#this one was HARD to get done for some reason

[rain-spice]

Happy disability pride month! I can say why all of that happens for all of these, as a subtitler/transcriber, and the reason is always ✨late-stage capitalism✨ (in most cases)

Bear in mind that I am also disabled, I also need subtitles, and I don't work in the US, and despite being a transcriber, all of these make me angry as well, on top of AI stealing my job, but that's a whole other can of worms.

I'm also not saying that all subtitles are good. There are some genuinely bad subtitlers out there. Not naming names but one of my colleagues was asked if his were written and placed by an AI (they were not, and I know that as we were in the same co-working space).

"fuck the [speaks foreign language] instead of actually transcribing the words"

In my country, you're not allowed to write this sort of subtitle in both "classic" subtitles and SDH (subtitles for the deaf and hard-of-hearing) - as, no, they're not the same.

But for countries where it is allowed, just like every industry, we're not given enough time to properly research what a character is saying before we're supposed to hand in the subtitle file, and it's often the best solution to avoid sending in an incomplete file.

The one I don't get is [music]. Yeah. There's music, buddy. And that's also not allowed. At least where I come from.

If there are lyrics, then they must be written down as a subtitle. If it's a song that was not written for the movie, look up lyrics online. If it's a song written for the show and they're not written down as subtitles, then the subtitler/transcriber didn't do their job and their boss failed to send them a script.*

*We're supposed to get scripts when we subtitle a show/documentary/movie/etc. I've worked on about 15 projects so far: two had scripts and they were some of my best work. Six had AI voice-to-text transcriptions they had the audacity to call "scripts" (which were not useful in the slightest). The rest? I'm still waiting for their scripts and the projects are done and shipped.

If there are no lyrics and you're writing SDH, you can't just write "[music]." If it's not a known song (which you would write as "[On Green Dolphin Street - Miles Davis]" in my country--yes the color is important), and the music is central to the scene (like the Psycho music in the bathroom scene) then you need to add a little bit of description. "[Shrill music]", "[calm music]", "[techno music]", etc.

"fuck shortening sentences and changing whats been said for no reason,"

There are a few rules we have to follow as subtitlers/transcribers:

you're not allowed to go over a certain number of letters per subtitle, based on the length of the subtitle and the average reading speed.

(^ This changes with every contract. I was used to 12 letters per second and 37 per line, but my last contract was 10 letters per second but 40 per line, punctuation included, and never more than two lines.)

You're not allowed to leave a subtitle onscreen for more than two cuts, unless a cut in the middle is less than 20 images long.

You need a few images between two subtitles. (I was used to 4, with 3 images before and after a cut, but my last contract was 8 with 4 images before and after a cut.)

Why do I talk about images? Because every professionnal software in my country (EZtitles being the industry standard) work with image-based timecodes and not millisecond-based timecodes, as they're more precise. So a timecode that's written as 00:12:15:07 reads as 00 hour, 12 minutes, 15 seconds, and 07 images.

As you can imagine, with so little wiggle room, we have to modify sentences to convey what is being said but shorten it to an acceptable length.

Length isn't the only reason why we modify some sentences. Sometimes a joke only works in the source language, so you need to find another joke that fits in the target language. Or adapt an insult (those are always fun but more on that later). Etc.

"fuck censoring swearing in captions but not in audio"

Capitalism strikes again! We're not allowed to write what we want in our own subtitles and platforms (TV and/or streaming) don't always have the same censorship rules.

This one makes me the most angry. If you're watching a show with profanity, just use profanity. "Oh think of the kids--" tell them to go play in their room or something. Not my problem.

But no. Platforms censor us!

In a nondescript example, I had to transcribe the word "bitch." If I was allowed to say whatever I wanted, I would have used "chienne" or "connasse" (one is a direct translation but less intense, the other has the same intensity). But no! This TV channel was like "ummm... the only word you can use for that is "garce." ("Hussy")

Ok fine I'll use garce I have bills to pay and a hamster to feed.

They also had strict rules regarding proper terms for genitalia, even in documentaries, which is basically them insulting their audience's intelligence :/

"fuck anyone who says youre being 'too sensitive' for being upset about a lack of accessibility"

You have every single right to be upset and angry about a lack of accessibility! 🤝

Final words:

Subtitlers/transcribers don't receive proper training anymore (the university I went to closed down and it was one of the best in my country) and with AI it's hard to find companies willing to train students.

We're severely underpaid and overworked, please keep using subtitles so my colleagues and I can pay rent.

If anyone has any questions I'd be very happy to answer them!

Tl;dr: The issue is, and always will be, late-stage capitalism and censorship.

*Aside from a few creative liberties due to a limited number of letters on screen and cultural differences between the source and target language(s).

Anyway, happy disability pride month! We're here to stay ✨💪

happy disability pride month and once again, FUCK lazy subtitles. fuck the [speaks foreign language] instead of actually transcribing the words, fuck shortening sentences and changing whats been said for no reason, fuck censoring swearing in captions but not in audio and fuck anyone who says youre being 'too sensitive' for being upset about a lack of accessibility

[rainydaygotham]

AT THE MOVIES

Dick Grayson x GN Reader

Summary: You get a little frisky in a matinee with your boyfriend. Well, a lot frisky. Can they blame you? It’s Dickie.

Warnings: pwp, semi-public sex, handjob, hero name kink?, dick worship (pun intended)

A/n: I’ve had a rough week and I NEED to give this man a handjob. For some reason my period is making me horny af

It’s dark in the theater, and because it’s 3pm on a Monday, there’s no one else in the theater. Well, except that one guy who sat up in the very front. You and Dick, being people of culture, took the back row.

It’s nice. You know how (relatively) nice theater seats are now, essentially being those little recliners with the middle you can move to make it a loveseat. You’ve nestled your head in the crook of Dick’s neck, and he leans on you, practically purring like a cat.

You don’t know what you’re watching. You haven’t paid attention the entire time and you won’t be anytime soon. You’ve got one thing on your mind: Dick. Both capitalized and uncapitalized.

You’ve never done anything like this in a public place before, but hey, there’s a first time for everything. The theater is dark, the movie is loud, and you’re feeling bold.

You drifted your hand to the place between Dick’s legs, watching as he feigned nonchalance.

You cupped his package through his jeans. You looked back up at him. He just stared blankly ahead, trying really hard to pay attention. You don’t know why he’s still trying. That movie? Boring. This? Much more interesting.

You continued groping him, gently feeling and squeezing. He was getting stiffer as you traced the tip of your finger over the outline of his cock through the fabric. You lingered over the tip, delicately drawing a spiral over it. Dick’s breath hitched.

You gave a gentle pat to his inner thigh, bumping against his cock again as you pulled your hand back to your own side of the chair. You pretended to go back to watching the movie, just to make him squirm.

Sure enough, after a moment, Dick shifted in his seat, casually making a bit more room for an uncomfortable erection.

You thought about feigning disinterest for a little bit longer but nah, you’re too impatient and horny to torture your boy any longer. Your hands groped in the dark to find the button on his jeans, quickly undoing it and slowly unzipping them as to not make noise. Thankfully some car zoomed by on the screen. A chase scene, but you’ve already apprehended your suspect.

Dick let out a tiny gasp as you snaked your hand into his jeans, wrapping your hand around his member. You started stroking him slowly, more feeling him in your palm than anything. His skin was tender and soft, you kept stroking him just to feel that beautiful skin glide against yours.

Dick shuddered as he did everything in his power to keep quiet. You weren’t a fan of that, but you weren’t a fan of getting a flashlight shone on you more, so you’ll have to wait to hear him later.

You ghosted your mouth over the shell of his ear, and he bit his lip, “You’re being such a good boy for me, now, aren’t you?”

Dick stifled a whimper. You let your hand stray to his tip, collecting precum on your fingers and smearing it down his shaft.

“Yeah, just like that. You’ll stay quiet for me, won’t you Wing?”

Okay, maybe that was being a little too mean, calling him by his hero name like that. Especially while you’re still going at such a slow teasing pace. He scrunched up his nose, eyes shut tight.

But there’s at least half an hour left in this movie, you’re gonna take your time with him.

You could feel the vein along his cock, the pulse that throbbed in your hand. You gave him a gentle squeeze and heard Dick suck the air between his teeth. God, feeling him up was addictive.

You know what needs a little love? His balls. You’re sadly neglecting them right now.

You begrudgingly let go of his cock to drift downwards to scoop a handful of his heavy sack. You pull away and then come back to cup his balls again, just to feel them gently come to rest in your hand. Dick nuzzled his face into your neck, all pretenses of watching a movie abandoned. Very gently, you began to roll the flesh around in your palm.

Shifting your attention back to his member, you gave him a few strokes a bit faster than you’d been going. Dick squirmed in the crook of your neck, his fluffy hair and the noticeable stubble on his cheeks tickling you.

Back to that deliciously slow torture, you stopped, taking a moment to admire the weight of him in your palm. You traced your fingertips along the ridge of where his head met his shaft, all the way around. You took an extra moment to tease that little sweet spot and Dick literally started biting his hand to muffle the moan that slipped out.

“Baby,” he pouted.

The light of the movie screen shone on his pretty blue eyes as he frustratedly glared at you. It was hard for him to look intimidating when he was the world’s most adorable man. Nevertheless, you conceded.

Although, it would be fun to edge him for the rest of the runtime, only allowing him to come once the credits rolled…

You looked back at his pouty face.

Nah. He’s a good boy. He deserves a treat.

You spit in your hand. Time for things to get good.

Sliding the spit over his shaft, your hungry hands took their fill a lot faster now. Dick hid his face in your shoulder again. You tightened your grip as you dragged your fist around his cock, and it was a bit more intense. In a slight panic he looked for something that wasn’t his poor already chewed up hand to stuff in his mouth, and he settled on his hoodie’s hood. Worked like a charm, and was conveniently by his mouth anyway, he just had to pull the fabric between his teeth. Good. There was no way he was going to be able from making loud pornographic sounds otherwise.

His cock was leaking so much pre, and the slick sounds were getting a bit, uh, noticeable. Thank heavens some loud ass action sequence was happening. The music got faster and everything.

Dick’s hips started doing sloppy little thrusts up into your hand, and you knew he was getting close. You moved along with him, helping him reach that peak. A flick of your thumb over the head of his cock and he was bursting in your hand. Thankfully, the action film you were ignoring provided a loud, fiery explosion to cover up the sound of Dick crying out as he came.

You rode it out with him, stroking him until every last aftershock was through. Dropping the fabric from his mouth, Dick took his face out of the crook of your neck, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes.

Trying to steady his breathing, Dick huffed, “I… think I needed that,”

You took your hand out of his pants, reaching up to lick the semen off of your fingers. You savored the salty taste of him as you sensually cleaned yourself. Dick glanced away in an attempt to not get turned on again.

“Mmm. Me too,”

(And then you hastily left the theater while that one guy waited for the end credits scene lmao. Freaks)

[rebeccathenaturalist]

So DC finally figured out how to make a *fun* Superman movie that holds up with the best of what the MCU created on their end.

No serious spoilers here, but I do have to say that I LOVE how much Gunn drew heavily from Morrison's All-Star Superman run, because Morrison did such an amazing job of making a relatable, human Superman. I'm not a fan of various attempts to make Supes gritty and edgy. I mean, I get why for example the Injustice alt-reality was a chance to explore what would happen if the world's most powerful metahuman went wholly totalitarian, asking the same questions as The Watchmen and Captain America: Civil War. And I know the reasons behind Supes' long hair and black suit post-resurrection in the 1990s. There are good reasons to explore his alienness, that he's from an entirely different planet and that will always set him apart a bit--so long as we remember he grew up on Earth, among humans, and that counts for at least as much.

But it feels like when the first Snyder/Cavill Superman movie came out a decade and change ago, the DC movies were already trying too hard to be the anti-MCU--dark and moody and titanic instead of colorful and full of comedy breaking up the tension. There's also the fact that they had to overcome the legacy of Reeve's Superman performances in the 1970s, which were fun and experimental and still hold up really well even almost half a century later. The small-screen Smallville, and the one-off Singer/Routh that followed, also hearkened more to a positive, heroic (if imperfect) character. So it's kind of inevitable that someone would eventually decide they needed to reboot Superman on the big screen in a way that was the opposite of what had been done before.

I just....that's not my Superman. To me, he's always going to be the guy the other characters call the Big Blue Boy Scout, and for good reason. Sure, it may seem hokey when he manages to save yet another school bus from plunging into a river, or catch a falling building about to squash an old lady walking her little dog. But that's the essence of who he is. Behind the red S is Clark Kent, the good-natured farm boy from Smallville, Kansas who was taught by Ma and Pa Kent to respect others and to make the world a better place, who understands the immense power he has and decides to save lives and improve the lot of others. In a world where most of us have very little power on a global scale, and those who do have power seem intent on only using it to gain more for themselves at the expense of everyone else, there's a real wish-fulfillment fantasy as we imagine having the power to stop the bad guys, save the day, and hopefully make the sun shine a little brighter at the end of it.

And I see that so much in the Gunn/Corenswet Superman movie. There are some great callbacks to Reeve, to All-Star Superman, and even a bit of the tone of Smallville. There are the epic battles, the great saves, the iconic poses, the classic suit and cape. There are angsty moments, and tension, and moral dilemmas, and some good questions about what impact a superhero would really have in our world. But there's also our hero just being a human being, imperfect and sometimes kind of awkward, and absolutely relatable. He's Clark Kent the reporter because he's gotta have a job to pay bills, not just to create an elaborate cover-up for Superman. Like Spider-Man (well, Spidey before Tony Stark decided to make Peter Parker his protege), he's not a billionaire with tons of resources at his beck and call. We can relate to him more easily than Stark or Bruce Wayne or even Oliver Queen.

Most importantly--this Superman comes across as written by someone who's read and loved the comics, and the core of who this character is. He's our reminder to always strive to be better, kinder, more compassionate, even to those who may be considered enemies. He stops the danger, but he tries to find reasonable, humane solutions--this is not a Superman who kills, even when other characters warrant that's the only thing to be done. He demonstrates very clearly where he is motivated by a deep desire to end suffering and save lives, no matter how humble, and even if we see him at a still young, naive stage of his adulthood, his heart is in the right place. But even an older, more experienced Superman in the comics doesn't fall prey to cynicism: that heart is still there, compelling him to always strive to make the world a better place for everyone.

And I think we need that hope, more than ever. We need to be able to imagine a world where war is averted, disasters curtailed, and the life of every person walking this planet valued equally. Even if we don't have superpowers to make that happen, and we have to deal with the real world as it is, our stories are what give our imaginations fuel. Imagination sparks creativity, and creativity gives rise to solutions. Around the world there are so, so many people working to try to create a better world for everyone, and I see this movie as not only an incredibly faithful adaptation of the comics, but a message of hope and resilience to everyone who chooses to act in kindness and compassion toward our fellow humans.

(P.S. On a totally different note, I am so glad Nathan Fillion finally got to play Guy Gardner. Anthony Carrigan absolutely nails the perfect Metamorpho. And this movie has my favorite versions of both Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen EVER.)

[fairestwriting]

idk if you've done a prompt like thus so ignore it if you have but idia shroud x s/o who he was online dating and meets up w/ at a con?

Is that too specific?

not too specific dw!! i've done a Kinda similar scenario post before but it was a few years ago, so i thought i might as well do an updated hc version..

𐙚 Idia Shroud

He stares at your message on his screen in shock, asking if he wanted to meet up at the con you two were planning on going to. He did want to ask you to meet up, pretty much as soon as you mentioned you were going to that exact convention, but the thought of bringing it up was just too nervewracking for him.

The time it takes for him to answer might feel worrying. You might wonder if he didn't like the idea. It was pretty sudden, and it'd be a pretty big jump from the video calls that already made him quite nervous...

...And that's the reason he eventually gets it together (barely) and rushes to type a reply confirming that yes, he'll be there. It's soon followed up with a joke about how you have to promise you won't be too disappointed, which is really just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to all the anxiety-ridden scenarios running through his head.

One could truly only imagine the places Idia's mind goes to over the days preceding your meeting. He still sounds pretty much the same over text, but you know him at this point. He'll find a way to worry about things that might not even make sense to himself later on. Mainly he wonders if it'll just turn out to be an elaborate prank, and he'll end up looking like an idiot.

Soon the day of the con comes, and even though he's spent the entire night vaguely considering to make up some excuse, just because he's so nervous, Idia bites the bullet and makes his way to the spot you planned to meet at. He shoves his shaky hands in his pockets and takes a deep breath. If you were just pranking him, he might as well get it over with quickly—

When your face comes into view, it's like the crowds of con goers around you disappear. The way your eyes light up when you notice him replays in his mind over and over. "Uhm, hey... I hope you remember you promised to... n-not be disappointed." He eventually manages to say, smiling awkwardly.

It's hard to hear anyone over the noise of the con, yet somehow Idia never misses any of your words. He'd pinch himself if he wasn't too aware that it'd make him look crazy. You eventually start walking around together, talking about your favorite games, and the awkwardness slowly melts into the usual cozy silliness of your calls.

His nervousness never fully leaves, it is the first time you’re seeing each other in person after all. But he’d wanted to spend time with you like that for so long, most of it starts to just fade to make room for all the excitement and fondness. Ah, and you look even cuter than you do through a screen, he dreamily sighs in his mind… only to realize he didn’t do that in his mind at all, and now you’re both blushing. So much that the flames of hair surrounding his face turn pink at the tips, and you can’t help but giggle at how endearing he is.

You keep walking and talking, looking at anything that interests either of you. And to his surprise, and maybe yours too, it really doesn’t feel too different from the time you spent talking to — and loving — each other over the internet. It’s just a warmer version if it. At one point your hands brush together, and even though he’s still a bit nervous, he reaches for yours first, lacing your fingers with a smile equally as bright as the blush on his face… and after that, it’s just a regular date. The first of many, he hopes, already imagining all sorts of others. He knows he’ll be nervous to ask to meet up again, but after having you this close to him for the first time, he just can’t let it be a one time thing.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[controlledchaos1342-blog]

message to people like me who grew up not really able to get into the whole "brush your teeth every day" thing due to it 'feeling weird' even when the flavor of the toothpaste was perfectly acceptable:

soft bristle brushes are a god-send and annoyingly enough *never* going to be what gets given in those stupid tiny packets that get handed to ten-year olds after the silly psa's that tell you how important dental hygiene is. even if you can't tell why exactly it feels 'wrong' while trying to do the 'good human survival thing' it would still be worth giving this sort of stuff a shot

i don't know why the hard bristles are a thing, my best guess is that for people that can stand them they might actually do a better job of cleaning but if that *is* the case then there's still the matter that a half-assed job is better then a not-done job, especially since the reason we don't just use those doggy dental chews for ourselves is that they're literally damaging to us and thus accommodating for more sensitive teeth/gums/whatever can very likely be the difference between healthy mouths vs slowly stripping your own enamel with a 'good habit'

sorry about the rant but the fact that psa's and dentist visits would always give the default hard-bristle brushes without once ever mentioning that some people might need the soft-bristles ones managed to convince child-me that i was inherently failing at basic human things and then later upset my mom because it made her feel like she failed at mothering me due to the habit never sticking

Okay listen I have another disability related thing that’s important!!

If you have any disabilities linked to tooth decay/erosion, through direct cause or secondary symptom, it is vital that you get one or both of the following items: Sensodyne toothpaste and enamel repair mouthwash

This includes health conditions such as acid reflux, diabetes, thyroid conditions, fibromyalgia, chronic pain & mental illnesses such as depression that create poor hygiene routines, sensory issue disorders like autism and ADHD, and any health condition that causes frequent vomiting / increased stomach acid, including eating disorders and migraines.

All of these disabilities will erode the enamel of your teeth, not only opening you up to cavities but making it very easy to chip your teeth from such simple things as biting the wrong way on the tines of a fork. (I’ve chipped my teeth at least 4 times this way).

The toothpaste on the left here (sensodyne pronamel) is gentle on your teeth, won’t cause painful sensations from any extreme mint flavor, and will even protect your gums if they’re sensitive from any of these conditions.

The mouthwash on the right (Crest enamel repair) will, as it says, repair your enamel — which is marvelous, because the technology to repair your enamel at all is relatively very new to society! — but it is most importantly non-alcoholic. Meaning that it works well as a once-a-day rinse without any of the burning sensations of antiseptics that typically discourage people with sensory issues from taking care of their teeth.

I know remembering to do these things every day can feel like a lot when you’re sick and exhausted, but I promise a collective three minutes out of every day is going to save you an incredible amount of pain and money in the future. If your teeth are susceptible enough to rot, you can actually die from infection. And as they say, with how little insurance actually covers dental —

Not brushing your teeth??

In THIS economy???

[tryonfemme]

✮🕷✮⋆˙ not so funny

spider!ellie williams x neighbor!barista!reader

chapter 2 ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ liar's drink

⚡︎ series summary: ellie promised herself she wouldn't let anyone else get hurt because of her secret identity—which is why she hasn't dated in six years. she doesn't need to date. but for some reason her new next door neighbor won't leave her mind, in a friendly way. god ellie hopes it is a friendly way.

