#canva has like no proper speech bubble

[spaceflower07]

a moment in their lovestory! honestly i dont have a too solid story for them yet😭 like,,, there's so many options. BUT SO FAR:

Ivan's the prince. He led an extremely hard life (he started out as a middle child with two parents, but now is an only child with just a father💀) Alfred is a peasant, not even a middle class peasant he's one of those who live in the slums. He led a similar life to Ivan until their village was raided. The children were scattered, so a now-orphan Alfred had to raise Matthew AND support them. Afred turned to a life of assassination to make money along with doing several odd jobs (which is why he's so insanely strong, even tho he doesnt rlly look it) One day Al is hired to assassinate the prince, but Ivan spotted him and they got into a huge brawl, which ended in Alfred setting off a smoke bomb and running away. He had actually landed a hit on Ivan, which surprised the prince so no one had been able to do that for years. Ivan, not knowing how to be a normal human being, became really interested in this person who tried to kill him. So far, his life has been really boring. It was just studying and training over and over since the day he was born. Alfred had shaken up his life so he became interested, but not in the romantic way, he was just amused by him. Alfred, on the other hand, hated him. During the fight Ivan had taunted him sadistically, and that made Alfred furious. He had only run away bc he was called back to headquarters. Ivan thought about Alfred for a while when, out of nowhere, the boy was placed in the palace.

Apparently, Alfred had a new mission, which was to assassinate the King instead because they got info that the King was planning to invade Hearts. Back then, Spades was one of the weakest Kingdoms, so they would definitely get crushed by Hearts and it would cause a lot of casualties along with a very unnecessary war. So Alfred had to work in the palace as Ivan's 'bodyguard' which Ivan enjoyed tremendously because now he got to annoy him even more and as a plus, get to be his boss. Alfred extremely hated this, and wanted to get the mission done with asap so he could get away from Ivan. But the more they spent time together, they started to hate each other less and less to the point that Ivan fell in love with him. After finding out that Alfred still worked jobs outside the palace for Matthew's tuition (which is the picture above) Ivan offered to pay for it instead. Alfred tried to refuse but Ivan didn't budge. Alfred was in love with him too but was in absolute denial. Plus, he couldn't afford to have feelings for him, bc once he killed the King Alfred would stop working at the palace and be taken back to Krasny. Keeping this in mind, Alfred had to reject Ivan when he confessed. He couldn't explain that he was an assassin since it was supposed to be secret, so he said, "I just can't."

Alfred's boss keeps tabs on him, so when he found out that the prince had confessed to Alfred he told him to distance himself from Ivan because it was starting to become a distraction, and to start focusing on his mission because the deadline was a few weeks away (thats when the King is planning to invade). The King never makes any sort of appearance, and is holed up in his chamber 24/7, the only time he'll come out is when he announces his plan to the Kingdom. Alfred had considered sneaking into his chamber and killing him there, but the security was extremely tight and it would be completely impossible for Alfred to sneak inside. Ivan had also been working to stop his father, as he had found the documents about his plan. Alfred's goal is to kill him, while Ivan's goal is just to stop him. So while Alfred is sneaking around trying to find any weak spots in their security, Ivan is sneaking around gathering information about the plan. Alfred's sneaking around had not gone unnoticed by the ever-observant Yao, who confronted him about it. Not in a I'm-going-to-kick-you-out way but in the curious way bc Yao also hates the King. When Alfred gave up and told him his real purpose for being here, Yao started helping him gather information and had supplied the most important one of all; the King had been building a bomb that was enough to wipe out at least half of the Hearts Island. Ivan had seen the documents already so he knew about the bomb as well, he had tried to stop the making of it but to get inside the room requires his father's physical identification.

The three of them were anxious and lost on how to go about doing this. The only way to stop the making of the bomb at this point is to kill the King, but by the time the King comes out of his chamber, the bomb and the war is ready to go. The deadline was ticking closer, and the pain of the confession was still eating up Alfred and Ivan which made them feel even worse. Then Yao told them that he overheard the guards saying the King is leaving his quarters to go somewhere 'private'. The two went to follow the King, who was wearing a hood. They followed him all the way to the middle of a forest. Right before he was going to enter a cave, both Alfred and Ivan jumped at him, ready to kill, shocking each other and causing them to collide into the King. They pointed at each other accusingly but they were speechless and unable to say anything, then Alfred noticed that the King was crawling away so he abandoned the 'conversation' and grabbed him, but in doing so, the hood came off and revealed a completely different person, definitely not Ivan's father. The two of them were shocked, and Alfred shook him violently "Who are you!?" Apparently he was a guard that was ordered to just wander off as far as possible. The two of them were confused, then Ivan's phone rang. Yao was hysterical, he told them to come back because it was a fake-out and that wasn't the real King, then he gets cut off with a muffling sound, a crash sound, a static noise, then the call stops completely.

The two of them look at each other then bolt back into the forest; while they were running Alfred explained that he was an assassin and that's why he was after the King. Before Ivan could say anything, Alfred spoke first, "But nevermind that, there are more important things right now." so Ivan just stayed quiet. They get back to the palace, and Ivan's gut tells him to go somewhere specific, so he leads them to the bomb room, which was suspiciously open. They rushed inside, ending up in a control room. The King was standing at the window, where there was a massive bomb. Next to him, Yao looked like he could barely stay conscious and his wrists were bound.

The King reveals that he knew all along what the two of them were up to, and that he was tired of them meddling in his plan. Because of their high-alert sneaking around, the King couldn't properly execute his plan so he had to lure them away, which didn't work either because Yao is "such a blabbermouth" but he told them it didn't matter anymore, because while they were gone he had finally completed the bomb and was going to eject it now. Alfred asked what about the announcement, and the King said he was never going to announce anything, it was another fake-out so that whoever is planning to stop him will wait until his 'announcement' but by then they would be too late, which would've worked (again) if it weren't for Yao. Ivan asked why he was doing all this, why he was suddenly wanting to invade Hearts. The King said that the Kingdom was bankrupt because he had been pocketing so much money and that money was gone now too, so he was going to invade Hearts to raid them. Ivan was baffled at how stupid his plan sounded and said that would never work because even if they got their hands on their money/resources they would hardly be able to use it before Hearts destroys them. The King told him to shut up, at this point he had a crazy expression. He said he was going to do this and there was nothing they could do to stop him then he pressed a button, which activated the timer for five minutes.

While he had been monologuing, the drug he used on Yao was wearing off, so he was now lucid. After piecing together what was happening, Yao stepped on the king's foot, causing him to yelp and let go of Yao. Yao, despite his size, was very strong, so he managed to hold down the King and gag him. He then yelled at the two to go find a way to deactivate the bomb before the timer went off. The two of them rushed out of the control room, they circled the bomb, trying to find its panel, but they took too long and the timer went off. Panicking, the two of them held onto the bomb as it flew away. While onboard the bomb, Alfred discovers a panel that changes the course of the bomb. He quickly works to alter the course, and while Ivan watches he suddenly asks that if Alfred is an assassin sent to kill his father, then was getting close to Ivan all part of his plan? Alfred is shocked and says no, and that it wasnt part of his plan at all. Alfred admits that he didn't want to reject Ivan, but he had to bc if he said yes it would just hurt the both of them more, because whether or not the assassination succeeds, they would still end up not seeing each other again. Ivan is surprised and asks (for clarification) why he didn't want to reject him. Alfred says its because he's in love with him, and that in these past few months he's never been happier. Ivan says 'Then, if we get out of this alive, would you go out with me?' Alfred says, "Are you kidding me? Of course! But first, we should make sure we do get out of this alive."

Alfred finishes successfully changing the course, making it head towards a volcano. He said they have to jump now unless they wanted to explode alongside the bomb. They jumped down into the ocean and watched as the bomb dropped into a volcano and exploded. Yao, who had put trackers on them before they went to follow the fake King, tracked them down in a helicopter and picked them up. Once they got back they are told that the King will be held in a mental asylum and that the Jack, General Winter (the person who had actually raised Ivan), would rule the Kingdom as a regent until they were of age. Currently, the two of them are 15 (Alfred) and 16 (Ivan). They spend the next three years getting closer and training together to be the new King and Queen.

#pov ur too scared to render so you do black and white #cardverse #hws america #hws russia #rusame #hetalia #canva has like no proper speech bubble #i was trying to find those spiky ones #but they dont have em so i have to settle for this atrocious one #yao is the mvp fr #where would they be without him #IM SORRY THIS IS SO LONG BUT THIS IS ALREADY THE EXTREMELY SUMMED UP VERSION #if i shortened it any more id leave out details

[optimistpax]

I may be the only person that thinks this is funny but also I’m having fun so it doesn’t matter dkfjgh

ID and notes about context under the cut

[ID: 3 digital canvases of drawings of the transformers Bumblebee, Deadlock, and Ratchet. 

Canvas 1: a young bumblebee  is standing behind a counter that is too tall for him. He is smiling and saying “hi! can I help you?” Deadlock looks vexed and asks “who the fuck are you?” the next drawing is of Deadlock carrying a kicking bumblebee under one arm. Both look mad. Deadlock is saying “Ratch why the hell is there a kid at the front?” Bee is saying “put me down I’ll bite your head off!” the fourth drawing is of Ratchet focusing on a titration in front of him. There is a pink liquid in the burette and he is swirling a yellow liquid in an erlenmeyer flask. He doesn’t look up, but does say “Deadlock please stop harassing my assistant.

Canvas 2: A silhouetted robot with green eyes and an unkind smile is saying “what the mighty Deadlock is reduced to babysitting for the prime’s librarian?” the next drawing is of Bumblebee, who is smiling and holding Deadlock’s hand. in the speech bubble next to the hand Deadlock’s face is drawn like 😌 and he is saying just like we practiced. the third drawing is of bumblebee, still smiling and holding Deadlock’s hand, but now he is pointing a gun at the offending party.

Canvas 3: Ratchet and Deadlock are back to back. Ratchet is blocking laser fire and Deadlock is holding a gun. Bumblebee is between them and peeking over Ratchet’s arm. Ratchet is saying “why in primus name did you bring Bee?” Deadlock says “well it’s not like I could just leave him by himself!” Ratchet says “You could have left him with Orion?” the next drawing is of Deadlock’s face looking affronted and there are ellipses above his head. The last is of the same Deadlock face but now he looks angry and is saying “why didn’t I think of that?”

