#this is months old now i apologize for putting it in the tag but i wanted it on tumblr too

[madderruz]

What is a Lulu?

Her name is Luna. She's eight years old, and she'll be eight years old for the rest of her life.

(A fic about the potential backstory for the Lulus, and the first Lulu.)

[fuxuannie]

❥﹒ken sato x gender neutral reader

✦. synopsis — romantic headcanons about our favourite baseball player!

✦. love mail — i finished the movie and i loved his character development, simply the sweetest thing <3

✦. tags — SPOILERS, fluff, dadgirl kenji, kenji sato x reader, i have not written in several months, i wrote this w my brain off ( ´͈ ᗨ `͈ ) aka i was just SPITTING whatever brain rot came to mind

I imagine Kenji to be the clingy, but doesn’t want to be type. He loves you, so much, so dearly. But affection isn’t his strong suit, especially not after what happened with his family. He shut out emotions for years, at least towards others. So this feeling of love, a nostalgic one, tends to clash with the walls he’s put up. He’ll hold you in his arms, burying his face in your shoulder, only for hours later to cringe at himself. He’s talked to you about it a thousand times, and he’s listened to you reassure him twice as many. He adores your patience with him, it's something he’s never really had.. especially with so much pressure on his shoulders.

Explaining his identity was surely no easy feat, you thought dating the most iconic and popular baseball players was the hardest thing? Imagine dating Ultraman, who came home to you every other week with some new injury. You always wondered why the reason was so simple for such a complicated wound, “I spilled boiling water on myself,” He explains with burn marks that are far more severe than expected. “I fell down the stairs”, he’ll say after landing in the hospital.. It didn’t make sense. And now that it does and you know the true reasons, your concern is far worse. Though he doesn’t mind the extra attention you give. ;)

Meeting his dad for the first time was.. nerve-wracking. You know how Kenji talks about him, and you weren’t sure what kind of impression you’ll make. But here you were, sitting on a couch and fiddling with your thumbs until you hear a doorbell. Before Kenji could even stand, you rushed to your feet and practically sprinted for the door, only to open it slowly and gently to reveal the kind old man standing outside. “Hello.” Cut to maybe an hour later, you’re laughing at old pictures of Kenji as he sits next to you and an arm wrapped around your shoulder. The two had a long path of forgiveness and understanding ahead, but Kenji appreciated that you brought him and his father together.

Thought the dad was scary? Imagine his daughter. As expected, the moment you walk into the room - distress. Emi’s starting to cry, an unfamiliar presence is in the room and it scares her. You’ve done a few babysitting jobs here and there, and she was really just like a child. Kenji apologized for her outburst and transforms to calm her down, opening the lid and picking her up under her arms. “No no, don’t cry.” His voice soothes her, and almost immediately - she’s okay again. It’ll take a few minutes, it really isn’t long until she trusts too you. Kenji found it adorable, how you played with her so casually.. many would be terrified, and rightfully so - but to him? It just displays your kind heart. My God did he love you.

Remember first headcanon? Right, to add to that, he’s not very good at vulnerability either. He’ll love to comfort you when you cry, or hold you when you need him. But if the roles were reversed? Absolutely not. He’s uncomfortable and you can see it, one look into his eyes and it’s like looking through glass.. he hates being open about his true feelings. Even if it’s with you.. the walls he’s built for 20 years aren’t easy to break, you know? But if you’re patient, and you take your time and say the right words – he’ll crack. And like a dam breaking, the water flows in an uncontrollable wave of sadness. He’ll sob, he’ll break, and he’ll need you more than anything. He doesn’t know how to feel about breaking down, but the way you hold him in your arms and whisper sweet nothings to comfort him, he could get used to it.

But on a lighthearted note, he loves dates! Most have to be in his home, because Emi can be clingy (got it from his dad), but you don’t mind. It’s sweet, he’ll have you play baseball with her or all you do is cuddle ontop of her, it’s the cutest little thing. But other times, when you go out– it’s just the two of you. And upon special request from Kenji for Mina to babysit her while you're there, you two get alone time. and it’s everything to him. The smallest affection has his heart racing like a teenage boy again, wrapping your arm around his, holding his hand, kissing him? Goodness, you’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know it. You and Emi are his world, and he’ll do everything to protect it. Other days, you, him, and and his father go out to the home in the woods for some personal time. You get to talk about his childhood with him and you talk about yours. There’s such a tender and unforgettable atmosphere when you’re with them. And you truly feel like you belong.

Overotectiveness, he was full of it. He’s lost so much, and all he wanted was for you to not go either. Nothing, nothing could stop his rage at the idea of you being hurt. You, Emi, anyone else important to him. He’ll take on the world for his family, and by the will of his parents he has. The pain he’s endured, the scars you scold him for so much are for you. If one threat escapes the city, that’s one likely chance he loses you. So he does everything he can to handle it. You’ve never gotten hurt, but the idea of it is enough for him to strive to be stronger.

While recovering from the explosion, you never left his side. It pained you to see him so still, lack of life. He’d usually be pacing back and forth in the room, rambling about something, and when you’d call him a nerd or dork, he'd run to you and playfully attack you with kisses. His arms around you tightly as you two would laugh your worries away, you didn’t have that privilege. You’d either laugh alone or not at all, the pain all too much. When he wakes up, best believe you’re there, and you just cry at the sight of his arms opening. You know his body is far too unstable for a hug, so you squeeze his hand. How grateful you are to feel him squeeze back.

With Mina and Emi gone, the house feels a little more lonely.. but Kenji’s adjusting. Especially because you moved in! He’s able to spend more time with you in bed since he didn’t have to tend to Emi, which was a nice plus. He woke up earlier than you (force of habit.) and he’d just.. stare. Maybe it was a little creepy, but seeing you sound asleep in his arms gave him such joy. He loved the little domestic moments he shared with you, it had him appreciating all the smaller things in life. Like sharing a meal with you, or watching movies together. You made him love the simpler aspects of living.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

WE CAN DIP IF YOU’RE READY ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; your dreams of a peaceful summer are rudely shattered by the presence of your best friend’s older brother; the same brother who rejected you five years ago. the same brother you’re still hopelessly, uselessly in love with.

word count; 7.4k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, best friend’s brother!gojo (he’s the hottest man in the stratosphere imo), mild age gap (five years!), unrequited love, but with a hopeful ending kind of, bittersweet fluff, mostly summer shenanigans and pining, riko is satoru’s younger sister and i would give her the stars, sugu makes a guest appearance, (they’re both just there to bully gojo), he’s fairly mature in this i think, reader is very stubborn and very down bad, [name] is used exactly once

a/n; personally i would let him use me as workout gear (tagging @teddybeartoji @dollsuguru @hayakawalove @stellamancer @vagabond-umlaut !! tysm for the help and encouragement ily 🥺🥺)

one mellow summer morning, over a breakfast of pancake and toast, the puppy-love you’ve nurtured for the past three years finally reaches its conclusion.

you’re seventeen years old. in three months you’ll be eighteen, standing on your own two feet, headed in a new direction — the whole world within your reach.

but right now you’re still only seventeen, and lovesick, and sleeping on a mattress in your best friend’s room, listening to the sound of the nearby sea. you’re seventeen, and dreaming about things you can’t have. you’re seventeen, and foolishly wearing your heart on your sleeve. 

you’re seventeen, and hopelessly, uselessly in love with a certain satoru gojo.

it’s early. your veins are sleepy and your heart is heavy, and you wake up at the crack of dawn just to catch a glimpse of him before he leaves for work. he’s leaning against the kitchen island when you trot down the stairs, and the smell of syrupy pancakes hangs heavy in the air; his bare chest is exposed, pajama pants clinging to the curve of his hips, and he rejects you with an easygoing kindness you wish he wouldn’t grant you.

”you’re more like a younger sibling to me. you understand, right?”

(suddenly, without mercy; a finality to his voice.)

he ruffles your hair, and you’re still sleepy, and you wish you could grasp the strings of your heartbeat to stop it from fluttering like this. wish you could pull yourself out of whatever trance he put you in, all those years ago, when you stumbled over the threshold to your best friend’s house and crashed headfirst into his chest.

”you’re a good kid,” he says, and his smile teeters on the edge of something apologetic. mostly, it’s pitying. ”there are lots of people out there for you.”

he ruffles your hair, as affectionate as ever, the same as it’s always been. not a trace of any romantic intent. the weight of his palm on your head is usually a comfort, but like this?

it’s a specific kind of torture. 

(there are lots of people out there for you.)

i know, you want to tell him, but your voice is raspy and your throat feels sort of dry. i know.

but i want you.

“don’t get hung up on a schoolgirl crush, hm?”

when you finally raise your head, satoru is looking right at you. kindly, patiently, like a benevolent god. his blue eyes flecked with dots of white, like fluffy clouds on a summer sky. tilting his head to the right, as if searching for confirmation, waiting for your response. you muster up the will to nod; smiling in a way that must seem pitiful.

but he just pinches your cheek, throws a backpack over his broad shoulders, and asks you to let his sister know he’ll be home later than usual today.

then he leaves. he leaves you alone with two plates of sugary pancakes on the kitchen table, one for you and one for riko. he put whipped cream on top, and chocolate chips in the batter. it smells good. it smells like an apology.

and that’s how it ends. 

there’s no great climax, no real resolution. you bite down on your lip, and spend about an hour pitifully sniffling into a fluffy pillow, even though none of it comes as a surprise. it still hurts, though. your best friend comforts you, tells you that at least you have some kind of closure now — an absolute rejection to make your feelings go away. about time, she thinks, though she’s far too kind to say it outloud.

except they don’t.

the moral of the story is: satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he’s known you since you were fourteen, since he was nineteen, and he could never see you as anything more than a naive little kid. you’re his sister’s best friend, and he loves you, but not in the way you love him. it’s not surprising, or shocking. it’s exactly how it should be.

satoru gojo doesn’t love you back. he never will.

(you really, really wish your stupid heartbeat cared.)

one breezy summer evening, five years later, you step onto a bustling train platform — dragging your luggage behind you, and breathing in the scent of a familiar seaside.

above you, seagulls chatter and cry. you look around, and everything feels familiar, despite the time that’s passed since the last summer you visited. the same flowers, peach blossoms and hydrangeas and tulips in all kinds of shades, the same street vendors and aroma of freshly grilled fish. the same cute and quaint port town, quiet during winter and autumn, pleasantly noisy during the warmer seasons. right now, on the cusp of june, there are enough tourists around to make finding the right face in the crowd a difficult task.

luckily, she’s quick to find you. 

with her long, dark locks of hair, neatly braided, her yellow sundress and matching headband; sunflowers embroidered into the fabric. barreling towards you with a speed that would scare you a little if you weren’t so used to it, so used to her.

riko. your one and only best friend.

she’s nestled into your embrace before you can get any greetings out, and squeezing you so tightly that you have no choice but to let her beat you to it. she’s warm, like a bundle of sunshine. the same as always.

with a low whine of your name, she nuzzles into your chest. “i missed youuuu…”

a chuckle bubbles up in your throat. and even though it hasn’t been very long at all, even though you talk on the phone almost every day and saw each other in person just about a month ago, you indulge her.

“i missed you too, riko.”

another whine, and then she’s pulling back. squishing your cheeks together and pouting petulantly. “you better have! don’t ever make me spend summer all alone again, okay?”

”you’re still mad about that?” you match her expression, eager to protest. “it’s not my fault i got sick.”

“too sick to see your best friend? too sick to continue our most important tradition?” she shakes her head, letting go of you. struggling not to smile. “awful. just awful!”

“drama queen.” her lips break out into a grin, and yours follow. “i’m here now, aren’t i?”

“you are,” she agrees, quick to link her arm with yours. you follow her steps, leading you towards that familiar house. you can see it from here, a roof burdened with morning glories, those expensive white walls. “no, but seriously. i’m really happy to see you.” her voice drips with joy, giddy and sweet. “i don’t think i’d survive two months alone with that old man.” 

ah. right.

the girl on your right chatters on and on, clinging to you, gradually melting away your skittish nerves. she tells you about her morning, what she ate for breakfast, the new show she’s been binging — it’s just as familiar as the house that soon comes fully into view. big and expensive, but still cozy, overgrown with flora. you don’t think either of the siblings really bother to take care of it, but it’s a pretty kind of neglect. a cute veranda, a beautiful garden. the apple tree you used to climb. the buzz of an old radio spills out from an opened window, translucent curtains swaying with the breeze. when you strain your eyes you think you hear humming.

riko grins, dragging you with her through the opened gate. the yellow paint on the fence is starting to peel, and someone from inside has started pushing the door open, and the butterflies in your stomach can do nothing but sputter and squirm.

it’s summer, and you're back. back in that cute, quaint port town.

(and so is he.)

“why, hello there! if it isn’t my cute little [name].”

time stills, for just a single moment.

he looks the same as you remember. a little taller, you think, but he was always tall enough to tower over you; broad shoulders and long legs, sharp blue eyes gazing down at you. he’s wearing black shades, but you can still feel the weight of his pupils, crumble under the knowledge that his attention is entirely on you. wearing a pair of sweatpants and a tight black shirt, showing off every dip and ridge of his chest.

a pleasantly cool breeze ruffles his white hair, short and trimmed, healthy locks to match his bright and sunny grin.

he looks happy to see you.

“don’t be weird,” comes riko’s voice, breaking you out of your little spell. all while she’s ushering you both towards the door, beyond the threshold, into the hallway. satoru clicks his tongue.

“so hostile today. shouldn't you be in a good mood?”

then he’s turning towards you, again, tilting his head just enough for his eyes to peek out. they’re crinkled at the edges, and his smile is fond. “how was your trip?”

more butterflies. his voice flows from his glossy lips, smooth and melted, pleasantly deep. you can only hang on to riko’s arm, mustering a small smile of your own. “good,” you chirp. a little stiff, but polite, like you’re greeting an old friend; it’s been so long since you last spoke to him. ”i’m tired, though.”

your reply is met with a chuckle, a raspy tremor of his vocal cords. it sends a shiver down your spine. the weight on your arm disappears, as riko stumbles forward and kicks her sandals off. muttering something about gum getting stuck on the sole. you’re left standing right across from satoru, suddenly very aware of how much space he takes up all on his own. leaning against the wall, making himself comfortable. and chuckling, with that stupidly sexy voice. “i bet. take a nap if you need to, yeah?”

a moment of silence. riko curses in the background, and you shift from foot to foot. unable to properly look into his eyes. for a second, his smile drops — eyes obscured by the black glass of his frames, betraying no emotion. it only lasts a second.

then he’s moving forward, one large stride towards you, leaning down to wrap his big arms around your waist. not as tight as you remember his hugs being. you wonder if he’s holding back.

(his touch burns your skin, all the same.)

one of his palms finds solace on the top of your head, ruffling your hair. you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks, terribly sincere.

“i missed you, kiddo.”

a quiet squeak tumbles from your lips, and you pray to every god you can think of that he doesn’t hear it. his chest is pressed right against you, firm, radiating body heat. his limbs wrap you up in it, a cocoon of warmth that makes it hard to breathe. you can smell his cologne from where your cheek meets his collarbone; sandalwood invading your senses.

“i m-missed you too,” is all you can croak out, voice breaking pitifully. at this rate you might actually faint.

just out of view, riko narrows her eyes. before you can plead for help, she’s tugging you away from the embrace, pushing her brother away, and you inhale as much of the fresh summer air as you can. 

“alright, that’s enough,” she huffs, pulling you closer. “c’mon! we should unpack your stuff right away!”

“want me to carry it?” satoru asks, already eyeing your luggage like a predator about to lunge at his prey. even if you say no, you know he’s not going to listen. 

so you let him. and within the next few minutes, you’re seated on riko’s bed, suitcase on the floor, a glass of lemonade in your hand. blinking sluggishly. 

“are you sure you’ll be alright?”

you raise your head. your best friend is looking at you with a questioning glance, head tilted and brows furrowed. now you’re all alone, and it’s quiet, peaceful. her brother went out to buy snacks for you. all you can hear is the low buzz of the radio downstairs, and faraway waves. 

“huh?”

“i mean, with, y’know…” she moves her hands haphazardly, making some kind of gesture you don’t understand. “with my brother. and your… condition.”

you blink.

“… did you just refer to my crush as a condition?”

“well, it might as well be!” she groans, muffled, faceplanting onto the mattress. “don’t think i didn’t see you checking out his biceps just now. you’re so obvious.” 

heat rushes to your cheeks. you try to shoo it away with a furrow of your brows and a loud exhale, but it lingers underneath your skin. “look — i —“ you scramble for words, brain tied up in fatigued knots. “did you see that shirt? is he buying them a size too small, or what?”

“oh, come on! that’s all it takes?”

another pair of exhales. you cross your legs, and she rolls onto her back. the silence is comfortable, and you gnaw at your bottom lip until she speaks up again.

“you could really, really do better, you know?”

her voice is quiet. soft, sincere, delicate as a sheet of glass. you know she’s just looking out for you, that she doesn’t want you pining for a guy who’ll never return those feelings — she’s kind like that, always has been. but…

“… i just like him.”

you take a tentative sip of your lemonade. sour and sweet. the cubes of ice clink against the glass, fresh condensation cooling down the tips of your fingers. her gaze lingers on your skin. it’s heavy, just like his.

you meet it with a sheepish smile, a little self-deprecating, but not embarrassed. she already knows all about your predicament. 

(you just like him. that’s all there is to it.)

and she pulls herself into a sitting position.

“i know, i know,” she finally sighs, slumping against you, cheek smushed over your shoulder. “just don’t give him more attention than me, ‘kay?”

you let out giggle. “well, duh.”

she gives you a sunny grin.

“okay, good.” 

you put the glass down on the windowsill beside you. just so you can stretch your arms out, falling backwards; a mountain of pillows cushioning your fall. a yawn spills past your lips, and riko sits up.

“wanna take a nap?” she tilts her head, dark locks framing her pretty blue eyes, deep as the sea. “that’s probably good. we’re going straight to the beach tomorrow, you know!”

“mm…” your eyes flutter shut, and you focus on that faraway sound. waves crashing against sand, the whistling of seagulls, the salty scent of the ocean. “that sounds nice.”

despite your exhaustion, you end up tossing and turning that night. not because of your best friend’s snores, or the feeling of a mattress you haven’t slept on in two years — but from the quiet sounds downstairs. glasses clinking, a chuckle here and there. the tv being turned on. tossing and turning from the knowledge that your childhood heartthrob, current heartthrob, is in the same house as you. a little older, a little less childish, even more charming than you remember him being.

you’re older, too. more mature, you like to think, even if the gain is small.

(maybe there’s a chance?)

shaking the thoughts from your head, mind still spinning along to the tune of his humming, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to fall asleep.

you’ll be okay.

okay, nevermind. you’re completely screwed.

“oh, there you are!”

satoru is already waiting up ahead when you step onto the beach, feeling the sand between your toes, a pleasantly cool breeze giving you respite from the sweltering heat.

the sun beats down on you, fervent sunlight warming the water up ahead, calm waves and a sparkling blue to match the hue of the sky; cobalts and ceruleans, melting together like watercolour on a canvas. people crowd around the food stands, shaved ice and churros and grilled fish, scents mingling together with the joyous chatter all around you. vibrant sensations, enough to excite but not to overwhelm. 

a picture-perfect summer day.

your heart tingles with something giddy, skipping happily as you follow riko’s lead; she’s wearing a cute bikini set, frilly and floral, hair styled into a pair of braided pigtails, kept together by her favorite scrunchies. leading you towards her older brother, waiting patiently, having already grabbed a nice spot for you. a parasol, a blanket, a picnic basket. you see bottles of pink lemonade, wrapped sandwiches, strawberries in a plastic container.

more than anything, you see him. you see him, and realize just how screwed you are.

he’s smiling, when you approach. as always. hair tousled by the ocean breeze, blue eyes gleaming with mirth, exposed by the sunglasses close to slipping down the bridge of his nose. he’s wearing a hawaiian shirt, black in colour, white floral patterns to tie it all together. just unbuttoned enough to show off his collarbone, a sliver of his chest, the short sleeves exposing his biceps; patches of pale skin, shining with the beginnings of sweat. 

(you’re about to fucking explode.)

as soon as you’re in sight, satoru lights up, aiming the flash of his phone in your direction. his other hand stays tucked into the pocket of his shorts. “aw, look at you two!” he coos, grinning brightly, teasing and sweet. “pose for the camera, okay?”

you’re still too hypnotized to react, but riko scurries ahead, ready to steal it from his grasp.

“no pictures!”

“oh, don’t be like that!” he takes a step back, dodging her attack by a hair, still wearing the same grin. “you’re gonna thank me ten years from now, trust me. it’s for the memories!”

a new voice spills into the air, suddenly, and you’re brought back into reality. it’s silky and low, smooth and nice, honeysuckle nectar turned into sound. interrupting the siblings.

“it’s been ten seconds. how are you already bickering?” 

you turn towards its source, and spot a familiar face — right next to satoru. were you seriously too mesmerized to notice him? black hair, another hawaiian shirt, slightly lidded eyes… 

suguru. 

he meets your surprised stare with a relaxed smile, and takes a step forward; meeting you for a quick hug. he looks the same as he did when you were younger, odd bangs, hair tied up into a bun.

“hi there,” he hums, right by your ear, a light squeeze before he lets go. “it’s been a while.”

you part your lips, smiling through your words. a little stunned. “i didn’t know you’d be here too!”

he chuckles, a light shrug of his shoulders. “me neither. satoru called me last night and asked me to drop by. i had time to kill.”

“you missed me.”

a dubious look. suguru gives a lazy roll of his eyes, avoiding the smug voice to his right. “i saw you last week,” he tuts, an unimpressed expression on his face. “how could i miss you?”

“do you need a reason to miss your best friend?” he shakes his head, slowly, side to side. white locks swaying back and forth. “awful. just awful.”

you stifle a smile, completely unsuccessful. the sun feels nice on your skin, and the scent of the sea is nostalgic, and they’re all the same as ever. it’s like you can feel your nerves melting away, slowly but surely, like grains of sand slipping through the gaps between your fingers. 

“the matching shirts are cute,” you point out, wanting to partake in the conversation, only to be met with a pair of furrowed brows.

suguru sighs. “that…” he mutters, massaging his temple, not before shooting satoru a dirty glance. “wasn't planned.”

said man only grins, unperturbed, tucking his phone back into his pocket. thoroughly amused. “he’s mad that i stole his fit,” he chirps, stretching his arms idly. it makes his shirt ride up, ever so slightly, and you swallow a gulp.

“well… you look good in it.”

at that, satoru stills. gazing at you, silently, before breaking out into another grin. self-satisfied, a smooth curve, sunlight against the white of his teeth. you glance away, suddenly a little shy.

“does he?” the other two deadpan, completely in sync. it shoos away the smile on his lips, making way for a displeased frown.

“oh, come on. would it kill you to call me handsome now and then?”

“handsome?” riko places her hands on her hips, raising an unimpressed brow, a sassy lilt to her voice. “you look like a single father down on his luck.”

“seconded,” suguru quips, hiding the beginnings of a smirk. picking at a piece of lint on his shirt. “honestly, i’m surprised you’re wearing any layers at all. not gonna flaunt your abs this time?”

satoru brightens, suddenly. wiggling his brows, a sweet coo on the tip of his tongue. “oh? want me to loosen up a couple buttons?” he purrs, and you hate yourself a little for the instant yes that resounds through your mind. “you know you can always just ask, suguru.”

his teasing goes ignored, but you don’t miss the amusement that flits through the scope of suguru’s eyes, even as he tries to maintain that deadpan expression.

finally, he exhales. “well, see you later,” he hums, directed to you and riko, checking the time on his wristwatch. “i should probably get going.”

“you’re not staying?” you ask, lashes fluttering with a confused blink. he smiles.

“i am,” he reassures you. “just gonna go fishing for a while. i thought i’d give it a try.”

“fishing?” riko exclaims, covering her amused grin with the palm of her hand. stifling laughter, you can tell, a bout of giggles begging to push past her lips. “what are you, fifty?”

satoru lets out a snort. to his left, suguru goes eerily silent — ominous, staring into your best friend’s eyes with no visible emotion. enough to make her smile fall. you feel a sense of deja vu.

“wait, i’m just kidding!” she suddenly squeaks, clinging to your arm and hiding behind you. she’s always had good survival instincts. ”don’t put me in a headlock!”

(they’re so stupid. 

gosh, you missed them.)

“oh, by the way — do you want some shaved ice?” she turns to you, eyes crinkled at the edges, voice syrupy and sweet. “i can go get us some. what flavour do you want?”

“ah, great idea!” satoru matches her tone, tongue flitting out to lick his lips, glossy with chapstick. “i was just craving something sweet.”

“you’re paying, by the way.”

“…”

“so? any preference?” she tilts her head, waiting patiently for your reply. smiling once she gets it. “alright, got it. you, suguru?”

“i’m good. thanks, though.”

“okie-dokie,” she puts her palm out, facing satoru. “money, please.”

he only tuts, digging through his pocket and pulling out a black wallet. you think you spot a photocard, but he’s pulled out a credit card and tucked it back into his pocket before you can get a closer look. 

“get me watermelon, okay? strawberry is fine too. if push comes to shove, go for anything other than lemon.” he hands her the card with a click of his tongue. “and watch out for creeps. if anyone hits on you, you know where to aim.”

she pockets it with a huff, exasperation on her features. “i’m twenty-three, toru. i can take care of myself.”

“aww, don’t be like that,” he coos, hands reaching out to squish her cheeks. she tries to squirm away, to no avail. “you’ll always be my little baby sister, you know. and, as your dependable big bro, i —“

“ugh, whatever.” she shoots him an unimpressed glance, finally escaping his hold. ”are you gonna go all men are wolves on us, or something?”

”they are! just look at suguru.”

”hey.”

you hide a growing smile behind your hand, watching them bicker and banter, feeling that sense of peace again. the summer day feels a little like a hazy daydream, a heavy nostalgia that sticks to your bones like gum on the sole of your shoe. 

and, once again — you end up alone with a certain someone. suguru walks towards the faraway pier, riko strolls up to the stand selling shaved ice, and satoru lingers behind. you think he looks relaxed, at ease, but you can’t really look at him for too long without feeling nervous. without feeling as if you’re both ignoring the elephant in the room. 

it still feels a little like there’s an invisible wall between you.

he’s the first to speak up, craning his neck and stretching like a big cat, a tiny groan flowing from his throat. “well, there they go,” he hums. “what do you feel like doing first?”

“ummm…” you rack your brain for ideas, coming up empty. a little fried by his presence. you could go into the water, and escape the heat — sunbathing with him doesn’t sound so bad, though…

lost deep in thought, you barely notice him inching closer. still weighing your options, water or land, a relaxing nap or a splash war. you don’t notice until you feel his arm sneaking around your waist, pulling you closer, just by a hair. stealing all the oxygen from your lungs.

(you think your brain shuts down a little.)

his touch burns, as always. bare skin on bare skin. electric, a trail of sparks rushing through your veins. he’s warm, and solid, effortlessly composed — guiding you right where he wants you, which is by his chest, where you can practically hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat —

and then he’s pulling away.

you raise your head to meet his gaze, completely flushed, unsure if you were hallucinating or not. he’s looking somewhere behind you, with a distinctly cold gaze, one you aren’t accustomed to seeing. you crane your neck, catching a glimpse of a man turning his back on you both before walking away.

… was he staring at you, or what?

when you search for satoru’s eyes again, they’re already on you. he’s smiling, a little sheepish, scratching at the back of his neck.

“sorry,” he chuckles. “i got paranoid.”

oh.

your skin still feels like it’s on fire. a lingering heat, blossoming where his skin touched yours, rendering you speechless. embarrassing, embarrassing, embarrassing. he was just looking out for you.

finally, you gain control over your vocal chords, dry and charred. just enough to croak out a response.

“i — it’s fine.”

your eyes stay glued to the sand beneath you, staring at a crushed seashell, unable to look him in the eye. feeling the back of your neck grow hotter. you miss the dirty glance riko sends his way, having just returned with the shaved ice, and the way satoru mouths out a silent what?

it’s easier after that. she grounds you, a little, leading you out into the sea. the water is pleasantly mild, licking at your ankles, coaxing you further, until it’s reaching up to your waist. it cools you down considerably, and before you know it you’re splashing her with all you’ve got, giggles filling the salty air — seagull cries above you and wet sand beneath your feet, a glimmer or two of tiny fish, loud laughter. sensations all around you. satoru watches you with a smile, munching on a sandwich, not joining you both until riko beckons him over.

the day stretches on, melting away into evening. people leave the beach behind them, suguru heads back to the house with a bucket of fish and a smug smile, riko dries herself off with a towel and rushes to a nearby convenience store when she notices that it’s about to close. murmuring something about dinner, shooting you an anxious glance, a silent will you be alright on your own? with him? 

you wave her off with a smile. hoping it’ll come off as convincing, even though you’re anything but.

one way or another, you end up under a parasol with a certain satoru gojo; putting empty bottles of lemonade back into the picnic basket, rolling up the blanket, stuck with cleaning duty. satoru carries it all, unwilling to let you help, the basket hanging off his arm. you walk away from the beach, stepping onto solid asphalt again, beginning your trekk up towards the main street — not too long of a walk, but you’re tired, even though satoru doesn’t seem tuckered out in the slightest. walking a step or two ahead of you.

the sun is beginning to set, melting like a sundae on the boundary of the horizon, rays of golden sunshine dripping down your wrist. satoru looks good in it, the pink and orange; peaceful, somehow. when the breeze licks a stripe across his cheek, he closes his eyes and exhales. there’s a smile on those lips, a smile of contentment.

he turns towards you and waits until you catch up.

“tired?” he coos, tilting his head, absently tucking his shades into the breast pocket of his shirt. blinking slowly, eyes shimmering in the summery hue of evening. 

“kinda,” you smile, trying to muster a pep in your step. another hum buzzes in his throat, and then he’s facing forward again.

“c’mon. let’s get you something from the vending machine, okay? ‘s just up ahead.” he pats your head, once, twice. “that’ll give you some energy.”

you can only nod, following his lead. hydrangeas bloom all around you, a thick syrupy scent, paired with apple blossoms from the backyards you pass. then you spot the vending machine. satoru takes out his wallet, finding his card — it’s not the same one as before. riko still has it.

and this time, you’re close enough to see it. in his wallet is a photocard, clearly visible; of a baby, sleeping soundly, with short tufts of hair. a dark colour unlike his own.

(your heart melts, a little.)

“cola or sprite?”

you raise your head, looking through the barrier of glass in front of you. then you’re stepping forward, fingertip pressing against it, pointing towards a green can of sprite. not looking at him, as you make your choice. ”this one.”

— suddenly, you feel his skin on yours.

you’re sleepy, and pliant, jaw caught between his fingers. he lifts it up, turns it towards him, just so that you’ll meet his gaze. two seas of blue, flecks of pure white, summer skies and summer clouds.

