#SORRY FOR THE LONG POST IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE BRIEF AND FUNNY.

[omegasmileyface]

ok i think its a good thing that sky high never got a sequel because they said what they wanted to say and explored their fun plot and setting in that movie and if they made a sequel it would be pulling at strings and a useless cashgrab and we would all have wished they would just let the fiest movie's closure rest. BUT. if i were in charge of a sky high sequel heres what it would be like

plot centers around the superhero community's weird thing where they feel more kinship with villains than civillians

thus, it starts with there being some serious schoolyard fight (maybe even... outside school hours?) between the protags and speed+lash, who are still sort of... majoring in villainy. protags get in trouble with administration for fighting, and theyre like "??? im sorry, these guys were being EVIL. you know. like VILLAINS." and the school is like What they do with their education is not up for us to judge. distrust sows.

will is dragged to a "party" (its like a bbq or something) that some of his parents' colleages are holding bc of like. a big. win. in superheroing. idk. anyway so there are a bunch of superhero families there in their civilian identities. will (and any friends that might have come) start talking to this other kid at the party

they ask why they havent seen her at school, and she says she doesnt go. why not? she scoffs and says that she would just be tossed aside in every class. protags tell her that the school is working (slowly... but working) on the sidekick/hero division thing. she says shed get tossed aside anyway. "why? whats your power? i promise you can make use out of any—" she doesnt have any powers.

oh! well. still. Ron Wilson didnt have any powers "yeah and he became a bus driver. i know Ron Wilson. hes a family friend. he shuttles superpowered kids around twice a day for minimum wage. even if you have an "in" in the community, if you dont have powers, youre just there to clean up ater people that do."

will thinks about it for a bit. he realizes he was sort of pushed aside before his powers developed... but it doesnt sink in and he pushes back (tells her he agrees but doesnt) because he was just so happy to get his powers. that couldnt be unfounded! and... and superheroes only step up because they have the power to make a difference. she should feel lucky that she doesnt have that responsibility attached to her life. she can go off and do whatever she wants without feeling bad about wasting power.

anyway laila gets radicalized again by this obviously. she is, in fact, now so against this division that she quits sky high and transfers to a civilian school to protest. she and will try to keep dating, but it really doesnt work with all that tension and they break up halfway through the movie.

the school laila transferred to is also the other girl's. lets call her toni. laila is really annoying to toni. whenever theyre away from observers, shes trying to use her powers to "help" toni, and other such annoying ally behavior. eventually, toni agrees to do a little interview on her experience with the super community if laila will leave her alone. laila agrees.

meanwhile, the rest of the friend group are having their own adventure discovering just how... ok the super community is with villains. obviously its not. like. ACCEPTED, thats why warren was so ostracized. but yknow. one day someone asks in mad science class if dr medulla is evil and he doesnt have a good answer. someone asks if lash and speed should be allowed to be the villains every time in save the citizen, and boomer says he cant force them to make their team choice. etc

laila goes in to interview toni at her house, in the process realizing that one of her dads— who was at that big superhero barbeque and whatnot— is a known supervillain. she panicks and awkwardly leaves the house trying to hide her discovery, and rushes to tell will

will doesnt know what to do with this. he attempts to subtly ask his mom, and gets an answer like "yeah, i dont get it. [sigh] but if he doesnt hurt anybody out of costume, and the others want him around... what am i gonna do about it?" he does the same with his dad, who says like "oh jimmy! yeah he was pretty cool in high school. definitely a rebel. i dont know why he got into the villain game, but its not my spot to judge him! just to stop him by force and send him to jail when its relevant."

will freaks out. this is all very strange. obviously there are problems with villainy, otherwise superheroes wouldnt exist! right? ...is toni going to become a villain? i mean, she hates the hero school system so much now, is she going to fight it when shes older?

ok im getting tired so im gonna fast forward through the rest and its gonna be all bones no meat. lets go

something happens to will that seriously injures him, and he thinks its toni's fault somehow. even as he recovers, it leaves him with a permanent disability that his powers dont help with. he considers himself useless again

laila and toni end up creating some kind of vigilante non-superpowered hero force, who swoop in to save the day alongside the powered heroes at the end of the movie

the protagonists discover that the super community doesnt differentiate between villains (fighting for the greater good but against heroes and/or the law) and villains (actually doing evil things) because hero licenses (which are a thing now ive decided) and villain classifications are given based on breaking the law

additionally, supervillainy, within certain ethical bounds (yknow if nobodys getting killed or anything) is sort of considered... a sport. half of major league superheroing is... recreational. like sparring.

but! and you'll never get this! non-supers described as villains get punished WAY WORSE than supers described as villains (again, within certain ethical boundaries)

laila plans to transfer back to sky high to encourage them to start a mandatory ethics course

whatever big fight scene ends off the movie, it has "villains" who have a sense of ethics fighting alongside less-legalist heroes, against actually evil villains and legalist "heroes". the villain-type students from the first movie (penny etc.), who still go to sky high, are fighting alongside the real villains until the end when they figure the whole thing out and decide to switch

will ends uo at the center of the Big Fight bc of course he does. he tries to fight Main Enemy (still havent decided at all who this is) on his own, for pride reasons and to prove that his new disability doesnt define him. but it does cause him to fail, and he gets ready to like. die in battle or something idk i never went to superhero school. but his friends save him, and he realizes that just because he cant shoulder as much weight as he used to doesnt mean he cant help in certain ways, and that even when he CANT help he doesnt have friends who are willing to fight for him and whatnot

its a disability metaphor. did you get that part? bc i believe the first movie was a disability metaphor.... except that the thesis was "simply stop being disabled" so im changing that.

also for legalism and police corruption. that too. there are two metaphors. :)

in the epilogue we learn that sky high is working to start providing course plans for students with no powers, and several adults in the community have become activists fighting for... i guess to make it so superheroes' and villains' intentions arent seen as an extension of lawfulness? idk this parts harder to solve. still

as for little details that arent plot-relevant:

theres strong subtext that ethan, magenta, and zach are all dating and thats fun

warren and magenta have joined a civilian poetry club that they go to after school

theres a student who exclusively refers to will as "billy"

there are NO REFERENCES TO MARVEL. i dont CARE if theyre both owned by disney. im keepin em SEPARATE. no cameos or easter eggs. you can have the incredibles playing on a tv somewhere but thats THIN ICE

there is however an astro boy reference :)

ron wilson bus driver reappearances. he refuses to take relevance in the plot hes just there. and big now.

i just think itd be funny if one of the characters had a Real Gun. i havent decided who or why

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ how long does it take to fuck your brother's best friend? (four whole days)

synopsis. suguru comes home to visit from college at the same time you do—except he brings satoru along. this is going to be a long break

word count. 8.5k (i am tired of this tomfoolery)

contents. college! au, brother's best friend! satoru, fem! reader, minors do not interact, three-year age gap (you're both early twenties), slightly mean satoru (when you’re kids), slight enemies to lovers, jealous! satoru, mentions of reader having an ex-bf, male masturbation, satoru is taller + carries reader, cunnilingus, fingering, handjobs, unprotected sex, brief mentions of alcohol (satoru), creampie, pet names (baby + sweetheart), not proofread i could not be bothered i’m sorry

notes. this was not supposed to be this long bye i am embarrassingly down bad for the blue-eyed freak

everyone knows that where there is satoru, there is suguru—and likewise, where there is suguru, there is satoru.

they’re a bit of a packaged deal, really. satoru befriends your brother in what you think must be some twisted stroke of luck—there is no way suguru would lower his standards for some rich bastard who’s had life made for him since the day he was born. but apparently, he does, and you’re stuck with a white-haired nuisance in your house at least once a week. for years.

you’ve known satoru since he was a whiny, snot-faced, and spoiled little brat. back then, he used to call you toothless—you were six, it’s normal for children at the age of six to lose a few teeth. just because satoru is nine and has grown his teeth back doesn’t mean he escaped the toothless phase himself—but satoru is just a jerk like that, pushes your buttons, and calls out your insecurities to get a good laugh.

you don’t smile with your mouth open even once around him that summer, not until suguru assures you that regardless of how many teeth you have, you have a lovely smile.

when you’re twelve, puberty does its thing, and now you’re stuck with acne-prone skin—also a normal occurrence for people your age, but satoru makes sure to point out the giant pimple on your forehead every time he sees you. you make sure to let him know his haircut is as awful as his sense of style, and suguru tries his best not to choke himself with his charger as you both bicker.

satoru is gone that entire summer for a family cruise that you’re sure costs double your house—he comes back frighteningly taller than you remember him within the span of just a few weeks.

it’s been like that since you were kids. he comes over, finds a new thing to pick on through his smug grins and smooth chuckles, and you fume as you bite back with just as snarky rebuttals. he makes sure to never cross the line of going too far—it’s more for suguru’s sake, you’re fairly sure—but stays right on the dot of getting just under your skin.

he’s annoying. a jerk. a rich snob. a privileged dickhead. he’s rude and disrespectful, with no tact, let alone any semblance of respect. you don’t understand what could possibly make suguru want to hang around such a douchebag, but suguru cares about satoru—and satoru has always been there for your brother.

you don’t understand it, but you respect it. as long as he doesn’t wet your entire bathroom sink and mirror in the mornings after he stays over, you suppose you can coexist.

but you haven’t seen him in ages—not outside of suguru’s instagram stories and posts. it’s been a long few years since the two of them have left for college, and by the time you leave too, life has its funny way of working, and, well…you don’t bump into him anymore. it doesn’t occur to you that satoru is not the same guy you used to know until you come back home to visit after your second year of college.

“suguru,” you call, “i borrowed your hoodie. but you can have it back—”

you cut yourself off when you open the door to your brother’s room, and lo and behold, stands a very shirtless gojo satoru, the white-haired and blue-eyed asshole you’ve had to deal with since childhood. except he’s way taller than you remember him—just how much does this guy grow, exactly? his shoulders are broader and….and since when did he have abs? there’s a small tattoo just under his collarbone—when did he even get that? his hair is also longer, just enough to fall over his forehead and curtain those striking blue eyes of his.

he looks…well, handsome. very handsome, in fact. dangerously handsome that it catches you by surprise as you blink.

he’s still shirtless, holding his t-shirt in his hands as he grins.

“hey, toothless,” he greets, voice deeper than the last time you heard it—but it still sounds relatively the same. you think you’d always recognize satoru’s voice, whether you’d like to or not. and, of course, he just has to still use that ridiculous nickname after all these years. “long time no see.”

“i have all my teeth now—i have for a long time, y’know. and put a shirt on, you freak,” you huff, rolling your eyes, “where’s suguru?”

“what, you don’t enjoy the view?” he motions at his bare torso, like the shameless bastard he is, “most girls love this view—”

“and yet, you’re still single,” you cut him off, staring at him pointedly.

he grins impossibly wider, tugging his shirt over his body swiftly—you have to exercise all ounces of control not to gulp as you watch his biceps flex.

“keepin’ track of my love life?” he wiggles his brows, “i know older men can be appealing but have a little class. your poor brother would lose his shit if you went after his best friend—”

“satoru,” you sigh, pinching your nose, “do you age backward or something? how are you still this obnoxious after so long?”

“i practice in the mirror,” he winks, “it’s my charm.”

“that’s hardly charming,” you roll your eyes, “anyway, whenever suguru comes back, let him know i left his hoodie, yeah?”

“sure,” he chuckles.

and then you close the door as you leave—right before you stop, pause, and open it up again as you’re sticking your head back in when you make a shocking realization.

“wait, how long are you here for?” you ask, eyes wide.

he has the audacity to look smug as he taps his chin and pretends to think—“oh, y’know. just the rest of break. my old man took my mom on some trip, so i’m killing time here,” he shrugs.

great. lovely. wonderful. just what you needed.

you wish he’d drop dead—maybe suguru will finally be forced to go outside of his one-man circle and actually befriend some respectable people.

“you can’t just stay at your place?” you hiss, “it’s certainly big enough.”

“well, why be lonely in an empty home when we can have fun here?” he hums, “consider yourself lucky—you get to be housemates with me for a—”

“keep to yourself,” you warn, cutting him off again through narrowed eyes and a dangerous glare—satoru only looks more amused, raising his hands up in surrender.

with that, you turn again and almost shut the door when he calls for you—“hey, toothless,” he says lowly, making you pause before turning to him with a raised brow. he smiles—it’s so unlike that usual smirk of his…somehow this one is a bit gentler as he murmurs, “you look good. grew up well, y’know.”

you blink. you’re not ready for that…didn’t expect a compliment from gojo satoru himself—especially not after all this time of throwing mediocre insults your way.

you decide he must be messing with you, so you purse your lips as you click your teeth in irritation. “yeah, sure,” you say dryly.

you can hear his chuckles as you close the door again—this is going to be a long break.

—————

just as expected, the house is simply not big enough for you and satoru.

the first time you run into him happens to be first thing after waking up—you’re walking up to the door just as he twists the knob and opens it, walking out shirtless. again.

this time, however, he’s got beads of water rolling down his skin from his shower, right between his pecs, as a towel hangs around his shoulders. you can see his tattoo from up close now, a small infinity sign right under his collarbone that contrasts against his pale skin.

how tacky, you think—just as you’d expect, even his choice of tattoos is questionable.

his hair is wet—it’s sticking to his forehead instead of the multiple directions it usually scatters around in that messy way it always does. you’ve only felt satoru’s hair once—when you were fifteen, and you’d hit him in the back of the head as you walked past him at the breakfast table. he’d made a jab at your dark circles. tests were around the corner, and unlike satoru, your grades actually mattered. you didn’t expect his hair to be so soft, but it is, and you almost itch to twirl the strands around your fingers for a quick feel.

instead, you scowl and stomp off to your room as soon as your dishes are washed.

his hair is probably just as soft now—maybe even softer now that he actually probably cares to look after it. you’ve heard suguru grumble about using two-in-one shampoo too many times when he comes back from spending the night at satoru’s. for a second, your fingers twitch to reach up and brush through a few strands on his forehead—just to feel them because they look soft. nothing else.

the urge is quickly killed as soon as he opens his mouth, however.

“oh, hey there, roomie,” he grins, “you’re really doing all you can to catch me half naked, huh?”

“don’t flatter yourself,” you grumble.

“i’m just sayin’,” he chuckles, “that’s twice now. if you ask nicely, i might walk around like this just for you.”

it’s way too early for this.

by early, it’s actually late noon. now that finals aren’t killing your free time, you stay up until ungodly hours to catch up with your social life—and it doesn’t help that you can hear satoru and suguru stay up playing video games the next room over, either. suguru is probably still sleeping.

that’s a bit of a shocker, in fact—usually, it’s satoru that has to be dragged out of your brother’s room to have breakfast (or brunch, really) before the kitchen is cleared up. why satoru is up first is beyond you.

maybe it’s just a cruel way for the universe to enjoy watching more of your veins pop.

“does that apply to asking you to leave? because then i suppose i can ask rather politely.”

he grins, eyes sparkling with amusement as he shoots you that smile with those pearly whites that irritate you to no end. you’re not sure why, but something about his smile looks so much different nowadays—something about it just seems so….mature.

that’s a word you didn’t think you’d ever use to describe satoru.

“mm, not quite,” he hums, “you’re still stuck with me.”

“whatever,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. “move, i want to shower before suguru wakes up.”

“you have time,” he steps to the side, letting you enter the bathroom, “he’s probably not waking up anytime soon—woah.”

satoru’s shirt is on the floor—why, you may ask? because he’s an annoying idiot who doesn’t have to clean up after himself when people have always been around to do it for him. he never has to care to aim and toss his clothes into the hamper because the maids will pick up after him anyway. old habits die hard, you suppose—you’ve listened to suguru complain about satoru’s messiness not improving even after being his roommate for the last few years. it’s never been your problem, but you don’t appreciate it now that you’re slipping over the fabric on the tiled floor, falling backwards with a squeal.

but satoru’s quick—he catches you with those strong arms of his and wraps them tightly around you, keeping you securely in place as he steadies you against his chest.

his bare chest, in fact.

you can feel the slight dampness seeping into your shirt, and you can feel his hot breath on your neck as he exhales in relief once he makes sure you’re safe. you almost shiver—almost, but you manage to scrape together enough self-control to stay painfully still in his grasp.

“you okay?” he murmurs gently, voice a low whisper against your skin. there’s no bite to his words. no amusement or teasing or even smugness. it’s genuine, the way he checks on you.

this is…new. very, very new.

“yeah,” you breathe, letting out a sharp breath. and then—“maybe keep your clothes in the fucking hamper next time, though.”

“sorry,” the smile in his voice is almost audible—you can’t see it from where you are, but you can hear it in his voice. you roll your eyes, and satoru makes no move to loosen his arms around you. for some reason, you don’t move.

you’re not sure why, but you just don’t.

“you’re still just as messy, huh?” you roll your eyes—he laughs, and it’s a smooth, boyish chuckle that almost makes you wonder for a moment if this is why girls seem to love satoru so much despite his god-awful personality.

it’s a pretty beautiful sound—you hate that you have to admit that to yourself.

“yeah,” he admits, “it drives suguru nuts.”

“yeah, i can’t imagine why,” you snort. it’s like that for a moment—satoru’s muscled arms around you and hard chest pressed against your back. finally, you clear your throat. “you can let go now, you know.”

“right,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away—and when you turn to face him….is that disappointment? on his face? you don’t get a chance to be sure because then he’s bending down to pick up his shirt before he’s standing—he’s already wiped the expression from his features completely by then. “sorry about that, toothless. i’ll keep my shirts off the floor next time.”

“that would be so kind of you,” you smile sarcastically.

and then you shut the door in his face and exhale as you lean against the wall.

this is going to be a longer break than you thought.

—————

the next time you run into him, it’s late at night. everyone is asleep—even your brother and his headache of a best friend, if the silence tells you anything. you can’t sleep, though, so you make your way to the kitchen to hunt for snacks. you’re skimming through the pantry before your eyes land on a surprise—a box of strawberry pocky sits nice and enticingly, right there for you to open and devour.

you grin, reaching over when—

“those are mine,” satoru calls, stepping into the kitchen, “brought them over myself. you should ask before touching people’s things.”

“you literally ate my leftovers the other night,” you say incredulously.

“those were yours? i thought they were suguru’s.” he raises a brow in surprise, making you click your teeth in irritation.

“the principle of asking still applies,” you purse your lips. and then defiantly, you open the box and grab a pack right before his eyes.

he scowls—but you know he doesn’t actually mind because he waits for you to finish grabbing yours before taking the box and grabbing his own pack and a coke from the fridge. you both take a seat at the kitchen table, across from each other, as you open the packaging and silently eat your newfound snack.

it’s satoru who breaks the silence first.

“do you still throw away the ends of these?”

you huff indignantly, not meeting his eyes as you take a bite off the strawberry-covered end, stopping at just where the cookie portion is uncoated. “yes. i’m eating these for the coating—not the bland biscuit part.”

“what’re you, five?” he snickers, earning a glare from you. defiantly, you pop the end of the pocky stick into your mouth just to prove a point—and then the look of distaste makes him cackle louder. 

“shut up,” you hiss, “you talk too much.”

“the ladies love it when i do,” he bats his lashes—you stare at him blankly, unimpressed.

“yeah, as if.”

“hey, my ex-girlfriend totally did,” he defends.

ex-girlfriend? that’s a bit of a shocker—you didn’t know satoru dated anyone in the last few years, you haven’t seen or heard anything of it through suguru’s end. in all realness, you didn’t even think satoru was the boyfriend type…but then again, he’s not really the anything type. he just kind of exists to take up space and be the bane of your existence. 

“i hope the poor girl is recovering well after dating you,” you shake your head, feigning a concerned look on your face that makes him roll his eyes—they’re still disturbingly bright even in the dark kitchen, dimly lit by the slightest bit of moonlight pouring in through the small window.

“i dated her freshman and sophomore year,” he says casually. you also didn’t expect that—that it lasted that long. something about satoru doesn’t strike you as the long-term relationship kind of guy. something about him doesn’t seem like the relationship kind of guy at all. not because he’s the type to mess around casually, but because he seems the type to seem disinterested all around—he’s snobby like that. “she was…alright, i guess.”

yeah. very snobby.

“you are such a sick bastard,” you spit.

he snorts, taking a bite of his pocky as he shakes his head in amusement. you’re as feisty as ever—it’s always fun riling you up, even if unintentionally.

“hey, it’s not like she was bad. she was just…well, she wasn’t interested in me like that either,” he shrugs, “i think it was just the sex. it was good, can’t lie there.”

“you’re so gross,” you roll your eyes, “have some decorum.”

“what, you’re still sixteen?” he raises a brow, lips curling into a smirk as he reaches for another pocky, “can’t say the word s-e-x?”

“i don’t broadcast my sexual activities out in the open,” you shrug.

satoru chuckles, taking a bite that more or less finishes the entire stick in one go before he presses a finger to his lips, “shh. don’t say that too loud—suguru will come chase you from his room if he hears.”

“suguru,” you groan, “he’s such a pain to have around sometimes. y’know i dated this one guy last year. i think suguru might’ve paid him to dump me.”

“i know. he definitely thought about it,” satoru hums, “he used to go off about it all the time. he was right, though—that guy was a total prick.”

something about you is mildly shocked that satoru knows about your private life—sure, it’s not outrageous or even the slightest bit unlikely that suguru mentions you. satoru and suguru are best friends, and you happen to be suguru’s sister—of course, suguru is bound to mention you here and there. it’s just the fact that satoru even pays attention to anything to do with you that surprises you—although you suppose it would be a good way for him to find his next source to push your buttons.

“i’m not surprised you think he’s a prick,” you nod, “it takes one to know one, after all.”

“oh yeah?” he snorts, waving you off, “i do, in fact remember anniversaries, y’know.”

“okay,” you sigh, defeated—your ex-boyfriend is admittedly not at the top of the list of your brightest choices. not even up halfway on the list. in fact, he’s so low on the list of good choices you’ve made, that willingly choosing to interact with satoru feels like an exceptional decision in comparison. and that’s saying something. “he was pretty bad. but he was really hot. when a guy looks like that, his values are the least of my worries.”

it’s a joke—you’re sure he knows that. but satoru takes a long sip from his coke, silent for a moment. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him so serious, especially so suddenly.

“he can’t be that hot,” he mutters.

“oh he was really hot. probably the hottest guy i’ve ever talked to—” satoru bites his pocky a bit aggressively at that, “and he was so tall. maybe taller than you—how tall are you again? anyway, he was pretty enough to overlook his shortcomings.”

“he’s probably not taller than me,” he grumbles, frowning. you snort—men and their fragile little egos, you think in amusement.

“he was,” you tease, “he was so tall, i’d let him do whatever he wanted.”

“that’s a terrible way to look at it,” he scrunches his brows, “you shouldn’t let some guy walk all over you because he’s tall and his face is a bit easy on the eyes—”

“i know you’re not talking—”

“i’m serious,” he cuts you off. something about him reminds you of suguru for a moment—like he cares who you’re with because he has a reason to. as if you mean something to him, as if knowing someone who doesn’t deserve you has you in their palms is upsetting.

but then you shake the thought out of your head—satoru doesn’t care. he’s never had a reason to, and you don’t exactly plan to give him one, either.

“okay, dad,” you roll your eyes, “i learned my lesson. i have standards now.”

“good,” he nods—and then, as if to keep himself in character, he adds, “because i don’t want to help suguru kill someone, and it’s over something lame like forgetting his little sister’s anniversary. i’d like to go to jail for something more badass.”

“you and badass don’t belong in the same sentence,” you raise a brow. “let’s be realistic.”

“oh yeah? that’s rich coming from—”

“guys, it is five in the morning,” suguru grumbles, throwing a water bottle at satoru’s head. you glance at the kitchen entrance, eyeing a half-asleep and very irritable suguru as he crosses his arms, “can’t you idiots fight over who’s more of a loser at reasonable hours? some of us like to sleep.”

“want one?” you offer your pack of pocky, holding it out to him.

suguru blinks, contemplating for a second before sighing and trudging over.

“yeah,” he mutters, flicking your forehead. “gimme that.”

you watch woefully as suguru takes the entirety of your pack, swiftly sitting next to satoru and leaving you empty-handed. satoru snickers obnoxiously at the deflated look on your face—and then he holds out his pack to you.

you look between him and the pack for a moment before giving him a genuine smile. it’s a rare sight—he drinks it in as you carefully take one and bicker over something with suguru.

you’re pretty when you smile, he thinks—pretty enough that if you had horrible values (which you don’t), he might feel inclined to understand your (awful) reasoning for a moment.

and then he blinks and shakes the thoughts out of his head—it’s going to be a long break.

—————

satoru meets you when you’re six. 

he’s nine at the time, and he feels on top of the world knowing he’s three whole years older than you—in hindsight, three years is not a very large gap, but to nine-year-old him, it feels like centuries. he’s remembered you as the fun little drama queen that’s too easy to poke fun at for years—that’s all you’ve always been: suguru’s younger sister who puffs her cheeks out and scowls way too often to be normal, the girl that’s way too easy to tease than should be standard. 

somehow, he wasn’t expecting for you to come back so grown…and so hot. suddenly, it really hits him that you’re not a kid—have not really been for a long time now. he’s always treated you like you’re way younger than he is, way too little to be in his presence and be worthy of it—but you’ve really become a fine young woman.

a magnetizing one, in fact.

it’s now his third night at your house—your parents are as lovely and welcoming as ever, and suguru is always a good time to be around. but somehow, satoru is not satisfied. not anywhere near sated by the few, minimal moments of contact with you. 

when did you get so pretty? although, as much as satoru has always liked to poke fun at you, you’ve never been ugly. not even a little—but you’ve grown into your features better, outgrown the awkward teenage era of your life, and now present yourself with a newfound confidence that just looks…so good. satoru doesn’t see his best friend's kid sister anymore—no, there’s something so alluring about you now.

the nail on the coffin that solidifies he’s officially screwed is when you mention your ex-boyfriend—why would your dating life make him this irrationally angry? why is the thought of someone being on the receiving end of your praise (and shameless heart-eyes) so aggravating for him? 

he doesn’t know—but what he does know is that the raging boner has been killing him all morning ever since he woke up from…well, less than proper dreams about you.

so now he’s here, forehead pressed against your shower wall as the hot water hits his back, swollen cock in his fist as he thumbs at the tip, teasing the slit just the way he likes. he thinks about you—how he’d show you what makes him feel good, how you’d probably learn fast and take care of him just the way he needs. 

your hand would look so much daintier compared to his—smaller, but he’s sure it would still feel infinitely better. 

he bites his lip, fighting back a moan as he strokes himself slowly, pre cum smeared along the length of his hard, aching cock—red and angry at the tip, leaking with more pre cum no matter how many times his thumb collects every drop. 

“f-fuck—” he breathes, and his voice lets out a shaky, breathy little call of your name—he’s screwed if anyone hears it. he’s sure you and suguru will both band together to kill him, but thankfully, the words are lost in the sound of the shower running. “fuck baby,” he says hoarsely, voice cracking ever so slightly as he whines. 

it’s soft and quiet, the noises he makes—careful and deliberately hushed to make sure no one hears the improper way he’s thinking of you right now. but fuck, your tits are so pretty when you walk out of your room in a t-shirt in the mornings—he can just tell you’re not wearing a bra. he can’t stop thinking about it, can’t stop trying to picture what they’d look like uncovered and bouncing.

“jus’ like that, baby,” he pants, whimpering softly as he squeezes around his tip, teasing himself with that slow, painful pace of his. 

satoru is sure that if it were you, that if the hand stroking his cock right now was yours, you would never let him cum so easily—you’d drag it out just like this, pump him slowly and twist your hand around him in a pace that’s painfully not enough before ever thinking about letting him come undone. 

it’s just the way that you are—never ready to back down from a challenge, unwilling to go down without a fight. but he loves it, he thinks—lives for the way you keep him on his toes and work for the satisfaction. 

“more,” he gasps, “n-need more—gimme more, sweetheart.”

he imagines it—the way you’d kiss his jaw, maybe even the corner of his mouth, as you hum. say please, toru, you’d probably say—and fuck, he’d kill to hear you say toru. 

“please,” he rasps, “please, baby. d-don’t tease.”

he can practically hear your light giggles, the sweet, okay, baby. no more teasing, that you might whisper. he’d also kill to hear you call him baby—he’s almost nauseous at the idea that some other guy must’ve heard the pet name from your lips before him. and then he lets himself pump his erection faster, squeezing tighter as his thighs quiver while he stands in the shower. 

fuck—you feel so good. you’re not even here, but he’s sure you do, and he’s desperate to envision it. it practically hurts—the way he’s so hard and swollen and ready to release. just for you, he wants to tell you, he’s going to cum all for you. 

“baby,” he whimpers, “‘m so, so close—fuck ‘m gonna cum. ‘s for you—gonna cum for you—ngh, sh-shit.”

and then there’s cum on the tile walls, on his hands, on his abs as they flex with every labored breath. satoru cums—hard. his eyes are squeezed shut, lips parted with a silent cry as he pants and strokes himself through his high. you’d kiss him, he likes to think, on his jaw and cheeks and maybe the tip of his nose as you sit on his lap and work him through his orgasm. you’d watch him closely, take in the way he comes undone for you, maybe even call him your pretty boy as he paints your hand white with his seed.

would you praise him? murmur softly into his ear and seal the gentle words with a kiss to his skin? would you stroke his hair from his face as you admire his blissful, fucked out little expression? maybe he’d ask you then—maybe he’d ask you to admit he’s way more handsome than that douchebag you dated as your hand holds his softening cock, sticky with his release.

god, what he wouldn’t do to see your hands coated with his cum—did you do this for your ex? did he look as hot as you claim he was when he came for you? the thought makes him sour—he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw at the idea, panting and catching his breath as he stares down at the mess he’s made.

he should feel bad—this is wrong. so, so wrong—suguru would kill him if he was aware satoru was lusting over his little sister. but it felt so fucking good—he’s never cum as hard as when he’s pictured cumming for you. 

it can’t be that wrong, if that’s the case—can it?

——

“suguru,” your voice is shrill, deadly—like you’re out for blood. “next time you jack off in the shower, maybe clean the fucking wall? are you joking?”

“wha—i definitely cleaned that,” suguru defends. 

oh, fuck, satoru thinks—he forgot to clean that. so he makes himself very scarce and stays within the confinements of suguru’s bedroom—his messy habits are starting to really catch up to him. if his defense, he really would clean that up…it’s just that he was a bit distracted. 

“so you admit you jack off in our shower? our shower?” you sound inconsolable, downright devastated, and borderline hysterical. having siblings seems like a lot of trouble, he thinks—but then again, sometimes satoru is jealous of your bond with suguru. it’d be nice to have someone in his family he can actually depend on. “keep that shit for your bedroom, you jackass!”

“well, how am i supposed to do that when satoru is there? you tell me.”

“i don’t know! figure it the fuck out—you guys probably jack off together anyway.”

“what?” suguru sounds appalled, “we do not—that’s outrageous.”

“whatever,” you say—you sound almost murderous as you warn, “next time you better clean up your fucking mess, you asshole.”

satoru can’t help but smile a little—your pointer finger is definitely held up as you scold suguru—you’re so cute when you’re mad, he thinks. he almost wants to step out and catch a glimpse, but he decides against it for now.

silently, satoru thanks his best friend for taking one for the team—even if it was unknowingly.

—————

it’s night four. 

satoru has surprisingly kept to himself—he even promptly looked away after meeting your eyes in the kitchen yesterday morning as you walked in for breakfast. that’s…new. a lot about satoru is new. 

he’s taller and more muscular now—at one point, suguru used to tower over his scrawny little form. now he’s seemed to grow into his body, seemed to learn how to style himself better, and actually do his hair a bit. it’s still messy now that he’s just lazing around in your home—but it’s oddly handsome. 

scarily handsome, in fact. 

you don’t enjoy the idea of thinking about the jerk of your childhood like that—but ever since you felt the hard press of his chest against your back, sometimes you wonder what it’s like to know satoru outside of just your older brother’s obnoxious friend. 

maybe, somewhere along the line, had you put your pride aside and actually tried to get to know him, maybe you both could at least be friendly. but then again, there’s never been any real animosity between you two—you can share a lighthearted talk from time to time, like that night in the kitchen. 

you decide not to dwell on it too much, decide that he’s not really worth your thoughts when he’s just a guy who’s always been a bit too spoiled to learn how to be humble. instead, you go down to the kitchen to grab another pack of strawberry pocky—satoru will just have to deal with it. if he doesn’t want his snacks eaten, he shouldn’t keep them in the pantry where anyone could stumble across them.

you walk into the kitchen until—oh. it’s satoru. again.

