#I'm thinking about getting those glasses to block blue light

[mr-cha-n]

Glass Towers

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genres: fluff, angst, smut, architect AU

Warnings: Profanities, drinking, angst, sexual content, penetration, mouth stuff (f. receiving), tension, yearning

Word Count: 18.2k

Summary: City lights are beautiful, but they're nothing compared to the spark between a hopelessly optimistic architect and his no-nonsense boss. He hopes.

Mingyu's always had a thing for the city skyline. He stands there, staring up like a tourist in his own city, while the lights blink back at him. He's convinced that the twinkling stars work overtime in the winter to brighten up the world for busy employees, wonderstruck sightseers, and homebound natives alike. 

And the people? Oh, don't get him started. City folk are like ants with a caffeine addiction, scurrying down streets wide enough to do doughnuts on (he's tempted), all on their own secret missions. Got places to be, people to bump into, lives to live. And every now and then, there's a stray tourist wandering around like they're decoding a map from a century-old pirate treasure hunt, or a food vendor desperately offering free samples and a good, if unique, conversation.

But, most of all, he's got a soft spot for buildings. Those skyscrapers that loom over everyone like friendly giants are his favourite. They're tall, dramatic, stoic - but also weirdly welcoming, like they're saying "Come on in, friend, there's an elevator with your name on it." Each one holds a mini-universe of people with no clue that they're all part of this giant city love affair. And honestly? That's what Mingyu loves most.

That is why he is practically vibrating with excitement as he makes his way to the towering glass-and-steel behemoth that houses his new firm. This building is the pinnacle of urban architecture. It has a shiny, almost reflective facade that makes every other building on the block look like they'd shown up to the party in sweatpants. Windows stretch floor to floor like a series of portals to success.

He's read about this building, of course. Brought it up in the interview for the position. Its architect was apparently a big deal who had once described it as "a dialogue between the earth and the sky." Which, as far as Mingyu is concerned, is just fancy architect-speak for, "Look at how absurdly tall I can make things."

Stepping inside, he is immediately hit with that professional smell - a mix of leather-bound sofas, artisanal coffee, and freshly printed documents. The lobby is decorated with minimalist sculptures that seem like they could either be priceless modern art or just very confusing coat ranks. Either way, Mingyu thinks they look amazing and decides that he'd probably best never trying to lean on one.

He stops at the reception desk, where a sharply dressed woman with an impressively unflappable expression sits.

"Good morning!" He says, a little too enthusiastically. "I'm Kim Mingyu. I'm starting as the new project architect, so you'll probably see a lot of confused-looking, lost-guy moments from me."

She raises an eyebrow, a faint smile quirking on the edge of her lips. "Good luck, Mr Kim. This building does tend to eat people up on their first day."

Mingyu lets out a small chuckle, unsure if she's joking or not, but he takes the smile on her face to signify that she is. After getting directions to his new office space, he makes a point of talking to every staff member he sees on the way, hoping to gain a little bit of familiarity with the new space. There's the security guard by the elevator, who gives him a quick nod of approval, the intern rushing by with a stack of blueprints precariously balanced like they are training for Cirque du Soleil, and the coffee cart guy, who looked positively thrilled to tell Mingyu that they're starting a 'Mocha Monday' deal, envisioning half-price mochas flying off the shelf to cure those start-of-week blues.

The elevator itself is sleek, fast, and almost comically over-engineered. Encased in glass and stainless steel, it features a control panel with buttons for every floor and amenities like a mini espresso machine, a retractable tablet and an adjustable lighting system for 'mood optimisation'. He barely has time to catch his breath before the elevator doors ding open, depositing him on the top floor. 

Waiting for him is Mr Choi, the firm's head partner, a man so put-together than even his cufflinks look like they could close a business deal. Mingyu recognises him instantly - the same piercing gaze from his interview, though today softened by the faintest hint of a smile. Or, well, something that might one day consider becoming a smile.

"Good to see you again, Mingyu," Mr Choi greets, his voice as smooth as marble. He gestures down the hallway, as if guiding him into an architectural wonderland (which, for all intents and purposes, he is). "Shall we?"

They pass through a maze of glass-walled offices and open spaces dotted with architects, designers, and enough blueprint paper to wrap the world's largest birthday present. As they reach Mr Choi's office, Mingyu makes sure to hold the door open for his new boss.

The space is less of an office and more of an architectural shrine, humming with the wisdom of ten thousand blueprints. The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the city, as if the whole skyline had been personally curated just to keep Mr Choi inspired. His desk - a sleek slab of dark walnut with edges so sharp they could probably slice bread - sits precisely in the centre of the room. On the walls sit framed sketches of the firm's most iconic projects, each one hung and lit like a small art gallery. The coffee table at the centre piles high with glossy architecture magazines and books with titles like The Future of Concrete and The Language of Buildings. It is as if every element in the room had been strategically selected to convey that Mr Choi is not just any architect. 

And, most stunning of all, is you. Tall, poised, and commanding a presence that immediately silences whatever joke Mingyu has mentally queued up to break the ice. You're seated across from Mr Choi's desk, reading through a thick stack of documents with the intensity of someone evaluating world-changing data - or possibly planning the most efficient way to dismantle a skyscraper with your mind. You don't look up when he enters.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," Mr Choi says, a hint of amusement in his voice, "this is Kim Mingyu, our newest project architect. He'll be working under you, as we discussed."

Finally, you look up. There's a flash of something unreadable in your eyes as you meet his, and Mingyu's heart skips a beat. You're beautiful, of course, but not in the approachable way he'd normally charm his way though. There's a quiet sharpness to you, like the edge of a blade hidden under silk. You nod, polite but detached, and extend a hand across the desk. Mingyu's hand is halfway to yours before he realises he's probably grinning too wide.

"Mr Kim," You say, your tone flat and calm. "Welcome to the team."

"Thank you, Ms (Y/l/n)," he replies, fighting the urge to launch into an unnecessarily enthusiastic monologue about how honoured he is to work with someone as formidable as you. Instead, he forces himself to stick with, "It's a pleasure to be here."

Your handshake is brief, controlled, and you retract your hand almost before he's registered the contact. Then you sit back, folding your arms with a measured kind of grace that makes Mingyu feel like he's just been granted an audience with a queen.

"We'll be starting you off on the Langham project," you say, consulting your papers as if double-checking this fact - or maybe just avoiding his eyes. "I'll be overseeing your work and guiding you through our procedures here. We have high standards, and I'll expect you to meet them."

"Of course!" He nods vigorously, attempting his best I-won't-let-you-down smile. "I'm up for any challenge, Ms (Y/l/n). High standards are, uh, my middle name."

You raise an eyebrow, looking slightly perplexed, as though wondering if he might be serious. Mr Choi clears his throat, breaking the silence with a faint smirk that betrays a hint of secondhand amusement.

"Ms (Y/l/n)," he continues, "has been with us for nearly a decade. She's an invaluable asset to the firm. I trust you'll learn a great deal from her."

Mingyu nods earnestly, glancing at you, but you're already back to scanning the documents as if he's drifted into background noise. He's mildly disappointed, though he can't exactly blame you - after all, he is juts the latest recruit with probably a hundred questions, and you seem like the type who doesn't have time for aimless chatter.

"Any questions before we begin?" you ask, in a tone that suggests the answer you're really hoping for is 'no.'

But of course, Mingyu has questions. Too many, probably. He opens his mouth to ask one, but then catches the faintest glint of what he thinks might be impatience in your eyes and quickly changes gears.

"Actually, no," he says, flashing a thumbs-up. "Good to go!"

You don’t seem particularly impressed by this, but there’s a flicker of something — amusement, maybe? — before you turn back to Mr. Choi. "Shall I take him to the Langham briefing room, then?"

Mr Choi waves you off with a nod, and you rise with a brisk elegance that makes Mingyu almost trip over himself in an effort to follow. You walk him through the halls with a calm, businesslike air, giving succinct, precise explanations as you go. Every step you take feels purposeful, every word perfectly chosen. Mingyu feels like an eager puppy trotting beside you, but he's determined to keep up.

As you reach the briefing room, he can't resist trying to break the ice one more time. "You know," he starts, grinning. "I really love the city skyline. It's kind of why I got into architecture."

You pause, giving him a look that manages to be both blank and withering at once. "Is that so?"Yeah!" He barrels on, encouraged by the fact that you responded at all. "It's like ... it's all a big love letter to everyone living here, you know? Every building, every floor, every light in the window - it's all just there, lighting up people's lives."

There's a moment of silence. Mingyu wonders if maybe he overdid it.

Finally, you nod, albeit with an expression he can't quite place. "That's an ... optimistic way of looking at it, Mr Kim."

Optimistic? Not exactly the response he was hoping for, but he'll take it. He smiles, trying to hide his excitement at the fact that you actually acknowledged his point. "I guess that’s me — hopelessly optimistic."

You glance at him with what he might, just might, dare to interpret as the tiniest hint of a smirk. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by your usual professional demeanour.

"Well," you say crisply, gesturing to the plans spread out on the table. "Let’s see if that optimism translates to effective project execution."

By the time Mingyu finally steps out of the firm's towering glass sanctuary, the city has dipped into that golden hour where the skyline looks like it's been dipped in honey. The streets are packed with people still racing to meetings, or dinners, or late-night escapades, but Mingyu feels like he's in his own little bubble, still buzzing from the whirlwind of his first day.

He's not sure what's more overwhelming - the Langham project itself, which already feels like it's going to stretch every ounce of his architectural prowess and patience, or you. The way you carried yourself like you were born in this building, with all its sharp edges and polished surfaces. He isn't sure how to keep up with that level of composure.

But there was something there, wasn't there? A flicker of something. Maybe you were just humouring him, but there was that slight tilt of your lips when he said something slightly amusing. Or the way your eyes lingered just a fraction longer than necessary when he spoke. Of course, he could just be imagining it. But Mingyu isn't about to let go of that feeling just yet.

The subway ride home does little to calm his excitement. He thinks about the massive pile of documents he's expected to digest tonight for the briefing tomorrow. As the train rumbles beneath the city, Mingyu cracks open his bag and pulls out the folder that was handed to him this morning - a mess of blueprints, floor plans and complicated notes that look like they were designed to break a person's will to live. 

But he's not scared, not by this at least. The only thing that kind of scares him is the realisation that you are going to be watching him closely. Judging. Monitoring. And if he’s being honest, he’s not sure if he’s ready for that sort of proximity.

The train screeches to a halt, and Mingyu exits at his stop, shaking off those thoughts. Tonight, he’ll just have to forget about all that for now and focus on getting some food in his stomach. Besides, he’s almost home.

Mingyu’s apartment building isn’t anything to write home about. It’s not a shiny, glass-covered marvel like the office, but it’s cozy and warm, with enough character to make him feel like he has a place to call his own. His apartment is on the fourth floor, up a narrow staircase that creaks with every step. As he pulls his key from his pocket and unlocks the door, the familiar smell of instant ramen and coffee hits him. His flatmate, Wonwoo, is already home.

Wonwoo’s there in the living room, sprawled across the couch with his laptop on his lap and a half-empty mug of coffee next to him. He’s the polar opposite of Mingyu in almost every way: quiet, reserved, and extremely not into architecture, but somehow they’ve been rooming together for the past few years without any major conflicts. Mingyu’s loud, chaotic energy and tendency to overshare perfectly balances Wonwoo’s brooding, half-mysterious vibe. It’s a friendship forged in caffeine and mutual understanding that sometimes, you need someone who won’t judge when you blast pop music at 2 AM, or when you eat cereal for dinner because you forgot to go grocery shopping.

"How’s the first day?" Wonwoo doesn’t look up from his screen, his voice cool and unbothered. But Mingyu can tell he’s asking out of a form of polite curiosity, like a scientist observing a very energetic specimen.

Mingyu drops his bag on the counter and flops onto the couch next to him. "It was ... intense," he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. "The project I'm gonna be working on is a beast. There's this whole ocean of details to sift through. And then there's Ms (Y/l/n)."

Wonwoo looks up, his brow slightly raised. "Your boss?"

"Yeah," Mingyu says, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "She's something else. Like she doesn't seem interested in me at all, and I'm not sure how to deal with that. But she's got this, like, presence. Makes you want to impress her, y'know? Even when she's totally stone-faced - especially when, actually."

Wonwoo hums noncommittally and takes a sip of his coffee, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "So, you're in love with your boss already. Good to know."

Mingyu shoots him a mock glare, his cheeks ringing with a hint of pink. "I'm not in love with her, okay? It's more like ... fascination. She's just really intimidating."

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, the picture of dry amusement. "Uh-huh. Sure. And what's her deal, anyway? Too professional for your flirty smile?"

"She doesn't seem flattered by it." Mingyu dramatically drops his head into his hands, mimicking a tragic melodrama. "I might have to rethink my whole life strategy if I can’t get her to crack a smile at my jokes."

"But hey," Wonwoo adds with a smirk, "if you want to survive your first week, I suggest you do not mention the city skyline and your theories about how it’s a love letter to people. That’s a hard pass."

Mingyu groans, covering his face in embarrassment. "I’m never telling you anything ever again."

Wonwoo chuckles, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied grin. "You love me and you know it."

Mingyu snorts. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’ve got work to do." He picks up the pile of documents, pulling them closer with a resigned sigh. "Gotta impress Ms (Y/l/n) somehow."

Gulping down a quick 'dinner' of left-over stir fry and a couple of eggs for good measure, Mingyu picks back up the Langham project folder, its content still a chaotic swirl of technical specs and words he can't read, and flips open the first few pages. The project itself is a massive undertaking - a luxury hotel and mixed-use complex nestled in the heart of the city, right by the river. The building is going to stretch twenty stories high, with glass facades that'll reflect the river's light like a prism. The design includes state-of-the-art amenities, with the goal of being the ultimate urban getaway - a haven for tourists, business moguls, and the occasional local who just wants to treat themselves to a little luxury.

Mingyu's eyes light up as he scans the proposed design. There's a grand atrium in the centre, stretching all the way up to the top floor, with cascading gardens and open-air terraces. "So fancy," he mutters to himself. His team is clearly trying to push boundaries here, blending modern steel and glass with organic elements - like a giant metallic tree-house hybrid for the city's elite.

He flips to a page filled with notes about sustainability and energy efficiency. They’re aiming for a platinum LEED certification — top-tier green building status. It’s all about using smart, eco-friendly tech to make the building as self-sustaining as possible. Mingyu groans inwardly, wondering if he’s about to become an expert on solar panels and rainwater harvesting.

As he continues reading, one particular detail catches his eye. The signature design element for the building is a series of “floating” glass bridges between the upper floors — a bold architectural statement meant to make the building appear less like a typical office block and more like something out of a futuristic movie. It sounds incredible, but Mingyu can already picture himself pulling his hair out over the engineering calculations required to make sure the whole thing doesn’t come crashing down in a windstorm.

By the time he reaches the end of the folder, his mind is spinning, and a mild panic starts to creep in. Your expectations are clear, and the project’s scope is enormous. But Mingyu can’t help the tiny spark of excitement that flickers in his chest. This is what he’s been working toward — to be a part of something that will change the city’s landscape, something that will make people stop and look up.

He rubs his eyes and glances at the clock. It's late, but he knows he'll need all the preparation he can get for tomorrow.

With one last long look at the papers, Mingyu closes the folder, shoving it aside with a resigned sigh. "I’m going to need a lot more coffee," he mutters, flopping back on the couch beside Wonwoo, who’s already half asleep with his laptop still glowing faintly in his lap.

Wonwoo snorts without opening his eyes. "You’re going to need more than coffee for this, buddy."

"Tell me about it," Mingyu grins, grabbing his phone to order another coffee, just in case he didn’t have enough already. Tonight, it looks like he’s going to be living on caffeine and architectural dreams.

A few weeks into the job, Mingyu has already made a significant number of mistakes. Well, significant is probably an understatement. More like a collection of blunders so impressive that, if anyone were to catalogue them, they might think Mingyu was trying to break some sort of world record in architectural mishaps.

It starts innocently enough, with a small miscalculation on the elevator shaft dimensions that nearly caused a minor freakout in the engineering department. Then there was that time he mixed up the load-bearing capacity for the glass facades and accidentally sent an email to the whole team saying, "We could use stronger glass" when technically, the existing plans were fine. And, of course, who could forget that time he got overzealous and rearranged the project's timeline, shaving an entire month off the construction schedule, only to realise later that it was a little bit too ambitious for anyone's taste?

He still hasn't lived down the elevator incident, which, for the record, wasn't even entirely his fault. But it's hard to explain that when your eyes are drilling into him from across the room, a careful blend of disappointment and 'I'm trying not to send you into an existential crisis right now.'

Today, he's perched at his desk watching the clock tick down the minutes until the inevitable meeting with you. His fingers drum nervously on the edge of his notepad. There's a fresh stack of papers in front of him, each one brimming with red-inked corrections, and he knows what's coming. He's almost perfected the art of nodding in silent shame during your critiques, hoping the earth might swallow him whole.

When the meeting finally comes, you walk into the room, as poised and unbothered as ever. He tries to stand up to greet you, but he stumbles into his chair instead, catching himself just in time.

"You've been busy," you say dryly, as you flip through the stack of appears, your eyes scanning the marked-up blueprints. Your tone is sharp, like an exam proctor giving him one last chance to pass without the lecture.

Mingyu forces a grin, wiping his palms against his pants. "Yep, learning a lot on the fly, you know?"

You don't smile. "You've certainly given us a lot to work with."

Mingyu winces, cracking for the inevitable storm of corrections. He can already feel the weight of your disappointment pressing down on him. He's been trying so hard to make a good impression, but it seems every time he tries, he only ends up making things more complicated.

But then, as if you've suddenly decided that maybe he hasn’t completely bungled everything, you pause, tapping your pen against the papers in front of you. “But there’s one thing...”

His heart stutters. "What's that?"

You flip to the last page in the folder, revealing a neatly detailed diagram of the building's eco-friendly water filtration system, a proposal Mingyu put together at the last minute after a rather inspiring lunch break (where he might have gotten just a little carried away talking to the environmental consultant). You tap the diagram. "This," you say, your voice softer than he's ever heard it, "This is well done. You identified a potential issue with the system that we hadn't accounted for in the original design. We'll need to revise a few things to integrate it fully, but this is exactly the kind of thinking we need."

Mingyu stares at you, completely caught off guard. His brain is still half-parked in panic mode from the earlier mistakes. and he can't quite process your words. Did you just ... praise him?

"Really?" He blinks, his surprise making his voice higher than usual. "You mean the, uh, water thing? I just thought it might be better if we-"

"I know," you interrupt, your gaze steady on him. "You found a solution we missed. We'll be able to integrate it without a massive redesign. Good work."

Mingyu blinks again, this time in pure disbelief. It's like someone just handed him a bag of cash and told him to keep it. "I - uh, wow. Thanks." He tries to act cool, but he's pretty sure he looks like a kid who's just been handed an extra cookie.

You don't break your composed demeanour, but there's a subtle shift in your expression - a quiet respect that wasn't there before. "You're capable, Mr Kim," you say, your voice calm but with a hint of approval. "Despite your tendency to make things a little more complicated than necessary, you're on the right track."

The words hang in the air for a moment, and Mingyu feels an odd rush of pride — a mix of relief and the kind of warmth you get when you find out you didn’t totally mess everything up. For once, he’s not the guy who ruins everything in your eyes.

And, maybe, just maybe, he can keep that “capable” label for a while.

“I’ll expect the revised plans on my desk by Friday,” you say, your voice steady. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t!” Mingyu promises, his voice more confident than it’s been in weeks. “I’m on it.”

Mingyu throws himself into revising the plans with a fervour that borders on obsession. He’s got spreadsheets, CAD files, hand-drawn sketches, and a brand new stack of sticky notes covering his desk like a rainbow-coloured fortress of architectural ambition. The water filtration system has turned into his personal magnum opus, and he’s determined to make sure it’s nothing short of revolutionary.

He's started to stay later than usual, his desk lamp becoming a beacon in the dimmed office. At first, he doesn't pay much attention to who else is around, his mind so wrapped up in calculations and potential pitfalls that he barely notices his own hunger or fatigue. But after a few nights, he realises he's not the only one burning the midnight oil.

Your office light is always on. Sometimes he'll glance up, bleary-eyed and half delirious from staring at documents, and he'll catch a glimpse of you through the glass walls - hair pulled back, eyes locked on your laptop screen, fingers tapping briskly on the keys as if your thoughts are sprinting ahead of your hands. You're a constant fixture, as much a part of the office's architecture as the polished marble floors and unbreakable glass doors. And, he realises, you're usually there even later than he is.

One evening, after finally signing off on what feels like the hundredth draft of the plans, Mingyu yawns and stretches, feeling every vertebra pop like bubble wrap. He glances at the clock. It's nearly midnight. As he stands to grab his coat, he sees your office light flick off, and you appear, looking just as composed as you did this morning, as if working fifteen hours straight is just part of your weekly routine.

You both walk to the elevator in silence, the quiet stretch of the office settling around you like an unspoken truce. When the elevator doors close, you glance at him, breaking the silence with a casual, "You're still here, Mr Kim."

He lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, still making sure I don't mess up the Langham project. You know how it is."

You don't smile, but your expression softens. "I do."

The elevator ride is quiet, filled with the low hum of machinery and the faintest scent of Mingyu's cologne - a last-ditch attempt this morning to feel professional. When you step out onto the ground floor, you hesitate by the door, glancing out at the street. The city is dark and quiet, the only lights the occasional passing car and the soft glow of streetlamps.

"Do you have a way home?" You ask, your voice so casual it takes him a second to realise you're actually offering him a ride.

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard. "Uh, well, I was going to take the subway. But if you're offering..." He trails off, grinning sheepishly.

You nod, motioning to the car parked just outside. It's as sleek and polished as you are - a dark sedan that looks like it would have absolutely no patience for speed bumps. He slides into the passenger seat, trying not to fumble with his seatbelt, and you start the engine, pulling into the quiet streets with a calm, practised ease.

For a while, you drive in silence. Mingyu glances out the window, his thoughts tangled between the day's work and the surreal feeling of sitting in the same car as you.

"You're ... very driven," you break the quiet, your tone almost contemplative. "I don't often see people put in that kind of effort, especially so early on."

He chuckles softly, scratching the back of his neck. "Guess I just don’t want to let you down. Or, you know, be known as the guy who destroyed the Langham project.”

You finally smile, a small, genuine expression that feels like a rare peek beyond the wall, and leaves Mingyu feeling a little breathless. "It's more than that, though, isn't it?"

Mingyu hesitates, taken aback by the question. He’s not sure what he expected you to say, but it definitely wasn’t that. “I mean, yeah. I’ve always loved buildings. Ever since I was a kid, I’d spend hours sketching skyscrapers in my notebooks. It’s kind of a dream come true, being here. Getting to work on something this big.”

You listen, your eyes fixed on the road but your expression soft, focusing now somewhere beyond just his words.

"This job can consume you, if you let it," you say quietly, almost to yourself. "It's a rare thing to see someone bring genuine excitement to it. Most people, they burn out or let it harden them." You glance at him, and for a brief moment, he sees a flicker of something almost vulnerable in your gaze. "It's good that you still ... care."

Your words hang in the air, and Mingyu feels a strange ache in his chest - a sudden realisation that beneath the cool professionalism, you had been through this same path yourself, fighting to keep that spark alive in an industry that seems determined to grind it out of you.

