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chososdiscordkitten · 3 months

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Obsessive!Choso♡ pt 11

pt 10 here

Content: direct cont of last chap, reader wears heels, implied reader has boobies O-O, soooo much hand holding it should be considered lewd, 2 pics to help see what I picture (underlined text), date hehe, reader wouldn't mind if Choso kidnapped them 0-0, they play battle ship, jokingly implied Choso is an escort(?), reader is kinda mean, reassurance, idk just my usual bs??? just reader nd Choso being cute man what else can I say. Word Count: 11.9k (wtf, im sorry)

(a.n) this was so long, I know, pls excuse any mistakes- I underestimated how hard it was to edit something longer than 5k words. ALSO???? take this as a celebration of me hitting 1k followers!! yayyy

Taglist: @eristi @sunaumi @ex-ria @just-pure-trash @kha-0s @iluvreinah @iamboredowo @integers @waytootiredforthisss @1arminsimp @hannas16 @chosowhore @tojicvmslut @ofalcaodacolinablue @thesharkcollector @mochipip @hotvillianapologist @ziklope @saeline @morinuu @b3llair3 @24hrnanami

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After you left his apartment, Choso’s mind blared with the possibility of you being kidnapped- only to find solace in the small red dot blinking on his phone. Cautious eyes watching as he expected it to move- but no. It stayed still at a restaurant right outside of campus. Choso wanted to desperately leave behind those incessant urges to follow you- to make sure you were safe.

Knowing that his day of reckoning would come. Choso knew that if he kept following you- the day would come when you’d see him. And he wanted to trust you now that things were starting to advance.

There was nothing he wanted more than to trust you, to trust that you could take care of yourself-

But everytime he’d try to ignore the blaring ‘warning’ signs in his mind. He’d remember every time he watched you walk home without caution, every horror story he read of people getting kidnapped and trafficked- and on the occasions where Choso couldn't shake off the invading thoughts, your voice would haunt his mind.

Overwhelming his brain as he tried to focus on what you were saying- your whispering voice making his brain pound in his skull as he watched that blinking dot.

Choso had to call you- if he couldn't run out of his apartment and find you- the least he could do was call you. Feeling like one of your clingy ‘friends’ as the phone rang, his pointer finger picking at the side of his thumb as he closed his eyes. All but praying for you to answer, opening his eyes as he heard the receiver being picked up,

“I was just thinking about you-” he spoke, hearing your angelic laugh ring through his ears. ‘I left like 20 minutes ago.’ you teased, “I know-” he mumbled “What're you doing?” he continued, not in the mood to dance around what he wanted to hear, ‘uh- I'm at..lunch with a friend.’ you hesitated. –

‘What're you doing, Choso?’ you asked, confused as to where this was going. Choso let out a half laugh from his chest. “M’sitting in the dark thinking about you.” he professed, pressing his hand to his forehead and hearing you laugh at the serious tone he took. ‘Sounds healthy.’ you joked back with a playful tone, closing his eyes and thinking. Your tone was kind- speaking sweetly as you normally did. But. You hesitated.

The same way you hesitate whenever you refer to him as your friend.

“M’sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice.” he sniffled, “Tell your friend I say hi.” hearing your smile when you replied a quick ‘Okay.’ at his request.

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The conversation of the date was a rough one. Sitting in his apartment as you played chess. The timing was horrible- sure. The econd week of February left an unavoidable holiday sitting in front of you. “We can wait...till after if you want.” he offered a solution as he moved a pawn.

“It's not so much the day for me.” you admitted, scanning the wooden chest pieces on your side of the checkerboard. “If you want- we can wait till after.” rephrasing his words as you watched his eyebrows furrow, “S’the same for me.” mentally chanting ‘pleasepleasepleaseplease’ as you pondered.

And with those words- the date was set for Valentines day. Which made Choso believe there really was a god from how well this turned out. And you're thinking of moving out from that house full of idiots- and into the small apartment complex as his neighbor.

For the first time in Choso’s life he felt like life dealt him a good hand.

When it came to actually thinking about what to do- he didn't want to ask you. Knowing you were indecisive on what you were eating for lunch that day- so he didn't want to plague you with planning a date he owed you. Checking his bank account and barely seeing enough for a stack of pancakes in the town diner.

Choso contemplated it. He thought about it over and over again, weighing the pros and cons in his mind before going into his closet and reaching into a pair of boots that were 3 sizes too small for him. Finding the thinning wad of cash he was looking for. The so-called ‘rainy day fund’ thinned every time he ran out of money for the month.

But this was worth it, you, were worth it. So he pulled the rubber band from the roll of cash, slowly counting the bills in his hands to be sure he didn't miss count.

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The next time you saw Choso you asked him what his plan was- “Just be ready by 7.” he smiled to himself, already picturing you on that day.

Furrowing your eyebrows before speaking, “Well-” you scoffed “what are we doing?”

“It's a surprise.” he grinned, looking down at the stupid game you called ‘Candy Land’

You sighed dramatically, “Choso, I hate surprises.” as you stared at the little pieces of plastic on the colorful board. “Atleast tell me what to wear.” you insisted, seeing his lips flash a pearly smile to you.

“Wear whatever you want- I’m sure you’ll look great.” he scoffed, holding the little piece of plastic between his fingers, making it hop as he counted the squares.

“Well if you're taking me to a nice restaurant and I'm wearing a t-shirt nd jeans- not gonna be very fun. Or if you're taking me to a horse race-” Choso laughed at your assumptions, “And I open the door in a dress and heels? Then what?” you threw the possibilities at him as he smiled at your nervousness.

“It's a first date- I wanna make a good impression.” You mused, earning a half laugh from his chest. “C’mon-” you batted your eyelashes at him, trying to convince him to tell you what he was planning.

Nodding his head at your coercion that was working better than you thought, “You're terrible.” he whispered, making your pouting grin turn into a toothy smile. “Wear something nice-” he avoided your eyes, moving the character on the squares again as you listened carefully, “Bring a coat- weather app says it's gonna be cold.” He instructed.

“Do I eat beforehand?” you grinned, seeing his jaw clench at your question, “Hmm- No.” you smiled at how a few pleads convinced him to tell you.

“How nice should I dress then?” pressing the issue with a winning smile on your face as you moved your plastic character, pleased at how easily he was to convince. “Atleast tell me that.” Choso looked at you and pondered the question, before nodding his head ‘no’. Knowing he's already said too much.

You pouted playfully at his denial, “Just a hint- just oneee.” seeing his eyes look over your face, “I’ll even settle for one word.” he thought of a word to use, staring at you as he skimmed through words in his mind.

“Wear something- striking.” he squinted as he settled on the word.

With raised eyebrows you started, “Striking huh?” in a teasing tone the choice of word he used, “Must be some first date to wear something striking.” your borderline bullying caused Choso to regret his choice of telling you anything.

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On the 13th of february, just one day before your date- Choso facetimed his baby brother Yuuji, knowing out of all 9, he was probably the best one to call about this delicate topic.

“What about this?” he holding a black knit sweater to his chest while looking at the screen, Yuuji let out a snicker- ‘If you like it-’ his tone was snide- almost mockingly as Choso tossed the knit onto his bed, staring at the pile of clothing that he had gone through.

Showing him a band t-shirt from one of his drawers and hearing Yuuji let out a small laugh before he tossed the t-shirt on his already messy bed. “You're no help.”

‘M’not here to helppp-’ Yuuji droned on, “That's precisely why I called you, Yuuji.” Choso retorted in a stern tone, not enjoying the game his brother was trying to play, slipping on a black dress shirt and doing up the tiny buttons.

‘Didn't you wear that to your graduation?’ he heard from the phone with a half laugh forming in his brother's words. “Can you tell?” straightening his back and seeing the fabric flex against his chest and shoulders, ‘Looks a lil tight buddy.’ Yuuji held back a laugh, being able to see the buttons strain and form small openings down his chest.

With an exasperated sigh he looked back to the mess on his bed, “I don't know what to wear.”

‘The dark navy button down you wore to parent teacher conferences and black slacks.’ Yuuji spat quickly, ‘Hey when am I gonna meet this person?’ Smiling as he changed the topic, “When you stop being so nosy.” Choso muttered, looting through his closet and finding the button up Yuuji was talking about.

Unbuttoning the taut buttons and slipping off the small shirt. Tossing it onto the pile of discarded options before slipping on the better fitting dress shirt, doing up the small buttons and looking in the mirror, ‘I'm not nosy-’ Yuuji laughed, ‘Excuse me for trying to find out who’s involved in my big brothers life-’ enunciating the words. Attempting to make Choso feel bad for scolding him.

“If you ever come out here- I'll introduce them to you.” he looked at the top two buttons that were undone, trying to decide whether or not to do them.

‘I'm on the next flight out.’ Yuuji quipped, making Choso scoff.

“No Yuuji. Go to school.” Choso demanded, knowing he was skipping more than a handful of classes. ‘One day I’ll fly out there and you won't be able to say no to me till I’m standin’ at your door.’ Yuuji threatened, Choso offered only a sarcastic ‘haha’ in response.

‘How you got a date before I got a girlfriend is still insane to me.’ he pressed, “Why’s that Yuuji?” rolling up the sleeves of the dress shirt as he looked in the mirror.

Yuuji laughed- knowing just what to do to annoy his older brother, ‘Cause you're so… weird.’ Yuuji struggled to say the words through a bully-like smile, “For your information- brother of the year,” Choso snapped playfully, which surprised Yuuji since Choso was never the type to banter- not because he didn't want to. But his quips would always come out in stutters, never being able to come up with smart replies fast enough.

Choso smiled as he recalled your slurred words,“They like that I'm ‘strange’.” Yuuji chirped from the phone, ‘They tell you that?’ with a sarcastic tone.

Looking at Yuuji with a cocky smile, “They did.” earning for his baby brother to raise his eyebrows in feigned shock, ‘The world is so backwards.’ he scoffed before asking more questions about you.

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Choso wanted to make tonight special, he wanted to make this the last first date you ever went on.

So as he looked at himself in the mirror, putting on his many rings and muttering words of encouragement to himself, hands shaking as he rolled up the sleeves of his dark navy blue dress shirt. Trying not to nitpick any detail that he didn't like about the reflection staring back at him- whispering that even if he was ‘strange and off putting’ you still liked him.

Side eyeing the clear bowl shaped vase that held three white lilies, Choso felt nerves eating away at him as his eyes flashed down to his phone that lit up with a message from you.

‘lmk when ur outside :)’ your message read. If only you knew Choso’s stomach was in knots. A specific kind of anxiety he had never felt before, it almost felt like how your stomach churned while in line for a scary rollercoaster for the first time.

He quickly typed, ‘im omw now’ with trembling thumbs.

So as he put on the torn up carhartt jacket he relied on whenever it was cold, he straightened his back as he held the clear vase in his hand- Choso hesitated to turn the doorknob of his apartment. Thinking on if this was a good idea- a million doubts racing in his mind.

But he only needed one thought to pull him from his doubts. All he needed was to remember you to open the door.

The walk across the lively campus full of people carrying bouquets of red roses and overcompensating stuffed animals made him think that maybe the three lilies were not enough- Till the realization that he was actually taking you out on Valentine's day hit, which only made him even more nervous, the pondering thoughts of ‘am I making a fool of myself?’ making him overheat in the heavy jacket. Choso must've taken it off and put it back on 2 or 3 times before he reached your neighborhood.

Standing on your rundown porch, thinking about ringing the doorbell. Those doubts daring to creep back into his mind, but his hesitant finger pressed the button anyway. Holding the bowl in both hands as he heard muffled shouts through the heavy wood door. He watched the brass handle turn before the door cracked open- his eyes being granted the honor of seeing you.

‘Breathtaking’ was the word his mind formulated once he felt air fill his lungs again.

Choso swore that every single time he looked at you, it felt like the first time. But this time- this, took the cake. This would be the mental image he’d remember every time he thought of you. The nerves and unease he felt in his chest melted away when he saw the warmth of your smile.

His eyes blinked quickly- almost in disbelief as he looked at you, so love drunk it hurt his chest a little.

And you, bent to the side and fiddling with the tiny buckle of your heel. To Choso it felt like you came straight out of his teenage dreams as you looked at him.

Smiling as you uttered the word that was stuck in his throat, with a hurried smile you spoke, “Heyy-” before placing your foot back onto the ground as you stepped back with a quiet gasp, looking at the bowl in his hands. “Come in!” you urged sweetly, seeing his eyes scan your frame, darting to your living room that was full of your gawking roommates and their friends. ‘An anti-valentines day movie night’ you called it.

“Thought I told you to tell me you were outside-” you grinned, standing at the entryway of the house. ‘God, you are haunting.’ You looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to reply. Unknowing your roommates were ignoring the movie on the living room tv. Furrowing your eyebrows as you looked at the round vase in his hands.

