside you every mornin’ and fall asleep with you every night. Every damn birthday and Christmas and anniversary, I’d be here for all of it.”

Your fingers comb through his hair. “Don’t go talking about heaven to me if you can’t promise it’s exactly what you want.”

“It’s what I want, I promise.” He’s so quick to say it, it makes your heart beat fuller.

You lean to kiss him, and he feels the way you smile against his lips. He doesn’t need any further words from you, his hands are pulling you onto his lap by your hips.

Did it always feel this good? Having his mouth on your skin, having his hands slide up and down your back? The gold wedding band on his finger is cool against your warm skin.

He picked a good week to come home, there’s a fire burning inside you. As he deepens his kiss and moves his lips across your jaw, a shaky breath comes from you.

“Jake, hey- baby, hang on.” You mumble, hands slipping across his shoulders. Pulling away, he looks almost hurt at the loss of contact. Despite your need for some kind of friction between your legs, you want to make him aware that there might need to be another way to go about this.

“What? What’s wrong?” He questions, moving to press your chest up against his.

“Let’s not throw caution to the wind, I’m ovulating.” You say, thinking it’ll make him nod and pull back, that he’ll suggest you take it to the bedroom instead, where there’s forms of protection.

It’s a silly thought.

“Seresin baby number two, whoo! Okay, let’s do it.” He cheers, making you fall into a fit of laughter, head falling on his shoulder. “Jake.”

He shakes his head. “I think Lainey is due for a brother or sister, we need to get started on that whole four more kids thing.”

“Four more! You’re insane, I think that high altitude thing finally got to you. Let’s just start with one more.” You say, moving to nudge your nose along his neck.

“I can do one more.” He says in excitement, shifting his shoulders back and lightly cocking his head left to right. “Okay, I’m ready, my head’s in the game, we can do it.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

#top gun fandom #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin imagine #jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #one shot #top gun one shot #jake hangman seresin #hangman x you

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astroboots · 1 year

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EVERY YOU EVERY ME #10

COLLABORATED WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel tries to rob a superhero and you try to stop him.

Word count: 5,750

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss’ Masterlist

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It’s another mundane morning in your office. You’re hiding away in your cubicle with your breakfast croissant and coffee, scrolling the news on your phone.

Ever since the cosmic murder attempts have started, reading news hasn't been the same for you. It’s no longer a case of innocently keeping up to date with current events. Because now you can’t read the sensationalist headlines without a small pang of guilt that you may have been the unwilling root cause for so many of them.

‘Apocalyptic blizzard in August.’

‘Stampede escape from Brooklyn zoo.’

‘Freak electric storm causes wide city blackout’.

It’s all just too macabre for you this early, it’s not even 10am. Your eyes flicker down, only skimming to make sure that there has been no casualties involved with each incident before scrolling away again. Then you opt for the technology section instead. Hoping it is a little bit less catastrophic and kinder on your nerves.

‘Tony Stark’s Arc Reactor Returns Home to Stark Tower.’

Your fingers pause at the headline. Stark always makes for a good read and good gossip, you think to yourself as you take another sip from your morning coffee and start to read:

‘Tony Stark, the notorious billionaire philanthropist and avid Star Wars memorabilia collector, has announced his decision to move his iconic arc reactor back to his home in New York City. The self-sustaining fusion power source kept Stark alive during the infamous hostage incident where he was captured and detained in Afghanistan by the Ten Rings terrorist organization’.

‘Self-sustaining fusion power source…’ you repeat the phrase in your head, parsing over the words. Why does that sound so familiar to you?

You read it again, and this time instead of your own voice, the memory of Miguel’s sleep husked voice fills your ears:

“Your world is not technically advanced enough for me to build an upgraded self-sustaining fusion power source that would be needed.”

Adrenaline buzzes bright in your brain, and you stand up from your desk so fast you nearly knock over your chair.

Finally! It’s the Eureka moment you have been waiting for all this time.

You peer over the cubicle wall, scanning the room for Miguel. It doesn’t take you long at all to spot him; his oversized frame is hard to miss. Besides, even if you couldn’t see him, you’d be able to sense the anger vibrating off of him a mile away.

In the corner at the far end of the open-plan office, Miguel is abusing the poor printer again. He’s cramming a fistful of papers into the feeding slot like it’s a duck he’s trying to force feed to make foie gras, and judging from the vein straining on his forehead, the man is about two seconds from lifting the 50 pound machine and launching it out through one of the building’s windows.

You shake your head at the scene. You don't understand how someone so smart, so intelligent, so apt with technology—he built an A.I. so advanced it would make the most high tech of Stark Industry's prototypes look like a kindergartener's chicken scrawl—can be so inept when it comes to dealing with a basic printer.

“Miguel,” you whisper loudly, and despite the fact that he’s on the other side of a bustling office, he immediately turns to look at you.

You beckon him over, practically bouncing with excitement as you wait for him to cross the room, and as soon as he’s within reach, you stand on the tip of your toes and cup a hand around his ear so you can covertly whisper the news of your discovery.

“Stark has an arc reactor.”

You’re beaming with pride that you’ve found a solution to your dilemma, and look up at Miguel expectantly for him to celebrate with you and maybe even praise you.

Instead, he looks down at you without reaction. “What’s Stark?”

"Wait, are you serious?"

You almost think he’s doing one of his sarcastic comedic bits with you, but the angle of his right eyebrow, raised in cluelessness tells you otherwise.

"How do you know so much about Dr. Strange, but not know who Tony Stark is? He’s like the main Avenger."

Miguel merely shrugs at you. "Avengers aren't really a thing where I'm from."

You shove your phone into his hand and watch as his eyes flicker over the screen, reading through the article in a matter of a few seconds. When he’s done, he places the phone back on your desk, then grabs your left hand, leaning down as he lifts it up towards him. For a second you think he’s about to kiss your hand.

"Lyla," Miguel announces, and the watch buzzes warmly against your wrist as Lyla's hologram reforms in the small space above.

"Give me the layout of the Stark Tower, identify vulnerabilities in the security system and outline the most optimal entrance points for a break-in."

Did he just say break-in?

"Wait, wait,” you interrupt quickly, trying to defuse the situation, before he gets too far ahead of himself. “Miguel, we are NOT breaking into the Stark Tower."

"How else would we do it?"

“We could just talk to him. Lyla can hack into his schedule and book us a meeting with him, right?”

“And then what?”

“We’d ask him to help us?” you suggest, not understanding why he skipped straight over the most obvious answer and went right to breaking and entering. Though from the way Miguel is staring at you in blank confusion you may as well have spontaneously grown horns on your head.

“...Nicely,” you add, in case that wasn’t already clear.

“Because that would require us to talk to him. He would just say no, Cielito. I’d prefer to break in. Cleaner that way. More efficient. Easier.”

You can’t believe this man just admitted to being so socially awkward he thinks committing a felony is easier than having to hold a conversation with a stranger.

"Asking is pointless. No scientist is just going to hand over something like an arc reactor to a couple of strangers because they asked nicely. Besides, even if we arrange a meeting with him by hacking into his calendar, he’ll know something is up the moment he sees us. You’ll just wind up getting thrown out by security.”

Ok maybe he has a point there.

"What if we tricked him? Made him think we have something he wants?”

"Like what?"

"Stark collects rare Star Wars collectibles. We can lie and say we're collectors with a rare piece to sell like the Kenner Star Wars Boba Fett prototype?"

His right brow raises at a skeptical angle and he’s staring at you like you’re speaking a foreign language.

"Cielo, that's insane."

You bristle at that.

"How is your idea any better?" you demand.

"A break-in wouldn't require much effort or rely on the goodwill or stupidity of someone else. It’s much easier–"

“You’re talking about breaking into the personal home of an Avenger!” you interrupt because you’re not listening to any more of his madness, “He’s arguably the smartest member of a team made up of the mightiest heroes on Earth, and you want to try to steal from him, Miguel!? That is not easier!”

The office has gone alarmingly quiet around you. You look around to see that your heated discussion is gaining unwarranted attention from the rest of the office. All of a sudden, the endless click and clack of the keyboards stop.

You give your curious coworkers a strained smile, then lean up close to Miguel again, muttering under your breath. “We’ll discuss this when we get home.”

Miguel doesn’t say anything else, but you can feel his eyes pinned to your back as you walk to your chair and sit back down at your desk to finish your croissant in two mouthfuls, chugging down the remainder of your coffee.

An hour before noon, Miguel comes to your cubicle. He sets down a lunchbox and from the logo on the plastic grocery bag you can tell that it’s from your favorite Bodega round the corner.

“I have a quick errand to run for work at lunch. I’ll be back within the hour,” Miguel tells you, “Lyla will guard you, and if something happens she’ll alert me immediately. Don’t go anywhere.”

You look up from your screen to see him stand over your desk with that passive expression etched onto his stoic face, as if there is nothing out of the ordinary.

In the last month, Miguel hasn’t let you out of his sight for longer than a handful of minutes (primarily to get more snacks when they run out).

Miguel thinks he’s being so slick. It’s insulting to your intelligence that he thinks you don’t know what he is up to: he’s obviously going to spend his lunch hour trying to rob Tony Stark.

But that’s fine, you’re not going to openly question Miguel on his suspicious behavior. If he’s not here that means you are free to get up to whatever you want.

… Including approaching a certain multibillionaire that has the one item in his possession that could save both your life and the universe as you know it from collapsing.

It’s why you wave at him as he makes his way to the exit and pay close attention to him leaving through the front glass door and take the elevator down to the ground floor. Then for good measure you wait another five minutes to make sure that he will fully be out of hearing range with his super-senses before you raise your wrist to your face.

“Lyla,” you whisper.

“Hello, boss girl! Wasssuuuup,” she greets, elongating the word sassily for comedic effect, and you can’t help but smile.

Lyla, as entertaining as she is, is an enigma to you. You don’t understand how Miguel with his short patience-span and entirely lacking sense of humor would have programmed this A.I. to have this kind of personality. Not to mention a deep archive of a millenial’s pop-culture media reference from this dimension.

“What can I do you for?” Lyla asks, shooting you gun-fingers with a cheeky flare.

You part your mouth, but hesitate to make the request.

This is illegal isn’t it? Hacking into someone’s calendar to arrange a meeting with them under false pretenses. God, what if you get taken away in handcuffs within the first 30 seconds of entering the building, featured on Deuxmoi as a crazy stalker fan.

So far the only “illegal” thing you’ve used Lyla for is to generate Netflix passwords and hack into HBO Max to watch Succession. This is a significant next level step.

Maybe you should run downstairs and catch Miguel before he leaves the building? You could plead your case again. Try to reason with him that breaking and entering isn’t the way to go about it and the two of you should approach Tony Stark by having a mature and adult conversation.

Yeah. Right. You snort even as you think it. Miguel is never going to be persuaded on this point and you are quickly running out of time. There’s only one thing to do:

“Lyla, can you please arrange a lunchtime meeting for me with Tony Stark today.”

The lobby of Stark Tower is much like any other commercial buildings you’d find in the Financial District. Heck, it's not that much different from the one you navigate every morning at the Chrysler building. If anything, the only surprise is how ordinary the Stark Tower is.

When you enter the main lobby, you have to sign in with a stern but clearly bored security guard, then use the guest security pass you’re given in order to access the elevators.

Once you reach the 90th floor, there is a distinct lack of staff up there. Only a single, sweet-looking old man, with a well trimmed mustache above his upper lip. He's swathed in a soft-knitted cardigan and wearing gigantic vintage-styled sunglasses indoors that make him appear bug-eyed as he peers up at you and walks with you to another set of elevators using a retinal scan for security and sends you on your way.

The door closes around you in the metal box, with a swift jump to the 91st floor.

When the door finally slides open it feels like you’ve entered another world. Minimalistic opulence is the keyword for it. There are windows along the entire space. A 360 view of the New York landscape and you almost feel like you are at an Aquarium with the amount of glass surrounding you. There’s pieces of half-built tech and prototypes everywhere. Imagine having so much money that you can allocate a whole floor of a manhattan skyscraper to essentially be your garage workshop.

“So you’re my 1pm that magically appeared today,” a happy-go-lucky voice sings out.

You jump in your skin, breaking your concentration from the view, as you turn around to see the infamous man of the hour standing behind you.

“Gotta say, when I was envisioning the sort of person who might be selling me a Kenner Star Boba Fett figure, I did not imagine a gorgeous knock-out,” he says, with an outstretched hand as he greets you.

Tony Stark is shorter in real life. Less formal than in the gettymarked photos you’ve seen of him at red carpet events and fancy galas, dressed up in the most tailored fit suits that money can possibly buy. He’s also a lot more charming than in photos. All big brown eyes, and pouty lips. He might be half the size of Miguel, but Tony Stark has more than enough charm and confidence to make up for it

“Let’s go somewhere we can talk.”

He is quick witted banter and dazzling diamond smiles as he shows you the residential suite of the Stark Tower. His hand rests on the side of your waist as he guides you through the long hall, making strong eye contact all the while down the hall. 91 floors up and you cannot hear a hint of the chaotic traffic noise downstairs, it’s oddly quiet save for the faint scratching noises you hear from the ceiling. (Guess even Stark towers cannot escape the city’s rodent issues).

“Anyone ever told you, your eyes really sparkle?” Stark says, as his hand slips from your shoulder to rest at the small of your back. “You’ve got this whole Disney princess thing going on. I dig it.”

Wait, is he flirting with you?

Tony Stark, Chief Executive Officer of Stark Industries. One of the top 20 richest men in America (according to Forbes). A man who can afford to buy the whole of planet Mars is flirting with you.

God, you are already seeing dollar signs. Lobster. Caviar. All the rare exotic and poisonous puffer fish sushi you've only dreamed of eating. You've always wanted to be a gold digger, you've just never been close enough to a gold mine.

Maybe this will be easier than you thought. If he likes you, maybe you can just flirt your way into getting the arc reactor. Ask him to lend it to you.

The two of you make your way past the glass doors and into another imposing large room, bare and minimalistic. Oddly, it feels dimly lit, given the size of the windows in the room.

It’s the size of the front lobby of your office building, and you realize halfway through that this room serves no other purpose except to store more of his junk. There are half built machines piled up in every corner. Boxes and boxes of tools haphazardly strewn across the room. It’s an outrageous waste of prime New York real estate that speaks to the man’s wealth.

In the middle of the room, there’s a silver medal that glows an eerie blue in the middle, encased in a display case. With the way it sparkles, you could almost mistake it for a precious aquamarine gemstone the size of your fist.

“Wow, is that the arc reactor?” you ask.

Stark doesn’t answer. Suddenly his chattiness is nowhere to be found, and as you turn to look at him you notice he’s not paying any attention to you. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling behind you.

You whip your head around and follow his gaze to see the familiar blue super-suit trailing behind you. The unmissable angry red spider embellished across his wide chest, as he hangs upside down like a cat burglar.

Has he been trailing behind you since you got here? Was that what the noises were?

Air whizzes through the space and the force of it reverberates across your cheek. A piece of red armor flies through the air and attaches itself to Stark’s arm.

You’ve seen enough highlight reels of Iron Man on the news channel to know what it means.

“Wait wait wait,” you shout out as you step in front of Stark in mid-transformation.

You fling your hands up high in a gesture of a white flag to de-escalate the situation. “This isn’t what it looks like!”

Stark’s eyebrow quirks up, tipping his head sardonically. "So your costumed sidekick hasn't been stalking us this entire time? Breaking and entering, not just into my tower–which is private property, by the way–but also bypassing security to access my private office? Yeah, I'm sure your intentions are entirely on the level."

Despite the sarcastic hostility in his tone Stark hasn’t summoned the rest of the armor. The rest of his iron suit is suspended in the air on standby two feet away. He’s only got the arm piece strapped to his arm as insurance and is clearly willing to give you at least a few seconds of a benefit of a doubt. Long enough to hopefully explain yourself and not start a Superhero brawl.

“He’s not dangerous,” you say, and the moment you say it, you want to kick yourself because of how suspicious that makes you sound.

You turn your head around to Miguel who’s done an aerial somersault with the grace of a ballerina despite his build and soundlessly landed back onto his feet on the ground.

“I can’t believe you went behind my back! We agreed to put a pin in this and wait to deal with Stark until we agreed on a plan. You said you weren’t going to break in!”

His masked eyes narrow into accusing slits, “Yeah? And what are you doing here then?”

“Stopping you before you do something stupid!” you hiss.

Before Miguel has a chance to retort, there is a loud clap from behind you that redirects both your attentions to Stark.

“Jarvis, how did our lovely Disney princess make it onto my calendar and how did Hulk Spiderman over here manage to slip past every layer of your security net?”

The voice of a posh British man sounds out across the room but there’s no person attached to it.

“I can find no record of these events in my logs. Performing internal diagnostics now, Sir.”

“Huh, interesting…” Tony hums to himself in consideration before he turns his attention back to you both.

“I have to say I'm quite impressed, but I’m hoping for an explanation. Is this a Bonny and Clyde situation? You two lovebirds here to rob me?”

“No!” you both shout in unison.

“Not lovebirds, got it.”

“That’s not–” Miguel starts, whipping down his head in your direction.

At the sight of your face, he seems too flustered to continue his train of thought and he quickly looks away from you. “None of your business,” he snaps at Stark.

You don’t know why, but that dismissive glance from him hurts. Like the very idea that you two would be in a romantic relationship is off-putting to him. It’s kind of insulting. You turn from him, trying to ignore the sharp stabbing ache somewhere in your chest that makes it hard to breathe.

From across, Stark observes the two of you, whatever he sees makes him tip his head in curiosity. The intense pinch between his brow relaxes and the subtle shift in his expression is like witnessing the moment a shark senses blood in the water, then he grins and turns his attention towards you.

Stark grins, turning his attention towards you. "So you're single then?"

You peer up at Miguel and hesitate because that’s a damned good question. You of this dimension is certainly single, but there’s another version of you (a dead one) that’s married to the man next to you.

But that’s not you.

You turn to Stark, "Yes," you answer.

Miguel whips his head to you, eyes wide. "No!" he bellows.

"The lady says she is, big blue."

"And I say she's not!" Miguel growls, the last word ends on such loud volume it could break the sound barrier.

Miguel isn’t the best at reading cues. You’ve known Tony Stark for all of five minutes, and even you can tell that the man enjoys riling up people, Miguel is feeding right into that.

Stark acts like Miguel is speaking at a decibel that he is unable to register. He saunters up to you, with the most carefree gait you’ve seen anyone carry around Miguel.

"So are you free tonight?" Stark asks.

You spot Miguel’s bristling expression and hesitate for a second time.

It’s mean, you shouldn’t rile Miguel up like this. His entire back is curved up like a hissing cat. The man looks like he’s about to blow a casket, acting like a jealous spouse. And somehow under Tony Stark’s attention you feel like you are the adulterous wife.

Except once again, you’re not. Because you are not Miguel’s wife.

… Why exactly are you pining after a man still grieving his dead ex-wife who happens to look like you?

You're currently homeless. Your take-home salary as an insurance adjuster can’t afford you a new apartment in New York, not with the rising inflation and the current state of this economy. This is your highway express ticket to the charmed life of being a billionaire ex-wife.

Bye bye to 9 to 5’s and having to manually enter data into thousands of excel sheets everyday. Jeff Bezos' former wife, Mackenzie Bezos was awarded 25% of their Amazon shares valued at over 38 billion dollars. Stark is twice as rich as that.

You slide closer to Stark. "Maybe? Where are you gonna take me? Somewhere fancy?"

"Yeah, no! Absolutely not!" Miguel interjects.

He steps forward to drag you behind him, until his mountainous body blocks you from the man.

“We need the arc reactor.” Miguel announces brusquely, with no fanfare and even less by way of explanation. “If you won’t give it to us, I’ll just have to take it.”