"Thanks," he says softly, the playful tone absent for once. "I mean it. And ... I think I get what you mean." He hesitates, then adds, "But I don't think I'll stop caring anytime soon."

You nod, a faint smile ghosting your lips. You drive on through the city, the lights casting soft, shifting patterns on the glass.

When you finally reach his building, he unbuckles his seatbelt, giving you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks for the ride. And, you know… for everything else.”

You nod, your expression back to usual, but there's a warmth in your eyes now. "Goodnight, Mr Kim."

"Goodnight," he says, stepping out and closing the door gently. He watches as you drive away, the taillights disappearing down the street, and feels a strange mixture of inspiration and relief, and a hunger to get back in the car and learn anything else he can about you.

It's a week before his presentation, and Mingyu is thrilled about his latest proposal for the Lagham project - a sleek, eco-friendly rooftop space designed to collect rainwater, enhance natural cooling, and serve as a green oasis in the middle of the city for all visitors to access. It's his baby, his architectural pièce de résistance. He’s already named the design “Green Above” in his head, but, apparently, the client is less than convinced.

The hesitation comes during a routine check-in meeting, when Mr. Choi casually drops the news that the client has “concerns.” The term is as vague as it is ominous, and Mingyu’s heart sinks. Apparently, they’re worried it’s too “experimental,” too “risky” for the firm’s conservative image. Mingyu tries to hide his disappointment, nodding as Mr. Choi politely recommends that he “polish up his pitch” before the big day.

By “polish,” of course, he means pull a miracle out of thin air.

Enter: you.

Later that afternoon, you call him into your office, the door clicking shut behind him as you gesture for him to sit. He braces himself, ready for another dissection of his work, but instead, you surprise him by pulling out his sketches and nodding. "The client might be wary," you say, your tone clinical and level, "but there's a strong case for this. You just need to learn how to show them the vision." You pause, looking at him. "I'll help you with that."

Mingyu blinks. "You'll help me present?"

"Yes, Mr Kim," you say. "We'll work on this every evening until you're confident enough to convince a room full of sceptics. You'll have to be better than good. Exceptional."

And so, every evening for the next week, Mingyu stays late in the conference room, rehearsing his proposal with you. The first night, he stumbles through the trial run, mumbling about sustainable design, only to have you stop him after two minutes, unimpressed.

"Start over," you say, tapping your pen against the table. "And this time, stop burying the lead. Walk in there and make me believe it's the best thing I've ever heard."

You're relentless but patient, correcting him when he gets too caught up in technical jargon, showing him how to highlight the benefits rather than the process. "This is a story," you tell him one evening. "Show that what it feels like. Make them see the vision before you go into how it works."

Somewhere around the fourth late night, you sit back into your chair after another dry run, watching him with an intensity that makes him nearly forget his lines.

“Stop talking like you’re trying to convince them you’re good enough,” you say, "You are. You have to believe it, or no one else will."

Mingyu blinks, the words landing with unexpected weight. You say it like it's a fact - as if there's no question about his abilities, just his confidence. Something in your gaze is softer than he's ever seen, and for the first time, he wonders how many long nights like these you've spent not just perfecting your work, but holding yourself up to impossible standards too.

He nods, taking a breath. “Right. Believe it.”

By the night before the presentation, he’d rehearsed the pitch so many times he could recite it in his sleep. You give him one last nod, a subtle flicker of approval in your eyes. "You're ready."

The day of the meeting dawns, and Mingyu arrives early, the faint taste of nerves tingling in his throat. When he enters the boardroom, the client representatives are all seated, an assortment of tailored suits and sceptical expressions. Mr. Choi offers a nod of encouragement from his place at the head of the table, and you stand nearby, arms folded, watching him with that same quiet intensity.

As he begins his pitch, Mingyu can feel his initial nerves settle, his voice steady as he moves through each point. He doesn’t just talk about “Green Above” like an idea on paper; he paints it as a vision, something meant to make the city’s skyline greener, bolder, better. He gestures to the architectural mockups, describing the rooftop garden as not just a feature but a destination, an asset that would be both functional and iconic.

He can tell, halfway through, that the room has shifted. The clients sit forward, nodding, leaning into his words, their initial scepticism melting as he lays out the plan. The numbers, the materials, the maintenance — it’s all there, practical but wrapped in the bigger picture he’s been rehearsing for nights on end.

When he finishes, the room is silent for a beat before the client’s lead representative nods, visibly impressed. “It’s… ambitious,” he says, almost smiling. “But I see what you mean. Let’s move forward.”

Mingyu grins, fighting the urge to fist pump as the clients exchange approving glances. He looks over at you, who gives him the slightest nod of approval. He can almost see a glimmer of pride in your expression, faint but undeniable.

As the room empties and the clients file out, Mingyu's heart is still racing, his whole body humming with triumph. He turns to you, grinning wide. "We did it," he says, his voice barely containing his excitement. "I mean ... I did it. But only because you..."

He trails off, realising just how close you're standing, the quiet of the empty room settling around you. Your gaze meets his, and for a moment, you don't look away. It's a long, lingering look, like you're seeing him not just as an employee or an eager architect but as… him. Someone who cares, who tries, who’s just won his first major victory and feels like he’s on top of the world.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice softer now, more vulnerable. “For all of it. I don’t think I could have pulled it off without you.”

You hesitate, your eyes flickering with something he can’t quite place. Your expression softens, your lips parting slightly as if your about to say something else. And in that moment, there’s a warmth between them, a shared understanding that words alone wouldn’t quite capture.

“Just… keep going,” you say finally, your voice so quiet it feels like a secret. “You’re more capable than you realize, Mingyu.”

The way you says his name — with that subtle, unfamiliar warmth — makes his heart skip. He nods, still holding your gaze, feeling the weight of everything you’ve shared in the past week in that single, electric second.

And then, as if the moment might disappear if you linger too long, you step back, your usual composure slipping back into place.

For the first time, Mingyu feels that maybe — just maybe — there’s more between them than late-night work sessions and professional boundaries. And as you walk side by side down the quiet hall, he can’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, you might be feeling it too.

Mingyu's gotten good at convincing himself he's not entirely losing it. So what if his boss, who barely blinks at a 15-hour day and thinks "weekends" are a suggestion, is suddenly occupying 90% of his mental bandwidth? That's just ... professional admiration. So when he finds himself thinking about you at odd times - like, mid-bite of his breakfast burrito, or what he's supposed to be learning zoning codes - he brushes it off. After all, it's normal to be totally absorbed by someone you admire.

One evening, after bringing home takeout and trying (again) to casually mention his most recent success, Wonwoo decides to drop a bomb. "I saw an article about your boss the other day, you know. Back when she first joined the firm. People in the comments kept talking about something called the Westbrook Project - ever heard of it?"

"Westbrook Project?" Mingyu repeats, a little too quickly, his brain scrambling. Nothing. He’s pretty sure he’s never heard the name before, but it’s his boss, so he’s probably supposed to know. After Wonwoo can't provide any more details, Mingyu does what any self-respecting architect does at 2 a.m. when faced with a mysterious professional tidbit: he Googles it. Expecting, like, a vague overview, maybe some old press releases. What he finds, though, are words like "abandoned," "budget issues," and, worst of all, "failure," with your name all over it. Ouch. Big, deep ouch.

The next day at work, Mingyu manages to strike up a casual conversation with the marketing guy who's practically the office encyclopedia. "Oh, the Westbrook Project?" he says with a knowing smirk. "I read the case files. It was supposed to be, like, revolutionary. Eco-forward, huge downtown build. A lot of drama when it got shut down. Man, Ms (Y/l/n) was obsessed with that thing. You've gotta respect someone who fights like that for their work." He laughs a little, but there's something almost pitying in his tone, like he doesn't quite know what to make of someone who has been through such a high-profile professional failure.

Mingyu's stomach drops as he realises that there's a whole side of you - this weight - he never saw before. He feels embarrassed for not knowing. But, maybe, it explains the way you hold yourself together, so careful with your words, so precise in every gesture. Because what happens when you give so much of yourself, and it still isn't enough?

Mingyu can't help but glance at you differently when you walk into the office. You're still the same, all business and poise, but there's a weight to you now that he hadn't noticed before. It's not his place to ask you about Westbrook, and he's not sure he could even bring it up without tripping over his own words.

So, Mingyu brings it up.

Not immediately, because he's not that much of a disaster. It's not the same day, or even the same week. It's one of those late nights when he's deep into pretending he's not panicking over math, and he's only going into your office to ask if you've seen the last-minute email from the client. 

Except. 

He sees the bottle of red on your desk.

It's sitting there, a little too casually, with half of it in a glass that's perched too close to your mouse. 

It's not that Mingyu thought you didn't drink. But seeing it there, on your desk, is like catching a glimpse of a teacher's pet outside of school. His brain starts spiralling. Are you getting drunk? Are you able to get drunk?

Still standing in the doorway like he's caught in some sort of personal disaster movie, Mingyu clears his throat. "Uh," he starts, because his brain is still stuck on you drinking alcohol in the office, "What's the deal with the wine?"

You glance up from your computer, completely unfazed. "Oh, this?" You wave a hand, almost like it’s nothing. “A gift from a client. They thought I needed something to ‘relax’ after all the late nights." You flash a teasing grin. "I didn’t think anyone else would be in the office this late, though."

Mingyu freezes again. Seeing a smile on your face is unnerving him. "Uh, well, yeah ... just ... I thought you were busy, y'know? I didn't want to disturb you," he stammers, as if that makes any sense. Of course you know he's here. He's always here. He's practically a fixture at this point.

You raise an eyebrow at him, clearly not fooled. “Sure you didn’t. Anyway, now that you’re here," you say, looking at him with a glint of curiosity, "what’s been keeping you up lately? Besides zoning codes and whatever else you’ve been trying to memorise, that is."

Mingyu, caught completely off guard by the question, opens his mouth to respond, but his brain, still fighting the urge to melt into the floor, can't form a proper sentence. His gaze flicks back to the wine bottle like it holds all the answers to his life right now. Finally, he blurts out, "Uhh... I’ve been, uh, thinking about the Green Above project. You know, the one we’re working on?"

“Right,” you nod, leaning back in your chair. “Big, green rooftop. You’ve got your hands full with that one.” You take a sip from your glass, and Mingyu swears the way your lips wrap around the rim is completely unfair to his focus. “What else?”

Mingyu, not used to people asking him personal questions that aren’t about work or how he’s planning on saving the planet with his architectural genius, scratches the back of his neck. “Uh... I mean, well, I’ve been wondering about... you. I mean, your—" he pauses, shaking his head, "your work, of course. Like, how you got into all this. You’ve clearly been through a lot, right?”

You chuckle softly, eyes softening for a brief moment. "A lot? Yeah, I guess you could say that. But that’s not what we’re talking about right now, is it?" You lean forward. "What's really going on, Mingyu?"

Mingyu’s mind is officially in crisis mode. He could barely form a sentence when talking about wine, and now you’ve flipped the tables. What is he even supposed to say?

“I—uh, well, it’s just... I’m curious,” he mutters, struggling to sound casual. He bites his lip, then his curiosity gets the best of him. “Wait, can I ask about something?”

You lean back again, clearly amused. “Go ahead.”

He takes a breath and gestures to the cabinet rested against the back wall of your office. "That picture there .. of a building, I think? It kind of looks like the Westbrook Project. Was it yours?” He winces as soon as he asks, knowing full well how awkward this must sound. But now he really wants to know, and he’s not sure he can keep pretending he hasn’t been thinking about it.

You blink, clearly not expecting him to ask, but then you just sigh and open your desk drawer, revealing an old architectural sketch, detailed and bold, with a city skyline in the background. “Yeah,” you say, voice quieter now. “It was.”

Mingyu swallows hard, his voice dropping to a more respectful tone. “What happened to it? The project, I mean... why didn’t it go through?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another slow sip of your wine, letting the moment stretch out. When you finally speak, your voice is calm but laced with something unspoken. “It was a good idea, just... not the right time. But that’s how it goes sometimes in this field. Things get started, and then... they don’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t say anything at first, processing what you’ve shared. “I get that,” he says softly. “I think I’ve been there too. You know, not everything works out exactly the way you expect.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, there’s this quiet weight in your expression, something raw you don’t usually let slip. The smile fades, but it’s not replaced with sadness—more like... an understanding, an acceptance.

“The Westbrook Project was supposed to be everything I’ve worked for,” you begin, your voice softer now, like the walls are coming down just a little. “My goal has always been to help the community, to build things that people can actually enjoy, not just walk by and forget. I wanted something that would be a part of the city, something that people could use—a space that felt like it belonged to everyone.” You stop, looking at the picture in the drawer for a moment as if it’s not just a sketch, but a piece of your heart. "The Westbrook Project was supposed to be the culmination of all that. The perfect mix of green spaces, architecture, and public access. I wanted to create something people would look at and feel like they were part of it, you know? Not just bystanders."

You take another slow breath, running a hand through your hair, looking a bit less put-together than usual, but somehow even more... real. “I think that’s the hardest part. It wasn’t just a project to me—it was everything I believed in. And when it got shut down... it felt like a piece of that belief just... crumbled.” You shake your head, almost laughing at yourself. “I know it sounds dramatic, but when you spend so much of your time fighting for something, putting everything into it... and it still isn’t enough... it makes you wonder what the point is.”

Mingyu watches you closely with a strange mix of admiration and empathy. For a second, he’s struck with the urge to reach out and say something comforting, but all he can manage is a quiet, "That... sounds incredible. You must have been really proud of it."

You nod, a small, wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I was. Still am, in a way. But life moves on, right?” You glance back at the bottle of wine, then take another sip, before setting it down and meeting Mingyu’s gaze again, this time with a lighter, almost teasing glint. "You want some?"

“Uh... yeah?” he says, but it comes out more like a question than a statement, as if he's still trying to make sure this is actually happening.

You pour him a glass, your movements slow and deliberate. Mingyu watches every little gesture, thinking that maybe if he looks at the wine long enough, it might just turn into something less dangerous. It doesn't.

He takes the glass from you, trying to act casual, but honestly? It's a miracle he doesn’t spill it everywhere. "Thanks," he mutters.

You smirk at him as if you know exactly what’s going on in his head, and for a moment, Mingyu wonders if you can hear it, too—the way his pulse skips whenever he looks at you. He takes a sip of the wine, hoping it will steady him. It doesn’t. It only makes him more aware of you, of the way your eyes glint in the dim light of the office, how close you’re sitting, how warm it feels in here all of a sudden.

“So,” you say, your voice dropping a little lower than before, “Now that we’ve gone through my failed projects, do you feel enlightened?”

Mingyu laughs, but it’s a little too breathless, a little too caught off guard. He leans back, trying to appear cool, but it’s hard to be anything but a mess when you’re so close and everything feels a little off in the best possible way. “Enlightened? I’m still figuring out if you’re real,” he admits, voice cracking just a bit.

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What does that mean?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze for a moment as his thoughts scatter in a dozen different directions. “It’s just ... you’re different than what I expected. I mean, you’re still, like, boss mode, but there’s this whole other side to you. Like, I don't know ... I think I’ve been seeing you as this untouchable, perfect person, and now I’m realising maybe I’m not the only one who’s human.”

You blink at him for a moment, and then—before he can get too embarrassed—something flickers across your face. Maybe it’s recognition. Maybe it’s something else. You lean in just slightly, the air between you thickening, but you don't break the distance just yet.

“I think,” you start slowly, “you might be onto something there, Mingyu.”

His breath hitches. He’s not sure if it’s the wine, the late hour, or the way your voice dropped that has him leaning forward a little. It’s all of it, really. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you reply, lips curling into a knowing smile. “You might find I’m not so untouchable, after all. But—” You pause, the tension rising as your eyes flicker down to his lips, then back to his eyes. “We’ll see if you can handle the reality of that.”

Mingyu’s mind is going full tilt now, brain in overdrive, as his hand involuntarily moves closer to yours on the desk. He's this close to spilling all his thoughts and feelings—about work, about the project, about the way you make him feel—but instead, he blurts out, “I—uh, I’m pretty good with challenges.”

The words hang there, thick in the air between you. And then, before Mingyu can think any more about it, you break the tension—just slightly—by leaning even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure you are.”

The space between you shrinks, just a little. And Mingyu, heart hammering in his chest, finds himself absolutely certain that if things don’t shift soon, this office might just catch fire from how hot it’s gotten in the last few minutes. The tension in the air is thick, like static before a storm. Mingyu’s hand hovers just a fraction too close to yours on the desk, his heart a jackhammer in his chest. He’s this close to losing all control, caught between wanting to say the right thing and just leaning in and kissing you. But what would that even mean? Would it be the worst decision of his life? Or the best?

His thoughts are a mess, but then—just like that—it’s like you’ve made up your mind for him. You close the space between you with a single, deliberate movement, your lips pressing softly against his.

Mingyu freezes for half a second, too stunned to process what’s happening. And then, without even thinking, he leans into the kiss, his hand moving to cup your jaw. It’s slow at first, soft, like neither of you can quite believe this is actually happening. Your lips are warm, and the taste of wine lingers on them—something sweet and intoxicating that has his head spinning.

You pull back just slightly, your breath brushing against his lips, and he feels his pulse race. You look at him, eyes dark with something unreadable. "You're not regretting this, are you?" you murmur, voice low.

“No,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “Definitely not regretting this.”

And then you’re kissing him again, deeper this time, your hands moving to his collar as if you’re suddenly both starved for this closeness. His fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and all he can think about is how right this feels, how every inch of him seems to have been made for this exact moment.

The kiss grows more urgent, more heated. His body presses into yours, the desk suddenly feeling too small, too far away. He wants you closer, needs you closer, and the way you move against him makes him ache with desire. He’s so lost in you, in this kiss, that everything else fades away—the Westbrook Project, work deadlines, the office. There’s only you, only this.

You're mumbling something and Mingyu's not sure he has the brain capacity to listen when he can feel your hands on his chest and your body pressed against his.

"... couldn't believe it when I saw you. I mean, who looks like this?"

His brain practically short-circuits at that. 

You’re grinning now, clearly enjoying his flustered reaction, and he can feel his cheeks heat up. But before he can manage a reply, you reach up, your hand grazing the back of his neck as you lean in again. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly his brain clears—just long enough for him to close the remaining distance between you two.

The kiss this time is less hesitant, filled with a kind of urgency that makes the room feel smaller, more intense. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you against him, and he feels your fingers twisting in his hair as if you can’t get enough either. Every brush of your lips sends another jolt through him, and he’s quickly losing any sense of professionalism or reason. He’s just Mingyu, in this moment, in this office, completely undone by you.

You’re mumbling again, half-laughing as he trails his lips down to the corner of your mouth and just slightly to your jawline. “I mean, really,” you manage between kisses, breathy but amused. “Did you even realise the effect you have?”

He lets out a breath of laughter against your skin, half a smirk forming. “I—I mean, maybe,” he says, but the words come out more as a gasp because you’ve got your hands back on him, your fingers trailing along his jaw in a way that has him melting. “I might have... kinda hoped, at least?”

“Oh?” Your voice is soft, teasing, and he catches a flash of that mischievous smile just before you lean in again, catching him in another kiss that’s more intense, more consuming than before.

Mingyu’s senses are a blur, but he manages to break away for just a second, eyes dark, a grin of his own tugging at his lips. “I think,” he says, his voice low, “I’d like to show you just how much I can handle.” His tone is playful but edged with a confidence he didn’t know he had until this very moment.

The moment is thick, like honey, everything moving slower and faster at once. Mingyu’s hands slip around your waist, and you’re tugging him closer, a little breathless, a little reckless. You’re both lost in the feeling of it, the thrill and warmth that seemed impossible just minutes ago.

But then—a sharp vibration echoes against the desk. The hum of your phone springs to life, startling you both. The screen lights up with an urgent notification, reminding you exactly where you are and what you’re doing.

You pull back, your lips just a whisper away from his, and a flicker of reality cuts through the haze of the moment. “Oh—” Your hands drop from his collar, fingertips brushing his chest as if the memory of the touch will fade otherwise. “Mingyu, I...”

His eyes meet yours, still dark and soft, a little dazed, a little too hopeful. But he pulls himself together, straightening and running a hand through his hair, somehow flustered and grinning at the same time. “Uh, right. Sorry,” he says, though it’s not clear who he’s apologising to.

You swallow, nodding as you try to steady yourself. “I—need to go,” you manage. “We both do, actually. It’s...late.”

Mingyu blinks, nodding, though he can't help the hint of disappointment beneath his expression. “Right. Of course. We probably... shouldn’t even be here right now.” He laughs awkwardly, scratching the back of his head as if that could somehow erase the last few minutes. “Guess I should close up?”

You nod, and he watches your hand move to your chest, as if to catch your pulse before it runs off. “Yeah, let’s...do that.”

As you step out of the office, you glance back one last time, catching his eye in the dim light. “Goodnight, Mingyu.”

His gaze is steady, his voice warm. “Goodnight.”

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mingyu stands there, staring at it as if it might magically swing back open. For a moment, he doesn’t move, too stunned to process the fact that you were just here, inches away, closer than he ever thought possible, and then—gone. The warmth of you, the softness of your touch, is still buzzing on his skin, and it’s taking everything in him to not replay every single second in his mind.

He lets out a shaky breath and rubs his face, laughing softly to himself. “Wow,” he mutters, barely believing it. Did that really just happen? His boss—the woman he’s spent months trying not to have a full-on crisis over every time she looks at him—just kissed him. And it wasn’t just a peck; it was real, and his head is still spinning.

He paces the office, catching his reflection in the dark window. His hair’s a mess, his shirt collar a little crumpled, and the look on his face is somewhere between ecstatic and completely lost. He feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff—excited but terrified, staring down into something he can’t quite see.

“Okay, pull it together, man,” he whispers, clutching the edge of his desk like it might hold him steady. But he can’t shake the lingering feeling of your hands against him, the way your voice softened as you spoke to him about your dreams, how for a moment, he felt like he’d glimpsed something real and vulnerable and human in you. It’s like he’s been handed the answer to a riddle he didn’t even know he was solving.

He glances back at the empty doorway and smiles, a little helplessly. Because he knows—there’s no going back from this.

On Monday, Mingyu is ready. He's had days to replay every single second of that kiss, dissecting the tiniest details: the way you'd smiled before leaning in, the way you'd pulled back just a bit only to close the gap even tighter the next time. He’s convinced there’s no way you could look at him the same after that. He’s barely looked at himself the same.

So when he walks into the office Monday morning, there's this nervous excitement buzzing in his chest. He expects maybe a shared look or even a subtle nod, something that says 'yeah, we're definitely not forgetting that happened'. But he doesn't get that. In fact, he doesn't get much of anything.

“Uh, good morning,” he finally says, attempting a smile, hoping to break whatever tension he’s imagining.

“Morning,” you say briskly, barely looking up. “Did you get the updated renderings for the Green Above project?”

Mingyu blinks, caught off guard by how quickly you’ve brushed him off. “Yeah, I—um, they should be in your inbox. I, uh, made some adjustments you might want to look at.”

“Great. I’ll check later,” you say, curtly, already turning back to your computer. It’s not even like you’re being rude, exactly; just… distant. Professional. Totally not how you’d looked at him last week when he’d practically melted into you against this very desk.