End ID]

Premise:

autobots and decepticons all started off as one faction, overthrew the senate, and then split a while later bc,,, peace through tyranny,,, does not lend itself to civil stability

Ratchet is a chemist bc I Said So

He also has a pro bono pharmacy in Dead End that he started before the senate was overthrown and keeps it open until the war proper breaks out

Bee came out of the well before the decepticons and autobots split and was found by OP who immediately adopted him

OP then has to leave Bee with Ratchet for some important trip or whatever and when he comes back Ratchet has become attached and insists on co-parenting helping mentor him

So Bee helps with the pharmacy sometimes

Before the split Deadlock swings by the pharmacy to say hi and is like Ratchet I look away for 5 minutes and you adopt a whole entire child????

ANYWAYS this is all set up for “Ratchet goes missing and OP is busy trying to keep Megatron from murdering anyone who looks at him funny so now Deadlock has to go try and find Ratchet and also babysit a Small Child.”

Cue Dwayne-The-Rock-Johnson-type adventure where they go save Ratchet, Deadlock gets attached to Bee, and Ratchet is mad that Someone has taught his kid how to use a gun

So now (at least until the war breaks out) Bee has 3 dads with varying levels of competency and conception of what one should or should not teach a Small Child

#Baby bumblebee with a gun may be the funniest thing i have ever drawn #it's certainly up there #bumblebee gets 3 dads bc i said so #deadlock #drift #ratchet #optimus prime #orion pax #bumblebee #my art #optimist.txt #after the war would also be Funny and Good bc everyone would lowkey be like: mmmMMMM is that deadlock??? the decepticon hitman???? #and then Bee just runs up and hugs him #also drift could teach bee meditation techniques bc im pretty sure that both of them #are filled with rage that they just bottle up and shove under the bed to never speak of again #image described

[sardonicallys]

𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸, 𝗻𝗼 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆 | 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗻𝗲

mobile masterlist | web masterlist

𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Jaebeom + Female!Reader

𝗚𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: Corporate AU, Mature, Smut, Angst, Enemies to Lovers

𝗪𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: Cursing, sexual content, mentions of trauma

𝗦𝘆𝗽𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: You don't like to think of the word "workaholic" as an insult, but rather as a title of prestige. Everything you have accomplished in your career has been reflected as a glimmering treasure in your trophy case that doted on your work ethic and undying tenacity to put your best effort in everything you have involved yourself in. When you're transferred to what feels just a step away from a demotion, rewritten as an opportunity to "help" the new CEO, you find yourself in a predicament when you realize he's an unbearable nuisance.

𝗪𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7,946

𝗔𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿'𝘀 𝗡𝗼𝘁𝗲: I haven't written anything and posted for many moons, I feel so out of place. Enjoy.

In most scientific experiments — particularly chemical ones — the expression "precision over accuracy" reigned over the conducted research, for the purpose of retaining the proper prestige that came only with the robotic and recycled theories of a mechanical process. Taking into account the possible inaccuracies that only human variables could create, focusing on precision would eliminate most — if not all — of the blank shots that could warp results. With deft, calculated movements, you humbly thought of yourself similarly, someone who acted as a piston amongst a well oiled machine. Your process was methodical and it made sure your results embodied the effort you took to keep every step precise.

In other words, you did your job, and you did it well.

Maybe, too well.

The sudden sensation of the dulled nail of his thumb digging deeper into the slope of your bare hip, sinking a bruise into your skin, caused you to jolt. You weren't entirely sure whether you impulsively gripped his wrist to indicate and warn him of the the sudden force he applied, or because you instinctively wanted to touch him again and weren't coherent enough to know exactly where you wanted to place your touch.

It would be a lie to say he's not drunk, but he's not quite sure on what exactly. Maybe the overflowing alcohol that spilled over his fingers as he caught each pour for himself, and inevitably, you. But he could have sworn that the bergamot and jasmine he drank from the valley of your collarbone was intoxicating him in an entirely different manner, his uneven panting annoying him as his throat grew dry and sprung its ricochetting echo into the dampened pounding that formed at the back of his skull that matched the rhythm of his hips meeting yours. So he sunk his teeth into your skin to exchange his ragged breathing for your own.

Regardless of every overthought prose that he's versed out in the compounded hazy pink matter that sloshed in between his slurred, desiring words, he was drunk. And he kept asking himself what he was doing, why he was doing this. And the answer came to him, over and over, in the form of the vertices of your fingertips, luring him back as he felt your nails carve into his skin.

Ah fuck it.

And his tongue splayed over your neck, licking a stripe right up along your pulse and towards the juncture of your jaw. Giving your hip a squeeze, he managed to articulate himself the best he could amongst the various obstacles that kept him from clearly expressing the eloquence he would much rather have, "...You feel so good."

What could you say? You did your job, and you did it well.

“It’s a good deal, sure you’re losing that title, but you’ll be working directly for the main CEO,” clearing his throat, Mr. Lee — your soft spoken supervisor of two and a half years — gently pushed a bleached packet towards you from across his desk. The scrape of the envelope skidding along the vinyl finished mat gripped at your chest, your eyes wandering desperately along the uncreased plane in search of something you weren't quite sure existed. At least not in a tangible sense. It felt as sterile as your hostility, simply allowing the careful steps of your career to crumble and sift through your fingers in a hasty effort to replace it with this makeshift offer of opportunity.

Your silence was all too telling to your superior who guided and observed your pristine work ethic, “This is just a branch, even being a janitor at the main office has more prestige than any of us here!”

Silence.

Mr. Lee spoke your name gently as you pressed your lips into a tight line, teeth sinking deeply into the flesh to encase the expression as you scoured to find the words to say, “…May I ask why I’m being transferred?”

Finally lifting your gaze to meet your superior’s, riddled with absolute hesitation and your own increasing impatience from the lack of response. Clearing his throat when your sharp expression finally seared through his last defense, he began stuttering, “I need you to keep this between us because we have taken every precaution to protect this information from any unnecessary…Talk.”

You simply nodded, a gesture to have the disclaimer sped up rather than with promise and understanding. Mr. Lee continued, his tone shifting an octave down as his volume diminished, “As you recall, last month, CEO Im suffered a sudden and unfortunate passing. However, he had specific directions for his stepson to take over his position. Whether that was meant for the future, as we did not expect his untimely death, or if this situation was accounted for, there is no way to interpret it other than properly following his wishes.”

“And what does that have to do with me?” Interrupting through a breath but without cutting him off, you gently reached for the envelope while carefully pressing the prongs together and releasing the flap to inspect the documentation. Your well manicured fingernails slipped into the gap, retrieving the glossy sheets as your eyes analyzed the words and each contingency they passed.

Clearing his throat once more, he shifted in his chair before straightening his jacket — a fidgeting habit he had whenever he was in a situation where he struggled to find the proper verbiage to express himself, “…They saw you as the perfect fit to—”

Before he could finish, your eyes landed on the bolded new title that you would receive once you decided — accepted? Did you have a choice? — the position, which garnered frustration and anxiety to crawl up your throat and before you realized it, the words flew out your mouth like daggers against a board, “Secretary?!”

The disbelief strewn across your features had your superior speechless, apologetic, and absolutely mortified by the intimidation that dripped and radiated from you. Though it was mid-afternoon, sun perched high against the periwinkle canvas and melting through the windows to paint the inner walls of Mr. Lee's office, he could have sworn he felt you drink every last drop of light in the room.

“I know this isn't— I know it’s not necessarily a lateral transfer, but since you’re an operations manager—” “I’m giving up the successes and accomplishments of digging this godforsaken branch out of the hole it was in to deliver coffee and schedule meetings to some incompetent imbecile?” Mr. Lee flinched at the calm demeanor you held, your tone barely bubbling over as your words started to fire out quicker than before.

“…They,” he cleared his throat once more, “The board, wants you to train him because—” You ignored every word Mr. Lee attempted to comfort you with, “Someone who wasn’t even born to Mr. Im living a privileged life. I wish I was as fortunate.”

Honestly, you could barely register the words leaving your mouth. But who could blame you? You took pride in the streamlined efficiencies you carried through your innovation as an entry level sales operations analyst, and you quickly proved that your processes were better matched at a higher position. Two years later and without any difficulty, you climbed your ranks with precision and were just a step shy away from directing the entire department at your branch. Sure, it was simply an extension of the main company, but you took pride in everyone below and above you at your office, something you couldn't necessarily assure elsewhere.

“Well, he comes from the late CEO Im’s wife, and he had adopted him…” the mumbling didn’t cease as you continued on, “Imagine thinking I would want to leave all of this behind to follow behind and pick up after some silver spoon orphan. Ha!"

Mr. Lee and you were engaging in two entirely different conversations, mostly as you spoke to yourself and your supervisor — soon to be ex supervisor — attempted with his best speech to damage control all your troubles about the transfer.

“Well," he changed into formalities as he uttered your last name with clarity, in hopes it would hold your attention, "They want you to train him with his duties."

It did, “The board wants me to what?”

"They want you to—"

"Then have the operations manager at the main branch teach him," the apathy that leaked and wove between your words as your back met the support of your chair finalized your attitude about the situation, your shoulders shrugging before your tipped your head to the side.

"...Like I said, you're losing the title, but I promise it's a good deal," in an even quieter voice, one just faint of a whisper, Mr. Lee spoke with desperation, "The pay is higher, it's the main branch. I recommended you myself. I know you're perfect for the job."

You weren't sure if you were supposed to feel pity for your supervisor, attempting to provide you with reason to this whole situation or if you were insulted by the fact that it seemed he really did not know you at all. Tongue over teeth, you swallowed the maniacal laughter that threatened to seep through your lips as you placed the envelope onto the desk, "...When am I supposed to start?"

"Next week," Mr. Lee knows by your tone that you aren't the least bit convinced, so he clears his throat again before going for his last attempt, "...There's room to grow, and if you are at the main office, you will definitely be in favor if there is a position open. I assure you. First in line."