“What do you need it for?” Stark asks curiously.

“That’s none of your business,” is the blunt reply.

Stark tilts up his head, gaze pinned to Miguel’s mask. “You know, I’m not really minded to give away proprietary technology to a man wearing a wrestling mask in broad daylight.”

There’s a stalemate between the two men as they stare each other down (or up in Stark’s case). The showdown is silent, you can practically feel the tumbleweeds rolling by, waiting to see who’s going to draw first.

“He can take his mask off,” you interject.

At your offer, Miguel’s eyes narrow, nose turning up in the air in a put off gesture, refusing to do as he’s told.

“Mig,” you warn, and despite the clear scowl etched onto the features of his mask, this time, he complies.

The blue and red fabric recedes into nothingness, until the fierce cut of his bare jawline is revealed. Eyes glowing an angry crimson.

The scowl on Miguel's face is so ferocious, you can see his fangs in clear view. But instead of scary. Instead of intimidating. He looks... almost cute. All you see in front of you is a teething puppy with no real bite. He's harmless.

Stark makes a low whistling sound at the dramatic reveal of Miguel’s face. “Didn’t expect the fifth member of One Direction under there.”

Miguel glares at the man, even though you know fully well that he doesn’t understand the pop-culture reference that’s being made.

“So let’s take this from the top,” Stark says, and he starts to pace the length of the room until he reaches the arc reactor and gives the display case a light smack like he’s tapping the rear of a mare.

“You need my arc reactor, but you won’t tell me why, and you’re not offering me anything in return, except for El Tigre over here not trying to kill me, is that about right?”

“What’s your price?” Miguel asks, voice in that low growling tone that always precedes a threat.

“I’m a multi-billionaire, cash doesn’t really interest me, and I can’t exactly have this fall into the wrong hands.”

“We’re not bad people, and we’re not going to use it for anything nefarious. I know this sounds absolutely nuts, but we need your arc reactor to save the world,” you say.

Stark chuckles at you, the way an adult would at a naive child. “That’s not really much to go on hon, you’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“Wong, the Sorcerer Supreme, he can vouch for us.”

Stark considers you for a moment then tilts his head to take an appraising look of Miguel, eyes dragging from the sole of his suit-clad heels and up to his neck where the suit ends.

“The unstable molecule fabric you have for the suit is interesting. I’ve been meaning to give my suit an upgrade, and having it disappear into thin air would be convenient. Wouldn’t have to constantly lug around 2,000 pounds of metal everywhere I go with me. Hand me a sample of the tech along with full intellectual property rights and we’ll talk.”

“No.” Miguel says.

He straightens up his posture and crosses his arms over his chest with a haughty expression on his face. “My suit is technologically superior to all the technology you’ve got in this building combined. It’s a bum deal. Your arc reactor has palladium in it and would be poisonous for long term use. It’s practically defunct and I only need it for a one time use.”

God, this man really doesn’t know how to endear himself to anyone does he.

“He doesn’t mean that,” you step in.

“Well if it’s practically defunct, I wouldn’t want to pawn this junk off on you,” Stark responds, throwing up his hands in feigned defeat. “Besides, it has sentimental value to me. Not sure I’m willing to just give this away to some random guy who broke into my house.”

Miguel’s lip twitches in irritation until you see another flash of those fangs like they’re itching to sink into Stark’s throat.

That only seems to entertain Stark further. “Look, you clearly need this reactor for something big, and for some reason you’re not able to build it yourself even with your advanced tech on display here. You’re obviously in a hurry, and in a desperate situation. Desperate enough to break in, and you know the saying: beggar’s can’t be choosers. I wouldn’t be much of a businessman if I didn’t take advantage of that.”

Miguel narrows his eyes, glancing around at the electronic equipment stored in the corner of the room. “I need you to throw in the laser scalpel along with the 3d printer and genetic sequencer,” he says, cocking his head in its direction.

“Wow, toots, your boyfriend has real expensive taste,” Stark teases.

Your cheek warms at the term boyfriend, but you don’t correct him.

Neither does Miguel. Instead Miguel looks him squarely in the eyes and juts up his chin. “I want the Sonic disruptor too.”

“Fine,” Stark announces, holding up his hand in the gesture of a time-out to stop Miguel from listing out more expensive items. “You drive a hard bargain, Blue, but what the hell. It’s a deal. I’ll even give you a newer palladium-free model of the reactor so I can keep old sparky here for myself.”

The sun is setting against the skyline of the city, washing it in strokes of warm amber-orange hues. Miguel is still grumbling next to you as the two of you stroll along the Brooklyn bridge.

“Supergenius, Ha! Si los zombies comen cerebros, él sería invisible para ellos. What do you see in that guy anyway?! He’s not even good looking. He’s like what? 5 feet tall? He was wearing built in heels, you know! Es más corto que las mangas de un chaleco–”

"Can you pipe down?” you say, cutting off his tirade, “Just let it go, please. It's been hours! I didn’t see anything in him. I have no desire to be the next notch on Tony Stark's bedpost.”

That finally seems to end his rant, or at the very least slow it down. Miguel shuts his mouth, staring out over the river. “Then why did you tell him you were free?”

“Because I wanted the arc reactor! I figured letting the guy flirt with me might help. Catching flies with honey and all that.”

He folds his arms over his chest, with a skeptical furrow in his brows. “You wanted him to take you somewhere fancy; that’s what you said,” he points out.

Damn him and his super-genius memory.

“Well, maybe I also wanted to eat at a Michelin star restaurant one time in my life. Manila Social Club is supposed to have a golden donut made with champagne jelly and actual gold on their dessert menu.

“That doesn’t even sound tasty,” Miguel mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets. His mouth settles into an unhappy frown.

“It would have been if I didn’t have to pay for it!”

“I could’ve gotten it for you,” he says, and it’s not until you take a better look at his face that you realize it’s not so much as a frown he’s sporting. It’s a pout.

Oh, is he… ? He is, isn’t he!

“You have nothing to be jealous of, you know. I’m not interested in Tony Stark,” you reassure him.

In front of you, the rigidness in his shoulder seems to melt at your words.

That surprises you. You’d have expected him to deny the accusation that he’s jealous. Adamantly object that he wasn’t, and why would he be, you’re nobody to him. Just a random stranger that happens to look like his wife that he cannot leave well enough alone.

He doesn’t do that though. Instead, his only response is a quiet, “Okay.”

His docileness takes you by surprise.

Is he admitting that he was jealous?

You'd be lying to yourself if you said that you didn't take even a morsel of enjoyment in the comical way that Miguel is getting himself riled up over you. To have him flustered and openly jealous of Tony Stark flirting with you.

As if Miguel had anything to worry about.

As if Tony Stark, a man who has ‘philandering philanthropist’ as a description for himself on his twitter bio, isn't known to be so indiscriminately flirtatious he’d eagerly court a voluptuously shaped tree.

As if that man of 5 foot 6 (with platform shoes) would ever hope to occupy every one of your thoughts the way Miguel does.

Immature and childish and inane as your behavior back at Stark Tower was—and you feel mildly ashamed of it now—you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it in the moment. Not because Tony Stark, multi-billionaire, GQ's Most Eligible Bachelor five years running, was flirting with you.

No. Because for a moment you got to experience what it was like to have your rude protective Spiderman treat you as his girlfriend. Someone he was possessive of. Someone he treasures. Someone that is his. Instead of your current reality, where you know he belongs to someone else entirely.

“If anyone has anything to be jealous of, don’t you think it should be me?” you say, the words slipping out of your mouth before you can reign them back in.

Miguel tilts his head, regarding you like a cute, confused pup, so you continue.

"Because I could never compete with her, right?"

"Her?" he asks, seeming genuinely puzzled.

"Your version of me," you say, "your Nena." You try to smile, try to keep it light-hearted, like the funny joke you had meant it to be, but it hurts even just to hear yourself say it. Because you know it's not a joke.

It's true. You’re in love with a man whose affections aren't yours to win.

Miguel stops in his tracks, and that makes you stop as well.

"It's not a competition," he says seriously. "You're two different people. You can't compare like that.”

You feel like you’re being scolded and probably rightly so. You’re being childish and unreasonably trying to compare yourself to his dead wife. But that doesn’t mean that it makes it hurt any less to hear you don’t compare at all. Your heart fissures and cracks, and the first sting of tears starts to well up behind your eyes.

"You're important to me too," he continues.

The words stop your heart, your eyes dart up to his face. The look on his face is gentle and soft, and it soothes the pain in your chest away, a gentle warmth rising to take its place.

“Oh,” you say. You can’t help but smile up at him, squinting against the bright sun behind his back.

“You’re important to me too,” you tell him.

His lips quirk up into a small but genuine smile at your response. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You nod, and then you have to turn away, feeling bashful under his attentive gaze. Embarrassed heat prickles your cheeks, and you need a second to catch your breath and let the evening breeze cool you down.

There are cyclists and pedestrians going past you as the two of you continue to walk in silence. You sneak a look at him to see that, like you, he’s turned away. He’s gazing out over the bridge as he walks and against the amber sun, you see a faint flush riding high on his cheeks.

Your fingers lightly brush against the side of his hand, and he turns back to you and smiles, sliding his pinkie to hook around yours.

You walk all the way home this way, heart feeling full, and you think to yourself that maybe, this time, things really are going to be okay after all.

~ Next issue

Author's note: So for fellow marvelheads checking, wouldn't Tony be dead after Endgame when Wong was made Supreme Sorcerer? This is another version of earth -- Thanos and the snap never happened. My baby Tony isn't dead how dare you!

The Spanish in this chapter has been left untranslated on purpose, so that it’s left ambiguous whether reader speak/understand Spanish. The idea is that if you as a reader understand it, then so does the reader, and vice versa 🥰

Dedication & Credits: To @guruan for her incredibly kind help and donating her time to check the Spanish used in this chapter.

And to the kind @forwantofwill and her generosity for doing this beautiful fanart of Miguel Folding Origami that has stolen my heart!!

And finally to @thirstworldproblemss I love you and hope you're eating all the yummy sukiyaki that you deserve. Thank you for coming with me on this wild ride.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #imguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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chososdiscordkitten · 7 months

Text

Obsessive!Choso♡ pt 11

pt 10 here

Content: direct cont of last chap, reader wears heels, implied reader has boobies O-O, soooo much hand holding it should be considered lewd, 2 pics to help see what I picture (underlined text), date hehe, reader wouldn't mind if Choso kidnapped them 0-0, they play battle ship, jokingly implied Choso is an escort(?), reader is kinda mean, reassurance, idk just my usual bs??? just reader nd Choso being cute man what else can I say. Word Count: 11.9k (wtf, im sorry)

(a.n) this was so long, I know, pls excuse any mistakes- I underestimated how hard it was to edit something longer than 5k words. ALSO???? take this as a celebration of me hitting 1k followers!! yayyy

Taglist: @eristi @sunaumi @ex-ria @just-pure-trash @kha-0s @iluvreinah @iamboredowo @integers @waytootiredforthisss @1arminsimp @hannas16 @chosowhore @tojicvmslut @ofalcaodacolinablue @thesharkcollector @mochipip @hotvillianapologist @ziklope @saeline @morinuu @b3llair3 @24hrnanami

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After you left his apartment, Choso’s mind blared with the possibility of you being kidnapped- only to find solace in the small red dot blinking on his phone. Cautious eyes watching as he expected it to move- but no. It stayed still at a restaurant right outside of campus. Choso wanted to desperately leave behind those incessant urges to follow you- to make sure you were safe.

Knowing that his day of reckoning would come. Choso knew that if he kept following you- the day would come when you’d see him. And he wanted to trust you now that things were starting to advance.

There was nothing he wanted more than to trust you, to trust that you could take care of yourself-

But everytime he’d try to ignore the blaring ‘warning’ signs in his mind. He’d remember every time he watched you walk home without caution, every horror story he read of people getting kidnapped and trafficked- and on the occasions where Choso couldn't shake off the invading thoughts, your voice would haunt his mind.

Overwhelming his brain as he tried to focus on what you were saying- your whispering voice making his brain pound in his skull as he watched that blinking dot.

Choso had to call you- if he couldn't run out of his apartment and find you- the least he could do was call you. Feeling like one of your clingy ‘friends’ as the phone rang, his pointer finger picking at the side of his thumb as he closed his eyes. All but praying for you to answer, opening his eyes as he heard the receiver being picked up,

“I was just thinking about you-” he spoke, hearing your angelic laugh ring through his ears. ‘I left like 20 minutes ago.’ you teased, “I know-” he mumbled “What're you doing?” he continued, not in the mood to dance around what he wanted to hear, ‘uh- I'm at..lunch with a friend.’ you hesitated. –

‘What're you doing, Choso?’ you asked, confused as to where this was going. Choso let out a half laugh from his chest. “M’sitting in the dark thinking about you.” he professed, pressing his hand to his forehead and hearing you laugh at the serious tone he took. ‘Sounds healthy.’ you joked back with a playful tone, closing his eyes and thinking. Your tone was kind- speaking sweetly as you normally did. But. You hesitated.

The same way you hesitate whenever you refer to him as your friend.

“M’sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice.” he sniffled, “Tell your friend I say hi.” hearing your smile when you replied a quick ‘Okay.’ at his request.

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The conversation of the date was a rough one. Sitting in his apartment as you played chess. The timing was horrible- sure. The econd week of February left an unavoidable holiday sitting in front of you. “We can wait...till after if you want.” he offered a solution as he moved a pawn.

“It's not so much the day for me.” you admitted, scanning the wooden chest pieces on your side of the checkerboard. “If you want- we can wait till after.” rephrasing his words as you watched his eyebrows furrow, “S’the same for me.” mentally chanting ‘pleasepleasepleaseplease’ as you pondered.

And with those words- the date was set for Valentines day. Which made Choso believe there really was a god from how well this turned out. And you're thinking of moving out from that house full of idiots- and into the small apartment complex as his neighbor.

For the first time in Choso’s life he felt like life dealt him a good hand.

When it came to actually thinking about what to do- he didn't want to ask you. Knowing you were indecisive on what you were eating for lunch that day- so he didn't want to plague you with planning a date he owed you. Checking his bank account and barely seeing enough for a stack of pancakes in the town diner.

Choso contemplated it. He thought about it over and over again, weighing the pros and cons in his mind before going into his closet and reaching into a pair of boots that were 3 sizes too small for him. Finding the thinning wad of cash he was looking for. The so-called ‘rainy day fund’ thinned every time he ran out of money for the month.

But this was worth it, you, were worth it. So he pulled the rubber band from the roll of cash, slowly counting the bills in his hands to be sure he didn't miss count.

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The next time you saw Choso you asked him what his plan was- “Just be ready by 7.” he smiled to himself, already picturing you on that day.

Furrowing your eyebrows before speaking, “Well-” you scoffed “what are we doing?”

“It's a surprise.” he grinned, looking down at the stupid game you called ‘Candy Land’

You sighed dramatically, “Choso, I hate surprises.” as you stared at the little pieces of plastic on the colorful board. “Atleast tell me what to wear.” you insisted, seeing his lips flash a pearly smile to you.

“Wear whatever you want- I’m sure you’ll look great.” he scoffed, holding the little piece of plastic between his fingers, making it hop as he counted the squares.

“Well if you're taking me to a nice restaurant and I'm wearing a t-shirt nd jeans- not gonna be very fun. Or if you're taking me to a horse race-” Choso laughed at your assumptions, “And I open the door in a dress and heels? Then what?” you threw the possibilities at him as he smiled at your nervousness.

“It's a first date- I wanna make a good impression.” You mused, earning a half laugh from his chest. “C’mon-” you batted your eyelashes at him, trying to convince him to tell you what he was planning.

Nodding his head at your coercion that was working better than you thought, “You're terrible.” he whispered, making your pouting grin turn into a toothy smile. “Wear something nice-” he avoided your eyes, moving the character on the squares again as you listened carefully, “Bring a coat- weather app says it's gonna be cold.” He instructed.

“Do I eat beforehand?” you grinned, seeing his jaw clench at your question, “Hmm- No.” you smiled at how a few pleads convinced him to tell you.

“How nice should I dress then?” pressing the issue with a winning smile on your face as you moved your plastic character, pleased at how easily he was to convince. “Atleast tell me that.” Choso looked at you and pondered the question, before nodding his head ‘no’. Knowing he's already said too much.

You pouted playfully at his denial, “Just a hint- just oneee.” seeing his eyes look over your face, “I’ll even settle for one word.” he thought of a word to use, staring at you as he skimmed through words in his mind.

“Wear something- striking.” he squinted as he settled on the word.

With raised eyebrows you started, “Striking huh?” in a teasing tone the choice of word he used, “Must be some first date to wear something striking.” your borderline bullying caused Choso to regret his choice of telling you anything.

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On the 13th of february, just one day before your date- Choso facetimed his baby brother Yuuji, knowing out of all 9, he was probably the best one to call about this delicate topic.

“What about this?” he holding a black knit sweater to his chest while looking at the screen, Yuuji let out a snicker- ‘If you like it-’ his tone was snide- almost mockingly as Choso tossed the knit onto his bed, staring at the pile of clothing that he had gone through.

Showing him a band t-shirt from one of his drawers and hearing Yuuji let out a small laugh before he tossed the t-shirt on his already messy bed. “You're no help.”

‘M’not here to helppp-’ Yuuji droned on, “That's precisely why I called you, Yuuji.” Choso retorted in a stern tone, not enjoying the game his brother was trying to play, slipping on a black dress shirt and doing up the tiny buttons.

‘Didn't you wear that to your graduation?’ he heard from the phone with a half laugh forming in his brother's words. “Can you tell?” straightening his back and seeing the fabric flex against his chest and shoulders, ‘Looks a lil tight buddy.’ Yuuji held back a laugh, being able to see the buttons strain and form small openings down his chest.

With an exasperated sigh he looked back to the mess on his bed, “I don't know what to wear.”

‘The dark navy button down you wore to parent teacher conferences and black slacks.’ Yuuji spat quickly, ‘Hey when am I gonna meet this person?’ Smiling as he changed the topic, “When you stop being so nosy.” Choso muttered, looting through his closet and finding the button up Yuuji was talking about.

Unbuttoning the taut buttons and slipping off the small shirt. Tossing it onto the pile of discarded options before slipping on the better fitting dress shirt, doing up the small buttons and looking in the mirror, ‘I'm not nosy-’ Yuuji laughed, ‘Excuse me for trying to find out who’s involved in my big brothers life-’ enunciating the words. Attempting to make Choso feel bad for scolding him.

“If you ever come out here- I'll introduce them to you.” he looked at the top two buttons that were undone, trying to decide whether or not to do them.

‘I'm on the next flight out.’ Yuuji quipped, making Choso scoff.

“No Yuuji. Go to school.” Choso demanded, knowing he was skipping more than a handful of classes. ‘One day I’ll fly out there and you won't be able to say no to me till I’m standin’ at your door.’ Yuuji threatened, Choso offered only a sarcastic ‘haha’ in response.

‘How you got a date before I got a girlfriend is still insane to me.’ he pressed, “Why’s that Yuuji?” rolling up the sleeves of the dress shirt as he looked in the mirror.

Yuuji laughed- knowing just what to do to annoy his older brother, ‘Cause you're so… weird.’ Yuuji struggled to say the words through a bully-like smile, “For your information- brother of the year,” Choso snapped playfully, which surprised Yuuji since Choso was never the type to banter- not because he didn't want to. But his quips would always come out in stutters, never being able to come up with smart replies fast enough.

Choso smiled as he recalled your slurred words,“They like that I'm ‘strange’.” Yuuji chirped from the phone, ‘They tell you that?’ with a sarcastic tone.