✮ overall content of series: soooo much pining, fem!reader, grief, the loss of a partner, death, language, conversations of homophobia, mental health, drug use, alcohol use, hurt/comfort, disaster lesbians, sunshine!reader, slightly grumpy but more so awkward! ellie, reader & ellie are both 26.

word count: 8.9k

a/n: woot woot chapter two yay yay yay!! this one is longer, so i hope y'all love it :D

₊˚.🕸️🕷️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ᶻ

series m.list

previous / next

august 12th 

6:13 am

ellie woke up pissed. 

which wasn’t a rare occurrence for her. she felt the pile of sweat under her and her face half stuck to the pillow— a mixture of sweat and droll.

for a moment, she didn’t move. instead she just stared at the ceiling above her; it spun in slow, lazy circles but she was sure that air wasn’t circulating. ellie’s head ached like she'd been out drinking — yet she hadn’t touched anything other than mint tea. 

ellie couldn’t shake away the honey-sugar-shampoo smell that was still lingering on her shirt.

she rolled onto her side. groaning as she immediately regretted it. 

her body ached—sore in a way she couldn’t justify. she hadn’t patrolled for long last night and even on patrol, all she had done was stop a bike robbery which she had found out was the guy’s actual bike. this could only mean that her body was punishing her for feeling somewhat close to happy. awesome. 

by 7:00 am she had forced herself to be up. a splash of cold water on her face—a simple remedy to wake up.  

she could feel the weight of the barely started day on her shoulders. it already felt like too much. ellie had woken up feeling off, and maybe it was because she had felt close to happy last night. at least the closest she had felt in awhile. it wasn’t the fake it till you make it happy; it was the happy that lingered in your stomach. 

but ellie williams didn’t happy. she didn’t do meet cutes with the suspiciously soft looking neighbor who had a honey-smile. she didn’t think about girls like you—she avoided girls like you, because falling for you would end in her crying like a baby. 

her happiness could be defined by beer and cigarette with dina and jesse. it was too dangerous to let people in. she wouldn’t have another person get hurt because of her—she wouldn’t let someone else die. 

throwing on black jeans that hung on her waist; shit she needed to eat more. a buttoned short sleeve blouse, shoving her socked feet into the rattiest converse anyone has ever seen. auburn hair half up in a bun because she swore if she felt hair on her neck, she would have a panic attack. 

ellie looked at herself in the mirror, blinking hard. she shook her head. then she shoved her spider-suit into her backpack and grabbed onto her camera bag.

ellie knew it was gonna be a long day. everyday was a long day for her. but she felt the length drag whenever she stepped outside her front door and made eye contact with the little engraved ‘512’ on your front door. 

and so what if she decided to swing by the little coffee shop on sixth?

it was no one’s business but hers. even if she did hate coffee.

7:45 am

you were in the midst of wiping down the counter. you watched as the rag went from a sunshine yellow into a brown, transforming into the liquid it absorbed. and the small view made you smile, because hell this is the life you dreamed for.

being a business owner. feeling like you had a purpose. it was tedious and sometimes you felt like your whole world was going to shatter beneath you—but fuck you had worked for it and you were allowed to dawn that feeling of pride.

in the midst of restocking the milk fridge, you heard the soft opening of the employee door in the back. straightening yourself out, you pulled down the red sweater that was hung on your body. 

“you are late anderson,” you called out projecting to the back, a shit-eating grin displayed on the face of an angel. 

and guilty as charged, abby stuck her head out from the side of the door. looking at you with a glint of something in her eyes. “sorry boss, but can’t i just say you look mighty fine in cherry red.” 

“you can’t flirt your way out of being in trouble.” 

abby shook her head now fully walking behind the counter—taking herself to the espresso machine, getting herself a shot. “well shit, guess i’m fired.” she teased as she went to take the shot of liquid. 

you watched as she threw her head back; downing the liquid in a big gulp. watching as she slightly winced at the heat. eyes meeting yours. that fucking anderson smile.

“god stop undressing me with your eyes y/n,” abby nudged your shoulder as she reached for the opening checklist. the way she held the clipboard almost masked the amount of times she had stared at it cursing it out. 

you shook your head; “you wish.” 

abby winked at you before grabbing a pen off the counter, already scrabbling something on the checklist—she had halfway memorized it and halfway despised it. 

you couldn’t help but note that she looked good today. well she looked good most days—if you were attracted to the ‘ex-softball-player-who-could-break-your-back-and-then-read-you-to-sleep’ kind of thing. 

and you couldn’t lie, you had thought about it once or twice. maybe even three times.

but something about abby was too easy. it was too safe. and everything you had ever done in your life had been safe. so you could pass on it this time around.

you had stepped around her, going to double check the pastry case. chocolate chip muffins that were slightly crooked, croissants looking almost melted into each other as if they were a family. it was all perfect. it was perfect because it was yours.

you heard the oven beep—cinnamon rolls ready. grabbing onto the tray, sniffing softly as the sweet scent of fresh sweetness and the spiciness of cinnamon. placing them in the display case, trying to find the middle ground between something being perfect and something being imperfect. 

as you went to put the last roll in the case—you heard the soft sound of the bell above the door. eyes fluttering up and shit you couldn’t believe it. 

there she was. 

ellie walked in, all sharp angles and tension. shoulders hunched slightly and covered by the obviously thrifted blouse, her camera bag was slung over one shoulder while her other hand was stuffed awkwardly in the front right pocket of her jeans. her hair was half up; the bun was messy as if she had lost a fight halfway through and decided it was the fair compromise. and her eyes—so fucking green you could get lost in them—they sleep deprived and darting around, observing the cafe as if she had regretted walking in already.

“good morning,” you spoke, hoping to not sound too eager—but chipper and cheery, you could even say bubbly. 

ellie’s eyes snapped up to you. she blinked as if she expected you to not say anything at all. “morning.” complete opposite of you.

a tension lingered in the air; all of unspoken words, thoughts, what could be, what ifs. someone could feel the tense from miles away. the hairs on ellie’s arms stuck straight up, before she shivered letting the feeling go.

abby was the one to break the silence, leaning on the counter with her head titled. “can we get you something?” she eyed ellie up and down with her words.

ellie hesitated. because she came in expecting to see you, but she hadn’t fully planned out what she was gonna do once she got inside. and she sure as hell hadn’t expected your co-worker to be abby—someone she had run into at the local gym a few times, or at the tiny lesbian bar that dina and jesse loved to bring ellie to. it was the bar she had met cat at. and fuck she hadn’t expected to feel so out of place, so overwhelmed by the sweet smell of vanilla and espresso and…you.

god you looked good in red and the denim skirt you wore cut off at the meatiest part of your thigh.

fuck, ellie was a perv.

“uh,” she started to speak but she felt her throat dry up, her voice cracking. “i’ll just…get whatever she recommends.” ellie used her pointer finger to gesture your way. she hadn’t even looked in your direction, which made the words somehow worse. more charged. less casual.

abby raised an eyebrow at her, eyes darting between the two of them, lips twisting into a smug smile.

“dangerous game, freckles,” she said, tapping her pen against the register. “she doesn’t fuck around about coffee.”

ellie shuddered at the nickname, before giving the smallest shrug imaginable. “i trust her.”

you choked on your sip of water, attempting to cover it up with a weak cough.

abby looked at you. she noticed. she always seemed to notice.

“bold,” she muttered, swinging a rag over her shoulder, stepping aside for you. “all yours, boss.”

you stepped up to the register, giving abby a soft smile as she passed by. wiping your hands on the rag that hung from your apron. you didn’t meet ellie’s eyes yet. not because you didn’t want to—but because you really did want to. those green eyes could distract you from it all.

“so,” you spoke with a certain softness. “do you like coffee?” you laughed softly because the question felt so silly slipping past your tongue. last night this same girl had pounded on your door ready to scream at you, and now here she stood in your cafe at 7:52 am; practically vibrating out of her skin–and trusting you with her order. it felt electric. 

she looked at you. and her eyes were all sharp lashes and just spiraling thoughts. they held something murky. not dark, exactly. but foggy, like glasses that hadn’t been wiped properly in months. 

she shrugged, bouncing from foot to foot as if it physically hurt to stand still. “not really,” she admitted, she said it sheepishly like admitting the fact would have her killed. “i kinda fucking hate it.”

your smile twitched even wider, “well shit that is deeply insulting.”

she smirked right back, eyes going to the ground, “i mean i tried to like it once, in college. just made me feel like i was going to shit myself and i failed my chem final.”

you looked at her for a moment before suddenly you laughed; it was full of light and completely unfiltered. the kind of laugh that made your stomach hurt.

from behind you, abby snorted.

and butterflies completely erupted in ellie’s stomach. she blinked watching you laugh—and if it wasn’t utterly creepy, she’d take her phone out in this moment and click record to just capture how your happy sounded.

“that is a gold mine story.” you spoke coming down from your laughing fit.

“had to learn the hard way that coffee and i dont fuck with each other.”  ellie shrugged, feeling her lips twitching.

then there was a pause—not an uncomfortable one, but rather one of knowing. ellie’s face looked as if she hadn’t meant to share that piece of information about herself, but she didn’t look as if she regretted it. it was the kind of truth that cracked open the smallest door. not wide enough to see through it, but enough to know that there was something behind it. 

“so, what does a non-coffee drinker want at a coffee shop?” you asked gently.

ellie’s frows burrowed like you were asking her how to solve a calculus equation. “I dunno, something sweet, but not too sweet. but still passable as that i am an adult and am doing something in adult fashion.”

you hummed, tapping your fingers on the counter before reaching for a to-go cup. “sooo, a liar’s drink?”

she blinked. “a what?” 

you grinned, “the kind of drink a person orders when they want to look cool in front of someone, but they actually just hate coffee.”

ellie stared at you for a beat too long, “you’re kinda mean.”

you’re kinda mean.

you bit your lip at her words, feigning offense as you poured oat milk into the cup. “i’m not mean. i’m honest. very big difference.”

ellie raised an eyebrow, “brutally honest.”

“brutual is subjective.”

ellie stared at you—like really stared at you—for what could be considered a weird amount of time. and it made your hands move faster, like if you didn’t finish the drink in a certain amount of time you would short-circuit under her gaze.

you popped the lid onto the cup and slid it across the counter to her. “There. I made you a dirty chai with oat milk. two shots, one full caff, one decaf. extra vanilla, dash of cinnamon. it should be a little sweet, a little spicy, and still crafts the illusion of maturity.”

ellie looked down at it suspiciously, “you sure it won’t kill me?”

“no promises, but my end goal is to keep all of my customers alive.”

from behind you, abby barked out a laugh, “freckles, that is called customer service.”

ellie’s eyes cut to abby. her jaw twitched—not with anger, maybe just sheer annoyance, and the usual tightness she wore like armor.

you watched her as she picked up the cup, her fingers grazing the spot yours had been just moments ago. her lips pressed into a flat line. then she took a small sip. 

and blinked.

then she blinked again. 

“...it doesn’t suck,” she muttered, almost like it hurt to fully admit it. a soft smile broke onto her face. 

and your smile widened, “that is a glowing review! I should print it on a sign.”

ellie glanced up at you; it was quick and guarded, but not unfriendly. her eyes had a softness to them that wasn’t present just moments ago. 

you would take that as a small victory.

ellie took another sip of the drink—another small victory for you—it was a less cautious sip. her tongue flickered against her teeth as she swallowed, and she gave the tiniest nod. “okay. it is actually good.”

you grinned, a shit-eating grin. like you had just won the biggest trophy possible. “so you are capable of joy.”

“debatable.” ellie muttered, eyes glued to her cup, but her lips twitched as if they were screaming to smile.

you searched her face, taking note of the smile that she was holding back. “on the house, neighbor discount.” 

she still took out her falling apart wallet—setting a five dollar bill on the counter. “a tip then, for making me a tolerable liar’s drink.”

you bit back a smile, watching as her hand slid across the counter, an action of giving you the bill. they were calloused, knuckles bruised lightly, and nails bitten down to the edge, skin around looking chewed at. not the hands of a regular photographer. not the hands of someone who had gone untouched by the world. 

“this isn’t necessary,” you murmured, but you knew she was someone who wouldn’t take the money back. “but thank you.” your eyes met back with hers. she looked as if she didn’t know if she wanted to kiss you or to never talk to you again. 

ellie broke the moment first, clearing her throat and stepping back from the counter, her hands cradling the cup in both hands as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered to the ground. “i should go, really gotta go. my boss is a yeller.”

you nodded, “yeah, sorry for keeping you.” you still had that grin on your face; like you knew if she asked her to stay that she would plop down in the chair next to the window and just watch you work all day. 

“thanks for the drink.”

“thanks for stopping in.”

you spoke simultaneously. causing you to grin and for ellie to look scared shitless. 

grabbing a piece of old receipt, you scribbled something down—your number. handing her the paper, “here for late night emergencies of me being too loud, or if you need some tea.”

god you were so fucking sweet, ellie thought to herself. 

she nodded, taking the paper; she held it in her hand like it was the most delicate thing in the world.

“see you around.” and with that ellie turned, her beat-up converse scuffing across the tiled floor as she made her way toward the door. she felt the weight of her coffee cup—it was warm and grounding. like it had some spell wrapped around it, the same smell that you had crafted.

the bell above the door jungled as she opened it with her shaky hand. a gust of wind caught her shirt just enough to remind her that she hadn’t eaten today and probably wouldn’t until mid-afternoon. her stomach would remind her and her brain would trail to those damn cinnamon rolls in the display case. 

outside, queens was already awake—dogs barking, some sort of siren in the distance, some old man cursing at a fire hydrant. ellie blinked against the sudden shift of sound and sun, she stepped to the edge of the sidewalk not wanting to burden the early morning crowd. she took another sip of the drink.

shit it still didn’t suck.

she shook her head, almost amused at the whole situation. “fucking liar’s drink.” she muttered.

and then, as if it was summoned by the hit of cinnamon, a memory appeared uninvited: rylie, giggling in a blanket fort they’d made dawned with too many stupid fucking fairy lights, holding out a cup of some overly sweet latte and saying “you’re gonna learn to like it, williams. just give in.”

her throat tightened. eyes shutting and she inhaled sharply. counting to five—letting the memory pass as she has learned to do. 

not now. not in the middle of sixth. not in front of her shop.

ellie took a deep breath as she readjusted her camera bag and looked up at the awning of the store. the paint on the sign was beginning to chip—she could climb up there and fix that. the ‘o’ in ‘coffee’ was shaped like a little fucking espresso bean. it was stupid. it was also sweet. 

and so was the girl behind the counter.

ellie turned her face away before she could think for too long about you. or your damn smile. or the way you laughed at her.

she had photos to take. rent to earn. a suit that was stuffed in her bag. a city to protect. 

this wasn’t a romance. it couldn’t be. ellie williams didn’t do romances—she did hook ups with girls who didn’t care, who didn’t have crooked smiles, who didn’t make her feel real shit. she couldn’t have distractions, especially not ones with honey voices and fingers that would brush against hers like it meant something. 

but ellie couldn’t help to look back one last time; she saw you bending over to rearrange something in the pastry display case. abby behind you, rolling her eyes as if she had been given the worst job in the world.

the image of you caused ellie to smirk. 

fuck, she thought to herself. 

and finally she walked away. 

8:24 am

ellie pushed through the revolving door and was immediately greeted with the atmosphere of the daily bugle—phones were ringing off the hook, someone was swearing about the printers being jammed, and she could hear jameson’s echoing yell from his office.

the building reeked of burnt coffee, old carpet, and ink. always fucking ink. it caused ellie a headache.

“williams,” a voice spoke from behind her. she didn’t have to turn to know it was jesse. “got some copies.”

he caught up with her, pulling a folder from under his arm and holding it out to her like a peace offering. “that for jameson?” she asked softly, taking it into her hands.

“yeah, his fucking printer is out again. and you know how he wants hard copies like it is 1999.” Jesse then made a face. “He also said if you were late again today, that your ass was getting reassigned to the animal shelters.”

ellie grunted. “guess i better make this quick.”

jameson would be dumb if he reassigned ellie from spider-person. no one would ever be able to get the shots she did—because fuck she was the spider-person. of course, he didn’t know that. no one did. 

jesse glanced down at the cup in her hand, “wait a sec-”

“nope.”

“hold up,” he said, stopped dead in the hallway and pointed at the cup. “is that from take a bite?”

ellie turned slightly, raising a brow, “what the hell is take a bite?”

“oh, don’t play dumb els,” jesse grinned, “dina loves that places. cute queer cafe on sixth, good pastries, killer drinks. we go there every saturday, we actually always fucking invite you.”

ellie blinked, “this could literally be from anywhere.”

“nah dude, that little heart on the sleeve? it is like their thing. you don’t forget a cup when your girlfriend has got a whole collection of them on the top of the fridge.”

ellie looked at the side of the cup. and shit. the little heart stared back up at her. it was like the scribble was mocking her. 

“so?” she mumbled, “i just happened to be in the area.”

“why would you go to a coffee shop? you hate coffee.” jesse leaned against the wall as if he was settling for a long conversation.

“suck a dick. maybe i changed.” she started to become defensive. “coffee shops provide more than coffee you know? like wellness juices, and just juices in general.”

he snorted, “yeah? maybe jameson will even give us a raise with that demanding attitude.”

ellie gave him a look that said drop it, but jesse had known her for too long to feel the need to listen.

“you meet someone?” he asked casually, but she could hear the bait in his voice. 

“no.”

“really? because you look like you haven’t slept, you have your hair in the panic bun, and you are holding a cup with a heart on it.” 

“you said the heart comes on all the cups,” she snapped. “it is just a drink.”

jesse raised an eyebrow, with the mhmmmm look in his eyes. “sure. just a drink. from a very specific cafe. with a very cute barista if i remember correctly.”

ellie’s face twitched, lips pressing into a deep line. she couldn’t be having this conversation, it would make it all more real. she attempted to walk past him once more, but he just followed.

“did you talk to her?”

“jesse.”

“oh my god,” his face brightened, “you talked to her you little shit.”

ellie groaned, “for fucks sake—she is the one who moved into 512. she fucking eats crackers in bed which annoys the hell out of me because we have paper thins walls, so i knocked on her door to tell her to stop and she invited me in for tea. i went to yell and somehow i got fucking tea. so we had tea together. that is it.”

“you got tea’ed into a woman's apartment. els, that is rom-com level shit.”

“nothing romantic about it.”

jesse grinned like the devil himself. “okay, sure, having tea with your neighbor late at night is totally normal. nothing romantic about it.”

ellie pinched the bridge of her nose, continuing to walk, “i swear to god, jesse–”

“i am just saying,” he held his hands up in a mock surrender. “going to visit a girls place of work even though you hate coffee is such an interesting choice for someone so disinterested.”

ellie glared at him, “it was on the way here.” she reinstated her earlier point.

jesse gave a low whistle, nodding to himself, “you are spiraling els, god this is fun to see.”

“go to hell.”

jesse laughed, continuing to walk backwards, “seems i am already there.” he motioned to the walls around him. 

“i am not spiraling.” she muttered, walking past him and taking another sip of her drink—and she instantly regretted it. it wasn’t because it tasted bad (it still tasted good which made her mad), but because the cinnamon made her think of you again. and your hands. and that fucking smile. 

jesse caught back up, nudging her shoulder, “you gonna text her?”

“no.”

“you should.”

“not interested.”

“why els? i mean this could be–”

ellie shot him a look so sharp that it stopped him in the middle of his sentence, “i’m serious. this can not be a thing. i’m not–she’s not–” she paused. her words were caught between her ribs and lungs. 

jesse’s voice got quiet, “hey, i’m just messing with you. but…fuck ellie you do deserve someone good.” 

ellie didn’t answer. she just stood there, shoulders tight, cup clenched as if it was the only solid thing left. 

“just, think about it.” jesse patted her shoulder, giving his friend a sheepish smile, beginning to turn to the bullpen. “maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world, y’know…if someone is able to see all that doom and gloom and still wants to have tea.”

ellie didn’t say anything. instead she just watched him walk away, his voice fading into the newsroom. 

she found herself staring at the cup once more, taking in the now more smudged heart. 

this wasn’t a romance. 

she had to tell herself one more time as she stuffed the cup into the nearest trash can and made her way toward jameson’s office, footsteps heavy, head full of cinnamon and fucking optimism. 

6:12 pm

ellie zipped from building to building, the sun was a low fire that bled into the skyline. a golden light poured across the windows, glinting off glass towers like it was trying to set the whole world ablaze. and her suit was clinging to her body in a way she hated—sticking to her because of sweat, not enough breeze. maybe the blue and red was too much. the spandex was too much. and each swing she took felt heavier than the last.

but she needed to be out here. 

usually she always felt better in the air; it was all weightless, distant, far from her apartment—she never felt questioned, she felt limitless. 

her arms arched as she landed on a rooftop above a quiet part of the city, some sandwich shop rested below her. she could hear a couple arguing about some other woman—and in that moment it struck her how small things felt whenever she up in the world. 

spider-person didn’t text people. didn’t flirt or lie or choke because they were being vulnerable. 

spider-person didn’t spend half their morning looking at an empty text draft with your name at the top of the screen. 

she lifted part of her mask—just to feel like she was actually breathing, to get air on her neck. to feel like she was actually alive, not just living. she took a breath in; queens smelled of smoke and hot-dog stands. ellie closed her eyes trying to go back over what she had planned for the night—circling the same few blocks around roosevelt, slightly hoping something would happen that was bad enough to fight, but not enough for her to hurt someone. 

a passing by siren wailed, she tensed but watched it continue to pass.

nothing. 

just quiet. her and the wind. 

ellie pulled her mask back down, then walked across the ledge of the building and sat with her legs dangled over the edge. she could see a few pigeons on the building across the way. a couple of teens with slushies on the fire escape. a older woman’s laundry fluttering on a clothesline. 

a soft breeze finally rolled through. it smelled of the end of summer and warm concrete. 

“you ever get lonely up there?” 

your voice popped into her head. fuck. you had never even said that, but it felt like something you would say.

ellie groaned, dragging her hands across her face. she should’ve gone home. she should’ve went home and showered. ordered takeout. fucking slept.

instead she was here. sweating in a spandex suit, watching the sun beginning to set like some asshole in an indie superhero movie. 

she should’ve quit six years ago—when she wanted to. when she fucked up. when she realized she wasn’t made to be a hero. but fuck she was stuck like this. 

she tapped the edge of her mask, “get it together williams.”

the wind shifted again. coming out of the sandwich shop, a group of girls emerged laughing so loudly a close bird flew into the comfort of the air. 

she didn’t know why; but it made her heart ache. so she did what she could—swung away.