They're not magic words, they're barely comforting to you, but you take them because you know your alternative is to leave and start over entirely from scratch. Was this quite that different? You weren't sure. Biting back every last ounce of pride, you simply nodded — this time with understanding — as you soundlessly scoot your chair back, bowed, and departed.

That was the last time you were in that office.

Tracing his hand down your inner thigh, his rough fingers left imprints of hazy memories ablaze as the sensation bloomed over your skin. Thumb meeting the bundle of nerves that held your arousal, he applied just enough pressure for you to tilt your head back and let a moan escape, contorting as he moved in a clockwise pattern. He's drowning in sensations, from the elongated welted crescents all across his skin, to the scent of your muddled perfume mixing between the perspiration in the forgotten scenery of some unnamed room, mesmerized as the circumference of his cock that pushed into you stretches perfectly around him with each thrust. You have him drenched, and the unintentional squeezes of your indicative pleasure had his eyes rolling back.

"Don't do that," he exhaled hard through gritted teeth as your half lidded eyes managed to find his, a cheshire grin tracing over your mouth, "Why? Don't you wanna cum?"

With that, he realized almost instantly that he had sobered up once you both excused yourselves from dinner, even long before the walk towards the station and now, with complete confidence, he definitely had been drunk off you. Gripping your jaw just beneath your chin, he squeezed the plush material of your cheeks as you pursed your lips in a joking manner. Pushing his thumb into your mouth, you swirled your tongue over to tease him.

The winding in your core dwindled near it's last rotation as your erratic breathing became more evident, hips squirming against him, thighs shaking as one of his hands held your legs apart. You refused to give in first, however, so you simply grit your teeth as you refocused your attention to how he rowed his hips with careful precision. Somehow he managed to sheathed his entire length inside of you without missing an inch, and pulling out almost entirely only to return and leave you breathless. You clench hard around him, threatening silently that you were the one in control.

Removing his wet thumb from your mouth, he pressed it right back up against your clit as his ministrations were now more pressured and intense as to combat your attitude from refusing to listen to his request. Almost immediately, you felt the snap and all you could do was gasp, sucking in every ounce of oxygen your lungs had allowed before feeling your climax crash right into you, "Fuck! Jaebeom!"

"Hey," two gentle slaps on your cheek, and he suddenly grabbed your jaw again as you writhed beneath him, a feeling of vertigo practically encapsulating your vision, "Thought you said you were gonna be professional? Stick with "Mr. Im"."

Tongue in cheek, you quickly felt the high of your orgasm diminish with his arrogance, and he must have been good at reading your actions by now because before you even had the chance to retort his hand was wrapped around your neck. Pressing against the outer columns, he held your breathing all with one hand as his pace intensified, fucking into you as you were reminded of your climax just seconds ago. The overstimulation had your knees attempting to snap shut, a gurgled and agonized moan attempting to crawl out of your throat.

"Nuh uh, it's my turn," he hushed you in a crooning manner as his grip on your waist assured you that there would be a mark later. Chanting curses that seemed like a spell, he lasted no longer than another breath before he pulled out and released both your neck and himself, spilling over your abdomen.

"And here is your desk," the representative from human resources gestured towards the desolate furniture paired with a lonely matching chair as you gave your best customer service smile before being dismissed. Orientation was an absolute blur, formalities at best, to describe what your role had implied — at least on paper — and the administrative process was more or less the same in all departments. Not that you belittled this work, secretarial staff was indeed necessary and a core component to the corporate hierarchy however, being that you felt your skills could have been honed much better elsewhere, you couldn't help but feel deflated even after your first day. It didn't help the amount of socialization you had been invited to engage in, much to your distaste. Smoothing your navy chiffon dress, you adjusted the hem length to give weight against the way it rode up from when you toured the building before investigating the lone mouse, keyboard, and dual monitor screens that sat untouched at your new desk. Glancing down at your watch, you noted that Mr. Im should be back from his lunch break, signaling the meeting that was scheduled for you two to become acquainted. As if on cue, the bellowing steps of the CEO's stepson beckoned from the elevator down the hall, as a well suited and broad figure strode out of the compartment with his pockets tucked into his slacks.

Punctual, at least.

Accessorized with a rather young face, pomade slicked back dark hair, you were surprised that he was appointed to take over such a large scale conglomerate — he looked like he had barely graduated from whatever flashy international university's business program he must have attended on daddy's money. But rather than chastise him further — you would have more than enough time to do so that night over a bottle of wine and your own company — you let your saccharine grin drip from your lips before bowing towards him as he neared your desk and towards the glass french doors at the opposite end of the hall.

"Hello Mr. Im, starting today I will be your new secretary. I hope we can become well acquainted," as you straightened back out, you flinched as you saw the deadpan expression in the CEO's stepson's eyes, his expression stoic and rather blank. Mildly surprised at this response, you continued with your speech you memorized and prepared to present, "I was given your schedule but wanted to go over a few nuances with you to confirm—"

"Just e-mail them to me," and without a single look back, he strode into his office as the dulled sound of the frame clasped the door into place. You had never received this amount of disrespect in your career, not from the retail jobs you juggled through college, not from your superiors through the unpaid internships you haphazardly took up, not even from the individuals that loathed you from the branch office that purposely threw you under during sales calls. You weren't expecting a formal tone, but at the very least, you expected to be looked at when spoken to. And especially not to be looked at like some small, feeble, insect by someone who only gained their position through privilege and water of a womb. Inhaling deeply, you held your breath in as you counted quietly, eyes closed to calm yourself before you trailed towards the double doors, clutching a three ring binder filled with the notes you intended to sort. Knocking your knuckles gently, though you could see he was on the phone and turned towards the floor to ceiling windows on the opposing side of the entrance, you allowed yourself in before catching a bout of words that were being spoken into the receiver, "...I thought I asked for a male secretary?"

Balling your fingers into a fist, your nails burrowing into your palm, it took everything in you not to completely dissect the misogynistic bigot that languidly rotated his chair around to lazily look up at you — in half surprise and half disgust — and turn him into a med school anatomy demonstration.

"Let me call you back," placing the phone in its cradle, he wafted out an exasperated sigh, "Didn't I say to e-mail—"

"You can say anything you like, that doesn't mean that's how things work, Mr. Im," laced with rigid toxicity, you strode closer towards his desk before dropping down the binder with a hard thud. The sound doesn't seem to disturb him, but it was one of the only gestures you could demonstrate that did not include violence. With a deep, unsaturated, breath you flipped it open, "I was unwilling sent here to train an incompetent CEO, and I certainly will not be taking any disrespect from him so long as his father is in the ground."

The silence grew thick as he narrowed his eyes at you, wetting his lips before grimacing at the hostile way you spoke back to him. It seemed as though he was contemplating his options — even if you weren't sure what they were or what they entailed, the way his onyx orbs seemed to dilate indicated he was deep in thought. Leaning back in his chair, he lifted a hand and gestured for you to sit, "...We have a meeting to attend in an hour, say what you have to and fast because you won't be here tomorrow to say it."

Not a single sound escaped your lips as you took a seat, internally feeling your temperature rise with rage and frustration against someone who was absolutely nothing compared to you. Instead, you reminded yourself to keep it professional until the very end.

You did your job, and you always, did it well.

Propping open the binder resolutely, you turned to the first flag that was indicative of your notes. If he really did manage to get rid of you by tomorrow, at the very least, you would prove that there was nothing on your end that could have possibly caused the termination. Before you had a chance to speak, he stole away the silence, "...And you're still trying to figure out my schedule."

"Yes, so for Thursday—"

"You'll be gone by tomorrow."

"Fantastic. You have two overlapping meetings—"

"There really is no point in us going over—"

"Can you shut the fuck up for one second, Mr. Im, and let me get through my notes so we can stop wasting time with this binder and can arrive at the meeting with the director of the potential merging company on time," eye contact locked in place, you recited every word robotically before ending your sentence with a smile. The question was rhetoric as he folded his arms over his chest, a brow perked up curiously.

"You can terminate me tomorrow, but right now, we have a lot of work to do. You'll regret not having this done now, I assure you," leaning into his desk, you felt your thoughts wander to wanting to curse every hair on his head, every surface area of his skin, his parents should have been cursed, his grandparents, his ancestors that lingered within his genetics should be cursed and taint his kin for generations to come.

"...The representative call will only take a few minutes, he's a curt conversationalist, so I wouldn't worry about rescheduling either of those meetings. Leave it."

"Thank you."

The process continued with mechanic efficiency as you arrived at each flag, receiving clarification for the nuanced citations that you were looking to collect. You were unsure of why he was so difficult and rigid to start, but you managed to get the information you needed without missing the time of departure that you two needed to adhere to as so not to be late for the merger meeting. Standing at the front of the building in search of the company car you had instructed the reception to call for, you directed yourself and Mr. Im towards the sleek foreign automobile, door held open by the driver. You insisted for the passenger seat but was denied due to "company policy", much to your distaste, as you sat as far away from the CEO as you possibly could.

Rather than clean up his mess, he unceremoniously gripped your hip before swiftly flipping you over — the buoyant material capturing you with Newton's force as you settled — the residue of his climax melting into the sheets as you hissed and shot him a look over your shoulder, "You're disgusting—"

To your surprise — and horror? — you could tell he was still semi-hard and the way he grasped your thighs to drag you closer to him confirmed that he was continuing without question, "Are you still hard?"

It's really just an observation, and he knows that too, but he nods, "Uh huh."

The shock that traveled warp and weft up the nerves that intwined your spine earned him the symphonic moan he was starting to be pleased with, your back arching as you felt the dulled stretch of his cock reenter you. You couldn't figure out how to breathe without feeling like you were going to cum again, shallowly attempting not to fidget as he agonizingly pressed every inch into you. As his fingers ghosted up your torso and onto your breast, you were tempted to lift yourself up and away as his thumb and index went to twist at your already sore nipples — erect for the entirety of when he first fucked you. Squirming your hips against him, the right side of your face pressed into the mattress, you could barely utter a noise as he suddenly began creating a pace once more. The amount of overstimulation had you listening to your heavy breathing in an almost anxious pattern, Jaebeom spreading you from behind as you heard — and felt — his warm saliva drip down your ass and over his cock as it entered you.