“T-these are for you.” He muttered, his heart racing at an abominable speed by seeing you grin kindly before your smile fell.

It turned into a grimace, “I have something for you too-” looking back up at the stairs you practically fell down when the doorbell rang. Turning back around to face him. Taking the bowl from his extended hands with a prolonged touch, “They're lovely. Thank you.” you smiled, “Stay right here- I'll be right back.” You hushed, turning around and dashing up the stairs.

Choso stood at the doorway, almost mournful knowing the sight of you that greeted him would only exist in his memory now. Fiddling with his rings as he felt the people's eyes burn through him. Unintelligible whispers from the prying gazes. Gulping as he heard your bedroom door slam shut, urging footsteps on the ground as you hurried down the stairs. Both hands held behind your back as you hid his present.

A silly smile on your lips as you looked at him, the thin heel of your shoes clacking on the tile as you stood before him, reaching your arm around as you a box with a small bow on top. Raising his eyebrows and looking at the box holding a pair of white glass plates inside. “Plates?” he smiled defeated at the present as you tried to suppress a small laugh.

Your shoulders moved in a silent laugh as you watched his eyes flash back up to you, “Yes. Plates.” seeing him exhale through his nose, amused at what a coincidence it was that you bought him them.

“Thank you.” He mumbled softly, already being able to picture using them.

Choso held the box in one hand, looking at you with adoring eyes, you cleared your throat, “Striking enough?” you sneered proudfully. He practically choked on air at your question.

He took a second to look at you, trying to find the correct thing to say, “You look beautiful.” he breathed softly, words that came straight from his heart. Mentally he was shouting any word he thought of when he looked at you. Words that are not to be said on a ‘first date’, confessions of yearning love and descriptive words of how he felt about you.

‘Captivating.’ Choso thought as he admired your features that were accentuated by the warm lighting, almost casting a glow on your skin.

You felt the warmth in your cheeks trail to the tip of your nose at the compliment. ‘Thank y-’ you mouthed silently, being interrupted by a loud over exaggerated cough coming from the living room.

Squinting your eyes as you turned around to face the source, “When did you say you'd be home?” one of your roommates spouted from the couch.

“I didn't.” You spoke with a raised tone laced with irritation, scoffing before walking into the living room. Focused on your coat that was draped on the edge of the couch.

Their eyes looked up at you as though you owed them something, “Where's he taking you?” desperate to keep you home.

You raised your eyebrows before you spoke, “No idea.”, reaching your hands into the pockets of your coat to be sure you had what you needed.

Picking it up from the couch before turning around and speed walking back to Choso, looking at him with an urgent look on your face. “Let's go.” you whispered as you reached for the doorknob, “It's not safe to go to an undisclosed location with a stranger-!” your roommate shouted as you stepped through the doorway. Sighing as you pulled the door behind you.

“Sorry about that.” you breathed, inhaling the cold air as you scanned the cloudy overcast with squinted eyes and creased eyebrows.

Choso inhaled sharply before he spoke, “Was that-”

“Yes, that was my den mother.” with a scoff, Choso parted his lips in a silent wince as you slipped your coat onto your exposed shoulders. Reaching a hand down and raising your ankle halfway to tweak with the strap of your heel again.

“Lead the way.” you smiled as Choso took a step forward onto the rickety stairs.

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“Can you tell me where you're taking me now?” You sounded almost defeated as you walked side by side on the pavement. Choso made sure that he was on the open side of the sidewalk, walking between you and the potential risk.

Quiet streets derived from people made the walk peaceful, the sunless sky causing everything to look pale blue- almost as though you stepped through a blue tinted filter.

The weather was fresh- cold enough for a coat but not freezing the way it was a few days ago. A small breeze would have made you regret your choice in what you wore- your calves and ankles exposed to the frigid air.

Looking over at him as he held the boxed plates, with a smug grin on his lips, “We have to go pick something up first.” you hummed at Choso’s denial as his rundown oxford-esque shoes stomped on the ground.

Seeing an opportunity to wear down that smugness, you looked at him with an unashamed smile. “You look beautiful too, Choso.” circling back to his compliment that was interrupted by your roommate. He looked over to you- not shocked but surprised at your choice of words, despite the gloomy weather- you looked warm in his eyes. As though the sun was shining and it was the middle of summer.

He sighed as he felt your shoulder brush against his, “I don't think I’ve ever been called that.” he admitted honestly with a flustered smile.

You laughed, “I can call you something else-” with an enthusiastic grin, looking up into the sky as you thought of the words to use, “How about- scenic. Or uh, captivating-” watching the blush on his cheeks trail onto his exposed ear.

Choso’s teeth stuttered as he heard you- trying to silence the sudden compliment, “My name is fine.” He insisted with a nervous laugh, trying his best to ignore your gaze.

You raised your eyebrows, “Are you sure? I can keep going-”

“Ju-” he breathed, “Just Choso is fine.” he implored, his heart racing at an unimaginable speed.

You were pleased with his stutter, “Okay. ‘Just Choso’, where are you taking me?” grazing the back of your palm against his as you walked, his eyes on the ground watching the lines on the pavement come and go.

Choso sighed, “I already told you- We. Are going. To pick. Something up.” He paused between the words as though that was an answer, flinching when you bumped your knuckles into his as you strolled beside him.

“Don't take that tone with me, mister.” you teased playfully, holding your knuckles against his as you saw him perk a smile.

“Sorry-” he grinned as he looked over at you sweetly, “We’re gonna go pick something up.” he corrected himself, smiling at the sugared words, not moving his hand from yours- if anything pressing it closer.

With a sigh you took the initiative and interlocked your fingers with his, your cool hand icing his warm palm, “If you're gonna kidnap me- let me know. Promise I won't fight back or anything.” you joked, making Choso shiver at your accusation.

With a grimace he hesitated the words he was about to say, “That is a terrible and equally horrifying thing to say,” he spoke your name in a reprimanding tone.

“I mean in the way that life sucks right now, and you're a pretty cool person. And you're nice, and tolerate me.” squinting your eyes at the sudden frost-like breeze puff against your bare shins.

Your circling hum on the side of his pointer finger made this conversation suddenly very difficult for him to focus on. “Just don't put me in a glass cage. That's all I ask.” You continued the unsettling topic as you squeezed his hand.

Choso laughed at the reference, “You see,” being able to conjure the words in his mind. “I had reason to worry about you getting kidnapped.” he murmured, mentally damning you for putting that thought into his head again.

“That's different though.” you hummed, tilting your head towards him. “Of course if it was a stranger I’d fight tooth and nail-” a playful grin on your lips, watching his eyebrows slowly pull upwards. “But, if it was you?” you continued, feeling his palm subtly start to clam against yours.

Choso looked over at you- waiting for you to finish what you were saying. The troubled expression on his face made you smile at how easy it was to fluster him.

Shaking away the words in your mind, the sky dimming as you clutched onto his hand, you let out a ‘tsk’ at the thought, “Now that would be something quite forward to say.” you grinned playfully.

‘Your smile hides your mischievousness a little too well- I think you're just being cruel at this point.’ he thought as he looked at your profile. A proud smile adorning your lips.

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“A parking garage?” you asked, twitching your ankle as you watched Choso input a security code into the metal receiver.

Choso sucked his teeth with a smile, “Did you expect us to walk for the entire night?” looking down to your shoe that was clearly bothering you.

“You have a car?” you asked as you watched the metal gate creak open.

He winced, “Technically no-” hand in hand as he led you through the barrier of the two story garage. Walking up the sloped concrete as you looked at the dusty cars.

“I didn't even know this place existed.” You muttered, eyeing the gray walls illuminated by old yellow lights. Swinging your connected hands softly as Choso laid eyes upon the black car cover he hoped was waiting for him.

“Let's hope it still runs.” he joked as you let go of his hand.

“Hold these for me won't you?” he whispered, handing you the cardboard box as you tapped your heeled foot on the ground, causing Choso to look down at your ankle once more.

Placing his hands on the front end of the cover, yanking it off as you laid eyes on the two seater maroon colored classic. Almost perfectly polished as you raised your eyebrows in shock, his hands balling up the black car cover and placing it on the hood haphazardly.

He inhaled almost painfully, “It was my father’s-” as he inserted the key into the driver's side and turned it, unlocking the doors before walking to the passenger side and opening the door with a hand held out to you.

Taking the boxed plates from your hands and placing them on the roof of the car, holding your hand as you eased into the vehicle.

Connected matte black seats meeting your eyes as you eased into the seat. Silent as he nervously tried explaining why he had the car, “H-he left it behind- and I didn’t wanna leave it to be sold.” He smiled, looking down at you as he held the frame of the door.

“So you brought it with you?” You hummed, fiddling with your hands on your lap and looking at the interior.

“I stole it- yes.” he admitted without shame, leaning on the frame of the opened door.

Pulling off his jacket as your hands reached out to take it from him, a small ‘Thank you’ fell from his lips as you held it in your lap. His lips parted in a grin, looking at your expression as you pinched your eyebrows together. Reaching your hand down to the bothersome buckle that squeezed your ankle a little too tightly.

Your fingers struggled to fix the issue as he watched you. Flashing your eyes up at him with an awkward giggle before you spoke, “When you rang the doorbell I accidentally pulled the-” You sighed, trying to pull the black strap from the bothersome buckle, “-the strap too tight.”

Choso smiled before mouthing an understanding ‘oh’

“May I?” he asked, frustration starting to seep from you and into him by just watching your aimless attempts. You eyed him, lowering himself to his knee, the other propped up as you turned your body to face him.

Suddenly all too aware of the veins on the tops of his hands, the light arm hair on his outer forearms that were exposed from his rolled up sleeves.

His calloused hand held open awaiting you to lift your dangling foot to his palm. Without a word, you lifted your ankle. Choso delicately placed his hand onto the back of your calf, your cold skin warming in his palm as he guided the back of the heel to rest atop his bent knee. Trailing his fingertips mindlessly on your skin as he gently unbuckled the silver rivet of the shoe.

Feeling the instant relief as he slid the buckle into a neighboring notch. A warm blush forming on your cheeks as you watch his painted hands trail gentle touches on your skin.

“There?” he mumbled, looking up at you as his thumb settled on the protruding bone of your ankle. Only offering a blushed ‘Mhm’ from your dry throat as he laced the rest of the tiny strap beneath the metal. Your hand was clutched on the edge of the seat- if your grip tightened any more you’d scratch the pristine leather.

Choso gently placed his palm back onto your calf, easing your leg back down gently before he stood up again. “Now for the moment of truth.” he winced, taking a step back and leaving you with your feet on the ground.

You inhaled sharply as his hand rested on the door again, waiting for you to sit correctly. You turned your body back to face the windshield, he closed the door for you- reaching his hand on the roof of the car for the plates before walking to the drivers side.

With how easy it was to fluster him or make him nervous, you were unsure why out of the two of you- you were the one who was on the verge of hyperventilating from the innocent act of kindness. In your mind an obstacle presented itself; how you were expected to keep your composure for the rest of the evening.

Your hand dared to tremble as you placed his heavy jacket on the center of the benched seat. Some kind of desperate attempt at a wall to keep you from acting on your self-indulgent thoughts.

Hearing a small thud as he placed the plates on the roof again. The driver's door opened smoothly, Choso eased into the seat as he placed his hand on the wheel with the keys in hand, leaving his door open with one foot on the ground.

Choso cleared his throat as he turned the ignition, raising his eyebrows in hopes the car would turn on. A wave of relief washed over him when he heard the loud roar come from the muffler. Quiet music playing from the staticky radio breaking the silence.

He stepped out of the car once more, walking to the hood to grab the car cover he carelessly folded. Your eyes followed him as he slid the pair of plates from the roof and walked to the back of the car, your shoulders tense while trying to breathe.

Flinching when you heard the trunk pound shut, clearing your throat when you saw him walk back to the opened door.

He settled into the driver's seat once more, mindlessly picking up your attempt at a wall and placing his jacket onto the ledge of the rearview window, leaving nothing but air to keep you separate from him.

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The drive was silent, the quiet radio music easing the tension in the air only you felt. Hands in your lap as you fiddled with your thumbs, Choso was unaware of your tense shoulders till he stopped at a red light.

Looking over at you- your head locked forward and sitting very, very far away. The look on your face though, furrowed eyebrows and unblinking eyes, lips pressed tightly together as though you were in deep thought- that's what made him realize something was wrong.

Replaying the last 10 minutes- not recalling a single snide comment or any attempts at flirting since he started driving.

He murmured your name- trying to pull you out of the thoughts that were whirling in your mind at that moment. Blinking your eyes and turning your head slightly, looking at Choso’s face that was illuminated by the red light. “Something wrong?”

You nodded your head ‘no’ intertwining your hands harshly together. Choso looked down to your latched hands, then back up to you with a perked brow- He didn't need to speak, you knew what he was asking with the look on his face.