6:41 pm

the moment she heard the scream, ellie was airborne. 

two webs fired—one on a lamp post, the other on the posting above a random hippie shop—and the way she launched herself was sharp, it was harsh, the snap was so hard she could’ve dislocated her shoulder. it didn’t matter. pain was good, it kept her moving. 

the scream came once more; it was closer. she identified—female, sharp and real. 

ellie landed hard on the top of a food delivery van and spotted them; a man gripping a purse and attempting to yank it violently from a well-off looking woman—middle aged, red lip, white pantsuit—near the corner of the laundromat, her back against the wall, arm wrenched. 

“let go!” the woman yelled, kicking out at the man. 

ellie didn’t wait, jumping down from the van, landing just two feet from the man. “fuck dude, really?”

the man froze, wide eyes at the sudden vigilante in front of him. his head then snapped at the sudden web that sealed his wrist to the brick wall before he had the chance to bolt. which gave the white haired woman the ability to scramble away. 

“go!” ellie barked at her, not taking her eyes off of the man. the woman didn’t need to be told twice—she ran down the street, the sound of her heels clicking on the sidewalk in the distant until she got far enough away. 

the guy attempted to reach for something in his waist band, probably a knife. but ellie was quick. she slammed her shoulder into his ribs, and then twisted around to have him pinned with another round of webs. his free arm thrashed around—but it was clumsy, desprate. 

“come on, dude,” she hit the knife out of his hand before he could officially do any damage. he muttered ���bitch’ as he watched the knife skid across the pavement.

she used another web to seal his ankles together, and then his shoulders to the brick.

“queen’s pd will just love you,” she muttered, “a real thinker. a robbery with a steak knife. very old school.”

he groaned against the wall, but his face was half webbed so it came very muffled. 

“yeah,” she patted his back, “tell your friends that the spider is cranky today.”

she turned toward the sound of the siren beginning to sound, it was a few blocks down. ellie took note that her pulse was high. her hands were shaking. she didn’t realize that she had begun to hold her breath until she let it out in one, long exhale. fuck it felt good. 

focus ellie, just focus, she thought to herself.

she had helped someone. she should be proud of herself. it was good work that she did something. 

ellie looked at the guy stuck to the wall, how he was still struggling against the web. 

he was still just a guy.

the adrenaline of a fight was beginning to crash. and the noise from the street came crashing back to her—it was all too loud, too busy, too much.

she looked over and saw some kid at the corner store, holding his phone up pointed at her. 

she flipped him off, before firing off a web to launch herself upward once again, heart in her throat and eyes scanning for a rooftop to settle. she could breathe when she up, it was a safety place.

but the second she was above it all—the city, the screams, the photo-snapping strangers—your face came right back to her. 

you, leaning on the counter this morning, grinning at her like she was a mystery that was worth solving. 

you, laughing at her coffee horror story. 

you, handing her your number like it didn’t cost a dime. 

too much. 

ellie landed on the water tower edge and crouched there, huffing, trying to shake the loose thoughts of red sweaters and denim skirts. 

taking her mask halfway up, and stared down at the street. thinking about the little piece of paper folded up in her wallet, your number scribbled onto it. 

her thumbs twitched. 

you can’t start anything, ellie thought to herself. 

she wouldn’t let herself fall for someone, because what if they fell. she couldn’t drop someone again. 

8:09 pm

you were at some italian place on ninth, one that you usually could not afford—but tommy and bea wanted to take you out, which wasn’t something you would say no to. you also knew that they would let you take home all of the leftovers. 

the wine glasses were already halfway empty when bea leaned across the table and asked, “so are the roaches paying rent yet?”

you snorted into the glass, shaking your head. “i’m currently negotiating with them. it is complicated. they are unionized.”

tommy made a face like he had swallowed a whole lemon, “you’re not serious right?”

you tilted your head, “you think i’d lie?”

bea raised her brows, sipping her wine. “i wouldn’t put it past that pervert you have as a landlord. tommy couldn’t sleep the night you moved in, afraid that you would get violated in your sleep.”

you smiled, because you knew they were joking—well sort of. the edge underneath it all wasn’t a joke. bea stirred her pasta absently, watching you from beneath her lashes. tommy wasn’t even pretending not to be worried—in his older brother fashion. he had that furrowed brow look he always got when you told him something he didn’t like but couldn’t argue against. 

“i’m fine, i promise,” you said, before they could say anything else. “it’s just…dated. the place has personality though.”

“it has mold,” tommy countered.

you rolled your eyes, “that is just called character.”

bea leaned her cheek against her palm. “babe, i love that you are romanticizing the whole ‘broke girl in new york living above a bodega’ thing, but we have the guest room for you. it has central air. and a stove that you don’t have to kick for it to work.”

“and no haunted pipes,” tommy added adamantly, "which i still don’t understand. what does that even mean? haunted by what? disgustingly cold water?”

you shrugged, “i dunno. they just make…sounds. like the building is alive and mildly pissed off.”

tommy looked like he was in genuine panic. “that is not better.”

you waved around a breadstick as if it were a flag, “look, i love you both. i really do. but we all know I needed my own space.” 

Bea nodded slowly, “we get that. you wanted to be on your own again—”her dialect was like she was hinting at so many things, “but you were only with us for six months, but it wasn’t a burden—”

“i know,” you cut in gently. “but it was never meant to be permanent. i needed that time after the breakup, and i am so grateful for the both of you. really. but i couldn’t keep crashing with you forever.”

bea reached for your hand. “it didn’t feel like crashing.”

you squeezed her fingers. “still. i wanted this. to prove i could make something mine. even if it’s ugly and falling apart.”

tommy sighed, setting his fork down, hand rubbing across his chin. “i just hate that you are doing it in a building with windows that don’t lock.”

“they do.”

he gave you a look. 

“...shit with enough duct tape.” 

bea made a sound that sounded to be somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “i’m sending you a deadbolt.”

you smile into your wineglass. “thanks, mom.”

tommy leaned back in his chair. “i can’t help it. you’re my sister. you living in a shithole will craft anxiety.” 

bea’s eyes twinkled. “and i’m your best friend, so i’m doubly allowed.”

“i thought you were his fiancee,” you teased, looking between the pair. 

“oh sure, that too.” she glanced at tommy and made a silly face. “barely.”

tommy reached across and mock-pinched her nose. she batted him away, laughing. 

you watched them just for a moment, heart feeling full in a wistful, grateful, aching in a sense kind of way. they were safe. they were good. they had taken you in when you were heartbroken and broke and couldn’t stand to sleep in your old apartment that was now alone. 

and you loved them so deeply for it. but you couldn’t stay. 

because even though the floor in your new place creaked like a horror movie, and your shower ran cold if someone in the building so much as thought about using a faucet—it was yours. 

you’d painted the kitchen cabinets a soft sage green. you had books stacked in uneven towers against walls. you had this thrifted pink armchair that looked like it had lived six lives before it found you.

it wasn’t always pretty. but it was freedom. 

bea seemed to have read your mind. “you’re proud of it, huh honey?”

you nodded—it was slow, but so sure. “yeah, i really am.”

“alright, then,” tommy smiled but it was reluctant, like he still couldn’t accept it. “just…let me help you install the extra locks. and maybe one of those ring doorbells.”

“done. just stop bringing up the shithole in restaurants.”

tommy laughed, “deal.”

the three of you continued to eat, downing some more wine, just enjoying the company of each other—it was a sweet moment, continuing laughter and comfort.

“so,” you said softly, swirling your fork through the remains of your alfredo, “did you send them an invite.”

tommy paused mid-sip. and the table seemed to go still.

bea had looked up from chomping on her third breadstick. she didn’t say a thing, just looking at you. 

you cleared your throat. “mom and dad. to the wedding?” but you knew that you didn’t need to clarify what you had meant. 

tommy set his class down, taking in a breath. “no.”

you nodded, knowing not to pry, keeping eyes trained on your plate.

“didn’t really see a point,” he added, quieter at this point. “they made it clear a couple years ago.”

there was a beat of silence—the only sound was people talking at close tables, the low clatter of gathering dishes, wine-drunk people giggling. 

you forced a breath, trying to keep it light, “shit, they will probably hear through the grapevine. i’m sure aunt marelene still stalks your facebook.”

“then she can tell them,” tommy spoke. “i’m not doing it. i don’t owe them shit.”

you bit the inside of your cheek.

bea, as always, was the one who reached to hold your hand first. “you okay?”

god she was the best, bea cared so much for both you and tommy even if you both had cluttered messes for lives. 

you shrugged, your gaze going from your bowl to the empty wine glass, tracing the rim with your thumb. “it is just weird, you know? watching you both plan this big beautiful thing and knowing they’ll pretend it isn’t happening. pretend that we aren’t happening.” 

tommy’s voice was thick when he spoke. he knew where he stood with them. “i don’t want them there. not after the shit they pulled with you.”

“it wasn’t just me,” you murmured, “you had the choice to stay. you didn’t have to pick sides.”

tommy scoffed, looking at you, “yes, i did y/n. and i picked the right one.”

you blinked hard. knowing how much he cared.

bea squeezed your hand. 

“i don’t think i will ever forget that phone call,” tommy continued on, his voice rough with memory. “i could hear in your voice that you were shaking. but you weren’t even crying, which scared the shit out of me. you just said that they found out and you needed to come stay with me. that was it.”

you exhaled, thinking back to the day, “you know, i thought they would yell. but they didn’t. which that might’ve been the worst part. it was just…silence, like i had disappeared.”

“they are the ones who disappeared,” bea said softly, looking between the two of you, before her hazel eyes landed on you. “you were the one who showed up. you survived.”

you swallowed hard, before beginning to talk again. “i just thought—i still think a part of me hopes that one day they come around. eventually.” you looked up at them. “i wanted to believe they could change. that i didn’t ruin everything.”

“you didn’t. you just stopped hiding.” tommy’s voice cracked softly before he took a sip of his water. 

the table went still again. 

you reached out for your water, something cool to ease the burn that had built up in your chest. you hated that part of you still longed for them to call—just to wish you a merry christmas, to say fucking happy birthday. you hated how you still used the old perfume that your mom gave you seven holidays ago. 

tommy’s eyes were glassy, but he didn’t look away. “you were so fucking brave.”

you let out a strained laugh. “no i wasn’t. i just did what i had to do to survive. i moved into your guys first apartment and lived off of those damn apple sauce pouches.”

bea smiled through the solemn moment. “that’s our girl."

“and then,” tommy grinned, “you wiped your face, told me that you were gonna open the cafe, and marched your ass into three banks including the one i work at, six real estate offices with a busted binder and a dream.”

you looked down, the pride blooming in your chest like a bruise that somehow still made you feel strong. “i had to prove that i could do it. that i wasn’t broken.”

“you were never broken,” bea spoke, looking at you. “you were just becoming.” 

you felt your heart thud in your chest. 

“still becoming,” you said, your voice was small.

bea’s smiled softened, “we all are.”

the three of you fell quiet once more, but it was the comfortable silence. it was gentle. one made of safety and shared history and the scent of wine lingering in the air. 

you sat back in your seat, your hand still in bea’s, leg bumping against tommy’s.

“this might sound dumb,” you said after awhile, “but i do think the shitty apartment is helping me.”

tommy rolled his eyes fondly at you, “jesus christ kid.”

“no, i am becoming completely serious,” you were insistent, “like…i am actually finally doing it all on my one. not hiding who i am, or changing myself for a partner, not depending on anyone to fix the mess for me. just all me. my own little patch of hell. and yeah, the water pressure sucks and i miss your guys hot water—but it’s mine. i can live there loud. i can make tea at midnight, and cry in the living room, and decorate however i want without asking permission.”

bea laughed, listening to you ramble with a fond smile. “okay, that doesn’t sound dumb in the slightest.”

“it does sound like freedom.” tommy smiled. 

you nodded, looking between them with that crooked smile of yours. “yeah. i really think it is.”

10:32 pm

the night clung to you like silk and sweat—warm but shifting, thick with the kind of summer humidity that made your hair grow and clothes feel tighter by the time you got home. 

you walked with bea and tommy to their car, they had begged you to let them take you home, but you were stubborn and were insistent that the walk wasn’t bad. you would be fine. you were always fine.

bea made a whole show when you go to the car, hugging you and squeezing your shoulders and whispering something sweet, ‘don’t be a stranger, or i’ll come break into your place.”

you promised to visit them soon, and to stop ignoring their calls. you had even promised that you’d eat breakfast, which bea knew was a big lie. 

tommy looked at you like he alway did—like a big brother who was scared shitless of you lying just saying that you were okay. his hug was tighter. lingered a little longer. and when he pulled away, he said “text me when you get home, sunshine.” you nodded. you would.

and now you were alone again. 

your sandaled heels scraped lazily against the new york concrete, keys dangling in one hand, the other curled into a loose fist like it always did when you walked alone whenever it was dark. queens was quieter at this time, but a few bars were open—people lingering outside, some looking happy, some looking sad. occasional music bleeding out of cracked windows. a car alarm whined blocks away and no one cared. 

you weren’t fond of how familiar this stretch of sidewalk had become—how your apartment always felt just far enough away from everything that it made you question your life choices every time you had to make the walk back. 

rounding a corner, you stepped onto the main drag, passing that one grocery store with the flickering fluorescent light and busted freezer. it was an indicator that she was almost home. 

then— 

thwip.

a sound too quick, too soft. it made you stop. 

nothing. 

you scanned the rooftops. your heart beat a little faster. maybe it was just your nerves catching up to you. the conversation from earlier—talking about your parents, the apartment, even the breakup—it all linger behind your eyes. made the walk feel heavier. 

and then you heard it again. much softer this time. closer.

“you should really stop walking home this late.”

you froze.

your eyes flickered up—and holy shit. 

there she was. 

perched like a gargoyle on a lamppost above you, croucher in her red and blue attire, the mask covering her face. her voice sounded distorted slightly–but you couldn’t tell if it was from the mask or the way it echoed in an empty street. 

you blinked. “what the hell?”

“you could get hurt,” she added. “even in queens.”

you squinted, tilting your head. “are you seriously giving me the stranger danger talk right now?”

spider-person dropped down—it was clean and fast, a few feet in front of you. “i’m just saying,” you could hear the eye roll in her voice. 

you flinched. and she caught it. 

her voice then softened, less annoyed, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

you let out a breath, “you didn’t. just startled is all.” you glanced down at the cracking sidewalk. before back up to the mask. “are you following me?”

she was silent.

you raised a brow.

“...maybe.”

you blinked, smiling. “okay. super totally normal.”

she shrugged, “i just saw you walking alone,” she attempted to make it sound better, “seen you on this block before.”

something twisted in your stomach. it was warm. it was curious. 

“you keep tabs on the neighborhood?”

she nodded once, “try to. kinda my whole point.”

you began to walk, her trailing with you. “you always this chatty with civilians?”

a beat passed. spider-person looked up at the sky, then down at you. “only when they are dumb enough to walk around at night in that skirt.”

you scoffed, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. “you did not just slut-shame me after admitting to following me.”

she actually flinched at that, straightening up, defensive. “no! shit no. it’s not—it isn’t like that that. it looks good. i just mean–fuck, i mean it’s dangerous.”

you smiled a little, folding your arms. “so you think i look good?”

she paused. you could almost hear her gulp behind her mask. 

“...maybe”

you couldn’t explain why, but with the way her voice cracked—a weird, shy tilt to her bravado—it made your heart stutter. spider-person was, kinda awkward. 

“you’re kinda bad at this,” you teased her gently.

“i’m great at this.” 

“sure.”

she was quiet again. the tension shifting, it was less banter, more…static. you could feel her looking at you, even if you couldn’t see her eyes. 

“you okay?” she asked suddenly.

it caught you off guard; not because she asked, but because of the way she had asked you. it was like she had been thinking it for a while. like she already knew the answer. 

you opened your mouth, going to speak, before closing it again. looking away. 

“...rough night.” 

“figured.”

“how?” your eyebrows furrowed. 

“just a guess.” she said, quieter. “sometimes you look sad when you walk home.”

your chest pinched, looking up at her. 

“you’ve…watched me before?” 

a pause. 

“...maybe.”

you smiled, but you weren’t even sure why. “you are really bad at being secretive.”

“what the fuck? i haven’t told you anything.” she laughed, “i could be anyone.”

you cocked your head, “true.” you laughed softly—-surprised at yourself. spider-person just watched you. 

you glanced down at your feet, “always this nice?”

“no.”

“so why me?”

you could hear her breath shift. her fingers fidgeting with her web shooters on her wrist. 

“i think you are kind.”

you looked back up and she didn’t flinch. 

“you’re strong,” she added, “even when this world sucks. i notice.”

you blinked, voice wavering. “that is oddly specific.”

she nodded once. “you deserve to be seen.” 

that caused something to ache in your throat. you wanted to ask her more. who are you? how long have you been watching me? what do you see when look at me like that?

but you didn’t.

you didn’t want to ruin the moment.

instead, you continued to walk, asking. “you gonna walk me the rest of the way, masked vigilante?”

she titled her head. a small beat passed. 

then she said, “yeah. i got you.” 

and with that the two of you started walking—quiet and slow, under the dim city lights, shadow overlapping with hers.

she didn’t really speak much more, but she stayed close. close enough to protect. close enough to be something more. 

and when you reached your building and turned to say goodbye—she was already gone. 

but that warmth stayed. 

1:34 am

ellie stared at her ceiling. she hadn’t even changed out of the clothes she’d worn under the suit—boxers, old band tee, hair damp from sweat. queens humidity was clinging to her like a second skin. she didn’t care though. she kept thinking about you. 

you had smiled at her, but not really her, the spider-her. 

and fuck it wasn’t fair, because that was the version of her that had a level of confidence she lacked without the mask. the side of her that didn’t wake up every day afraid that she was too much, or not enough. that version of herself could say what she wanted and disappear when it got too hard. 

the version of her that go to walk you home. 

real-her had to sit in her gross apartment, thinking about your laugh like it was some unreleased song that no one else had ever heard. 

her phone had buzzed—a text in her group chat with jesse and dina. something stupid. something she would ignore. 

instead, she opened the contact; the one she saved in the morning, she hadn’t texted you yet. she stared at the screen for awhile, thumb hovering, heart in her throat. 

now her fingers moved faster than she could think. 

ellie: hey.

she hit the send. and then stared at it. and immediately wanted to die. 

what the fuck was that??? just hey??? she thought to herself, what are you, thirteen?

she panicked. drafting up another message—like damage control.

ellie: i mean, not to be weird. i just wanted to say thanks for the drink. and the laugh. i guess.

her face was burning. full body cringe. she set the phone face down and rolled over.

fuck what were you doing to her. 

three seconds passed. 

then she rolled back and picked it up again. 

fuck. 

ellie: sorry. ignore me. that was so stupid.

sent.

and she immediately regretted that too. she had dropped the phone on her chest and covered her eyes with the crook of her arm, groaning into the fabric of her shirt. 

she didn’t have any idea if you were awake. or if you’d even read it. or if you would read it in the morning and think she was a total loser. 

she didn’t sleep that night. 

august 13th

8:07 am

you woke up in too-hot of sheets, cheek stuck to the pillowcase and your phone was looking at you as if it was pissed. bleary-eyed, you rolled over, blinking at the light of the screen. 

three texts from ellie.

ellie: hey.

ellie:  i mean, not to be weird. i just wanted to say thanks for the drink. and the laugh. i guess.

ellie: sorry. ignore me. that was so stupid.

you sat up in bed, running a hand through your curls. 

you read the texts over again. and again. 

and then you smiled. it was wide and soft and maybe a little smug. 

because it wasn’t stupid at all. and now you were thinking about her. 

her.

₊˚.🕸️🕷️⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ᶻ

guys this was so fun to write holy shit!!

any reblog, comments, likes, etc are so so so so appreciated !! thank you so much <3

series taglist: @angelaut0matec @iadorefineshyt @luvwithc4ro @whimsifreak @re1daway @angelofhorrors @sqandroct14 @hitmehardmommy @angelaut0matec

[radiohao]

is this play about us? + nct wish

synopsis: relationship tropes with the wishie hyungs

pairings: nct wish hyungline x f!reader

genre: fluffy fluff fluff, crackity crack

warnings: food mentions, family being nosy lol, getting stuck in an elevator (?), mentions of drinking and getting drunk

word count: 2.8k

—

oh sion: fake dating, university

It all began when Sion unknowingly blurted out that you two were together. It was a white lie, a small mistake. Could you really blame him if his parents and relatives have been begging him to find a girlfriend since what felt like the start of time? It slipped from his mouth, the words "I have a girlfriend, Mom!" coming out faster than he could think. They just sit there, staring. Then, chaos ensues. They bombard him with questions. Who? What? When? Where? Why? How long? Sion pinches his temples, sighing.

"Her name is Y/N. I met her in one of my classes. We've been dating for 5 months now." His mom squeals in joy. He exhales in agony. How the hell is he going to tell you?

"You what?!" Your voice rings through the cafeteria, causing some to look at you. Sion looks up at you from where you're standing, and he pushes your shoulders down to get you to sit, a sheepish smile on his face. "I'm sorry! I got nervous, and you're the first person I thought of. I'll do anything, just please pretend to be my girlfriend for a couple of months until graduation. Then at least it'll be a reasonable way to break up, y'know? We go our separate ways, it just didn't work out, blah blah blah."

It takes everything in you not to sock him in the face. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, awaiting your response. "Do we... do we have to kiss?" You ask him. He laughs. Hard. You deadpan. "Sorry, I just- I thought you'd say no, but is that what you're worried about?"