"Slow down," you moaned, shivering as he managed to find the exact location that caused you to even unravel the first time. As the arrogant imp he was, he responded with the same words you had used on him earlier that day, "You can say anything you like, that doesn't mean that's how things work."

With that, he bit down on his lip before slamming his hips right into yours, causing you to choke up as your vision further blurred into a galaxy of exposed peppered lights. You whined in pleasure as he repeated this same technique over and over and over, the sudden impacts were so gratifying you didn't even realize how quickly your next orgasm crept up on you until all you could do was gasp, feeling the sudden release as your ears went mute — the lack of oxygen cutting into your passageway even without his hand on your throat.

Growling at the feeling of how hard you clenched around him, he managed his composure as he groaned out in exasperation, "Already?"

Yes already, your chest heaved as you felt your body wash over with soreness and delight while Jaebeom kept thrusting into you. Shivering, you felt his fingers find their way back to your swollen clit as he rotated his middle finger against your overstimulated bundle of nerves, "S-Stop!"

Of course, he ignored you. Burying your face into the feather stuffed pillows, you cursed as you felt your eyes well up from the immense pleasure, a descent down to a labyrinth you had never explored even on your own. You swore you were going to black out if Jaebeom didn't hurry and finish, your hips quivering and threatening to fall flat without the iron grip his fingers had. Leaning forward, he pressed his chin into your shoulder before nudging his nose into your neck, "I'd think you were falling asleep if you weren't so fucking noisy."

The way he spoke into the bowl of your ear, dousing his warm breath against your hair matted skin, forced you to melt closer into him to your disdain. Reclining back without warning, he hoisted you up with your back against his broad chest, "Fuck you." It was honestly all you could manage as you hiccuped through his sharp thrusts, moaning and hooking your free arm around his neck to balance yourself against him.

"You are, don't get too ahead of yourself."

Much to your surprise, you realized internally that both you and Mr. Im had assumed the worst with the new work colleague situation and were pleasantly met with competence and preparation on both ends. Despite his horrible attitude towards you, his temperament towards other business partners and clients surfaced as mild mannered with a tasteful personality; it honestly felt like you were observing an entirely different species — as if the moment you exited the car together and entered the new building it had garnered some sort of genetic mutation at that very moment which rendered his origins slack. Suddenly he was the new overseeing CEO, Mr. Im, and he created such grace in a room you hardly believed he wasn’t body swapped when you had been looking down at the business card you received or pressing a button for your floor in the elevator. It didn’t, however, fool you into thinking otherwise of his prior behavior — he was still a menace — but you hoped that the well showered compliments and kindness from the opposing party’s head of the hierarchy that were poured over you as an administrative lead proposed at least some doubt if he were still pondering to terminate you.

“And to think she’s here on her first day,” the conversation was rerouted to you suddenly as everyone wrapped up their finalized closing comments. Clicking your pen to return its nib, you gave a humble smile before bowing your head forward, “It’s been a pleasure and a very special opportunity granted to me.”

These were business lies, but what was new in the superficial world created by massive empty headed moguls who were puppeteers amongst their greatest talent? Prepared to give your final exit and head home to wash away this nightmare, you were held steady by Mr. Shin — the director who was initiating the merger — as his expression seemed to have some sort of excitement zip past it, an impression of exuberance you weren’t quite sure how to place. Vocalizing your last name, he continued, “You and Mr. Im have nothing else after this, right?”

No, but I want to head home and drown in my bath tub and maybe a glass of pinot noir.

“No sir, we do not.”

“Please join me for a drink! We should celebrate your first day.”

What a pitiful and pathetic excuse to create faux harmonious feelings with Mr. Im — though you respected his decision as not to completely accept the terms that were laid in front of you today — this was a redundant way of creating an even longer appeal that could possibly only infuse tension. Parting your lips to politely reject the offer, you felt Mr. Im suddenly cut into your response, “Honestly we’re both rather busy.”

Though a paraphrased version of these words were on your tongue, you couldn’t help but be annoyed because for the past three or so hours, all you did was watch someone who had the highest level of social awareness and emotional intelligence communicate flawlessly amongst a room of stiff business men and yet he could not spare you? You simply nodded in agreement as Mr. Shin frowned, “Nonsense! There is always time for a drink.”

Stealing a peek at Mr. Im, your lungs almost burst as you suppressed them from your laughter — his jaw clenched in frustration. Instead, to appeal to the devil’s advocate, you decided to fuck with him, “We’d love to attend, did you have a place in mind, Mr. Shin?”

You may have been socially exhausted but if you were going to be executed, you weren’t going alone. Again with the saccharine grin, you beamed at your CEO as you watched a flurry of rage shutter through his eyes — only for a moment — before his polite demeanor resurfaced, “…Yes of course.”

Silent through dinner, as you had expected, the conversations furthered to delve into the hearty relation of the two conglomerate leaders. You were a good listener, most of the time, and especially now since you wanted nothing more but to be home. You learned that Mr. Im was named Jaebeom, that he was likely going to die alone with his cats — he had five — in his vague description of the neighborhood he resided it, which only made you assume he was private. You also learned he held concurrent degrees in international business and economics, both furthered in graduate school from — against your better beliefs — full scholarships. You also learned his stepfather seemed a saint, taking in his single mother and him, no questions asked and full of love.

“What year were you born?”

“1994,” the polite reply had you suddenly choking on your sip of soju. Mr. Im turned to you with fake concern as you held a hand up, “My apologies.”

“Not great at handling your liquor huh?” Mr. Shin commented, another misogynist’s proverbial response, as you smiled and shook your head, “Oh no, I just assumed our CEO was younger.”

It sounded like an insult and you intend it to be in some ways, but you weren’t lying, you did think he was younger than yourself. Jaebeom narrowed his eyes at you but the feigned smile seemed to hide his sinister expression, “Now why would you think that?”

“No reason in particular.”

You also learned that, even though you were not anywhere near on good terms with Mr. Im, he did hold some mercy for you. After the director’s comment about your alcohol consumption, which was wrong but regardless, he began catching your pours — despite the fact you were watching him grow exhausted, dehydrated, and inevitably drunk. You assume it was for appearances but were thankful nonetheless since your haze was finally starting to let up, and the sobering process had started. After several hours of banter, you finally bid your goodbyes with one another before starting towards the station. You were hoping to catch the last train before the rails shut down for the night. Not without a shadow, however, Mr. Im quietly following behind you as he shot off unsolicited comments, “Not sure why he had to make an excuse to give you a welcoming party.”

You simply rolled your eyes as you scanned your card against the sensor to a nearly empty station. Hearing the dim “beep” behind you, you wondered why he couldn’t have just taken a taxi. Shuffling down the steps, you wanted to get as far away from the tower figure stalking you. Too bad he was a giant lump of matter that traveled at twice your pace, “Maybe this was more of a goodbye party.”

Oh so he was still on the termination thing, right*. Rolling your eyes again, you sat down on one of the empty seat slots as he plopped down beside you, “The station is empty and there’s so many other chairs can’t you sit somewhere else?” Hissing at him, he turned to you as his eyes seemed to search for something that wasn’t there and simply laughed before looking towards the empty rails in silence.

“…You sure don’t act like you were born in ‘94,” scoffing you stood up and attempted to find another seat a row down before his reflexes seemed to show they were completely in tact, fingers shackled your wrist with contempt, “And what’s that supposed to mean.”

“That you act like a brat,” retorting at him you shook your arm in an attempt to get free as he yanked you over. Yelping, you tripped towards him with a frown, “I’m surprised you say that.”

The feigned expression of hurt wanted to make you dry heave as you stood in front of him, arm limp in his hold. Another sudden unsolicited comment fell through his lips as his eyes dilated in a different way than they had when you had entered his office unannounced earlier that day, “…You smell nice.”

Disgusted, your expression contorted when you felt his thumb gently glide over your wrist. However, you were afraid to snatch your hand away in fear his reflexes would yank you back even harder. You stood, instead, stoic as you stared at him incredulously and praying for the chugging wheels of a train to appear and allow you to depart. There wasn’t more you could possibly endure, you think, but you were met with yet another surprise as your looked down, horrified, to find your CEO’s stepson really had to have been born some years more recent as he had his hormones on full display.

“…Mr. Im, please let me go.”

“Mm…” his voice rattled quietly, but you could tell he had sobered up already — entirely annoying for his own benefit — as his fingers continued to clasp your wrist in his hold.

This was the most vile man you had ever encountered — which said a lot when you were nearly always in male dominated environments — and he seemed to know and fully understand that. There was something so infuriating and rage filling as the spaces even in the depths of your being could not fathom, encasing a frustration that knocked through your caged silence that finally caused your outburst, “Why the fuck is your dick hard you pervert, let me go!” As you wailed in the empty station, there’s a moment of confusion that winded over Jaebeom’s face. It’s as if he was missing some pieces to your claim, and when he realized and really understood what you were concerned about — and you can tell — he flushed with embarrassment. Suddenly, for the first time today, he was bowing and profusely apologizing.

It was a nice sight but didn’t change the fact that you were absolutely petrified that this towering man, after everything he put you through, was visibly hard in a public space with you. Exhaling as a sense of release however, that he acknowledged his crimes, you began to step away before hearing some mumbled reasonings that were beyond you. Even Jaebeom wasn’t quite sure why he began spouting them, “I have trouble around women, so it wasn’t you in particular. I’m so sorry I gave you a hard time, but I thought it may have been different because I spent most of the day in your company—”

“…You have trouble around women?” Hard to believe when the entirety of the female population at main branch’s office was ready to sit up on his desk and spread for their new CEO — not that you were eavesdropping, but you heard a lot of chatter before and after you were transferred. When you repeat his claim, you realize immediately that he wasn’t bluffing and that his shame grows apparent. It is the first time you see the expression of guilt and defeat as his features revert to an even more childlike demeanor.

The train finally arrived, the little chime playing in the speakers and echoing through the surfaces as you stand silently awaiting his explanation, ignoring the last departure. The contemplation that riddled his face seemed to go between completely discarding everything he mentioned to simply being honest, “…Yes.”