You inhaled, trying to find something clever to say- “M’trying to keep my hands to myself.” you murmured, looking out of the window, gathering he was driving into the neighboring city as your knees pointed to the door along with your head.

‘...hands to yourself..?’ Choso mentally repeated your words, not knowing why you had to try to, when you were never shy about it before.

Air caught in your throat at the realization you said that louder than you were expecting, “In a- a non creepy way.” you reiterated, scrunching your eyes together at the stutter in your words.

Mentally you were cursing the stupid old traffic light that refused to turn green, even with the lack of cars around- it still beamed red. “Did I do something?” he asked, worried he offended you in some way.

You sighed, “Yes-”, refusing to look at him, “Yes, you did something.” you muttered as you looked into the glass, staring at him through the reflection.

“I’m sorry- I didn't mean to-” he started apologizing unknowing what he did- but it still felt like he had to.

You let out a laugh that rang through his ears in the sound of a hymn, “You don't even know what you did.” corners of your lips twitching upwards, turning your knees over to him as he looked forward at the now green light- accelerating slowly as you scanned his side profile.

“Must've been something worth an apology if you- of all people are keeping your hands to yourself.” he joked slyly. Only he meant to think those words- not actually say them to you.

You squinted your eyes at his banter, “Oh haha-” you grinned sarcastically, planting your hand onto the seat, “I'll make sure to keep ‘em to myself from now on if you feel that way.” You played, feeling your confidence soak back into your words.

Choso turned his head slightly over to you, low eyes knowing you wouldn't be able to keep that declaration, dropping his hand from the bottom of the wheel as the other held onto the side of it, placing it on the black leather to tempt you. Suddenly the distance you set between you too was too evident- too far, his eyes were forward- watching the road.

You gulped, scanning the top of his veiny hand, slowly you shifted closer to him.

Now close enough that he could sense you, “Choso?” you whispered, earning for a small hum to leave his throat, a childish smile on your lips “Can I hold your hand?” you spoke in a whisper- Choso furrowed his eyebrows at the question.

A gentle grin on his lips, “You don't need to ask me.” he whispered back, looking forward as he heard alarms and bells ring in his head from excitement.

So as you scooched closer to Choso, he held his hand out for you. His heart couldn't help but beat at an alarming pace, so close your thigh was pressed against his. Your knees pointed in his direction as he felt his palm threaten to sweat.

You slumped the tiniest bit into the matte seat, looking up at him as you gently took his hand into yours, interlocking your fingers with his as your other hand caged the back of his palm.

Both of your hands overwhelmed his tender one, smiling as you leaned the side of your head onto his bicep. Resting your joined hands on the seam where his thigh ended and yours began.

“I've always liked your hands.” you mumbled, caressing your thumbs on his skin as he drove- he was grateful the sky was darkening. Cause he was so sure the blush he was sporting on his cheeks was starting to roam down his chest.

Choso’s breathing hitched- catching in his throat, “My h-hands?” feeling his heart pound in his chest. And for the foot that wasn't on the gas to start bouncing nervously.

You giggled, “Yeah, your hands.” you hummed, unaware of the state you were pushing him to. “They're so pretty.” you complimented him with a tone only heard in his frantic dreams.

And as you scanned his jeweled hand engulfed by your own- the veins that trailed up his forearm beneath his pale skin proudly, you smiled as you pressed your thumb down onto a blood filled ridge on the top of his hand. Stopping the blood flow from the prominent vein.

His mind was whirring in his skull- had you said anything else he would've had to pull over to catch his breath.

But you didn't, no you only traced mindless doodles on his skin softly. ‘This has to be some kind of attempt on my life.’ his brain managed as the scent of your perfume infiltrated his nose.

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Though he was eternally grateful to be so- (some would say too close) to you, he felt his lungs able to breathe with a set pace once he found a parking spot in front of the building he was looking for. Streets full of couples as the moon started arising. Choso exhaled expectantly, switching the ignition off and feeling your grasp on his hand loosen.

“We’re here.” he practically choked out. You furrowed your eyebrows and looked onto the street, watching the people walking past the lit up glass doors.

“What's here?” you grinned, straightening your back and looking at Choso, you were so very close to his face. The light on the roof of the car made it very obvious that he was blushing.

“A uh-” he inhaled the air between you, “A museum.” his shoulders were tense, looking from your eyes to the curve of your nose- darting back and forth from the cupid's bow of your lips back up to your eyes. You smiled hearing his hesitant tone- relishing the sight of pure nerves flooding in his pupils from how close you were.

With an amused smile you snorted softly, “Ouu you want to kiss me sooo bad- I can see it-” you teased, earning for Choso to look away from you in embarrassment.

And as you pulled your hands from his, he opened his door, mumbling small curses, racing to the passenger side- reminding himself that he needs to be polite and well-mannered.

As he pulled your door open he held a hand out to you, giving you a brace to step out from the old car.

The sight of your hand in his as you stepped from the car elegantly made one thing click in his mind. Choso felt in his heart that he would be more than happy- elated even, to do this with you every weekend till you were both old and wrinkly.

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Hand in hand as you walked past the white walls. Stopping at any piece of art that caught your attention.

Your eyebrows pulled tight as you looked at a piece painted black with glimmers of red. Choso’s eyes were on your profile as you examined the art, “What do you see?” he mumbled, looking back to the large canvas. Unable to understand how you could see meaning in a few colors.

You sighed, tilting your head and staring at the streaks “It seems sad.” you whispered as he furrowed his eyebrows. “Like the person who painted this was distressed.”

Choso didn't see what you saw- he saw a lazy attempt at modern art- “You can see it in the brush strokes-” you leaned over to him as you pointed to the seemingly violent brush strokes. He tried to see what you saw, “In the way they decided to use a little bit of red.” You continued, looking over to his lost expression.

When you walked into the room of sculptures you stared at an old wooden chair placed on a small platform with a harsh spotlight on it, “Performer.” you read the words on the silver plate at the bottom, “What do you see Choso?” you repeated his question as he stared at the chair.

He squinted his eyes before speaking, “I think it's a chair-”, feeling your elbow shove him gently. He sighed, “Well, the chair is old, and the spotlight is on it almost in a mocking way.” Choso expressed his depiction of the piece. “And the title signifies that the chair is a piece to be gawked at.” he muttered as you smiled at his intune thoughts.

He huffed, almost feeling like he said too much. “You?” he broke your silence as he looked back at you.

“I think it's just a chair.” you mocked with a perked smile.

On the other end of the room there was a wired sculpture, if you looked in the right angle you'd be able to see the projected image within the silver wires.

You were tilting your head trying to make out the image, “I think it's a face?” you whispered as Choso furrowed his eyebrows, “Or two?” you squinted your eyes as you finally saw the image with a gratified exhale.

Choso huffed- frustrated from how tedious this was. “How are you seeing anything?” he asked frustrated as his neck started to strain from how long he was tilting it.

You dropped his hand- taking a step behind him and placing your hands on his shoulders, “Here.” you hummed, moving him to where you previously stood. “Lean down a little-” you whispered, you weren't able to see it- but his eyes were wide and his cheeks were tingling from your guidance.

And as he lowered himself, you placed your hands onto the side of his head- angling it softly to this side as he allowed you to. You stood behind him- close enough for him to be able to feel your breath wisp on his nape. “Can you see it?” you whispered- Choso felt goosebumps form on his arms at your soft tone.

You slid your hands from the side of his head- seeing him stay in place as he looked at the sculpture. “Can you?” you whispered as he raised himself back to stand up straight.

He looked at you with a horrified look on his face, “Yeah I can.” he muttered before you took his hand in yours again.

And when you found the room he specifically chose this museum for- he lit up with a smile.

“Art history-” you read the plaque on the wall.

Choso led you into the dimly lit room, “Finally some real art.” he muttered before turning the corner. Standing before the grand in size portraits- he looked at them in silence. Only you didn't find the same fascination in the old paintings as he did- you found the excitement that gleamed in his eyes more interesting than the dusty art works.

With every piece he knew, he'd tell you the tragedy behind them, star crossed lovers and small comments of the trageties- “Why are you looking at me like that?” he paused his previous sentence, looking at you worried that he was talking too much.

You offered a timid smile, circling your thumb on his skin lovingly. Reaching a pinkie up to his temple and brushing away a loose strand from his temple, “I can't look at you now?” you murmured playfully, his eyes glimmered with shock at the sudden contact against his face.

Choso diverted his eyes from your gaze, looking down to his shoes before mumbling, “You can't look at me like- that.” he felt his heart pound in his chest recalling the expression on your face with closed eyes.

You giggled at his words, “Why not?” you pressed, being able to feel his hand tighten its grip on yours.

He sighed, looking back up to your seemingly intoxicated face. Choso parted his lips, daring to say the first words that came to his mind. You raised your eyebrows and gripped his hand to urge him to give you a reason. “Cause I don't know what it means.” he retorted quietly.

You scoffed, an amused smile on your lips as you nodded your head. Not knowing how he could be so insightful in some ways and completely blind when it came to this.

Your eyes scanned his features, “How many times do I have to tell you before you get it?” you quipped, seeing his eyes pool with confusion at your question.

“I like you so much, Cho.” you whispered, seeing his eyebrows furrow harshly at the shortened version of his name. “I stare at you because I like you.” You assured, “I laugh at everything you say because I like you.”, watching his eyes blink down in timidness. In his mind, actually processing your words took a lot of effort.

“Can I be honest?” you whispered, seeing his lips mouth an ‘okay.’ to your question. “I don’t think I've ever liked someone in the way I like you.” Choso exhaled at your words- mumbling a ‘stop’ as you smiled.

You exhaled, “I'm being serious. You're just-” you started, only for Choso to raise your hand and place it flat onto his chest. His eyes trembled as he looked at you with a stern but pained expression. You raised your eyebrows at how fast his heart pounded in his chest, explaining why he asked you to stop without words.

Your lips curled into a sweet smile, pulling his hand that was wrapped around your wrist, holding your hand flat on his chest as you led his hand towards your exposed cleavage in attempts to show him how fast your own heart was beating.

Only for his eyes to widen and pull his hand from your grasp in shock- all but clutching his imaginary pearls as he hissed your name. Mortified to even think of touching you there.

A small laugh left your throat at how he exclaimed your name. You were kind enough to not attempt to do that again- fearing his heart might go into cardiac arrest from being skin to skin. Instead you pulled your hand from his chest, guiding his opposite one onto your wrist and pressing his index and middle finger onto the pulse in your wrist.

His eyebrows furrowed as he felt your racing pulse against his two fingers, “You make me just as nervous.” you whispered softly, smiling as he parted his lips.

Choso softened his gaze, “You do a great job at hiding it.” he whispered back, recalling every moment his heart palpitated in his chest- wondering if all those times your heart was racing too.

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“I think this is the first official date I've ever been on-” you smiled, now standing outside. Thinking how stupid it was that the exit was on the other end of the building.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows, “First, first date you mean?” he clarified your statement assumingly.

You scoffed with a smile, “No, the only date I've ever been on.” seeing his expression fall in surprisement.

Choso nodded his head as though that proclamation didn't make his heart burst in his chest, “Besides the times where we'd hang out after class- but I think this one is the first official one.” you grinned, pulling his hand with you as you turned to start walking back to the car.

‘The times we’d hang out..?’ he thought, recalling the afternoons you'd spend with him.

He inhaled quickly, “Those were dates?” he urged with a horrified look on his face, scanning at your profile. You looked at him as you stepped slowly.

Raising your eyebrows almost amused, “Well when two people like each other- and admit it to each other,” You taunted playfully, turning the corner of the sidewalk, “If both are consenting parties-” you continued your mocking tone as Choso listened to your words, to be sure he wouldn't miss hearing what you were saying.

“They start dating.” you teased, looking at him with a smile full of satisfaction.

In his mind, he replayed every moment from when he admitted he liked you till now- reevaluating them at the new information. With warm cheeks that were grazed by the cold air, “Are we..” he started, his palm becoming clammy against yours at the words he dared to spout. “Dating?” He asked, looking at you in a new light at that word.

No longer were you a person he liked- or a school friend. He was a person you were dating.

A soft chuckle left your throat at the dramatized words, “Don't tell me you just wanted to be a situationship?” you asked with feigned offense, furrowing your eyebrows as he listened to your words.

His face fell, trying to process the word you just said, “What is a situationship?” he asked almost scornfully at the unknown word as his grasp in your hand tightened. A sweet laugh left your throat at his question, not even being too sure of what that word meant yourself.

“Cho- are we dating or not?” you asked- turning the question around on him. His face went pink, both at the confrontation and the nickname- looking at you as though you hung the stars in the sky. You raised your eyebrows waiting for his reply.

Choso tried to think- he tried using all 4 fried brain cells in his mind to formulate a proper sentence, but all his trembling lips could muster was one word;

“Yes.”

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The walk back to the car was silent- You were pleased with how much he blushed, how you practically forced him to confirm that your goal was achieved.