The day drags on with more of the same. Every time he tries to catch your eye, you’re looking somewhere else. Every attempt at a lighthearted comment, something to bridge the gap, lands with a dull thud. By mid-afternoon, Mingyu’s just staring at his computer screen, feeling completely lost. Did he imagine everything? Because suddenly, it feels like he’s reading way too much into every little thing, wondering if the smile you’d given him that night was all in his head.

By the end of the day, he can’t take it anymore. He decides to be subtle—or something like that—and casually leans into your office as you’re gathering your things.

“Hey, um… are we good?” He tries to keep his voice light, but there’s an edge of worry there that he can’t quite hide. “It feels like—well, last week was—”

You glance up sharply, your expression guarded. “We’re fine, Mingyu,” you say, with a tone that’s just a little too even. “You’re doing great on the project. Keep up the good work.”

There’s that polished professional mask again, and this time it feels like a wall. Mingyu’s stomach twists, and he can’t help but feel a sting in his chest. He nods, trying to ignore the disappointment sinking in. "Right. Yeah, I’ll, uh… keep that up.”

And just like that, you walk past him, your footsteps echoing down the hallway as you head out for the night, leaving him standing there, staring after you, wondering what just went wrong.

It’s Thursday, and Mingyu’s still thinking about every clipped interaction you’ve had all week. He’s convinced he’s somehow messed everything up, but he’s not sure how. By lunchtime, he’s already halfway through a takeout sandwich in the break room when some of the other junior architects drift in, plates and coffees in hand. He’s only half-listening to their conversation, until, like a magnet, he hears your name.

“Did you see how she restructured the timeline?” One of them—Hyun, a friend from Mingyu’s first week—says, rolling his eyes. “Feels like she’s trying to prove something to everyone.”

Another snorts. “Yeah, she’s always like that. Like she has to make everything harder just to remind us she’s the boss.”

Mingyu freezes mid-bite, a flicker of irritation flaring in his chest. He’d learned more from working with you in the past few months than he could’ve in years of grad school. You didn’t ask anyone to work harder than you did yourself, and Mingyu’s certain no one stays later or puts in more effort than you do.

“Maybe she just actually cares about the projects,” Mingyu snaps, dropping his sandwich. The room goes a bit quiet, a few heads turning his way in surprise. “I mean, do you guys know how much time she’s spent on this? She’s doing half of our jobs for us so we don’t mess it up.”

Hyun raises an eyebrow. "Calm down, Mingyu. Everyone knows she's intense."

“‘Intense’ doesn’t mean you have to talk about her like that,” Mingyu says, his voice a bit sharper than he means it to be. “Maybe if people here actually appreciated all the work she does, she wouldn’t have to be so ‘intense’ to get things done.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, everyone looking at him like he’s suddenly sprouted a second head. Hyun mutters, "That's easy to say when you're the one getting special favours from her."

Mingyu's jaw clenches, the insinuation making his blood boil.  Special favours? He opens his mouth to snap back, but then catches himself. Getting defensive will only make things worse, and he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation for the late nights or the extra hours you’ve spent on his work. The truth is, he’s learned more from those “extra” moments than he could ever explain to Hyun and the others.

“Look,” he says, keeping his voice as steady as he can. “If you guys actually put in half the effort she does, you’d see it’s not about favourites. It’s about getting things right. Maybe if you tried it sometime, you’d get the same attention.”

Hyun snorts, clearly unconvinced. “Right. Must be nice, though, always getting her undivided attention. Pretty convenient, huh?”

The others chuckle, and Mingyu feels his face flush. He glances down, jaw set tight as he clenches his fists under the table. He can feel the weight of their stares and half-smirks, their words pressing in on him like a slow burn he can’t shake off.

The door swings open just then, and he catches sight of you standing there, eyes narrowed, a faint frown on your face. His heart drops, and suddenly he realizes you must have heard—possibly all of it.

“Can I talk to you for a second, Mingyu?” Your tone is measured, calm, but he can tell there’s something icy underneath. The others exchange looks, clearly ready to gossip the second you both leave.

Mingyu follows you out of the room, feeling a sense of dread settle in his stomach. As soon as you’re out of earshot, you turn to him, arms crossed.

“So is that how you’re spending your lunch breaks now?” you ask, a cool edge to your voice. “Defending me in the office cafeteria?”

Mingyu swallows, unsure how to respond. “I just… didn’t think they should be talking about you like that,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady, even though he can feel the intensity of your gaze. “It wasn’t right.”

You sigh, pressing your lips together, something almost unreadable flickering across your face. “I don’t need you to defend me, Mingyu,” you say, your tone firm. “I’ve been doing this job long enough to handle what people say behind my back. You’re here to do your job, not to play protector.”

Mingyu’s jaw clenches. He wants to argue, to tell you that maybe you don’t need anyone’s help, but that doesn’t mean you deserve to be dragged through the mud behind your back. But something in your expression stops him. He nods, swallowing back whatever words were fighting their way to the surface. “Got it,” he says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “It won’t happen again.”

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but then you just shake your head, walking away with a tense set to your shoulders. He watches you go, the frustration and confusion still churning inside him, wondering just how much further away you both seem to get with every step.

Later that evening, Mingyu slumps into the apartment, looking so defeated that Wonwoo’s expression goes from mildly bored to instantly entertained. “Let me guess. It’s about your boss?” Wonwoo doesn’t even wait for confirmation before tossing him a soda. “You’re like a walking rom-com.”

Mingyu sighs, collapsing on the couch. “Wonwoo, I think she hates me. I mean, really hates me.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “And here I thought you two were practically having candlelit takeout dinners in her office.”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, deflating. “Yeah, well, that was before I kissed her.”

Wonwoo’s phone slides out of his hand, falling onto the couch like a lead balloon. “You what?”

Mingyu nods slowly, a rueful look on his face. “We were working late. It just—happened, okay? And now she’s all distant. Like, avoid me at all costs distant.”

“You kissed your boss?” Wonwoo repeats, still processing. He’s looking at Mingyu like he’s a particularly unsolvable math problem. “As in, the one you worship and whose entire life story you’ve googled?”

“Yes, that one,” Mingyu mutters, covering his face with his hands. “And it was incredible. Like, the kind of kiss that makes you think about life and all your choices and, you know… stuff.” He trails off, his voice a bit dreamy despite himself. “But then, after that, she started acting all cold, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Wonwoo stares at him, baffled. “Did you, uh, talk to her about it? You know, use words and stuff?”

Mingyu gives him a look. “Of course I tried talking to her. But she’s been all serious and professional and—ugh.” He sinks deeper into the couch. “And today, I may or may not have defended her in front of everyone. Like, really aggressively.”

Wonwoo groans. “You really know how to complicate things, don’t you?”

“Look, it just came out! They were acting like she’s some kind of boss robot or something. I just couldn’t listen to it.” Mingyu shakes his head. “And of course, she overheard it and was not happy. Told me she doesn’t need someone to protect her.”

Wonwoo considers this, eyebrows furrowed. “So basically, you kissed her, defended her honour, and now you think you ruined everything because she’s distant?”

“Exactly,” Mingyu sighs. “I feel like I messed it all up, and now she thinks I’m just some junior architect with a crush or something.”

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow. “I mean, to be fair, you kind of are a junior architect with a crush.”

“Thanks, Wonwoo. Really needed that.” Mingyu glares at him, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

Wonwoo nudges him, his tone a little lighter now. “Look, man, maybe she just needs to know it was more than a one-time, late-night thing for you. Like, a serious talk. But not at the office, where everything’s so formal. Just the two of you.”

Mingyu’s eyes light up. “A serious talk… outside of work. Like, maybe over coffee?”

“Or dinner. Or anything where you can show her that you’re interested in more than work. Just, you know, don’t do that thing where you panic and say something weird.”

Mingyu sighs dramatically. “So, no pressure.”

Wonwoo grins, giving him a slap on the back. “You’ve got this, Romeo. Go win her over.”

Mingyu stands in front of your office door, hands nervously tugging at his sleeves like he's preparing for a public execution. He’s been rehearsing this moment for the last twenty minutes—while staring at his desk like it could offer him some sort of guidance—and he still has no idea what he’s doing. He only knows that if he doesn't get his foot in the door right now, he's going to spend the rest of the day overthinking this until his brain short circuits.

So, he knocks.

And of course, you don’t answer immediately. He stands there like a complete idiot, holding his breath for about five seconds before taking the most awkward step inside. Your eyes flick up to him, and for a second, he’s sure his heart is going to stop.

“Oh. Mingyu.” You sound surprised. Great. That’s just what he needed. "What do you need?"

He smiles, too big, too eager. This is fine. “Hey! So, um, I was thinking—”

“Uh oh,” you mutter, narrowing your eyes as if you already know where this is going.

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s nothing bad,” he says quickly, forcing himself to sound more convincing than he feels. “I just, you know… you’ve been working super hard, and I was thinking, you deserve a break. So, what do you say? Dinner? You and me, tonight.”

You blink at him like he just asked if you wanted to run through the streets naked.

“Dinner? With you?” You tilt your head, looking him up and down, clearly trying to figure out if he’s joking or if his brain’s just melted from exhaustion.

"Yup!" Mingyu says, definitely a little too loud and way too enthusiastic. “Yeah, just dinner. No work talk, no presentations, just a chance to unwind, you know?” He grins like he's already won, but there’s something in your gaze that makes him freeze up.

You raise an eyebrow, studying him carefully. The air between you two is thick with that awkward tension, like you’re both trying to figure out if this is a professional gesture or something else entirely. Mingyu can feel the temperature in the room rise, and his stomach does a somersault as he waits for you to respond.

“Are you… serious right now?” You finally ask, your tone a mix of confusion and cautious curiosity.

Mingyu’s heart stutters in his chest. “Of course, I’m serious,” he says quickly, voice cracking slightly as his nerves get the best of him. “I mean, it’s not like—uh, it’s not like I want anything weird to happen. It’s just dinner. With two people who both happen to work in the same office. Completely normal, right?” He laughs a little too loudly, and it sounds forced, like someone desperately trying to convince themselves of something they don’t believe.

You’re silent for a moment, and Mingyu’s brain spins with overthinking. Should he apologise? Should he leave before this gets even more awkward? Why did he even think this was a good idea? His palms are sweating, his throat dry, and he feels like he might pass out from sheer mortification.

You lean back in your chair, still watching him, and for a second, Mingyu is sure you’re about to shut him down completely. But then, something shifts in your expression—just the faintest flicker of amusement, like you’re trying not to let it show.

“Dinner,” you repeat, almost like you’re testing the word, as though it’s foreign or absurd coming from him. “No work talk?”

“No work talk,” Mingyu confirms, nodding so hard he might give himself whiplash. “I promise. Just good food and maybe a chance to, you know, talk about literally anything else.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smirks, and Mingyu swears the room feels a little less tense. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that.”

He grins, a spark of hope lighting up his chest. “I like to think of it as... enthusiastic.”

You shake your head, clearly amused now, though you’re doing your best to hide it. “Fine,” you say, leaning forward to jot something on a sticky note. “Dinner."

Mingyu’s heart leaps, and he barely resists the urge to fist pump right there in your office. “Deal!” he says, grinning so wide it’s a wonder his face doesn’t hurt. “Seven o’clock?”

“Seven,” you agree, handing him the sticky note with an address scribbled on it. “Don’t be late, Mingyu.”

He takes the note like it’s a golden ticket, clutching it in his hand as if it might disappear. “I won’t. I’ll see you there.”

As he walks out of your office, he can’t help the goofy smile plastered across his face.

By the time the evening rolls around, Mingyu is pacing outside the restaurant like a man on the edge. He’s checked his watch twice, his phone four times, and stared at the sidewalk so long he’s convinced it’s going to start judging him soon. Late. You're late. Or maybe he’s just early. Impossible to say when your nerves feel like they’re hosting a small rave in your chest.

After all, there’s something about you that makes him want to try harder. Maybe too hard, but he’s finally learned that no one gets anywhere by waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. So, here he is, standing outside the restaurant, pacing like a nervous wreck while waiting for you to arrive.

He’s tried to stay calm, really. Spent the entire afternoon mentally drafting this… whatever this dinner is supposed to be. Not a date (probably). Not a work meeting (definitely). Just dinner. Dinner with the one person who’s managed to turn him into a bundle of energy and chaos masquerading as a fully functional adult.

And then, right as he’s about to dial his mom and ask for advice (because that’s clearly what any reasonable person would do), he sees you.

You walk up with that confident stride, the one that always makes his heart skip a beat, and Mingyu feels himself freeze for a moment, completely forgetting everything he’s planned to say. You've changed and you look good. Too good for a casual dinner, but that’s a problem for another time.

“Hey,” you greet him with a smile, your eyes soft, but not quite soft enough for him to completely relax. “I didn’t expect you to actually show up on time.”

Mingyu laughs, awkwardly tugging at his shirt. “I like to be punctual. It’s kind of a thing.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment on the obvious lie, allowing the small banter to settle between you like a cushion. Instead, you let him open the restaurant door for you, falling into that casual rhythm that somehow feels more natural than the air he’s been breathing all day.

The dinner itself is nice. Too nice. No weird silences, no work talk, just good food and easy conversation. And yet, there’s a weight in the room that Mingyu can’t shake. It’s been lingering ever since the kiss—the kiss—and he knows he can’t keep tiptoeing around it forever. So as the plates are cleared and the server drops off the check, he reaches into his bag, pulling out the rolled-up plans he’s been carrying like a talisman.

He sets them on the table, his hands a little too careful, his heart racing like it’s bracing for impact.

“Okay, now you’re being mysterious,” you say, the smallest hint of amusement curling your lips.

Mingyu’s throat goes dry, but he pushes forward, unrolling the designs and smoothing them out between the two of you. “I know I said no work talk,” he starts, his voice steady despite the storm in his chest, “but… I’ve been working on this. And I thought you should see it.”

Your eyes drop to the papers, and he watches as your expression shifts. At first, there’s curiosity, then recognition, and finally… something deeper. Something he can’t quite name but feels in the way your fingers tremble slightly as they trace the edges of the designs with a reverence he didn’t know he could envy. Your fingers are delicate but deliberate, the way you touch the plans like they might vanish under too much pressure. Mingyu’s heart is pounding so loudly he's surprised you can’t hear it across the table.

“Where did you get these?” Your voice comes out hoarse, more vulnerable than you mean it to be.

“I’ve been working on them for a while,” Mingyu admits, leaning forward, his hands clasped on the table. “After you talked about the Westbrook Project that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About how much it mattered to you. I wanted to do something with it. Something for you.”

You blink, unsure how to process this. “But how did you know?”

“I just—” Mingyu hesitates, then shrugs. “I listened. I saw it. The way you talked about it that night, the passion you put into your projects. I wanted to give it the respect it deserves. I couldn’t let it just end with a ‘no’.”

You stare at the designs again, looking like you've been hit by a wave of nostalgia and shock. "You really... did this for me?”

“I did,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours. “And I think it could be something we could do together. If you’re interested.”

You pause, the space between you thick with emotion, something unspoken hanging in the air. Finally, you swallow and look at him, searching his face as if trying to make sure this is real.

“I... I don’t know what to say, Mingyu.” Your voice cracks, and you can’t quite hide the emotion that’s flooding through you. “You’ve—this is everything I’ve been trying to do. But I didn’t think anyone else could see it.”

He sits up straighter, his hands resting on the edge of the table as he tries to keep his voice steady. "I just didn't want you to let go of something so important," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "It deserves another chance. You deserve another chance."

He doesn't know where he finds the courage to say those words. They sound so earnest. Almost embarrassingly so. But, it's the truth, and if there's one thing he's learned from you, it's that honesty - no matter how uncomfortable - is the foundation of anything worth building.

Your breath catches, and for a moment, the restaurant fades away—the low hum of conversation, the soft clink of silverware, all of it. It's just you and Mingyu, sitting across from each other, separated by a stack of papers and an ocean of unspoken feelings.

"Mingyu..." You start, but the words get caught in your throat.

You look down, the faintest hint of a tremble in your hands. And Mingyu, who had been prepared for you to shut him down, to dismiss this moment as anything but professional, has to fight the urge to reach across the table and take your hand. He doesn't, of course. He can't. Not yet.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on the table. He's not used to this - seeing you so vulnerable - and he just wants to take some of that pressure off your back. "Look, I know I’m not perfect. I mess up, I talk too much, and I probably drive you crazy most of the time. But I see you, (Y/n). I see how much you care, how much you put into everything you do. And I don’t just admire that—I... I want to be part of it. To be there for you."

Your lips part in surprise. "I don’t know how to do this," you admit, your voice trembling slightly. "I’ve spent so long trying to keep everything together. To keep people at a distance. And now—"

"You don’t have to figure it all out right now," Mingyu says softly, sensing the spiral of doubt you appear to be descending into.  "We can take it slow. One step at a time. I just... I needed you to know how I feel."

For a long moment, you don’t move. But then, slowly, you let your hand inch toward his, your fingertips brushing against his palm.

It’s small. Tentative. But it’s enough.

Mingyu barely breathes as your fingers brush his. It’s such a simple gesture, but it sends a jolt straight through him, grounding him in this moment that feels impossibly fragile. He wraps his hand gently around yours, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles. It’s all he can do to keep himself steady when every nerve in his body is screaming at him to close the distance completely.

You don’t pull away, and that feels like a victory in itself. But when you look up at him again, your eyes are brimming with something he can’t quite name—fear, maybe, or hesitation—but also something softer, warmer, that gives him just enough hope to hold on.

“Mingyu,” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You glance down at your joined hands, your brows furrowing slightly as though you’re gathering the courage to say something that’s been weighing on you. “After the kiss... I didn't know what to do.”

His heart skips a beat at the mention of it, the memory still fresh in his mind—the way your lips had felt against his, the way the world had seemed to tilt on its axis for just a moment. He doesn’t say anything, though, afraid that if he interrupts, you’ll stop.

“I started acting cold because...” You take a shaky breath, your fingers tightening slightly around his. “Because I didn’t know how to handle it. How to handle you.”

Mingyu blinks, his chest tightening at your words. “Me?” His voice is soft, cautious. He doesn’t want to push too hard, but he needs to understand.

You nod, your gaze flickering back to his, vulnerable but resolute. “You scare me, Mingyu. Not in a bad way, but... in a way I’ve never felt before. You’re so open, so sincere. You make everything seem so easy, like it’s natural to just—feel. And for me, that’s... terrifying.”

He watches you, his heart breaking a little with every word. He wants to say something, to tell you that you don’t have to be scared, but he knows this isn’t the time. He needs to let you finish.

“I’ve spent so long keeping people at arm’s length,” you admit, your voice trembling. “It’s just easier that way. I don’t get hurt, and I don’t hurt anyone else. But then you came along, with your ridiculous optimism and your... your kindness, and suddenly I didn’t know how to keep you out. And that kiss—it made me realise I can’t.”

Mingyu doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know if there’s anything he can say to match the weight of what you’re giving him. So he squeezes your hand, letting his touch say what his words can’t.

“I didn’t mean to push you away,” you continue, your voice soft but unsteady. “But I thought if I could convince myself it didn’t matter, that you didn’t matter, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if it all fell apart.”

Mingyu shakes his head slowly, his grip on your hand firm but gentle. “You don’t have to protect yourself from me,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’m not going anywhere."

You look at him, your eyes searching his for something—reassurance, maybe, or proof that he’s not just saying what he thinks you want to hear. Whatever it is, you seem to find it, because your shoulders relax just a fraction, and a small, almost imperceptible smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you repeat, your voice barely audible. “But I think... I think I want to try.”

And that’s it. That’s all Mingyu needs. His chest swells with something that feels suspiciously like hope, and he leans in just enough. "I don't need perfect. I just need you, the way you are, right here, right now."

For a moment, there’s silence. Not the awkward kind—the kind where the world feels like it’s holding its breath just for you. Mingyu’s words hang in the air, his thumb still brushing over your knuckles, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he stops. His heart is doing that thing again, where it feels way too big for his chest, and honestly, he’s not sure if that’s romantic or just a pending medical emergency.

You glance down, exhaling softly, and then look back up at him with that small, tentative smile that could single-handedly knock him off his chair. “Do you...” You pause, biting your lip like you’re still deciding if this is a terrible idea or just a regular bad one. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Mingyu’s brain short-circuits.

Like, fully shuts down. There’s no reboot happening here. Just static, a faint buzzing sound, and a very unfortunate replay of every romantic comedy scene he’s ever watched where the male lead trips over his own words and ruins everything.

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Great. Perfect. Ideal response.

“Mingyu?” you ask, your tone softer now, like you’re worried you might’ve just set his brain on fire.

“I—uh—yes? I mean, yes!” He blurts it out, too loud, and the couple at the next table glance over like they’re wondering if he’s okay. He’s not, but that’s beside the point.

You laugh, and the sound feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. “You’re sure?” you ask, your tone teasing but warm.

“Absolutely,” he says, sitting up straighter, like he’s about to sign an unbreakable contract. “I am very sure. Extremely sure. Couldn’t be more sure.”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his spiral. “Okay, then.”

You stand, and Mingyu scrambles to follow, nearly knocking over his chair in the process. Smooth. So smooth. He rushes to grab his coat, fumbling with the sleeve as he tries to put it on without dislocating a shoulder. When he finally gets it together and turns back to you, you’re just standing there, watching him with an amused smile.

“You good?” you ask, tilting your head.

“Good?” Mingyu repeats, laughing nervously. “Yeah, I’m great. Amazing. Let’s, uh, go.”

He follows you out of the restaurant, trying to act like a normal, functional human being. Except his palms are sweating, his heart is racing, and he’s pretty sure he almost tripped on absolutely nothing as you walked to the curb. When you glance back at him, your expression softens, and suddenly, it feels like the world’s gone quiet again.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cutting through the chaos in his head. “You don’t have to be nervous, you know.”

“I’m not nervous,” Mingyu lies, his grin wide and unconvincing. “This is just how I always look when I’m—uh—happy.”

You laugh again, shaking your head, and link your arm with his, pulling him gently along. “Come on, let’s go before you combust.”

The walk to your apartment is a blur for Mingyu. His brain is bouncing between, Wow, I can't believe this is happening and What am I supposed to do when we get there? Sit? Stand? Compliment her interior design choices? He's overthinking so hard he barely notices when you nudge him gently and gesture toward the building in front of you.

“This is me,” you say, your voice calm, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips like you know exactly how fried his brain is right now.

“Cool,” Mingyu replies, because apparently that’s the only word left in his vocabulary. Cool. Not “nice place” or “wow, it suits you,” just cool. He could punch himself, but then you’re already unlocking the door, and the reality of the moment hits him like a freight train.

The inside of your apartment is warm. Not literally warm—though the temperature is pleasant—but warm in the way it feels lived-in and completely, unmistakably you. It’s smaller than he imagined, but cozy, like every piece of furniture and every object has been chosen for a reason. There’s a soft throw blanket draped over the arm of your couch, a mug on the coffee table with a faint ring from earlier that day, and a half-finished book on the shelf that he knows he’s seen you reading during breaks.

Mingyu steps inside, toeing off his shoes at the door because it feels like the kind of place where shoes on indoors would be a crime. “Your apartment is really nice,” he says, his voice a little too high-pitched because he’s still desperately trying not to think about why he’s here.

“It suits you,” Mingyu says before he can stop himself, the words slipping out too soft, too sincere. When you glance at him, your cheeks warm, he knows he’s said the right thing.

“Thanks,” you murmur, ducking your head slightly. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

You disappear into the kitchen, and Mingyu is left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, trying not to spiral. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two people hanging out in a perfectly platonic and definitely not emotionally loaded way. Except it’s not fine, and his brain is racing faster than he can catch up.