“In what way?”

Knitting his brows together, he seemed to be unable to tongue out the words he wanted to use to properly articulate himself without seeming more like a pervert, “In a traumatic way.”

You practically snorted at the excuse before rolling your eyes, it seemed like some pathetic way to weasel out of the fact that he was some sick fuck but by the way he was speaking, perhaps it wasn’t? This wasn’t some glorified explanation but rather a sacred and honest confession held in a booth, between two strangers. You wanted to trust him, truly, but he made sure you shouldn't have after his performative gestures today. Hesitation filled his dreaded voice as he surrendered, “…I really struggle interacting with women in general—”

“And you really expect me to believe that when there are women in our office?”

“I try to avoid them, and it’s why I requested a male secretary in particular.”

For some strange reason, this suddenly made sense and somewhere deep in a crevice that was lost in the galaxy of your being, you felt a sense of pity, “…I see.” But it was somewhere really, really, deep.

“I spent most of the day sitting beside you, entirely focusing on keeping you as more of a fragment of my imagination rather than an actual person,” this seemed insulting out of context, but you continued to listen, “so I assumed it would have been fine to interact with you since we were talking normally at the meeting and dinner.”

The tone in his voice turned shy, but not because he was finding a scape goat to protect his actions rather, because he was disappointed in the resulting outcome from the lack of experience and unstable accuracy brought him. Gently dragging your eyes down his figure, seeing the still apparent source of your horror which made chills infect you, you snapped out of your pity filled daze when security requested that the two of you leave the station as they were closing up for the night. Shoving your portfolio case at him, you gesture for him to shield his eyesore of an erection as you exited the station with him silently. The awkward steps onto the empty sidewalk had you searching for a solution in the cracks on the concrete, as you often found yourself attempting. The curse of being an instrumental communicator. An unlikely scenario came to mind but you decided to wait on that particular weighing before offering Mr. Im to share a cab.

“It’s late shouldn’t we head home?”

The erratic pace hinted to you that he was getting close, sloppy and lacking purpose or precision, even his skilled finger against your clit began apply just a bit too much pleasure as you doubled over and realized the blinding release that seeped down your thighs in a snapping constriction, "Jaebeom please." You had never heard yourself beg so wantonly as you squirmed to get your hips away from him.

Twenty minutes pass and not a single car — let alone a cab — passed the road in sight. It was a normally, busy, street filled with commuters and yet not a single soul graced your line of vision. A few feet away stood your very uncomfortable CEO, marked with shame as he awkwardly held your portfolio in front of him while he messaged several drivers to see if any of them were free and awake to give both of you a ride back to your homes. You wanted to commend yourself for the amount of pity you were able to have for such a vile human being, but you remind yourself exhaustion and the lingering taste of alcohol were rendering you soft.

"Any luck?"

"None," turning the screen of his mobile towards you, your eyes skimmed the little "1" besides all the unread, repeated messages.

"...Fifteen minute grace period, right?" You were referring to the time frame of most appointments before finding a bench and dropping your weight onto it. Jaebeom sat beside you quietly, staring at the screen of his phone, as if he could control the actions of the message receivers with his mind through sheer concentration.

For the first time all day, the silence felt less like viscous tar strung between you but as if you were swimming in honey besides someone you may have been misunderstanding due to misconstrued circumstances, "...You said you had some trauma?"

"That's really not something I think I want to share right now," the mumbling filled his mouth through a sigh as he stared off at the brightly outlined skyline in the distance, creating a fake horizon amongst the navy light polluted sky. Pursing your lips, you nodded quietly before following with a sigh of your own, "...I appreciate your honesty, at least."

"Yours too."

If you weren't exhausted, you might have been able to offer a better laugh, "So are you still going to fire me?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"Are you going to blackmail me?" Jaebeom tipped his head back to capture more of the sky before lazily dropping his head to look over at you. Returning his gaze, you furrowed your brows in confusion, "For what?"

"Sexual harassment." It took a moment for you to connect what he was referring to before you burst into laughter, still hoarse and not quite as strong as you could have emitted, "...You know, I don't think you're lying for some reason."

"I wasn't."

"Yeah, so I'll let it slide," you pause before snorting.

The silence consumed the night as you checked your watch, before Jaebeom's voice broke through once more, "You did good today."

"Thank y—"

"For a secretary," you rolled your eyes as he ruined the compliment, frustrating you, "You know I was an operations manager."

"You sure are proud to tell me you got demoted." Absolutely awestruck, you felt the relaxation that had entered your body moments ago turn back into frustration. On a whim, one you probably would have never dared to attempt had the situation been different and you weren't so exasperated and absolutely annihilated from the day's events, you took your fist and slammed it into the portfolio that was sitting on Jaebeom's lap. Absolutely breathless, he choked out violently before glaring at you with seething anger.

"I didn't, I was forced to transfer to teach you how to do your job, to help you."

"You're not doing a very good job at it," rolling his eyes, voice still strained from the pressure and soreness you offered his condition you smiled triumphantly, "Says who?"

"From my experience, good employees don't go around punching superiors in the groin."

"We're even now."

"This wasn't sexual harassment, it was battery," deadpanning, he checked his phone again. Rather than ask if he got a response, you hear another echoed sigh that signaled you both probably weren't going anywhere anytime soon.

"...So do you just get erect whenever you're around women?"

"Why do you keep bringing this up?"

"It's kind of funny, it's like the opposite of erectile dysfunction right?" It's the first time he looks mortified, pale, when he looked at you and the way you phrased his condition. The stiffness in his body hints that you're probably right on the money, "Let me guess, you probably went to dozens of doctors and medical professionals and they say it's probably a psychological thing that has manifested into your physiological response."

Silence.

"So, because you think you're a big strong man," cooing at him, you pouted your lips to sear into him deeper with your taunts, "you've been warding off confronting your trauma of women and through sheer willpower, avoid them. But every once and while, there's something like this, and you decide to act like an unbearable prick so you can pretend women don't exist."

The way you've read into him has him absolutely speechless, vulnerable, and frustrated that you were able to peel back his layers so easily and swiftly from just a few focused interactions alone. There is nothing he can offer back to rebuttal and salvage the very little of what his pride had left. Instead, he sat quietly and gripped his phone, the glazed over expression on his face indicating he was no longer listening but he wasn't thinking of anything in particular either. You were still human so in some ways, this caused an induced amount of guilt to wash over you, "...Have you ever tried to fix it."

"Of course."

"How?"

"I tried to interact normally with women, naturally," nodding slow, you mirrored his gesture in understanding before fidgeting with the chiffon material of your dress, "And that didn't work out?"

"Not really," he laughed bitterly.

"...Do you think I can help you?" You convince yourself it's an instrumental solution, it's something you want to think is part of your job. The thing you were good at, you know, and the thing he took the severest blow in belittling you about. Maybe part of it even involved spite.

"I don't know, can you?" Rolling his eyes, he stared at you in disbelief before you nudged yourself closer on the bench beside him, risking a lot more than you could have imagined, "I'll only tell you once, Mr. Im, but I'm very good at my job."

Peering down at your watch, you point it towards him, "Fifteen minutes are up."

"Why? Don't you wanna cum?" He used a taunting tone, again repeating something you had uttered earlier. Almost regretful, your ears became even more dull as he roughly pulled out while you winced, being forced onto your back as he hooked his hands beneath your knees. What was the result of this man's stamina and why was he able to fuck this long? Rolling your head back in surrender, you no longer attempted to swallow your noises as he reentered — hopefully for the last time — slowly rowing his hips back and forth as your toes curled, feeling the sensation of your circulation lapsing through your extremities. It takes only a few gently pushes, and he pulls out before finishing on your chest for the last time.

He's lost all his focus, and in a shitty attempt to regain it, he leaned forward to press his forehead to yours — lips ghosting near and swallowing your curses. As you feel his weight pull closer, you placed your palm over his mouth, "...Don't."

This was only work, and like every precise decision you ever made, every experiment you were — you made sure to do everything well.

[ chapter two ]

all work, no play series masterlist

#got7 #got7 scenario #got7 scenarios #got7 imagines #got7 jayb #got7 jaebeom #jaebeom scenario #jaebeom scenarios #jaebeom imagines #jayb scenario #jayb scenarios #jayb imagines #jayb smut #jaebeom smut #smut #got7 smut #got7 fanfic #got7 fanfics

[dvandom]

Fanfic Script: Squirrel Girl vs. One-Punch Man

The UNBEATABLE SQUIRREL GIRL vs. ONE-PUNCH MAN in "Who'd Win?"

PAGE ONE:

Style is black and white manga, after the style of ONE.  Panel layout is dynamic and does not rely on right angles.  Panel 1 is upper right, panel 2 is upper middle inset between panels 1 and 3, panel 4 bursts across from the lower right to the middle left, panel 5 is crammed into the lower left corner.  An editor's note across the top gutter reads, "Manga pages read from right to left," perhaps with a little diagram as seen in a lot of translated manga.  

Panel 1: Medium shot of Saitama, in costume, in a grocery store.  He's switching from looking about to looking down at his hand (use the "two heads and some motion lines" indicator).

Panel 2: Closeup of a coupon, which has obviously had the original Japanese text overwritten with English that doesn't quite follow the proper perspective lines.  "50% Off Hazelnut Spread!  Today Only!"  Some speed lines around the edges of the panel to indicate a sudden zoom of attention.

Panel 3: Over the shoulder shot of Saitama looking down the aisle to see a lone jar of Hazelnut Spread on a nearly empty shelf, with dramatic lighting around it.

THOUGHT BUBBLE 1 (Saitama): "Last one!"

Panel 4: Saitama springs into action, racing down the aisle, which is mostly obscured by speed lines.

Panel 5: Saitama slams into what appears to be a wall of darkness.  His expression is shocked, but not hurt.

SFX: FOOMF!

PAGE TWO:

This page is in the style of the Unbeatable Squirrel Girl comic, with mostly simple grid layout, clean lines and bold colors.  In the bottom gutter is a faded text footnote, "Done reading this page left to right?  Well, time to switch again!"