Looking at Yuuji with a cocky smile, “They did.” earning for his baby brother to raise his eyebrows in feigned shock, ‘The world is so backwards.’ he scoffed before asking more questions about you.

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Choso wanted to make tonight special, he wanted to make this the last first date you ever went on.

So as he looked at himself in the mirror, putting on his many rings and muttering words of encouragement to himself, hands shaking as he rolled up the sleeves of his dark navy blue dress shirt. Trying not to nitpick any detail that he didn't like about the reflection staring back at him- whispering that even if he was ‘strange and off putting’ you still liked him.

Side eyeing the clear bowl shaped vase that held three white lilies, Choso felt nerves eating away at him as his eyes flashed down to his phone that lit up with a message from you.

‘lmk when ur outside :)’ your message read. If only you knew Choso’s stomach was in knots. A specific kind of anxiety he had never felt before, it almost felt like how your stomach churned while in line for a scary rollercoaster for the first time.

He quickly typed, ‘im omw now’ with trembling thumbs.

So as he put on the torn up carhartt jacket he relied on whenever it was cold, he straightened his back as he held the clear vase in his hand- Choso hesitated to turn the doorknob of his apartment. Thinking on if this was a good idea- a million doubts racing in his mind.

But he only needed one thought to pull him from his doubts. All he needed was to remember you to open the door.

The walk across the lively campus full of people carrying bouquets of red roses and overcompensating stuffed animals made him think that maybe the three lilies were not enough- Till the realization that he was actually taking you out on Valentine's day hit, which only made him even more nervous, the pondering thoughts of ‘am I making a fool of myself?’ making him overheat in the heavy jacket. Choso must've taken it off and put it back on 2 or 3 times before he reached your neighborhood.

Standing on your rundown porch, thinking about ringing the doorbell. Those doubts daring to creep back into his mind, but his hesitant finger pressed the button anyway. Holding the bowl in both hands as he heard muffled shouts through the heavy wood door. He watched the brass handle turn before the door cracked open- his eyes being granted the honor of seeing you.

‘Breathtaking’ was the word his mind formulated once he felt air fill his lungs again.

Choso swore that every single time he looked at you, it felt like the first time. But this time- this, took the cake. This would be the mental image he’d remember every time he thought of you. The nerves and unease he felt in his chest melted away when he saw the warmth of your smile.

His eyes blinked quickly- almost in disbelief as he looked at you, so love drunk it hurt his chest a little.

And you, bent to the side and fiddling with the tiny buckle of your heel. To Choso it felt like you came straight out of his teenage dreams as you looked at him.

Smiling as you uttered the word that was stuck in his throat, with a hurried smile you spoke, “Heyy-” before placing your foot back onto the ground as you stepped back with a quiet gasp, looking at the bowl in his hands. “Come in!” you urged sweetly, seeing his eyes scan your frame, darting to your living room that was full of your gawking roommates and their friends. ‘An anti-valentines day movie night’ you called it.

“Thought I told you to tell me you were outside-” you grinned, standing at the entryway of the house. ‘God, you are haunting.’ You looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reply. Unknowing your roommates were ignoring the movie on the living room tv. Furrowing your eyebrows as you looked at the round vase in his hands.

“T-these are for you.” He muttered, his heart racing at an abominable speed by seeing you grin kindly before your smile fell.

It turned into a grimace, “I have something for you too-” looking back up at the stairs you practically fell down when the doorbell rang. Turning back around to face him. Taking the bowl from his extended hands with a prolonged touch, “They're lovely. Thank you.” you smiled, “Stay right here- I'll be right back.” You hushed, turning around and dashing up the stairs.

Choso stood at the doorway, almost mournful knowing the sight of you that greeted him would only exist in his memory now. Fiddling with his rings as he felt the people's eyes burn through him. Unintelligible whispers from the prying gazes. Gulping as he heard your bedroom door slam shut, urging footsteps on the ground as you hurried down the stairs. Both hands held behind your back as you hid his present.

A silly smile on your lips as you looked at him, the thin heel of your shoes clacking on the tile as you stood before him, reaching your arm around as you a box with a small bow on top. Raising his eyebrows and looking at the box holding a pair of white glass plates inside. “Plates?” he smiled defeated at the present as you tried to suppress a small laugh.

Your shoulders moved in a silent laugh as you watched his eyes flash back up to you, “Yes. Plates.” seeing him exhale through his nose, amused at what a coincidence it was that you bought him them.

“Thank you.” He mumbled softly, already being able to picture using them.

Choso held the box in one hand, looking at you with adoring eyes, you cleared your throat, “Striking enough?” you sneered proudfully. He practically choked on air at your question.

He took a second to look at you, trying to find the correct thing to say, “You look beautiful.” he breathed softly, words that came straight from his heart. Mentally he was shouting any word he thought of when he looked at you. Words that are not to be said on a ‘first date’, confessions of yearning love and descriptive words of how he felt about you.

‘Captivating.’ Choso thought as he admired your features that were accentuated by the warm lighting, almost casting a glow on your skin.

You felt the warmth in your cheeks trail to the tip of your nose at the compliment. ‘Thank y-’ you mouthed silently, being interrupted by a loud over exaggerated cough coming from the living room.

Squinting your eyes as you turned around to face the source, “When did you say you'd be home?” one of your roommates spouted from the couch.

“I didn't.” You spoke with a raised tone laced with irritation, scoffing before walking into the living room. Focused on your coat that was draped on the edge of the couch.

Their eyes looked up at you as though you owed them something, “Where's he taking you?” desperate to keep you home.

You raised your eyebrows before you spoke, “No idea.”, reaching your hands into the pockets of your coat to be sure you had what you needed.

Picking it up from the couch before turning around and speed walking back to Choso, looking at him with an urgent look on your face. “Let's go.” you whispered as you reached for the doorknob, “It's not safe to go to an undisclosed location with a stranger-!” your roommate shouted as you stepped through the doorway. Sighing as you pulled the door behind you.

“Sorry about that.” you breathed, inhaling the cold air as you scanned the cloudy overcast with squinted eyes and creased eyebrows.

Choso inhaled sharply before he spoke, “Was that-”

“Yes, that was my den mother.” with a scoff, Choso parted his lips in a silent wince as you slipped your coat onto your exposed shoulders. Reaching a hand down and raising your ankle halfway to tweak with the strap of your heel again.

“Lead the way.” you smiled as Choso took a step forward onto the rickety stairs.

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“Can you tell me where you're taking me now?” You sounded almost defeated as you walked side by side on the pavement. Choso made sure that he was on the open side of the sidewalk, walking between you and the potential risk.

Quiet streets derived from people made the walk peaceful, the sunless sky causing everything to look pale blue- almost as though you stepped through a blue tinted filter.

The weather was fresh- cold enough for a coat but not freezing the way it was a few days ago. A small breeze would have made you regret your choice in what you wore- your calves and ankles exposed to the frigid air.

Looking over at him as he held the boxed plates, with a smug grin on his lips, “We have to go pick something up first.” you hummed at Choso’s denial as his rundown oxford-esque shoes stomped on the ground.

Seeing an opportunity to wear down that smugness, you looked at him with an unashamed smile. “You look beautiful too, Choso.” circling back to his compliment that was interrupted by your roommate. He looked over to you- not shocked but surprised at your choice of words, despite the gloomy weather- you looked warm in his eyes. As though the sun was shining and it was the middle of summer.

He sighed as he felt your shoulder brush against his, “I don't think I’ve ever been called that.” he admitted honestly with a flustered smile.

You laughed, “I can call you something else-” with an enthusiastic grin, looking up into the sky as you thought of the words to use, “How about- scenic. Or uh, captivating-” watching the blush on his cheeks trail onto his exposed ear.

Choso’s teeth stuttered as he heard you- trying to silence the sudden compliment, “My name is fine.” He insisted with a nervous laugh, trying his best to ignore your gaze.

You raised your eyebrows, “Are you sure? I can keep going-”

“Ju-” he breathed, “Just Choso is fine.” he implored, his heart racing at an unimaginable speed.

You were pleased with his stutter, “Okay. ‘Just Choso’, where are you taking me?” grazing the back of your palm against his as you walked, his eyes on the ground watching the lines on the pavement come and go.

Choso sighed, “I already told you- We. Are going. To pick. Something up.” He paused between the words as though that was an answer, flinching when you bumped your knuckles into his as you strolled beside him.

“Don't take that tone with me, mister.” you teased playfully, holding your knuckles against his as you saw him perk a smile.

“Sorry-” he grinned as he looked over at you sweetly, “We’re gonna go pick something up.” he corrected himself, smiling at the sugared words, not moving his hand from yours- if anything pressing it closer.

With a sigh you took the initiative and interlocked your fingers with his, your cool hand icing his warm palm, “If you're gonna kidnap me- let me know. Promise I won't fight back or anything.” you joked, making Choso shiver at your accusation.

With a grimace he hesitated the words he was about to say, “That is a terrible and equally horrifying thing to say,” he spoke your name in a reprimanding tone.

“I mean in the way that life sucks right now, and you're a pretty cool person. And you're nice, and tolerate me.” squinting your eyes at the sudden frost-like breeze puff against your bare shins.

Your circling hum on the side of his pointer finger made this conversation suddenly very difficult for him to focus on. “Just don't put me in a glass cage. That's all I ask.” You continued the unsettling topic as you squeezed his hand.

Choso laughed at the reference, “You see,” being able to conjure the words in his mind. “I had reason to worry about you getting kidnapped.” he murmured, mentally damning you for putting that thought into his head again.

“That's different though.” you hummed, tilting your head towards him. “Of course if it was a stranger I’d fight tooth and nail-” a playful grin on your lips, watching his eyebrows slowly pull upwards. “But, if it was you?” you continued, feeling his palm subtly start to clam against yours.

Choso looked over at you- waiting for you to finish what you were saying. The troubled expression on his face made you smile at how easy it was to fluster him.

Shaking away the words in your mind, the sky dimming as you clutched onto his hand, you let out a ‘tsk’ at the thought, “Now that would be something quite forward to say.” you grinned playfully.

‘Your smile hides your mischievousness a little too well- I think you're just being cruel at this point.’ he thought as he looked at your profile. A proud smile adorning your lips.

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“A parking garage?” you asked, twitching your ankle as you watched Choso input a security code into the metal receiver.

Choso sucked his teeth with a smile, “Did you expect us to walk for the entire night?” looking down to your shoe that was clearly bothering you.

“You have a car?” you asked as you watched the metal gate creak open.

He winced, “Technically no-” hand in hand as he led you through the barrier of the two story garage. Walking up the sloped concrete as you looked at the dusty cars.

“I didn't even know this place existed.” You muttered, eyeing the gray walls illuminated by old yellow lights. Swinging your connected hands softly as Choso laid eyes upon the black car cover he hoped was waiting for him.

“Let's hope it still runs.” he joked as you let go of his hand.

“Hold these for me won't you?” he whispered, handing you the cardboard box as you tapped your heeled foot on the ground, causing Choso to look down at your ankle once more.

Placing his hands on the front end of the cover, yanking it off as you laid eyes on the two seater maroon colored classic. Almost perfectly polished as you raised your eyebrows in shock, his hands balling up the black car cover and placing it on the hood haphazardly.

He inhaled almost painfully, “It was my father’s-” as he inserted the key into the driver's side and turned it, unlocking the doors before walking to the passenger side and opening the door with a hand held out to you.

Taking the boxed plates from your hands and placing them on the roof of the car, holding your hand as you eased into the vehicle.

Connected matte black seats meeting your eyes as you eased into the seat. Silent as he nervously tried explaining why he had the car, “H-he left it behind- and I didn’t wanna leave it to be sold.” He smiled, looking down at you as he held the frame of the door.

“So you brought it with you?” You hummed, fiddling with your hands on your lap and looking at the interior.

“I stole it- yes.” he admitted without shame, leaning on the frame of the opened door.

Pulling off his jacket as your hands reached out to take it from him, a small ‘Thank you’ fell from his lips as you held it in your lap. His lips parted in a grin, looking at your expression as you pinched your eyebrows together. Reaching your hand down to the bothersome buckle that squeezed your ankle a little too tightly.

Your fingers struggled to fix the issue as he watched you. Flashing your eyes up at him with an awkward giggle before you spoke, “When you rang the doorbell I accidentally pulled the-” You sighed, trying to pull the black strap from the bothersome buckle, “-the strap too tight.”

Choso smiled before mouthing an understanding ‘oh’

“May I?” he asked, frustration starting to seep from you and into him by just watching your aimless attempts. You eyed him, lowering himself to his knee, the other propped up as you turned your body to face him.

Suddenly all too aware of the veins on the tops of his hands, the light arm hair on his outer forearms that were exposed from his rolled up sleeves.

His calloused hand held open awaiting you to lift your dangling foot to his palm. Without a word, you lifted your ankle. Choso delicately placed his hand onto the back of your calf, your cold skin warming in his palm as he guided the back of the heel to rest atop his bent knee. Trailing his fingertips mindlessly on your skin as he gently unbuckled the silver rivet of the shoe.

Feeling the instant relief as he slid the buckle into a neighboring notch. A warm blush forming on your cheeks as you watch his painted hands trail gentle touches on your skin.

“There?” he mumbled, looking up at you as his thumb settled on the protruding bone of your ankle. Only offering a blushed ‘Mhm’ from your dry throat as he laced the rest of the tiny strap beneath the metal. Your hand was clutched on the edge of the seat- if your grip tightened any more you’d scratch the pristine leather.

Choso gently placed his palm back onto your calf, easing your leg back down gently before he stood up again. “Now for the moment of truth.” he winced, taking a step back and leaving you with your feet on the ground.

You inhaled sharply as his hand rested on the door again, waiting for you to sit correctly. You turned your body back to face the windshield, he closed the door for you- reaching his hand on the roof of the car for the plates before walking to the drivers side.

With how easy it was to fluster him or make him nervous, you were unsure why out of the two of you- you were the one who was on the verge of hyperventilating from the innocent act of kindness. In your mind an obstacle presented itself; how you were expected to keep your composure for the rest of the evening.

Your hand dared to tremble as you placed his heavy jacket on the center of the benched seat. Some kind of desperate attempt at a wall to keep you from acting on your self-indulgent thoughts.

Hearing a small thud as he placed the plates on the roof again. The driver's door opened smoothly, Choso eased into the seat as he placed his hand on the wheel with the keys in hand, leaving his door open with one foot on the ground.

Choso cleared his throat as he turned the ignition, raising his eyebrows in hopes the car would turn on. A wave of relief washed over him when he heard the loud roar come from the muffler. Quiet music playing from the staticky radio breaking the silence.

He stepped out of the car once more, walking to the hood to grab the car cover he carelessly folded. Your eyes followed him as he slid the pair of plates from the roof and walked to the back of the car, your shoulders tense while trying to breathe.

Flinching when you heard the trunk pound shut, clearing your throat when you saw him walk back to the opened door.

He settled into the driver's seat once more, mindlessly picking up your attempt at a wall and placing his jacket onto the ledge of the rearview window, leaving nothing but air to keep you separate from him.

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The drive was silent, the quiet radio music easing the tension in the air only you felt. Hands in your lap as you fiddled with your thumbs, Choso was unaware of your tense shoulders till he stopped at a red light.

Looking over at you- your head locked forward and sitting very, very far away. The look on your face though, furrowed eyebrows and unblinking eyes, lips pressed tightly together as though you were in deep thought- that's what made him realize something was wrong.

Replaying the last 10 minutes- not recalling a single snide comment or any attempts at flirting since he started driving.

He murmured your name- trying to pull you out of the thoughts that were whirling in your mind at that moment. Blinking your eyes and turning your head slightly, looking at Choso’s face that was illuminated by the red light. “Something wrong?”

You nodded your head ‘no’ intertwining your hands harshly together. Choso looked down to your latched hands, then back up to you with a perked brow- He didn't need to speak, you knew what he was asking with the look on his face.

You inhaled, trying to find something clever to say- “M’trying to keep my hands to myself.” you murmured, looking out of the window, gathering he was driving into the neighboring city as your knees pointed to the door along with your head.

‘...hands to yourself..?’ Choso mentally repeated your words, not knowing why you had to try to, when you were never shy about it before.

Air caught in your throat at the realization you said that louder than you were expecting, “In a- a non creepy way.” you reiterated, scrunching your eyes together at the stutter in your words.

Mentally you were cursing the stupid old traffic light that refused to turn green, even with the lack of cars around- it still beamed red. “Did I do something?” he asked, worried he offended you in some way.

You sighed, “Yes-”, refusing to look at him, “Yes, you did something.” you muttered as you looked into the glass, staring at him through the reflection.

“I’m sorry- I didn't mean to-” he started apologizing unknowing what he did- but it still felt like he had to.

You let out a laugh that rang through his ears in the sound of a hymn, “You don't even know what you did.” corners of your lips twitching upwards, turning your knees over to him as he looked forward at the now green light- accelerating slowly as you scanned his side profile.

“Must've been something worth an apology if you- of all people are keeping your hands to yourself.” he joked slyly. Only he meant to think those words- not actually say them to you.

You squinted your eyes at his banter, “Oh haha-” you grinned sarcastically, planting your hand onto the seat, “I'll make sure to keep ‘em to myself from now on if you feel that way.” You played, feeling your confidence soak back into your words.

Choso turned his head slightly over to you, low eyes knowing you wouldn't be able to keep that declaration, dropping his hand from the bottom of the wheel as the other held onto the side of it, placing it on the black leather to tempt you. Suddenly the distance you set between you too was too evident- too far, his eyes were forward- watching the road.

You gulped, scanning the top of his veiny hand, slowly you shifted closer to him.

Now close enough that he could sense you, “Choso?” you whispered, earning for a small hum to leave his throat, a childish smile on your lips “Can I hold your hand?” you spoke in a whisper- Choso furrowed his eyebrows at the question.

A gentle grin on his lips, “You don't need to ask me.” he whispered back, looking forward as he heard alarms and bells ring in his head from excitement.

So as you scooched closer to Choso, he held his hand out for you. His heart couldn't help but beat at an alarming pace, so close your thigh was pressed against his. Your knees pointed in his direction as he felt his palm threaten to sweat.

You slumped the tiniest bit into the matte seat, looking up at him as you gently took his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers with his as your other hand caged the back of his palm.

Both of your hands overwhelmed his tender one, smiling as you leaned the side of your head onto his bicep. Resting your joined hands on the seam where his thigh ended and yours began.

“I've always liked your hands.” you mumbled, caressing your thumbs on his skin as he drove- he was grateful the sky was darkening. Cause he was so sure the blush he was sporting on his cheeks was starting to roam down his chest.

Choso’s breathing hitched- catching in his throat, “My h-hands?” feeling his heart pound in his chest. And for the foot that wasn't on the gas to start bouncing nervously.

You giggled, “Yeah, your hands.” you hummed, unaware of the state you were pushing him to. “They're so pretty.” you complimented him with a tone only heard in his frantic dreams.

And as you scanned his jeweled hand engulfed by your own- the veins that trailed up his forearm beneath his pale skin proudly, you smiled as you pressed your thumb down onto a blood filled ridge on the top of his hand. Stopping the blood flow from the prominent vein.

His mind was whirring in his skull- had you said anything else he would've had to pull over to catch his breath.

But you didn't, no you only traced mindless doodles on his skin softly. ‘This has to be some kind of attempt on my life.’ his brain managed as the scent of your perfume infiltrated his nose.

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Though he was eternally grateful to be so- (some would say too close) to you, he felt his lungs able to breathe with a set pace once he found a parking spot in front of the building he was looking for. Streets full of couples as the moon started arising. Choso exhaled expectantly, switching the ignition off and feeling your grasp on his hand loosen.

“We’re here.” he practically choked out. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked onto the street, watching the people walking past the lit up glass doors.