You glare at him, sending daggers through your eyes. "Well, yes. I don't wanna go around kissing some random guy!" What you meant to say was, 'I don't want to go around kissing you when it's not even real'. Sion's face grows serious, "Everything we do is up to your discretion. I already put you in this situation, and the last thing I'd want is for you to be uncomfortable." You ponder your options for a moment. Pretend to be the girlfriend of your school's hottest guitarist? And get something out of it? Sounds like a pretty sweet deal.

"Okay, fine. But once graduation rolls around, I'm out."

"Yes, ma'am."

So there it began. Sion brought you to family dinners, and with lack of better word, they adored you. What can you say? Offering to wash the dishes always works. And while you weren't uncomfortable per say, it was just getting all weird with Sion. He would rub your knee soothingly under the table to calm your nerves, or move your hair out of your face when you were enjoying the food too much to care. It felt so natural, but you assumed he was just playing the part.

One evening when you're doing the laundry in your dorm, you were about to put a pair of your pants in the washing machine. You fist the pockets first, checking for any items. What seems to be a piece of paper is nudged in your back pocket. You pull it out, unfolding it and reading the words scratched in blue pen.

'My Dearest, Y/N,' it read.

'I've never done this before, as you can tell. I've never written a letter for someone, let alone for a girl. You're the first. And I hope, the last.

There's something I've been wanting to tell you. Around 4 months into our "relationship," I found myself doing things because I wanted to, not so my family could see. I started holding your hand on our late night drives together. I started tying your hair when it was getting in your face while cooking. I started worrying about you more often than not. I realized one day while sitting on the couch, scrolling on Instagram, that I love you. Not in the way that you helped me to stop my parents' nagging. In the way that I smile to myself when I see my mom showing you her secret recipe, and in the way that I laugh with you when you're making jokes with my dad.

If you ever find this letter, I hope you will find me and kiss me without warning, telling me you feel the same. But if you don't, ignore everything I said and burn this piece of paper to the ground. I love you, 'baby.'

Sion.'

What in The Notebook is this? You scream, louder than you intended. You throw yourself up from the ground and slip into your slides, not caring how your socks don't match or how your shirt has some stains on it. You hurriedly get into your car and speed towards Sion's apartment, almost like his feelings will expire if you don't get there fast enough.

When you arrive, you knock frantically on the door. A very confused Sion opens it, his brows furrowing. "Y/N? What's wrong? Did something happe-" He can't even finish his sentence before you crash your lips with his, cupping the nape of his neck. His eyes widen for a second before he reciprocates, his hand moving down to the small of your back. You pull away, breathless. He looks at you like he needs more. Sion smiles brightly.

"I'm guessing you got my letter?"

maeda riku: love at first sight, bakery worker!riku

The streets bustle with noise, taxis honking at one another, crowds frantically crossing the roads, and people chattering within small groups. You head inside one of your favorite bakeries, looking for a place to relax after a long workday.

You step inside, taking in the warm aroma of the pastries and the soft glowing ceiling lights encompassing the shop. As you walk towards the counter, your breath hitches in your throat. This glorious man is standing at the counter. His honey skin and tousled hair go perfectly with his puppy eyes, and his nose is so perfectly shaped one would think God sculpted it himself. His biceps flex softly under his white collared shirt, and the chocolate-brown apron with stickers decorated on it is the perfect cherry on top. Your eyes zoom in on his name tag.

'Riku :>'

It's like you fell in love. God, he's adorable and handsome all at the same time. You just hope and pray that the cashier next to him calls you first so you don't have to be face to face with him-

"Next in line, please!"

The universe just hates you, doesn't it? You reluctantly step up, placing your chosen pastry onto the counter. "Just this, please," you say softly, cursing yourself for being such a coward. Riku looks up at you, his eyes widening in disbelief. You are quite literally, no exaggeration at all, the prettiest girl he's ever seen. He stares at your eyes, then your nose, then your lips, then back at your eyes, to which you're already staring back. "Sorry- just this, please," you repeat, assuming your voice was too quiet for him to hear. He snaps out of his trance. "Oh! Sorry, I uh- I spaced out a little," Riku excuses, chuckling dryly. Is it just him or this apron is making him feel really stupid?

"It's okay, it happens," you respond, waving him off. He scans your item and announces your total, to which you tap your card and leave. Maybe you should've asked for his number or something, but you couldn't find it in you to shoot your shot. Perhaps in another life, you sigh. But you feel your heart tense a bit, almost as if it's pulling you back to where you first saw him. Now, you don't believe in love at first sight, but the universe works in mysterious ways, doesn't it?

Meanwhile, Riku's mind is somewhere else. He's absentmindedly taking other customer's orders, but he can't help but feel like he wants to see you again, needs to. A tug pulls at his chest, and he bounces his legs anxiously. His fingers drum along the counter, like he's deciding what to do. What is happening to him? He doesn't know. All he knows is that he should chase after you, no matter how far you've walked away.

You stop right before the crosswalk. It's green, you know. But why does it feel so wrong to leave? You turn around, pondering if you should go back. Screw it, you think. You heart says you want to see this Riku guy, one last time. Slowly but steadily, you begin heading back to the bakery.

"Mark hyung! I'm going on my break!" Riku exclaims, looping his apron off his neck and sprinting out the door. Mark, on the other hand, is left there, his mouth open. "...What's up with him?" He says, not to anyone particularly. Jaehee is nearby, sweeping the floors. He shrugs.

Riku isn't a track runner, but he can surely become one if it means you're waiting at the finish line. He turns the corner, running faster than he thinks he ever has. Then he sees it. You, making your way towards him. He stops running and just stands there, panting. You look up, meeting his eyes. Did he have the same idea you did? Riku walks up to you, out of breath. You chuckle.

"That's funny. I was just going back to where you were," you say with a smile. He does the same.

"Really? I was also- I was gonna find you." Your eyes light up.

The two of you close the gap, little by little. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." Riku laughs, still exhausted.

"Why? Did I forget something?" You say teasingly, testing the waters.

"No, I just- It sounds stupid, but I felt something. I think I'm going crazy. Do you believe in love at first sight?"

You laugh lightheartedly. He grins, brightly.

"I do. At least now I do." Riku reaches his hand out. You take it with no hesitation.

"Whad'ya say we give it a shot?"

tokuno yushi: trapped in an elevator tgt, neighbors to lovers

You don't think any day has drained you more than today. After a long day of classes and taking over your coworker's night shift, you are more than ready to flop down on your couch and sleep your aching body away. You sleepily enter the elevator of your apartment complex, rubbing your eyes. Right before the elevator closes, a hand slides in, and the doors automatically open again. You're about to walk out (because you don't want to be in an elevator with a random person) until you realize that Tokuno Yushi just entered. You curse to yourself.

"Sorry Y/N, I didn't wanna wait for another elevator. Do you want me to get out?" He says simply, motioning towards the door. You, despite the fact that you were just about to leave, shake your head. "No! It's okay, really. I'm comfortable around you anyway," you respond, pinching yourself for the sudden confession.

You and Yushi live on the same floor and attend the same university. The two of you aren't super close, you'd say, but you're not just neighbors either. He often visits your place, and vice versa. It began when his roommate-slash-best friend, Sohee, began dating your roommate-slash-best friend, Jiwoo. Hangouts became inevitable, and soon, you saw Yushi more often than your heart could take. Conversations between you two are short, mostly because Sohee said that he's more on the quiet side and you're afraid you'll make him uncomfy.

Things got awkward when the four of you were having some drinks in Yushi and Sohee's apartment. You don't know why you had so much to drink when your tolerance is as high as an ant's height, but alas, you drank a full bottle of soju anyway. You ended up all up in Yushi's face, squishing his cheeks while yours glowed a soft red shade, presumably from the alcohol.

"Yuuushiiii, you're sooo handsum! Jus' wanna kiss yer facee!! 'Iss my only wiishhh.."

It's been a week since that incident, and you still wince when thinking about it. Sohee suggests Yushi to stop being a wimp and confront you about it, and Jiwoo pushes you to bring it up in your next conversation. You both denied, wanting the other to bring it up first. Your roommates are groaning in frustration.

Your inner monologue is interrupted when the elevator suddenly jolts, then stops moving. You grab onto the rail to steady yourself, and Yushi looks at you to see if you're okay. He attempts to open the doors with the corresponding button, but it doesn't budge. Your anxiety builds by the second.

"Oh my god- No, don't tell me we're stuck!" You cry, beginning to panic. You're going to die in here and no one will know until it's too late- "Crap, what do we do?!" You spam the emergency button before Yushi gently grabs your wrist and pulls you away from it.

“Hey, hey—It’s okay. We’re going to be okay. See? The alarm is sounding. People are gonna come to get us. And plus, Sohee and Jiwoo will notice we’re gone anyway.” He comforts you, one hand still holding your wrist while the other is rubbing your shoulder. You take a deep breath before nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, I just- I’m scared,” you admit, pursing your lips. Yushi nods, smiling a little. “I get that.”

Over the next few minutes, you and Yushi make yourselves comfortable while waiting for someone to rescue you two. You’re sat in the corner of the elevator, with Yushi right next to you. Your legs rest against each others’, and you feel your cheeks heat up a little at the contact. You silently thank the universe for being stuck with Yushi of all people. At least he makes you feel safe.

“So,” he whispers. You raise an eyebrow. “So..?”

“Would you like to talk about what you said to me last week?”

You freeze. Oh lord, this is the end of you. Why'd he bring it up now? You can't run away now (even if you wanted to). "Um, I'm sorry," you manage to blurt out, "I was really drunk, so just ignore what I said."

"Oh. That's a shame. I was gonna say we can make your wish come true." Your neck snaps towards him, not believing the words that just came out of his mouth. He feels the same way?! He wants to kiss you too?! If you don't take this chance now, it might slip away faster than you think. "No! That's not what I meant- I thought you were uncomfortable!" You complain. Yushi laughs, his head dipping down. You find yourself smiling too. He puts a hand on your knee.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" He challenges. You smile, leaning closer as he does the same. Yushi moves his hand further up to your thigh, meeting your plush lips in a soft kiss. It's not the most ideal place to have your first kiss with your best friend's boyfriend's best friend (what a tongue twister), but you wouldn't ask for anything else at the moment. You pull away, panting a little. Yushi presses his forehead against yours, grinning softly.

Approximately two hours later, the fire department arrives. Your apartment complex is pretty far from the nearest station and the traffic made it a difficult trip, but they nonetheless showed up. A man unlocks the escape hatch, finding two people in the elevator. Yushi is still propped against the wall, with you asleep on his shoulder, torso wrapped in his jacket that he lended. "You okay, son?" The firefighter asks. He nods. "Yes, sir."

"That's a relief. Is she... unconscious?" He gestures towards you. Yushi chuckles. "No, sir. Just asleep." The man laughs. "Okay, well I hate to interrupt her beauty sleep, but it's time to get out, so wake her up for me please."

He silently agrees, squeezing your arm while whispering, "Honey, wake up."

"She your girlfriend?" The fireman questions.

"Now she is," he admits with a chuckle. You stir awake, and in just a couple of minutes, the two of you are out the elevator, thanking the first responders that helped you out. As you and Yushi walk back to your apartment suite, he grabs your hand and laces his fingers between yours.

"Can't believe it took us getting stuck in an elevator to admit that you like me," he says amusedly. You snort, rolling your eyes.

You two arrive at your apartment, and you invite Yushi inside for dinner. As you step in, you find Jiwoo and Sohee sitting there, legs crossed and arms propped up on the couch arms like a business CEO. "Well, well, well. If it isn't for the two idiots that got stuck in the elevator," Jiwoo speaks. You scoff.

"You two didn't even call us! And there's no way you didn't know we were stuck, either!" You accuse. Yushi watches, his arms crossed with a small smirk on his face.

"Don't point any fingers here! Yushi told us not to call so you two wouldn't get interrupted." Sohee continues. You glare at your now-boyfriend, who just lazily shrugs.

"What can I say? It worked, didn't it?" The two laugh as you groan in annoyance.

—

author's note: YO YO YO HELLO POOKIE!! this one was so fun for me to do i literally finished this in one day... kinda.... anyway hope u enjoyed! ALSO I LEARNED HOW TO DO GRADIENT TEXT PLS SAY UR PROUD!!! anyway pls like or reblog and have an amazing day <3

[setmeatopthepyre]

wip weekend

finally got some non-spoilery process done on pothos so I'm cashing in the tags I acquired during the past week or so from @owlgirl495, @chimneyz, @trombonechurchill, @bidisasterevankinard and @leashybebes. thank you! np tagging you all right back, as well as @rcmclachlan, @epiphainie, @sugarpenchant, @geddyqueer, @screamlet and anyone else who wants to play.

have some pothos | pathos. precedes this.

-

Buck is dubiously eyeing the heap of dough on his counter, appropriately floured and ready to be kneaded into submission, when his phone rings.

He considers ignoring it. Considers jumping straight back into his latest ancient grain rabbit hole, filling his mind with all the proclaimed health benefits of the barley, millet, organic wheat and poppy seeds he’d splurged on at the new health food store that had just opened up and, more importantly, where they didn’t know him yet. The whole reason for all of this was so he didn’t have to think about his phone and the unanswered text messages and the very very enticing call button right by Tommy’s name, but, well. Maybe it’s important. Maybe someone needs him, and. That’s a distraction too, isn’t it?

It’s Maddie, and sure, she needs him, but not right now, so the interruption still kind of sucks. On the other hand, she’s calling to ask if he can watch Jee on Saturday so Maddie and Chimney can go to some dispatcher’s wedding party, and he’ll never say no to some Uncle Buck time.

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “What time do you need me there?”

-

Saturday rolls around and Buck isn’t sure the ancient grain loaf has been doing much for him at all besides being kind of gritty, but at least he gets to feel sort of healthy about it. The downside is he keeps thinking of Tommy’s sarcastic, “Mm-hm, and what sources does this– Foodie Blogger Brenda– have?” whenever he thinks maybe the, uh, barley or whatever is really doing good things for his… brain? Gut health? He isn’t sure anymore.

He does check, eventually. Foodie Blogger Brenda does not cite sources. He does find a paper on the health benefits of barley - something about beta-glucans and antioxidant gamma-tocopherols - which sound really impressive when he skims the abstract and decides that’s enough for now. He’d keep reading, probably, because he knows it’s important to get the bigger picture and also to see if the study seems trustworthy but, well, it’s really long and he has to get going. Maybe he’ll read up later when Jee’s in bed. Maybe he should bring the poppy seeds to bake some muffins he can leave for Maddie, Chimney and Jee-yun to have for breakfast? Wait, can toddlers have poppy seeds? They’re sort of drugs, right?

Shit, can he have poppy seeds or will that cause issues on a surprise LAFD drug test? Has he been going to work with drugs in his system because of ancient gut health grains?

He really has to leave or he’s going to be late. He fumbles for a pen in his kitchen drawer, hastily scribbles a DRU- on the back of his hand before he thinks the better of showing up to babysit his niece with the word DRUGS on his person, knocks the drawer closed with a slightly-too-hard shift of his hips, pats for his phone-wallet-keys, remembers he still has an apron on and hastily unties it, and finally gets himself out the door two minutes later with shoes half-laced.

Whichever deity determines LA traffic – or maybe it’s the power of the ancient grains? – must be in a good mood, because he makes it to Maddie’s only two minutes later than agreed. Chimney is still bouncing Jee on his hip while he precariously balances on one foot, trying to get the other into a dress shoe, when Maddie opens the door for him.

She takes one look at him, at the flour stains on his sweat pants that he hadn’t noticed until he was stopped at a red light, and hits him with a fond sigh-smile combo. He’ll take it over ‘worried’ any day.

“So, we’ll be back at ten,” Chimney says, now hopping sans-Jee to actually properly get his shoes on.

“Eleven,” Maddie corrects him, glancing up at Buck with a pleading look.

“Yeah, of course,” Buck quickly agrees. “Stay as long as you like. I can always crash on the couch.”

“Thanks, Buck,” Chimney, suddenly looking reasonably put-together and on his way out the door, tells him with a pat on his back. “Though I doubt my beautiful wife will stay awake that long.”

“Says the guy who fell asleep reading Jee-yun her bedtime story yesterday,” Maddie says, eyes twinkling. Chimney grins at her, and it’s so fond and Buck is so happy for them and it still hurts in a stupid way.

“Wait–” he remembers when Maddie already has a hand on the car door. “Can Jee have poppy seeds?”

-

“Alright, what are we gonna do with all this freedom, huh, Jee?” Buck says, keeping out a steadying hand as she clambers onto the back of the couch so she can grab onto his shoulders and swing onto his back, shriek-giggling right into his ear. “We could… make cookies?” he suggests, wincing when she bangs into him with the force of her headshake. “Is that a no to cookies, or a no to baking?”

“Yes cookies! No baking,” she declares, and Buck can’t help but wonder if he’s accidentally traumatized her into a lifelong dislike for baking. Chim has assured him her interests change every other day, but he’s not so sure. What if his own coping mechanisms screwed her up for life? At least she still likes cookies. She could always draw while he does the baking.

He’s about to suggest that when she shakes her bony little wrist in his periphery and declares she wants to make bracelets, so to the craft box they go.

He’d kind of forgotten about it until he sees it again, the bracelet making set tucked into the side of Jee’s craft box. It’s clearly been used before – the beads in the see-through plastic just a little jumbled up in places – but there’s still a sticky note on top. For princess Jee-yun, in Tommy’s familiar scribble.

“You, uh, want these?” he asks her over his shoulder, holding up the box.

Instead of an answer he hears the tell-tale sound of hundreds of beads of assorted sizes spilling out of a not-quite-securely-closed container, followed closely by a squeak of alarm from Jee that quickly melts into giggles.

“Shit– uh, I mean, uh-oh,” he says, and is rewarded with even more giggles. “Don’t say that first word, okay?”

Jee shakes her head, presses a conspiratorial finger to her lips, and then says, slowly and with emphasis, “Shit.”

He rubs at his eyes, lets himself sink fully onto the floor. “Yeah, that’s… Yeah. Just, don’t tell your parents, okay?” He starts picking up beads, one by one. Considers the logistics for a moment. Gets up to grab a bowl, and dumps the beads he’s gathered up so far into it. “Okay. So– I just thought of a fun little game. You, uh, you like colors, right?”

-

The bad news is, it looks like Chimney and Maddie have an ant problem. The good news is that Buck’s got nearly all of the beads picked off the floor and, with Jee’s help, mostly sorted back into their different colors. Jee got bored of the sorting after a little while and instead opted to sit down next to him to start stringing assorted beads together which suits him just fine, because she grabs beads from the unsorted pile and that means less work for him. Besides, the floor isn’t too uncomfortable and Jee seems happy enough. As far as his evenings go these days, it’s pretty nice.

-

+ tag list under the cut ↓

@fiyaerrigan @bisexualbrainrots @leashybebes @louuieferrignojr @rubydaiquiri @teabroomsandbooks @crimsonwildcat-blog @sweaters-and-silly @nochance-noway @manifestingchaoticvibes @hyperfocusthusly @frogsinflannel @beanarie @rcmclachlan @sad-girl-hours23 @ambernotember @apartmentsmoke @bidisasterevankinard @agentpeggycartering @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @daughterofscotland @chococara25 @jujuberry136 @alejaan91 @ferrigno @detectivehorror @a-mel0n @tommysdaddykink

please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed :)

[karasbroken]

I'm reblogging this in the hope that it might find someone else with my particular weird sleep issues/abilities. Because it's really hard to even ask for a sleep study when I have weird magical sleep powers rather than a problem. What I know about my sleep, below.

Both of my parents also had/have weird relationships to sleep, similar to mine, but not as extreme.

I'm not a super sleeper, I used to need seven hours most nights, and to catch up on sleep on the weekends, like most people, but I don't now.

I was diagnosed with bipolar 2 in my 20s. I tried (the wrong) medications before my diagnosis that made me crash out, so I've never been medicated for being bipolar, though I've considered it a couple times when my usual symptom management stopped working.

I used to sleep very little or stay up all night when I was hypomanic, but I also used to mostly be depressive so it stood out. The older I got, the more highs I had and the fewer lows, and I also started sleeping less all the time, but there was a lot going on (young kids are bad for sleeping) so I don't think they're related.

I have slept less and less with every decade. Per my Fitbit, I'm down to about 5 a night on average, from almost 8 in my 20s.

But I'm not tired all the time. I don't even use an alarm unless I have something important happening, because I'll wake up on my own fully rested between 5a-6a most days, regardless of whether I went to bed at midnight or at 3am.

Caffeine does nothing for me that I can tell, but I also don't need it, I wake up immediately, fully awake no matter how much or little I slept.

I also don't really get jet lag, and Daylight Savings Time doesn't bother me at all either direction.

I can just skip sleeping for a night when I need to get things done for work or before a trip.

In fact I do it for fun occasionally, though I struggle if I try to do it more than one day in a row. (In college I stayed up for 3 days to see if I could, started to get visual hallucinations the 4th day and stopped.)

I'm definitely one of those people who delays/denies sleep deliberately because I feel like I don't get enough time for me and my hobbies during the day.

Probably because on some level I'm chronically sleep deprived, I can also sleep basically whenever and wherever I want. So I never suffer from insomnia, I just sometimes choose not to sleep.

I have terrible sleep hygiene. I have to force myself to "go to bed" and almost never do it. I mostly just keep going with whatever I'm doing and just fall unconscious at some point.

I sometimes do biphasic sleep, where I'll sleep from 10p to 12a then wake up and not want to sleep, so I stay up until 2 or 3 or 4a and then go back to sleep until 6a. This often feels awesome, but it's hard to sleep that early unless I've stayed up all night the night before.

Basically I hate sleep and think it's stupid, so I do as little of it as I can, and it for some reason works for me. But I'm probably dooming myself to dementia or something.