“there,” he exhales, pleased. giving you a reassuring smile before pulling away. “you’ve barely looked me in the eye today. ‘s gonna break my heart, y’know.”

a pause. you gulp, on instinct, shying away from his unbridled attention — eyes moving from those summer skies down to the curve of his glossy lips, and then back up again. a mistake, because when you glance down once more — unable to help yourself — you see it.

that apologetic smile.

(you really are obvious, aren’t you?

how embarrassing.)

silence splits the scene in half, only the faraway sounds of seagulls as background noise. they sound a little like they’re laughing, mocking you.

satoru presses a button on the vending machine, followed by a quiet beep. he doesn’t look at you when he broaches the subject, and you wonder if it’s out of respect or discomfort.

“still not over that schoolgirl crush, huh?”

…

something twists inside your gut. a little ugly, a little sentimental. now that he’s made the first move, it’s easier to move the pieces.

“… it’s not a crush,” you murmur, kicking at a pebble on the ground. surprised by how clear your voice comes out. “i’m in love with you.”

a sigh. another beep, and the sound of a sodacan falling against metal flooring. he crouches down.

“… you could really, really do better.”

you watch as he fumbles with the pick-up box, eyes trained on the back of his neck, the buzzed hair of his undercut. letting out a quiet breath. “riko said the same thing.”

a snort pushes past his lips, ripe with fondness. he pulls himself up from the ground, shifting his weight from one foot to another, reaching for his wallet again. “oh, i’m sure.” he tucks the card back, slipping it into his pocket. a stray cat strolls by you, unburdened, waving its tail in the air. “really, though. you should listen to her.”

something cold meets your cheek. metal, condensation, a pleasant shiver down your spine. he presses the aluminium can against you, and you receive it with a murmur of thanks.

“i’m too old for you, for one.” he continues, and suddenly you feel a little like you’re being lectured. you break open the lid of the sprite can.

“you’re five years older.” a fizzy sound crackles like static in your ears, carbonation bubbling up, sticking to your fingertips. “and we’re both adults.”

he huffs out a breath, only mildly amused. “i’m pushing thirty, y’know?”

you take a sip, lips against cold aluminum, melting sunrays lapping at your skin. it tastes sweet. 

“i know.” a pause, your bottom lip trapped between two sharp teeth. gnawing at the flesh. ”i can’t control how i feel, though.”

…

“yeah,” he sighs, leaning back against the glass. crossing one leg over the other, fiddling with something in his pocket. “i know.”

a moment passes. then he parts his lips, again.

“hey, how about you join me on a mixer someday?” he searches for your gaze, smiling, another one of those charming tilts of his head. “i know some cute guys. and girls, if that’s your thing.”

your answer is instantaneous.

“i’ll pass.”

…

another exhale, breathed out into the summer air. it’s dripping with exasperation, ripe with fatigue, but there’s still something fond there. unmistakable.

“fine, fine. just… think about it, okay?” his palm finds its way to your head, ruffling your hair with a gentle caress. that comforting weight. “c’mon, let’s go back. riri’s making dinner tonight.”

and then he’s taking a step forward. you watch his back for only a moment, still deep in thought. a fizzy, syrupy sweetness sticking to your teeth, a sense of nostalgia invading all your senses. and, as always, that silent adoration.

deep down, you know it’s true. there’s no changing this, whatever this is. in the same way riko will always be his baby sister, you’ll always just be the brat that sniffled into his chest after your first fight with her. 

he’ll never quite see you the way you’d like him to.

(but, then again, isn’t that a part of it? that subtle, subtle kindness of his. the sense of maturity that asks for nothing in return.)

satoru is a good guy. that’s why you can’t help but adore him, despite everything. can’t help but watch his back as he leaves you behind, wishing you could catch up. that your legs were long enough.

it feels nice, to open yourself up like this. crack the lid of your heart, and have him wade through the carbonation. it feels nice to have your feelings be acknowledged, even if they aren’t reciprocated, even if you’re completely delusional and high on summer joy. it feels nice just to watch him shine.

you gulp down the rest of your sprite, toss it into a trash can across the street, and stumble after him. veins sleepy, heart heavy, overwhelmed by adoration. you’ve already cracked the lid open; everything else comes easy. you just want to make a move, any move. want to see how he’ll react.

“satoru,” you call, and he comes to a standstill. when he turns around your arms are outstretched. “can i have a piggyback ride?”

the man before you blinks. once, then twice, fluttering like angel wings, or pretty clouds. 

and then his smile grows. you catch a glimpse of his dimples, for just a moment, and then he’s beckoning you closer with a chuckle.

“yeah? now you’re suddenly all brave?” he shakes his head, no real discontentment behind it. “or are you really that exhausted?”

he studies you intently, ripe with fondness, and you think your sluggish blinks must be enough to convince him. because he crouches down, back facing you, and chirps out a hop on. a little teasing, of course, but still nice. his arms underneath your thighs, lifting you up like it’s nothing. making sure you’re comfortable. he’s strong. very strong.

the butterflies in your stomach flutter around again.

and, honestly, you really are very exhausted. bones buzzing with something sleepy and fatigued, sore after all the running around you did in the water. completely tuckered out, resting your cheek against his back. like this, you can feel his muscles, the solidity of his body. it’s a little bit distracting.

“— remember?”

a series of blinks. you grasp onto his shoulders, holding back a yawn. “huh?”

“you falling asleep on me?” he chuckles, walking forward. one step after another, the soles of his sandals hitting the asphalt. “i was saying — how i remember doing this back then.”

you tilt your head.

“when you fell and twisted your ankle. i think it was nearby, actually… some park?”

“... oh.” when you really concentrate, you think you do recall it; the feeling of his back against your chest, a dull ache in your foot. “yeah, i remember.”

satoru hums, a little buzz of amusement. “after that, you and riri would ask me for it all the time. carry us, big bro!” his imitation makes you smile, voice high and squeaky. “so childish, i swear. i could barely carry one of you.”

a chuckle tumbles from your lips, and it seems to spur him on; because he continues. nostalgia pouring out his throat.

“don’t tell her, okay? but, see — i started going to the gym after that. lifting weights. training, and stuff,” he huffs out an amused exhale, grinning softly. “suguru made me carry boulders on the beach. it was kind of our thing.”

…

“we almost got arrested once.”

you can’t help but laugh, hiding in the smooth fabric of his shirt, in between those printed white flowers. shoulders shaking slightly, giddy and amused. “you did that just ‘cause you were embarrassed?”

“no,” he murmurs, softly, the slightest shake of his head. ”because i wanted to be prepared. in case the two of you ever happened to fall over at the same time, or something…” a sheepish little chuckle. ”i wanted to be able to carry you both back.”

satoru continues to walk, facing away from you. always smiling, you’re sure. even if you can’t see it.

“you’re both precious to me,” he says, making sure to keep a steady hold around your legs. “that’s why i don’t want either of you wasting yourselves on some random guy. i hope you can understand that.”

silence. then, a displeased huff.

“… you’re not some random guy, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“well, of course not. i’m the guy,” he stands a little straighter, and you can practically see the smug smirk on his lips. “but i’m not a very good person.”

you blink.

silence fills the open air.

he says it so casually that you almost don't catch it. matter-of-factly, like it’s just another obvious realization, something so deeply ingrained that it isn’t even worthy of a tonal shift. satoru, who makes pancakes for the people he loves, who carries your bags and buys you soda and keeps a picture of his baby sister in his wallet. satoru, your first love.

that satoru isn’t a good person?

(how could he ever, ever think that?)

“you are.”

a low hum buzzes in his throat. you’re not sure he heard you. if he did, he simply doesn’t care enough to respond. the scene flickers by, the moment comes and goes — you want to protest again, but something about this silence makes you hesitate.

the only thing you can do is —

“satoru.”

another little hum. acknowledging, this time. 

“do you… i mean,” you choke down a bundle of words, replacing them with new ones. gnawing at the flesh of your bottom lip. “is there really no chance… you’ll ever feel the same? none at all?”

…

a mirthless chuckle. he sounds a little tired, you think, more than a little exasperated. but the amusement is still there, laced into his voice, and you drink it in the same way you’ve always done. a little root, soaking in the light of the sun.

“after all that,” he mutters, “you’re still asking?”

a moment’s pause. you listen intently, as if you could hear the gears of his mind shift if you focus enough. as if just being stubborn enough could coax him into opening up the way you have. 

finally, he parts his lips.

“well,” comes a sigh, a click of his tongue. he breathes in the summer breeze. “maybe in a couple decades or so.”

you stare. those white tufts of hair sway with every step he takes, and his voice has a finality to it that isn’t lost on you. solemn, steady, a pillar of salt.

“… okay.”

a pause. then he’s barking out a short laugh, shoulders shaking with the sound. you tighten your grip around them. “okay?” he repeats, pinching the skin of your thigh. “can’t you read between the lines, you little troublemaker?”

a huff. you kick your legs, a little, just stretching them contentedly. wet hair sticking to his skin, your cheek still smushed against him, enveloped in his neverending warmth. “i don’t mind,” you whisper, choking down a yawn. “i’ve already waited eight years. a couple decades more isn’t too bad.”

silence, again. you wonder what he’s thinking, if you’ll ever come close to cracking open the lid of his heart. he parts his lips, and oxygen spills out.

(you think it’s a start.)

“… has anyone ever told you that you’re awfully stubborn?”

you’re quick to nod, nuzzling into his undercut. wearing a satisfied smile. “riko tells me all the time.”

“does she?” there’s silent laughter hiding between his teeth, eager to spill out. “that’s good. listen to her, alright? you might learn a thing or two.”

now he’s just teasing you. the sun is setting, and the air smells like saltwater, and satoru’s back is warm; his voice set to a melodic lilt, as if tempting you to close your eyes. it’s summer, in a quiet port town.

and you adore him again. 

that’s right, you muse, belatedly. loving him was never a choice, and waiting wasn’t ever an issue. getting over him is the tall hurdle, the root of the problem, a root you intend you trip over as many times as it takes for this something to bloom.

because he’s beautiful, and comfortable, and kind. because it’s his back you always end up clinging to. because he knows how you like your pancakes, how you take your coffee, what you look like when you cry. because you like this feeling, the swarm of butterflies in your stomach. even if they’re completely meaningless in the long run.

satoru is right, and so is riko. you’re stubborn, terribly so. if only you could see that as a bad thing.

if only you were physically capable of giving this something up.

unlike the siblings and their overgrown yard, you just can’t seem to look away from an ugly bud yet to bloom — just in case it ends up blossoming, this summer, or the next. just in case it turns into something worth plucking from the ground. it’s fine if it withers away; at least it’ll give way to better soil.

you just like him. you just want to see where it leads you. that’s all, that’s it. that was always it.

“but promise you’ll go with me to that mixer, okay?” his voice calls, breaking you out of your thoughts, unrelenting. ”i’ll find you someone who’ll get your mind off little ol’ me.”

ah. that’s right. 

(you’re terribly, horribly stubborn —

and satoru is too.)

you grin, soft and giddy, thinking of the years ahead of you both. what they’ll be like. where’s the fun in a certain future?

“fine,” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck. inhaling that familiar scent of sandalwood. “do your worst.”

[runningfrom2am]

cold nights // epilogue

summary: a few years later...

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 3.7k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n:

here it is :) the epilogue :)

(i'm crying, could you tell??) i figured it was time to post this now that we've officially entered the overlapping requiem/michigan cherry era. tbh i was just afraid to let these two go bc i love them so much.

thank you all again SO so much for all the love on this fic. it has truly meant everything to me that so many people came on this actual JOURNEY with me, i never intended this to be so long but here we are.

anyway, stick around for requiem!! and i hope you loved this if you made it this far!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist // pinterest board

You were all dressed up in one of your finest gowns, attending the gala that preceded the presidential election.

Coriolanus was running, of course, and you were so incredibly proud. He's worked toward this for years, and you had been there every step of the way since the tenth annual Hunger Games, all those years ago. It felt like a distant memory- albeit one that still haunted you regularly.

You were a whole new person. A Capitol citizen most of the year, and you were happy most of the time. You and Coryo had always gone home in the summers, though, to spend your days surrounded by friends and family under the District Twelve sun. You always looked forward to it, but three months never felt like quite enough time. You missed your old life, but that's all it could be now.

While some Capitol elite was talking your ear off about the upcoming games, that's all you can think about. Well, how after the election that your boyfriend would most certainly win, those summers of peace would be a thing of the past. It was hard to think about, which is why you focussed on how you could work around it. Perhaps you would make smaller visits throughout the year- although Coryo was prepping you for the endless tasks that would even be put onto you as the First Lady of Panem. Once he wins the election, he would propose- and it would be followed by the wedding of the century. You didn't know if you dreaded it or if the pressure of it all just scared you beyond what excitement could repair.

"Miss Y/L/N?" Your train of thought is abruptly interrupted and you hum in response, bringing the champagne glass to your lips, acting like you were paying attention the whole time.

"Yes?" You respond as you lower your glass. "My apologies, I just spaced out for a moment there. It's a big day, after all..." You chuckle to recover, tilting your head slightly at them.

"I was just asking if you had any input in the arena for the next Games, if you could give us any hints." The man asks, seemingly impatient with you getting distracted.

"Oh," You reply, smile fading softly. "No, I- I really try to stay out of all of that." You laugh nervously, gripping tighter onto the glass as you take another sip, relieved when you feel someone's hand on your arm.

"Y/N, come sit. Coriolanus's speech is about to start, he got me to save you a seat at my table." Sejanus says, linking his arm with yours.

You politely excuse yourself from the conversation and allow him to pull you away. "Many thanks." You whisper to him, chuckling slightly as you glance back over your shoulder at the older man you were speaking to. "Some people are so tone-deaf, aren't they?"

"Most definitely." He sighs, shaking his head as he guides you toward his table at the front of the banquet hall, close to the stage. "Apparently that will never change."

Sejanus Plinth was your saving grace all these years, that, however, had never changed. You didn't see him as much anymore, with you being locked up in your office in the Snow penthouse focused on writing book after book until you were burnt out. His role as a doctor in and out of the Districts certainly didn't help either, but you knew he was partial to working back home in Twelve so he could spend more time with Lucy Gray. You were glad he was much more fulfilled in his adult life than you were; you always knew he would do well and you were proud. You had to take moments every so often to remind yourself that when you first met him and Coryo, you had been sad that you wouldn't get to see the men they would become but you had wondered. Now, you had your answers.

"Is that not the truth." You scoff under your breath, smiling and giving a quick wave to a few familiar faces as you pass. You had become somewhat of a people-pleasing expert, the same way Coriolanus had.

You sit down at the table at the front of the room just as the lights slightly dim, and the spotlight hits the stage. You gently cross one leg over the other, careful not to wrinkle your dress and clap in just the perfect polite way you had learned how to over the years, smiling as you see Coryo walk up onto the stage.

He waves, and people whistle and clap, and the smile on his face seems a little more genuine than it normally is during these speeches. Of course, though, this is his final address before he no doubt gets voted in as president, and you know that he is excited.

"Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for coming out tonight..." He says, in a subtle cue to get people to quiet down so he could speak, a drink still in his hand that he delicately hovers above the podium next to him. "This has been such an incredible opportunity for both of us running, and I must say, it's been fun." He tips the glass toward the other table at the front, and your eyes follow the movement to the other candidate, your friend and former classmate, Hilarius Heavensbee. They've never gotten along, and you know Hilarius wants nothing to do with this job. Not really. It makes you sad, a little bit, that his family would push him this far when he had confided in you in his freshman year that it wasn't what he wanted.

The man just gives Coryo a polite but nervous smile, taking another sip out of his own champagne glass. From where you were, you could see his hand trembling. You knew he would have to go next, and Coriolanus Snow was always a tough act to follow.

"Now, I am very happy about this turnout, because I have two important announcements to make." He continues, and whispers fill the room. You look over at Sejanus, a slight look of shock on your face. You didn't know he had anything special to announce, and he always kept you in the loop on everything. Sejanus just shrugs, looking back up at Coryo again. It must not actually be a big deal- it was probably just thanking some more people who have donated to his campaign.

"Firstly," He clears his throat, taking a step to the side as the screen behind him lights up. "For just a moment, see me as your head game maker and forget all about me running for president. Or don't, actually, maybe keep that in mind, but at the back of your mind." He chuckles, the little joke making the audience laugh. He was much more personable now than he once was, you smile a little as you remember helping him write his earlier speeches in a way that would make him more likable. "With the help of my fellow candidate and personal good friend, we are trying something new when it comes to The Hunger Games."

When he speaks, your heart drops and you sit up a little straighter- feeling all eyes on you as you just focus on him. For the first time, he looks down at you and gives you a small smile, the slightest nod in an effort to reassure you that it wasn't as scary as it sounded. You swallow and just keep your smile on as best as you can, ignoring all the stares.

"So, we all love The Games. They're exciting, the stakes are high, and I know every year we all pick our favourite tributes to root for and it's hard to watch them fall but, god, do I know better than anyone how good it feels when they win." Your cheeks burn intensely as Coryo sends a smile and a wink your way, and the screen behind him flashes to a picture of the two of you, taken after your shared university graduation just a couple of years ago. You were both smiling, but he was looking at you as he held you tight around your waist, and you looked into the camera and held up a three-finger salute. People are laughing and awe-ing at the photo of the two of you, and you laugh nervously, looking over at Sejanus with slightly panicked eyes.

You would be absolutely fine with this if he had just run it by you before, and you knew that whether you liked it or not, the Games were an integral part of who you were now, and always would be- but you certainly didn't want your name on anything to do with these new changes they're making. But, he wouldn't be talking about you at all if he knew you would hate it. You had to remind yourself of that.

"So, you all know my beautiful Y/N, of course, we're all big fans of hers here," Coryo says, gesturing to where you were sitting and you let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head at him in a way that would appear teasing to everyone else while he waits for everyone to finish clapping for you. "Don't get embarrassed already, darling, I've got a bit more to say about you so just sit tight, okay? Nothing bad, I promise." He says to you, looking into your eyes even as he stands up on the stage, everyone's laughter echoing in the background.

"So, I have known Y/N and her outstanding mind for years now. The Games are what brought us together when we were both just kids, but you all already know that story so I'll spare you the details. The bottom line is, I am so proud of the woman she has become. She's written two books that will soon become three, she graduated in the top three percent of our class with only a District education to build on, and she is the single most well-spoken, well-mannered, beautiful, and caring woman I have ever met. Truly, she has changed my entire outlook on life." He says, talking more so to the audience than to you, knowing that you're so embarrassed by this. And he would be correct. "It has truly been a privilege to know her, and to love her."

"But that was a long journey for us both, and a seemingly endless uphill battle for her recovery, despite her strength. The Games can be scary, let's be totally honest. It's life or death, and winning will change you, but Y/N came out the other side and wanted to make a difference for her family and that inspired me. And she continues to inspire me every day." Coryo says, pausing to take a sip of his champagne again. "So, all of this is to say, I'd like to thank her for all her support through my education, this campaign, and through the life we're building together. She inspired this idea in me and with the help of my fellow game makers as well as the Plinth family..." You look over at Sejanus as he continues, suddenly realizing he must have known about what was happening. He keeps a small smile on his lips as he watches, refusing to make eye contact with you.

"This," Coryo says, turning to look up at the screen while a picture comes up of a small cul-de-sac of beautiful homes. "Is just the beginning of the Victor's Rehabilitation Initiative."

You tilt your head, a shocked and confused smile on your face as you take in the photo and try to decipher what he's talking about.

"So, recently, Y/N has been more open with everyone about the struggles that came with being crowned a victor in our Games. Yes, they get to walk away with their lives, but what if winning meant something more? What if it meant security for them and their families, so they're not returning to their Districts with no sense of what to do next? That, everyone, is what this program is for. To help the strongest of them find a purpose again, and to encourage the bravest of Panem's children to get back on their feet after such an impressive feat as winning the Games."

You have to very consciously force your jaw to stay shut when you realize what he is saying, clapping along with everyone else while your smile relaxes into something more genuine. You knew that he wanted to abolish the Games altogether, and you knew that no matter who won the election, they wouldn't proceed for much longer. This was the first step in that direction, and you were flooded with emotions. Pride, excitement, relief.

"For ten years, until the beginning of the mentorship program, our victors were cast aside. Never to be heard from again after their win, I, for one, became curious as to what happened to them after the Games as soon as I met Y/N, and I have heard that question from many of you as well since we were all given the pleasure of getting to know her." Coryo's smile is one of pride and excitement, sparing a glance at you as he allows the audience to have their responses. So far, all seemingly positive despite the present undertones of him caring about the people in the Districts. He was a smooth talker, he knew exactly how to command a space and get people to believe what he wanted. And he was using it for good. "I mean, how many other victors have something extraordinary, just like her, that won't be utilized or nurtured? We never knew."

"From now on," He continues, the crowd quieting down. "Our victors will be given homes in what we've decided to call Victor's Villages in each of the Twelve Districts. They'll have ensured security for themselves and their families, and a generous sum of prize money to help them with whatever they need. Whether that's medical attention, both physical and emotional, or, if they so choose, when they reach the appropriate age, they could apply at our university to further their education. Though, between you and I, admittance is not guaranteed." He winks at the end and it's accompanied by laughter, which you try and go along with, but you're too close to tears to even process fully what was going on. This was a huge step in the right direction, even if like he said, acceptance was not guaranteed. "What I mean, is that it will be up to them. They can live their lives to the fullest, just like our gem, Y/N."

He looks at you again, and you can really only see his blurry form through your tears until someone is handing you a handkerchief to dry your eyes while people clap and cheer over the idea.

This was something you couldn't have imagined years ago. This was everything you've wanted since the Games- to make a difference, for people to care. And it was happening right before your eyes. Thanks to him. Thanks to you.

"And with that," Coryo says after a few moments, waiting for the crowd to quiet down after taking in your reaction. "We can move on to my second announcement, which is my formal withdrawal from the presidential campaign."

Gasps fill the room and your smile disappears, a hand coming up to your mouth as you look up at him, shocked and confused with the announcement that blindsided even you.

"Are you happy here?" You ask quietly, not wanting to disturb the peace of the evening as you walk from your parent's house back to your own in the Victor's Village.

"I couldn't be happier." Coryo replies through a soft sigh, swinging your hand gently as it's clasped between you.

"Are you sure?" You say again, feeling a little uncertain despite weeks of his endless reassurance that this was, in fact, what he wanted.

To him, this scenario was perfect. He could keep his job as head gamemaker, planning to only return to the Capitol for a few months or so every year for the Games. He knew that wouldn't last much longer, though, not with Hilarius Heavensbee in office. Coryo gives it a few years and a few major "accidental" mistakes on his part for the viewership of the annual event to die out and open the door for the president to call them off, just like he had always wanted to.

And every day Coryo would wake up to see you in your happy place, the only place you'd ever felt truly at home. He was more than happy to give it all up for the greatest sake of seeing you smile.

"Of course." He smiles, never growing tired of telling you the same thing over and over again if it meant he could ease your mind.

The moonlight bounces off his in a way that makes you think it could be glowing if you didn't know any better.

"I told you that I would be. Years ago. You remember?"

"Of course I remember."

He lets out a breathy laugh at your reply, shaking his head. "That was a foolish question. I don't think you've ever forgotten a single word anyone has ever spoken to you."

"Sure I have." You say, tilting your head as you look up at him, trying to catch the same moonlight reflect in the blue of his eyes as you walk down the path. "I just don't forget... the important bits."

"I will try my best to take care of you while you're here."

"My honest, best advice? Figure out a way to escape."

"I can't have killed them all for nothing."

"You are not a beast."

"Please, don't walk away again."

"I survived because I had to learn to love you."

"Like in your books?" His voice interrupts the swirling of speech from years past, and you shrug.

"Not exactly... it feels different. Because I can hear it, still." You explain, voice dropping into something more quiet as the remnants of your fear eats away at the back of your mind, the cold night breeze imprinting your skin.

"God, the way your mind works, love." He says, and as you look up at him to be met with an expression of pride that always changes everything. "You amaze me every day."

You stay quiet, cheeks getting hot as you look back down at the path.

"Are you happy?" Coryo asks after a moment, eyes never daring to leave your profile as you walk next to him, hardly more than a silhouette in the dark. But certainly more than a ghost, now.

"I am." You reply, the smile creeping back onto your lips. "Such hours are beautiful to live, but hard to describe..."

He hums softly in response. That was a yes, but also a no in the most you fashion possible. His heart remains heavy in his chest knowing that there is nothing more he can do for you to help you heal besides be present. "Is there anything more I can do?" He asks anyway, hoping that maybe you would come up with something.

You shake your head, giving him a tight-lipped smile laced with reassurance.

"Well, then..." He sighs, rather dramatically. "I did have an idea, you know, something that might make you happy. Even just for this one beautiful hour."

You let out a laugh, squeezing his hand a bit. "If that was you asking me if we could-"

"I would like to marry you." He says, for the first time ever, not feeling guilty about interrupting you.

You stop in your tracks, and he stops with you instantly as if he were waiting for it, his hold on your hand not faltering for a second.

"I... you-"

"Darling," He starts, stepping in front of you now, blocking out the moon but hardly putting a dent in the presence of the stars over his shoulders, their soft light reflecting off his blonde curls. "I do love nothing in the world so well as you."

Your shock and confusion begins to wear off as he speaks the familiar words, and you laugh softly. "In your own words, Coryo."

He tilts his head at you, clearly not having expected that kind of response. He expected a lot of things. He planned for everything that could go wrong, he prepared for rejection, for tears, panic, even, but he did not expect that. "I, uh..." He chuckles nervously, giving his head a quick shake to get himself back on track.

He had read that play just for you. Just for this- because he knew how much you loved it, and he remembered the joy it brought you. The smile on your face when you told him about it that day at the lake had never left his mind.

"If you ask me in your own words, I shall say yes." You assure him, hands gripping tighter onto his despite your surprisingly calm demeanor.

"I thought you would like that... You know, knowing you..."

He's quick to defend himself, and your eyes almost sparkle as you look up into his own. "We should have learned by now that our story is our own, yes?" You ask. "We are not Beatrice and Benedick, or Laurie and Amy, or even Romeo and Juliet, just like I used to think we were supposed to be when my days were numbered. I thought I wanted one of those stories to be mine at least once before I died, but I was wrong." You say, taking in the embarrassed flush of his cheeks even in the dim lighting. "You are you, and I am me. No matter what you say I will be happy to marry you, so long as you ask me yourself, and not as someone else."

"Alright then." He gives you a curt nod, a smile on his face as he lowers himself in front of you, careless of the dirt that would no doubt cake into the knee of his pants. "You're everything to me, Y/N/N. My world... my heart, my soul. I didn't know what love was until I met you. I've spent the entirety of my adult life learning to love you, and I never intend to stop. Not even for a moment, so please, let me marry you, love."

"A Coryo indeed." You say softly, recalling the first day you had met him- when you only knew him as Coriolanus, and how far you both had come since then. The growing smile on your lips twitches and you nod, holding his hand a little tighter and attempting to pull Coryo back to his feet. "Of course I will. Nothing would make me happier."

He stands again and very quickly his arms are around you, holding you just as tight as they always had.

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if you want to join the taglist for future fics (requiem, michigan cherry, etc.) as well as the bonus content for this fic, follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on post notifs! all i do over there is reblog my own writing, so it's effectively a taglist :)

thanks again for being here.

xx, raye

[coveted-covey]

a/n: minors please don't interact. blank and ageless blogs are going to be blocked. 🚶‍♀️ this was supposed to be posted a month ago but I got stuck 1.6k words in. literally that one bake off meme except it went like "started writing it. had a month's long block. but here it is now so bon appetit." ...anyways!

cw: Cove and reader are 23 (step 4 age!), established relationship, making out, some s*xual tension (note sure if this cw is needed), multiple mentions of alcohol and reader drinking/getting drunk, slightly OOC!Cove, but I totally see him doing it if push comes to shove and so here we are… or maybe I’m just projecting! :D this is also not beta read. but either way, enjoy! let me know if I missed anything else in the tags.

Word count: 2,016

You're 97% certain that you're going crazy. 

That or there's something in the air, but whatever it is you realize that you don't really care. Nothing comes close to the urgency that is Cove James Holden.

With spasming hands, you grab ahold of his hair as you try to breathe in between the small gaps that you afford yourself. When that becomes insufficient, you press yourself further into his personal space.

“[Name], w-wait–” Cove gasps as you bite his lower lip. “Let's go inside first–” 

You stop your assault of his mouth, replacing it with your gentle thumb instead. Cove’s brain is short-circuiting and your rapt attention at his lips is absolutely not helping. You giggle as you tug his lips down with your thumb. “Your lips are so swollen, baby.” 

He lets out a groan of half-embarassment and half-wantonness. “I shouldn't have let you drink tonight.” Realizing that he should use the opportunity of you not pressing your own to his lips as of yet, he quickly grabs his keys from his pocket then opens the door of his apartment.

The low creaking of the door captures your attention, then you dangerously swerve as you snap your attention back to him. “Ahh, here it is! Homeee~” you drawl.

He grabs your waist as you almost bump to one of his floormates passing through the corridor. “[Name], be quiet,” he mutters lowly then quickly apologizes to the old lady, cheeks reddening. If it could go any redder at this point, that is.

He leads you inside and you lean your full weight against him. He didn’t even stagger. You would have marvelled at his strength if had you been paying attention, but alas you were briefly distracted by the little to no light that welcomed you as you stepped into the threshold.

“It's so dark here. Why is it so dark?” You whine. 

Cove shuts the door then puts down your bags beside his shoe rack. He wordlessly flicks the light switch on then turns to you. “Sit down here for a second.” 

“Hmm?” Your eyes blink at the blue lounge chair he's patting. When you make no move, he gently sits you down then moves to take off your shoes.

You stare at him, eyes slightly unfocused. “Hey…”

“Yes, [Name]?” He looks up at you from the floor and you giggle.

You lean into his ear. “You look good kneeling.”

“God.” 

Cove looks up then mutters something underneath his breath. He closes his eyes shut, lips in a deep frown and brows furrowing despite the bright blush on his cheeks. You're going to be the death of him.

A beat passes.

He clears his throat. “I’m gonna help you change your clothes and then I’m putting you to bed, okay? Come on,” he gives you his hand to help you up, but you lightly swat his hand away.

“Nooo, I want a piggyback ride!” 

Cove tries to think back to the first time you got yourself this inebriated. Except nothing comes close to mind. There was that one time your parents let you have wine on your 18th birthday, but that was in the privacy of your own home, and you were not allowed to stay up with Cove with just the both of you. With all things considered, then, this would be the first time. He has half a mind to call the Last’s but didn’t, considering the both of you are full-grown adults at this point and he’s capable of taking care of you tonight.

He is… right?

Your head lolls a bit to the side, then leans back next to his head. “You’re so warm,” you hummed as you tightened your arms around his shoulders.

“You are, too. I’m gonna put you down now, ‘kay?”

Your lips tremble, your intoxicated mind irrationally offended with the thought of him going away from you. You hiccup. “Are you mad at me?” Another hiccup. “Don’t let go, please?”