“What's here?” you grinned, straightening your back and looking at Choso, you were so very close to his face. The light on the roof of the car made it very obvious that he was blushing.

“A uh-” he inhaled the air between you, “A museum.” his shoulders were tense, looking from your eyes to the curve of your nose- darting back and forth from the cupid's bow of your lips back up to your eyes. You smiled hearing his hesitant tone- relishing the sight of pure nerves flooding in his pupils from how close you were.

With an amused smile you snorted softly, “Ouu you want to kiss me sooo bad- I can see it-” you teased, earning for Choso to look away from you in embarrassment.

And as you pulled your hands from his, he opened his door, mumbling small curses, racing to the passenger side- reminding himself that he needs to be polite and well-mannered.

As he pulled your door open he held a hand out to you, giving you a brace to step out from the old car.

The sight of your hand in his as you stepped from the car elegantly made one thing click in his mind. Choso felt in his heart that he would be more than happy- elated even, to do this with you every weekend till you were both old and wrinkly.

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Hand in hand as you walked past the white walls. Stopping at any piece of art that caught your attention.

Your eyebrows pulled tight as you looked at a piece painted black with glimmers of red. Choso’s eyes were on your profile as you examined the art, “What do you see?” he mumbled, looking back to the large canvas. Unable to understand how you could see meaning in a few colors.

You sighed, tilting your head and staring at the streaks “It seems sad.” you whispered as he furrowed his eyebrows. “Like the person who painted this was distressed.”

Choso didn't see what you saw- he saw a lazy attempt at modern art- “You can see it in the brush strokes-” you leaned over to him as you pointed to the seemingly violent brush strokes. He tried to see what you saw, “In the way they decided to use a little bit of red.” You continued, looking over to his lost expression.

When you walked into the room of sculptures you stared at an old wooden chair placed on a small platform with a harsh spotlight on it, “Performer.” you read the words on the silver plate at the bottom, “What do you see Choso?” you repeated his question as he stared at the chair.

He squinted his eyes before speaking, “I think it's a chair-”, feeling your elbow shove him gently. He sighed, “Well, the chair is old, and the spotlight is on it almost in a mocking way.” Choso expressed his depiction of the piece. “And the title signifies that the chair is a piece to be gawked at.” he muttered as you smiled at his intune thoughts.

He huffed, almost feeling like he said too much. “You?” he broke your silence as he looked back at you.

“I think it's just a chair.” you mocked with a perked smile.

On the other end of the room there was a wired sculpture, if you looked in the right angle you'd be able to see the projected image within the silver wires.

You were tilting your head trying to make out the image, “I think it's a face?” you whispered as Choso furrowed his eyebrows, “Or two?” you squinted your eyes as you finally saw the image with a gratified exhale.

Choso huffed- frustrated from how tedious this was. “How are you seeing anything?” he asked frustrated as his neck started to strain from how long he was tilting it.

You dropped his hand- taking a step behind him and placing your hands on his shoulders, “Here.” you hummed, moving him to where you previously stood. “Lean down a little-” you whispered, you weren't able to see it- but his eyes were wide and his cheeks were tingling from your guidance.

And as he lowered himself, you placed your hands onto the side of his head- angling it softly to this side as he allowed you to. You stood behind him- close enough for him to be able to feel your breath wisp on his nape. “Can you see it?” you whispered- Choso felt goosebumps form on his arms at your soft tone.

You slid your hands from the side of his head- seeing him stay in place as he looked at the sculpture. “Can you?” you whispered as he raised himself back to stand up straight.

He looked at you with a horrified look on his face, “Yeah I can.” he muttered before you took his hand in yours again.

And when you found the room he specifically chose this museum for- he lit up with a smile.

“Art history-” you read the plaque on the wall.

Choso led you into the dimly lit room, “Finally some real art.” he muttered before turning the corner. Standing before the grand in size portraits- he looked at them in silence. Only you didn't find the same fascination in the old paintings as he did- you found the excitement that gleamed in his eyes more interesting than the dusty art works.

With every piece he knew, he'd tell you the tragedy behind them, star crossed lovers and small comments of the trageties- “Why are you looking at me like that?” he paused his previous sentence, looking at you worried that he was talking too much.

You offered a timid smile, circling your thumb on his skin lovingly. Reaching a pinkie up to his temple and brushing away a loose strand from his temple, “I can't look at you now?” you murmured playfully, his eyes glimmered with shock at the sudden contact against his face.

Choso diverted his eyes from your gaze, looking down to his shoes before mumbling, “You can't look at me like- that.” he felt his heart pound in his chest recalling the expression on your face with closed eyes.

You giggled at his words, “Why not?” you pressed, being able to feel his hand tighten its grip on yours.

He sighed, looking back up to your seemingly intoxicated face. Choso parted his lips, daring to say the first words that came to his mind. You raised your eyebrows and gripped his hand to urge him to give you a reason. “Cause I don't know what it means.” he retorted quietly.

You scoffed, an amused smile on your lips as you nodded your head. Not knowing how he could be so insightful in some ways and completely blind when it came to this.

Your eyes scanned his features, “How many times do I have to tell you before you get it?” you quipped, seeing his eyes pool with confusion at your question.

“I like you so much, Cho.” you whispered, seeing his eyebrows furrow harshly at the shortened version of his name. “I stare at you because I like you.” You assured, “I laugh at everything you say because I like you.”, watching his eyes blink down in timidness. In his mind, actually processing your words took a lot of effort.

“Can I be honest?” you whispered, seeing his lips mouth an ‘okay.’ to your question. “I don’t think I've ever liked someone in the way I like you.” Choso exhaled at your words- mumbling a ‘stop’ as you smiled.

You exhaled, “I'm being serious. You're just-” you started, only for Choso to raise your hand and place it flat onto his chest. His eyes trembled as he looked at you with a stern but pained expression. You raised your eyebrows at how fast his heart pounded in his chest, explaining why he asked you to stop without words.

Your lips curled into a sweet smile, pulling his hand that was wrapped around your wrist, holding your hand flat on his chest as you led his hand towards your exposed cleavage in attempts to show him how fast your own heart was beating.

Only for his eyes to widen and pull his hand from your grasp in shock- all but clutching his imaginary pearls as he hissed your name. Mortified to even think of touching you there.

A small laugh left your throat at how he exclaimed your name. You were kind enough to not attempt to do that again- fearing his heart might go into cardiac arrest from being skin to skin. Instead you pulled your hand from his chest, guiding his opposite one onto your wrist and pressing his index and middle finger onto the pulse in your wrist.

His eyebrows furrowed as he felt your racing pulse against his two fingers, “You make me just as nervous.” you whispered softly, smiling as he parted his lips.

Choso softened his gaze, “You do a great job at hiding it.” he whispered back, recalling every moment his heart palpitated in his chest- wondering if all those times your heart was racing too.

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“I think this is the first official date I've ever been on-” you smiled, now standing outside. Thinking how stupid it was that the exit was on the other end of the building.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows, “First, first date you mean?” he clarified your statement assumingly.

You scoffed with a smile, “No, the only date I've ever been on.” seeing his expression fall in surprisement.

Choso nodded his head as though that proclamation didn't make his heart burst in his chest, “Besides the times where we'd hang out after class- but I think this one is the first official one.” you grinned, pulling his hand with you as you turned to start walking back to the car.

‘The times we’d hang out..?’ he thought, recalling the afternoons you'd spend with him.

He inhaled quickly, “Those were dates?” he urged with a horrified look on his face, scanning at your profile. You looked at him as you stepped slowly.

Raising your eyebrows almost amused, “Well when two people like each other- and admit it to each other,” You taunted playfully, turning the corner of the sidewalk, “If both are consenting parties-” you continued your mocking tone as Choso listened to your words, to be sure he wouldn't miss hearing what you were saying.

“They start dating.” you teased, looking at him with a smile full of satisfaction.

In his mind, he replayed every moment from when he admitted he liked you till now- reevaluating them at the new information. With warm cheeks that were grazed by the cold air, “Are we..” he started, his palm becoming clammy against yours at the words he dared to spout. “Dating?” He asked, looking at you in a new light at that word.

No longer were you a person he liked- or a school friend. He was a person you were dating.

A soft chuckle left your throat at the dramatized words, “Don't tell me you just wanted to be a situationship?” you asked with feigned offense, furrowing your eyebrows as he listened to your words.

His face fell, trying to process the word you just said, “What is a situationship?” he asked almost scornfully at the unknown word as his grasp in your hand tightened. A sweet laugh left your throat at his question, not even being too sure of what that word meant yourself.

“Cho- are we dating or not?” you asked- turning the question around on him. His face went pink, both at the confrontation and the nickname- looking at you as though you hung the stars in the sky. You raised your eyebrows waiting for his reply.

Choso tried to think- he tried using all 4 fried brain cells in his mind to formulate a proper sentence, but all his trembling lips could muster was one word;

“Yes.”

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The walk back to the car was silent- You were pleased with how much he blushed, how you practically forced him to confirm that your goal was achieved.

Choso, on the other hand, had a mortified look on his face. The fear of taking the first step was long gone since the first 3 steps were already taken unbeknownst to him. In his mind he started seeing every possibility, every negative thing that could wait for him 10 miles down the road. Choso knew he should've been elated- but he couldn't help the heavy feeling in his chest as he thought of the future.

Staring at him lovingly, “Where to now?” you broke the silence as he opened the car door for you, holding your hand with trembling fingers as you eased into the vehicle.

Choso hurried to the other side of the car, taking a deep breath before getting into it. Thinking how everything is different now- he drove this car as your friend and now he was driving it as a person you were dating.

You scooched back to the spot you previously sat in, “I hope you're hungry-” he started, his cheeks tingling as he felt your hand interlock with his again, “God– I am starving.” You interrupted, looking over to him with an enticing grin.

Choso smiled to himself, “I have a fridge full of groceries waiting for us.” he tried ignoring your tracing thumbs as he put the car in drive.

You reached a hand over and pushed a few stray strands of hair that blocked his profile from you. “You gonna cook for me?” You hummed sweetly, seeing the blush on his cheeks deepen.

A small ‘Mhm’ left his lips as he pulled out of the street parking, you looked at him with adoring eyes, intoxicated on how close you were to him. “Those plates were definitely a good idea huh?” you asked smugly.

He sighed with a smile, “Yes. They were a phenomenal idea.” he fed into your boastful tone.

You looked at him, admiring that he cared enough to agree with you,“You’re so-” you hesitated as you tried to find the word, “So,” Choso was smiling as he awaited your words. You gritted your teeth- feeling cuteness aggression, “It's like I made you in a computer.” You smiled, hearing a hearty laugh from his chest.

The entire ride back to the campus- you didn't let go of his hand. The cringey love songs played on the radio quietly, with any song you recognized you’d tell him a memory from your upbringing. Grazing the tips of your fingers along his larger ones.

Choso made sure to listen to every single word you'd speak into the air- “M’sorry I know I'm talking a lot-” you sighed, noticing he wasn’t replying to your words.

Hee scoffed, “Don't apologize- I like listening to you talk.” flashing his eyes over to you as you nodded your head in disbelief at how smoothe he could be at times.

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You didn't check your phone the entire time. So you were happily relishing in the peace you felt being in the presence of him.

Walking past the entryway of his apartment, reaching into your coat pocket and taking it off as Choso reached for it in your hand, hanging it along with his on the coat rack.

You checked the stupid piece of aluminum, widening your eyes at the countless messages from your overbearing roommate, and checking the time. 9:05 pm as you heard Choso set down the boxed plates onto the kitchen counter in front of you.

You sighed as you pulled out a barstool from the wall, furiously typing as Choso gently peeled off the tape from the box.

Looking across the kitchen counter at you as you settled on the barstool with furrowed eyebrows. Scanning your bugged expression, “Everything okay?” he pulled you from your thoughts.

You sighed as you shut off the phone, placing it onto the counter faced down as you looked at him- completely defeated. “I’m moving out.” you claimed with a deadpan tone.

Choso looked at you from the cabinet, “What now?” he smiled as he reached for a pan.

“I have like- 50 texts and 20 missed calls from my-” you were interrupted, Choso finished your sentence, ‘roommate’, watching as you huffed a sweet smile at how he knew what you were ranting about. “Regardless, I'm moving- even if I live on the street for a few days. I can't stay at that house anymore.” You sighed, watching Choso turn on two knobs on the stove.

Looking at him with defeated eyes, “You won't live on the street.” he assured, turning around and opening the fridge.

You rested your elbow on the counter, placing your chin in your hand as you watched him set various small containers of already prepared herbs onto the counter. “At the end of the day people really are disappointing aren't they?” you asked with a sigh, watching as he pulled out two pre-marinated chicken breasts from the fridge.

Choso decided to ignore your previous statement- not wanting to sullen the mood even more, “Are they like this with your other roommates?” he asked with a smile, drizzling oil into the pan. Going to lower the heat on the small steel pot on the back burner before moving to stand in front of you.

You watched as he slowly pulled his jewelry from his fingers, “No- if anything they enable their behavior.” eyeing the silver metal on the counter, your proclamation earning a sigh from Choso.

He noticed your eyes following his hands, furrowing his eyebrows at your gawking. “You need better roommates.” he declared, turning to the sink and washing his hands as you reached for the abandoned metal he left on the counter.

As you rolled the warm metal in your hand you sighed, “I need to move out is what I need-” watching as he dried his hands. You smirked to yourself, “If I was your neighbor would you cook for me everyday?” You asked- half joking as he looked up from the searing pan.

Choso smiled at your question, picking up one of the raw chickens, “If you were my neighbor I’d cook for you anytime you asked.” he flashed his eyes up at you before placing the white meat into the pan, a loud sizzle coming from the action.

You rested your elbows onto the counter with a hearty giggle, “You say that now- But when m’knocking at your door 2-3 times a day- you can't complain.” you warned, watching as he let out a half laugh.

He picked up metal tongs from the utensil holder, “If you knock on my door 2-3 times a day- I won't have any reason to complain,” he spoke your name in reassurance as he flipped the grilling chicken on the other side.

You laughed to yourself, not being able to sense any nervousness or hesitation in his words anymore, almost as though he gained more confidence in the past half hour.

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As he plated the cooked chicken, you watched with a grumbling stomach. Almost drooling as he scooped a decent portion of mashed potatoes onto the brand new white plate, “God- that looks so good.” You bit your lip, reaching your hands to the plate.

“Wait-” he held onto the edgeas he reached for a pre-cut lemon- squeezing it gently as the citrus glazed the browned chicken.

With a warm smile he spoke, “There- now you can eat it.” looking down to the beautifully plated meal, you sighed. Grabbing onto the edge of the plate and pulling it towards you.

You looked back to him, “I can wait for you-” you muttered, hoping he'd say no.

He exhaled, smiling as he watched your eyes full of hunger flicker from him back down to your serving. “It's okay- you eat.” He assured, watching the smile return on your lips as you picked up the metal fork placed on the side of the plate.

Choso watched you expectantly, the fork scraping against the plate as you sliced into the meat-piercing the chunk you cut off and lifting it to your lips, looking at him as you placed the fork into your mouth. The warmth from the grilled chicken landing on your tongue as you pulled the fork from your lips- leaving nothing on it with a sigh from your nose.

Chewing a few times as you closed your eyes, savoring the flavor between every bite.

You swallowed, opening your eyes and nodding your head, “You're insane.” you mumbled, looking at his expression unchanged- not knowing if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Please finish cooking so I can eat more-” you joked, placing the fork onto your plate, he scoffed at the words that seemed like a compliment.

And as you asked, he plated his own serving, not with a quarter as much love nor care- but it was infront him as he leaned down to take a bite, assuring you it was fine for you to continue eating.

He hummed as he placed the fork down onto his plate, “I didn't even offer you anything to drink-” he scoffed to himself reaching to the cupboard above his head and pulling down two glass cups.

You opened your mouth- hesitating to speak as you watched him turn to the fridge, “Not to sound alcohol-dependent or anything-” you grinned as he peeked back to you. “But do you…?” you insinuated with half lidded eyes.

Choso sighed, “I don't. I have water and orange juice.” he mumbled, knowing exactly what you were trying to do- but he knew in his bones it wouldn't have been a good idea to let you drink right now.

You gave a half laugh, “Water is fine.” you smiled as he reached into the fridge. Choosing to keep the bottle of ‘Titos’ he had a secret from you.

Pulling out a glass bottle from the fridge he had bought yesterday. Pouring water into your glass as you chewed on your affection infused meal.

You placed down your fork, swallowing the previous bite before reaching for the cold glass. “You'd really be okay with me moving next door?” watching his eyes trail down to his plate.

Choso inhaled, “If it makes you happier- and not feel so stressed, I would let you move in here-” he spoke mindlessly, halting his chewing as he realized what he said. He inhaled sharply- feeling like your silence was deafening. He was about to apologize-

Only you laughed, “All my clothes would not fit in your closet.” you inhaled as you placed a bite of the mashed potatoes into your mouth. He huffed through his nose at your comment, pleased that you took it as a joke rather than how he truly meant it.

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Somewhere between him finishing half of his meal and your 5th compliment on how fucking good the food tasted- a battle ship board was put up between you.

Furrowed eyebrows staring back at you as he called out a number on the board. You hissed as you looked at your side of the game, “Nope.” you grinned as he gruffed at his attempts.

You were examining your grid, trying to use all the divination you could muster before he spoke up- “Did I tell you I'm thinking of getting a job?” he smiled, watching your furrowed eyebrows ease at the question.

You gasped, “No! Don't do that-” holding a peg in your hand as his expression churned to confusion. “I won't be able to see you as often.” you pouted, looking down at your board. The words seemingly came unfiltered from your heart, and the sight of you pouting at the idea of not being able to see him as much anymore was more than enough to push that idiocy to the side.

And though you meant it as a half joke, it still pained you to know that now- of all times. When things were finally advancing, he'd pull away.

“If you need money-” your lungs threatened to laugh at the words forming on your lips. “I'd be more than happy to pay for your time.” You spewed as though you were a sleazy 80 year old man speaking to a lady of the night.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows and parted his lips, “Like an escort??” he huffed a laugh, you looked up from your board with an entertained smile. “No- no, not like an escort-” you defended.

Calling out a number on the board as he nodded his head. “Like a paid…” you thought of the word, “Though I can't call you a friend anymore can I?” You spoke to yourself as he scanned his side of the plastic game, smiling at the thought that you'd no longer hesitate when referring to him.

He inhaled as he took a bite from the coldening food, looking over to your plate and seeing you had finished. “I thought you were broke?” he spoke thoughtlessly, not being able to feel the hesitance before he spoke now.

Your smile fell, he squinted his eyes as you shook off the sudden heavy feeling- “You're that expensive?” you chirped, looking at him bewildered at the thought he might've taken your words seriously.

Choso scoffed, “No, you don't have to pay me to hang out with you.” he reiterated, watching as you fiddled with the peg in your hand. Recalling your query of if he'd mind if you were his neighbor. “But I remember you said you were broke..?” he looked at you with detective eyes as you called out a square on the grid. Sucking his teeth when you actually hit one of his boats.

You hummed as you avoided eye contact, “I uhh-” you lowered your shoulders and raised a brow, “I figured it out.” flashing a warm smile at him. Only you meant it in an assuring way- Choso saw past it. He saw the way your lips fell after you said that, the way your eyes dimmed from recalling what you were hiding.

You cleared your throat, “Meaning, I can afford your company now.” you circled back to the silly topic with a smile, Choso sneered through his nose at your insistence. He opened his mouth to speak- but you spoke before he could.

“What kind of job?” you looked at him, changing the topic before he called out a number on the grid.

He sucked his teeth, “I was thinking at the library- Quiet, don't have to do a whole lot.” He muttered as he studied the target grid. “Or I could apply to be a TA.”squinting before calling out a number.