He sits down on the couch, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he looks around again. It’s impossible not to take everything in, to let the space tell him little things about you he didn’t know before. Like how there’s a stack of notebooks on the side table, their covers worn like they’ve been flipped through a thousand times. Or how there’s a candle sitting on the shelf labelled something ridiculous like “Cinnamon Forest Dreams,” and now all he can think about is you lighting it during one of your late-night brainstorming sessions.

When you come back, two glasses of water in hand (because you’re practical like that, of course), Mingyu straightens up, his heart pounding in his chest. You sit down beside him, closer than he expected but not close enough to touch, and he’s suddenly very aware of how small the couch feels.

“So,” you say, handing him a glass, your voice light but your eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness. “What do you think?”

“Of the apartment?” Mingyu asks, taking a sip of water because it’s something to do with his hands. “I think it’s great. Like... really great. It’s very... you.”

You raise an eyebrow, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s the compliment,” he replies, his grin a little sheepish. “It’s perfect. Just like—” He cuts himself off, his cheeks flushing as he looks down at his glass. Don’t say it. Don’t overdo it.

But you’re looking at him now, your expression softening. “Just like what?”

Mingyu swallows hard, his brain screaming at him to play it cool. “Just like I imagined,” he finally says, his voice quiet but steady. “Like... a space that feels like you.”

There’s a pause, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s completely ruined everything. But then you smile—really smile—and his chest feels like it might explode.

“Thanks, Mingyu,” you say, your voice soft, almost shy. “That means a lot.”

He smiles back, trying to ignore the way his heart is doing somersaults. This is fine. Totally fine. Nothing to freak out about. But then your knee bumps against his, and suddenly, he’s not so sure.

Mingyu swallows. A cough almost escapes his throat, but he manages to catch it, instead clearing his throat like he's trying to shake off the sudden, very real butterflies in his stomach.

You, on the other hand, seem perfectly at ease, sipping your water, your eyes not quite meeting his, but still playful, still warm. Your knee stays lightly resting against his.

He looks at you, his mind racing, and wonders if maybe this is one of those moments where he should just say it. Say what’s been sitting heavy on his mind, almost screaming to come out ever since that night—the kiss, the awkwardness, the moments of quiet when he almost wished he could reach out and grab the truth like it was some kind of lifeline.

“Y'know," he begins, his voice coming out a little more nervously than he meant, "I’ve spent most of my life messing up in the most spectacular ways possible. I don’t exactly have a good track record when it comes to making things right."

You tilt your head at him, a playful smile on your lips, but your gaze is intense in a way that makes his breath catch. “You’re being too hard on yourself, Mingyu,” you say, your tone teasing, but there’s something beneath it—a quiet, steady assurance that has him clinging to every word.

“No, I’m serious,” he insists, his hand tightening slightly around his glass. “Like, when it comes to this—" He gestures vaguely between the two of you, "I’m completely out of my depth. I don’t really know what I’m doing.” He bites his lip, willing himself not to spill everything at once. “But, I think… I think I really want to try. With you.”

The silence that follows is thick. Mingyu mentally runs through every scenario, and none of them seem to be as perfectly awkward and fragile as this one. He starts to second-guess himself, but before he can say something stupid to cover it all up, you do something that catches him completely off-guard.

You shift closer, your knee brushing against his again, but this time, there’s no hesitation in the way you move. Your hand reaches out, fingers gently resting on his forearm, warm and soft. He can feel your pulse, steady and strong, as if somehow in this small gesture, you’re grounding him.

“Mingyu,” you say quietly, and he’s not sure if it’s his name or the way you say it that knocks all the air out of him. “I’m not asking for perfection. I don’t even know what that looks like.”

Mingyu’s breath hitches as he watches you, his heart skipping a beat at the honesty in your eyes. It feels like you're both on the edge of something, teetering between what is and what could be, and yet all Mingyu can think about in this moment is how simple it is to be here with you—how uncomplicated it feels to just let go.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either,” you continue, your voice soft but clear. “But I want to find out. With you."

It’s then that Mingyu realizes how quiet it’s gotten, how still the air is around the two of you. The world outside your apartment could be spinning at a hundred miles per hour, and in this small space, with your hand on his arm, time feels like it’s standing still.

You’re sitting so close now. The space between you is smaller than the gap in his thoughts. His hand, which had been fidgeting with the glass of water, starts to move on its own. He places it gently on the cushion beside you, just a few inches from your own. His palm is open, but he waits.

And then—he takes a breath.

"Can I?" he asks, voice low, almost a whisper, as though he's afraid you'll pull away, as though he's asking permission for something he should have done a hundred times before.

Your eyes lock with his. They're soft, vulnerable, like you're weighing his words against everything that's happened before. For a moment, the world feels like it’s paused, like there’s no room for doubts or what-ifs. There’s just you and him, and something that’s undeniable between you.

You don’t answer with words. Instead, you let your gaze drift to his lips, and then, almost imperceptibly, you lean in.

Mingyu doesn’t wait for a second invitation. His hand slides from the couch to gently cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of your cheek as he moves closer. He feels the heat radiating off you, and his breath catches when your lips are just a breath away.

And then, before he can even think, he closes the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It’s nothing like the first kiss. There’s no hesitation, no uncertainty—just the sensation of everything falling into place. The kiss is slow, tender, almost like he’s savouring it, wanting to memorise the moment because, for once, it feels like everything is exactly how it should be.

Your lips move against his in a quiet, unspoken rhythm, and he feels the tension that had been building between the two of you melt away. He’s no longer nervous, no longer afraid of saying the wrong thing or doing the wrong thing. He just wants to be here with you—now, in this perfect moment.

When you pull away, it’s not with distance, but with the smallest of smiles tugging at your lips, your eyes full of something that makes Mingyu's chest tighten. Your breath is still coming fast, like you’re just as shaken as he is.

He doesn’t say anything at first. There’s no need. His heart is still racing, but now, he’s not afraid of what comes next. He feels like he’s finally stepped into something real, something that might not be easy but is worth every bit of effort.

"I think..." he starts, his voice a little hushed, "I really wanted to do that again."

You laugh softly, the sound warm and familiar, as you tilt your head just enough for your forehead to rest against his. "Yeah?" you murmur, your fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. "Well, I'm glad you did."

Mingyu can't help but smile, his hand, still resting gently on your waist, pulls you just a little closer, as if to remind himself that this is real. That you're really here, and this is really happening. You don’t pull away. Instead, your hand moves from his jaw to his collar, gently tugging at the fabric like it’s an invitation he can’t refuse.

And Mingyu? He doesn’t need any more encouragement. He leans in again, his lips finding yours with more urgency this time. His free hand moves to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you deeper into the kiss. It’s like his body’s on autopilot, all his self-control falling away the moment you’re close enough to feel.

You gasp softly against his lips as his hand slides down to your waist, fingertips brushing the curve of your hip, and he feels you shiver. His pulse is racing in his ears, but it's the warmth of your body against his that completely consumes him. He can't stop. Can't pull away. You taste like the promise of something more, and the way your fingers grip his collar tightens the knot in his stomach until it’s a full-on spiral of heat.

Your mouth moves with his now, more desperate, more demanding, and Mingyu’s heart does that weird, annoying thing again—where it leaps in his chest, and all his thoughts vanish like mist under the sun. He kisses you harder, taking a moment to pull away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting as if you’ve run miles, even though you’ve hardly moved.

“Mingyu...” you whisper, voice breathless, a little unsteady. He feels the sound vibrating through him as much as he hears it.

"Yeah?" he responds, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth despite how utterly wrecked he feels in the best possible way. "You’re not gonna suddenly tell me this is all a huge mistake, right?"

You laugh—a low, playful sound that makes his chest tighten, and then you kiss him again. This time, it's slow, deliberate, like you’re savouring each second, each touch. And Mingyu’s mind short-circuits all over again, as if he's trying to figure out how it's possible for something so simple to make him feel so—so—alive.

Your hands are everywhere now—on his chest, around his neck, tugging him closer until there’s not an inch of space between you. And that’s when he feels it, that surge of want, a physical ache deep in his chest that spreads out to his limbs, making him burn.

He presses you back gently against the armrest of the couch, his lips trailing down to your neck, his breath hitching when you arch into him. The way you melt under his touch is everything he’s ever wanted—more than he even realised he craved. The warmth of your skin, the way your fingers dig into his back, all of it pulls him in, deeper, until he’s lost in the sensation of just being with you.

“Mingyu, we—” you start, but the words cut off when his lips meet the curve of your neck, and the way you shudder against him makes his pulse stutter in his veins. You can’t even finish the sentence, and he’s so close to being past the point of caring.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “We what?” he asks, his voice rough. "I won't let you talk if you're going to tell me you changed your mind."

Your gaze flickers between his lips and his eyes, a playful challenge in your expression. "I’m just saying," you murmur, your hands shifting down to his shirt as you slowly begin to unbutton it. "You're going to have to transfer to a different team after Langham is done."

Mingyu grins, a breathless huff of laughter leaving his lips. "As long as I still get to see you every day."

"I'd say you're probably going to get to see a lot more of me." Your words are said innocently enough, but the implication mixed with the feeling of your heaving chest against his is making his head spin again.

And just like that, you have him, every inch of him. Mingyu can’t keep his hands from wandering, can’t keep his lips from pressing harder against yours, can’t keep from falling deeper into this beautiful mess of passion and want. The last shred of his self-control slips away, leaving only you—right here, right now.

Your clothes go quickly, his quicker, until you're both laid bare before the other, entirely vulnerable and at peace at the same time. He's drowning in you, his head nested between your legs, feeling as eager to please as he did the first day he met you. You're gasping his name, hands curling into his hair, head falling back onto your couch in utter bliss. 

And then your fingers are wrapping around his shoulders, digging into the muscles and pulling him back up towards you. He almost falls off the couch he moves so fast, but you don't seem to notice. You're too busy looking positively angelic in front of him, with those large, sparkling eyes staring at him and dirty words pouring out of your mouth.

Mingyu has to hold himself together as you tell him, point blank, to "hurry up, and make love to me."

This isn't Mingyu's first rollercoaster. He's a good-looking guy, and he knows it. He's been with others before, but when you speak to him like that, he feels like he's eighteen again and a girl's just sat on his lap for the first time. 

And it feels so good, you feel so good around him. You might not have to worry about transferring teams, because he's not sure he's going to make it. The noises you're making, the warmth of your body, the scraping of your nails against his chest - it's enough to finish him off (or at least allow him to ignore the ungodly sounds pouring out of his own mouth).

He makes sure you've finished as well before pulling out (because he wants to, not because he feels embarrassed that he came first). A blissful look falls over your face and Mingyu has to mentally take a photo of the image to make sure he never forgets it. He's staring at you; he knows it and you know it, and you're giggling a little and it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard.

"Wait here," he whispers, not wanting to break the moment by speaking too loudly. He leans down to peck your lips, before running into your bathroom to dispose of the condom and get some towels and blankets. 

The night fades softly into a comfortable quiet as you and Mingyu lay there, nestled on your couch, your bodies half-melted into the cushions, the air between you warm and thick with the lingering feeling of everything now spoken. 

Mingyu is still processing it all. This. This feeling of being here, with you. He’s supposed to be good at this—the whole dating thing, at least. But everything about tonight has been different. And, if he’s being honest with himself, much better than he expected. He expected the awkwardness, the second-guessing, the inevitable when do I leave? moment, but none of that happened. Instead, all that’s left is you. And him. And the soft rhythm of your breathing in the stillness of your apartment.

He stares at the ceiling, trying to act casual, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. This is fine, he thinks, despite the tiny voice in the back of his head screaming that nothing this nice is ever fine. But the voice is quieter now. A lot quieter.

“You’re thinking too loud,” you mumble, your voice muffled against the fabric of his shirt, your head resting on his chest. Your fingers play with the hem of his shirt absently, as though you’re trying to figure out the material, the way it fits him, the way it feels beneath your touch.

Mingyu chuckles softly, a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his chest vibrating with the sound. “I guess I’m just... trying to make sure I’m not dreaming.”

“Well,” you reply, shifting just enough to lift your head, your eyes soft but amused, “if this is a dream, I’m okay with it. I think I’ll stick around.”

Mingyu's heart skips a beat at the words, but he keeps his voice steady, even if the teasing smile he wears is bordering on ridiculous. “Good, because if this is a dream, I’m not waking up."

As the night deepens and the city lights paint soft patterns on the walls of your apartment, Mingyu finds himself drawn to your window. The skyline stretches before him, a tapestry of glowing spires and shimmering reflections, alive with the energy of the place he loves most. He smiles, realising for the first time how much this view has changed for him. It isn't just buildings and lights anymore - it's connection, collaboration, and the quiet promise of something new. A reminder of what you are going to build together, layer by layer, one light at a time.

Divider credit: @cafekitsune

[indomitablepride]

I really miss getting on here and chatting with people about headcanons and doing threads. But I am an old person and my eyes hurt from looking at the computer screen at work all day ;_;

[vivwritesfics]

Everybody Wants To Rule The World

Chapter One - Criminal

Oscar Piastri worked for a criminal organisation. It wasn't the life he wanted, wasn't the life he had chosen for himself. But, like those before him, he didn't have any other choice.

He was just a rookie in the Verstappen organisation. He got stuck with the shitty jobs, like watching over Verstappens latest intake, a petty criminal who makes stealing cars look hot.

1.9K

Warnings: Mentions of drugs

Series Masterlist

In the early hours of the morning, when the sun was painting the sky of the city pink, Alex Albon and Esteban Ocon had the biggest bag of cocaine either of them had ever seen. The two rarely delt with narcotics for their boss, but tonight he had a special job for the two of them.

Alex kept watch as Esteban, whose body was longer and thinner, worked his way beneath the car. They used the car jack to raise it slightly as Esteban got beneath and stuck the cocaine to the bottom of the car.

Who did this car belong to? Well that doesn't matter. Not for now, anyway.

Giggling, the two took off, driving back to their bosses head quarters.

In this same part of the city, a girl was running from the blue and red flashing lights. That was the problem when you steal cars, you always have to be on the lookout for the polite.

Y/N L/N happened upon this car with the cocaine stuck to the bottom of it. He had maybe a minute before the police car caught up to her. A minute to get the car open and a minute to drive away.

She got the car open easily. It was old, a classic. The owner would be sad to see it go, but that wasn't something she could afford to think about.

Pulling her hat from her head she worked about hot wiring the car and tuned the radio to her liking. Twenty five seconds until the police caught up with her.

The radio was also old, as old as the car. It was going to take her some time before she found the right station.

At least, the end of Rick Astleys 'Never Gonna Give You Up' played and Tears For Fears 'Everybody Wants to Rule The World' began. Y/N grinned as she put the car into gear and floored it, heading towards the outskirts of the city.

She had to lose the cops before she returned to her boss. If she brought the police to his door, she'd never hear the end of it. Or her blood would be spilt. There was no telling.

Y/N managed to get away from the cops. Usually they'd give up and she could drive away, unscathed. But tonight was different. Tonight they weren't giving up.

"Fucking pigs," she muttered as she turned down an alleyway, trying to conceal herself and the car. She cringed as its sides scraped against the walls of the buildings it was squashed between. At least it would be harder to identify now.

But she had fucked it. She went to turn left down the alleyway, only to find herself blocked by a wall. A fucking wall. She was done for, screwed, and in so much trouble.

The police cars pulled in behind her. They had the sense not to follow her down the alleyway and get themselves stuck. Instead, they pulled out their guns and pointed them at the girl in the car, demanding she exit the vehicle.

Y/N wound down the car window. "I can't get the door open!" She called, hoping the police heard her. "So I'm going to break the back window and climb out that way, okay?"

She hasn't a hardened criminal, not in the way that mattered. She'd never had a run in with the police before and she didn't quite know what to do. So, she did as her father had taught her and remained calm and collected. Show them you mean no harm and they won't harm you.

She waited for confirmation from the police office closest to the car before climbing into the back of the car and kicking at the back window. It was no easy task, getting the back window separated from the car. It was a few good kicked before the sheet of glass fell away, allowing her to climb from the car with her hands up.

She was cuffed, placed in the back of a police car and taken to the station while the owner of the car was contacted. They took the cocaine from the car and drove Y/N to the station.

"There's something wrong with your car," she tried to say to the police officers, able to tell from the sound alone. But they weren't having any of it. They shut her up and continued driving to the station.

At the station they placed her in the holding cell. Prostitutes and other criminals surrounded her as she sat on the bench and closed her eyes. She just stole a car, she'd be out of here in no time.

But suddenly a police officer called her name. She opened her eyes and walked over to the door of the holding cell, walking past the petty thieves and flashers.

An officer grabbed her arm and marched her over to his desk. He pushed her into a chair and cuffed her hand to the arm. "So," he began as he sat on the other side of the desk. "Where did you get the coke?"

"Coke?" Y/N asked as she tried sit forward.

The officer let out a sigh. "You know, blow, bump, nose candy, sniff, snow, white rock."

"Hey now, I don't fuck with drugs," she called, slumping back in the chair. "If there was cocaine on that car, it was there before I got to it," she said.

The officer let out another sigh. He uncuffed her from the chair and marched her back to the holding cell. He threw her in locking the door behind her. If she wasn't going to talk, she could rot in there.

But she wasn't going to rot in there. The arresting officer suddenly got a phone call that he rushed to answer. The number was withheld and he knew exactly who it was.

The voice on the other end of the phone was soft, the accent unrecognisable. The voice maybe have been soft, but the officer still did exactly what he said.

"Yes, sir," he said, listening to the person. "Right away, sir."

The person on the other end of the phone hung up and the officer stretched out his limbs. This was maybe his least favourite part of the job, having to let the criminals go because the most powerful man in the city commanded it.

The officer opened the holding cell and grabbed a hold of the girl he had just arrested. He held her arm, his grip bruising as he dragged her out of the holding cell. "Your charges have been taken care of," he grumbled as he marched her out out the precinct, around to the back.

Still holding her arm, he placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled.

A black van, which had previously been inconspicuously parked in the corner of the parking lot, rumbled to life. The engine was old, clearly, but it sounded amazing. The door slid open and three men, all in pristine suits jumped out. One strode over, a black sack in his hands.

The two others circled around her, taking her from the officer. The officer said nothing and quickly rushed back inside. The two men grabbed her hands and wormed together to tie them behind her back. The bindings were tight, cutting into her skin. But she knew better then to panic.

"Sorry about this," said the third man, standing in front of her. Y/N had just about enough time to study his face, his dark eyes, the moles on his face, his round cheeks ans pillowy lips. His hair, which parted down the middle, soft and fluffy and shiny.

She shrugged her shoulders and he placed the bag over her head.

There was no point fighting them as they walked her to the van, she'd seen their guns the moment they'd jumped out of the van. The two that had tied her hands sat behind her as the pretty one, the one who had placed the bag over her head climbed into the driver's seat.

He always drove, no matter the job. It was what he loved, what he was good at, what kept him calm.

The drive wasn't very long. Or, it hadn't seemed long to the captive, who was trying her best to keep time using the songs playing on the radio. They weren't out of the city, or, they weren't very far outside of it.

"Oh, turn this one up," she said, her words muffled, and the driver did just that, twisting the knob attached to the radio to turn up the volume.

Before too long the driver killed the engine and the sliding door to the van was thrown open. Y/N was dragged to her feet, one man holding each arm, and walked forward. She had no idea where she was or where she was going. The only indicator that she had walked into a building was the stale air, the buzz of the lights overhead and the feeling of the floor beneath her feet. These were the sorts of things you had to learn to survive.

She went into a room, her feet hitting the metal threshold strip that sat between rooms, and was sat in a chair.

The bindings were pulled from her hands and the bag from her head. She blinked quickly, the light flooding into her eyes all too bright.

But then she looked around, looking at the art on the walls surrounding her, at the table in front of her, at the man on the other side of that table.

She knew who she was in an instant, her heart pounding in her chest. His hair was a dirty blonde, combed back out of his face, and the beginnings of a beard surrounded his mouth. His eyes were a little far apart, but it didn't look bad on him. No, he was a very handsome man. Dangerous and terrifying, but handsome.

"You stole from me." That was the first thing his said.

Y/N couldn't stop her eyes from going wide. Him. She wasn't supposed to steal from him. The one rule she had for this job was don't steal from him. If she had known the car belonged to him, she would have run in the other direction. But it was too late now.

"I'm impressed. Nobody has ever had the balls to steal from me before. What makes you different?" He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. "

Y/N went to push her chair back, but a hand, covered in rings, settled on her shoulder and squeezed. She didn't dare turn to see who was behind her. "I swear, I didn't know it was you're car."

"Don't you know stealing is wrong?" The man in front of her narrowed his eyes. "As soon as the car was on the move, we watched you. That was a pretty good drive, until you fucked up."

Verstappen sat up a little straighter. He sat back and waited, waited for her to say something.

Truth be told, Y/N was a little lost for words. What was he playing at? Did he know who she was?

Suddenly, Verstappen stood up. He signalled for her to stand up and the person behind her pulled her to her feet and pushed her after his boss.

They took her through the halls of a house, with the same amount of pretty art. Verstappen didn't so much as glance at the art as they walked past, and she had a feeling that it wasn't his taste. The man behind her kept his ringed hand on her shoulder as he steered her after Verstappen.

They walked her into a garage and stopped her in the doorway. "Okay," said Verstappen, gesturing to the plethora of cars in front of him. They were all gorgeous cars, better than anything Y/N had ever stolen before. Super cars, classic cars, Verstappen had them all.

"Show me what you got."

TAGLIST (OPEN): @biancathecool @graciewrote

[popjunkie42]

Resurrect Me

Read on AO3

Resurrect Me

Chapter One: Could Never Be Heaven Without You

Sometimes, she wakes up with tears in her eyes, soft on her cheeks. Those mornings she feels empty, but in a different way. Wrung out but clean. Some catharsis, some joy played out in her subconscious, lost to the sky with the stars that fade in the morning light.

Crying as if she was ripped away too soon. Crying as if she longed to dream again.

"A vivid imagination," Dr. Thesan calls it. But she had seen the intake forms. Temporary psychosis with auditory and visual hallucinations (hypnagogic/hypnopompic), delusions of grandeur, signs of dissociative identity.

Danger to herself and others.

Feyre Archeron is just trying to keep it together - her middling corporate job, her failing relationship with Tamlin, her abysmal mental health. Most days, she feels lost, adrift, out of place. So who could blame her when she starts having dreams about the tall, dark and handsome man she saw one day at the ramen shop? As the world seems to be unraveling around her, Feyre gives way to her curiosity about the mysterious stranger.

This fic is for @climbthemountain2020 for pushing me to get the idea out of my head and forever encouraging my brainrot! All the love to her and @witch-and-her-witcher for the beta reads and hyping me up in my docs. For @officialfeysandweek!

Warnings: please read the tags, Feyre is having a bad mental health time and there are references to depression, hallucinations and suicide.

I'm trying something new!!! Hope you enjoy my slightly eerie and depressing modern coffee shop AU 😂 Chapter two will be coming later this week!

Read on AO3 and have a snippet under the cut.

The world outside the window is the color of melancholy. 

Feyre would know. She watches in a trance as rain pours onto concrete streets in heavy sheets.

Thunder rattles through the noodle shop in the heart of downtown, stacked ceramic bowls chiming against each other in its wake.