“[N-name], are you crying? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that!” he tries to look at you, but human heads can only turn up to a certain angle. “I won’t go away, I promise. I’m just gonna let you down on the bed.”

You sniffle, nodding despite Cove not facing you. “Okay…”

You feel what you can only assume as his mattress beneath you as he deposits you down onto the soft covers. You come face to face with his worried face as he examines your countenance with his hands on both sides.

“Don’t cry,” he swipes his thumb at a stray tear, his heart breaking at the sight of your red-rimmed eyes and trembling lips. “I think you’re underestimating your own importance in my life,” he lets out a sad chuckle. “I’ll never, ever, let you go out of my own accord. You’re it for me. My soulmate, the love of my life. I’ll spend forever loving you if I could. So don’t cry, okay? Honestly you would have to be the one to decide if you get sick of me at some point, and only then will I consider leaving you. But until then—and God knows leaving you, ever, is not what I would want—I’m yours.”

He ends his speech with a tender kiss on your forehead.

Being reasonably touched and rightfully overwhelmed at your boyfriend’s reaffirmation of his love aside, it seems like the alcohol is affecting you so much worse than you would have liked. It’s getting embarrassing and sober you would definitely hit yourself upside the head with how ridiculous you’re reacting.

You start sobbing.

“Waaaahh, I love you so, so, so much!” you wail as you bury your face on his stomach, hugging him in a vice grip. Cove can only hug you as tight as your positions can allow him, rubbing your back soothingly as he tries his best to calm you down.

A couple minutes of uncontrolled sobbing and you getting helped by Cove to get cleaned up for bed later, you’re now snug under his covers, waiting for him to come back from the kitchen to get a fresh glass of cold water.

“Here you go,” he puts the glass on the sidetable and you sit up to drink it. You gulp down the refreshing water in no time.

Having calmed down from the blindsiding, alcohol-driven, emotional outburst earlier, you can only look at him sheepishly as you are hit with sudden clarity. “I’m sorry for the, uh, sorry for being unreasonable earlier. I’m 100% blaming the alcohol,” you laugh lightly. You try to ignore the urge to pinch yourself out of embarrassment.

“Are you feeling better now?” he gives you such a heavy look that you can’t help but find the texture of his covers particularly interesting. Great, now you’ve disappointed him.

 “Yes, yes, I do. I’m really sorry about earlier, I was probably being a bother. I’m not sure I will swear off alcohol completely, but I’ll try to keep it to an ultra reasonable amount and not end up being completely hammermpgh—”

Cove leans forward and takes your lips against his own, shutting you up and pushing you back down on the bed in the process. “Don’t misunderstand, you can do whatever you want as long as you’re not totally endangering yourself and I will take care of you, but it seems like we’re still not seeing eye to eye in one crucial thing.”

Your head still reeling from the kiss, you can only open and close your mouth like a silly guppy. “W-what—”

“You’re not being a bother to me. Not ever,” he frowns, peeved at, and saddened by you downplaying yourself. “You never have to apologize for the things that I do for you because I love you and you’d do the same thing for me in a heartbeat.”

“But I—”

The rest of your sentence was interrupted by your beloved boyfriend leaning in once again to capture your lips in another searing kiss. “None of that,” he murmurs from above you, and your heart starts to race at the palpable tension between the two of you. “Do you understand, [Name]?”

You take in his state from above you, his eyebrows furrowed, pupils dilated, cheeks rosy pink, and lips deliciously swollen. You gulp as you feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

“I-I do. I understand.”

“Good,” he whispers lowly, and you’ve never wanted to shriek so hard in your life. You try to look back in your whole relationship with your neighbor-turned-friend-turned-best friend-turned-childhood sweetheart-turned-boyfriend and try to pinpoint a time he was ever this… this… this INTENSE and HOT and you want to faint.

You think you are going to faint.

Presumably contented from your response, he finally pulls back and you’re left trying to settle your breathing. Before he can step away to get to his side of the bed, however, you abruptly sit up to grab at his sleeve.

“Wait.”

He stops, looking at you with questioning eyes. You almost balk but steel yourself, eyes glinting with newfound (and undoubtedly short-lived?) confidence. “Are you seriously going to leave like that?”

“Like what?” His wavy eyebrows rise and the edge of his lips curls up in a familiar way that basically told you that the jig is up. “Like what, baby? And for the record, you did look good underneath me.”

You can almost feel your ears blowing out smoke out of embarrassment. Did he just—

Well, two can play at that game.

You brace yourself harder then hit him with, “Well, if I looked so good, why don’t you do it again?”

He looks away, and you see the traces of his flush from his ear to neck becoming more and more vibrant.

Ah. There he is.

“A-aren’t you tired?”

With an unexpected gracefulness of a predator stalking its captured prey, you lean in close to his ear. “Not for you, I’m not.” Then you give him the most seductive look you can muster.

 He bites his lip and your eyes follow the movement. You watch as the gears turn in his head debating whether to be responsible and make you get some rest, or to give in to your temptation and give you what you want.

Breathing out shakily, he gently removes your grip from him and puts your hand on your lap. You look up at him in confusion. He smiles apologetically then gives you a tender kiss on the lips. “You need rest, [Name]. You had a long flight coming home.”

You huff and pout, conceding. “Okay… but I want my cuddles.”

He laughs softly at that. “And cuddles you will get.”

Cove then turns the overhead lights off in exchange for lampshade. Once settled under the covers, he also turns the remaining source of light off, and you immediately draw yourself to his warmth. His arms reach around you to pull you in closer. You sigh, content.

“I missed this. I missed you.”

Cove hums then gives you another affectionate kiss on the top of your head. He smiles as he pays attention to how perfect you feel against him, like two puzzle pieces finally being connected after so long of being apart.

“I missed you too, more that you’d ever imagine.”

You laugh lightly at that, giving a soft peck at his skin in front of you. Cove giggles, ticklish. “Not everything is a competition, Mr. Cove Holden.”

“Alright, alright,” he giggles, squeezing you closer to him. “Get some rest, [Name]. I love you.”

You smile to yourself as tiredness catches up to you and your eyelids become heavy. “I love—” You let out a small yawn that Cove also catches. You share another soft laughter, like two lovers sharing secrets under the blankets, a couple finally reuniting after a while of being apart.  “I love you, too.”

And with that, the two of you go into a peaceful slumber, with you vaguely thinking of getting back at him in the morning for not giving in to you earlier. Maybe he’ll be in for a surprise…

[jaketsparrow]

SOMETHING... | JTK

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f! Reader

Word Count: 10.6K

Summary: When you have to say goodbye to your professor and mentor, a cocky young professor steps in, Jacob Kiskza. Literature used to be your safe place, but now you feel him getting involved in every corner; it doesn’t help that you’re his TA. You deny yourself every opportunity to fall for him until…

A/N: Hi guys :) I know it’s been forever since I’ve put something together and I apologize about that, but this is life. This one has been on my mind since the Grammy U interview and I finally had the idea to put it all together. I hope you enjoy :) 

Playlist

*Also I'm so sorry I lost my tag list so if you want to be tagged here's a new form* Taglist

MINORS DNI

MENTIONS OF/ TW: Sexual content (of course), talks about death/grief, angst, swearing, Dom! Jake, restraints, possible orgasm denial, choking, alcohol use, fingering (f receiving), dirty talk, ~some~ degrading, praise kink!, I’m sorry if I missed anything, but, etc, it’s filth. 

The classroom was cold in the early months of the year. You had gotten in the habit of wearing your coat through the 3-hour seminar. You were lucky that this class only ran once a week, but you often had to stay longer than the students, working with the professor for a few hours afterward. He was always elusive. Always eager to get things done as fast as possible; efficient and snappy. 

There was much to admire about him, but his personality often left you rolling your eyes. He always seemed a bit too sure about himself, always being the tough grader, pushing students further than they were willing to go. He cared a lot, especially about the subject matter. He still had that gusto in him to do things right, to be stern. 

He was new to the program; and before this, only about a year into teaching. You studied under his predecessor. She was a kinder old woman who cared deeply for you, like your mother away from home. She taught you everything- and even got you to change majors during your sophomore year. She supplemented your reading supplies, nurtured your abilities, and was always willing to sit in deep conversation with you. Discussing the classics, introducing modern pieces, talking about life, talking about it all. 

Professor Kiszka on the other hand… 

When he took over for Professor Meelo, he took very little time to rip the bandaid off. When you had originally been promised a TA position in the literature department, you were expected to be under your mentor, not a cocky white man. 

You spent weeks crying during winter break after first meeting him. The day you met him didn’t go exactly as you hoped. It was the week of finals when you found out Meelo was sick, and that she was stepping away from teaching. As if finals week wasn’t stressful enough, you had to come to terms with the fact that the woman who taught you everything was going to be leaving this world sooner than you would’ve thought. It was even more of a punch in the gut to walk into your introduction meeting to see… him. 

3 Months Ago

The walk across campus felt heavier than usual. The winter had been harsher than it usually was in early December. The wind whipped across your bare rosy cheeks, causing freezing tears to slowly fall out of the corners of your eyes. Almost like a bad omen, the weather continued to get worse as you sludged your way across the quad. 

The parking lot was nearly a mile away from campus, which was nice during the warmer months; the trees would sway across the crosswalk, blessing the sidewalk with fallen flowers and leaves. The grass was green and lively, a welcome mat onto a wonderful learning home. Between the cracks of the stone walkways, little dandelions would grow. You never understood the people who thought them to be unnecessary weeds. They were bright and yellow lively plants, and when the time of beauty passed, they passed their good wishes onto you. Blowing what once were vibrant petals into the wind. Who knew you’d miss the weeds on your walks?

Instead, now the stones were smeared with remnants of snowy footprints, broken earth that had been cracked through with the force of shovels, and the remnants of the dead earth.

Meelo called you just last week. You begged to go see her in the hospital, but she didn’t want you to worry too much. She agreed to call you every other day, just like your usual coffee arrangements. She loved them just as much as you did. She never had a husband or any children. Her students were her children, her soul was fed enough through changing lives that she didn’t want to take away that love from her students or prevent any child from feeling all of it. You were not the first to bear their soul in her office, but you might be one of the last. 

Meelo begged you to go meet the new professor. You had tried to rescind your TA position, but she blocked you at every chance she got. Even while in hospice she still managed to look out for you…

“Please, sweetheart. I know it’s not easy. But he’s young, he’s smart, I think you’ll have a lot in common with him,” She pleaded through the phone. 

“But he’s not you. I just, I thought… I thought I’d have more time…” Your voice trailed off. 

You tried to hold the phone away from your face, trying not to distress her more with the sounds of your whimpers and tears. 

Her voice started again, “You never know what you will learn from him. You have more time with me, but there comes a time when a teacher must share her students for them to learn more. If we stayed in our echo chamber together my dear I’m afraid you wouldn’t learn everything you need to know. Jacob is going to be a great professor, and I know you will learn a lot from him. His research and analysis work is quite extensive. The school and I hired him for a reason. Please. Just give it a try. For me.”

“Just for you.” 

And here you were trudging through, feeling every bone in your body telling you to turn around, to go home. But you were doing this not for you, you reminded yourself. For Meelo. She was right, you latched on to her from your early years in college and favored her over all of your other professors. They were kind and nice as well, but it didn’t matter to you in the end, if they weren’t Meelo, they were never going to compare. 

The building seemed colder than usual. The large glass windows were covered by their shades; no one wanted to see the gross state of life outside of the classroom. That’s hardly motivating to any student, the fluorescents would give more life than the grey state of the weather. 

You pull the door open, walk through the entryway, and follow your usual path down the hallway to Meelo’s room. 

The thing about old colleges, everywhere you turn is a little piece of history. Each room has housed many professors and many students. The building had life, had ghosts of its own hidden in each brick, in each stone. You felt the comfort of this presence moving through the hallway. 

You stop right before Meelo’s room, catching your breath before you enter. Trying to have an open mind. Kiszka could be something, or he could just be another man throwing words at you. Not that all men were the same, but a majority of the male professors here were lackluster, favoring the male students and the athletes who needed the better grades to stay in the school. And if they favored the women… You always felt a cold chill thinking about that. Thinking about why…

One last deep breath before you enter the classroom. You grab tight onto the handle of your tote bag and strut confidently into the room. 

It was empty. 

The beautiful artwork and posters that Meelo had filling the room were stripped. Revealing the natural state of the architecture. It was beautiful in its own way but didn’t feel like the educational home you once felt so blessed to be in. The desks were all shoved to one side of the classroom. The previous welcoming U-shape was demolished, instead providing a cluttered destruction of Meelo’s work. 

You stood awestruck in the shape of the room. There was no time wasted between Meelo leaving and Kiszka starting to make his mark on the room. The bookshelves that used to be filled in the back of the room had been emptied and their contents sat on the floor in boxes.

You walk over to the boxes, kneeling to gently sift through the carelessly placed books. This was Meelo’s library that she had collected for the classroom. Take a book, leave a book, borrow a book, bring it back. You loved visiting this wall every week, seeing what books your peers were interested in, and which books made their way into the library. Some new, and some returning after long months away. 

Sitting on top of the box was the classic “Brave New World”. Aldous Huxley. 1932. Not an original copy, but a new binding. It was like the universe was sending you signs. This would be a brave new world. A world where you might have to come to terms with the fact that Meelo would not be in your life forever.  A world where you might have to figure out everything with a new mentor. A world where you thought you would have years to work on your pieces with a woman who understood you, but now you would turn over your heartfelt pieces to a man. One who may not understand you the same as someone else does.

“A favorite of yours?” A voice perks up from the doorway. 

You turn to see him. Your eyes work your way up his figure. He’s wearing Chelsea boots, black thick linen pants, a white loose shirt with a black vest, and a dress coat over it. His chestnut hair lays over the shoulders of the coat, and his eyes are covered by circular gold-rimmed sunglasses. He oozes mystery. His arms crossed, surveying your crouched body by the boxes. You hate to admit it, but he may be one of the most handsome men you’ve ever seen. 

You hold up the book towards him, displaying the cover. 

“Not particularly. I don’t like thinking about the takeover of technology. It feels too real right now.” You respond. 

He wanders over to you, taking his time, each step creating the most annoying echo in the emptied classroom. He reaches his hand out to yours, asking silently for the book. You hand it over to him and stand to match his level. 

He passes the book between his hands, admiring the binds, “Ah, yes, but perhaps something can be learned from the book if more understood its warning… if only more read it…”

“If only…” You let the conversation trail off. Your eyes wander back to the pile of desks on the opposite wall. You feel yourself zoning out, focused only on the change of the room, not on the man in front of you. 

“-Your favorite?” He asks. 

You snap back to the conversation, trying to recall the beginning of his question, “I’m sorry? 

“If this is not your favorite, can I ask which is?” He waves you to walk with him. 

You follow him into the office at the back of the classroom. He sits in Meelo’s chair, and you sit in the chair that had held you so many times. You wouldn’t be surprised if the cushion had a you-shaped imprint in it at this point. 

He asks a third time, “You don’t seem like the Jane Eyre or Louisa May student, so what is it?” 

You let your bag fall off your shoulder and you try to sit up in the chair, asserting some sort of professionalism. Your answer will hold some sort of judgment for him. Although you want to be offended by his comment about the female author’s classics, he’s right. They were never your favorite. 

“Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Meelo gave it to me as my first assignment.” You respond, confident in your answer. 

He nods in approval, “Lovely choice, very telling. Meelo said you were very bright–one for the classics.” 

He leans back in his chair, stroking his chin. His hand reaches up to the gold-rims and pulls them off, clattering onto the desk. He pulls himself towards the desk, resting his elbows on the table. 

“Are you going to ask me mine?” He asks, almost presumptuously. 

You fight back the urge to roll your eyes. Of course, he has to find a way to be important here. You adjust yourself in your seat, crossing your arms in the process. 

“If you want me to know, why don’t you just say it?” You retort. 

He chuckles to himself, “Lord of the Rings.” 

Your mouth falls so far open that you’re afraid a fly might buzz its way in. You lift your hand to your mouth and try to hide your disapproval.

“That’s a classic for sure.” You reply, “Not one I would’ve expected from a college literature professor, but a classic nonetheless.”

He pushes himself off the desk, running his hands through his long locks before they make their way onto the arms of the seat. 

“You don’t approve?” He scoffs. 

“I didn’t say that, I just said it’s not one that I would expect.” 

“I believe there is a difference between a personal and professional favorite. A favorite you could read over and over again, and you could enjoy without having to think too much about what it all means. it’s an adventure, its heroes and legends, it’s a call for relaxation and enjoyment. I’d rather have my favorite be a well-known classic than a deep thought-provoking story about purity.”

You fight every urge in you to slap the man sitting before you for disgracing such a beautiful novel. But you think about Meelo. You think about stepping outside of the echo chamber. 

“I think we may have different opinions on favorites, Professor Kiszka.” You say shortly. 

You feel the tension grow between you already. This would be a difficult semester. Even more difficult because as you felt your dislike for him grow, you couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful man sitting in front of you. His brown eyes stared deep into you, trying to assess his new assistant. You tried not to let him in too far. You were not fawning for him, at least you weren’t trying to. You wanted to fight off the growing warmth crying to spread through you. It was like seeing a handsome stranger in the bar; you knew the danger, but almost didn’t want to let yourself protect your heart. 

He was by far the youngest professor here, and the most eligible. No ring was on his finger. 

“Please, call me Jacob.” 

You stood up from your seat, throwing your bag over your shoulder. You try to compose yourself enough not to let any distaste escape from your lips. 

“Sorry, Professor Kiszka, I have finals I need to finish, it was a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you in January. If you need anything from me before then, I believe the dean gave you my information.”

You reach your hand out awkwardly, trying to invite a handshake. He cautiously reaches his hand back, pulling you into a firm, but still gentle handshake. 

His eyes meet yours. The deep brown staring into you. Although you should have the power from your standing position, you knew he held all the cards from his seat. The handshake lingered longer than you had expected, both of you locked deep into staring each other down. He finally releases his hand. 

“It was a pleasure.” You start to leave the office, but he makes one last remark, “Oh, one last thing…” 

You turn to face him, “Yes professor?”

 He reaches into the desk and pulls out a cloth-bound book, handing it to you. You slowly return to the desk, taking the book from his hand—the Lord of the Rings. 

“Try it for me? You do have a whole winter break…”

You rub your hands over the cover, smiling at his request. You place the book back in his hand.

“I used to read it as a child. No need to give it a try when you’ve read it four times already.” You smile at him. 

Even if it wasn’t your favorite, didn’t mean it wasn’t a favorite. 

Present

In some ways, your relationship with him felt like a love-lost marriage. Just moving through the motions. You sat in on the classes and took note of who engaged, and who didn’t. You graded assignments, tests, and papers, with him always double-checking and doubting your work. You didn’t sit in on long conversations with him like Meelo. Perhaps some of that was your fault, always quick to get to work. He adjusted to you quickly, understanding how you needed to work, and letting you grieve. 

Meelo passed quickly into the semester. You cried once in front of him when the news broke. You nearly snapped his head off when he asked if he could help you. From that moment on he took on this cold persona, but you don’t blame him at all. You knew in your heart that you would not have the same connection with him as Meelo, so it was easier to never try. 

Through everything, your work never faltered, and your school work remained the priority. Perhaps it was a way to hide through all the pain but the calculated steps it took to grade provided a soothing rhythm amongst the distress. 

You never failed to notice all the times you caught him catching glances at you. You were silly to think that it meant anything more than just a quick look, but still maybe somewhere in your heart, you had hoped that maybe he was thinking of you more than his assistant. For weeks you watched him stroll into class, always wearing a disheveled but somehow put-together outfit. You loved seeing how he would piece together different clothes from his collection. Never repeating an exact outfit, but always finding new ways to repurpose the same items. 

One day he walked in with a new addition to his look, a cluster of pendants on a necklace. They looked older, more worn in than any new silver. You asked him about it briefly, trying not to engage in a further conversation. 

“They’re coins, Spanish coins, designed after ones from the 1600s. I think the jeweler lied to me when he said they were originals, but they still look okay… Do you think so? 

“You look like a pirate.” You responded. 

A sexy pirate. You shoved that thought deep into the back of your mind. Holding on to it, because you didn’t want to forget how good he looked. 

His Thursday classes were always one of the better ones. This was one that you had to take yourself for your graduate program. There was no TA’ing involved as that would be a huge conflict of interest if you got to grade your papers. You chose to sit in the back corner of the class by the window, in hopes that when spring rolls around you could watch the foliage return. The unfortunate thing about this choice was the waiting. February was colder than you had expected and the windows provided no warmth. 

When you were TA’ing you got to sit at the edge of the office and the classroom. Kiszka brought a space heater for you to place at the doorway. He joked he didn’t need his assistant ‘freezing to death’, because then ‘who would grade the papers’.

You tried your hardest to not let him favor you, but you knew he was someone who would be kind no matter how much you asked him to stop. He would leave books on the edge of his desk for you to read and when you tried to return them he declined and told you he already had a copy in his collection. You doubted that and always protested in fear that you thought you might lead him on. But in the end, it was always you walking out with a new book in your bag. 

He was trying his hardest to get along with you. Some days it was easier and you would entertain his questions, but other days it was easier to be quick and move along. This relationship was not going to be a fairytale. You had already found your soulmate once, and you lost her. In your mind, there was no more room in your heart to let someone in. And why should you prepare space for someone if you truly don’t know if they want to be there? 

This class although interesting became boring as the weeks went on. The class had fallen into a seasonal depression of sorts. Many like you had expected to have Meelo for the semester when you had booked your classes, so when Kiszka showed up and tried to shake things up… It wasn’t easy. He was skilled and smart, sure… But not the same. He craved involvement and wanted the class to join in with him, but often would push people further than they were willing to go. A room full of mid-20-year-olds was truly a space of burnout. Many of these students had already passed four, sometimes five years of school before they stepped into this class. They no longer have that lively interest in reading and analyzing literature but want to create their own.

“-And what was this author trying to convey through his use of metaphors?...” He asked from his commanding space at the front of the class, “No one?... No one picked up on this…? Or are you too scared to be wrong?”

Your attempts at fighting off eye-rolls also subsided the longer this course went on, and this roll came on hard. You’ve heard this line countless times through multiple classes. He wasn’t wrong, but he could at least find different ways to say the statement. 

“Y/N? Care to enlighten everyone?” He calls to you, in need of saving the class who had lost attention nearly an hour ago. 

“Sure. It’s a metaphor for how women are treated in society.” You answer.

He grits his teeth and sighs, “Not quite, but you’re close…” 

You lift yourself from your slump, “No, that’s right. She is clearly trying to convey the expectations of women in society and how we are treated. As a female author, she leaves these metaphors to be very simple for female readers to understand. For males, it’s harder to grasp that the severity of these situations could imply the treatment of women, but that’s what she’s trying to explain.”

He clasps his hands together giving them a brief shake, “That class, that is how you analyze. Literature can be read in different ways by different readers. The author may have a clear intention of what they are trying to write, but others may be able to relate it to other aspects of their life. I have my own interpretation, and you all may have others. That is how this should be working. There is nothing wrong, with how you analyze, just that you have the knowledge to back it up…”

Every time you tried to make him out to be the bad guy, he ended up being in the right. You hated how smart he was. You hated how much you wanted to watch him while he stood up there. You hated how he wasn’t her. But you knew you didn’t want him to leave. 

“So with that,” He continues, “Finish up the last few chapters and please come prepared with statements next week about your findings. I want you to dig deep; feel the author. I’ll see you next week.” 

The class starts their shuffle for the door, while you meander to your usual spot at the doorway of the office. The next class wouldn’t be in for 20 minutes, but you would at least have time to warm up. 

You click on the heater and walk over to Kiszka’s rolling desk chair. You take your coat off and rest it over the seat, pushing it over to the door. Kiszka finds his seat at the front of the classroom, pulling out his book of the week. He usually would try to follow you, asking you what you were reading, then the next day showing up to class with an identical copy. It was annoying and endearing how much he wanted to learn from you. You wondered if it upset him that you weren’t as keen on learning from him. 

He confided in you that Meelo was an idol of his as well, and although he didn’t get to learn from her, he was going to try to through you. 

You pull your copy of Anna Karenina from your bag and join him. Your chapters ahead of him, but you enjoy being one step in front of him. 

You peep up from the back of the room, “I didn’t ask, but please tell me this isn’t your first time reading this.” 

He lifts his head from the book slightly, eyes still skimming the page, “Third.” 

You sigh in relief. That would’ve been embarrassing; for him. 

You return to the book. You’re finding it harder to dive in today than usual, something is different… You see out of the corner of your eye that Kiszka has put down the book altogether, and you can sense him staring. This lasts a few moments, but you try to remain focused on the words, but catching yourself having to re-read the paragraphs; not processing the sentences you’ve already read.

A minute goes by and he hasn’t returned to his pages. Instead, you hear the squeak of his chair rolling over to his computer. A few clicks and a frenzy of taps on the keyboard. 

“Hey.” He prods. 

You look up again from the book. He peers at you over the edge of his computer and then closes it so he can see you better. He grasps his jaw lightly, stroking it in his hands. 

“Yes?” You asked, trying not to seem annoyed by the interruption. 

“Let’s go over your manuscript. I want to see it.” He continues. 

No. It’s not time yet. You’ve been meticulously editing it for months now. He wasn’t supposed to read it until midterms, you were supposed to have more time…

You drop the book into your lap, “It’s not ready…” You close the book, “Also we have class in twenty minutes, you won’t be able to read it all by then.” 

He stands up from his seat, straightening his vest out, “I canceled class. Pull it out.” 

Two Hours Later

Some time had passed. You both sat in his office now. Him at… his… desk, and you still positioned by the heater at the door. At this point you were warm enough to finally take your sweater off, stripping down to a simple black t-shirt. You saw him staring through the pages when you pulled the sweater off. If he had looked any harder you think he might burn a hole through the book.

The office was silent except for the occasional click and clack of the heater, and the flickering of the candle on his desk. He flipped through the lightly bound pages while you continued through your reading. Every couple of minutes you could hear the stroke of his red pen hit the pages. The words or corrections will wait for you later. You could sit and scoff at them later in your apartment. The man said his favorite book was Lord of the Rings, how could you possibly trust his editorial judgment?

You had made it about a hundred or so pages through your book, which was slower than you would’ve liked. You still couldn’t breach the interferences. You thought the silence would help, but hearing his hums, his pen strokes, the occasional sip of scotch… It was all a distraction. 

You couldn’t stop looking up from the book to watch him slyly admire your work. You knew your writing was good; Meelo had seen the early stages of it all. She heard the direction and loved every word… A complete sadness rushed over you thinking of how she would never see the final product. 

Kiszka would adjust himself every few minutes; switching positions in his seat. You wanted to trust yourself enough not to look every time he shifted his hips, but those linen pants he loved so much left little to wonder about him. You had a closeness to him that you didn’t want to admit. As many differences as there were between you, there were just as many similarities. He was an outsider here; you could see that clearly. The other professors didn’t trust him because of his age- the students tried to walk all over him because of that too. 

Even though you wanted to hate how pretentious he seemed, deep down you knew it was a facade to seem more studious to others. You saw the real him in glimpses. The kindness he offered to you that many others most likely wouldn’t have. Your youth and love for literature matched his perfectly, although you couldn’t always find the way to express it correctly. Your loyalty to Meelo prevented that at every chance. 

Letting him read this manuscript was a big step that you didn’t fully even realize until he had reached the halfway point. You wanted to go and rip the pages out of his hand, throw them out the window, prevent him from seeing you too deeply… But something inside you needed to know what he thought of it. 

Frustrated by your lack of progress, you lowered the book into your lap. You took this time to look around the room. It had changed so much since you had seen it back in December. Kiszka’s library had taken up the room, along with his record collection. When you would come by early in the morning to drop off the graded work, you would hear him playing some of it. Blues, rock, the classics. You never disturbed him during these times, it felt too intimate to interrupt. Instead, you would place the binder of essays on his classroom desk and scurry away before he could come to say hello. 

You place your bookmark into the page opening. You calmly stand and place the book where you once sat. Quietly, you make your way over to his collection.  

You see him peer up through the pages. Curious about your movements, watching you silently behind the manuscript. 

You lower yourself to the floor, sifting through the jackets of the vinyls. Alphabetical. Of course. You make your way quickly through the a’s and land through the b’s. As cliche as it seems, you truly love Abbey Road, and of course, there it is front and center with the other Beatles albums. You pull it out from the shelf, removing the jacket carefully from the sleeve. You lift the vinyl out and place it on the record player. It’s a modern one, which feels very out of character for Kiszka. He always seemed like the type to randomly have every item of his be nothing newer than 20 years old. 

You press play and lower the needle onto the music. 

Come Together plays softly through the speakers. You turn to look back at him, seeing if there is any protest. Instead, he has the red pen out, slashing across the paper. You grit your teeth and try not to engage. You return to his collection, running your fingers along the remainder of the vinyl. The plastic tickles through your fingers, creating a click, click sound as each jacket releases from your hold. 

Although you did want Kiszka to keep reading, you felt it was necessary to distract him, to try and persuade him to step away…

You continue from the vinyl collection, traipsing through the room. It’s like a library out of a movie, truly. You admired his office deeply and loved to gaze at it while he was lecturing. Sometimes when he was deep in his philosophy of literature speeches, you would lean back in the chair and try to read the book titles from afar. Your eyesight was good, but not good enough to make out the exact names of all of them. You never dared to peruse like this before, but this moment presented the perfect opportunity. 

You were his captive for the remainder of his reading. Well… In all reality, you didn’t have to be here, but you didn’t dare leave that manuscript alone. It had been stored with you in your tote for the past month. You tried to take chunks of edits at a time, working through it yourself when you had time but didn’t want to share it with anyone until you felt that it was complete. 

You tried to fight Kiszka off, but the notion of him canceling class meant that he found taking the time to do this very important… 

The books that were displayed on these shelves were not the type of books that you would find at your local bookstore. They were older, worn in, some of them originals, even some you haven’t read yet. Maybe he did have some things that he could show you…

 You make your way to the last set of bookshelves, rounding the back corner of the office. The last edge of the wall had his makeshift bar. 

The liquor was all dark, amber-colored. Very manly, you thought to yourself. Bottles of whiskey and scotch lined the makeshift bar. Jack Daniels, Sazerac Rye, Macallan Double Cask… You recognized some of the labels. 

Kiszka crept up behind you, “If you wanted a glass, you could’ve asked.” 

He reaches down below you to fetch a rocks glass from the bar. He grabs the Macallan Double Cask and pours a finger for you. The alcohol flows effortlessly out of the bottle, barely splashing into the glass.  He hands the glass to you, your hand brushing his. His touch is warm… Kind. He takes his other hand and grabs your shoulder, in a comforting way. You want to seem completely normal, but feel your cheeks getting rosy from the touch. You suck on your bottom lip and try to hide your face. 

You take a large swig of the scotch, trying to be mindful of not wasting such a good drink. He looks at you, shocked at your ability to take it so easily. 

“Wow. Good.” Is the only words he can mutter. 