“oh, hey,” he grins cheekily, taking a sip of his coke—he needs to break the habit of having so much sugar this late at night…but then again, why would it matter to you? “stalkin’ me?”

“for an unwelcomed guest, you sure do talk a lot,” you roll your eyes, making his lips curl into a smug little smirk. 

“i don’t know—your parents seem to love having me over. what if i become their newest son?”

“i doubt my parents are looking to adopt you,” you raise a brow, slightly amused. 

he hums, sipping his coke before blinking at you through those long, perfect lashes of his. “well, there are other ways to blend into a family. marriage, for example, is a great way.”

“you and my brother might as well marry each other,” you snort, “no one else will do it.”

“who said anything about suguru?” he winks, chuckling when your face twists into an exaggerated look of horror—always as dramatic as ever, you are. he can’t help but find an endearing side to it now.

satoru stands, walks over to where you are and stands in front of you as you scoff, shaking your head as you huff out a disbelieving chuckle. 

“that’s pushing it,” you muse, “marrying you would be the last open option i’d have left—and even then i doubt i’d ever take it.”

“yeah?” he raises a brow, leaning in so close, you can practically feel his breath fan over you. he smells like expensive cologne and your shampoo—why is he using yours instead of suguru’s? before you can even ask him what he’s doing, he throws away the empty can of coke in the trash can behind you, eyes bright with amusement as your breath hitches.

it’s like he knows—the fucking asshole.

“yeah,” you breathe, “you don’t deserve me,” you try to say matter-of-factly. it comes off a bit more breathless than you intended—the air feels suffocating. maybe because satoru is so close, maybe because his breath is on your face, maybe because all you can smell and feel and hear is him. 

you can’t find it in yourself to pull away—why aren’t you pulling away? it’s just like that day he caught you, when his arms wrapped around you and all you felt like doing was lean into his chest. what about satoru and you has shifted so quickly to make you want to do that? what makes him so easy to fall into when all you’ve always known was to shove at him?

he hums, leaning in closer and closer until his forehead touches yours. “you know who didn’t deserve you?” he asks, “that shitty ex of yours.”

you look up at him with wide eyes, speechless as his hands find purchase of your hips, grabbing them and pulling you closer—and against better judgment, your hands lay themselves across his chest. it’s as firm as you remember it. 

“how would you know—”

“heard suguru rant about it all the time,” he murmurs, “how he forgot your dates. got you a shitty birthday present. didn’t show up to your anniversary. made you hang out with his friends and didn’t even meet half of yours. you’re tellin’ me he deserves you more than me?”

“he was hot—”

“yeah? and i’m not?”

he’s cocky—you hate that about him. always did. but he’s so close, so intoxicating, so irresistible, and fuck, he is hot—so incredibly hot, you’ve been losing sleep over it the last four nights no matter how hard you try to deny it. 

“satoru, what are you—”

“y’know, i’ve been helping suguru pick your birthday presents since you were twelve. i’d pick you the best gifts,” his nose is brushing against yours now, lips just millimeters away from his as he speaks—“and i never forget an important date. i’m very punctual too, believe it or not. i’d meet your little friends—show ‘em what a catch i am when you introduce me.”

“and what am i supposed to do with this information?” you ask defiantly.

it’s a last-ditch effort—you both know this. you know exactly what he wants you to do with this information. 

“i don’t know, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “what do you think?”

and then you’re kissing him—because fuck, satoru is right there, and how could you not? his chest is under your palms, his lips are right against yours, and you can feel his thumb rub circles into your hips. 

so you kiss him—loop your arms around his neck and tug him closer and press your lips to his. he groans, responds almost instantly as his mouth molds against yours, kissing you deeper as his hand moves to cup your cheek.

your lips are softer than he thought, and his hair is silky against your fingers. you tug at the strands, grab a handful, and feel them against your fingers like you’ve wanted to for so long. and when he nips at your bottom lip, who are you to deny him? your lips part, letting his tongue slide in and taste you with a breathy sigh that makes your knees wobble. 

“s-satoru,” you stutter, whispering between kisses, “suguru might come in like last time—”

“god,” he groans, head burying into your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against the skin, “don’t fucking talk about your brother right now. please.”

“my room,” you say urgently—it’s all he needs to hear before his hands are on your ass, grabbing you as you wrap your legs around his hips. it’s urgent, the way his mouth is back on yours—he doesn’t pull away even once the entire walk to your room, not even when he lets your back fall onto the mattress as he hovers over you, pressing kisses along your collarbone. 

no bra, he notes happily, his hand sneaking under your shirt to toy with your pert nipples. 

“god, you’ve been driving me fuckin’ crazy,” he mumbles, tugging the hem of your shirt over your arms and tossing it over his shoulder. he stares, takes in the sight of the same tits he’s been fantasizing over for the last few days in awe. “you know that? been thinkin’ about these for days,” he says lowly, cupping your tit and massaging as he presses a kiss to your jaw. 

“you’re shameless,” you mutter, snorting before you cut yourself off with a gasp as he squeezes your nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers and pulling a soft whine from you.

“shhh,” he chuckles, tilting his head toward the wall next to you, “don’t want suguru to hear, do you? that wouldn’t be nice, would it?”

“it’ll be worse for you than me,” you grin, tugging at the hem of his own shirt, indicating you want it off. he grins widely, wiggling his brows and making you purse your lips.

“wanna see me shirtless again, huh? third times the charm, as they say,” he winks. you would retort with something as witty, but then your eyes fall on that tattoo again—right under his collarbone, making your hand reach out to trace it with your thumb. 

“what compelled you to get this corny little tattoo of yours,” you grin, giggling as you trace over the small infinity sign. 

for the first time, you think you witness satoru shy, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck and chuckles awkwardly. “that…that was an accident. when i got drunk for the first time.”

“oh,” you snort, “you’re so weak, satoru—”

“do me a favor, sweetheart,” he hums, cutting you off, “as much as i love when you say my name, say toru for me, yeah? i wanna hear it.”

you roll your eyes, huffing as your hand finds the back of his head and pulls him into another kiss, moaning into his mouth as he grinds the throbbing erection in his sweats over your heated core. 

“toru,” you say breathlessly, “more.”

that’s all he needs to hear—satoru doesn’t waste a second before he’s crawling between your legs, sliding your cute little pajama pants down your legs before meeting your dripping pussy.

it’s wet—so wet, he almost wants to chuckle and tease you a bit. just for old-time's sake. but the ache that shoots down to his cock reminds him that he’s in no position to tease you when he’s not faring any better himself. so he spreads your legs, kisses lightly at your clit in a feather-like touch that has you whimpering and clutching the sheets in anticipation.

“how pretty,” he mumbles, “been hiding this pretty little thing all this time. what a perfect pussy.”

“satoru,” you gasp in embarrassment, hands reaching for his hair and tugging him closer to where you need him most—equal parts because you really need his mouth on your cunt and equal parts because you really need him to shut up. 

but he chuckles, takes his time to spread your folds open with his thumbs, and watches in wonder as you flutter around nothing, arousal dripping and leaving a mess. it’s perfect—you’re perfect, and he wants to take his time with you. 

“god, you’re soaked,” he groans, chuckling as he murmurs, “that’s fuckin’ cute.”

before you can even whine at the way his words are shameless, his mouth is back to kissing your clit, lips wrapping around it as he sucks and rolls his tongue along the sensitive bud. his fingers sink deep into you, pushing past your folds and slowly bullying into you until the tips of his fingers curl and brush against a spot that makes you squeal. 

you gasp a breathy, “fuck, toru—” before he hums around your clit, vibrations making you whimper as he thrusts his fingers back in to hit that spot again. it’s sensitive, the way he makes you feel—your nerves are on fire, and your head is light, and fuck, it feels so good you can’t help but sob brokenly and squeeze your thighs around his head. he moans against your cunt, pulling his fingers out before letting his tongue lick a stripe along your slit, tasting you with a sharp inhale. 

“f-feels good,” you whimper, biting your lip as your eyes crinkle at the corners from squeezing shut.

“yeah?” he hums, kissing your inner thigh, leaving a wet little sheen of his spit and your arousal on the skin, “that’s a good girl—just keep telling me how good i make you feel, kay?”

he could stay buried nose-deep into your pussy for as long as you let him—tongue alternating between fucking into you and rolling over your swollen clit, hearing the broken little gasps and whines of his name as you repeat toru over and over again like a prayer. his hand grips at your thigh, sinking his fingertips into the plush skin and rubbing soothingly with his thumb as you rut your hips and grind against his face. 

satoru has half a mind to watch it again—to lick and suck at your core again and again just so he could burn into his mind what you look like when you cum. it’s divine—like he’s halfway to stepping into heaven and has to pause just to admire the sight before him. 

your hips leave the mattress as your back arches, and your fingers tug relentlessly at his roots as your walls quiver, letting satoru taste every drop of your release as you press a palm to your hand and try to keep yourself from squealing at the pleasure.

suguru is right next door. you can’t wake him—can’t let him know this is what you and his best friend get up to in the late hours of the night. 

it’s not until satoru pulls away, catching his breath as he wipes the wet trail on his chin does he realize how hard he is—how badly he’s aching as his cock strains against his sweats. he hisses as he frees himself; ridding his sweats and boxers and wrapping a large hand around the tip of his erection and smearing the leaking pre cum along his length. 

you watch in awe, reaching over and replacing his hand with yours. satoru was right—your hand is infinitely smaller than his, and yet, it feels a great deal better. so much better, in fact, that his arms shake as he hovers over you, burying his head into your neck and groaning as you slowly stroke him, squeezing at the tip and rolling your thumb through the slit.

he didn’t even have to show you what he wanted, what makes him feel good, what makes his mind fog with pleasure and burn through every nerve. no, you figure it all out on your own, pulling strangled moans and hushed gasps from him that make your clit ache once more. 

“fuck, baby,” he pants, “can’t last long like this—c’mon, g-gotta feel you.” gently, he pries your hand from his thick, pulsing cock, laying it against your stomach as he peers down in fascination. “i’ll be right here,” he hums, drawing a line on your skin right where his tip ends, “see that? that’s where you’ll feel me, sweetheart.”

“then let me feel you,” you murmur, cupping his cheeks and brushing a thumb over the skin, “fuck me, toru—wan’ it so bad.”

so he does—drags his tip along your folds and collects the slick pooling at your entrance before pushing his tip past your folds, splitting you in half as he slowly buries himself to the hilt. his jaw is clenched, breath labored as he waits for you to adjust, lets you kiss his cheeks and nose as you murmur how handsome he is, how perfect he feels, how good is to you. 

“that asshole ever make you cum?” he asks lowly, “he ever eat your pussy like that? make you cum hard enough you had to cover your mouth so you’re not screaming his name?”

“no,” you breathe, quivering as his thumb rolls over your clit in slow circles, still painfully still as he stares down at you, “n-no, never. just you—only you—”

“good,” he grins, “that’s what i like to hear. and when i make you cum on my cock, make sure to tell me he’s never done that either, yeah?”

“you’re full of it,” you scoff, “always have been.”

“and you’re full of me,” he says cheekily, chuckling as you glare half-heartedly. “can i move, baby? please? need more, ‘s not enough. n-need more—”

“yeah,” you whimper, pulling him closer, chests brushing against each other as your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, “yeah—need more too, toru.”

satoru, in all his years of knowing you, has never seen the side of you that could be this gentle. the side that glides your hands over his back, feeling every flex and every pull of his muscles, gently caressing the skin like it’s holy, like it’s not worthy of marks—instead to be worshipped and revered with thoughtful touches. your lips sear into every part of him they can find—his lips, his forehead, his nose, his hair as his face digs into your neck. even your voice is a gentle whisper of his name, so soft and careful, it’s like saying it wrong could break him. 

your hips buck up in tandem with his, meeting his rhythm as he slams into you, his balls slapping against your skin as he buries his cock into you as deep as it’ll go with every harsh thrust. you can feel his tip kissing against that sweet spot in the back of your walls, your abused cunt sucking him in and hugging around him as he groans. 

the friction feels sickening, like he’ll pass out any second, like he’s floating between the precipice of pleasure and the edge of consciousness. 

you do that to him—he doesn’t know how or when or why, but you make him feel like he doesn’t have a grip on his own senses. he doesn’t mind it so much, he thinks—doesn’t hate the idea of letting himself fall into your palm and wrap around him. it feels nicer that way, like it’s where he belongs.

“fuck, ‘s so tight,” he rasps, whining into your neck as your hand cups the back of his head, holding him in place. his hips are rutting into you sloppily now, barely maintaining the rhythm from before as he nears his high—but that doesn't stop him from angling into you perfectly, slamming into your sensitive spot every time without fail. “c-cum—’m gonna cum. cum with me, sweetheart.”

“‘m so close, toru,” you sob—and then, just as his thumb finds your clit again, rubbing harsh, desperate little circles to get you over the edge, you cum again—harder than the last time, spasming around his cock and pulling him in as you squeeze around him. “t-toru,” you gasp brokenly, “fuck, ‘s good—so good.”

“baby,” he moans lowly, “fuck, you’re so perfect. prettiest thing ever—prettiest pussy ever. i, sh-shit—” your orgasm quickly has him falling into his own, hot, thick ropes of cum spilling into you with every twitch of his cock, sweet little noises pulled from his throat that he sings into your neck, fucking his load into you. 

it’s messy, the way cum spills out of you and coats his cock—but it’s perfect and feels so, so right. you can’t help but think how perfectly satoru fits against you as his body slumps on top of yours, panting and spent as he cages you in his arms.

your hand doesn’t leave his hair—now that you know how it feels, you don’t think you can stop threading your fingers through it, ever. 

“wow, toothless,” he chuckles after a bit, “you’re seriously obsessed with me, huh? i mean, how long have you been nursing this crush on me, hmm? thinking about your brother’s best friend, you naughty little thing—”

“satoru, would you shut that mouth for once,” you hiss, rolling your eyes—still, there’s an affectionate grin on your lips this time as he chuckles into your skin. 

“oh baby, i’m afraid this mouth never shuts, so you should get used—”

suddenly, you both freeze as you hear suguru’s voice through the door. “you two better not be fucking doing what i think you’re doing,” he seethes, making your jaw drop and satoru’s eyes widen.

fuck—that was never supposed to happen. suguru was never supposed to hear, let alone know.

“hey,” satoru starts, “if suguru kicks me out of our place, i can come be your new permanent housemate, right?”

do not comment about a part 2

but yeah he can come live with me any time and as long as he pays by sucking my tiddies i shall provide all food and utilities and everything

[strangersmunsons]

read 'em and weep #3

you and Eddie spend more time together. romance blossoms.

Chapter 3 Eddie x Bookworm!Reader Series Read Ch. 2 -> Here!

Contains: Eddie x Reader, fem!bookworm!reader, lowkey shy!reader, new love and giddiness all around, and a brief cameo from Steve. No mention of reader's physical appearance, no use of y/n. Warnings: mentions of food/eating. Word Count: ~5.5k this took me sooo, ridiculously long to finish. work, writer's block, etc kept getting in the way! hopefully this is okay. i've spent far too much time at this point editing & second-guessing everything, i finally just had to stop overthinking & post!

You’re lying on your bed, nearly dozing when the telephone on your nightstand starts ringing shrilly.

The shock of it startles you from your half-sleep, and you blearily push yourself upright from the prone position. One hand smashes into the pages of the magazine you’d been skimming through, which slips forward on the soft bed covers.

Too comfy to really want to move, you stretch over and clumsily pick up the phone, bringing it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Eddie,” says the voice on the other end. There’s a fuzziness around the edge of his words as they crackle through the speaker.

It’s not the first time he’s rang you at this hour, but a thrill still shoots through you at the sound of his voice. “Hi.”

Eddie has quickly become a fixture in your life over the past few weeks. Your friendship continued to blossom with each visit he paid you at the library, where he gave you live updates on his reading progress, not even bothering to wait until he was finished before sharing his opinions. He was nice, and funny, and you became increasingly fond of him.

Then one day, while he was chatting your ear off about something or other, it hit you: you think Eddie’s pretty. His face is sculpted but soft, everything just looks so soft. The rounded chin and cheeks, the bulbous tip of his nose that looks like the perfect place to plant a tiny kiss…

He had kept on talking, but you could hardly hear what he was saying. Suddenly all you could focus on was the prickly warmth creeping up the back of your neck and into your ears. It was reminiscent of a feeling you’d had once or twice before around him, but this time it came in swinging. And finally, you could see it for what it really was. Oh.

“Did I wake you up? Sorry, I know it’s kinda late.”

“No, I was still up.”

You sound a bit groggy, but if Eddie notices, he doesn’t mention it. “Okay, good. How are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you?”

“I’m alright,” he echoes back wryly. “How was your day? Did you have to work?”

“Yes, I did. It was good.” You reconsider, an uncomfortable moment spent with your boss flashing back to you, and grimace. “Mostly, anyway. How was your day?”

“Listen, don’t worry about me yet, I’m trying to ask about you. Tell me about your day, why was it only mostly good?”

Eddie seems to have a knack for that; saying things that make your heart flutter in a very nonchalant way, like it’s no big deal. You’re glad this conversation is over the phone, so he can’t see the dopey look on your face.

“Well…” You bite your lip. “It’s not a big deal, but do you know the librarian at all?”

“Marissa? Unfortunately. She’s kind of a bitch.”

“Yeah, she is. And today she overheard me telling another clerk what I have planned for Story Time this weekend, and she doesn’t like it. So she got kind of nasty with me.”

“Why? Are you reading something very inappropriate?”

“I want to read them this Dr. Seuss book, Bartholomew and the Oobleck, do you remember that one? And then for the craft period, we’ll make the oobleck. It’s really easy, just cornstarch and water. But she’s saying that I shouldn’t do it because it’s going to make too much of a mess.”

“Oobleck is supposed to be a really thick slime, right? The whole point is that it gets everywhere and they can’t get rid of it?”

“Well, yeah,” you admit. “So she might actually have a point.”

“Are you kidding?” he replies brightly. “They’ll love that shit. You should do it anyway, I think that’s a sick idea.”

“Thank you.” There’s a touch of pride in your voice. You really do try your best to come up with fun and interesting things for the kids. Encouraging them to read and sparking their creativity is all you ever hope for. “I also think it’s a great opportunity to teach them all about non-Newtonian fluids.”

Eddie barks out a laugh, and it digs sharply into your ear.

“You’re funny sometimes, you know that?”

You were being serious, but if it means you’re making Eddie laugh, then you suppose you’ll take it.

He continues without waiting for an answer. “If you need help cleaning up after, I can be around for that, since I don’t work until later.”

Immediately, your brain conjures up visions of green goo splattering everywhere, getting stuck to the low tables and entrenching itself into the carpet. You can’t bring yourself to inflict that upon him. “That’s awfully sweet of you, but you absolutely do not have to do that,” you reassure him.

“I’ll be there,” he says firmly.

“No!”

“I wanna play with the oobleck. I’ll be there.”

“Fine,” you concede with a laugh. “I won’t argue with that.” There’s a warm pause, mutual affection running through the miles of telephone wire connecting the two of you. You fiddle with a small pilled spot on the bedspread. “So how’s the latest book coming along?”

“Well,” he heaves out with a great sigh, “I finally finished Left Hand of Darkness, which was really good. I can’t say I liked it better than Earthsea, but I enjoyed it. I get why you like it so much.” 

“Comes down to personal preference. I’ve never met a bigger fantasy nerd than you, so Earthsea would be tough competition.”

“For my own sake, I’m choosing to take that as a compliment. Oh, and Genly and Estraven definitely had sex when they were alone on the ice together. I don’t care if they say otherwise.”

“Oh, they totally did!” you concur with a giggle.

“They were definitely kemmering, or whatever it is you’re supposed to call it. Anyway, I’m on to Geek Love now, and frankly, I’m shocked that you recommended this to me.”

“Why? You don’t like it?” It is a little grotesque, but you thought he’d be into that.

“No, I do. But I just can’t believe that a sweet thing like you would read a book like this.”

Your cheeks flood with heat as the word bounces around your head. Sweet, sweet, sweet — he thinks I’m sweet. “I like all kinds of books,” you mumble, and mentally kick yourself for not coming up with something more flirtatious to say back. The banter came a little more easily before you realized just how much you like him.

“So I’ve gathered.”

“Just you wait. I’ll have you reading the Brontës in no time.”

He huffs in disbelief. “Right. That’s likely.” He clears his throat. “Hey, um, can I ask you something?” There’s an edge to his voice you’re not used to hearing. 

“Shoot.”

“Do you wanna come and hang out at my place this weekend? We could get food and watch a movie, like Lord of the Rings or something, if you still wanted to see it. Or we can go to the video store and pick something out. You can choose.”

So far, Eddie’s only ever come to visit you at the library. The prospect of spending time with him alone — truly alone, without coworkers and patrons lurking just around the corner — makes your heart hammer dizzyingly against your ribs. You keep your answer simple. “Yes. I would like that.”

“Awesome.”

Wayne can hear one side of the discussion drifting through the trailer when he comes home, kicking his work boots off and leaving them by the door. Halfway across the living room he spies his nephew in the kitchen, and his eyebrows shoot up at the state of him.

Eddie’s leaning with his back against the wall, the phone held in place between his cheek and his shoulder. One ringed hand is twirling the phone cord around his finger as he speaks in a low voice, goofy grin plastered on his face.

They make eye contact across the trailer. Eddie immediately straightens up and tries to neutralize his expression.

Wayne snorts out a laugh.

“So, um, so anyway—“ Eddie fumbles with the phone “— does six o’clock work?” He turns to the side in a poor attempt to muffle the conversation. 

Wayne steps into the kitchen and tosses his jacket and lunchbox across the table. He makes a kissy-face at Eddie.

Eddie gives him the finger.

The day Eddie is meant to see you takes forever to arrive. However, as he stares at his reflection in his dresser mirror, he starts to feel like maybe it actually came way too quickly.

He’d spent the past half-hour wildly picking through his closet, combing his hair with his fingers, trying to figure out how he should present himself as more and more clothing gets flung around the room. Eventually he gave up on his hair, and came up with an ensemble he liked, but would you like it? Would you like him?

To the untrained eye, Eddie is wearing his standard Eddie-uniform: tight black pants and a band t-shirt. On the surface, it’s a regular outfit for him. But if one is a truly acute observer, they should clearly be able to see that there are subtle variations within this basic framework he’s donning that scream “Eddie Munson is Trying to Impress a Girl!”

His ripped jeans have tears that expose swaths of skin not just on his knees, but his thighs as well (scandalous!) and he’s wearing his coolest Slayer t-shirt, the one that he ripped the sleeves off of so that his tattooed arms are on full display. And it’s just loose enough so that when he leans forward, the fabric gives way so you can catch a glimpse of his chest, with its sparse hair and winking nipple ring.

It’s all very deliberate.

But as much as Eddie doesn’t want to admit it, he’s nervous. While he becomes increasingly enamored of you, unable to keep the sly compliments and saccharine terms of endearment from slipping out, you get more shy. He still hasn’t figured out if that’s a good or bad sign.

Both of you seem to be hovering in romantic limbo, tiptoeing along the fine line between friendship and flirtation. Playful and insecure. Tender and uncertain. Was your puckish rapport a new experience, or were you like that with every person you met? Did you like it when he phoned you late at night and called you honey and sweetheart, or were you just too polite to correct him? Did you hold his name and face in your soft heart when he wasn’t right there next to you, like he did yours?

He’d chickened out at the last minute, dancing around the word ‘date.’

Eddie could be smooth on occasion, sure. But it was different when you knew you didn’t actually have a shot in hell with the person you were talking to. He didn’t have to be afraid of rejection when he already knew it was coming.

Like, he could flirt and wink at Chrissy Cunningham all he wanted and invite her to the Hideout because he knew full-well that she was never really going to show up to watch his band play — let alone dump her boyfriend to go out with him. So he could ham it up, make a fool of himself, and then shrug it all off when nothing happened.

Only a few girls had ever taken him up on his offers. And they always ended up being private affairs; nobody wanted to risk being seen out at dinner with Eddie Munson. Instead there were quick and clumsy trysts in the back of his van or in the woods behind the school, and he was reduced to a novelty notch in the bedpost, a secret for them to whisper about at slumber parties, the eponymous who of a giggly “Guess who I hooked up with!” 

It took Eddie a minute to catch on. He remembers the first time, when he hooked up with a girl at a party he was dealing at during his junior year. The next school day, he tried approaching her in the hallway as she chatted with a fellow cheerleader, and she quite literally turned on her heel and ran — but not without shooting him a look of such intense disdain that it made Eddie physically flinch. Her friend snapped her locker shut, and snickered knowingly at Eddie before following suit.

He won’t lie, that one stung. He’d stood there in mild shock at being brushed off so harshly, while other students milled about, completely oblivious to his distress; someone deliberately knocked their shoulder into his as they passed by, causing the handle of his lunchbox to slip out from his sweaty fist. It fell to the floor with a loud clang that echoed about his ears.

Eddie had already had a pretty good idea of what other people thought of him, but boy, did it really sink in that day.

It set the framework for what his love life would look like for the rest of high school. Which maybe wouldn’t have been so horrible to deal with, if only he hadn’t been in high school for two years longer than he’d expected to be.

So he leaned into it. It was really the only thing he could do, and hey, at least it meant that he could get some every now and then. What did it matter if they refused to make eye contact with him the next day? He didn’t need all that relationship mess, anyway. He didn’t care.

He didn’t care, he didn’t care, he didn’t care — if he tried to tell himself that one more time he was going to explode.

In reality Eddie’s a pretty lonely guy. But since meeting you? He’s hopeful for the first time in a long time that maybe his life doesn’t have to be that way.

Eddie raps on your front door with his fist, biting the inside of his cheek. Pizza and movies. Easy breezy. There has never been a more relaxed person than you, ever, he thinks, buzzing with nervous energy.

After a moment the door swings open. “Hi,” you greet him, stepping out onto the welcome mat, tugging at the shoulder strap of your purse. 

“Hey,” he responds with an easy smile on his lips, one that doesn’t betray his anxiety. He gives you an approving once-over and lets out a low whistle. “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

And you really are. He’s never seen you in anything but your work clothes, so he appreciates this chance to see you in an outfit that’s true to your style. 

You let out an embarrassed chuckle and wave a hand at him. “Oh, please.” 

“No, I’m serious! You look very nice.”

You can hardly meet his gaze, a flustered grin forming on your own face. “Thank you. So do you.”

He shrugs modestly, but his dimples show. He gestures to where his van sits parked by the curb. “Shall we?”

The interior of the van is plush and blue and smells of tobacco and something vaguely minty. Eddie insists on running around the vehicle so he can open the passenger-side door for you, and holds out his arm for you to grasp while you climb in; an unexpected act of chivalry.

“Wow, I’m getting the full VIP treatment here, aren’t I?” you ask him jokingly as you clamber onto the seat.

“Get used to it, sweetheart. I may not look it, but I’m a gentleman of the highest caliber.”

“I’m sure you are. I’ll bet Emily Post writes to you for etiquette tips.”

Eddie turns the engine on, and music starts blaring from the speakers. He quickly turns the volume down, shooting you an apologetic look. “Sorry. I, uh, I like it loud.” He gestures to a shoebox tucked away on the floor by your feet. “There’s a bunch of other tapes in there, you can pick a different one if you like.”

You’re delighted to realize that you have an opportunity to tease him. You tilt your head up, lips pouting as though you’re deep in thought. “Okay. Let's say I pull out a different tape.”

Eddie looks at you quizzically, but plays along. “Okay. Let’s say you do.” 

“Now, hypothetically, I would do this because I want to hear something different from what’s playing currently. Right?”

“Right…”

You reach into the box and pull out the first tape you make contact with, and end up with the latest W.A.S.P. album. You cock an eyebrow at him while you hold out the tape for him to see. “So riddle me this: what are the chances that this album — or any of these albums, for that matter — sound any different from what you’re playing right now?”

Eddie attempts to stifle a laugh and fails. “Hey now,” he says, trying to sound stern, “there is something incredibly special and nuanced about every single tape in that box. I would never deign to compare Ride the Lightning to The Headless Children. Completely different. Worlds apart, in fact.”

You shrug, pleased with yourself. “If you say so. You would know better than me.”

“I’m gonna teach you how to be metal,” he promises, peering over his shoulder as he backs out onto the street.

You continue rifling around in his box of tapes. “Do you really think I could be? My job is reading picture books to preschoolers.”

“Totally. There’s nothing more metal than the public library.”

The first stop you and Eddie make is at his favorite local pizza joint, where he insists on paying for dinner himself — he wouldn’t even let you throw a dollar in the tip jar. The shop is conveniently located in the same strip mall as the Family Video, so after putting your order in, the two of you cross the road to browse for a movie while you wait.

When you enter the store, you’re greeted by the little tinkling sound of bells and a bored ‘Welcome’ from the employee seated at the counter.

The cashier is cute — not as cute as Eddie, you think — and probably about the same age. When he finally looks up from the counter and sees the two of you together, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise before furrowing again as he makes eye contact with Eddie.

The two boys stare at each other in mutual distaste. He nods coolly at Eddie. “Munson.”

Eddie’s reply is flat. “Harrington.”

As you approach the counter, the employee’s name tag comes into view: Steve. 

Eddie strides past him and doesn’t stop, even when Steve calls out to his retreating back —

“You still haven’t brought back Spinal Tap!”

“I know,” Eddie replies, not bothering to turn around.

You follow Eddie across the store, skimming through the colorful titles. He stops abruptly in the middle of an aisle, and you bump softly into his back.

He gives you an amused smirk from over his shoulder. “Easy there.”

“Sorry,” you reply, giving him a little smile that’s all too apologetic for his liking. He can’t resist the urge to reach out and take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze before letting go again.

You beam at him.

“So what are we feeling?” he asks, feeling needlessly scrambled at the brief but lingering affection. “Something scary? Funny?” He bats his eyelashes dramatically. “Romantic?” 

Your response is automatic. “Whatever you want is fine with me.”

Eddie frowns at you. “I told you, it’s your choice. I already picked out a two-hour cartoon.”

He’s being very sweet. But you want to pick something that he’ll enjoy, too.

Acting on a little tip from your new friend Steve the Cashier, you ask Eddie —

“So you like Rob Reiner movies, huh?”

Eddie slaps The Princess Bride down on the counter in front of Steve. 

“Nice vest,” he comments.

Steve shoots him a dirty look. “Your late fees are gonna pile up.”

Eddie ignores this.

Steve sighs and begins the checkout process. Eddie can’t help noticing Steve casting you sidelong glances, his eyes flitting up and down your figure appreciatively. 

Eddie clears his throat pointedly.

“Here.” Steve pushes the film back over the counter.

Eddie grabs it and heads for the door without saying anything; you, confused and a little put off by the attitude, offer Steve your most polite “Thank you!” before scurrying out after him. 

Eddie holds the door for you when exiting, a pleasant expression on his face that’s a stark contrast from the one he wore when talking to Steve. When you’re both back outside, you can’t help but wonder what that cashier ever did to him.

“I take it you’re not a fan of Steve from Family Video?” you press.

Eddie looks sheepish. “You caught that, huh?”

“It was kind of hard to miss.”

He hesitates. “Well, we went to school together, and he wasn’t very nice. Let’s leave it at that.”

You simply nod, understanding his reluctance to say more. Reliving your high school trauma isn’t exactly something you’re interested in right now, either.

As you and Eddie head back across the street, your swinging arms cause your hands to brush against one another. After a moment’s hesitation, he clasps your hand in his, and your fingers intertwine, like two puzzle pieces clicking into place.

Eddie starts the drive home, and he feels a wave of apprehension.

He told you he lived in Forest Hills early on, and you didn’t bat an eyelash. But with you being so new in town, he wasn’t really sure that you even knew it was a trailer park.

It’s not that he’s embarrassed, exactly, or even that he thinks you’ll really mind — nothing you’ve said to him thus far indicated that his economic status would bother you — but being called trailer trash as many times as he has…well, it’s enough to make anyone defensive.

By the time he pulls up to the Munson trailer, he still hasn’t dared to look across the cab to see your reaction. “Well, here we are!” he exclaims in a hearty voice that doesn’t match what he’s feeling inside at all.