Choso, on the other hand, had a mortified look on his face. The fear of taking the first step was long gone since the first 3 steps were already taken unbeknownst to him. In his mind he started seeing every possibility, every negative thing that could wait for him 10 miles down the road. Choso knew he should've been elated- but he couldn't help the heavy feeling in his chest as he thought of the future.

Staring at him lovingly, “Where to now?” you broke the silence as he opened the car door for you, holding your hand with trembling fingers as you eased into the vehicle.

Choso hurried to the other side of the car, taking a deep breath before getting into it. Thinking how everything is different now- he drove this car as your friend and now he was driving it as a person you were dating.

You scooched back to the spot you previously sat in, “I hope you're hungry-” he started, his cheeks tingling as he felt your hand interlock with his again, “God– I am starving.” You interrupted, looking over to him with an enticing grin.

Choso smiled to himself, “I have a fridge full of groceries waiting for us.” he tried ignoring your tracing thumbs as he put the car in drive.

You reached a hand over and pushed a few stray strands of hair that blocked his profile from you. “You gonna cook for me?” You hummed sweetly, seeing the blush on his cheeks deepen.

A small ‘Mhm’ left his lips as he pulled out of the street parking, you looked at him with adoring eyes, intoxicated on how close you were to him. “Those plates were definitely a good idea huh?” you asked smugly.

He sighed with a smile, “Yes. They were a phenomenal idea.” he fed into your boastful tone.

You looked at him, admiring that he cared enough to agree with you,“You’re so-” you hesitated as you tried to find the word, “So,” Choso was smiling as he awaited your words. You gritted your teeth- feeling cuteness aggression, “It's like I made you in a computer.” You smiled, hearing a hearty laugh from his chest.

The entire ride back to the campus- you didn't let go of his hand. The cringey love songs played on the radio quietly, with any song you recognized you’d tell him a memory from your upbringing. Grazing the tips of your fingers along his larger ones.

Choso made sure to listen to every single word you'd speak into the air- “M’sorry I know I'm talking a lot-” you sighed, noticing he wasn’t replying to your words.

Hee scoffed, “Don't apologize- I like listening to you talk.” flashing his eyes over to you as you nodded your head in disbelief at how smoothe he could be at times.

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You didn't check your phone the entire time. So you were happily relishing in the peace you felt being in the presence of him.

Walking past the entryway of his apartment, reaching into your coat pocket and taking it off as Choso reached for it in your hand, hanging it along with his on the coat rack.

You checked the stupid piece of aluminum, widening your eyes at the countless messages from your overbearing roommate, and checking the time. 9:05 pm as you heard Choso set down the boxed plates onto the kitchen counter in front of you.

You sighed as you pulled out a barstool from the wall, furiously typing as Choso gently peeled off the tape from the box.

Looking across the kitchen counter at you as you settled on the barstool with furrowed eyebrows. Scanning your bugged expression, “Everything okay?” he pulled you from your thoughts.

You sighed as you shut off the phone, placing it onto the counter faced down as you looked at him- completely defeated. “I’m moving out.” you claimed with a deadpan tone.

Choso looked at you from the cabinet, “What now?” he smiled as he reached for a pan.

“I have like- 50 texts and 20 missed calls from my-” you were interrupted, Choso finished your sentence, ‘roommate’, watching as you huffed a sweet smile at how he knew what you were ranting about. “Regardless, I'm moving- even if I live on the street for a few days. I can't stay at that house anymore.” You sighed, watching Choso turn on two knobs on the stove.

Looking at him with defeated eyes, “You won't live on the street.” he assured, turning around and opening the fridge.

You rested your elbow on the counter, placing your chin in your hand as you watched him set various small containers of already prepared herbs onto the counter. “At the end of the day people really are disappointing aren't they?” you asked with a sigh, watching as he pulled out two pre-marinated chicken breasts from the fridge.

Choso decided to ignore your previous statement- not wanting to sullen the mood even more, “Are they like this with your other roommates?” he asked with a smile, drizzling oil into the pan. Going to lower the heat on the small steel pot on the back burner before moving to stand in front of you.

You watched as he slowly pulled his jewelry from his fingers, “No- if anything they enable their behavior.” eyeing the silver metal on the counter, your proclamation earning a sigh from Choso.

He noticed your eyes following his hands, furrowing his eyebrows at your gawking. “You need better roommates.” he declared, turning to the sink and washing his hands as you reached for the abandoned metal he left on the counter.

As you rolled the warm metal in your hand you sighed, “I need to move out is what I need-” watching as he dried his hands. You smirked to yourself, “If I was your neighbor would you cook for me everyday?” You asked- half joking as he looked up from the searing pan.

Choso smiled at your question, picking up one of the raw chickens, “If you were my neighbor I’d cook for you anytime you asked.” he flashed his eyes up at you before placing the white meat into the pan, a loud sizzle coming from the action.

You rested your elbows onto the counter with a hearty giggle, “You say that now- But when m’knocking at your door 2-3 times a day- you can't complain.” you warned, watching as he let out a half laugh.

He picked up metal tongs from the utensil holder, “If you knock on my door 2-3 times a day- I won't have any reason to complain,” he spoke your name in reassurance as he flipped the grilling chicken on the other side.

You laughed to yourself, not being able to sense any nervousness or hesitation in his words anymore, almost as though he gained more confidence in the past half hour.

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As he plated the cooked chicken, you watched with a grumbling stomach. Almost drooling as he scooped a decent portion of mashed potatoes onto the brand new white plate, “God- that looks so good.” You bit your lip, reaching your hands to the plate.

“Wait-” he held onto the edgeas he reached for a pre-cut lemon- squeezing it gently as the citrus glazed the browned chicken.

With a warm smile he spoke, “There- now you can eat it.” looking down to the beautifully plated meal, you sighed. Grabbing onto the edge of the plate and pulling it towards you.

You looked back to him, “I can wait for you-” you muttered, hoping he'd say no.

He exhaled, smiling as he watched your eyes full of hunger flicker from him back down to your serving. “It's okay- you eat.” He assured, watching the smile return on your lips as you picked up the metal fork placed on the side of the plate.

Choso watched you expectantly, the fork scraping against the plate as you sliced into the meat-piercing the chunk you cut off and lifting it to your lips, looking at him as you placed the fork into your mouth. The warmth from the grilled chicken landing on your tongue as you pulled the fork from your lips- leaving nothing on it with a sigh from your nose.

Chewing a few times as you closed your eyes, savoring the flavor between every bite.

You swallowed, opening your eyes and nodding your head, “You're insane.” you mumbled, looking at his expression unchanged- not knowing if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

“Please finish cooking so I can eat more-” you joked, placing the fork onto your plate, he scoffed at the words that seemed like a compliment.

And as you asked, he plated his own serving, not with a quarter as much love nor care- but it was infront him as he leaned down to take a bite, assuring you it was fine for you to continue eating.

He hummed as he placed the fork down onto his plate, “I didn't even offer you anything to drink-” he scoffed to himself reaching to the cupboard above his head and pulling down two glass cups.

You opened your mouth- hesitating to speak as you watched him turn to the fridge, “Not to sound alcohol-dependent or anything-” you grinned as he peeked back to you. “But do you…?” you insinuated with half lidded eyes.

Choso sighed, “I don't. I have water and orange juice.” he mumbled, knowing exactly what you were trying to do- but he knew in his bones it wouldn't have been a good idea to let you drink right now.

You gave a half laugh, “Water is fine.” you smiled as he reached into the fridge. Choosing to keep the bottle of ‘Titos’ he had a secret from you.

Pulling out a glass bottle from the fridge he had bought yesterday. Pouring water into your glass as you chewed on your affection infused meal.

You placed down your fork, swallowing the previous bite before reaching for the cold glass. “You'd really be okay with me moving next door?” watching his eyes trail down to his plate.

Choso inhaled, “If it makes you happier- and not feel so stressed, I would let you move in here-” he spoke mindlessly, halting his chewing as he realized what he said. He inhaled sharply- feeling like your silence was deafening. He was about to apologize-

Only you laughed, “All my clothes would not fit in your closet.” you inhaled as you placed a bite of the mashed potatoes into your mouth. He huffed through his nose at your comment, pleased that you took it as a joke rather than how he truly meant it.

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Somewhere between him finishing half of his meal and your 5th compliment on how fucking good the food tasted- a battle ship board was put up between you.

Furrowed eyebrows staring back at you as he called out a number on the board. You hissed as you looked at your side of the game, “Nope.” you grinned as he gruffed at his attempts.

You were examining your grid, trying to use all the divination you could muster before he spoke up- “Did I tell you I'm thinking of getting a job?” he smiled, watching your furrowed eyebrows ease at the question.

You gasped, “No! Don't do that-” holding a peg in your hand as his expression churned to confusion. “I won't be able to see you as often.” you pouted, looking down at your board. The words seemingly came unfiltered from your heart, and the sight of you pouting at the idea of not being able to see him as much anymore was more than enough to push that idiocy to the side.

And though you meant it as a half joke, it still pained you to know that now- of all times. When things were finally advancing, he'd pull away.

“If you need money-” your lungs threatened to laugh at the words forming on your lips. “I'd be more than happy to pay for your time.” You spewed as though you were a sleazy 80 year old man speaking to a lady of the night.

Choso furrowed his eyebrows and parted his lips, “Like an escort??” he huffed a laugh, you looked up from your board with an entertained smile. “No- no, not like an escort-” you defended.

Calling out a number on the board as he nodded his head. “Like a paid…” you thought of the word, “Though I can't call you a friend anymore can I?” You spoke to yourself as he scanned his side of the plastic game, smiling at the thought that you'd no longer hesitate when referring to him.

He inhaled as he took a bite from the coldening food, looking over to your plate and seeing you had finished. “I thought you were broke?” he spoke thoughtlessly, not being able to feel the hesitance before he spoke now.

Your smile fell, he squinted his eyes as you shook off the sudden heavy feeling- “You're that expensive?” you chirped, looking at him bewildered at the thought he might've taken your words seriously.

Choso scoffed, “No, you don't have to pay me to hang out with you.” he reiterated, watching as you fiddled with the peg in your hand. Recalling your query of if he'd mind if you were his neighbor. “But I remember you said you were broke..?” he looked at you with detective eyes as you called out a square on the grid. Sucking his teeth when you actually hit one of his boats.

You hummed as you avoided eye contact, “I uhh-” you lowered your shoulders and raised a brow, “I figured it out.” flashing a warm smile at him. Only you meant it in an assuring way- Choso saw past it. He saw the way your lips fell after you said that, the way your eyes dimmed from recalling what you were hiding.

You cleared your throat, “Meaning, I can afford your company now.” you circled back to the silly topic with a smile, Choso sneered through his nose at your insistence. He opened his mouth to speak- but you spoke before he could.

“What kind of job?” you looked at him, changing the topic before he called out a number on the grid.

He sucked his teeth, “I was thinking at the library- Quiet, don't have to do a whole lot.” He muttered as he studied the target grid. “Or I could apply to be a TA.”squinting before calling out a number.

You tightened your lips, mouthing a curse as you marked a small boat with a red peg. “Why now of all times?” you asked as you waited for him to call out another number.

Choso parted his lips- almost saying the words that popped into his mind before closing his mouth. “No- say what you were thinking.” you caught onto the little habit he had developed since he was a child.

He smiled at your attentiveness, “I was thinking, now that I’m..” looking at you with a blushing smile, you raised your eyebrows, all but saying ‘go on.’

“Now that I am seeing someone.” he murmured, looking down at the board embarrassed and trying to ignore your gaze, you laughed at his avoidant eyes.

You inhaled, nodding your head ‘no’ disapprovingly. “You don't need to get a job just because we're dating, Cho.” you assured, standing from the barstool and taking a step around the end of the kitchen counter, standing before his figure as he looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Look at all the times we've hung out- not once did we need money or to go out to have fun.” placing a hand on his bicep and squeezing gently to affirm your words even more.

Choso inhaled, “Would it be enough?” he muttered as he looked down to his shoes. You scoffed, trailing your hand down to his forearm, then to his hand.

“I would be more than fulfilled if all we did was stay here and play board games day after day.” you whispered, holding your hand gently in his as he felt his throat close up-

He looked back to you with creased eyebrows, the tip of his nose daring to turn pink from an expression that looked close to tears. “You want a hug?” you asked sweetly, hearing a sniffle from his nose before pulling you to him.

Your hands wrapped around his waist as his arms rested atop your shoulders, holding you tightly as your bodies came together in a perfect mold. Choso held one hand on the back of your neck softly, the other pressed taut between your shoulder blades as you smiled into his chest, circling your hands soothingly on his spine, he sniffled before speaking.

“Be honest. Did you come over here to look at where my boats were?” you breathed out- defeated that he saw through your plot. Pulling away from him as his hands hesisted to let you go from the hug that felt like home.