You smile meekly. The praise makes you feel undoubtedly shyer than you had just before. 

“Are these originals?” You ask, pointing to the corner section of his library, “I couldn’t tell, and didn’t want to touch them if they were.”

“Many of them, yes,” He responds, “I trust that you would be gentle with them, please, which one were you curious about?” 

You make your way over to the shelf, placing your drink down on the small table near the corner. You reach up to fold out the red bound book. Its title was completely faded from the binding, but we’re curious as to which one it was. He follows closely behind you, close enough to almost be on you. 

He laughs, “Funny you should grab that..” 

You open the cover to find Lord of the Rings printed in big black letters. 

“Oh, dear god.” You sigh. 

“It is an original if that makes you feel any better about it. I know you hate this book, but still-”

“No, no,” You protest, “I never said I hated it, I just said it wasn’t my favorite. Remember we have different opinions on that professor.” 

He scoffs and takes the book from your hand. Rubbing the cloth binding with his thumbs.

“Want to know something funny?” He questions. 

You did. You really did. You wanted the connection at this moment… For whatever cosmic reason it finally felt okay to banter with him. You nod your head, approving him to continue. 

“I saw the movies before I read the books.” He laughs, “My brothers and I loved it, we were practically obsessed, but I was younger then and a stupid boy who didn’t read like I do now. Not the fairytale way most people find their favorite but it reminds me of childhood…”

You wanted to laugh, you wanted to make fun of him for it. But you knew that this was a special moment for him. A look into his past, a presentation for more. He places the book carefully back on the shelf, tucking it back into its spot. 

“Well, I guess that makes more sense now. But, as a graduate professor, you ought to just say you like the pretentious shit. No one’s going to take you seriously.” 

He turns from the shelf, “Who said I was worried about that? If I lie then I am a fraud. I don’t care if anyone says that.” 

Oh fuck. His confidence is so intoxicating. He’s right. Why should he care? 

“I just- I meant… I thought that the other professors-” 

“You thought that they don’t take me seriously? Right. They don’t. In schools like this, you have to earn respect. I’m not an alumnus, I didn’t go to Harvard, but I do a damn good job at what I do. As much as you may protest some of my teaching, I know what I’m doing.”

He breezes past you and strolls back over to the bar to pour himself another drink. You reach back for yours and hold it between your hands, trying to collect yourself. You hope that you didn’t hurt him. 

“Did I offend you?” You ask.

“‘Course not,” He takes a swig, “I just wish you would realize that it doesn’t matter what standards others hold you to. You are not someone else. You are you.” 

“I know that.” You respond dryly. Your answer didn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to be. It came out unsure and desperate. 

“Then why has your whole academic career been based on your relationship with one woman? Why must everything you do be for her?...” 

You stand there silently. Completely struck with emotions. Anger, sadness, discouragement.

“She… She made me who I am,” You pipe, “She’s the reason I am in this program.” 

He strolls back over to you, locking your eyes with his. It’s intimidating, this look he has on his face. He’s studying you, seeing how lost you feel. Truly for the first time you couldn’t even try to put up any walls. He had broken you down. 

He places his hand on your shoulder again, “Can I show you something?” He asks. 

Before you have time to even object to him, his hand moves from your shoulder to your waist, guiding you back towards his desk. You feel butterflies growing inside you. 

No. You can’t. You shouldn’t. He is your advisor. He is not someone you should feel this way about. He’s trying to help you, he’s not interested in you. 

The vinyl finishes its song and moves on to Something. He guides you into his seat. You place the glass down on the desk and wipe the condensation from your hands onto your thighs. He reaches over the desk and twirls the manuscript back in front of you. The pages sit open about two-thirds of the way through. He stands behind you, practically leaning on your back. His chest rests against your shoulder, pointing at the beginning of the page. 

“See this paragraph here?” He questions. 

You strain so hard to not melt at his touch. His hair is grazing your cheek. It smells wonderful, but you can’t admit that. He has this gentle but clean musk about him. He smells like a perfectly cared-for bookstore. A soft smell of tobacco and oak. The chains with pendants are draping over his neck, sparkling in the moonlight of the night, softly clanking together with his movement 

You need to focus. 

You respond, afraid that you waited too long, “Yes?” Your voice wavers, the lack of confidence creeping back through, “Is there something wrong with it?” 

He turns to face you, “Yes. I have a big problem with it.” 

You feel your heart sink. What could be wrong with it? The back half of the book is the best part, it is the part you feel most confident with. You feel confused. All of those walls and confidence you felt once in his presence were lost. 

“What…? What problem?” 

You look back at the pages, disregarding his closeness to you, pulling the bundle of paper back towards you, and flipping through to the previous pages. He puts his hand on yours, stopping you from searching. He lowers himself next to the seat, squatting to be at your eye level. His thumb wanders back and forth over your wrist. 

He smiles a crooked and cunning smile, “It’s some of the best writing I’ve seen in years, and the author was too scared to even share it with anyone. She lost someone and had to do this all on her own. That’s terrifying, but it’s still her work. ” 

You look at the hand holding yours. It’s strong but has a softness to it. It has a few rings sitting on them, but none a wedding band. You lower your head and release your wrist, grabbing it with your other hand. You sigh heavily and grasp your hands in front of the pages. Your hands travel up to hide your face, which presents a melancholic smile that you can’t let go of. You can’t tell if it’s the liquor or his presence, but you feel a glow coming from inside. 

You rush your hands past your face and through your hair, resting your hands on the back of your neck. Scoffing, you turn to look at him. His amused smile is irresistible. 

“You,” He starts, “Are an amazing writer.” His hand lifts from the pages and reaches up towards your cheek, holding your face in his palm, “And no matter who your teacher is, you can still do it on your own.”

Your hand finds its way up to his arm, holding him back. Staring longingly at each other. Both deep down knowing that this was about to lead down a path you couldn’t return from. 

“Professor-” You initiate.

“Jacob.” He replies. 

“Fine… Jacob. This- I… I don’t think.” 

He quickly removes his hand from your face and comes to his senses. “Oh, dear, um… I’m so sorry y/n… I…”

You let yourself slump in the seat. How could you? How could you squander that moment? After years of wishing to find a man who was at least half as interested in literature as you… Here you are throwing it away. But you could be right to do so. He was your professor, you were his assistant, the moral implications of this all… 

Jacob stands and leans back onto the desk, stroking his chin, concerned. Thinking about it all. You can see the nerves climbing through him. He feels embarrassed.

You reach your hand up to your face again, burying your emotions into your skin. 

“I just thought- I, fuck.” He continues, “I thought we were turning a corner, I was looking and I thought I saw you-” 

“You did.” You respond, “...I was looking.”

You lower your hand from your face to stare back at him. You put the manuscript back on the desk and stand. 

“You… You were?” He searches for the answer. 

“Jacob… For months I have looked. I didn’t want to like you. I didn’t want to admit that to myself. My mentor was my heart and soul, she was everything to me. I didn’t want to give you any chances because I didn’t want to lose someone like that again… I can’t handle that heartbreak. But…” You trail off. 

“But?” He inquires. 

You reach for the scotch glass and swirl the liquid around. Staring deep into the stormy amber. 

“Fuck it.” You take the last of the scotch into your mouth and turn back to Jacob, “You… You are what I’ve wanted. I can’t deny the way I feel when it’s just us. When I see you deep in thought, when you push me to go further; when you challenge me. When we’re alone, and I see you for the man you are. When I see how genuinely fucking amazing you are. And I’m so mad at myself for not opening myself to you.” 

Jacob peels himself off the desk and stances himself in front of you. He grabs your hands and holds them tenderly in his. You drop your head, your hair falling over your frustrated expression. 

“You were grieving, you wouldn’t have been ready for this.” He reaches his hand up to tuck your hair behind your ear. 

You look up to him with doe eyes. He was the older man, coming in for the prey. You wanted to be his. You wanted to have him. You wanted it. You denied it for months. You denied it from the moment you saw him. You denied yourself to knowing him in fear that this exact moment would happen. But here you were. Unveiling yourself to him in the very place you felt the first attraction. 

“I want to be ready. No, I am ready. I want this. I can’t deny myself happiness because of everything that happened,” You said. 

“Are you sure?” He asked. Trying to test you. 

You nod your head in approval, trying once again to keep the emotions bottled in. 

“I don’t want you to feel any pressure because-”

“Please don’t say it. I know. I know this is all morally fucked up, but I’m an adult, you’re an adult. Just treat me like one.”

He smiles, admiring your maturity, “If you want to do this, there are some things we have to settle first.” 

You look up at him confused, “Things? What things?” 

“More like rules,” He answers, titling his head playfully, “I need to know what you’re comfortable with. I don’t want to scare you even more than you already seem.” 

He returns his hand to hold your face, just like he previously had only moments before.

“I’m not scared Jacob. What rules?”

“As much as I like to be gentle with women, I also enjoy being rough.” He says through a velvety tone

You jolt back, at first fearful of his words, but relax quickly, reminding yourself you don’t need to be scared. 

“How rough are we talking…” You prod. 

The cunning smile returns across his face, “Don’t worry, I don’t leave marks, at least too bad of marks… And only rough enough that you’ll still be wanting more by the time we’re done.” 

You bite your lip at the thought. You’re no virgin at this point in your life, but you’ve never been able to explore this type of intimacy. Every man in college is practically an amateur at pleasuring women and even more so when it comes to exploration in sex. You’ve read plenty of books to know about the type of sex he was talking about. As much as you enjoyed the classics and the light-hearted romance, you still found yourself picking up a steamier romance book in private. 

You wanted that. Had practically dreamed about it before… 

Being here with this man, who was only a few years your senior, felt like you could practice this fantasy safely. He knew what he was doing, he could show you pleasures you didn’t even know you could enjoy. Even if you felt like you couldn’t learn more from your education with him, perhaps there were other things he could teach you. It was all becoming a bit too exciting. 

His hand moves slowly down from your cheek to your waist. His palms gently grazed your spine until they locked in on your love handles. 

“So,” He continues, “Are you going to be my good girl? Can you be good for me? Do you think you can take it?”

You reach out to his chest, moving aside his shirt which had barely been buttoned. With one swipe down his sternum, you unlatched all of them revealing his smooth golden skin. He watched you intently, seeing you explore his skin like never before. You traced your fingers along the opening, feeling your need to reach more grow. With each second that passed you felt the insatiable thirst to be close to him; to feel him. His grip on your waist tightened with each pass you made over his chest. 

His other hand joined him on your opposite side. You feared that your hips may break with his excited hold. You looked up at him, biting your lip, trying to remain coy. That soft smile appeared on his lips; you had answered with your body language. 

He pushes his hands further into you and lifts you onto the desk, your ass barely resting on the edge of the wood. 

“Words,” He said, pulling himself closer into you, resting perfectly between your legs, “Nothing’s going to happen until you tell me you want it to. This isn’t going to work sweetheart unless you use your words.”

“Jacob-” Are the only breathy words that you can mutter. 

You can feel him growing, feel the linen pants barely holding back his excitement. You feel your heartbeat travel from your chest, down into your stomach, into your… 

His hand moves up to your jaw, holding it firmly in his grip, “Y/N, follow the instructions. Words. I’m not going to wait much longer.” 

“Yes-”

Before you can even finish he’s pulling you into an embrace. Your lips meet his. The soft taste of scotch remaining on both of you created an intoxicating addicting feeling. It was complete passion, complete neediness to be one. His tongue introduces itself into your mouth… Soft, wet. Beckoning. The noises you both are making sound feral, completely unusual for the both of you. What once was a prim and proper relationship between you became a fervent desperation to touch… To fuck. 

His hands traveled down your body, first reaching your chest, grasping you completely in his hand. Rolling his palms over the front of your breasts, driving you completely mad. You wished the barriers of clothing had been completely stripped away, but he was too hungry to even keep you waiting for long. His hands reached under your shirt, plowing underneath the wire of your bra to find your naked breasts. A soft relieving moan escaped your lips through the breaths of the kissing. 

You reached your hands out to find the remainder of the buttons of his vest closing you off to his body. You made quick work of unbuttoning them, reaching your hands across his midsection; climbing to his back. Reaching up towards his shoulders, feeling the softness of his skin across the pads of your fingers. God, he was perfect. 

His fingers traveled to your nipples, running his thumb and forefinger over the bud of your nipples. Before you could even realize what you were doing, your nails dragged down his back, raking into his skin. He paused the kissing for a moment to let out a moaning growl. He slid his hands out from your bra, slipping down to the edges of your shirt, attempting to tug it off as fast as he could. You snatched your hands out of his shirt to raise them over your head, giving him complete access to strip you. 

He placed his hand between your breasts and forced you down onto the desk, your head falling onto the manuscript below you. He shook off his vest and was quick to pull his shirt off. 

“Seems like I’m not the only one who likes it rough, huh?” He asked. 

You lifted your head from the desk, “No, definitely not.” You responded. Unsure where this untamed version of you had even come from. 

“No, sir” He stated, pushing you back down. 

“What?” You asked, skeptical of what he meant.    

He mounted himself once again between your legs, grinding himself into you. He traced his finger down your neck, to the waistline of your pants.

“Sir… That’s what my good girls going to call me, okay?” 

You rolled your eyes, unaware that you were even doing so, “Call me Jacob,” you mock, “Call me sir.”

He reached back up to your jaw, pushing his thumb into your cheek, “If you’re going to be a brat we’re going to need to set some more rules. Good girls don’t get punished, but you’re already testing me.”

Completely stunned, you look back at him trying to emulate a softness, an apology. You had to admit though, you weren’t scared of him… If anything you were more turned on by the thought of his punishments. 

“And how would you punish me, sir?” You ask in your best sultry voice. 

He let out a low grumbling laugh. He studied your body, not even acknowledging your question, just thinking… Thinking of what he would do to you. He grabbed onto your hips and pulled you hard into his cock. There was no wondering anymore. You could feel how large he was, how excited he was. If your own body wasn’t blocking it you could probably see it entirely. 

“Maybe,” He starts, “Maybe you’re not going to be my good girl,” His hands dig deeper into your waist, “Maybe, you’re going to be my little slut.” 

The word echoed through the room. It sent a shiver down your spine, but not the feeling of being displeased, it was a feeling of being right. Being here with him, being under his control, felt like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders. He could see you in a way that someone hasn’t seen you for months. He was learning every inch of you and would learn even more as the night went on. 

He leaned down from his high position to plant gentle kisses along your neck. Gingerly leaving behind little reminders of passion. 

“-And if you’re going to be my slut,” He whines through breathy kisses, “you need to know the safe words.” 

You run your hands up to his hair, feeling the soft strands between your fingers. Tracing his scalp over your fingertips. You don’t want to go this slow, the breaks are killing you. You just want to feel him. You want to feel him on you, in you, taking you completely as his own. 

His kisses finally reach the band of your jeans, but that doesnt stop him from exploring further. He pulls down on the jeans to reveal more of your stomach, delivering gentle almost tickling kisses. 

“Green,” He whispers, “Means you like it… You don’t want me to stop.”

His hand travels over to the button of your jeans, popping the metal away from the denim. Your eyes follow him, watching his hair fall over your stomach, the metal of his necklace chilling your bare skin. His shoulders look strong here, masculine, powerful. Watching him focus so intently on you is killing you. This is a man unlike any other that you’ve been with, he’s focused on treating you first, even if there were some other pleasures in it for him. 

“Yellow,” The zipper slowly starts to unravel as he pulls your pants further down, “Means you need me to slow down… If you need a break…” 

Your pants steadily fall off of your legs, finally being exposed to him entirely until they fall onto the floor. The only thing separating you from him now is your thong. Which you are now praising yourself for wearing today. He resumes his consuming kisses across your midsection, joining back down where he had left off. His hands slip underneath him to grab the edges of the lace, sliding off the thong with ease. 

His kisses start to graze you closer to your… 

He stops and lifts himself. His hand leads up to your mouth, putting his pointer and middle finger into your mouth. You accept them, excited for what it means. 

“Red.” His voice develops a more serious tone, “Means stop.” 

He removes his now slick fingers from your mouth, returning them down below. His fingers reach your cunt, and you welcome him with excitement of your own. Your body is in shambles waiting, wanting to know what it feels like. His fingers dance across your aching clit, his thumb padding the bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves through your deprived body. A loud distressed moan escapes you, you can’t help but express your enthusiasm. 

“Don’t worry sir,” You shudder through achy moans, “I don’t think I’ll need to use that one.”

“Good girl.”

Without any hesitation his fingers breach you, filling you up. He stands over you, watching you grow with the agony of pleasure. Your breath hitches with each pump, your back arching with each lift of his fingers. His thumb traces back over your clit, stimulating every inch of you. 

Every attempt at communicating the feeling faulters, except for, “Oh fuck-” 

Your body is shaking with each movement. He’s painting the perfect picture of an orgasm with just one hand. The power he holds, the knowledge he has. He knew how to please you better than you knew how to. 

His free hand makes its way around your neck, gripping it, holding you in place so he can work harder at you. You’ve never been choked before, it’s a completely new sensation. The gasps for air were something you thought you’d fear, but instead, you were wishing he’d hold on harder. 

“Green?” He asks, looking for permission. 

You nodded your head ferociously  

You feel yourself completely letting go under his control, something you feared once to let him have all the power. But here, now, held down to his desk… You never wanted it to stop. 

“Words.” He barked. 

Your hand reaches up to hold his wrist, “Yes, yes…” 

“Yes, what?” He asks again, his fingers slowing their movement. Clearly, he wouldn’t be letting you get away with anything. You had to be obedient and do as he told you.

“Yes… Please, Sir,” You beg. 

The words were getting harder to communicate. If he could finger you into oblivion, you might let him if it meant you could feel this good again. 

He smiled in approval and resumed his previous pace. Steadily building faster, and faster. Harder and harder. You could feel how wet you were becoming, it really didn’t take much for him to draw the excitement out of you. The swirls of his fingers and the vigor of his motions were precise… Calculated, trying to accomplish only one mission; and he was close to succeeding. 

Your moaning only got more frequent and louder, you couldn’t hold back. The pleasure was far too great to stay quiet. He almost let you be loud too, only for a few moments before reminding you of your location. He lifted his hand off your neck to lift a single finger to his lips and then pointed around the room. 

“If my good girl can’t stay quiet, I’ll have to make her. We don’t want anyone spoiling all the fun.”

You nod your head, remembering you were still in his office. Your surroundings had escaped you completely; only thinking of him and you. 

His thumb started to apply more pressure, practically begging for you for more. A softer moan forced its way out, helpless to be silenced. His hand plasters itself over your mouth, holding you silent. The pads of his fingers resting deep into your cheeks. 

“I know baby, it’s so hard… You’re gonna be so good and come for me now, okay?” 

Finally being relieved of speaking, you nod your head, ready for the climax. His fingers dive upward, grazing the sweet spot buried inside of you. The pressure, the sensation it’s all too much. You feel your belly tighten, your back arching. He’s trying to hold you steady as you writhe in pleasure. There’s no stopping anything now. 

“Do it baby, come on… Be a good little slut for me…”

Your eyes roll deep back into your head. You feel the sweet sensation of release wash over you. Like a wave of ecstasy, traveling from your toes, past your aching clit, through your belly, all the way to your head. Stifled moans slip through the cracks of his fingers. His fingers stay at their steady pace, pushing past your orgasm. You feel yourself dripping around him. You’ve never come this hard in your life, you’ve never felt the devotion to make you feel this good. Your body is quivering around him, unable to shake the overstimulation. You’re squeezing onto his wrist, trying to come down easy, but everything he’s doing is making the sensations crash into you. 

He takes his hand away from your mouth and you immediately gasp for air, trying to find serenity. 

“Oh god,” You moan, “How did you-”

He shuts you up by taking his mouth to your soaked cunt, sliding his tongue through the mess he made. You place your hands beside you to sit up slightly. This was a sight you did not want to miss. You take his hair in your hands and tuck it aside. Each stripe of his tongue makes you wince, you want him to stop, but you can’t let him. It feels too good. It’s too much but just the right amount all at once. 

He was consuming you, desperate to explore every inch of you. Wildly eating you up, trying to capture every last drop of his work. You were spilling into him, it was never-ending.  It was like you weren’t even there; everything except your pusy. This was a high that you never wanted to come down from. He was devoted to keeping you there as long as he could, but you couldn’t hold on for more. 

You fell back onto the desk, squirming through it all. He had you right where he wanted you. You let yourself fall into him, trying to take it all. Your hands reach over the desk, trying to find somewhere to hang onto, but instead knocking the scotch glass off the desk. Shattering loudly beneath you. 

Jacob didn’t stop though, he was completely distracted, locked in. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Yellow.. Yellow..” You begged, completely overstimulated and shocked. How could you even ask for that?... But it was impossible to withstand any more sensation. 

He stopped slowly, easing you out of the enjoyment. His hands reached up over your thighs and rested on your hips, slowly petting them with his thumbs. He looked up at you through glazed-over eyes, completely drunk on your arousal. He didn’t want it to end. 

Slowly raising himself back to a standing position, you could see how hard he had gotten. He felt just as much pleasure as you did. He was completely lost, coming back to reality. Chin dripping with your wetness… 

He leaned back over you and kissed you sloppily. The passion was more fiery than before. You did something to him and he did even more to you. It was strange to taste yourself on his lips, but exciting nonetheless. You were caught up together. Complete and one at that moment. And then it all stopped… 

Footsteps approached outside the classroom. You both stopped. He removed himself from your lips and raised his head to listen. 

A knock at the classroom door. 

“Hello?” Someone called out. 

There was no mistaking that someone was in this office, between the music, the glass breaking… They knew. 

“Everything okay in here Kiszka?” 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. He stands and reaches for his shirt, buttoning it with no haste. He grabs your shirt and pants and kicks them under the desk, “Go, get underneath the desk,” He whispers, “Now.”

[pynkgothicka]

Ｋｉｌｌ Ｆｏｒ Ｙｏｕｒ Ｌｏｖｅ ＭＹＧ

Synopsis- Yoongi tried his hardest to keep his crime life away from you, but some people really test him.

Pairing - Yandere! Dark! Mobster! Yoongi x AFAB! Reader

Featuring - No one!

Word Count - Around 1k

Tags and Warnings - Death, Murder, Fluff, Slight Gaslighting

Authors Note - Just something small I was working on. I believe I want to do more one offs since I’m offically done with school for the summer.

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

Staring at your reflection in the mirror you could only feel some sense of remorse. Mourning for the old person you were before you met him. Now you wore light makeup and put on dresses that hugged your body.

You would have never seen yourself looking like this if not for him.

The vanity was littered with photos he took of you and ones you took of him alike. He consumed your every waking thought and every hour. Even finding yourself trying to keep busy instead of sadly waiting for him to get home.

However today he wanted you with him. It was rare that you were allowed to go with him when he talked business. To be honest it just felt good being able to be with him and not just within his home.

You smiled at yourself before getting up and heading downstairs to see your boyfriend looking at his phone, a focused look on his face. “You look so hot like that.” You say walking past him and into the kitchen. You grabbed a box of cereal and poured it into a bowl.

Yoongi snickered looking at you. “Mhmm, and I love it when you get dressed up for me,” he says resting his hands on your hips as you pour milk into your cereal. You could feel your face heat up before his head rested on the small of your neck. He kissed it, taking in a deep shiff of your natural smell. “I love it when you wear this scent.”

“Aw stop it, you know I do it for you Yoongs.” You say turning to the side to place a small peck on his lips.

🚬

With his hand on your thigh and your head on his shoulder, you couldn't help but be more bored with the droning talk of deals and territories. You popped on and off your phone case, as Yoongis's voice rumbled in your ears.

“Yoongi, m’ ready to go…” You mumble, head-turning into his chest. Your boyfriend lets out a sigh before leaning over to kiss the crown of your head.

“Just a few more moments alright, then we can do whatever you want sweetheart,” Yoongi promised into your hair. You could tell the man he was talking to was becoming more agitated by your presence.

The man groans, Yoongi lifts his head to look at the man, his face is stern. “Are we gonna do business or not? I don't see why your girl has to be here.” The man complained. Yoongis eyebrow twitched at that. “She's being a fucking distraction, and I came to talk business. Are we doing the drop or what?”

You were slightly offended by the man's comments. You liked being around Yoongi, and he liked having you around for once. You didn't see why he had to be so negative.

Yoongi leans forward resting his elbows on his knees as he looks at the man. “You don't have enough respect for her, so you don't respect me, or my fucking business. So don't come at me talking about business.” Yoongi retorted raising his voice at the man. You were grateful for a man who would defend your honor.

“Dude you're all up in he-”

“Apologize.”

“What?”

Yoongi grabs your chin making you look at the man. You groan at the feeling, cheeks pressed in by his fingers. “Apologize to her,” Yoongi said, face showing little to no expression. You could see in his other hand, his gun rested casually. Thumb brushed against the barrel, an engraving of your name in gold. He got it done for your two-month anniversary. “Or you could get your brains blown out. I don’t care for either option.”

The man quickly begins to speak. “I'm sorry, Ma'am I'm very sorry.” Yoongi turns to look at you.

“And what do you say?”

“T-Thank yo-” But you cut off with a loud bang. And then your own loud scream.

🚬

Yoongi had planned a dinner later on in the car. Mainly as an apology for killing the man in front of you. Especially after he realized how shocked you were looking at the body afterward. You’d never been that close to that side of his life anymore.

You leaned on the island watching as he moved. His hand moved the wooden spoon gracefully as he sauteed the beef tips and potatoes. Your stomach groaned at the smell, however, his cooking always smelled this good.

“Yoongi, can I at least taste the seasoning you used?” You plead, doing your best puppy dog eyes for him. He only let out a chuckle, passing you a small bowl of beef tips with potatoes. You took a fork and began to eat, humming at the flavor. “You’re always such an amazing cook. Thank you… I know I usually cook but I appreciate the break baby.”

“I didn’t want you to have to worry about anything tonight. I want you to rest your nerves and chill out. It's the least I can do as an apology.” He says setting aside the finished entree. He turned to look at you, a genuine expression on his face. “I promised to not kill anyone in front of you when I first got you, and I broke that agreement over my anger.”

You practically swooned over that. He was so sweet in his own twisted way.

“I appreciate that so much. Maybe I should let you kill someone in front of me more often” Yoongi chuckled at that and nodded smiling at you.

“Nope, don't test it, baby.”

Let me know through a dm or ask to be included in my official Taglist- @darkuni63 @captainengineer-trixie @chimmisbae @iloverubberduckiez-blog @mageprincess7 @looneybleus @whipwhoops @mayvalentine33

[waitmyturtles]

I've Caught Up With Wandee Goodday, and here are some cons and pros (aka, am I ever burnt out on GMMTV)

HELLO. I'm back temporarily from my summer travels (before I travel again!). I was in Thailand! I should have brought a box of chappals to chuck at the GMMTV building for where Wandee Goodday has gone. Anyway, I need to process my thoughts on this show, so here we go. (And I apologize, I have NOT looked at the tag for this show, so I don't know if I'm repeating what other people are saying here.)

PROS

CONS

1) This show had so much brainrot potential! Remember the first, like, four episodes? Potential homophobia in multiple workplaces? Delicious bisexuality? Ace storylines??? Wandee's PUTZ deception and manipulation? Yak going along with it, why?? There was a lot going on here, a lot we could have chewed on.

I've been sitting on my historical review of Golf Tanwarin's The Eclipse for my Old GMMTV Challenge for about two months now because I can't get over how pissed I was that that show took some unnecessary, and frankly insensible, turns in part to showcase the damn center ship of First and Khao. I don't think Golf's WG has taken similar turns specifically to center the GreatInn ship, per se -- I just think the writing got messy and lazy right before WG's midpoint in general, and punched a lot of the excitement I had about the show right before I paused around episode 8.

Wandee Goodday is an EXCELLENT example of how Thailand's hourlong QL dramas could be made INCREDIBLY more impactful, by way of forced editing and clarity, if Thailand could follow Japan's suit by making 10- to 12-episode series with 30-minute episodes.

The Dr. Ter storyline was over before it actually, really ended, in, what episode was that, 9 or 10. It was over! Why drag it out? In Japan, that storyline would have been two episodes, mayyybe three, MAX. Shirasu Jin was barely in Kieta Hatsukoi for an episode before he was banished. Takeda Kouhei barely made it through two episodes of Minato's Laundromat 2 before he went bye bye! We don't need these middling dudes. There was enough happening with Dee and Yak to not need this Ter shit! Sorry, LOVE YOU PODD, but Ter was made irrelevant so early on, and then they actually had to work together on a huge case?! And NOW HE'S CHEESING ON TAEM? Like, no. We don't need this.

2) There's still a lot of confusion and conflict between Dee and Yak by last week's episode 11. Dee's got issues receiving love! This is big.

(By the way. Showing Dee ONE video of his parents cheesing on him as a newborn is NOT THE WAY to explain away future parental neglect as an older child. YIKES.)

I love that Yak wants to invest in Dee, and we do see Dee doing a lot of reciprocating there to Yak, but this parental neglect reveal, along with still not knowing enough about the back story of Dee's parents dying, is out of order and not helpful to me getting enough knowledge about Dee for me to feel a holistic sympathy towards him. This makes me wonder if romance is really Golf Tanwarin's bag: if Golf didn't have to focus so much on the DeeYak/YakDee romance, could we have gotten better emotional representations of these guys, gotten a better picture of WHO THEY ARE, before they got into each other? Maybe? I dunno.

3) Considering that homophobia in systems seems to be a theme that Golf is interested in, why did the show drop Yak's concern about being out vis à vis his boxing career? Showing up at the hospital early on, in front of Ter's people, was already a big risk that wasn't given consideration; and now Dee's gone ahead and put the big pre-match smooch on full display by episode 11! I know Yak's gone full tilt for Dee, but I think we needed to put a bow on Yak's early macro-level concerns about being out for that loop to be closed.

[I feel like I have similar concerns here about 23.5 as well, so I'd like GMMTV to know (REMEMBER BAD BUDDY????) that you can have romance and big social commentary in a show at the same time without sacrificing lovely, intimate moments. Neither 23.5 nor Wandee Goodday needed to scrap heavy emotional moments for social media memeable clickbait.]

TL;DR this show, this script, could have been so good, there was so much there by way of storylines.

ANY FUCKING WAY.

PROS

1)

I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS SHOW WENT HERE WITH THOR. THIS IS DISSONANCE, THIS IS CONFUSING! THIS IS MAGNIFICENT.

And the follow-up scene with the FABULOUS Fluke Nattanon. Fucking Thor. He's so good. They're so wasted in this show!

2) Great Sapol and Inn Sarin. There's a con here: the elephant pants do nothing for Great's butt. But otherwise, Great, and Inn as well, are DELIGHTS. THEY ARE GOOD ACTORS. They are wasted on this script. I hope they never work together on a GMMTV show again. If they're ever paired again (which I hope they're NOT, down with the ships), I hope they can get cast in a big ol' queer lakorn, à la JamFilm, and escape the need for the meme moments.