While you fumble between unbuckling your seatbelt and balancing the pizza box on your lap, Eddie darts out of the van so he can help you climb out again. When he opens the door he’s relieved to see that you don’t seem phased by your surroundings; you flash him the same happy smile you always do, and it gives him a boost of confidence.

Hopping up the porch steps, he unlocks the rickety front door and gestures for you to enter, bowing slightly. “After you, miss.”

You curtsey back. “Thank you, sir.”

Eddie pretends that that has less of an effect on him than it actually does.

Inside, he watches you peer around the trailer in interest. He’s glad that he did a deep-clean yesterday: there’s no clothes hanging over the furniture, any garbage he could find was bagged up and taken out, and he wiped down all the flat surfaces with the lemon-y spray cleaner that lives beneath the sink. He even dumped out all the ashtrays; when Wayne saw that, he commented that he must really like this girl.

“That’s a lot of mugs,” you comment, looking admiringly at the shelves that display years of Wayne’s little hobby. “I’m impressed.”

“They’re my uncle’s,” says Eddie as he kicks off his shoes. “I keep telling him he’s got a problem.”

“No, they’re great,” you insist. “Everybody collects something. Don’t you?”

Eddie pauses, hovering by the boxy television. “I guess so. Music. D and D shit.” He sets the pizza down on the coffee table. “Here, have a seat. I’ll get us some plates.” 

Eddie walks to the kitchen and starts rifling through the cabinets for some paper plates and napkins. You call out to him from your seat on the worn sofa. “Is your uncle working right now?”

“Yeah.” Eddie pads back into the living room. “He works a lot of night shifts.”

“Are all Munsons generally nocturnal?” you ask, referring to his bartending gig at The Hideout, a job that keeps him busy well into the night.

Eddie chuckles as crouches by the coffee table, pulling off two slices of greasy pizza and laying one on each plate. “I guess you could say that,” he says, handing you your share. Brown eyes find yours and he nudges your knee with his elbow playfully. “But it leaves me free to come and bother you at work during the day, doesn’t it?”

You dig the toe of your sock into the rug and look down at the food instead of him. “I wouldn’t call you a bother.”

His full lips turn up at the corners. “You wouldn’t?” He rests his hand on your leg, and his fingers swirl a gentle pattern over your skin.

You swallow. “No.” The word comes out subdued and breathy.

Eddie doesn’t move, but stays positioned by your knee, staring up at you. “Look at me again,” he says softly, leaning in a little closer.

You do as he asks and it’s almost too much. His eyes are huge and warm and they look like everything you’ve ever wanted.

A few seconds tick by, and then the phone rings and Eddie’s standing up again, whatever momentary spell the two of you were under, broken.

“Hang on,” he says, face tinged pink.

You settle back into the sofa and squirm, feeling feverish. 

Eddie wrenches the phone off the hook in annoyance. “Hello?” When the person on the other line answers, he huffs and rolls his eyes, turning away so his back is towards you. Still, you catch snippets of the exchange:

“Henderson, I said tomorrow, okay?” Eddie hisses in aggravation. “No, I don’t care if you don’t wanna do it in the morning, man. I’ve gotta work tomorrow night. You guys either come early or it’s not happening.”

You watch him curiously.

“Suck it up.” Eddie pauses to listen to the person speak again, and turns and glances at you across the trailer. Then his tone becomes noticeably gentler. “Thanks, man. I’ll let you know. See ya.”

He hangs up the phone with a sigh, and his face relaxes into a smile again.

He strolls back into the living room and claps his ringed hands together. “So! Are you ready to experience a cinematic masterpiece?”

Some three hours later, you and Eddie are slumped back against the worn cushions, now one and half movies deep. Over the course of the night you’ve slowly closed the distance between your bodies, so his leg is pressed against yours. Eddie has one arm slung over the back of the couch, fingers dancing just above the skin of your collarbone. Both of you are stuffed to the gills, and more than a little sleepy. Even Eddie, who kept up a stream of commentary during Lord of the Rings, eager to discuss his favorite bits of Middle Earth lore with you, is tuckered out.

Shenanigans play out on the television screen. You let out a huge yawn. 

Eddie’s arm curls around your shoulder, hand digging into the meat of your bicep, pulling you closer to him. “This okay?” he murmurs.

You nod clumsily and start fidgeting, your hands twisting in your lap. 

Eddie says your name softly. You hum in acknowledgement. 

“I really like you. And I think you like me.” He cocks his head to the side. “Is that right?”

Your heart throbs.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Okay,” he whispers back. “Can I kiss you then, sweetheart?”

You nod; Eddie leans in slowly, then presses his lips to yours for a moment before pulling back again. It’s quick, chaste and sweet, and not nearly enough. Your hands find his face, palms landing on both his cheeks so you can bring his mouth back to yours.

He’s happy to oblige. 

Eddie sighs, tongue dipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss. One hand cups the back of your head, keeping you right where he wants you. The other snakes around your thigh, and he uses the leverage to abruptly pull you up and over his lap. A small “Oh!” of surprise escapes you at the jolt, but Eddie wastes no time in securing his mouth to yours again.

His kisses are wet, heady, and grow increasingly frantic as the two of you clutch at each other. Your hands weave into his hair — a longtime fantasy of yours come true at last — and he lets out a soft moan when your fingers tug gently at the tangled tresses. 

Your skin feels tingly, sensitive, alight at every little touch he gives you. Your head is full of nothing but Eddie, the way he looks and feels and smells, and the way he makes you feel, like a shaken-up pop bottle, full of pink fizz and ready to burst.

Eddie suddenly laughs against your lips, smiling into another kiss.

You pull back hastily, self-consciously. But he looks jubilant, cheeks dimpled in joy, chocolate eyes crinkled at the outer corners.

“Sorry,” he says breathlessly, “it’s just — I couldn’t tell — I wasn’t really sure where your head was at.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “You kept gettin’ quiet on me all of a sudden.”

You let your head fall forward, forehead pressing into his shoulder, and let out a tiny groan. “I know. I’m sorry, it wasn’t you.”

You lift your head back up and face him. “I’m not usually very good at this stuff,” you admit. “Connecting with people. It’s harder, when you’re introverted…and have different interests. But you were so easy to talk to when we met! And I was so excited to make a new friend, but I…,” you trail off.

“But you what?” he prompts.

“The more I looked at you the cuter I thought you were.” The words come out in a rush. “When I realized what was happening I got nervous.”

Eddie waggles his eyebrows at you suggestively. “Oh, something’s happening?” 

You swat at him playfully.

“I’m kidding!” He rubs your shoulders soothingly. “But you don’t have to be nervous around me. I’m just some guy, y’know?”

“You, Eddie Munson, are certainly not just some guy.”

“Aw, shucks, sweetheart. You’re makin’ me blush.”

The movie has long since ended, and a peaceful darkness settles over the trailer. The only sound is the chirp of the summer crickets outside and quiet breathing.

Eddie’s fully sprawled out over the couch with you nestled in his arms. It took some coaxing, but eventually he convinced you to lay on top of him, your warm weight better than any blanket, the sweet fragrance of your perfume soothing his senses. Your face is half-hidden in the crook of his neck, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“I have a confession to make,” he says sleepily.

“Ooh. It better be something juicy.”

“It is. Excellent gossip. You can tell all your friends, I won’t even be mad.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I scoped you out at the library,” he admits. “I came in that day specifically to talk to you. Y’know, turn on that Munson charm, and sweep you off your feet, and all that.”

“Really?” You blink, trying to jog your memory. “I don’t remember ever seeing you before that.” You think of his tousled hair and clunky jewelry. “And you’re pretty memorable.”

“Well, there’s a slight chance that I, um, ducked, and hid behind a shelf when you got close. It was the Saturday right before we met, after you did your reading.”

That recalls something for you. “Wait, wait, maybe I do remember…” It’s hazy. Pale face, brown hair? You can’t quite place this person as Eddie, but it must have been him. “I think I did see you creeping around.”

“What can I say? Your story telling enthralled me.” 

It’s the truth. He’d been browsing for a Clive Barker book when he caught sight of you in the children’s area. You read We’re Going on a Bear Hunt with an enthusiasm usually reserved for trained Shakespearean actors, and it left him undeniably impressed. 

You cuddle closer to him, burying your face in his chest. “I’m glad you decided to nut up and talked to me.”

He smiles against your hair. “Me too.”

Early the next morning, in the hazy gray-blue dawn, the front door opens quietly — cautiously even. Wayne’s not sure what he’ll be walking into. All he knows is that his nephew really likes this girl, and that for Eddie’s sake he hopes that his date went well. He’s not sure how much more disappointment the boy can take. He wants to see him happy.

So he’s pleasantly surprised to see you and Eddie piled up on the couch like two puppies, fast asleep and — thank Christ — fully-clothed. Eddie’s arm is slung over you protectively, his soft snores just barely audible. 

Good for him.

And if they wanna sleep in the living room, that’s fine. 

Wayne’s gonna take the bed.

thank you for reading!! <3 Read Ch. 4 -> Here! taglist: @eddiesgirlforever, @eds6ngel, @sheisahauntedhouse, @lokis-tardis-companion19, @teary-eyed-egg, @whenshelanded, @nanaminswhore, @witchwolflea

[teecupangel]

So I’ve had this idea for awhile now. There are points in the AC games where Desmond sees ghosts of people instead of his ancestors. What if this wasn’t just a bleed but a slip in time? Desmond trying to prove the ghosts aren’t real tries touching them to ‘dispel’ then and ends up accidentally stealing something off them. Something small like a pin or feather. Desmond starts a collection of items he keeps hidden from the others. His favorite targets to steal from are the ancestors because the stolen item is small it’s not noticed the first few times but then they get paranoid later when they notice. Maybe desmond can reverse pickpocket the ancestors and leaves small things that help on missions? Maybe he just keeps a box of treasures from the ancestors to feel close to them (cause he loves them).

It would be funny if the first time Desmond did this, he didn’t even realize it.

Like… he was just trying to touch his ancestor to see if they were real but the closest thing he could touch was their hood. He touches it and they disappear before he could be sure if he did touch it or if he just ‘imagined’ he touched it.

He didn’t know that he had accidentally pulled their hoods off.

And that immediately catches his ancestors attention because that has never happened before.

How the hell…?

Then…

The next time he tries to touch someone, it’s Maria Auditore. She was just staring at the wall and Desmond didn’t know why he did it.

He just…

He tried to touch her hair.

Only to accidentally take one of her hairpins before she disappeared.

His eyes widened as he noticed the hairpin he was now holding.

Not knowing that Maria Auditore had turned around to face the direction where she felt the touch and ask quietly but desperately, “Petruccio?”

After that, Desmond tried to experiment on just what he can touch or pilfer.

It seemed that the moment he touches the ‘ghost’, they disappear.

But if can pull his ‘prize’ off the ‘ghost’ before they disappear, his stolen good would stay with him.

Tugging Altaïr’s red sash does not work.

But nicking one of Ezio’s pouches (the smoke bomb one that Desmond knew he could easily replace) does work.

As long as the entirety of the item is pulled away from the ‘ghost’, it will work.

So…

Desmond tried to check if he could only do this for small items.

Malik’s teacup (the Jerusalem bureau had a lot anyway) and… this one actually bit him back because he had to quickly steal it which meant he splashed hot tea on his arm.

Machiavelli’s coin pouch… (he can take the ‘hit’)

Haytham’s hat (which he threw on the pile of secret stolen goods he was hiding in his little corner of the Grand Temple like some kind of treasure hoard… not that he thought of Haytham’s tacohat as a treasure but, well, he stole it so it was his now, no takebacks)

And then…

He went big.

He went for Ratonhnhaké:ton’s tomahawk.

In Desmond’s defense, he didn’t think it would work.

The tomahawk was secured on Ratonhnhaké:ton’s belt and it wasn’t like simply clipped on like Ezio’s pouches. It was definitely more secured than Machiavelli’s coin pouch.

But…

He still managed to nick it.

For a brief second before the ghost disappeared, he was sure Ratonhnhaké:ton had turned around and tried to grab his wrist.

He knew he locked eyes with Ratonhnhaké:ton.

He was sure of it.

Anyway…

In the end, Desmond felt so bad that the next time he sees Ratonhnhaké:ton’s ghost, he returned the tomahawk without pilfering anything else.

And Ratonhnhaké:ton realized it when he felt the weight of his belt change. He took the tomahawk and saw the post it stuck to the blade that says ‘Sorry. I didn’t think I would actually steal it. :(‘ (and Ratonhnhaké:ton has no idea what “:(“ meant, was that supposed to be a kind of signature?)

From there, Desmond realized that he can… in some way, also plant something to the ghosts.

He only does it to his ancestors and it’s usually things that he knew they could use with little post its to leave a message on how to use them.

Bandages for Ratonhnhaké:ton because he’s always out alone, and he stresses that he needs to clean even the smallest cut Ratonhnhaké:ton might get.

Machiavelli’s coin purse to Ezio with a post it that says “tell Machiavelli I didn’t steal anything inside. Just wanted to check if I could steal it. Sorry.”

And…

Because he was insane…

Or he was slowly going insane being stuck in the Grand Temple with no one to talk to but two stressed Assassins trying to fight a ticking solar time bomb and his dad who he has a lot of unsolved father issues with, he just…

He accidentally gave Altaïr Shaun’s pocket notebook.

It was stupid.

Absolutely stupid.

But, at the same time…

Altaïr’s ghost just appeared out of nowhere and Desmond didn’t have anything on him so he just grabbed the smallest thing on Rebecca’s table. He didn’t even know why Shaun’s notebook was there!

Fuck.

Shaun was looking for it and Desmond had to pretend to not know where it is because he wasn’t going to tell them he could ‘touch’ ghosts.

A selfish part of him couldn’t help but think that this ‘interaction’ was his alone. That telling anyone would corrupt this beautiful thing he has.

Still, he felt bad so he promised to himself that he’d steal back Shaun’s notes next time he sees Altaïr.

… And he’ll just hope that Altaïr would keep the notebook on him.

Which he did.

Surprisingly.

So he quickly stole it back and…

He paused.

Because that was too easy.

Especially for Altaïr…

So he flipped the notebook open.

And sees a folded paper on the first page, written in English in Altaïr’s handwriting.

“Are you our Desmond? If you are, give me another one of this that I can write on. We need to talk.”

And Desmond frowned and flipped through Shaun’s notes.

He had expected it to be notes about Renaissance Italy or maybe even the American Revolutions.

No.

It was notes…

About Desmond.

All of his Animus sessions, including the sessions he had in Abstergo, summarized with Shaun’s snarky comments here and there, and…

Desmond’s eyes widened.

The last entries was about how Desmond seemed to be trying to touch something that’s not there.

There’s even a comment of how Shaun believes that Desmond is using sleight of hand to look like he managed to catch something in midair and he’s worried that Desmond doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, that he truly believed that he was able to catch something that wasn’t there.

That meant Shaun believed Desmond was slowly losing his mind and making up elaborate-

Wait.

Altaïr read this.

He would have connected Desmond’s supposed ‘catching of something not there’ to…

Oh.

Altaïr knows…

He knows who Desmond is.

[hanibalistic]

WHO YOU ARE, WHO I AM | LEE MINHO.

genre | fluff, angst, (semi) slow burn / arranged marriage au / strangers to lovers / 4th wall break

synopsis | when you wake up to a good-looking man who claims to be your husband, there isn’t much to do aside from assuming you got stuck in a drama.

word count | 24.7k+

warning | car crash / mention of injuries / not edited since the first time i posted this story ​

parts | one, two, three

Minho waited anxiously at the table. His fingers tapping rhythmically against the thick table cloth, which was long enough to drape over his shaking knees. His eyes glanced from one side of the restaurant to the other, not so much making observations as his mind was occupied with thoughts of his own. 

He did not get a lick of sleep yesterday night. He stayed up staring at the dim ceiling, recalling everything you told him and reevaluating all his decisions for his marriage. And he has come to an understanding that your sudden awakening was nothing short of a blessing to him. It was a route to guide him to a happier marriage, considering you had not been yearning for the divorce papers when you two saw each other during breakfast this morning.

But despite that, Minho knew he has to be careful with every step he takes onward from this point. Just because you haven’t been actively asking to be divorced did not mean your heart would be set on him and that you would be sitting quietly and waiting for him to be better. The ring sitting in his pocket was kept as a reminder that someone else could very well snatch you away from him any second.

He scowled at the thought, especially when Changbin posed as the greatest enemy at the moment. He reevaluated this jealousy to be a sign of possession rather than love. To be fair, he didn’t think he was ever in love with you. He cared about you, an extension of his responsibilities in this arranged marriage. But he was never in love with you. Not like you were with him. You’ve snapped away from that now. He has never been in love with anyone else either. Perhaps the biggest reason why he was willing to work through this was that he knew nobody else would catch his interest. Nobody has. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he jumped at the intrusion. Pulling it out, he didn’t bother to look at the caller before he accepted the call and greeted with a hushed, annoyed tone.

“Stop frowning, Minho. Your face will get stuck like that.”

Minho perked up at your voice. He did another scan around the restaurant and his frown only deepened when he could not find you anywhere. You giggled on the other end, your surprised voice coming through rather staticky as you spoke, “I said don’t frown and you go ahead and frown even more!”

He relaxed into himself upon your careless laughter. Scoffing out a short laugh, he spoke, “Tell me a joke then I might just laugh.”

“A joke? Okay.” You rolled your eyes. “You know who invited me to lunch today? You.”

The joke did not receive the reaction you were hoping for. What you expected would be a sardonic smile turned out to be a remorseful grimace and a flash of guilt before those pretty eyes of his. You gasped out in shock, your eyes widening as you immediately moved out of your hiding spot and approached the table he sat at.

“I’m sorry. I genuinely thought that would be funny,” you said as your feet tapped their way across the marble floor. When you were finally of reach, you hung up the phone and sat across from him. Perking up, you gave him a brief nod before quickly diving into the real deal. “Wait, give me another chance. I have something really funny to say.”

Minho didn’t speak. He nodded at you and sat there waiting for a joke to be delivered to him patiently.

“Okay, why do cows have hooves instead of feet?”

Minho blinked at you and tilted his head. “Because they lactose.”

He wasn’t supposed to get that. You assumed that he would give you a legitimate answer, something knowledgeable and scientific. Then you would jokingly scold him for not having a sense of humor before you tell him the punchline, and then he would laugh and you could regain your throne as the God of Humor.

You pursed your lips as you stared him down, then you pressed your lips into a scowl. “You weren’t supposed to tell me the punchline.”

“Then why did you ask me?”

“I gotta start the joke somehow!” you retorted.

Minho allowed himself to find your frustration more endearing than unfair, but still, he suppressed a burst of laughter from bubbling up his throat when you started to throw that mini tantrum of yours.

“Okay, don’t be mad,” he laughed as he reached to the middle of the table and pushed the small basket of bread towards you. “Here, eat some breadsticks.”

Your eyes trailed down to the basket and they widened in excitement. You jumped slightly in your seat, almost pouncing over to get the bread the was only a few inches away from you. “Oh wow, these are one of those places that serve bread before the appetizers, huh?” you commented as you picked the bread that was fresh out of the oven and coated with the right amount of salt, then you carelessly popped it in your mouth.

Minho nodded, slightly confused at your choice of wording. “Yeah. This is your favorite restaurant, shouldn’t you know?”

Choking on your saliva, you continued to chew on the bread but you covered your mouth to hide the shock that you unexpectedly showed to him. Oh, you really have to be a little more careful with your words. You have almost forgotten that this wasn’t your life, and it would be a pain for anyone to be suspicious of your identity.

“I know, I just was stating the obvious.” You shrugged as a slow smile appeared on your face.

Come to think of it, you knew nothing about Minho. All the memories you have of him were horrible, and they were all new and fresh. None of which you could use to strengthen the idea that you were the real ‘you’ and not somebody who just infiltrated into a stranger’s body. You have been so focused on people problems that you forgot the important goal of gaining relevant information for future references.

“So!” You cleared your throat, clearing your head and settling the brand new goal down in the middle of your head. This would be the perfect time to discreetly learn more about Minho; you just have to be careful with what you say. “How was work this morning?”

Minho did not seem fully convinced about your sudden gentle outburst. You’ve asked him about work before and stopped when he made it clear that it wasn’t your business. This was relatively new, but you acting weird was not a topic he wished to proceed with for the remaining lunch, therefore he didn’t press on and simply flashed you a knowing nod and a reply. “It was fine. The same routine, just different days.”

Well, not only did you have to be careful, you needed to be a little smart with your words too. That answer gave you zero new information.

Smacking your lips obnoxiously, you grabbed the menu that has been sitting on the edge of the table and opened it. Glancing carelessly at the dishes, once again grimacing at the fact that there weren’t any price tag printed on the papers, you asked with a casual tone, “That’s cool. What did you do?”

Minho looked away, thinking. “I just had a meeting with my dad this morning and listened to the departments pitch their new ideas.”

“I think I’ll get the pasta.” You slammed the menu shut upon his vague answer. Putting it down on the table, you folded your hands on the table and glared pointedly at him with a smile that caught Minho off guard. It felt calculating, which was true to its nature. “What kind of ideas?”

“Oh, just the usual things–why do you suddenly want to know?” He furrowed his brows as he asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You have never asked me about work.”

“I have never? I remember I have before.” You feigned a gasp while you mentally took a note down to not ask him too much about work problems. It wasn’t like you particularly cared about it anyway.

“No, not in detail.” He shook his head, an innocent pout evident on his face. As you hummed thoughtfully, he conveniently added, “I don’t… umm, I don’t hate that you are asking though. Just thought I can tell you.”

His head was turned to the side when he spoke. His face scrunched up and his muscles hardened to express how foreign and uncomfortable it was for him to express his feeling so openly like that. You almost wanted to coo at how adorable he was acting; he was one cheek blush away from being the perfect tsundere.

But, more importantly, you could tell he was trying. Starting from him asking you to have lunch with him this morning, with a surprisingly timid voice and jumpy gaze, to this exact moment. You hadn’t expected him to change—or at least attempt to change—this quickly. All it took was one speech from you! Regardless, you appreciated the effort. With caution tipped only to the side, you chose to give him a generous chance at redemption.

"I am glad that you enjoy my curiosity, and thank you for telling me your truest desire.” You dipped your head playfully and smiled.

Minho mirrored the expression on your face. His head turning to you slowly after seeing that fond smile of yours. He couldn’t pinpoint whether the quirk of your lips was made for him or simply just a part of your response, but he was going to take any positivity he could get out of you.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his eyes grazing past the tablecloth nervously as his mind jittered at what he was about to say. He cleared his throat, pressing his lips together to keep the smile away for a moment before he asked, “So, uh, I am going to be home for dinner today.”

“Hmm, great! Let’s eat together then,” you said with excited eyes, your smile never fading. Then, with a sudden scrunch of your brows, you told him, “I’ll see what I can do about that. You don’t have to get anything.”

“O–oh, yeah, no problem.” Minho nodded, then he added, “Are you going to cook?”

You hummed thoughtfully. You haven’t gotten the time to cook in a while. Back when you were still on your Earth, while knowing how to make food, you lacked sufficient time or energy to actually cook anything, so most days there were only choices of instant noodles or takeout food. You were afraid your skills might be off the scale now.

“I don’t know yet,” you replied, squinting your eyes at him teasingly. “Do you want me to cook you something?”

He held up his hands awkwardly at the sudden attention, a scoff leaving his lips and a flustered blush creeping up his cheeks. You breathed out quietly at his out-of-character reaction. It was either he just suddenly changed overnight or he has been hiding this side of him professionally well for the past few days. Both of these could be possible in a drama, which you still believed was what you got stuck in.

“I didn’t even know you can cook until recently. How can I want to try your food?” Minho said defensively. He let his hands down and snorted with an eye-roll. “I bet it’s garbage anyway.”

Ah. There was the Lee Minho you knew of. You smiled, realizing how atrocious it was to be talking as if you have crossed the mountains and the seas with him when you have only known him for days.

“Hey, my food can be many things. Too sweet, too salty, whatever,” you pointed at him, slightly offended even though he might not be wrong, “but they are not garbage.”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never tried it.” He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile made its way to your face. This was a ploy—he was discreetly asking for you to make dinner tonight without sounding like he wanted it. Or maybe your assumption was wrong but you would very much like to shower yourself with some attention right now.

“Fine! We’ll see after tonight, Minho,” you said.

“I’ll be anticipating,” he retorted with an arch of his brow, a grin slowly making its way to his way when he saw the childish pout you showed him.

Wasn’t that great? Minho wondered why it took him so long to do this, to just have a normal conversation with you. He really was a spoiled brat. His delusional mind always thought you would love him unconditionally, even without the reciprocation. He was glad to be corrected. He would have continued to be on his snobby path if you hadn’t snapped at him and took the ring off.

You noticed the sudden change of expression on Minho’s face as he stared down at the table. It was guilt-ridden. Twisting your pinky finger, you decided not to say anything and just let him think in peace.

“Okay, hear me out–hey, Minho! Hear me out!” You held back a short laugh when you saw the disappointed look on his face. Gesturing towards the takeout bags on the tea table, you got up from the couch and shook your hands to get his attention.

“I thought you said something about cooking dinner tonight,” Minho muttered under his breath as he placed his bag down on the dining table, then he slowly made his way closer to the couch area so he could stand there gazing down at you with a semi-irritated but ultimately humorous glance. “Whatever happened to that.”

“Well, that’s why I said hear me out, big guy,” you retorted. Once again gesturing towards the takeout bags, you licked your lower lip and explained, “I was planning on cooking dinner but I figured why not have some pizza instead? You’ve never had takeout pizza before, have you?”

Minho furrowed his brows at you in confusion. The things you say kept getting weirder and weirder lately. He was probably a pinch away from getting you to see a psychiatrist. “I have eaten takeout pizza before with my friend.” He shrugged, his eyes darting away as if to recall the memory. “Yeah, during college.”

You hummed, but your grimace disagreed with him. He could have eaten takeout pizza before. But you were almost a hundred percent sure it was one of those extravagant, over-priced, too little cheese and not enough bread kind of pizza. You did not head outside to get one of those; not only were you unaware of any expensive pizza restaurants, you also weren’t interested in having any kind of pizza that wouldn’t grease up your stomach so bad it makes you spend a full day on a toilet. 

What you did, instead, was ask the driver to drive you out to the streets so you could get the kind of pizza you usually get. The oily garbage kind. The kind you eat in front of a television that you couldn’t hear because everyone was talking too loud. The kind that leaves stains on your couch because nobody bothers to use a napkin anymore.

“Trust me, it is not the type you are used to eating.” You beckoned him over to sit next to you on the couch. Reaching over to take out the oily paper boxes and setting them on the tea table, you glanced over to see Minho staring at you unsurely. You sighed, “Sit down, Minho. It’s pizza, not poison.”

“Looks like it to me,” he reluctantly replied, but following your directions, he took off his blazer and neatly folded it over the edge of the couch then he found the spot next to you. His eyes followed as you laid all the food across the table, popped open the cola can, and grabbed the television remote before jumping back onto the couch comfortably.

“It might be poison, but it’s the good kind of poison.” Your eyes fixated on the switching programs, you took a bite out of the big chunk of fries you grabbed with your fist. Though chewing your food, your eyes widened when the drama you wanted to watch finally flipped on, and you carelessly dropped the remote to the side before pointing at the screen. “Oh! Here we go, I have been waiting for this!”

“For what?” Minho followed your gaze and furrowed his brows at the screen. He could recognize the celebrities acting in the show but he had no idea what kind of show it was.

“You’ve never watched it, I figured. Don’t worry, I got the briefing speech down this afternoon.” You reached over to cut out a piece of pizza before pulling out and cutting the stretching cheese. Sitting back on the couch, you propped a leg up and leaned your hot pizza against it. Your eyes were careful on the screen as you waited for each character to appear. “All you need to know is that the suit guy likes the short-haired girl. The girl in the green dress likes the suit guy. Jumper boy is short hair girl’s best friend. You can figure out the rest.”

After explaining, you snorted out a giggle. That plot certainly sounded familiar. It was great to know that the drama within a drama would also be cliché like that.

“I think she is about to get slapped but the guy is gonna come save her. Watch them cut to the hand around the wrist,” you said before taking a big bite of the pizza, your eyes anticipating the plot unfolding in the screen. Sparing a glance towards Minho, you frowned at the way he just awkwardly sat on his spot, eyes glazing past the food on the table with a slight look of distaste.

“Try something. They’re good,” you urged, putting your foot down on the floor and dropping your half-finished pizza on the empty side of the box. You took the liberty of cutting a small piece out, making the round shape uneven but it was for a good cause. Scooting closer to Minho, you moved the food towards his face with a teasing smile. “Come on. It’s good. It’s pizza.”

“That’s fine,” he said, then he pressed his mouth shut and shook his head to refuse the suggestion.

You sighed in faint annoyance. How could this be it? You were supposed to go through the classic montage of teaching the rich boy all about the wondrous world of poor people traditions, starting from deliciously poisonous food, of course. And you two shall bond immensely during the one-minute montage and ultimately, he shall fall head over heels for you.

Not that you particularly care much for whether he falls in love with you. It’s whatever.

“Minho, don’t make me tackle you and force this down your throat.” Your gaze sharpened as you lowered your hands to reveal your face. “Just one small bite. I’ll even play airplane for you if you want.”

“There is no need for that,” he said. “This is ridiculous.”

“Ugh, big words, over a conversation about pizza.” You rolled your eyes. “Just try it. One small bite. If you don’t like it then I’ll finish everything here by myself.”

Minho side-eyed all the food on the table and he snickered, “That’s a lot of grease. You’re gonna get a tummy ache.”

“You underestimate my digestive ability.” You clicked your tongue and glared at him. “Look at you! You got me over here talking about bowel movements!”

“I didn’t force you to say anything regarding that matter.” He shrugged.

Then your mind simply decided it was enough talking for him. He needed something to chew on, and that would be the garbage food you were holding in your hand. Minho seemed to sense the burst of devilish instinct through your arched brows, and he quickly moved back against the couch just as you grinned and crawled on top of his body. You paid zero minds to the position you put yourself in while Minho tried not to think too much about your legs straddling his abdomen as he forced himself to keep his eyes up at your face. You rolled the pizza up as you would fold a piece of bread, curling it into a sandwich-like figure before poking it to Minho’s mouth.

“Come on, Minho, I can’t beg you for too long. This one-minute montage has lasted about a page now,” you whined, shimmering yourself closer to his body by moving your thighs.

The unnoticed friction below forced Minho to open his mouth for a surprised gasp. His eyes widened to stare at you while a heated blush crept onto his cheeks. You took the chance to shove the roll of pizza into his mouth, and all Minho could do was chew on the food. His brows arched as seconds passed, tasing the cheesy food on his tongue and chewing the far too rigid bread.

His hands have found their place at your hips now as he concentrated on the paradoxical food in his mouth, his previous panic mode coming to a halt suddenly. It was bad, he could point out exactly why it was bad too but he liked it somehow. Inhaling a sharp breath, his eyes trailed towards you and he nodded. “I like it.”

A grin broke out then and you clasped your hands together in pure joy. “See? I told you you would like it!”

Minho tried not to smile too much due to the food in his mouth, but you could see his eyes arch into a moon shape and it was enough compensation for the lack of smiley lips. After that, it was just quiet. The only sound being made was from the television; it sounded like the second female lead was crying once again as she desperately spilled out her confession.  

You turned your head over to focus on the screen, your brows slightly furrowed and a grimace appearing once you saw how heartbroken the female lead was. Your expression was not out of sympathy, it was annoyance at the fact that she never stops crying.

While you were watching the people on the screen, Minho was watching you.

Your hands have fallen to his chest, unbeknownst to you. Your fingertips pressing against the fabric of his button-up shirt; just a thin wall until they reach the surface of his warm skin. His fingers fiddled with the hem of your shirt, no ill intentions provided, it was just the force of daydream.

“Ugh, seriously?” you muttered under your breath as your face scrunched up in dismay. “Do you see this shit, Minho? He just kissed her. Disgusting!”

You turned to look at him, catching his gaze immediately. Confusion faded quickly and your belly tightened when it hit you that Minho has been staring at you for the entirety of this moment. Not to mention the rather intimate position you two were seated in. Clenching your fist tightly, you gasped out and quickly prepared to back off his torso.

“Wait–hold on, I have something to ask!” Minho tightened his grip on your hips, his voice urgent.

“What–what? Yeah?” you breathed out.