(Don't worry, I don't drive or operate any other dangerous equipment in my daily life, so if I am impaired from sleep dep and just don't realize it, I'm not endangering anyone.)

one of the most enlightening realizations ive had was finding out that non-24 hour circadian rhythm people were a pretty large group and most of us have oddly similar cycles of usually around 28hr internal "days" and this masquerades as "insomnia" but if allowed to sleep and wake naturally we will just advance forward through time an extra 2-4 hours a day at a relatively stable pace. we can't go to school or jobs or even run errands on normal schedules without massive pharmacological and behavioral intervention. most of the people who have been diagnosed or figured it out themselves will report horrific, life-ruining disruption in their professional lives and terrible health from accrued lack of sleep. this disorder is most common in vision-impaired people which seems to suggest it's related to light cues. anyway just thinking about this as extremely loud yard work woke me up at 8am for the second day in a row

[kumasakka]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ❝ 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐓𝐘𝐏𝐄 ! ❞

　you are just their type — moments they realise they either got a crush on your or random moments with you and it gets into his head !

featuring. surebrec rudo , nijiku zanka , enjin !

content. 3.2k wc , up to 1.0k words per drabble / oneshot , fluff , slight crack , spoiler free , safe for minors , he fell first and harder (rudo and enjin) , one-sided enemies to lovers (zanka).

author’s note. really had fun with this and also struggles — considering I haven’t read any stories or oneshots and it’s hard for me to characterise them with only the manga </3

SUREBREC RUDO , that girl in the bakery who’s overly sweet like candy.

　"THIS is be my favourite mission of all time..." the boy murmured under his breath.

Standing tall in front of the little bakery, he gaped at the beautiful sight. It was perfect. This was the first time, Rudo got assigned to buy some sweets for team Akuta.

Not the most exciting »mission« but this was from now on Rudo's favourite task. Despite doing it for the first time. "Look at his face..!" Riyo tried her best to muffle her laughter.

"I am—" and Enjin didn't even hold back, not even trying to hide his amusement as he bursted into a fit of laughter. "Have fun and don't take too long."

"Yes!" Rudo exclaimed, posture stiff all of a sudden. "I... I will now enter the... bakery?"

"Give us a call when you're done." Enjin breathed out and put his hands into the pocket, already making his way out with Riyo. "Let's check out the other stores."

Even though they've already visited all the other stores of the town — after all, they were regulars here. Buying here sweets from the same person, it was almost their daily task.

Definitely daily after Rudo came into the picture, obsessing over the small treats in large portions. And because he's the reason why they don't have anything anymore, he might be as well the same guy who buys it.

His large red eyes stay glued to the door, his scrawny and thin figure not even moving an inch. And then after a good few minutes, he finally dares to raise his hands into the air, reaching out for the handle.

Rudo gulped nervously. Unblinking eyes staring at the handle now. Is he shaking? God, he is helpless. No one can help him anymore. But he pushed the doubt aside for the sake of the sweets.

Why was he so nervous? He just has to buy some food. Sweets in small yet fine bakery. That's not, nothing more and nothing less. From now on, he will do it almost daily so it's not a big thing.

I can do it.

Finally, he dared to continue and opened the door. A small bell rang as soon as he entered the bakery, couldn't help but flinch in surprise. A scent of fresh baked pastry hit his nose.

Oh. It smelled heavenly.

"Welcome, En—" she halted mid sentence and gazed at the dumbfounded boy. "Oh, I'm sorry... I assumed you'd be Enjin because he stood in front of the door."

"Enjin..?" he repeated, still frozen on spot while the door closed behind him.

"What can I get for you?" her lips curled into a warm smile.

He blinked. What did she ask? Now he realised. Quickly, he scrambled around and searched for the list he had with him, given by Enjin. "I uh... Errm... W-Well..." he muttered, sweat forming on his forehead.

Oh no! Where was his list?

"Mmh come closer." she ushered him, signing to stand in front of the counter.

"O-Oh..." he stiffly made his way to the counter, list already forgotten.

"First of all, calm down." she chuckled and tried to help him — to focus instead of panic. To keep a cool head. "And then resume back to searching the list."

"Ah..." he trailed off, slowly coming back to his senses through her simple instructions.

His hands find themselves in his bag again, grabbing out a piece of paper and then handing her it. Easy, quick, simple. She smiled at him once more and accepted the list.

"Ah, so you are part of Enjin's team." she noted quickly as soon as she saw the listed things. "You must be new?"

"Y-Yeah!" he didn't hesitate to agree.

"This is the order. I already grabbed the usual after seeing Enjin but he didn't enter so I wondered why." she grabbed a bag from underneath the counter, "yet it seems like you're here to pick up the order today. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to... meet you." Rudo blinked at her words and watched how she was sliding the bag towards him.

"I'm [name]." she introduced herself as he placed a bag of coins on the counter.

"I'm... Rudo. Err nice to meet you too." he repeated himself, making her chuckle.

"Here." she slid some coins from the bag back to him.

"Uh I think Enjin said the amount was right..." he said in a mix of confusion and bewilderment.

"Yes, it is. But since you're from the cleaners, you always get ten percent off plus another ten percent because you're new." she explained, leaving out the part where she'd always argue with Enjin.

Enjin, who would never take up her offer and always gives her the right amount, versus her, who always offers the cleaners minus ten percent because of their help to keep the town in contact.

"R-Really?" he hesitated.

"Of course." she beamed and ended it with a final, "don't tell Enjin this, alright? Keep the money and buy yourself nice."

"Ahh." he gaped, hand hovering above the coins as he contemplated if he should actually accept it. He placed his gloved hands over them and slid it back to her. "No need..! You should buy yourself something nice."

She blinked in surprise. "Are you sure?" she questioned, and as an answer he could only nod. "Alright..." she trailed off before she accepted it. "Have a good day, Rudo."

"T-Thanks..." he stuttered.

One thing — the way his name rolled off her tongue, so easily and so familiar. It felt strange. In a good way. It made his stomach feel so fuzzy and warm, warm like his cheeks. She talked with him as if they were old friends.

"Goodbye, I hope we will see each other again." she send him the sweetest smile he's ever seen.

"B-Bye..." his cheeks reddened even more, immediately taking the bag and stiffly walking out of the bakery.

This was too much for his heart.

"Greet the others for me!"

"...I will!" he replied firmly this time and escaped the hot bakery. It was hot as hell.

Actually it wasn't hot. Rudo's face was just heating up.

But he really likes you.

NIJIKU ZANKA , that girl in his team who worries too much — because of him.

　"I'M telling you..! He totally hates me and I can prove that." you cried out in sadness and sorrow.

"Oh yeah?" Enjin hummed, not even minding to listen to you as he popped another sweet treat into his mouth. "Doesn't seem like it though."

"What are you saying?" you deadpanned and heaved out a sigh.

With him you mean Nijiku fricking Zanka, fanboy number one when it was about Enjin. You are sure of it, that guy totally hates your guts — no he hates you with the bottom of his heart.

You can recall that one time when you were training with Rudo while also teaching him new things about the ground, bringing him more into the new environment he was in.

"Hah..." Rudo panted out in tiredness as he backed away from your attack.

"Don't get distracted so easily just because I'm telling more things about the ground." you warned and shook your head in disapproval, "if I were to fight seriously as an enemy, you probably would've been long gone."

"Sorry! It won't happen again..!" he apologised stiffly, suddenly feeling bad.

"Are you feeling guilty?" you sweat dropped and send him a comforting smile. "Sorry for being so harsh. Don't mind apologising."

"But I'm wasting your time..." he frowned as he continued, "you're teaching me two things at the same time and I'm still not adapting... Don't you have other things to do?"

"Rudo, you worry too much." you chuckled, "learning things takes time. You can't expect to adapt so quickly and actually, you're doing real good. Just forget about my schedule."

Semiu is killing you later anyway.

"Still—"

"Yer hidin' here, huh?" another voice joined, making your heads turn. "Stealin' my apprentice now, aren't we?"

"Good to see you, Zanka." you offered him the best smile you could offer, "I didn't mean to steal him. You were so busy and Rudo was eager to learn something new."

"Y-Yeah..! It isn't [name]'s fault." Rudo chimed in.

"Well, I'm free now. Let's get going. I can teach ya." he stared at the two of you with unnerving eyes.

"Sorry." you apologised briefly. "I didn't—"

"No need to apologise." he cut you off. "Rudo is just wastin' yer time."

You finished telling the story and sulked in a corner, continuing to sip your milk tea. "And then he took Rudo with him, leaving me behind." you sighed out for the nth time this day.

"Really?" Enjin question in disinterest.

"Are you even listening?" you glared at the male and leaned against your palm. "The other time, while we were sparring... He just left as soon as he defeated me! He ran away, Enjin! I wanted to congratulate him even..!"

Right. You remember it like it was yesterday.

The sound of various weapons clashing echoed on the field as you narrowed your eyes, holding onto your needle-like weapons before rushing towards your sparring partner.

Zanka was quick to analyse your movements and blocked your attack with his love stick, using force to push you back. You changed the grip around the handle, about to stab him from upwards.

Yet he was able to dodge and kick the side of you as a reflex.

It hurt as hell. You could feel the air getting squeezed out of your lungs despite getting hit by the side, stumbling to the side. "Ack..!" you breathed out and held your side.

"Ah." he froze on spot and stared at you.

"That really hurt... You are too good." you huffed out with a last effort smile, "it was a good match—"

He brushed past you, quickly walking away and leaving you behind on the field again — without another word and another sound. Not even minding your praise as he already disappeared.

"Uh was that guy for real?" you covered your face with your hands and peeked through your fingers. "You asshole didn't even listen."

"Clearly." now he did, no shame or guilt in his voice. He did not listen to a word you said.

"Asshole." you clicked your tongue and threw a macaroon at his face — which he easily caught with his mouth.

"Thanf fer feeding me." his voice was muffled.

"I cannot deal with you." you cried and stood up, making your way out of the room. "I will never listen to your rambles again!"

Mind you, Enjin does not care right now.

"Seriously..! I already miss Rudo and Riyo and Eishia and Semiu!" you huffed and crossed the hallway.

"[name]." you froze again, immediately stopping at the voice as you stumbled slightly.

"Zanka." you replied stiffly and met his eyes dumbfounded. "Aren't you supposed to be on a mission with Rudo and Riyo?"

"Finished early. It was easier than expected." he explained briefly, eyes trailing down.

"That's good for you." you beamed in joy.

"Uh thanks..."

Now it was awkward.

"Errr well then... I have to go now! See you." you excused yourself and immediately ran away, no longer wanting to spend your time with someone who hated your guts.

"Okay. Bye." he watched how the air turned into dust.

And as soon as you weren't there anymore? Zanka's hand formed into a fist, which he raised into the air — cheeks heating up and a proud expression on his face.

This conversation was a total success! You two exchanged more words than usual the last days. Perhaps he will never admit it, though he does have the biggest crush on you.

First of all, you are very diligent when it was about your job as a cleaner. Working hard and getting recognised by the whole team for your diligence. And you even are able to help everyone despite a busy schedule.

Second of all, you are the cutest. Always giving him the sweetest smiles and always lighting up whenever he talked with you. And when you were beaming right now? You must be the sun itself.

Third of all, you are the only sane one next to Riyo, Rudo— the list goes on and on. He believes you are the only one with a sane mind.

Zanka will not let Rudo occupy your precious time and he absolutely felt bad when he hurt you during sparring. He should never ever dare to spare with you again or else he'll hurt you again.

"Wow, you look like a total fanboy." Riyo spoke up, catching how Zanka stood there in all his glory with his fist pumped into the air and a proud expression set on his face.

Perhaps he should return to his room again.

ENJIN , that woman who’s cheeky yet not in a childish way — rather cute.

　"RIGHT..." you trailed off while gazing at the game you lost.

"Feels nice to win again you." he admitted with a satisfied chuckle, leaning back into the seat.

"Oh really? What makes it so nice?" you questioned, curiosity simmering in your eyes.

Your hands were swift to collect all the cards again, now beginning to shuffle them new again to continue the various games. "Simple, you always win. Got a keen eye for lies and all, huh?"

"I feel honoured." you chuckled at his praise and handed out the cards again.

Playing poker with you was fun despite losing all the time. He always got to see you so focused, making out the lies hidden behind his useless facade. Spending time with you in general was fun.

Honestly speaking, he would love to spend the rest of his life with you. He will never forget the quiet excitement and joy whenever he sees you, talk with you or play with you.

You make his most boring days fun. That's what he absolutely loves about you. Yellow eyes staring at your figure, following every movement and taking in every detail of you.

"Enjin, it's your turn." it was a soft push into reality out of his thoughts.

"Really? Sorry." he apologised with the usual grin.

"I noticed you've been getting distracted lately." you noted and placed the cards on top of the table again, "let's take a break. I mean, we've been playing for two hours already."

He doesn't mind. He would play even more hours with you if you'd like to. Despite his busy schedule — he doesn't even follow that schedule anyway. Never has, never will.

"But you want to play." he followed your actions slowly.

"I did. Yet we played for long. A break won't hurt." a chuckle left your lips as you got to stretch your tired limps.

"Alright." he agreed without another complaint and leaned back again, hands instinctively reaching out for a cigarette and lighter.

"Do you think Rudo will feel comfortable here?" you worried slightly and grabbed a snack, a stick covered in chocolate.

"Perhaps not now, but sooner or later he will get used to the new environment. I'm sure he'll feel better in the future, with the cleaners. With us." he assured you, lips parting to place the cigarette between them, "Don't worry—"

"Woops." you let out as you interrupted him, the sweet treat already in his mouth instead of the cigarette. "Sorry."

"I know damn well you ain't sorry." he blinked, a little dumbfounded. "You're pretty slick, aren't you?"

"Because I worry about your health too. Smoking isn't the best, you know? I would rather have you get cavities instead of not-working lungs mid thirties." your lips curled into a smile.

"You worry too much." the male chuckled and dropped the things again, accepting the defeat and embracing your demand with open arms.

"Maybe I worry too little." a sigh escaped your lips as you grasped the cigarette between your fingers.

The blond-haired man tilted his head and hummed under his breath, smirk everlasting on those lips of his. "Nah, let's meet in the middle. You worry the right amount." he bite off the tip of the stick.

"How about another round?" you questioned, eyes staying glued to the cards.

"Sure. Whatever you want."

"Let's play blackjack." you began to shuffle the cards again, this time handing out two cards each, one of them open for the other player to see. "If I win, you'll stop smoking for a month."

"Oh? Now we're playing with prices?" he took a glimpse of his hidden card, not glancing at you yet. "What if I win?"

"That's for you to decide." you smiled as soon as you saw your other card. "Are you drawing another one or are you fine with your pair?"

"Hit." he drew another card and clicked his tongue.

"I think... I will do the same. Hit."

"What if I want..." you. he sealed his lips, contemplating if he should continue, "nevermind. Let me think about it after the game."

"Mysterious, aren't we?" you blinked slowly and watched how he drew another card. "I'm fine with my current hand."

"Ah really? Hit." he drew another card, taking a short look. "Busted."

"Really?" your eyes had a joyful gleam in them as you threw your cards to the table, open for him to see. "I won the bet!"

"Congrats." he grinned at your delight and slid the lighter towards you, paired with a pack of cigarettes. "Here is your reward."

"Yay." you didn't waste another second to pocket them, questioning curiously, "What did you want as a reward?"

"That's a secret."

"Come on..!" you sulked lightly, the curiosity getting the best of you.

"Mmh, you really wanna know?" he teased you even more.

"I do." you collected all cards again, "you want money? Or maybe more snacks? Or... Uh erm, I don't know."

"A..." kiss he trailed off and then proceeded to cover his face with one hand. "Nevermind."

"Huh!? You were about to tell me..!" you groaned and glared at him fiercely. "I will find out anyway."

"One day? Perhaps." he murmured and breathed out.

"Don't be shy. I won't tell anyone else." you whispered, "you can trust me—"

"[name]!" your attention turned to the red-haired girl, who stood at the entrance to the room.

"Riyo, what's wrong?" you leaned back to your seat, cushion softening the force back.

"Can you brush my hair?" she rubbed her eyes.

"Of course." you lifted yourself from the couch and made your way to the young girl, "why aren't you asleep yet? It's too late for you."

"Erm it's also late for you..."

"No, I'm an adult and allowed to. You are still a kid." you pat her head and turned back to Enjin, a smile painting your face. "I think I'll also go to sleep soon. Good night and sleep well, Enjin."

"Good night..." he didn't meet your gaze, head directed up and his gaze on the ceiling.

"And you will also go to sleep after I brushed your hair, yes?"

"Fine."

"It's yes ma'am... Humour me a but, Riyo."

"Yes, ma'am!"

A chuckle left his lips as the voices faded into the background the further away you two got — now making your way to Riyo's room. Aren't you a sweet one? You should know.

That he tries his best to hold himself back.

© 2025 kumasakka — do not plagiarize , copy , modify , translate our work !

[lucy90712]

Hi!

Saw that you want some requests for tennis players so here is couple ideas. Either for Carlos or Jannik would be nice.

- Maybe reader has played tennis when they were younger. And they were quite good but got injured or just stopped playing. And they want to start playing as a hobby again. So their boyfriend gets really excited for them and wants to play with them.

- They have been together for a long time (like over 5 years) and they start to talk and think about past and things that they have done. Like holidays, family parties or just start if their relationship

- the reader is a small influencer (like under 10000 followers) and does a day in my life (where their boyfriend is seen) or “my boyfriend does my makeup”. And the internet goes nuts

- Reader has ADHD and has hard time on focusing on things. And maybe she and her boyfriend goes out for the night. And she has forgotten thing to home (phone wallet or something). And her boyfriend has taken them with him because he knows she would forgot them.

Hopefully you got some inspiration out of those. And i will brainstorm some more ideas later

A/N: I’m planning to write another one of these ideas for Carlos so keep your eyes peeled for that one The snap. A sound no one else heard but one I'll never forget. I was sixteen at the time on the verge of making my breakthrough into the world of professional tennis. The match was a final to win me my third junior title of the year but I didn't make it past the first game of the second set. I was sliding towards the ball when my foot caught rolling my ankle completely rupturing my Achilles tendon as well as fracturing a few bones in my leg. The pain was like nothing I'd ever felt before or anything I've felt since, instantly I knew it was bad and it really was. Recovery took a year and a half and by that point I didn't want to enter a tennis court ever again. 

When I was finally better I vowed that I'd never go anywhere near the sport of tennis which includes playing and even watching tennis. Before the injury tennis was my life but the very thing I loved so much took everything away from me in one split second and I couldn't do that to myself again. Instead I decided to focus on my education and get myself a good job that was much less risky and that's what I did. I worked hard and graduated top of my class with a degree in marketing which landed me a job at Nike straight out of uni. That's how I met Jannik and everything changed. 

Once my boss found out I used to play tennis he put me in charge of all the campaigns with the Tennis players they sponsor which was a big deal for my career but it was the last thing I wanted to do. The first campaign I worked on was with Jannik who really surprised me as he was so down to earth. In between shoots he sat and talked with me about my tennis career and why I gave it up which I never thought I'd talk about but for some reason around Jannik I couldn't stop myself. When I told him that I haven't stepped foot on a tennis court since that flipped a switch in him. He gave me his number that day and said he wanted me to enjoy tennis again so I should come to one of his training sessions just to watch. 

Before going to one of his training sessions he invited me out for coffee and we talked for hours about everything. After that we went out together a few more times which looking back were dates but at the time we never put a label on them until the day Jannik asked me to be his girlfriend. It was only then that he asked if I'd come to one of his training sessions but he didn't push he never reminded me he just knew that once I was ready I would go and one day I did. From that day I learned to love tennis as a fan rather than as a player which was something I never thought I'd get back. 

In the three years I've been with Jannik I've traveled the world watching him play and watching him win major titles which hurt a little to start with as I thought about what could've been but then I always remember how much I love my life now. Jannik always checks in with me too to make sure that I'm not thinking too much about the what ifs and if I am he always lets me talk through my feelings without even an ounce of judgment. It's thanks to him that I feel so ok being at all these matches with him it's all his encouragement and patience that has helped me stop hearing that sound every time someone strikes a ball. 