Panel 1: Saitama is disentangling himself from the big fluffy (and not at all suspicious or unusual) tail of American tourist Doreen Green.  Saitama is flustered, Doreen is surprised.

SPEECH 1 (Doreen): Oh!

Panel 2: Doreen is getting her tail out of the way.  Saitama is a bit taken aback, because American women with squirrel tails are not something he sees every day, even in City Z.

SPEECH 2 (Doreen): <My apologies, mister superhero!  I hate being the Rude American, even by accident.>*

CAPTION 3: * Translated from rather stilted Japanese learned via an online course.

Panel 3: Doreen is bowing, Saitama is still flustered.

SPEECH 4 (Doreen): <I am Doreen Green, American college student, visiting City Z on vacation, and certainly not a superhero from another reality temporarily stuck here while my friends work on finding a way home.  Nice to meet you!>

SPEECH 5 (Saitama): <Um, hello>*

CAPTION 6: * Translated from native, but flustered, Japanese.

Panel 4: Doreen is drifting into fangirling mode, Saitama is really not comfortable with this situation at all.

SPEECH 7 (Doreen): <Are you a licensed superhero?  I hear they license and rank heroes here, that must make it a lot easier to keep track of than needing to keep a deck of reference cards up to date.>

Panel 5: Saitama is not looking directly at Doreen, and is trying to get out of this situation.

SPEECH 8 (Saitama): <Ah, yes.  I'm called One-Punch Man.  And I should apologize, I was in a hurry and not looking out for other customers.>

SPEECH 9 (Doreen): <Do not worry, I wasn't hurt.  Perhaps I'll see you on the news?  Well, I need to get back to my friends.>

Panel 6: Doreen is walking out of panel to the left, revealing that the shelf is now totally empty.  Saitama also notices this fact.

SPEECH 10 (Doreen): <Farewell!>

BURST 11 (Saitama): !!!

PAGE THREE:

Back to the ONE style.  Panel 1 takes up the top third of the page, panels 2 and 3 split the bottom 2/3 vertically, but the gutters are all slightly askew to give an ominous feeling.

Panel 1: Medium-to-long shot of a small grocery store checkout counter.  Doreen is paying for her groceries, chatting amiably with the clerk.  No speech bubbles or SFX.  A faint aura surrounds the jar of Hazelnut Spread.  A few other customers are present, either in line behind Doreen or leaving with their purchases.

Panel 2: Framed by Doreen's face and shoulder, seeing darkness behind her, but not normal darkness, more of a "cloud of evil" effect.  Saitama's eyes glow in the center of the darkness.

Panel 3: Doreen seen from behind, Saitama's hand reaching in from off-panel towards her shoulder.  Dramatic lighting effects, so it looks like a fight is about to start.

BURST 1 (DOREEN): What--?

PAGE FOUR

Back to Squirrel Girl style.  Also three panels, like an upside-down version of the previous page, but with nice clean vertical and horizontal lines.

Panel 1: Doreen has whirled around, and Saitama is bowing and holding out his coupon.

SPEECH 1 (Saitama): <You might find this helpful, Miss.>

Panel 2: Doreen is beaming and taking the coupon, handing it to the clerk, in a "motion lines between two poses" pose.  Saitama is still bowing.

SPEECH 2 (Doreen): <Thank you very much, One-Punch-san!  I was short on cash and you saved the day!  A true hero!>

Panel 3: Wide shot of city street, with Doreen and Saitama both emerging from the store.  She's smiling and humming happily as she carries a reusable canvas bag with her groceries (it has an acorn symbol on it, so you know she brought it herself), while Saitama leaves empty-handed and somewhat dejected.  Looming in the distance is a giant monster, spitting fire at a building.

CAPTION 3: And thus, without even realizing it, the Unbeatable Squirrel Girl defeated the mighty One-Punch Man!

CAPTION 4: Insert title and story credits.  (Writer: Dave Van Domelen.  Artist: ??)

Gutter footnote: Do I smell team-up?  Or is that just burning skyscraper?

#fanfic #squirrel girl #one-punch man #who'd win

[arigathanksgozaimuch]

head to toe | lee taeyong.

genre: ten pounds of fluff. slightly suggestive?  character/s: taeyong x reader.  overview: you love each other from head to toe. literally. word count: 2971.

13. "Sorry I'm late." 28. "Drive safely." 99. "Be careful."

A IS FOR:

ankle

“C’mere.”

Taeyong’s voice pulls you out of your concentration. You look up from your laptop screen and scan the entire room until your eyes finally land on his figure. Calm and quiet, he’s sitting in front of his easel where a blank canvas is placed. Sunday nights mean the both of you catching up with the work you’ve put off over the weekend – you with your Film App paper, and him with his commissioned portrait.  

You stand up, dragging your chair with you to where he was. He hooks an arm around your ankles and lift them up to his lap. Being able to touch you and feel you near brings him a deep sense of comfort. And only then is he able to start his own work.

B IS FOR:

belly

You sit on the sofa and let out a loud sigh of relief. Nothing beats having a boyfriend who can cook – and cook deliciously, mind you. Taeyong wears a smug look on his face as he watches you. "Full?"

Still in the last few moments of food coma, you could only nod. And then, when his gaze is back on the TV, you pull your shirt up just enough to uncover your belly and take Taeyong's hand. He immediately glances at you as soon as his palm rests on the soft skin of your stomach.

"You feel this?" you ask. "It's our food baby."

He snorts. "Wow, what's its name?"

"Chicken-stir-fry Lee."

"I swear to God you're the weirdest thing ever," he says. But he squeezes your waist and pulls you into his side, anyway.

back

Irritated Doyoung is in the middle of his speech when a hand lands on the small of your back. "What did I miss?" Taeyong asks, stealing the glass of champagne from your hands and taking a sip himself.

"Not much." You see Doyoung catching sight of Taeyong, the supposedly man of the hour, amidst the crowd and grimacing. "Just your opening speech, is all."

The man beside you snickers. "He handled it well, anyhow."

"But I was anticipating seeing you talk about your work."

He looks at you from the corner of his eye and frowns. "I’m sorry I'm late."

You want to snap back at him but you don't have a chance to, because Doyoung is already marching over to where you and Taeyong were standing. He then thrusts the wireless microphone onto your boyfriend’s chest and drag him to the spotlight, much to your delight and Taeyong’s dismay.

C IS FOR:

chest

There is a certain kind of security to be felt when you’re caged in between Taeyong’s arms and your legs are all tangled up. You feel like everything can go wrong – you can fail your exam, get sick with the flu for days, lose all your hair, and even misplace your lucky pen – but still feel happy and content. Because nothing can make you unhappy. Not here. Not when you’re safely tucked under his chin and pressed oh so warmly against his chest.

E IS FOR:

eyebrow

“What happened to his eyebrows?” Taeyong’s sister asks you as you bond over cups of coffee. She chances upon her brother’s latest profile picture and tsks in disapproval at the sight of him with one of his eyebrows partly shaved.

You shrug. “I’m the one supposed to know him the best, but even I don’t know what goes through his head sometimes.”

“There, there,” she cooes. “He’s a lot to handle, isn’t he?”

“I’m just at that point where I’m glad his fingers and toes are still complete.”

You and his sister sigh in unison.

H IS FOR:

hand

Taeyong holds your hand tightly after he sits you down on the couch. His hands are hot and sweaty against yours.

"What's wrong?"

He sighs, avoiding your gaze. "I've been hiding something from you."

"What is it?" Immediately, you are on full alert. Whatever he's going to say, you already know it's not good. You begin to anticipate something bad, like he's killed someone and now he needs help hiding the body; something worse, like he's going to use you for his upcoming exhibit; the worst, like he's going to break up with you.

"I have chicks," he says, eyes quickly searching yours for a response. He doesn't know what he sees there. Disappointment? Betrayal? Fury?

"You mean... you've been cheating?"

"What?" Your boyfriend shifts in his seat more comfortably. "No! I meant chicks, as in baby chickens. I just didn't want to tell you because you said you didn't want pets, and they're not pets! I'm just keeping them for inspiration for my new exhibit." He picks at your fingernails as he spoke, fidgeting with your hands out of nervousness.

You exhale the breath you don't realize you've been holding. If you didn't love this guy, you probably would have punched him. He sometimes makes you nervous and panicky for no reason. "Okay. Okay, that's fine."

He clutches your hands to his chest as he too sighs in relief. "Okay, good."

"How did you bring them here without me noticing?"

"Oh, that was easy. I bought them as eggs and then incubated them under our bed. I kept a daily log of them in my phone and not in a notebook so you wouldn't be able to see. Everyday, when you leave, I check up on them and cuddle them one by one like a mother hen. And then, after weeks and weeks of just pure love and warmth, they started hatching. So now, I've eight baby chicks."

"Did you just say you incubated them under our bed?"

"Uh-huh."

"For weeks and weeks?"

"Yep."

"And now that they've hatched, where do you keep them, exactly?"

"Oh! The pet store where I bought them from said to put them somewhere with soil and proper ventilation, so I put them on your mini garden."

"Lee Taeyong!"

hair

"The hell is this?"

You grab a handful of your boyfriend's hair and frown. Taeyong being an artist has its fair share of crazies. But having been with him for years has made you immune to them, so seeing him now with electric blue hair isn't as surprising as his old "experiments". But seeing Yuta and Johnny with red and green hair respectively is nothing short of shocking.

"What, you like it?" Yuta asks, his bangs covering his eyes as he blowdries his hair.

"It's like a powerpuff convention I wasn't invited in."

"See, I told you she'd hate it." Johnny elbows Taeyong against the rib.

"Shut up, Buttercup."

J IS FOR:

jaw

“Yes, give it to me, baby!”

Your arms and legs are starting to hurt from the awkward positions you put yourself into, but the smile it brings to your boyfriend’s face makes it all worth it.

“Okay, I think that’s enough pictures, [Y/N],” Taeyong says as he walks towards you. He’s beginning to think that asking you to take his picture for his Facebook profile is a bad idea. You do have a slight tendency to go overboard. Because even as he’s fast approaching you, you still manage to capture him in a candid shot or two. He quickly removes the strap from your wrist and manages, with great difficulty, to retrieve the camera from your grip.