Minho’s lips started to quiver, a sign of nervousness you could tell. His eyes moved away from you to the television and back to you again. He cleared his throat a few times, his fingers still gently fixing at the hem of your shirt, unknowingly making your heart pump furiously at the tingly sensation.

“I… uh, basically I want to ask… “ he started, “It’s just… if you are okay with it, of course, I would like you to… um, sleep with me?”

You blinked down at him, rubbing the back of your finger near your cupid’s bow as you sniffed. That was an unexpected question but you came prepared for it. While you knew things have changed drastically starting this morning, all the courtesy to the event last night, you didn’t want things to happen too quick and easy for him. Heading back to sleep on the same bed with him, an act that fosters closeness, you were not willing to just hand it to him yet.

Damn. You selfishly smiled to yourself. This is what it feels like to be chased.

“Thank you for the offer, Minho, but… no,” you replied softly, glancing down at him kindly. “Maybe someday soon.”

He nodded at you, disappointment lacing in the heaves of his chest. “Yeah. That’s no problem.”

“But I do want you to know that I am glad about you taking the first step to change,” you said. “And for not making a fool out of me, you know? I was hoping I hadn’t given the chance to the wrong person.”

“Oh, yeah. Totally.” He nodded. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Breathing in the silence, you gave him one last smile before backing off his body once and for all. You returned to your designated spot and pulled your legs close to your chest to make up for the sudden loss of warmth. A small smile played at your lips, you almost felt like you were back in high school talking to your first crush again.

“You’re welcome,” you muttered. “We’ve stalled long enough time. Let’s just eat and watch the soap opera together.”

He nodded in agreement, then he laughed. “I still have no idea what is going on though.”

“No worries, I will fill you in.” You waved your hand at him, tempting him to sit a little closer to you. Looking at the food, an idea popped into your head and you yelped, pressing a fist to your palm. “Ah! How about I make it up to you by making your lunch tomorrow?”

Minho bit his lower lip as he reached in to pick up a piece of pizza, his hand greased up with just a single grip but he couldn’t care less. He bit back a soft smile, only offering you a nod in return, “Yeah, please. I’d love that.”

You watched Changbin pop the last spoonful of kimchi fried rice into his mouth, your mouth creasing up into a smile upon the delicious hum he let out as he dropped the metal spoon onto the bento box carelessly, trying to savor the last taste of your homemade lunch. You made extra this morning when you were preparing the food for Minho’s lunch and you decided why not pack one for Changbin too? That way you could share the food and get some reviews in return.

Killing two birds with one stone. I see you were unusually thriving, [Name]. Why was that, one might wonder?

“Since when did you learn how to cook so well?” Changbin asked when he turned to you, a bunched up piece of tissue in his fist.

Oh great. If Changbin thought the food was good then Minho most likely would too. You did doubt the possibility of him complimenting you on the food straightforwardly, though. He would probably say something irritating first before discreetly slip in some happy words here and there, ones which you would be too annoyed to catch, but that wouldn’t be Minho's problem since he did, in fact, compliment you. He could check that box off.

“I had a lot of free time lately, and I decided why not become an improved version of myself?” You smiled smugly at him. A hand reached up to your shoulder to fake a sassy hair-flip as you hummed in satisfaction. “I am a whole new person now, Changbin. I can cook, I can–” your smiled dimmed funnily–“I don’t know what else I can do but I am sure I will think of something eventually.”

Changbin breathed out a faint giggle, his eyes casting down at the empty bento box in front of him once again. He was reluctant to taste the food you made when you first presented it to him, talking about not needing to go to some expensive restaurant and whineing about receiving a giant plate of a chip-sized spaghetti. It started from him doubting if you actually made it since it looked presentable, and then it was him being suspicious of the taste.

“It was really good. Thank you for making me something,” he said, squishing your cheek casually. His gaze softened when you grinned at him, joyous and genuine in the truest way possible. It made him feel as if he had missed out on something, like all the smiles you have shown him before served no value compared to this one. He sighed, folding his hands together and clearing his throat shyly. “Don’t make this weird but you feel happier lately.”

You tilted your head at him. “I do?”

“Yeah. Well, you have never really come to me about any problems and you were always happy when we hang out. But…” Changbin paused in thoughts, trying to phrase them in the best way possible. “It just feels like you’ve been doing much better than before. Like, I am not insinuating anything about your life and your marriage but you didn’t feel like you were genuinely happy before.”

You would never understand why ‘you’ never talked to Changbin about this broken marriage before and instead chose to talk to Minho’s mother. Even in the dramas that you have watched, books that you have read, the main character always tells their best friend about everything. To a point where it may backfire on them. Or perhaps that was the reason why? The reason why Changbin was not informed of the truth was that they were trying to keep him from causing a scene, from acting on his feelings?

Your brows furrowed. But it didn’t seem like Changbin has feelings for you though? The worst thing that could happen would be him sucker-punching Minho in the midst of a normal conversation because “how dare you treat my best friend like that, you piece of shit!” or something along the lines of that. It wouldn’t be you choosing him over Minho and thus, humiliating the latter with a sudden divorce.

“That is a good thing,” you said. “I am happier, I guess?”

“It is. I am just wondering why?” Changbin questioned. “Did something happen with Minho?”

“Changbin–“ you pressed your mouth shut.

You almost asked if he has feelings for you, just like that, bluntly and honestly. Thank god you caught your tongue before spilling such conceited bullshit. Just because you were the main character of this story didn’t mean you plan to assume your attractiveness just leveled up like that. And you would much rather you hadn’t met anyone’s standard in this world, unlike how most dramas work. You’ve spent your entire life being mediocre at best, too much attention would serve as nothing but a mere nuisance.

With the bottom lip jutted out, you puffed some air into your cheeks just to have something to do while the silence rolled on. Changbin was waiting patiently for an answer, dedicated to knowing whether your change in mood had anything to do with your husband. Your head pounded—technically speaking, it did have something to do with Minho, but even more than him, it had something to do with yourself.

The body switch changed ‘you,’ whoever they were. If your theory was correct, the people back on Earth could possibly be asking the same question depending on how ‘you’ decided to act. Or you could be sleeping, stuck in an unreasonable coma, unmoving and weak. You closed your eyes for a moment. Oh, you could see it, you could see the flashing images!

All the five people you knew being worried sick (or not) about you, the doctors were all gathered together to examine your body in hopes to find the cause of your deep slumber, paparazzi’s roaming outside your room! You better be the talk of the country when you wake up. You wanted to be interviewed, to be taken magazine pictures of! You could write a book about this experience; people would probably call you crazy but how would they be able to explain the coma, huh?

[Name], darling, your thoughts were going awfully off-track. Please spare a moment and take a look at the young and handsome man sitting next to you.

“Well, it might be because of him,” you replied carefully. “But it is mostly me. Like I said, I am improving myself! I am learning things and charging myself with knowledge!”

Changbin stared at you for a prolonged moment and you waited nervously for what he would say. The velocity of the wind was just perfect, blowing at your hair without disrupting the beauty of your features but also a sort of feminine flair to the situation; he was staring at you intently with curious eyes, which was enough to make your heart pound. This felt like the perfect time to say something cheesy and thus, mess up your feelings.

“[Name].”

You flinched invisibly, your eyes widened as a squeak left your pursed lips. You looked at him, asking him to continue.

Changbin laughed. “I just want to make sure you are okay, alright? If Minho ever tries to pull any stunt, you tell me.”

You blanked out for the rest of it, relieved that it was not a confession you heard. It wouldn’t be a problem anyway, you already knew what Changbin would say. Probably something along the lines of “I will hunt him down and kick his ass,” which would always sound romantic coming from a good-looking man but absolutely hilarious coming from an average-looking one. Either way, it did warm your heart to hear that someone cared about you enough to bother standing up for you.

“Thank you,” you said, rolling your eyes up at the sky and looking faraway. Minho popped into your head and a smile graced upon your lips, unbeknownst to you. “But I think Minho is fine. He may not be the best husband but he is trying, and I think I should give him credit for that.”

The way he treated you when you first met him was unreasonable, but at least he took the first step. Instead of ignoring your words and going on to be the asshole he was, thus prompting you to return the favor, he was the first to attempt at a change. You could always stand by the rule of ‘an eye for an eye,’ but sometimes you need to kill the cycle before it kills you.

“Alright then.” Changbin nodded at your reply and he stood up.

“Thank you, seriously,” you said as you stood up from your seat and as he did. Confidently, you reached your arms over his shoulders and pulled him into a tight hug. He pressed his hands to your back without hesitation, engulfing you fully with his (very eye-catching) arms. You could never get used to this—his hugs, absolutely god-sent.

“Thank you for looking out for me,” you said, your voice muffled in his shirt.

“Always.” Changbin rubbed your back, smiling to himself. When he pulled away, he tilted his head with a question. “Wanna get out of here and go shopping?”

You smiled. Spending money? Sounds like fun. 

Wait. Shopping?

You almost forgot about that generous credit card slipped sluggishly between the five one-hundred-dollar bills in your wallet. When Minho heard that you planned to hang out with Changbin today, all he did was quietly take out his wallet and flip the card out for you to take along. You planned to deny the offer at first but as soon as you caught sight of the thick blackness of the card, you knew this was no normal credit card. 

No, no. That was no grocery store credit card. That card could pay off a mortgage loan in full. It was one of those reserved, royal, luxurious card made out of silk and velvet. You were too busy puking blood, sweat, and tears trying to sustain the weight of that one, stupid card that you didn’t even notice the look of dismay Minho flashed you when he reminded you to get home early. You knew he was rich, but you didn’t know he was this rich. What would be next, huh? A private zoo overlooking a private waterfall?

Changbin raised a brow at you, concern plastered on his face when he saw the uncomfortable look on your face. He stepped closer to you and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, totally.” You nodded, wiping the sweat off your forehead. “Let’s go. Just remind me not to buy anything too expensive.”

He frowned in confusion. “[Name], what? You married Lee Minho. The word expensive doesn’t exist.”

You spent so long chanting ‘eat the rich’ only to end up becoming one of them. “I don’t think it works that way, Changbin.” You laughed sarcastically before pointing to a random direction. “Can we just go get ice cream or boba. Anything normal like that.”

“Yeah–you are being really weird,” he said, patting you on the shoulder. “Are you taking the whole improving yourself thing too far?”

No, definitely not. If anything, you didn’t just get a mild improvement, you got an upgrade.

The first thing Minho did when he got home was to look for you.

He hadn’t thought about why and what he would do. It wasn’t like you would give him a welcome kiss or anything. He just thought seeing you after an eventful day at work would be a breath of fresh air, considering for most of the day, he had been putting up a professional front. He also wanted to thank you for the delicious lunch he spent minutes trying to figure out where he should eat it at.

He placed his shoes neatly by the door so the housekeeper would pick it up and return it back to his closet and walked over to the couch where he lightly dropped his briefcase at the corner. His eyes laid elsewhere, glancing through the kitchen and the dining area to find not one trace of human life anywhere in the living room. The house was eerily quiet too, unlike usual when you would be at home (especially not recently when you’ve started to get so talkative).

Minho heaved a sigh. You had not come back from your friendly date with Changbin yet.  

Glancing up at the television, he let a smile reach his lips as he recalled the pizza night you two had. He remembered being able to relax with you screaming and whining at the screen that night, and how he genuinely liked being able to lay back and feel nothing for a while. Heck, you even managed to get him invested in the episode half-way down. He was huffing and cursing by the end of the cliff hanger.

It was a great experience; simple and lovely. He missed it, quite a lot.

“Oh, Minho! Welcome back!”

He looked up at the housekeeper, strands of her white and black hair falling over her wrinkly face as the aftermath of domestic chores. She was wiping her hands on her jeans and she walked up to Minho, a gentle smile on her face as she said, “[Name] isn’t home yet if that is what you’re wondering.”

“Yeah, I figured,” he said as he reached into his bag and pulled out the wrapped bento box, handing it to the housekeeper politely. “Oh, this is the lunch box if you can wash it for me. Thank you.”

“So you are wondering if they’re home yet?” She took the box in her hands and held it close to her chest, staying on her spot instead of heading straight to the kitchen. Her gentle smile has changed into a knowing smirk, her eyes flashing a rare mischief when she saw the way Minho stuttered with his eyes. “You don’t used to ask for them like this, do you know?”

She was the kind of lady ‘you’ couldn’t fool into thinking the marriage was a good one. Even if she had not been your housekeeper and had not been keeping a careful eye on how you and Minho interact with each other, she would have known just by watching you two stand next to each other. But she kept her mouth shut, for it wasn’t her place to say anything, and for she had faith that something would change eventually.

“Sometimes I just wanna smack you out of it. I could never understand why you were so distant before, even though I can see you are a nice person,” she added. “But I guess I can’t blame everything on you either. Your parents and their parents were too rash.”

Minho pouted slightly at her words. It felt like she was finding excuses for him and it felt wrong. He never knew why he acted so distant either, to be frank, he just knew he started out that way and he had stuck to it for this long. Until you suddenly changed, you had enough of him and snapped back, you took the expected affection and turned it into something he has to earn.

The lady spoke, patting his arm. “But your parents should have given you more time so you can fall in love with them too.”

Minho would have loved you normally, but he was young and he was reckless with sensitivity. Suddenly tying him down with a ring, giving him no choice but to accept and act grateful—it made him go blind with stubbornness and he acted so stupidly in the relationship to prove a point that people would forever be ignorant of.

“How…” He shook his head. “But what if I don’t fall in love with them?”

“Oh, how am I supposed to know? That is in the past now, isn’t it?” she exclaimed, the soft pats on his arm turning into a weak hit. “You enjoy their love, Minho, and you do care. You can admit that. It’s not a bad thing.”

Minho pulled on his fingers, one by one he tugged on them harshly until he reached his ring finger. A gasp breathed from his chest and never out of his mouth, his eyes narrowing uncomfortably as he recalled back when you took yours off and returned it to him. He had it stored carefully in the original box, stuffed to the front of his desk drawer in his workroom.

And suddenly, all he could focus on was to put the ring back on your finger.

A knock came from the big doors, gaining his attention immediately as he turned his head over. Dropping his hands to his side, hope swelling within him, he went over and quickly opened the door only to be left disappointed when he saw that it was Yuna standing before him instead of you. He glanced at the clock slapped around his wrist, his frown deepening as more seconds ticked by without you being home.

“Minho!”

“Hey, Yuna,” he muttered, glancing up from his watch and looking at the girl. “What is it?”

“What is up with your face. Aren’t you at least a little happy to see me?” she questioned, her smile dimming with a faint scoff. She walked inside the house, closing the door on her way in.

“No, not particularly,” Minho replied honestly, sensing nothing wrong with his answer.

Yuna was used to his bluntness by now, but even then she went ahead and kept trying to shorten the bridge Minho set up between the two of them. Her progress wasn’t obvious, she couldn’t even be sure if she had made any type of progress. But one thing she knew for sure was that Minho acts a hell lot more closer to her than he ever did with you. That, she could stand by. Or so it used to be, at least. She wasn’t sure what’s changed recently. Perhaps your snapping made him take a turn for the better, or worse for her. 

“Bummer, I am very happy to see you.” She put on a frown. “Well, maybe not this time because I have something to show you.” Clutching her phone in her hands, her pretty brows furrowed in a look of sympathy mixed with distaste. How she managed to put two opposite emotions together on her face was beyond imaginable but it was, undeniably, a skillset. “Did you know [Name] was out with their best friend… what’s his name? Changbin! They were together today!”

“Yeah, I am well aware of that,” Minho sighed, glancing at his watch again.

“Don’t you find their tension weird?” Yuna asked, stepping up tauntingly. “They are so close! Honestly, if I didn’t know you two are married, I would have thought they were a couple. Especially what happened at the park today!”

Minho blinked slowly. Whatever Yuna was trying to pull here, it was definitely up to no good. He trusted you, whole-heartedly. Back when you were meek and quiet, and now when you were bold and honest. But what he thought was concrete. You couldn’t go behind his back and fool around with somebody else so long as you both haven’t gotten an official divorce yet. However, even if you weren’t cheating, could you possibly be falling in love with another secretly? Yes. He thought it possible, and he was intimidated by that idea.

He clenched his jaw, gritting his teeth to keep the accusation at the tip of his tongue. His paranoia shouldn’t be stronger than your morals. Yuna raised her brows at the reaction, her chest thumping in triumph at the assumption that her plan to pin the unfaithfulness on you was working. She jumped over to Minho’s side and circled her arm through his so she could pull him down to her level, and she whipped out her phone with the gallery prepared.

Minho could barely take a glance at the first picture when the door burst open. You came waltzing into the house, a tired groan escaping your lips as you kicked your shoes off and used your feet to shove them to the side. When you finally looked back up, your gaze sharpened at the sight of Minho and Yuna. You wanted to let out another groan of frustration; besides your sore feet, there was another, bigger, hassle in front of you. But you were more curious than annoyed at the sight. 

“How is it that I always catch you two together?” you asked as you crossed your arms.

Minho removed himself from Yuna, his eyes wide in alert and his mouth hung open with a silent explanation. To see him so riled up with fear just because you saw them in a rather friendly position caused none other than jealousy within the girl standing next to him, so she huffed and retorted with her phone clutched tighter in her hand.

“You are one to talk! You were out with Changbin the whole day today!” She flashed you her phone. “Explain this, cheater.”

You had to laugh. Cheater, right. Hilarious accusation. First of all, never in hell. You would not cheat for the fuck of it, not even when you were about to have your grade drop to a C and you have a teacher who sleeps during testing hours. Second of all, you forgot how quickly characters of her archetype liked to jump to conclusions. All those times screaming at the screen about them being a, as you like to call then, stupid fucking bitch, you never thought you would get the chance to experience one.

God, let’s just hope that Minho did not take the claimed cheating evidence the wrong way or else it would be a pain in the ass trying to clarify to him that you and Changbin were nothing more than friends. That was if it wasn’t already enough pain to have to deal with the second female lead over here.

“Oh! Yeah, I did cook lunch today. I had leftovers so I decided to share some with Changbin too, and I was being playful so I spoon-fed him like once before he smacked my hand away,” you laughed at the picture of you shoving a spoon too far down his mouth. “Hey, send this to me, will you? I can blackmail him with it. Look at how ugly he looks.”

Yuna gasped in disbelief. She couldn’t ask why you were spoon-feeding him, it wasn’t like friends are banned from playfully feeding each other food. If she nitpicked on something so trivial, she would sound desperate. Oh, think Yuna! Think hard and clear on how to make Minho hate his devoted spouse! Remember that you were indeed very desperate!

“But–but I saw you two hugging each other. Look!” She swiped her phone and showed it to both you and Minho.

You wished there were cameras present for you to stare into them. It was just a hug, first of all. Secondly, need you to remind that girl the position she caged Minho in when you first saw her in the office room. Hypocritical, dumbly so! This female lead was no fun at all! The deadpan expression on your face seemed to rub off on Minho quite a bit, as he pursed his lips together to hide a snicker at how ridiculous this situation was. You opened your mouth, inhaled a mouthful of air to stall time as you think of a response, and when you finally exhaled it was a defeated one.

“You got me, Yuna. You really got me,” you said, nodding. “I forgot I signed the contract where I can never ever hug my best friend anymore. I am so sorry, I messed up, I was wrong.”

She dropped her arms to her side with a huff. You were right once again. Something you could only say in a drama world and never in the real world, but we shall not go into that for the time being. Anyway, it was just a hug. She could argue that it was much more than just a friendly hug but yet again, she had no reason to show for it and she didn’t want to appear desperate. Even though she was, in fact, very desperate.

“If you aren’t talking then I guess it’s my turn.” You clapped your hands together at the silence. Looking at the girl, you kindly gave her a tilt of your head and a questioning gaze as you spoke, “Why do you have pictures of me and Changbin? Were you stalking me or did you pay other people to stalk me?”

Minho widened his eyes, a shocked yell erupting as he held out his hand. “Woah, [Name]! Yuna might be a little crazy but she isn’t–“

“Trust me, Minho. I have seen this scenario for at least fifty times now. It is not uncommon for the second lead to hire random, scary, useless men to take out the main lead,” you interrupted him quickly, with your palm shot out and facing him.

“What the hell are you babbling about?” Yuna asked, baffled.

“Too long, don’t listen. It just means I know how to handle this,” you explained briefly before nodding at her. “Care to explain? Did you take the pictures?”

Yuna heaved a sigh, her pretty eyes staring hopelessly back at you. She glanced at Minho once even though she knew she wouldn’t receive any form of help, and when she looked back at you, she nodded. “Yeah, I did.”

That was much easier than you expected.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” you said. “But I want you to know that I don’t like what you did, and I especially don’t like you accusing me of cheating when I didn’t.”

She didn’t apologize; you didn’t expect her to.

Stepping aside, you eyed Minho quickly and gestured for him to take care of the girl. He hesitated for a moment, wanting nothing more than to talk to you, and he complied when you glared at him. You stood on the side, not paying attention to what Minho was saying as he walked the girl out, presumably to send her home.

“She really likes you,” you mused the first thing when Minho retuned from his mini-trip. You stirring a cup of tea in your hands, walking out of the kitchen in your slippers. When you saw the confused look Minho gave you, you shrugged. “Just an observation. Don’t tell me you never noticed?”

Minho titled his head to the side. “I don’t think too much of it.”

You hummed. These second-leads; always spending more than half of their life in love with someone only to get a “haha, I don’t think too much of it” in return. Sometimes you wonder if they were created to strengthen the plot and relationships, or just to slap reality right in the face of the audiences. 

Just because you love them doesn’t mean it deserves to work out for you, and most of the time it doesn’t work out for you.

“Heartbreaking,” you commented.

Minho sighed heavily, looking away to grab a mug so he could pour himself a cup of water. “Yeah.“

You eyed him carefully. Whether he was annoyed because of work or whatever just happened, you planned to clarify one thing. “I didn’t cheat, just so you know,” you said. “I never will.”

“Oh, yeah, I know. I trust you,” he said, gulping down the water and putting the mug down on the kitchen counter. He licked the droplets remaining on his lower lip and sighed. “It’s just…”

How does one talk about the feeling of jealousy without having a clear explanation as to why they feel it? How does on talk about the green monster when they were never prone to seeing it? How does one even talk about feeling jealous at all? It is such a taboo emotion for some reason. Minho grimaced, annoyed at himself for being unable to put his feelings into words, right now and back when he was talking with the housekeeper.

He shook his head, deciding to change the topic. “Thank you for the lunch today, I really liked it.”

A small smile appeared on your face as you pressed the lid of the mug close to your lip, not sure if you planned to drink the tea or just to have the heat stay close to your mouth so you could feel the warm humidity. “You’re welcome, I figured you’d like it since Changbin liked it too.”

“Cool,” Minho laughed, a painfully obvious sarcastic tone laced all over him he wasn’t even aware he was dripping with what you could recognize as jealousy. Mildly, not too much of it, just lingering on the fact that you didn’t make the food especially for him when he thought you did.

Amusement tingled in your head and you thought hard about whether you should tease him for it. You wanted to, for sure, but with someone whose dignity and feelings were so reserved, he would never admit to being jealous of anything. He would be hard to tease because he would fight like hell to deny it while his ears betray him in shades of red.

You took a sip of your drink. Fine, at least you knew he felt that way. “I can make your lunch again for tomorrow,” you said casually. “I should probably count my portion right this time. Wouldn’t want to make so much extra food again.”

Minho cleared his throat, a sense of giddiness bubbling up his chest but he pressed it down until he would be out of sight to celebrate this small victory by himself. Carefully placing the cup in the sink, he wiped the wetness on a towel hung on the oven handle, not looking at you as he spoke, “Yeah, sure. Thank you again.”

“No problem.” You moved over to the sink and rinsed your cup before putting it on the dish rack located just at the side.

“Oh, I got news today that my dad’s company is going to hold a gathering soon,” he said, his voice louder when he knew what he needed to say. He rubbed his knuckles against his pants discreetly, clearing this throat. “They basically have people working in other companies come over and each department would pitch an idea and see if they want to invest in the idea.”

You nodded. “Oh, that’s fun.”

“Yeah, and uh, I would like it if you can tag along?” he asked.

“Won’t I have to anyway?” you responded light-heartedly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Yes and no. You don’t actually have to show up all the time, contrary to what we have been doing for almost every single company gatherings I have been to. I just want to see if you want to go this time since my dad–well, he is finally giving me a chance to pitch an idea by myself,” he muttered under his breath before quickly adding. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to! I’m not gonna force you to go to those events anymore.”

This felt like some type of prom proposal but a much less expected and underprepared version of it. This was the first time you have ever been asked to join anything that wasn’t a club activity or a family gathering. Although it was a company gathering, you would still be attending as a plus-one, and the thought of that boost your confidence quite a bit.

Besides, you would probably leave the scene half-way through and, if everything goes according to the book, Minho would follow you out and you two would bond in this magnificent garden you miraculously stumble into. One that should not exist in the middle of a vibrant city behind a company building. 

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you accepted. “Gonna go cheer you on, of course. Not loudly but you know.”

“Oh… okay, thanks,” he breathed out a sigh of relief at your reply, the weight dropping off his shoulders.

You turned to Minho then, a faint smile on your face due to the lack of things to say. The tension was rather awkward. You two simply stood before each other in the kitchen, with no words to say and speechless eyes focusing on each other. Minho moved after a while, his hand flying up just a fraction. He looked as though he wanted to talk but he wasn’t sure how, and so you waited for him to pull his mind together.

“Um… I just wanna say welcome home,” he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets because he didn’t know what else to do with them. “I was gonna greet you when you come back but Yuna was here.”

Your eyes softened. Well, you’ll be. Who would have thought Minho had the ability to stir up the shy romantic in you? Cheeks slightly tinted pink, disbelief eyes darting everywhere but you, hands in pockets, and a naturally pouty lip. Muttering some cheesy lines that would escalate the affection both of you feel for each other, all the while trying too hard to make it seem casual. This man was a whole tsundere and you were living for it!

Laughing, you nodded as you looked around the room you have come to be more familiar with. “Thanks. I’m home.”

“Did you have fun today?” he asked.

“I did,” you replied. “But it’s always nicer at home.”

Minho quirked his lips up for a moment before his expression returned to the bewildered, confused one. His gaze was hard with uncertainty as he moved slow. His arms reaching up unconfidently, his legs wanting to bring him forward but they were unmoving. You tilted your head with squinted eyes, deciphering his movements while he huffed out curses at himself.

“Actually, nevermind,” he said. “You didn’t see anything.”

Oh, for god’s sake, [Name]. Just give the poor man a hug! You want to!

“Minho,” you called to stop him before he could turn and leave. Boldly, you opened your arms. “Come here, it’s fine.”

He reluctantly moved closer to you upon the invitation. His arms carefully going around your back to engulf you in his arms, his head dipping slightly just enough to smell the lingering scent of street food you ate this afternoon. It felt nice, as much as he forgot how touching other people feel. Steadying himself in your embrace felt warm and safe. He blinked at the floor, unsure of what else he could do aside from just standing there with his arms around your torso.

“You smell like sweat, Minho,” you complained with a frown, your chin pinning down on his shoulder as you slapped his back one. “Go take a shower. I’ll make some dinner.”

Minho clicked his tongue, his brows furrowing slightly. He wasn’t mad, though; your remark made him feel less awkward if anything. Reminding him that this was just a hug, and he should not have to take it so seriously like he was heading to war or something. He could do this every day if he wanted to, and he sure wanted to.

“Your hair smells like grilled octopus so maybe you should go deal with that too,” he said. “Did you get me some of that?”

“No, I didn’t know you like that.” You shrugged as you pulled away after one last smack to his back for commenting on how your hair smelled like barbecue as if you didn’t already know. “Let’s go get some next time, just the two of us.”

“Sure, I know a restaurant.”

“No, Minho. I mean the street stalls kind,” you said, waving your hand, “You know? The ones in the crowded streets. The food stalls?”

“I do know. I just don’t go to those places,” he said, pulling a face. He has been wondering what your image of him was. It seemed you’ve considered him under the spotlight of a very stereotypical rich man. 

You poked your tongue against your inner cheek. You should have expected that. Maybe that was where your one-minute montage would come from. You could already see the episode title: love and food, where [Full Name] teaches rich man Lee Minho the art of shoving people in crowded streets to get to your favorite food stalls, thus making Lee Minho fall in love with you because wow, this is such a different scenario than what he was used to! No one has ever brought him to places like this before, even though he was fully capable of going anywhere he wanted!

“Then we have to go at least once,” you huffed. “But for now, let’s worry about dinner.”

“Of course,” he said, snapping his fingers. “I will go take care of my… body odor.”

You burst into laughter as you nodded, moving over to the refrigerator, “Yes, you do that, sweaty. And I will deal with my hair later.”

He rolled his eyes playfully and spun on his heels. Moving out of the kitchen and back to the couch where he could get his bag, he paused for a moment when he caught the black television standing there, and a thought popped into his head.

“Hey, [Name]!” He yelled out, looking up to find you peeking out the door. He played with his fingers, “Should we just order some takeout?”

“Oh?” You looked around the clean kitchen with a soft frown before you nodded with a shrug. “Sure. That’d save me the effort. What do you want?” you asked, walking out of the kitchen as well. “Chinese? Thai?” You hummed with a playful smirk. “Pizza?”

You saw him smile.

Pizza it is.

The clinking of the teaspoon was rhythmic as you stirred the cup of jasmine tea in the quiet kitchen. Night has descended long ago. The housekeeper and driver have already returned to their home. You just peeled off your face mask and you could still feel the essence on your skin. The living room was dark with only the kitchen light illuminating the area. It was one of those silent times in a day where you look around and it hits you once again that you were someplace else.

But this house wasn’t strange to you anymore. This house was where you slept in for weeks, where you ate pizza and cooked meals you could never imagine having the time to cook, where you found yourself gradually approaching the mortifying idea that was falling in love with another human being.

Blowing air out of your lips, you groaned at the thought. Falling in love; you have fanaticized about it so long yet it never really happened. The deepest form of affection you have ever felt was classmate crushes and celebrity admiration, nothing stronger than that has ever occupied your heart before. And you were never sure if you wanted anything more than that, ever, because you have always been afraid of rejection, of the one-sided love television talked so much about.

It wasn’t just the rejection. It was all those witching hours spent being cautious and overthinking every interaction you make with the other person, imagining scenarios that you already deemed impossible, wondering if you should fall in love or if you are worth being fallen in love with.

But the rejection part wouldn’t apply to you in this situation since you and Minho were already married, not to mention he was trying to become a better person for you, therefore you shall have no problem going forward from here. Alright, maybe you would have some trouble with showing affection but that wouldn’t be because you don’t accept Minho and only because you were never taught how to properly reciprocate another’s love.

“Made you jasmine tea, you lame-a-thon!”

Minho looked up from his desk with a deadpan expression. You and your nicknames just get worse and worse as time passes, and he painfully awaits the day when you finally unleash the worst nickname you could muster. When you saw his frown, you hummed, “Oh, stop that frown, boy. Your face will get stuck like that.”

You kept telling him that and he knew for a fact that it is impossible for facial expressions to be stuck on his face. Yet, every time you tell him that, he found himself whole-heartedly trusting you for just a second and he would revert to a neutral expression. It was stupid, it was the kind of stupid only you could bring out in him.

“You should go to sleep, [Name].” Minho received the tea gratefully, giving you a nod of acknowledgment. His eyes bounced down to the pattered mason jar you were holding and he tilted his head, holding up his own mug. “How come you get a pretty jar and I just get a white mug?”

You shook your jar. “My drink is iced, yours is hot. Hot drinks and glass jars? Not cute. Iced drinks and glass jars with straws? Very cute.” You took a sip of your fruit juice before pulling the straw away and added with a giggle. “Also, you don’t look like someone who would use something like this.”

“Judging a book by its cover now, huh? I see.” He rolled his eyes and returned to his papers.

You decided to stay at home with him too, the idea only floating out of your head during the third day when you impulsively knocked on his workroom and sat down on the couch with a random book you pulled from the bookshelf. He let you sit there with him in silence, the only sound reverberating around the room were papers turning, keyboards typing, and an occasional chatter about the book you were reading.

Minho wondered why he has never done this before. He always thought he liked to work alone, and he still does. But having you stay in the same room with him felt more comforting than the deafening silence he has to face whenever he allows himself a moment to rest. He could look up and be reminded that someone is there with him, and that defeats the hidden loneliness he never liked to confront.

“Are you sure you don’t want to rest?” you asked, grimacing. Not sure why you felt the need to urge Minho to stop working when you were also one to sit in front of a computer with papers piling up at your work desk too. It was always much easier to point a bad habit out for somebody else than yourself, you supposed. “You’ve been here the whole day.”