For a while Jannik has been trying to encourage me to play again even if it's just hit a ball a couple times with him with no pressure. He even got me into therapy so I can talk through my feelings about my injury with a professional. The therapy has really helped me and made me realise that the reason I don't want to step foot on a tennis court is because I'm scared of losing my freedom again. When I got injured I couldn't do anything I loved even just walks on the beach and I never want to experience that again. With Jannik's encouragement and the therapists help I've been feeling a lot better about picking up a racket again but I'm waiting for the moment where it just feels right. 

~~~~~~~~~~

After a bit of a break Jannik is back to training but because it's a Saturday I'm able to go with him. I've watched him practice many times but today I was extra focused watching his movements across the court and the way he struck the ball. He really is mesmerising to watch everything he does he makes it look so effortless which is what people used to say to me when I played and I have to say it's definitely fun to watch. He didn't train too hard for his first session back his coach just had him doing some basic stuff and getting moving again so by the time he was done he was tired but not exhausted like he usually is. 

For some reason as I climbed down from the stands I felt the urge to pick up one of Jannik's rackets he had leaning against the bottom of the stands. It's not an urge I've ever had before so I just did it and then I found a stray ball and started to bounce it with the racket. It wasn't much but it really did make me feel alive again I haven't held a racket since that day and I forgot the feeling I used to get every time I stepped foot onto a court even just for a practice session. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Jannik watching me completely still like if he moved it would scare me and I'd stop. 

"I didn't think it would feel this good just to bounce a ball again" I said making my way towards him 

"Do you want to try some hitting practice with me I won't hit hard or make you run we can just hit it back and forth" Jannik suggested 

"You know what yeah I do" I said surprising myself 

He gave me a better racket and grabbed a few more balls and handed them to me so I could serve. It's been a long time since I served a ball so my first try was all over the place especially with Jannik's racket but on my second try I did it perfectly. True to his word Jannik didn't test me too much he had me moving a bit but he always made sure I had time to get to the ball and he didn't hit too hard. The longer we went on the braver I got so I started really making Jannik work for it which he also seemed to enjoy. As he could see it was getting more comfortable he made things a bit harder for me but I coped with it. 

We spent nearly an hour just having fun. Our rallies were long but they always ended when I wasn't quite brave enough to run for a ball. On our last rally I finally beat Jannik which is why he finally called it so I could end on a high. It was a small gesture but it meant a lot to me that he was willing to just take the loss to make me happy. The smile on his face also made my heart feel full because I could tell he was proud of me and that's always a great feeling. 

"How do you feel?" Jannik asked 

"Like I'm in heaven that was so much fun I didn't realise how much I missed it" I said excitedly 

"I'm so proud of you you know I know it's taken a lot for you to get this far and you did great you really made me work for some of those" he said 

"Can we do this again some time?" I asked 

"Of course we can whenever you want to play tell me and we'll play" he said 

"Maybe after some more practice I can start to play just for fun again" I said 

"And if you do I'll be right there cheering you on always" he smiled 

[ayexaye]

hiii making a request; Shidou x fem reader where she’s the force that kinda grounds him?? friends to lovers type beat. prettypleasecantheykiss

a/n; sorry this took me so long for some reason 😭 I took DAYS to write this I was struggling so much, mostly cause its hard for me to imagine shidou being calm in any capacity LMAO hopefully it turned out okay and thank you so much for the request <3

── .✦

˚⋆｡°✩₊ Let me into your heart ᡣ𐭩

Shidou Ryusei x reader, headcanons and a short fic [700~ words]

── .✦

-When you two first meet, you're one of the few people that don't flinch away when he says or does something crazy, which is what gets him interested in you in the first place

-Something about you makes him actually listen to you. If he's too “intense” you just give him a look and he just calms down

-Even though he pretends to brush you off and acts like he doesn't care about your opinion, he always ends up following whatever you want in the end

-You don't scold him for how he acts, and it reminds him that he isn't some kind of monster

-Once you become close friends, you're very much a safe place for him, a place he can be vulnerable, even if only a little

-Partly because you can tell so quickly when he's genuinely upset about something

Shidou was never good at staying still or being quiet, and you know that well from being friends with him.

His shoes scuffed against the floor with every bounce of his foot. He stared at you from across the café table, leaning against his palm. You paid him no mind, continuing to read through your textbook (much like he was also supposed to be doing).

He let out a groan, leaning back in his seat and dragging his hands down his face dramatically, loud enough to draw in glares and side eyes from other people in the café.

“You're so boring- this is so boring! Can't we go do somethin’ fun?? I don't wanna study anymore.”

“You're the one who said you wanted help with this chapter,” you replied, not bothering to look up from your notes.

“Well I lied,” he said, leaning closer to you. “I just wanted a reason to hang out with you.”

“Shocking.”

“You should be shocked,” he grinned. “I don't give my time to just anyone, babe.”

You glanced up at him with a half-hearted glare. He laughed, leaning back in his chair again—so far you think it might fall over.

“You're gonna get us kicked out…” You muttered as you closed your book. He scoffed, letting his chair fall forwards again, the front legs banging against the ground with a loud thud. “And don't call me that.”

“So you're done?” He asked excitedly, eyes lighting up when you shove your notes back into their folder.

“For now. Since someone can't seem to last 5 minutes without causing a scene.”

“Me?” He pointed at himself in mock offense, scoffing. “But I've been so well behaved!”

“Do you think threatening to punch someone on our way here is well behaved?” You countered.

“He looked at you weird! And I didn't actually punch him.”

You rolled your eyes as both of you stood up. Once you both got out of the café, he latched his arm around your shoulder. “C'mon, I'll walk you home. I deserve it for being such a good boy today, don’tcha’ think?”

You failed to hold in your laugh, and didn't try to shrug him off as his arm stayed comfortably slung around you. You walked together quietly for a while.

It always seemed like Shidou was calmer like this when it was just the two of you.

“I honestly don't understand why you like hanging out with me all the time,” you admitted.

Shidou shrugged. “I mean, you give me shit sometimes but… I kinda like that you can put me in my place, y'know?”

“Someone's gotta do it, or else you'll end up in trouble all the time.”

You finally arrived at your front porch, and you turned to face him. “Well... Thanks for the walk.”

Shidou didn't move, eyes focused on you. “Do you want me to leave?”

You paused. He was uncharacteristically serious as he waited for your answer.

“Uhm—It's kinda late.” You cleared your throat, suddenly unable to meet his intense gaze. Truth be told, you weren't sure yourself if you wanted him to leave. But saying that out loud.. “Probably should…”

Shidou must have been able to read your hesitation, because as soon as you turned towards your door, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you closer. Your heart pounded suddenly in your chest.

“I don't wanna leave yet,” he said quietly. “Especially if you don't want me to.”

You sucked in a sharp breath as he leaned closer to you.

“I can be good for you. I will.”

“Shidou—”

His free hand cradled your cheek. “Let me?”

His eyes bore into yours, desperate, hungry. But you could also sense a rare uncertainty from him, like he wasn't used to wanting something so badly without knowing if he would actually be able to get it.

You nodded, and it was all he needed to lean in and kiss you. His hand slipped from your wrist to your waist, shockingly delicate compared to how rough he kissed you. When he finally pulled away, you were speechless.

“You don't gotta say anything. I've just been wantin’ to do that for a while.”

“Then..” Your hand latched onto the collar of his jacket, pulling him with you as you opened your front door. “I think you should do it again.”

── .✦

𖹭.ᐟ Masterlist — thank you for reading! likes/reblogs/comments are greatly appreciated <3

[foxlorests]

𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒

CHAPTER SIX: THE BALLAD OF HARRY AND CATHERINE

♫⋆｡♪ PAIR: Harry Castillo x Younger!Original Female Character

♫⋆｡♪ WC: 9.4k

♫⋆｡♪ CHAPTER TAGS: SMUT 18+ MDNI, P in V Sex, 2 Rounds, Size kink, Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Cum as Lube, Creampie 2x, Doggystyle, Missionary, Fingering, Cunnilingus, Age Difference, Catherine being submissive, Harry losing control, first fight, hospital visit, FLUFF, Slow Burn, Yearning, Mutual Pining, Soulmates, Romcom Vibes, Domestic Harry Castillo, Billionaire Harry, Harry learning how to fall in love the human way, Emotional vulnerability

♫⋆｡♪ CHAPTER SUMMARY: Dating life of Harry the billionaire and Catherine the composer.

AO3 | Wattpad | Spotify Playlist | Youtube Music Playlist | Idealists Masterlist

Months passed the way good months sometimes do—quietly, quickly, tucked beneath the folds of routine. Not without its challenges, but gentler, more bearable when the days were stitched with shared meals and familiar faces. Harry worked. Catherine spends her days helping the studio. Sometimes, they occupied different orbits entirely, but they found their way back to each other more often than not. His reason was mostly because she needed to help him eat the groceries she bought before it went bad.

He had started sending for her. Not every day, but enough to call it a pattern. His driver would pull up outside her building like clockwork, and she’d emerge—always with something in hand, a coffee or a tote bag or a violin, talking on the phone, laughing. She never asked for the car, and when he offered to get her her own driver, she declined immediately.

“Mr. Williams is fine,” she had said, slipping into the seat and adjusting her coat. “He’s kind. And besides, he’s saving up for something. He could use the extra hour. I think his wife’s expecting again.”

Harry had blinked. “How do you know that?”

“I ask.”

And she did. She asked people things. How their day was. How they slept. If their mother was still in the hospital. She remembered names and faces and allergies. Mr. Williams—a scary looking man with a small scar on his lips—once told Harry that driving her around was therapeutic. “Talks my ears off,” he’d said fondly. “She reminds me of my youngest niece. One that thinks too hard about the world.”

Harry had laughed at that. “You’ll get a bonus.”

He said he would have done it without the bonus anyway.

It was astonishing, how quickly people opened up if you just knew where to look. Williams needed the extra cash, yes—three kids and another on the way. But more than that, he needed someone like Catherine in the car with him, asking questions that made the day pass easier. Something that Harry knew nothing about.

Catherine had that effect. A kind of soft interference in people’s patterns. She didn’t always mean to fix things, but sometimes she did. Harry saw it on a random Thursday near Times Square, when she stopped walking to listen to a busker with a bent trumpet and a torn glove. Some teenagers were heckling, loud and careless. She gave the musician a fifty and an address—her studio—and told him to come record something, no charge.

“You can’t run a studio giving free services to everyone,” Harry had said later, not unkindly.

“I know,” she said, tying her hair back. “But he’s talented. Think of it as an investment.”

And then he understood. Funny how she could speak his language so easily. She made the world a little more tolerable. For people like him and  Mr. Williams. For Emma, too.

The night Catherine played a private concert for Emma’s anniversary—Harry wasn’t there, but he heard all about it the next day. Emma came into work glowing. She showed him videos, grainy but still lovely, of Catherine in a small personal fancy dining room that they rented, playing an impromptu rendition of a song Emma’s husband used to sing when they were first dating.

“She played it after hearing it once,” Emma had said, eyes a little misty. “And she made us laugh, too. I think she’s magic.”

Harry had nodded slowly, then asked her to send him the pictures—just the ones of Catherine. He said it was for some press kit. It wasn’t.

Catherine still spent nights at his place, though not every night. And most nights ended the same way—him watching her fall asleep mid-sentence, her hair splayed across his pillows, her breath soft and even. She’d kiss him, and they’d kiss some more, and sometimes her hand would slip under his shirt and stay there, and his heart would race, his body would follow. But eventually she’d fall asleep against him, warm and tangled, and he’d lie there, wanting her in ways he didn’t even have words for.

He had taken more cold showers in the last month than he had in the last decade. But he didn’t complain. He wouldn’t have changed it for anything.

Because something in the way she reached for him without thinking, curled toward him in her sleep like he was a constant, made it all worth it. Because this—this was a rhythm he could live with.

And even in his frustrated quiet, he knew what it meant. He was falling in love with her.

Not in the impulsive, blindfolded way of his younger years. Or the way he usually gets attached to someone, with his head and his needs. But slowly. Precisely. Differently than his past experiences when the urgency of getting old got to him. It was a slow process, especially for someone his age, but he didn’t really care. He did it happily. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Like there had never been any other outcome.

The first two months were nearly over before either of them noticed. Not because the days went fast, but because they were full. Appointments. Rehearsals. Meetings.

Catherine’s documentary deal was set to begin—her first screen project. She’d turned down films before, but this one felt right. A quiet, poetic piece from the BBC, part of a larger series about the universe. She’d read the project aloud to him once, on the couch, bare-legged and wrapped in his sweater, and he remembered thinking that only she could make gravitational waves sound romantic.

They decided to have a night out before the chaos began. A dinner. A real one.

He took her to Emma’s husband’s restaurant. It was fancier than the usual places he took his girlfriends. There were multiple utensils, arranged according to a specific etiquette that most of his regular girlfriends wouldn’t know, even the upper middle class. It was the kind of fine-dining place that required serious reservations, or at least knowing someone important—which, of course, Harry did. But he hadn’t ever bothered to go before. Not with anyone.

She noticed.

“Why haven’t you been here before?” she asked, between sips of wine. “I know it’s hard to get a table, but a couple weeks' wait isn't the end of the world. You could’ve asked Emma ages ago, or one of your colleagues. I’m sure you have business with important people.”

He folded his napkin with unnecessary care. “I guess I just didn’t like the hassle of putting my name on waiting lists.”

She tilted her head. “You don’t like romantic dinners?”

“I do, but not the hard ones.” He paused. “Not ones that required waiting.”

Her eyebrow rose. “What about your previous girlfriend?”

He took a sip of water before answering. A beat too slow. That slippery territory again. Still embarrassing.

“I guess I haven’t really bothered before,” he said finally. Or wanted to, he thought. “A multi-course meal isn’t just for anyone.”

He didn’t tell her that he used to take women to the same three places on rotation—quiet but forgettable to him. He liked women who thought a couple hundred was expensive. It made him feel like he exceeded expectations by just avoiding food truck meals. Conversations kept surface-level. Nothing that stuck. Nothing that lingered. He wanted the romance just enough to get by, to make them stay. He’d take them to a somewhat fancy place and they’re already looking at him like he’s amazing, like part of his charm is his money. He didn’t mind. Love had felt like something abstract and theatrical then. 

“Besides,” he added, “this is to make up for our first date.”

Catherine smiled. “I love that burrito truck. It’s seen me at my worst.”

He chuckled.

Back at the penthouse, it was late but neither of them were tired. They talked for a while—feet on the coffee table, glasses still half-full—until the conversation drifted to early years. He told her about the time he’d somehow earned a B in high school art by charming his way through a final presentation. Claimed his poorly drawn still life was a commentary on irony in postmodernism. The teacher had blinked at him, probably too tired to argue.

“I had no idea what I was talking about,” he said. “Still don’t.”

She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. He liked making her laugh. Probably more than he should.

And then, maybe out of some buried insecurity, he asked if she would get bored of him. If it was strange to date someone who couldn’t tell a C major from a D minor. Someone who, despite his power and polish, couldn’t really understand what it meant to be moved by your own creation.

“You think I pick people based on whether they can do art?” she asked, grinning, her voice soft in the quiet.

He didn’t answer. Not directly.

The pageant conversation happened by accident. A thread pulled too lightly, and suddenly it unraveled. One moment they were teasing each other over bad yearbook photos, and the next they were watching old videos of Catherine—aged somewhere between seven and ten—answering questions on a televised stage, her voice small but oddly composed. A pink sash, a tiara, a winning smile that looked practiced.

Harry hadn’t expected to find it so endearing. The clip was buried deep online, grainy and compressed, dug up through some obscure archive website with buffering issues. Catherine was red-faced the entire time, fingers clutching the edge of the couch cushion as if it might help her disappear. She kept insisting it was awful. She claimed her voice was too squeaky, her dress ridiculous, her walk stiff. But what Harry saw was a child who already knew how to charm a room. Articulate, even then. Witty in a way that didn’t feel coached.

“You won,” he said, softly. “Don’t know why you have to be so embarrassed.”

She rolled her eyes and reached forward to close the tab before the video could finish. He didn’t fight her on it—but he bookmarked the link. He’d watch the rest later, when she wasn’t looking.

Later that night, they were brushing their teeth together when her sister called, a picture of a woman who looked a little bit like Catherine but with darker hair glowed on the screen. Jane. The name flashed on the screen just as Catherine was finishing rinsing. She answered it without hesitation, putting it on speaker like Harry was already in the fold—just another pair of ears in the room, welcome to whatever family mess came through the line.

Jane’s voice was sharp, slightly amused. “Heard you accepted a movie deal.”

“It’s a documentary,” Catherine said, mid-spit.

“Same thing.”

“It’s not a movie,” she corrected. “It’s for the BBC. They’re interviewing Ashoke Sen.”

A pause. Then a scoff. “Like I know who that is.”

Harry tried not to laugh.

“I’m with Harry,” Catherine said, grabbing a towel to dry her face. “Say hello, Harry.”

“Hello.”

“The boyfriend, huh?” Jane said, too smoothly. “Heard a lot about you, Harry.”

They talked about some other stuff too, mostly about family. Harry trailed to his bedroom, half listening.

“Anyways, Jane, It’s late here and I’m having a sore throat. Plus tomorrow is my first day doing the soundtrack, so this is my last chance to get a really good rest.”

When she closed the phone, Harry already went rifling through his medicine cabinet, returned with a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

“For your throat,” he said simply, holding it out to her like it was nothing. “You have to drink it again tomorrow. Next time you feel sick, even just a little, you tell someone. Alright?”

She paused. Looked at him for a beat longer than expected.

Then nodded, quiet, and took the pill. He watched her slowly, making sure she really did drink it. He then took the glass and went out again to refill it, to put it on her bedside table— at least the one he assigned to her.

She stood in the bathroom doorway, sleeves of her shirt rolled up to her elbows. Her hair was half-damp, soft at the ends. She looked at him the way she always did—like she was trying to memorize him.

Harry waited, silent, the way he often did with her. Some words had to arrive on their own.

“I like you, Harry,” she said.

He smiled, slow. “Well, I should hope so.”

But something lingered behind her voice. A shadow of guilt, maybe, or melancholy. She’d said earlier how emotional she was about tomorrow—how work would consume her, how her schedule would change. That she hated missing things. Her friends, her studio. Him. There was something about knowing what was coming that made her softer tonight. Like she needed to hold onto something.

She stepped toward him and kissed him. Lightly, at first. A cautious hello, a silent sorry. Then she kissed him again. Deeper. Longer. The kind of kiss that said she’d been thinking about this all day. Her mouth tasted like peppermint. Her hands touched his jaw, the side of his neck, slow and certain.

He kissed her back and found her pulse with his mouth, just under her ear. She inhaled, shallow.

“Thank you for being so patient with me,” she whispered.

He laughed under his breath. “Hasn’t been easy.”

Her laugh pressed against his skin. Then she kissed him again, slower this time. Hungrier. Her hands curled into the back of his neck, her breath a pattern he already recognized. Familiar and new. He groaned before he could stop himself.

“You’re trying to torture me,” he murmured.

She smiled, full and amused. Jumped a little into his arms, light as she always felt in moments like this. He caught her easily, carried her a few steps toward the bed. Their routine.

He laid her down to his bed. 

“I want you, Harry,” she said.

His heartbeat stopped. He stared for a moment, eyes refused to blink, dark with desire, looking down at her on the bed. His frame caged her in.

“I want you—”

“Don’t say that,” he told her quietly. “Not unless you really mean it.”

She looked at him. No blink. No hesitation.

“But I do,” she said. “I think about you all the time. I’m going to miss having you around.”

“You're not going anywhere,” said Harry, giving her cheeks kisses. “I’m going to visit your studio everyday. Check if you’re still alive or not.”

“Everyday? That’s an awful lot of time, isn’t it? You’re not busy?”

“Everyday.”

He kissed her again—soft, and long, and grateful. She was starting to kiss desperately, clinging to him harder than she had ever done before.

“Please, Harry,” said Catherine, her eyes dark with lust.

He looked the same way, but he’d argued his feelings were more intense. It was long bottled up and stored away, waiting for her to start the fire. “You don’t need to beg, sweetheart. My beautiful Catherine.”

His hands trailed her body, braver than he ever was before. He touched breasts, slowly at first, then rougher when she approved with her moans.

“I wanted you so much. Would’ve waited a lifetime,” he said. He took his shirt off slowly, then hers. She was eager, raising her arms then wrapping it around him again.

“I’m sorry it took so long. I wanted you too,” she said, bringing him for a kiss again.

He groaned. “Don’t say sorry.”

She moaned, and the sound woke something so guttural inside him that he stopped.

She kissed him still, then asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going too fast,” he said, his breathing heavy, inhaling more of her smell that somehow travelled down to his crotch, making his length hard, wanting to be inside her.

He was desperate. Oh so desperate. How long had he wanted this? So long, so long he wanted to touch her, to be inside her. To hear her moan as she writhed under him. The thought was too strong, traveling through his body like electricity.  

“I’m not a virgin, Harry,” she whispered.

“It's not that,” he said hurriedly.

“I’m on the pill. Just started last—”

He groaned, stopping her words. 

“No, it's just… I don’t think I can hold back, sweetheart.” He winced at the surge of feeling. How pathetic he sounded.

“You don't have to.”

It took a few seconds for the words to settle. Then Harry took off the rest of their clothes, and his hand moved rougher, faster. Took off her bra in a hurry, her panties with the same urgency. He touched her there, felt the wetness and groaned again.

“So wet, Catherine,” he said, his voice unfamiliar. Lower.

He touched her clit, his fingers moving in slow circles.

Harry loved touching her, making her sigh. It made him look at her in a different light, like she was older than she is. And when he touched her, he felt intoxicated. His fingers caressed her velvety insides, hot and wet. She was, simply, the most beautiful woman in the world. He’s not exaggerating. Her curves, entirely woman. Soft, lovely.

His lips trailed down her collarbone, then lower to her breasts. He took one nipple in his mouth, sucking gently before biting down softly. She gasped quietly as he moved lower still, kissing her stomach and hips before settling between her thighs.

Harry buried his face between her legs, his tongue licking up her slit before finding her clit. He sucked hard, making her arch off the bed. He was hungry for her taste and sounds. Her moans always urged him on. His tongue worked her with skilled precision, each lick and suck more intense than the last. His hands gripped her thighs firmly, keeping her pinned down as he ravaged her.

“Fuck, Catherine”, he muttered against her. “Tastes so good.”

