Guys, I usually have up to 15 notes on a post max and-
Almost 50 percent of my entire list of followers has either reblogged this or liked this or both...this either means some of you are neurodivergent, obsessed over this show, both, or clueless and thought they were cute because oh my god this has never happened before-
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[1147]
pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader
synopsis: in which wonwoo puts the fate of his million dollar entertainment company in the hands of a struggling author.
genre: idk - not really fluff or angst, implied E2L, entertainment ceo!wonwoo, author!reader
warnings: profanity . . . wonwoo is purposely presented as a prick but he's not actually :3
wc: 628
a/n: i don't know what this is either.
. . . .
“Maybe you were never meant to write stories,” he says, matter-of-factly. He tosses her thin, unfinished manuscript to the side as if it was nothing more than a scrap to be recycled.
She makes a mental note to fire her editor for sharing her work without her permission to some asshole producer, director, or whatever the fuck Wonwoo was, in the corrupt music industry. This has to be some breach of contract.
She frowns, cocking her head in curiosity. A thread of disappointment lacing her tone, though still curious, she asks slowly, “Then what do you think I was meant to do?”
Wonwoo slides over a yellow legal pad and a gold-plated fountain pen. It looked like the good, expensive kind you didn’t lend to just anyone; the kind you use because you’re a prick trying to show off your wealth.
Her eyes flicker up to meet his own, silently asking if he was sure he wants her filthy hands on it.
“Music,” Wonwoo chirps.
“Music?” she repeats.
She sputters, almost laughing in his face in disbelief.
She didn’t know a lick about notes, let alone did she sing or even play an instrument.
He nods only once, but it is firm and sure.
“Lyrics to be more specific,” he explains further, “A sliver of your dream, a fleeting thought, maybe a bitter feeling that’s been lingering for the past few days – I want it.”
“You do realize, I can hardly even finish a short story, right?” she seethes. Her heart races, awaiting for Steve Harvey to pop out from behind the door with clowns and party poppers, shouting that all of this was a joke.
“But isn’t that the beauty of music?” he asks.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
She stands from her seat, the back of her knees knocking against the course netting. Her hands grazing along the back of the chairs, she rounds the corner of the conference table and takes hesitant steps towards him.
Wonwoo is nonchalant as ever, simply picking up his pen, clicking the back end, letting the silver piece hover the paper for a moment before scrawling down a few words in his typical chicken-scratch that he deemed as neat.
Wonwoo looks back up, offering a lopsided, wistful smile as he waits for her to read the page.
Blue.
Immediately, her brows furrow and throw him a confused expression.
“What –”
“You have 24 hours,” Wonwoo stands and pulls a laptop from the chair next to him. He slides it over to her, then opting to shove his hands into the pockets of his suit. “The internet, this notepad, and,” he picks up his fountain pen and wags it in front of her, “My lucky pen at your disposal. Write one song, and if I like it, you’re hired.”
“This is fucking insane,” she says a little breathlessly.
He scoffs. “I am, but the best ideas come out from being insane, don’t they?”
Wonwoo adjusts the buttons of his suit and gives her a small bow, quietly excusing himself.
She spins around and shouts after him, “And if I walk out right now?”
“5,000,000 won for your first song,” he explains sternly. He has the gall to add, “I heard rent is due tomorrow and the kitchen faucet in your apartment has been a little leaky too.”
With that, he stalks off, slamming the conference room door behind him. Her eyes track him through the clear floor-to-ceiling glass walls. He paid no mind, walking towards the other end of the floor at a leisurely pace as if he didn’t just leave the fate of his best artist in her mediocre hands.
Jeon Wonwoo is merely going insane to stay sane.
He had a business to run after all.
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last stacy’s mom au snippet i prommy
Anakin’s voice stops him mere inches away from the door. “Your shields are up,” he says. Obi-Wan turns to look at him, and the man has not moved at all. His hand is still wrapped around the lever he pushed to engage their hyperdrive.
“What?”
“Your shields are up and you’ve lied before. You’re an accomplished little liar actually. The closest thing the Jedi Order has to a politician of its own, that’s what all the Masters say about you. Our very own little representative in the Senate.”
Anakin turns finally, though he does not stand or even turn fully. He looks over his shoulder at him, just one eye and a quarter of his face, the swoop of his nose, one thick eyebrow. Pink lips that Obi-Wan will never kiss again.
“So how do I know you’re telling the truth now, Obi-Wan? How do I trust you? Even then, how can I trust that the same thing would not happen again—you weaponizing your love for the sake of your duty? What sort of love is that?”
Obi-Wan can feel his lip quivering as he stares back into Anakin’s dark eyes. Familiar anger wells up inside of him. How dare Anakin not believe him. Question him. Doubt the love he’s been carrying around like a stone on his chest for the last eight years.
“If you wanted vows, you should not have left your wife, Master Skywalker,” he spits out and turns to leave before the man can say anything more.
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