Minho shook his head, pouting slightly. “No. I’ll be done with it when I feel like I’m done for today.”

“Are you slacking behind?”

“No,” he said in a soft whisper, glaring up at you for even thinking he would let himself fall behind.

You sneered and removed yourself from his desk. Walking back to the couch you’ve sat on for days, staring at a book or scrolling on your phone, you jumped back on top and placed your drink on the lamp table just behind your head. Laying your body down and extending your legs, you grabbed the thick book and opened it once again to pick up where you left off.

Minho glanced at you, a gentle smile quirking on his lips and his hands slowing down with the papers. He never noticed it, but the couch was placed at the perfect angle for him to look at. Even if you caught him staring, he could always laugh it off as him looking at the clock just above you on the wall. It was perfect, very discreet, and wish-fulfilling.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sleep?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You didn’t bother to take your eyes off the book but you had stopped reading the lines. You shook your head. “No, I don’t feel like leaving you here alone with the clock ticking. Also, this book is interesting. I want to finish it quickly so I can grab another one.”

“Huh? What is it about?”

“Some random Math stuff? I don’t know. I didn’t pay much attention to the context, I just like to read the words,” you said, looking over at him with confident eyes briefly before going back into the book, where you would be saying the words and not stringing them together to make any sense. “It makes me feel smart when I read them.”

He chuckled at your response, his brow arching slightly at the unpredictability of your actions. He made no further comment, letting himself dive back into work as he planned to. Time flew quickly when he was focused, and another hour passed before he knew it. When he granted himself another break for his eyes and neck, he could see that the time was inching closer to sunrise, and when he cast his gaze downwards, he could find you sleeping with the book open on your chest.

Dropping everything at his fingertips, he stood up slightly to give himself a clearer look. Your breathing was slow and your eyes were closed. You also have not been making any comments for the past hour so that should be enough indication for him that you had fallen asleep. Fully standing up now, Minho walked out of his desk so he could approach the couch where you laid. He glanced down at you, debating whether he should wake you up or carry you back to your room.

He grimaced. It would be best to wake you up, right? What if you didn’t want him to bridal-style carry you? But he also didn’t want to disturb you from your sleep either, you looked so peaceful! Minho paced back and forth across the floor, his index nail stuck between his teeth as his eyes shook with thoughts. God, you would laugh so hard if you knew he did this—what a dilemma! Do you or do you not carry your spouse back to their bed when they have fallen asleep?

Just carry them back, Minho, stop worrying.

He paused in his track, his eyes rolling up at the ceiling with a faint murmur. “Carry them…?”

Uh, yes, Minho. That was what I said.

Minho frowned with a scratch on the back of his neck, but he complied with the voice in his head and moved back to the couch. He crouched to your level and carefully removed the book from your hand. You stirred, causing him to freeze immediately, but there was nothing more than that. He dropped the book on the carpet floor before he fumbled around in the air with his unsure hands, not sure where to place them.

Alright, calm down a moment, Minho.

Breathing out slowly, he attempted to calm his messy mind as he let his arms drop back to his side and he stayed in the crouching position. Minho’s gaze blinked over to your face and his heart softened. This utterly relaxed, unguarded face of yours was one of the many faces Minho loved about you; even though it might take him some time to get around to that strong word, he wasn’t denying how much he felt a genuine fondness over it.

At moments like these, when you couldn’t hear him, Minho thought he would spill his deepest, darkest secrets to you, or even confess the inner feelings he got. Maybe about how he honestly would much prefer to have a cup of water instead of tea, or maybe about how he kind of preferred Chinese food over pizza after you made him eat General Tso with rice that one time, or even about how he really enjoyed strolling through the street with you even though he had protested going outside the other night.

But he didn’t. He just watched, trying to match your breathing with his own, trying to keep the gentle back of his fingers to himself instead of running it down your cheek.

It was supposed to happen this way, the cliché scene where one watches the other sleep. When did such a quiet, loving moment become a laughing stock? Did people forget that it has always just been about the serenity of watching a loved one breathe so peacefully and finding immense solace in the idea that they will be there with you until the night comes and the morning sun rises? What is so cliché about feeling at ease with a loved one by your side?

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed.” Minho smiled to himself when you stirred once more on the couch. He finally slipped his hands under your legs and your torso, making sure he found the right place before he pulled you up. However, instead of hoisting you up into his arms, your breathing quickened in the wake of being disturbed and you were quick to open your heavy eyes.

Minho whispered out a laugh. “Hey, good morning.”

You furrowed your brows. That was Minho, you knew even though your mind was too groggy to make out his face. You couldn’t even see those pretty eyes of his with your eyes half-opened and your brain not functioning normally. You just knew you were exhausted and you wanted nothing more than to head back to sleep.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, shifting your weight so you could turn to him and roll straight into his embrace.

He sat back against his feet, a startled groan paired with the curling of his arms when you hugged him by the neck and laid your face at the crook of it. He froze for a minute, wondering if you planned to move at all only to find that you were asleep once again. Looking around the room, he flashed a hopeless look, asking for help from above.

The above won’t answer you, but I could help, I suppose. Sigh… what would you both do without me?

Just lay down and rest, Minho. It’s about time you sleep too.

Minho licked this lower lip. Your gentle breathes fanning against his skin disarmed all the walls he has built up to guard his heart, which currently thumped heavily in his chest. Oh, how crazy it was! He felt both giddy and baffled at the same time, loving and fearing this reaction! Carefully standing up, he held you close to his chest and moved the both of you back on the couch, where he tried to slide underneath your body first before laying you down.

“Jesus, Minho, stop fucking moving.” You squeezed his neck lightly as your irritated voice echoed in his ears.

He apologized with a nod, toning down the wriggling of his body as he wrapped you up in his arms and, cautiously, placed one leg on top of yours to secure your position. He gulped and exhaled. This was the first time he has ever been this close to someone and it would be the first time he has ever slept in a cuddle position. He has never longed for it, not even when he had to third-wheel his friends on party nights, and he wondered what sorcery caused his indifference toward something so amazing. 

The heaving of your chest pushed against his, reminding him to breathe. He held you close, the corner of his heart filling up the tighter his grip on yours was. He thought you would whine about it again, smacking him and telling him to loosen his grip. He waited until that moment for a long time. It never came. 

The gathering was as extravagant as you expected it to be but it was definitely much more wedding-like than you anticipated. People were leaving their expensive cars left and right at the drop-off area, some greeting each other while some walking straight into the building due to the evening cold.

Seeing the obnoxiously loud interactions of other rich families, you grimaced with a firm reminder of what goal you set for yourself this night: smile and nod, pretend you know the people and fake an emergency for escape! You’ve thought this over thoroughly—what kind of medical emergency would be publicly acceptable in the eyes of the rich? You had no idea, but you figured you’d roll with it when time comes!

“I thought this gathering is just for business people,” you muttered to Minho when he led you into the building.

He looked around with a blank expression, his eyes tired and his heart hammering loudly in his ears upon the bright setting. “Yeah but they bring extra people,” he replied with a low gruff, annoyed and not trying to hide it.

You glanced at his face. He has had this same pained expression on his face the whole day. It has been here since the morning when you got down to the kitchen and found him devouring a piece of toast while looking at the script he prepared for the presentation. You figured he was just nervous. After all, he did mention how important this opportunity was for him. His father was finally allowing him to contribute instead of simply sitting in on meetings and critiquing others’ work.

He was stepping out of his father’s shadow and showcasing his capability, to not just his father but all the other staff as well. You recognized how important that was, so, not wanting to disturb him, you had chosen to keep a good distance for today and only encourage him before he has to go on stage to present his idea for the company. 

Instead of bothering him with your unnecessary commentary about the place, you have decided to keep it all to yourself as you observed your surroundings while following his lead into the gathering hall. There wasn’t much you could say about places as such because you were, for one, inexperienced when it came to excessive places like this. Bright lights, velvet carpet, wide stairs, and marble columns decorated with white flowers.

Honestly, this could really pass for a wedding venue if you didn’t know any better. If they got porcelain white napkins hidden somewhere inside, you’d probably be stuffing some in your pockets just for the fun of it. It would be the closest you’d ever come to actually eating the rich; you would be stealing from them. They were not very similar in action, but at least you’d be doing something, unlike those who were often all bark and no bite.

Minho could feel the burning pit in his stomach growing the more he stepped closer to the actual venue. Pressing a hand to his abdomen in hopes to calm himself down, he spared a glance your way and let out a curious a chuckle when he saw the way you were examining the place—with focused eyes, like you have arrived at a crime scene and you wanted to find hidden clues left by the criminal.

This was the first time he has seen you react like this. You were never bothered by these types of places, much due to the fact that you grew up going to these events. But it was a sight for sore eyes, his sore eyes, and perhaps his sore heart too. He felt like he was about to die from nervousness despite all the times he spent preparing for this moment, and the fact that you shouldn’t be amazed by something so familiar blew over his head.

It was too significant for him not to be anxious over how he could potentially fuck up. Looking at you took those thoughts away for a brief moment before it hit back at him again, and he returned to that stoic expression he had earlier.

“Oh, you are finally here!”

Minho’s mother opened her arms as she approached him, cupping his cheeks and pulling him down to hug him better. You smiled at them from behind, your hands clasped at the front and waiting for her to notice you. And she did, immediately after she sent Minho away to find his father. She gave you the same enthusiastic response and hugged you tight like she hasn’t seen you in years.

“I am so glad you came. Somebody needs to be here and cheer my boy on,” she laughed, moving over to the long table filled with treats and drinks. “He has never dealt well with stage fright, unless when he is dancing, then he just turns into this whole other person!”

“Oh, I see–excuse me, what?” You paused in the middle of your sentence, your eyes blinking in disbelief as you turned to her. Forget the almond cookies and the chocolate cupcakes lined up waiting to be greeted by the impending death! Minho and dancing? That was the real deal, you’ve got to get as much information on that as you could!

“Dancing! [Name], you know this! Minho used to dance when he was younger but he stopped when he started university!” she said, hitting your forearm.

“Of–of course! I haven’t seen him dance in a long time, I kind of forgot what it looks like anymore,” you giggled, causing her to scoff.

“Why didn’t you just ask? I have so many videos saved. I can just send them to you when I have time,” she said, to which you beamed. That must be a sight to behold; you wondered if Minho never talked about it because he was embarrassed by it? But then again, judging by the tone of voice his mother was using, she was more proud than amused.

As she looked away at the stage, a nostalgic smile on appeared her face. “He was always so excited to dance. Sometimes I wonder if he would have gone down that path instead of this if his father didn’t force him to quit dancing.”

You hummed in thoughts, wondering the same question. He seemed rather intent with what he has right now, not to mention he was far too determined and hard-working for someone who doesn’t like their job. But that wouldn’t eliminate the possibility that he didn’t choose this for himself. Perhaps you should ask when you get the chance, maybe after the gathering is done and he is back in a good mood again.

“Oh, [Name], I’ve got to leave for a momentl.” She patted your arm to inform you, pointing her finger at a group of older ladies sitting around a table.

“Okay, have fun!” You nodded.

“Of course,” she said, her smile dimming slightly before she walked closer to you. When she spoke, she was whispering, “Did you and Minho fight again? Where is your ring?”

You gasped. You almost forgot about that! Looking away, you cursed yourself for never asking Minho for the ring back. You would be more than happy to put it back on your finger now, considering how you and Minho were getting along splendidly. Witty remarks were thrown at each other, but there were also hints of care and affection left here and there; you two were simultaneously hatching down each others’ emotional walls, waiting to meet each other at the very core of your beings eventually.

Besides, it’d be awkward if other people noticed. 

“No, we didn’t!” You pulled at your fingers and laughed, genuinely. “I took it off when I was cooking earlier this week and I think I misplaced it. I haven’t been able to find it since then, but I will make sure to double-check again.”

She was quick to breathe out a sigh of relief. “Ah, and I was over here wondering what he did this time! You got me on my toes ever since you asked me about a divorce.”

“No, no! Everything is much better now.” You smiled, biting your lower lip as your mind filled up with Minho’s image. “I think I–“ you cleared your throat–“like you said, I loved him through it.”

Oh, you almost said it! It was a close one but no worries, there is always next time. Just make sure you won’t be too late for it.

Her smile widened at your words, her eyes glistening in threatening tears. She held your hands. “That’s great! That is all I want to hear.”

She gave your hand one last squeeze before she bid you another farewell and left your side. Surprisingly, you didn’t feel too anxious having to fend for yourself in a crowd of strangers. For one, you thought if you stuffed your face with enough food, people would leave you alone. For two, your mood was heightened so much after having a talk about Minho, from knowing about his previous dancing passion to indirectly admitting your feelings for him. It made you feel all jittery inside, your heart beating like jelly, sweet and weak.

Facing the sea of sweets laid out in front of you, you quickly reached out for the nearest cookie plate and stuffed two almond cookies into a napkin you grabbed from the corner. When you were done, you looked up and scanned the place for a quiet corner where you could eat your snack in peace. There seemed to be none. This place was riddled with rich people talking, bragging, and whining.

Taking a bite of your cookie, you squinted your eyes in hopes to find traces of Minho anywhere. At a time like this, talking to strangers would be inevitable, and if you were going to do that, you would much rather do it with him by your side. At least he could carry or save the conversation if you started to act weird and say poor, irrelevant things these people wouldn’t understand, like how you like to buy fruits wholesale and that thousand dollars mini purse was so not worth it, ma’am! What the hell do you have in there? Air?

Speaking of mini purses. Your bored gaze trailed across the top of people’s heads until they settled on a familiar someone. You hummed curiously, casting your gaze a little to the side and bingo! There Minho was, as you expected. You were bound to find Minho around if you see Yuna. Swallowing the cookie and stuffing the remaining one into your pocket after wrapping it up neatly in the napkin, you quickly made your way across the hall where those two stood talking.

When Minho saw you approaching, he first breathed out a sigh of relief. He had been trying to get rid of Yuna but it was to no avail. Not saying the girl was persistent in her chattering but because his mind was too hazy to think about anything to say, he could only glare hard at her in hopes to focus at least a little on the one-sided conversation. Yuna should have probably guessed from his eyes that he wanted to take a break but you really shouldn’t expect much from her. She’s a bit stubborn.

She stopped abruptly when she saw Minho turn to the side, a groan leaving his lips. His heavy steps made his way over to you, her brows furrowing as she sucked in a puff of air after she noticed your presence. You laughed in startlement when he placed a hand on your shoulder, ready to give him a snarky remark. Then he suddenly dropped his head down to your shoulder and rested there. You were taken back; he must be exhausted. 

You caught Yuna’s eyes without him blocking your view, the dissatisfied look on her face sending a shiver down your spine. Way to make yourself on top of her blacklist. Not that you cared much, but under a setting like the one you’ve been forced to live in? It would not hurt to plan for some mafia-related accident that may or may not happen.  

“Woah, Minho. Feeling a little too nervous, are we?” you joked, your hand flying up to the back of his neck so you could give him a comforting pat.

As soon as your hand touched his skin, it flinched back on instinct at the burning hot sensation. You grimaced, confused and very concerned. Where did the sudden heat come from? Pressing your palm to the back of his neck again, your faint grimace turned into a deep frown as you patted against him a few times before pulling away to look at him.

“Minho, you’re burning up,” you said as you pushed him up from your shoulder. Your hand went to his forehead despite his protest and back to your own for comparison, not that it was much needed because he was very obviously heating up. You focused on him, watching his chest heave up and down slowly like he was trying to take very deep breathes, and his eyes were struggling to open. “Shit, you have a fever–all of a sudden?”

Yes. All of a sudden. Does nobody care for illogical surprises anymore?

Now his gloomy moods made sense, although it was quite a shock that he just suddenly came down with a fever like this. There were no signs of it just this morning. He probably accumulated too much stress these few weeks from him isolating himself in the workroom. Not to mention the nervousness that built up to today adding more weight to his health.

Before Minho could say anything, there was a muffled clap echoing through the hall. The speakers were turned up for the host standing in the middle of the stage with a microphone in hand, a podium next to him ready for the speakers to go up. He cleared his throat and welcomed everyone in a cheery tone before asking the guests to return to their assigned seats.

You pursed your lips, a sudden tinge of uncertainty flowing into your mind. You forgot he was supposed to go up this evening. 

“You can’t go up there like this. You should go home,” you suggested, giving him a rather commanding glare.

He shook his head, rubbing the side of his temple as he squished his eyes tight. “No, I have to… I have to do this tonight,” he said, “It’s fine, I can hold on until the end of the presentation.”

“But–“

“[Name],” he took a deep breath and smiled at you. He stood up straight, breathed in deep, and kept that smile on his face. Forcing his eyes open, he looked back at you and nodded in confirmation, “I’m going to be fine. I just needed a little rest from the noise. We can leave immediately after I’m done. I promise.”

You bit the inner part of your bottom lip, still unsure and wondering if you should insist on going home early. Him being sick was one thing, but another thing was that you did not want to be the person who ruins his opportunity to show himself in front of important figures within his community. He worked so hard for today, maybe you should put some faith in him when he told you he could make it till the end of his pitch.

Minho relaxed when you placed your hand on his cheek, ever so slightly he leaned against your palm to feel its softness. You almost laughed at his reaction, a light-hearted laugh that shows nothing more than how fond of him you have become. Stroking his cheek with your thumb, you nodded. “Okay then.”

Ah, so sweet. What a miracle that nobody was paying attention to the two of you standing at one corner of the hall, drowned in each others’ eyes like the sun drowns in the sky. It was the exact manifestation of that description where your surroundings go white and it is as if nobody is there. And instead of a kiss, you just have your hand on his cheek.

Get to your damn seats, the story cannot go on without you both at your assigned spots.

The introduction going into the line-up for each presentation prepared for this gathering was boring at best. You were too busy making sure Minho was really feeling okay that you paid little to no attention to what the host was saying on stage. When his name was called up, you flashed him one last concerned look only to get an assuring smile in return.

His steps felt heavy as he moved away from the table and up to the stage. His mind spinning with words from the script he prepared for himself days earlier and memorized within a night’s time. It would be a shame if he messed up or suddenly forget what to say, but he was prepared enough to be able to improvise. He knew his own ideas and materials. 

The only trouble he really needed to conquer was—

Minho closed his eyes immediately when the spotlight flashed at his face without warning. He sucked in through gritted teeth, his eyes burning from the unwanted brightness and his mind feeling jumpier than ever at the stimulation.

—the threatening spotlight, the sea of eyes, the hammering in his ears, the microphone that accentuated his heavy breathing, his sweaty palms, his shaky voice when he started to speak, his warm forehead.

It just hit him how hard this would be. The stage fright and his weak body felt like an immortal enemy. Before he knew it, his eyes were closing, and he was stumbling on his spot, and then all of a sudden, his knees buckled in the most graceful way possible, and his body dropped to the ground.

The first thing Minho saw when he opened his eyes again was those annoying lights attached to his bedroom ceiling. Immediately closing them, he let out a faint groan and shifted his position on the bed so he could sit upon the soft mattress. The fabric of his clothes changed from the rough blazer of his suit to his smooth pajama. He could feel it by grabbing a fistful of his pants as he sat up.

Sensing movement from the bed, you looked up from your phone and immediately broke into a smile when you saw that Minho was awake. Getting up from your seat, you moved over to the edge of his bed and leaned against the side of it to look at him. “Good morning to you. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he muttered, feeling completely out of it. He was trying to remember what happened before he blacked out, mainly whether he made it through the end of his presentation or if he just fainted in the middle of it. The more he tried to use his head, the more nauseated he felt.  

In the midst of his heavy thoughts, he felt your fingers gently brush against his bangs to move them out of his eyes, and he jolted back to reality in order to give you a smile.

“I know you are. Who wouldn’t be, honestly?” you huffed, recalling in fast-forward motion of how you and him spent the past weeks in his office room.

Guilt slowly wrapped around your heartstrings then, making you wonder if you should have taken better care of him despite his persistent to work on the pitch proposal, or if you should have stopped him from going up the stage earlier. Yet none of those would compare to the panic you felt when he dropped to the ground.

The feeling was quick to leave as you figured out the negativity wasn’t what Minho needed at the moment, and you reverted to your old, laid-back self by giving his forehead a flick of your fingers, earning a surprised yelp from him. “Also, if you are wondering, I changed you out of your clothes,” you said. “Don’t worry, I didn’t try and see anything. I am very noble.”

Minho lacked the energy to roll his eyes but he did giggle, leaning his head against the headboard with his eyes closed. When he opened them again, he glanced over at you to find you staring right at him. Your brows arched questioningly at his silence, and the more he kept quiet the more you could feel a blush gushing up your cheeks.

Putting your hands on your hips, you tapped your feet against the floor to feign annoyance as you tilted your head at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Oh, please, you knew why he was looking at you with those sparkly eyes of his, gleaming with a kind of adoration no other has held for you. In most cases, quiet moments like these would force the two main characters both looking at each other. One acting confused while the other filled to the brim with love. Since you were the oblivious one, Minho would be the latter.

You knew that. You just didn’t want to admit to knowing it on your own because for one, it might make you look conceited, and for two, what if you were jumping way ahead of yourself? That would be very humiliating for you, [Name]. That was if you hadn’t already done that by asking such a stupid question. 

Instead of replying, all Minho did was reach his arm out so he could grab your hand. You laughed in bewilderment, trying to peel yourself away from his touch but finding yourself complying with what he wanted. Your body moved on its own, scooting closer and lowering your arm so he has easier access to your hand. The laughter died down as soon as it started, leaving its job for the blush that heated on your face.

Could you feel it? That sense of vexation rising in your chest when you realized all those times you spent criticizing characters for acting awkward in romantic situations had backfired on you dramatically because you acted just like them all. Blushing, wordless, shivers in the heart you couldn’t control—completely at Minho’s mercy despite him doing the bare minimum.

This tenderness was as new to you as it was to Minho. He hadn’t touched anyone like this before. Surely, he was never too rough with anybody or anything, but holding you was a different kind of gentleness he has never expressed.

It wasn’t just for the sake of not being bearish. It was being soft so he doesn’t hurt or break, it was being soft so it isn’t just a touch but a cradle and a caress, it was being soft so he becomes as sensitive as you. Touching you is like touching porcelain; he does it softly so he won’t break nor crack nor crease you, and he does it softly so he won’t run the risk of cutting himself with you.

This was what he missed out on all those years. When he thought back to it, only regret clouded his mind, but he has changed along with you when you did, and everything felt okay now.

Just one more thing, though.

You could feel his eyes burning at your hand, and once again you were reminded of the lack of diamond ring on your fourth finger. 

“Oh! The ring! I–ahh–I was going to ask you for it but I never got around to it so.” A wave of panic arose as you yelped, startling Minho. “If you will give it to me again, I will be more than happy to wear it back, Minho.”

He tightened his grip on your hand, pursing his lips as he looked up at you. “Of course, it’s in my–“

“Minho!”

The door burst open, causing both of you to glance over at the door. Minho’s mother came rushing into the room, her face riddled with concern. When she saw Minho awake and smiling, she breathed out a sigh and walked in with a hand on her chest. “Oh, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Minho replied quickly, “Tried but I am fine, mom. You don’t have to worry.”

“Are you sure? You fainted back there, it was really bad,” she pressed on, moving closer. “Everybody was shocked!”

When you saw how his brow creased and his jaw clenched at her words, you cleared your throat and waved your hand to deescalate the tension. “Actually–it wasn’t like, that bad, you know?”

“I am sure, mom. I promise,” Minho reassured, his voice right and weaker all of a sudden. “I am gonna be back on my feet in no time.”

She worriedly glanced over at you for confirmation and you nodded in return. Then she broke into a faint smile, unclenching her fist and letting it fall to her side. “Oh, good. Thank you so much for taking care of Minho for me, [Name],” she thanked, then she looked away from the both of you and stared right ahead at the window. “If there are no more problems then I should take my leave–“

“Mom,” Minho cut her off. You could finally sense it now, the hidden urgency in his voice. Looking over at him, you found that his eyes were shivering widely, like he was afraid, and his grip on your hand has gotten loose as his concentration averted to his mother. “Where is dad?”

She was visibly uncomfortable now. You breathed in deeply, a revelation exploding in your head.

How the hell did you think you could get away with this trope? The man with daddy issue. Or just parental issues in general but this one was so obviously father problems! You cursed inwardly, ears perked up to listen to their conversation while your mind raced to figure out a solution as you did so.

Here is the thing about parental issues in dramas. When it is about the mother, it is often directed at the female counterpart, and often very easy to solve as long as the main lead is headstrong about what they want. When it is about the father, however, it is usually directed at the male counterpart and much harder to get over, because unfortunately he would be stuck with one father for the rest of his life. It becomes less of a marriage problem or an argument about a potential romantic interest, and more of a psychological injury in need of life-long healing. 

It is work ethics, dignity, power, and money! It is about their child not having the intellect to follow in their footsteps, about their child not wanting to follow in their footsteps. It is having an open affair with someone else and not understanding why your child just wouldn’t listen to your mistress. Fathers are special, and they are weird. They are stubborn and annoying. You never liked shitty father figured in fiction!

That was personal. I can feel it. 

“He doesn’t want to see you, Minho,” she spoke comfortingly. When your words are deafening, the only thing you can possibly do is lower your voice, and even then it may not work the way you want them to. “I tried getting him out of the car but–“

You dropped your jaw. The curse words were much louder now, you could practically play a game of word chain all on your own.

“You fainted in the middle of it. He was expecting you to hang on and finish the presentation,” she went on. “But you didn’t.”

Minho’s heart dropped. So he didn’t finish it after all.

“What the fuck–“ you pursed your lips, never mind that you already cursed anyway, and you pulled yourself away from Minho. You were angry, possibly even beyond that. How could his father be so apathetic towards his son’s health? Looking down at Minho, the tears brimming at his waterline made your inside burn, it felt like you were the one being neglected and unfairly treated.

You sucked in a breath, your eyes blinking rapidly for no reason (it’s for comedic purposes). Then suddenly, you smiled and pointed your index finger towards the door. “I think I left the faucet on so I am just gonna go turn that off, okay? You two talk. I am gonna go.”

Your behavior was abnormal at best, which honestly, the other two in the room would have thought they would be used to it by now. Before any of them could open their mouth, and before your cowardly mind decided to not do anything about this situation, you dashed out of the door and headed downstairs. You flung the doors open dramatic and, very angrily, growled when you saw the overly expensive car parked out at the driveway. Rushing outside, you made a stupid of appearing by the driver’s seat. When the driver rolled down the window, you breathed out an annoyed sigh, feeling like your anger was about to explode in a pit of curses and tears.

What the–piece of shit! Why buy an expensive car if you aren’t going to drive it yourself? Useless, showoff, pointless, worthless, a waste of money! Nobody thinks you’re cool, you hag, you can’t even drive and you conform to the discriminative lifestyle of capitalism!

That was also personal, but the floor is yours.

“[Name]?”

“Y–yeah?”

Damn! You have been doing so well up until now but you really are all bark and no bite! Your anger immediately dissolved when you met eyes with the tall, old man who exited on the passenger side of the car. You gasped. He looked so much nicer than you expected he would. If you didn’t know the title he holds, you would not have felt this intimidated.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, walking over to you.

“I live here. What the hell are you talking about?” you retorted. When you noticed a change of his expression, you cleared your throat, inhaled deeply, and calmed yourself down to conjure up some coherent sentences. “I am here to ask you politely to visit Minho, who is your son, which means he is your flesh and blood–“ you squinted your eyes and turned your face away slightly–“because he is your child, like, he is your son?”

He furrowed his brows at you and he sighed curiously. “Are you feeling okay?”

“I will be if you can follow me and go see if Minho is doing okay,” you said, smiling.

There was a knowing look on his face, then he dipped his head to look at the ground for a moment. When he looked back up, he shook his head. “No. I am very disappointed in him right now and I am afraid I will say what I don’t mean when I see him.”

“Disappointed about what? The fact that he got sick?” you retorted.

“I gave him one job and he embarrassed me in front of a lot of people tonight,” he said, “You wouldn’t understand, [Name].”

“You wouldn’t understand, [Name]!” Was what you imagine you replied, with a tone so ridiculously disrespectful he may pop a vein big enough to cause a heart attack, but you didn’t. You opened your mouth but only air came out as you carefully analyzed what he actually meant. This man wanted to say you don’t understand what it is like to be a functional member of society and work for money because you lay around at home all day, draining Minho’s bank account, as if he didn’t take part in that decision. 

Well then, he has got another thing coming because you used to be in the workforce as well! You used to work day and night, and even then you could never achieve the kind of luxury his family has, so honestly, you’ve got the upper-hand in this argument. You just needed to find a way to tell him you do know how hard work is without actually telling him that you’ve ever worked before!

So basically you’re not telling him anything at all.

Holding in an outburst, you forced a smile and clapped your hands together so you wouldn’t end up strangling an elder. “Maybe I don’t understand, but I do know that Minho worked really hard for this opportunity,” you said, pleaded even. “The reason why he fainted was that he didn’t let himself rest at all preparing for the presentation. You can’t disregard his effort just like that. You are his father, where is your care?”

“You’re bold to be talking to me like this,” he said after a moment of silence, his tone making it impossible for you to decipher whether he meant that as a compliment or not. “But no. This is work. This is about his future and how he will handle the company when I am gone. I can’t act as his father in a situation like this.”

You were rendered speechless. It was either you smack some sense into him or you talk some sense into him, but it seemed like you weren’t smart enough to talk to him so that left the more physical option. You shivered. You weren’t ready to be put in jail yet, so the physical option was out the window too.  

You bit your lower lip. But Minho—he worked so hard for this, and you were there to watch him work like hell for it. If he was bedridden and couldn’t do anything about this, you thought you could at least try a little harder for his sake. But how? How could you explain it more clearly to him that he should give Minho another chance?

Time’s ticking, [Name]. Try thinking a little bit faster. I’ll even drop you a hint. Since you’ve been there with him as he prepared for the presentation, surely you would know where Minho placed his materials?

You gasped, a light-bulb going off in your eyes. Wordlessly, you spun on your heels and left the old man standing there in confusion, watching your back as you bolted back into the house. You slammed the doors shut, kicked off the shoes you did not bother to wear properly, and you rushed upstairs. Stopping abruptly before the workroom you were so used to being in, you opened the door and went straight to the desk where there was a stack of papers.

You may not have known what he worked on exactly, but you did remember complaining about the number of papers Minho was using back then. You told him something about trees dying and he only laughed, already used to ignoring you and your tendencies to ramble about anything. There has got to be some information contained in that pile of papers he printed. You didn’t know what was in there but it wouldn’t be your job to look through them. It would be his father’s.

You grabbed the whole pile, scooping it up into your hands after scanning it quickly, and you rushed out of the door like a madman. Your steps echoed throughout the hall and you quickly walked downstairs, preparing to head outside when the housekeeper stopped you with an incredulous look on her face.

She looked you up and down, concerned, and she asked, “What are you doing running around like that?”

“I need to show Mr.Lee something,” you urged, glancing out the doors.

“Mrs.Lee? I’m pretty sure they’re leaving. Mrs.Lee just left the house!”

Here we go! We’ve all seen the running in slow motion part in dramas, it was about time your turn comes up.

You gasped out a curse, surprised at how much this shit does not make sense because you really thought you were only in the workroom for less than one minute and you never bumped into his mother when you walked back into the house! Granted, the house was huge, but you knew its map enough to know that if Minho’s mom was leaving, you’d at least saw a glimpse of her! How could she possibly be out of the house already? Through the window? Through teleportation? Through—Jesus Christ, [Name], less rambling and more running!

You went for the door and yelled when you saw the taillights of the car flash red. Whatever that meant, you didn’t know, you never learned how to drive! But you supposed it meant the car was being started and they were about to leave this place, so your legs paddled even quicker than before. You got down the porch of the house and sped through the long driveway, your hand clutching the papers closer to your chest.

You ran, and you tripped! On nothing! You groan at your inability to keep your feet on the ground as you scrambled up and continued running. At this point, you were just trying your best to be thankful that your tripping-during-an-emergency scene didn’t involve running away from serial killers or deformed monsters. 

“Wait! Wait a second! Stop driving, car driver!” you hollered as you, miraculously, moved past the car and stopped right before the tip of the vehicle.