Feyre closes her eyes, letting the vibrations of the storm rumble through her body. 

Hoping maybe it will shake something free.

With a sigh, she opens them again. 

The grey-blue day is beautiful, even this dark and overcast. She’s sitting at the high-top bar against the window front of the shop, a giant pane of glass shot through with black steel brackets. Rain streams down the pane, each drop in its own path, a race to join the running rivers of the sidewalk.

Today everything is muted. Dampened. She sees the loveliness of the rain, and in the city the feeling of everything being rinsed clean. The sky opening up and letting go, doing what she longs to do. 

She finally moves her hands away from the hot bowl of ramen to grab her chopsticks, feeling the loss of heat immediately. Handmade ceramic, textured matte black with sharp ridges under her fingers. Chopsticks swirl the fatty broth, pulling noodles up from the dregs and into her mouth.

She walked the three blocks to get here. Usually a nice mid-day escape from work, but today she was soaked through in minutes. Thought it would still be worth it on block one. Now her red leather flats are ruined. Just her one small, colorful rebellion against the black and white corporate suits she’s forced to wear.

The AC blows on her back as she drips onto the tile floor, and all she can think is she’s going to catch cold.

She jolts in her seat at the blare of her alarm, loud and piercing. Scrambles to hit snooze, swears she’ll change that noise to something less…jarring. 

She was supposed to be back at work twenty minutes ago.

-Sorry, I think I’m coming down with something, I need to take the rest of today off.

Feyre fires off a text to her boss and promptly hits do not disturb. 

He’s going to kill her. Those mockups were due to him yesterday, and she’s supposed to present at Friday morning’s all hands meeting. But the dread of going back outweighs the dread of his disappointment, so she turns her phone screen facedown and drips on the floor some more.

You’re being ridiculous. 

She knows it’s what everyone in her life has been thinking. These trials and tribulations she’s created for herself. If you just would have accepted Tamlin’s proposal, you wouldn’t have to work. You could move into that nice loft uptown and become a lady who lunches.

Stark white everything and restoration hardware, designer heels and Birkin bags, late downtown dinners with CEOs and board members, an endless litany of don’t worry about that, love.

Instead, she and Tamlin are on an ever-extending break and she’s back to clipping coupons before she grocery shops.

He had repeated the offer to her a dozen times, in fights and over Michelin-star meals. “You should move in at least. You’re paying too much for that apartment, and you have to commute hours every day. Even if I just want to see you for dinner. Aren’t you the one who said we need to spend more time together?”

It isn't like the world of corporate marketing gives her any sense of meaning in her life. Every morning, she wakes up with a sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. Sometimes she has to duck into the alley beside the vast skyscraper entrance, streams of black suits pouring in like lines of ants, and breathe in the smell of garbage and the city until it chases her inside.

Right now Feyre doesn’t have room for anything other than concentrating on this fine line between survival and keeping her mental health just stable enough to stop her from doing something rash.

But she is paying too much for her little hovel in Washington Heights. One bedroom, cockroaches bold as brass, the wet patch above her bed growing larger every week; an irregular tumor portending future disaster.

In a decisive movement, she picks up her bowl and slurps down the rich broth, letting it warm her through, deep into her belly. 

She’s chasing something - some feeling, some energy, some…serotonin. 

Lately her meds seem to cause her more trouble than good. She knows what Dr. Thesan would recommend: work up to the next dosage. 

He’ll want to know about her dreams. Sometimes he worries, other times he gives her a fond smile. “You have such a vivid imagination, Feyre. It’s a gift, really. But we need to make sure you can differentiate dreams from reality, hm?”

She’ll nod, of course. Disagreeing takes energy. Feyre’s in short supply these days. Neither is she exactly an expert as to what makes her feel happy. Whole. 

Broth sloshes around her stomach, rich and heavy. It’s her third bowl this week. And with every break of the chopsticks, she’s been quietly lying to herself about why she’s here again. 

The first time she saw him was last Monday. 1:03pm.

In her memory, she hears the bell ringing at the opening door as clear as day.

He’s all broad shoulders, in black from head to toe. A sweeping trench coat, Ralph Lauren maybe, fitted in the shoulders and waist, warm for the season but immaculate. His hair a soft blue-black. A silver ring glistening on his finger. The right, not the left. A long, confident stride up to the counter.

She had turned around on instinct, her mind barely catching up, when their eyes locked. Just for a split second. 

The sun had caught his face, all fine planes and angles, and she swore his eyes sparkled violet.

Even after a lifetime, she still hasn’t gotten used to that feeling. When color and form and line makes the breath catch in her throat. When everything aligns perfectly and she sees a vision in her mind, something that makes her fingers itch. 

But it’s been so long since she’s picked up a brush. 

So much heavy baggage there. Out of practice. Supplies hidden and drying out in closets and under her bed. Her tablet so old she can’t even get it to pair with her pencil. 

But that man in front of her, so stunning he shook old desires awake in her…Disappointment had bloomed in her chest as his eyes flickered away, like he hadn't even noticed the way his gaze had unmoored her. Like he was looking for someone else.

Hey, Archeron, you were almost just engaged, her voice whispered in her mind. 

But Feyre couldn’t get that thrill out of her mind. She was so hazy these days, just wading through the city streets like she was walking upstream, against the tide of bodies. Like she could just lift up her feet and be carried away. She longed for that, more than she would admit.

But when she saw those eyes…it was like something in her sparked alive again. Just for a minute.

He was just so damn beautiful.

Feyre blames the perfect rays of autumn light that were casting through the windows. 

That, and her period. It was due to start any day.

Since then, she hasn't been able to stop thinking about him. Even from just those too-short glimpses as he smiled politely at the hostess, grabbed a to-go bag and chopsticks, and left a healthy stack of bills as a tip. Shamelessly, she studied his profile all the way out the restaurant and down the sidewalk, moving as if in slow motion.

She’s come back every other day since.

You’re being stupid. Go home to your vibrating bullet. And maybe you could do your hair for once, go outside of your apartment after work hours, meet some people. Get it together, Feyre. You can’t lose it over a stranger.

What would she even say to him, if he did show up again? Come here often? Not as much as you’d think - I’d know because I’ve been watching you! Do you really think miso is superior to tonkotsu? Or, how do you feel about lost, unmotivated women drowning in clinical depression?

There’s no plan beyond seeing him again.

Feyre sighs, nibbling on bok choy, scanning the dining room for his face once more. 

Her life is too much of a mess, still barely treading water from her episodes, from the disorder of extricating herself from Tamlin, to do anything more than dream.

Still, something in her feels that beautiful face is worth the stretch in her going-out budget.

And besides, cool weather is coming. It is ramen season, after all. 

Read on AO3

[thebibliosphere]

Im sure you've been bombarded with asks but how did you go about getting an eye doctor to look at your light sensitivity? Mine have all just looked at my eyes and been like "yup that makes sense. Make sure to get transitions"

Like. Transitions dont help me indoors. Transitions take so long to change that im already in enough pain to go back home. I genuinely did not know until today that it could be a hardware issue instead of a software one, if you get my drift

My new doctor is a Neuro-Ophthalmologist, which means he isn't looking at just my eyes but also for any neurological issues that could be related. If you'll pardon the pun, it was eye-opening.

He had SO much stuff in his office to help with light sensitivity, and when he realized the lights were causing me distress, he gave me a pair of Axon goggles to put on over my RX glasses until he was able to finish what he was doing and turn the lights out for the rest of the exam. Those things were magic.

I've tried all kinds of blue light-blocking glasses over the years, and while they helped, the relief I got from the Axon lenses was immediate. The pain just stopped. I'm actually thinking of getting a pair of the goggles to wear over my new glasses so the sides of my eyes will be shielded on bad days.

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (Pt. 12)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard Crew (and others) & Reader-Insert

Main|First|Previous

Warnings: Yandere behavior, excessive use of force/fire, light injuries, and character death. At this point, need I remind ya'll to not tolerate possessive/toxic behavior in real life? Or murder/violence for that matter. If yandere content makes you uncomfortable, please do block the tag 'oh sweet child of mine' as well as any variation of 'one piece yandere' that you feel is necessary.

Ya'll about to lose your damn minds and I'm not sorry.

(also, this gif is baller)

Word Count: 2,439

Ace leaned back a little as Striker sped off across the water. Ocean spray erupting in his wake as he veered towards the shoreline. Marco was checking the other nearby island while he checked this one. Discreetly.

Well… as discreetly as he could manage.

After several months of riding Teach’s ass, he knew they were close. Several times they went into a port only to find out that Teach had left only days before. Whatever crew he managed to get on such short notice was competent, Ace would admit that much. But everything he heard only made his fire burn hotter in his chest. He’d been practically spitting sparks for weeks now.

Particularly what he’d heard from Luffy.

‘They look cool. Though really tired!’

Thatch had woken up a couple of months back, though he was still strictly on bedrest. He was able to provide a better picture of what happened. As they had all suspected, you didn’t have anything to do with it. As far as Thatch could remember while bleeding out, Teach had kidnapped you with a sack. Not exactly ‘accomplice’ behavior. Thatch had also been devastated to learn that you’d been taken when he was right there.

Ace promised to bring you back home. At this point, the only reason for Teach to return was so Oyaji could personally punt him into the sea.

Ace ran Striker onto the shore and leapt out, boots digging into the sand as he jogged up the slight incline. Shards of glass breaking under his heel as he took a moment to control his temper.

He just wanted to go home already. He wanted all of this to be over with. To go back to teasing you for dodging parties and Thatch’s attempts to befriend you. Hell, he’d even take your awkward, concerned smiles for when someone tried really hard to talk to you about joining. Like they were confessing their plans to marry a sea king—actually, you’d probably be offended they thought they were worthy of Mao.

Ace sucked in a deep breath and steadied himself. Stalking through the shadows towards the center of the town. Ears primed for gossip.

“—they think I’d pay for that! Ugh!”

“—get ahold of your sister after last week? What she say?”

“—Did you see those pirates? Dragging around a slave, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised—” Ace jerked towards the voice with narrowed eyes. An older lady gossiped with someone just a little bit younger, the two engrossed with their conversation. “—That Blackbeard fellow has no shame! All those rings! And his crew were just obnoxious! I feel so bad for that slave. I wonder if calling the marines would help or if they’d just be sold again?”

“I thought slaves just had the collar and brand. I didn’t even see a brand anywhere… do you think it’s a ransom?”

“Well, you’d think he wouldn’t be carting them around if that was the case! Poor dear looked exhausted!”

Ace grit his teeth, hissing as steam curled between his lips. After a moment, he put on his best, charming smile and stepped out.

“Excuse me, ma’am? I couldn’t help but overhear you… are they still here? My friend was taken by pirates and I’ve been trying to find them for months! Thick glasses, blue bandana around their wrist?” Ace asked with wide, sad eyes. The older ladies tittered at him as expected.

“Oh! Yes, actually, though it looked like they’re using it as a bandage now. That brute doesn’t look very gentle to me, you know. Last I heard they were readying for departure on the other side of town.” She replied. Ace bowed low.

“Thank you, very much, ma’am! Ah.” Ace looked up with a wry smile. “I suggest you ladies get a bit of distance. I’m afraid I’m going to make a bit of a mess soon.”

The ladies nodded and hurried off, warning others as they went.

Ace kept his smile for a few moments longer before settling his gaze in the direction they indicated.

Ace huffed, running up a wall and grabbing onto a rooftile. Hoisting himself up to run atop the buildings for a better vantage point. The colorful clay roofing blurring as he rushed.

He leapt on top of a house, crouched down low as he sneered.

Teach stood with his crew around him, organizing barrels. You swaying on your feet a little beside him. A dull, iron bracelet connected to a chain that ran all the way to Teach’s own wrist.

Luffy was right.

You looked fucking exhausted.

Ace cupped his hand, fire pooling between his fingers as he threw it down at Teach’s feet where it exploded. More light and noise than damage.

He didn’t want to hurt you.

It would be tricky to immolate Teach with you next to him, but Ace was clever. He’d figure something out. At the very least he could keep fighting until Marco arrives.

“TEACH YOU BASTARD!”

--*--

You yelped, startled by the sudden explosion just feet from you. Teach instantly backing up with his hand gripping your arm. His face turned up towards a roof.

You followed his gaze in shock as the figure stood up. Ace screaming furiously across the distance.

“TEACH YOU BASTARD!” Rather than be intimidated in the least, Teach laughed.

“Commander! Should have known it would be you.” Teach grinned, pulling you forward a bit. “Here for something? Why not join my crew? I’m going to be a warlord soon, you know. After I turn in Straw Hat, they’ll gladly give me the position.”

You couldn’t quite see Ace well, but he seemed more furious at the suggestion than before. His fruit flaring enough that even with your exhaustion you noticed. He’d clearly been burning so hot for a while now—your obliviousness to him was just further evidence for how weak you’d gotten over the past few months.

Teach had been getting a tad… desperate to outrun his pursuers until he could manage to get the warlord title. And it seems as though his luck had run out.

“I. Would. Never.” Ace spat, launching off the room in a hail of fire and landing several feet away. “Luffy is my little brother, Teach. You’re not hurting anymore of my family.”

Teach made a surprised sound and you couldn’t blame him. They didn’t quite resemble each other, nor did they share a last name. And seeing Ace now, face etched with fury, he looked about as far from the goofy, beaming Luffy as possible.

Teach clicked his tongue.

“What a shame. You’re pretty strong, commander. We could have done great together.” Teach bemoaned playfully, like they were still crewmates having a small argument over pie flavors.

“I’m not your commander, Teach. Not after what you’ve done.” Ace’s body lit up like a bonfire, flaring high into the sky and making you look away or risk blinding yourself.

The shadows beneath your feet writhed as the light flickered over them, powered by your fruit as a cold spot developed around you. Around Teach.

“Go. None of you are strong enough to fight him—” Teach warned before one of them shot a gun at Ace. The bullets flying through harmlessly, leaving only temporary holes in the blazing fire that constituted his body. Ace’s eyes were fixed on you like dying stars. “Now!”

The crew ran as a flashover spilled out across the area, scorching the earth and singing your lungs.

You wished you had the opportunity to run yourself. Never, have you ever, wanted to fight Ace. For a lot of reasons.

Mostly a lack of desire to know what being a burned marshmallow felt like.

Teach’s free fist was coated in smoke and shadows, curling around his fingers eagerly.

Ace reeled back his fiery arm, fist clenched tight as Teach mirrored him.

Fire and living darkness rushed across the space, suddenly not nearly enough space as they collided violently. Friction lighting where they clashed as it raced upwards and out, attempting to find a weak point. You felt your body being blown back, only held in place by Teach’s firm grip as his boots dug into the earth. Despite only being connected to Teach, you could feel how hungry the fire was. Eating away the oxygen as it exploded again and again, trying to outmatch the shadows.

The final detonation was high above your head and the shockwave took you down to your knees as you gasped for air. Shaking almost as violently as their first blow, your head ringing, skin tingling with light burns. You blinked hard, eyes crying out at the relief as you looked up.

Teach’s grip on your arm was the only thing keeping you from collapsing to the ground. Dust and debris clinging to your body.

You were horrified. Only realizing now that Teach fully intended to keep you right next to him for this fight.

And you genuinely wasn’t sure you could handle being this close to any of it.

Teach grunted, bending down to wrap his arm around your middle like a sack of potatoes. You didn’t even really have time to consider how painful the position was before Ace leapt forward with a feral howl of anger.

Sparks and flame erupting around you as you could do nothing but hold onto Teach’s arm and close your eyes. Your body jerking around as the two traded blows. Teach handicapped by you, as was Ace, who clearly wasn’t quite going all out like he wanted. The air was stiflingly hot and heavy as they clashed. Fire burning through your eyelids as you tried to focus on anything but the fight.

“Zehahahaha~! What’s wrong, commander? You don’t seem to be invested!” Teach cackled before he was cut off with a pained grunt. “I was hit!?” He mumbled just over the rippling sound of fire tearing through the atmosphere.

“You’re a fucking COWARD, TEACH! PUT! THEM! DOWN!” Ace screamed like he was possessed, explosions scorching you as Teach jerked around a touch desperately.

You gasped for air, lungs burning from heat and exertion. Exhaustion filling your head with cotton as tears slipped through your closed eyes.

You… you were so fucking sick and tired of this.

All of it.

Every last fucking thing.

Sick of the fucking pirates!

Sick of your fucking devil fruit!

Sick of the clammy, creepy shadows curling around your ankles every fucking second of the day!

Your senses focused on that sensation. How much you hated it.

Fire and shadows tearing up the earth as Teach occasionally pulled in debris to single-handedly hurl at Ace. Pulled in nearly the whole town only to eject it violently at Ace.

Every move taunting and teasing your senses as it pulled on your lingering energy.

“TEEEAAAACCHH!” Ace roared, the sound distant and dull in your ears.

Your heart beat in your chest. A distant drum that steadily grew closer. Louder until it vibrated in your blood and bones.

Ba-thump!

A mirage formed behind your eyelids. Less wavering and unsteady with every beat.

Ba-thump!

A dial. Almost like a pressure gauge. The needle vibrating near the red and jumping with every attack.

Ba-thump!

You felt a foreign vibration build in your chest. Your feet digging into the broken cobblestone, muscles screaming out as you forced yourself to uncurl from around Teach’s arm.

BA-THUMP!

Your nails dug into his skin as you pivoted. One hand curled around the illusionary dial before twisting. To. Zero.

“Dial DOWN!” You screamed, the pressure of his fruit on yours reversing.

Teach spun in your bloodied grip, body flying around as you threw him over your shoulder with more strength than you thought you’d ever have. Fueled by rage and desperation to make it stop.

The chain pulled taut. Yanking you with him as you screamed, the joint popping out of place from the force of your throw.

The electric pain made your hand spasm as you ‘let go’. Body pulled across the ground and nearly slamming your face into the ruined street beneath you. Your only free hand scrapping across the broken rock, leaving a trail of blood that was shared underneath your knees and side of your ribs.

You gasped, body jerking uncontrollably away from the taut chain but only abusing your dislocated shoulder further.

It was dead silent aside from your pained gasp and a low, startled moan from Teach.

He coughed.

“…zehahahahaha—"

Then he laughed. Shadows erupting around you both as he slowly sat up.

“HAHAHAHA! ZEHAHAHAHAHA! ZEHA—”

A burning, oozing hand slammed into his head, shoving him back down with a barely registered scream. The smell of burning flesh erupting as you looked up in shock.

Teach was dead in less than a second.

Admiral Akainu kneeling over him, one arm shoved to the ground where Teach’s head used to be. His foot burning through Teach’s arm, melting him slowly as lava pooled around him. The heat waving over you at a much greater temperature than all but the most devastating of Ace’s attacks. And he was several feet away.

“…S-Sir?!” You rasped, throat burning as you tried to sit up.

Admiral Akainu jerked at the sound of your voice. His stern features flickering for a moment.

“You did well, Ensign. We only have one last thing to take care of.” Admiral Akainu stated with cold eyes. Slowly standing before walking towards you. Deliberately stepping on the chain and melting it under his shoe.

“HEY! GET AWAY FROM THEM!” Ace screamed, throwing a fireball high. Admiral Akainu flicked his hand, batting it away as he moved to kneel before you. Gently helping you up.

Still in shock, you couldn’t say anything as he braced your back and shoved your shoulder into place. You screamed, startled as pins and needles went down your arm, though otherwise the relief was immense.

You panted, utterly confused as he picked you up with one arm under your thighs, pinning your face into his suit as he sneered.

“I haven’t forgotten about you, Fire Fist.”

You trembled as the air grew hazy with an overwhelming amount of heat. The edge taken off due to your devil fruit connecting with Admiral Akainu’s.

You were so tired.

You managed to look back at Ace, worry dragging you from the edge of consciousness. He looked horrified and infuriated all at once.

You felt the tears slip down your face, almost ice cold in the heat.

There was no way Ace could survive against Admiral Akainu with his devil fruit.

Even before you got involved, it simply didn’t burn hot enough.

[respectthepetty]

Hi RTP! 👋 big fan.

I'm watching We Best Love: Fighting Mr. 2nd (and I think I like it more than the first season???)

Anyway, I've seen your color post about them, but in S2 specifically I've been noticing reflections, mirrors and glass barriers are a thing a lot? I'd love to hear your thoughts, if you're willing.

Peace and love! 🖤💙

Anon, you like the second season of We Best Love more than the first season?!

You like this

over this?!

I won't fight you because both hold a special place in my heart and on my Top Taiwanese BLs list since Taiwan finally delivered me a color-coded BL TWICE (which I missed the first time around until @gillianthecat asked me about it! - Look at Zhou Shu Yi give Gao Shi De his heart while they wear their respective colors! )

So I'm thrilled to answer this ask, but know I won't be mentioning the second or third pair. That's too much! I gotta focus on the main couple.

I also will be writing about how the show used space in general to reinforce the narrative. I'm unsure if you have finished watching the second season, so let me warn you that there will be spoilers ahead.

SPOILERS!

We started the second season with a flashback to how it all went sideways for the boys after the first season ended, and the aftermath gives us the first reflection of Zhou Shu Yi who is heartbroken and dismayed.

After this, Zhou Shu Yi is closed off emotionally AND physically. He lives in a concrete house!

And even though the entire workspace is an open concept with glass offices,

The main office they argue in has the shades down on all the windows, so people can't see inside. Even when Zhou Shu Yi is riding in the car with his friends, the windows have curtains to block out the world.

While Gao Shi De's house has plenty of sunlight streaming in from the windows, and he tends to talk outside, out in the open.

We only see Zhou Shu Yi's emotions in reflections because mirrors show us the truth (mirror, mirror, on the wall and blah blah blah).

So even though Zhou Shu Yi claims he is over Gao Shi De and continues to hide his emotions behind shaded windows, concrete walls, and barriers, the mirrors and the colors don't lie. Since you read the colors post, you know that no matter what Zhou Shu Yi does, he is always surrounded by Gao Shi De's blue, just like he was when they were in high school, but now he is staring at a shattered image of them.

However, both guys pick up a trait from the other. After their sexually charged back-and-forth in the shaded office, Gao Shi De's reflection in the BLACK table shows he is quickly breaking down due to Zhou Shu Yi's animosity.

And Zhou Shu Yi decides to step outside and speak openly about his lingering feelings for Gao Shi De while wearing a BLUE stripe across his shirt.

But both their issues finally come to the surface when Zhou Shu Yi learns about the lines Gao Shi De and his father crossed without his consent. We visually see those barriers being crossed as well.

This forces Zhou Shu Yi in a box, alone and isolated.

And the two who are responsible for their own predicaments are forced outside to clear the air to get rid of the barrier between them.

Because everything is out in the open now, Zhou Shu Yi's world starts to brighten up, and we see him near the windows since his feelings are no longer being repressed.

Even when he gets sick, he ends up in Gao Shi De's blue car that has windows without the black-out curtains.

Zhou Shu Yi might still be upset at Gao Shi De, but he is willing to forgive him, so they are now in the glass box together since their feelings are completely out in the open.

We get a call back to the bed scene from season one, but this time, Zhou Shu Yi 's eyes are open and the light is shining through because there are no more secrets.

And this honesty transfers to the office. We now see the boys in the glass office together, without all the shades down.

We also see Gao Shi De trusting Zhou Shu Yi marked by him standing in front of the open blinds, while Yu Zhen Zuan, standing behind the closed blinds, does not trust Zhou Shu Yi.