You tightened your lips, mouthing a curse as you marked a small boat with a red peg. “Why now of all times?” you asked as you waited for him to call out another number.

Choso parted his lips- almost saying the words that popped into his mind before closing his mouth. “No- say what you were thinking.” you caught onto the little habit he had developed since he was a child.

He smiled at your attentiveness, “I was thinking, now that I’m..” looking at you with a blushing smile, you raised your eyebrows, all but saying ‘go on.’

“Now that I am seeing someone.” he murmured, looking down at the board embarrassed and trying to ignore your gaze, you laughed at his avoidant eyes.

You inhaled, nodding your head ‘no’ disapprovingly. “You don't need to get a job just because we're dating, Cho.” you assured, standing from the barstool and taking a step around the end of the kitchen counter, standing before his figure as he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Look at all the times we've hung out- not once did we need money or to go out to have fun.” placing a hand on his bicep and squeezing gently to affirm your words even more.

Choso inhaled, “Would it be enough?” he muttered as he looked down to his shoes. You scoffed, trailing your hand down to his forearm, then to his hand.

“I would be more than fulfilled if all we did was stay here and play board games day after day.” you whispered, holding your hand gently in his as he felt his throat close up-

He looked back to you with creased eyebrows, the tip of his nose daring to turn pink from an expression that looked close to tears. “You want a hug?” you asked sweetly, hearing a sniffle from his nose before pulling you to him.

Your hands wrapped around his waist as his arms rested atop your shoulders, holding you tightly as your bodies came together in a perfect mold. Choso held one hand on the back of your neck softly, the other pressed taut between your shoulder blades as you smiled into his chest, circling your hands soothingly on his spine, he sniffled before speaking.

“Be honest. Did you come over here to look at where my boats were?” you breathed out- defeated that he saw through your plot. Pulling away from him as his hands hesisted to let you go from the hug that felt like home.

You looked at him with a cheeky smile, “I did.” you nodded, looking over to his side of the board and seeing you were close to winning by a few more pegs. You looked back to him, parting your lips expectantly as he took a step back.

‘Be well-mannered’ Choso thought as he watched you brush off the slight disappointment.

He cleared his throat, “I think it's time to take you home.” he smiled, watching your eyes blink down to your shoes that had to be uncomfortable by now.

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The trip to your house was short now that there was a car, and yet- you still held onto him as though it was the last time you'd have the chance to.

Choso parked on the opposite side of the street, turning off the car as your eyes looked at the wooden door across the street almost resentfully. “Ready?” he asked, knowing you’d refuse to face the music were he not there.

With a begrudged exhale, you nodded your head.

Choso held the car door open for you, holding your hand as you stepped onto the street. You almost resented how polite he was- knowing if it were anyone else they would have invited you to stay the night- regardless if it was a first date.

But not him, Choso didn't dare to even think of asking that of you.

And as you stood before him on your unlit porch, you smiled, “Thank you.” with a whisper, looking into his eyes as he scanned the prominent aspects of your face.

“Don't thank me.” he murmured, his voice low and throaty as he watched the sparkle in your eye round your pupil.

With a modist smile, you looked at him impatiently. “I think this is where you kiss me goodnight.” you leaned forward mere millimeters as Choso refused to step back this time.

He gulped at your words, “It wouldn't be polite.” he dissuaded lowly as you grinned innocently.

Close enough that you were breathing the same air- “It would be more impolite not to, Choso.” you compelled, watching his gaze dart from your lips back to your eyes.

He raised his hands to the side of your face- thumbs caressing your temples softly, parting your lips as his fingers kept a light touch beneath your ears. You fluttered your eyes closed as you heard ringing in your mind, cheeks warm and tingling as you awaited.

Only you awaited something to press against your lips- But Choso had other plans.

His parted lips pressed onto the center of your forehead, pulling away with your head in his hands. It wasn't disappointment- more like a challenge that you felt. “Goodnight,” he spoke your name in an intoxicating tone, softly taking his hands from your face and taking a step back from you.

You couldn't help but smile at his chivalry, “You're cruel.” you whispered, earning a quiet half-laugh from his chest.

“It’s not respectful to kiss you on a first date.” He scolded playfully, watching you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

You stared at him as you leaned your back onto the door, placing your hand on the brass knob before sucking your teeth. “When is a respectful time then?” you murmured, watching his hands slide into his coat pockets.

“Third. Maybe even fourth date.” he smiled, knowing that would gain a feigned groan of dissatisfaction from you. Though it was earlier than you'd like- 10:43 to be exact, you were still grateful he was courteous enough to bring you back home as though you had a curfew.

“Goodnight Cho.” you smiled, turning the brass knob as he kept his eyes on you.

Were the porch light on you’d be able to see the beaming blush on his cheeks, “Goodnight.” he replied sweetly, watching as you stepped into your house, taking one last look at him before waving a small goodbye.

Choso was able to contain the excitement in his throat till he turned away from your porch, his lungs threatening to start hyperventilating as he tried to confirm with himself if that actually just happened. He stood at the car door- looking up at the sky and thanking whatever celestial being was out there for the lucky hand he was dealt.

There was one thought in his mind at that moment. He was now sure that you made him feel more alive and far less lost than he felt without you. And he relished in that thought as he drove back to his apartment, no longer fearing the future- if anything he was thrilled to know that for the first time, love finally loved him back.

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and if I told you I over indulged sooo much in this chapter??? and if i said........ I almost hemorrhaged writing this?!!! this was too cute, (just wait till I write abt the first time they have sex) And if you're curious- yes the rewarding cigarette was delicious.

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ddarker-dreams · 2 years

Text

Loves Me, Loves Me Not.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, and implied stalking. Word count: 3.5k.

There are only so many times you can discreetly check your phone without worry presenting itself on your face.

You’d like to consider yourself a reasonable person, yet it’s natural for the mind to wander in circumstances such as this. The waitress went from stopping by in intervals of five minutes to ten, then twenty, and now, you haven’t seen her in half an hour. Your second cocktail sits in a watered-down version of itself, the ice having melted what feels like ages ago. The clinking of silverware, murmurs of conversations from other patrons, and live jazz performance fade into meaningless stimulation your brain opts out of processing. Perhaps the relaxed ambiance could serve as a welcome distraction if you were able to focus. You can’t, however, not when you haven’t heard from him in hours.

You think to take another sip of your drink but decide against it. You reapplied your lipstick not long ago, you’d rather not necessitate the action’s repeat so soon.

Your waitress walks by, a bill in hand for another table. She momentarily makes eye contact and then offers an apologetic smile upon seeing your situation has yet to change. Your phone abruptly buzzing distracts you from this, momentarily lifting your spirits. Hurriedly, you pull it back out, your eyes scanning the screen for the one name that’d make all your concerns disappear. This hope is short-lived. The notification turns out to be some breaking news that you don’t bother reading past the first few words. Sighing, you unlock your phone, going straight to messages for the umpteenth time, as if that’d magically make an explanation appear at your fingertips.

Reopening your text history with your fiancé unsurprisingly reveals nothing new. It’s only your unread texts on the right side of the screen, inquiring over his whereabouts, jokingly at first. Then not so jokingly as the night progressed. The logical side of your psyche offers plausible and soothing solutions. He could be held up late at work, his phone could’ve died; there are so many perfectly rational explanations. His job is an unusual one that demands more than a standard nine to five. You know that well by now. Still, he’d try and make it a point to tell you when to expect delays. No such forewarning was made the last time you saw him.

It’s for this reason that a dark premonition hangs over your head, like rain clouds threatening to burst.

The question pressing on you the most currently is what to do next.

Should you order an Uber and head back to your apartment, ditching this dinner reserved weeks in advance? Or should you keep waiting just in case he’s due to show up any second, apologies likely on his lips? If you go with the latter suggestion, then comes the problem of deciding how much longer to wait. You’ve already invested a decent chunk of the evening doing just that. Since this restaurant requires a formal dress code, you’re not in the most comfortable clothes either. Lounging on your couch in comfortable pajamas is sounding more and more inviting by the second. Knowing his temperament, you doubt he’d hold it against you. He’s been sweet on you as far back as you can remember.

With this in mind, you grab your purse. You’ll wave down your waiter the next time she happens by. In the meantime, you peruse your phone, trying to decide if you’re feeling a horror or romance movie tonight. You’re so preoccupied with this issue that you fail to notice your bubbly waiter’s return until she clears her throat, earning your attention.

You feel as if your heart and stomach are plummeting into hell upon seeing the figure that stands so nonchalantly by her side.

The devil himself would’ve been a more welcome sight.

“Look who finally showed up,” the waitress beams, likely in an attempt to ease what she mistakenly believes to be relationship-based tension in the air. She clears her throat and clasps her hands together at the miserable silence that follows. “Well, I’ll be right back after you familiarize yourself with the menu, sir.”

The aforementioned sir shakes his head. “There’s no need for that. I’ll go ahead and order for us both. You’ve been made to wait long enough… Am I right, [First]?”

You have so much to say yet your tongue is like dead weight in your mouth.

He straightens the lapels of his jacket, sits in the booth across from you, and relays an order in that calm and self-assured tone of his. He sticks true to his word; the appetizer, entrée, and accompanying drink he orders are all your favorites. He even makes a point of asking them to leave off that one ingredient you could never stand. Once that is over and done with, the waitress knows better than to linger and you’re left on your lonesome.

Knowing gray eyes shift from where she once stood to your flabbergasted form.

“Why,” your voice comes out like a dry croak, “Why are you here, Chrollo?”

He leans forward, folds his hands together, and rests his chin atop them. “My heart aches at the sight of a lovely lady such as yourself getting stood up on a date. I thought my company might do you some good.”

Indignant, you rise to your feet. Your legs feel a touch wobbly beneath your weight, a consequence of the alcohol intake and dip in blood pressure from standing so quickly. Tears sting your lower lash line. You open and close your lips, unsure if you want to shriek, throw insults, or break down entirely at this invasive species’ insistence on never leaving you alone. Chrollo takes in every depraved emotion that passes over your countenance with greedy delight befitting a thief such as himself, malignity at its finest. From what you can recall, he’d go to lengths to hide the extent of his enjoyment from your distress, but he must not see the point in bothering now. If anything, he probably wants you to know how pleased this is making him.

As covertly as you can, you eye the exit standing just a few feet away. You must not have disguised your intent well enough, for he sighs in something akin to disappointment.

“Normally, I wouldn’t mind playing such games with you,” he murmurs, almost more to himself than to you, “But tonight, consider my patience tried.”

You never make it further than one step toward freedom.

“Sit.”

At this single utterance, your legs buckle at the knee.

The world around you is a blur as you’re made to sit back down, as if a wave had crashed over your head and forced you downward. Your body’s betrayal of your own wishes momentarily stupefies you. It isn’t until you spot that damnable grimoire of his out and at the ready that you’re able to put the pieces together. The subsequent picture you form is an alarming one. This is a display, no, a flaunting of total power. The wielding of forces you could barely fathom, much less fight against. Chrollo makes a point of keeping Bandit’s Secret out, his usual art of subtly tossed by the wayside.

“I see you’re slowly coming to terms with reality,” Chrollo begins. His lips curve into a smile that serves to unnerve you further. “That’s good. While I’m sure you have plenty to say, do be a dear and keep your mouth shut for just a while longer. Now then. I’ll present you with two options. We can either remain seated and speak things over like adults, or…”

Sweat trickles down your brow at the taunting gleam in his eyes.

“I can continue manipulating your body to my heart’s content. You’ll be conscious throughout whatever it is I see fit to make you do, of course. I’ll even allow you to maintain control over your eyes. I’ll warn you, though; I’m not in a very gracious mood tonight. Choose carefully.”

Your lips go from feeling as if they’ve been sewn shut to abiding by your command once again. Other than that, you cannot move a muscle. You wonder if your body’s involuntary functions are at his mercy as well. For while your heart is pounding away, you know how much faster the organ is capable of going when in Chrollo’s presence. He must want you somewhat legible if he’s willing to bother with such a small detail.

In theory, you could scream and beg for help. His hold on your vocal cords has loosened up enough for you to determine this.

However, when you consider the laughter of a table by your side, you hesitate. There are families celebrating birthdays. An elderly couple in the booth behind you who just ordered dessert. Best friends enjoying workplace gossip by the bar. In acting out so brazenly, you’d be condemning all of them to death. If not a fate worse than that. To Chrollo, the act of killing was a means to an end. He regarded it in the same way one would a chore, such as taking out the trash. It didn’t matter if it was one or one hundred lives.

He’d drown this entire city in its own blood if that’s what it took to get to you.

Curious at your prolonged silence, he tilts his head. “Well?”

He really meant what he said about his patience being tried.

“Okay,” is the single word you manage to squeeze out.

He eyes you for another moment, likely searching for any potential deception on your part. When he finds nothing dissatisfactory, he closes his book.

“Smart girl,” he croons. His praise does little besides make you want to hurl.

You greedily take in deep breaths upon regaining your autonomy. Your physiological state has gone from being forcibly subdued to pure, unadulterated chaos in a matter of seconds, matching your disoriented mind. Shamefully, you almost miss the calm being under his thrall offered. Chrollo affords you no further time to collect yourself, getting right down to business.

“Show it to me.”

You gnaw on your trembling lower lip, exasperation lacing your voice. “Show you what?”

He raises his left hand into the air. You blink, narrowing your eyes in confusion, before chilling realization pricks at you like needles stabbing your entire body. Compelled by your own self-preservation, you raise your left arm from your side and hover it over the table. The diamond atop the gold band on your ring finger glistens beneath the restaurant’s moody lighting. Chrollo’s faux smile dissipates the second he spots the ring, regarding it with what you can only describe as mild revulsion. You don’t miss the way his eye twitches. Swallowing thickly, you dread to discover what might come next.

Cold hands envelop your own as he forces your near-constant trembling to still, allowing him a better look. His physiognomy is entirely blank; he’s a statue whose facial features have yet to be carved into place. While navigating whatever tempest is brewing in his mind, he begins to apply pressure to your hand, causing you to visibly wince and let out a pained yelp.

This seems to bring him back to reality. His bruising grip relaxes, yet he refuses to let you go. He rubs the pad of his thumb over your aching skin that’ll inevitably bruise from his force, in what must be a quiet apology. What you witnessed just now was the closest you’ve ever seen to his otherwise impeccable composure slipping. He regains control as fast as he lost it, not a single vestige of the quiet intensity he boasted seconds prior remaining.

Chrollo slides the ring off your finger without asking for your consent. The loss shatters something deep and personal inside you. He’s doing it again — demolishing what little you’ve painstakingly built for yourself — uncaring of how it hurts you so long as he’s gratified in the end. Your vision goes blurry while he lifts the pilfered ring up to the light, inspecting it closer. Tears mix with your mascara and drip down your cheek, then your chin, and finally, fall onto your lap.

He lets out a breathless chortle. “A cubic zirconia, hm?”

Apparently pleased with this discovery, he loses interest in studying the object any longer. He takes it into the palm of his hand and crushes it before you can think to protest. In a futile display, you reach out to take it back, your eyes wide and desperate. He frowns at the value you’ve assigned to what must be an insult in his eyes. You’re prepared to claw at his hand if that’s what it takes for him to open it, but he acquiesces to your unspoken demand. Stunned, you watch with anguish as a cascade of powder falls into a pitiful pile on the table. He uses your frozen state to his advantage and wipes it aside, as if he were haphazardly dusting off an old book. What little remains of your engagement ring is lost forever.

Your teeth chatter from the rage boiling your blood and you swear you see red. “I hate you, did you know that? Huh? Since you’re so fucking smart, you should be able to tell that much, shouldn’t you? Or are you too demented to realize it?”

“That’s not very mature of you, [First].”

“You—!” Taking a labored breath, you force your volume down, your body feeling as if it’s burdened with a fever. It’s hot. Everything is so hot. You think you might melt from the inside out.

Just before you can continue tearing into him, your phone vibrates. It isn’t until the third persistent buzz that you realize it must be a phone call. Knowing how inhumanly sharp Chrollo’s ears must be, you think to ignore it, not wanting to risk making a move that’d condemn everyone around you to death. You knew what lines could be crossed and which couldn't. His eyes meet yours, the skin beneath them wrinkling. You recognize the emotion that communicates without issue. Amusement.

“Go on,” he urges, a playful lilt present in his tone. “Answer it.”

When you look down, you see your fiancé’s name sprawled across the screen. Edgar.

You don’t want to know, you don’t want to know, you don’t want to know—

But you have to find out. If not for yourself, then for him.

You press the green accept button and hold your phone to your ear, your other hand going to cover your mouth so that you don’t scream.

At first, nothing but agonizing silence awaits you. You struggle to breathe. There’s a slight commotion on the other end, a shuffling of fabric. Had it been left at that, your mind may have been able to write it off. It’s commendable what excuses the human brain arrives at to explain away what phenomena it doesn’t want to acknowledge. That’s when you hear raspy breathing coming out in an unsteady rhythm. It’s a low, barely perceptible sound, so quiet that it’s a miracle you even picked up on it in the first place. A groan comes next. There’s no doubt in your mind who this voice belongs to and what this must mean.

Chrollo rests his cheek on his fist while observing you through dark eyelashes, content and relaxed. He’s studying you. Drinking up every little twitch and shiver as if it were a fine wine. There’s a glaze over his eyes, twisted fondness mixing with sadistic pleasure. The smile on his full lips is genuine. He looks like he wants to ravish you right then and there. You wish you were stronger, capable of hiding your heart instead of wearing it on your sleeve for his viewing pleasure.

Your name is weakly rasped on the other line, setting ablaze your rapidly fraying nerves. Is this really happening to you? Were you ever as safe as you hoped? Is there safety to be found when someone like Chrollo Lucilfer has set his sights on you?

“I wish,” each syllable takes a great deal of effort for your Edgar to enunciate. There’s a pause, for talking must take a great deal of strength. “I wish… I never met you.”

The line goes dead.

Sluggishly, you move your head in the phone’s direction. You don’t want to believe what you just heard. Or the fate that will inevitably befall the one person in this world you were able to trust. What a plague you must be, a harbinger of ill fortune to all who encounter you. You craved life, yet it wilts at your fingertips, sensing the consequences that’d come if you so much as brush against it. They cower into faraway corners like you aren’t also a victim who longs for safety.

You might not be the grim reaper they fear, but where you walk, he’s bound to follow.

Chrollo clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “That’s who you intended to wed, dear? A small-time Hunter who denounces you after a little pain? My, my… that must sting. Still, I doubt it comes close to how hurt I was upon hearing news of your dalliances.”

Dalliances. Is that all he considers your betrothal to be?

He presses his advantage at your silence — you don’t think you could form a coherent sentence if your life depended on it. Unlike him, you haven’t been dutifully preparing for this moment for god knows how long. His words wreak of premeditation and long hours spent ruminating over how to cut the deepest. He should consider himself successful if that is the case.

“I suppose I’m somewhat at fault for lacking proper foresight,” Chrollo sighs, his nonchalance in discussing the matter borderline commendable. “I thought some well-placed Nen would keep you nice and docile for me until my business came to an end. Never did I imagine you’d run into a Nen Exorcist of all people. Much less welcome his advances when you so adamantly refused mine.”

He places a hand to his chin, musing aloud to himself, “What is it about him that won you over so fast, I wonder? He’s weak, too destitute to afford a proper ring despite being a Hunter, and above all else, more than happy to give you up if it meant his life being spared. Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things he said about you darling. He said he never would’ve intervened had he known it was I you belonged to. That this was all your fault for deceiving him. Not a very good look, I must say.”

“Stop it,” you beg, covering your ears with your hands and squeezing your eyes shut, “Please, just stop—”

Your pleas for mercy fall on deaf ears. His selective hearing sure hasn’t changed.