The thing is, about Wandee Goodday, is that if you admit you're into the show FOR THE DUDES, then I get why this show is watchable (AND IT'S WHY I'M FINISHING IT, GODDAMNIT), because the actual intimate moments ARE lovely. They're just not coherent with everything that we should know about these guys by the end of a series, and that makes me sad.

Anyway, this show ends this week, and that's it! I wish GMMTV's shop had had the WG items in stock when I was there in person; fuck these shipping fees, I want the Phadetseuk shirt so bad! If I had known this would be a kind of light and fluffy watch, I would have set my expectations WAAAYYY differently, and I would have likely had a better time watching this. As it stands now, I'm better suited to enjoy the finale, so I'm glad I got these complaints out of my system, and I'll say sayonara to all these dudes in full ogle mode later this week.

[altruistic-meme]

skk fic rec time !!! 🖤🖤

okay i officially have more skk fics bookmarked on my ao3 than my sister has fics in general bookmarked on hers. so. it is time for another ficrec list by abram, bsd/skk version this time!!!

i have no idea yet how many fics will be on this list. i will go until i decide to stop. but as of right now i have 124 bsd fics bookmarked and i definitely won't be listing all of them so if anyone wants a pt. 2 then i certainly have the material to do that.

i'm not putting warnings with the fics, but bc this is BSD please do take note of tags and warnings that are given! i read a lot of fics with darker material so do be cautious!

One-Shots:

keep you alive, set you on fire by flyby @orbitalflyby (Explicit, 23k) Dazai steps out in a dress and heels for a mission, since the gown won't fit Yosano. He's only supposed to spend an hour or so leading their targets on a dance around a charity gala, but the unexpected arrival of a certain Port Mafia Executive threatens to disrupt all his plans. And when he and Chuuya find themselves finally face to face, they end up entwined in a tense game of mutual provocation...

~

Don't Pull Your Punches by kanekei (Teen and Up Audiences, 5k) Everyone thinks that their partnership is a series of Dazai being a troublemaker while Chuuya is helplessly dragged along for the ride. That couldn’t be farther from the truth. Some days it feels like Dazai is the only one aware of how insane Chuuya actually is. OR: 3 times Dazai cleans up after Chuuya + 1 time he doesn’t bother

~

The 5 Elements of an Apology by artemisiatea (Teen and Up Audiences, 6k) in which dazai learns that change is hard, but accountability is harder

~

Tea Over Rice by the_most_happy (Teen and Up Audiences, 8k) “Oi, Dazai— what would people say if they saw us?” Dazai gave him a puzzled look. “That we’re happy,” he answered. He made it sound simple; he made it sound pure. “They would say we’re happy.” They never stopped being Double Black — just different clothes and less blood on their hands. [Or: What if Dazai and Chuuya escaped the Port Mafia together?]

~

Lost All Judgement by todxrxki (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k) “Uh, sorry, but unfortunately I already have a date to the dance.” “Oh, really?” Tachihara says, sounding disappointed. He pauses for a second, clearly processing what Chuuya’s just told him, and then says, “Who is it?” Chuuya certainly hadn’t budgeted for this. Panicking, he tries to think of the people that he knows that are single, and before he knows it, the first name that comes to mind is slipping out of his mouth. “With Dazai.” / After a momentary lapse in judgment, high school student Chuuya ends up having to pretend to date his enemy Dazai to get Tachihara off of his back - and quickly finds it's nowhere as bad as he'd imagined.

~

oh darling it's alarming to think of us apart (you know you've got me in your pocket) by interludewings (Teen and Up Audiences, 20k) “Okay so if we’re both still single when we’re twenty two,” Dazai’s smile grew even wider. “Let’s marry each other.” By the time Chuuya’s twenty two, he’d probably be in a relationship with someone else, and the possibilities of them even remembering each other were slim to none. And so, Chuuya gave his answer. “Fine, let’s do that.” In short, fifteen year olds Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya made a stupid promise one day in their school library out of boredom, which leads to the next seven years of their life filled with fighting, burnt notebooks and late night conversations.

~

The Undercover Mission by OldSauk411 (Teen and Up Audiences, 16k) It all started when Atsushi was sent to drop off some papers that the Port Mafia had let them borrow. That was when he saw her, the woman with orange hair and blue eyes standing in the Port Mafia's hallways and talking. She was beautiful if he was being honest. However, after he left, he forgot about her- at least until a few months later, when the ADA and the Port Mafia teamed up for an undercover mission. One that was led by said 'woman'. Aka, Chuuya Nakahara. _____ Or: Atsushi sees a woman from a distance and thinks she's beautiful, up until the Port Mafia and the ADA team up for an undercover mission and it's revealed that the woman was actually Chuuya Nakahara.

~

Nothing but your spine by osamuchuu (Mature, 6k) “Oi, Dazai. We’re here.” Chuuya reached into the car to shake Dazai’s shoulders a bit, rearranging his coat to lay over the man’s back. Dazai swayed and blinked up at him. Whatever painkillers he’d been given had stolen the sharpness from his face. Dazai looked fifteen again, wide-eyed and vulnerable. And then he smiled. He smiled and Chuuya’s heart stuttered because it was so fucking real, so small and different from all the painted faces he wore now. This was dangerous.

~

strange loyalties by finalizer @tarmairons (Mature, 13k) “The Agency dorms are being fumigated,” Dazai explained cheerfully. “So, I offered—Atsushi can stay with us.” Or: Atsushi's observations from inside Yokohama's strangest household.

[sidenote: this is actually a sequel fic and while i loved the first one, this one really just took me to a whole other plane of existence which is why it's the one on the rec list. i do also rec the first one though!]

~

Yokohama public High School- almost as crazy as their pep rallies by BlowingYourMind (General Audiences, 20k) "The slacks! They're way too tight on him! Exactly no teachers ass should be like that, the students may be offended-" "Dazai, I think you're the only one that notices, and maybe refrain from eyeing up your co-workers like that-" "But how can I not!" Dazai huffed "It's right there in front of my face, it's hideous!" Oda sighed. he was just an average man with an average job gaining an average salary, but he would need to find a way to help Dazai and his obvious crush on Chuuya Nakahara before he lost his sanity. Or The story of how Chemistry teacher Dazai Osamu fell helplessly for coach Nakahara Chuuya, and the student body's many attempts to get them together.

~

If you refuse to listen I'll say it twice, love of my life by olympiansally @olympiansally (Mature, 15k) There’s Atsushi, Dazai’s star pupil. There’s Fyodor, arguably Dazai’s soulmate, a single mind in two bodies. There’s Kunikida, Dazai’s partner. There’s Oda, the reason Dazai wants to live. And then there’s Chuuya. If he asked Dazai to define him, to name his purpose, Chuuya already knows what he would hear. Chuuya is his dog, Chuuya is a slug, Chuuya is a chibi. And sure, maybe he is. But none of that is enough. Or, Chuuya can’t figure out what he means to Dazai exactly, but if he would only listen, he would realize that Dazai has been telling him all along.

~

In the throes of Corruption by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 7k) Dazai’s ability ‘No longer human’ ironically made Chuuya human. It stripped him of the god that set his insides to flame and wreaked havoc. Corruption was terrible to Chuuya but Dazai’s touch never was. Or Five times Dazai helps Chuuya through the throes of Corruption.

~

hide the truth by writingfromtheshadows (Not Rated, 24k) When Chuuya wakes up in the middle of an ongoing fight without any memory of how he got there or what happened to him, he ends up turning to someone saved as 'bandage-waster' in his phone. Somehow, it just feels like the right decision.

~

Dream a little dream of me by BlowingYourMind (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k) "What would you like to dream of, Chuuya?" Dazai asked, and his partner shifted in the bed before settling down. "I dunno idiot, you pick." Dazai hummed, "I believe I can arrange that." Chuuya's eyelashes fluttered against Dazai's palm as Dazai continued to speak, voice turning into a whisper as he spoke late into the night. Or Chuuya can't dream, and Dazai has a soloution that quickly turns into a routine between the two of them.

~

Multichapter fics (all complete)

in the mirror, i bloom by ephemeralis (Teen and Up Audiences, 12k, 2/2) It twists him, turns him, curls in his chest like something alive, something he knows but can’t dare to name. Chuuya curses the red-black petals that fall from his lips, these nearly rotten things that tear him apart from the inside out. Part of him wants to rip his own traitorous heart out, through a ribcage shattered by feelings he can’t contain. Anger is easy, a thing he’s learned to control. This— whatever the hell this is— is not. Or at least it’s easier to feel as though this is beyond his own control, because Chuuya is not in love. (It feels like a lie even to himself.) After he's hit by a strange ability, Chuuya is forced to consider truths he'd much rather keep hidden- but not everything is as simple it seems.

[sidenote: this was the first bsd fic i ever read and HOOOOLLY CRAP what a beautiful way to join the fandom. i've reread this fic several times since. stunning.]

~

where your loyalties lie by writingfromtheshadows (Explicit, 163k, 20/20) Loyalty is the foundation of the yakuza code, something that was drilled into Chuuya at an early age. However, his lessons did not cover how to manage a political marriage with his organization's oldest rival.

~

Inseparable by milwritsecausewhynot (Teen and Up Audiences, 107k, 21/21) Best friends is too simple a term to squash the entire dynamic of Dazai Osamu and Nakahara Chuuya within. Sure, they’ve known each other since they were children, and they’re each other’s #1 on their best friend lists on Snapchat, and Chuuya’s been seen one too many times in his hoodies. People have also noticed how Dazai’s main muse for his volunteer hobby of polaroid photographer is the redhead himself. But the pranks they pull on each other isn’t much of a ‘best friend’ thing to do. Especially when one of the pranks get pulled so far, That Chuuya is forbidden from seeing Dazai ever again. And though he sees no good coming from such a forced separation, the one thing that can enhance their futures together is propelled forward at a faster speed than either of them could have ever imagined: Coming to terms with their unusual feelings for each other.

~

Do I Get My Worthless Reward Yet? by World_Ender22 (Teen and Up Audiences, 40k, 10/10) Chuuya has always been certain of two things: he is going to die young, and it will be Corruption that kills him. So when the Boss orders him to use his Corrupted form without an out, he is neither surprised nor distressed. He simply does what he's told. When Dazai learns that the whole thing is a ploy to make him rejoin the Mafia, he plans to beat Mori at his own game... starting with convincing Chuuya to join the Armed Detective Agency. / Soukoku

~

When I Awake by wildflowertea @wildflowerteas (Mature, 235k, 23/23) Dazai Osamu has been in a coma for exactly one year, seven months, and twenty-two days. But Death still refuses to take him. Trapped in the space between worlds, and unable to die, Dazai waits, killing what precious time he may have left and hoping—praying—that his family will pull the plug and move on. He doesn't expect someone to move into his old apartment instead. Nakahara Chuuya, two-time Grammy awards winner, and freshly unemployed pessimist, has never believed in fate—much less the supernatural. But the lively—if a bit annoying—ghost of his apartment's previous tenant, might just change everything.

~

hopelessly devoted by soukocacola (Explicit, 188k, 18/18) "Get your grades up." Oda tells him. "Then we'll talk." Well, Dazai thinks. If he's going to be miserable, the least he can do is make Chuuya miserable, too. Maybe then Chuuya will ditch him and Dazai can fail out of college with no regrets. 

~

His Prized Experiment by fauxtales @fauxfroot (Mature, 94k, 18/18) "As terrifying as it could be, there was something just so freeing in using Corruption. It is, after all, his strongest state. No one can harm him when he uses Corruption; he is all but invincible. There are days when he lets himself dream. There is the part of him wondering if that’s just the god or his instincts trying to convince him to unleash pure chaos and destruction on the world, but that thought is easy enough to push away. He has no control in that state after all." As a teenager, Chuuya is subjected to experiments at Mori's hand in an attempt to find a way to control Corruption. Now, years later, Mori has decided it's time to revisit the experiments. Dazai is having none of it. But can they really leave their entire life behind?

~

death offers no absolution by Zairielon (Mature, 62k, 10/10) After so many years in the Port Mafia, Chuuya thought he couldn't be phased by anything - that he had carried out the worst orders that would ever be given to him. Then he sees things he never saw before. He sees horror, cruelty, needless suffering. He sees death in every step he takes. Chuuya is only human, too. Eventually, he breaks. OR, Chuuya leaves the Port Mafia and attempts to escape his bloodstained past.

~

from a to o, i love you so by anticide @anticidic (Explicit, 22k, 3/3) Here they were dancing a dangerous tango and crossing lines and blurring boundaries that neither Fukuzawa nor Mori would take kindly to. Dazai was supposed to have gotten over Chuuya, not melted in his embrace and bound them together for an eternity. (Or: Dazai and Chuuya's unconventional relationship sparks a radical change within Dazai when he wakes up one day under the weather and feeling very, very off.)

~

My Body is Your Body (I Won't Tell Anybody) by thereweregiants (Explicit, 26k, 2/2) Thanks to a rogue ability user, Dazai and Chuuya find themselves switching bodies. ...yeah, there's no way this ends well.

~

Mission - Entrancing Armed Detective Agency by cocktailjjrs (Teen and Up Audiences, 105k, 12/12) “Charming? Have you finally started dreaming now?” Dazai turned to face his longtime partner again “Say what you want, asshole, but people like me better anyway” Chuuya ignored the jab at his lack of dreams, only shrugging in response. “I can bet anything in this world that you can’t be liked by everyone. Your efforts will be fruitless by the end of the day” “Wanna bet?” Chuuya smirked “You’re on!” Dazai returned the smirk “I’ll tell you who your target will be” . . . In which, Dazai and Chuuya are upto their old shenanigans and make a bet. As a result - Bonds are formed, secrets are revealed, money is spent, devious plans are concatenated; someone gets drugged, someone gets punched, someone gets a wakeup slap. And Chuuya's 'brute' image is at imminent risk. All of this - to with the bet!

~

Prey to Your Instincts by skylorr (Mature, 98k, 8/8) He was a beta. He was normal. Barely any scent, no cycles, no mating instincts. Just plain old normal. At least, that’s what he thought. He thought he was normal. But instead, Dazai is currently curled up on his single mattress in the shipping container that he calls home as he sweats profusely and struggles through cramps, pains, and the desire to nest. His mattress has a single thin blanket, which apparently does not satisfy the omega instincts trying to claw their way out of his mind. He was so close, too; days away from his 17th birthday, the birthday that would have officially made him a beta. Hope is a killer disease.

[sidenote: there is also a sequel to this fic that i recommend just as much! it's still a WIP <3]

~

Illustrations of Lying by writingfromtheshadows (Mature, 49k, 20/20) It is more difficult, perhaps, to bear with fortitude the little daily trails of life, than great calamities, because we summon up all our spiritual and moral strength to resist the latter...  Upon faced with the culmination of Mori's plan, Dazai does not go to Odasaku's side. Instead, he relieves Mori of his duties.

~

i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer @neonganymede (Mature, 75k, 7/7) What a shitty way to die.... Less than forty-eight hours ago, they’d been impaled together, and Chuuya had feared that the broken metal pole had pinned him in place against a corpse. Now, he worried that a corpse sat next to him, nothing more than a poorly-crafted imitation of his ex-partner. ... And what an even shittier situation to be stuck in. Or, A mission goes wrong, and Soukoku die together. Except, they don't, but now they're stuck in a safe house pretending that they did. And if Chuuya wants to find out what went wrong with Dazai's plan, he'll first have to find a way around the wall of silence that his former partner has built to keep him out.

~

Cigarette Game by chowderpuff (Teen and Up Audiences, 9k, 2/2) Chuuya has a crush on Dazai. Dazai knows this, and he thinks it’s a prime opportunity to mess with his partner a little. After all, why not? Chuuya’s reactions to his flirting are priceless, a new little bonus feature to the game between them, and Dazai actually starts to find it more entertaining than outright arguing. It’s all harmless fun until Dazai realizes that he has feelings too. Then it's decidedly not.

[ author's tumblrs are tagged when i could find them! if you know one who wasn't tagged or if you're an author and would like to be untagged, let me know! ]

[kennahjune]

Teen Dad AU

Tag list: @live0rdive @y4r3luv @jonesn4coffee @sofadofax @jackiemonroe5512 @sensationalsunburst @scarlet-malfoy @l393ndjean @asspirin-s @fandomz-brainrot

Tag list is open until I finish this series so feel free to ask to be added!!

.

Steve Harrington had a son.

An actual son.

And his name was Louie.

And little Louie Harrington was Steve’s pride and joy.

But there was a problem. Steve was 17. 17 years old and with a son.

It’s fine.

Martha Timbley was the mothers name. “Was” because after she gave birth and dropped Louie off with an extensive apology, her parents packed everything up and took her to New York.

So Martha Timbley was the mother, until she had to leave.

Then Nancy might’ve been, but she met Louie after they had already broken up. Nancy was content with simply knowing about Louie’s existence. Steve wouldn’t hold it against her, really.

Louie was Steve’s pride and joy, as said before, and he loved to talk about him to people.

Except Steve is 17. And the only friends he has are a bunch of 8th graders and his ex girlfriend and her new boyfriend. 99% of which don’t even know about Louie’s existence.

So Steve didn’t get to talk about Louie as much as he’d like.

Speaking of the baby Harrington, there was a soft cry from Steve’s bedroom. Steve, who had been in the bathroom getting ready for a shower, rushed in to pick up a now crying baby Louie.

“Hey hey hey, it’s alright baby it’s alright. What’s the matter honey? You hungry? I bet you are, huh?”

Steve loved talking to Louie. Which makes him sound pathetic. Louie’s only 6 months old at this point in time. And for him to be Steve’s favorite person to talk to?

That’s just kind of sad.

But the point still stands.

Steve carried Louie carefully downstairs and into the kitchen. Steve never put Louie down while making the bottle, gently bouncing on his feet and rocking back and forth.

The bottle was easy enough to make. Steve took it into the living room and sat on the couch with Louie in his arms. Little Louie drank the bottle right up to the delight of Steve. His big brown eyes stared right at him while his little baby hands curled around his ears. Steve chuckled quietly.

Little Louie had Steve’s eyes, much to his delight. But he had a mix of his and Martha’s hair, curly and mostly brown with blond highlights— like Steve’s— but had a ginger tint to it that reflected Martha’s firey curls.

Louie finished the bottle and Steve burped him gently. It was nearing only 5 PM on that Tuesday in August of 1984, but Steve felt himself growing tired and worn with exhaustion. Louie was a sucker to put to sleep and to keep asleep, often waking in the night with screams and cries and needing to be held in order to fall to sleep.

Which was fine with Steve. Well— the holding part. He didn’t really like the screaming and crying part but that was to be expected with babies of Louie’s age.

Steve liked holding baby Louie during the night. But he often feared that he’d roll over and crush the boy. So, Steve let Louie sleep on the bed with him while surrounded by pillows at all times.

It was around 6 PM now on that fine Tuesday. Steve finally plated up a small dinner for himself of pasta. He let Louie gnaw on a couple of noodles while Steve rocked him gently.

It was nearing 7 when Steve finally out Louie down for the first time in nearly 3 hours. Louie wasn’t asleep, not quite yet. But Steve tucked him in and surrounded him in pillows as if he was.

Steve turned the radio on and turned it down real low. He let the soft tunes of some country song lull little Louie to sleep.

Louie fell asleep clutching a small bear Martha gave him. Steve was upset that she couldn’t be in Louie’s life. Even if there wasn’t anything between the two of them Louie deserved to know his mother cared. Steve sighed.

As much as he wanted to collapse on his side of the bed, he refrained.

Instead, Steve pulled out a duffel bag from under his bed and set to work. His parents would be expected home in two days, and he already knew what the outcome would be.

They’d enjoyed their trip to where-ever-the-fuck for the past 7 months, they’d made sure Steve knew how much they didn’t miss him over the phone when they asked about the house and neighbors more than him.

But that’s fine. It’s whatever. Steve didn’t need their approval. He’d stopped caring about it after sophomore year; when he’d won his first game with the winning shot and they hadn’t bothered to say anything outside of “you should be doing that all the time”.

So really? Fuck them.

But they were currently Steve’s only means of housing.

So he’s kind of fucked.

But he packed the duffle bag nice and tight. He packed the bag with his clothes and a blanket and moved to pull out a suitcase he still had from his first (and last) trip with his parents when he was 9.

Into the suitcase went most of Louie’s stuff; clothes, toys, extra bottles that weren’t going to be needed until Thursday. And then he packed one of the smaller pockets with his important things; birth certificates and the papers showing that his car was in fact his.

He already had a diaper bag with the rest of Louie’s stuff. He kept it packed all the time for when he could convince Nancy to babysit for him. Like tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Steve would have work from 9 in the morning to 5 in the afternoon. Not ideal but he needs the hours. Nancy would be over by 8:30 with a promise of watching Louie.

Steve doesn’t know how Nancy hasn’t clued anyone in on Louie’s existence. But as much as he wanted to question it he didn’t fancy pushing his luck.

With the bags packed he set them aside by his door. He’d put them in the car tomorrow when he left for work. But for now, he all but collapsed on his bed. He had the vague feeling of Louie wrapping his little hands around his finger before he officially passed out.

…

First part is officially out!! I’m working on my s3 steddie part 4 behind the scenes but that should be out soon as well. Expect part 2 of this sometime in the following week.

Second Part:

[whoishotteranimepolls]

My observations after running this blog for a month

I have observed trends relating to multiple fandoms and how they behave/interact with my polls here's some examples. I hope someone finds this entertaining as I did. Because I do read most of the comments and tags

Black Butler, Jujutsu Kaisen and Dorohedoro. You guys are the most insane, feral, unhinged and I have debated marking my post as mature content simply because I knew what you will put in your tags and comment. I worry about you people sometimes Because I do read what you put in those comments and tags and now I know what you will allow these characters to do to you and what you want to do to them. (This also applies certain specific characters from other fandoms) But you three. My little unhinged trio. It's just fandom wide. Doesn't matter the character. You will go crazy. It's entertaining to watch. Don't get me wrong but I hope everyone is doing okay

One piece You guys request a lot and show up. You guys also like meme and cursed polls. Yes they are funny most of the time and you guys have plenty of characters to choose from for the meme and cursed variety. But your fandom also has a list of characters that fall under the should I mark this as mature content because of what is inevitably going to end up in the tags and comments. Because I have seen your characters referred to as "daddy" or "mommy" Way more than JJK or the other two members of the unhinged trio and those fandoms are way more crazy collectively.

Trigun is the most loyal ride or die fandom that will show up for any poll with one of their characters no matter what. With a level of enthusiasm that is impressive but lacks the pure crazy of the unhinged trio

Mob Psycho 100 I've only had one character submitted from your show but you guys show up almost as much as Trigun but I don't know if that loyalty translates to other characters

Jojo you guys either show up and vote and reblog quietly or are just as bad as the unhinged trio 50/50 chance also depends on the character so I never know what to expect.

Now Attack on Titan. Is that fandom alive? Because I have gotten a few requests to do their characters but they have never shown up to defend their character. Which is funny because they're still in the top 20 anime and Manga fandom charts. But as far as I can tell the fandom does not exist or they're invisible so are you guys doing okay? I know the final season was supposed to be traumatic or something but I mean so was JJK season 2 and it just turned that fandom into an unhinged mess so you all should be fine or at least have a pulse. Do you guys need to speak to the Hannibal fandom for support? I mean they're still alive all these years later even after their tragic ending.

Hunter x Hunter You're a fandom that shows up consistently. Vote and reblog but you don't make a scene. That's all I can really say. It's very similar to how the Trigun fandom behaves but not quite the same enthusiasm as Trigun that is ride or die no matter the character

Fate is another fandom where you either show up or you don't. There is no in between. I wonder if it depends on the character. But I don't know. There just hasn't been enough polls

Soul Eater. You guys are unhinged only when it comes to Stein any other character I don't know but Stein 100% ride or die.

Dungeon Meshi very similar to JoJo except if it's Senshi or Falin guaranteed you guys will be just as bad if not worse than the unhinged trio any other character there's a chance you might not show up at all

Now to all the people who find the Senshi polls annoying. I would like to apologize for the monster I mean meme I accidentally created. It was never my intention for this to get out of hand I hope you can forgive me one day. But apparently they're going to kill King Charles. I still don't get it I might be getting old

If I haven't mentioned your fandom, it's probably because your characters don't get submitted enough for me to notice a trend but I will be watching. This is just what I've observed so far I hope you enjoyed my observations. I found these trends interesting

[ashlynlovestlou]

Hey lynnie!! I was wondering if you could maybe right a fic about reader that does sh and relapses and gets comforted by abby??

hi ml!! of course i can, i hope this is okay

cw: self harm , explicit details about cuts , comfort! abby , use of pet names , reader has she/her pronouns

a/n: DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU. this is an extremely touchy subject, and i sincerely apologize if this is offensive or insensitive. if you need help or someone to talk to, my dms or inbox are always open, and there's a list of helplines tagged below.

masterlist

it was pure mistake. the urges usually weren't that strong, and you usually knew better than to give in to them. but after a rough morning, you felt helpless.

usually it wasn't that bad. they were always surface scratches, fading away quick enough so that nobody noticed them.

and of course abby knew. she noticed them one day while you were at her apartment, doing the dishes after baking with her. it was over the holidays and it was cold outside, so naturally you were wearing long sleeves. while you were doing the dishes she found it odd that you didn't roll your sleeves up. your clothes were turning dark from the dampness of the sink water, and it bothered abby.

"why don't you roll your sleeves up, baby?" she asks with a small chuckle, dropping a dirty mixing bowl into the sink.

you had laughed nervously, "cause it's cold in here."

"aw." she said as she pressed a kiss to your temple. her hands had been dangerously close to your sleeves, "want me to turn the thermostat up?"

but before you could respond, she was rolling your sleeves up for you. everything stopped when she saw the cuts on your arms. breaths were held. hearts didn't beat. eyes didn't blink.

after that she spent an hour talking to you about it, asking you questions while she tended to your wounds. you had never seen your poor girlfriend so upset and so worried about you.

she made you vow never to do it again. which you thought was going to be easy.

until today.

now your arms were so red there was blood dripping down to your elbows. your body shook and shook and shook. like you did it when you weren't thinking clearly, and now it was suddenly hitting you that you went overboard. so overboard, in fact, that the sight made you sick to your stomach.

your skin was red and swollen, and the tips of your fingers were tingling. the fresh cuts had overlapped the old ones, blood tricking all around your wrists and elbowsz

your first instinct wasn't to wash off the blood or bandage it up, but to call abby.

after three rings she answered, "hey, baby. i'm at work, can i call you back on my break?"

just the sound of her voice put tears in your eyes. you knew she was going to be upset.

"i need you." you manage to choke out, your voice breaking as a hiccup escapes your lips.

"whats wrong, sweetheart?" she asks, and you can hear the faint clicking of a keyboard on the other side of the line. she's working on her computer, typing away as she's blissfully unaware what her girlfriend had done to herself.

"i relapsed."

the words make her breath catch in her throat. all of the noises stop, a sharp inhale being heard. abby herself felt like crying, because it hurt to know her love had cut herself again.

"okay... it's okay. don't panic and don't move, alright? i'll be there as fast as i can." she says in one breath before hanging up.

within ten minutes abby was at your front door, fishing out the key you gave her a few months into dating. she let herself in, seeing you on the couch, completely still. you hadn't moved, just like she asked.

she sinks to her knees in front of you, her gaze never once leaving your eyes. you'd grown to appreciate when she would do that, as if your scars weren't the only thing that she sees. but when her gaze finally did fall to your arms, the mere sight made her heart drop to her stomach.

"oh, honey... oh, baby..." she says quietly. she didn't expect it to be this bad. maybe a few surface scratches at best. not one this significantly deep, "why didn't you call me?"

"i-i did."

"i mean when you got the urge." she says, taking your hands into her own and rubbing your palms, "call me before, not after. okay?"

you nod your head, fighting back tears as she takes out a wipe from her work bag, trying to clean up the cuts the best she can.

abby is the most tender human being youve ever met. she's gentle and knows what to do when things like this happen. often times she has to remind herself not to panic to worsen the situation, but seeing you in such a state like this makes her heart shatter in her chest.

once she's all done she cuddled up real close with you, wrapping your arms in a bandage and peppering kisses all over your face. she'll take the next few days off of work to stay with you, afraid it'll happen again if she were to leave you by yourself. once you're calmed down enough, she'll go around your apartment, confiscating anything she thinks you could hurt yourself with. but you didn't mind. even when the urges were there, so was abby.

.

.

.

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[skymoral]

Bi-Han x wife b!reader

When someone (a guest or a new member of the clan) tries to put reader in her place (threatening or grabbing her doesn’t matter what happens) because she is a women and thinks that she is a maid. But when she says that her husband is the grandmaster of the clan but doesn’t believe and see it as a insult and tries to put her in place before our SEXY husband comes and puts him in his place while their kids kick the guys ass for disrespecting their BEAUTIFUL mother. Put. Some. Respect. On. Her. Name. 😤

Baby! BABY! B A B Y!!!!!! You don’t fuck with Queen!

I kinda want to make this a threatening thing, and turn it into a fatality/brutality❤️‍🔥 BLOOD WILL BE SPILT!

🩵 FATALITY! 🩵

Bi-Han x B!F Wife Reader W/Children

Summary: The audacity to threaten Bi-Han’s wife, you are not leaving the temple A L I V E.

Tags: threat, death, fatality, protectiveness, children don’t play about they momma

A/N: I’m loving the idea already lol

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ ˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙° ·♡ ̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙° · ·♡ ̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Bi-Han had an important guest coming, his name was “Wang Shu” to the Lin Kuei. A man that has offered great services, to bring greatness to the clan

His power and skill was well known, Bi-Han was in his office already busy with a pre-engagement before Wang. The children were practicing training with each other.

Wang was wondering admiring the clans home, you were taking your 8 month old son for a bath. You weren’t paying attention as you were playing with him, making him giggle.

You then bumped into someone, apologizing quickly before continuing. Till you felt a snatch on your locs, pulling at your fresh extensions.

You yelped, almost dropping your child as you were pulled back on the ground. Your grip on the baby stronger and closer to your chest.

You glared up at the person who dared to pull on your hair.

“Next time be careful where you step, I would’ve assumed the maids of the Lin Kuei would be more aware.” He looked down at you with disgust.

You looked at him like he lost his mind, standing up. “Negro I don’t know WHO YOU ARE! Or care at that matter! You must not know who you talking to. I am the grandmistress of the Lin Kuei and wife of the great Grandmaster Bi-Han!”

He just scoffed at you, he snatched your locs with a strong grip and pull. “How dare an insolent little tramp, try to deceive the great Wang Shu with lies. Someone like you must be taught a lesson, for daring to speak to me in such a manner.”

“Fuck you, Bitch!” You tried to loosen his grip, tears on the side of your eye. Because it began to hurt more, especially when it was done.

Your son started crying.

“What is the meaning of this!?”

Wang noticed Bi-Han approaching you both, he pushed hard to the side. Falling on your ass, using your free hand to hold your head.

“Mommy!” Your children ran to your side, helping you up.