The guys are stronger together now that everything is out in the open, and they revisit the bridge from the first season where they laid everything bare and confessed to each other.

Because even though they have to be secretive to find the person who is responsible for the company leak (which is why they have to go back into the shaded office)

They remain in their own open glass box of honesty.

The only remaining barrier is the one between Gao Shi De and Zhou Shu Yi's father, who still wants to keep secrets from Zhou Shu Yi.

Gao Shi De speaks with him in front of the window acting as the divide, but since it is a window with no curtains and the blinds are open, we already know that Zhou Shu Yi's father can no longer allow his secrets to be the barrier between him and his son's boyfriend.

With everything finally settled, the boys enjoy their glass box of honesty over dinner with the light shining on them.

And the series ends with their friends getting engaged, and them coming back to to where it all began - in the openness of the blue water, which is the biggest reflection of their love.

Thanks for this ask, Anon. I'm making a separate post of two more color items I noticed while collecting a few images for this post. Our Blue Boy, Gao Shi De, had a blue cell phone and blue chopsticks when talking with and eating with his Black Brooder boyfriend, but I never noticed that, so once again, thanks, and I hope I answered your question!

[gtbutterfly]

Quincy and the forest giant

(Formally known as unnamed gt story part two)

I wrote a part two to that new story I wrote because a lot of people seemed to like it. I still don’t have a title for it, feel free to suggest some. Criticism is appreciated.

heres part one

______________________________________________________________

I was woken up by the feeling of the sun hitting my face. I felt myself lying on something soft, and warm, like a massive blanket. There were no pillows or a mattress of any kind, other than the blanket, it felt like I was lying on a wooden floor. I slowly opened my eyes, before standing up and rubbing them. My vision was still blurry and the sun shining in my face didn’t help. As my vision cleared and I blocked the sun with my hand, I saw I was in front of a window again, except it wasn’t the same window I was in front of the night before. Outside there was a large lake with light glimmering off the blue surface, with some large puffy clouds being reflected in the water. Across the lake were massive trees which something looked off about. Their trunks and leaves seemed bigger than they were supposed to look as if they were the same trees I had always seen but blown up to be larger. I thought it was just my perspective or imagination at first. Then I realized how high up the window was, looking down, I must have been 20 or 30 feet off the ground. I turned around at the rest of the room I was in. Everything was huge, and the ceiling was as high as it was in factories, if not higher. I was on a table that was in front of the window. Looking over the edge, I was nearly 20 or 30 feet off the ground. I nearly fell off when I again felt those vibrations in the ground. I looked up, backing away from the edge and towards the window. The giant was standing in front of me, looming over my body as I looked up at them, my back against the glass. They got on their knees and looked at me eye to eye.

“You’re awake,” they said, in their stern, intimidating, buzzing voice I could feel vibrating in my chest. “I was worried you died for a minute there.”

I was dumbfounded, my mouth gaping open. I stood there shocked and silent, not knowing what to say or do. I tried getting a word out, but it just came out as a large exhale.

“Are you going to say something, or….” the giant asked. They had long brown hair and tanned skin, and their eyes were black and wet like they were puddles. They wore a dark green shirt made of cotton. The seams in their sleeves were long and massive, there were gray and brown patches stitched in with thick, brown string. I finally managed to get a word out.

“...what…?” I said. I didn’t know what I meant by “what”, it was just the only thing I could get out. I probably meant to say “What are you?” or “What is this place?” but I was too shocked.

“I said, are you going to say anything?” the giant said, looking annoyed. I took a deep breath and tried to get my words in order.

“What…what are….” I said before they interrupted me with the answer.

“I’m human. Just a really big one.” the giant said. “And no, I can’t tell you why.”

“....why not…?” I asked, not thinking straight.

“My job.” the giant said. “Now, this is what's going to happen. I already called my boss and told them about you. You stay here until they get you, and you ‘forget’ about any of this and go back to your life in that town. Got it?”

I was still dumbfounded. “Wha- what do you mean ‘forget’?” the giant sighed and put their hand on their face, frustrated.

“They’re gonna bribe you not to tell anyone,” they said, blankly. “At least that's how I think they deal with these things, it's not like they’re gonna kill you or something, especially since you’re like, eight,”

“I ... .I'm thirteen…” I said under my breath,

“What?” the giant asked,

“I’m….thirteen…..” I said louder.

“Oh, well excuse me if it's been a while since I’ve seen what children of different ages look like.” the giant rolled their eyes.

“You…live here alone?” I asked sheepishly.

“Yeah, sometimes the people I work for visit, but I don’t have a lot of neighbors,” the giant said. “Anyways, what's your name, kid?”

“Uh…” I looked down for a moment, “...Quincy…I’m Quincy…”

“I’m Ella,” The giant said. For a moment, they started extending their arms towards me like they wanted to shake my hand, but then stopped themselves, crossing their arms on their chest. “So, just chill here and don’t do anything  until they show up to take you home, and give you and your parents hush money, m'kay?”

“I…..I don’t have….” I started to say, before pausing.

“Oh, you don’t have parents?” Ella asked, “gee, sorry about that. I guess your orphanage will be getting hush money then,”

“I….I’m not part of an orphanage…” I said, confused, “there…there hasn’t been an orphanage in this country for…decades! Its been replace with the foster care system…”

“It has?” the giant tilted its head at me, “huh, that's weird. Well, I guess your…foster carers…will get hush money then. Not like it really matters, anyway.”

I turned towards the window, looking outside before turning back towards the giant.

“What is this place?” I asked,

“A giant cabin in the woods that no one is supposed to know about.” Ella said. 

“Why did you bring me here?” I asked, dozens of questions flowing through my head as I finally calmed down from being shocked.

“So you don’t tell anyone that you saw me,” Ella answered.

“You could have just brought me back home,” I said, “I would’ve just assumed that I had a dream!”

“Would you?” the giant asked, “most people remember things like that as not being dreams. And even if you would have, I’m not supposed to just let you go.”

“What are you going to do to me?” I asked in fear,

“Kid, I already told you, I’m keeping you here until other people your human size come to pick you up and make sure you don’t tell anyone about me.” Ella said, rolling her eyes. “Did you think I was going to eat you or something?”

“I….well…um…” I stuttered,

“Don’t worry kid, you’re gonna be fine, as long as you listen to me, okay?” the giant said, tilting her head at me again,

“O-okay,” I said, stumbling over my words. The giant stood up, looming 20 or 30 feet over me, peering down. My heart started beating fast, I again lost my ability to speak.

“Are you hungry? What time do you usually eat breakfast?” Ella asked me, her voice buzzing in my ears.

“M……morning…” I said the first thing to come to mind upon hearing the question.

“Right,” the giant said, lowering the palm  out in front of me, causing me to flinch. I looked at her hand, and then looked up at her.

“Wha….what do you….want me to….”

“Oh, come on kid, I told you, you have nothing to worry about.” Ella said, “just get in my hand, and I’ll get you some food, m'kay?” 

I was still hesitant to get in her massive hand. She looked at me impatiently as I went back and forth from getting closer to it and backing away. Eventuary, she groaned in annoyance. 

“Fine, have it your way,” she then scooped me up, grabbing me under my arms and lifting me off the table to her face. I yelped and squirmed out of fear and instinct as she carried me off. 

“Knock it off kid, you're fine.” she said. I took a deep breath and calmed down, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach as she carried me to a different room.

[verosvault]

🚨SPOILERS FOR FANTASY HIGH JUNIOR YEAR EPISODE 5!!!🚨

Dimension20 "Fantasy High Junior Year"

Episode 5 "Mall Madness"

Timestamp: 1:46:04

Video Length: 4min. & 59sec.

Kristen tries to reach out to Cassandra

Brennan: "Yeah, you can reach out and talk to Cassandra."

Ally: "I don't wanna say anything. Can I just listen?"

Brennan: "You listen."

Ally: "Can I just open up the channel of communication and-"

Brennan: "Listen-"

NOT BRENNAN ADJUSTING HIMSELF IN HIS SEAT!!! 😭😭😭✋✋✋ THAT'S WHEN YOU KNOW IT'S GONNA GET BAD!!! 😭😭✋✋

BRENNAN'S "I'M EVIL" SIT!!! 😭✋

The Amazing Caption Team: "(Brennan exhales ominously)"

MYSTERY VOICE?!: "She is at my side once more.

Ally: "So she is the death?"

Zac: "Is that Cassandra?"

Ally: "That's the- That's the Nightmare King talking about Kalina?"

Siobhan: "No"

Ally: "No?"

Emily: "Cassandra?"

Ally: "Did Cassandra turn back into the Nightmare King and someone is by her side once more?"

Siobhan: "Is Cassandra a lesser god serving a more powerful god?"

MYSTERY VOICE?!: "Do you wish for divinity?"

Kristen: "To serve, or to be, myself?"

I loved Ally's answer there! I wanna dissect that line SO BADLY but I'm too dumb to do that! 😂🤣💀 I don't know how I would! 💀✋

MYSTERY VOICE?!: "You have opened yourself to listen. Do you wish to listen?"

Kristen: "Yes"

MYSTERY VOICE?!: "Good. I shall give you a master you deserve."

Brennan: "Red, crackling light. And a slimy, rotting set of block letters that says "Yes!" with an exclamation mark is shunted out of the portal. (squelches)"

1. I love Zac's reaction! That's LITERALLY ME! 😭✋

2. Brennan's "Squelch" sound was too good! 😭✋

Fig: "We've got to clear this before the party."

Kristen casts banishment on the "YES!" 😭✋

Kristen: "Thank you, kind master. I will cherish it. Who do I serve? Who am I speaking to?"

Lou: *laughs* "Serve?" *Covers his face* 😂😂

MYSTERY VOICE?!: "I am coming for you."

Lou's reaction! 😭😭 LITERALLY ME! 😭✋ It's just so funny that Lou is making that face when that voice is talking to Kristen! Not Fabian! 😂🤣💀😭✋

MYSTERY VOICE?!: "And when I find you, I will break you in a way that none who loved you will recognize the ruin I have wrought."

BRO! THAT LINE!! YIKES!! SHIVERS!! 😭😭✋✋

MYSTERY VOICE?!: "Lean your soul in closer, that I might give you more than words." 😭✋

Ally cuts this off! 😭✋

HOW DOES BRENNAN LAUGH AFTER THAT FR THOUGH!?!?!?!? 😭😭😭✋✋✋

Kristen gets some images of a shattered mall, of fractions of these red glass stars collecting shards of blue astral mall, the corpses of dead wizards floating in astral space, strudel streaming out of a portal endlessly in sort of- oblivion.

Ally makes a Religion check and gets a 19!

Brennan: "Looking at all of this here, you do not feel the presence of another divinity, but yet something divine has happened. I think what you know is that there is some rage working within Cassandra that was prompted by those stars, that was prompted by those shattering things. So, I think all of your questions come back to them. Like- That's what started this. Obviously, it began within Cassandra's chest, though, and you keep coming back to that term, 'I thought you were dead', you hear 'I thought you were dead,' and you look down and see this dead- or- you banished it, but you see the slime left by the dead, rotting god that you summoned in your Freshman Year, and you suddenly remember that the Wizard Synod, the Synod of Spire, this mall, was in the Astral Realm."

Zac: "When Cassandra was saying, 'I thought you were dead,' would she be talking about 'Yes!', or is that something else?"

Emily: "I think so"

Ally: "She knew very much about 'Yes!'"

Murph: "That's why she, that's the example of-"

Emily says that the rotting "Yes!" means that Kristen's god turned into toxic positivity!! 😂🤣💀

Ally just laughs! 😂🤣💀

Ally: "I think so. Oh no...okay, okay..."

The Bad Kids wanna go find Ragh to talk to him about this maybe. 🥲

Brennan: "As you say that, I don't think it would be intuitive that it's "Yes!", because "Yes!" slid out like a dead, flat joke."

Ally: "Okay."

Brennan: "You think whatever that voice was slid 'Yes!' out to you and said, 'I'll give you a master you deserve.' and it was like a- you know what I mean? It's like- It's like a humiliation. It's like 'Here's your god.'"

Ally: "So when she said, 'I thought you were dead', it wasn't to 'Yes!'"

Brennan: "It wasn't to 'Yes!', you don't think it was."

[flockofdoves]

help me choose living room furniture!!!

so i was mocking up my living room and it turns out i have less space for couches than i hoped and there are just not that many love seat options that match the sleeper sofa i want this is so fucking sad...

but i still wanna be able to have seats for more than a few people so im trying to figure out which of these is best. i'd love input:

two notes:

other room is the kitchen so its full i just didnt bother putting anything there but the kitchen table

i want a tv stand but am not planning on getting one yet so the dimensions on that could be flexible if needed. same thing with a lamp. and some of these include a short bookcase for boardgames but thats experimental and i may not end up getting one.

ok!! lets start

this first one is very similar to how my old roommate had things set up so i know it works and i like it on an 'ease of walking from upstairs or the front door to kitchen' level

but also i kind of hate it because there are no ceiling lights on the living room side and there are no windows beyond that window behind the blue couch and the sliding glass door in the kitchen so with the tv there it made the whole space feel even darker than it does right now

#1

this one below is maybe best as far as like. compromising between ease of walking around it, walking through it, and not blocking off light?

but while it doesnt matter that much i wish there was more room for side tables while still having it easy to walk through. there arent that many small sidetables available rn i like but maybe could add the teal and red decoupage one to this?

#2

ok actually maybe its possible to have an ok amount of room to navigate and have two side tables if you just remove the bookshelf (could also fit this with the leather top table and the hexagons or brass and glass tables if anyone thinks those look better)

#3

and then heres what full size couches look like when i try to put them with the tv against the wall. a little weird with how couches overlap with other stuff so idk if its worth it and would practically and comfortably amount to more seating

#4

#5

for the one above: second one is a little better for walking past and eventually could try to find one matching sidetable, but could be nice to have two like the first one (the hexagon tables fit about equally if those look better to people)

and then heres similar but with loveseats instead so it fits a bit better

#6

#7

and then for the rest of these: it seems kind of weird to have the tv like this because i'm a little worried about knocking into the tv if i ever walk to the kitchen in the dark but it seems like its easier to fit a lot more stuff this way while still not blocking light from the windows

#8

#9

#10

i already own that circle table and its pretty but also its too tall for a normal side table so i've been trying to sell it but maybe instead of a floor lamp i could just put a normal lamp on it if theres already a big square of space between the couches? or alternatively instead of the one hexagon table jutting out i could just not have the circle table and put the hexagon there instead

or just have the little teal and red table

#11

and then could also just have a love seat in this arrangement too i guess and then thered be even more room to walk by than if the tv was on the wall

#12

#13

idk if this swan one really goes with anything and its so expensive but its so pretty so heres a couple with it..

#14

#15

god idk theres even more combos that could be good that i gave up on trying to figure out bc ive like lost the plot and am driving myself crazy with this

but yeah!! i really would love any input

[teddybeartoji]

AAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! no you get it dune 2 wasn’t as good as the first one i think sequels rarely live up to the first one!! omg my favorites change alll the time and that includes directors LOL but my current favorite one is satoshi kon!!! he made my all time favorite movie paprika!!! he’s also the director of perfect blue ! im sure you’ve heard of it :3 i sooo so so recommend his movies like millennium actress or paranoia agent or!! of course paprika!! the music in that movie is soooo good! i also really enjoy akira kurosawa’s, tim burton’s, wes anderson’s and of course kubrick’s movies im trying sooooo hard not to fangirl too much i cannot be too much of a nerd LOLOL glasses slipping off my nose doing the um ackshually pose whenever i talk about movies

WHAT ABOUT YOU THOOOOUGH!!! who are your favorite directors

AHHH YOU ARE RIGHT ABT THE SEQUELS NOT MEASURING UP TO THE FIRST ONES but hhhhhhhh i did have pretty big expectations for it too smhhh.. i really did looooove the first one😔😔😔

OMGGGGGGG I HAVE HEARD ABT PERFECT BLUEE!!!!!!!!! i have to admit that i haven't seen it though please don't shoot me.. i'm adding paprika and the others to my watchlist rn too hehehe i'll remember those!!!!!!!!!! and i'll come screaming when i finally happen to watch them too bc we then have to Discuss them>:33333333 ALSO PLSSS NERD OUT WITH MEEEE I LOVE ITTT I WANNA HEAR ALL OF YOUR THOUGHTSSS!!!!!!!!!!!! btw i recently saw wes anderson's isle of dogs at the cinema for the first time and i loved it soo so fucking much i think that actually might be one of my favourites of his now....

out of kubrick's stuff i think i've actually only seen the shining if i'm being honest here,, it's not like i'm not interested in the others i just have a tendency to rewatch a lot of things instead of going for smth new lmao i also love how we both seem to be Film Bros but like.. different types😭😭😭😭 I SAY THAT WITH LOVE BTW

i am a... david fincher film bro lmao fight club is literally my most watched film i love it so so much it's like a comfort film at this point idk don't get me wrong it's not my favourite of his though,, i think my top three would be 1. se7en 2. zodiac 3. the social network!!!!!!!!!!!!! but yeah i just love his works so fucking much they scratch my brain so fucking good..

AND THEN MY OTHER FAVOURITE DIRECTOR IS GUY RITCHIE!!!!!!!! this is such a silly one but i love him okay his sense of humor goes so well with mine,, snatch is one of my favourite films ever it's so good lmao aaaand i do love his later films too i think they're super fucking fun!!!!! the man from uncle has the best fucking score ever and idk i know a lot of ppl didn't like it it is one of my little guilty-not-so-guilty pleasures!!!!!!!!!!

and. continuing on with my film bro streak lmao i do like tarantino quite a lot ngl i absolutely adore inglorious basterds and django and kill bill and reservoir dogs and pulp fiction they're all just so fucking fun too

AAAAAAAAAAAND i also wanna add spielberg just bc i've been thinking abt indiana jones again!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! LIFE-CHANGINGGGGGG i love the indiana jones films so fucking much i've loved them since i was a fucking child but they really are so so good they just don't make films like that anymore.... the lighting the blocking the acting the sweat the clothes the fact that indiana is a fucking loser and not some tough guy aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa idk i could talk abt those films for forever i think..

[sansloii]

Rules, tag 10 followers  you want to get to know better!

Tagged by: @fanaticist​​ Tagging: @skxrbrand @celestialspitfire @dcviated @hhemeraa @nezumivc103221 @soulsxng @feraecor @soraeia @fatestouch @desiderium-eden + and anyone else that wants to share deep dark personal lore

Name: marshy, morsh, mushy, marshabelle, whatever mispelling you want of "marshy" because i will respond to it all

Star Sign: gemini (sun) + scorpio (moon) + aquarius (rising)

Height: 5'6/5'7-ish

Middle name: that's between me and the fbi agent in my laptop

Put your itunes/spotify/youtube on shuffle. What are the first 6 songs that popped up? ( my youtube playlist is a fucking mess do not judge me )

hated by life itself by Iori Kanzaki

blessed messiah and the tower of ai by Hitoshizuku-P × Yama△

Ressurections by lena raine

don't threaten a bitch! ( mashup of panic at the disco & marina and the diamonds )

last remote piano arrange by nana takahashi

use me by diplo ( feat. dove cameron + johnny blue skies

Ever had a poem or song written about you: nnnnope!

When was the last time you played air guitar: god i don't even know when the last time i did that was djfsdfs

i'm more the type that will dance in my seat or in place when i'm feeling a song

Who is your celebrity crush?: don't have one. i'm boring sorryyy and if i do, i don't remember it right now

What’s a sound you hate; sound you love?: you know those obnoxious pricks that refuse to get a muffler or whatever for their car? so when they're driving really really fast in their super nice "fuck you" car, the exhaust or engine pops just as obnoxiously loud?? that. i hate that. I personally think that i should get to kick you down the stairs if your car does that.

as for a sound that i love, i like rain noises and ambiance. often times, i use it to write or do coding tasks at work. it lets me block things out and really focus on what i need to do, because i'm prone to getting distracted.

Do you believe in ghosts?: not really? all the spooky shit is already happening and this world is scary enough without the addition of spectres from the beyond

How about aliens: kinda? but more in the sense that there is no way in hell this planet is the only planet with sentient life because there is so much of space that we haven't even touched. that said, can they pop up after i exit this mortal coil because i will not have my life be derailed by an alien invasion. no ma'am

Do you drive?: nnnnope. but i live in a city where i don't have to yet

if so have you ever crashed: n/a

What was the last book you read?: i literally never read anymore so i couldn't even tell you.

Do you like the smell of gasoline: no. it fucking stinks

What was the last movie you saw?: uuuuhhhh by the time this posts, i'll have watched the super mario bros movie. but if not, I watched lights out ( thank you @hhemeraa )

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had?:  when i was in middle school, i ran face first into a glass door at home and it shattered. a large chunk of glass landed on my shoulder and i had to get stitches for it at like... 11pm on a school night. mom was a nurse tho so she got me in and out of the emergency room relatively quickly because she took me to the hospital she worked at. i was Not a happy camper, regardless, tho and after i got back home, i avoided that part of the house for a solid month. i also only got to stay home for like. a day or two before i was told to go back to school

it didn't help that i kept hearing that with the way it landed ( the scar is just shy of the junction of my neck and shoulder ), it could've been potentially fatal. and i was really lucky. so that was nice.

Do you have any obsessions right now?: tears of the kingdom!!!! i got it day one and have been OBSESSED with it. i haven't been able to play it as much as i would like but!!! i'm having fun with it--especially when the game lets me make a large ass bridge of logs so i can scale something i don't have enough stamina to climb.

[ladykf-writes]

Find the Word Tag

Tagged by @case-of-traxits for this interesting word hunt through my fics. I'm trying to do a different fic for each! And I'm tagging @thegeeksqueaks | @vorpalgirl | @wandererriha | @yuzukimist

Rules: Search your writing for the following words, and post an excerpt containing them. Your words are the following: light, hope, alive and feeling, or some derivative like "lights" or "hopeful" --- tag me if you do these, folks!

My words were: blood, soft, feather, and sunlight. I've mentioned the chapter and linked to the fic each is from as well as the fic's status. (If you're interested in the WIPs... let me know. It's really, really appreciated.)

Blood

She struck at him, blow after whirling blow, almost too fast to follow. Almost too fast to block. Definitely too fast to reclaim the offensive.

And like an absolute idiot rookie, he went down. Tripped, of all things, and landed on his ass.

Rosso was on him in a breath with a vicious, bloodthirsty grin as she pointed her weapon at his chest. "And now, SOLDIER, you die and I will live on. I will -"

Maybe Benji should have been more brutal, in his desperation. But instead he was reckless.

He grabbed her weapon with both hands, felt the bite of metal into his palms, and offered a positively wicked grin because he had nothing left to lose.

The force of the Thundaga that he released in her split second of baffled shock threw her like a rag doll and sent Benji crashing back into a building. Her weapon went flying off somewhere, but he didn't care because she didn't get back up.

Benji managed a wheezing laugh, licking blood off his lips and tasting copper as he coughed. He got to his feet with bullheaded stubbornness, and made his way over to her still body. After a moment, he rolled her over, and hummed as he saw her chest rise shallowly. Just unconscious, then. Nice.

"Gloating is a terrible habit," he muttered, keying his mic. "Rosso is down. I repeat, Rosso the Crimson is down."

From CH 62, Nothing To Lose: Dog Whistle - a canon divergent FFVII fixit [Incomplete]

Soft

“And you said Shield Amicitia was the one who took you on, right?” Prompto asked. “When you first got in with them.”