“Had I known you were so eager to marry, I would’ve made you my bride ages ago,” Chrollo continues, acting as if this were a spur-of-the-moment revelation and not a monologue practiced in advance. “How about it, [First]? I think that might just be the thing this relationship needs. I know I’m committed, but you… hm. Your loyalty leaves much to be desired. Ah. Here comes our appetizer.”

Using a gentleness you didn’t think him to be capable of, he peels your hand off the side of your face, then places a handkerchief into your outstretched palm. You stare at it, barely registering anything aside from the soft fabric brushing against your skin. No other sensory inputs make an impression on your brain, in what must be its last-ditch effort to preserve your sanity. You blink. Once, twice. Red? Is that red? You tunnel your attention into the seemingly insignificant detail. This handkerchief is black as midnight, and yet, there’s something off about the upper right corner. A hint of an iron scent permeates the air. Subtle, but not subtle enough.

Your paroxysm almost begins anew when you realize what the foreign substance must be: blood.

Considering the details of what you’ve been made to endure these past few minutes…

“Try not to think about it too much, dear.”

You drop the cloth like it was acid that’d burn your flesh should it be held any longer, a reaction that makes him chuckle.

“You’ve always been squeamish, haven’t you?” he muses. He folds the handkerchief and then tucks it into his blazer’s inner pocket. You’re digging your nails into the palm of your hand hard enough almost to break skin, the pain anchoring you. This is the life you’ll have to live again. The mind games, the quips, the humiliation, and the frustration. You don’t know if you can handle it again. Worse of all, you don’t know if you have a choice.

It’s doubtful that you do.

Chrollo leans forward, invading what little personal privacy you have left, his lips brushing suggestively against your ear.

“One more suggestion. You might want to excuse yourself and get cleaned up, you look a mess. Just be sure to keep an eye on the time. We wouldn’t want to ruin everyone else’s evening, now would we?”

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY HUSBAND #MUAH #chrollo x reader #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere hxh x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #my stuff

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gallifreyinstituteforlearning · 3 months

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Hi, I'm the human who got trapped inside a TARDIS.

Thank you for the help, I managed to open the interior doors a few days ago and went looking for the owner. No luck, but I found a swimming pool, a huge library, kitchens, bathrooms, bedrooms, science labs, entertainment rooms and what seems to be a huge park?

I don't know how on Earth something like this can even exist, but I guess there's all the time in the world to learn while waiting for rescue. I'm worried about the pilot though; isn't there a way to locate them, given how advanced this craft is?

Hi there, trapped human! Let's address your concerns about the pilot.

How to locate a TARDIS pilot

Do not attempt to operate the TARDIS flight controls without being absolutely sure it is safe. On earlier models, use of the console without a Symbiotic Nucleus may result in injury or a very slow and painful death.

Note: Most of the systems are in Gallifreyan. TARDISes do not tend to translate Gallifreyan, so you may not be able to read them.

Here are some methods you can try:

📡 Stattenheim Remote Teleport Control: Look for a small black disc stored in a transparent dome on the console. If properly calibrated, pressing this button may immediately transport you to the pilot. If it's not there, the pilot has taken it, or the TARDIS doesn't have the Mark X refit.

⏪ Fast Return Switch: This will return the TARDIS to an approximate time and location near where it last landed. It's clearly labelled on the console. Turn it clockwise to operate. [Use with caution]

📍 Locate the Doctor: Some models may have this feature. It is activated by pressing a button on the console labelled 'LTD' (your TARDIS may have another personalised variation). The Visual Display Unit will show the pilot's relative position on a map.

🧬 Passenger Adoption Scanning Terminal (PAST): This system registers and protects passengers. Due to how it works, if you’re registered, the pilot is likely still on board.

👥 Internal Monitor: A Mark II TARDIS can detect the number of sapient life forms onboard and display it on the Internal Monitor.

💻 The Scanner: The Scanner can locate the pilot's biodata within a two-mile radius outside the TARDIS. Some pilots have a preprogrammed switch by the scanner that will instantly display their pilot's location, but this is a modified feature.

🎤 Voice Interaction: Try speaking to the TARDIS. Some models respond to vocal commands for minor systems. If the TARDIS doesn’t respond, your voice print registration is required.

🔍 Artron Telepathic Radiation: If you find another Time Lord, they can scan for the pilot's ‘thumbprints’ left by their symbiotic nuclei to identify them.

🛠️ Cloister Room: This room contains telepathic circuits to communicate with the pilot, possibly providing an audiovisual link. It's accessible via a shortcut in the Secondary Control Room. Be cautious, as this room may have minor effects on your nervous system.

🚨 Extreme Emergency Lever: Crew members can use this lever to lock onto a pilot drifting in space and materialise around them.

🗝️ TARDIS Key: Use a key to locate anyone processed by the PAST (such as other crew members). Mix their blood with saline solution, coat the key, and suspend it in clear oil. The oxidised blood particles will 'point' in their direction.

🧠 Memory Store: Stores memories of TARDIS occupants, including audio-visual recordings of the Control Room. Useful to identify the pilot and the last time they were there.

💉 Medical Bay: The Automatic Diagnostic Terminal usually uses the pilot's avatar to communicate. You may be able to ask the avatar their identity, although responses may be limited.

If you need to take emergency action:

There is an 🚪Emergency Door located in the Power Stacks Room, leading outside. The 🚨 Fail-Safe Switch locks the TARDIS onto the nearest habitable environment, creating emergency doors. The 🆘 Emergency Emergency System (so emergent they named it twice) creates a wormhole to the nearest habitable planet. This is one way only, so there is no return to the TARDIS afterwards.

💀 Pilot Death & TARDIS Adoption

Usually, emergency systems will try to lock onto the pilot. If this is not happening, the pilot may have died without regeneration. TARDISes will normally go into a period of mourning following the death of their pilot, possibly involving a loss of power or shut down of many systems.

If you're finding systems are not shut down but have increasing suspicions the pilot may have died, this could be because:

The TARDIS has already gone through its period of mourning;

It has reactivated at your presence, hoping to establish a link with you;

It didn't really like its pilot very much.

It's not unheard of for humans to forge a bond with the TARDIS, especially if it's been left alone for some time. The TARDIS might be adopting you as its new caretaker, which would explain the access you've been granted. Some clues:

🎁 TARDISes sometimes leave gifts to welcome new arrivals. Look around for anything unusual or out of place.

💭 If you feel any strong intuitive pushes or thoughts, it might be the TARDIS trying to communicate with you.

🔑 If you're finding you have access to a lot of the TARDIS (including intricate systems), the TARDIS definitely likes you.

🏫 So ...

To locate the pilot or other crew members, try any of the procedures outlined above. Be sure to familiarise yourself with the main areas and secure access to food, water, and other necessities. The TARDIS can help—look for glowing arrows or symbols on the walls. These can lead you to important areas. Remember, the TARDIS is a complex and sentient machine. If it has adopted you, it will do its best to keep you safe, and it has a plethora of effective automated defences to achieve this.

Do we have any info on TARDIS biology?: Overview of TARDIS biological aspects.

Factoid: What's the link between a Time Lord and their TARDIS?

Can a non-Gallifreyan benefit from a symbiotic bond with a TARDIS?: Non-Gallifreyan symbiosis with a TARDIS.

Hope that helped! 😃

Any purple text is educated guesswork or theoretical. More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired😴

#gil #gallifrey institute for learning #dr who #dw eu #ask answered #whoniverse #doctor who #gallifreyan culture #tardis

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crabbng · 5 months

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i actually got some in process shots for this #WebcomicDay ! they are of an episode 12 page, so this doubles as a sneak peek 🤣 you can see i forgot to take a pic of the finished lines before i started on coloring (whoops)

there are a few secret steps after finishing up backgrounds etc. (scanning, cleaning up) but since this is a sneak peek, i didn't want to put the Final Product out there.

I guess I'll ramble a little bit about The Process below the cut.

SKETCH: I don't plan out my pages as much as I should other artists do. I think about the next couple shots I want, what I can probably fit on the page, and then decide how tall the panel should be. after that I draw a big line across the page 🤣 sometimes the panel gets bisected, usually not trisected. I love it when people consider the whole of the page and make the paneling choices that elevate the art. I just don't do it lmao

luckily for me, I don't have a requirement to make every piece of my comic pages The Best. So, I focus on what I enjoy: expressions and conversations.

LINE DIALOGUE AND PANELS: For inking/lining, I ABSOLUTELY have to put in my dialogue/dialogue balloons first. Since I'm doing everything on the same page of physical paper, I can't really shift things around partway through to make the dialogue and art fit better together. I also have to make sure it all fits within the panel lines I have planned. I've gotten into situations where the WORDS fit in, but in order to make a word balloon with decent space around the words, I cross over a line. Sometimes it works, but for me.. it doesn't work most of the time. So, gotta plan ahead.

You can also see down in the final section, I handwrite my dialogue! So, if I mess up, I sometimes have to add in a few letter that I can substitute in during editing.

FINISH LINES & ERASING: All I have to say about finishing lines/erasing, is that erasing can be such a challenge lmao. JUST YESTERDAY... when I was erasing.. I tore a page a little bit. And I often accidentally crinkle a corner while erasing. The obvious solution, and what I know people do, is to sketch on one page, and then use a light table (or equivalent) to do a cleaner, lighter sketch on a new page, and then do lining on that. Which is a good idea, maybe someday I'll try it lol.

COLOR FIGURES: There's really no good reason I start with the figures, besides that I like watching them come to life with the colors. It feels weird when they're blank on the page. They're also generally the most important part of the page for me, and seeing them colored helps me decide on which panels I want to do flat color backgrounds for.

But! This means I can't go back and edit skin tones etc. to be in different lighting after the fact, unless it's to make them darker! So that's something I have to be cognizant of and plan for in advance.

I use Copics for most part of the figures, except when I know there's going to be several large areas to color, like Aoife's hair or her sweater and pants. I have character's hair planned in Copics, but I have several browns from other brands (Prismacolor, Blick, Winsor and Newton, Artist's Loft) that get pretty close to her hair color. Clothing that has large areas that need to be colored are planned as being from one of those other brands from the start. I don't want to use up all my Copic juice on them!!

Also don't you just love seeing the texture of the paper through the marker? I love it. I love the natural variation you get.

BACKGROUNDS & OTHER DETAILS: Color everything else! Backgrounds and shadows generally. For backgrounds I'm once again using my alternative brands. I've got a lot of space to cover, and those markers, along with being cheaper, are generally larger than my Copics. So it works out.

Sometimes I tend to go a bit wild with the single color backgrounds, to the point where I think it can get distracting. So I have to rein it in and leave some panels with white backgrounds, so the reader isn't just blasted with colors from every angle. My rule of thumb is to try and only have color on one panel in each of my lines of panels, and to alternate sides, if possible. I feel like that guides the eye easier.

Doing things traditionally means I don't really get any shortcuts when it comes to backgrounds, including just flat color backgrounds. Every square millimeter has gotta be colored purposefully by me. And maybe that seems like a pointless use of time and effort! But man, I love the end result. I'm all for shortcuts, it's just a lot of the ones I see floating around don't apply to me 🤣

I'll talk about my other steps here too, might as well.

SCANNING: After colors and everything, I scan the pages. They're too big to fit in my scanner, so I scan the top and bottom halves separately, and stitch them together (I use PhotoStitcher).

From there, I rotate it to (more or less) make it straight on my canvas, make a .clip version, and send it off to my iPad!

I got my iPad in a workplace raffle, and though there's a lot about the UI I don't love, it's been really convenient!

EDITING: Editing consists of: cleaning up things that should be white (like eyes, teeth, and word balloons), and then cleaning up marker that's bled over into areas it doesn't belong, and is distracting. I try not to overdo it on marker cleanup, because 1) it takes a while, 2) it can stress me out if I decide I need it all to be PERFECT, and 3) it feels slightly disingenuous, just TO ME, about my OWN work. I don't think 3) is valid, so I try to ignore that part, but sometimes in my head I'm like 'mm but Jacki can you say its traditional if you have to do so much work in post to make it presentable??' (said in a very snobby voice). I went from not really caring -> REALLY caring -> hopefully I'll get to caring a reasonable amount.

FINISHING: Last steps are to send it BACK to my computer, where I have two auto actions to size the page and to export it as a .png in a large and a small size. I should be rightfully criticized for how I size the pages lmao, it's 2647x3560 pixels. Why that number specifically? That's 1) how I've done it since the beginning, so they are all this very strange size, and 2) it's about the maximum area of scanned page I can consistently get.

I think that's it? I don't know why you would, but if you have any questions, feel free to hit me up and I'll answer them to the best of my ability. Hope someone finds this interesting or helpful LOL

bye 💕 happy webcomic day!

#webcomicday #webcomic day #kings of sorts #draws

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materialsscienceandengineering · 3 months

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Laser-based 3D printing: A powerful tool to advance optical microscopy

Today, optical microscopy is one of the most widely used methods in various multidisciplinary fields for inspecting objects, organisms, or surfaces on a small scale. However, its lateral resolution is fundamentally limited by the diffraction of light—a constraint that, with the use of conventional lenses, has become increasingly critical as the demand for higher resolutions grows. The integration of a dielectric micro-sphere behind the last imaging lens of an optical microscope offers a promising solution to significantly enhance lateral resolution, a research area known as micro-sphere-assisted microscopy. However, in practice, the use of commercially available dielectric micro-spheres comes with substantial limitations. Cumbersome workflows are required for proper handling of the micro-spheres, and the sizes of commercially available dielectric micro-spheres are also limited. These challenges hinder the widespread application of micro-sphere-assisted microscopy as a cost-effective alternative to expensive microscopy solutions, such as scanning electron microscopy or atomic force microscopy.

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adasitecompliance · 4 months

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AI Influences Web Accessibility

The Future Of AI And Web Accessibility

In our increasingly digital world, equal access to information is crucial. However, many individuals with disabilities face challenges in accessing online content, such as websites, articles, and videos, due to various barriers.

Imagine a world where technology empowers everyone to access information effortlessly, regardless of their abilities. Thanks to artificial intelligence (AI), this vision is becoming a reality. AI is breaking down barriers and making technology more accessible.

By improving information accessibility, AI not only aids individuals with disabilities but also enhances the overall user experience for everyone. ChatGPT-3 has accelerated AI-driven innovation, and while the future of AI and website accessibility is unknown, innovative technologies like GPT-5 have immense potential to enhance accessibility.

We at ADA Site Compliance have a team of accessibility experts who stay updated with the latest regulatory trends and emerging technology. They help organizations like yours ensure that all digital content meets accessibility standards.

Exploring the Future Potential of Artificial Intelligence

Artificial Intelligence (AI) involves creating computer systems designed to mimic human intelligence. A fundamental aspect of AI is machine learning algorithms, a subset that allows computers to learn and evolve based on experience without explicit programming.

Technological advancements have unlocked AI’s vast potential, enabling intelligent devices to perform tasks that once were solely within the realm of human cognition.

What is AI?

To grasp how AI influences web accessibility, we first need to define it.

Artificial Intelligence involves developing software and systems that perform tasks requiring human intelligence. AI achieves this through various technologies, including natural language processing and computer vision. As these functions become more accessible, they benefit society even more

What Are Accessibility Technologies?

Accessibility technologies provide tools and solutions to ensure that people with disabilities can access and use web content effectively. These technologies, including AI-powered tools like chatbots, digital platforms like GPT, screen readers, and alternative input devices, are designed to enhance digital accessibility and foster inclusivity.

Current AI Technologies

AI is rapidly enhancing web accessibility. Improved computer vision algorithms are making it easier for visually impaired users and seniors to understand web content through better descriptions of visual content.

Here are a few examples of current AI technologies:

1. GPT-4:

OpenAI’s newest chatbot, GPT-4, enhances accessibility for third-party companies. In partnership with Be My Eyes, GPT-4 introduces an AI-powered Virtual Volunteer to assist visually impaired individuals.

2. Apple’s Accessibility Features:

Apple continues to set the standard in accessibility with a suite of new tools launched on Global Accessibility Awareness Day. These enhancements include improved Voice Control, customizable Siri options, and a unique Assistive Access mode to simplify device usage for people with motor or cognitive disabilities.

3. Google’s Enhanced Navigation Features:

In October, Google upgraded its navigation features for Google Maps and business pages. These enhancements include wheelchair-accessible walking routes, improved Live View for visually impaired users, and a new identity attribute label to help locate disabled-owned businesses.

4. Natural Language Processing (NLP):

NLP enhances text readability, aiding individuals with cognitive disorders, learning disabilities, and age-related cognitive decline.

Despite these advancements, this cutting-edge technology is not yet perfect. Image recognition still struggles with complex scenes and context, and NLP-based text simplification can sometimes lead to a loss of significance. Nevertheless, these developments represent a promising beginning for enhanced digital accessibility.

Examples of How AI Enhances Digital Accessibility

Individuals with visual, auditory, or mobility impairments often face challenges in navigating the digital landscape of the web. Here are some ways AI is making accessibility improvements:

1) Speech Recognition

Speech recognition technology is incredibly beneficial for those with physical limitations, restricted mobility, or typing difficulties. AI-powered speech and voice recognition technologies enable users to control devices and navigate the web using voice commands, significantly enhancing their online accessibility and overall experience.

2) Enhanced Browsing Experience

Did you know that AI-powered virtual assistants and chatbots can significantly enhance online browsing?

These technologies provide personalized support, helping individuals with disabilities access important information and navigate websites more effectively. Accessible websites perform better in search engines but also offer a superior user experience for everyone.

3) AI-Enhanced Visualization for Visually Impaired Users

Imagine a world where images and text describe everything around you. AI-powered screen readers and text-to-speech technologies make written content accessible for visually impaired individuals. Additionally, image recognition systems can describe photos, videos, and live scenes, offering valuable assistance to those with visual impairments.

A crucial accessibility element for visually impaired users is “alt text.” AI can automatically generate alt text for images and videos, ensuring quick and accurate descriptions that describe images. This allows screen readers to interpret and explain on-screen images, making web content more inclusive and accessible.

AI Benefits for Web Accessibility

AI is revolutionizing web accessibility, offering numerous benefits that enhance the online experience for individuals with disabilities. Here are some key advantages AI brings to web accessibility:

a) Enhanced Access

AI has significantly advanced web accessibility for individuals with disabilities. It removes obstacles, enabling users to navigate websites, consume multimedia content more, and engage in online communities more effectively.

b) Boosted Independence and Autonomy

AI empowers individuals with disabilities to use the internet independently. This innovation allows them to manage their online activities without assistance, fostering greater inclusion and promoting autonomy.

Challenges Posed by AI on Web Accessibility

AI enhances online accessibility, but it also introduces several challenges. Here are some key issues AI poses for web accessibility:

i) Accuracy Challenges

Despite advancements, AI often struggles with providing reliable captions, descriptions, translations, and voice recognition. Errors in these areas can make it difficult for users to understand content, thereby limiting the effectiveness of accessibility features.

ii) Over-Reliance

Relying too heavily on AI to improve web accessibility can result in overlooking other essential aspects of accessible design. Use AI alongside comprehensive other accessibility guidelines and principles and not seen as a universal solution.

Future of AI-Driven Web Accessibility

With AI becoming more advanced, it will continue enhancing technology usability and improving web accessibility. Developers will save time and resources when using these tools to discover and fix accessibility issues.

Remember that automated tools cannot guarantee accessibility compliance.

Human knowledge and manual testing by experienced accessibility auditing specialists will still be needed to discover complicated issues and create a fully inclusive user experience for elders and disabled people.

This is where we at ADA Site Compliance can help. We have a team of accessibility experts and web developers who stay updated with the latest regulatory trends to help organizations like yours ensure all web content meets accessibility standards.

For all your website and digital content accessibility needs, contact ADA Site Compliance today!