“Not yet, just a few more!” You let out a whine in protest, almost shoving the camera lens in his face to give him a lot of pictures to choose from. “Whoa, look at that jawline,” you exclaim to distract him, knowing full well that he takes so much pride in what he considers to be his best asset. “What a killer.”

Later on, he’s posting one as his new profile photo. Before he could even finish uploading it, Taeyong tosses you your own phone so you could be the first person to like it.

L IS FOR:

lips

You know you’re in for a wild night when your boyfriend wears his clip-on lip ring, with Taeyong knowing full well how the small piece of accessory makes you feel all sorts of things.

N IS FOR:

neck

"I don't see how–"

Taeyong shushes you before you could finish your sentence. "You won't be able to see it if you keep talking. Be quiet and just stare at it."

You do as you're told, but after a minute or so, you complain once again. "I still can't–"

"Any second now."

You purse your lips and swallow the complaints that bubble up your throat. Instead, you take a deep breath and really concentrate on the canvas that was in front of you. Besides the weird splash of colors that seemed unorganized and accidental, you focus on the black lines that curve fluidly across the plane. And just like that, it hits you.

"It's a bunny!" you exclaim, straightening your posture at the same time. Taeyong has insisted you look at the picture with your head tilted at exactly 45 degrees. Now your neck just hurts and you let out an involuntary yelp.

"Good job, baby," he praises, dropping a quick kiss on your forehead. He puts the canvas away and places a new one in front of you. "Now, this one you have to look at from the back like you're walking away and someone from behind you suddenly calls your name..."

"Taeyong!"

P IS FOR:

palm

You rest your chin over your palm as you watch Taeyong dote on Jisung, his latest intern.

“Why are you being so mean to him? It’s his first day,” you complain as soon as he leaves the intern to do his assigned task and goes to you. “On my first day here, I didn’t even do much.”

“Yeah, well, I was faking being strict on you because I liked you. But now, I have to be really strict,” he says in defense.

“Because you might end up liking the new interns too?”

He shakes his head and steals a peck from your lips. “Nope. I’m actually a very strict and uptight person. I’m just nice to you because I’m whipped.”

You laugh at his strange attempts at flirting. And you don’t understand if you find it funny because his advances come off as awkward or because no matter how strange it seems, his flirting still manages to make your heart flutter. “You drive me nuts, seriously.”

“I may drive you nuts, but at least I drive safely.” And then Taeyong winks with both of his eyes.

S IS FOR:

shoulder

Scrolling through Instagram on his phone, Taeyong drops his head on your lap. “Hey, you think my doodles are pretty, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“How come you never thought of having it tattooed on you?”

You frown. “Because it’s permanent?”

The word makes Taeyong sit up. “And we’re not?”

“Nope.”

Now it’s his turn to frown. He mulls over something for a while before speaking again. “Then let’s be permanent.”

“Like married?”

“Yeah,” he says, a small smile gracing his lips at the thought. “Like married.”

You shrug, feigning nonchalance, when inwardly you were screaming. “Fine.”

“Fine,” Taeyong repeats. “I want my fleur de lis drawing inked on your shoulder.” As he spoke, he grabs ahold of the collar of your shirt and drags it sideways to expose more skin. And then he marks the spot where he wants you tattooed by leaving open-mouthed kisses on your skin.

T IS FOR:

tooth

Besides his genuine macabre style of painting, Taeyong is also known for his rather strange exhibitions.

“Are those—”

“Yes,” he cuts you off, urging you to move on to the rest of the artworks on the first day of your internship. But you choose to stand still and stare at the teeth scattered behind the glass display.

“Are they real?”

“Yes. Have you read the description?”

Your eyes dart away from the teeth and briefly shift to the justified paragraph printed on clean white paper just at the bottom of the display, but you don’t bother reading.

“Are they yours?”

Taeyong sighs. “Of course not. You know where I got them?”

“Where?”

“I pulled them out from the mouth of interns who ask too many questions.”

You don’t speak a word for the rest of your mini tour.

toes

“You call yourself an artist with this kind of work?”

You groan, taking the brush from your boyfriend’s grip. Sitting up, you fold your right knee up to your chest to inspect your foot. And, just as you expected, Taeyong has smudged the nail polish all over your toes.

“Well, I’m sorry the wand is too small!”

“Ugh.” You snatch the bottle from the table and work on your nails yourself. “I’m painting your toes in the same way you did mine and then we’ll see how you like it.”

tongue

Doyoung makes his usual round of the exhibit just before closing time. As usual on a Friday night, there are still several students taking notes, connoisseurs basking in the different sights, and just random visitors taking pictures. Nothing is out of place, he thinks, but he could only sigh when he catches sight of you and Taeyong by the corner. If he had a dollar for every time he catches the two of you with your tongues down each other’s throats, he would have been able to purchase an original Van Gogh by now.

thigh

Love means compromise. So on days you really need a dose of your boyfriend’s cuddles, he lets you sit on his thigh and hugs you with his left arm while working on a sketch with his other.

W IS FOR:

waist

“You nervous?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be with you the whole time, I promise,” Taeyong reassures with a smile. His hands find purchase in your waist before his fingers find each other and interlock behind you, keeping them in place. “Now, take a deep breath for me.”

You do as you’re told and exhale after a few seconds. His words don’t completely quell the nervousness within you, but they manage to calm you down a little. You’re now beginning to regret agreeing to holding your first exhibition in your boyfriend’s own place. But you realize it’s too late to back out now, because Taeyong is already ushering you towards the crowd. You see your family and friends, who all congratulate you for a job well done. You catch sight of your professors, whom you avoid on purpose for fear of a long, intellectual discussion about art theory. You also get to meet fellow artists, most of whom were invited by Taeyong himself.

Somewhere along the way, you lose your boyfriend in the crowd, but you let him be, not wanting to disappoint your guests by sticking to Taeyong’s side the entire time. However, when the crowd thins and your social skills get drained, you look for him first. And it isn’t that hard to look for a red-haired boy in a sea of brunettes.

As soon as you appear in front of him, he says, “I’m proud of you,” as if he has been practicing all night to say it and now that he has the chance to blurt it out, he does. You squeeze his hand and smile. After all, despite the countless criticisms and comments you’ve heard all night, Taeyong’s approval is the only thing that mattered.

wrist

Being an intern for Taeyong – the Lee Taeyong – is taking up all your patience, to say the least. Sure, you have been offered an internship by other artists, but Taeyong's studio was the nearest to where you live. Traveling back and forth daily for an ordinary university student like you is taxing and costly, so you decided to choose him over others. You're starting to rethink that decision now.

"Be careful!" he shouts at you for the hundredth time today. "That's an authentic Rothko you're holding, not some poster from a souvenir shop.”

You roll your eyes. Usually, it’s Doyoung, his curator and closest friend, who gives you tasks and assigns you work to do, but he has flown out of the country since the weekend, leaving you under the wing of the devil himself. Taeyong’s first job assignment for you is to clean up his studio. You think of it lightly at first, but later on realize he hasn’t cleaned the place ever since he has turned it into his workplace. Media of various kinds cling to his floor and easel like glue (you found some kind of blood-like substance that you didn’t bother asking about), and it has taken you almost three whole days to scrub them off completely.

Now he’s making you move all the paintings from his exhibition area to the storage room for some reason he isn’t telling you. As carefully as you can, you attempt to lift the painting higher as per your boss’ instruction. But with the day’s worth of carrying and transferring finally catching up to you, you stumble back, the painting in your hands becoming dangerously close to being damaged. So Taeyong comes to your rescue, catching your wrist just in time.

But this isn’t like what you see in romance movies or John Green novels where boy catches girl and they stare into each other’s eyes until they fall in love. Because Taeyong takes No. 15 from your grip and brings it to storage himself. The painting is saved, but you never hear the last of it, because he scolds and nags your ears off and leaves you standing in the middle of his studio feeling like the worst intern ever. You cry about it to Doyoung over the phone, but he still says he ships the two of you together.

“Oh, please.” You scoff. “I will never fall in love with someone like him.”

But boy are you wrong.

Send me an idol and a number!

Masterlist

#taeyong scenarios #nct scenarios #nctwriters #lee taeyong #nct #nct 127 #nct u #kpop scenarios #nct texts

[elizacornwall]

Vengeance is an Idiot's Game - Chapter 27 - Pride and Prejudice

Read all the published chapters here. -------------------------------------------------- When they arrived back at camp Sadie was laughing her head off at the sight of Eliza on Moonshine. She tried to keep her composure but couldn’t hide the fact that she was hurt from Morgan. She knew she looked silly on the huge mare, but Sadie’s unashamed taunting made it worse. The outlaw put a hand on her shoulder as she was loosening the saddle. “Don’t take it to heart, she doesn’t have much subtlety but don’t mean any harm”, he tried to console her. Eliza just continued with her work, having to focus on what she was doing more than usual to not let his touch distract her. “That’s enough Sadie, give the girl a rest! She’s picked up riding Moonshine real quick, not like you and Hera. I remember her throwin’ you off more times than I can count”, he yelled out to the blonde woman who was still trying to catch her breath and wiping the tears out of her eyes. Eliza was thankful for his help, but also very aware that yet again he had to protect her and her honour. She was sick of looking like a child to everyone, even with a huge horse beneath her. She pulled at the saddle, determined to put it away by herself, but lost her balance when it tipped from Moonshine’s back into her arms. She stumbled backwards where Arthur barely caught her by the arms. “Whoa there, don’t you go and bury yourself under that thing! We’ll get you a smaller one, mine here would be too big for ya anyway!” He took the heavy leather seat off her and swung it onto the hitching fence nearby. She didn’t look at him or anyone else, just concentrated on the mare’s bridle and fumbled to get it off. At least this won’t be too heavy, she thought bitterly. She slid the headstall off the horse's nose and handed it over to Arthur, who in return gave her a carrot. Moonshine whinnied softly, excited for the treat. Eliza gladly complied, caressing her strong neck.