She moaned, a low sound that made him harder, had him searching for more friction. He groaned against her clit, the sound vibrating through her sensitive flesh. He knew he was pushing the limits of his own control, but he couldn't stop. He needed more of her sounds. More of her taste. His mind repeating the name Catherine like a prayer.

He slid two fingers inside her, curling them upwards to hit that spot deep inside.

Catherine let out a sound. The sound of her nearly screaming his name, but somehow lost in thought, like she felt too much pleasure she forgot. It nearly made him lose it. His fingers went faster, and faster.

He growled low in his throat. A sound of pure primal need.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered against her thighs as he moved back up her body quickly. “You’re killing me, Catherine.”

His cock pressed against her entrance.

“I want you too,” he said, desperately. “So much.”

Without waiting another second, for fear of his growing insanity, he pressed the head of his cock against her soaked entrance and pushed inward. Harry's mind went blank, his pulse inconsistent. It was, simply, the tightest, warmest cunt he ever felt. It made him forget all the others. He was sure nothing came close. He wondered how he went so long without it.

He took his time, savoring the feel of her tight heat enveloping him inch by tortuous inch. Once he was fully sheathed, he paused, his breath coming hard and fast against her neck.

Then in an effort to not pounce her immediately, he bit her neck, sucking, making a mark. He couldn’t even focus on her breath, didn’t even notice when her hands trailed around his back, urging him to move. He stayed there for a minute, holding himself back despite her moans. He couldn’t be too rough, even if he wanted to. Maybe someday, when they were both desperate for each other. But not now when he was sure his needs excelled hers. When it nearly clouded his control.

Harry began to move, his hips rolling in a slow, sensual rhythm that made her back arch off the bed.

He filled her up slowly, inch by inch, watching as she took him perfectly. He was overwhelmed by how good it felt. How tight, how it squeezed his cock almost painfully. It was a hard fit, but it didn’t matter. He liked the feeling. Revelled in it. It was hot, wet, and perfect. Frankly, he wanted to stay buried in her forever.

She was caressing him, as if urging him to go on. Her soft hands went from his shoulders to his arms.

“Fuck, you feel so good, sweetheart,” he finally said.

With a sound of pure desire, he began to move gradually faster. His hips slammed into her with brutal force, each thrust designed to take her to the edge and beyond. He fucked her harder, his cock hitting that spot inside her that made her vision blur.

She begged, repeating the word “please” but never got to the end of the sentence. There was something about her voice, the way she said it that made Harry hungrier. She was so polite, so soft in her request. And although he told her not to beg, he loved it. Loved the way she said his name like a prayer, as if her desire is close to anything he ever felt for her.

His thrusts became punishing, almost violent. He watched as her breasts bounced with each snap of his hips.

He knew he wasn’t being gentle anymore. He couldn’t. His body took control, claiming her hard and deep like he always wanted to.

Her moans filled the room, pushing him further.

His large hands found her breasts, squeezed it roughly, thumbs rubbing her hard nipples. He leaned down to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking hard as he continued hammering into her. His balls slapped against her ass with each thrust. He was grasping the last bit of control he had left, fucking her like a wild animal.

He switched between her breasts, lavishing them with equal attention. His teeth grazed against one sensitive nipple, making her gasp.

“Such beautiful breasts, sweetheart,” he growled, pinching one nipple between his fingers while he continued to suck the other. His hips still hammering.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. I can’t control myself, I’m sorry.” He went back to her mouth, kissing her again.

Her erotic face looked up at him, her brows furrowed, her voice softer, “It’s fine. I want you to.”

Those words were his undoing. He groaned so hard, his deep voice finally out from its restraints. Somehow, he thrusts faster. If his bed wasn’t expensive, it would’ve made a sound, would’ve moved with them and banged the walls. Internally, he cursed himself for not being able to stay quiet, focus on her body. Catherine, though, seemed to enjoy it. She didn’t mind that he went harder. Even better, she moaned right into his ears. The sound became louder when he groaned too. It was like a song, harmonizing, except it was erotic, filled with need.

His balls tightened, warning of his impending release. He squeezed her breasts roughly, sucked on her neck, marking her with hickeys.

Harry's body was a landscape of hard, coiled muscle beneath her trembling fingers. He could feel her hands. She mapped every ridge and valley, committing it to memory. He did the same, more out of need than to urge her. He explored the soft, yielding expanse of her skin. His hands roamed, possessive and hungry, leaving trails of fire in their wake. He cupped her breasts again, thumbing her nipples into aching peaks, before trailing lower, over the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.

"Fuck, Catherine," he groaned, his voice rough with desire, "You're exquisite. Every inch of you." He settled between her thighs, his hard length pressing against her slick folds, making her gasp. "I've wanted this for so long. Wanted you. Needed you."

She moaned louder.

"You feel incredible," he murmured, nipping at her earlobe and making her shudder. "Like you were made for me. Made to take my cock so perfectly." He began to move again, his thrusts deep and powerful.

Catherine’s fingers digging into his shoulders, her nails leaving red crescents in his skin. She wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him to go deeper. Harry obliged, pounding into her with a fervor that stole her breath. The room filled with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin and their mingled moans and cries of pleasure.

Harry felt her tightening around him, her inner muscles clenching, as if close. He redoubled his efforts, determined to bring her to the peak, to hear her scream his name in ecstasy. He was close, so fucking close, and he could tell she was too. He reached between her legs, finding her clit again and rubbing it furiously as he pounded harder and harder.

“Come on my cock, sweetheart. Milk me dry. Squeeze me, just like that,” he said, urging her on.

Catherine let out a sharp cry as she came undone, her body shaking beneath his as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. His name came out in a desperate moan as he felt her pussy clench around his cock. 

That squeeze of her release did something to him. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he found his own release. He let out a loud roar, his hot cum shooting into her pussy. He kept coming. His balls were emptying completely inside her.

Harry collapsed on top of her, still buried deep inside. His heavy breathing filled the room as he tried to catch his breath. His softening cock remained inside her, still leaking cum. God, he felt like he was a few decades younger.

“You did so well. Such a good girl,” he whispered against her neck.

“I could still feel you,” she whispered. “Your cum is so warm.”

He felt her warm breath on his neck and her squirming body against him. His soft cock twitches inside her, still sensitive. He presses a kiss to her neck, then her lips, swallowing her heavy breaths. He remained buried inside her, not ready to pull out just yet.

After some time, Catherine squirmed some more.

A deep groan escaped his throat as his cock started to harden again inside her, slowly. Some of his spent leaked from her, making a sound that sounded too erotic. He tried to tune it out, think of anything but how it good it felt to be inside her.

“Stop, Catherine,” he whispered against her lips, but his hips moved involuntarily, thrusting slowly this time. “You’re making me hard again,” his hand gripped her hips, trying to somehow stop it. Not because he didn’t want to, but because she needed the rest.

He looked at where they were joined. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the slight amount of blood on her thighs.

“Fuck, you’re bleeding,” he said apologetically. “You're sure you're not a virgin?”

Catherine, still finding it hard to speak, whispered, “I’m sure.”

He hissed, looking down at the mess they made. His thick length was almost fully inside her. He withdrew slightly, watching his shaft coated with her juices and a little blood. He was supposed to pull all the way out, but instead he pushed in slowly again. It was arousing, watching her pussy clung to him. He watched as some of his cum from a few minutes ago went down to his balls. The sensation made him want to thrust again.

She was so tight. Tighter than any woman he had ever been with.

“I want you again,” he said and winced as he tried his best to halt any motion.

She moaned, her eyes half-lidded. He couldn’t tell if she was tired or if she wanted more too. Then she squirmed again, and that did it for him. 

"Fuck, Catherine," he growled softly, "you're so goddamn tight." He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside her and making her gasp. "It's like you were made for me, molded to take my cock, aren’t you sweetheart? To take every fucking inch of me. You can take me, can’t you? You’ll stretch just for me, hm?"

“Yes,” she said, breathlessly. “I can take you, Harry. I’ll be good.”

“Good girl,” he said. “So eager to please.”

Harry leaned down and sealed her lips with his in a searing kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth to tangle with hers. He devoured her moans and whimpers, swallowing them greedily as he began to move faster, his hips snapping against hers with increasing urgency. The wet, obscene sounds of their coupling filled the room again, spurring him on as he lost himself in the exquisite feel of Catherine's body beneath him.

"That's it, baby," he panted harshly against her ear, "Come for me. Squeeze my fucking cock with your perfect little cunt. I want to feel you come undone again. It feels good, doesn’t it?"

“It does,” she said hurriedly, nodding. “You’re so big. I’ll stretch for you. It hurts so good, it feels so good. I want you deeper. Please, Harry.”

Harry agreed but too busy with ecstasy to say so, almost laughing with relief when she said it.

He flipped Catherine onto her hands and knees, his large hands gripping her hips tightly as he positioned himself behind her. She felt the head of his cock pressing insistently against her dripping entrance, ready to plunge back inside her welcoming heat. With a swift, powerful thrust, he sheathed himself fully inside her, making her cry out in a mix of pleasure and slight pain.

"Fuck, baby," he groaned, pausing to let her adjust to the depth and girth of him stretching her open. "You're so tight like this. I can feel every inch of your little pussy clenching around me. You like it hard, sweetheart?"

“Yes, please, Harry.”

He began to move, his hips rolling in a deep, sensual rhythm as he held her hips steady. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper inside her, stroking that special spot that made her knees shake. His balls slapped against her clit with each thrust, the lewd sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through the room yet again.

One hand reached up to tangle in her hair, gripping it lightly as he pulled her back against his chest. She was smaller than him, yet still fit perfectly. His other hand slid around to her front, finding her swollen clit and rubbing it in tight, quick circles. Harry could feel her getting closer to the edge, her pussy fluttering and clenching around his pistoning cock.

"That's it, my good girl," he growled in her ear, his hot breath sending shivers down her spine, "Come on my cock. Milk me, sweetheart. Good girl. So wet. Soak me. Tighten, just like that. Yes, just like that."

His words were filthy, dirty, and oh so effective. They pushed Catherine over the precipice, her body convulsing and shaking as a massive orgasm ripped through her for the second time that night. She screamed his name, a guttural, primal sound of pure ecstasy as her pussy clenched down on him like a vice. The sensation was too much for Harry, and with a roar, he slammed into her one last time before exploding, his hot seed spurting deep inside her spasming channel.

They collapsed together onto the bed, Harry's weight pressing Catherine into the mattress as they both struggled to catch their breath. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close as the aftershocks of their intense coupling subsided. Harry pressed a tender kiss to her shoulder, letting her finally rest.

⊹

Harry had never known anyone to disappear quite so completely into their work. Not the way Catherine did. She didn’t just work at the studio—she lived there. Morning coffee gave way to late-night tea, which bled into caffeine-fueled dawns. She existed on crackers and adrenaline. When her hand began to tremble, she brushed it off—this happens when I forget to eat, she’d said with a smile. He didn’t find it amusing.

So he made a point by bringing her food. Had asked for her manager’s number to keep track of her when she’s not answering.

A bag dropped off at odd hours. A thermos. A warm pastry in the morning. A full dinner in a box, even if it was eaten cold. Sometimes he sent Emma, always with the excuse that he was running late, but never because he forgot. It became a habit. A quiet rhythm. Nourishing her had become the most important part of his day.

Her replies slowed. A text here, a missed call there. Sometimes silence altogether. He could’ve taken it personally, but he didn’t. He knew the pattern. She usually doesn’t answer when she’s with the whole orchestra. When she’s too preoccupied with other people. He knew how she worked, now that he knew her. 

So he came to her everyday. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. Even if it was just for a few minutes. Even if he stood at the edge of the room while she adjusted microphones or ran through a melody again and again until the sound was right. He always made time, because there was always time, if you looked for it. Although, that hadn’t been the case before her.

During spring, when she was supposed to be done, the word done lost its meaning. The BBC sent back notes—two tracks needed to be redone at some parts— higher or lower or more mellow in the parts they needed it to be. At first, she handled it. Smiled. Shrugged. The usual. But then she stopped sleeping properly. Stopped leaving the studio at all. The notes had burrowed in. Perfection became an obsession. He watched her slow down between takes, sometimes staring at the same page for twenty minutes, searching for something only she could hear.

She didn’t complain, but he saw the shift— in the way she tucked her knees into the studio chair, in the clutter around her, in the quiet frustration that lived in her shoulders. She was usually very neat.

Their first fight came during that period of time. Partially, it came from sleep deprivation and cheap takeout. From too many nights curled up on the studio couch, too many cold coffees reheated twice. It also came from a bump on her wrist that had been growing for a few days, under the skin like a second bone trying to form.

Harry walked in just as Talia, her manager, raised the book.

He didn’t register it at first—just the sound of voices, laughter maybe, and then that strange, high-pitched urgency he recognized as Catherine’s voice. He moved fast. His hand caught Talia’s wrist mid-air. The book stopped inches above Catherine’s arm.

She looked up at him, annoyed. “Stop, Harry. I need it to get fixed fast.”

He didn’t answer her right away. Just looked at the bump. It’s not red, it just looked like her joint got bigger in size. Though he noticed how she winced when she moved it. That was enough proof that she was in pain.

“That’s enough, Catherine,” he said. “You’re coming with me.”

“But I have to finish this song. And it’s hurting. I can’t concentrate—”

“You’ll finish it later.”

“No,” she snapped. “I’m so close. Just one more day. You don’t know how hard it is to get it right. I can’t get the harp to sound like it should—”

“Let’s go.”

“No.”

They ended up at the hospital anyway.

It was a quiet ride. She didn’t say a word. Just sat with her wrist in her lap, like a child sent to the nurse’s office. Her shoulders curled inward. He kept glancing at her, but she didn’t meet his eyes.

At the hospital, the verdict was clinical: a ganglion cyst. Harmless, mostly. Common in musicians. Sometimes painful, yes—but not dangerous. The doctor explained the options with the kind of voice that didn’t leave much room for comfort. They could drain it, but it might return. They could operate, but that meant downtime—weeks, maybe. A brace would relieve the pressure, but she wouldn’t be able to play. And then there were medications. Slower, but manageable.

She listened to each option like she wasn’t really there. She chose whatever got her back to the studio fastest without any more pain, which was draining it.

It wasn’t a hard procedure. The needle wasn’t even big, and she didn’t look like she was scared of it. But when it came time for it to be drained, she asked Harry to hold her and he could feel her other hand tightening on his shirt. It must’ve hurt.

When she finally laid back on the hospital bed, exhaustion took her almost instantly. She didn’t argue anymore. She just closed her eyes and folded into sleep like it had been waiting for her all week.

Harry stayed by her side, asking the doctor quiet questions in the hallway about recovery time and some other stuff they should know.

“She’s pushing herself too hard,” the doctor said. “That is a symptom from working her wrist too hard. What she needs is proper rest. If she keeps this up, she’s going to get sick with other symptoms worse than just a ganglion. She could get really sick.”

Like he didn’t already know that. Like he wasn’t already worrying everyday. He wanted to tell the doctor that he knew but the girl is too stubborn and stupidly drowning in her work. Instead, Harry just nodded. Noted it all. Took the pamphlets. When he came back into the room, she was still out cold.

They let her sleep until the nurse finished checking her vitals. The doctor woke her gently. She blinked up at Harry, a little disoriented. He didn’t say a word, just took her coat and helped her get up.

The ride back to his apartment was silent. Catherine had crossed her arms like a teenager, staring out the window with tight lips and a jaw that had locked into place twenty minutes ago. He didn’t speak. He knew her enough now to know it wouldn’t help. Not yet.

When the driver pulled up to the penthouse, she didn’t wait for the door to be opened. She was out of the car before him, stomping ahead like she meant to put distance between them. Her shoes echoed in the marble hallway. By the time he caught up, she’d already dropped her coat on the arm of the couch and was sitting with her legs curled up, arms crossed again, sulking with intent.

He closed the door behind them quietly.

“I can’t believe you didn’t take me back to the studio,” she said, not looking at him. Her voice clipped and fast. “I told you I could finish it in one day. Maybe even tonight.”

He didn’t respond immediately. She wasn’t really asking him. She just needed to release the tension building in her bones.

“The deadline’s a week away,” he said finally. “You have time.”

“That’s not the point,” she snapped. “I want them to be impressed. I want them to hear it and think—wow, she did it fast and she did it well. I was so close, Harry. You have no idea. I just needed the harp to fall right and I would’ve been done.”

She rubbed her wrist without thinking. The soft bandage made it look more fragile than it probably was. He couldn’t look at it too long.

“I should’ve just hit it with a book,” she mumbled.

That annoyed him. He stopped in front of her. Took a breath.

“That’s irresponsible,” he said firmly. Harder than he ever spoke to her before. “You hear me, Catherine? You don’t do that again. Never— Never do that again.”

She rolled her eyes. “I did it once before.”

“And you’re lucky I wasn’t there,” he said, still pressing, still loud. “Because I would’ve dragged you to the hospital that time too.”

She sighed, deep and dismissive. “You’re being dramatic.”

“No,” he said, walking past her to the kitchen, already reaching for water, maybe something to put in front of her. “I’m being a responsible adult.”

She didn’t argue after that. Just sat there, silent again, sinking slowly into the realization that her body—like time, like deadlines—was something she couldn’t control completely. And Harry, in his stubborn, quiet way, wasn’t angry. He was worried. That was worse somehow.

He walked to the kitchen and reheated the food he’d picked up earlier that afternoon, still in its paper bag from the studio run—untouched, because the hospital detour had gotten in the way. The microwave hummed quietly as he leaned against the counter, watching the numbers count down like they meant something.

He’d probably been too sharp with her. Too forceful. But at least she was here now. Safe, if grumpy. And if she hated him for it—fine. She could hate him while getting one full night of rest. That was the bargain he was willing to take.

Then she was there, padding into the kitchen like someone coming down from a fever. Her posture softer, head low. Like she was ready to surrender but didn’t want to say it out loud.

“I’m so tired,” she murmured.

“I know.”

He stepped in first. Arms around her before she could collapse into herself. He didn’t realize until then how much she needed that hug—how much she had been holding in with caffeine and sheer willpower.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re not being dramatic,” she said into his chest. Her voice cracked just enough to make his throat tighten. “And I missed you. Missed my friends. I’m never taking a screen deal again.”

He smiled, his chin above her head, resting against her hair. “You might change your mind later. You liked the first half, didn’t you? Before the notes came in. You just overthink the rest. That’s what happens when you care too much. It’s harder when you’re making things for other people.”

She nodded against him.

“It’s not like an album,” he went on, quietly. “When the only person you need to impress is yourself. They’ll have notes. Opinions. And you’ll listen, because that’s who you are. You care. That’s not a bad thing.”

There was a pause, and then he said: “Should’ve done an indie film first. They’d be so grateful you could send them an out-of-tune violin and they’d say it’s ‘experimental.’”

She laughed. Her body shook against his. When he looked down, her eyes were wet.

“You just have to learn to balance your life,” he murmured.

“I should,” she whispered. “I get lost in it sometimes. In wanting to do good.”

“I know you do.”

“I was working hard to make it perfect, but the urgency in which I did it, it’s because I didn’t want to miss out. I tried to make friends with orchestra people, but they’d rather see me as a composer than a friend. I sensed it. And my friends, well they’re artists in their own time, with their own schedules, with time to date and party. I’ve spent so many years missing out. Missing everything, getting left out. I’d be the one asking what the joke was, and they’d say, ‘You had to be there.’ And I wasn’t. I was practicing.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“I don’t want to miss out. On them, on you. But I keep needing to disappear to make great music. So I try to finish as quickly as possible, no matter how messy it gets, how unhealthy it is. As long as it means there’s no more inside jokes I couldn’t get, or a memory I missed.”

“We’ll make our own inside jokes,” he said. “Besides, nothing’s happening to me. Ever. And if something were to happen, you’d be the first person I’d tell.”

She looked up, smiling faintly through the mess of emotion. “I just want it done quickly so I can go home and not miss out on anything ever again.”

“I want you home too,” he said. “With proper rest. But you have time. What’s one more day?”

And that was that.

She fell asleep early that evening, he changed her into her pajamas while she was barely conscious. She collapsed into bed and slept like she hadn’t in weeks—deep and dreamless. When morning came, she didn’t stir even when he moved around the apartment. He let her be.

He left a note by her nightstand before work, told her to eat something and that he will be checking. That she could ask Mr Williams to take her back to the studio when she’s ready.

And then he was gone, leaving the door softly shut behind him. The penthouse felt warmer with her there, even in sleep. Even in silence.

⊹

True to her words, Catherine finished the piece the day she said she would. The BBC accepted her revised renditions almost immediately, sending a short note of approval that made her breath hitch and shoulders finally relax. She was proud. That much was obvious. And Harry could tell, because she showed up at his office door with wine and flushed cheeks— unannounced, of course.

He didn’t know she was coming. He should’ve. Emma had been acting strange for the past hour, typing with too much energy and dodging questions with suspicious precision. When he pressed, she deflected with unusual efficiency. Only later did he realize Catherine had called to ask for the address, and Emma—predictably loyal—had played accomplice.

“I come bearing gifts!” Catherine announced, pushing open the glass door to his office, her grin already brighter than the last few weeks. “Well, you’ve done well for yourself, haven’t you? If this were my office, I’d work every day.”

He laughed, unable to stop smiling. Still in disbelief that she was actually there, like a bolt of light into a room that didn’t know it was dim. “No you wouldn’t.”

She leaned over and kissed him like she’d always belonged in his life.

“I was going to pick you up,” he said.

“I know. I wanted to see you earlier. See where you actually spend your time.” She spun slowly in the middle of the room, eyeing the bookshelves, the windows, the skyline behind them.

“That’s nice,” he said, his eyes trailing her movement. “You want to go out?”

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I want to treat you to something.”

Of course she did. He knew he wouldn’t let her, but he let her think she might. That was enough.

“They gave me a bonus,” she added like a secret, and her joy was so unfiltered it made him warm in a way expensive scotch never could. “So tell me, what’s your favorite food? Anything. Your pick.”