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aricr · 1 month

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My thoughts on TED (the planet) and its people (just headcanons)

I had some thoughts/headcanons about TED (the planet + its people). (Slight spoilers for s2 of Midnight Burger?)

It’s been established that:

An algorithm rules the TEDs. They trust it, and (allegedly) have no real leaders.

They worked on this algorithm for a long time until it learned to improve itself

The education system is geared toward people’s strengths, and the algorithm and presumably authority figures steer kids in the direction of a fitting career, and that will help push the Empire forward.

There used to be rainforests like the ones on earth

THEREFORE (and this is where my headcanons come in)

I think maybe industrialization took hold. They were the Earth before Earth in that way.

The difference is that because they’re a much more advanced civilization, it looks cleaner. They clean up nice and decorate their cities with artificial (and maybe electric/mechanical) trees, plants, etc. This helps keep the younger population's morale up, while the workforce works to find a solution for their rapidly depleting resources. The algorithm works to train the younger generation and push them toward what they do best individually in a way that helps the workforce continue.

NOW we get into the good stuff

The TEDs got desperate and started looking for....more questionable solutions.

Eventually, someone gets an idea. It's drastic, and they do some small tests. But it works.

They start working on a larger model immediately and announce their success to the population; a way to connect their planet to others like it. An age for diplomacy and cultural exchange. Of planets helping each other. A bridge of sorts. My guess is that they were very open about their system of scanning for life on different systems because the corruption hadn’t taken hold yet, at least not completely. Everything would be okay if they followed protocol. If they stuck to the plan.

A team had already departed to get a head start on construction.

MY THOUGHTS ON THE TEDs AS A PEOPLE/SPECIES (based on my Ted (singular) design and my inspirations behind it)

Building and tech have always been a lot easier for TEDs. Evolutionarily speaking, they can transfer small shocks of electricity from one place to another simply through touch. They're an electric bunch, like electric eels.

My good friend @mostdeviouswizard asked if the shocks are affected by emotions, and the answer is YES! So in my Ted design, his scales/freckles light up, along with sparks from the ends of his antennae. This also applies to other strong emotions and is a defense mechanism (evolutionarily speaking, against prey and such).

Becoming an Earth expert was a great way for the TEDs to use his expertise to help find resources. He always loved the forests of his planet (or what was left of them). When he realized humans were chopping down their forests and burning through their natural resources, he could see them going the same way they were headed--only they didn't have the advancements of the TEDs. They would doom themselves, and those beautiful resources on their planet. That would explain why he has such strong feelings about life on other planets, especially their forests & other flora.

I was just drawing and had the cute idea of possible small electric shocks bc I made his little scales/freckles glow blue and then went "......Why do they do that tho."

So naturally, I IMMEDIATELY came up w this lore.

#ted midnight burger #midnight burger #ari talks #the teds #again these are just headcanons #because the brainrot has not gone away and isn't going to anytime soon #headcanon #ted (singular)#so sorry yall have to hear me yap abt this. he is all i think abt #if there's any grammatical errors i apologize English is NOT my first language

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jinxhallows · 1 year

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idk if the requests are still open but can you do Lee Know detective au? thanks in advance! 💕

hey, I know you didnt ask for all this but well, when you make a request, I must oblige, and if im gonna do a detective au, its gonna be noir because, Minho as a noir detective? his pretty scorpio ass? I swoon! I got so carried away and it got so long, I had to split it into two parts, so here ya go ;) sorry it took so long! I've never written minho before and he's quite enigmatic, I wanted to do him justice. I've never written in this kind of au before, i really enjoyed it! thanks!

ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴄᴀsᴇ [ ʟᴇᴇᴋɴᴏᴡ x ғ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ɴᴏɪʀ ᴅᴇᴛᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴀᴜ ]

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴀ sʜᴏʀᴛ sᴇʀɪᴇs

ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ: 𝟷𝟾+ ᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: ᴄʀɪᴍᴇ, ᴅᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴍᴜʀᴅᴇʀ, ɪʟʟᴇɢᴀʟ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ʟᴀɴɢᴜᴀɢᴇ, sᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟽.𝟼ᴋ

━━━━━━━━

Lightning dances across the melancholic navy-grey night sky, momentarily illuminating the worn-out detective's office. The accompanying thunder roars in a subdued grumble, blending with the relentless downpour outside. The storm's proximity jolts Minho from his relentless pursuit of a fourteen-year-old missing person case, now gone cold, aggravating his already mounting frustrations.

With a frustrated scrape of the wooden chair against the floor, Minho rises from his desk, clutching his empty black coffee mug. The dried residue at its bottom reveals hours have passed since his last sip of caffeine, a regular occurrence during his late-night vigils. His reputation as a tenacious detective, able to crack cases others can't fathom, depends on these after-hours endeavors.

Gazing into the abyss of his mug, Minho mutters a silent curse at its emptiness before lifting a small, black remote and increasing the volume on the jazz music emanating from the sound system. The smooth melodies of the horns cascade through the room, supplying a temporary shield against the cacophony of the storm. Drawing energy from the music, he leaves the room, flicking on the light switch to the breakroom. The fluorescent lights flicker to life, unveiling the weary detective's countenance as he reaches for the cabinet above the stainless steel sink, retrieving a fresh coffee filter and aromatic grounds. A new brew, he hopes, will fuel him for a few more tireless hours.

The persistent scratching at the door leading to the back reminds him of the alleycat's nightly demand for its meal. Minho presses the button on the coffee machine, setting the brewing process in motion, and bends down to open the cabinet under the sink, scanning for any remaining cans of cat food. To his dismay, none are in sight. A sigh escapes his lips, a gust that momentarily sweeps his wispy black hair away from his face as he ponders an alternative solution.

Scratch. Scratch.

"Give me a second," he calls out in exasperation, fully expecting the alleycat to understand plain English. He opens the fridge and retrieves the tuna sandwich he had prepared for himself. His gaze shifts between the sandwich and the door, contemplating his priorities. Finally, he unwraps half of the sandwich, placing it on a delicate porcelain plate. Determined to pick up some cans of cat food on his way home from the 24-hour gas station, he heads towards the back door. As he opens it, a small, black blur darts past him and into the building.

"Hey—" he begins to protest, only to be interrupted by a resounding thunderstrike that causes him to wince. Shielding his face from the stray droplets, carried on the wind, he silently curses as the rain dampens his pristine white dress shirt. His decision to stay put is driven by a flash of lightning that seemingly reveals a figure at the end of the alley.

Another flash of lightning confirms his suspicion, and the glowing streetlamp near the door finally unveils your identity.

"What are you doing out here? Are you lost?" He raises his voice above the rain, squinting at you from the doorway. You take a step back, glancing at the sign next to the door, before shifting your gaze towards the dark-haired man.

"Are you Detective Lee?" you lean forward and ask.

"Come inside, we're both getting soaked," he steps aside, his gaze still fixed on the rain-laden sky. You cautiously enter the hallway, and with a frustrated sigh, Minho looks down the darkened corridor where the alleycat has vanished. Placing the small plate with the sandwich near the coatrack by the door, he closes it behind you. His eyes widen with disbelief as he examines your soaked appearance. He takes your jacket, giving it a gentle shake before hanging it on the hook. You also remove your hat, and he carefully places it on the adjacent hook.

"If it's an emergency, you should have gone to the police," he says, shaking his wrist to glance at his black watch with a gold rim. "I can drive you, so you don't have to walk in this rain. It's a few blocks up the road."

Ignoring his attempts to divert the conversation, you press on, your tone becoming more assertive. "You didn't answer my question. Are you Detective Lee?"

"Yes, I am," he concedes, though his tone carries a hint of reluctance. "But it's outside of business hours, and I'm really tied up in a case—"

Undeterred, you push forward, dismissing his excuses. "I was told to talk to you. My name is y/n, y/n Johnston."

At the mention of your name, he freezes mid-sentence. "Johnston. As in the disappearance of Alesha Johnston?"

You retrieve a manilla envelope from your bag and hold it out to him. "I received this yesterday—no label, nothing. Inside are photos of this cabin. It reminds me of the place Alesha used to talk about just before she went missing. I know it's been so long, and it may be nothing, but—"

Slowly, you hand the envelope to Minho, who holds it but refrains from opening it. He gazes back at you, his eyes capturing the fear and hope shimmering within yours. "Follow me," he urges, turning swiftly and leading the way through the breakroom. The coffee continues streaming into the pot, now halfway full. You maintain your pace behind him, taking in the sight of the old building's interior. The breakroom walls are painted a faded mint green, and the black-and-white checkered tile flooring evokes memories of shower floors in locker rooms. The door to his office bears a frosted glass window with golden letters that read: Detective Lee. He opens it, gesturing for you to enter first, and you hear the door click securely into place as you approach his desk. Stacks of folders and piles of paper clutter the surface, alongside a few polaroid photos of random people and a couple of bloodied scenes depicting unthinkable brutal murders.

He loosens his black tie, sinking into the edge of the work desk. His white shirt clings to his shoulders and chest, slightly damp from the encounter. His steely brown eyes bear a hint of doubt as his tongue probes the inside of his mouth, deep in thought.

Minho begins to unravel his thought process, his voice filled with skepticism, "This case is fourteen years old, and you suddenly receive an anonymous package with photos of a place your sister mentioned—"

"Hold on, how do you know she's my sister?"

He strides around the desk and opens the folder at its center, revealing faded, typewritten pages. "Because the Johnston disappearance is one of the cold cases I've been working on for a few years now. A wealthy family's daughter vanishes without a trace, barely investigated before being closed," he shakes his head. "But you weren't even home when it happened, according to your witness statement, at least." Minho raises his gaze, locking eyes with you. "Who told you to come find me?"

"I got the photos and started askin’ around to see if anyone recognized the cabin or the woods. The bartender at Jerry's mentioned you specialize in cold cases. Going to the cops, they wouldn't have taken me seriously. I know she's probably dead, but I can't find peace until I get some answers. Please, you're my only hope right now," you plead, the raw emotion in your words striking a chord in Minho's heart. He knows exactly who you're referring to when you mentioned the bartender. He'll have to pay his friend a visit and share a drink soon. Finally, he opens the envelope and carefully removes the photos. Six in total, each capturing the desolation of a dilapidated cabin in the woods. Two show the interior, revealing signs of recent habitation, at least, it seems that way.

"I don't work for free, no matter how pretty a face is," he says, sliding the photos back into the envelope and placing them on his desk. "Three hundred an hour, with a deposit now that counts toward the first one."

A smirk tugs at your lips as you retrieve your wallet from your bag, pulling out four crisp one-hundred dollar bills. Placing them atop the envelope, your gaze meets Minho's, locking eyes with the private eye. "An extra hundred, because you called me pretty." Money holds no sway over you, your inheritance affording you endless resources. Closure for your sister's disappearance is worth any price.

Accepting the cash, Minho opens a drawer and tucks it away before resting his forearms on the table, interlacing his fingers as he leans forward. "I could say much more than that, but I still possess a shred of decorum after all these years." Your attention fixates on his partly opened lips, when suddenly a ding echoes from the other room, prompting him to stand. "Would you like some coffee? I don't drink tea, but there might be some Lipton from the attorney in the office next to mine."

A chuckle escapes your lips. "Coffee will do just fine."

Meow.

The alleycat beckons from the doorway, its presence demanding attention. As you glance over your shoulder, it gracefully brushes its head against the doorframe, proceeding to rub against your leg. Unable to resist its charm, you instinctively bend down, indulging in a few gentle head scratches.

"How cute. Is he yours?" you inquire, your voice filled with genuine curiosity.

Minho corrects your assumption, emphasizing the proper pronoun, "She might as well be by now. I'll be right back," he replies with a warm smile.

Pouring the steaming brew into his mug, Minho finds solace in the hot liquid, an elixir for his restless mind. Alone in the breakroom, questions swirl in his thoughts. Even if they found the cabin, what would it lead to? Why would the victim have been talking about a secluded cabin in the first place?

Absently, he reaches for another mug from the cupboard, its distinctive wood catching his attention. He has opened these cupboards countless times before, yet something about them stands out now. Running his fingers along the shelf, a wave of familiarity washes over him. The grain patterns and texture of the wood bear an uncanny resemblance to the trees captured in the photographs.

He pauses, a connection forming between the cupboard and the haunting images that have consumed his mind. The realization strikes him like an electric shock—this is the same wood! Grasping the extra mug, he hastily fills it, returning to his desk and arranging the photos. His eyes dart between the images, drawing parallels.

"These trees," he murmurs, turning over one of the photos and gently pressing his finger against the clearer ones, "These are Eastern Black Oak trees. It's unmistakable. They grow on the outskirts of town, up north."

"Then we'll go tomorrow, when the weather clears," you declare with determination, punctuating your statement with a firm nod.

Minho hesitates, apprehension etched on his face. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here, I don’t work with others—besides, this could be dangerous, if these photos are recent, it looks like someone’s still living there,” He stares at the photo, turning it back right side up so he can look at it closer. “Still, the forests on the edges of town are huge. It has to be narrowed down somehow.”

Now it's your turn to lean forward, your finger tracing the blurred backdrop in another photo. "If it's up north, this looks like the water tower on Bell Avenue," you interject, your eyes meeting Minho's. "But you know, you don't typically work with others, right?" A mischievous brow rises as you lean back, taking a sip of your coffee. The realization dawns upon you—the cabin had consumed your attention, neglecting the background details, just as Minho had focused solely on the trees, overlooking the water tower.

"Another set of eyes won't hurt. Besides, it's my sister we're talking about. I'll do anything to uncover the truth," you say, unveiling a small revolver from your bag and placing it firmly on the desk. Minho's surprise is palpable, his expectations shattered by your audacity. Silence fills the room, punctuated only by the distant patter of raindrops against the windows. Lingering glances and unspoken words convey volumes, as the weight of the investigation and your shared vulnerability hangs in the air.

Suddenly, Minho takes control of the moment, a subtle shift in his demeanor. "Alright then, let's meet here at eight o'clock sharp tomorrow morning," he asserts.

You rise from your seat, setting your partially drunk coffee on the edge of the desk. "Do you mind calling me a taxi?" you ask, your voice carrying a hint of weariness.

Minho glances at his wrist, considering your request. As he gathers the evidence and places it neatly in a folder alongside the rest of the case documentation, he offers an alternative solution. "Actually, I'm about to lock up and head home. I can drop you off at your place, save you the taxi fee," he proposes, a flicker of kindness in his gaze.

"Thank you, Detective. I would appreciate that very much," you reply gratefully, acknowledging his offer.

Together, you step out into the relentless downpour, the rain immediately soaking through your clothes. Minho swiftly unlocks his car, holding the door open for you, a gesture of chivalry. You climb into the passenger seat, a shiver coursing through your body as the cold rainwater clings to your skin. Minho shuts the door and dashes to the driver's side, water dripping from his hair and clothes. As he starts the engine, the car roars to life, its comforting hum filling the space. The interior feels warm and cozy, offering solace from the relentless rain. Soft illumination from the dashboard lights bathes the cabin as Minho adjusts the temperature and activates the windshield wipers. The rhythm of rain on the roof serves as a soothing backdrop as the two of you pull away from the agency and onto the road.

Curiosity sparks within you, breaking the silence. "I'm curious, how did you figure out the type of trees in the photo?" you inquire, stealing a glance at Minho.

"My degree is in ecology," he reveals, his voice carrying a note of pride. "It comes in handy at times."

You muse aloud, your gaze shifting to the raindrops streaking across the car windows. "And how did you become a detective?" you venture, genuinely intrigued.

A subtle, smothered chuckle escapes Minho, accompanied by a faint curl of his lips. Memories resurface, creating a momentary flicker in his eyes. "I had a troubled upbringing and ended up in prison. I learned from doing a lot of reading in there, and I guess I had a thing for criminology," he explains, his tone tinged with a mix of reflection and determination. "When I finally got out, someone offered to mentor me. They helped me channel my experiences into something that could aid others instead of causing harm."

Keeping his eyes focused on the road ahead, Minho concludes, "Thinking like a criminal is much easier when you've been one."

Curiosity piques your interest further, compelling you to probe deeper. "What did you do?" you inquire, your voice laced with genuine intrigue.

"We don't have to delve into that. Trust me, it won't paint a pretty picture," Minho deflects, occasionally stealing glances in your direction. "And what about you? What's your story?"

As the miles pass, you engage in small talk, cautiously revealing fragments of your respective lives. Each guarded, harboring past traumas unbeknownst to the other. As your destination draws nearer, the rain eases, the storm relinquishing its fury. The atmosphere within the car begins to shift, as a sense of cautious optimism replaces the earlier tension. It feels like a turning point, a pivotal moment where the answers you have sought for so long are finally within reach.

Minho pulls up outside your residence, the gentle purr of the car's engine fading as he turns off the ignition. Turning to face you, his eyes reflect a blend of determination and concern. "We're here," he states softly, his voice laced with anticipation.

Meeting his gaze, a flicker of gratitude glimmers in your eyes. "Thank you for everything, Detective. You have no idea how much this means to me," you express, genuine appreciation resonating in your words.

Minho offers a small, heartfelt smile. "Call me Minho. Since we're partners now, I suppose it's okay," he suggests, his voice laced with a hint of camaraderie.

The sound of a saxophone fills the car, the radio emitting a captivating riff. Minho adjusts the volume, his actions captivating your attention. You realize you have been lingering, delaying your departure. Despite your drenched state and weariness, you find yourself stalling. Minho's actions hold a magnetic pull, the weight of the investigation and an unspoken attraction hanging palpably in the air. He leans in slightly, bridging the gap between you, the charged atmosphere electrifying the space. His hand gently brushes a rain-soaked strand of hair away from your face, a touch both tender and exhilarating. His eyes betray a momentary hesitation, flicking toward your lips before diverting his gaze to the car's ignition, restarting the engine.

"Eight o'clock sharp, got it?" he asserts authoritatively, his voice resolute. Handing you a card, he adds, "Call me if you need anything before then."

You take the card, studying it briefly, gratitude filling your heart.

With a nod of finality, you turn and make your way towards your front door, the echoes of raindrops fading into the background. The sound of Minho's engine revving as he drives off lingers in your ears. You close your door, pausing for a moment to replay the recent encounter in your mind. A faint smile tugs at the corner of your lips, but it quickly fades as the memory of your sister's disappearance resurfaces, dampening the moment.

Minho parks his car in the garage of his apartment complex, his footsteps echoing in the empty space as he gathers his belongings. Tucking his trenchcoat under his arm, he navigates towards the elevator lobby, stopping momentarily to retrieve the mail from his mailbox. Disappointment flickers across his features as he finds nothing of note. He locks the mailbox and steps into the waiting elevator, lost in his thoughts as he ascends to the seventh floor. The forced wait within the confined space allows his mind to wander. The woods near the water tower, the enigmatic cabin—how were they connected to Alesha's disappearance? Tomorrow, he decides, he will need to gather more information from you.

You.

Arriving home, Minho leans against the wall for support, slipping off his heels one by one, leaving them alongside his sneakers near the door. He places his briefcase on the small, round table in his living room, his hands deftly unbuttoning his shirt and removing it, tossing it into the laundry basket outside his bedroom. Unbuttoning his pants, he sits on the edge of his bed, his thoughts consuming him. Who would send those photos? What could their motive be after all these years? Why now?

A soft squeak pierces the silence, drawing Minho's attention to his furry companion. He scratches under the cat's chin, momentarily distracted from his musings. Resting his elbows on his knees, he rests his chin on his fists, contemplating aloud, "If this is a lead, it means the sender wants the case solved. But why not involve the police? Why remain anonymous?" The purring cat curls up beside him, a comforting presence in his solitary world.