“Adopted me like a feral stray,” Cor said dryly.

“Did you bite him?” Prompto asked, mostly teasing.

Then Cor did that ‘trying not to smile’ twitchy thing with his lips, blue eyes gleaming, and Prompto gasped.

“You bit Shield Amicitia?” He said, yet again both scandalized and delighted. Cor was really good at getting that particular response.

“I said no such thing,” Cor defended.

“Your eyes said you did,” Prompto retorted, grinning. “Oh my gods, you bit him? What did he do?”

“If I bit Clarus, I assure you he would have deserved it,” Cor said. “And taken it as his due for being a jerk in the first place.”

Prompto cackled, sinking into a chair. “Oh my gods, Cor, you are impossible.”

Cor finally let himself smile a little, soft and unaccountably fond as he watched Prompto cackling. “Do I amuse you?”

“So much,” Prompto said, wiping his eyes. “Oh man. You’re something, you know that?”

“I may have been told that on occasion,” he said, still clearly amused.

Which, fair - that made two of them. “You’re crazy, but I really appreciate that about you.”

Cor chuckled softly. “Mmh… thank you, I think.”

“Definitely,” he said, laughing one last time before getting himself under control. It was weird how comfortable he’d gotten with Cor. He didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He was… well, he was treating him like a friend, because he felt like it. He still couldn’t picture being ‘friends’ with the Immortal Marshal of the Crownsguard but… Cor, like this, smiling and joking and softening those hard edges… yeah. Yeah, he could see himself being friends with Cor.

CH 7: Returning the Favor, A Place to Call Home - a FFXV gift / exchange fic from 2021, pre-canon Dad!Cor and Prompto [Complete]

Feather

Hojo stared at him a long moment over the rims of his glasses. "How you ever made it to First Class, let alone cultivated a reputation for being level headed and intelligent is beyond my understanding. I admit, I didn't think you or Rhapsodos should have ever been allowed to enter the SOLDIER program. I still think it was a foolish mistake as this debacle proves, but the problem here is not that you are some sort of abomination. What's wrong with you, Hewley, is that you are entirely too human."

Angeal stared back in disbelief. "Too human? Have you even looked at-"

"I have been looking at the literal design of your being for days, Hewley, so kindly shut up and let the person who knows what they're talking about talk," he interrupted, glaring at him. "Your mother was injected with Jenova cells well before your conception, and you would have inherited them along with her own natural genes in a much more complete way than Rhapsodos had. They tied into your genome thoroughly enough that you could have been promoted through Second Class with no ill effects, but the higher doses of mako required to become a First Class SOLDIER were too stimulating; it immediately began to awaken those genes to higher activity, priming you to be responsive to Genesis' manipulations."

"I don't believe he did this to me on purpose," he insisted, though the arguments the professor made left him a bit wide eyed and shaken. He didn't dare look at Zack, and a quick look at Sephiroth's too still posture kept him from a second glance. "He's lost a lot of himself, but he wouldn't do that. Not to me."

"Why not? You're far more sane than he is and you turned on your so-called friends without hesitation." Hojo was merciless with his honesty. "Is he really the better man? Is there even such a thing? You're both human. The nature of humanity is to betray others to protect themselves, it has been since the beginning of its existence. I'm honestly not sure why you keep holding it up as something to aspire to."

What was he supposed to say to that? Angeal swallowed hard, but it didn't get rid of the tightness in his throat, and no amount of blinking rid his eyes of their burn.

Hojo shook his head with a dismissive sound, turning back to the computer. "What's the human genome but a long line of advantageous mutations that have been adapted over millennia? Not, mind you, that Hollander has provided you with anything of the sort. But it's the principle of the thing in that this is nothing new, and we would all benefit from you realizing that this really doesn't make you special. You're a grown man and a SOLDIER First Class; it's about time you get over your identity crisis and realize nothing has actually changed beyond you now knowing more of your genetic history. You're the same man you were before you clued into that fact, quit being such a child about it."

Angeal made a little strangled sound, shaking his head and shaking his wings out. He followed the path of a pair of stray feathers, noting numbly when Hojo took another in gloved fingertips to set aside. "But…"

"But nothing. I'm not going to put up with your excuses." Hojo crossed over to his side table, snapping his fingers. "Get a tech in here. We need to draw a few samples and get actual testing going since there's clearly not going to be any further narratives for now."

CH 16, Too Human, To Be Human - an older but well loved FFVII FIx-It [Complete!]

Sunlight

The massive gate leading out of town gave way almost immediately to an old, untamed forest that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Admittedly, it was hard to be sure how far that was, when looking through a heavily wooded area. Several paths branched off, but Mint took off down one without the slightest hesitation, so he followed her. Hopefully she knew where she was going.

The forest was thick with trees, sunlight streaming down through the canopy to rich, dark earth under their feet that had been worn and packed from people walking the path. It was decidedly peaceful, comfortable, with an easy breeze that rustled the leaves above and the foliage below. Somewhere in the distance, quiet birdsong could be heard.

Of course, like most forests, there were dangers amid the deceptive peacefulness. They came upon a group of Pollywogs, more of a nuisance than an actual threat even in a group. They bobbed through the air in silence, their fat yellow bodies showing up clearly against the backdrop of greens and brown. As soon as they spotted Mint and Rue, they came over with a burst of speed, lavender head tails whipping behind them as they snapped their jaws in an attempt at menacing. Mint didn't even bother to raise her hoops, making a sharp gesture instead and sending out a spray of energy. Balls of golden light shot through the air, impacting into the monsters and taking several down in the first shot. Only one of them had the presence of mind to evade the attack, but when it swerved it went directly into range of Rue's Arc Edge. A single powerful slash downward and the final Pollywog hit the dirt with a soft thud.

From CH 6, A Fortunate Encounter: Dewprism: Journey to the [Relic] - a Threads of Fate semi-novelization [On hiatus]

[kelmcdonald]

Indiginerds is Crowdfunding Now

Hey folks! First things first, Indiginerds is currently crowdfunding. It has made goal but we really want to get it to the 35k stretch goal as soon as possible. When we hit that, Iron Circus will be able to donate copies to indigenous libraries and schools. It will help indigenous kids see themselves in stories and it gets the indigenous artists in the book a raise. November is National Native American Heritage Month, so it's the perfect time to back something like Indiginerds.

November is pretty quiet otherwise. Alina will be a guest on Geekshow for a crowdfund end countdown on November 16th. And I'm going to do my usual streaming. 

I'm still gonna be answering readers questions in comic form so, if you have one post it here!

Watching Wolf Guy last month turned out to be a bust because of technically difficulties. The full moon movie watch parties have been tending toward horror lately. So for a change of pace, next one will be a comedy. On November 27th at 5pm PST, please join me and some other fine folks while we watch Teen Wolf the movie (not the MTV tv show). Click if you want to join.

I'll also be doing my usual streaming

As always I'll be streaming art on Twitch. My schedule is currently the following:

Tuesday 8pm-10pm PST

Wednesday 6pm-10pm PST (changed the time)

Thursday 6pm-9pm PST (during the Iron Circus Geekshow)

Stop by!

The big thing from last month is I started answering reader question. Here's a look at it. 

As long as it's not a spoiler I'll answer. So post any questions you got here

This month I'm gonna try to finish Blue Moon's script. My work load from Seven Seas is kinda light, so gonna focus on getting that out the door so Meredith can start drawing it. That and get ahead on The City Between.

After Blue Moon is done, I'm gonna write the next City Between story. It's called Glass Diamonds and will be about Rebecca and her next client. Shards of Reflection is about half way done, so I need to make sure Glass Diamonds is ready to go sooner rather than later. I've been fiddling with some concept art for it.

Once those two things are off my plate, I'll finish up the art for my werewolf videogame and get back to You are the Chosen One. 

While doing all that, I need to sit down and build a crowdfund for Murky Water. I've been putting it off because there was a paper shortage. So the cost of printing had shot up. I was hoping to wait it out and I think things have settled down. Obviously they are still higher than last time I printed a book because of inflation, but it's as cheap as it's gonna get. 

I was also waiting a bit because I wanted to see how the crowdfunding landscape shakes out. About two years ago I wrote about Kickstarter saying they would try out block chain. At the time I said I wasn't gonna use them and was looking into Indiegogo and Zoop. Since then, Crowdfundr and Backerkit got into the crowdfunding landscape and Kickstarter has walked back blockchain (sorta). 

The problem almost all the non-kickstarter crowdfunds are having is no one browses their websites to find crowdfunds. It means all your crowdfunding success depends on the fanbase you already have and spreading the word on social media. But social media is currently falling apart. Part of my duties at Iron Circus is making the schedule for all the crowdfunds. So I've seen first had as social media referrals become smaller and smaller. Which makes crowdfunding harder than ever, especially if people aren't browsing the site in general.

I was considering using Backerkit which is what Iron Circus has been using lately. But I won't recommend them to the average creator. Backerkit gets around the no browsing problem by having a robust advertising service. Which seemed promising at first, but myself and several smaller comic artists quickly learned the Backerkit will only run those ads IF you've already hit goal. So all their promo help is designed around you already being super successful. Like after the first day, Backerkit turned off ads for Indiginerds and didn't turn them back on until after it hit goal. So while they are good for Iron Circus, who's projects usually fund in a day or two, they would be pretty useless for me. My projects usually fund in the last week if not that last few days. 

Also, since I've built several backerkit pages for Iron Circus, I know that I find their back end UI obtuse. I lose a lot of time trying to find stuff when I build those pages. But if their ads had been more useful, I would have sucked it up. 

As for Kickstarter's end of things. I said the sorta walked back using the blockchain. Basically, the guy who pushed for it was forces to leave. I forget if he was outright fired or if he left on his own. But either way, after that Kickstarter said they were still open to maybe using blockchain in the future but wouldn't put any resources into it until a benefit is proven. And since their blockchain plans were mostly all buzzword gibberish before, that means they won't be using it anytime soon. I'm still annoyed they won't swear it off, but that seems the best they are gonna do. So whole crowdfund landscape in my mind is:

But with social media falling apart and none of the crowdfunding sites having a lot of browsing going on, I'm like 90% I'm gonna have to go back to Kickstarter. It's really frustrating. 

I also got to figure out what to do about international shipping which is it's own mess. The post office has been gutted so badly that international shipping has gotten wildly out of had. Like sending one of The City Between books to Europe now costs like $25. It's ridiculous. So before this crowdfund happens, I need to figure out what I'm doing on that end. 

Anyway, thanks everyone for your support as usual! Especially those who back my patreon. Shit is rough out there for indie artists right now.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

flowers for alexander | chapter twenty-three

”Our passion for learning ... is our tool for survival.” -carl sagan

Though it was still very much autumn, the tapestry of night over Las Vegas remained somewhat warm, although not enough to warrant Florence and Francine stripping down for the heat like a couple of showgirls. As long as rain met them when they made their way up to Reno followed by Northern California and the Pacific Northwest, then Florence knew she could relax and enjoy the shows on the airships for the time being.

The little blues session with the boys from Death Angel helped ease her mind as well, and she could perhaps launch into a conversation with Eric somewhere along the way. She stood out on the curb next to Francine, who had tucked her sunglasses upon the crown of her head and a glass of celery juice in one hand: she offered Florence a sip, with the reassurance that it was healthy to drink for her, but she turned it down. She rested a hand on her belly and gazed on at the glimmering skyline that was the Strip.

Something about the vibe of Las Vegas, the fact that they could strike up a gamble as well as have a fine time with a woman of the streets, the fact that the singular column of light from the roof of the Luxor combined with the red from Planet Hollywood made Florence think of a woman with devil horns adorned upon her head.

Perhaps she was that woman. The woman who sank her teeth into two boys and made them into young men with her venom, and this was an act of coming full circle of sorts. The way that Eric snuck up on her with those large brown eyes and welcomed her with that soft silken light olive skin. The way that Alex seemed to knock her out without even trying or thinking twice about it. Eric, as soft and comforting as the earth underneath her feet, and Alex, as silent and soulful as the scorpion or the tortoise out there in the scorched sands, came to her as if they were offering water to their empress.

And yet, she had her hold over the two of them. She had her grip over them like the way that the heat had its grip over the entire Las Vegas metropolitan area.

Francine ran her fingers through her hair and sipped on her celery juice.

“I feel like I've seen god with Exodus,” she finally confessed.

“It helps that they're called 'Exodus', too,” Florence added as she gave her belly a massage. Across the street, a woman in a shabby low cut red dress and high heels strolled along the sidewalk: her stilettos shone bright under the golden streetlights around the block, such that Florence thought of knives under her feet. Her body was tight and her hair stood upon her head like a crown of curls, and she hoped that she could have her body as tight as ever like that once her baby was born. She thought about getting down with Eric, with high heels like that as well as a snug little black dress of velvet, just for one night, a night alone once the baby had fallen asleep.

“When did they stop nuclear testing up north?” Francine asked her, such that the sound of her voice caught Florence off guard.

“Long time ago. And... seeing the column of steam where that hooker is, I'm guessing the steam's not too far off.” Indeed, the two of them spotted a slight column of feathery white steam as it rose from the storm drain underneath the sidewalk: the woman strolled along as if nothing happened and she bowed into the red lights from the tail end of the Strip.

“Speaking of steam, I'd like to blow off some,” Francine confessed.

“Oh, really?” Florence cracked her a smile. “And how would you go about with that?”

“I... really cannot stop thinking about Alex,” she said with a shake of her head. “I just close my eyes and I see him. He's a really beautiful boy.”

“He really is,” Florence assured her. “He's fun to be with, too. Even though he's still really young, he's so intelligent and well read. He's like an encyclopedia of sorts. He makes being a brainiac really sexy.”

“I'm a little envious, actually,” Francine said.

“Why is that?”

“You got to be with him first. Got to see what he's like first hand.” Francine sipped on her juice some more, and then she leaned in closer to Florence. “What's he like?” she asked her in a loud enough voice to hear over the noise of the street.

“What's he like?”

“Yeah. Like... is he a beast? Is he a little lamb?”

“He's like... really tender and sweet. Very sensual, too. Very sensual. I remember him always wanting to put his hands on me and wanting to touch me. It can be a little much if you're not used to it. He's a little bit reserved, too, like I remember actively trying to coax him out of his shell a few times before. But, just assure him that he's safe and that he's in good hands and that you're both just here for a fine time, and he'll slowly but surely show himself to you. He really, really likes to be touched, like touch him in the right spot and he'll be like putty in your hands. I remember holding him close a few times and it was like snuggling with a little teddy bear.”

Francine peered back towards the airships, where the boys were already helping themselves to bottles of sarsaparilla and beer.

“Do you think they'll know?” she asked Florence in a hushed voice.

“Know what? And who, too?”

“Exodus. Do you think they'll know that I'm curious about Alex?”

“I wouldn't put too much stock into what they all think about you,” Florence advised her. “They're all wild and crazy boys, anyway, but especially Exodus. They probably won't notice unless you actually come right out and talk about it.”

Francine sighed through her nose and gazed on at the Strip before them. The glimmering golden lights shone a rich, deep glow on the blackness of night overhead; Florence thought about putting on another little show for them as they prepared to perform their sets for the next night. She thought about Death Angel and what they would do given their ship imploded. She also thought about whether or not the ships would hold up for the long trek up along the nuclear spine of Nevada up to Reno. She hoped that they would be able to go around that whole entire area north of the valley given she had no idea as to how the monitors and the sirens would fare up there.

“There's a part of me that wants to strip down and shake my boobs in front of them,” Florence then confessed out of the blue, to which Francine flashed her tongue at her.

“Really, Flo?”

“Yeah, really, Frankie! I've got these pregnant boobs, too. They won't know what'll hit them.” She then gestured for Francine to lean in closer to her again. “I should probably tell you that Alex is a leg man,” she confessed in a low voice.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I actually caught him... a couple of times, looking at my legs after Eric and I got together. Remember those little pedal pushers I used to have that Mom gave me?”

“I do, yeah. They were—dark blue?”

“They were as dark blue as dark blue could be, and they hugged my hips and my thighs. It was so cute, though: he'd look at me right in the face while we were talking and he'd take a glimpse down at my legs. He is so sneaky about it, too, like he'll make it look as though he's just thinking about what to say given how off the cuff he is. But I remember how he would ogle me from clear across the room. Every encyclopedia does have that one section that's not afraid to think about the nether regions, after all.”

Francine chuckled at that as she brought a hand up to her mouth. Florence then felt a hand on her shoulder, and she peered behind her to find Chuck with a big beaming smile on that handsome Native American face.

“Oh, hi,” she greeted him.

“What's going on over here?” he asked them with a twinkle in his eye.

“We're just chatting,” she replied with a shrug. “Girl stuff.”

“Heh, girly stuff. I came over here 'cause I was wondering if the two of you wanted to help us pick out dinner for tonight and tomorrow.”

“I could help with that,” Francine volunteered.

“Why, 'cause I have weird cravings and whatnot?” Florence teased her, and Chuck snickered at that.

“Nah, I just wanna help out with that,” she said with a shrug and a straight face. “There is the possibility of triggering cravings, though.”

And the three of them laughed at that. Francine doubled back towards the parked airships to fetch one of the guys back there, which in turn left Florence alone with Chuck.

“How are you doing, by the way? I haven't been able to really see you lately.”

“I'm good,” she replied, and she immediately regretted saying that to him. She rested her hand on her belly, and he nodded his head at that.

“I heard,” he decreed. “Congrats to you and Eric.”

“Thank you,” she said with a smile and a blush to her face.

“Boy or girl?”

“We don't know yet. We're hoping it's a girl so we can name her Nathalie.”

He patted her on the shoulder. “Good kids, both of you.”

“I have a question,” Florence began.

“Go ahead,” Chuck insisted.

“When we leave here in a couple of days, are we going to fly over Death Valley or Yucca Flat?”

Chuck shook his head. “I don't really know, to be honest,” he admitted to her. “It's all desert to me.”

“Well, I ask because of the radiation alarms that went off while we're were flying into the valley earlier,” she explained in a single breath. “Yucca Flat, Frenchman Flat, all of it about sixty miles due north of here, it's all a site of nuclear testing.”

“Oh, yeah, that's right!” He gaped at her. “I completely forgot about that.”

“Yeah, especially in my condition,” she noted with another caress of her belly.

“Yeah, I hope we can fly over Death Valley instead because... you know, that'd be awful for you. I'll go check really quick.” He gently patted her shoulder again before he jogged over to Testament's airship parked at the front of the pack. Out before Exodus' airship, Francine chatted with Zetro as well as Mark, the latter of whom showed her a sweet little smile: that smile that she was all too familiar with, given she saw that with Alex when they were together, and one that she saw with Eric whenever he was in the mood with her.

When she realized that she hadn't seen Alex and Eric in quite some time, she craned her neck for a better look at the small congregation before the airships. Nowhere did she see that little indicative plume of gray or that soft, smooth inky black hair in there, and nowhere did she see Chuck, either. It was as if those three men in particular had disappeared from that small crowd of boys with their stage hands and the assistants from the ships themselves.

Florence set a hand on her belly and she walked along the sidewalk with her eye on the ships. She rounded the corner by the street with the light of the Strip at her back and her eyes fixated on that little lot. Nowhere in the warm lights from the street or from the ships did she see those two men.

But she did recognize Alex's hearty laughter at the far end of the block, however. She turned her head to find his wiry silhouette under the light outside the front of a dark building.

A strip joint.

All smart boys had a dark side.

Curious, she took a glance over her shoulder to ensure no one was watching her. The hot desert wind made her hair twirl about at the side of her head while the distinctive smell of hot metal tickled her nose. She turned her head to see the column of steam there up the street at an angle, and she hoped that there wouldn't be another explosion with the shooting of superheated water to knock her over again.

“Come on, baby girl,” she aloud with her head bowed towards her belly. She ambled up to the crosswalk and pressed the button. Down the street, she caught the sight of lights low in the sky, and then she remembered that they were right near the airport. All she could hope for right then was that no one would notice that she had gone missing from the lot behind her until she fetched Alex and Eric.

The light turned green and she padded along the street to the other side. She nudged a lock of hair behind her ear once she reached the sidewalk, and it was right then she noticed more lights in the sky behind her.

Airplanes and airships, she figured as more wisps of steam wafted up from the storm drain next to her.

“I had no idea the steam had invaded Sin City,” she admitted aloud. Indeed, Florence scurried past a few bookstores there on the side of the street, one was a standard shop, the neighboring one dedicated to science, and the third one an adult shop. She stopped before the front window to the science bookstore, and she eyed the one on astronomy. It was a thick tome with a heavy black cover decorated with little silver stars around the corners, and she hoped that she would be able to carry it back with her to the airship when the time came. She had a hunch that Nathalie was going to grow up musical like Eric and scientific like her. The best of both worlds to remain fickle.

Florence dropped her gaze to the book on display before her: all about nuclear biology and chemistry. There were so many books that she hadn't read yet, and she hoped that Nathalie would have the innate curiosity within her to seek them out for herself.

She sighed through her nose and decided to return to the bookstore in the future: she made a mental note that it was the second one on the side of the street at the intersection of the main drag and the airport, just prior to entering the Strip. She continued on past the adult bookstore, whereby she hoped to pay a visit in there sometime once Nathalie had fallen asleep and Eric was in a mood of sorts; past a few nondescript buildings, followed by a shabby cafe that looked as though it hadn't had any service in several years, an empty lot, and then the dark building there at the end.

It was without question a strip joint.

She recognized that gray streak through the shaded glass of the front door. She opened the door and peered into the club, which smelled of pot, alcohol, and human flesh ready for the taking. She gazed on at the neon shaded stages and the accompanying poles: how she wished she had something like this back in Santa Barbara when she danced for those two boys. There was no one else in there except for her and the two of them over there on the other side of the room.

Though the darkness of the club acted as her protection, she still ducked down to ensure they wouldn't see her.

She recognized Alex's hearty laughter again, followed by Eric's soft voice as she came in closer to them. She heard a third male voice that she didn't recognize, however, and her heart skipped a few beats.

When she reached the middle of the stage, she raised her head up for a peek out at them there at that doorway. They had their backs to her but they were talking to a male stripper, who still had his robe on.

She swallowed and ducked down again. There was a nagging feeling inside of her as she closed her eyes and tried to think about Eric in her arms. She then thought about Alex in her arms.

Those two men, like putty in her palm, now stood at the other side of the room with a stripper. But then she heard silence after that.

She opened her eyes and peeked back over the edge of the stage to find that they had gone into the next room with him: she spotted the swinging salon doors in their wake. Her heart raced in her chest as she made her way over there on the pads of her feet.

She pushed open the doors, only to find the two of them laying there on a California king bed with their pants down and their hands tied behind their backs in preparation of a threesome with a male dancer. She gasped at them, especially since the room was warmly lit with a series of candles on the far side there rather than that disorienting neon from the stages behind her.

“Oh, my god!” Alex shouted right then.

“Oh, my god!” she echoed him, and Eric shook his bound hands at her.

“It's not what it looks like,” he sputtered. “Promise! It's not what it looks like!” Florence shook her head and staggered back away from him. She could feel the tears rushing in all the while. She bolted out from there and back towards the front door.

Tears fell as she burst out of there and into the warm night, where she was met with even more lights in the sky, as if they were experiencing an invasion.

“Florence!” Eric shouted after her.

“Florence!” Alex echoed him.