You looked at him with a cheeky smile, “I did.” you nodded, looking over to his side of the board and seeing you were close to winning by a few more pegs. You looked back to him, parting your lips expectantly as he took a step back.

‘Be well-mannered’ Choso thought as he watched you brush off the slight disappointment.

He cleared his throat, “I think it's time to take you home.” he smiled, watching your eyes blink down to your shoes that had to be uncomfortable by now.

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The trip to your house was short now that there was a car, and yet- you still held onto him as though it was the last time you'd have the chance to.

Choso parked on the opposite side of the street, turning off the car as your eyes looked at the wooden door across the street almost resentfully. “Ready?” he asked, knowing you’d refuse to face the music were he not there.

With a begrudged exhale, you nodded your head.

Choso held the car door open for you, holding your hand as you stepped onto the street. You almost resented how polite he was- knowing if it were anyone else they would have invited you to stay the night- regardless if it was a first date.

But not him, Choso didn't dare to even think of asking that of you.

And as you stood before him on your unlit porch, you smiled, “Thank you.” with a whisper, looking into his eyes as he scanned the prominent aspects of your face.

“Don't thank me.” he murmured, his voice low and throaty as he watched the sparkle in your eye round your pupil.

With a modist smile, you looked at him impatiently. “I think this is where you kiss me goodnight.” you leaned forward mere millimeters as Choso refused to step back this time.

He gulped at your words, “It wouldn't be polite.” he dissuaded lowly as you grinned innocently.

Close enough that you were breathing the same air- “It would be more impolite not to, Choso.” you compelled, watching his gaze dart from your lips back to your eyes.

He raised his hands to the side of your face- thumbs caressing your temples softly, parting your lips as his fingers kept a light touch beneath your ears. You fluttered your eyes closed as you heard ringing in your mind, cheeks warm and tingling as you awaited.

Only you awaited something to press against your lips- But Choso had other plans.

His parted lips pressed onto the center of your forehead, pulling away with your head in his hands. It wasn't disappointment- more like a challenge that you felt. “Goodnight,” he spoke your name in an intoxicating tone, softly taking his hands from your face and taking a step back from you.

You couldn't help but smile at his chivalry, “You're cruel.” you whispered, earning a quiet half-laugh from his chest.

“It’s not respectful to kiss you on a first date.” He scolded playfully, watching you roll your eyes lightheartedly.

You stared at him as you leaned your back onto the door, placing your hand on the brass knob before sucking your teeth. “When is a respectful time then?” you murmured, watching his hands slide into his coat pockets.

“Third. Maybe even fourth date.” he smiled, knowing that would gain a feigned groan of dissatisfaction from you. Though it was earlier than you'd like- 10:43 to be exact, you were still grateful he was courteous enough to bring you back home as though you had a curfew.

“Goodnight Cho.” you smiled, turning the brass knob as he kept his eyes on you.

Were the porch light on you’d be able to see the beaming blush on his cheeks, “Goodnight.” he replied sweetly, watching as you stepped into your house, taking one last look at him before waving a small goodbye.

Choso was able to contain the excitement in his throat till he turned away from your porch, his lungs threatening to start hyperventilating as he tried to confirm with himself if that actually just happened. He stood at the car door- looking up at the sky and thanking whatever celestial being was out there for the lucky hand he was dealt.

There was one thought in his mind at that moment. He was now sure that you made him feel more alive and far less lost than he felt without you. And he relished in that thought as he drove back to his apartment, no longer fearing the future- if anything he was thrilled to know that for the first time, love finally loved him back.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧ ⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

and if I told you I over indulged sooo much in this chapter??? and if i said........ I almost hemorrhaged writing this?!!! this was too cute, (just wait till I write abt the first time they have sex) And if you're curious- yes the rewarding cigarette was delicious.

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copperbadge · 4 months

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[ID: Two images of a flat sewn cloth for reading tarot on; it is essentially a rectangle with tabs on the end. The "outside" is made from tan fabric edged with purple, with a pair of patches sewn on; the inside, where the cards would be kept and laid out for a reading, is a busy checkerboard pattern of black, grey, and orange.]

I've been trying to use up fabric from my stash, and also get better at both sewing and designing my own patterns, so I made a Tarot reading cloth that also carries a couple of decks stylishly and securely. Finished it this morning with the final addition of a couple of patches and the button closure.

The outer fabric is printed with dinosaur fossils and the purple is a replica of the wallpaper from Disney's Haunted Mansion. The inner fabric is skeletons (orange), Ed Emberley cats (grey), bats from an old pair of pajamas (other grey), and a couple of squares of plain orange from an old bedsheet.

[ID: Three detail images; left, a patch of a haunted garden featuring regular plants like carrots and watermelon, along with a skull, a ghost, a jack o'lantern, and several crossed bones; beneath the patch is a subtle buttonhole. Center, a pair of decks, the Fantod Pack by Edward Gorey and the British Gothic Tarot, are sitting in the center of the interior of the reading cloth. Right, the cloth has been wrapped around the decks and buttoned shut; it is a neat purse-like bundle.]

The patch on the front was a gift from a reader years ago who went by Niamh at the time, but that doesn't appear to exist anymore; if you're still reading, I saved it for YEARS so that I could put it on a tarot cloth and finally got to!

I'm pretty pleased with how the thing folds up -- it's not exactly how I wanted it to, but it gets the job done. I might put two more buttonholes into it so that I can fix a strap to the fabric itself, but if I want to carry the pad without a strap (just tucked into a bag) I can, and if I want to have a shoulder strap I can run a strap under the top flap pretty securely (the ends of this strap have D-rings that just hook into each other to make a loop).

[ID: The folded bundle of the cloth has a quilted strap attached, tucked under the upper flap; the strap suspends it from a coat hook on the wall, showing how it would hang from a shoulder.]

Very pleased to have completed a sewing project -- I basically at this point have a basket of half-finished stuff that I'm working through, and it's nice to be able to complete them and either put them to use or give them away.

#crafting #sewing #making #tarot

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son1c · 1 year

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from within

falling stars fic masterpost

There were slot machines as far as the eye could see. Lined up in rows, the machines were either gold or pink, and they were all adorned with bats, hearts, or jewels.

The flashing lights enticed Sonic. He got closer to one of the machines and saw an animated waterfall of coins spilling down the LED screen. A big heart-shaped lever waited beside it, itching to be pulled.

FEELING LUCKY?

Sonic smirked at the text on the screen. It was sparkling, bold faced, and taunting.

Yeah, he was feeling lucky. How could he not be? He'd just landed a giant battleship on the roof of the casino like he was Bugs Bunny. Reaching for the lever, he got as far as wrapping his hand around it before he heard something that made him freeze up.

ONE IN EIGHT THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED AND NINETY-TWO.

Sonic let go of the lever. With a frown, he examined the slot machine, but it was just a regular, cabinet-shaped gambling box. He looked down the row of machines, searching for one that might've had a mouth to speak with, but found none. So he grabbed the lever again, and heard the odds for the machine repeat in his ears.

Then, Sonic heard someone snort behind him.

"My slots aren't free, you know," Rouge said. "If you want to play, you better pay!"

Sonic backed away from the machine, a little sheepishly. "Pass," he said. "There's no fun in knowin' the odds from the get-go. Kinda kills the thrill, if you ask me."

Rouge raised an eyebrow. She had no idea what he was talking about. "Of course, not everyone can be a winner. I'm running a casino, not a charity!"

Sonic shrugged. "Yeah, that tracks."

Sonic and Rouge turned away from the slot machines. They resumed their walk through the casino along with Shadow and Omega. Buggy trailed behind them, keeping close to Sonic's side as the hedgehog sniffed and his ears swiveled.

There was so much to see and hear and smell, it was a miracle Sonic didn't get dizzy from trying to take it all in.

Meanwhile, Shadow kept his eyes to the floor while they walked, the bright lights and upbeat, repetitive music from the machines grating on his nerves.

The group passed by more attractions: roulette tables, pachinko machines, and even a "test your strength"-style tower with a hammer and bell on top.

A group of jackals was gathered at the tower. They crowded around the base of the attraction, their black and white bodies creating a checkerboard of motion as they shook in anticipation. The tallest of them had grabbed the hammer, and was twirling it haughtily in his hand.

"You think you've seen true power?" the tall jackal asked with a smirk. "I'll grind my old high score to dust. I bet anything!"

The group of jackals erupted in a challenging roar. Their tails wagged as fast as the bets that flew from their mouths, excited at the prospect of betting against one of their own. Their voices faded as Sonic moved onward, but the THWAK of the hammer and subsequent ringing of the bell were loud enough to be heard from every corner of the casino.

Next on the list of attractions was a large circular bar. The polished marble counter glimmered under the hanging lights, and behind it, Sonic could see a wall of bottles filled with sparkling liquids of every color. They were arranged in rainbow order and looked incredibly expensive.

Buggy hopped up onto one of the bar stools and beeped, but Sonic shook his head.

"Yeah, I don't think so, bud," Sonic said. "Let's just stick to motor oil, 'kay?"

The motobug chittered dejectedly, but perked up when Sonic spun the bar stool for it before moving on.

While he walked, his claws clicked against the tile floor. After two trips through the Roboticizer, his gloves and shoes were shredded, the fabric hanging off his wrists and ankles in ragged strips. If this was a Mary Shelley story, she might've described him as looking like he'd been attacked by the Wolfman.

Luckily, Rouge had a solution for his wardrobe problem. After taking an elevator to the second floor of the casino, she fished a key out of her pocket, and unlocked a door marked with a clipart cutout of a magnifying glass. Then, she slipped the key back into her pocket and turned toward Sonic and Shadow.

"So, about the redecorating," she began with a pointed look at Sonic. "You'll be doing the majority of the work, since you're the one who made it a necessity in the first place. It's only fair, right? But I can't have you sprucing up my casino in those rags--what will my clientele think?"

Sonic blushed. "You can skip the digs," he said. "I get what you're sayin'. Can't get without givin', right? That's how you roll. If I want new threads, I'm gonna have to put in the work."

Rouge smiled. "I'm glad we understand each other."

The door swung open, revealing a room filled from floor to ceiling with clothes. Racks of ornate gowns, finely pressed suits, swimwear, and even plumber uniforms were hung up and carefully labeled. The pink wallpaper gave the closet a distinct Barbie DreamHouse vibe, and the fresh lemon scent made it smell like a laundromat.

When Sonic stepped into the room, he whistled. "Not a bad selection you got here, Rouge. But what's a casino need all these costumes for? There a theater around here somewhere?"

Shadow looked away from the locksmith's apron he had been examining. "They're disguises," he said. It wasn't a question.

Rouge clapped her hands in agreement. "Enough for every occasion!" she said, her eyes gleaming mischievously. "You won't get very far in my line of work without them. A treasure trove of outfits is a must for any good treasure hunter!"

With that, Rouge went over to the chest that was squeezed between a rack of spacesuits and overalls. She dug around inside, said a quiet "Ah ha!", and then popped her head back out, now holding something in her hand. Or rather, two somethings: little golden rings about the size of a silver dollar, which she tossed to Shadow.

He caught them instinctively. They were heavier than they looked, and when Shadow held them up to his face, he could see two letters etched into their sides: G.R.

"Pretty, aren't they?" Rouge asked. "They were paperweights for a set of dusty old documents. I couldn't leave them there to rot, it would've been criminal! I just had to pick them up as souvenirs." Souvenirs from the Ark, but Shadow didn't need to know that.

"I can't help but think there's more to them than meets the eye," Rouge added mysteriously. "With any luck, you'll be able to help me solve this mystery!"

Shadow rolled the rings between his fingers.

"It is as you said," Shadow murmured. "These are more than simple rings." He set one of the rings on his palm, and then held his hand out. To Rouge, he said, "Observe."

A flower of flame rose from the center of the ring.

"They're conduits," Shadow explained as the fire disappeared, leaving only a puff of white smoke behind. "For Chaos Energy. Where exactly did you find--?"

"MY EXTERIOR IS NOT SUITED FOR THESE PUNY OUTFITS," Omega interrupted, his loud mechanical voice barging into the conversation like it'd always been there. "IT IS TOO BROAD AND POWERFUL."

Buggy, now wearing a cowboy hat, beeped at him.

"DENIED, FODDER MODEL. A HAT WOULD NOT AID ME IN BATTLE."

The two robots were arguing in front of a row of shelves near the back wall of the closet. Props were piled high on the white wooden shelves, showcasing everything from sunny umbrellas to horror movie chainsaws. Buggy pointed at the props with one of its claws. Then, it beeped again.

Omega rotated his head. His shiny red eyes got even shinier and redder when he saw the chainsaw.

"RECALCULATING… AN EXCEPTION CAN BE MADE FOR THIS ACCESSORY."

Buggy chirped, but its victory was short lived.

"Not so fast, big guy," Rouge said. "This isn't a mall, and we're not here to shop. I need those weapons for my heists! Besides, I think you've got more than enough already."