“Let’s say this person genuinely wants the case solved. Why? How would it benefit them?” Minho's mind races ahead, thoughts swirling faster than he can articulate. “Because what if someone else is involved? I’d only breadcrumb someone to the culprit if I want them arrested, but then—why not give it to the police? Why not reveal your identity?”

Another squeak interrupts his train of thought, reminding him to focus on the present. “Soonie, I can always count on you to remind me to pay attention to you.” he murmurs affectionately, nuzzling the cat before rising to his feet. Stripping off his pants and underwear, he turns the shower knob, adjusting it to the desired temperature. Steam fills the bathroom, enveloping him as he steps beneath the hot cascade. The water reddens his pale skin, washing away the day's weight with a deep breath.

Minho lives alone in a modest one-bedroom apartment, his domain shared with his three feline companions. A few close friends exist in his life, but the demands of his work leave little time for socializing. Conversations with friends in marketing and business often feel stilted, as he stays disconnected from popular culture. However, he has developed a bond with Jisung, the bartender at Jerry's, often seeking refuge in the establishment to unwind and glean valuable information from inebriated patrons. Jisung's night shift schedule clashes with Minho's daytime investigations, limiting their opportunities to catch up.

And a partner? Forget about it. He had all but forgotten how to properly court someone, and nobody was willing to comply with his outrageously out of whack work/life balance beyond a one night stand anyway.

Coming home is a stark reminder of Minho's solitude, a condition he embraces for the most part. He has cultivated a reputation for being aloof, fitting the role perfectly. Like any dedicated professional, he relishes the moments spent on his couch, sipping beer and losing himself in mindless television. Yet, a persistent unease gnaws at him, highlighting the dissatisfaction that lingers beneath the surface.

Thoughts of you infiltrate his mind once more, and he glances towards his phone, though he is still firmly planted on his comfortable couch, dressed in lounge pants. His mind drifts, wondering about your current whereabouts.…were you already asleep? Or were you up, unable to fall asleep either? What did you think about when you were home? And did you live alone? With someone?

Suppressing a yawn, Minho finally acknowledges his body's fatigue, realizing it's time to rest. "Eight o'clock sharp," he murmurs, tilting his head back on the couch as his heavy eyelids succumb to sleep, shutting out the world.

Buzz! Buzz! Buzz!

The piercing sound of the alarm jolts Minho awake, propelling him upright on the couch. Startled, two formerly resting cats scatter at his sudden movement. He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the back of his neck, feeling the strain from falling asleep on the couch like a fool once again. Scanning the living room, he notes that the sky is still dark, but the clock indicates it's already six in the morning. With a resigned sigh, Minho drags himself into the bedroom, silencing the alarm by forcefully pressing his fist onto the button. He rubs his eyes, fighting the temptation to crawl back into bed. It always seems inviting when he has to leave but rarely when he returns home after a long day's work.

Yet, there is a glimmer of hope that he may make a significant breakthrough in this case, finally cracking it open after years of being dormant. Fueled by determination, he dresses himself and leaves his apartment, heading to the agency to meet you at the agreed-upon time.

As he pulls up to the agency, Minho is momentarily taken aback by the presence of you and Kevin, the attorney who rents an office down the hall. Your smile is wide, something he hadn’t seen himself yet. What could Kevin be saying to make you so happy? He was as interesting as a wallpaper peeling.

Beep Beep.

Minho rolls down the passenger window, lowering his head to shoot you a disarming smile. “Are you ready?” he asks, his tone cool but polite.

"Morning there, Detective!" Kevin greets him with a wave, fully aware that Minho isn't one for exchanging idle pleasantries. He is taken aback when Minho responds with a curt nod, his lips pressed tightly together, acknowledging the greeting, albeit with a touch of frostiness.

You bid farewell, but before you step into the car, the attorney stops you. He hands you his card with a smile, holding the door open for you to enter Detective Lee's car. Minho discreetly rolls his eyes, seizing the brief moment while you buckle your seatbelt. As he drives off, the low hum of the radio fills the space, broadcasting the morning news.

"You know Kevin?" he asks casually.

"No? Well, I mean, I know him now, but we just met a few minutes ago. Why?" you reply, curiosity tinged in your voice.

"No reason, just thought you two looked friendly," he says, his words carrying a hint of observation.

You narrow your eyes, finding it peculiar that he took note of such a detail, but then again, he is a detective, right? Perhaps you're reading too much into it. Settling back into your seat, you retrieve several envelopes from your bag.

"The police had already gone through these and deemed them worthless during the initial investigation," you explain, tracing your fingers along the cursive signature of your sister's name on one of the aged envelopes. "They were letters she exchanged with Pierre, an exchange student from France."

You continue, "He interned at our father's bank before abruptly dropping out and returning to France with little explanation. At least, that's what Alesha told me. But now, after last night, I stayed up rereading them, and... I don't know, something feels off."

Minho nods, a flicker of impressed admiration visible in his half grin. "Is Pierre still around? Does anyone have contact with him?"

You shrug, shuffling through the letters, scanning them for any overlooked mentions. "Once he left, only Alesha kept in touch with him. Dad was solely focused on quickly filling the vacant spot at the bank."

"What about 'em feels off?" Minho inquires.

"Just the way Alesha questioned him about his reasons for leaving. Initially, he claimed he was homesick, but then it changed to his grandmother falling ill. The letters from those times... they're like a year apart," you explain, your brows furrowing.

"Good eye," Minho remarks, glancing at you briefly. His gaze drifts towards the bag in your lap before returning to the road. "You still got your weapon?"

"Of course," you reply confidently.

"Is it registered?" he probes further.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" You tease playfully, folding the letters neatly and placing them back inside. Your bag finds a spot on the floor by your feet.

"Yeah, I kind of need to know. If you go off shooting someone, it brings the cops into the mix, and they tend to get in my way. Things would go smoother if you have proper paperwork for the weapon," Minho explains.

"My gun is registered, and I'm licensed to carry. I've passed my foundational training for self-defense. Is that the answer you want?" you sassily retort, eliciting a snicker from him. He steals another glance in your direction, his gaze piercing through you as if he can peer into your inner thoughts.

Well then, kiss me.

"That's the answer the cops want to hear, so it's good enough for me," he says, refocusing his attention on the road. You confirm that he does not possess mind-reading capabilities. Why did such a thought cross your mind? It's neither the time nor the place, and he's certainly not the ideal person for such fantasies.

You lean forward, turning up the news report, to distract yourself from your thoughts that went rampant in the near-silence he seemed to enjoy. Was he a psychopath? No, of course not, a psychopath wouldn’t take in a stray alleycat. But they can be quite manipulative, and then also, you still don’t know what he did to end up in prison…

The car engine grumbles to a halt, and you take a moment to survey your surroundings. Houses dot the block, and the car is parked on the street. Minho steps out, removing his coat and scarf and tossing them onto the backseat. He scans the area, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. From the passenger's side, you observe as he leans on the center console, his big brown eyes locking with yours, the scent of coffee, cigarettes, and cologne lingering on his breath.

"Can you open that for me?" Minho gestures to the glove compartment, closer to you than him, aware of your close proximity and opting not to get any closer for now.

You oblige, clicking open the glove compartment, revealing a gun resting atop various receipts and letters. You gingerly retrieve it, carefully handing it face down to him.

"Thanks," he says, standing up and closing the car door, tucking the gun into the back of his pants as he adjusts them. His gaze sweeps over the visible street names, houses, and parked cars. He shields his eyes from the morning sun, filtering through the thick clouds in the gray sky.

It's going to rain again today, that was for certain.

Lowering his hand, his gaze settles on the imposing white globe of the water tower. He turns to look at the house behind him, confident that he has led both of you to a promising starting point. He begins walking forward, momentarily forgetting your presence until you call out for him to slow down, struggling to catch up. He halts, realizing your need, and waits for you to join him. His eyes shift to the vast land extending into the forest, obstructed by a black diamond chain fence, towering nearly eight feet high.

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair as he rests his hands on his hips. Stepping back, he assesses the fence, considering whether he should try to scale it. Then he looks back at you.

"Can you climb this?" he asks, as if it were a feat within the reach of an average human.

"N-No?" you stammer, feeling a sense of intimidation. He nibbles on his lip thoughtfully, searching for an alternative solution. Finally, his gaze lands on the neighboring house, and he points towards it, his finger tracing a line from the front door to the backyard that extends into the treeline.

"We could enter from there, but we'll have to go through the house," Minho suggests. "But if they're not too welcoming, we'll have to scale the fence. I mean... we could drive further down, but this is exactly the direction depicted in the photo. I don't think we'll get a better opportunity. Anything else would introduce too many variables."

You glance back at the house, your arms tightly crossed over your chest. Then you turn to Minho and nod firmly. "We have to try."

"I like that attitude, partner," Minho remarks, his arm draping over your shoulders as he guides your gaze, sharing his observations and the profile he has mentally constructed of the household. He points to the car parked in front of the garage door, indicating its size and potential seating capacity. "That's a full-sized sedan. I can tell from here it seats at least five, maybe six," he explains, redirecting your attention to the front yard. "There's a childproof gate there, so it's a family." His finger then lands on the tall pole holding the American flag. "They're patriotic, so it's likely a cookie-cutter family with a military dad or son," he deduces, scanning the surroundings until his eyes fall on a sticker adorning the vehicle's bumper.

"Veteran. It's the dad," he concludes, straightening his posture and nodding at his deductions. "Follow my lead... Oh, take this," he says, pulling his gun from his trousers and handing it to you. "Put it in your bag."

You comply, feeling the weight of the weapon as you zip up your bag. Walking alongside the detective, you watch as he raises his fist and lightly knocks on the door three times. Stepping back, he patiently waits, attentively listening to the sounds emanating from within. He distinguishes a shrill squeal followed by the quick pitter-patter of footsteps, indicating the presence of a small child, perhaps even two. A woman's voice joins the commotion, accompanied by heavier footsteps approaching the door. The door opens, revealing the mother with an infant resting on her hip, their eyes as strikingly green as each other's. The woman peers at both of you through rectangular lenses, curiosity etched on her face. Suddenly, a crash echoes from inside, and she steps back, calling out, "Daniel, please!" She then turns her attention back to you both. "May I help you?"

"Yes, I'm so sorry to bother you, but my wife and I are trying to get to my brother's wedding, and we made a wrong turn, ending up here. Do you mind if we use your phone to give them a call and let them know we'll be late? I'm the best man, and I just feel awful about this," Minho explains with a remorseful tone.

"Oh, I... that does sound awful! Come on in, please. My husband is great with directions; he might be able to help you get back on the right track! A best man can't be late," she says, wincing as another crash resonates through the home. "DANIEL JEREMIAH!"

Wide-eyed, you find yourselves abandoned in the living room as she rushes after the source of the noise. Pinned closely to Minho, you follow his lead as he subtly navigates through the living room, adopting an innocent demeanor as if searching for a restroom. You seamlessly merge into the kitchen, where the sliding patio door provides an escape route to the backyard.

"Your wife?" you whisper, questioning the authenticity of the story.

"It worked, didn't it?" Minho shushes you, ensuring that no one is within earshot. He slides the door open and steps outside. It's at this moment that the aroma of burning charcoal fills his nostrils, and he spots a nearby grill, cursing under his breath.

"Excuse me? Who the hell are you?" The bearded man calls out from his chair, his glasses perched atop his bald head.

"We're lost, and your wife was kind enough to offer us the use of your phone. Sorry if we wandered too far," Minho responds, modulating his voice to exude an innocent charm. Maybe he is a psychopath…

"Yeah, well, the phone's in there," the man grumbles, pointing towards the house. He takes a swig of his beer and places it on the table before making his way back to the house with a slight limp. You notice it, and you know Minho probably does too. This man isn’t capable of chasing after you two if you can get some distance between you.

Thinking quickly, you start waving your arms frantically and screaming. "It's a bee!" you shriek, stumbling backward. Minho is perplexed, trying to understand what's happening as he tries to calm you down and locate the imaginary insect.

"Wait! Calm down, will you!?" Minho shouts, gripping both of your arms to halt your frantic movements. You both freeze, breathing heavily, and gaze at each other in bewilderment.

“I can’t calm down, I’m allergic–honey–remember?” you say through gritted teeth before snatching your arms away and resuming your flailing, screaming about bees once more. With that, you rush off towards the woods. Minho's eyes widen in realization, his mouth forming a perfect "O" shape as he looks back at the bewildered old man, offering an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, I'll be right back. I have to go after her," Minho offers.

“Like hell you do boy, or you won’t hear the end of it the whole car ride home!” The man waves Minho off and the detective takes off in a sprint after you. You can hear his footsteps behind you, gradually catching up, but you keep running deeper into the woods until you eventually slow down to a jog, completely out of breath. With a breathless laugh, you turn to face Minho, who slows down a few paces behind you, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath before straightening up.

"Now that..." he wags a finger at you, "that was clever." Closing the remaining distance between you, he squints his eyes at the trees ahead. He then glances back at the direction you came from, the water tower still visible above the trees, but now further away.

You unzip your bag, handing him back his weapon that he tucks into the back of his pants again before trudging forward.

“You said it wouldn’t paint a pretty picture if you told me what you did to get in prison, so…what do you care what I think about you? After this case is over, it’s not like it matters what I think.” You say, stepping over fallen branches here and there and trying to stay stable on rocks lodged into the dirt as you walk alongside Minho.

“Nice try.” He says, ducking under a low branch as he walks. “How about I tell you once we solve this case?”

“Are you inferring you’ll keep in contact with me once we solve this case, Detective?”

He looks at you with a grin. “You’re drawing a lot from one statement, perhaps you’re projecting something?”

“Perhaps I am.” You reply boldly.

The banter between you two continues, but the unspoken tension hangs thick in the air. Instead of addressing it directly, you both delve deeper into the case, exchanging details and theories. As you walk, the terrain becomes increasingly challenging. The uneven forest floor causes you to stumble several times, almost twisting your ankle. To assist you, Minho takes hold of your hand, offering support as you navigate the rocky path. The sound of a nearby stream reaches your ears, bringing a sense of tranquility. However, when Minho hears it, he comes to an abrupt halt, his gaze fixed on the surrounding woods.

"Eastern Black Oak trees. They're often found near creeks and streams," he explains, slowly turning his head until he spots the distant water tower, now a mere blur. Whipping back around, he points, his voice filled with urgency. "Do you see that?"

You follow his gaze and your eyes widen. "Th-that's it!" you exclaim, your voice filled with disbelief. "I-I think that's it!"

"Stay close," Minho commands, his hands firmly planted on your shoulders. He locks eyes with you, his intense gaze capturing your attention. "If anything goes wrong, you need to run, okay? Run and get help. Don't try to be a hero, got it?”

Nodding in understanding, you respond, "You're kind of scaring me."

"Crime is scary. I'm telling it like it is because I believe you can handle it. This is what you signed up for when you asked for my help. Usually, I do this on my own. Now, you can turn back and use that family's phone to call a taxi and go back home where it's safe, or you can trust me and come find out what happened to your sister." Minho releases his grip on your shoulders, giving you the space to contemplate.

"Either way, I'll lose sleep over another cold case. This is my life—it has been for 17 years. Nothing changes for me. I work to make sure the changes happen for people like you.”

Being in this place, the very location your sister spoke of before her disappearance, brings back a flood of traumatic memories. The sleepless nights filled with fear, the constant dread of whether her captor would come for you next, the tormenting thoughts of her suffering at the hands of a twisted killer.

Minho's hand on your arm brings you back to the present, his touch gentle and reassuring. He begins to speak, but you interrupt him.

"Let's go."

That's all you manage to say as you forge ahead fueled by pure adrenaline. Minho joins you, and as you draw closer, there it is—the cabin from the photos. You can't help but pause, your breath catching in your throat as you gaze up at its dark, foreboding windows. Meanwhile, he takes a slow walk around the perimeter, peering into the windows and assessing the cabin's condition.

“Well if someone did live here, they haven’t for a very long time.” Minho's conclusion reverberates in your ears, though your focus remains fixated on the thunderous pounding of your own heart. He steps back towards the front door, confirming its locked status before bracing himself. With a powerful kick from his foot, the door splinters and flies open, accompanied by the clattering of screws onto the wooden floor. Seeing him draw his gun, you fumble to retrieve yours, eager to stay close behind him rather than be left alone in the daunting woods.

Silently, you survey the cabin with wide eyes as Minho cautiously progresses. He gestures for you to stay back as he eases open the door to a room on the right, his gun poised at eye level. The room is dusty, adorned with cobwebs, and scattered with empty cans and litter, but otherwise empty. Minho moves with agility, his steps barely making a sound as he crosses the hall to the other room. Opening the door, you catch a glimpse of a small bathroom as he approaches the shower and yanks the curtain back, his face contorting with disgust.

Relocating his gun to the back of his pants, Minho turns to face you. "A dead rat, almost completely decomposed," he informs you, stepping back into the hallway and surveying the surroundings. "Otherwise, we're all clear." He gazes at you expectantly. "Recognize anything? Any memories?"

You shake your head. "Nothing's ringing a bell."

"Hm." Minho paces around the living area, his eyes scanning the walls. The absence of personal photos is notable, replaced by framed wildlife and landscape imagery, coated in a thick layer of dust. However, something catches his attention, prompting him to take a step back. He withdraws the photos from his pocket, shuffling through them until his gaze locks onto the deer head above the mantle.

His eyes shift from the photo to the actual mantle, and he immediately notices the glaring disparity—the deer head is conspicuously absent. As he takes in the scene, he realizes another detail: the small clock on the mantle is missing as well. With a growing sense of intrigue, he approaches the clock, now positioned on the opposite side from the photo. It's in a dilapidated state, covered in dust, but he picks it up nonetheless, examining it closely, his mind racing.

"I would send the photos because I want the case solved," Minho muses aloud, his fingers exploring the clock's grooves. "I would lead you right to the answer—perhaps for revenge? Otherwise, I would have involved myself sooner..." He sticks his fingernail underneath the battery tab, popping the piece out and his doe-eyes widen at the small key inside. Just as he begins to formulate his thoughts--

"Detective!"

Your voice echoes from the room that Minho had unlocked earlier, prompting him to rush in with his hand ready to draw his weapon. However, he finds you kneeling on the floor, pressing your hands against the wooden surface. His gaze follows your intent, and that's when he notices it—a lock embedded in a door that conceals whatever lies below. He joins you, slowly lowering himself to his knees, the key held out before him as his eyes meet yours.

"How are you doing?" he asks, concern lacing his voice.

"A little shaky from the adrenaline, but I'm alright," you respond honestly. Minho nods, acknowledging your state, and leans forward to unlock the latch, flipping it open. As you both stand up, you lend your strength to lift the heavy door, its piercing creak reverberating through the air as it reveals a set of stone stairs descending into a pitch-black lower level.

"I don't know about this. Maybe we should call the cops..." you trail off, your voice filled with uncertainty.

Minho ignores your suggestion, determined to forge ahead. With his gun drawn, he advances down the stairs, his focused footsteps echoing in the darkness. You groan, scanning the room for something that could aid your exploration. Your eyes land on a partially burned candle nestled in a holder, accompanied by a box of matches, resting on a small table near the window. Swiftly, you seize the candle and strike a match, its flame casting a flickering glow as you cautiously make your way downstairs. Minho stands in the center of the room, surveying his surroundings—an empty expanse devoid of any notable objects. The shelves are bare, a solitary wooden table leans against the wall, and a few cardboard boxes are strewn about.

He places his shoe against one of the boxes, squinting and tilting his head to read the faded stamp. A half-smirk emerges on his face as he looks back at you. "Well, well, well, mademoiselle," he utters with a trace of satisfaction. "It seems we might have ourselves a lead."

Your horror is palpable, etched onto your features as you catch sight of the label on the box:

AIR MAIL - PARIS, FRANCE

---

next part -> click here for the smut

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