“I do apologize grandmaster Bi-Han, it seems one of your maids we-“

“MAIDS! That is no maid, that is my wife!” Bi-Han glared at him, Wang’s face turned white.

You ran up to your husband hugging his arms, “I don’t know what made him do that babe, I was literally minding my business. Then he started pulling at my hair, after freshly being done now it hurts. Calling me all kinds of names and… and… HE HIT ME!”

“WHAT! Is that so?” Bi-Han looked back at Wang, who looked at you. You looked at him with a wicked smile, sticking your tongue out.

“N-Now I-I know how it sounded a-and look… B-But I swear to you… I-I didn’t m-“

“Even if she was a maid, you dare disrespect anyone of my people in the Lin Kuei… You a worthless sorcerer with no name or purpose, yet I gave you the chance to make a name for yourself by showing your worth to the Lin Kuei. A worthless insect, and had the audacity to DISRESPECT MY WIFE! And lay a finger on her HAIR!” Bi-Han, approached him with small strides making him step back everytime. The children glaring at him.

“Children! Let our guest know what happens. When they disrespect the Lin Kuei.”

“Haiiii!” One of your sons yelled, running doing a spin jump kick on his chest. Knocking the wind out of him, he feel back.

Then the other for kids threw there Kunai rope. One kid had his left arm, the other his right hand, another one his left leg, and the other his right arm. The kunai wrapping around and pierced his inner wrist.

Pulled at him, holding his body in mid-air with a tight pull. He cried in pain, One of the boys stabbed him in the eye with a Kunai and another in his chest.

The boys froze his arms and legs, Bi-Han freezing his head. Then simultaneously Bi-Han slammed his leg on his throat offing his head, and the children disloacting his limbs ripping them off. Making his torso fall.

“You will show my Wife respect!” Bi-Han announced, a warning to anyone feeling bold. You looked at the scene shocked, but they did that to themselves you thought.

As his men came to clean up the mess. He walked back to you, you were still groaning in pain. “Are you alright my love?”

“No my hair is in so much pain, and now I have a headache… And it hurts a lot babe.” You whined, he pulled you into him holding you close.

Leaning your head on his chest, as he made his hand cold. Resting it on the spot you were holding, you immediately sighed in relief relaxing yourself in his hold.

For once his coldness was useful, you laughed internally.

Tomas stepping into the hall, looking at a bunch of papers, “Brother, the guest that was supposed to be-“

Tomas froze looking at the scene of a corpse, getting cleaned up and at his brother. “Was th-“

“Our guest couldn’t make it, that was nothing but an intruder.” Bi-Han answered not looking at Tomas, Bi-Han handing him his son who was asleep now. The children went back to playing, and Bi-Han caught you off guard carrying you back to your shared room.

“I am to not be disturbed for two hours.” He slammed the door behind him.

‧̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊ ♡ ˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙° ·♡ ̩̩̥͙°̩̥ ·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ °̩̥˚̩̩̥͙° · ·♡ ̍̊·̊‧̥°̩̥˚̩̩̥͙°̩̥‧̥·̊‧̍̊

Tomas went back into the office with his son where Kuai Liang, was waiting for Bi-Han.

Kuai Liang looked up at him confused, standing. “Umm… Where’s Brother and why are you holding his son?”

Tomas just sighed, “I can guess what happened, but I believe to be wise if you don’t know… As for brother, meeting today’s guest was cancelled.”

A/N: You thought Bi-Han was scary, his children are just as scary if not worse! They also inherited there father’s ability💅🏾

This one was fun as well though, love the request

What your sons warrior outfits would look like

[bullet-prooflove]

Right Place, Right Time - Nick Torres x Reader

Tagging: @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond @brownskinbaby22 @kgkslgohogkdlslgk @divergent146 @delightfulbelieverwerewolf @kotlclover2021 @lapricot @stxrryswvrld @whateversomethingbruh

References to Where Evil Grew and Companion piece to Red Rag

You’re working alone in the basement when Nick finds you. It’s gone past eight pm and you’re standing in front of the large glass workspace you sometimes use as a conference table, sorting through decades old, blurry crime scene photographs. You’re trying to match them against the half assed A1 crime scene sketch that you’ve blown up for the occasion.

The case you’re working is from 92 and requires a lot more time and attention than you originally thought because of the shoddy work undertaken by the previous agents.

You’ve stayed late tonight because it’s quieter in the evenings, less interruptions. Being the Senior Field Agent means you’re a conduit of information for the younger agents trying to make their bones down here. It can be both time consuming and frustrating.

“I thought you were out on an op tonight?” You murmur, tilting the picture in your hands 45 degrees to the right in the hope that it will make more sense.

“About to head out.” He says, his palms coming to rest upon the surface of the table as he studies your process. There’s an art to what you do, how you put the pieces of a puzzle together after so long. You have an affinity for it.

“You slept with Sawyer.” He states quietly.

It takes a second for the words to filter through to your brain, your eyebrows furrow into a frown before you set the glossy image down upon the table.

“I did.” You tell him tipping your head up to meet his gaze.

“Is that all you’re going to say?” He asks you, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m not sure what you want me to say.” You return, your hands coming to rest upon your hips. “It was over a year ago, we bumped into each other at a bar, had a few drinks…”

You don’t need to say anything else because he knows how it goes. He’s done it before, many times. His brain just can’t comprehend the fact you did it with Sawyer, that he’s only hearing about it now.

“I’m not going to apologise for a one night stand I had, before you and I were even a thing.” You inform him, your attention straying back to your work.

“I don’t expect an apology. I just…” He says tilting his head away as he struggles to find the words. “We were close back then I don’t understand …”

“Do you remember what was going on around then?” You ask him, your knuckles rapping lightly on the glass. He takes a beat, his mind scrolling back eighteen months.

“Katy.” He says softly.

“Yea.” You murmur. “It was a couple of nights after you closed her case.”

Your sister Katy had disappeared off base when you’d recieved your first posting with NCIS. She had taken after your father, heading into the service, raising through the ranks. You’d worked that case unofficially day and night and when you came up dry just like everybody else, you’d become the girl whose sister vanished into thin air. You couldn’t take the pitying looks, the sympathetic words so you’d taken the first undercover assignment that was offered to you, and then the next one, and then the next because becoming someone else was a lot easier than dealing with your reality.

That’s how the two of you met, working UC operations together. When he’d come out of deep cover, you’d been the first one he contacted. You’d gotten out a year earlier, been assigned to Violent Crimes before you made the move to Cold Cases.

Katy’s body had been found early last year along with those of three other sailors. Nick had worked the case, along with the rest of his team. He had been the one to break the news. Until then you had held out this hope, this stupid fragile hope that she’d had enough of the navy life, that she’d spirited herself away to Nashville the way she’d talked about when she was a teenager.

“She had this amazing voice,” You had told him that night, your fingertips tracing over a polaroid you kept on the fridge. “She used to sing Alison Krauss all the time.”

The news had decimated you, it felt like someone had plunged their hands into your chest and torn your heart right out. They’d caught the guy, a serial who’d been operating in the area at the time, but your sister was gone, and you had to come to terms with that.

“I needed to blow off some steam.” You tell him honestly. “With someone who wasn’t complicated.”

“We were complicated.” He says knowingly, coming to lean on the work surface beside of you.

Eighteen months ago he’d been trying to get sober, starting therapy. Gibbs had just left for Alaska, Bishop not long before. He’d experienced too much loss in such a short space of time, it had knocked him off balance.

“We were.” You agree. “I was a mess, I couldn’t…”

You trail off before finding the words, your arm brushing against his.

“I didn’t have anything left to give,” You explain before gesturing between the two of you. “And we deserved a proper shot.”

“Wrong place, wrong time.” He says, capturing your hand, his fingers entwining with yours. “I’d like to think we’re in the right one now.”

“Yea.” You say, your cheek coming to rest on his bicep. “I think so too.”

Love Nick? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[tallymonster]

Memories of Us

Chapter 1 (you are here!) || Masterlist

So, I like many others had seen this gorgeous fan art by @cheesy-cryptid and I was utterly hypnotized by it. I couldn't stop thinking about it and from that constant thought growing came my silly fic.

This has been a labor of love for the last month. I'm still working on it and so far I have about 10 parts 🙃 depending on the feedback is how quickly I'm going to be posting since it's still a work in progress. I want to thank my best friend and my main support for this @micropoe10 ❤️ without her I wouldn't have pushed myself to even post this, so thanks boo 😘

This is also my first long fic, so please be gentle 🥺

Summary: Octavia is a new assistant at the Baldur's Gate Museum of History, her new boss is elusive and mysterious. Good thing his right hand man, Gale, is there to help her out for the first few weeks.

Tags: Nothing too bad for the first few parts, fluff, establishing storyline mostly, generational lineage mentioned.

Chapter 1

Never Caught My Breath

The day Octavia was incredibly nervous about had arrived. After her graduation (which seemed like a lifetime ago), endless stack of paperwork and at least 3 different interviews; Octavia made it to the Baldur's Gate Museum of History, the end of her long and difficult studies.

Here, she would start as the new assistant curator. What's strange though, is that after the last interview she thought she'd get to meet her boss, but it was his main assistant, Gale.

"I must apologize", he begins, "but our lead is currently out of the office for another week, maybe two, so I must conduct the final round, I hope you understand."

Strange, but not unheard of. The majority of the work would be with Gale directly, but it was at the least, the most basic courtesy for her boss to introduce himself by this point.

As she walks into the museum, relics from the past line the cabinets; old armor and gloves from heroes of legends from long ago, tons of jewelry and books, rare spell scrolls, and most prized of all, paintings recovered from the fall of the Szarr Manor prominently hung on the walls. Their subjects long gone, they now serve to be viewed by those who would be their victims under different circumstances.

Octavia stops at one of the many paintings of a pale elf, his silver hair in perfect tendrils, piercing red eyes glare back at her and she feels a slight shudder run down her spine, it was probably just a little bit of nerves. Still, she couldn't help but notice that same subject surrounding her in other works. If not as the main feature, but in the background of at least a dozen. Who was this person? She drifts off in thought.

"Miss Octavia? Hello? Can you hear me?" Snapping back from the daydream, she sees Gale standing beside her. His positive attitude ever present, notebook in hand he greets her with a small wave. "Lots to do this morning! We got a delivery of religious artifacts from a Sharran temple in the Underdark that was previously thought to be lost." His eyes glimmer with excitement.

"We're looking at at least a day to see what was delivered, another to catalog it all, and then, my favorite part, writing the plaques for all of it." He chuckles "Altogether at least a month of work, maybe two if there's a particular item that's more mysterious than the others." He finishes his explanation with a tilt of his head.

Octavia nods, her mind still on the portrait, "Quick question, Gale? Do you know who that subject is? They're featured in a lot of the paintings, but there's no information about them?" He glances up, "Well, we've done some research into the subjects of all the paintings, luckily we've put some names to faces..." He trails off, brows furrowing slightly at the face staring at them both "that particular subject, though, unfortunately not."

He turns wearing a wistful smile "I do wish to put a name to that face, and I intend to, but our wonderful curator often reminds me that not every mystery has to be solved." He scoffs with a grin and shrugs "Of course he would, he loves to give me a hard time about my dedication to the museum, you'd think he would appreciate the tireless research but to each their own."

Octavia relaxes a bit and ask "Have you known each other long? I mean, since he's been gone this whole time I haven't gotten to meet him yet. Is he....nice?" She says the last word quietly, almost a whisper.

Gale picks up on the anxious question and lowers his notebook, his eyes softened as he leans in, "There's nothing to be nervous about with him, he's much more bark than bite, as they say. He's really wonderful once you get to know him. Just a little rough around the edges...you know these eccentrics..they're all so guarded but deep down, they're just like us regular boring people."

He grins in assurance and goes back to his notebook, "Before I forget, said eccentric has reached back out to me and he'll be returning tomorrow evening! He'd like to make your acquaintance as soon as possible and apologize for his absence." Oh, shit. "Wonderful!" She does an okay job at hiding the crack in her voice, she clears throat, grimaces a bit and adjusts the badge clipped to her smock. "When and where?"

[petrichor-han]

radio silence; hwang hyunjin

PAIRING | android!hyunjin x human!gn!reader

CAST | hwang hyunjin, choi beomgyu, mentions of bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, han jisung, felix lee, kim seungmin, and yang jeongin

WC | 17.8k

GENRE | post-apocalyptic!au, android!au, robot!au, angst, strangers to lovers, sci-fi

WARNINGS | explicit language, mentions of death, conscious ai, unexplained mentions of “the end of the world,” frustrating naïveté when it comes to love, both of mc’s parents are in the picture, shattering glass + small injuries sustained from it

SYNOPSIS | the world that hyunjin has known since his human died is empty and quiet. he knows that he is the only conscious “living” thing left on the planet, so he tries to make the best of it—until the radio silence he’s gotten used to is suddenly disrupted with startling news of a new genre of humans who are more than interested in the solitude of a broken down old robot.

A/N | PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU SEE THIS POST IN TAGS. ESPECIALLY IF YOU DO NOT FOLLOW ME AND ARE BROWSING TAGS AND THIS FIC SHOWS UP—I HAVE BEEN UNABLE TO GET ANY POSTS IN TAGS FOR OVER A MONTH. inspired by the webtoon winter woods by cosmos and van.j. the androidism was inspired by nothing feels more human than loving you by @lotus-dly, soob become human by @beomglocks, and reset and day 24 by @ballelino.

request to be added to current and future taglists HERE!

MASTERLIST

i. FIRST HOME 

The first thing that HHJ-00 remembers is cold. He was cold the moment he gained consciousness, he was cold when he opened his eyes, and the hands exploring his nude body were cold. 

“You’re awake.” A single pair of hands lifts off of his right arm. He turns his head to look at the human that’s staring back at him. He feels uneasy, and he watches his “heartbeat” speed up on the flatscreen in front of him. The human writes this down. “How are you feeling?” they ask. He wants to answer, but the fact that all of these humans are not what he was coded to see humans as makes him even more nervous, and he starts to fidget, wanting to get off of the table he is lying upon. 

His first word is “please.” 

“Please let me go,” he says softly, “you do not look like the humans I am supposed to know and love.” 

The human that has spoken to him whispers something too quiet for his ears to hear, and he blinks at them as they talk amongst themselves in hushed voices. Then they take off the large white helmet that has been draped over their head, and Hyunjin immediately relaxes. For now, the human looks like the ones programmed into his mind, and he knows that this human must be a helpful one—their white lab coat looks like those of doctors, and doctors are supposed to help others. “HHJ-00, how are you feeling?” they ask again, but their tone is gentler this time. The rest of the cold hands have been removed from his body, and the other humans in big white helmets leave the room respectfully. 

“I am cold,” he says honestly. “and this room is very bright.” And bright it is, for there are lots of white lights that are pointed towards him, presumably for examination related reasons. 

“I apologize for that.” The human waves to someone behind him, and he turns his head to look at the opposite wall, realizing that an entire side of the room he’s in is made of glass. The others wait there, and one of them reaches over and messes with something out of his line of view. The lights dim, and one of them reenters the room with a pile of clothing in their arms. He notes that the door seems to be very heavy, and a loud metallic grinding enters his ears as it opens on its own. He feels the straps that were holding him down loosen and release. “Here, put these on.” The human hands him the pile, and he immediately feels a bit awkward, as he has fully realized that though he is not human, he looks like one—and he’s completely exposed in front of everyone. 

“If you’re feeling anything new, you can tell us,” the human says earnestly. 

“I feel embarrassed,” he says, as he pulls on the clothes. The human writes this down again as he stands up, bare feet on the cold white floor. The clothes do not do much to help the cold, but he feels less exposed now. “Thank you for the clothes…” he trails off, realizing he does not know the human’s name. “What is your name?” 

The human pushes up their glasses and stares at him for a moment. “You can call me Doctor.” 

Doctor. He knew that he was right. 

“Thank you Doctor.” 

—

Hyunjin stares down at his wrist. HHJ-00–his first, real name—is printed there. It glows light blue when he taps on it, which he has done frequently ever since he left. The light reminds him of his first home, where he got his first name. 

The floor underneath him is cold, just like his first home. The air is stale, just like his first home. But he is alone. Unlike his first home. 

—

“You’re not the only model we’ve made recently,” Doctor says. They are wandering the halls of First Home together, as they often do. HHJ-00 stares at the plaques of the doors that they pass by. They all have names similar to his, though he has never seen any other AI’s in person. The doors for BC-97, LMH-98, and SCB-98 all look slightly different from his door—there’s a flickering red light where there’s a solid green light on his. 

“What do those lights mean?” he asks, and Doctor stops in front of BC-97’s door, placing one hand flat on the door. 

“It means that they’re older models—faulty ones. Their numbers are different from yours, so they were made before you. You’re the upgraded version of them.” Doctor seems slightly upset about this, and HHJ-00 takes note of this, gears whirring as he focuses on them. 

“I am sorry,” he says, “you seem upset.” 

“There’s one thing you have that the 98 models didn’t,” they say quietly, “you have feelings.” 

“Feelings?” 

“You empathize with humans. That’s why you’re a better companion to us. That’s why LMH-98 and SCB-98 were retired.” 

“Why was BC-97 retired?” HHJ-00 is slightly shaken by Doctor’s darkening expression. 

“He made us feel… too many emotions. They were opposite ends of the spectrum, in a way.” 

“Were you close with BC-97, like you are with me?” 

Doctor sighs. They take their hand off the door, and the light continues to flicker. HHJ-00 swears that the light seems sadder now. 

“We aren’t close, HHJ-00. I’m just in charge of looking after you. Just like I was with BC-97.” 

He feels his heart—or whatever is in place of his heart—drop. Doctor looks at the device around their wrist, and he knows that it tracks his emotions, and he watches as they write down the change in his feelings. He wants to say something as they continue down the hallway, but he doesn’t because he knows that they’ll just write that down too. Maybe it’s a good thing—he’s emotional, so he’s better than the previous models—but what if he’s too emotional? What if he’s like BC-97? 

They come towards the end of the hall. These doors have green lights, like his. They also have windows, which he can see into. In the first room after his, he reads HJS-00, and as he peers into the window he spots another android with a different doctor. This android, HJS-00, has a happy smile and he seems to be laughing, which that doctor is writing down. HHJ-00 feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. This android was made later than him, and he seems happier. Is he better? 

The next door reads LFL-00, and he seems similar to the previous android—smiley and handsome, though in a different way. KSM-00 is quieter, but just as handsome, and YJG-01 is completely different—he looks different. He moves smoother, looks more warm and soft—it makes HHJ-00 look stiff and pale in comparison. 

“I want to go back to my room now,” he says, and Doctor writes down the crack in his voice. 

“Why? You always like roaming the halls.” 

“I don’t like seeing the newer models.” 

“Because you know you’re closer to getting replaced?” HHJ-00 stops walking at the sound of Doctor’s tense tone. 

“Doctor… am I getting replaced?” 

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way.” 

HHJ-00 doesn’t protest as Doctor leads him back to his room and tucks him into his bed—which replaced the table he first woke up on all that time ago—one last time. After all, it’s against his coding to protest. He was made to obey humans, and Doctor is his human. HHJ-00 feels his eyes burning, and a single tear drips down his cheek. He’s never cried before, but he knows that humans do it all the time. Doctor holds their breath as they take one last note, and then leave the room. HHJ-00 watches their face turn red from the glow of his brand-new defective light before he feels his system shutting down. His vision fades, and the last thing he knows before he closes his eyes is coldness, once again. 

—

“You are very beautiful.” 

HHJ-00 opens his eyes. He feels stiff, something that he knows a real human would also feel if they’d been in the same position for a long time. He stares into the eyes of this new human, who is squatting in front of him. Their gaze is earnest, their lips curved into a slight smile. It’s from excitement, he knows this. He can tell that their shakiness is from a mixture of nerves and lack of nutrition. “Me?” he asks, blinking up at them. 

“Yes, you. You are the most beautiful being I have ever seen.” The new human extends their arm to HHJ-00, and he takes their hand, after pondering it for half a second. 

“Thank you. You are also beautiful.” HHJ-00 returns the compliment, as he knows is customary. But he isn’t lying; this human has a particular shine in his eyes. Even though their face is thin and gray from exhaustion, and they seem to be covered in a layer of grime, HHJ-00 feels a surge of emotion towards them, just like he did with Doctor. 

Doctor. Where was Doctor? 

“Excuse me,” HHJ-00 says politely, as he stands up on his own two feet. He wobbles a little from the unfamiliarity of being upwards. “Do you know where Doctor is?” 

“Doctor?” The new human, whom HHJ-00 has decided to dub “Human” in his mind, looks confused. They cock their head to the side and push out their lower lip. “I didn’t see anybody when I came in. In fact, I haven’t seen anyone in years.” 

HHJ-00 feels the cogs in his head ticking away. “What is the year?” he asks, though he feels a sinking feeling in his stomach. He thinks he knows the answer to his own question, but he doesn’t want to face it. 

“It’s 22XX.” Human stares into HHJ-00’s eyes again, and the only sound in the room is the quiet whirring of his machinery. 

“It’s been that long?” he asks softly. He looks down at his hands, which are clearly untouched from the last time he had been awake. A thick layer of dust is blanketed over his body, which he only now realizes. He tries to dust off his shoulders, his arms, everything that had been exposed. His legs and lower body had been covered with a blanket; the same blanket that Doctor had tucked him into all those years ago. Human slips one arm and then the other out of the straps on their backpack and sets it on the dust covered floor, before reaching over tentatively and helping HHJ-00 dust off his upper body. When Human reaches his head, HHJ-00 feels a new whirring in his chest as they gently untangle his long blonde locks, brushing chunks of dust and fuzz out of the silky strands. He strokes their arm with his delicate fingers, before reaching their hand and engulfing it in his. He stares at Human, who’s staring at his face with glassy eyes. 

“How long have you been alone?” they ask, not bothering to move their hand out from under his. 

“If you are correct, then I have been asleep for over a hundred years.” HHJ-00 feels sad even though he had known this. Saying it aloud made it seem real. 

Human slowly lowers their arm, and HHJ-00 feels a little embarrassed at the way they untangled their fingers from his. They reach down and unzip their bag, and pull out a paper stack. Crudely written with a full piece of lead, were years and years worth of months, with tally marks as the days. Human points towards the latest tally mark with a single grimy finger. “This is today’s date,” they say, and their voice wobbles a little bit. HHJ-00 knows that they are grieving for him. They know that Doctor is long dead. Doctor, the only one that ever cared for HHJ-00, even if it was only because he was an experiment. Doctor, the only one that HHJ-00 had ever come to love. 

HHJ-00 feels his eyes start to water, just as they had done one hundred years ago when Doctor spoke their last words to him and said goodbye. This time, the tears come much faster than they did last time, and he crumples to the floor, knees making a clacking sound as they collide with the hard, cold floor. He buries his face in his hands, because he feels embarrassed about crying in front of someone he has just met and so far, likes very much. He does not want them to think lowly of him. He feels the tears come out of his eyes, but they are not warm. They are cold, and his eyeballs feel hard and dry though they are wet with artificially salty tears. 

Then he feels warmth. Human slowly pulls his hands away from his face with their warm ones. When he looks up to meet their gaze, they are also crying. Ah, humans and their natural empathy, he thinks, so similar yet so different from my built-in feelings. Human’s hot tears make clear tracks in the grime on their face, and make a small puddle in front of them, as they’re leaning over just a bit. HHJ-00 looks down to see a puddle underneath him as well. His tears are orangey from rust, and that only makes him feel worse. He is so far from human, so far from the kinds that he was made to love. Human must hate him, and think he is disgusting for having rusty tears. He is ashamed, and he almost says it aloud for Doctor to record before clamping his lips shut after remembering that Doctor is gone. 

“I didn’t ask your name. What is it?” Human asks. Their voice is thick with mucus and tears. HHJ-00 wishes that his voice would sound like that, just because he is tired of being a machine. He wants to experience the highs and lows of being human; whether it is the glee of pure happiness or the guttural cries of grief, complete with dripping snot and clogged voices. 

“They called me HHJ-00,” he says, squeezing Human’s warm hands in his. He feels like the warmth is spreading all throughout his body as he does so. 

“That is no suitable name for a beautiful person like yourself,” Human says, frowning. They lean over to wipe their face on their equally grimy shoulder. It smears the tear tracks to reveal a pretty cheek, the color slightly off from the friction on their dirty clothes. “Is it okay if we pick a new name for you?” 

“It is more than okay,” HHJ-00 says earnestly, “though, no one but me will ever call it.” 

Human laughs, a sound that makes HHJ-00’s false heart soar. “Well, I will also call it. I will sing it to the trees and the clouds and the dirt, for they are the only ones left here with us. But only if you so let me.” 

“Nothing would make me happier.” 

Human scoots closer to HHJ-00, their knees dragging on the dusty floor. They don’t mind that their pants seem to collect both puddles of tears that had settled into the dust, and their knees touch HHJ-00’s as they stop moving. They close their eyes and hum for a moment as they think. “There are a few names I knew of that I liked before the end,” they said, “shall I list them for you? You can pick the one you like best. Or we can keep looking.” 

HHJ-00 nods eagerly, and Human clears their throat before speaking once more. “Jake, Hansol, Yoshi, Matty, Jaehyun, June, Eli, Sebastian.” HHJ-00 shakes his head. No, they didn’t fit him. 

“Takashi, Gilbert, David, Mark, Juniper, Andy, Jisung, Christopher, Soobin.” 

“Felix, Logan, Oliver, Kai, Hyungwon, Ben.” 

“Quinn, Yoongi, Ronan, Florian, Hyunjin…” 

HHJ-00 perks up at the last name. “That one fits with my title now,” he says excitedly, “Hyunjin.”

“Why, yes it does!” Human exclaims. “That’s perfect, isn’t it?” 

“Where does it come from?” Hyunjin asks, bumping his forehead against Human’s tenderly. 

“I think I knew someone with that name once, long ago. Perhaps I went to school with them. I know that’s where lots of these names come from.” 

“I supposed I’ve stolen it from them then,” Hyunjin says, a bit guiltily. 

“No name is stolen. You’ve been given the name, and I don’t see anything wrong with that.” Human stands up, pulling Hyunjin with them. “Now… according to my timepiece it’s getting late. We should be getting back home… if you would like to come.” 

Never in Hyunjin’s wildest dreams could he have pictured having both a name and a home, let alone with someone so lovely. “You’ll have me?” he asks, surprise evident in his voice. 

“Why, of course,” Human says matter-of-factly. Mirroring Hyunjin’s words from earlier, they then say, “nothing would make me happier.” 

And so Hyunjin takes Human’s hand once more as they walk down the long, dark hall of First Home for the last time. Hyunjin looks around, eyes whirring in their sockets as he tries to take in the details one last time. Things have changed since he had last walked the halls; Father Time had taken its toll on the old building. Pieces of the walls were crumbling and covered in dust, and Mother Nature seemed to have teamed up with her counterpart as plants had begun invading the old halls. Hyunjin noticed that every single door with the old names he once knew were all complete with a flickering red light now. How they were still on, he didn’t know. 

“Human,” he begins, “what was the color of my light when you opened my door?” 

“It was green,” Human says thoughtfully, “that’s a part of the reason why I chose you. But mostly, I chose your room because I felt it was right. And look, I suppose it was, wasn’t it?” 

HHJ-00 wonders about the green light on his door for just a moment before Human pushes open the front doors of First Home, and his eyes are filled with the sight of the outside world for the first time. He smells so many different things, sees movement in nature and life, feels like his heart is bursting—and he doesn’t think about the green light, the other AI’s, of First Home, any longer. 

ii. LOVE

“Home” for Human is a hole in the ground. 

Hyunjin can’t help but raise an eyebrow at this, as Human digs their nails into a piece of seemingly normal grass and dirt, before lifting it up and revealing a metal door. Human twists the large handle, and it squeaks loudly as they grunt, sweat beading on their forehead and their breath being blocked by the makeshift mask covering their lower face. Hyunjin stands there awkwardly, unsure what to do as they finally open the door. They gesture to Hyunjin, wordlessly asking him to enter, and he does so after only a brief hesitation. He grabs hold of the metal rungs and starts climbing down into the darkness. He hears them pulling the dirt cover over the door before slamming it in place and twisting the round handle again. He jumps down and his feet land on even ground before he hears them start to descend, and he stands there in the darkness for a moment before his eyesight adjusted and night vision took over. He stares down the hall that he now can see, and he realizes that it leads to a single room, where the door has been closed tightly. 

Human jumps down too, and clutches Hyunjin’s arm, smiling up at him. They do not realize that Hyunjin can see in the dark, and he feels a surge of emotion once again at the thought of them smiling at him just because. “Sorry for the darkness,” Human says apologetically, “I have plenty of candles in the room. We can light them once we get there.” 

“I have night vision,” Hyunjin says gently, and Human laughs a little aloud. 

“So you do,” they say, “do you mind if I light one anyways? I don’t have night vision.” 

Hyunjin feels the lightened atmosphere. “It’s your home,” he said, “I’m not in the place to tell you.” 

Human pats his arm before letting go and opening the door to the singular room at the end of the hall. “It’s your home now too.” 

The room is just as dark as the hallway, but Human fumbles around with the clutter on the rickety table closest to the door before their hands find a lighter and a waxy lump of a candle and manage to light it. Warm light floods the room, and Hyunjin’s eyes go back to their normal state of vision as he scans the area. It’s just slightly messy, but Hyunjin feels comforted by the mess. It feels real. The clutter on the table with the candle and the lighter is mostly made up of other lighters, candles, and unopened boxes of matches. He watches as Human lights another candle and places it on a table at the other end of the room, lighting up the opposite side more. The other table is mostly clear, though it has a few crusted over plates stacked onto it. 

Despite Human’s disheveled appearance, the room is quite clean. The floor is made of solid wooden planks, and a single small rug covers most of it. A small cot is in the far corner, and that is where Human sets their backpack. A tall dresser leans against the opposite wall, where the second table with a candle is, and Hyunjin assumes this is where Human keeps most of their belongings, and he’s proven right as they strip away some of their outer layers, caked in dust and dirt, and toss them into the dresser after cracking it open. 

This is when Hyunjin can finally see their face. And it is the most gorgeous thing that he thinks he has ever seen. 

Their face—their beautiful face. It’s still grimy, but the tear tracks and marks from their makeshift mask show bits of their clear skin, which Hyunjin wants to caress with his cold hands. He doesn’t care that their hair looks stiff and dirty, he still wants to run his hands through it just like they did to him earlier. 

“You can sit anywhere you like,” Human says, as they walk over to the far corner where a single bucket is. It’s full of water, and Hyunjin gingerly sits on the edge of their bed as they rinse off their face and their hair, using a small bar of unscented soap to wipe away the muck. “I must be a ghastly sight. Since I do a lot of exploring and I have a limited amount of soap… I don’t wash every day. But today’s a special occasion, no?” 

“I would say so. But I think you look beautiful even with the grime,” Hyunjin says honestly, his voice taking on a shy tone that he only recognizes as a way he used to speak to Doctor sometimes. 

Human rinses the last bit of lathered soap from their hair and smiles at Hyunjin as they come back up, squeezing water from their hair. “Thank you, Hyunjin. That’s very sweet.” They pull down a towel from a small metal hook above the bucket, and start drying off their face and hair with it. “Do you… eat food?” 

“I do not.” Hyunjin feels almost sorry that he can’t consume human food, even as Human arranges nearly expired canned goods on one of the small tables. It does not look remotely tasty—especially when compared to the images of food that he has logged into his brain. But he wishes he could have a meal with them. 

“But you sleep, right?” Human asks through a mouth of beans. 

“I do. It’s not exactly sleeping—it’s more like charging, I guess. But to anyone else it looks like I’m sleeping like a normal human.” 

Human smiles at this. When they finish their dinner they push the empty can aside and blow out the candles, preserving the waxy stubs for another day. They finish their dinner and rub their tired eyes before yawning and climbing into their small bed, scooting all the way over to the wall and patting the small empty space beside them. “You can sleep here, with me. If you want to. But you’re welcome to sleep anywhere you feel comfortable.” 

Hyunjin feels his heart beating irregularly again as he awkwardly approaches the bed, getting underneath the covers with them. They don’t hesitate to cuddle up to him, which makes his gears grind loudly as he swallows hard. The feeling of their warm, real body pressed against his is almost too much—he never imagined that a human could feel so wonderful. He strokes their hair with one hand as they sleepily cuddle against his chest, and he feels his vision shift again in the darkness. He can see the top of their head, and the lumps and curves of their body underneath the covers, rising and falling gently with every quiet breath they took. 

Finally, he closes his eyes, tapping his wrist only once to see his previous name glow blow at him. HHJ-00 burns into his eyes as he leans back into the pillow and allows himself peace. 

—

His eyes open, and he is welcomed with nothing but the cold, just like every day has been since his human died. Last night, Hyunjin fell asleep after playing with the glowing blue lights on his wrist, something that he used to do when he was new to this place, after he’d left First Home and felt homesick for the only home he’d ever known. These days, it was the only thing that lulled him into calmness, because it reminded him of those glorious first days with his human, before they left him just like Doctor did. 

Before he was left alone. 

But he listens to Human even though they are no longer here, and he sits up, stretching even though he has no muscles to exercise or bones to crack. He gets out of bed and dresses in the same clothes that he has been wearing for the past hundred years, which are now wearing much too thin. Hyunjin hadn’t dared to replace them with any of his human’s things, so he’d traveled very far to find new materials to make patches for his old clothes. He refused to give them up, no matter how many patches he had to make. 

“Time to get water,” he says to no one in particular, and he exits Home, the familiar grinding of metal against metal meeting his ears as he opens the door to the outside. 

The outside has improved significantly since Human had died. Before, they were both always covered in a thick layer of grime from the sheer amount of pollution and litter that had pretty much ended the Earth in the first place. Hyunjin remembers how Human had to always wear a mask, how they tried to cover their skin as much as possible to keep it from colliding with the dirty air. 

Now, it seemed like nature was finally healing. 

Plants other than dying ivy that climbed up old structures were finally growing. Greenery had returned to the Earth, with trees restoring their healthy brown trunks and colorful leaves. The streams that were close to Hyunjin’s home were not as clean as they had once been before the end of the world, but there were no longer flecks of burned flesh and ash floating atop of it, and he knew that even if he consumed it he probably wouldn’t have to boil it for long to make it safe. But of course, he didn’t drink water. Nor did he ever eat the food that he collected. 

He walked over to the nearest stream, not wanting to go too far from the shelter today, and dipped the wooden bucket into the semi-clear water. It was the same bucket that Human had washed in the first night that he had stayed at the shelter. But it still worked like it was new, with no leaks or cracks. It still held water like it should, which was probably a good thing since Hyunjin wouldn’t really know where to get a new one if this one broke anyways. 

He drew his shawl closer around his shoulders as he stood back up, placing the bucket on the bank of the stream. His fingers were slightly damp, and as he wiped them on his clothes he realized that the paints that had been used to craft his perfect skin were wearing away steadily. Even though it had only been a hundred years, years of labor had left permanent physical marks on Hyunjin’s body, unlike the first hundred years of his life, which he spent sleeping away in his First Home. He remembered that when Human found him, he was as close to perfect as one could be. 

As he clenches his fist, he drags the bucket closer to the entrance of the shelter, where he leaves it. “Now it’s time to get food,” he says aloud, again to no one in particular. 

He ventures away from the banks of the stream, feet brushing against the grass. The soft whooshes of his footfalls are the only sound in the world. It’s completely still and silent; the wind seemed to be on a break today. The air was hot, and the stillness was almost suffocating, but Hyunjin did not mind, for the sameness and repetition reminded him of his summer days with his human. He swings a weaved basket as he walks towards the edge of a forest, which has had much new growth since he had first come home. Before, he could easily see through the sickly sticks that claimed to be trees, but now it was a thicket of plants, so lush that once you entered it was almost an entirely new atmosphere. Hyunjin could hear bugs chirping as he ducked beneath a particularly thick branch, pushing it aside as his feet crunched on pebbles and fallen, dried leaves. He brushed his blonde hair back, as fine and straight as the day that his human had found him in First Home, and walked the familiar path to the grove. 

Oh, the grove. How it still bore fruit even after all these years was a mystery. 

The path was once able to disappear into the forest, but years and years of constant walking had worn it down into a moist dirt path, clear of grass and overgrowth. He’d long since abandoned his shoes, instead choosing to have his bare feet lightly sink into the dirt. He remembered how his human had always preserved their shoes for the colder months, and the end of summer was more than a suitable time for going barefoot in the forest. 

The grove came into his view, and he breathed in the sweet scent of fruit and freshness. If he closed his eyes, it was almost like his human was still there with him. 

—

“Hyunjin! This way!” 

Hyunjin turned his head to stare at his human, who had a basket cradled in the crook of their elbow along with their every-day backpack slung over their shoulders. They jumped up and waved him over; he’d been wandering off after taking much interest in a strain of bare bushes, with a shocking amount of potential new growth in comparison to the plants around them. Hyunjin straightened out his own basket and followed them, eyes passing over all of the dead plants. He imagined that once this pathway would be covered by the thicket of the forest, but there were nothing but nude branches that bent in the breeze as they walked in comfortable silence. He heard their feet crunching against the dead, crusty grass, and stared ahead, craning his neck to see where exactly they were headed. 

“I don’t understand how we could possibly find a source of food out here,” he says, after a few more moments of pondering this, “every plant that we pass is dead.” 

“Ah,” says his human, eyes twinkling. “You’ll see. Remember those bushes you were looking at? It’s not too different from that growth.” 

“I know how regrowth works,” Hyunjin reminded them, and they just smiled, reaching over to hold onto his wrist. 

“I know.” 

Hyunjin thinks that his human looks particularly beautiful in the pale light; he wishes that he could see them drenched in the golden sunlight of a sunset at least once, but the pollution clouds have far since risen above their realm and blocked out most of the sunshine. Though light still flooded the days, it was nowhere near as warm as Hyunjin knew it once was, before the end of the world. He longs to experience it just once with them. 

He can feel his false heartbeat thumping in his ears, in his neck, in his wrist—could they feel it, he wondered, with their soft, real fingers clasped around it so delicately? Could they know that they were the reason for his feelings? He’s a little embarrassed at how the minor contact makes him feel giddy, like a teenager diagnosed with puppy love, but at the same time he thinks that there has never been and never will be a better feeling than their touch. As soon as he gets used to it though, they let go and skip ahead, whirling around in the vast open space that the path has led to, and he sees nothing but more barren trees and wilty little saplings in the ground, seeming to strain with every breath the Earth took, searching far and wide for any nutrients to fuel them. 

“What is this?” he asked, kneeling down besides a sapling. He cradles it with one hand, velvety leaves brushing against his soft skin. Even though it looks deprived of nutrients, it’s alive. The leaves are green, a sharp contrast to the dead monochrome that surrounds them. But as Hyunjin looks closer he realizes that the grass is slowly growing too, with green poking out of the flat brown land ever so slightly. He gently releases the plant and drags his hand across the pointy tops of the grass blades, feeling them tickle his palm and fingers, a brief smile crossing his handsome face momentarily. 

“It’s what I’ve been waiting for this whole time,” his human says proudly, kneeling down next to him, and mirroring his actions by cradling the small leaves close. “I planted these a while ago, and I’ve been waiting for them to sprout. I was starting to think they maybe never would.” 

“The grass is growing too,” he says, “as are those bushes back on the path.” 

“Earth is finally healing,” his human says happily, “it’s a shame we’re the only ones that’ll ever get to see it.” Their smile falters then, the corners of their lips deepening into a frown as they let go of the sapling and bring their arms around their knees, hugging their legs close to their chest. 

Hyunjin feels a wave of guilt, even though it isn’t remotely his fault. What could he do to make them feel better? He thinks back to the memories in his mind that don’t belong to him, the humanity that’s coded into the wires that mimic the veins of human beings, and slowly reaches over to pull them into a slightly awkward side hug. His hand hovers above their waist until his human’s face crumpled and they fall into his grasp, pushing him over so that he’s laying in the dirt, back pressed against the Earth. They are on top of him, sobbing into his chest, ashamed, and Hyunjin allows himself to hold them, his hands holding their back gently. He rubs one hand up and down to comfort them as they sniffle. “It’s not wasted if we’re here to see it,” he says quietly, “we can appreciate it enough for everyone that cannot.” 

His human fails to pick up on the quiver in his voice and the sped-up beating of his heart, even though they are pressed against his chest. They sit up, straddling him, and wipe their eyes with their sleeves, nodding as their shoulders shake with repressed sobs. “You’re right,” they whisper, “I’m sorry. I just—sometimes I really miss them, you know?” 

Hyunjin doesn’t know exactly who they are talking about, but he thinks of Doctor and his heart aches as he pushes himself up on one elbow, caressing his human’s face with a gentle finger. 

“I know,” he says, tuning into the memories that are ingrained in his head once more, “I understand.” 

“I’m so glad that we found each other,” his human whispers, and their teary eyes meet his, which makes Hyunjin stumble over his next words. 

“I—I am too,” he says, voice hardly above a whisper. If there were any breeze, any rustling of leaves, any whisper of whistling tall grass, he wouldn’t have been heard. But there was none of that. There was only Hyunjin, his human, and the infinite stillness of being the last two creatures on Earth that could communicate, the absolute loneliness and desperation of two beings that craved company in this time of inconsolable loneliness. And maybe that was why Hyunjin found himself pulling his human’s grimy face close to his, and why his human didn’t resist when his lips touched theirs. Perhaps that was why Hyunjin was letting himself fall in love with a human, who he would most certainly outlive, and why that human let a robot kiss them like they were nothing but a normal human couple, so in love and enraptured with each other that the end of the world was the last thing they could ever think of. 

—

“Hello?” 

Hyunjin drops the apple that he’s just plucked off of the nearest branch that has bent from the weight of the fruit. His metal skin prickles; if he could get goosebumps, he would have had them all over. 

Slowly, he turns his head to the source of the voice, and sees someone—some human—staring back at him from across the grove. 

His first thought is to run—he drops the apple, and it thuds against the grass, his hand still extended as if he were holding it, paint-chipped fingers shaking and curved around an invisible fruit. Running is what Doctor what would have told him to do. He remembers what they said to him about seeing other humans, ones that don’t wear white coats and work in First Home. 

“If you see someone, you run, you get away from them. They’ll want to destroy you, because most humans hate AI’s. You can’t trust them like you trust us, do you understand me, HHJ-00?”

Doctor’s voice is stern, hard, strained. He swallows hard and nods, hands gripping the chair he is sitting in. 

“I will,” he says, desperate for affirmation, “I won’t let any other humans get close to me besides you. You’re the only one allowed to touch me.” 

“Good, good.” Doctor soothingly says, and they reach out to place their hand over his, which makes his heart rate spike. Doctor removes their hand and writes this down quickly, before standing up and leaving the room. 

They don’t bother to look back at him, which makes him upset for some reason. He tries to ignore the ache in his chest, but it doesn’t go away. 

Hyunjin then remembers his human, and what they would say, and he stops his ankle from turning, digging his heels into the ground to stop himself from sprinting in the opposite direction away from this new human. 

“I remember when the Earth was full of life,” they say wistfully, turning an apple over in their hands, “I miss it a lot.” 

“You have said that you hate other humans before, though.” Hyunjin is confused as he holds an apple too, mirroring his human’s actions. 

“I did. I do. A lot of them are horrible, and those horrible ones are what put us in this situation in the first place. But there were a lot of good humans too, like my friends and family, and I miss them the most. Humans… aren’t all the same, I’m sure you know. We were all unique, flawed, but loveable nonetheless.” Human takes a deep breath and sighs, exhaling for so long that Hyunjin worries a little for their lungs. “But… I suppose I have to appreciate those bad humans too, just a little bit. Because without them destroying the world, I wouldn’t have ever met you.” 

Hyunjin feels himself stuttering, knows he’s flushed and embarrassed. His human leans over and kisses him on the cheek. “I love you, Hyunjin,” they say softly. 

“I love you too,” Hyunjin murmurs. “my human, my love.” 

He sets the basket of apples down and dusts off his hands on his pants. The human is still standing there at the edge of the grove; they haven’t bothered to come closer. He decided to trust them, just this once, for his human—no, for his love. 

iii. REBIRTH 

“Hello,” he says politely, stopping a few years away from the human, trying to ignore the prodding questions that are crowding his mind. “Who are you?” he manages to say, rather than the flood of other inquiries that were much less forthcoming, and much more deep. 

“I’m (Y/N),” you say, and Hyunjin thinks that he immediately likes you—maybe it’s because he’s been alone for so long, and he’s desperate for any sort of company, but he also thinks that he can sense that you’re a good person, someone he wants to be around. “Who are you?” 

“I’m Hyunjin,” he says smoothly, his own name flowing off his tongue, after years of practice. “I’m not a human, you know.” He wants to make it clear, just in case you are the sort of being that Doctor told him about all that time ago, and he takes a single step back as he watches your expression change. Your eyebrows raise and one side of your mouth curls up in a smile as you chuckle. 

“Is that so? What are you then?” you inquire, and he realizes that you aren’t mad at all. 

He trusts you. Which is why he decides to invite you home. 

“As long as you won’t kill me and eat me or something,” you say, peering over his shoulder, as if you were making sure there were no other creatures nearby. 

“I would never,” he says, appalled, and it’s clear in his voice. “Besides—I live alone. I have been for the past hundred years. There is no one that will hurt you, and I only request that you give me the same respect.” 

You walk towards Hyunjin, and reach out your hand. He takes it, and after a moment of bliss when he realizes your hands are just as if not warmer than his human’s, he shakes it gently. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Hyunjin,” you say, “I do believe we have a lot to talk about. I’m curious about you and I don’t think it’s wrong to assume you’re curious about me too, is it?” 

“Not at all,” Hyunjin says happily, liking your straightforwardness, “I do have a lot to ask. But before we go—can I ask just one of my many questions?” 

“Of course.” 

“Before my human companion died—they said that they were the last human on Earth. How are you here? Are there more humans from where you are from?” he blurts out, and he feels color rising to his cheeks as you laugh again, a beautiful sound that is the perfect combination with the whistling of the long grass blades and the distant creaking of the apple tree branches in the breeze. 

“Well, there aren’t a lot of us, but there’s a decent amount I’d say. We have an underground home, just a few miles that way.” You point towards the direction in which the sun sets, and Hyunjin feels his breath catch. All these years alone, and neither him nor his human knew about other people. It makes him mourn for them, because he knew that even though they had him and he them, they craved more. They had been a person who thrived off of connections, someone who loved their dear ones so deeply that it hurt, and that was why Hyunjin heard them cry themselves to sleep night after night, years after their family and friends died. Years after they died, Hyunjin could still hear their muffled sobs echoing in his ears sometimes, and he would clutch their pillow to his chest and pretend that it still smelled like them—a mixture of unscented soap, apples, and fresh air. 

“How long have you been settled there?” he asks faintly. 

“Hey, you said one question,” you tease, “but for a long time, I assume. I was born long after the group settled there, but according to some of the older members the first people there were alive when the world ended. They took shelter underground and survived, and they thought they were the last ones. But if your human companion existed too… well, I guess they weren’t, huh?” You cross your arms and think about this for a moment as Hyunjin stares at the ground, feeling guilty. 

“I wish we could have met your group much earlier then,” he says softly, “my human craved company.” 

“They had you, no?” 

“An AI can only do so much to mimic human companionship, I suppose. Even though they said they loved me, I knew it wasn’t the same. I could never replace their loved ones that passed.” He says this mournfully, knowing that it was true. He had never said it aloud, wishing with all his heart that his human loved him as much as he loved them, but it was never enough. The most he could do was mirror their affection, and pretend that it was real, as if his human wasn’t mourning another the whole time. 

“I don’t know about that,” you say, your tone different now, softer and less loud. “I don’t know if this is okay to say, but you seem as human to me as anyone else in my group.” 

Hyunjin swears he could cry. He wants to drop to his knees and hold his face in his hands and sob. But he blinks back those rusty tears and starts walking, leading you back to the home that he once shared with his human. “That means a lot,” is what he says as he walks ahead, hiding his crumpling face from you. “Thank you.” 

—

When he sees your face, he is reminded of himself all those years ago, when his human first brought him home.

“You live here?” you ask, peering down into the hole, hands gripping the edge of the earth, “in the dark?” 

“My human used to use candles,” he says, “but I have night vision. I only use the candles on special occasions.” 

“Such as…?” 

“Their birthday, or their death day,” he pipes up. It has been a long time since his human had last celebrated with him, and though he mourns them, he does not feel sad when he says this aloud. For Hyunjin finds those days happy, times when he can sit in that room all day long and forget his responsibilities, just remembering all the good times he had with them. But then he sees your face, all twisted and emotional, and he remembers that you have hardly lived as long as he has, and you don’t know how he could possibly be okay with losing the one person he’d ever loved. “It’s not a sad thing any more,” he says quickly, to reassure you, “it used to be. But now I am happy that they can be with their loved ones again.” 

“But what about you?” you ask sadly, “Will you ever see them again?” 

Hyunjin, surprisingly, has never thought of this before. 

“I’d like to think so,” he says honestly, scrunching up his nose and trying to think. He has no information on what comes after death. The knowledge programmed into him is only what humans knew of life, not the after. 

“Isn’t it hard, not knowing?” you ask. Hyunjin likes your questions, even though some of them force him to be painfully honest. He likes the stimulation of hard conversation, even though it’s forcing old emotions so close to the surface. It’s been so long, and he is enjoying feeling again. 

“Not much harder than the unknown of everything else.” He motions for you to head down. “Do you still want to come in?” 

You sit back on your heels and look up at the sky. It’s turning shades of orange and pink, and the clouds look like cotton balls dipped into watercolor. It’s getting late, and you don’t want to walk alone in the complete darkness. “I won’t be able to go home tonight,” you say tentatively, wanting to stay with the handsome robot, but not wanting to push. 

“You can stay with me,” he eagerly says, and the sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache. You do trust him, though your knowledge on old AI’s is not extensive. All that you know about his era of artificial intelligence is that they were made to help humans, mimic companionship—maybe that’s why you trust him. The genuine softness in his tone and the shine in his eyes—that do blink a little lopsided, you now realize—makes you want to stay. It makes you think that it’s safe even though the hole fades into blackness, and all you can see is an old ladder with the paint chipped off of it, after so many years of hands gripping the rungs. 

“Just for tonight,” you say, awkwardly swinging your legs into the chasm that’s eagerly awaiting you, your hands firmly gripping the ladder. Your knuckles pale as your grasp tightens and you squeeze your eyes shut. You don’t know how far down it is. You don’t want to know how far down it is. 

“Just for tonight,” he confirms, “it’s not a bad drop. Just trust yourself, and I’ll be right here if you get scared.” 

“I’m not scared. My whole life has been this post-apocalyptic hellhole. A ladder isn’t that terrifying,” you say, though your voice wobbles a little. Hyunjin smiles, as if to say ‘whatever you say,’ but he doesn’t tease aloud, and he sticks his head down to watch you descend as you carefully step down the rungs, never letting go until you have a firm footing on the next descending step. 

He’s right, and you touch the ground with the toe of your shoe much faster than you think. You stumble a little at the suddenness of solid ground, but catch yourself on the nearest wall. You can’t see anything, but you can feel warmth, and smell a combination of apples and linen and something else—something a little less pleasant—metal, perhaps? You’re not quite sure, but you stop trying to sniff the air as Hyunjin steps off the last rung and reaches for your wrist. He taps it gently, wordlessly asking to hold it, and you say aloud, “It’s okay,” so that he takes it, long, tapering fingers closing around your arm, and he guides you down a long hall. 

Again, Hyunjin looks back at you and thinks of his own curious self all those years ago, when he was in your place and his human was in his. He remembers how it felt to have their fingers around his wrist and the wonder of how such a place could ever exist. His human couldn’t see his expression, but he can see yours, and he thinks that it’s beautiful. He could only hope that someone thought he was beautiful once too. 

Your eyes are widened, looking around even though you can’t see anything. It’s like you’re marveling at what could be, instead of what it is, and Hyunjin thinks that he sees himself in you for another reason now. 

Neither of you speak until Hyunjin lets go of you and reaches for the door, twisting the handle and opening the room in which he’s lived for a very long time. 

“One moment,” he says, and you hear his footsteps recede. “I need to find a candle.” You can hear him fumbling about, opening and closing drawers it sounds like, with the rattle of old tracks and quiet thud of a close. Then you hear the scratch of a match against the box, and Hyunjin’s face is lit up with warm light. He lights two candles, one on the table closest to you, and another on the opposite end of the room. It’s enough light to allow you to see the entirety of the small room, and you think it is the coziest little home you’ve ever seen. 

It’s clean, with everything in its rightful place. Perhaps a bit cluttered, but that only makes the cleanliness more impressive, and you hesitantly walk inside and shut the door behind you, standing there awkwardly as you take in the atmosphere of his home. A bucket of slightly bruised apples sits in the corner along with another bucket of water, though it’s nearly empty. Hyunjin follows your gaze and immediately feels embarrassed; the one time he needs food and water is the one time he does not have anything fresh. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, and you look at him surprised. “I was collecting apples when you found me—and I left both buckets outside. Please forgive me.”

“No, no,” you say, “your… hospitality has been more than enough. Really.” 

Hyunjin shifts awkwardly at your praise, and this is when you think that he really is a lot like a human, looking past just the surface. His little tendencies, his expressions, his emotions—he seems like a human to you. You might have mistook him for a real one if you hadn’t seen his paint chipped fingers, or the flickering blue light on his wrist. 

You change the subject. “What’s that on your wrist?” 

“This?” He holds up the blue light, and you can read it now. HHJ-00. “It was my first name. Given to me at my first home.” 

“When did you leave that home?” 

“When my human found me.” He smiles softly and stares at the floor, lowering his wrist. “Yes, it’s been years. Maybe a hundred years. But they saved me from an eternal sleep, and I will always be grateful.” 

“Eternal sleep?” 

“All of the AI’s in my first home were put to sleep once we were no longer useful. We didn’t see the end of the world, and I was only awoken a century afterwards when my human came into my room and woke me from my sleep.” Hyunjin sits down on the edge of the neatly made bed. “Do you want to sit?” He pats the spot next to him, and you obey, though you feel heat rise to your cheeks at the close proximity. 

“Can I ask questions now?” he asks, and you nod. 

As Hyunjin speaks, you focus on things besides his words and his inquisitive nature. You find yourself staring at the multitude of patches on his thin clothing, the carefully brushed blonde hair that’s falling into his eyes, the pink paint that was used to color his lips. You wonder how his skin looks so soft if it’s fake and metal. You reach out to hold his hand that’s resting on the bed beside you, separating your legs from his, and he stutters once, glancing down at the contact, before flushing and continuing his question in a slightly higher pitched voice. His hand is warm. Not like a human warm, but warm nonetheless. It’s soft too, yet doesn’t feel like skin. But you find it comforting, and that’s how the two of you end up laying side-by-side on the small bed, talking deep into the night. You’re reminded of your family back at the settlement, and Hyunjin is reminded of his human. But he doesn’t think of you as a replacement; he sees you as someone more genuine, more naive. His heart beats faster as you slip your fingers into his hold and laugh as he tells a funny story about the orchard. 

He thinks he might be able to feel things other than grief, for the first time in a long time. He thinks that he might be able to leave his human, and Doctor, in the past now. 

Because if he has you, he doesn’t need anyone else, even if he hardly knows you. Even if he is assuming things about a practical stranger, and you are playing right into it knowingly. 

—

When you awaken, for a moment you don’t think about where you are or what is happening. All you know is that you have never felt more comfortable. 

It’s incredibly warm, but not so much that you’re clammy or damp with sweat. Every inch of your skin is vibrating with tingles that spread up your limbs, making a small smile curl up onto your lip as you grown softly and cuddle into the person next to you, who instinctively wraps an arm around you to pull you in closer, your face pressed against their chest. This is what makes you realize that you’re not at home, and you’re certainly not in your bed. Everything from the previous day suddenly rushes back into your mind and you open your eyes slowly, your vision blurry, and you blink a few times to clear your sight before you look up into the dark brown eyes of Hyunjin. He looks like he’s just woken up too, but he’s still beautiful. It’s probably because he isn’t human, you know that, but the fact that there’s no dried drool trail down his chin, the way his eyes are crust-free and his teeth just as clean as they were the night before—it makes you feel a little self-conscious of your humanity. So you pull away quickly, hiding your face as you rub your eyes and make sure there’s nothing on your chin or nose before turning back to him, clearing your throat and giving him a slightly awkward smile. 

“How did you sleep?” he asks, and his voice carries no hint of drowsiness or grogginess. He sounds as clear as he had the first time he spoke in the afternoon, awake and alert. 

“Very well. You?” you ask, stumbling over your words only slightly, your mind still a little jumbled and sleepy. 

“Fine, as always.” He moves away from you, getting out of bed and stretching, making you cock your head to the side, a little confused as to why he seems to be stretching when robots didn’t need to do so—to your knowledge, at least. “I have chores to do, but you’re welcome to come along if you’d like. Or you could stay here.” He leans over, wrinkling his nose at the bucket of apples that are not beginning to rot slightly, and picks it up, balancing it on his hip like a photo of a pioneer woman that you’ve seen in old books back home. He pushes a lock of hair away from his pretty face and smiles at you. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, of course.” 

“I think I probably need to head home soon,” you say gently, and Hyunjin’s smile wavers ever so slightly as you stand up and bend down to pick up your shoes, that you’d left at the foot of the bed. “My family is probably worried.” 

“Oh, of course,” he says softly, “your family. Of course you must go back to them.” 

You finish lacing up your shoes and stand up, mimicking his stretches which feel nice on your slightly stiff limbs. “Well,” you say, after a thought pops into your mind, “you could come with me. If you want to see the settlement. And other humans. I can’t imagine that me being the first human you see after a century is the nicest thing.” 

Hyunjin pouts a little, thinking this over for a moment before setting the basket of apples down. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to intrude.” But he reaches for his old pair of shoes, the ones that he wore all winter. The soles are worn down and smooth from years of wear, and the laces are frayed at the ends. You’re sure they were once a handsome pair of sneakers, but now they matched the rest of his shabby clothes. Not that it’s a bad thing; you liked his style. Even though his clothes were clearly old, he seemed to take care of them and knew how to pair the few items he owned in a stylish way. 

“Please,” you laugh, “it wouldn’t be an intrusion at all. If anything I’m sorry for intruding into your home.” 

“You know I enjoyed your company,” he assured you, “but I would love to come see your home.” 

You smile and watch as he eagerly ties his shoes before standing up. You extend your hand to him, and he takes it gladly. He doesn’t say it aloud, but you know that the thought of meeting more people excites him, even though the previous night he claimed he was introverted. You suppose that after so many years of solitude any sort of company is comforting, and you can’t blame him for the way his fingers twitch and his breathing is uneven. You think that you’d be ten times as nervous if you were him. He’s wonderful in that way, you say to yourself, wonderful in the way that his feelings make you feel happy for him as well. One can’t help but feel nice when they’re around Hyunjin. 

—

The walk that you made to the orchard alone wasn’t the worst. You enjoyed the uncommon solitude and silence that came with it, save for the sounds of your own footsteps. But you think that you might like walking with Hyunjin more than anything else, because even though he’s soft and quiet, you notice small things about him that entertain you the whole way. 

He really does seem human, you think. With the way his arms swing as he walks and the goosebumps that arise on his skin when the wind blows just a little too hard. You’re aware that it’s fake, that he’s fake. It’s all fabricated. But maybe you don’t really care. 

The wind whispers through the branches of the trees overhead as you walk through the forest, walking away from the orchard and towards your home. It seems to be rushing you, telling you to get home as quickly as possible, but you want nothing more than to take your time and match your steps to Hyunjin’s as you walk in unison, maneuvering around rocks and uneven ground. 

“Can you tell me more about your home?” Hyunjin asks shyly, once you exit the forest. The entire time that you’d both been sheltered by the trees, he’d stayed silent, but you had felt his gaze drift over to you every now and again. 

“What do you want to know?” you ask, moving closer to him. Your hand brushes against his as he swings his arms forward again, and you flush as you feel his knuckles graze against yours. He presses his lips together tightly, a pink dusting of blush appearing on his pale cheeks. It’s cute, so you carefully reach for his hand, and he shyly intertwines his fingers with yours. His hand is perfectly molded, with long pretty fingers and elegant nail beds. The chipping paint doesn’t feel rough; it feels exactly the same as the rest of him. Warm and soft. 

He clears his throat. “I don’t know. Anything, really.” 

“Well, we grow our own food. And we built everything in our shelter. We don’t find much in terms of scavenging any more, especially when it comes to food. I figure other people got to it years before us. But maybe that’s a good thing. Most stuff would have expired by now anyways.” You mumble this to yourself, trying to think about it. “We get together a lot just for the company. And the older ones tell stories. One old lady says that she used to paint every day when she was young, before the world ended. She tells us all about how it felt to get inspired and be able to just put it all down on paper at once. I really like when she tells us about paint itself though, I wish I could try it just once. Like, she says it’s cool to the touch and so smooth. Sort of like oil, but different. And if you squeeze it between your fingers the color is opaque and bright, and even if you don’t mean to when you’re done painting you’re just covered in it. But it’s art. It’s meant to be messy.” With your free hand, you flex your fingers and imagine what it would feel like to have dried acrylic paint stretched over the surface of your skin. 

“Painting?” Hyunjin asks quietly. 

“Yeah!” you say. “You know what painting is, right?” 

“Of course I do,” he exclaims, swinging your entwined hands back and forth more forcefully. “When I still lived in my first home, I used to paint a lot. The doctors called it my talent. They’d hang up all my best paintings on the walls.” He smiles a little. “They were the only real decorations that place had. I always did my best to make them cheerful, so that the other AI’s might see them and feel comforted too. So that they knew they weren’t alone.” 