“Thank you, big girl”, she murmured to the mare that was chomping away happily, “you’ve been real good to me today.” She gave her forehead a last loving scratch, then turned to Arthur who stood near, observing her approvingly. “Thank you too. Really. I appreciate you giving up so much of your time to help me get… well, get accustomed to this kinda life.” She gave a sigh. “It means a lot to me, makes me feel like I belong.” His eyes locked with hers and she felt the familiar strange stomach flutter again. Just shut up now, she scolded her abdomen silently. This was getting old. “Ain’t nothin’, just want to make sure you can handle yourself. You’re stronger than you think and a quick learner, I bet you’ll feel like you’ve never lived any different in a few weeks.” He hooked his thumbs under his belt and rocked slightly on his heels. “Besides, you do belong. You made your decision, so yeah. You’re one of us.” A wave of warmth flooded over her at these words. She could barely see the tip of his nose under the brim of his hat. One of these days she’d have to get herself one too, it seemed to be a very handy tool to hide your face. “That old fool is right. Sorry girl, you just looked so tiny up there, what a sight.” Sadie had reached them and threw one arm over Eliza’s shoulders. She just shrugged, still annoyed at the woman’s outburst. The blonde continued: “So Arthur over here been teaching you? How d’you even understand the man, he hardly speaks our language most the time!” He protested, but before he could get in a proper reply, Eliza had shaken off Sadie’s arm and turned around to face her. “At least he didn’t laugh at me. I’m sick of being treated like a child, I’m doing my hardest to catch up to you lot, but all you do is laugh at my progress.” Her voice was now raised, she couldn’t help but let out her anger at the woman she had idolised for so long. It was so frustrating to finally meet and befriend her, something she never really thought would be possible, only to then realise how inferior she felt. Like a trained and groomed lap dog meeting a wild, untamed wolf. “I get that I look like I had a sheltered and easy life, I suppose that’s true if you compare it to you people. But that doesn’t make me any less of a grown up, valuable person! Hosea, Arthur and me, we did a job yesterday, did you know? And I was GOOD. I helped. We brought back a bunch of money, and I’ve only really been here for what, a couple weeks? If you don’t count the time I was imprisoned in that goddamn wagon of course!” She was breathing heavily, blinking tears out of her eyes. Why did she always have to cry when she got enraged, she hated it. Sadie had her hands raised, in silent defence. She waited for her outburst to be over, then lowered her arms and answered, in a calming tone. “I’m sorry girl, didn’t mean no harm. I ain’t got half the – what was it you called it Arthur? Tact? Yeah, I ain’t got half the tact most people expect of a woman.” She held out her right hand, in a peace offering. “I can’t promise not to laugh ever, but I’ll tell ya here and now, it ain’t ever gonna be ‘cause I’m laughing at you.” Eliza considered her suspiciously, not sure how to answer. She was still upset but supposed the woman really hadn’t wanted to hurt her. After a short moment of silent hesitation, she shook her outstretched hand and nodded. “Miss Eliza, you truly are one hell of a young woman.” Dutch had approached, Eliza assumed he must have heard the commotion and wanted to investigate. She didn’t welcome the man in such a state as she was but turned to him anyway. “Thank you, Dutch. Please drop the Miss if you don’t mind, I don’t feel it’s right to be addressed this way here”, she replied, her voice dangerously close to showing her lack of patience. She took a deep breath to calm herself while he spoke. “Of course, Eliza. I wanted to thank you and congratulate you personally for the contribution you made yesterday. Hosea has told me everything, you are a remarkable actress! We value your hard work and courage, we really do.” He set his hands

on his hips and stood up even taller than he was. “Miss Adler, I beseech you not to offend our Eliza, she’s trying her best, and if I may remind you, has become a useful asset very quickly, if we compare her to certain other people.” The girl moved uncomfortably, as Sadie stiffened up, but the blonde woman didn’t retaliate like she feared. “Thank you. Now, I’m sure Hosea will approach you with more of his plans, the old conman adores your talents very much. I hope you’ll join him again in the future young lady?” She forced herself to smile and nodded. “Of course, It feels good to be useful to the gang. Thank you, Dutch” she replied, silently pleading he would take her confirmation and leave. Her prayers were answered as he tipped his hat and turned back to his pavilion. Sadie was looking at her, a sympathetic expression on her face. Eliza just shook her head, in the hopes of airing out her bubbling emotions a bit. She just wanted to carve her own place in this group, yet here was another person feeling the need to defend her. Did she really seem so helpless? “Don’t let him get to ya. He means well, likes looking after his own.” Arthur spoke quietly, guessing her thoughts again. Eliza just gave a shrug and turned to her cot, mumbling her goodbyes to the two friends. She could feel their eyes on her back as she walked away. Somehow she had to find a way to prove to them she could handle herself. She didn’t want others to think she needed help fighting her corner anymore. She dropped the canvas around her cot, shielding her from curious eyes. For a while she just laid on her bed, trying to not think about anything. She failed miserably and her mind was spinning. A woman’s voice ripped her out of the desperate fight in her mind. “Eliza? You got a minute? I’d like to ‘ave a word with you.” She sat up, struck by thunder. It was Molly. As if today wasn’t bad enough already. Eliza cleared her throat then answered. “Yeah sure, come on in!” The pretty redhead slipped into her tent and she gestured her to take a seat on the stool next to her cot. She complied, kneading her hands nervously. Eliza wasn’t patient enough today to draw this out, so she started the conversation, she thought she had a pretty good idea what Molly’s concern was. “This is about Dutch, isn’t it?” She offered. The redhead looked at her with those huge doe eyes of her and seemed very lost to Eliza. She nodded, still clasping her hands together. “I- uhm, I’m sorry, I don’t mean ta cause any offense. But ya know, Dutch and I, we… well, I really love him.” Molly looked at her, with desperately sad eyes. “I love him, and he-, at least I believe, he loves me too you know?” Eliza gave her a sad smile. “I know Molly, I know you do.” She waited for her to continue, but she didn’t seem to get the words out, so she continued with a sigh. “Molly… I know he’s been very… Well, fixated on me since I joined you. I’m glad he approves of me as a member of the gang and respect him as the leader, but that’s where it ends.” Molly stared at her, with an endlessly helpless look in her eyes. “Y-you sure? You mean ya don’t… fancy him?” Eliza laughed. “I fancy him to leave me alone most of the time. How you put up with his endless speeches, I’ll never know!” She lightly patted the girl’s knee, trying to ease up the tension. “In all seriousness though, he simply isn’t my type. Hell, I don’t even know if I have one.” She sat back and leaned against the wagon, watching a bit of nervousness fall off Molly’s demeanour. “He- He’s barely talking to me about anythin’ lately, you know. I didn’t think ye’d be the type to, well, be a homewrecker if I may be so blunt, but ya never know, you know?” Eliza smiled bitterly at this. “Trust no one, I agree. Took me a while to trust your gang too after they kidnapped me. I’m still not sure about some.” She observed the redhead. She really was extraordinarily pretty, no wonder Dutch had taken a liking to her. Her lashes were long and voluminous, her eyes big and of such a bright green it was clearly visible even in the dim light of her

tent. The slim nose stood in contrast to her full lips, painted in a lovely deep red that went well with her fiery hair. Eliza let out a deep breath. “You don’t have to worry about me, in no way am I interested in your man. I may look innocent apparently, but I’m sure if he knew what I got up to in my father’s house he wouldn’t want to touch me with a six foot pole anyway.” Molly’s face lit up with sudden curiosity. Eliza mentally gave herself a slap, of course she’d love to hear some gossip. “What did ye get up to then that’s so terrible?” She thought a moment of how much she could reveal, the likelihood was the whole camp would know about it within less than a day. “Well…” She started carefully, “let’s just say I’m not pure anymore if you catch my meaning.” Molly sat on the edge of her seat and stared at her incredulously, all worry about Dutch forgotten it seemed. “Who was it?” “I-I’m not sure if I should-“ “Was it a military man? One of your father’s business partners?” She clapped her hands in front of her mouth. “A lord?!” Eliza couldn’t help but smile. The poor girl evidently had read way too many romance novels for her own good. “None of these, although my father would have loved to see that.” She scoffed and Molly’s eyes hung on her expectantly. “It was one of the stable boys”, she admitted. Molly was visibly disappointed. “A mere stable boy? A lady of your standing?” she asked, almost sad. “You make it sound like I was a proper lady”, Eliza answered, chuckling. “No, my father would have loved me to be proper and not even look at any of our servants in anything less than disgust. Maybe that was the reason why it was a mere stable boy, I don’t know… But I liked him well enough I suppose.” She stared at the roof of the tent, her eyes all zoned out. “Until he went off and bragged about it to the other men in my father’s services. Luckily my old man never thought his daughter could be that stupid and didn’t believe them when word got out. He threw him and most of the male servants out anyway, for trying to defame his name.” She shot Molly a probing look. The girl still sat on her chair, her hands in front of her lips. Eliza lifted her shoulders. “That’s it. Wasn’t that exciting, in hindsight.” “Are you pulling me leg? That’s so terribly romantic!” The redhead seemed to come to the conclusion it was some sort of forbidden love, like in her stories. “Have you heard from him since?” She laughed. “Of course not, he wasn’t allowed anywhere near us anymore and I wasn’t ever to leave the estate without an escort. Besides, I didn’t love him or anything.” The girl sunk back down on her seat a little, deflated. “Oh.” She managed. Then she gathered herself and put on a beaming smile, bewildering Eliza. “I s’pose I better get off then. Thank you for bein’ so honest with me, I really appreciate it.” Eliza nodded, “Anytime. Sorry I caused you grief.” “Ah, it’s no bother. It’s my own fault really, for not speakin’ up and talkin’ to Dutch himself.” She stood up, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “If ya ever need anythin’, don’t be shy to ask. You are a good person, ya know?” With this, she left Eliza’s tent. The young woman exhaled and sat on the same spot for a while, this conversation had gone way better than she had expected. Molly was much more reasonable than she originally had thought, even if her head was clouded by some stupid ideal of what love should be. If she weren’t so reclusive the other girls would surely grow to like her too she thought.

#rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #mywriting #eliza cornwall #arthur morgan #Vengeance is an Idiot’s Game #arthur morgan x original female character