It came to a screeching stop. The driver looking at you with wide, shocked eyes as sweat rolled down the side of his face. The headlights were blinding your eyes but you kept them open for intimidating purposes this time, and you huffed out in triumph when both his parents walked out of the car in complete awe at your action. It’s not admirable, just insane. 

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“Here, take this,” you said as you shoved the pile of papers into Mr.Lee’s hands. “It’s his proposal. I don’t know how much of it is in here but it’s your job to look through it.”

He gave you an annoyed glare. “I already said–“

“I don’t care what you already said,” you mocked through heavy pants. When you calmed down, you grimaced. “I am telling you this as an intellectual. You should never let any opportunity slip from your hands. Just because Minho never got to present the idea does not mean he doesn’t have a good idea. You have eyes and a brain, look through it and see for yourself.”

You were glaring at him, not in a hateful way but more so in hopes that you could pressure him into accepting your suggestion. To be fair, you did make a good point, as much as he didn’t want to admit. Oh, and of course, you got in front of a moving car just to get him to look through Minho’s proposal, which has the be the more heart-attack inducing than anything you could have said this night. 

Looking down at the papers in his hands, he let out a low gruff and finally nodded. “Fine. Now get back inside, I wanna go home!”

You let out a breath you did not know you were holding—ah, yes, that breath—and clapped your hands together in a delightful beam. Finally! All those running and panicking and raging were worth this moment of acceptance, or at least the half-way point of acceptance! After bidding both of the elderlies goodbye, you quickly rushed back into the house with the two eyeing your back.

“Say,” Mr.Lee began, eyes squinting, “have they always been like this?”

“Yeah,” his wife nodded, “you just never pay attention.” 

She’s right. He never does. How he became a CEO was beyond anyone, even me. 

“Hey, I got you some food,” you said when you nudged open the door with your food after struggling to remove your hand from the wooden food tray just to twist the doorknob. The housekeeper had pulled you back in the living room and made you take the Minho’s dinner with you, figuring he would appreciate seeing you more than anyone else at the moment.

Minho turned to you, his eyes unfocused and his thought process uninterrupted. He was still drowning in a saddened state of mind; his whole body felt heavy from both the fever and the shame he felt from disappointing his father. Trying his best to clear his sight, he managed to send you a very faint smirk as you approached.

After clearing out space on the nightstand, you carefully set the wooden tray down and pulled the chair closer to the bed, the one you sat on when he was still out cold. You sat down, clapped your hands, and went ahead to grab the bowl of chicken porridge so you could hand it to him.

Minho looked at you, and down at the bowl, and he blinked in bafflement. As he reached his finger up to point at himself, he finally breathed out a short chuckle. “Am I supposed to eat it myself?”

“Am I supposed to eat it for you?” you asked, widening your eyes pointedly as you pushed your arm forward a little more for emphasis.

He huffed in disbelief, “But I’m sick.”

“So eat your dinner! You can’t have your medicine on an empty stomach,” you urged, grabbing the spoon and stirring the sticky substances in the bowl. 

Minho pouted. He grabbed the spoon and lazily messed around with the food. He scooped a spoonful of porridge, seemingly raising it to his mouth but gave up half-way. The spoon deliberately dropped back into the bowl with a grimace from him. You furrowed your brows. Part of you thought this quiet tantrum came from him being upset about what happened, but coming from experience (you’ve got an annoying friend back home), you knew what he was actually trying to say. 

You rolled your eyes and sighed in defeat. Standing up, you went to sit on the edge of his bed instead, giving yourself better access to him. His fingers loosened from the spoon when you took over, and his hands neatly interacted by his abdomen. You almost laughed at his quick response. Tapping the spoon by the edge of the bowl, you moved your body forward and stopped the spoon right before his mouth, muttering something about being careful of the heat.

“You know you’ve got hands that can move, right?” you complained, stirring the porridge again.

“I just wanted you to feed me, is it really that hard?” Minho groaned. “I’m really tired!”

“Well, I am doing it right now, aren’t I?” you exclaimed, bringing the spoon to him. “Say ‘ah!’”

He suppressed a grin, complying with your patience as you fed him the porridge. The annoyed creasing of your forehead gradually faded into concentration, waiting, and making sure he was fed well. You did it exactly how your mother used to do it when you were younger, but instead of you asking for food to be fed to you, your mother was the one who insisted you don’t do anything.

Neither of you said anything. It was all just the spoon hitting against the bowl and the occasional blowing you did on the hot porridge that was getting cooler by the second. The silence gave Minho the time needed to think. He was much calmer than he was before, back when his mother was talking to him and you were out causing a ruckus, and he’s got a clearer head to reflect on everything that has happened.

It just felt like such a waste of time. His thoughts, his ideas, his research, his preparations; everything he spent time perfecting just reduced to ashes because of an unforeseen circumstance, one that he couldn’t control. He has nothing to blame but nature, which wasn’t tangible enough for him to feel like he was blaming something for his failure. And if that was how it would be then he’d much rather blame himself for not hanging on until the end.

But it was all sharp feelings and venom dripping from his heart. Shame and disappointment, failure and incompetence. He couldn’t stop it; how could he stop what his heart produces? He runs on it. If it stops, he stops, so he chose pain over nothing.

You paused your movements when you saw tears rolling down his cheeks. He started sniffling, crying, quietly and freely. Somehow you could sense this happening. You did see his eyes reddening as seconds went by, but you hadn’t thought about what you would do at a time like this. What should you do? Anything to keep him distracted, or nothing so he could let it all out at once?

You didn’t stop feeding him the porridge, but you had changed up the pace of giving him food and wiping the tears from his face using your fingers. He crying intensified at your gentle touch. He had spent so long crafting himself to be this undamageable being because he expected to be injured; the unfathomable concept of human delicacy at the wake of his vulnerability broke him.

You waited patiently, for him to eat and cry until the bowl was wiped clean and you have to put it back on the tray. Taking the glass of water that was already cool, you hummed, “I should probably get another glass. I’ll get you something warm to drink down the medicine with.”

“No, it’s okay.” Minho shook his head and reached over to your hand so he could take the pill and the water. His crying has ceased by now, but his puffy eyes a harsh reminder of the gentle breakdown he had just experienced. “Stay here with me.”

You stayed, watching him gulp down the water like he hasn’t drunk anything in years. And somehow, you thought this should be the time to bring what you and his mother talked about up to him. Putting a hand on his leg, you sucked in a breath and asked, “So, Minho… do you still dance now?”

He choked on his water, his eyes widening and then narrowing at your sudden question. He pulled the glass away from him, droplets rolling from the surface of his lips as he denied with a questioning noise. “What–no!”

“Oh, wow, you are more defensive about this than I thought you would be,” you muttered under your breath. “Were you bad at it? Your mom told you were good but I can’t really trust her with the biasing opinion going on, you know? And I just can’t seem to recall a time when I saw you dance!”

“I’m not telling you anything about that.” He shook his head, placing the glass of water down on the nightstand, almost slamming it because of your unbelievable question.

“Okay fine, I have videos anyway.” You shrugged, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. You clicked on it a few times, puckering your lips for comedic effect. “I asked your mom for it and she sent me a ton of them–“

“Oh my god, no!” Minho reached out for your phone, only to have you stand up from the bed with a sinister laugh. He was just about to rise from the bed and tackle you with his heavy body, but he caught you you glancing up at him from the screen with a deadpan look, and he stopped. “What?”

“I lied. I did ask her about the videos but she hasn’t sent me anything yet,” you said. “I thought she said you really liked dancing. Why are you so embarrassed about it?”

He sat back and leaned against the pillow, squeezing his eyes right as you recalled the older days when he would feel so accomplished just having the spotlight shine on him up on stage. Those were better days, not that his life was ever full of real problems when his parents’ wealth was able to tackle just about anything. 

Heaving a sigh, he shrugged. “I did love dancing. I just stopped doing that now, and I think I kind of lost it.”

“How do you know if you don’t try dancing now?” you exclaimed, moving over to the nightstand and dropping your phone down on the nightstand. Minho could only hear the tune playing after a while when you suddenly started to spin and twirl.

“I’m probably bad–what are you–what are you doing?” he asked between puffs of laughter, his eyes unable to move away from your swaying body as you hummed the song under your breath.

The smile physically could not leave his face as he watched your terrible movements; his dancer-brain was registering how bad your style was but his lover-brain was much more overwhelming with how he found your presence endearing to be around.

“Dancing. Jamming to songs,” you replied in a sing-song manner, moving from one end of the room to another. “You were saying?”

“I said I’m probably bad at dancing now,” he said. “Kind of like you are.”

You scoffed with a roll of your eyes. Offended? Slightly, but he was true. You were horrible at dancing, you’ve got two left feet and you couldn’t distinguish between left and right when you danced. But the fact that you sucked at it didn’t bring you down. It wasn’t like you ever have to perform in front of people anyway! There is no routine, no beat to match up, no eyes judging you. 

You are dancing for yourself when you dance badly because that is the only time you are allowed to dance badly. And that alone is good enough for you.

“Oh, please.” You stopped on your spot to look at him, pointing at him as if to give him a lecture. “I’ll have you know that the bad dancing is the best kind of dancing. It’s when nobody is watching you and you feel the freest.”

“But I am watching you right now,” Minho argued, pointing at himself.

You hummed. You almost forgot about that, or perhaps you didn’t. Your mind just didn’t care if he was watching or not. You weren’t afraid of what Minho would say because you knew he would never give you criticism with the intention to harm. It would be playful, witty, a pain in the ass kind of comment that you could deflect immediately with a funny glare. But, ultimately, you knew Minho wouldn’t hurt you. 

“Right,” you muttered. “You are.”

Ever heard of the term ‘dance like nobody is watching’? It is always much easier said than done, isn’t it? Dancing has always been about expressing, to move in a way that allows your body to breathe and your heart to burn. It is unlike any other sport where you are either good or bad; it is subjective and intimate because of how artistic its expression is. And it takes a great deal of courage to show it to somebody else, freely, without a doubt.

You just found someone who makes you dance like nobody is watching.  

You smiled at Minho softly, closing in on the bed and getting on top. He raised a brow at you as you straddled his lap, looking at him with determined eyes as you asked, “Was my dancing that bad?”

He thought for a second before he nodded. “Yeah, super.”

“Now that I’ve shown you my dancing, would you show me yours?” you asked, “When you get better, of course.”

He nodded again. “Sure, if you want to.”

“Good,” you smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“Still tired,” he said, “but better.”

Minho stared at you when your eyes moved up to his head, and when your hand reached up to fix his bangs again, he felt closer to you. It was so weird; he was just laughing and you were just dancing, and now you have set yourself on top of him with your fingers drowned in his locks and all he could do was stare while feeling like he could part oceans and move mountains for you.

He grabbed ahold of your hand and gently pulled you forward towards him. Your faces were close now, inches apart, and breathes mingled. You could feel the brush of his lips, ghosting over yours, and your heart jumped up to your ear where the thumping begins rashly. And his eyes were beautiful, visible, with pools of stars where your face was imprinted on top drowning within.

This has never happened to you before, you were too stunned to react. But your heart knew that it needed to melt for you to understand, for you to see how deeply Minho was in love with you because it could feel it. The heart could always feel it; even if it deceives you with the surface sometimes, its rooted truth will always come back to you.

“Minho…?” you called out, timidly and softly.

For the split second, Minho remembered how back then when he wasn’t ready to love and love wasn’t ready for him.

How miserable he used to be compared to who he has turned himself into now, his effort not going to complete waste in the face of your acceptance and willingness to forgive. How exhausted he used to be when all he has in mind was work and when he had to pretend to be in love, and now it comes so easily to him, it is natural and daily. How he wanted to do so many things with you now, like traveling or trying new food or sleeping on the same bed together.

“Would you let me kiss you?” he asked in a whisper, his hand tightening around yours because the proximity was driving him crazy. “After I get better.”

You giggled, nodding while you moved to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose instead. “Yes.”

“And you can give me the ring back?” you asked, grinning down at him. And you thought that soon, soon your palpitating heart would become such a normal way of life that you wouldn’t even notice it when it starts to pick up its pace at the sight of Minho.

He nodded, breathing out a chuckle. “Of course.”

Minho is ready to love now, so are you. And love? Love is ready for both of you as well.

Wouldn’t it be the worst thing to find out you forgot your lunch at home after hours of anticipation for lunchtime to roll over? Wouldn’t it be the worst thing, Minho? Yeah, who told you to leave home in such a hurry this morning? Not only did you forget to bid [Name] farewell, you left your lunch right on the counter as well.

“Who the fuck–“ he cursed under his breath as he looked up at the ceiling of his office, his brows furrowed in annoyance. His mood already went down drastically after realizing he couldn’t find his lunch anywhere in his office, he did not need his inner voice insulting him like that as well.

Looking around his desk, he pouted slightly before he stood up. He grabbed his car keys from the drawer, deciding to check his car and hope that he would find it in there somehow, and headed out. If there was no lunch in the car then he’d just have to grab some food at a nearby restaurant, which was something he hasn’t done in some time since you have started preparing his lunch.

I would save you some time and tell you straight that you wouldn’t find your lunch in your car but you didn’t feel like listening to your inner voice so I guess I would just sit back and watch you fumble around with irritated groans leaving your—still—unkissed lips.

Minho slammed his car door shut and locked it by aggressively pressing on the button on the key.

Oh–oh? You think that’s bad? I hope you didn’t forget whose finger was still ringless, Minho.

“Jesus,” he puffed out a string of air, putting his hands on his hips and eyeing up at the sky suspiciously. First day back at work after recovering from the fever and waiting to make sure it went away and he’s hearing random voices in his head, sending him personal attacks?

After making the promise of kissing you when he was healed up, he never found the right time to actually do it. Most of the time, the moment was either ruined by best friends calling your phone or housekeepers knocking on the door, or the timing was awkward. And both you and him would be left dry and red from embarrassment and not getting your first, genuine kiss.  

He shook off his thoughts as he walked back into the building. The air-conditioning blasting against his skin as he walked through the lobby.

“Minho!”

He froze on his spot. That was his father’s voice, he could recognize, obviously. Why was he calling him? Maybe he should keep walking and pretend he didn’t hear anything, the classic method. He wasn’t ready to see his father yet, especially after what happened at the gathering. Before he could even think about an escape plan, his name was called again, and he was forced to turn around and confront his anxiety this time.

“Hey, dad,” he greeted calmly, dipping his head politely as he did so.

“Are you feeling better now?” His father asked after a moment of thought.

Minho nodded. “Yeah. Much better. Thank you for asking.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. This tension started growing as he did until at a certain age, it just got so obvious that it became impossible for Minho to ignore the fact that it was hard for him to communicate with his father just as father and son anymore, and the tension stayed until now. It was unlikely that it would fade until his father started growing older significantly, leading the cycle to bounce backward.

His father cleared his throat and looked away as if he had done something wrong, which he had, but he was here to fix it now. “Back at that night when you fainted, I originally said I wasn’t going to give you a chance to pitch your idea again because of what happened during the gathering,” he started, “But [Name] gave me your project materials and told–demanded me to look over it.”

Minho let out a questioning noise, his brows raising in surprise. Seeing his reaction, his father laughed with an approving nod.

“They made quite the commotion, actually. Ran in front of the car to stop me from leaving,” he said. “But they got me. I read through the materials and they were right, it is too good of an opportunity for me to let pass.”

“Huh?” Minho blinked at his father, his head leaning forward slightly in confusion. He was still trying to process what his father just said about you running in front of a car, and here he was getting his hopes up by talking as if he would be given another chance.

“I’ll let you have it this time,” his father said. “If you can present the idea again at the weekly meeting then we’ll consider it together.”

The hope in Minho soared when it became a reality. His lips slowly quirked into a smile, trying not to act too childish in the face of a second chance. He could freely pump his fist and celebrate when he gets time alone later, for now, he needed to keep a straighter face and accept the chance granted to him. He nodded. “Yeah, of course! Thank you, dad!”

Casting his eyes behind his father for a moment, Minho was able to catch sight of you looking lost outside the building, much to his surprise. The joy in his heart died down for a moment as he squinted his eyes to look better, and when his father too turned around to look at what he was seeing, he laughed.

“Oh, that’s [Name],” he pointed. “Not gonna lie, they creep me out after what happened.”

Minho placed a hand on his father’s shoulder, the amused frown on his face unnoticed as he brushed past him to walk towards you. You seemed to have noticed him when he did, your face brightening when you saw him walking towards you at a quick pace. The little excitement dimmed when it felt like he wasn’t slowing down his pace even though the distance between you both were closing rapidly, and you tilted your head in confusion until he was within reach and suddenly engulfed you in a tight hug.

“Oh–yeah, I got your lunch, dummy,” you giggled as you reached one hand around his shoulder to pat his back. “You don’t have to be this happy about it.”

“You never told me you talked to my dad about my presentation,” he said when he pulled away, an excited beam permanent in his eyes as he grinned down at you like a child. “He said he looked over my stuff and he gave me another chance to present it at the end of this week.”

A chuckle left your lips, a relieved one. Truth be told, you hadn’t thought about that night after it happened, considering you have been spending all the time with Minho, and the bickering and chattering you two did often get your mind off everything else but him. It was probably better that way anyway, it saved you the trouble of worrying. Hearing the good news now was quite a surprise, but you were quick to give him a wide smile.

“That’s great! Do you remember what you have prepared before?” you asked, punching his arm lightly.

Minho laughed, “No but I’ve got some time to prepare.”

“Oh good,” you said, then you suggested. “You know you can practice it on me, right? I might not know what you’re talking about but I can give you presentation pointers.”

He looked down at you, tilting his head and nodding in approval. Why did he think to do that before when he was first preparing for it? It wasn’t like you were really reading the book in your hands anyway, he should have taken the opportunity to ask you for some criticisms. “Don’t go easy on me then.” He shrugged, causing you to roll your eyes at him, a sign that screamed something along the lines of “like hell I will.”

“Oh, and thank you for bringing me my lunch,” he said, holding the box in his hands. “Do you wanna have lunch together since you’re here?”

“I can’t, I told Changbin I was gonna hang out with him today,” you said, your voice lowering timidly because you completely forgot to mention that to Minho. If he hadn’t forgotten his lunch box, you would have texted him about this and waited for the possible tantrum he would give you for ditching him the whole day. “We’re getting dinner today too so I might be back later than usual.”

The frown on Minho’s face was hard to ignore; his forehead creasing and his lips quirking down in an annoyingly attractive way. He wasn’t mad, though, just a slight hint of irritation that you would be spending the whole day, likely a very fun day, with Changbin while he has to be stuck at work and hearing nothing from you. He felt a little left out, which was weird because he just spent four days straight with you, stuck at home and wasting the hours away.

Perhaps he was being just a little bit possessive, so he planned to just let it go. He could hear about your day at the end of it when you get back home and pace around in his room telling him about everything in an animated way. Let’s hope you stay in his room overnight this time because oh, Minho, your progress was not looking so good.

No kiss, no ring, and still have not slept in the same bed yet. Baffling, absolutely baffling.

“Are you mad?” you asked when you saw him glare at the ground. “I can come back for dinner if you want me to.”

“No, I’m fine.” He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke with closed eyes. “It’s just… I keep hearing things today, it’s weird. It’ll probably go away tomorrow or even later today. I hope it is later today.”

“Hearing things?” You raised a brow at him, looking away and looking back. Then you laughed, “Did you go someplace haunted? Are you thinking maybe it’s a ghost?”

“Funny. If I get possessed, the first soul I am taking is yours,” he said, feigning amusement.

“I’m joking. Maybe you are still feeling a little tired from the fever? It’s unlikely but what’s not possible at this point?” you mumbled the last part to yourself, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Drink more water and take care of yourself, okay?”

Minho nodded with a smile, covering your hand with his own and pressing it to his cheek just for the sake of having you close. The same white background descended back upon you two, the one that drowned out everybody else and where time worked differently than reality. Aside from that, this fantasy background was also a very good backdrop for a kiss scene so maybe one of you would want to take the first step and give the other a farewell kiss.

“I will,” he said. “I need to go back now. Just because my dad owns the company doesn’t mean I get to slack off.”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, I figured.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tonight,” he muttered.

And very casually, even though he felt like his insides would explode any minute, Minho leaned his head down and captured your lips for a very brief moment. He pulled away almost immediately after kissing you as he just touched a sacred land he wasn’t worthy enough to put his claim on yet. When he saw those wide, fascinated eyes of yours, he only fell deeper into the shy hole he dug for himself on the spot.

“Was that bad?” he asked, “Was that weird?”

You laughed, snapping out of your trance and quickly shaking your head. You squished his cheek, your fingers weak from the chaste kiss but you needed something to do. “No, it was fine, maybe a little unexpected but it was fine,” you told him.

Yeah, that did nothing to comfort him. He could only feel the shyness growing in his chest as he stood next to you longer. Bringing his hands up to his chest, where the bento box was pushed against, he uttered out a string of words that you could faintly piece together as a farewell before he turned around and left for the building.

Ah, no good, no good! Minho stopped on his track and breathed in deeply to cool himself. He probably should not have done that, now his mind was going to be completely occupied with you for the whole day! The feeling of your soft lips, the light medicinal taste of your chapstick, the way your noses brushed against each other, how you tightened your grip on his jaw in a moment of surprise—everything! Oh, he would miss you the whole day too if that was the case.

And he would love to see you earlier tonight. Maybe he should speak up about you having dinner with Changbin.

Looking up, he headed over to the reception table and asked the staff behind the table to hold onto his lunch box for him before he quickly left the building once again in hopes you catch up to you, wherever you went after he left. Reaching into his pocket and dialing your number, he pressed his phone to his ears just in time to find you standing around the corner of the street near the road. He hummed, shifting his eyes to find that Yuna was next to you as well.

The closer he got, the more his brows furrowed. You two didn’t seem to be having a very decent conversation and he could almost hear Yuna’s screaming voice from where he was walking. He picked up his pace then, concerned about what could have possibly happened between the five minutes of you and him separating by the company doors.

You could not hear a single word she was saying. It was all gibberish to you despite you trying to listen to your fullest capability, but you had a sense of what she was trying to say. It has got to be something about Minho. She would never willingly pick a conversation with you unless it was about him, unfortunately. Yuna genuinely seemed like a nice girl, a little spoiled and too obsessed, but she wasn’t evil.

You planned to give her the space to vent as much as she wanted before talking to her, but you didn’t know that your utter silence only infuriated her more. Growling under her breath, she glared her wide eyes at you, and, abruptly, she shot her arms forward and gave you an unexpected shove. You cursed at the impact, your back hitting against the lamppost and causing you to stumble away. Your feet met the curb of the pedestrian street and you yelped when you slipped off the street and fell on the road.

Moments like these are hauntingly familiar. You have seen it more times than one, like many other moments you have experienced in this world. The two big words ‘car crash’ engraved in your head, whispering and shouting at you to get up your goddamn feet because five seconds later or so, a car with either a careless driver or a broken brake would come beeping at you. Quickly, [Name]! Move! Get up!

Minho was running towards your direction now, feeling slightly relieved that you started to scramble back up on your feet, but that breath of fresh air quickly choked on his throat when he heard those loud car honks coming from the other side of the street. His heart jumped at the pace of his feet, rapid and piercing, as he ran down the street to where you were.

Questions zapped through his mind: should he grab you back to the street? Should he tackle you both to the other side? Should he shield you from the impact? Any way would be fine as long as you only get a scrape of the knee out of it, really, but which one would work at such a short period?

The were tire screeches, a few honks crashed, and then there were screams from people.

The push at your side was strong, like back when you were younger how your mother would smack you after you did something wrong, but much harder than that. It has the intention to push you away. You got up from the ground, a pained sob escaping your lips when you saw that both your palms were scraped and bleeding.

“No,” you huffed out, tears already welling in your face.

If you were fine, then it would mean that—

Ignoring the help from others, you turned around without bothering to stand up, and your eyes widened in the glistening of tears when you saw the blood rolling down the side of his head.

—Minho wasn’t.

[a3risbaby]

patience is a virtue [m]

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 seventeen : lee seokmin x afab!reader (fem!pronouns)

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 Seokmin considers himself a patient person, but lately, your busy work schedule has him wondering how long he can hold out. The answer, it seems, is not that long.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 smut (minors dni), fluff, established relationship, a brief moment of embarrassment, pillow humping/male masturbation, video mention, no plot (sorry), leaving everyone involved on a cliffhanger/abrupt ending, cross-posted on ao3 | 1.4k words

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 the way this idea has been weighing on my mind lately...something about seokmin's surprised reactions makes me want to tease him, and y/n got caught in the crossfire

The apartment is empty. That's the first thing you notice as you kick your shoes off at the door. Seokmin is still home, though—his shoes are all accounted for, and his keys still rest in the bowl by the door. You toss your keys in beside his, the metal loud against ceramic.

You trod inside. The living room TV is paused on some Netflix show, probably the one he was talking about yesterday, and in the center of the room, a pile of unfolded laundry sits next to an upturned basket. You pick up a fallen throw pillow and toss it back onto the couch before calling out Seokmin's name hesitantly. He's not in the kitchen either. Your home feels strangely frozen in time.

You rummage around the pantry for a snack, noting that everything's been restocked and put away nicely, and you should really thank Seokmin for taking care of your home while you've been busy. You've done your share of the chores, of course: taking out the trash, sweeping every other day, doing the dishes after he cooks. But with you going all-in on your latest team project, you can confidently say that your boyfriend is the only reason your home still feels like a home and not somewhere you rest your eyes for a few hours a day. Case in point, you open the fridge to find a wrapped sandwich with your name and a heart on a note.

Cute, you smile to yourself and put the sandwich on the kitchen counter for later. Comfortable pajamas come first. In fact, it's all you've been thinking about since you started driving home—comfy clothes, warm food, and a funny show to wrap up your afternoon. Hopefully snuggled into Seokmin's side all the while.

You perk up when you notice the cracked bedroom door.

"Hey, Seok, did you want to watch—"

You can't help the gasp that escapes you, hand flying from the handle to cover your mouth. Seokmin's head whips around to look at you over his shoulder, expression a mix of surprise, embarrassment, and horror.

"What are you doing home right now?" he screeches, scrambling to cover himself with the blanket. Your eyes fly around the room, taking in the pants on the floor, the boxers pooled around his exposed ankles, and the stack of pillows on the bed. You're still reeling from the after-image of him humping them, lip caught between his teeth. "I thought you were working until dinnertime!"

"I got off work early! I texted you," you say, gesturing to the nightstand where his phone sits charging, "but I guess you were, um, busy?"

You stare at him, and he stares back. The silence is mortifying, but now that the blood rushing in your ears has subsided, you finally hear the faint noise coming from his phone.

"Is that...me?" you ask, gaping at the whimpering gasps that sound familiar. It's the video you recorded for him to use on a business trip last month. While you thought the file was a sexy gift when you sent it, hearing you chase your orgasm in the middle of the afternoon has you wanting to sink into the ground.

"Yeah, it is. I mean, I'm allowed to use it, right?" he squeaks, face still flushed. "I thought I could. I've been using it since I got it. M'sorry if I wasn't supposed to?"

"No, no, you're definitely allowed to. I'm just..." You bark a laugh, fanning yourself with a hand. "Sorry! I don't know why I'm like this right now. We do this sort of thing all the time. It just caught me off guard. Did you want me to leave so you can finish?" you ask, choking on the last word.

"You can, if you want, but if you're free, um," he hesitates, fingers picking at the blanket over his bulge, "it'd be nice if you could stay?"

Right then, the video approaches its end, and you hear yourself cum with a loud, breathy moan that has your ears burning. If you weren't watching Seokmin with rapt attention, you would've missed the shiver that he tries to tamper down.

You swallow, and he traces that action down the column of your throat, gaze flicking down the rest of your body with appreciation. You could drown in his wide-blown pupils.

You find yourself saying, "I'll stay."

.

.

.

Seokmin considers himself very lucky to have such an attractive partner, even if you get shy and swat his arm whenever he reminds himself of it aloud, but these days, with your busy work schedule, it feels like a curse in disguise. He's been patient for a long time now, knowing that you come home exhausted every evening and that you spend all your free time trying to get ahead with work. Just a little more, you murmur to your reflection as you get ready in the morning, and he wishes that he could do something to take the load off your shoulders.

So in addition to taking up more of the housework, he tries not to bother you with his needs, making do with cold showers and his hand and that blessed video...until today.

He spent all morning working himself up, thinking that he'd have the whole afternoon to get himself off, but the universe must be tired of giving him lucky breaks because the day he caves and decides to try something new is the same day you come home early.

Or maybe this is a favorable turn of events?

He cards a hand through his hair. Now that the jump scare is over and his heart is beating properly again, he remembers the predicament he's in, dick still hard. You walk closer and perch on the edge of the bed, keeping your eyes firmly on his face.

"Can you show me what you were doing earlier?" you ask lowly, unbuttoning the top of your dress shirt.

Oh, when you ask like that, he'll do anything you want. As you reach over to silence his phone—no need for the video when the real thing is right here—he settle back over the pillows. Bracing himself on his forearms, he lightly drags his tip across the wet stain he left earlier, hissing at the friction of a few shallow thrusts.

"Look at the mess you're making," you murmur, gaze heavy. His cock is throbbing. "Baby, is that enough for you?"

"No," he whimpers. He folds the pillow over, tightening it with one hand as he thrusts deeper. He draws his lip between his teeth. "S'not tight enough. A-ah, want it to be you."

Seokmin keeps going, eyes focused on the way the pillow swallows him whole, heart stuttering as he thinks of burying himself in you. You're always so receptive to his pace, always so sensitive to his touch. He loves the way your legs would curl around his waist as he pushes into you, your insides fluttering as you adjusted to his size. The pillow is plush, but it's not you.

His thoughts splinter when you sigh, and when he looks up, he can't help the guttural Fuck that tumbles from his mouth. Your shirt is completely unbuttoned, your pencil skirt is bunched around your hips, and your panties—the baby blue lace set, he feels like he's won the lottery—barely conceal anything. He can't believe you wore those in public.

His hands come up to grab your thighs, but you tsk, pushing your toes into his shoulders, and he freezes in place.

"You asked me to stay," you remind him. "You didn't ask to touch."

This is pure torture. Your hold on him is feather light, but he's straining against the ropes of self control.

"Please. Just a taste, baby, I'll make you feel good," he says, words coming out in a rush. He's on the verge of whining, but he doesn't care. He can see your arousal, can smell it heavy in the air, and his cock twitches in anticipation despite the shake of your head. "I promise, I promise it'll feel so good. Let me use my tongue on you."

He tilts his head and rests a cheek on your ankle, trying to implore you with warm eyes. You pretend to consider it, drawing out your thoughtful hum until seconds feel like hours. Then you shimmy out of your underwear, and that's all the confirmation he needs.

[jackalproject]

Good afternoon everyone! It is time once again for another update post. Are you excited? I hope so. Sorry for dropping it so late, I forgot to download my files and. Yeah. So there’s not much here, other than the once’s I needed. Oopsie.

I’d like to open this post by introducing my new collaborator, @bat-luun He has been helping me a TON with the backgrounds, and is a complete life saver, as well as an extremely talented artist. I’m so happy to have him, both as a friend and as an artist. He has done the Bonus Content banner for the post, when it goes up tomorrow. Go show him some love!!

On a somewhat related note, we now have a twitter account for the project! I personally have not used twitter in heaven knows how long, so I’m realering the ropes haha. The @ is jcklproject, in case you want to give it a follow there.

Before I get into the juicy details, I’d like to thank you all for your patience with me, and request that you hang on just a liiiitle longer. I am participating in the Sonic Big Bang, which I have just entered crunch time in. The project is SIGNIFICANTLY longer than I anticipated, and I have until the 25th to get it done. I am working hard on it, and if it comes to it, I may have to put this project on a little bit of a hold to finish it. Only until the 25th, though, and I will still be working on it! Keep an eye open on my main account for the project in June, when all of the works go up. I’m very excited, and while its not jackal related, I think it will be a ton of fun ;)

Anyway, lets get on to the good stuff.

TEST COMICS: Scripts complete, Issues in progress

PART ONE: Script complete, final concept art in progress

PART TWO: Scripts begun

PART THREE: Storyboard in progress

SCHEDULED RELEASES: Test Comic Issue Two, late May.

This coming test comic is a little beefier than the previous one, rounding out at about 7 pages total, and with a whole two pages worth of scripting! I once again remind you all that progress will go much quicker in the summer, as I will have my own computer at that point, more free time, and my portion of the Big Bang will be over with! Thanks for your patience <3

(Also, this issue ain’t SHIT compared to what’s coming down the line. Weeps.)