"IMPOSSIBLE," Omega said passionately. "THIS UNIT'S ARSENAL ALWAYS HAS ROOM FOR MORE."

Rouge laughed. "In that case, I'll need to--ahem--acquire some more. I'm afraid my reserves have run quite low as of late..."

The bat reached around Omega and pulled open a drawer labeled EXTRAS. From it, she retreived a set of gloves and boots, which she folded under her arm. And then she nabbed one more pair of gloves before kicking the drawer shut with her shoe.

“Here you are, boys,” Rouge said as she handed the clothes to Sonic and Shadow. “These won’t win you any awards on the runway, but they’ll do.”

Sonic pulled off what was left of his old gloves with his teeth. When the shredded fabric fell to the floor, Buggy poked it with its claws. The new gloves were black with green insides, and after he put them on, Sonic flexed his fingers. The fabric was snug, but soft. Cool.

The boots were next, and they were just as black as the gloves. Sonic unwound the remnants of his old shoes from his ankles before pulling the new boots onto his feet. He was relieved at their height--knee-high, and tall enough to hide the scars wrapped around his knees.

Briefly, Sonic thought about asking Rouge if she had a spare jacket, but the question never left his mouth, because he knew if he asked it, he would have to tell her why he wanted it. And he wasn't willing to admit that his scars bothered him. So, he kept quiet.

Buggy scooped the scraps from Sonic’s old clothes into its claws before zipping out the door.

By the time it returned, now empty-handed and cowboy hat-less, everyone was back out in the hallway, and Rouge had locked the door to the closet. When she noticed the motobug, she frowned. Her eyes said, That better not have wound up on the floor somewhere.

Buggy returned her hard stare with an innocent look of its own.

For some reason, this didn’t fill her with confidence.

A short walk later, and the group was gathered outside the door to another room. The door was identical to the previous door, and it was at the end of a long hallway filled with doors that would've been gold medalists at a twinning competition, but despite all that, this wasn't the same room as before, or even another closet.

Rouge pointed at the door and explained that this was the casino's one and only guest room.

Now, you might think a building large enough to host a minor league baseball game would have more than one spare room, and normally you'd be right to think that. But in the world of FanFiction, there was always only one extra room. And since there were two sort-of-normal Mobians who needed a place to stay, they would have to share it.

Rouge opened the door to reveal a room that looked like the front cover of a Better Homes and Gardens magazine. There was a kitchenette, couch, bed, and balcony with glass doors and an overlooking view of Night Babylon.

Sonic immediately called dibs on the couch. It was white, rectangular, and springy enough that when he jumped onto it, he bounced back up like he'd just leaped onto a trampoline. Shadow watched him sink into the cushions with a small frown. Ten seconds later, Sonic was asleep.

Can't you take anything slow? Shadow thought. But he already knew the answer.

Then, Rouge and Omega left. Rouge had "business" elsewhere in the casino, and Omega was starting to get antsy from the lack of enemies to kill. They'd reconvene in the morning, but for now, Shadow was left alone with Sonic and Buggy.

But even with the three of them in the room, it was quiet. Buggy wasn't much for conversation, at least not with Shadow, who couldn't understand what it was saying. So, the little robot drove over to the couch, where it held the hand that Sonic was dangling off the cushions with one of its claws.

After a few seconds spent listening to the clock on the wall, Shadow let out a breath. Then, he remembered his burned hands, and the new gloves he still had yet to put on. So he stepped into the kitchenette and set the gloves down on the counter next to the sink.

Cleaning the dirt, blood, and hydraulic fluid from his fur stung. And when the dirty cocktail congealed with soap at the basin of the sink before slithering down the drain, Shadow watched it all disappear with a dour expression.

***

That night, Sonic had a nightmare.

In the nightmare, he was a Robian, and he was excited, because Doctor Eggman had just given him his first mission outside of Scrap Brain Base. It wasn't a supply run--no, it was much more important than that. Sonic was happy to have been trusted with something so big, and he hung onto every word the doctor said as he explained the plan to him, determined to get every little detail right.

It wouldn't be hard, Sonic thought. The plan was really simple. All he had to do was steal some big dumb rock. Easy.

A sickly sweet sense of determination filled Sonic's chest as Eggman gave him the coordinates for Angel Island. The feeling smothered the static in his head, and he stood rigid, at attention, waiting for the map to finish processing. When it did, Sonic took off like a speeding bullet, leaving Eggman standing in the lab with that same triumphant grin he always wore around Sonic.

Of course, Sonic was Doctor Eggman's fastest badnik, so he made it to Angel Island in record time. With his rocket boosters, he flew up to the floating island. The fire from his shoes burned the grass when he set foot upon it, but he didn't notice, since he was already running toward his target: the Master Emerald.

Flickies squawked in surprise when Sonic rushed past, his speed shaking the trees they were resting in. Next, he kicked up clouds of dust and sand as he blew through Sandopolis Zone. And then lava and water blurred together, but the heat and spray failed to slow him down.

All he cared about was making Doctor Eggman proud.

Finally, he reached the foot of the Master Emerald shrine. A set of stone stairs led up to the platform where the gemstone was resting, its polished surface glittering like a million green suns. Sonic took a step toward it. Then stopped.

The Robian jumped to the side.

A red echidna drove his fist into the ground where Sonic had just been standing.

The force of the impact blew a hole into the dirt and rattled Sonic's bolts, but his scanners were still able to identify the assailant as Knuckles the Echidna, guardian of the Master Emerald. Right over Knuckles' bowed head, a bit of text flashed that only Sonic could see.

[CLASSIFICATION: ENEMY.]

Knuckles' fury was evident even before he raised his head to glare at the intruder. With words so sharp they could've sliced through steel, the echidna growled, "Feeling lucky? You think just because [???]’s gone, you robo-punks can do whatever you want? Not on my island!”

Sonic grinned. Smoke began pouring from his shoes as his thrusters warmed up. “Let’s dance, knucklehead!”

Knuckles flinched.

Sonic charged.

Their fight was muddy inside of the wicked nightmare. Flashes of fur and steel glinted through the haze as Sonic fought his way up the steps and closer to the Master Emerald. Knuckles was tough, but slow. His punches carried the weight of his anger. Sonic could feel it coming off him in waves, and it made him laugh.

If Sonic wanted to, he could've grabbed the Master Emerald before the echidna had the chance to stop him. But then he wouldn't get to play with Knuckles anymore, and he had to admit, dodging his punches was kind of fun. So, he dragged the fight out for as long as he could, and by the time the two of them reached the top of the shrine, Knuckles was breathing hard, his brow slick with sweat.

"You're good," Sonic said, "but not that good."

Knuckles punched Sonic in the face. The hit made the Robian's head jerk to the side, and cracked his screen.

"You talk too much," Knuckles grumbled, shaking out his hand.

Sonic's eyes flickered. Alright, he thought. Back to work.

What happened next was muddied beyond recognition. The nightmare was getting more warped as it progressed, a long crack obfuscating the middle of the scene. Then, there was a loud CRACK! Dust fell from one of the pillars on the shrine platform before Knuckles, dazed, slid down it, holding his head and teetering.

Sonic brought his foot back down to the ground, the bottom of his shoe still glowing from the heat of his thrusters.

And then Sonic was standing right in front of the Master Emerald. He could see his reflection in its shiny green surface, but he was too focused on his mission to let the wrongness of it distract him. Had he been in a better headspace, the flickering, damaged screen on his face would've given him pause, but as he was now, it did nothing but fuel his determination, twisted though it may be.

He'd earn his repairs by bagging this ugly hunk of bedrock.

With both hands, Sonic reached out and grabbed the Master Emerald. Then, he froze.

A clear image, unblemished by his cracked screen, filled his mind. It was a figure. A hedgehog. It was shimmering, swathed in gold, and smiling. At first, it was small, but then it grew, changing over time, but never losing that confident smile.

It defeated a god made out of water.

It stopped a giant space lizard from destroying the Earth.

It was… him.

Trembling as the vision faded, Sonic looked again at his reflection in the Master Emerald, but it wasn't the same as before. There was no metal skin or glowing eyes. There was only a blue hedgehog, his ears pressed flat against his head, his eyes wide.

Sonic took a step back.

But Knuckles wouldn't let him run away. He had recovered from being punted into the pillar, and caught Sonic by the arm. Then, he flipped the Robian over his head and slammed him into the stone bricks at their feet.

Lights danced across Sonic's vision. His head was spinning, and he couldn't think straight. The mission--he had to… but what was…? He couldn't complete any thoughts when they crossed his mind. They hung, half-finished, as his engine shuddered and his exposed circuits sparked.

Knuckles let go of Sonic's arm. The sound of his namesakes cracking reached Sonic's audio processors.

The last thing Sonic heard before going offline was Knuckle's snarling voice.

"Who do you think you are, touching the Master Emerald like that?!"

#falling stars au #just a nightmare? or could it be something more? :)

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pinturas-gran-guerra-aire · 6 months

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1917 10 Triple threat - Russell Smith

As the sun peaks above the horizon, a trio of German Albatrosses patrol the skies in search of enemy aircraft. These pilots and aircraft are assigned to Jasta 76b, a Bavarian unit based in the Vosges region of France. The unit markings consisted of white spinners followed by white and bavarian blue rings. The horizontal stabilizers were Bavarian blue with white stripes one each side.

In the lead we see the Albatros DVa of Lt. Hans Böhning. Böhning began his flying career with Feldflieger Abteilung 290, but eventually found himself assigned to Jasta 76b in late 1917 where he would score his fifth kill. In addition to the unit markings , the front half of this particular Albatros was varnished wood while the rear half featured the white and blue Bavarian checkerboard pattern. A narrow black band separated the two sections. Böhning ended the war with 16 victories to his credit.

Next in the lineup is Vzfw. Siegfried Walther. Walther’s Albatros DVa carried the standard unit markings, but the fuselage was painted entirely red and marked with a white “W”.

Last in the lineup we see Lt. Walter Boening. Boening assumed command of Jasta 76b in October 1917. Here he flies a baby blue Albatros DVa marked with the standard unit markings. This aircraft also carried a white and bavarian blue band around the center of the fuselage. In May of 1918 Boening severely wounded below the left knee during and aerial combat with 70Sq RAF. Although he safely landed his crippled aircraft, his wartime career had come to and end. He ended the war as a 17-victory ace, having earned the Iron Cross 1st and 2nd class, the Military Merit Order, and the Kight’s Cross, among others.

#Albatros DV #russell smith #Albatros DVa

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boylerpf · 3 months

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Diamond Floating Checkerboard Blue Topaz Ring in 14K White Gold

Source - Boylerpf.com

#jewelry #gold #jewellery #vintage #boylerpf #vintage jewelry #ring #gemstone rings #gold rings #rings #jewels #white gold #diamond rings #diamond #diamond jewellery #diamond ring #floating

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allaboutrings · 10 months

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10k Gold Mother of Pearl and Onyx Checkerboard Ring

#Rings #Jewelry #Mother of pearl #Onyx #Size 13

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ange-la-ange-ootd · 9 months

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Outfit for Barbie!

Diner Doll salopette - Angelic Pretty Cat and Bunny Ears Sailor Blouse - Long Ears and Sharp Ears Studio Pink Zodiac cardigan - Steady Hands shoes - Cotton Candy Feet heart eyes sunglasses - iiii clothing Sensitive Bitch earrings - Kikay rings- Dandy Puppeteer Pop! Star Acrylic Heart necklace - Puvithel two-way glitter star clip - Paradise Rose Shop crossbody bag - Pusheen heart choker, tights - unknown Sasazuka keychain - Collar x Malice special box pre-order goodie (heh)

[ID: A sweet lolita fashion coordinate. The main colors are pastel and hot pinks, pastel blue, and white. The main piece is a low-waist pastel blue dress with illustrations of various sweets including donuts, cakes, cupcakes, and soda floats. The border print has a pink and white retro checkerboard design with white lace details at the hem. It's layered over a white sailor collar blouse and paired with ivory Alice in Wonderland themed tights. The rest of the outfit includes an oversized pastel pink cardigan with a zodiac animal print and hot pink lolita fashion flats for the shoes. The accessories include, pink heart sunglasses, a pink heart choker, blue heart acrylic necklace, colorful star and soda float rings, pink acrylic heart earrings, and a pastel pink Pusheen character bag.]

#egl fashion #sweet lolita #lolita fashion #barbie movie outfit #jfashion #angelic pretty #ootd #pastel fashion #diner doll

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discotenny · 5 months

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High and Mighty

hii!! if you take hypmic requests, may I request a of Jakurai falling in love with his friend, who is temporarily having her live with him? they have been through a lot while he helped her with a family tragedy and now, one morning the moment just felt right and they kiss?

something in Jakurai's perspective about how much he loves her and wants to see her smile more again... I don't know... if this is demanding or too much context or you don't want to do it for other reasons i understand 💗 life is just a little dark right now and wanting some light 💖 have wonderful day 💗 ~ anon

Jakurai Jinguji x Fem!Reader <2k words, angst to fluff, a lot of self loathing, like a lot a lot, panic attacks>

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

“What about being human gives you the right to be all high and mighty?!”