She didn't stop, especially once she reached the crosswalk again and pressed the button a number of times.

“Florence!” Eric called after her as he jogged up to her. “Florence, wait!”

“No! No! No!” she shrieked. She shuddered as she struggled to breathe. Alex stumbled up behind him with his pants still undone, and that was all it took for her. This was what Eric hid from her.

“You guys are—are—” She could hardly talk. Eric swallowed: through the dim light and her own tears, she could see the same in his own.

“After you saved me from the steam column,” she wept. “After I believed that you were with a woman—after everything—every last little goddamn thing—after the fact that I am carrying your baby, Eric—you do this. You do this! And to me! You do this TO ME!” She cradled her face in her hands and bawled. She didn't want to hear about it as she turned away from him and towards the curb. The bookstores were closing for the night but that was least of her problems.

“Holy shit, look!” Alex declared, and she knew he was referring to the lights in the sky.

“What's going on?” Eric asked him.

“I don't know! It looks like we're getting captured by the star fleet.”

But the lights in the sky made no difference to her whatsoever. She sat down there on the edge of the curb with her face buried in her hands, and she hoped that the ships would fly over Death Valley instead so she could lay down let the heat overtake her.

[sometimesanalice]

ahhhhh! Monroe, you have me in a TIZZY over hereeee! The meme game has me on the floor, lmaoooo!

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

your writing is just so natural and witty, alexa. the flow between your prose and your dialogue and how you write character's inner monologue is just so artful. it always blows me away.-- ahh, you stop it right now! I love writing dialogue, it's probably why my fics always get out of hand, lol. But I'm so hyperaware of not wanting them to ever feel like they have white room syndrome, so this means the world to me because I try really hard to fold in all those elements with how people are feeling and thinking and things they're doing so that it doesn't feel flat. But also, I had such fun with these two and their dynamic! Bob was new for me to write, but I loved just how cheeky miss reader ma'am was with him, while also trying to put him at ease.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

giggling, kicking my feet, twirling my hair, etc.-- So I had the worst writer's block at the beginning of the year. I felt like trying to put down words was like pulling out teeth. I had the stories, but nothing felt easy or fun. But this fic came out of a chat in the dms with a friend who encouraged me to follow the must as it were, and the idea of Bob in that Paint and Sip has lived in my head rent free since then! I adored how intentional this gesture was from him, like yeah he got to sneak a kiss, but also how he didn't want her to be embarrassed about it happening that he showed her in the best way he could in that moment that he was happy to be in it with her. She won't be drinking the paint water alone on his watch, lol! (but also where was my bob when I was a victim of the paint water debacle?!! lmao. I don't like to put any bits of myself in my fics, but that life experience was just too good not to use, haha!)

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

ugh, the way you write him is so cute.-- I was so nervous! I didn't want to let the Bob Babes down! Like I'm yearning for the sweet, sassy man in the glasses, but I took me a bit to feel comfortable writing him. But I loved the idea of his kind of steadfast earnestness. He says what he means, and he means what he says. Where she is kind of a tease, he always meets her with genuineness. He had me swooning, that sweet boy!

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

the only way to accurately express how i feel about the smut in this piece would just be copy and pasting the entire section and then embedding the audio of a long scream. that's my review.-- plsssssss lmaooooooo 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 😂 I channeled all my feral Pottery Lewis energy into Bob with his paintbrush for this fic! I'm thrilled it translated, haahaha!

Thank you for this reblog, friend! It sent me through the roof, haha!

Make Me Your Masterpiece

Summary: Bob credits you for helping him to find his new hobby. And when he asks if he can you paint you, you find you quite like the idea of being his muse.

Pairing: Robert ‘Bob’ Floyd x Female Reader

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: fluff, smut, and basically an ode to Lewis Pullman’s hands (mdni)

(Author’s Note: smutty fics are the new friendship bracelet, spread the word! Happy Birthday, Ames! 🎉 @laracrofted)

You’ve always had a thing for Bob’s hands.

They were one of the first things you noticed about him that day at the coffee shop almost a year ago now.

You’d been reaching for your iced vanilla cinnamon latte when a big hand had wrapped around it just a half of a second before you could grab it. Which you wouldn’t have minded admiring them for a moment under any other circumstances, but after an endless string of meetings you’d been in a dire need of a caffeine fix- and not the weak stuff that people brewed in your office’s communal coffee pot.

“I think that’s-” you’d started.

“Oh, I’m sorry-” the coffee thief backpedaled.

The next thing you knew you were looking into the prettiest pair of ocean blue eyes. 

The two of you were startled out of the moment when the barista called out the next order as they’d set it on the counter.

By some kismet or fate, they had been a matching set. But instead of embroidered towels, it was his and hers coffee cups with your names written on them in a hasty scrawl.

Realization dawned over his features as he gave you a sheepish smile, “Think this one might belong to you, Miss.” He spun the coffee until he found the spot with your name. That little smile becoming a full grin as he’d said it aloud before passing the cup to you.

The hands had been good, the eyes had been great, but Bob’s smile directed at you had left you weak in the knees.

You’d been a goner right then and there.

And while you’d ended up almost ten minutes late to your next meeting, you’d also gone back to the office with his phone number written on a cardboard coffee sleeve that was tucked away safely in your purse and a date lined up later that week.

As it turned out fate had a name and it was Robert Floyd.

Barely twenty minutes into your first official date with Bob, his ears had turned a delightful shade of pink as his anxious fingers straightened the silverware on the white linen tablecloth of the Italian spot he’d taken you to. He’d fessed up and apologized as he came clean, telling you that he’d purposefully ordered the same coffee as you in hopes of getting to start up a conversation with the pretty girl who’d been standing in front of him in line.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you, since you looked busy. But I didn’t want to miss my chance,” he’d confessed over candlelight.

He’d told you how he’d only been at the coffee shop because he’d recently returned from a deployment and was fighting the jetlag that came with adjusting to being back on Pacific Standard Time, and that he normally preferred tea but he needed something with a bit more to it to get him through the day.

Instead of getting up and taking the bottle of wine to-go as a consolation prize, like you would have if it had been anyone else, his genuine earnestness had charmed you instantly. And you’d settled on having a second date with him before the first one had even really started.

You only let him sweat it for about thirty seconds before you took pity on him. With a light fingertip, you traced along one of the veins on the back of his hand and simply asked, “So other than being a meet cute mastermind, what is it that you do for a living, Bob?”

It was the best first date you’d ever had.

For your second date with him, you’d bought tickets to a ‘Paint and Sip’ event at a buzzy new bistro in town your friend had told you about.

You weren’t an artist by any means, but during that dinner date his antsy fingers and expressive hands had clued you into how nervous he’d been. You’d found your eyes drifting to them on more than one occasion. Partly because they were so enticingly disproportionate to the rest of him, but also because you couldn’t look him directly in the eye for too long without feeling your face heating up.

You thought it would be a good way for the both of you to work past the getting-to-know-you jitters, something that would keep your hands and eyes occupied enough to relax a bit more and have fun together.

Although instead of the seascape class you’d thought you’d signed up for, you’d willingly paid $86+ tax to watch Bob’s lithe, long fingers delicately grip a paintbrush in a way you thought was going to make you lose your mind.

You’d spent the whole first hour trying and failing to mix the perfect shade of blue before giving up when you’d realized that the man next to you, in addition to having really great hands, was also very good at painting. 

Bob had seemed surprised by that too because he’d kept flushing that wonderful shade of pink that had quickly become your new favorite color every time you complimented his piece.

He had steady, capable hands. But you were quickly learning that everything about Bob Floyd seemed that way. There was a quiet confidence about him. He didn’t shy away from the way he’d openly observed you, like you were a riddle he was enjoying learning to decode. 

You’d never known a man to be so attentive until him.

Bob’s tongue was peeking out as he’d worked on adding some wispy clouds to the top of his piece. You weren’t even sure what step you’d technically stopped at before you’d given up to watch the visual feast of him painting instead. Only halfheartedly adding random bits to your canvas along the way to make sure it wasn’t totally blank by the end of the session.

You’d been so zoned out watching him create that it was like a slow-motion sequence in a horror movie. You’d reached out for your wine glass, lifting it to your lips to take a sip, it had only taken you a split second to realize it wasn’t the full-bodied red you’d ordered that was coating your tongue, but the murky, gritty paint water instead.

Mortified, you’d looked over just in time to see Bob’s empathetic wince. You’d been hoping to fly under the radar, but it had turned out that you’d had more than one set of eyes on you.

“And we officially have our first casualty of the evening, folks,” the instructor cheerily announced to the group, “The rest of you can breathe easy now!”

You wanted to be able to laugh at your own expense, but you’d groaned as you buried your face in your hands.

It was not the way you saw the night going. You wanted to be dazzling, you wanted that pivotal third date with him. But now you were the girl who drank paint water whose canvas looked like it had all the same efforts as an enthusiastic fourth grader.

Bob’s hands had gently wrapped around your wrists before he’d pulled them from your face. And then he’d leaned in close, taking your chin in his hand and kissed you squarely on the lips, his tongue dipping in and sliding against yours to taste the acrylic pigment from your surprised mouth.

“Huh,” he’d said, contemplatively. He’d pulled away only far enough to look into your eyes and give you a soft smile. “Celadon blue doesn’t taste like a Cabernet, go figure.”

He brushed a light kiss against your cheek as he’d passed you your wine glass so that you could rinse the paint water taste out of your mouth. 

You couldn’t help but to still be a little embarrassed, but then you’d caught the way he’d shoot an unimpressed look at the instructor every time they passed by for the rest of the evening. You didn’t need a knight in shining armor when you had a Bob Floyd with a paintbrush and a cutting side eye.

You took him home with you that night and learned for yourself just how capable those hands of his were.

It was only later that you realized the exact shade of blue that you’d been trying so hard to capture earlier that night was the same color as the eyes that gazed down at you as Bob fucked you for the very first time.

There was no way you could have known that the ‘Paint and Sip’ date would have inspired him to pick up painting as a hobby.

First, he’d started taking classes at the Rec Center. His once a week classes later turned into him checking out books from the library. And then he’d turned his spare bedroom into a studio, as it has the best afternoon light in the Spanish style house he rents near the Naval base. He’d even bought a comfy chair for you to curl up in as he painted, a little nook of your own in his favorite space in his home. And steadily, the walls of both your apartment and his place fill up with all of his creations.

You’d even had your favorite one professionally framed. The pretty landscape done in shades of soft greens that he gave to you for your birthday hangs in a place of honor above your bed. You like having that piece of Bob as one of the last things you see before you fall asleep and one of the first things you see in the morning on the rare occasion the two of you aren’t sharing a bed. You liked to imagine the hours he spent on it with the sunlight streaming through the open window as he lovingly and painstakingly created something just for you with his own two hands.

Although you did have to beg him to sign it for you. He claimed that since he does it for fun that there’s really no reason too, but you were adamant about it and he’d eventually caved and scrawled his name in the lower right-hand corner.

Now it’s become your personal mission to ensure that every Bob Floyd original has his signature on it when he gives his paintings out as gifts.

Everyone assumes that his art would be all straight lines and precise angles, but it’s your favorite moment when people get to see his abstract landscapes. He’d told you he spends so much time in the sky that he likes to paint what’s on the ground, the things he doesn’t get to see when he’s 50,000 feet in the air.

You could tell Bob was a little nervous when he first asked to paint you. 

After almost a year with him, you’d think he’d know by now that you’d do anything for him. Not to mention, you were more than a little in love with the idea of being his muse.

“Are you saying you want to paint me like one of your French girls?” you’d teased with a grin, unable to resist the opportunity. You always did have a thing for men with perfectly floppy hair.

He’d tipped your chin up so that you were looking into his blue eyes- a color you were positive couldn’t be replicated- and stated, “No, I want to paint you like my girl.”

Which is how you’ve ended up naked on the floor of his living room.

You’d been surprised when you came downstairs to see that the furniture had all been pushed to the side to make space for the king-sized top sheet he’d laid out on the floor. You figured it must have been from some mismatched set he had stashed in his linen closet because you’d never seen it before and you spent more than enough time in his bed getting familiar with his sheets.

Bob was shirtless and wearing only a pair of loose-fitting and paint stained jeans that were hanging low on his hips as he worked on getting all of his brushes and paints set up.

You were pretty sure that Michelangelo himself wouldn’t be able to do proper justice to Bob’s body. He wasn’t as built as some of his friends on the Dagger Squad were, but there was an undeniable sturdy steadfastness to him. Those defined shoulders and arms often were the stars of your afternoon daydreams, since you got to admire his handsome face anytime your phone lit up.

He came and met you at the bottom of the stairs, giving you a low whistle, “Well, aren’t you as pretty as a picture in my shirt.”

“Oh,” you’d said, feigning surprise and toying with the hem, “So it is.” And then you’d slowly lifted it up and off of you, revealing more of your body to his artist’s eye.

You never felt as good about yourself as you did when you were naked in front of Bob. The color of his morning skies eyes would always darken to a deep shade of Prussian blue as he took in the curves of you. With him you always felt appreciated, wanted, desired.

His greedy hands came to grip your hips pulling you to him until you were pressed against him.

“Is this how you wanted me?” you asked, running your fingers through his hair.

Bob slipped his hand behind your neck and tugged you in for a heated kiss. “I always want you.”

You never knew true distraction until you’d felt Bob’s lips against yours all those months ago. You’d happily lose minutes, hours, days to them. The thing about Bob is that he never does anything halfway. If he’s kissing you, he’s doing it thoroughly until you’re out of breath.

The sound of the air conditioner kicking on and the light draft that it coasted over you reminded you that there were other plans on the agenda. And that the sooner he starts, then the sooner he finishes, and the sooner you can feel his lips on other parts of you.

“Where do you want me?”

“In my bed,” he murmured against your lips.

His name started as a laugh but turned into a sigh as he dropped a line of kisses down your neck, “I meant, like on the couch or on one of the chairs from the kitchen.”

Bob pulled away and peered deep into your eyes, “Darlin’, I wanted to paint you.” He trailed a teasing finger down your soft stomach. “If that’s alright with you.”

You thought you were just going to be his subject, but as it turns out he wanted you to be his canvas too.

You’re trying not to shiver as he meticulously coats your overheated skin with cool paint. Goosebumps follow in the wake of every delicate stroke he makes along your body.

His hair was curled over his forehead in a way that had your fingers aching to touch him. There was a slight furrow between his eyebrows as he concentrated on the deliberate lines and curves he painted on you. The paint smudge on his cheek only made him all the more attractive to you.

Bob had tucked a pillow beneath your head before he’d started, a gesture that you appreciated now because time had lost all meaning to you. You had no idea how long you’ve been lying there. You were pretty sure every inch of you had to be covered by now.

He’d started along the plane of your stomach and steadily worked his way out from there. Up your arms. Along your clavicle. Over your breasts and tops of your thighs. You didn’t miss the way he’d smirked when you arched into that soft to the touch paintbrush as it glided over your peaked nipple. Or the way he’d hummed pleased when you’d try to subtly rub your thighs together to relieve the need that had been building as you laid there.

Bob loves taking his time with you. In bed, he loved teasing you until you had tears in your eyes and were begging for his cock. And it became clear very quickly that this would be no different.

There was an electric thrum that was pulsing through your body with every dip and swirl and brushstroke. The muscles of your stomach jump involuntarily as the fine hairs of his paintbrush drift over your hypersensitive skin making you whimper.

He tsks, “Gotta stay still for me, pretty girl. I’m almost done, promise.”

You release a shaky sigh and nod, not trusting your voice to betray just how needy you were for him. Although the self-satisfied smile on his face told you everything you needed to know.

You try to control your breathing as he works on finishing, but your shallow breaths sounded loud in his living room. You love getting to watch him work normally, but the intense way he is looking at you- his eyes your favorite shade of Prussian blue now- is too much for your hummingbird heart.

Just as your skin was collecting layers of paint from his brush, the space between your thighs was steadily collecting your wetness. You were so desperate for him to touch you, the need made you want to crawl out of your skin.

You hear the sound of a watery swish and the clink of a brush against glass and your breath catches in your throat in anticipation.  

“God, look at you,” Bob breathes, reverently, “You’re so beautiful. This might be my best work ever.”

Instead of the paintbrush, you can feel the path of his flame blue gaze traveling over you as he takes in the art he’s made out of you.

You open your heavy eyes and see Bob wiping off his hands with a frayed towel.

“There she is,” he says, giving you a smile that makes your toes curl. You didn’t notice it sitting there with all his paints until he was reaching for it, his dad’s old film camera. He holds it loosely in front of him like a question, “Can I take a few just for me?”

The answer is easy, “Yes.”

You trusted Bob more than any other man you’d ever been with. He’s never once given you reason to doubt his words because his actions always spoke for themselves.

The guys you’d been with before had been boys, Bob Floyd was a man.

The tension between the two of you is thicker than the acrylic he’d been using earlier as he snaps photo after photo. You admire the way his muscles shift as he bends and angles himself to get the perfect images.

He stands over you, the lens pointed down at you, “Look at me.”

You can barely breathe. You feel yourself getting even wetter at the thought of seeing yourself through his eyes. No one has ever made you feel the way he does.

“Bob”, you whine.

The camera clicks.

“I know,” he hums, “You’ve been so good for me.”  He sinks to his knees between your legs and hooks a hand behind your knee, pulling it up so it’s propped on the floor. And then he does the other so that you’re sprawled open for him, just the way he likes you to be, “Just one more, darlin’.”

The heat in his eyes has dried up all the words in your mouth.

He trails a finger down the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp.

The sound of his camera reverberates in your head.

“You’ve made such a pretty mess,” he drawls, as he gently sets the camera on the floor next to you. “It’s a good thing I put something down. You’re damn near dripping.”

“Bob, please.” You arch towards him like a flower in the sun.

He settles between your thighs and pushes them apart further so that his broad shoulders fit between them. The paint is still drying on your skin, but neither one of you cares about that now.

“You were so perfect for me. I appreciate you staying so still.” He drops a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Don’t worry, I know just how to thank you.”

Your body jolts at the first touch of his tongue on your clit. You can feel his smile against you, he knows exactly what he does to you.

Bob has always eaten you out like it’s what he was put on this earth to do.

Normally, he’s teasing you with gentle licks and tracing nonsensical shapes on your clit with his tongue until you’re a squirming mess for him. He knows your body so well, always building you up to the point where you’re breaths away from tipping over the edge and then pulls himself back before building you right back up again.

But tonight, there’s nothing playful about the way his mouth is working against you. His hot mouth is sealed to your clit. Bob hums in satisfaction with every keen and whine that he pulls out of you. He laves at you until you’re writhing underneath him, your thighs already shaking.

“Wanna paint you just like this,” he murmurs, sucking at the spot where your leg and hip meet. “But I don’t think you’d stay still long enough for me to finish.”

Bob dips down and gives you another long broad stroke of his tongue. He pulls back only long enough to spit on your cunt before diving right back in, chasing after his own taste on you.

Your hands are in his hair. Clutching at his shoulders. It’s taken him no time at all getting you to the point where you’re trembling and taut.

All the air leaves your lungs when he buries two large fingers into you. Your hips cant into his mouth on their own and he moans. Bob wraps an arm around your hips and presses down on your lower stomach to hold you in place.

You feel the pain smear beneath his warm palm. You were dying to see it. You hoped there was a handprint- his handprint- that disrupted all the lines and swirls of color that he’d decorated you with. Something that was distinctly him.

You were wearing his art and now you’re wearing him. The evidence of this moment in time on your skin.

His fingers and tongue weren’t enough.

You needed more.

“You cock, Bob, I need your cock,” you pant, tugging at his hair.

He meanly sucks your clit into his mouth in a way that has you crying out and jerking against him. You love it, you love him.

“God, I love it when you beg for me,” he licks into you again, “Sweetest sound in the world.”

Bob drops a sweet kiss on your clit, it’s a stark difference to the filthy way he’d been using his mouth on you. He rises to sit back on his knees between your parted legs.

He looks so good kneeling above you the way that he is. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a mess. That knot behind your bellybutton twists tighter because you did that to him.

He unzips his jeans and tugs them down low enough to pull his hard cock out.

It’s pretty enough to be featured in a gallery, you think to yourself, even in your desperate haze. It’s long, thick, perfect and yours.

Bob smirks when he notices you admiring him, pumping himself slowly a few times for your viewing pleasure.

The only time Bob Floyd was ever a show-off was when he was in bed.

He grabs your thighs and pulls them over top of his own, so that yours are draped over his obscenely, and then he thrusts easily into you.

You gasp at the sensation of being so full of him. It always takes you a minute to adjust to his cock, no matter how many times you’ve taken it now. His thumbs make little circles along your hipbones as your body relents and yields to the size of him.

“There you go,” he says, rocking into you, working you open, “Just needed this cock, didn’t you?”

You whimper your agreement. Your hips tilt into the pressure like you’re trying to get as much of him as you can. Wanting to show him how much you can take. You know you’ll never get enough of him.

He fucks into you at a reckless and unrelenting pace. You’re high off the feeling of seeing Bob like this, that you’re the one who gets to see him unreserved and uninhibited. He has your hips gripped so tightly, keeping you closer than close. And when you clench around him, you’re treated to a wrecked groan.

Your skin prickles with desire and the feeling of paint drying on you. His cock is hitting just the right spot inside of you and you know you won’t be able to hold off for much longer, not with the way he’s grinding against your aching clit.

Bob’s eyes glued to the spot where you two come together. You’re on full display for him. He watches the way you stretch and spread around him with every deep thrust with the same appreciative gaze that he admires his favorite artists.

It’s under his river blue gaze that your orgasm swiftly sweeps you away. And with your back arching and thighs quaking around his, you give yourself up to the endless current of it.

You know he’s close when his hips start to stutter.

Bob pulls out of you and wraps his large hand around his slick-shined cock and works himself with rough, purposeful strokes.

This time he paints you with himself, his come covering your stomach.

The only sound in the room is the two of you breathing hard, trying to catch your breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Bob huffs, raggedly, taking in his handiwork, “You’re my masterpiece.”

You’re covered in paint and come, but you’ve never felt more beautiful than you do right now as he looks down at you in awe.

“Did you remember to sign your work this time?” you ask, out of breath but teasingly.

“I think I left my mark, darlin’,” he says, with well-earned smugness in his voice. You can’t help but giggle. He flops down next to you, throwing his arm over his eyes, “Goddamn.”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to look at yourself.

“Baby, I think you gave Jackson Pollock a run for his money.” You grin widely when he lets out an amused snort. “Wait, where’s your camera?”

He passes it to you, the fondness in his eyes makes your chest feel warm. You scooch in close to him and hold it up above your heads, the camera flashes when you kiss his flushed cheek.

That picture is the first one that gets put up in the new house, the one the two of you chose together when he asked you to marry him six months later. Followed by the soft green landscape that now hangs above your shared bed.

It’s your favorite picture of the two of you, happy and in love. You can just see a hint of the cloud he’d painted on your shoulder.

That night Bob had decorated your body with the place he loved best.

He gave you the sky and he made you his world.

Happy birthday, Ames! Your gift will be mailed eventually, it really was a lesson in chemistry, lol! Enjoy a Bob fic just for you in the meantime!

A big, bigggg thank you to the Bob Babes/Lew Crew girlies! @callsignspark and @attapullman I appreciate you two so much for being such ultimate hypegirls! And thank you to @theharddeck, you helped me out of my writers block and I've been so excited to write this since we talked about it back in January!

You can read my other stories here!

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