Here, have a frame! And a link to a silly post I made that you may have missed!

Sorry for the brief update, again, so heres a bit of a cut concept! In part two, Finn was supposed to break into Gadget’s house later in the story to request assistance with… something :). And this is how that was supposed to play out.

Your honor they’re really funny. But it was cut in favor of something arguably even funnier, and you’ll all know it when you see it, as it takes place right after the introductory issues lol

Niko out <3

If you have any questions, feel free to shoot me an ask.

[pianocat939]

Hi there, i would like to request a blurb if that's alright

i was wondering how your wonderful Yandere boys would react if they saw the long-healed but still visible self-harm scars on their loved one? (any place is suitable for scars btw) the funny thing is is that they would see these scars purely by chance, since their beloved constantly walks in closed clothes, because they don't want people to stare or something ( totally not projecting here hehe)

It is totally okay if you don't want to write it though!! Drink water, have a great day/evening/night!!(Love your blog by the way, byeeeee)

Did I just unleash a new wave of traumatized people wanting to read about their comfort characters with my recent post?

TW: past self-injury, slight mention of stalking, Leo gets depressed, manipulation, be very cautious if this is a touchy topic

✦Rattler of the Beans✦

He stills, eyes widening at the sight of the marks. It was a brief reveal, but he saw it crystal clear. He doesn't pry, and acts everything is fine, but around the times when you're not near, he chisels down any sharp objects in fear you may do something harmful again. He tends to be more watchful over you, whether it's watching you through the window or clinging to you, he's not going to let you exhibit these harmful behaviours. "You've got nothing to do tomorrow, right? Then why won't you stay the night over?"

✦Lanky Goat Rider✦

Gonna be honest with you guys, this is going to further put him in his "I'm useless" state. "Wow, I truly am a failure, aren't I?" It's hits him hard that he couldn't even protect the one person he loves from themselves and places him in a conflicted state. On one hand, he wants to do the whatever it takes to keep you out of harm's way, but on the other, he wants to sink in a pit of depression. So, in the end, he does everything to keep you unharmed but anything else he's going to be depresso espresso.

✦Do Re Mi Fa Sol La Ti Do✦

Drama Queen #1. I'm sorry if this may trigger you, but he's going to inspect any body part that has the scars. And while he does so, he's going to ask questions. It doesn't matter if you try to brush it off, he takes it as a big deal and will not rest until he knows he has everything to never let you do this again. His eyes are crazy with madness, and might even keep you with him at all times (minus when he goes to battle). "Nope, come back here. You're not supposed to leave my side, I need to take the precautions to ensure your health."

✦Hey Macarena✦

Flabbergasted af. He questions why you would do this to yourself; why would anyone harm such a wonderful person like you? It pains him so much he'll cry and attack you with a hug and not letting go. "Why?! Who hurt you so bad that you hurt yourself? I- it kills me!" Straight bawling and mumbling that he's going to always stick to you so you don't witness it ever again. Babies you a shit ton and might even get Dr. Feelings out. Now, when I say Dr. Feelings I mean it'll be like a therapist but with a lot of reassurance. He'll be giving a compliment every other sentence.

(Idk how to feel rn. There isn't much to say...)

(Jfc my house is freezing. I can't believe the heater broke down in the middle of winter and it's going to be broken for another week ;-;)

[lonesome-witching]

Engagement Talks

Sequel to the Mole Men and the Diamond Ring. As requested by @rabbitofdeath-atcastleaarrggh. I am posting this in between classes so sorry for the brief introduction.

You can read my previous prompts or send me some new ones.

Robin wasn’t sure what Karen was feeling right now. She also wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. A dozen apologies were burning on her tongue.

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask for your blessing first. I wasn’t planning on everything going so fast. I had only just purchased the ring. I was planning on asking for your blessing first but then last night happened and I just fell in love even harder and I really couldn’t contain myself.” Robin was babbling, she was nervous. For some reason she felt like she had done something wrong.

“It’s alright, Robin. Everything is alright.” Karen smiled. “I know you make my daughter happy and that truly is what is most important to me.”

“Good, great.”

Nancy put her hand on Robin’s knee. A calming gesture. A bit of comfort in this uncomfortable situation. It helped. It helped calm down Robin’s nerves just a tiny bit. Just enough to look up at Karen and Joyce and see the absence of anger.

“I will admit I’m a little surprised. It doesn’t seem like the two of you have been together for that long.”

“About as long as you and Joyce, mom,” Nancy replied.

Robin looked from her girlfriend to Karen and back.

“Oh.” It was merely a sound. Yet in it the shock was evident.

“Yeah, we’ve been dating for a while. Friends first, of course, and then it just kind of happened.”

“It is actually a pretty funny story,” Nancy added with a soft smile.

“We’d love to hear it,” Joyce said.

“We had been friends for a while and I clearly was falling in love with Nancy. I kept bothering Steve with all of it. Constantly talking about how amazing Nancy is—”

“And I accidentally,” Nancy stressed the last word, “overheard part of their conversation.”

“I panicked, like full blown ramble panic. Worse than usual.”

“It was endearing.”

“It was annoying.”

“Anyway, that’s when I asked her out. Officially,” Nancy finished the story.

“When did you get together?” Karen wasn’t trying to hide her smile.

“A few days later, Nancy was the one to ask.”

“And that was about a year ago.”

“That is about a month longer than us,” Joyce exclaimed. She sounded almost delighted. “What do you think? We could have a joined wedding and all.”

“Joyce, they’re only 18.”

“Which is old enough to marry,” Nancy interrupted.

“Yes, and I am delighted for the two of you. But perhaps you should enjoy your engagement a bit longer.”

[ala-baguette]

Ceud Mìle Fàilte

In dubious honour of Sirius's birthday, a throw-back to circa 2011 when I wrote what I intended to be the first chapter of a canon-divergent fic, before realising I was never actually going to finish it and instead posting it as a questionable stand-alone one-shot. Sorry Sirius. One of these I'll come back and write you a proper fic of your own.

I’m innocent.  I’m innocent.  He had repeated these words so many times in his head, he was long beyond count.  He couldn’t entirely remember why they were so important.  It wasn’t a happy thought.  But he knew he must cling to it.  This was important.  Even if he could not remember precisely why.  He knew that it was. He lay on his back on the rocky shore dragging gasping breaths of frigid night air into his lungs.  I’m innocent.  I’m innocent.  He tried to remember where he was, but he couldn’t.  He tried to remember why he was there, but he couldn’t.  He tried to remember anything at all.  Tried to remember his own name, but it wasn’t there.  Nothing much was there.  Nothing but, I’m innocent. He could feel the ebb and flow of small waves brushing against his feet, bringing brief instances of a weightless feeling to his legs.  The water was bitingly cold, but it didn’t matter.  He knew a whole different level of cold, and the waters of the North Sea had nothing on that.  The North Sea?  Yes.  That’s where he was.  He remembered that.  But the why still eluded him.  I’m innocent.  I’m innocent. Grey clouds drifted against a dark sky above.  He stared at them unblinkingly as his breath gradually slowed.  As he watched, the clouds opened just enough for a patch of stars to shine down on him.  Stars.  How long had it been since he had seen stars?  It wasn’t a rhetorical question.  He really wanted to know.  He could not remember this any better than he could remember his own name.  I’m innocent.  I’m innocent.

Vaguely, he knew there was once a time he could have named the constellations.  His father had been fond of astronomy; he had insisted he learn them as a child.  He was sure of it.  But they were long since forgotten now.  Now they were just meaningless pinpricks of light far far away in a sea of darkness.  He couldn’t recognise any of them now.  He tried to remember the names of any of the constellations he had once known so well.  Any of them at all.  Orion?  Cassiopeia?  Canis Major?  That last stirred something in his foggy mind.  Canis Major.  It was only visible in the winter, he remembered.  Funny that he should remember this and not his own name or why he was lying on his back on a rocky shore by the North Sea.  But he did.  He had a strange memory of struggling to find that constellation through the cloudy winter nights as a child.  He couldn’t remember why he had always wanted to find that particular constellation.  A childhood favourite, he supposed.  There was one star in that constellation that was brighter than all the others to guide him, he remembered.  The Dog Star.  Sirius.  Sirius! “My name… is Sirius Black.”  He said it aloud, thinking that maybe the sound of it would make it seem less foreign.  It didn’t work.  The voice that came out was not one he recognised at all. It was hoarse and low and not altogether human.  He contemplated this for a moment, licking cracked lips. After a moment, he sat up.  It took a great deal of effort.  His head felt light and dizzy.  He drew his knees up to his chest and rubbed his hands across his face.  He felt a thick growth of beard and tangled masses of hair.  When he opened his eyes, he stared at his hands, trying to decide if they were in fact his.  He wasn’t sure he had ever seen them before.  They were gaunt and skeletal and the nails were long and chipped and coated in grime.  He turned them over and stared at the palms.  He ran the thumb of one hand down the broken lifeline of the other.  Yes, that was his palm.  He remembered once in Divination class being told his lifeline was significant.  Something about a period of lost time and uncertainty.  He’d always thought this complete bollocks, of course.  But now…  Very slowly he raised his eyes from his palms and looked out to the sea. He knew it would be there.  He could barely make it out on the horizon.  But his eyes went straight to it.  The place he had come from.  Little more than a dark blocky shape scarcely visible on the horizon, silhouetted against the grey clouds.  “Azkaban.”  Again the words drifted in the night air, barely audible over the rhythmic crashing of the waves.  Again the voice that uttered the word was unrecognisable.  Azkaban Prison.  How many years had he been there?  I’m innocent.  Continue reading on AO3

[morrisxn02]

c'est lâche, mon grand, on te dira c'est l'âge (self-para) (sort of)

tl;dr: therapy is now in session for your favorite (???) rich boy (said no one, ever) and succession-character-wannabe, walmart roy! and the diagnostic is absolutely scandalous !!! (not really) (this is just a lil funny thing as a follow-up to the rave and a pre-summer self-para) - this was on my drafts for waaaay too long and i just forgot to post it ic date: the week after the rave, before the commencement gala. tw: brief mention of drug use, anxiety

disclaimer: i wanted this thread to be more dialogue-centric, not a full-on para, so that's why there's very little about eddie's or dr. reichmann's thought processes here.

(...)

“It's been a while...” Dr. Helena Reichmann, Ph.D. asks as she sips on her chamomile tea.

He nods.

“You seem anxious.”

“No. I'm all right.” He immediately stops fidgeting his feet.

"You texted me at 6AM on a Sunday morning saying you needed to talk. Want to start with that?"

He remains silent for a moment.

"I thought I had done something very... Um, messed up. But I was wrong."

She says nothing. He understands, she wants him to explain.

"It's nothing really. Don't worry." His voice trembles a bit. Her brows crease. "I was on drugs."

“You mean marijuana?” She knows he is prone to using weed occasionally. But that is not what he means.

"No."

"You used heavy drugs?" The disbelief in her tone is almost funny.

“I went to a rave. I took molly for the first time.” A smoke screen.

"So you were under the influence and you thought you had done something messed up?" She mirrors his tone.

He just nods. She takes notes.

“And how did that feel? The molly.”

“I don’t know.” He lies again, not so well this time. She writes it down.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I did.”

“Do you want to do it again?”

“I’m not sure.”

She takes note.

“Let's get back to that, though. What was it you thought you had done?”

“Nothing, really. I just thought I had told someone something that I shouldn't.” He starts fidgeting again. She writes it down.

He cannot tell her about G. Too much at stake. Things even she doesn’t know.

"Well, I'm having a hard time believing you. You are clearly anxious about it..."

“Don’t you have some meditation technique that I can use, then?”

“No. And even if I did, we both know that kind of thing doesn't work for you.”

“Well, I don’t know, doesn't matter." She doesn't buy what he is selling. "Let's talk about something else.”

“Listen, the only way to help you is by understanding what happened. We won't get anywhere if you keep things from me."

He says nothing. She sighs.

“And do you have anyone you can talk to about this, at least? Someone you trust?”

“Lucas and Océane.”

“I mean at school.” Her tone is reprimanding. She knows he knows what she means.  

“No.”

“Well, you should.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Don’t you feel like you need that? That you need someone to talk to?”

“I’ve already got someone.”

“Someone that is not 3000 miles away?”

“I talk to them all the time. It’s almost like they’re here.”

“No, Edward, it’s not, and you know it.”

Silence. He stares at her, face completely blank. Devoid of any sort of expression that can help her lead their conversation down a specific path. She rolls her eyes.

“You are very challenging, do you know that?”

“Are you supposed to say that to a patient?”

“If I think that’s what they need to hear, then yes.”

“And what, exactly, makes me challenging?”

She doesn't answer, instead she pushes him, “Is Cara like this? Was Greer?”

“Is.”

“Sorry? Who is?”

“Greer. You used the wrong tense.”

“Edward…” She has been subtly trying to prepare him for the worst. For the bad news, if it ever comes to. Which, she is pretty sure, is only a matter of time.

“Is Greer like this?” He insists, voice unbending, words coming in pregnant pauses to reinforce the imposition. Treating Greer like she was dead was the one thing that would get him to storm out of her clinic.

“Are Cara and Greer like this?” She half-concedes.

“Like what?” She likes to push him. He likes to push her back.

“Resolute.” It sounds like that word has been very carefully chosen. And he picks up on it.

“You mean stubborn?” He fires back, a smirk on his face.

She nods.

“Yes.”

“The three of you?”

He nods. She writes it down.

“And have you tried getting close to Cara? Last time you were here, you told me you would.”

“Yes.”

“And-?“

“What do you think?”

“Bad?”

“Not too bad. Not good either.”

“Hm. And do you think you two can get along?”

“Don’t know… Can’t tell yet.”

“Who doesn’t know, Edward? Who can’t tell?” She heavily emphasizes the pronouns. Almost as though she were a detective pressing a fellon to reveal the name of their accomplice.

“What do you mean? Me.”

“It’s intriguing to me how sometimes you don’t see yourself as the subject of your own actions.”

“Don’t use Freud on me.”

“I’m just saying… Whenever you talk about your family, you tend to eclipse the first person. Always happens...”

“Can you change the subject, please?”

“Do you think you envy her?” She pushes further. “Cara? Do you think you wish you were more–“

“Can you change the subject, please?” He insists, more incisively this time.

“Sure.” She grins triumphantly.

Any patient in their right mind would walk straight out of there. Not Edward, though. Edward likes that she can see through him. Edward likes that she treats their sessions like a game.

“Finals are right around the corner, right?"

"Yes."

"And I assume we're only seeing each other after your summer break now, correct?"

"Mhm."

"Are you still going to Manhattan for the summer? To work with your father?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The fuck do you mean? “Why”? Because that’s what he wants me to do.”

“Watch your tone.”

“Sorry.”

“You know, you only curse in our sessions when we’re talk–“

“Don’t.” He interrupts her.

She chuckles.

“Is that what you want to do?”

He doesn’t answer. She writes it down.

“Are you excited?”

“Sure.”

“Because it’s what you have to do, right?” She mimics his way of saying it, emphasizing the word have – it’s something he has said to her a dozen times before, and it always sounds like a burden. A cross he is involuntarily caring.

“You know it.” He replies with debauchery.

She shakes her head. Then writes again.

“Tell me, what is it that you’re looking forward to doing during your summer recess?”

“I’m going to Marseille in August.”

“With–?“

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s very nice.”

They both smile. Modest, but genuine. A truce. She is truly happy to hear that. He is truly happy to say it. She likes them. They're good for him.

“Edward, our time is over for today. But before you go, I want to tell you something.”

He rolls his eyes, and the smile immediately disappears.

“You need to find a balance between taking yourself too seriously and not taking yourself seriously at all. You are only 20 years old, Edward. You’re allowed to live your life like a 20-year-old.”

His face starts to burn.

“You need to stop rationalizing your feelings. You need to let yourself have a good time every once in a while. And, most importantly, you need to think about yourself. About what you really want to do with your life.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a smart kid, Edward," She knows he enjoys the adulation, and she does it almost as if she is laying the groundwork for what will follow. "You know exactly what that means. You just want me to spell it out to you.”

“I’m waiting.”

"Remember what I said about not using the first person when your family is involved? That's what I mean. It's like you're not in the driver's seat of your own life sometimes..." She fires, a grin on her face. Well, he did ask for it...

He swallows hard, fighting the urge to nod in confirmation.

“There's more important things you should be worrying about than not getting drunk with your friends every once in a while, or always being top of the class. Instead, try putting more effort into figuring out who you are, what you want, and what makes you happy. Instead of caring so much about what others expect of you, or who they want you to be.”

They stay in silence for a few more seconds. That is exactly the reaction she is hoping for.

“Goodbye, Edward. Do me the kindness of telling my next patient I'm ready for her on your way out. You have my number if you need me before September.”

“Goodbye, doctor Reichmann.”

Before he walks out, she speaks again. “And, please, enjoy your summer.”

He nods, finally. Then leaves.

[db-gochifan]

Braten/Broten Week 2023 - Day 2: Zing/Whirlwind

Days: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

Title: The Whirlwind Pairing: Goten/Bulla Characters: Son Goten, Bulla Briefs and Vegeta Summary: Bulla and Goten cross paths again and he has his memories awakened, to her despair. Cross-posted on AO3

Twenty-three year old Bulla looked up at the sky that suddenly turned into gray. She sighed deeply, feeling frustrated with the change. She hoped she would be able to finish shopping and go home before it started pouring.

She was carrying more bags than she could handle. Her car was parked nearby, but the streets in West City were so crowded that day she struggled to get to it. She was so focused on her task and barely seemed to register what had happened until she was on the ground.

Son Goten managed to look away from his phone only after he found himself sitting on the sidewalk. He was eagerly typing on his phone, having an enthusiastic conversation, and failed to see his surroundings. As he was looking up, he was left speechless. The most beautiful sight was right across him.

“I’m so sorry.” He managed to say after he recovered from his astonishment and crawled towards her. “This is all my fault. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Bulla started collecting her bags in a hurry and didn’t even bother looking at him.

“Let me help you.” Goten quickly began to help her, trying desperately to see her face.

“It’s alright, I can…”

He was pretty sure she was saying something because her lips were moving, but he was hypnotized by the her turquoise eyes. He shook his head and blinked hard a couple of times when he noticed her hand waving in front of him.

“Huh?”

“Were you even listening to me?” She frowned at him.

“I’m sorry. Have we met before?”

“I don’t think so.” She raised her eyebrows, visibly taken aback with his question.

“It’s funny. I could’ve sworn I know you.”

“Are you hitting on me?”

“No, I swear!” He said quickly. “It was genuinely a question. But I apologize for crossing the line.”

“That’s alright.” Bulla stood up and cleaned the dust from her dark blue skirt before grabbing her bags from his hands. “I appreciate your help.”

“You’re welcome.” Goten smiled at her and watched her walk away. Though she had said they haven’t met before he still felt like they had in his heart. And he was gonna find her, no matter what it took.

 Bulla leaned against a wall after she made sure he wouldn’t see her and took a deep breath. She wasn’t counting on the fact he’d still remember her, she had erased his memory. Didn’t it work after all? Though she was a completely different person this time around, she still kept her memories. She placed her hand over her aching heart. He wasn’t supposed to remember her. But he did, and she was going to have to deal with that.

 Goten noticed she had forgotten a white sweater. He figured she was in such a hurry that she didn’t realize it. He grabbed it and held it close to his chest, promising himself he’d find her again no matter what it took.

****

The weather was dark and windy that late afternoon. Son Goten looked up during his usual jogging session and pouted. It was going to pour any second and he was far from his house. He resumed his exercise, but the large raindrops didn’t take long to reach him and he was forced to find shelter in the porch of a house on his way.

Bulla turned on the lights in her living room and briefly looked through the window. She couldn’t help but think it was going to be an ugly storm. Something caught her attention right after she closed the curtains and she peered through the window again. There was a man on her porch and her heart started pounding on her chest. It couldn’t be possible. He had found her. With a shake of her head, she went to open the door. She just couldn’t leave him outside with that weather.

“Hey!” She glanced at him and felt her heart melting by his beautiful face. “Come on it, you can’t stay out with such a bad storm.”

Goten failed to control his smile. What were the chances that this was her house? He quickly stood up and walked in.

“I’m sorry for crashing into your porch like this.” He began to apologize, trying desperately to make contact with her deep blue eyes. “I wouldn’t be able to get home in time.”

“It’s alright.” Bulla replied, trying her very best not to be shaken up by his presence in her house. “You can stay here in the meantime.”

“Thank you.”

****

Goten was drying his spiky black hair with a white towel she had lent him when he walked into the kitchen. He looked intensely at her, and for the first time since they met, she looked at him.

“You’ve got a nice house.”

“Thank you.” She blushed heavily, not sure whether it was because of his compliment or the intense stare coming from him.

“Have you been living here for long?”

“Not really. I think for about two years.”

“It’s so ironic that we live nearby.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well, we met in the city by accident when our houses are so near each other.”

“Didn’t you live in the countryside though?”

“How did you know that?” Goten raised his eyebrows at her.

“I didn’t. It was a lucky guess.” Bulla shrugged, mentally cursing herself for giving the truth away like that.

“Are you sure we…”

But his voice was trailed off when the power threatened to go off a couple of times before actually doing it for real.

“Oh crap.”

“I wonder how people in the past lived with faint light or no light at all, don’t you?” Goten commented after seeing the powerful light of the flashlight lit up the whole room.

“They had lamps.”

“What?!” He raised his eyebrows, visibly surprised at her certainty about it. “How do you know that?”

“It was just a luck guess.” She tried to keep it cool by shrugging, but was mentally cursing herself for letting the truth about her small slip. “That’s just what it looks like, from books and all.”

“Right.” The brunette nodded and noticed the flashlight was failing. “Is this flashlight… charged?”

“Damn it, the battery must have been low.” Bulla commented on his right, unable to see anything.

“Do you have one to replace it?”

“No, this was the last one.”

“Fuck.” Goten said spontaneously and immediately covered his mouth. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t say anything I didn’t want to.”

“Alright.”

****

Bulla walked to the window in the living room, as it was the only place faintly illuminated by the light outside, if you could call it a light. The weather outside was worse than before, and it was much windier as well. She tapped around for localization and knelt down behind her sofa when a very loud noise echoed and her house shook quite heavily.

“Bulla!” Goten came rushing to the living room, almost tripping on himself and falling down.

“What was that?!” She stared at his beautiful black eyes, choosing to ignore their proximity for a moment.

“It looks like it’s a perfect weather for whirlwinds.”

“Oh no, what are we going to do now?”

“Do you have a basement here?”

****

Bulla looked over her shoulder when she noticed she was suddenly illuminated by a light. Her eyes went a little wide and she raised her eyebrows at Goten.

“You had a cellphone all along?”

“That’s right.”

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” She smacked him on the chest quite strongly. “We wouldn’t have to stay in the dark for so long.”

“I’m sorry.” He held both her wrists with just one hand. “I hadn’t thought about it then. And you must admit it felt kinda romantic.”

The blue haired woman narrowed her eyes and analyzed him intensely.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing?”

“Are you saying you purposely didn’t want to use the flashlight on your phone so we could have a romantic moment together?”

“I didn’t say such thing.”

“You implied it. That’s a red flag in my book.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I swear I forgot about it. I didn’t want to take advantage of the situation, I promise.”

“Okay, I’ll believe you.”

“What are you looking at?” Goten asked Bulla from across the basement and she looked up at him just in time to see him motioning the photo album on her lap.

“Oh it’s just a bunch of childhood pics. Not a big deal.”

“What do you mean it’s not a big deal?” He stood up from where he was sitting and sat beside her, glancing down at the photos. “It’s your memories you’re talking about.”

“I guess.” She shrugged, avoiding to look at him. She felt his arm slightly touching hers, sending a cold shiver down her spine. She knew she shouldn’t let herself fall for him again, but she just couldn’t help it.

And she knew he felt exactly the same way.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Bulla.” Goten caressed her bare arms up and stared into her sapphire eyes, leaning closer by each second.

Bulla’s brain was hysterically screaming for her not to do it and push him away, but her body simply wasn’t responding to her commands, except the one who told her to lean forward. And seconds later, their lips were touching and she felt the warmth of his hand on her right cheek. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she took him in and their tongues tangled up on each other. He embraced her as he gently laid her on the floor, lying on top of her right after. With one of his hand and without moving away from her, he reached for his phone and turned it off, leaving both of them completely in the dark.

****

Bulla took Goten to the door when the storm passed and the sky cleared outside. She had tried to fix her long blue hair, but it was still a little messy.

“So I guess that’s it.” He turned around when they stepped on her porch and looked at her. “Thanks for letting me stay here during the storm.”

She saw his lips moving, but nothing he was saying went into her ears because she was hypnotized by him. After some seconds she blinked hard and shook her head.

“Yeah.” She said simply, not even bothering at the fact it may not be an answer to whatever he had said.

“Well, I should get going then.” Goten leaned towards her and gave her a kiss on her right cheek. There was a rather wide smile on his lips when he appeared in front of her again. “Thank you again. I’ll see you around.”

“Sure.” Bulla stared at him walking down her pathway and turning right, towards his house.

****

Goten walked into his house feeling a bit upset. It felt good to be finally at home, but he’d still rather stay with Bulla. He couldn’t quite understand why he was so attracted to her, considering they only met twice. He had a strong feeling they’ve met in other lives too, even if it went against his personal beliefs. He placed his palms on the back of the couch and looked down, sighing deeply. He just couldn’t take her out of his mind.

 Goten woke up at once the next morning and sat down on his bed right away. He had a faint feeling he was screaming in his dream. Or rather, nightmare . His mouth was dry and his heart was beating fast, not to mention he was sweating too. But everything made sense to him. He was dreaming about Bulla, and she was wearing a beautiful white dress with golden details on its cleavage and the tips of its sleeves. She was also wearing a golden tiara with bright pearls and looked so radiant, almost like a goddess.

 He checked the time on his cellphone and dropped his head in frustration. The realization he had woken up way before he was supposed to struck him, but he knew he couldn’t go back to sleep now. With a heavy sigh, he threw his legs out of the bed and stood up. He headed to the bathroom to wash his face and attenuate his sleepy look.

****

Bulla tied her long blue hair in a high ponytail with a thin black satin band, finishing it with a bow. She took one last look at the mirror and smiled before grabbing her purse and leaving her house for work.

She was caught by surprise when she walked out and stumbled on something on her front door. She looked down and saw a bouquet of lilies by her feet. Bulla glanced around, hoping to find whoever had done that, but the street was completely empty. Deep down, she had a feeling who had left the flowers, and her heart started beating faster. She bent down and picked them up, going back inside to put them in a vase with water.

Five minutes later, she was once again closing her door and turned around to go her garage. She stopped dead on the edge of her small stairway when she heard a noise noise coming from her right.

“Lily is still your favorite flower, isn’t it?”

“You remembered.” Bulla turned around, with her hand over her heart. She was slightly trembling. “How? That’s impossible.”

“That’s why I had the feeling I knew you.” Goten said as he walked towards her. “We’ve already met.”

“Goten.” She gulped, internally in panic with his proximity. “You weren’t supposed to remember that, because…”

“You erased my memory.” He finished her sentence in a hurtful tone. “Yes, I know. Why?”

“Please, don’t make this harder than it is.” She lowered her hand and looked away, staring at the street across her. “We can’t be together.”

“Why not?” He stood in front of her, blocking her previous vision. “Just because you’re a goddess?”

“What?” Her blue eyes widened for a second and she felt shivers all over her body. “How do you know that?”

“You said yourself. I remembered.”

Bulla bit her lower lip and took a step back, but he curled his hand around her arm. “I’m sorry.”

“Why can’t we just be together? We love each other.”

“We just can’t. I’m a goddess, I can’t get involved with an Earthling. They will kick me out of heaven.”

“That’s such a stupid rule.”

“I agree. But I still need to follow it.”

“Bulla!” Vegeta’s deep voice echoed all around them. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, papa.” She flinched and then looked at Goten. “You see why we can’t be together?”

“I hate this.”

“I know.” She cupped his face and kissed him tenderly, then touched his forehead with hers. Tears started falling from her eyes. “I hope you can forgive me for this, but it’s for your own good.”

Goten blinked hard, trying to understand what he was doing in a stranger’s house. He glanced at Bulla and apologized to her before he turned around and left.

 The woman fell to her knees on her porch and let tears fall freely from her eyes. She slammed her fist against her knees when her father appeared behind her.

“Why did you do this to me?” She cried. “We just wanted to be happy together.”

“You know these are the rules. You can’t fall in love with an Earthling. You shouldn’t be down here, you disobeyed me again.”

“I hate all of this. I hate you.” She screamed in anger; tears falling harder down her face.

[undermycoat]

I know nothing about football but I'd still like to hear about the au :3

see bc i complain and then i don't even know where to start LOL

ok so ig i'll start with the title From the Sidelines and a little description i have, to pique interest heh

Arthur is Camelot FC's star striker and captain. Merlin is the kitman. Life is hardly ever fair.

anyway . i suppose that's. a little misleading. that being said i think this grew into something waaaaay larger than i originally planned @.@ like it was supposed to be a fun little addition to the surprisingly small amt of footballer arthur fics we have but now this fic has double daddy issues (balinor my beloved...), coming out, sports injuries, shitty coaches (aredick die by my sword) and never making the national team. HUH??? i just wanted merthur to fuck on the pitch... (joke) (just in time for fuck him on the field friday)

also there's side stories. like one is when the players get handcuffed tgt for 24hrs but they've got an uneven amt for it and merlin gets roped in

and then there's the valentine's day arwen special that i somehow accidentally made into a statement about arthur's attitude toward his sexuality?? and feelings for merlin??? through his anxiety about his date with gwen????