A long time in the past, Ramuda had said that to him. He was a different person then, they both were.

So why was that question the only thing ringing in his mind right now?

You were cooking him breakfast, insisting that it was the least you could do to help him out after he let you stay with him.

But did he deserve it?

This help, this kindness, this care. Someone like him isn't supposed to get things like these. Someone who's selfish. Who's hurt so many people and let so many more get hurt in his wake. Doing things for himself, doing things for others- that was his atonement.

That was what he dedicated to himself to every day.

He’s been on edge ever since you’ve moved in. Even little things like making breakfast seeped into that mindset of his. But, you, as stubborn and as kind as ever- still insisted on doing this small task for him.

"You just can't sit still can't you- Jakurai?" You said to him after he carried all the ingredients for you out of his pantry. Even after you told him it was fine, even after he turned on the stove after you said it was alright, even after he insisted that he could cook just in case you were feeling tired.

Eventually, you dragged him out of his own kitchen and sat him in front of the TV so he wouldn't butt in anymore.

There's a familiar guilt that comes on the side of his freshly made pancakes.

"Is there something wrong with the food? Ah, I knew I shouldn't have added that extra spoon of vanilla..." You probably noticed the downtrodden expression on his face and the guilt worsens at your concern.

"No- there's nothing wrong-" a lie, of course.

"Are you sure? You look a little off- sorry if that's rude haha." Again, the guilt sinks deeper and deeper into his gut.

"Please forgive me, I'm just tired," a calm smile seems to be enough to ward off most of your concern but there's still a palpable sense of worry in your small frown. "The pancakes are perfect."

"I told you I was good at cooking! You should just let me cook for you until I leave, it'd be much less stressful for you to handle." There's a sparkle in your eyes that makes him feel sick. He doesn't say anything more than a chuckle to that. The thought of saying what he truly feels makes him disgusted with himself.

Because a person like him doesn't deserve this. Someone who tries to be all high and mighty to make up for his lowest points. He especially doesn't deserve this from someone like you- who has gone through so much in the past and is currently going through so much more. He barely deserves your friendship and it makes him sick to think that he could have anymore than that.

But he does want more. And that acknowledgement terrifies him.

Breakfast devolves into silence as neither of you look up from your plates.

Jakurai ruins it again.

The darkness of his bedroom is one of the only spaces Jakurai allows himself to think upon his deepest feelings.

The checkerboard ceiling shifts in and out of a single color gray lines and masses. The more he stares, the more the thought of you marinates in his mind.

Rationally, he knows that the love he feels for you has to be separated from the hatred he feels for himself. Rationally, he knows he’s being irrational about the way he approaches his feelings. But he just can’t stop.

He wonders if all his self inflicted retribution has made him a better man yet. He wonders if he confessed to you- would you accept him, all of him? After everything he’s been through, the trauma of his time in the war, the sins he’s committed in the past, is he really worthy of standing by your side?

Jakurai’s gaze shifts toward the small peek of moonlight let out from his curtains. Clouds that drift through the sky cause shadows to manifest, and his eyes drift to make up shapes from their leftovers.

He hasn't seen you smile since the incident. Since you asked him to move in with him for your own safety and well being. He wonders if part of your reason for not smiling is because of him.

Jakurai feels selfish when he looks at you. Because he is selfish.

Selfish in the way he desires nothing more than to hold you in his arms. Selfish in the fluster of his cheeks when you look him in the eyes. Selfish in the warmth of his heart when he just thinks of you. Selfish in his feelings. Selfish in his love.

Jakurai closes his eyes, the bleak ceiling turning a boring sight to look at. With a sigh of regret and self contemplation, he turns in his sheets and his mind closes for the night.

When he awakes he can already hear you getting busy in the kitchen. There’s a small smile at the considerate act, and he allows himself to feel loved for just a small moment.

Jakura leaves his room, turning the lights on absentmindedly. His thoughts are elsewhere, barely able to contain all the feelings bubbling up in his stomach. Guilt, fluster, shame, softness, disgust with himself, love for you.

You're cooking him breakfast, again. He's desperate to help you, again.

“Eep!” You jump at his appearance behind you, something that makes him frown despite the lightheartedness of the event. You playfully smack him in the chest, a smile in your eyes but not on your face, and chide him for his sneakiness. “Are you trying to kill me, Jakurai?”

It’s stupid, so, so stupid for such a playful remark to rip his soul out of him. It’s horrible how the sparkle in your eyes is able to pull the trigger snapping such a tight line between his self pitying insides and his calm front to you.

He leaves the room with only a (clearly) fake laugh at your remark and a short, “I’m sorry.” A hand holds itself over his mouth and Jakurai has to stop himself from stumbling into the bathroom and throwing up. He makes his way to his bedroom, the only place he could see as his personal sanctuary.

In the back of his mind he knows you’re calling out to him in concern. He can’t tell if the footsteps that echo in his ears are yours or his.

He falls to the floor, onto the faux fluffy carpet below the foot of his bed. Due to his height, as he looks down Jakurai feels he’s a million feet off the ground. His head spins so he chooses to look up, turning around so his back is against his footboard.

The ceiling of last night, the mashup of different grays and bleakness is now a blinding white. Jakurai can feel his eyes dilating, unable to remove his gaze from the painful image of light not present before.

Jakurai knows he’s alone, yet that doesn’t stop the flood of thoughts taking the form of individuals from his past, speaking words he’d rather forget entirely.

“I don’t need your holier than thou attitude, why don’t you just leave me alone?”

“You think you can save everyone? But can you even save anyone?”

“Stop it with your looks of pity, as if you know what I’m going through-”

“What about being human gives you the right to be so high and mighty?!”

His mind screams. His cheeks are hot, his hands feel cold. His feet feel the plush of the carpet while his head falls back to nothing. His eyes are forced to gaze upon light in which he desperately wants to run away from, his hands follow something, anything to latch onto. Jakurai’s entire being fills with conflicting stimuli and a million thoughts spreading all over.

And all of a sudden, the white of the ceiling turns off and it’s replaced by the stark gray he remembers it to be. He finally tears his eyes away from the ceiling, just in time to see you plant yourself in front of him in a hurry.

“Hey, hey,” you put your hand out to him, careful not to touch him as to add more to his senses. “It’s gonna be okay, alright? You’re fine, it’s all fine.”

Just looking at you is just enough for Jakurai to steady his breathing. He didn’t even know his respiration had reached such a shaky state, but the more he stared the more he calmed, with only small hiccups interrupting in uncertain beats.

“Just focus on me okay? Not on anything else, it’s gonna be alright. You’re here, it’s alright,” Your words bring a certain comfort he’s unfamiliar with feeling.

“Can I touch you?” You ask in such a soft manner, not moving until he nods. Shifting forward, your hand moves a strand of long hair out of his eyes. “There, that’s better,” you smile.

Like a shining light, comforting, not blinding, your smile wills him down to earth. Your hand stays on his cheek, a finger rubbing slightly in a repeated pattern.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened, but I want you to know I’m here for you, Jakurai.”

“I…” he starts out, knowing he doesn’t have to say anything but feeling he has to. “I care for you… so, so much.”

You stare at him, the sparkle in your eyes that made him feel so much overwhelming guilt now urges him to continue. “I’m sorry, I know that it’s selfish of me to be acting this way, especially after…”

“No, it’s not selfish,” you interrupt him before he can continue down a self deprecating path once more. “Just because I went through something doesn’t mean you have to ignore yourself. I care about you too, you know?”

“That’s- I mean-” Jakurai could feel himself tense, a confession on the tip of his tongue yet a ball in his throat.

“I know what you mean,” you laugh.

“You what?” Your laugh, your wonderful laugh and wonderful smile shock him.

“You can be really, really obvious sometimes, Jakurai…” Your hand moves to cup his cheek completely. “I asked Hifumi about it yesterday. He was so excited he gave away everything.”

“So you…” He braces himself for rejection, and can’t help the frown that comes to his face.

“I feel the exact same way.”

There’s a hefty sigh that leaves him, wavering a line between relief and hope. A shaky smile finds itself on his face, Jakurai wanting to meet the joy that’s on yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Wh-what?!”

Despite his surprise, Jakurai finds there’s not much resistance to the question.

“AH! I’m sorry, I don’t know what that was,” your face turns to fluster, not even realizing you asked such a thing. “I’m so sorry, that was totally, totally inappropriate to ask right-”

Jakurai captures your lips in a sudden, welcomed response. It’s soft, gentle, everything you associate with him and his behavior. It’s also quick, leaving just as soon as it comes.

He looks into your eyes, partially in a daze from finally being able to act upon his tortuous feelings. “I-” He starts, shocked at his blatant display of sudden affection.

“Kiss me again, please,” you say, holding his cheeks and pulling him closer.

The sound of his lankiness quickly moving across the carpet makes you giggle, but the lovestruck look in his eyes makes you swoon. His arms find their way around you, a smile on his face as he leans in.

The only thought in his mind, aside how happy he was, is that you were just so pretty up close.

The feeling in his chest is familiar in the sense that it’s been locked away all this time. Forcibly pushed down so other, seemingly more important values could take center stage in his heart. But right then, with your lips on his in a symphony of passion and movements, love takes his heart in full.

When he pulls away, an even wider smile spreads upon his blushed face. In your own flushed state you have half the mind to consider teasing him for his unusual forwardness- but the absolute joy in his expression is too innocent for you to tease.

After all, he was just happy to finally be yours.

⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩⋆｡°✩

AAAAA ITS DONE ITS DONE ITS DONE !!!

This is probably one of (if not THE) first request I got since my reboot. I’m glad to have finally fulfilled it, I really hope you enjoyed 🫶🫶🫶

Jakurai I admit isn’t my favorite hypmic chara of all time (Sasara supreme) but I admit I did enjoy writing this !! I hope I did him justice !!!

Have a wonderful day 🫶‼️🙌

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xappetites · 1 month

Text

point of intersection

John Price x f!Reader | Lieutenant John Price finds himself trying to resolve a hostage situation with nothing but a blessedly reasonable and cooperative diplomat and a bureaucratic system that's more concerned with covering their own ass than the lives left behind | word count: 3,421

1. the vault | Jakarta

The worst day of your life starts as any other does. The same chaos commute, the same boring paperwork of looking over everything the ambassador doesn’t have time —doesn’t deign himself— to deal with.

Rubber stamping in and rubber stamping out, the familiar monotony of bureaucratic work on foreign soil.

Then, as noon crawls around through the mud of the day, the alarms go off.

You know they’re there, have known, in theory, all along. This office pod carved out of an ancient bank building was sold to every soul as the state of the art in security the moment you set foot in its checkerboard lobby. That doesn’t mean that the sound isn’t anything but confusing for the first couple seconds of it, followed closely by the screaming. The very many footsteps bolting away from the center of the building, towards the stairs, running for the exits. And it has you standing before you fully process it, phone and wallet in hand.

You try to follow the herd, away from the ambassador’s corner office, past the bathroom door that swings open almost in your face only to show a haggard George Ogilvey, the First Secretary to your Second Secretary, with his shirt still half out of his waistband and a laptop bag hanging from each shoulder.

Against all odds, George smiles at you. He’s charming, handsome and a right bastard if you’ve known him for more than half an hour, but he sort of likes you. Treats you like the embassy’s pet because you keep to yourself and do your work; not to mention, you look younger than you are and report mostly to him. So you figure it feeds his ego to think of himself as your ‘mentor’ in the ‘scary, crime ridden streets’ of Jakarta. Like he’d know the streets of Jakarta, taking every lunch with the ambassador on plush sofas. Or, frankly, as if London is any better.

“Here,” he shoves one of the bags your way, nearly catching you in the knees with it, “let’s go.”

It’s instinct too, to toss the strap over your shoulder, shuffling sideways to make way for him and all his bluster.

“What's happening?”

“An emergency? I have no more details, caught me in the middle of something, dear.”

He’s a step ahead of you down this horrid long hallway, so he luckily doesn’t see the sneer you don’t have the wherewithal to hide at the moment. He should know, he has to. George was supposed to be in the archives down on the ground floor, a straight shot from both a bathroom and the fire door to the back of the building, with no need to risk his hide to reach the first floor unless he knew he had to get these computers out no matter what.

“Weren’t—” the little color band in his calendar comes up in your head like a neon sign, “weren’t you supposed to be with the interns in archives?”

“Nature called. I’m sure the kids heard the alarm too.”

You stare at his back as he rounds the corner to the main stairway, blending in with the stragglers. You both know that’s horseshit. The archive room, windowless and musty and hell hot most of the year, used to be the bank's vault; the walls are too thick to drill through, so there’s no PA system installed in it and the sound is so deadened there that the building could collapse around it without anyone inside even noticing.

A gunshot rings out from the front, a chorus of screams and on its heels a shout in accented english:

We are looking for your ambassador, the rest of you have thirty seconds to leave the building.

The voice, a man, repeats his sentence, louder this time, with another shot to make his point. George looks back at you, more than a little annoyed that you won’t just be a good little girl and panic so he can rescue you.

“C’me on—“ he reaches for you, waving his hand in the universal gesture for ‘move’ . But you’re not frozen, or whatever it is that he assumes, you’re just making a split second decision.

And maybe it’s because of that assumption that he can hardly call out for you when you turn in the opposite direction, sprinting for the emergency stairs that run throughout the back of the building.

It’s insane, you’re aware, the sudden rage in your chest that has you stumbling forward out of sheer stubbornness, narrowly avoiding a wipe out when you hit the landing. Barreling your way past the heavy door to archives, propped open with the usual old broomstick.

You sour the mood immediately. Three sets of eyes look up, alarmed, to take in the absolute mess you are at the moment. But you can’t even verbalize the danger you’re all apparently in before the same voice that boomed instructions reaches you. Which means he’s close, too close— enough for you to catch a glimpse of body armor reflected on a nearby glass door.

Now, in clear sharp russian, the man seals your fate; leaving you no choice but to kick the broom away and lock the vault door behind you.

Seal the building, find the ambassador, get rid of whoever’s left.

…

Calling them kids is a bit unfair, actually. The youngest of this group of fresh graduates is no more than four years your junior. All of 20 years old and stuck in a shithole office halfway around the world, with russian paramilitary on the other side of the door and nothing but you, holding up your hands to shush them, on this one.

“What—?”

Someone tries, only to have you shoving your open palms more aggressively in their general direction. It’s silent, eerily, for a second that feels eternal. Then the locking mechanism clicks, sliding like an icy drop of panic down your spine. The handle jiggles in your grip but it doesn’t give, and the harsh buzzing that indicates a wrong code blares through the room.

It happens again: click, jiggle, buzz. And once more for a third time. Those are the sole sounds you can make out, no muttering or nothing, though you’re sure there has to be talking out there. You’d settle for simple swearing at this point just to have a better idea of what’s happening.

There’s not even footsteps when everything stops, merely the fact that you can’t stay this tense forever, so you end up slumped against the cool metal of the door.

“What the hell?”

Now it’s a curt whisper, from the same girl as before. Pearl, you think, or Opal, maybe? It’s not like you’re exactly familiar with any of them, you haven’t spoken to a single one for more than passing pleasantries. They exist in the periphery, spending their half days here doing whatever admin work other people don’t feel like doing. Which inspires in you some notion of siblinghood, but nothing more than the kind of empathy your row of prefabs shared throughout your childhood back home. The bone deep surety that you’re all stuck together in a less than desirable spot.

“There’s people out there, armed, all men, I think. Russian.”

You try not to make it a shocked mumble, still catching your breath as physical sensation comes back to you in pieces. The sweat running down the back of your neck, the soreness of rolling your ankle at the foot of the stairs and the strap digging into your shoulder.

That tickles an idea in your mind, has you moving to set the bag down and wrestle the laptop free.

“Are you—? Is this a fucking joke?”

The computer in your hands is a Macbook Pro, maxed specs, from late last year. You remember because it had fallen on you to put in the request for them. Twinsies, one for the ambassador and one for good ol’ George.

“Do I look like I’m taking the piss?” You blink up at Pearl/Opal, laptop hoisted in the crook of your elbow while the other hand digs around the back of the nearest desk for an ethernet cable, begging to whatever might be listening for a flash of luck on this shit day.

“We didn’t hear any alarms”

“Nor the gunshots, I’m sure, or you wouldn’t still be in this room.”

That comment sends a chill across the space, stunning everyone where they stand, including you. It makes you consider that perhaps you were supposed to offer some comfort in this situation, older and higher up the bureaucracy chain that you are.

“It’s the fucking thick walls,” you amend, much softer, “good thing is that they can’t hear us out there either.”

The cheery tune of the computer startup finally shakes them into a flurry of hushed questions you have no answers for. Like ‘why are they here’ and ‘what are we gonna do’ .

You don’t know . But at least the picture that comes up is a very professional portrait of the ambassador. And now this is an answer to your prayers, because this is the one password you’re privy to; and this is the only laptop in the building with full open access to the security systems.

Funny, a stray corner of your brain thinks, that the ambassador was so insistent on blowing the budget on good cameras just to catch his own kidnapping in hi def.

The feed pulls up, tiny windows to the world outside this fucking vault, each with their own little button for sound, all except for the very office three of the russians are currently breaking into. It’s unsettling for it to be this quiet, watching both sides of the fancy double doors as they bend and give in a rush of motion. Black gear against crisp white shirt and no doubt of who’ll win in the end.

“What are you doing?”

“They have the ambassador.” You croak it out, gesturing vaguely at the screen, flinching against your will at imagining the sound of the fists currently meeting flesh in the ambassador’s office. “The sink in the tea corner still works, right?”

Someone nods, so you stand as steady as you can, walk straight as possible over to the adjacent room, the weird amalgamation of server room and kitchen that keeps the tiny metal drawers of the safe room, stacked floor to ceiling over the far wall, as a postmodern sort of decoration. You run your hands under the blessedly cold water for a second or two and then offer your breakfast back up, the one good thing this god awful day hadn’t taken from you.

…

You’re still heaving when Matthew, whose name you only know because George has taken to call him Mild Matt behind his back, comes looking for you.

He doesn’t offer sympathies, gladly. Just stands in the doorway looking like he doesn’t quite know how to interrupt your very important meeting with the contents of your own stomach.

“Pearl’s counted the men,” he watches you nod and swish a mouthful of water to try and focus back on solutions to the problem, instead of the blood pouring out of the ambassador’s nose, “there’s seven the cameras can see, two on the back and the main doors and the three in the ambassador’s office.”

“Okay–”

It shouldn’t matter, at this point you’re sure the normal annoyances of sharing a limited space are the least of anyone’s problems; but you fish out a half stale peppermint cream out of a bowl anyway, to try and wash away the taste and smell of vomit before you step back into the archives room.

“What’s— what— why“

You look at Matthew where he follows you, really take a second to see what George considers mildness and you only now understand as a mind running too fast for the mouth that speaks for it.

“I really don’t know, I wasn’t thinking we’d end up trapped in the building, being honest.”

“So—” Pearl looks up from the computer, catching wind of the conversation, but the girl standing next to her is faster this time. Marie, with the same name as your sister; who you keep your distance from, to avoid finding out if she has the same personality too.

“Did Ogilvey leave us? On purpose?”

Bile rises again in your throat, this time with the same sort of rage that got you in this mess.

“Yes,” it comes out like a croak, hoarse and sharp, “I ran into him coming out of the bathroom upstairs.”

“There’s a bathroom right next door here—“

“I know, but those were up there.”

Marie doesn’t deflate when you point out the computer, just turns to Pearl looking so hopeful that you doubt for a second if what came out of your mouth was, in fact, what you meant to say.

“Okay, well if they want the computer we can give it to them and be done with this, right?”

“Wait—“ both remaining interns beat you to the punch, Pearl clinging to the laptop and Matt moving in to block the path to the door.

“They won’t hesitate to kill us, if we give them what they want they’ll have no reason to let us live.”

The sentence beats a rough rhythm against your ribs, spilling rushed out of you. It’s reasonable, it’s the correct response; but you can’t hold it against Marie that she throws her hands up in the air and paces.

“Then what the fuck do we do? Shouldn’t we call someone? The police?”

You’re pretty sure the police know already. If not by the less than subtle entrance that started this whole thing, by some of the understandably hysterical workers that did manage to make it out. You nod anyway. Move out of the way to let them beeline for the closest office phone and take guard in front of the camera feed instead.

There’s a lot more blood now, in a silence so eerie that it makes you unmute the camera right outside the vault as background noise. The long hallway to the back exit and the steady footsteps of the men assigned to keep an eye on it.

A low hum comes with it; just the crackling of empty air that the camera’s microphone picks up. And you think at first you’ve gotten lost in it enough that it feels like it’s vibrating against your skin. Until you realize it’s your own cellphone going off in your back pocket.

It’s a scramble to pick it up, though you don’t recognize the number; because frankly, very few things could make this situation worse. So unless you’re about to hear that there’s an asteroid heading for this building specifically, the smooth, deep voice on the phone that asks to confirm your name and rank is a welcome one.

“Lieutenant John Price, SAS,” he offers in return and you immediately take back that earlier thought, no matter how nice he sounds.

You know her majesty’s timing as well as any bureaucrat, so you expected nothing but six lines in tomorrow’s Guardian, if that. SAS means this random hostage situation is important for crown and country, which means shit is far bigger, far worse than you could ever imagine.

…

This is never something John wants to do, which, in fairness, can be said about many things in his line of work. But within the specifics of hostage situations, contact with someone on the inside holds far too many variables for his taste.

He can’t ever know for sure what kind of mindspace they’re in, how useful the interaction would be for either side. Then there’s the expectation, natural and understandable, that his presence itself is an assurance of safety. That he’ll promise to get them out no matter what, which isn’t something John ever allows himself to do. He might not be a good person, but he will not bet a life on that lie. Especially not with some diplomat or other breathing down everyone’s neck about a fucking laptop.

George Ogilvey, John commits the name and face to memory, just in case he loses the man in the crowd. Though, at the moment, it seems unlikely, no matter how hard he wishes to not have him following close along the makeshift blockade.

“—you do understand how dangerous it would be for the ambassador’s laptop to fall in unwanted hands?” Ogilvey makes the same point he’s been prattling on about since John’s team got here, unrelenting and completely fucking useless. “Last I saw it it was with my Second Secretary, but I doubt she’ll hold under torture if it gets to that, her name is—“

“I have her file,” the man has the gall to scoff when John dismisses the twentieth iteration of this title-name-phone number litany, waving his phone in his hand so the asshole can see it clearly trying to connect as he walks away.

It takes a minute longer than he’d like, but the woman who takes the call is steady on the line, and she listens politely as he does his own knee jerk title-name spiel to explain why he’s here.

“They have the ambassador in his office,” is the first thing she says, shit news and useful information in the same measured tone -all in all, better than he expected, “we’re stuck in what used to be the vault but we have access to the security feed.”

Then a second’s pause, a hopeless little chuckle.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

It hits John weird in the chest, the fact that under the sharp, rushed breathing pattern of fear and the conscious decision to remain calm, he can hear genuine curiosity from her.

“They’re threatening the ambassador’s life for their demands—“

“And the Crown wants him alive.”

“Not for anything good”

It’s a slip up, which John hopes will get lost under the sudden ruckus of voices that erupts on the other end of the line. This woman is a hostage, no matter how cooperative, not part of his team. And the fact that he adopted her as if she was, so immediately, sends a thrum of worry down to the pit of his stomach.

“Are there more people with you?”

“Three interns,” she answers. Interns Ogilvey failed to mention, three lives that are clearly not as important to the man when they don’t happen to be in possession of what he wants. “Could I put you on speaker?”

There’s a beat of hesitation where he wonders how good of an idea that is, with the level of noise these interns have proven themselves capable of. But the Second Secretary must still carry some sort of weight even now, because there’s anxious silence to greet him when he finally agrees, just the unmistakable hollow sort of reverberation of speakerphone.

“We’re ready for you, lieutenant.”

No, you’re not. He thinks. No one is ready for what he’s about to tell them. Hell, if it was him in there he’d have strong opinions about the paper pushing cunt who decided on this approach.

“They’ve sent us a negotiator, at the request of your First Secretary, ETA is ten minutes.”

“A negotiator?” Another woman’s voice cut in, more frantic than the Second Secretary but still quite measured. “Why can’t you just come in?”

“Command’s deemed the risk to the ambassador’s life unnecessary.”

“What about our lives?”

John lets the silence drag on for a second more than he normally would, not because he doesn’t know what to say but because the least he can do, when it took this long for someone in there to break, is not be unkind. They know their survival has been deemed a non essential, they don’t need him to verbalize it to them any more than he already has.

In the background, the line lights up again with a shuffle, a clatter, a sob choked back. Another explosion of noise that moves into the distance as he’s taken off speaker. He feels it as tension running down his spine, thinking he’s lost connection to the only point he has into this mess.

“Right,” the second secretary comes back though, still measured, and he’s starting to think that it’s not out of a stellar handling of the situation at hand, but of a general lack of trust in the system that landed her where she is “so you’re not our extraction team. What can we do for our chances?”

“Stay put,” it’s logic, it’s all he can give her. It’s not enough, “And stay on the line.”

#m: cod #r: gen #for now #captain john price x reader #personal #this is the longest chapter for anything i've ever written i think

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