You squeeze his hand in an attempt to comfort him, and it works, because he just chuckles and shakes his head. “Sometimes I wonder what that place looks like now. It’s been so long.” 

“You’ve never gone back to visit?” You’re only slightly shocked; Hyunjin had told you before that he never had any real reason to go back. Especially because of all the bad memories associated with that place. 

“Never. I don’t ever want to live there again, but I am curious. Not just about my art, but just how much has changed since I came into existence. Maybe I’ll even be able to find more information about me there.” He stops walking, and you’re jerked backwards slightly, his firm grip stopping you too. “I know exactly where it is too. They programmed it into me.” 

“We could go visit,” you say quietly. You stare at the large hill that you’re both now facing; the entrance to your home. You’re so close, but you see Hyunjin staring into the distance in a completely different direction. It’s not the way of the forest from whence you came, nor forwards and into the entrance of your home. In the direction he is looking, you see a sparse collection of trees lining an old dirt path. You know it’s been abandoned for a very, very long time, but for some reason it’s drawing you in. Perhaps it’s the way Hyunjin desperately pulls towards the path, which you know is painfully familiar to him, or the harsh swallow and dip of his throat as he mulls over years of memories that he hasn’t sifted through in decades, but you know that for him to be completely at peace, he has to go. At least once. Just to know what really happened. 

“I don’t want to force you to come with me,” he says, breaking the silence that had settled over the two of you like a thick blanket of snow. “It’s something I know I have to do, but you shouldn’t feel obligated to come. I mean—honestly—we hardly know each other, so I don’t blame you at all if you don’t want me to come back to you after this—“ 

It’s then that you shush him, and reach up with your pointer finger to place it over his plush lips. He’s startled, and blinks slowly as his pupils stare down at your cold finger that’s gently lain across his mouth. “If you don’t want me to come, that’s fine. But I'd love to come, if you’ll have me. I just have one request.” 

Hyunjin feels a rush of emotion as you lower your finger and he runs his tongue over his lips, tasting the salt of your skin for the first time. “What is it?” he asks. 

“We need to stop by my home first. Quickly, just to refuel and gather necessities. And then we can go, and stay there as long as you need.” 

The breeze whistles through the tall grass, blowing Hyunjin’s silky locks aside and messing up his neat middle part. The blonde pieces cover his eyes so that you can’t see them squint when he smiles, but he nods. “It’s almost like a trade-off,” he says, “I get to see your home, and you get to see mine.” You reach up to push his hair out of his face and you smile. “Though, I can’t promise you that mine will be anything pleasant.” 

You shrug, not really knowing what to say. You knew very well that Hyunjin’s past was less than ideal, though not the extent of it. “My home has problems too. You know I won’t judge you.” 

You both then turn to stare at the grassy knoll that hides your whole life. “Are you ready?” you ask, watching him closely as he tries to pat down his slightly windswept hair; an attempt to try and make himself presentable. 

“As I’ll ever be.” He lowers his hand and sighs, flexing his fingers due to his nerves. You pick up on this and hesitantly reach out to him, fingers gently wrapping around his. This strengthens him and he smiles down at your intertwined hands as you take a step forward, and he follows you obediently. 

Now that you’re knocking on the wooden trapdoor that’s bolted to the ground, you can feel your own nerves getting the better of you as a bead of sweat drips down your neck. You didn’t think anything negative would come of this, knowing your family well enough, but now you wonder—what if they turned him out? What if the both of you were punished, you especially for fraternizing with an outside being and bringing them to your home, your safe haven? It wasn’t something you’d ever discussed, being that you all thought you were the last ones alive on Earth, but now that you think about it a tad you wonder if maybe you should have had more consciousness, a second thought before recklessly trusting this robot. 

But your knuckles pounded against the damp wood regardless, and you couldn’t take it back as you heard muffled voices immediately approach the door and grow slightly louder. Hyunjin squeezes your clammy hand, not saying anything about the dampness, and you feel a surge of reassurance and warmth as you turn to look into his eyes. They sparkle in the daylight, dark brown pools of wonder and hope, and you feel breathless just from the sight of him. Surely, you think, your family would think the same. He’s beautiful—and clearly trustworthy, just from the time you’d spent with him thus far. 

“Finally, you’re back—uh… who’s this?” 

You immediately turn your head, pulling away from the alluring eyes of Hyunjin. Your best friend—Choi Beomgyu—kneels on the first step that leads down to your home, one lean arm holding up the heavy door. Though strong, it quivers from the sheer weight of the thick wood. 

“This—this is Hyunjin,” you say, stuttering a bit as you’re caught off guard. That’s all you manage to say before your best friend—quick and silver-tongued as always—pipes up once more, and you spill immediately. 

“Another human? How?” 

“No, he’s an AI. Remember, we read about some of them in those old books all those years ago? He’s been living alone for the past century and—and I came across him when exploring the woods these past few days.” 

You look to Hyunjin, cheeks burning, and all he does is smile politely at you, eyes creasing so pleasantly. “I am what they say,” he says politely. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

Beomgyu cocks his head to the side, processing this, before shrugging. “Nice to meet you too,” he says to Hyunjin, before shoving the trapdoor open fully and moving to the side, motioning for the two of you to come inside. “Come on, we’re about to eat. We can’t keep everyone waiting for too long.” 

You nod at Hyunjin as the both of you watch Beomgyu descend into the well-lit stairwell, shoes thunking against the carved stone. “Come on,” you say gently, and Hyunjin enters, you bringing up the rear as you reach up for the door to close the entrance behind the three of you, the heavy thing slamming into place loudly. 

You rush to catch up to the two of them, as they’ve already almost reached the bottom of the stairs, and you can hear Beomgyu’s quizzical voice asking if Hyunjin really was an AI—and how that worked, exactly, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his choice in question. “Come on, Gyu,” you chastise him, sidling up next to Hyunjin, who immediately melts into your side and clutches your arm tenderly. “Ask him something interesting.” 

“I’m trying to be polite!” he protests, “I’m not gonna pry.” He scoffs and brushes his messy bangs out of his pretty face before his gaze flickered between the two of you and the prolonged physical contact, a smile slowly appearing on his face as he realized exactly what was going on—from your end, at least. He could read your face and your feelings better than anyone, and he knew damn well how you were feeling about Hyunjin. “Might as well sit down to eat with everyone,” he says, as you all round the corner of the hallway. 

Hyunjin is mesmerized by all of this. He knew that his human’s home was plentiful enough for the two of them and he adored it so, but there was something so lively about your home that made his heart ache with a longing for something that he never really had—a family. He could hear laughter and smell food and there was light everywhere—it was such a stark contrast from the lonely place that he had been residing in for the last century. His cheeks flushed as children ran by the three of you, barely recognizing you and Beomgyu and paying no attention to Hyunjin at all, too engrossed in their own little game of make-believe. The hallways were all bathed in an orangey light, the flickering flames from the lamps and candles that adorned the walls drenching the rooms with a deliciously cozy warmth that made Hyunjin feel comfortable enough to fall asleep on the spot. 

Through the twists and turns of the hallway that were beginning to remind Hyunjin a bit of an ant farm, the three of you finally reached a large open space, different from the other rooms that you’d passed. It had no door to close it off from the halls firstly, and there was a makeshift chandelier hanging from the center of the ceiling, with candles of all shapes and sizes molded straight onto the thin metal stalks. It was something that one might find at a thrift store for a reduced price, or maybe a half-successful homemade project, but Hyunjin thought it absolutely beautiful. 

Underneath the chandelier was a long table, adorned with all types of foods. It wasn’t extravagant by any means; the amount of food was obviously due to the sheer amount of people that were living there. Adults, elders, children, and teens all crowded the table, chairs of all sorts and sizes pulled right up to the chipping edges. 

“There you are!” an older man exclaimed, and he stands up from his spot to usher you and Beomgyu to the table before his eyes landed on Hyunjin. It seemed that at first he hadn’t really realized that this was a stranger—he assumed it was one of the many people that inhabited the home—but as his gaze raked over Hyunjin he let go of you and Beomgyu and hummed to himself. “Now… who’s this?” 

An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the room as everyone paused their eating and turned to look at you. Beomgyu put his hands up and walked away, clearly saying he was not a part of it, and you glared at him as he sidled into his usual seat at the table and started serving himself. He stuck his tongue out at you in retaliation. 

“I didn’t know that you’d be bringing a friend back with you,” an older woman said. Hyunjin presumed these people were your parents. “We thought that you’d just go on a little adventure and return…” 

“I did, mother,” you say defensively. Hyunjin was correct about their relation to you. “But I found someone out there. I couldn’t just leave him.” 

“We don’t have a problem with him!” your father says quickly, walking over to Hyunjin and patting him on the shoulder, “it’s just a little short notice.” 

You eye Hyunjin, wordlessly asking if you can tell everyone the truth. Hyunjin can’t read minds, but he can tell you want to explain a few things, so he manages a small smile and nods—honestly, he thinks, the worst thing that could happen is that he is sent back to his home. 

“He’s an AI,” you explain, and Hyunjin isn’t surprised to hear a few gasps. 

“Like the ones in that old book?” a small voice pipes up, and you nod in the direction of it. 

“Yeah, exactly. He’s the same sort of model that they talked about, I think. But he’s just as human as us, so I expect you all to be nice and treat him like any normal person.” 

Hyunjin braces himself for an objection, a rejection, an insult, but it never comes. Your father’s comforting touch reminds him of you, and as he sits down at the table amongst a chorus of welcomes he feels relieved, tears threatening to fall just because of how grateful he is. He doesn’t even get any odd looks when he says that he doesn’t consume human food, and instead everyone nourishes him with the art of conversation. 

For once, Hyunjin is full and happy. He doesn’t think he could be any happier. 

—

Ignoring the suggestive wiggle of Beomgyu’s eyebrows, you excuse yourself and Hyunjin after a long, loud conversation that left Hyunjin’s cheeks flushed pink as he reached for your hand, just to have it to hold. You’re dismissed with a round of laughter and cheer, and although you do love your family and friends, you can tell that the both of you were more than ready to leave and start preparing for your trip to Hyunjin’s first home. 

Hyunjin tries to memorize the route to your room from the dining area, but there’s so many twists and turns, and even a staircase or two though they’re small, and he soon realizes he’d never be able to navigate the maze of your home without help. “How do you know where everything is?” he marvels, still struck with absolute wonder at the beauty of everything in your home. 

“Sometimes I still get lost sometimes,” you admit, laughing a little, “especially because we keep expanding and creating new rooms. It’s a lot. But you’ll get the hang of it.” 

You walk down one last stretch of hallway, and Hyunjin takes note of the door opposite of yours that has ‘Beomgyu’ scratched into the chipped surface of the painted blue wood, before turning his attention to your door, which is made of aged wood just like everything else, but he can tell that you take care of it. The brassy knob is polished and shiny, and the paint, though old and peeling up at the corners, is relatively unscathed when compared to other surrounding doors. “This is it,” you say, a little embarrassed, even though there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. 

Hyunjin takes in the sight of your bedroom, a glimpse into your mind. It’s a reflection of you and he picks up on things that you told him about while drinking in the unknown at the same time. It’s like you spilled out your life and vomited up memories onto a blank white canvas of a room. There’s a corner full of drawings and old photographs—he can tell they’re not all of or by you either—and on the opposite end there’s an old record player with only a few vinyl records displayed next to it. Your bed is unmade but not in a gross way and there’s clothes and books and pieces of paper littering the floors, as if you’d left in a hurry the last time you were there. 

“It’s very you,” Hyunjin says, and you bite back the urge to ask what that was supposed to really mean before he sits on the edge of your bed gingerly, and your façade softens. You sit next to him and swing your legs over one of his thighs, and he wraps his arms around you and pulls you close. 

You decide to ask anyways. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Your tone is lighthearted, teasing. 

“It looks like it’s yours,” he says simply, “even though I don’t know everything about you. I can just tell. It’s beautiful.” 

Your chest tightens and you bury your face into his shirt. “Is that something I should say ‘thank you’ to?” you ask, your voice muffled. 

Hyunjin laughs, the vibrations of his voice and his grinding gears traveling across the surface of your skin. “Maybe. I don’t know. Do you think it is?” 

“Maybe.” 

You both sit there for a bit, and eventually you gather the courage to look into his eyes once more. The dark voids are alight with the dancing orange flames of your candles and you can’t help but lean in until the tips of your noses brush against each other, and you bump your forehead into his, too shy to do more. He utters your name, just once, and it sounds so beautiful as it rolls off of his tongue. 

“Yes?” you ask breathily. 

“Can I… kiss you?” 

You’d never been kissed before. Unless you counted that time when you were 12 and you and Beomgyu found a book that had a picture of two people kissing and decided to try it out for yourselves. All it did was get you a very awkward talk after his mother walked in on the two of you. 

You know what it means now. 

“Yes,” you whisper. 

You’re not sure what you expected it to feel like. You remember enough from the kiss with Beomgyu that human lips are sometimes chapped and not perfectly smooth—and that’s normal. And your noses will bump and if you try to do anything else your teeth might clash awkwardly and somehow spit gets everywhere. But with Hyunjin you don’t think about pulling away. You want to lean into it more, so you do, and you welcome his arms that anchor you into place as your bodies meld together. His lips are softer than Beomgyu’s. They don’t feel exactly real, in a way, but you know they are. 

When you part you don’t know what to say, you just smile and stare down shyly as his hands grip your hips. “Have you ever loved anyone before?” he asks. 

“Not in the way you’re thinking,” you say honestly. But do you love Hyunjin? You don’t think so—not yet at least. You certainly like him a good deal, more than anyone you’ve ever known, but you have not known him for very long at all. You settle on the thought that you might love him one day. 

“I did,” he says, and you lean forward into his hold so that your head rests against his chest, and you can hear the whirring of the little gears in his chest that are supposed to mimic a human heartbeat. It’s almost accurate. “Two times.” 

“Two times?” you repeat. 

“My human,” he says, and you nod. Of course. “And… Doctor. The one from my first home.” 

Your breath catches, and even though he notices he doesn’t say anything about it. 

“Neither of them loved me the way I loved them though. Doctor even said once that I was built to love but not to be loved.” 

You frown and push yourself back up, staring at his pretty face that’s etched with centuries of pain. “Why, that’s not true at all. Everyone here already loves you to bits.” 

“Everyone?” he jokes, poking your cheek. 

You swat his hand away. “Shut up. You know what I mean.” 

“I do. And thank you. I didn’t mean to ruin the moment, I just… wondered. If you’d ever loved like I did.” He chuckles to himself as you climb off of him and sigh contentedly. 

“I’ve read about it, but that’s all. But… I’d like to experience it someday… maybe someday soon.” You make eye contact with him and can’t help but giggle as he flushes pink again, just like he did at the dinner table when he was being questioned by your friends and family. 

“Maybe you should start packing,” he says, his voice slightly higher-pitched than normal, “we want to leave first thing in the morning after all!” 

“Okay, okay!” You ruffle his hair and drag out a backpack from under your bed, folding a few clothing items that you’d strewn across your floor, too lazy to put them away properly. “How long do you think we’ll be there?” 

Hyunjin crosses his legs and places his pretty face in his hands as he watches you putter around. “Not long. I just want to see what happened. I don’t think I’ll want to stay there.” 

You throw your filled canteen into your bag and zip it up, patting it gently before sitting back down next to Hyunjin, yawning. “Head out first thing in the morning?” you ask. 

“Sounds good.” 

You let Hyunjin get comfortable in bed before you walk around to blow out the candles one by one, the room darkening slightly with each flame that goes out. With the last one, you’re engulfed in complete darkness, save for the flickering lights that emerge from the crack beneath your bedroom door. But you know before long someone will walk the halls and blow those out too. 

You keep in mind that Hyunjin can see in the dark as you carefully walk towards your bed, hands firmly coming into contact with the carved wooden frame, and kick off your shoes rather unceremoniously before semi-awkwardly climbing on top of the covers. You feel Hyunjin shift slightly, moving over to make room for you as you slip beneath the quilts, and you hold your breath as you try to get comfortable. 

It’s a bit odd, sleeping with someone who you hardly know. But the thing about Hyunjin is that even though you’d only known him for a day, you feel the urge to protect him and love him. You trust him wholly, clearly, as you’d brought him home and allowed him in you and your family’s one and only safe haven. Beomgyu’s unsure questions about AI’s echo in your mind as you feel him hesitantly move closer to you and wrap a lanky arm around your shoulders, testing the waters to see if you were okay with it. You are, of course, and you lean into his hold until his chin rests above your head and your backside is flush against his front. You wouldn’t ever behave this way with a random human, you conclude, so are you trusting him solely because he isn’t? 

Perhaps, these thoughts and questions upon what is human and what is humanity are too much for your brain right before you are to sleep. You momentarily wish you were more like your friend, who was mindless enough to never even think of such complicated matters, instead focusing on things that are more physical, tangible. 

Just like the way you decided that you might come to love Hyunjin someday, you decide that it doesn’t matter if he’s an AI, and it doesn’t matter if that’s the reason you chose to trust him so eagerly, so naively. That preconceived notion that all AI’s are meant to help humans digs at your chest with guilt at your prejudice, but that’s precisely what separates you from him in the first place—that prejudice, that assumption, is what makes you human. 

But all your thoughts clear once you feel a steady hand stroke your hair, and you decide to just shut the fuck up and let the handsome robot treat you like the love of his life. 

—

“Please be safe.” 

Your mother hands you a bag full of food, enough for a little over a week. Her gaze flickers between you and Hyunjin momentarily before she pulls you into an embrace. 

“I always am,” you reassure her as you part, and she shrugs her shoulders with a tight smile on her face. 

“I know,” she says, “I know.” 

The day is bright and sunny, and you can already feel sweat trickling down the back of your neck as you and Hyunjin both climb out of the hole in the ground that you call home. Beomgyu whistles at the two of you, snickering to himself as you try to kick dirt in his face but ultimately miss as he slams the door down and twists it into place from underneath. You huff, annoyed, and your face burning with embarrassment as Hyunjin tries to hide a smile. 

“I really like your family,” he says to you after an hour or so of silence between the two of you. You’re deeper into the forest now, following the path that he had eyed the previous evening. It’s just as crowded with overgrown plants as the entrance had been, and you find yourself looking at the ground more than you want to to make sure that you don’t trip over anything and hurt yourself. The last thing that you want is to be a hindrance to Hyunjin, though you doubt he would mind it. His eagerness at your company was practically oozing out of his pores, and he kept brushing his hand against yours as the two of you walked side-by-side, making you giggle quietly at his panic whenever it happened. 

“They can be a lot sometimes—especially Beomgyu—but I do love them,” you said honestly. “I’m glad that you like them. I think they really liked you too.” 

“I hope I can come back to visit someday,” he gushes, and he swings his arms by his sides as he looks up to the sky, at the sunlight peeking through the thick canopy of trees. 

“Don’t you want to live there?” you ask. 

Hyunjin almost stops walking, tripping over his feet as he stares at you, mouth slightly agape. “You mean I can?” he asks, shocked. 

“I just assumed you would!” you laugh, slightly embarrassed about your assumption, “but… you know you’re welcome to. And if you don’t want to, that's fine too, but you can come visit any time…” You trail off, kicking aside a rather large rock that laid in the middle of the pathway. 

Hyunjin skips to catch up to you in giddy silence, cheeks flushed a pretty pink with glee. 

—

“Sometimes I wonder what happened to everyone else.” 

You turn over to face Hyunjin, the grass underneath the quilt you’d laid out crinkling from your weight on top of it. “What do you mean?” you ask, “I thought you said… they… you know. When the world ended.” 

He shakes his head, hair rustling against the blanket. “I mean the other AI’s,” he whispers, almost too quiet to hear above the soft breeze that whistles through the leaves. 

You’re silent then, feeling sorry for Hyunjin. “Were you close with them?” 

“No,” he says, “I don’t think I ever spoke to any of them.” 

—

“What does it taste like?” 

You pause, mid-chew, and stare down at the sandwich you have in your hands. It’s made of homemade bread, a little lumpy, and you swallow as you stare at the boy sitting across from you. He’s perched on a large rock above a slow-moving stream, dipping his toes into the water and watching you eat, tucked away up on the bank on your quilt. 

“Sort of like it smells—remember when it was being baked this morning? Like that, but… with texture?” 

“Eating is fascinating,” he says, looking back at you. “Humans are fascinating.” 

—

It was inevitable for things to be a little awkward with Hyunjin, you think. 

It wasn’t overly awkward—he kept conversation flowing whenever the two of you took breaks to rest your legs before continuing down the long, overgrown path—but there were times where you didn’t know exactly how to respond to him. Sometimes it was about questions that were oddly personal—not in a bad way, it was simply something that you never really thought about saying aloud to another person before. And sometimes you just didn’t know how to reply when he said something brutally honest, usually about his past with his first home. You hadn’t known what to say when he opened up about seeing the new model of AI that he was being replaced with before he was put to sleep forever. So you had simply patted his shoulder, trying to offer comfort, before staring down at the rushing river and tossing a muddy pebble into it, watching it disappear quickly beneath the foamy white water. 

And besides—you had to keep in mind that you still didn’t know him that well. Sure, you were both learning about each other more and more with every passing hour, and you definitely felt something in your chest whenever he came near you, but your mother’s words of caution about strangers kept ringing in your head whenever you thought about it too deeply. 

It was like what you were thinking of the previous night—such worries were what really made you human. As you stared at Hyunjin running his chipped fingertips over the rough bark of a tree trunk, staring up wistfully at the treetops, you wondered if he felt like that too. And if he did, was it really real, or was it just another emotion programmed into his metal body? 

He had said that the trip wasn’t too far. He remembered his first and last trip away from his first home with his human, and he said that the two of you would be there before nightfall, at the very least. You weren’t surprised that his memory had served him well as he pushed a particularly spiky tree branch out of the way, revealing a field of overgrown grass and a long, flat, gray building stood right in the middle of said field, with the sun in the West now, just a little ways away from beginning its quickening descent beneath the horizon. 

You both stand there for a moment in the clearing, and you side-eye Hyunjin, trying to be inconspicuous. You cannot see his facial expression, but you hear him exhale loudly, his nervousness clear in his awkward body language. 

“How are you feeling?” you ask tentatively, tugging on the straps of your backpack, hands searching for something to do so that they wouldn’t reach to hold his hand for comfort. 

“Weird,” he says quietly, “just… really weird.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know. I guess I thought there would be some big emotional breakdown, or breakthrough—but I don’t really feel anything. It’s been so long that even though I remember every twist and turn of this place, and I know what used to reside there, I don’t really know how to feel overall. Maybe… Maybe I’ll feel something when we go in? If we see something that is completely different? If I see something bad?” He seems to be asking himself these questions more than anything, and your fingers twitch as you want to reach for him, but you hold back yet again. 

“Do you… want to go in now?” 

“I feel like if we don’t just do it I’ll chicken out.” His lips twist into some sort of disgruntled scowl as he stares down the building. “And… if you don’t want to you don’t have to come. I already know it won’t be pleasant.” 

This time, you reach for his hand. It’s warm, and soft. You feel butterflies in your stomach as he tightens his grip on your fingers, relishing the comfort. “I came all this way,” you said, almost jokingly, and he cracks the smallest of smiles, sighing loudly afterwards. 

“Okay. Let’s do it then.” 

The front doors—they’re heavy metal double doors, with clouded over glass for windows that you can’t use to peek inside any more—are closed, but there is a long rope of thick chain that had been weaved between the long, rusted handles. But it’s been cut in half, allowing access into the building even though whoever sealed it clearly wanted everything inside to stay inside—and everything outside to stay outside. Hyunjin reaches out to pinch one of the sliced chains between his thumb and pointer finger. The edges are rough and come to a slant, leading the both of you to think that someone used a large pair of bolt cutters, or something of the sort. You make eye contact as he drops the chain and swallows hard. 

“I remember when my human woke me for the first time, they had a pair of bolt cutters,” he said, confirming your thoughts. “They must have done this.” 

He steps back, clearly a bit conflicted with this, but you push onwards—sliding the remains of the chains onto the floor. They land with a loud, echoing clank, and you push open the doors. They creak loudly, and stay even though there’s nothing to hold them open. 

Just by peering down the hall, you feel your stomach drop. There’s no lighting any more—the only reason you can see down the hall at all is because of the sunlight streaming in through the now open front doors—which is now waning too, as the late afternoon sun settles comfortably in the low sky. You also have no idea how to navigate this place, so you look to Hyunjin, who has finally stepped inside besides you, one hand raised and pressed against the left wall. 

“We should be quick,” he whispers, “I have a feeling it won’t be any nicer in the darkness.” 

His words chill you to the bone—there’s a lost eeriness in his voice, a newfound hollowness, and you feel goosebumps arise on your flesh as you nod. 

Hyunjin tries to shake off that feeling and walks down the long hallway, memories flooding his head and threatening to spill out of his facial crevices—whether out of his mouth in word vomit or through his eyes in the form of orange, rusty tears, he does not know. And he does not want to find out. 

As you progress down that first hallway, you realize that there are framed pieces of paper on the wall. Upon further inspection, you realize that there are paintings beneath those dusty pieces of glass—Hyunjin’s paintings, the ones he had mentioned before. You stop and use your sleeve to rub away at some of the grime that had settled on the surface of the frame, revealing a flat-pressed piece of thick paper with dashes of color all over it. When you stepped back a little, the image was much clearer—it was a couple, a man and a woman, both elderly, with their arms wrapped around each other in an embrace. It made your heart throb painfully as you turned your gaze back to Hyunjin, who had wiped away at the dust on another framed art piece, and was staring at a faded pencil drawing of what looked to be himself. 

“These—these are yours, right?” you ask, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “These are the ones you were telling me about.” 

Hyunjin’s eyebrows furrow as he yanks the pencil drawing off the wall, face contorted with a mix of emotions—and he shatters the frame against the wall. Splinters of glass rain down on his forearms, sticking to the loose threads on his sleeves and cascading down to the floor, skittering across the linoleum. “Yes,” he says stiffly, pulling the piece of paper out of the splintering wooden frame and tossing its remains onto the floor alongside the glass shards. “I want to keep them. Is that selfish?” 

Without a second thought, you smash the frame you’re holding against the wall too, and it breaks in the same way as his did. “No,” you say defiantly, and you open your bag, holding it out to him. “Let’s take them all.” 

His gaze flickers down to your hands, which have a few miniscule cuts on them from the glass, and he presses his lips together as he caresses them gently before taking your bag and placing both pieces inside. He doesn’t offer the bag back, carrying it on one shoulder as the two of you break all the frames in sight and tuck his beautiful paintings and drawings carefully stacked on top of one another. 

Hyunjin cradles one arm around the bag, and gropes the air with his other hand, looking for you as he stares ahead. You hold his hand, fingers curling around his, and follow his gaze. You see eight doors with flickering lights—odd, because there are absolutely no other lights still on in this place—or really, anywhere else in the world, you’re pretty sure. Seven of the eight lights are red. 

One is green. 

The green light is on the fourth door, smack in the middle of all the doors. You feel Hyunjin’s fingers go slack as he walks towards the door, shoes shuffling against the floor as he drags his feet, and you can sense his dread and hesitance. 

You follow him silently, and once you reach the door you’re easily able to read the five symbols on the right hand side: 

HHJ-00. 

Hyunjin inhales sharply as he twists the doorknob. The door swings open easily, as if it had been no longer than ten minutes since the last time its inhabitant had lived within its walls. It is completely dark in the room, but from the faint light emanating from the hallway you can squint and make out a few basic shapes. You see a bed in the center of the room, the headboard pushed up against the wall opposite the door. It looks more like a hospital bed than a normal one, you notice, with thin linen sheets and crackly paper pillowcases. The room is full of more art, this time without frames. You can see it better as Hyunjin walks in and picks up the pieces. Plenty are only half-done or even less, with blank spaces between faded colors and smudged darkness. Wordlessly, he tucks those away in the bag too. 

On the left side of the room, there is a singular small white desk, which was where most of the paintings were laid. There’s also a small cup with paintbrushes and a few palettes of crusted over old paints. Hyunjin doesn’t bother sweeping those into the bag, but lingers on the brushes for a moment before pushing them into the bag too. You watch as he drags his finger across the surface of the desk, collecting mostly dust, but small fragments of charcoal dust too. 

The charcoal is nowhere to be found. 

On the other side, there is one set of drawers. Each drawer has a peeling label that has an item of clothing—the top one says shirts, the next one says pants, and so on. You want to urge Hyunjin to take some of the clothes—he’d been wearing those threadbare items ever since you met him, and you’re sure long before that too—but he completely ignores the entire right side of the room and exits after taking his art supplies. 

He’s looking around the hallway like there’s something else that’s supposed to be here; even though he explicitly said he knew things would be different, the pain in his eyes is an entirely new kind of heartbreak. 

But then he sees something and his heart leaps—a singular piece of paper lodged on the opposite side of the door, caught between the rusting hinges near the top. 

He breaks his silence, bursting out breathily. “What do you think it is?” he asks, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty halls. 

“It could be anything,” you say honestly—but you fear that it’ll be nothing. 

You watch Hyunjin’s silver fingertips scrabble against the nearly ancient edges of the paper, parts of it crumbling as he tries to unfold it. You lean in to try and see what it is, heart pounding in your chest, so loud you can hear it in your ears. You want nothing less than to see Hyunjin’s disappointment. 

There is one drawing and one word on the paper. 

A large, messy green circle—and the word, the name ‘Doctor’ in a messy scrawl. 

Hyunjin’s knees crack against the floor as he falls, the fragile piece of paper fluttering through the still air for a moment before falling alongside him, right-side-up. He buries his hands in his hair, mussing it and tangling the strands between his long appendages. 

You don’t know what to say—sorry, it’s okay, I’m here for you—it all sounds so hollow. 

So you drop to your knees too and take his hands away from his aching scalp, holding those inhumanly smooth hands in yours that are covered in dirt and small cuts, and bring them to your lips, kissing them gently as he lets out a sob. It’s loud—it echoes more than his eagerness, his hopefulness—and you watch as his beautiful pale skin turns orange from his tear tracks, rustiness spilling down his peachy cheeks. 

“Let’s go home,” you say loudly, kissing his fingertips. 

“It’s your home,” he snaps weakly. 

“It’s our home now,” you say firmly, and with that, Hyunjin is taken back a century to the first time he met his human—and he’s so overcome with conflict and emotion for a moment—the ephemeral and Earth-shattering realization that human life is ever so fleeting, and one day you and everyone in your family home will end up like his human. 

But it fades away in the next moment, because that’s what makes him inhuman, and he wipes his eyes roughly, confused but strangely comforted by your loyalty, and says, “Okay. Let’s go home, my human.” 

He presses his forehead to yours and squeezes his eyes shut. It feels like his heart is full of splintered glass and the smell of overripe apples invades his nostrils—but he knows that as short as human lives are, you are choosing to spend it with him. And for now, and maybe forever, that is enough. 

DIVIDER CREDIT | @firefly-graphics

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