He blinked. A strange question. An ordinary one. And yet, no one had asked him that before. Not any of his previous girlfriends. Not anyone. It shouldn’t have mattered, but it did.

“I don’t think I have one.”

“Sure you do.”

He thought. “Bagel?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll get you one tomorrow. But right now we’re celebrating. And you can’t possibly expect me to toast with carbs and cream cheese.”

He laughed, grabbing his coat, reaching for his wallet and phone in one movement. She was already halfway to the door, talking about possible options. He didn’t care where they went. It was the sound of her voice he was listening to.

Downstairs, as they exited the elevator, the doorman— more doorboy by the looks of it— smiled at Catherine with surprising familiarity. “Have a lovely evening, Miss Ainsworth.”

Harry squinted. “How’d you already know the doorman?”

“My heels fell off my feet when I was running in, and he helped me.”

“And you introduced yourself?”

“He asked who I was here for. I told him I was visiting my very important boyfriend.”

He looked at her. She was completely serious.

They settled on steak. Something grounding and simple, because Harry just wanted her to eat something filling and proper. The wine was good, the conversation better. She told him about the BBC meeting, how she finally felt a strange type of peace. Then, in between bites of potato gratin, she mentioned wanting to throw a small gathering. A celebration, with her friends, maybe some musicians. She said she’d need his help setting it up.

Harry mentioned he had a gala to attend tomorrow, some industry networking thing. She should come with him, he said. She’d be happy to, she said.

By the time the check came, Harry had already slipped his card to the waiter. She made a fuss about it for exactly ten seconds before yawning mid-protest. They were barely in the car when her head fell against his shoulder and stayed there.

By the time they arrived at the penthouse, she was fully asleep.

He didn’t wake her. Just carried her upstairs. Still in disbelief, still grateful. The wine, untouched in its bag, sat quietly beside her coat.

He placed it on the table and turned off the lights. And for the first time in weeks, she wasn’t thinking about harps or deadlines.

Just sleep.

And maybe—if he was lucky—him.

⊹

His work gala came a day before her celebration party. 

Catherine was the first girlfriend he actually invited in a while. His exes rarely came, and if they did, they never bothered to pay attention to the conversations. After noticing that they might like to stay home, he stopped inviting them. They wouldn't be interested, he knew. He had never minded if his girlfriends were uninterested in his life, he’s convinced few actually did. He had seen relationships differently back then. But now he had the need to show his life to Catherine. And more, he wanted Catherine to go. So he asked her.

Catherine had been excited to go, more than he expected. Maybe it was because he told her that most of his friends were in the industry—men with cufflinks and practiced grins who only saw each other during events like this. 

The afternoon of, a few hours before they had to leave, he stepped out of the shower with a towel around his waist and steam still clinging to his skin. There it was, laid out across the bed like a gift—an unfamiliar suit. Sharp lines. Seamless work. Stitching so fine it was invisible. It was expensive. Probably more expensive than the ones he already owned, and those were nothing to scoff at.

He didn’t ask. He just stood there for a moment, towel dripping, a little stunned. Then smiled.

She must’ve taken one of his suits when he wasn’t paying attention, had copied the custom sizing and improved. She knew his measurements better than he did. He felt it in his gut again—that fluttery, maddening thing she kept making him feel. The one that settled somewhere behind his ribs and just… lingered.

He put the suit on. Of course it fits perfectly. Of course it did.

He found her in the walk-in closet, standing in front of the mirror in the middle of getting dressed. Her reflection caught him and she smiled, real and soft. Then she turned around, not fully zipped up.

“You look so handsome. I must say, I’m pretty darn good at this gift giving thing, huh? Turn around,” she said, biting back a grin, eyes flicking over the suit.

He laughed. It should’ve been the other way around, really. But he did as told, like a good man. Then after a second, he stepped closer and told her to turn instead. She obeyed.

His fingers zipped her up in silence, steady, deliberate. She smelled like flowers and that expensive hair oil she refused to admit was expensive. She hummed under her breath. He wondered, in the space between their bodies, how this became their life. How something this delicate could feel so certain.

The gala was held in a hotel ballroom dressed up to look like something finer. Marble floors, gold trim on the ceiling. A sweeping chandelier that no one really looked up at. It was for something or other—an annual event to recognize client milestones and corporate achievements, mostly a chance for industry types to see who was still around. There was always one or two names missing from the list. The gala was, if anything, a gentle reminder that the game never stopped.

This year felt different. He felt it before they even entered. Before they gave their names at the door and got a nod of recognition, before they were handed drinks. The room looked at him longer. Or maybe, most likely, they were looking at her.

Catherine wore a dark navy gown with a clean neckline and a fabric that glinted when she moved. Nothing loud. Just elegant. A single curl behind her ear. A slight flush on her cheeks—not nerves, just her usual color. She held his arm the way she always did, casual, natural. As if they’d been walking into rooms like this together forever.

The first twenty minutes passed in a blur of names and champagne. Harry shook hands while Catherine smiled and remembered every name. She charmed the bartender within minutes, said something complimentary about the way the napkins were folded. She complimented the color of a passing woman’s shoes. She leaned down to speak to a server holding a tray of miniature pastries and asked about some type of pastry he never bothered to know the name of.

Harry watched from a few feet away, sipping his drink. She made people feel like people. He was used to faces glossing over after the second glass, names forgotten, wives clinging to arms like accessories.

“Who’s this young lady?” one of his colleagues asked.

“Catherine, nice to meet you,” she said, offering her hand.

“Nice to meet you too, Catherine. I’m glad Harry finally found a girl who looks happy to be here.”

“I’m happy to come,” she said with a small laugh. “The chouquettes were so good I asked for the recipe.”

“My wife would love you. She runs a bakery.”

“Really? Is she here?”

“Somewhere. I’ll introduce you.”

And he did. Catherine was whisked away to meet her, and Harry let her go without protest. She was like that. A tide. Moving from one person to the next, leaving everyone warmer than before.

He found her again ten minutes later, deep in conversation with his friend’s wife about sustainable packaging in pastry boxes. And although Harry was huddled with his friends— or colleagues— his eyes trailed to her.

One of his single colleagues, predictably, was two glasses of whiskey in and smirking. He talked to Catherine only briefly a few moments ago, yet she managed to make an impression on him.

“Where’d you find her?” he asked, leaning in.

“Cold Spring,” Harry said.

“Does she have a friend?” Another one of his colleagues asked. One that already has a partner.

“You’re not gonna have luck with that, she befriended the whole of New York already. She already introduced herself to the caterers. Give her a few more hours and she’d memorized all the names in this room.”

They laughed. Someone refilled their drinks. Somewhere between the toasts and the polite speeches, Catherine returned to his side and whispered something about how good the wine was and how she loved that the pianist played actual classical pieces instead of mainstream songs with repetitive melodies. She clinked glasses with someone’s wife, told someone else they had a nice laugh which made them turn scarlet and laugh harder than anyone was supposed to on these occasions, and remembered the name of a woman Harry hadn’t seen in ten years.

He hadn’t thought about it before, but it struck him then— how perfectly she fit with his crowd even with her unusual approach. Not like someone pretending. Just like someone who didn’t need the world to change for her. She shaped herself around it and still managed to remain exactly who she was, and somehow, she belonged. He didn’t know how she did that. But he knew this: they’d remember her long after the next course. Long after the speeches. And if they didn’t, it wouldn’t matter. He would.

[sillygoofyqueer]

Guys I know I have other AUs to post about but are we really surprised that I have a KPOP Demon Hunters x MXTX AU idea? Are we reaaalllly surprised about it? I mean, come on guys. It was bound to happen. Come on. Do you even know me. Let's just get it over and done with, come on- stop- STOP STRUGGLING-- IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN---- Lan Zhan, AKA Lan Wangji, main singer and composer of CVZ (I was thinking about what the group had in common, thought 'cultivators!' and then was like 'hehe CultiVatorZ'. That sounds stupid as all hell, so I shortened it down! Sounds like something Shang Qinghua would do). He works with Shen Yuan, AKA Shen Qingqiu, main rapper and lyricist, Xie Lian, main dancer and choreographer, and Shang Qinghua, the manager of the group. His father? Famed cultivator/main singer of the group, CR. His mother? Uhhh...😬 so she was a demon...yyyeeeaaahhh. We don't talk about it. After his father died (they say he was killed by his demon lover, but do we believe it?), he and his elder brother (Lan Huan, AKA Lan Xichen, of the Venerated Triad) were raised by Lan Qiren (former member of CR), who taught them how to hide their patterns. He did this because he was scared of the other members of the Lan Clan, who are all about 'keeping the bloodline pure' and would definitely have killed the babies in the name of 'justice'.

When they aren't blowing people's minds on stage, they're hunting demons. Shen Yuan comes from Cang Qiong Sect (one of many other training institutions for demon hunters) and so does Shang Qinghua, who was originally supposed to be the third member of CVZ - until, of course, they found Xie Lian. How did they find Xie Lian? They were out on a practice mission, to see how well their voices melded, when Xie Lian came out of NOWHERE and helped them beat the shit out of the demons. Although Shang Qinghua could definitely still have been part of the group, he went "oh, wow! There's your third member! I guess I'll have to content myself with being a manager, aw man." He was not upset, and Shen Yuan seemed fine with it as long as he got his emotional support bobo doll one way or another. So, Xie Lian joined the group, and CVZ was formed. Shen Yuan uses war fans, of course, Lan Zhan uses Bichen (Wangji has plot relevance for later), and with Xie Lian I'm a bit stuck. I want to give him a unique weapon, but he's sword nerd 2000. I was thinking some sort of whip with a blade on the end (like Ruoye) but I'm willing to be swayed!

Because CVZ is so popular, they often attend meet & greets and different events for aspiring idol groups - 'as a show of goodwill!!' says Shang Qinghua, who wants to scope out the competition and crush them - and often perform there as enticement for other people to show up. After all, people may be intrigued by aspiring idol groups, but people would love to see CVZ performing, so they can get a crowd drawn in for the aspiring groups! Plus, and this is the sneaky reason why Shang Qinghua sends them to do it, sometimes it crushes the spirits of aspiring groups because CVZ is just so perfect that it's hard to see how anyone could even begin to compete with them for an audience. He has an in depth calendar for all of them to follow, but Xie Lian and Shen Yuan both rely on Lan Zhan to remind them because Shen Yuan has no time to check the calendar and Xie Lian doesn't...own a phone?? They don't ask about it, but if they did, he would say something cryptid about how 'they would find me.' No, Lan Zhan is like Shang Qinghua's angel when it comes to being prepared for things.

So, they're at one of these events, and they're watching a couple of the groups that Shang Qinghua has internally labelled as a 'threat', and Lan Zhan is only sort of interested in the groups until the stage goes dark and a new group comes out. It's a bit dramatic, but it does catch people's attention, and Shang Qinghua's like "hm...I dunno who these guys are!" but he's not too worried about it. Then the stage lights come on and the group starts singing, and it's like "ah. Oh dear. Hm. They're not only attractive, but they're like a well-oiled, well choreographed machine with amazing vocals." Lan Zhan himself can only really watch as who he assumes to be the main singer (and perhaps the leader?) of the group sings like an angel and firmly steals his heart. He's embarrassed to admit that he wouldn't have even noticed the patterns on his arms if it weren't for the sleeve of his hoodie being pulled up during a particular move. A quick glance at the other members shows that they have the yellow eyes of demons as well. He points this out to the others, and they're just as confused as he is by this...group.

Wei Ying is a simple guy, alright? His mother was a demon, his father was a cultivator, he grew up in a clan of demon hunters, you know how the story goes! Well, his story is a little different to Lan Zhan's. Jiang Fengmian was not the only one who knew about his patterns - Jiang Yanli knew as well, and helped him keep it hidden from her mother (and Jiang Cheng, who Wei Ying thought would hate him for being half-demon). Because Jiang Fengmian himself had interacted with a demon (Cangse-Sanren), he knows what she had done to hide her patterns, and teaches him how to do the same. However, during a particularly vicious whipping following a bad argument with Madam Yu, Wei Ying lost his control and his secret was out. Of course, he had to flee his home to avoid being mercilessly slaughtered by her and her companions, so he's basically on the run in the cultivator world. He's having A Time with it all. He's too scared to even cultivate for fear of being spotted by any cultivators in disguise, so he kind of loses it and makes up a new form of cultivation, trying to get in touch with his demon side a little.

While he's struggling to survive on the streets and avoid any cultivators for his own safety, he learns about CVZ. He had heard about them while in the clan, but he now finds himself clinging to them as though to distract himself from his awful, shitty life. He learns everything about them - he knows they're hunters too, but they're just so...they're everything he thought he would be able to be someday. It gets to the point where he thinks 'well why the fuck can't it be me? I don't need shitty cultivators..' and fucks around with his cultivation more. He learns to how use his cultivation to create little tears in the Honmoon and close them up again, to summon and even control demons. And so, auditions begin! Most of the demons he manages to summon are some sort of violent and/or just bad at singing, and don't really want to be in a boyband, so he kills them if they're violent or ushers them back through the tear with cultivation if they aren't. It keeps him busy while always being on the move, and he almost forgets why he's doing it when the first demon comes out. He's rather suave and doesn't really know what boybands are, but then Wei Ying shows him a video of CVZ to demonstrate a group to him, he goes "DIANXIA?!?" and immediately asks if this 'boyband' will get him close to Xie Lian.

[ahavaas]

(sometimes we wank and sometimes we play. I'm playing! yeah this is an old one, plz be sweet to @kuntya, who's having fun too, I think.)

see, I don't hate the idea of (bad ending au, sorry, I will explain) Jiang Cheng promoting Wei Wuxian to idk Necromancer Supreme of Yunmeng Jiang, dressing him up all gorgeous, pointing him at anyone who looks at them funny, and telling him to kill.

(hold on: let's contemplate that. let's think about that for a second. picture it in your minds.

okay! focus!)

see, I think the story is really clear about what happens when one supremely powerful guy tries to take over the world (he gets stibbity-stabbed. in the back. by someone he trusted. One Really Powerful Guy still has to eat, and sleep, and drink water that hasn't been poisoned by all the people who hate and fear him, y'know?) and the longer you play "I can and will kill all of you if you fuck with me," the more opportunities you create for everyone to get Really Worried, band together and wait for you to fall asleep.

should Jiang Cheng have been *looking* for an excuse to go to war maybe 1-2 years after everyone in the cultivation world finished a bloody war specifically to curbstomp the last Guy Who Was Way Stronger Than Everyone Else?

ehhhhhhhhh. *gestures vaguely* not a historian (not that this matters in discussions about Vague Fantasy China) but my general takeaway is "no".

it's a hard sell, right? "hello everyone. not being at war has been pretty fun, right? anyways. you know my shixiong? yeah, the one who keeps getting daydrunk. the one who does the necromancy that's bad for your soul and spirit. him, yeah, hahaha. he just killed a bunch of jin. without my knowledge or permission, yeah.

I mean, they were doing some fucked up shit! he was right to be pissed about it.

so we're at war with the jin now.

yeah, the largest distinct post-war population with the most money. hear me out.

if we kill em all and take their shit, WE will be the richest sect around. they're definitely doing some evil shit and they're going to be a problem in the future if we ignore it.

we can definitely do it! unstable drunk shixiong is *really good* at killing people (this is a good thing). the people he just killed (without checking in with me) definitely deserved it!

well. when the lan and the nie see us starting another war, I have to assume they will accept the righteousness of our cause and cheer us on. why would they be concerned? the last wildly powerful guy Killing 'Em All was Evil, but Wei Wuxian is Good, so. y'know. I'm sure everyone will be chill.

if they're not chill?

crazy idea! we have the moral high ground.

but in that case I guess the plan is wei wuxian will Kill All of Them too.

we're keeping it simple, stupid: we're gonna kill people until they fuck off and leave us alone. wei wuxian is *really really good* at killing people.

if something happens to him?

hahaha we might be kinda fucked, yeah.

not super clear on how the necromancy works but presumably he'll die eventually, yeah. definitely a problem for future us!

you're raising some valid questions and concerns for sure. the thing is: it's way too late for that! what's done is done! wei wuxian got (righteously) angry and made the call. we've got to deal with the situation at hand.

haha will that happen again? maybe? impossible to say! I cannot stress enough how little control I have over the unstable drunk guy who's really good at killing people for good and moral reasons! he follows his heart!

understandable. good luck out there, man."

(am I being a little goofy? sure: if you want to play with this idea, you'd probably want to focus on the existential threat posed by the power-hungry Jin commiting war crimes with impunity. you still have to play the hand you're dealt, which any way you look at it, still includes "our secret weapon is my unstable drunk (very charming!) shixiong with a heart of gold, excellent morals, and very little impulse control, and our plan is: righteous murder".)

idk again, playing-not-wanking: I just don't think any scenario where yunmeng jiang claims wei wuxian, shelters the wens, and says "wei wuxian is the fantasy equivalent of a nuke and we will let him off-leash if you fuck with us" leads to any kind of stable political situation. is it a fun idea? indubitably. is it hot? 1000%. does it work? idk man maybe you guys can square this circle, I feel like it ends badly.

Literally the main schism between me and the people who keep @-ing me is: did you believe Jiang Cheng when he said, "if you insist on protecting them, then I can't protect you"? If you think he was lying and he did in fact have the power to publicly defy every other sect in general, and Lanling Jin in specific, and still keep his promises to his own people, but he just chose not to exercise it for convenience, then yeah, he sucks

If you believed the narration when it said that the Jiang sect was in a pathetic position, and accept that Jiang Cheng was the youngest and least experienced sect leader in the room who had zero support from the other sects during that time (Nie-Jin-Lan had just entered into a brotherhood and left him out! This was way before Yanli and Zixuan got married!), then every single take from the people in the first camp is insane goblin speak and we will literally never get anywhere

[dragonnarrative-writes]

GhostGaz Week Day 2 - Tied Up /Quick Escape

CW: Kink discussion, rope play, a light bit of pre-negotiated distress (with heavily-implied aftercare)

“Safety is your main priority,” Kyle says to the room of class attendees. He makes eye contact with everyone in the room, rigger and bottom alike, and continues, “We’re here to have fun, but rope can cause permanent damage a damn sight faster than most people think, so the first thing we’re learning is how to get your partner out of the rope, quickly and safely.”

There are a few distracted people, and he would normally be annoyed, but he knows that Simon makes a pretty impressive display. He turns around and lets himself have a moment to admire his work, as well. Simon blinks up at him, placid, hovering three feet above the ground in a side suspension. He looks comfortable, decadent, nude besides a pair of boxer-briefs and his balaclava. He’s spilling out, just a bit, around the ropes holding him captive. It’s a good look.

Kyle tweaks his nipple with a wink, then spins his sub to show his back to the room. He turns, himself, and asks, “Ghost has been up for a good ten minutes. Does anyone know what I should be looking for?”

A tentative hand goes up, and a young man in the front row says, “His fingers have blood flow?”

“That’s one,” Kyle praises, and tosses a pack of fruit snacks his way. “Anyone else?”

“Can he wiggle his fingers?” A woman asks from the back of the room, and she grins when he lobs another pack of fruit snacks her way.

Simon wiggles his fingers and toes and says, “Everythin’ seems in workin’ order.”

The next 10 minutes go well. Kyle has to encourage some of the rope bottoms to speak up, but by the time he’s considering bringing Simon back down to the floor, everyone is engaged. When he puts his fingers against Simon’s palm, he gets three squeezes, so Kyle gives his bicep a pinch back.

“Okay, Ghost has let me know he’s gonna be pretty damn uncomfortable in about five minutes, so let’s get him down so we can actually talk about some of the 101 ties,” Kyle announces. “And when I’m done bringing him down, I want to talk to you about the most important tool to have on you if you’re going to tie anyone, for any reason. Take a minute to discuss together while I get him settled.”

This, Kyle knows, is Simon’s least favorite part of the class, so he runs his hands over his chest and belly as he coos, “Doin’ a great job, big guy. You make me look good, up here.”

“Sweet talker,” Simon grumbles, and Kyle can tell he’s smiling behind his mask.

“You deserve sweet talk, gorgeous,” Kyle chuckles as he lowers his partner’s body a hand and a half, then ties him off to focus on lowering his legs until his knees are on the ground. He cups Simon’s face in his hands and squishes his cheeks. “We should have you demo for Price’s praise class, tied up just like this.”

“Watch it,” Simon grumbles, and Kyle grins as his chest flushes red.

“No, you’re my good boy,” Kyle agrees, wrapping his arms around Simons shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. “Gimme your color.”

Simon takes a few seconds to think about it, the way Kyle always makes him. Then he says, “Green. Three point five.”

Kyle hums. “Not four?”

“Not four,” Simon confirms.

“Up for a cuddle, then?”

“You better give me a fuckin’ cuddle,” Simon grumbles, tilting his head to bite gently at Kyle’s obliques. He growls as Kyle laughs and tries, not very hard, to inch out of his reach.

“Alright, alright,” Kyle chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss to Simon’s forehead through his mask. “Gonna keep your arms tied. Green?”

“Green.”

Kyle pats his shoulder and turns to the class. “Okay. Who knows what your most important tool is when tying?”

“Rope,” three people call out at once, and the whole class bursts into laughter.

Kyle laughs with them, and shakes his head. “Rope definitely helps. But no. That’s not the tool I’m thinking of. Remember, we’re talking safety.”

From the middle of the room, a woman calls, “Safety shears.”

“Bingo,” Kyle says, under-handing a pack of snacks into a waiting hand. He crosses his arms and lets out a heavy breath. “I meant it, earlier, when I said that rope can cause permanent damage faster than you think. Improperly placed rope and lack of preparedness can kill your rope partner. So. Safety shears.”

Kyle pulls his safety shears from his thigh harness, circles around behind Simon, and cuts the one rope still holding him up in two good cuts. Simon sags back against his legs with a grunt, and Kyle automatically reaches forward to squeeze his shoulder and then wrap a hand around his neck.

“Easy. I let you down on purpose,” Kyle whispers, as Simon’s shoulders start to shake. “I’ve got you, You’re doing perfect. Say it back.”

“Doin’ perfect,” Simon grits out, then takes a deep breath. “You’ve got me. Not dropped.”

“Not dropped,” Kyle says back, petting Simon’s shoulder firmly. “You’re doing so well. Gonna do the rest of the class under my hands, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Simon grunts. One of his hands grips the leg of Kyle’s trousers. “You’ve got me.”

“I’ve got you.”

When Kyle looks up, he smiles softly and holds up the shears. “Having to cut someone down can be stressful, for a lot of reasons. But it’s something we can all recover from. Nerve damage, blood, and airflow interference? Not so much. So! There’s a box of scrap rope some shears up here, everyone come practice cutting. And then I’ll teach you some basic cuffs.”