“All good?” Merlin asks. “Never better,” Arthur replies, then pivots and walks directly into his closet. He stares at his barren shoe rack before he feels hands on his shoulders, and Merlin is turning him around and guiding him back out. “Wrong way,” he hears him say. “Right.” This time, Arthur marches out his room then down the hall to the front door. “I’ll be back.”

i'm allowed to give this info bc i don't know if i'll ever actually post the extras. i dont' even know when i'm gonna finish the main story sjkdfhgjkf

oh yeah another side story takes place in 2007 (that might be the title for it idk) and it's about uther buying camelot fc for arthur's tenth birthday LOL dont question the legaltiy of arthur playing for his father's club. i dont know and i dont care. this is fiction SIMILARLY dont say shit abt arthur being a striker and captain. it's happened before. it's literally fine. dont even worry about it

there's like. ik i rly only talked about the side stories but u have to realize just how much has already gone into this fic and i wouldn't even say i'm halfway done. i don't think i've written out a single match which is also funny bc i've been keeping up with the prem and actually think i can do it now. i just keep dragging my feet abt it lol

i think the hardest part for me is when im gonna have to seriously injure arthur. i didnt want to but i think it's an important way for his and merlin's relationship to progress and also would explain merlin's attitude toward him in january. its less abt injuring him and more abt him having to sit out of games not for like. lineup stats/compatibility reasons

oh my god typing this all out made me realize we haven't met like. half of the guys on the team yet. i was sitting here like "i need to rewatch eps with all the knights bc i dont trust myself to write percy and elyan accurately" but now i just realized i dont even know if mordred is on the like. squad yet or if he's still with the u18s (after a brief check with my info page he is. i'm gonna be sick)

like i said there is a LOT of info on this . sorry this was so long i just needed to ramble a bit and it also made me realize some info i still need to include so yayyy :3 thank you nonny if u have anything u wanna know in specific like fr anything PLEASE ask. i'd love it so much if u asked. u saved my life <3

[yoshi-ori]

ranking all 12 boys planet episodes

disclaimers:

i didn't go back and rewatch all the episodes bc i don't have time for that but i did look at some of the youtube clips and the live + post-episode discussion threads on r/boysplanet to refresh my memory

the overall score is mainly based on how fun/boring the episode was and how much evil-editing was involved

i may or may not have been a bit too harsh with the scoring idk

12. episode 1 (2/10)

pros:

everyone looked so happy here (minus jiwoong who just wanted to sleep), back when they didn't have their hopes and dreams crushed

i enjoyed the brief snippets of the trainees fighting for the p01 seat, wish we could've seen more of that

funny moments:

when hui sang for the p01 seat "battle" and jihoo immediately gave up lol

cons:

i'm sorry but i've always found when the mentors talk to be extremely boring and they talk soooo much in this episode 😭 literal snoozefest

speaking of the mentors, i also don't like it when they laughed at the "bad" performances, like i'm probably just being sensitive but i always felt bad for them 😭

i don't like how much they also keep talking about the k vs g group thing like wdym you guys are besties (also it was just boring)

they also talk a lot about the trainees' dreams and how they've trained for so long and while i think that's sweet i also think it's kinda boring

11. episode 4 (2.5/10)

pros:

most of the training segments for this episode were just boring and sad but the two teams that didn't fail me were both hot sauce teams, like it was just good vibes and not really a lot of conflict

speaking of hot sauce, this was the first episode where we got good screentime and storyline for ollie and phanbin like yessss we love to see it

also some parts from the training segments that i did actually like were when yugeng and yang jun made up and when yedam gave up the killing part to shanbin, idk i thought those were pretty sweet and selfless moments and the mentors didn't show up so

cons:

the training segments were boring and sad and i snoozed through them

also daeul got evil-edited really badly and krystian got evil-edited even more which weren't fun to watch

10. episode 7 (2.5/10)

pros:

some more of my favorite performances in this episode, namely tomboy and limousine, which are S-tier and A-tier respectively. boy do i love the dual position battle performances

while i once again found some of the training segments to be boring i did enjoy nslocb and limosine teams since they didn't really have a lot of conflict and it was just good vibes

funny moments:

the rush hour conflict was not fun but i will say i laughed so hard when ricky and seongmin side-eyed the camera 💀

i know this was supposed to be a serious moment but the haobin massage scene made me laugh so hard 😭 it just felt so intimate and sudden that all i can do is just laugh. also the live chat comments were killing me

cons:

more evil edits yayyyy /s. this time we have the continuation of jingxiang's evil edit from episode 6 plus shuaibo which weren't very slay

once again, some of the training segments were really boring. i'm gonna specifically complain about butterfly bc they set up a whole storyline for junseo only for him to still get last? like girl what was the point of that other than making him look bad

9. episode 2 (3/10)

pros:

i like the part when they react to the first episode together it's fun and i do love seeing them laugh and compliment each other

some cool performances in this episode (nunu nana, the real, shut down), i actually liked these more than the episode 1 performances. the real is S-tier while nunu nana and shut down are A-tier for me

the training segments for the signal song test were a mixed bag between boring and not boring but i did enjoy seunghwan helping daeul and phanbin helping hui, i thought those were sweet. i think i enjoyed those moments bc they were wholesome and the mentors weren't talking LOL

the part where they call their parents made me cry but it's such a touching moment and idk it warmed my heart <3

funny moments:

woongki dancing to my bag in the middle of the night

cons:

same problem as the first episode, i found the mentor comments to be super boring and i sleep through them like how jiwoong slept throughout the entire song level test

some of the training segments were also boring and also just made me sad, especially when the trainees get scolded. also there's too many mentor comments zzzzzz

most of the signal song tests were pretty boring to watch and were honestly a drag. i think it's a combination of i don't like seeing the "bad/mid" performances plus the mentor's comments are boring

8. episode 3 (3.5/10)

pros:

i liked their dorm room shenanigans those were cute

i actually did like seeing the good signal song performances mainly bc they went by quickly and the mentors didn't speak much LOL

idk why but i find the part where the trainees pick their teammates for the k vs g group battle to be so fun, i liked the intensity of finding out the top 10 and waiting to see who the trainees will pick and what song they'll pick and stuff like that

funny moments:

anthonny's eye roll when it was revealed that the next mission is k vs g group again like bro same

when they were about to pick teams and haruto's like "GUYS don't forget about me remember when we ate together??" and then him running towards honghai's team in mach speed like 🫶🏃🏻‍♂️ when he got picked

when g-group burn it up team was trying to figure out who has the best abs and they weren't impressed by yutaka's skdlfjs

the arm wresting competition was so fun to watch, g-group needs to drink more milk or smth idk

cons:

the part where they practiced and filmed the signal song performance video was boring idk

i've noticed that this show tends to follow the exact same formula where right before a team is about to perform they like do this flashback where they show the team struggling but then it's ok all turns out fine and dandy in the end, which like makes sense ig since you gotta show the backstory and create sympathy towards the trainees but i still find it boring LOL. idk i just don't like seeing them sad and it just feels like it drags along forever to me

there's also some not-so-fun evil-editing moments in this episode, specifically with krystian and kinda jianyu which is sad

7. episode 9 (3.5/10)

pros:

i did enjoy the part where the switch and supercharger teams had to recruit other trainees into their team like idk i thought how they tried to convince them was fun to watch

the outdoor games they played were fun and a vibe

i also really liked the numerous eliminated trainees cameos/mentions in this episode like during that one outdoor game where they had to find their baby photos or when some of the eliminated trainees showed up to the guerrilla showcase for the trainees whose parents couldn't make it or when some of the eliminated trainees showed up to the artist battle live performances to support their friends 🥺

funny moments:

when shanbin pretended to get kicked out of smn when he just needed to use the bathroom like my guy just likes to do a little trolling

when phanbin revealed he learned the switch choreo just for funsies so he slayed getting the killing part

the en garde prank and seunghwan being an amazing actor like get that man an oscar, i'm convinced inyeon ent saw this segment and thought "we need to recruit him"

kamden twin reveal! and their awkward interaction LOL

cons:

ok i know i said i enjoyed the recruiting segments but the trainees getting kicked from over me and smn was just sad

once again the training segments were really boring, honestly probably more so than the previous missions since the mentors seemed to be more present this time around making it even more boring (idk if they actually were more present but that's just what it seemed like to me)

this episode is the second part of the smn conflict and probably the worst out of the three. people were relentless with him after this episode like mnet why do you hate matthew so much what has he ever done to you

6. episode 10 (3.5/10)

pros:

i love love LOVE the little prince musicals. as someone who loves watching musicals this is definitely one of my favorite things they've done on boys planet. the performances were all so fun and i loved seeing them rehearse and it was such a vibe. so many cute moments like gyuvin, yujin, and gunwook "fighting" over hui, hiroto and takuto pairing up together and seungeon forgetting his lines but not giving up and haobin and gyuhui slaying

this episode also has say my name aka THE superior song of 2023, this song won the artist battle, got a perfect all-kill, and won 29304823 daesangs in my heart <3

funny moments:

when they were guessing who the next star master is gonna be and phanbin guessed tbz juyeon, gyuvin guessed hwanhee, and woongki guessed ariana grande

ricky and ollie being paired up for the musical and ricky doing kabedon on ollie and them getting 0 stars for whatever reason 😭

junhyeon just making stuff as he goes during the musical

cons:

honestly this is kind of a minor gripe and doesn't actually affect my feelings towards this episode that much but i'm still salty about how mnet never released everyone's musicals 😔

more boring training segments yawnnnnn. these conflicts are getting so repetitive it's literally just the same thing: mentors check the team, mentors and dissatisfied, the trainees practice more, the mentors are happy. like bro at least show them singing/rapping more instead of just making it all about dance

FINALLY the smn conflict ends and i was pretty satisfied with the ending but i will forever be salty with mnet, like girlypop there was absolutely no need to drag that on for three whole episodes

also my bird died while i was watching this episode live so

5. episode 11 (6.5/10)

pros:

the outdoor games they played were so fun, lots of funny moments from that segment. some cute moments include phanbin's reaction to being a spy and hiroto's cute "dance battle" and "tteokbokki" aka when i lost the idgaf about hiroto war

also there weren't any training segments in this episode thank GOD

funny moments:

when over me team was doing the pulling up pants game and kuanjui just straight-up bit ricky's pants in his crotch area and over me started playing in the background 💀

leejeong doing badly at the spinning elephant game and everyone in over me team thinking he's the spy only to change their minds at the last minute for some reason?? (the fact that leejeong later revealed that he wasn't pretending to be bad and he did actually get dizzy but the editing made it seem like he was acting bad on purpose makes it funnier LOL)

matthew unintentionally getting the word right during the whisper game

the smirks gyuvin and somi gave to each other

cons:

normally i like elimination episodes but ngl this elimination wasn't as entertaining mainly bc there weren't a lot of trainees left. i was gagged by hui and gyuvin making it since i thought they were goners but that was it. also everyone just looked sad during this elimination idk maybe that's just me

everything after the eliminations (when they were picking teams and positions and choosing the killing part) was kinda boring ngl BUT i will admit i actually didn't catch the ending of this segment bc i had a critique for my art class so like maybe i'm not the best judge for that LOL

4. episode 5 (6.5/10)

pros:

as mentioned before, idk why but i really enjoy watching elimination episodes, especially after the episode is aired. idk i just like the suspense and the trainees trying to guess who will get called up and their reactions when someone's name gets called and the trainee being all shocked and everyone congratulating them and idk i think it's sweet. also i love the "hints" the star master gives they're so silly it's like playing six degrees of separation

also there's no training segments thank GOD

i love all the trainees' little intros and how they paired up based on the best mate contest those were super cute

the dance battles were all fun, idk nothing much to say here they all slayed

can i just say i was absolutely GAGGED during the hot sauce announcement like wdym all of k-group survived with some of them barely making it in. phanbin crying from happiness was so heart-warming 🥺

gunwook and hwanhee gossiping during the entire elimination was so fun

i also liked when shanbin and matthew were contenders for p01 and they talked about auditioning for boys planet together and stuff like that got me in the feels 😭

funny moments:

shuaibo doing moe moe kyun at gunpoint with junhyeon

yugeng telling yang jun all of his predictions and getting most of them wrong

the woongki vs keita dance battle was fun but the trainees' reactions are what really take the cake

cons:

ok i know i said i like elimination episodes but obviously i don't like it when my faves get eliminated and jang jiho being the only one left standing in the k-group aju nice team absolutely broke my heart 😭

also the trainees' speeches are pretty boring and they tend to get kinda repetitive pretty quickly

i was pretty disappointed when they suddenly made k-group win the dance battle competition when g-group was leading even if they did end up sharing the pizza in the end

the cultural appropriation prank was NOT it and (most of) the trainees laughing was also not it 😭

the hyunbeen prank also felt pretty mean and it felt like they were skinny-shaming him like idk maybe i'm being sensitive but yeah that was not a vibe

3. episode 12 (7/10)

pros:

i absolutely love the beginning when they introduce the top 18 through fun little films that reflect each trainee's interests and vibes and stuff like that part was so cool

the self-made concept teasers the jelly pop and hot summer teams made were so fun

i LOVE the sleepover and how they talked about first impressions like that is my absolute favorite conversation starter and everyone's just laughing and having fun and roasting each other and remiscing good memories and it's just so wholesome <3

funny moments:

the whole kamden jelly noona thing. no elaboration needed

junhyeon calling phanbin handsome but phanbin not hearing him correctly 😭

kamden asking if he has an american vibe and the other trainees just going "no"

when they tried correcting matthew's pronounciation on jiwoong's name but he still pronounces it like "jiwoon-hyung" anyway

jiwoong's "sorry what was the group name again?"

gyuvin's "sorry i forgot"

cons:

this episode is SO long like i would never rewatch this episode from beginning to end ever again ngl

on a related note, some parts of this episode dragged on for so long like the introduction and how to vote and the group name reveal and the members reveal. like i understand why since this was an actual live episode but yeah i'm not rewatching those parts again LOL

the stuff with the mentors was kinda boring, like i did enjoy the trainees making the flower headwear things and the cakes and the silly little song they sang but everything else was kind of a drag

i thought the fans' messages were really touching and stuff but for some reason i've never liked seeing other kpop fans LOL like idk it just gives me the ick (also partially the reason why i don't really like when mnet cuts to the audience's reaction during performances)

seeing phanbin cry and keita look so sad broke my heart into a million pieces 😭

2. episode 6 (7/10)

pros:

the ghost prank at the beginning of the episode was pretty funny

idk why but similar to the trainees picking their teams for the k vs g group batte, i find the trainees picking their songs and other trainees pushing them out to be so fun to watch, i love the suspense and overdramatization of it all

some of my favorite performances are from this episode, namely zoom and gang, which are S-tier and A-tier respectively

speaking of gang i enjoyed seeing their team interact the most, idk it's just good vibes and the only "conflict" that happened was trying to come up with a bunch of dance breaks but that was figured out relatively quickly

funny moments:

when gunwook pushed woongki out of tomboy and he acted all sad about it at first before strutting his way towards feel special

ricky winking at jiwoong only for him to get pushed out of love killa 💀

junhyeon yelling at shanbin to push out gunwook so that he can join ggang while gunwook is just trying to hide

jiwoong acting all silly and goofy and the birth of mattwoong

the sheer difference between woojin's timid vocals vs mingyu belting out man in love

cons:

same problem i mentioned before with the k vs g group battle, some of these training segments and the conflicts they faced were really boring

this episode planted the seed of jingxiang's evil edit before it fully bloomed in the next episode which wasn't a slay

1. episode 8 (7.5/10)

pros:

another elimination episode :D as mentioned before i enjoy eliminations and the suspense and yada yada yada

once again the intros were very fun and wholesome good stuff

i did quite enjoy watching the trainees go to their artist battle teams and their reactions every time someone joins them, like when the besties woongki and seowon ended up on the same team together or when everyone was so happy to see gunwook in en garde

planet camp tour was pretty fun, i liked seeing the trainees just vibing all around planet camp

the sports day segment was also super fun i loved it. lots of fun moments from the princesses to the chicken fight to the sudden genshin sponsorship

more gagged moments from this elimination, probably the most gagged i've been was when leejeong manifested ranking 23rd

funny moments:

the smn prank has got to be one of my favorite moments in the show. idk i just really like silly pranks like this LOL

hui practicing his why-i-should-be-leader speech in the bathroom is so funny to me like honestly mood

cons:

the training segments for the third mission were such a drag like dang why did you have to ruin a good episode like this smh (i mean granted it was less painful since the mentors didn't show up i think BUT STILL)

also some evil edits here with jingxiang (again) and ichan which were not a vibe

also this episode planted the seed to the mattbin smn conflict which lasted for an unnecessary two more episodes which was also not a vibe

this is all just my opinion no i don't take criticism thanks for reading

[quibbs126]

OH RIGHT THE FUSION PROJECT

I WAS SUPPOSED TO TALK ABOUT THAT

*groan* but I don’t really wanna right now, that’s a lot of stuff to get through. Like, if you thought my other original idea posts were long, you have no idea how long this would be. Made worse by the fact that there are so many plot points and I don’t know how to put them in a coherent format

But I did say I’d talk about it if people wanted me to, and people do

How about this, for now I’ll just give you the prologue of how I came up with it, since I should at least give people something

Okay, so backstory, I was in my Dragon Ball phase at the time. I was only ever able to get about halfway through the original series, just at the start of the 2nd Tenkaichi Budokai arc (random fact, I forgot the name of the tournament and just now had to look it up, and I got it mostly right other than me swapping the ending bits. Sorry I just thought it was funny), but I still knew what went down through people on YouTube. And Dragon Ball Z Abridged. I should go and watch it again sometime

Anyways, one thing I discovered and loved about the series was the fusion aspect, I really liked it, with Vegito being a favorite of mine and someone I often drew (sketchbook only though, so no Vegito art for you). I admit I liked the Potara method far more than the Fusion Dance method, considering the clothes combined too. One thing I also liked was how it fused the characters abilities, giving them both character’s abilities and even creating combinations of both. I also discovered the Fusions game, in which a bunch of the characters could be combined and fused, and all the different fusions that came with it

However, one thing that got to me is that with the majority of the main fighters, if they weren’t distinctly alien looking, not many of them would have fusions with much variation. Like yes, the designs would look distinct, but something that was a bit of a gripe for me was that a majority of the characters would have black hair and eyes, with the only major exceptions I can recall being the Androids, Videl and Mr Satan, and the Briefs family. While I generally don’t have a problem with this with the characters themselves, it makes fusing them a little boring in the looks department, since there’s not much to do

So one day in Physics class junior year, I was typing these thoughts on my computer, and I was struck with the idea to make my own shonen esque series with distinctly different characters, so I could fuse them all and make a bunch of designs?

And for all intents in purposes, that’s what it all started out as, just an excuse to make cool fusion designs. I made 10 characters, tried to give them all distinct looks and character archetypes, so that I could have fun fusing them and drawing those designs. Though soon after I started trying to develop some sort of story with them, though it was never more than a collection of general plot and character points

Though I do admit, I didn’t go too far with designs, as they’re all human, and it wasn’t until much later that I started to consider non human options

Looking back, I find myself wondering if I should just have stuck with that original idea. I do love combining characters to make new designs, that’s one of the reasons I like making fankids, but I also realize that other than the beginning, I never really did draw those fusions, focusing only on the characters on their own

Honestly maybe if I want to move forward with the fusion project, I just need to leave everything behind and start from scratch once more, going back to that original idea. I’m just not sure, especially since I do like a lot of the original characters and don’t want to just get rid of everything I made. But I also realize in my constant attempts to rewrite things, I may have made a mess of things, and might just have to start everything over again with that clean slate

But yeah, there’s your origins for the fusion project

…Actually you know what, I’ll be nice and leave you with some of the earliest art of the series, when I was creating the designs and not the story, including the very first lineup

…You know, I kind of just want to leave you with my art and designs and not have to go super in depth about all these characters and the world, sort of like what I did with when I showed off my Standswap drawings. But I also recognize that there, I had a pre-established world with Jojo’s that I didn’t need to explain, whereas here I’m the only one with the knowledge of all the characters. Hmm

[whumpcereal]

I posted 614 times in 2022

That's 614 more posts than 2021!

209 posts created (34%)

405 posts reblogged (66%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@darkthingshappen

@oddsconvert

@whumpcereal

@hold-him-down

@peachy-panic

I tagged 594 of my posts in 2022

Only 3% of my posts had no tags

#behavior modification - 144 posts

#jack kenyon oc - 117 posts

#joe prescott oc - 94 posts

#ivan peters oc - 63 posts

#i love asks - 54 posts

#whump writing - 53 posts

#whump - 40 posts

#poor sweet baby ben - 37 posts

#the kennel - 33 posts

#tw noncon - 33 posts

Longest Tag: 122 characters

#jake also needs to realize that he's human and that he couldn't have stopped any of what happened to benny that first time

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Joe giving Jack a bath, and Jack thinks Joe is going to hurt/violate him (early rescue).

content warnings for: bbu/bbu-adjacent content (including the actual unboxing), creepy/intimate whumper, vague references to past noncon and trauma, dubcon nudity, conditioned whumpee, brief emeto mention

Jack sits in the tub, his knees drawn up to his chest. He doesn’t like this bathroom. The lights are too bright, and it’s too small. From his place in the bath, Jack can see veins of yellow-orange cigarette residue poking through the cheap paint on the walls. The tub is shoved in the rear of the little room, bordered by a shower curtain that Jack doesn’t recognize. The toilet and vanity are crammed in practically on top of one another; there’s barely enough space on the floor in front of them for the pilly bathroom rug. 

It shouldn’t feel claustrophobic–Jack’s spent enough time in the leather sack to know it–but it does. 

This isn’t home. He’s supposed to be home. But maybe Joe wants to keep him separate. Maybe they aren’t going to live together anymore. He’ll keep Jack locked up here, so that he can use him whenever he wants. Until Jack’s proven himself. That’s why Joe brought him here. 

No. Joe didn’t bring him here. Jack was sent. Shipped, like they promised he would be. That’s why he’s in the bath. 

He hadn’t meant to make a mess. But he didn’t know how long he’d been in the box. It was too hot, and he’d been so dizzy. He didn’t mean to do it. 

That’s probably why Joe’s face looked the way it had when he pried off the box’s wooden lid. He thought Joe would be happy to see him, that Joe would be proud to see how good Jack learned to be–but he wasn’t. Joe hadn’t smiled. He hadn’t said anything. He’d just frozen, his face twisted into an expression that Jack didn’t know how to read. 

That’s when Jack realized he was covered in his own sick. 

“I’m s-sorry,” he’d said immediately. And then he remembered. “I’m sorry, sir.” His voice had sounded funny and far away, like he was hearing it from the next room. 

He had the distant feeling that he should have felt something, like he should have been excited to see Joe after the months apart. But he didn’t feel it. He was too disoriented. Too frightened. 

He didn’t think Joe felt it either. 

“Jesus Christ,” Joe had murmured. He’d barely even looked at Jack. “Jackie–oh, Jackie, no–” 

Joe broke to his knees then, and Jack knew: he’d fucked up. He hadn’t worked hard enough. He hadn’t done enough to change. 

It was all for nothing. 

Jack is nothing.

Joe took Jack out of the box and carried him straight to the bathroom. Joe left, but Jack waits in the tub because Joe told him to stay there, and Jack will do whatever Joe says. He has to. Maybe it won’t make things right, but it can’t make anything worse. He can show Joe what a good boy he is now.

The water plops into the bathtub, splashing as it collects on itself. It’s warm, and the feeling isn’t unpleasant. Ivan only ever hosed him down in the shower stall, and he never cared much if Jack was comfortable or all that clean.  It was more about what he could reach when Jack was tethered to the shower floor. What he could do. What he always did. What Jack was meant for. Is meant for. 

Joe must want that too. He does. Jack knows it. Ivan told him so. 

Jack hears something crash in a room he can’t identify, and Joe curses. Jack uncoils and lets his hands drop into the shallow water. He hitches his thumbs into his soggy boxer-briefs. They’re heavy with water when he pushes them away, a black wad in the corner of the dingy tub. Jack is heavy too. But still, he presses onto his hands and knees. Position ten. That’s Ivan’s favorite. 

Maybe Joe will like it too. He’s never had Jack this way before. 

Beneath the water, Jack’s wrists are shrunken and white without their leather cuffs. His joints tremble and his ears are warm, but he knows what he’s supposed to do. The skin on his fingers and toes starts to prune, and the water keeps pouring from the tap. 

Joe rounds the corner, and Jack closes his eyes. He can do this. He’s been selfish long enough. Joe deserves to have what he wants, and Jack can give it to him. 

“Okay. Okay, baby–Jack. Jackie. I’ve got–” There’s a soft thump as something hits the floor. “What–what are you doing?” 

It’s a direct question. Jack can answer. But he doesn’t. The tub’s non-slip bottom bites into his knees. He’s shaking. He can’t look. He can’t. 

He thought he could do this. He wanted to be good for Joe. 

He isn’t good. He is only afraid. 

But he doesn’t show it. He stays still, and he waits. 

Joe must turn off the water, because Jack doesn’t hear it anymore. 

“Jackie–” 

See the full post

104 notes - Posted September 1, 2022

#4

behavior modification

WRU has hired renowned behaviorist Dr. Ivan Peters to refine their training protocol for Romantic acquisitions. When Jack Kenyon--the brilliant young partner of one of Ivan’s med school rivals--applies to be Dr. Peters’ research assistant, he has no idea what he’s signing on for. Maybe reblog or leave a note if you feel so inclined? This is my first real whump offering, and I’m excited! 

part one: jack and ivan at dinner

content warnings for creepy whumper, implied future captivity and noncon, dehumanization, and vague references to childhood trauma and specific psychiatric disorders 

The restaurant is crowded, but not too loud. It isn’t the sort of place that ever gets out of hand. White linen table cloths, soft lighting, a gentle undercurrent of piano, polished stemware—everything exudes taste and class. Ivan knows it’s impressive; doing business here always gives him immediate caché with his potential interns. They want to be what he is. They want what he has.

Jack Kenyon is no different. At least, in theory. He is young and eager. He is looking to improve his resumé before applying to doctoral programs. He’s heard of Ivan’s work and wants to be a part of it.

But Jack Kenyon doesn’t know that he’s already been handpicked for a very special project.

Jack says all the right things, of course, and as he talks, Ivan lets his eyes move over the boy’s face, his body. Darling Jack takes pride in his appearance, that much is clear. Straight shoulders, lean jaw. Dark hair, thick, but neatly trimmed. Big blue eyes beneath a fringe of black lashes, the kind people always say are wasted on boys. Lips, sweet and pink; one corner lifts higher than the other when he speaks.

Ivan’s fly is tight just imagining what he’ll be able to do with those lips, the way those eyes will look up at him when sweet little Jack is on his knees where he belongs.

Ivan smiles at the thought and takes a careful sip of wine. “So, you’d want to focus on trauma work?”

“I do.” Jack nods eagerly. “I—it’s very important to me.”

He looks at Ivan for approval. It’s cute, Ivan thinks, how badly Jack already wants to please him. That will be useful. But Ivan will not tip his hand. Not yet.

“And why is it so important?”

It is a pointless question. Ivan already knows the answer. He’s done his research. But Ivan enjoys seeing the sudden alarm in Jack’s eyes anyway; it suits him. It is an animal’s unconditioned response.

“Oh, uh—”

“You don’t have to say, Jack. Not if you don’t want to.”

But darling Jack knows better. If he wants this position, he has to answer. And Jack wants this position.

At least, he thinks he does.

“No. It’s fine. I—well, I was in the system when I was a kid.”

“Foster care?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose you saw a lot of things.”

“I did,” Jack says softly. “I was a really angry kid. Oppositional-defiant disorder, intermittent explosive disorder—”

“Post-traumatic stress disorder?”

Jack nods, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Ivan’s seen the boy’s records, of course. Seven foster care placements before he was twelve, then a series of halfway houses and group homes until seventeen. And a stint in juvenile detention at thirteen, for attacking his foster father. The man had gone after Jack, and not for a beating. And Jack, sweet little Jack—he’d fought back.

Ivan hopes Jack still has some fight left in him. It’ll keep things interesting.

“But I got help,” Jack is saying. “There was—one of the group homes, it was actually run by someone who gave a shit—” he winces, and it’s adorable, “I’m sorry—someone who knew what they were doing. They hooked me up—connected me with my first counselor, and it was maybe the first time in my life I didn’t feel like what had happened to me was my fault. I—I’d like to do that for other kids—other people like me.”

Ivan nods. Jack will never do any of that, of course. But that doesn’t mean he won’t have his uses. Ivan will make sure of it.

“That’s a noble goal, Jack. To be of service.”

See the full post

109 notes - Posted May 5, 2022

#3

behavior modification, part eleven

&lt;previous, masterlist here

content warnings: EXPLICIT NONCON (touch & forced orgasm), adult language, creepy/intimate whumper, forced nudity, muzzles, restraints, stress positions, shock collars, dehumanization, humiliation, emotional manipulation, noncon kissing, implied future noncon

Thanks to @darkthingshappen for letting me run a few things by her!

part eleven, jack's consequences

“Now, you’ll stay this way until I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.” 

Fuck. Jack tries to shake his head, but the distended heft makes his neck feel like it’s going to snap. He can’t stay this way. He can’t. Jack may not be a doctor, but he’s damn sure that people aren’t supposed to be left upside-down. Ivan has to know that. Doesn’t he? He tries to look at Ivan, but he can’t get his eyes to focus. Too many shocks. 

Ivan’s phone rings. 

Please! Jack shrieks. The word rockets up his throat, but it doesn’t make it any further, because there’s a fucking metal plate trapping his tongue. The only sound that comes out is an animal’s groan. But they have to hear him! They have to!  

Jack tries again to raise his head, but he can’t. It weighs a fucking ton, and with his arms wrenched back the way they are, he has no way to brace himself–his entire body shakes with the effort. Of course, Ivan designed it that way. 

The thought traps Jack’s breath. 

He tugs at his cuffs, but the movement burns all the way down to his calves. Jesus.  He’s trussed like game, for Ivan’s pleasure. He’s mute, for Ivan’s pleasure. He’s burnt and sick and so fucking tired, for Ivan’s pleasure. And he can’t even scream. 

He tries to wrench his mouth open, but the bit stays in place, and the leather of his muzzle glues itself to his sweaty skin. For the millionth time in the last forty-eight hours, his eyes sting with tears–only this time, they run up instead of down. 

The phone rings again, and Ivan glares down at him. 

“Don’t. Make. A. Sound. Or I’ll push this button until you have more in common with a potato than a man.” 

The thing is, Jack knows he will. He’s already seen the way Ivan’s eyes light up in the split second before the collar throws him to the floor. 

But what Jack didn’t realize is that he already thinks it might be a relief. To disappear. To not feel everything that’s happening to him–or everything that will happen to him. 

Jack doesn’t know if he can take it. Not again. And he doesn’t know if it’s better to be good or bad. 

He swallows his whimper and lets his body go slack. The blood rushes to his head, but this time, he doesn’t fight it. 

Ivan nods at him and taps his screen. “Dr. Ivan Peters?” 

For a moment, the only thing Jack hears is the roar of the blood in his ears–and then Ivan’s breath hitches. 

“Oh, uh, hello, Sergeant.”

Sergeant. 

It’s the police. The police are looking for him. Joe is looking for him and– 

“Would you mind holding for just a moment, Sergeant Wade? I’m in the middle of some work, and I’d like to keep my hands free.” 

The police sergeant must assent, because Ivan lays his phone down on the floor next to Jack’s chair. He kneels down and cups the back of Jack’s head in his hand, raising it so that Jack can’t help but look into Ivan’s steely blue eyes. 

“Are you there, Sergeant?” 

Jack knows Ivan’s speaking to the person on the phone, but his gaze is for Jack alone. Don’t make a sound, Ivan mouths again.

“Yes, doctor.”  It’s a woman. The sergeant is a woman. Her voice is kind, Jack thinks. She’ll help him. He knows it.  “Sorry to interrupt your morning,” she says. “I’m calling in regards to a missing persons report on a Mr. Jack Kenyon.” 

Jack’s tears cut a salty path into his hair, but he manages to keep himself still. He squeezes his eyes shut. Joe knows–he knows Jack wouldn’t run off. Joe knows Jack. Joe loves him. Maybe–

See the full post

116 notes - Posted June 9, 2022

#2

Obligatory Intro Post

I’m Kay, and after lurking around whumblr for the past year or so, I decided to make my own discreet side-blog so that I could join in the fun too. Even though I didn’t know what “whump” was until very recently, I’ve been digging on whumperflies my whole life. You know that scene in Aladdin where Jasmine gets imprisoned in the giant hourglass? Yeah. It probably started there. The whump community seems pretty supportive of one another and enthusiastic about each other’s content, so I thought I’d give it a try. 

Favorite Whump Tropes: Thanks to tumblr, I’ve found that I like captivity whump, pet whump, intimate/creepy whumpers, psychological whump, and a lot of the nsfwhump content that bounces around out there. (My writing will include all of that and may also include some non/dub-con elements--heads up!). 

Things I’m Not Into: I’m not super into high fantasy stuff, but I’ll give anything a try if I like the writer. Generally, I’m not aware of my hard “no”s until I accidentally stumble onto them, so I suppose I’ll update that as I figure it out.  

Favorite Whump Blogs: Absolutely loving @darkthingshappen‘s “Brother’s Keeper” series right now. Fell deep in love with @ashintheairlikesnow‘s Daniel Michaelson months ago. Have reread @card-games-and-pain‘s “Lonely Barricade” and assorted sundries more times than is appropriate. Binged @deluxewhump‘s Zee stories and loved them all. 

I’ve got the first bits of my own saga outlined, and I’m looking forward to sharing them (soonish?). Until then, maybe I’ll post a random whump drabble to help introduce myself. 

Greetings, whumblr! 

121 notes - Posted May 1, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

behavior modification master list

WRU has hired renowned behaviorist Dr. Ivan Peters to refine their training protocol for Romantic acquisitions. When Jack Kenyon–the brilliant young partner of one of Ivan’s med school rivals–applies to be Dr. Peters’ research assistant, he has no idea what he’s signing on for. 

Please see individual chapters for detailed and specific content warnings. This story will contain noncon elements [*]; proceed with caution!

behavior modification pre-timeline content: organized in rough chronological order

past snippet: jack's fourteenth birthday

-/-/-

part one: jack and ivan at dinner

part two: jack and joe, before captivity

part three: jack's abduction

part four: ivan welcomes to jack to captivity

part five: worries for joe, bath time for jack

part six: jack's intake interview (part one)

part seven: jack's intake interview (part two)

part eight: past, present, and future

part nine: breakfast time

part ten: jack learns his positions

part eleven: jack's consequences*

part twelve: ivan's apology

part thirteen: jack's last chance to feel*

part fourteen: joe and his mother

part fifteen: prelude to punishment

part sixteen: jack's first treatment*

part seventeen: deprivation

part eighteen: jack loses joe

part nineteen: case notes*

part twenty: yes, sir*

drabble: statue*

drabble: bravo*

drabble: good boy, sweet boy*

-/-/-

See the full post

193 notes - Posted May 21, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →