#(<- studied photography for 3 years)

[tsuy4n]

The Artist Who Lives for the Plot

Warning/s: Fem!Reader, Mild language/casual swearing, chaotic energy (duh), unhinged humor, reader suffering (comically)

[A/n]: I had so much fun writing, and dw. Part 2 will be coming soon. It's time to live with them. If it all fits, that'll be the last and final one! Thank you for your support <3

>Part 1<, Part 2

Day 1: Staff Badge, Zero Fear

You just received a job. Technically, a side-job.

You needed the extra cash. Rent was due next week, and at this point, the only thing growing faster than your stress was the mold in your bathroom.

Being a webtoon artist had always been the dream. You studied—poses, anatomy, lighting, shading, even a bit of photography thanks to that one kind sunbae back in high school. You poured years into perfecting your craft. But… doing your dream job in reality?

Yeah. Not exactly how you imagined it.

Making money through art was already hard. Add today’s economy into the mix, and suddenly budgeting meant rotating between cheap instant meals and whatever eggs were on sale. Not the healthiest diet, but it got you through deadlines. Mostly.

Anyway. Enough with that depressing backstory.

Today, you were helping out behind the scenes—cleaning up, running errands, doing whatever the other staff didn’t have time for. The entire building was in chaos, people rushing around, shouting schedules, checking equipment. Apparently, some new boy group was debuting soon.

Like, in a week or something? You hadn’t seen them yet, but you had heard things.

"They’re gorgeous," One of the stylists whispered while curling a wig. "Like, inhuman levels of beautiful."

That alone was enough to catch your attention.

You weren’t trying to ogle anyone. You just needed some visual inspiration. For art, obviously.

So when someone asked you to bring water to the practice room? You may or may not have speed-walked your way there with the excitement of a fangirl and the blank expression of a very tired assistant.

The moment you opened the door, chaos greeted you. They were arguing. And loud.

Great for drama. Better for material.

"Do you want to achieve world domination or not?!" The black-haired one snapped, voice sharp like he was conducting a military operation instead of a boy group practice.

"Then hit the beat— on time!"

Ah, the leader. Jinu, you think was his name.

"You're 0.5 seconds off." The one who's half of his face was covered with hair flatly said.

"I told you, it’s called flair." Said the one with pink hair, heart-shaped bangs framing his face.

"You mean lag." The mint haired muttered, eyes glued to his phone.

"Shut it." Groaned the one with the ridiculous muscles, dabbing sweat off his face like a disappointed gym coach. "Let’s just start from the top before Captain Serious combusts."

That’s when they noticed you.

But by then, you’d already seen them—and everything else.

Oh, your eyes. They were blinding.

It was like walking into a manhwa panel. Ethereal lighting. Sweat glistening on toned arms. Perfect jawlines. Tall, broad silhouettes. You barely managed not to trip over your own feet.

This was it. The vision. You felt it. The inspiration burning through your veins.

You cleared your throat, doing your best to keep a neutral expression as you set the bottles near the mirrors.

And then, you said it. Casual. Straight-faced. Deadpan. "If this is what world domination looks like, I think the lighting needs work."

Silence.

They stared, blinked, and glanced at one another. Confused.

Jinu sighed. "Let’s take five."

The rest of the group immediately relaxed, stretching, dropping to the floor, cheering like they’d survived a war. Understandable. You heard they’d been practicing for hours.

You tried not to stare. You failed.

A voice pulled your attention.

"Thanks for the drink, cutie." It's the long haired dude. His voice was smooth and his smile was confident, borderline illegal.

Romance. That had to be his stage name.

Your eyes did a quick scan. You were mentally labeling all of them. It wasn’t weird. Not in a weird way. No. This was research.

Another one, shirt clinging to his abs like it was painted on, snatched a bottle and chugged it like he hadn’t tasted water in days. Abby, clearly.

You blinked. He was broad. The kind of chest that made you think of shirt buttons fighting for their lives. He smirked at you.

You immediately looked away and bowed slightly, mouthing a silent apology for being caught staring.

Then your gaze moved to the one on his phone, laughing at something you can't tell.

"That's so dumb." Mint hair said under his breath. His face? Cute. His voice? Low. Totally not what you expected, but love. You eat that kinda character up in stories.

He must be Baby.

Then there was the guy with long pastel hair partially covering his face. He hadn’t said a word. He hadn’t even looked your way. Mysterious aura? Check. It's clear he's Mystery.

And finally, back to Jinu. The leader. He carried himself like someone dependable. Stern but fair, and he's like that because he wants to see them all succeed.

That's such an eye watering story.

You tried not to squeal. Really, you did. But your fingers were already itching to draw. You can't wait for break to come.

Speaking of break... You look at them. It's only been a minute since they started that. You shouldn't, yeah.

"Excuse me." And yet you're already speaking. "Would it be alright if I took some photos?"

The room quieted a little. You could practically hear their thoughts. Another poor staff member, helpless under their charms.

"Go ahead." Jinu said, offering a small smile. What a charming fella.

He seems like he’d be one of those knight captains in those historical webtoons. The kind who stands behind the throne, silent and strong, carrying the kingdom on his back without asking for thanks.

Daydreaming later, let’s get clicking!

With permission granted, you lit up and pulled out your phone, trying hard not to bounce in excitement. As soon as your camera opened, they were already posing.

Of course they were.

You took a few shots—clean, fast, a few from different angles. They assumed you were done. They assumed wrong.

You lowered your phone, frowned slightly, and pointed at Abby.

"Flex your arm. No—more toward that side. Yes, hold that. Chin down."

They all froze.

"Huh?" Abby blinked.

And just like that, a full-on impromptu photoshoot began. You were directing them like your life depended on it. They followed along, slightly confused but too prideful to stop now.

"Yo..." Abby muttered, peeking at one of the photos. "I didn’t know my abs could look this good. Muscle definition on point."

He's beyond satisfied and that boosts your confidence in your photography skills yet again.

Soon, the rest of them were swarming your phone, snatching it to see their pictures and gawk at their undeniably gorgeous self.

Before chaos could start between them, you took your phone back in your hands as a really huge and bright smile was on your face.

"Thank you so much for indulging this staff member her request!" You made your way to the door with an awkward half-bow, twisting the knob, turning back one last time.

"I’m rooting for you guys! You got this!"

And with that, you were gone. Silence lingered in the room.

"So are we just letting random staff direct us now?" Baby asked, glancing at the others. "Cool. Cool cool cool."

"Yeah." Romance agreed with a nod. "But she's cute isn't she?"

"Every girl’s cute to you." Abby said, bumping his shoulder against him and tossing an arm lazily around Romance’s neck. "Get new taste, man."

"She didn’t even ask for an autograph." Jinu added, almost puzzled. Usually people would ask for that. He did his research well, you know.

"She just wanted photos." Mystery mumbled, his head tilting slightly to the side.

"Of us," Abby said proudly, a sudden, inexplicable breeze swept through the room—no open windows, no vents. Just vibes(?)

The edge of Abby’s fitted shirt lifted slightly, just enough to reveal a flash of perfectly sculpted abs.

He smirked. "Duh."

Fast forward—

Your first day ended early. Convenient, right? That meant more time to look at the pictures you took earlier. You couldn’t wait to study those shots, not in a weird way.

You’d been stuck on one panel of your webtoon for days, and no matter how deep you dove into Pinterest or Google, nothing looked quite right.

But thanks to that idol group, your prayers were answered. Sort of.

You expected to be on the bus by now, earbuds in, zoning out to music. Instead, you were standing in front of a convenience store, digging through your bag for your wallet when a realization hit you like a truck.

No cable. No charger. Not even a hint of it.

You double-checked. Nope. Gone.

You groaned out loud, dragging a hand down your face.

"Perfect." You muttered with a scowl. "Love that for me."

Then again, a bit of late-night cardio never hurt anyone. Yeah, scratch that shit. The universe clearly hated you.

The studio was still unlocked, the lobby empty. You flashed your staff ID in front of the scanner near the door—it beeped, the lock clicked, and in you went.

The overhead lights had been dimmed. Most of the staff were long gone. The silence was oddly calming.

You retraced your steps, mentally going through every place you'd stopped during the day. The break room was empty. No luck. The side lounge? Same story.

Third option: the rehearsal room.

You sighed. "Third time’s the charm." You mumbled, adjusting the strap on your bag as you headed down the hallway.

Your steps slowed as you neared the practice room. The door was closed, but voices leaked through—low, intense. Not the usual banter or off-key singing. Just… murmurs. Uneven. Cult-like.

You blinked. 'Holy hell, they’re still practicing?'

You glanced at your phone. It was late. Your shift ended an hour ago.

What are they made of? Protein powder and ambition?

What are they eating? Dreams? Caffeine? Hope??

You needed to ask. Not for curiosity. For survival. Your deadline was crawling up your spine like a tax collector and you were this close to drawing stick figures for tomorrow’s update.

The lights under the door flickered—blue, then red, then something that looked like a Windows error message.

You stared. Paused. Maybe they were testing stage lights.

Maybe they were summoning Satan. You didn't care. You just needed your charger. So you pushed the door open.

"I’m really sorry for disturbing you, but—" No matter how tired you were from today’s chaos, you still had manners.

They stood in a loose circle, shadows stretched long and unnatural, and… was that a portal? How the hell did they manage that?

If it was an illusion, it was top-tier. What were they feeding these hologram artists? Everyone in this team was way too talented.

Six heads snapped toward you.

You only blinked, admiration shining in your eyes. "Cool cosplay. Is this for the music video?"

A beat of silence.

Then your gaze flicked to the ceiling, eyes narrowing in critique. "Lighting’s a bit much, though. Shadows are swallowing Jinu’s jawline—tragic. Tilt the main source up just a bit next time."

You said what you said and you don't want to wait for a reply. You turn on your phone flashlight and started scanning the floor, stepping past the demon-plush aesthetic like you were dodging cables on a cluttered set.

There. Your charger lay near the edge of the mirror wall.

You scooped it up with a triumphant sigh and gave them all a quick thumbs-up.

"Good luck on the scene rehearsal." You chirped, already walking toward the door.

Click.

The door shut behind you, leaving nothing but baffled beings.

"…Who was that?" One of the figures finally asked, voice low and sharp.

"Staff." Abby replied, blinking.

"A weird human." Baby added, eyes at the door just like the others.

The tallest demon tilted its head, "Should we take care of her?"

The hunger was clear in its tone. Like it could already taste your soul.

Jinu was the first to speak. "No," He said sharply. "Not yet."

There was a pause. The demon turned slightly toward him. "You hesitate."

"I don’t make moves without information." Jinu said, arms crossed. "She’s… off."

"Off?" One of the smaller ones asked. "She looked normal."

"She looked like she was analyzing us," He muttered as he thought back to your behavior from earlier. "Not scared. Not confused. She looked like she’d seen stranger things."

"She was watching our movements earlier," Mystery informed from his corner, his voice soft. "Sketchpad in her lap."

"You sure it's not some fanfic crap?" Baby deadpanned.

"No." Jinu replied, tone quieter now. "It wasn’t that kind of writing. It was too structured. Like she was mapping something out. Watching patterns."

The demons seemed vaguely amused by the theory.

"So… a spy?" One of them asked, half-joking.

"Maybe," Jinu’s expression darkened. "Or something else. Either way, I’ll figure it out."

He didn’t voice the rest:

She looked one of the demon in the eye like she was judging him.

She also told them to fix the lighting.

She moved like the demon was interrupting her schedule.

Either she’s an expert who’ll be a problem later…or just another idiot with good timing and bad boundaries. Still. Better to play it safe.

The demons didn’t press. They glanced at one another then shrugged. Fine. Let him figure it out. Would’ve been more fun if he let them eat her soul, but hey—he’s the leader.

Without another word, they vanished through the pink portals back to the demon realm, leaving behind silence.

It didn’t last long.

Romance sighed dreamily. "Okay but… if she is a spy, she’s kinda hot."

Jinu didn’t reply. He just rubbed his temples, the beginnings of a headache forming right behind his eyes.

First a debut, now possible espionage from the world’s most dead-eyed assistant with a sketchpad.

Great.

He’d already built enough stress to level a small village. Now this?

…Cool. Fine. He’ll handle it. He always does.

Still.

Lighting advice?? Who just— No. Never mind. He stood straighter, his focus clear as glass.

He'll take care of you sooner or later once he knows your motive.

And so you lived through the first day of your new side-job.

Sure, it ended with strange flickering lights, a suspiciously cult-like gathering, and the very real possibility that the idol group you just met might be into LARPing or, worse, weird method acting.

But hey, sick concept. You respect the dedication. You genuinely hoped they listened to your advice about the lighting.

Still, your charger was back in your bag, your sketchpad was bursting with ideas, you get to draw that panel finally, and your rent wouldn’t pay itself.

So, if a bunch of pretty boys wanted to summon smoke and dramatic lighting on company time?

Not your business—as long as they made great reference material.

As you draw, you think things like:

Abby’s arms practically had their own agency. You swore his biceps flexed every time he blinked.

Jinu looked like a man carrying the weight of his group… and your outstanding bills.

And Romance? Prince face, main character energy, and probably the type to Google himself just to read the fan comments.

You, on the other hand, were so innocently, completely unaware of what awaited you.

Probably harassment, but definitely plot.

Day 2: HR Is Not Ready for This

You didn’t expect much on your second day.

Maybe some light sweating, a few awkward water runs, and enough quiet time to sneak in some sketching or brainstorm for ideas on your story.

You just wanted to observe, breathe, survive. Simple.

But the universe and apparently five very nosy boys had other plans.

The moment you entered the room, the air shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough to feel… watched.

Your gaze moved from one to the next—Abby adjusting his shirt (and definitely flexing more than needed), Mystery casually stretching nearby like a ninja cat, Baby muttering to himself while scrolling, and Jinu… he was definitely looking at you.

But you didn’t notice that.

You were too focused on your clipboard, scribbling poses and notes like a diligent little artist.

"You’ve been staring again."

You jumped a little. Jinu’s voice. Low. Observant.

You blinked up at him. "Oh, um— sorry?"

His brow arched before a tiny smile tugged at his lips. An attempt to lighten up the air around. "It’s fine. Just… felt like you were memorizing our skeletons."

You laughed, a little too nervously. "No! I mean—well, kind of? I’m an artist."

"...Right."

Was that judgment? You should be offended, right? Yes. But inside.

"It’s for character design," You explained. "I draw for webtoons. You guys are… kind of perfect models."

Jinu studied you. Scribbly. Polite. Very tired. But his gut didn’t trust you. "…Just don’t publish anything weird about us."

You gave him a two-finger salute. "No promises."

He walked off—suspicious, calculating, and weirdly handsome about it.

You sighed, then looked down. You’d circled a line on your page.

"Too symmetrical. Suspicious."

The second day at work is fun! Yeah, right. Fucking fuck. Today's exhausting. And not the "Wow, they’re so dreamy, I’m swooning~" kind.

No. This was “I swear to god if one of them breathes over my shoulder again, I will throw this pen” level of tired.

You were just trying to observe quietly, take notes, and survive the shift.

But subtle glances? Apparently that translated to "please, harass me."

Romance started singing, badly, every time your pen moved. Said it helped set the mood. You told him to change the playlist.

Abby kept "accidentally" standing right in your view. Shirt raised. Flex engaged. Asking, "How’s the lighting on my triceps now?"

Mystery appeared over your shoulder with zero warning, stared at your sketch, nodded, then vanished again like an IKEA ghost.

Baby? Baby muttered your critique out loud just to mess with you.

"‘Neck angle inconsistent’? Wow, harsh." All while smirking so handsomely. Baby. As in the one from hell. With Wi-Fi and zero respect for your peace. Like his fucking members.

You squinted at him, nearly blessing the world with the ugliest scowl known to man. "How are you even reading that from across the room?"

He didn’t answer. He just smiled wider.

Oh, these bastards were enjoying your suffering.

Was bullying the new staff part of their team-building exercises? Hazing disguised as charisma? They haven’t even debuted yet!

The audacity when their Spotify numbers are still at zero.

You'd think world domination came with manners, but no.

Contrary to their faces—artfully sculpted by angels or Photoshop—their personalities were straight-up hellspawn. (Ironic.)

By the time you were done, your social battery had collapsed into dust. You passed by a staff member in the hallway, maybe a stylist or someone from props.

"You look… drained."

You nodded. "Drained is generous. I feel like I’ve been emotionally dry-cleaned."

They laughed. You didn’t. You're mourning your peace.

Meanwhile, back in the practice room:

The air was quieter now. But tense.

Jinu stood near the speaker, arms crossed. His expression unreadable. "She’s hiding something."

The others didn’t laugh this time.

"Maybe she’s just weird." Baby offered his thought.

"Doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous." Jinu replied.

"So what, we just keep annoying her until she cracks?" Romance said, upside-down on the couch, legs kicking in the air like a chaotic cat.

"No." Jinu’s eyes didn’t waver. "We keep watching her until she shows us what she’s really here for.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Abby grinned like he's excited and can't wait to act whatever on his mind. "So. Strategic pestering. Got it."

Jinu didn’t stop him, or anyone of the boys. Whatever it takes to make you crack he guess.

Later that night, you collapsed at your desk.

Still alive. Barely.

You flipped open your sketchpad, flipping past pages of poses, muscle references, and narrowed notes.

"Abby’s arms could run their own business."

"Romance: pretty, but loud."

"Baby = gremlin with a phone."

"Mystery—??? Stop teleporting???"

You sighed, poked at your charger, then scribbled one last line before calling it a night.

If tomorrow’s like this again, I might fake a cold. Or a coma. Or both.

Still... their interest in your art? Kind of flattering. Mostly annoying.

[mandalhoerian]

(5) 🦭 signed, sealed, delivery pending...

Your time in university is a downward spiraling disaster temporarily put on hold whenever you get to visit home and resume attempts to reconcile with your beloved seal, who seems like he'll never forgive you for leaving. A band being pulled from both ends is bound to snap eventually.

genre: fluff, comedy | word count: 12k | read on ao3

< previous | next >

note: i apologize for the wait (again)!! i hope the word count makes up for it !!!!! im a lying liar who lies though. human raf next chapter . sorgy </3 and if any of you is a museum major, remember this is a fantasy land where seals can turn into humans and im allowed to make mistakes even tho i researched. thank you!

You come home for spring break with your sketchbook spine cracked from overuse and your first-year, first-semester syllabus crushed beneath half-finished elevation diagrams, smudged object labels, and two drafts of a museum display plan you still don’t understand. Your tote still smells faintly of plaster from the failed mount-building demo in your Material Culture and Object Handling class, fingers bearing charcoal from rushed object sketches and dry glue from a labeling prototype you smudged the night before critique.

There's also a bent metro card. A crumpled worksheet on humidity control from Fundamentals of Conservation. A balled-up napkin scribbled with a reminder to fix the syntax on your object description draft for Writing for Cultural Institutions.

It’s the quiet clutter of someone trying too hard to catch up in a world where everyone else seems to have already memorized the map.

You tell Mom you’re helping with the harbor cleanup, though the truth is you couldn’t spend another minute under fluorescent lights or in a dorm shared with three girls who somehow all seem impossibly ahead.

One’s a biology major who’s always lugging around a lab manual and her phone alarm goes off three times a night to remind her to check some ongoing culture assignment. Another is in photography and just got a feature on the campus arts blog, she spent the break taking foggy morning shots around the reservoir and somehow made them look like a film set. The third is majoring in media studies and recently joined the university’s documentary club, she’s been recording mock voiceovers at 2 a.m., softly narrating into her phone with the lights off like the room’s a sound booth.

You’re still figuring out how not to smudge your object labels or second-guess how to pronounce vitrines.

She doesn’t question you. Just hands you an old jacket and tells you to wear a scarf because she knows your next stop. The air bites harder this time of year, and you look like you’ve been hollowed out by deadlines and dorm-room junk food.

You take the ridge path out of habit. The same winding switchbacks carved into the cliffs, softened by briny grass and your own childhood footsteps. Your boots skid a little like you've already forgotten how to walk on this terrain. It’s stupid, probably. You haven’t been here since August. But your feet carry you to the cove where he used to wait for you — where he could still be. Maybe. You wouldn’t know.

The tide’s out. The sand is coarse and wind-swept, strewn with driftwood and slick stones that catch the light like wet coins. You sit on the rock you always claimed, smoothed by time and salt, and let the cold climb up through your jeans until it settles into your spine like a held breath. You hunch forward, listening to the water breathe in and out, over and over, like it’s trying to tell you something you’ve forgotten how to hear.

He doesn’t come.

You don’t whistle. Not this time. The sound is still tucked behind your teeth, tight in your throat, where it aches like something half-swallowed. It’s your call, your note, and it would rise easy if you let it. But right now, it would feel too much like an apology.

Instead, you press your hands to the earth, grounding yourself in its silence. Near your boot lies a broken fish spine, arched and pale, a tiny crescent of something once alive. You pick it up without thinking and tell yourself it’s just habit. Just instinct.

Back in the city, it ends up pinned beneath mylar in a shadowbox for your Introduction to Museum Studies course. Labeled neatly in pencil: "Unidentified specimen, coastal origin." You write it with disgruntled detachment, trying to echo the tone your professor used when reviewing everyone’s labeling drafts the week before. Your classmates brought in bits of pottery, manufactured junk, bones bleached too clean by city air. Yours smells faintly of brine.

You imagine Raf, briefly, nosing it toward shore like a gift. 

You come home again in April, skipping a mandatory field visit at the Maritime Conservation Annex. You were supposed to be cataloguing replica ship parts, jotting down environmental exposure notes, and identifying surface decay patterns. Instead, you take the overnight ferry with a knot behind your eyes and a sketchbook full of crossed-out exhibit themes and poorly shaded elevation diagrams. You haven’t slept. You haven’t called ahead.

You tell Mom you missed her, the fact that you’re already burnt out hidden under your tongue, affecting your speech with its sheer size. You say that you miss the foghorn’s groan in the morning and the smell of the tide seeping through the floorboards. She doesn’t argue. She just hugs you with arms that smell like rosemary and old soap, tells you the storm passed last night, and lets you sleep until noon, doesn’t comment on the dark circles under your eyes, and leaves a thermos of tea waiting for you on the windowsill.

The beach is wider than you remember. Stretched out and wind-swept, as though the tide’s been dragging its fingers farther inland in your absence. Or maybe you’re just weaker now, after months of stairs and static and deadlines. You walk anyway. Your body remembers how.

The cove is empty. But not untouched.

Shells form a crescent near the waterline. But that’s only what you notice first. Look closer, there’s more.

A pocketknife you lost in tenth grade, rusted but unmistakable.

The twist of ribbon from your old field journal, weighed down with a pebble. Even a museum flyer — sun-bleached, soggy at the corners, but somehow intact — folded into a crude triangle with teeth marks on it and pinned beneath a polished clam shell.

Your pink hair tie from last summer, faded and stretched, looped carefully around a shard of sea glass.

A cracked keychain from the ferry gift shop that had once jingled off your backpack.

A dried daisy chain from that sun-glutted afternoon you spent lying face-down in the dunes, your voice hoarse from reading funny tweets aloud and laughing when he splashed too close.

A bottle of cheap, glittery nail polish you swore you’d use for toe-dipping pictures but never did.

A torn polaroid, the edges warped with salt, showing a particularly flattering picture of you taken by your cousin just this summer.

Even your library card, still laminated, still bent at the corner, with a picture of a 15 year old you. 

Not scattered — placed. Tucked into the sand with intention, like offerings. Like memory made physical.

You crouch, brushing your fingertips over the nearest shell. Damp. Fresh. A trail. A message. A stubborn, silent kind of loyalty.

You sit down on the cold, salted stone, the one you always claimed, and pull your knees to your chest, fingers digging into the familiar grooves along the edge. Your hand brushes the lining of your pocket and closes around something small — your enamel ferry pin, the one from your very first shift, belonging to the family business. The metal’s dulled and the backing is loose, but the weight of it feels like everything you’ve been holding in.

You hesitate only a moment before you set it down between two stones, nestling it beside the knife and the ribbon like you're adding to an altar you hadn’t realized he’d built.

Then, using your index finger, you drag a line through the sand beside the offerings. It starts as an oval circle, round and oversized, and then you give it flippers, a belly, and an exaggerated frown that hooks comically toward its chin. Two tiny dots for eyes, drawn close together with a tight squiggle between them, a makeshift furrow where no brows exist, and curly whiskers of course. A giant, miserable seal stares back at you from the sand, all pout and slump and silent accusation. You snort despite yourself. It’s terrible. It’s perfect.

You whistle. A low, rising note that used to send ripples across the water, used to make him appear like something conjured. It hangs there in the salty air, stretching out toward the horizon, unanswered.

The wind pulls at your hair. The sea keeps its secrets.

You wait longer than you should. Long enough for the cold to settle under your fingernails, for your hope to thin out into something quieter.

And then, finally, you stand. Brush the sand from your palms. Turn back toward the path and go back home. 

The departure for summer break isn’t the relief of the finish line everyone else made it out to be. Your roommates had been buzzing about it for weeks — finishing final submissions, stealing extra dining hall muffins, swapping playlists for their train rides home, romanticizing porch naps and home-cooked meals and feeling proud of a year well survived. They spoke about it like the reward phase of some coming-of-age movie, like they had earned the softness waiting at home.

For you, it’s the world’s slowest walk of shame.

There’s no big exhale. No victory lap. Just the sun biting at the back of your neck and a guilt-shaped stone lodged somewhere under your breastbone. Your suitcase is heavier than the time you left with it, not with books or clothes, but with the silence of multiple failed classes, and a transcript that feels like a wound folded up in your back pocket.

You’ve already told your parents you needed the summer to "reset." They nodded. Didn’t ask. You think that’s worse. Like they’re afraid pressing would crack you open.

You don’t tell them about the grades. About the meetings. About the email with the subject line: "Academic Standing Review." You don’t tell them about the week you spent avoiding the registrar’s office or how you couldn’t sleep without hearing the chime of overdue assignment reminders in your head. Or the way you started flinching at the sound of email notifications altogether. Like the ping alone could pierce skin.

You don’t tell them how you cried in the library bathroom for an hour after your group presentation fell apart. Or how you walked out of your conservation final halfway through because you couldn’t remember the relative humidity range for organic textiles and your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Instead, you clean your room. Fold your sketchbook closed without looking at the last page. You pretend. Harder than you’ve ever pretended before. Smile through dinner. Nod when spoken to. Sleep like it’s your only job. You spend a week pretending to be fine.

And then you go to the cove when you feel like you've earned the right to breathe.

You spot him just offshore the first day you return — a sleek dark head bobbing between the waves like a buoy with an agenda. Your heart skips, already caught halfway between hope and apology. But then, as if summoned solely to deny you, he dips back under before you can even part your lips.

You whistle anyway. The tune, meant to be light and teasing, comes out brittle. It cracks at the end.

He doesn’t come.

The next morning, you wake up early and rinse out a chipped enamel bowl, the one he always used to nudge with his nose like a dinner bell. You fill it with sardines and leave it by the tide line like an offering. By evening, they’re gone — but so is he. Again.

Day three, you escalate: you bring the ridiculous honking pink rubber duck he used to steal from your basket when you were in your horse desensitizing era and treat like sacred treasure. You place it in the sand and turn your back with forced indifference, sitting cross-legged and reading an old paperback you aren’t really following.

An hour later, he appears at the edge of your vision. He doesn’t approach — just watches. Stares. Then, without warning, he lunges forward, snatches the duck, and flings himself backward into the surf with an almost theatrical flip of his tail.

Day four, you whistle three times. He surfaces once.

Day five, you wade knee-deep into the water and shout his name. He appears a good thirty feet out and just... floats. Watching. Blinking. Drifting.

Day six, you bring the duck again. He doesn’t come. Later, you find the duck dragged halfway down the beach, left deliberately nose-down in a pile of seaweed.

Day seven, he waits until you’re packing up to surface. You turn around with the folded towel in your arms and catch him mid-dive, as if he’d timed it for maximum annoyance.

It’s become a battle of wills. He’s there, always. Just far enough to be unreachable. Just long enough to remind you he’s choosing this distance.

You whistle. He disappears. You sit. He surfaces. You move closer. He vanishes like smoke. Like he’s punishing you. Or teaching you a lesson. Or just enjoying the torment.

He hadn’t even made you work this hard the first time you met him, when you were fifteen and barefoot and slightly sunburned and he’d come right up to you like the sea itself had sent him.

But now? Now it’s like you have to earn him back.

You don't mind, you keep bouncing back. It’s like all the bad luck in the whole world has found their way to you once you left this creature’s side.

Nothing else is working to remedy this. Not the sleep, not the food, not the long walks with your phone turned off. You’ve done everything the counselors suggested. Advice from Reddit threads bookmarked at 2 a.m., typed by people who’d never met you but somehow still sounded kinder than you could stand. You tried all of it. Traced your breathing. Made gratitude lists. Journaled until the pages bled. Some of it helped for a few seconds, like aspirin against a broken bone. But you’re still unraveling.

You spend your mornings rewriting assignments that no longer count for practice to get better at academic writing. Afternoons rereading course emails with dates burned into your brain like scars. You’ve taken to organizing your notes by color-coded failure — red tabs for zeros, blue for extensions, yellow for all the things you said you’d redo but never did.

Even now, in the refuge of summer, you’re still chasing a version of yourself that keeps vanishing into the surf just like him.

You’re a string pulled tighter and tighter. A rubber band about to snap. Keep waiting for a release that doesn’t come. Even your dreams are full of waiting, missing trains, late exams, searching for classrooms that don’t exist. You wake up breathless, mouth dry. Every day feels like trying to outrun something just out of sight.

And the one place you thought you’d feel safe again won’t let you in.

It’s on the tenth day that you snap.

You come down to the beach after dinner, barefoot, your hoodie damp from where you dropped it in the sink. The sky is lavender and low. Your breath won’t even out, throat raw from holding back everything you can’t name.

He’s there. Lounging on his rock like a king. Indifferent to you.

It's the final straw.

You just crumple. One moment you’re standing there with the whistle still echoing out of your lungs, and the next you’re on your knees in the sand like the weight finally caught up to you mid-step. It’s not graceful. It’s not cinematic. It’s just broken. Pathetic. You curl up tight in the same spot you used to nap in when you were younger, half-shielded by dune grass and shadow, and dig your phone out of your hoodie pocket with hands that won’t stop shaking.

You open the group chat with Tara, Macie, and Simone. Hit record.

"Okay," you whisper, then immediately press the heel of your palm to your eye. "I — fuck, I’m sorry, I know this is so abrupt. I don’t know how to say this. I’m — I feel like I’m gonna fall out of my body or — I don’t know. I didn’t tell you guys. I didn’t tell anyone. I failed. Three classes. Not just badly — like, failed-failed. Like I have meetings and I’m on probation and I can’t — I can’t keep up and I thought if I worked harder it would get better and it didn’t, it just — it just got worse."

You’re crying too hard to sniff. Your breath is hitching like something’s wrong with your lungs. You keep recording.

"I can’t tell my parents. Not — not after I screamed about needing this. How I had to leave, how I was suffocating here and — and now what? I come back with nothing but a GPA circling the drain and I can’t—"

You make a sound like a laugh but it cracks halfway through.

You swallow this part down, but your brain cites it like tacks being rattled around in your skull. And Raf — he won’t even look at me. He won’t come near me. Like I’m nothing. Like I’m gone. I thought maybe — maybe it’s like, object permanence? Like babies? You leave too long and they forget you exist? Maybe he doesn’t remember me. Maybe I left too long and now I’m just—

You cut off with a sob you try to swallow, but it just rattles out of you louder.

"I don't know. I don't know, it's so fucking stupid. I feel so stupid. I thought I was gonna be — fine. Like, I thought I could handle it, just keep my head down and get through it, and now I’m on probation and I don’t even know what that means, not really, like how close am I to getting kicked out? How bad is bad? What happens if I can’t fix it next year, what if I can’t fix anything, what if I already ruined it — ? And I keep telling myself I’m gonna catch up but it just keeps slipping, and I don’t know what I’m doing, I don’t know what any of this was for—"

You choke. Cough. Curl tighter.

Somewhere behind you, the sand explodes in a flurry of movement — snorting, huffing, frantic slapping. A full-body rustle and a high, unmistakable blubbering honk. It’s been happening for a while now, just filtering into your ears after the ringing in them starts fading away the more you let the poison drain by finally talking it out.

You pause the recording. Don’t move. Don’t breathe.

Then you hear it: a wet, frantic percussion — flippers slapping against the sand in a staggered staccato, speeding up like something big and heavy hurtling downhill. It's fast. Too fast. Just chaos and wobble and blind, blubbery urgency. Like someone dropped a weighted water balloon and it decided to sprint.

You barely have time to turn your head before it happens.

He rounds the dune like a meteor with a mission, sand flying in every direction, his eyes wide with purpose and panic. Raf barrels into view like a runaway suitcase filled with guilt and righteous offense. His body jiggles so violently with momentum that every bounce forward looks like he might detonate.

And he doesn’t slow down. If anything, he speeds up.

He slams into your side with the force of someone who’s never learned the meaning of caution, knocking you flat onto your hip with a surprised grunt that bursts out of you like a punched balloon. It’s not gentle. It’s not coordinated. It’s not even particularly graceful.

But it is immediate. And it is him. 

The shock of it jolts something loose in your chest. Your panic attack hiccups. Stalls. You suck in a breath that almost turns into a laugh. Almost.

He shoves his nose under your arm with a whimper and settles his full, ridiculous weight against your ribs.

You let the sobs come in full this time, but they’re softer now. Messy. Grateful. Raf makes a warbling, almost defeated sound, then promptly rolls onto his back like he’s surrendering to fate itself. One flipper flops out like he’s fainting. The other tucks to his chest. His stomach rises like a little hill of warmth and resignation.

You blink at him, chest still heaving, nose running, and before you can think twice, you collapse onto him like he’s a novelty beanbag chair you’ve been emotionally blackmailed into needing, it's a travel pillow made of grief and blubber and the kind that will most likely scurry away once you’re okay again.

By your second year, the returns aren’t marked by breakdowns or urgent flights from failure. They creep in like late rain. Unannounced. Not unwelcome, but damp with something you can’t quite shake off.

The travel is tiring in the dullest way — long waits, bad vending machine coffee, a stiffness in your back from sitting still for too long while your mind keeps moving, always spinning on what you should’ve done differently. There’s nothing glorious about it. You arrive with skin that smells like someone else’s laundry soap and a mind still half-occupied by half-finished drafts.

You’ve started disciplining yourself not to go back home often. Not every setback is a reason to run. Not every bad grade should end at the cove. You tell yourself this like it’s a rule, a boundary, a growing pain. The windows to return feel narrower now, less like open arms, more like checkpoints you have to earn your way through.

You think, if you treat it like medicine, measured and sparing, it’ll mean more. That it’ll hurt less to stay away if you’ve decided to do it on purpose. It’s an experiment in self-control. In learning to stand on your own two feet. You even write it down in your planner like a mantra: "Earn your quiet. Don’t escape to it."

But the restraint frays at the edges the longer it holds when it comes to the kind of silence that grows between living things when time stretches too far. Not quite a grudge. Not affection either. Just distance that’s had too much time to settle in its shape. That’s what you and Raf become. A shape that no longer fits the way it used to.

You think about the story your parents used to tell when they wanted to scare you and your siblings off your recurring "I want a pet" phases — the one about the cat they had to rehome when Mom got pregnant with your oldest brother. It used to sleep above Mom’s head every night, curled like a question mark on her pillow, purring against her scalp. They’d had her for years. She was part of the household. Then, overnight, she wasn’t.

Your parents didn’t sugarcoat it. The cat never forgave them. The neighbor said she’d hiss if she so much as smelled Mom’s perfume. She’d turn her back whenever Dad entered the room. Once, she growled loud enough to make Mom cry.

That story used to make you cry. Now it just makes sense.

You wonder if Raf has the same mechanism wired deep inside him — not quite revenge, not memory in the way people understand it, but something animal and old that withholds affection not out of cruelty, but out of instinct. A quiet kind of rejection. A closing off. Something cold-blooded in the way he recognizes you, but doesn’t rise to meet you. That primitive, wordless ability to turn away and mean it.

You try to explain it to yourself the way a naturalist might: that bonds can decay in the wild when time goes unaccounted for. That animals forget scent, forget the way something felt when it was constant. Even social species will let go of their own after too long apart. In flocks. In herds. Maybe this is just that — an adaptation. A recalibration. Nothing personal.

But it feels personal.

You tell yourself you haven’t cried over it. That you’re grown now. You know what he is. But every time he stays in the water, every time he looks at you and doesn’t move, it stings. Not like punishment. Like being erased from something you thought was permanent. Like being forgotten by someone who used to run toward you with open arms — or flippers.

He’s adjusted to the long gaps. You can tell. He doesn’t pace the shore or look toward the house. He’s not waiting. But he knows when you come back. He always knows.

When you come back in the autumn — briefly, for the week the university grants between midterms and burn-out — he doesn’t rush to the shoreline. He’s out in the water when you arrive, bobbing just past the drop-off like he’s part of the sea itself. You whistle once. He doesn’t respond with the same matching melodied chirps. Just snorts in response, slow and unbothered. You sit on the sand anyway, shivering through your hoodie, and talk about how you’re passing now. Barely. But still.

The sky darkens. He doesn’t come closer.

When you stand to leave, he’s gone.

You tell yourself it’s okay. You’d already decided not to need him the way you used to and start relying on the companionship of human beings like your roommates. But even then, you still find yourself slipping little things into the beach when he’s not looking — offerings without ceremony. A piece of your sandwich. A bandana that smells like you. Once, a silly pebble shaped like a heart that you almost pocketed but didn’t. You leave them near where you sit and pretend not to watch.

Sometimes, they vanish. Sometimes, they don’t. But the next time you return, there's something different. Arranged driftwood in a crooked ring. A crab shell turned upright like a bowl. That pebble in the middle of that bowl. 

You try not to read into it, but the pattern starts to form. You leave something. He answers. Never directly. But clearly.

So it becomes a back-and-forth. You bring objects. He rearranges the shore. Maybe leaves something in return like a weird trading conversation. It's not forgiveness. It's not closeness. But it's something. Like playing a slow-motion game across weeks and waves. Like he's reminding you that while he might not come close, he hasn’t forgotten how to speak to you.

You start playing back. You bring him things that are more intentional now — not random. A pink shell shaped like a comma. A bottle cap with a fish on it. You leave them in a particular corner of the cove, beside a rock he used to sun himself on.

When you return, they’re stacked differently, like he's shifted them with his nose. Once, you find the bottle cap perched carefully atop a stone like a crown.

It becomes a game with no score. You never talk about it, of course. You never even look at him when you do it. But he knows. And he answers.

Winter comes. You don’t make it home. Snowed in by assignments. Stranded by train delays and emails that stack up like debt. You keep a seal keychain clipped to your backpack. Talk to it sometimes when the dining hall’s too loud. It smells faintly like sunscreen and stress.

Spring break, you visit again. He meets you halfway down the beach this time. Doesn’t wait on his rock. Doesn’t flinch when you sit. You watch him nap for a full hour just as how things used to be like it’s a sacred ritual, your fingers itching to pet him, but feeling like you're probably not allowed to do that anymore.

Later, as you’re brushing the sand from your jeans and readying to leave, you notice something at your feet. A shell you didn’t bring. Pale and ridged, curved like a crescent moon. Nestled into the print your heel left behind.

And so it goes.

The summer before your fourth year arrives with more noise than usual. There’s luggage on the porch that doesn’t belong to you. Voices in the hallway. Bright sandals left by the door. The smell of someone else’s shampoo in the bathroom and the clatter of your name being called from the kitchen in someone else’s cadence.

You brought them here — Theo, and the girls.

It still feels strange to say it in your head that way. Theo, and the girls. As if he’s earned his own category. As if he belongs to the orbit that’s always just been yours. Like naming him among them makes it more permanent, more real than you’re used to admitting.

Theo... Your first ever boyfriend, is a law major with immaculate notes and a resting face so unreadable it makes you want to fluster him on purpose. You only met because of an elective you got roped into by the girls — something general and discussion-heavy that promised easy credit and turned out to be anything but. The kind of course where you had to talk more than listen. Where participation was part of your grade, and no one let you disappear into your own thoughts.

You sat across from him, expecting nothing. But Theo asked questions like he wanted the long answer, like he was collecting your words instead of waiting for his turn to speak. You remember the way he used to furrow his brow when you talked about maritime heritage and museum archiving in that offhanded way you did — like your interest wasn’t worth noting, so you just cut your ideas short so the next person could start talking. He disagreed. Kindly. Plainly. Made you feel your voice belonged in the room.

Perhaps it was the constant turn of his head to your direction that pulled you in. Recognition and acknowledgment after being deprived of it.

It started small. Shared readings. Group projects. Walks back from lectures when the hallway buzz had quieted. Jokes over cafeteria food that weren’t really jokes. You noticed how he took up space without pressing against yours, how he listened without waiting to speak. He had this way of holding silence after you said something, like he was letting the weight of it settle before he answered. Until one day he showed up outside your studio with a coffee you didn’t know he knew you liked.

And slowly, it became a thing. Not a crush. Not fireworks. Just a closeness you didn’t pull away from. You didn’t even realize that’s what was happening. It wasn’t a thunderclap. It wasn’t even a spark. It was more like a slow tide pulling up to your ankles — gradual and persistent. Letting yourself be comfortable. Letting someone stay.

So, your answer was an automatic "Yes," when he asked if you wanted to go out with him. 

There was a safety in it. Someone to text when your class let out early, someone to split snacks with at the library, someone to carry your bag when you were too tired to ask. Someone to go eat out with when you’d otherwise stay inside because the act of being perceived felt too sharp that day. Someone who sat next to you on the train and didn't feel the need to fill the silence. You didn’t feel the burn of longing around him, and that felt... sustainable. Manageable. It felt like something you could keep without breaking it.

So when summer came, and the suggestion floated — "What if we went somewhere quiet?" — you offered.

You talked it up the way someone talks about a childhood pet they’re not sure is still alive, all warmth and vague descriptions. “It’s peaceful,” you said. “You’ll like it.”

They were curious. Of course they were. Macie wanted to swim. Simone asked about your favorite tidepool spots. Tara just smiled and told you it’d be good for you to breathe island air again. Theo didn’t push to know more about your life back at home. He just held your hand under the table when you brought it up to them, like the decision had already been made the moment you opened your mouth.

When they asked about Raf, you lied without blinking. Told them he didn’t always stick around this time of year — something about seasonal wandering, maybe mating behaviors. You said it like you’d read it in an article, even though you hadn’t. Even though you knew exactly where he would be if he were around.

Not because you were hiding him. Not really. Your girls already knew about your seal friend because you wouldn’t shut up about him. Your wallpaper and lockscreen were both of him, after all. Not to mention the album on your phone titled simply: “Cutie.” You’d shown them old videos. Clips of him flopping through the surf, close enough to touch. Of him screaming and making funny noises. 

But still. Still. Your friendship with Raf felt too private to be shared with anyone else. Like opening a box you hadn’t touched in too long, afraid the air would ruin what was inside. You were gatekeeping him before you realized there might not even be that much of a friendship left to show off. But that didn’t matter. You still didn’t want to introduce him to them.

Not even your parents had seen you with him. Not really. Not the way he used to follow you through the shallows like a shadow, not the way you used to press your face into his side like a warm, living stone and let the tide rise around you both. He was special and he was yours. You were proud of this connection you had carved out for yourself. Something wild and tender and unsupervised.

So, you don’t take them to the cove.

You pick another beach, one of the broader ones farther down the island — the kind people use for engagement shoots, family barbecues, the kind of place that shows up in someone else’s scrapbook, not your memory. It’s less intimate, less burdened by history. And that’s the whole point.

You tell them it was the easiest to reach. That the sand is fine, the tide pools were especially photogenic in the afternoon light. But deep down, you didn’t pick it for them. You picked it for your own comfort — because you know he wouldn’t be here. He doesn’t like crowds or people at all.

The sand here is pale and packed tight, the color of sifted flour. Flat rocks sit like little stages along the shore, and the tide pools glint with mica and tiny darting fish. Children shriek in the distance. Someone’s playing a bluetooth speaker nearby, something tinny and sun-soaked. The wind doesn’t bite here, it flutters its lashes. Everything about this place feels engineered for memory-making. Safe, palatable, curated. A beach designed to be preserved in pixels.

Theo lifts the cooler with one arm. Simone has the umbrella slung over her shoulder like a rifle. Tara trails behind, her flip-flops slapping rhythmically against the packed sand, laughing like the sun’s already sunk into her bloodstream. Macie’s filming everything — seagulls, a crab fight, the uneven hem of the horizon — and providing a running commentary in that absurd, exaggerated British documentary narrator voice that always makes the rest of you laugh.

You lag behind a few paces, pretending to dig through your tote bag for chapstick. Mostly, you’re watching their silhouettes bob forward, listening for how much of yourself is still tethered to them. You smile when they glance back.

They lay out the towels and start divvying drinks. Theo opens the cooler and gestures for you to pick first. You choose a juice box, half out of nostalgia, half because it’s easy. He leans into your shoulder with a quiet sort of ownership, chin pressing lightly against the curve where your neck meets your collarbone, his hand warm as it slides over your thigh.

The others break off like strands of sea foam — Simone crouching by the tide pools, pointing out green anemones and prodding gently at barnacles with the end of a sunglasses arm, Macie dancing backward to film a reel, Tara announcing she’s going to find “a rock with the most powerful energy.” You sink into the blanket, drink in hand, and pretend the sun is doing its job. The condensation slicks your palm; Theo’s elbow keeps knocking into yours each time he shifts, rummaging in the cooler for his drink.

Someone starts talking about sea glass. Macie thinks the little green shards come from old soda bottles. Simone insists some of it’s from shipwrecks. Tara finds a piece shaped like a heart and says she’s keeping it forever. Theo listens to them like it’s a podcast he’s only half-invested in, but he smiles whenever you laugh.

It feels ordinary. In that stretched, sugar-glazed way summer days do when you don’t look at the clock. You’re halfway through your juice when Macie’s voice cuts the day in two.

“Seal!” she cries, delighted.

You pause mid-sip.

Not startled — more like… struck. That word slices through the ambient noise like a tuning fork. Your body reacts faster than your brain. Somewhere in your chest, a thread pulls taut.

The others are already rushing toward the shore, sneakers kicking up sand. Simone’s got her phone out again. Tara gasps. “It's a chonker!”

“Are they common around here?” Theo’s voice is light as he squints toward the water. “I read something about conservation efforts in the northern colonies — tagging for tracking migratory habits.”

“They haul out sometimes,” you say. Your voice sounds far away. “Usually early in the season.”

You don't notice Tara staring, as if she's trying to ask you why Theo seems to be confused about the seal when it's common knowledge that you haul from a place with a seal population. 

“Get a load of this unit,” Simone says, laughing. “That’s not a seal, that’s a sentient ottoman.”

“I’m naming him Barnaby,” Macie announces. "Bernadette if female."

You rise without thinking.

The voices of your friends flatten into background static. Theo’s muttering about population markers again, something about dorsal notches and flipper scarring. Someone suggests a group selfie with the seal in the distance. You’re already stepping past them.

You move toward the shoreline like someone being pulled forward by the collar. The closer you get, the more the light shifts — the kind of shimmer that makes everything blur at the edges, like film that’s been left in the sun too long.

From a distance, it could be any seal. Big, lazy, glinting like riverstone in the tide. But your eyes track instantly to the shape bobbing just beyond the last rock.

You pass Macie, who’s still narrating. “Seriously, look at the spot pattern. He’s like a limited-edition beanbag.”

You stop just at the lip of the water, salt wind catching in your hair. The waves break around your feet like hands brushing past. The light fractures. You squint.

Then he shifts. Just slightly.

A tilt of the head. A flash of familiar scarring on the shoulder area. The slope of the skull. The unruly whiskers. The uneven patch where fur never quite grew back right.

That’s Raf, alright. No question.

What the hell?

It isn’t just that he’s here — it’s that he’s somewhere he never should be.

Raf doesn’t come to beaches like this. You know by heart now that he sticks to his own territory, avoiding crowded places the way skittish animals avoid noise, the way anything too aware of its own edges avoids spectacle. He has always preferred the cove, quiet and thick with sea mist, where nothing moves unless it belongs. Even during summer’s peak, when the whole island feels like a postcard come to life, he stays tucked away, content in his own paradise. You’d have to wait until sunset, until the last paddleboarder left, before he’d even dare surface. Sometimes not even then.

So seeing him now, in daylight, under the loudness of other people’s joy, within reach of clumsy sandals and cell phone lenses…

If you had to explain it, you might say this: that all those things you try to swallow — the loss, the homesickness, the worry — well, it all congeals into the same ache deep beneath your sternum. It manifests physically as if there was a physical place inside your chest cavity where emotion collected like sediment or rust or bruised fruit. It comes out in flickers, in ways you can't control. Things set it off: memories, sounds, smells, sensations you'd grown up being conditioned to associate with nostalgia and happiness in your subconscious, regardless of whether those things actually did make you happy anymore or not — just the trigger stimuli alone would bring about the longing that'd cause tears to prick at your ducts immediately, if only for a second.

Seeing him suddenly brings your feelings surging up in the same abrupt way they do when you're alone in your dorm room, trying to survive finals week. Now that he's there on the other side of the sea when you're over here with new friends surrounding you when it used to be just you two, a familiar tightening sensation unfurls inside, like something getting caught and torn in the cogs of your ribcage. It aches worse than you expected.

"Wait, though. Do we know if that's your seal buddy?" Macie asks, grinning widely. "Do you think I can pet him?"

"It is Raf, and no," you tell her firmly. "Just leave him be."

She gives you a surprised look. "You sure? They don't bite, do they? Or slap?"

"They won't but still..." You gesture vaguely towards the rest of them with a helpless shrug as you attempt to maintain control over your emotions, willing the lump forming at the base of your throat to dissipate.

"Seal buddy?" Theo asks. He's come up to your side without you noticing and has placed a comforting hand on your waist.

"You haven't told him about Raf?" Simone arches an eyebrow, looking amused. "The familiar to your sea witch?"

"C'mon..." you whine, not noticing the look you're being given by your boyfriend.

"Huh," he confirms after studying you intently for several long seconds.

A beat of silence passes between your group, a few questioning glances exchanged, before Theo speaks again, his tone carefully neutral. "We were dating for almost five months and you've never mentioned being friends with a seal?"

You couldn't just say that it naturally didn't come up when you in fact did not stop yapping about Raf to your roommates. It felt... childish. Self-centered, like bragging. Theo had a certain level of maturity beyond what you possessed, so it seemed fitting to keep quiet about how special and close you were with your adorable animal companion rather than risking exposing yourself as someone who talks about seals more someone with a marine biology major. You weren't exactly trying to hide it per se, either, more so keeping the information regarding the subject matter private and away from any potential prying or mocking... or perhaps the feeling itself.

Despite having already shared it with your friends.

…

Yeah, honestly, you don't know why you didn't tell him earlier, now that you think about it. It makes for a particularly awkward silence, as well.

One that gets interrupted by Tara's, "Oh my god, is he coming over here? Look!"

You whip around and indeed see Raf paddling his way onto shallow waters before picking up speed as he closes in on your location.

"That settles it. We gotta film this. Do you think it'd go viral?" Macie says excitedly, pushing play on her camera app while taking aim at you and Raf approaching.

"Viral," you mutter drily under your breath as you slowly start walking deeper into the water with the intent of greeting your friend properly for the first time since arriving at home.

Theo watches from the shoreline silently as everyone else bursts into applause and cheering once Raf arrives and immediately hops closer to you instead of anyone else present despite them attempting to coax him over with promises of food and various petting session offers, something they complain loudly about behind you.

"Hey, you little fucker," you grouse once within earshot, crouching down like a gangster stationed by a random corner on the pavement, elbows on knees. The words hold absolutely zero heat to them. "You've been giving me attitude bigger than your body mass ever since I left and now you decide to hobble on over when I'm with company? Really? You're like my mom trying to keep up appearances when guests come over. Who the heck do you think you are?"

Raf croons and chatters in response, nuzzling your bare legs affectionately before flopping heavily on your feet. He proceeds to roll around in the wet sand, looking every bit of pleased with himself for drawing a laugh from you when he looks up expectantly with wide, adoring dark eyes blinking innocently up at you.

Ha, look at this guy acting cute.

As if you weren't literally deprived of his presence for nearly the entire time you were away because he was too pissed to see your face, you realize with a sharp twang of bitterness, shaking your head in mock annoyance at the unfairness of the situation. What bullshit timing. He has to be doing this on purpose at this point. The big brat.

"Wow," your friends remark in awe simultaneously at the display occurring before their very astonished selves.

"So tame,” Theo remarks.

He pays them no mind whatsoever. Instead, his sole focus remains on you as he rolls upright so he may rear onto hind paws and balance against your bent knee. His whiskers tickle your skin, hot snorts stirring loose strands of hair fallen over your face, dampness from his breath transferring to your forehead. It's like he's giving you a vibe-check, sniffing you all over with little to no care towards the peanut gallery currently filming everything happening.

"This is fascinating," Theo comments from somewhere nearby, likely observing your interactions closely together with Tara and the rest. He comes to crouch beside you for a closer look. "I honestly thought they wouldn't engage humans unless approached first. Then again, I guess you've managed to build enough trust with that one to encourage friendly interaction..."

It's almost in slow motion that Raf turns his head towards your boyfriend, and to your absolute shock, curls his back in a way you've never see him do before, baring his teeth at Theo in the most hostile display you've ever seen from a creature known to have such a placid temperament.

It's when the unfamiliar purring-rumble starts rising from his throat that you come back to reality and tilt your body away from a jaw-dropped Theo, effectively making a barrier between the two. "Oh my god, no, Theo, I'm so sorry! Please back off, okay? Just take a couple steps back, please, and I'll handle this—"

The rumble becomes louder, sharper. To the surprise of everyone present, Raf crawls over your leg and hip possessively like a large lapdog might climb into a couch and lie on their owner for warmth, deliberately placing himself in between you and a wide-eyed Theo, staring pointedly at your boyfriend until he backs away completely to rejoin the girls watching with horrified fascination on the beach. You breathe a sigh of relief knowing he did not bite nor hit anyone in his frenzy.

It takes you pulling back to sit flat on your butt that he relents finally and allows you to maneuver him onto your lap so you may bury fingers deep into the thick, dense fur around his neck area and massage him into calm submission. "What is with you today," you reprimand softly as the aggressive sounds gradually subside into gentle yips. "I thought you forgot me or something, and now look at you. Like no time passed at all."

Raf doesn't seem apologetic in the least, if the way he snuggles even closer in your arms and throws in a lick across your cheekbone indicates anything. With his chin hooked securely over your shoulder, tail thumping loudly against the water splashing quietly against your entangled legs, it seems pretty evident he has no plans of going anywhere anytime soon.

"I know I shouldn’t be surprised after seeing everything on your phone, but are seals really supposed to behave like this?" Macie asks aloud uncertainly, putting her camera down.

You shrug, absently continuing to knead downwards along Raf's side. He shifts under your hands, the smooth, slippery texture of his skin bunching under your fingertips pleasantly as he leans further into you with increasing insistence.

"He's just domesticated," Simone offers, coming closer to better assess the situation. "Look, he's not food motivated."

"An expert family friend of mine told me I could have formed a small pod with him without knowing it. Like, a unit of a colony."

"Like a bonded pair?" Tara joins in.

"Maybe the word you're looking for is just bonded. He could have imprinted on her. Like a duck," Theo adds helpfully, gesturing to where you've now begun rubbing down your sulky seal friend's tummy while he rolls over unashamedly on his back for easier access. He's got his phone on his hand, gesturing to some article he found in no time. "This says young pups follow people they initially attach to for several minutes after birth sometimes and perceive them to be their mother. When exposed to higher levels of maternal influence after development, the bond grows stronger than it would have otherwise been possible to sustain by nature alone."

Raf grumbles soft under his breath, seeming disgruntled. What the fuck does he have to sigh about like that as if he's a single mom who works two jobs? He's not even an arctic seal who has to deal with diabolical orcas gunning after him 24/7.

But you're more concerned with this scene unfolding right now when you barely had any interaction with Raf over the past couple of years. He's being clingy when it was so obvious he was being distant and cold like a normal person would've behaved after a falling out...

And yes, it does sting quite badly for having the reunion be made to witness and scrutinized over by near-total strangers while your friends are having a conversation about seal behavior and looking things up on the internet in the background.

It really hurts even more since you expected a much earlier reception given your efforts at reconciliation... and then here comes Raf randomly deciding he's now okay on a random day for seemingly no reason whatsoever. Talk about emotional whiplash. What happened to the sulking and stubborn refusal to interact? Where did that go?

Well. Better late than never?

Hours pass. Eventually, the beach is emptying out.

The laughter is gone, or far enough to feel like it. Distant chatter rides the salt wind, but it doesn’t reach you, not really. The sky has bruised into mauve, sea lavender and charcoal layered thin across the horizon, all color is being dragged out like a damp cloth wrung slow.

Macie was the first to suggest heading back when the sour mood of Theo didn’t get any better, already talking about post-beach showers and cooking for your parents who’ve yet to return from the ferry for having them over. Simone followed with a promise to upload the best photos. Tara stayed behind just a little longer, watching you in that gentle, perceptive way of hers, before slipping away to give the two of you a space. Your towel is still damp beneath you, your bag a mess of half-unpacked things. And Raf hasn't budged from your side, pressed warm and firm into your hip as if anchoring you to this exact spot.

Theo stands a few feet away, arms crossed, half-turned toward the sea. He hasn’t spoken in minutes. You can feel it brewing though, like pressure in your ears before a storm.

When he finally does speak, he doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s a moderated accusation to it that makes your stomach tighten. “So... were you ever planning to tell me about him?”

You keep your eyes on your towel, fingers worrying at a loose thread that’s already frayed beyond saving. “It's not like I was keeping it from you, it must have just slipped my mind to mention it or something.”

He shifts, crossing and uncrossing his arms, feet grinding into the sand with impatient little pivots. “That’s not the part I’m stuck on,” he says, voice level. “It’s that everyone else knew. It didn't slip your mind with them.”

You lift your gaze briefly, catching his silhouette framed in the bleeding dusk. “I really wasn’t trying to hide him or something. I don’t talk about a lot of things.”

Theo’s shoulders fall with a tired breath. He’s not angry. Just tired. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.”

The air between you feels suddenly thinner.

You turn toward him fully. He’s wearing the expression you’ve come to recognize when he’s calculating every word before he says it. It’s hard to tell if it’s a personality trait or something his law professors taught him.

“I didn’t tell you about Raf because I didn’t know how,” you admit, the words small, almost fragile. “He was my best friend for years. And then... he wasn’t. I haven't properly spent time with him for three years now, the best I do is just seal watching from afar, and that's whenever I get home, which is. Sparse.”

He doesn’t interrupt. He just listens, jaw flexed.

“And then today, out of nowhere, he’s back. Like nothing happened. It's like my first proper interaction with him in forever.”

“I’m not asking for a play-by-play. I just want to know why you couldn’t share that part of your life with me. You're changing the subject.”

“I don't know,” you mutter, rubbing your palm against your leg. “It didn't occur to me I could. And I liked... I liked how clean things were with you.”

His brow knits. “Clean?”

“Like I didn’t have to unpack the past every time we talked. I could just be in the moment. Maybe that's why it didn't cross my mind at all.”

Theo exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair with restless fingers. “And what moment are we even in now?”

You blink at him, the question hanging too heavily to dodge.

“Because I’ve been your boyfriend for five months—"

The seal in your lap jerks so suddenly as if shaken up from deep sleep to do a double-take between you and Theo with a distinct sputter and a sneeze, and you momentarily miss some of what's being said to you from watching the weird flailing in front of you.

"—sometimes I still feel like I’m waiting to become one. You sit beside me. You let me hold your hand. You even sleep next to me. But half the time, I feel like I’m dating someone who’s barely in the room.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Isn’t it? You’re nice to me. You show up. You laugh. You don’t want to hurt me, I know that. But it’s like I’m an accessory in your day, not a person you’re choosing.”

Your gaze drops. Raf is staring off into the distance like a shell-shocked war veteran for some reason and you swear his eyes are about to look in different directions.

Theo watches your fingers curl into the seal’s coat.

“Do you even like me?”

Your head snaps up. “Of course I do.”

His next words are quieter. “I mean... do you like me? Not just the idea of being with someone. Not just what I represent, or how I don’t ask too much. Do you like me?”

You part your lips, the response on the tip of your tongue — except it isn’t. The panic hits before the words come, tightening your chest, making the air feel wrong in your lungs.

Theo closes his eyes like he already has the answer.

“I think I’ve been trying really hard not to admit how one-sided this feels,” he says. “But I can’t do that forever.”

You reach toward him — instinctively, helplessly. Your hand hovers mid-air.

“Listen, Theo, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” he says quickly. His face twists for a fraction of a second. “I know you didn’t. That’s the thing. You’re not cruel. You just... keep your distance. You never come to me for anything. Not once. I know you’re struggling with your classes. You get weird when someone mentions midterms. You disappear for days when grades drop, and when I ask how you’re doing, you say ‘fine’ like a robot. You don’t talk to me about any of these things.”

“I don’t need to dump that stuff on you.”

“It’s not dumping if I’m your boyfriend,” Theo says, caught between ache and frustration. “You don’t lean on me. You don’t share anything with me. I’m just... here. Being reminded I’m that insignificant and held at arm’s length every. Single. Day.”

Raf shifts again. There is a slowness to his breathing, a cadence like the tide. If he is listening, you cannot tell.

Your throat feels too tight. Theo sees it before you manage an answer.

He sighs. It sounds weary, like someone reaching the bottom stair.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Everything in you wants to refute it, deny him. But you know it wouldn't matter, because he isn't asking questions anymore; he's stating facts. And somehow, that makes everything worse.

You pick anxiously at the dead skin at your thumb's cuticles until the urge to apologize overwhelms everything else.

"I'm so—"

Theo raises his hand abruptly, stopping you short. "Don't. I don't need an apology."

A beat passes in uncomfortable silence. Raf grumbles, unhappy.

"Then what do you need?" You mumble under your breath.

"For you to see me as your person," Theo responds bluntly, staring intently down at your stunned features. "Or maybe just as someone who matters more than the stupid seal on your lap you're petting like a dog while having an important discussion."

You wince as if scalded, retracting your hands. "I don’t, I—!"

"Then look me in the fucking face when you speak to me," he barks harshly, scowl growing increasingly prominent. You've only seen Theo mad once or twice before, but he doesn't explode or break things. His anger is contained and icy cold instead. Raf doesn't like the way he's raising his voice at you, his huffing is getting more frequent now. "Or maybe stop sitting there like the victim and give me the courtesy of standing up and talking to me with actual intention rather than treat our relationship like some hobby you take on between finishing whatever homework is due? How would you feel if I treated you like a second choice friend whenever we meet up together? Think carefully."

There's something final about the way he ends the sentence, like shutting a door. Or snapping shut a notebook. Like wrapping up a case and moving on. For someone so impossibly empathic, so effortlessly considerate, you wonder if he finally reached the end of his rope. If you had worn him down, after all.

"I'm sorry," you find yourself saying anyway, hoping he would be kind enough to accept the olive branch.

But Theo only shakes his head slowly with lips thinned in repressed irritation. "Don't do that," he cuts you off curtly. "I told you I don't want apologies."

Something tenses in your gut. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe shame. It sours too quickly for you to sort it out.

Raf has been statue-rigid for a while now, his body coiled tight underneath your palm resting just over his ribcage — sensing the discordance, no doubt, alerted by the spike in tensions among the two of you.

"I think we need to rethink this whole thing," Theo says, looking directly at you with solemn, resolute conviction gleaming in his eyes. You understand what it means immediately. It isn't anger so much as sadness that draws itself around him, making his shoulders round, his mouth stern. He rubs a knuckle absently against his temple. "I seriously need some space. I can't keep putting in effort on my end while getting practically nothing back on yours. Frankly, it's been taxing and frustrating beyond belief."

"We could—" you pause, realizing there's absolutely nothing you can offer that would be viable. You don't have the same qualifications to make things work out as he did, nor can you convince him otherwise knowing this much of what you put him through. It wouldn't be fair to either of you. So all that's left for you to say is: "Is there anything I can do to fix this? Do you want me to..."

There is nothing more pathetic to finish your sentences with besides crying, begging and offering ultimatums — and none of those are appealing options.

"Look," Theo says, visibly restraining himself from pacing the way you've seen him do whenever frustrated with a difficult case to crack, and you feel horrible knowing full well that most of your interactions will likely leave him feeling this way. "I appreciate what we had over these past few months... It was good to spend time with you. But honestly, it'd just be healthier for us both if we put it on hold right now until you figure out what it is that you really want, and then I'll reopen negotiations."

Silence follows for a brief moment. Raf lets out a long whine, which causes you to snap out of the funk of despondency you momentarily sunk into, remembering he's still very much present, listening to everything, perhaps like a child overhearing his parents arguing.

"Okay," you croak, suddenly feeling unworthy of your boyfriend's presence. "Yeah, okay, I get it."

You don't even get the last part of your sentence out, which was thanking him for being patient with you before he's talking again.

"I'm gonna try to catch the last ferry," he tells you calmly despite the heartbreaking disappointment written all over his features. You nod along mechanically without meeting his searching stare, looking downwards in avoidance. There's a twinge of resentment at yourself for treating someone as wonderful as him this way, regardless of whether your actions were consciously intentional or not. "It's been nice here but the space thing, you know... Give my apologies to your parents and tell them it was a family emergency. I’ll talk to the others.”

All you can do is bob your head woodenly as an acknowledgment while keeping your line of sight trained elsewhere lest he notice the tears beginning to build up inside your lower eyelids. Everything feels wrong in this exact moment, like nothing you could've done or said will rectify anything.

His footsteps retreat away after a short silence, the distinct sound of the plastic handle on the cooler creaking softly under its increasing pressure, sand rustling audibly underneath.

Then you're alone — truly alone — for the first time in hours. The breeze kicks up, salty and cool off the water. You wait till the crunching pauses; until Theo reaches the place where footpath meets pavement, out of earshot. Until the world contracts around you. You let out a shaky sob, one fist digging into Raf's coat. A series of pitiful squeaks respond.

"I got dumped over a seal," you wheeze out shakily, fingers clenching deeper into damp fur.

You realize it's more than that, but the shock numbs everything else. You not mentioning Raf to Theo somehow snowballing into being perceived as emotionally distant and disengaged is such a surreal thought to contemplate that it takes awhile for your brain to catch up.

Your stomach knots so tight that you bend double, forehead dropping against your knuckles. Raf brings his nose to rest at your temple. Wet heat slides along your cheekbone, snuffles once, then again, the edge of his whiskers twitching against your temple like he’s thinking hard. He lets out a chuff, a ridiculous, gravelly little exhale that vibrates against your skin. You don’t know if he’s annoyed, apologizing, or just reacting to the taste of your tears.

You sniff. Wipe your face with the back of your wrist. “You’re really a homewrecker.”

He makes a low, rumbling sound in his chest.

“Don’t sass me,” you whisper.

But the way he edges in closer, until your whole side is engulfed in damp fur and quiet warmth, makes your throat seize. You shut your eyes. Let your fingers dig into the pelt at his shoulder, where his scar discolors the fur. Your grip trembles.

“But I really didn’t think he’d leave,” you say, barely audible.

Raf’s head nudges under your chin, blunt and persistent, until you have no choice but to raise your face again. He’s looking up at you with that same familiar gravity behind his eyes that always made you feel seen. Not observed. Seen.

And it unnerves you a little.

“I didn’t think you’d come back either,” you admit, voice cracking. “So I guess it’s somewhat of a law of equivalence.”

He presses his forehead to yours, gently, like something instinctive and unceremonious. You feel he’s not trying to comfort you so much as just… be there. And for a second, it really does feel like time folded back in on itself, and you’re seventeen again with sand in your socks and unburdened giddiness in your chest, laughing into his neck after some awful day at school like he was the only part of your world that made sense.

“I missed you a lot though, buddy,” you whisper. You’re not sure whether it’s a confession or an accusation. Maybe both. Underlying with the strange emptiness of what this separation means to you. The fact that you’re here with Raf right now means a lot more than Theo leaving you. And you’re not sure how to feel about that other than the fact that you must be a grade A douche.

Usually it’s a man that exhibits this behavior. You don’t know how to feel about that, either.

Raf noses your collarbone, then burrows closer with a dramatic grunt. Like he never left. Like this spot — your side, your lap, your shoulder — is still his, and he’s reclaiming it without apology.

You laugh, but it cracks open into something hoarse. Something wet. An egg dropping an embryo to the pan instead of yolk. You bury your face in his neck like it’s the only place left you can do that safely. He smells like salt and sand and the faintest undertone of seaweed, but his warmth remains unchanged.

You don’t know if you should be angry with him or grateful. He might’ve cost you your relationship. Or maybe he served you a lesson about one that was always a little too one-sided. You don’t know. You don’t know anything except that he’s here now, curled into your ribs like a message in a bottle finally finding its destination.

You sigh into him, your voice small. “You really couldn’t have picked yesterday to be emotionally available, huh?”

Raf whines softly. Rolls to his back and kicks his flippers like he’s throwing a tantrum. His belly’s damp and ridiculous and offered to you like a truce.

You let out a snort and swipe at your eyes.

“I can’t believe this is my life.”

You flop onto your back beside him as the tide kisses at your ankles again, more gentle now. As if the sea itself is easing back. Raf’s breathing slows, matching yours.

And in the quiet between waves, you think, not for the first time, not for the last, that maybe he came back because he knew this moment was coming. That maybe he knew you’d need him, right here, right now.

Some part of you says, Nah, he’s a homewrecker.

You graduate, and eventually end up right back on where you started with your shoulders braced like someone expecting to be hit.

You don’t join the cap throwing ceremony, or any other party with the excuse you unfortunately don’t have time for any of that. You get your diploma like it’s a shady deal in an alleyway and go your own way.

The thought of maybe — maybe — coming back home for the last time would feel like slipping into warm water is at the back of your mind — strange at first, but comforting once your body adjusts.

It doesn’t.

The sea greets you the same way it always has — without ceremony, without apology. Not like a mother welcoming her child, but like an old employer who never removed your name from the roster. You step off the boat with all your belongings, and the wind claps you on the back, and the salt is in your mouth before you even say “I’m home,” as if to tell you to get back to work.

That’s all there is to it. Slap the, “That’s all folks!” title card on it.

The sea still smells the same — wet iron, salt, the distant sweetness of fish — but it doesn’t comfort you. It clings like dead weight you have to carry on your back, stains your clothes, settles in your hair, crusts behind your ears like it’s trying to remind you: you belong here. Like it never really let you go. Like you’re Sisyphus rolling his boulder up the hill as always, except you drag it around like a pet rock now, one that is visible to everyone. One everyone recognizes.

You’re the girl who left. The one who came back with nothing.

You wanted to leave, though. God, you had wanted out so badly.

So you picked something clean. Something quiet and shiny that didn’t come with fish guts and engine grease. Museum studies. Archival work. Something that would let you tell stories about the sea without having to live inside its salt-stung grip. Something you could point to and say: See? I made it out. I became someone else.

You imagined glass cases and curated lighting. Climate control and respectability. People in linen suits asking for your opinion on preservation techniques. You imagined being good at it. Sharp. Polished. Like you were a cultured socialite and your hands had never once smelled of fish and that white-collars didn’t look down at you as though you were a second-class citizen for it. You clung to that dream like it was a life raft. Like it would keep you from becoming Dad, Mom, your whole line of weary sea-anchored ghosts.

University didn’t spit you out so much as it starved you slowly.

You told yourself it would be delicate — artifacts and silk gloves, white walls and whispered, distinguished voices of explanation and storytelling. But you weren’t ready for how different it would feel to be constantly behind. Always catching up. You watched people glide through it all — the lectures, the essays, the study abroad placements — like they were born into it. You weren’t.

You didn’t speak the language. You wrote too plainly, too tangibly. You didn’t know how to dress your thoughts up in academic language or play the intellectual performance they all seemed to have memorized. You didn’t know how to use a theory as a shield or a weapon, didn’t know how to say absolutely nothing in five polished pages. Your sentences were called “too literal.” Your ideas “lacked depth.” You began second-guessing everything you wrote. Every time you turned in a paper, you waited for it to come back bleeding red, like a wound reopening.

You sat in the back and took notes while others quoted theorists by name, confident and smooth and laughing with professors after class like they were friends while you could curl into a shrimp trying to show respect to their profession. That’s what you were taught. You didn’t know you had to ‘befriend’ those professors to get to places. Didn’t even know it was an option in the first place.

You stayed up until your eyes burned. Took out loans that made your stomach twist. Lived on discount noodles and cold coffee while kids in pressed coats talked about internships their relatives arranged for them in cities lacquered with prestige — all colonnades, opera houses, and museums with wings named after patrons whose names you’d only ever seen etched in gold above arched doorways. They breezed into networking events while you stood near the drinks table, gripping your plastic cup and trying not to sweat through your only decent shirt.

You couldn’t afford the unpaid internship your program said was "essential." You tried. God, you tried. Sent emails. Wrote cover letters. Offered to do anything, even just data entry. But you weren’t the kind of student they wanted — no fancy last name, no family connections, no recommendations from tenured faculty who actually remembered your face. You weren’t someone they saw potential in. You were just... competent. Just fine.

You spent a whole semester trying to figure out your thesis — circling topics like a vulture over carrion. And per usual, everyone else seemed to already know what they were writing about, already had advisors clapping them on the back, already had titles that sounded like published books. You kept second-guessing yourself. Too narrow, too vague, too personal. Everything you proposed sounded childish out loud, stripped of the wonder you felt privately.

Eventually, you landed on something about regional maritime artifacts and their cultural displacement — a fancy way of saying: the things that reminded you of home, stolen and pinned to museum walls. You thought it might be enough.

It wasn't.

Your advisor called it "charming but unfocused." You rewrote it four times. Each time it became less yours. By the end, you barely recognized what you were arguing. It passed, technically. You walked the stage. But it didn’t feel like a win. It felt like crawling across the finish line on bloodied knees.

You went to info sessions and forced yourself to shake hands. You printed business cards and smiled until your jaw ached. You went to office hours and tried to form a rapport with professors who always seemed to be glancing past you. You sat in lobbies for interviews you never heard back from. You applied for conference scholarships and didn’t get them, starting to realize there were doors you simply weren’t meant to walk through.

Your professors were polite. Detached. "Consider a gap year," one of them suggested, when your final project fell short. Another one smiled and told you that museum work was competitive — very competitive — and that maybe you should consider broadening your horizons. Maybe try the local heritage angle. Maybe lean into your background.

You knew what that meant.

Not giving up that easily, you toured gallery basements and museum backrooms during student field trips — rooms lined with crates and relics you weren’t allowed to touch. You watched a conservator handle a centuries-old scroll with hands steadier than yours would ever be. Every inch of the job looked holy from the outside, like something sacred you might be allowed to enter if you studied hard enough. But behind the velvet ropes and institutional polish, you started to see the cracks.

There were whispered complaints about underfunding. Stories of interns made to catalog entire collections alone. Older curators who treated provenance like personal territory. You volunteered once at a small regional museum just to get experience and ended up cleaning display glass and scrubbing exhibit floors. You told yourself it still counted.

And then there were the interviews, where they asked if you'd be comfortable lifting crates, running fundraisers, handling social media, and managing guest tours — all for minimum wage. Positions with beautiful titles and nothing behind them. It started to feel like the job was less about protecting history and more about convincing donors to keep the lights on. The past, you learned, only matters if it’s profitable.

You applied anyway — less out of hope, more like inertia. You tweaked your resume. You Googled synonyms for "passionate" until the word meant nothing. One of them called you in for an interview. You didn’t get it. Another place called you back for a position that paid less than the ferry ever did. You didn’t get it either.

And then Dad fell. Blew out his knee. Couldn’t walk the dock anymore.

You came back because you were broke and tired and humiliated and out of reasons not to. You packed in the middle of the night. Left behind a box of books on your old desk. Deleted the job alerts from your inbox. Told yourself it would just be temporary.

Now you’re here, back in the same boots, walking the same boards, answering the same questions from the same kind of tourists. You’re twenty-something with a degree that means nothing here. A diploma that doesn’t fit in your coat pocket when you’re loading cargo. A piece of paper that couldn't save you. A history of unpaid internships you never got. Professors who’ll forget you in a semester.

The archipelago hadn’t changed. Same bleached dock planks. Same rust-ringed ladders. Same old ferry with its bucking engine and stubborn throttle. And you were the same, too. Worse, maybe. Just older. More tired. A degree heavier. A dream deader.

You don’t know what comes next. There is no next, not really. Just water and wind and the hollow thump of your boots on damp wood. You’re stuck.

And worse — you’re starting to wonder if maybe this is all you’ll ever be.

Not a tragedy. Just another quiet failure folded back into the landscape. The girl who once swore she’d vanish past the horizon, only to wash up years later just like one more piece of flotsam the sea decided to keep.

Slap the, “That’s all folks!” title card on it. Fade to black.

(Except, well. As far as Raf’s concerned, the main titles had only just begun.)

[https-milo]

so excited to know ur willing to do a jjk insta thing, can i pretty pretty please get a megumi one 💕💕

*rubs my hands in mischievous delight* i've been waiting to do a jjk insta thingy

DATING MEGUMI FUSHIGURO INSTAGRAM!

details!

Instagram posts w/ comments while dating Megumi Fushiguro

a/n OBVIOUSLY these are just pictures off of pinterest, reader can be however you imagine!

m. list

yappstery/n · 12w

1.8k likes Liked by yujiitadorki, modelnoba

yappstery/n wild yapper in a library for the first time in years 😣😣

fushiguro.m you like reading? yappstery/n fushiguro.m not really 😣 I have to studyyyy and our dear upperclassmen are being bullies and not helping me ://// fushiguro.m yappstery/n oh. what do you need help with? yappstery/n fushiguro.m literature :(((((^2 fushiguro.m yappstery/n come to my dorm. I'll help I guess. yappstery/n fushiguro.m SAY ON MY LIFE RN. fushiguro.m yappstery/n just get over here oml. no time for dramatics if you wanna pass.

thehonored1 get to work. stop procrastinating on instagram. yappstery/n thehonored1 I have some fighting words for you, sensei

yappstery/n · 10w

1.9k likes Liked by yujiitadorki, modelnoba, fushiguro.m, and makiz

yappstery/n our study hangouts have taken a floral shift since spring came :D

Tagged: fushiguro.m

yujiitadorki such a pretty princess fushiguro~~ yappstery/n yujiitadorki I know rightttt ;D fushiguro.m yujiitadorki you have 10 minutes. fushiguro.m yappstery/n i told you to delete this.

fushiguro.m i hope you fail the assignment. yappstery/n fushiguro.m then all our hard studying will be for not :(

yappstery/n · 9w

2.1k likes Liked by fushiguro.m, yujiitadorki, thehonored1, modelnoba, and inumakispeaks

yappstery/n sleeping on trains with the tutorrrrrrrr :DD 📸: modelnoba

modelnoba you're lucky my photography skills are so good yappstery/n modelnoba MWAH MWAH!! thanks nobs <33

fushiguro.m send this to me. yappstery/n fushiguro.m YES OFC

fushiguro.m · 7w

1.3k likes Liked by yujiitadorki, modelnoba, thehonored1, and makiz

fushiguro.m helping bae get his manga 😽😽 - Y/n

yappstery/n aww megs i cant believe you'd post me so cutely!! fushiguro.m yappstery/n k. yappstery/n fushiguro.m 😽😽😽😽

thehonored1 /makiz 20 bucks right NEOWWWW makiz thehonored1 there is a strong sense of hatred in my heart for you.

yappstery/n ·3w

2.1k likes Liked by yujiitadorki, thehonored1, makiz, modelnoba, and inumakispeaks

yappstery/n he surprised me with a cute little date in a forest! he let me yap to him for HOURS! it was so relaxing :( I love him so much <33

fushiguro.m listening to you talk is my favorite part of my day. all day, every day, any day yappstery/n fushiguro.m COME BACK HERE AND SAY THAT TO MY FACE BETWEEN KISSES RIGHT NOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW fushiguro.m yappstery/n omw nerd yappstery/n fushiguro.m ❤️❤️

todo.aoi does she have an unshakeable character? fushiguro.m todo.aoi absolutely.

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[estrellex]

racing hearts - dr3

summary: a rekindle with daniel and y/n that started with a simple pre-season gathering by carlos, who happened to be a close friend of y/n. did carlos secretly become cupid for the night in hopes that they would find something in one another? maybe, but only time would tell how their journey went face claim: nailea devora (i love her sm)

em speaks: omg first post! I did have this storage in my google docs (before daniel left vcarb lols) that I loved so I thought this was the first post. this is a learning post so feel free to lmk how it goes 😭.

part 1 🌱 part 2 🌱 part 3 🌱

thrusday evening..

"come on, mi hermana, just this once," carlos’s voice was almost pleading over the phone. you sighed, pacing your room. "carlos, isn’t this gathering just for drivers? I’d feel out of place."

"por favor! one time, and I’ll never ask you to come to one of these things again," he promised dramatically.

you hesitated, weighing your options. carlos had been pestering you about this for weeks, and, truthfully, you didn’t have anything better planned. "fine," you relented, your tone teasing. "but if this turns into a disaster, I’m blaming you."

"blame me all you want!" carlos exclaimed, triumphing in his voice. "it’s my last year with Ferrari, y/n. you’ve been there since the beginning. it wouldn’t feel right without you."

that last part hit home. you had been by his side since his karting days, through every high and low, and it broke your heart to think about his uncertain future after Ferrari.

"alright," you said softly. "send me the details. I’ll see you then." "gracias, mi hermana. see you saturday," he said before ending the call.

saturday evening..

you pulled up to carlos’s place, nerves prickling. crowds weren’t your scene, even if they were made up of familiar faces. spotting lando among the guests, you made a beeline for him.

"thank god you’re here already," you blurted, startling him. "you scared me, you muppet!" lando shot back, making you chuckle. "sorry," you said, still grinning. "so, how’s the gathering so far?"

"eh, boring as usual," he shrugged. "are you coming to any races this season?" "maybe, if carlos ever bothers to invite me," you teased, just as carlos appeared.

"what’s this about me?" carlos asked, his eyebrow raised. "that you never invite me to races," you retorted. carlos pointed accusingly at you. "what do you mean? I always invite you, but you’re always ‘too busy.’"

"photography stuff," you defended, crossing your arms. as Lando tactfully excused himself, carlos sighed. "hermana, I get that you’re busy, but you need to take a break. explore. have some fun."

"is this your way of setting me up with someone?" you asked, suspicious. carlos laughed. "well, the last time I tried, you didn’t exactly make it easy." "to be fair," you countered, "the guy was nothing like me."

"fair point," he conceded, laughing. "whatever. i’m going to find rebecca. she actually understands me," you said, walking off as carlos’s laughter echoed behind you.

yourinstagram posted a story

later that night, you stood by the balcony, admiring the view. you couldn’t help but think you should’ve brought your camera to capture the moment. meanwhile, carlos nudged daniel. "mate, remember my best friend y/n?"

daniel raised an eyebrow. "barely. just glimpses at races." carlos grinned. "she’s one of the most creative people I know. trust me, you’ll like her." "where is she?" daniel asked, intrigued.

carlos pointed toward the balcony. "go say hi." daniel approached, his voice breaking your thoughts. "pretty night, isn’t it?" startled, you turned. "yeah. only if I had my camera." 

"you know phones exist, right?" he teased, his signature smile disarming you. you laughed, shaking your head. "it’s not the same. it’s instinctual for me to want my real camera."

"figured as much. carlos’s been talking about you all night," he admitted. "all good things, I hope," you replied, studying him. "mostly," daniel joked. "but maybe you should take a picture of me. It’d last longer."

you rolled your eyes, chuckling. "very funny, ricciardo." "I was starting to think you didn’t recognize me," he feigned offense. "oh, please," you shot back. "who doesn’t recognize the ‘honey badger?’"

the conversation flowed effortlessly. daniel’s humor was infectious, and for the first time in a while, you felt at ease in someone’s presence. "you really love photography, don’t you?" daniel asked, his tone soft.

"yeah," you said, looking at the stars. "it’s how I see the world. a way to freeze moments." "maybe you’ll freeze one of me sometime," he teased, but there was sincerity in his eyes.

"maybe I will," you replied, smiling. carlos watched from afar, a knowing smile on his face. he didn’t say it, but this was exactly what he’d hoped for—a spark between two of the people he cared about most.

em speaks (again): while editing this, didn't realize that this needs more than one part. so I hope you enjoyed this first part. again feel free to msg me with your opinions it would benefit me with my writing journey here. 🙏

[pbnbucks]

enemies to lovers Caitlin Clark fic?

word count : 1.4k

warnings : iowa caitlin, cussing, harassment?

summary : you worked for iowa wbb for 3 years as their photographer and you and caitlin have hated each other since you crossed paths when you accidentally spilt coffee on her and one night she ends up in your bed after a late night out.

song : Don’t Fall In Love With Me by Khalid || play dat shit !

your walking through the courtyard when you feel somebody’s finger tap your shoulder gaining your full divided attention when you turn around to see who it was your mood drops.

“even though i dont like you kate asked me to invite you to the bar with the team tonight.” caitlin says trying to throw as much shade she can keeping her evil promise that was to always hold her grudge against you.

you and caitlin’s freshman year you two met on the way to the girls basketball practice to take pictures like your boss told you to.

when you tried to open the door caitlin was trying to leave causing your non fresh cold batch of black coffee that you were holding on to all day to spill all over caitlins practice jersey.

“you sure its just kate who wants me to come clark?” you tease already preparing your shady conversation.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How we always end up, in the same place, at the same time.” she retorts trying to regain your attention as you tried to make your exit.

“It’s not funny, I know you’ve been stalking me. That’s how we always end up together.” you say giving her a cold shoulder as she blocks your failed exit from the conversation once again.

“Stalking? You? in your dreams.” she scoffs finally moving out the way turning her body watching your back as you walk away from her.

you walk through the glass doors entering the bar seeing the group of girls next to other groups of drunken horny college kids in all different areas of the bar.

you grab a spot next to kate and hannah the girls you were closest to on the team showering you in hugs as soon as you sit down.

caitlins gaze remained on you sending glares the second you maintained eye contact with her. her purposeful ways trying to get on your nerves failing as you refused to make a scene in front of the others.

a group of non sober college individuals walked by when one of them dropped there glass cup of beer on your arm as it made a tiny cut around your elbow.

the noise of the glass bear gains the teams attention as they all rush to see if your okay as kate grabs you pulling you up off the couch to get you away from the broken glass that surrounded the table.

“are you okay?” sydney asked you with worry in her voice as you brush her off to head to the family bathroom. you lock the door behind you grabbing paper towels to dry the small patch of blood.

your interrupted by the sound of loud hard knocks on the wooden bathroom door. you unlock it holding it shut for a second to regain consciousness when you unlock it to see caitlin standing there pushing herself in through the door.

“Come here, let me see the cut.” she states giving you no time to ask her, her needs to be there. you keep your distance shooing her off turning back to face the mirror continuing to clean the paper cut.

“No its not that big of a deal.” only for caitlin to snatch your arm “let. me. see.” she says looking closely at the minor injury studying the small cut intently.

“ill be right back” she says carefully freeing your arm from her grasp as she leaves keeping her promise to be quick as she returns with a pack of alcohol wipes.

“hold still. this might sting a little.” she coos grabbing your arm again this time much more careful, preparing the wipe running it along the cut as the feeling of the short amount of pain fades away.

“now be careful, you don’t want to hurt your good hand” she says referring to your photography hand. her words never failing to confuse you as she has never behaved like this before.

“Since when did you ever care about me?” you respond catching her off guard receiving a dirty look from her as she rolls her eyes at your question.

“are you seriously going to do this right now?” she says standing in front of your face now as she focuses her anger and compassion on you making you roll her eyes at her comment.

“because you never act like this, since when did you begin to care all of a sudden.” backing up your statement trying to prove your point to the brunette.

“Since fucking forever, you fucking idiot!” she says throwing off your ego and pride as her whole energy was off this night letting her passive side show.

“your drunk caitlin, you don’t know what your saying.” you saying refusing to believe her recent statement shoving her only to make her stumble back a few steps as she was much stronger then you.

“…This is why I knew I shouldn’t have gotten close to you.” she says cornering you between the wall as shes inching towards your face intimidating you by the second.

“What part of ‘I want you, and only you’ do you not understand?” she breaks silence yet again as her eyes begin to visibly get watery but she refuses to loose eye contact with you.

“i bet you say that to every girl you pick up clark.” you ignore her desperate pleas for you to get her point across.

“Shut up before I-” you cut her off making sure your shouts are louder then hers topping hers not accepting defeat in the arguement.

“Before you what, huh? say it. Let me see if you can finish that sent-” your cut off by her coaxing your lips with hers startling you before you ease into the kiss.

you taste the alcohol on her tongue as her lips mix between yours. you both sit there for a second taking in each others presence before breaking the kiss.

“let me take you to your dorm” caitlin begs as her hands rest on your cheeks sneaking her arm around to your back pocket grabbing your keys from you.

“im driving, you cant so technically im taking you to my dorm” you say snatching the keys back from her hands. as you leave the bathroom after being there for at least 20 minutes catching some peoples eyes.

you and caitlin both get in the car with tensions still running high as she carefully places her hand on your thigh keeping her eyes on you studying your reaction.

your face grows red as a tiny smile forms on your face as you switch your eyes between her and the road.

“did you mean everything you said tonight” you said throwing yourself down on your already messy bed that cradled you in the tiring mornings.

“of course i did and you know that” she reply’s mad you would ask her a question like that as she has always adored you and made her weird ways trying to show it.

“alright im going to head back to my dorm” she said as she took your silence as a response turning around only for you to jump back on to your feet stopping her from exiting.

“no.” you plea as your body snaps up as your see her trying to walk away almost making you jump out of your skin from the sight.

“what do you mean no?” her voice almost silent regretting her comment instantly as she was worried you would change your mind.

“i want you to spend the night….” you say being returned with sharp awkward silence as a look of worry plastered across her face.

“in my bed with me.” you continue trying to reason to her why its a good idea as you pull the covers over you waiting for her to lay next to you.

“what, am i not allowed to look at you?” she coaxed as you got on her for stealing glances at you as you slept peacefully making her smile at the silly comment.

“i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile clark.” now resting on your side to return the stares as your eyes where fixated on her plump lips and her euphoric smile.

“this sounds like you’re flirting with me.” she smirks teasing you before passionately throwing herself on your stomach placing kisses along your tender collarbone.

“...i have been trying to do that for three years now.” you playfully hit her thigh before taking her beauty in giving her another kiss except this time was different from last nights, it was long and meaningful.

[cinemocha77]

Meteor Shower

Hawks x f!reader

ao3 | chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4 | chapter 5

pairing: Keigo Takami ; Hawks / f!reader

synopsis: Congratulations! In the summer months of your final year of university, you receive an extremely rare offer to intern at one of the top hero agencies in Japan. Your excitement is curbed, however, when you learn that it’s from the agency of Hawks, the enigmatic hero whom you may or may not have a deep and complicated history with.

genre: childhood friends to strangers to friends to lovers

tags: childhood friends to lovers, canon compliant, hawks, Keigo Takami, slow burn, slight angst, reader is Quirkless, reader is a surfer/photographer, original male characters, original female characters

author’s note: this is my first fic! as I mentioned before, I’ve been mulling this idea over in my head for soo long and it’s been so much fun finally fleshing it out! hope you enjoy

Chapter 1 - The Night We Met

The weather could not be lovelier. Flower blossoms drift peacefully past your dormitory window, glowing pale gold in the early afternoon light. Birds sing in the trees as if welcoming the long-awaited warmth, and you can hear students lounging on the grass outside your building, talking freely and celebrating the end of exams and the beginning of the summer break.

Meanwhile, you’re indoors, hunched over your laptop and anxiously refreshing your email inbox while you chat with your friend over the phone.

“… supposed to be hearing back from the department today,” you’re saying, as your cursor hovers over a new email that just popped up with the subject line Internship. “Hang on, I think I just got mine.”

“Same here. Hey, what do you think happens if all your applications are rejected? Do you get delayed? Or do you think they just take you out back and shoot you?” Taki’s voice reflects the nervousness that you feel. You let out a shaky laugh.

“Either way, I do not want to have to find out. Well, here goes,” you say, clicking on the email while fervently praying to the internship gods to look upon you kindly.

There’s no point in delaying the inevitable. You submitted the best application you could have at the time; the rest is out of your hands. As for Taki, you aren’t worried about him: he’s almost always top of the class— except for the occasions when you beat him to it.

In the summer months of your final year of university, students are required to enroll in an internship relevant to their field of study. Aside from sending out applications independently, you’re all encouraged to send applications to your department heads, who will use their own judgement to recommend students to internships that they deem to be a good fit. The email you’re reading now is from the head of your media department, an eccentric yet earnest old man:

To y/n l/n,

Wonderful news! I am pleased to inform you that the application I submitted on your behalf has been accepted. Now, this is a most excellent and rare opportunity (you are one of two accepted applicants) so I hope you will consider it over any other offers you might have received—

“I got an offer!” you squeak, anticipation coursing through your veins.

“So did I,” Taki groans in relief. “Where’s yours from?”

Your eyes scanning the letter, you read aloud, “‘Given that you are a graduate of the UA High Business course, and have continued to pursue your interest in media and photography in your undergraduate studies, I thought it pertinent to recommend you to a Hero Agency. Your application was accepted by one of the top agencies, run by the Pro Hero Hawks’…”

Oh.

Your voice trails off, your heart sinking slowly to the depths of your stomach.

You reread the last sentence, thinking that there must be some mistake. But no, the words remain resolutely unchanged the second time around, the name ‘Hawks’ typed out in clear black text with utter finality.

Out of all the places you could possibly intern at, why are you being assigned to his agency?

“Taki, swap internships with me. There’s gotta be a way to do that, right?”

“Uhh, actually… it looks like I’m headed there too,” Taki replies, unknowingly sealing your fate with his words. “But why the hell would you wanna give up this opportunity? It’s like, crazy competitive. I didn’t even think to apply for it on my own.”

“No, you’re right,” you lean forward and massage your temples, trying to clear your head. Turning down this offer would be way too irrational. In the grand scheme of things, this is still a better opportunity than you could have hoped for. Gaining experience at the agency of a literal Top Ten Pro Hero would make your resume glow with the brilliance of the heavens above. It would announce to potential employers: Hey, if you don’t hire this girl, you’re gonna be missing out on some stellar, top notch job performance!

“Read the rest of it, too. We get an allowance and free accommodations, y/n! That’s insane,” your friend lets out a low whistle. “No need to worry about the expensive hours-long commute to the city every day.”

“How great,” you say weakly, trying and failing to share his enthusiasm.

You don’t have the heart to bring up what’s troubling you about the whole arrangement. You don’t even have the words, come to think of it. The memories stirring in the corners of your mind now are souvenirs from another time, one that you have not spoken about in a long, long while. Memories of childhood summer afternoons ringing with carefree laughter, of silly games played by the beach, and most of all, of golden brown eyes and scarlet feathers.

“Listen, I gotta go now, ‘kay? See you.”

Without waiting for a response, you hang up and shut your laptop.

You had planned to stretch out on the grass outside and enjoy the warm sunshine and rare idle time provided to you that afternoon, but now, after reading that letter, all you want to do is climb into bed, clutch your plushie tightly to your chest, and allow your mixed emotions to wash over you like waves.

Waves… they had been crashing down hard on the beach the night you had met that golden-haired, golden-eyed boy.

~~~

It was a stormy night during the typhoon season, and you were feeling disappointed. There was supposed to be a spectacular meteor shower tonight —you had heard them talking about it on the radio— but now, with purple clouds boiling over the ocean outside your bedroom window and thunder crashing over the rain-soaked beach, there was no way you’d catch any of it. At eight years old, this felt like the greatest letdown of your life.

You lived in a small seaside town along the coast of Kyushu. It was a quiet, cozy place that only saw a semblance of tourism during the surfing season, when the waves were consistently good. Your parents had left you alone for a few hours, telling you to stay put while they helped gather emergency supplies for those in town who needed assistance in the storm. And when the power supply got cut abruptly and the lights flickered off, you didn’t even flinch. Having grown up by the beach, you knew the drill. You simply switched on the battery-powered lamps and carried on with your night.

You were flipping through the pages of a manga, the portable radio next to you playing a pop punk anthem, when you heard a loud thud outside on the beach. Unconcerned, you continued with your reading. But then something floated gently past your window and caught the corner of your eye. Peering at it, you made out a single scarlet feather.

Huh, you thought, that’s weird. We don’t get many red birds here.

Your mild interest slowly gave way into concern, however, when that feather was followed by at least a dozen others, all drifting limply to the sand outside your house.

“The birdie is hurt!”

You grabbed a flashlight and hurried out into the rain.

With some trepidation, you made your way down to where you had heard the thud, somewhere in between your front door and the dark, turbulent ocean. Your wide eyes scanned the sand anxiously for the shape of a bird, but what they landed on, instead, was a little more unexpected.

Laying on the shore was the feebly stirring figure of a boy with two majestic, feathery red wings sprouting from his back. They swept over his form, as if to shield him from the rain and the cold. Looking at him, you were reminded of old paintings of fallen angels you had seen in art books at the local library. His short, fluffy hair was a honey blond color, and though you couldn’t see any visible wounds, it was clear that he was struggling to get up. He had fallen so close to the water that the stronger waves reached and pulled at the edges of his form.

Falling like stars around him were stray crimson feathers like the ones you had seen outside your window.

You approached slowly, cautiously, raising your voice over the storm. “Hello?”

Golden eyes opened a fraction in response to your voice. There were sharp black triangular markings framing them at the corners, enhancing his resemblance to a bird of prey. Even then, you found him strangely beautiful. He watched you wordlessly, unable to speak from sheer exhaustion.

You spoke in a reassuring voice, reaching your hand out to him. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I wanna help you, if you’ll let me. You’re safe here.”

The boy closed his eyes and passed out.

~~~

When he awoke an hour later, he found himself laying on a sofa in a cozy, candlelit living room. Although he still felt tired to the bone, he was at least warm and dry now. He could hear the rain still hammering down on the beach outside, and he shuddered remembering how bitingly cold it had felt soaking into his skin. A thick knitted blanket covered him, and placed on the low table beside him was a fragrant, steaming bowl of broth. His stomach growled as he stared at it.

“You’re awake!” an excited voice piped up from the corner. The boy’s sharp eyes darted up and landed on you, a girl around his age, maybe younger. You had been reading your manga, but now you set it down and approached him, smiling warmly. “How are you feeling?”

His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I… shouldn’t be here. I’ve got to get back.”

You blinked, confused. “But you’re hurt. You need to rest first. And eat.” You gestured to the bowl on the table between you.

He shook his head, ignoring the aching hunger he felt. “They’ll be looking for me.”

“Who, your parents?”

The boy shook his head again somberly. “No, I don’t see them anymore.”

His father was in prison, and had been for some time, while his mother was being housed comfortably somewhere safe and discreet. Technically, he could visit her whenever he wanted, but he preferred to spend all his free hours training. It felt like a better use of his time.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” you sat down on the floor by the sofa and leaned closer, looking up at him curiously. “But then, who’s looking for you?”

He thought about this for a second, bemused. He’d never had to describe the adults in suits who dictated his daily schedule and planned his future to anyone before. “I guess you could call them my teachers.”

“Hey, I’m in school too,” you beamed with so much sincerity that he couldn’t help but return your smile, albeit shyly. “We’re reading chapter books right now! What are you learning?”

“Something like that. And other stuff…,” knowing you were going to ask, he explained, “I’m learning how to use my Quirk better.”

To demonstrate, he willed a single scarlet feather to detach from one of his wings. It danced between you two, tracing figure eights in the air. You gasped in amazement and clapped your hands, making him grin with pride.

Just then, his stomach growled loudly. You caught each other’s eyes and laughed.

Scooching closer, you picked up a spoon next to the bowl, dipped it into the broth, and lifted it to the blond boy’s mouth. Finding it harder to refuse such a direct offer, he sipped it, hesitantly at first, and then with much enthusiasm. The black markings bordering his lash line stood out when he closed his eyes. Pretty, you thought. This continued for several minutes: you filled the spoon with soup, and the boy sipped it appreciatively. Outside, rain continued to pour in sheets over the ocean.

When the bowl was empty, and the candles were half-melted, the boy sighed contentedly and looked at you gratefully. “Thank you for looking after me,” he said.

You giggled. “You’re so polite. You don’t talk like other kids our age. Do your classmates also talk like you?”

“I don’t have any classmates,” he replied.

“What about friends?”

His voice was quiet when he answered, “None.”

He felt embarrassed at this admission, as if he had revealed some sort of weakness to you— something that his handlers repeatedly reminded him never to do. On top of this, he felt a strange, awkward fear that you would think less of him. Were kids his age supposed to have many friends? He didn’t know anything about his peers, he realized. He lived in a bubble where the only thing that mattered was the results of his training… and yet, there you were, sitting on the floor, gazing at him through the other side of that bubble, the first person to remind him that a life outside of it even existed.

“Hmm,” you pondered his response solemnly for half a second, then perked up. “Well, I wanna be your friend. I’m y/n.” You held out your hand to him.

The blond boy stared at you. A warmth that had nothing to do with the broth was spreading throughout his small chest. He reached for your outstretched hand and took it.

“I’m Keigo,” he said, his hopeful golden eyes meeting yours.

And just like that, Keigo Takami made a friend for the first time in his life.

The rest of the night passed by peacefully. You took turns asking and answering each other’s questions, drawn together by a mutual fascination. His answers tended to be vague, and he’d choose his words carefully. You, on the other hand, were an open book, and would ramble about a subject enthusiastically while he watched you with rapt attention and a small smile on his face. He asked about the manga you were reading, and you launched into a vivid retelling of the story so far, describing your favorite characters with a spark in your eyes.

When you asked what he had been doing that night and how he ended up falling from the sky, however, he averted his eyes, looking self-conscious.

“I pushed myself too hard,” he said sheepishly. “It’s part of my training. I want to be able to fly long distances as fast as I can, but I think I overdid it tonight. I tried to get here from Fukuoka in under four hours.”

“Fukuoka?!” You exclaim, your eyes round circles of disbelief. “That’s on the other side of this island! That’s like”—you recalled what your geography teacher had said—“hundreds of kilometers away!”

“Four hours should be possible,” Keigo insisted, his voice full of determination. “I’m sure my wings can do it; I just need to keep trying.”

Red feathers fluffed up behind him, as if to emphasize his resolve.

“Why do you want to be so fast?” you asked. You had never met anyone so ambitious, and yet so confident in his ability to reach a lofty goal. This boy clearly wasn’t like other kids your age. There was something special about him.

“Because there are people in trouble all over the country,” he replied, a quiet passion burning in his eyes. “I want to be able to help them as quickly as possible someday.”

Just like his idol. That’s what this was all for, he reminded himself. That’s why it was alright with him that he had never made any friends, until tonight.

He searched your face for your reaction to his words. You gazed at him for a second, then your face split into a radiant, toothy grin.

“You’re the coolest friend I’ve ever met, Keigo!”

His cheeks glowed bright red.

Outside, the rain was letting up and the skies were clearing. Keigo glanced out the window. “I’ve got to get back,” he told you reluctantly.

“Oh, right,” you said. You’d lost track of time, and your disappointed expression reflected Keigo’s own emotions. “Will you be okay?”

“I’ll head back more slowly, and rest if I get tired,” he said. He smiled, wanting to reassure you.

He got up off the couch and flexed his wings carefully, testing how they felt. The hours of rest and the broth you fed him had restored his energy magnificently. Every scarlet feather responded to his will with ease.

You watched with wonder as he stretched his wings wide. Your eyes met his amber ones.

“Thank you for looking after me,” Keigo said again. “I owe you one.”

You shook your head. “Don’t worry about it.”

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as if working up his courage, then asked, his eyes wide and hopeful, “Can I come visit again sometime? I’d like to know what happens next. In the manga you’re reading, I mean.”

“Of course,” you said, lighting up at the prospect of seeing your new friend again. An idea struck you, and you moved to the bookshelf in the corner, pulled out a volume, and handed it to him. “This is the first issue. Try and catch up so we can talk about it next time!”

He beamed at you. Together, you walked out of the house and onto the beach. The sand was still wet with the recent rain, but the clouds had been drawn back like curtains, revealing a sparkling midnight blue sky. Tucking your manga safely in the inner pocket of his jacket, Keigo extended his wings fully. They flapped once, twice, and lifted him gently a few feet into the air where he hovered, holding your gaze steadily.

“Goodbye, y/n,” he said.

“Bye, Keigo,” you waved.

He flashed you one last shy smile, then rose high into the sky and sped off towards the mainland, his wings carrying him along faster than you would have expected. Not for the last time, you wondered what kind of life he led and what kinds of things were expected of him, that he would fly across the island through a raging storm, literally topple out of the sky from exhaustion onto some distant beach, and then wake up and immediately worry about returning.

The serene sound of the ocean waves filled your ears when you watched him disappear into the starry sky. As you looked on, a streak of light appeared above the horizon. It glinted in the night, tracing a soft arc across the aether before vanishing into the vast, velvety blue darkness.

A shooting star.

[ssavaart]

Happy Friday All!

In early 2020 (before Covid), I was painting larger paintings like this with Acryla-Gouache. I was really enjoying the medium.

I was inspired by a couple of photos by Annie Bertram on Deviant Art and asked permission to use them for reference.

Since I was just doing these for myself... I had NO plan. No test drawings. No layouts. I just started drawing on a large piece of paper and figured it out as I went.

Because of this... I never really figured out what to do with the hand on the left.

So... it just kind of disappeared.

I may go back and add it in later, I think.

But, for now... it's always a reminder of a time where I just broke out the paints and... played.

A couple months later... Covid hit and it was 3 years until I did my next large painting (the Gothic Vampire).

(Note: I can't find a reply from the photographer regarding permission or not. My memory is I heard back. But I can't find it.)

I DID hear from the model Theresa Fractale, a couple of years later, who was VERY upset that I had sold some postcards of the painting without her permission.

I was mortified. I hadn't even considered reaching out to the model. I offered her and Annie Bertram all of the profits I made from the sales, but she wasn't satisfied... and we left it at that.

These things DO happen with artists. Sometimes people claim you've "stolen" their art or style or likeness. And sometimes they have legitimate reason to do so.

Me, personally... I believe that artists should use ALL of the world around them for inspiration and if it is HEAVILY influenced by one artist or work of art... CREDIT them.

But change it. Don't directly copy it (unless you're studying someone's work... in which case... copy away).

But always credit.

I believe I REFERENCED the photos above, but didn't copy them.

But, I DID heavily reference them and, honestly, had NO intention of selling it (I still own the painting) or prints (I had only sold a few postcards before being contacted by the model... then stopped).

In any case... if the model or the photographer is unhappy with me selling prints... I don't sell prints. It's that simple.

Their work directly inspired MY work and while I feel that I've changed it enough to be unique... I don't want to cause another artist harm in any way.

Every artist is different. Some are open to sharing their art (like me) and others are very protective of their art.

But, there are no RULES to art. There is no such thing as "cheating" in art. There IS copyright LAW. And that is theft.

But that law ONLY (as far as I know) works if you are SELLING a copy of someone else's work. Profiting from it.

Not for learning. Not for practice. And not for posting online.

Just please... PLEASE credit the artist you're copying. Tell people why you are copying.

Nowadays, if I'm going to do a painting I plan on making prints of, I either use stock photography I've paid for or I get permission and pay the rights holder.

But, this is ONLY for pieces I want to sell prints of.

You do NOT need permission to use photo reference or even copy another artist's work for your portfolio or to post online.

Credit them. Share your inspiration with others. Tell them why you copied the works

But you don't need permission simply to make art. Ever.

Art should be shared. Copied. Studied. And most of all... enjoyed.

Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥

Scott

[gyuwoncheol]

Vantage Point | Meet the Characters & Series Masterlist

Status: Begins tomorrow (January 20)!

Pair: Mingyu × f.reader

Summary: Pulling off the "No Strings Attached" arrangement with his best-friend-turned-best-friend-with-benefits was easy, but when a new condition is added onto the mix, Mingyu didn't realise just how much he held onto you when you finally let go.

Genre: College au. BFFs to FWB trope. Fluff, Humor, Angst, Smut [chapters with smut will be indicated and will contain the necessary warnings]

Author’s Note: Please take time to read this before starting the series ☺️

Hello, my darlings! Finally getting round to posting this after missing the commited date last time due to covid. But welcome!!! 🥳 This is the first story to my Snap Shoot universe! Before you get into it, let me just point a few things. This is the first time I'm ever creating a universe with interwoven stories, and while I've done SMAUs before, this is the first one I've done for SVT and the first time I'm also this adventurous about it. It's definitely very different from what I post on here but I'm having lots of fun putting it together. I know it goes without saying, but I'll say it anyway, this is very much a work of fiction. This is an AU. While Korea may be the assumed setting for this series, it is not explicitly defined. I'm also trying to avoid using lots of Korean cultural references (maybe except for food) such as use of honorifics like "hyung". While many of my other works refrain from over-describing oc's physical features, you may find that in this series (and universe), oc's features will inevitably be defined. You'll find that the visuals of the characters and the aesthetic of the photos/social media posts will be Korean/ Asian. It's a SMAU, so i'll have to place photos and these photos must maintain consistent. I absolutely do not mean any ill intention of being non-inclusive (I don't even fit the same aesthetic as oc).

Again, it's a work of fiction, while I want you to relate to oc, kindly also allow me breathing space to build the character. If you feel uncomfortable at any point in the series, you are very much welcome to stop/unfollow. As mentioned, this is a SMAU, but it contains several chapters which are purely written narrations. All edits (texts, social media posts, etc.) were done by me, however some photos (esp those of Y/N) are from the web, if they are yours, please let me know so that I may credit you or remove the photo. The texts are all done on light mode. Deal with it. This follows a FWB trope, expect lots of smut and suggestive content— specific smut warnings will be available in chapters where they are present, along with other necessary warnings. This series will have lots of fluff and lots of crackhead nonsense humor. I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Biggest shoutout to my dearest friend @wongyuseokie who has been nothing but supportive through all of this and through all my dramatic Mingy-induced meltdowns. I love you more than you’ll ever know ♥️

Meet the Characters

Mingyu: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography, yn/Camie's best friend since childhood

Yn: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography with Mingyu, Mingyu's best friend since childhood. Nicknamed "Camie" by her group of friends for her highly concerning camera collection/obsession.

Seokmin: Sophomore, studying Film & Photography, same friend group as mingyu and yn, Mingyu & Wonwoo's housemate

Soonyoung: technically a year older than the 3, but currently a Sophomore with Gyu, Cam and Seokmin after shifting into their major

Wonwoo: Junior, studying Film & Photography as well, Mingyu's guy best friend and housemate in The Man Cave, a brotherly figure to OC, Soonyoung's former classmate in highschool

The Man Cave: shared house near their university where Mingyu, Wonwoo and Seokmin live, and Soonyoung often crashes.

✨Other characters/members will come as the series progresses.

Series Masterlist

To be populated as each chapter is posted. There is no posting schedule. Chapters will just get uploaded as they come.

Teaser

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five 🔞

Chapter Six 🔞

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Tag List!

@strawberryya @idyllic-ghost @septemberskies @ladyblablabla

If you want to be tagged as each chapter comes out, do send me an ask or reply to this post so I could include you in the tag list 😊

[ybklix]

forbidden love with innie 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮

★ pairing: yang jeongin x fem!reader

✦summary: Jeongin has it all, he’s a sweet millionaire man with a passion for photography, his only flaw has always been his family, obsessed with power and money, they force him to marry as if he was living in the past, but the only past he loves is you, an old crush that came back into his life as the most beautiful muse. Now he’s trapped, between a false love and a true one.

♡ genre - warnings: MDNI, angst, fluff, brief smut (sex w a lot of feelings): oral sex, fingering and piv, cheating ?, classism, mean jeongin but not to reader, forbidden lovers trope.

word count: 14.4k

╰ ⋆⭒˚.⋆ masterlist - taglist

request<3!

a/n: i feel inspired by jeongin, my bad if it's too long oops

It was like destiny. You never thought you would meet him again like that, the last time you had heard from him was in high school, your mother stopped working for them a couple of years ago so she doesn’t have as much news from the Yangs as she used to tell you, plus you were living with two other roomies and you were trying your best to visit her. But... it happened so strangely for you, the ad didn’t even have his name, it was a completely unknown one, Hwang Hyunjin, and you looked up his face on the internet but being so overwhelmed between the jobs you kept in the summer and the university, you completely forgot about it.

You looked at him as you entered the gallery, you couldn’t believe it, it was the same Yang Jeongin who you had been in love with for years, looking slightly more mature, wearing a suit, standing next to another young man who you’re sure is Hyunjin. They both looked up when they heard you enter, but only Jeongin’s gaze captivated you completely, he still had the sweet look he had as a child, nothing had changed, only his hair color was a coppery blond now and didn’t have braces anymore; his hair combined perfectly with his slightly tanned skin tone, highlighting his marked features, making him look manly and more attractive; he was no longer a child, he definitely grew up. You started to get nervous after coming out of your little trance, where you both looked so stunned and fascinated by each other, for Jeongin, it was like seeing a divine figure in life, you glowed, and you looked just as he remembered you from the last time he saw you, so beautiful and full of life.

Hyunjin had no idea what this was about, but it was obvious he noticed the intensity between the two of you, Jeongin saw you as if he had just seen his favorite painting for the first time, the question if you knew each other popped up in Hyunjin’s mind, but the most important one was, how do you know each other and why did you look like old lovers meeting again.

“Y/n...” whispered Jeongin, taking the surprise of his friend standing next to him.

Hyunjin blinked in puzzlement looking at Jeongin, as there was not even a need to introduce yourself, Hyunjin knew your name because you had signed up for his summer course as an assistant and apprentice photographer at his gallery, you had applied and were about to have your interview, Hyunjin was really fascinated with your work. He considered you a fresh artist with a unique vision.

Hyunjin was Jeongin’s lifelong best friend, but he didn’t know about you and his huge crush he had on you throughout his years of youth because... deep down, Jeongin was an extremely reserved man, besides Hyunjin was studying abroad all the time, he studied with Jeongin in elementary school and they met again until college, although Hyunjin was only one year older than him, but they were never separated even for a moment, they visited each other so often, and in his childhood, the Yangs hung out too much with the Hwangs. They still do, in a nice tradition.

Hyunjin was also surprised by the sudden change in his best friend’s countenance, his face was now shining, he could see the illusion reflected in his sharp eyes that he knew so well. He was shocked, a few moments ago he was so down and furious, shouting how overbearing and disgusted he felt at his family’s stupid decision to arrange a marriage for him... and then nothing, you showed up interrupting the conversation, just when Hyunjin was trying to process the information and reassuring him, saying softly, “Wow, slow down, Innie, what are you talking about?”

And you, you couldn’t help but smile as you heard him say your name. Your breath went out of you, it truly was very pleasing to see him again but... the impact was massive. Your Jeongin, who in fact was never yours beyond your pure imagination. He was so different from you, something so unattainable that you only sighed for, the one who taught you everything, even your greatest passion, like photography.

“Hello” you replied shyly and nervously, “it’s been a while.”

“A very while” Jeongin replied, almost breathless.

You were a considerable distance away from them, if you got any closer to him you think you would melt, more than when you were out there walking a few blocks in the intense summer sun to get all the way to Hyunjin’s gallery.

Both of your hearts pounded, every hair on their bodies bristled with emotion, the feelings never left, they only returned once you met again so unexpectedly. This time the feeling burned with more intensity, you were no longer children who used to play in his backyard.

“Ah, hello, I’m Y/n, I’m here for the interview...” you spoke, clearing your throat and breaking eye contact with Jeongin to see Hyunjin.

Hyunjin smiled amused, there wasn’t much to interview, in fact he was never that serious nor did he plan to be so hard on you, he was just like Jeongin, kind and down to earth despite growing up with all the riches and luxuries of life. But he liked you after seeing that you had the trust, and adoration, of his best friend.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Hwang Hyunjin and this is my gallery, my work area is a few blocks away, we’ll be passing from here to there.”

You raised your eyebrows, gripping your crossbody bag tightly and nervously, looking around the establishment, about to speak and compliment the place but then it dawned on you... he had spoken as if he was already taking you into account.

“Oh... it means that...”

“You’re in” he smiled at you.

Your face still reflected surprise but you were still grateful, you really were grateful, it was a decent job from which you’d learn more about what you actually study and do; and the pay was excellent.

“Can we start now? I’m having an exhibition this weekend and I need opinions” Hyunjin added, rounding his friend’s shoulder, amused to see that Jeongin couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You nodded. You had nothing better to do, than to finally start working. Hyunjin dressed more casual and relaxed than Jeongin... a part of you questioned why he was dressed so smartly, you wondered if he really continued his family’s legacy and company, but you hadn’t read any news of him being the official successor... maybe, after all, from their continuous complaints and dislikes, he forgave them and simply continued to work for them, or at least you thought so. You were not so aware of Jeongin, since years ago, since you treated him as a first love you had to let go, as an ex —you never had absolutely nothing— which you had to forget; besides, despite being handsome and rich, Jeongin was so private, he didn’t share much on social media and kept an impeccable image for the rest of the media, without even his parents asking him to, he really was like that, he never used his money for excesses and whims.

Hyunjin started walking, inviting the two of you to follow him, Jeongin waited for you, to line up with your step and see Hyunjin with his back to you leading you both.

“So... how do you two know each other?” Hyunjin asked amused, turning his head to look at you and then stopped his walking in front of a large white wall, with portraits leaning on the floor.

You were both surprised and saw Hyunjin’s expression waiting for an answer, he was quite interested to hear a good story of two lovers meeting, something new for Hyunjin since he didn’t know you and, during all his friend life, he only knew one girlfriend of Jeongin, whom he dated her since he was 13 and broke up with when he turned 18. And, as far as he knew, Jeongin has been single ever since... until now of course, when just today he angrily yelled at him “I’m getting married!” And it wasn’t at all a happy tone.

“Oh, she’s a childhood friend...” replied Jeongin.

You sighed, knowing that... that was indeed partly true, but the rest of it, somehow embarrassed you. For you, both Hyunjin and Jeongin, were two attractive men from a world very different from your own.

Hyunjin frowned innocently, crossing his arms and hunched his posture to get a closer look at your face, since he thought you were the daughter of someone close to the Yangs, your appearance and attire were so elegant that he naively believed you might be someone Jeongin studied with, took lessons in something as a child and he wanted to know...

“Really? I don’t remember your face? What did you say your last name is, again?” Hyunjin commented in confusion.

Your heart stopped for a moment... you weren’t the daughter of someone with money, you were the daughter of one of the Yang’s maids, who worked for them for long years, even before you and Jeongin were born.

“Ah, nothing like that, Hyunjin; she’s the daughter of one of my nanny’s when I was a kid, she used to come to my house and we used to play all the time” Jeongin answered again, so naturally and calmly, not meaning to say that your mother was a maid.

For Jeongin, your mother was more than a servant, she really raised him when his mother could never do it; as his mother was... a glamorous woman, more concerned about her status than her children, she was always busy with other unimportant matters, being a real high society woman. Jeongin had affection towards your mother, she made him a kind and tender child, in touch with humanity, and made him see the world with normal eyes, not in a privileged way as he lived from day one. Jeongin was only a year older than you, your mother was absent from work as soon as you were born and until you were 2 years old, she went back to work for them on a more irregular schedule and, when you turned five, she went back to a more fixed and continuous schedule so she could earn more money and, at that age, she found a way to sneak you in, putting you in the Yang’s house while she worked; that’s when you met Jeongin, a lonely rich kid who didn’t know the world and lived like a small adult, he had private tutors for everything, math, music, languages, fencing, karate... but he didn’t know the fun of being a kid, you taught him that.

“Ah, I see is that” Hyunjin commented a bit nervously, biting his lip at the thought that maybe he goofed a bit in deducing that you were someone from his same social class, “I think it’s very cute, that you know each other since you were kids.”

Hours passed, Jeongin didn’t want to leave and even less Hyunjin wanted him to, he still had so many questions once you could give them some privacy, still he continued, helping you to tell what your job was and the way you were going to work. So much time passed that it suddenly became night, so Hyunjin didn’t want to keep you any longer, plus he thought it was very likely that Jeongin would suggest you to take you all the way home.

All the information was also useful for Jeongin, who planned to have his own photography exhibition... but he was such a perfectionist that he didn’t know if he was one hundred percent pleased with his work, felt stuck and.... with the stunned news of his supposed marriage it upset him too much... but in all the haze of emotions you showed up again. Clearing it all.

You were more than nervous but you were trying to act like an adult and maintain your posture at Jeongin’s closeness.

“Mmm well, you can come from 10 a.m. and we’ll finish at 5; you’ll have your lunch break and... only when there’s exhibition I’ll need you most of the day, is that okay with you?" Hyunjin spoke, wanting to say goodbye gently so you could finally go home.

You nodded frantically with a smile. You were happy, relieved of something new and that you could finally quit all those little jobs that kept you stressed.

“Good. Nice to meet you, Y/n, see you tomorrow then” Hyunjin smiled at you.

You looked at Jeongin, about to say goodbye but he was quick to say:

“Aren’t you hungry? Let me take you to dinner.”

Your legs almost trembled; you didn’t know how to say no and.... you were seriously dying to spend some more time with Jeongin, you weren’t sure if it would be the last time you’d see him, like on your high school graduation night. It was obvious that you took another less prestigious and financially accessible university because of your parents, while Jeongin took it upon himself to study at the best university in the country. However, your mother, working for the Yangs, kept you in the same schools as Jeongin, from elementary to high school, since one of the good things that family did for you, besides allowing a nice friendship between you and Jeongin for years, was to keep you in that kind of education. Your mother thought it was too much to ask for the expenses of an expensive university so she did her best to get you into a good and decent institution as well.

Hyunjin narrowed his eyes looking at you two amused, he was also starving and wanted to accompany Jeongin to grab a bite but decided to leave his moments to you two alone.

“Okay” you replied with a soft smile.

“See you tomorrow, we have a lot to talk about, huh” Hyunjin said goodbye to his friend in a joking warning tone.

Hyunjin let out a chuckle and as soon as the two of you walked away and walked to the exit, he picked up his cell phone and texted his best friend in amusement:

Weren’t you about to get married? Watch out You’re still missing your bachelor party

The summer air was so hot, hitting your skin and, as you approached Jeongin’s luxurious car, you swallowed dryly nervously, wondering what the hell you were getting into. Jeongin opened the door for you and you sighed as you got inside, sitting in true leather seats, until you saw Jeongin also get in, you put their seat belts on and Jeongin looked at you happily one last time before starting the car, still processing the fact that... you had come back to him.

You felt slightly nervous, not knowing where he was going and insecure that you weren’t dressed for the occasion, he looked so good without trying, he was wearing his suit and he was a handsome man. You didn’t know how to feel clearly, but you were so sure of the warm feeling in your chest at having him close again.

“Mmm... what are you in the mood for?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

Jeongin didn’t respond to that, only spoke again, leaning his elbow on the armrest, bringing his long fingers up to his mouth, slightly awakening in you a spark of desire and tension as he looked so attractive.

“It’s been so long, what have you done? I want to hear from you”

You averted your gaze from him only to take courage and answer him.

“Oh, well, I still have my last year left in college, I’ll graduate until next summer.”

Jeongin released a soft chuckle.

“I see you went into photography, didn’t you?”he turned to look at you briefly.

You hummed in approval.

“I studied photography too, but I’m still thinking about which path to take exactly.”

“Oh, I see, it can be difficult but... you used to like fashion, film and creative director in general, didn’t you?

Jeongin licked his lips, his body was so warm from your presence and he smiled in satisfaction that you still knew him well and hadn’t forgotten his little details.

“Well, I still like all that and I’m in that dilemma... maybe you can help me find my way.”

His comment made a wave of heat travel to your cheeks, luckily the strong air conditioning was hitting your face and you couldn’t quite allow yourself to get hot.

You continued talking, about little things you used to do as kids, reminiscing all your memories and situations you spent together, between big smiles and shy glances; until Jeongin parked his car in the exclusive parking lot of the fancy restaurant-bar he frequents, of which one of his friends is the owner. You had a glimpse of the place and got nervous again, inwardly shouting that if you had known you’d come to such a place with Yang Jeongin, you’d have dressed much better for the occasion.

“The sushi here is the best, you’re going to love it” he commented, turning off the car and getting out so he could open for you.

He was such a gentleman and you smiled warmly knowing he still remembered your favorite food.

You couldn’t believe... this was your first kind of date with Jeongin. When you were young he used to take you all the time to decent, simple restaurants, trying traditional food since the Yangs had an exclusive diet and Jeongin was just dying to sneak out of school and go eat with you at a place where it looked like somewhere with homemade food, from a family, made with love. It used to be simple... now he’d take you to three star restaurants while you wore your slightly formal clothes since you were just waiting to have a job interview. But you couldn’t deny that it felt so good to walk alongside Jeongin, entering the place at the same time, as two men opened the doors for you, walking beside you, on a sort of date.

“So... do you have a boyfriend now?” he asked unexpectedly.

You shook your head quickly, still in surprise at his question.

“Good” he finished.

You and Jeongin approached with the receptionist, a tall, young woman monitoring each diner’s every entrance. You were dazzled by the elegance of the place and they were not yet fully inside, only in the foyer.

“Good night!” she greeted, “Do you have any reservations?”

“Mm, no. Yang Jeongin, table for two in a private room please.”

“Oh, welcome Mr. Yang” the girl corrected herself immediately, making an impression on you of the control and power that his name and image alone can have, “I’m afraid I don’t have any private rooms available” the woman informed, bringing one of her hands in a straight position near her mouth, saying softly like in a sign of something secret, “It’s Mr. Lee and his girlfriend’s anniversary.”

“Oh, really? Felix’s here? Mmm I see, I have to send them flowers,” Jeongin replied.

He quickly pulled out his cell phone from his pocket and typing quickly, of which you curiously saw his screen and realized that he texted someone saying:

Send flowers to Felix’s house for his anniversary with his gf

Jeongin’s attention returned to the woman.

“Amm and why didn’t Felix close the place today?”

The receptionist lifted her shoulders, “I think his girlfriend wanted it that way. Would you like some...?”

“Yes, please, do you have another table available?” he interrupted her.

“Sure, Mr. Yang! My coworker will guide you to your table, just a second” she spoke.

The woman approached another woman who was standing by waiting to guide people, the receptionist reminded her that he was a close friend of the owner and make sure to give him a good place and treat him lightly with specialty.

You followed the young girl until she took you to a very nice place, a little away from the people, close to the wall with perfect lighting. You were engrossed, you had never been in a place like this, not even on your birthdays where you spend your time looking for very good restaurants and partying around your 6 closest best friends; you never thought you’d get to a place like this. But you were with Jeongin, anything was possible with him.

“Thank you so much, Miss” Jeongin thanked politely as the woman left.

He came to your side, pulling out your chair, waiting for you to sit down. You did, and just as he was about to leave for the seat across from you, an old gentleman stopped Jeongin, shaking his hand and greeting him enthusiastically.

Jeongin smiled apologetically at him as he greeted him and suddenly, the old man mentioned a name that gave you chills.

“Congratulations on Nam Juhee; your grandfather told me the news, we’re all very excited!”

Nam Juhee. Jeongin’s first and only girlfriend, as far as you remember. She was... something else. The complete opposite of you. Why did he mention her all of a sudden?

“Ah, thank you, thank you” replied a chagrined Jeongin.

You subtly turned around, you noticed how the old man watched you for a few seconds, you didn’t know it, but he was judging both of you since he evidently found the future heir of the entire Yang dynasty with a woman who is not his future wife, and he thought he was an expert on the subject, believing the obvious, the temptations and slips of a relationship, so he whispered to Jeongin:

“I know you’re young and that can be very difficult... it’s hard to let go of other beauties, but you have to learn to be a strong man and be there for you one and only woman.”

The old man’s voice was rough and he spoke in a tone of a millionaire if that could exist, his sentence only left you more confused. You didn’t know that either, but Jeongin was full of fury to hear that his grandfather was spreading the rumor that he was going to marry Nam Juhee.

Jeongin sat across from you, softening his countenance when he saw you and trying to forget about the Juhee matter, it was something he would solve later, he was there now, with you. But you couldn’t put your curiosity aside, you hadn’t seen him in years, you didn’t know him as well as you used to, so you asked him:

“Why did he congratulate you... for Nam Juhee?”

Jeongin opened his eyes in surprise.

“Ah, it’s nothing. He’s an old guy, he surely didn’t know what he was talking about and I out of politeness just played along.”

You recognized his nonchalant tone, he was lying, you knew it, Jeongin was a bad liar. It was obvious something was up, he mentioned Jeongin’s grandfather and said something very strange... you wondered if it was possible Jeongin was back with Juhee after so long, you just knew they broke up before graduating from high school. You wanted to put it aside and enjoy your moment, however you still asked:

“What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?”

Jeongin raised his gaze from the menu, staring at you and gently denying with an adorable smile from his big lips forming dimples on his cheeks. God, you adored him, wondered why you never tried anything with him and then remembered her name, Nam Juhee, he was always hers.

But now that he didn’t have a girlfriend and you were both adults making decisions of your own... you wondered if it was possible to make Jeongin fall in love with you.

The horrible news was, that you had no idea that Jeongin was an adult without his own decisions, and for the Yangs he was no longer single.

You both ordered and talked again, so comfortable with each other that Jeongin came to think how stupid he was to never confess his true feelings to you, and even more stupid not to look for you all this time.

Jeongin’s life was sweet as vanilla because you were in it. He had everything and he was a great man, everything he wants he got, except for you. But ever since you walked away from him… his life was missing something and everything got worse when he found out about a useless proposal, but when he saw you, everything seemed sweet again.

Both were fascinated to meet again, you were about to leave the table when Jeongin felt another warm hand on his shoulder, he looked up, meeting his friend Felix and his girlfriend, greeting them both with a smile.

“Oh, hey, Y/n, nice to see you again” Felix greeted you.

He always has been a Jeongin’s close friend and you studied in the same schools. You greeted him as well as his girlfriend.

“Can you please explain to me what crazy thing is going on in the Yang's house now?” exploded Felix unexpectedly.

“Oh, you heard it too?” replied Jeongin chagrined.

Felix saw your confused expression and realized that it was not the right time to talk about Jeongin’s hasty marriage rumor.

“Anyway, we have to go, I hope you enjoyed the dinner” Felix hurried to say, with a slightly embarrassed smile, grabbing his girlfriend’s waist and leaving the place.

Jeongin sighed at how simple and affectionate Felix was with his girlfriend, a man 100% free to choose who to be with; he thought about the difference of both families, the Lee’s were free and kind while the Yang’s were incredibly stupid and conservative.

You both left the place after he paid, you waiting behind him with your pink cheeks of embarrassment as he finished up. Jeongin didn’t want to let you go but... he also didn’t want you to take it so rashly that he suddenly invited you to his apartment, you knew he wasn’t that kind of man and you trusted him, a part of you wished he would take the big step and actually invite you over, but you saw him struggle as he wanted to act sensibly. You found him tender.

“Well... I guess you must be tired, you have to work with Hyunjin tomorrow. I’ll drive you home” he warned.

You were so excited. You were living again in your fantasy of a world where only he and you existed... but for some strange reason, the vibe was different, it was still the same innocent feeling but this time you could add something slightly fiery. You had never lusted after Jeongin like that, but realizing he matured so well, you kept fantasizing from time to time about his pronounced jawline that looked so good on him and his long fingers with big hands. He was all man.

You gave him directions to your apartment building. He interrupted you just as you were about to thank him. It was something he came up with, this time he wanted you around, he wanted to make things right. He wanted you like he always did.

“Y/n, you know, I’m about to start my gallery too, but I think I need some help, with the pictures and stuff, mmm would you like to join me after you’re done with Hyunjin?”

You smiled broadly, biting your inner lip trying to contain your joy, he was looking for a way to see you.

“Sure, Innie.”

“If you want me to pay you…”

“I’m fine like that,” you interrupted him, “You, me and your camera just like old times.”

Jeongin smiled broadly, as sincere as he had ever been in a long time.

“Your number is still the same?”

You nodded. Jeongin blushed as he learned that it was only enough to talk to you again to see you again.

“Thank you, Jeongin, it was really nice to see you again.”

And you got out of his car, your heart racing pounding in your chest, so in love with Yang Jeongin again.

[...]

But Jeongin, who drove with a smile all the way to his apartment, came back to reality as he took off his shoes at the entrance of his home and went to sit on his couch, picking up his cell phone and reading Hyunjin’s messages, joking about his tense situation.

Jeongin sighed in frustration as he remembered the morning, his grandfather summoning him to the Yang mansion in his office. Jeongin was sweet and despite being a strange family, it was still his family and he had a soft spot for each of them. So he agreed to go, and his grandfather said everything tactlessly, reminded him that he was already old and his heart wouldn’t hold out long enough and that his wish was to leave Jeongin his legacy, confessing to him that he was always to him like a perfect son, when in reality he was a grandson. He confessed to him that he did not trust Jeongin’s father to leave him everything and that he trusted Jeongin, that he knew absolutely everything and it was true, he spent a lot of time of his life together with his grandfather and made him in a way an old spirit soul, his form of affection was not typical or affectionate, but the love was there.

And then he told him something that Jeongin initially took it lightly, almost as a joke, that also one of his last wishes was to see him married. Grandpa Yang was old and conservative and saw marriage as sacred and another life achievement, still mourning his dead wife for 15 years. The difference was that he did love his wife before he married her.

Jeongin was even tender at first and was about to leave his office trying to reassure him and play along by telling him that he was going to get married soon, but he suddenly says:

“That’s why you are going to marry Nam Juhee.”

Jeongin laughed in disbelief but his grandfather’s expression was serious.

“What?” replied Jeongin.

“You are going to marry Nam Juhee, you’re going to do in a couple of weeks, the ceremony will be held at Deung Jaesang field in the afternoon. Of course you’ll get married in the church. Everything is book, the Nam are more than agreed.”

Jeongin still couldn’t believe it. There was no point in an arranged marriage living in these times. He didn’t even love Juhee, at least not anymore.

He then understood the reason why Juhee was showing up more often at the family gatherings Jeongin was obligated to attend and running into her at every event organized by the Yangs or the company.

His grandfather ended up saying a “I am serious and I hope you are prepared; you can live in the house in the hills or if you prefer an apartment it’s fine, but if you consider having children, the house is the best option.”

Jeongin’s world spun and he almost felt nauseous.

“W-what are you talking about? Nobody here is getting married? I’m not getting married! You better stop with your nonsense.”

Jeongin tried to restrain himself from exploding into a myriad of things to still keep respect for his elder.

“Jeongin, there’s nothing to negotiate, you must do it or-”

“Or what?” he challenged him in annoyance.

“Or forget about what you have. I want it to be that way, end of conversation, what’s wrong? You know Juhee, you used to get along.”

“Are you listening to yourself grandpa? Keep everything, give it to Jeonsik, I don’t care.”

Jeongin knew his grandfather’s seriousness so he just walked out of his home without saying more, his mother tried to stop him but he didn’t listen, he stormed out to tell Hyunjin, trying to process what the fuck he had heard.

He sighed, thinking that he also would take his strike very seriously and from tomorrow he would not show up at the company, instead gathered Hyunjin in the morning so they could talk.

[...]

9:30 in the morning, Jeongin’s younger brother was flooding him with text messages, asking for an explanation of what was going on at home and why everyone was acting strange. Jeongin ignored him and just continued to get ready to meet Hyunjin, but the sound of his door being knocked on completely confused him, he hadn’t been warned that someone was coming into his hallway, so he quickly checked the security cameras outside his door to find his ex-girlfriend standing there.

Jeongin cursed internally and tried not to make noise, showing that he wasn’t home, but the thunderous ringing of his phone indicating a call from her rang; he had no choice but to open it for her, totally indisposed to see her just now.

“Jeongin” she said in surprise, seeing him with only a robe on.

“Juhee, who let you in? I’m gonna fire them” Jeongin replied in annoyance, avoiding looking at her.

“Jeongin, please, I need to talk-”

“About what? You knew about that whole circus? You better stop it with me...”

Jeongin finally looked at her, her eyes were shining and seemed to be asking for forgiveness but he was not moved by an inch of her.

“I don’t want to” she replied firmly interrupting him.

He looked at her incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

“You want to go along with this lie, you really want to marry me? What fantasy are you living in, Juhee?”

“That’s why I was coming to talk to you, to convince you how it can benefit us...”

“I’d rather you to not talk and don’t come looking for me again unless it’s to help me stop such stupidity. I am never going to marry you. Now go.”

Jeongin slammed the door in his face and his body filled with rage again, his blood became heavy, he had never been so angry in his life, but for the moment his plan was to not take the whole fake wedding thing seriously and he would let his whole family go on with their charade while he would continue to live his life, he’d deny everything with the media, call them crazy for attention if necessary, but he wasn’t going to marry someone he didn’t love and certainly not for convenience or a stupid family affair.

Jeongin truly was a romantic. He believed in love because his whole life he lived full of it thanks to you, he couldn’t get you out of his mind.

The reason why he dated Juhee for so many years was because, before he fell madly in love with you, he couldn’t distinguish between true platonic love or a tender and innocent love like almost siblings’, all his childhood he had so much affection and respect for you and when his pubertal body started to notice changes, Juhee appeared, he knew then that something with her could be that kind of love, from thirteen to fifteen he was madly in love with Juhee, she was everything to him but then it became boring for him, almost as if he was just used to her and, at sixteen all the Yang’s believed their romance was so serious, beyond a childish thing and seeing the incredible benefits it would be to unite such young people forever, at that age he was more naive and docile, very easy to manipulate, if he saw the people close to him happy, he believed he was obligated to feel happy too, but it was not so, at sixteen he knew he could love you differently. Jeongin realized it when you had your first boyfriend and he died of jealousy when he saw you together.

You on the other hand, started dating other guys since you really believed you could never have Jeongin loving you the way you wanted so you just tried to fill the void, but you didn’t last too long with them, after all they were still spoiled rich kids and none of them were sweet like Jeongin was, most of the time they left when they found out about your life, humiliated you and treated you with pity; you had enough of them and in the end you walked away from that glitzy and glamorous world you thought you never belonged to, once you entered college.

[...]

On your first day at work you did your best to look prettier, this time you really put more effort into your appearance knowing that at any moment you could see Jeongin.

All night you waited for a message from him, but it never came, you felt slightly disappointed, like the first time you were estranged, when nothing from him ever came into your life again... but being so close to Hyunjin, who Jeongin himself claimed to be his closest friend, you were hoping to feel close to him too.

Hyunjin was with you for an hour and then advised that he had to leave for a moment and it wasn’t until the afternoon when he returned while you were with his assistant going over every detail of the weekend’s event. The footsteps of his characteristic Hyunjin’s chelsea boots touching the floor followed by a:

“Can I stay here to copy everything you do and do it in my gallery?”

From a very pleasantly familiar voice. You looked up to find Jeongin. He was dressed more comfortably, in jeans, boots and a thin sweater loose to his body.

Jeongin had spent the morning with Hyunjin, he explained everything he knew so far. And they both looked confused at the situation and then Hyunjin asked about you, to which Jeongin couldn’t quite explain what you were to him, after so many years.

Jeongin spent the rest of your shift with Hyunjin but he was only paying attention to you, giving you complicit glances and smiling at you, approaching you for gentle conversation and just as the clock struck five and Hyunjin was saying goodbye to you, Jeongin hurried to say:

“I’m leaving too, goodbye.”

This time Hyunjin looked at him proudly, like a father watching his son leave for a date.

“You look nice,” Jeongin complimented you, opening his car door for you to get in.

Your face turned warm; he drove to his gallery establishment, you were impressed, of course, it was a more popular and glamorous place; unlike Hyunjin’s location, which was more artsy and bohemian.

You both walked in and while you admired the place, Jeongin admired you, he felt so good to have all his feelings afloat, love was such a mysterious and unexplainable feeling but always enjoyable for him. It felt so good to be with you; you gave color to his gray and monotonous life at least for a few very long years, he came to the conclusion that in that gap where you didn’t see each other, he did come to need you; something was missing, he didn’t know what it was, until he saw your smile again.

“Woah, well, the place and location are great to start” you spoke, turning to look at Jeongin.

You were surprised, he was smiling and his gaze was so soft on you. You had never seen him like that and it gave you some delicious chills, you liked the way he looked at you. Jeongin was on cloud nine, he felt for a second when two lovers looked for their own place to build a home. His chest became warm, that’s what you were to him, a home where he always felt safe. You’ve seen him cry, get angry, laugh, grow up… and he did the same for you. Jeongin had overthought the situation and felt bad that maybe you must have felt empty as he walked away from you.

“So far this is my job” he mentioned softly, still lost in you and half oriented.

Jeongin showed you a thick photo album and pulled out his laptop to continue looking at his work. You were impressed, he always has been an excellent artist and you admired him too much since he was a kid, he was kind of weird and loved the detail of things, he discovered an old camera from his grandfather when he was ten and from there he found a passion.

“And you’ve never had your own exhibition? This is very good, Jeongin” you smiled at him.

“Thank you, but, I feel like it doesn’t have enough of a match to put them all together. I want a specific theme to exhibit and I can’t find inspiration, also, if I decide on something I like, I have to teach myself how to photograph people.”

“I think you’ll do great. Do you have something already in mind?”

You looked at him and went back to watching his work with fascination, he had already worked with luxury brands like Alexander McQueen, and you didn’t understand why Jeongin always demanded more of himself. You knew that feeling stagnant was a very low blow for him and you wanted to help him however you could.

Jeongin closed his album slightly, brushing against your hand and you looked up instantly.

“Sure. Maybe if I start photographing you again I can gain more confidence” he mentioned seriously, staring into your eyes.

“Me?” you replied with a teasing chuckle, nervous and not knowing how to react.

Jeongin nodded with a small smile, “The concept can turn to you; I’d style you, it’d be fun. Since the place doesn’t have anything yet, we can use it in the meantime as a studio.”

You were hot with embarrassment, the proposal flew out of your mind. But you said.

“Okay.”

“Can I take your measurements so I have the perfect outfit for you?”

Your heart flipped. The rest of your time together, finally Jeongin put shyness aside and started flirting with you, in his own way; he looked so cute that anything from him worked on you. And then, the proposal that was new much to your heart, meeting his apartment.

Destiny was something you didn’t think too much about… but knowing him for so many years, spending time apart and meeting again, made it feel for you so special.

“Finally we can drink without having to hide” Jeongin laughed, passing you a glass of wine.

You admired the spacious place, with an amazing view of the city… you thought of the long, lonely nights your old friend must spend and wished you had enough guts to tell him that it shouldn’t be like that now for him, since he had you, and you always wanted to be his.

“And when did you move?”

“To this place, two years ago, but I left the house as soon as I entered college; god and you only know how much I begged to get out of that madhouse.”

You laughed softly, making yourself comfortable on the soft couch in her spacious living room. Jeongin sat across from you, you felt more comfortable and less pitiful, after all, you used to feel so good next to him.

“And you since when do you live in the building?”

Jeongin just wanted to hear you talk… the words wouldn’t form properly but he really wanted to be with you. If nothing came to his mind, the next thing would be to suggest listening to music or watching a movie.

“Oh, since I started college.”

He stared at you and was lost in you, he thought about how cute you looked with your arm pressed into his couch, and your body turned in his direction so you could better see each other face to face, he was dumbfounded, by the image of your face with his lit up, beige apartment in the background he began to speak, totally aware of what he was saying, but at the same time in a soft, gone tone.

“Sorry for not calling you back…”

Jeongin’s lips were slightly parted and his big eyes were shining; you didn’t think you needed to hear that, until he said it.

A strand of your loose hair fell gracefully towards your face, Jeongin quickly brought his hand up to it and brushed it away putting it behind your ear.

“Were you?” he said again so you looked at him confused, “Were you waiting for my call?”

That gave you chills and you felt the distance of both bodies shorten little by little.

“Were you waiting for me to pick up right away?” you teased softly, tilting your head, an act that Jeongin found adorable.

“I’ve been always waiting for you…”

His thick voice and sincerity upset everything inside you, you knew an incredible tension was building in the place and you were dying for him to be able to calm down, until he said:

“I always wanted to kiss you.”

You smiled. You had nothing to lose now, the two of you didn’t have a partner and you had always dreamed of the feel of Jeongin’s lips with yours.

“You can do it now.”

It took Jeongin years to clear his feelings for you so he could see you again; but less than two days to finally say it all bit by bit without any strings attached, at least not for now.

He approached you, took your wine glass and his to put them on the small table in front of his couch, this time completely close to you, his big hand took your face and finally you kissed. Jeongin started nimbly on you, his lips felt so expert and soft that you tried to keep up with him successfully.

“You can always kiss me, now” you whispered between kisses to which he smiled.

Jeongin took advantage and made it more intense now, his lips were soft but his action was heavy, retaliating for every year of his teenage years where he adored you, he was finally there, with you.

Your night ended in some not-so-innocent kisses, his make-out was so hot that you couldn’t help but feel aroused, you were a woman being touched from the deepest part of your soul, where you will always have a place for Jeongin, but you both decided to stop and he only went to drop you off at your place, telling you very happily that he would see you tomorrow.

[…]

And your story was rewritten the next day when Jeongin picked you up after your work. Hyunjin could only see his best friend’s car outside his gallery and you getting in every day as soon as the clock struck 5.

It was your favorite time of the day, playing the lively little muse of Jeongin, who treated you like a princess and a doll. You would walk into his gallery which for the moment you treated as a studio, Jeongin would bring you amazing designer pieces that he loved for you to model, he would bring you professional makeup artists playing to perfection with your face and you would live in a glamorous world between the cameras flashes.

But your favorite part was when he would come up to you and sweetly shower you with kisses. When the pictures were over, he could kiss you freely as you no longer made use of your makeup, he would grab your waist and share such an affectionate and intimate act with you, then he’d take you out to dinner to different places, as he was terrible at cooking, but one night you offered to cook, living your little romantic dream, while he hugged you from behind and touched you the way he never did, giving you little caresses and getting too close to you.

You both lived carefree, in love, your chests puffing out with pride at finally being able to show your love and have each other. Jeongin was more than ready to ask you to be his girlfriend, he had never fallen in love again, it was as if his heart and mind were always waiting to be healed by you, waiting for your return, his whole world and worries were gone every time you were together, he didn’t want to be away from you. At the same time, he was in a dilemma, if it was too fast to formalize… or if it was exactly the perfect time and you couldn’t wait, as long enough time had passed.

There was no doubt that his feelings were so intense, worthy of being called love. He noticed it, as he lowered his camera from his face and saw you there, doing nothing, preparing a pose, acting awkwardly giving your best; you were to him as dazzling as ten rays of sunshine put together, your personality was beautiful and hadn’t changed a single day since he first met you, he wanted to hug you and never let you go.

And the matter of his fake wedding, it didn’t even exist for him, Jeongin hadn’t heard anything since then, so it wasn’t something he cared about, yet his whole family was acting behind his back, planned in the perfect event and wedding of the year without him knowing anything. There were all the invitees ready, Juhee had her dress, her ring. The last step was to go public, so that even Jeongin would get engaged.

The day of Hyunjin’s exhibition came, you were all the time busy there, a little stressed as you received each guest, until the weight left your shoulders as you saw Jeongin walk in dressed elegantly in a suit, looking so handsome. You smiled at him.

“Excuse me sir, I’m afraid you’re not on the list. Kiss me and maybe I’ll consider you may coming in” you joked with him.

Jeongin played with his coat button and leaned in to give you a quick kiss, causing both of you to explode in warm excitement and, a few seniors to burst into uproar, as the rumor of the wedding between Yang Jeongin and Nam Juhee was well known.

“You look beautiful tonight” Jeongin whispered in your ear.

“Thank you, someone special bought me the dress.”

You were somewhat modest to accept Jeongin’s luxurious and expensive gifts; but all your friends exploded when they saw the kind of gifts he gave you, designer clothes, jewelry, handbags, they encouraged you to receive them and staying with the handsome rich man you tenderly knew since you were little, it was like an unreal fairy tale.

“Will you be here all night?” he asked you.

“Oh no, just until most of them arrive and then another girl will cover for me and I can enjoy the event.”

Jeongin pursed his lips tenderly, “Okay, I’ll wait for you over there with Hyunjin.”

Everything was going well, until your heart burst in surprise at the sight of the woman of your nightmares. Nam Juhee. She looked so beautiful that you even had to avert your gaze, as if seeing her might disrespect her.

She was incredibly millionaire, naturally beautiful without the need for any surgery unlike most of all your former high school classmates who at some point touched the scalpel. She wore a nice black designer dress, a slim diamond necklace sliding down her slender chest and collarbones, looking like a superstar with her perfect image.

She had it all, but she wasn’t on Hwang Hyunjin’s guest list.

She was about to enter, but you stopped her.

“Nam Juhee” you whispered still surprised, catching her attention.

She looked at you in confusion.

“I’m afraid you’re not on the list…” you added.

She drew a half smile on her face, looking at you slightly with her frowns thinking if she knew you from somewhere since you looked familiar.

“I’m not on the list but do really you know my name” she replied amused.

You were about to speak, but Hyunjin’s voice interrupts you, appearing beside you.

“Nam Juhee, what are you doing here?”

“I have to accompany my future husband from now on to everything he does.”

Juhee had a proud expression that Hyunjin almost wanted to laugh in her face except that you were right next to him… and Hyunjin knew you didn’t know about the fake Jeongin wedding thing, so it wasn’t his place to overload you with that information, of something he was sure his friend was going to stop.

“Mmm, Y/n, I’ll take care of the guests now, thank you very much, you can go enjoy the event” Hyunjin spoke to you kindly, taking the iPad from your hands.

“But-” you tried to intervene.

You were confused at the situation since Hyunjin was supposed to be the main attraction and should be at his event getting all the compliments possible. And also slightly confused by Juhee’s husband’s comment.

“Please go” he smiled at you.

You walked away confused, still seeing them and noticed the slight astonishment on Juhee’s face, asking Hyunjin dumbfounded if you were the Y/n she knew.

You ran into Jeongin, who happily grabbed you by the waist and whispered a sweet, “Mm, you’re here.”

Hyunjin didn't want to make a fuss by denying her entrance in front of everyone, so he let Juhee in and immediately called to Jeongin, who confusedly turned away from you to see that it was Hyunjin calling him, he took the call and before he could speak, his friend did:

“Juhee is here and I guess Y/n still doesn’t know about the fake wedding.”

He upon hearing the words fake wedding, moved a little further away from you, with a nervous smile and turning his body so you couldn’t see or hear.

“What are you talking about? That’s not going to happen.”

“Yeah but imagine Juhee telling her all of a sudden, you need to explain it to her, bro. And stop the stupid rumors as soon as possible.”

“What can I do?” muttered Jeongin.

“I don’t know, hide from Juhee or get Y/n out of here. I told Juhee you weren’t here.”

Jeongin turned back to you, with a slightly worried expression to which you brought your hand to his cheek looking at him with concern.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, nothing. Shall we watch the exhibition?”

You knew he was lying and noticed that he didn’t look as good as he did a few seconds ago. Jeongin wanted to take you by the hand to start walking, but you stopped him.

“I already know every picture in here anyway, do you want to go get some fresh air? I have to tell Hyu-”

“He’s fine with that, I’ll let him know, grab your stuff and let’s go outside.”

You blinked at how quickly he responded, you felt worried about him since you knew something was up. And as soon as you grabbed your stuff, you were both already outside near where he parked his car.

You moved closer to him, drawing your body to him and holding his soft face again. You thought about how you hadn’t mentioned Juhee because you didn’t want to get upset but he was the one who seemed upset; you wanted to say things like hey, did you know Nam Juhee is getting married? but you thought certain things from the past weren’t worth bringing up.

Jeongin hugged you, you looked at his face closely and in detail and your mouth had to abruptly drop:

“You never told me why you broke up with Juhee.”

Jeongin sighed and lowered his gaze to stare into your eyes. It was time to speak from the heart.

“Because I didn’t love her. I could never love her like I love you.”

His lips twitched, as did every inch of your insides at the shocking news. That meant so many things that you slid your hands from his face to his shoulders.

“I love you” Jeongin confessed, “I don’t care if it’s too soon or too late, I waited too long and I’m here now and I want you to know that I love you, I always have.”

You floated for a few moments, your heart beating intensely but slowly, almost trying to burst out of your chest so it could caress Jeongin.

“Jeongin… you know what, I’ve always loved you too. I still do.”

You looked at him, not blinking for a second treasuring every moment of him with your eyes wide and bright. Jeongin smiled.

“You should date,” he spoke innocently, between giggles and holding you tighter, “Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

You widened your smile, you felt small again, young, being asked by your ultimate crush, but it was more than that, it was a love so intense you couldn’t leave.

You nodded, “Yes” you kissed him quickly, “What day is today?”

“August tenth” Jeongin replied.

You smiled warmly at him and rejoined your lips in a long kiss, there was no more worry just now, just the two of you after finally being able to tell each other that you loved each other under the moonlight. It was cheesy, but so cute that Jeongin’s chest exploded in excitement.

“Mm, do you want to sleep in my apartment?” he whispered between your lips and before you could create a sizzling scenario he spoke again, “Just to rest and sleep.”

You laughed softly, “Okay.”

You let your friends and roommates know that you were going to stay over with Jeongin tonight, clarifying that just to sleep. And amidst laughter and a very sweet Jeongin holding your hand as he drove, you made it all the way to his apartment.

“Mmm, I must have something for you to sleep comfortably” Jeongin said, looking for clothes for you.

Until he finally pulled out one of his oversize shirts and a pair of cloth pajama pants. You changed in his room after he left to give you privacy and pulled the pajama drawstring so you could tie it to your body, even so both garments were still too big for you.

Jeongin came in, finding you adorable in his clothes. He put on his pajamas, comfortable shirt and also a pair of thin cloth pants. You removed your makeup and finally approached Jeongin’s bed a little shyly where he was already lying down.

“Come here” he said to you, in such a manly voice that it almost made you shiver.

Once you lay down next to him, he picked you up and pulled you closer to him, hugging you and making you lean your chin on his chest.

“You’re adorable,” he said again, smiling with dimples in his cheeks.

He kissed you slowly, caressing your entire back and never taking his lips off you. Your body was slightly over his, you brought one of your bent legs up on him and the innocent kisses became more and more passionate. You were both starting to get aroused and panting, so shyly you both stopped right there. And you slept peacefully on his chest.

The next morning you were both awakened by the sound of Jeongin’s ringtone, he had already heard a myriad of notification sounds and ignored them, until a call managed to wake you up. Still asleep, Jeongin took his cell phone from his nightstand and turned to look at you happily, you were stirring in your spot on the bed, stretching your body and opening your eyes in such an angelic way for him.

“Good morning” Jeongin whispered in a husky voice to which you just smiled.

Jeongin knew it was early because of the light in his window and at last he saw that it was Hyunjin who was bothering him so early on a Sunday. Jeongin answered, still carving his eyes and yawning.

“Jeongin tell me you already explained to Y/n, you’re all over the fucking news with the weeding thing!!!” Hyunjin exclaimed from the other end of the line.

Jeongin abruptly sat up with his eyes wide as saucers, slightly alerting you to his violent movement.

“No! What?!”

Jeongin’s scream startled you, making you wake up completely, he sounded really terrified. Jeongin stood up completely from the bed to walk to his window.

“Dude, fix this now. I’ll be there for you for anything! Let me know everything!”

Hyunjin hung up the call and Jeongin realized the myriad of messages he had, from close friends completely confused, to complete strangers congratulating him. His assistant had flooded him with messages from luxury brands asking to dress him up and Jeongin sighed at the thought that congratulatory flowers would soon be knocking on his door.

“What’s wrong, Innie?” you spoke.

“Nothing, nothing, it was Hyunjin.”

You knew again that he was lying, his nervous countenance and smile were so easy to read. You also looked for your cell phone but realized you must have left it in your bag that was surely in Jeongin’s living room.

“Ugh, I left my phone in my bag” you suddenly said to which Jeongin couldn’t have been more relieved.

He crawled into the bed to get close to you. Faking a smile, he brushed his nose with yours and said:

“Let’s go have breakfast, shall we?”

You nodded happily, saying you’d like to go to the bathroom first and he warned he’d be in the kitchen waiting for you.

“Mm, pancakes, eggs? Or would you like to order something? Do you want to go to your apartment for more comfortable clothes?” he asked you, once he saw you walking towards him while he had his palms resting on the kitchen island.

“Mmm I’m not that hungry, do you want anything?”

“Coffee is fine with me.”

You were about to approach him but remembered your cell phone in your bag to which you changed direction, excusing yourself with a nervous smile and hurrying to his living room so you could grab your phone. Jeongin stood confused, waiting for you.

You and your obsession with checking your cell phone in the mornings upon waking up was perhaps your big mistake that particular morning. You had many text messages from your friends, alerting you, you thought something important had happened so you quickly entered the first group chat with over 100 messages. Your heart stopped, one of your friends sent a screenshot of a news: The most coveted young millionaire is about to get married: Yang Jeongin and Nam Juhee, heiress of Nam Group.

You scrolled down the screen with fear, eyes wide open as you saw pictures of the two of them, old high school pictures calling them a true and preserved love, articles telling you everything you should know about the wedding of the year, and your worried friends texting you:

is this the yang jeongin you’re talking to? at first I thought it was a joke but even the nam came out to confirm it y/n please tell us it’s not true!!! how are you?

It hurt you because they knew how much you loved Jeongin. You suddenly became a zombie absorbed by the news, searching for yourself every single article on the internet, filling yourself with information you didn’t want to read. Pictures of Juhee picking out a dress and showing off her ring, saying how much she loves Jeongin and that they both wanted to do it as soon as possible. You thought it was ridiculous you almost laughed, it felt unreal you also almost thought it was a nightmare and you hadn’t woken up yet.

Jeongin thought you took too long, so he went to check on you.

“Y/n…” he called your name softly, to find you leaning back on one of his couches, your eyes glued to your cell phone screen.

Fuck. He thought over and over again. He called your name again and you felt it like a distant voice.

You looked up, meeting the worried face of your barely boyfriend, who was walking towards you. Your face reflected nothing, your lips were sealed and only your eyes reflected disappointment and astonishment, causing Jeongin a pain in his chest to see you in a way you had never seen him before.

“You’re getting married?”

Was all you could say, wanting an explanation, but so skeptical of everything at this point.

“No, please, that’s all fake, it’s all nonsense…”

“And when were you going to tell me? Only to you I’m your girlfriend but to the rest of the world you’re Nam Juhee’s fiancé?!” you snapped.

“Y/n, please” he begged, trying to touch your arms, thinking what exactly to say.

You dodged his touch and turned away from him.

“It’s a fake wedding!”

“So you gonna marry her?!”

You didn’t want to listen anymore, you thought you knew Jeongin but he wasn’t who you thought he was after all, you thought. He was lying and saying nothing was going on, he was confessing to you that he loved you, you didn’t know if that was true after all either. You angrily made your way to his room, without thinking clearly you started to undress so you could put your dress back on.

“Y/n…” Jeongin went after you, but turned around when he noticed you were undressing, “Let me explain, it was something stupid my grandfather proposed and I flatly refused, I really did; but the damn old fuck wouldn’t listen to me and continued with his crazy game, I’m seriously sorry, please listen to me. I’m not getting married, I’ll come out and say it’s all a lie.”

You didn’t listen to him, you were struggling to put on your dress as fast as you could until you succeeded and quickly walked out, past him. Jeongin chased you back to his doorway where you were putting on your shoes. You ignored him until he stopped his door handle with his big hand, blocking your way.

“Y/n, please listen to me” he said again in a pleading tone.

You saw him furious, he looked agitated as if he had been exercising, his mouth was dry, he was terrified of losing you.

“It’s fake, it’s not gonna happen. I love you.”

His tone of voice was sincere but you were so blinded in anger that you put your hand over his on his doorknob.

“Talk to me when you clear it up. Let me out” you replied coldly.

Jeongin let you out, he followed after you, waiting for the elevator to open.

“I hope you can please try to understand me” he said again.

As the elevator opened, it revealed itself to be Juhee inside walking up to Jeongin’s hallway along with a tall stout guy wearing black with a thuggish look. You and Jeongin watched them with surprise and disappointment, it all looked comical, he told you it was fake but suddenly his future wife appeared in the elevator to his apartment, it was ridiculous.

Jeongin sighed in frustration as her showing up didn’t help him at all. Juhee looked at you in surprise, thinking the obvious, you had spent the night with Jeongin, but judging by your expressions, the two of you didn’t look happy and it was something she was afraid of, Jeongin coming back to you.

You hopped in as soon as they left and averted your gaze from Jeongin until the doors closed; frustrated, wanting to run all the way home.

“Who the fuck let you back in?” spat Jeongin.

“That was Y/N, are you with her?” Juhee hastened to say, raising her eyebrows in concern.

“What do you care, oh my god” Jeongin rolled his eyes in annoyance.

“We need to talk right now, please” Juhee begged, following Jeongin who was walking back to his apartment, ignoring her.

Jeongin was about to grab his stuff and go after you as soon as possible.

“What the fuck..?” he said annoyed as he felt the big guy stopped him from closing his door so Juhee could enter uninvited.

“I know you’ve been seeing Y/n, everyone knows, your family has been watching you and…” Jeongin watched her say, with distaste on his face, Juhee turned to the guy, “Can you give us privacy please? Thank you.”

The thug walked out of Jeongin’s apartment just as she instructed, closing the door behind him.

“Good dog,” Jeongin joked.

Jeongin was so annoyed by the fact that she was coming towards him talking about who he should be with as if she was entitled, one of the reasons he broke up with her besides the fact that he was betraying his heart himself, was because Juhee slept with one of his teachers.

“Jeongin, they are watching you and if you don’t go through with the wedding thing they are capable of… hurt Y/n.”

He sighed, frowned his face in annoyance and touching his forehead, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Junhee pulled out an iPad, showing pictures of each of your encounters with Jeongin, having dinner, going into his studio, taking you home; he didn't know how to react so once again he didn't take it seriously, except for the part where she mention hurting you, and it did scare him a little that you were being spied on.

“Are you spying on us or…?”

“Jeongin I’m serious, I think you’re aware of what your own family can do if you don’t listen to them.”

That sentence made his blood run cold, she was so right, but he didn’t want to see it clearly. His family could be a monster at times, but to such a degree of going so far as to hurt you? Jeongin didn’t know what to expect from the Yangs anymore.

“And what the fuck are they planning to do? I won’t let them hurt Y/n and I can’t marry you and fulfill their stupid whim either. I will never fucking marry you, Nam Juhee!” Jeongin burst out, it was being too much information and feelings in such a short time.

“You can just pretend!”

“Pretend what? Be a perfect husband for you? What the fuck is wrong with everyone? This isn’t the last fucking century to arrange a marriage.”

“Jeongin this is for real, did you see the fucking guy outside? He’s a fucking hitman your family hired to give me the details of your affair with Y/n, waiting for me to snap so I can send him to hurt her, putting all the blame on me!”

“What?” he said incredulously, ”Affair? Mine with her is not an affair, you and I are nothing, don’t talk about her like that.”

“Jeongin if you don’t get married… Fuck, you don’t know but your grandfather has some kind of terminal illness and arranged everything for this wedding. Do whatever you want with Y/n, I don’t care, but you must hide, a marriage with you is in my family’s favor.”

He ran his tongue the inside of his mouth, annoyed and incredulous, he couldn’t believe the typical excuse of the damn old man dying. Jeongin glared at her one last time, grabbed his things and walked out of his apartment leaving Juhee there amidst the tension and previous screams. He went out looking for you but it was useless, you didn’t answer his calls or messages, they wouldn’t let him into your apartment, so desperate he sent a message to Hyunjin, telling him to tell you that nothing was true and that he was about to stop everything.

Furious with no other alternative, he drove to his childhood mansion, where his parents, grandfather and younger brother lived. He stormed out in a fury, being rude to the poor maid who opened the door for him.

“Where the fuck is everyone, huh?!” he shouted, stranded and accelerated at the immense entrance.

“Mr. Yang Jeongin, they’re in the fifth room on the second floor,” the maid answered him timidly.

Jeongin did not respond and breathing heavily in anger, he pushed open the large doors, revealing in himself his grandfather in a hospital bed, with a nurse putting him on IVs and his parents sitting in front of him.

“Oh, so is it true? You’re actually fucking dying?!” he shouted without thinking.

“Yang Jeongin!” his parents scolded him, quickly getting up from their chairs, “Let’s talk outside, please” his mother whispered to him.

“No, I’ll do the talking. You want me to get married? Fine, I’ll do it, but with who I decide to do it with. And if you don’t have enough time left and want to see me do it already, then I’ll do it now, I’ll marry Y/n.”

Everyone seemed startled by the news, more so his grandfather with the disrespectful and raised tone of voice in which he spoke to him.

“You're not going to marry Y/n, are you insane?” this time his mother snapped.

“Ah, so do you remember Y/n?” her son challenged them.

“I’m not going to let you marry a servant’s daughter, what are you thinking, Yang Jeongin?” his mother looked at him in terror.

“What? I thought you wanted to see me married.”

Jeongin’s mother dragged him out of the room, closing the doors and letting her husband reassure his father.

“Just marry Juhee and let your grandfather believe you; do with Y/n whatever you want, make her your mistress and buy her a damn beach house, but marry Juhee.”

Jeongin was unable to believe what he was hearing, bullshit after bullshit. His body was as tense as it had ever been before.

“Why are you insisting that I do it?”

“Because it will bring us many benefits! Think about it.”

“Then what? I should stay married until the old fucker dies?”

“Yang Jeongin, don’t talk about your family like that! Every family has to make sacrifices, even for the ones they love. Our kind should stay with the same kind.”

“You are not my family. Don't talk to me about love, what do you know about that?” he spat in annoyance, scowling at her with his gaze.

“Just marry Juhee, or you know the unspeakable things your grandfather is capable of” she threatened him.

Jeongin let out a cynical laugh, deep down knowing the kind of psychotics the heartless rich could become.

“So what, you’re going to kill her if I don’t show up for the fucking ceremony?” his mother raised her eyebrows, “Do it!” he challenged her, blinded in anger not knowing what he was saying, “Kill her, do it!” he screamed in her face like a little kid, “Do it and I’ll fucking kill myself too. Will you be able to take the blame for killing your son too?”

“Don’t talk nonsense, Yang Jeongin, it’s a fake wedding! Do what you decide best for the maid’s daughter if you want to protect her.”

His eye twitched in fury and stress. He hated his family, hated the way they talked about you, hated every part of his miserable life. Her heart was empty without you, how could you possibly agree to be with a man who would publicly be married?

[…]

5:30 in the afternoon. You missed Jeongin, your anger had ceased and you wanted to hear his voice again, you wanted to listen patiently to what he had to tell you. You didn’t want to answer the thousands of calls and messages he sent you, you just decided to show up at his studio without telling him, where you just recently expressed so much love, hoping to find your lover there, and you did, his car was parked in front of the place. You knocked on the door and seconds later, Jeongin greeted you with a shocked expression and his big bright eyes, hugging you while whispering your name breathlessly, he couldn’t get enough of saying it and he couldn’t get enough of you either, he needed you in his arms so he hugged you tightly, as if he hadn’t seen you in years. His face got lost in the crook of your neck, breathing in your scent and brushing against your skin, making him feel in heaven again.

“I came because… I know you’re working on something important and you have to finish that thing about your project” you lied, wanting to sound cold but your voice cracked as you lay in his arms.

Jeongin let go of you, he sniffed hard, and as he nodded, you noticed he was about to cry and was holding back, breaking your heart.

He let you in without saying anything and you followed him into the room he used for lighting, cameras and equipment. Jeongin was very sensitive and understood if you didn’t want to talk, just with being near you and you being willing to see him was enough for him.

“Just, this outfit is missing and we’re done with photographs” he spoke in a thick and slightly weak voice, showing you a beautiful white dress, causing you to shiver at the irony.

You looked into his eyes and moved closer to him, you were about to push the dress away and kiss him as he looked so perfect and vulnerable, but the weakness of the moment won you over, thinking that it might be the only time you will wear a white dress together with Jeongin before his ridiculous wedding.

You took the garment and started to dress in front of him shamelessly, making Jeongin blush and avert his eyes, but he wasn’t strong enough to not to see you this time. You moved closer to him, turning your back to him so he can help you with the back zipper; his long fingers pulled up the tiny zipper, you felt the warmth of his breath, he caressed your shoulders for a moment and abruptly you turned around.

“I’ve been waiting for you to make it public about the fake wedding” you blurted out, unable to contain yourself any longer.

Jeongin averted his gaze downward and swallowed nervously.

“Y/n… I, I’m getting married, I’m gonna do it.”

Your chest tightened to an enormous intensity, not the kind of words you expected to hear. Jeongin expected a bad reaction from you, but you remained silent, wanting to hear an explanation. He looked up and met your kind gaze, watching him intently.

“I’ll do it… just to protect you, they’re threatening me that something might happen to you if I don’t, I’m sorry. I’d rather sell my image and sign an insignificant piece of paper than let anything happen to you.”

You couldn’t think of anything but him, so you just said, “And I won’t be able to see you again?”

“I didn’t think you’d want to see me again after I told you I was going to do it.”

You sighed, Jeongin was again on the verge of tears.

“I don’t want to be the other woman” you confessed to which he pouted with his chin quivering as he nodded, ”But I don’t want to lose you either. Because… you don’t love her, right?”

“Of course not, I only love you…. I-I’m so sorry” he stammered finally to burst into tears.

Again you fell to pieces, you held his face as you tried to calm him down and watched him cry, cry for a love that he waited so long for and that he really wanted to be the purest and most adored treasure of both of you. You managed to calm him, wiping his wet cheeks and you watched each other, aching and only with the spark of hope of your love for each other. Your lips met only to reaffirm that there were still feelings in both of you, you did it so slow and desperate, like a goodbye kiss, releasing every energy from your bodies, touching him one last time before sharing him with another woman.

He began to caress you, his wild kisses involved his tongue and both of your bodies were caught between the seduction and pleasure of the moment, becoming completely aroused. Your hands moved down from his face to his marked pecs letting them rest there; Jeongin drew you closer to his body to the point of being able to feel his throbbing erection, absolutely devoted and working only for you, his body reacting and operating only for you. Your core throbbed in satisfaction and each new caress burned your body, you were as needy for sex as you had ever been, so needy for him and his demonstration of love.

Jeongin sensed the synchronization of your arousal with his own in your heavy, panting breathing so his soft lips moved down to your neck, kissing it, causing sweet moans to escape from your lips that were the motivating and pleasurable music for Jeongin. He subtly licked and nibbled your skin, unleashing the arousal of your femininity, moistening your entrance with warmth and intensity. Jeongin continued to lower his kisses, holding you tightly by your waist, he kissed your breast and pulled your dress up, tracing his sweet caresses down your abdomen to your intimate area covered by your panties, he raised his gaze to look at you with a small smile before pulling the garment completely down, leaving your pussy exposed. You sighed at the sensation of your uncovered pussy and felt his breath hit the skin of your mons venus to then be filled with pleasure with his lips kissing it and taking your entire pussy with his mouth, parting your wet folds and starting to lick and suck you, weakening your body, driving you crazy as you were perfectly taken care of in such a sensitive area.

You held onto his shoulder and your other hand stroked his hair, you threw your head back as your chest and abdomen rose and fell battling between the intensity and tension of emotions, while Jeongin enjoyed himself with his face buried in your core. His long, slick finger massaged your clit, while his tongue flicked past tasting your labia and with his other hand he leaned in to open your pussy and relished every inch of it. You gasped, climaxing with his tongue inside you, your body swooning at the force of your orgasm. Jeongin’s cock throbbed choking in his pants, but he just wanted you to have your moment and treasure every sensation he could make you get to feel.

[…]

“So you’ll just pretend until your grandfather dies..” you said, walking into his room, ready to be wrapped in his strong arms again.

“Mmhum” Jeongin murmured, calmer at having you, but at the same time uncontrollably uneasy about the situation.

He took hold of your hands, intertwining them, standing in front of you, unwilling to talk about it, but you had too many questions if you were going to live under Juhee’s shadow, being Jeongin’s mistress.

“And… Will you live together?” the answer was going to break your heart.

You didn’t want to imagine anymore, you couldn’t bear the fact that he would return home every day to her, Juhee would show off her husband and marriage to everyone while you would have to live in messy sheets of a deception with his divided love.

“Y/n, please” he whispered, to get you to stop.

“You’re right. If I will be your mistress I better start behaving like one” you joked, hiding your pain, you let go of his hands and brought your arms up to wrap around his neck.

“Don’t ever say that. You’ll never be that to me; you are everything. My true love.”

You smiled broadly at his corny phrase that made it turn warm to the depths of your soul. You loved him too. You spread your smile to him and you kissed again, more relaxed until the action became more passionate. The temperature rose, leading Jeongin to caress your pussy under your skirt with his fingers; after about your situation a few hours ago, he had this thought of making you his again and again in a passionate union of souls and bodies and, he felt more free to touch you.

You moaned still with your lips trapped in his as you let yourself be carried away by his caresses on your center, his fingers pulling away the fabric and touching you pleasurably all over your folds and sensitive spot, you trembled unable to resist anymore and your sweet lover surprised you with his thumb pressing perfectly on your clit and two of his fingers teasing your insides, filling you but leaving you insatiable.

Jeongin pulled away from you, brushing his nose against yours, enjoying your expression of pleasure and soft whimpers. You had never desired Jeongin sexually, until now, just when he became quite the man and gentleman who knew exactly how to treat you, how to drive you crazy and push you to the edge with his precise touches and movements. Your center moistened his fingers and in the cloud of lust you couldn’t stop thinking about his cock filling you and controlling every inch of you.

He found a rhythm with his fingers, digging effortlessly with his long, nimble digits, almost deep into your loins, bringing you so close to your orgasm.

“Je-jeongin, please.”

You knew exactly what you were begging for, you wanted to be taken by him and his manhood. Jeongin smiled and withdrew his hand from you, making you sigh.

“Let me see you naked, love” he requested, his eyes dark in desire still gazing lovingly at you.

And you quickly obeyed him, showing yourself purely vulnerable in front of him, ready to join your bodies together. Jeongin took you again and kissed you, squeezing and caressing your naked ass and still between kisses, you helped him undress completely, revealing his worked body and well endowed cock, making you throb at the thought of being filled by it, after seeing it finally.

“Let me put on a condom, make yourself comfortable on the bed” he said sweetly, giving you a kiss on your forehead as if it was already a normal thing between you.

You climbed onto his bed, flustered, with your wet pussy and aroused body, waiting impatiently as you watched him reach over to his nightstand and pull a condom from there and then put it on.

He positioned himself between your legs, his fingers again teasing your entrance for a few moments, then lining up his stiff, throbbing cock at your entrance, slowly sliding it in until it made you squeal as it stretched every part of you and felt it brush against your cervix. You both gasped, Jeongin feeling on cloud nine with your walls taking his cock so well.

“Does it feel good?” he added, somewhere between worried and excited.

“Mm, yes Jeongin, you feel so good.”

You hugged him, gently digging your nails into his broad, worked back and scratching him unintentionally as his thrusts were perfection, the latex wrapped around his cock sliding deliciously into you, pounding you slowly and deeply, letting him take you, filling you to capacity. Jeongin’s soft groans in your ear drove you further over the edge, he babbled cute things in his husky voice and kissed you sweetly from time to time, blinding him in lust to the idea of having you all to himself, demonstrating all his love for you.

He continued, thrusting intently, his hips performing a series of delightful motions into your core, his cock bulging over your belly, it felt so good that you cried his name until you arched your back and released the good pain and tension into an orgasm, surrendered between passion and love for him.

[…]

It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of a man whose soul is about to be united for life with the social approval of his acquaintances, with the love of his life. But Jeongin felt miserable, since that was not true, his true love that moved every inch of him would not be waiting for him at the altar today. You were lying in your bed, your heart open, waiting for news that the wedding was over so you could run into his arms and love each other on the sly.

Jeongin could only think of every part of you, all of you that completed him to perfection and the passionate and sweet act you shared before the wedding night, making love completely devoted, promising each other again a lasting love over any adversity, reciting truthful vows into the air as he caressed your naked body entangled in his sheets with his scent.

What rewarded him, was that the day after his wedding it’s gonna be the grand opening of his first exhibition in the gallery you both had worked so passionately on, dedicating it to his true muse, calling it in honor of you and only showing pictures of you, just to piss off the world and show them whose heart truly belongs to him.

Jeongin looked at himself in the mirror, his lip began to tremble and heavy tears slid down his cheeks. His hair was perfectly styled, his expensive suit tailored for him and he was about to leave, where he was surrounded by people and media ready to write fallacies about an empty and fake wedding, Jeongin thought that they believed he had it all, a kind millionaire about to marry another rich beautiful woman, but the truth is that he was and had nothing without you.

｡⋆୨୧˚ ⋆｡°✩

𐙚TAGLIST: @rylea08 @hann1bee @iovecb97 @armystay89 @bubblebisk

[daemon-date-everything]

rook hunt headcanons!! [because he's my hyperfixation and i love him]

some sad, some random /j /ref

rook's natural hair color is a light brown, he bleaches his hair but sometimes lets his roots grow out juuust a little. also, he straightens his hair. that man does NOT have naturally straight hair.

he's 1/3 beastman [specifically a caracal] but he's able to cover it up easily. the parts that are caracal-like of him are his teeth, his ears [theyre higher up and a bit bigger than the average size, not to mention weirdly shaped], heightened senses. his pupils, tongue, and flexibility & agility.

he is also mixed idc he's still somewhat tan but not as much as before his 2nd year. like, he's not sunBURNT, more like. sun..kissed??? he has a very healthy tan skin color if that makes sense. his skin isnt peeling . HE USES SUNSCREEN NOW

his special interest is birds. you heard me.

pansexual [are we even surprised]

canonically, his best class is art, but i like to think that besides from photography, he also really likes sketching nature and people, but is slightly better at the first.

he is MUSCULAR!! not ripped, but he definitely has muscles under that uniform. cough take ur clothes off please cough of course, he enjoys doing archery [and yoga since vil introduced it to him], but i feel like he would have some other hobbies that would possibly be considered active.

this one is kind of random but also related to the above, i feel like he could ride a horse. just.. just trust me man okay [this is not because i think cowboys are hot or anything]

rook, being the extrovert he is, isn't ashamed about his identity. obviously he's not gonna go dancing around the halls singing "IM QUEER AND AUTISTIC" but its a very well known fact. a lot of students suspected it since his first year so there weren't a lot of surprised people

this one might get me flamed, but i genuinely do not believe he likes vil more than niege. theyre both his #1s, and even though he says that he'd never place one above the other, i think he likes niege just a liiiittle more. part of this is because he knew niege sometime before vil [vil starring with niege was how he discovered vil]

lowkey a freak, BUT NOT IN THE YANDERE STALKER WAY. more like in the "i want to study you under a microscope and open you up to see how you tick" with a smile you cant tell what the meaning of. if that makes sense???? he enjoys watching people he likes, but isnt gonna watch them 24/7. he got schoolwork to do yall cmon smh…

autism be damned my boy can work a bow and arrow

he's a little bit of a trickster, maybe even mischievous perchance. he's not gonna prank everyone 24/7 but he likes to sometimes play harmless mind games with the other students and watch them be confused as fuckk. pro ragebaiter i fear /j

he loves using 😊 / ☺️ a lot thru text. id also like to say when he learned what kaomojis are, he started using them on occasion too [especially ^_^ / ^^]

i have more but uh.. yeah. take these for now. go my rook HCs [i say as this is going to flop]

[causenessus]

love notes

part 0.2. BACKSTABBING BITCH

“can i see you tonight? can i see you tomorrow? i want to be your friend. i wanna be more than that. will you love me tomorrow?”

from can i see you tonight? by eyedress, left at calmaart, sakai

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . present day. ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

i'm sorry i feel like the pacing of everything is a little convoluted,, there's not really a lot of timeskips. basically everything after this chapter is also in present day but i just wanted to make that clear <3 and hopefully the intros really clarifies how everyone's relationships changed, for example suna and y/n going from never talking to hanging out more <3

calmaart is a place in japan for street art supplies and clothing with a legal graffiti wall <3

IF YOU WERE HERE FOR THAT STUPID POLL I DID OVER "A" OR "MY" WHERE "MY" WON BUT I CHOSE "A" ANYWAY AND HAD AN ENTIRE CRISIS OVER IT THAT WAS FOR THIS CHAPTER (suna's "you're an angel") BUT THEN THIS ALSO LED TO ONE OF MY FIRST INTERACTIONS WITH @froyaoya WHO HELPED ME THRU THAT ENTIRE CRISIS SO IT WAS A GOOD THING IN THE END IG <3

both y/n and suna are typically people that use their priv accounts for the majority of their tweets. yn uses her public account for mostly photography to maintain an image of professionalism and suna mainly uses his public account for pictures of art and volleyball related things

suna is on yn's private because she lets all of her close friends onto it but she isn't on suna's because he told her it's mainly just the volleyball boys cursing each other out (which is true but most of all he was just scared to have her on it in case he tweeted about her)

y/n definitely skips school to have more available openings in her schedule for photography bookings

whenever she's taking pictures of a couple and they're not looking, she'll take a picture of them and send it to a groupchat with akaashi and kenma and ask if they think the couple's gonna make it or not

they'll spend hours analyzing the red and green flags

omi's the captain of the msby vball team BC I SAID SO

suna asked if he could leave practice early "to study for a test"

they have the same major and omi was like "we don't have an upcoming test."

suna played it off as retaking a previous test he hadn't done well on and omi could no longer be bothered and let him go

suna often stays until closing when he visits y/n at work and will walk her home <3

atsumu and oikawa work together well but in the beginning they had a bit of a rivalry, both being well known setters and they've just kind of continued to be slightly passive aggressive towards each other but get along for the most part

atsumu was locked in the bathroom for an hour until bokuto asked oikawa if they could let him out so he could shower

also not sure if i've said this but everyone is in their second year of college (not super important but just to avoid future plot holes)

taglist: @0moonii @iluvmang @bluebeanbee @wyrcan @oyasumeii @gyuijns @nbcvs @milkteade @eggyrocks @guitarstringed-scars @makkir0ll @mylahrins @cherrypieyourface @vivian-555 @sharkerino @r0seandth0rns @staileykout @lunavixia @thvvluvr @elliott0o0 @wolffmaiden @rockleeisbaeeee @toges-cough-syrup @cnnmairoll @ryeyeyer @hibernatinghamster @localgaytrainwreck @lemonocity @bows4life @sereniteav @madiexuberant @eclecticeggknightpsychic @phoenix-eclipses @sonicsolos @httpakkeiji @brkfclub @snail-squasher @starry-magicshop @cr4yolaas @kitnootkat @zzzlevislothzzz @iluv-ace @iluvaquaphor @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @applepi25 @twiishaa @girlkissersco @sleepystrwbrryy @encrypta

[ladykailitha]

Icarus Part 25

Damn. I actually hate seeing that number up there. Because that means it's done. Eight months, twenty-five chapters, 52895 words, and one hell of a ride.

I'll start posting the sequel on Tuesday, and will post Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays until it's done. I hope to get it done before October's end. But that's not looking likely at the moment.

But once it's done, I will post the epilogue. This was actually written first and was a way for me to flesh out the band members. Then I just wanted to dive right in to writing the full story. A link to the original idea here.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

~

The rest of the American tour while it had its ups and downs was pretty much was uneventful. When Steve got back to Cali, he got some actual therapy from someone Gareth’s therapist, Dr. Sam Owens recommended to him. To not only deal with the abandonment issues left by his parents and Nancy but to help deal with the sudden onslaught of fame.

It was going well.

It was the therapist that had strongly recommended going on the vacation with his two best friends. That really helped put his life in perspective.

They were out celebrating Gareth’s one year of being sober and everyone had been invited. Jeff, Brian, and Eddie, of course. Even Vickie made it out. Dustin, Will, Mike, Max, Lucas, Ellie, Hopper, Robin, all the members of The Fallen, sans persona. Gareth had really become friends with all of them, yes even Steve. Gareth and Shane became really close. It was nice to see.

“Cheers!” Jeff said holding up their glasses of sparkling apple cider that they had all brought to share.

“Cheers!” the rest of them cried, clinking their glasses together.

They had rented out a nice surf and turf restaurant for the occasion and everyone was catching up. The owner was a friend of Jonathan’s, Argyle Rivera. He had gotten his start with a pizza food truck and it just exploded.

“So what did you and Mike decide to do?” Steve asked when there was a lull in the conversation. “I know you two weren’t sure the last time I was in Hawkins.”

Mike and Will shared a bashful look before Mike said, “I wrote a children’s book and Will illustrated it. We sent it out to a couple of different publishers so we’re just waiting to hear back.”

“That’s amazing!” Dustin cried. “You guys are going to be awesome.”

“Yeah,” Will said brightly. “I finally convinced Jonathan into going in to photography at the local community collage and he’s doing really well.”

“Nancy is going to school, too,” Mike said quietly, knowing how most of the group felt about his sister.

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Yeah? What is the once great Nancy Wheeler going to be studying?”

Mike perked up a little that someone had taken a interest in what he said. “She’s actually going into journalism. Especially to be a war corespondent. After everything rightfully fell apart after the incident with The Fallen and Corroded Coffin, she took a hard look at her life and decided she hated the person she had become. So she’s been in therapy and has gotten into her dream school of Emerson.”

“That’s good,” Steve said quietly. Robin gave his a hand gentle squeeze and he returned it with a grateful smile.

“What are doing next, Ellie?” Brian asked. “Designing more epic costumes for the rich and famous? I saw that dress you designed for Lupita Nyong’o for the premier of her new movie. That was a gorgeous shade of purple.”

Ellie’s face dimpled in the force of her wide, happy smile. “Something like that. I’m just glad the dress turned out so well. I’ll be heading back to New York, to stay this time. I got a job at a fashion house that I’m really excited for.”

“What about you and Dusty?” Lucas asked, tilting his head. “I thought things were going great.”

Both Dustin and Ellie share a blushing smile.

“We’re still together,” Dustin replied. “I’ll be in Boston and she’ll be in New York. We’ll going to try and make it work.”

Max nodded. “Long distance can suck, but if the other person is worth it you can make it work.” She nudged Lucas’s shoulder and he grinned back.

“So you didn’t get traded to Lakers like you wanted?” Gareth asked Lucas.

He shook his head. “Maybe next year. But in the mean time, Max has a couple interviews at Tony Hawk’s video game company as a mo-cap performer for the female characters in his games.”

Everyone oohed and ahhed and congratulated her.

“I don’t have the job yet,” she muttered, but happily soaked up the attention anyway.

Dustin turned to Steve and Robin. “When are you two going to do something with your lives?”

Eddie winced and Steve and Robin didn’t even have to glance at each other to be suddenly on the same wavelength of doom.

If this was an anime you would have have seen the dark waves behind their heads.

“We make good money doing what we do,” Robin said darkly. “Yeah, it’s a bit jack of all trades, but it’s fun. We’re never stuck doing the same thing. We get travel all over the world. We get to meet famous people and all the perks of fame with the drawbacks of having our privacy invaded on the regular.”

“Jack of all trades, but master of none,” Dustin said to be pedantic. “Don’t you guys want to do something specific, like a teacher or a doctor?”

Robin snorted. “No.”

Chrissy hand covered hers, and Robin gave her a squeeze back. She was fine, just annoyed.

“Yeah,” Steve said. “And I don’t why being a jack of all trades is bad thing. Focusing on one thing is great for the people who can do it, but I love the different jobs. Roadie one tour, PA another, then EMT the next. It’s great.”

Dustin frowned, stabbing his plate with his fork.

“My therapist says people are like plants,” Gareth said, “some people are trees and they grow up slowly. Some are bamboo and in the right environment shoot up super fast. But some people are like periwinkle and grow out sideways. Robin and Steve are like that. It’s still growth, just not the growth you want them to have.”

“I guess,” he huffed. He looked up at Steve. “Are you happy doing what you do?”

Steve and Eddie shared a glance. “Yes, for all its faults, I am very happy.”

He nodded and they went back to celebrating Gareth’s year of sobriety. But under the cover of the loud celebration and raucous laughter, Vickie and Simon chatted quietly to themselves.

~

Steve and Eddie lay on the bed in Eddie’s mansion curled up together after sex.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked Steve when he had curled up under his chin and held on tight.

“We were out celebrating,” he murmured, “and I couldn’t even tell them we were in a relationship.”

“Most of the people there already knew, babe,” Eddie murmured. But when Steve didn’t say anything it clicked. “You wanted to tell the kids. Especially after the bomb Mike dropped about Nancy moving on.”

Steve nodded.

Eddie scooted down the bed to look Steve in the eye. “Whatever you do or don’t tell them is entirely up to you I don’t care either way.”

“You don’t care that we’ll never get to go on dates or be seen holding hands or kissing?” Steve asked seriously.

Eddie shook his head. “Do you want to know why?”

“I guess,” Steve said with a half shrug.

“Because when I first got into the music business,” Eddie murmured, “I slept with anyone who would give a passing fancy.”

Steve looked up at him in confusion. “But I thought you already had a crush on me then?”

“I did,” Eddie confirmed. “But here’s the thing, sweetheart, do you know who’s partners get torn apart the most in celebrity relationships?”

Steve shook his head.

“Those with non-famous partners,” Eddie said. “If your partner is anything other than a C or B list celebrity when you’re an A-list, you get called out for ‘slumming it’ and their partners get called all sorts of nasty names, but especially ‘gold digger’. Which is the last thing I wanted for you.”

“Is that why you were okay with being with after you found out I was secretly famous?”

Eddie rose up and tackled Steve into the pillows. “You listen close, Steve Harrington. That was absolutely not why. I didn’t even show up with the flowers intending on confessing anything other than knowing your secret. It was like I suddenly saw all the facets of the diamond I’d been admiring for years and realizing any reason I had to not put myself forward were stupid.”

Steve blinked up at him in awe. “Oh.”

“Yeah, baby, ‘oh’,” Eddie huffed. “Continuing to protect you from the shame and humiliation of the slings and arrows of the media is my mission in life, okay? And if you ever decide to come out, either as bisexual as Steve or as Steve as Abbadon, I will be there for you. One hundred percent.”

Steve’s eyes welled up and he nodded. “Okay.” His lips quivered. “I love you so much. I just want you to be happy.”

Eddie kissed him fiercely. “I know you do and you make me very happy. The Fallen, Abbadon, being closeted? All that? That’s just a part of you that I love.” He bounced onto the bed. “In fact...”

He grabbed his phone and started going through it. “Eureka!” He turned the phone around to a paint of a night, shielding a maiden from the sun and a large crowd of people. This is us, babe. I am the knight and you are my maiden. I won’t get tired, or upset that you need protecting.”

Steve blushed. He sat up and pulled up his knees to his chest. “When we first started coming up with names for us, we didn’t originally all have the same letter.”

Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Wait, really?”

Steve shook his head. “Spence was just Death. Shane was always Astraeus. Simon was struggling with finding a name that fit.”

“And did you have your name picked out?” Eddie asked gently, knowing where this was going.

He pursed his lips and nodded. “I didn’t think we’d make it this far. I really thought we would have crashed and burned by now.” He closed his eyes and hung his head. “Part of the myth with Icarus and the wax wings that people forget was that he was flying all over the place. That if he flied straight and true like his father suggested, he would have survived. But he flew too close to the seas as well as the sun.”

Steve sighed and then looked over at Eddie. “And that’s what I thought I was doing with the band. Flying too low with the fact that we were preps wanting to break into the metal scene and then flying too high with the personas and masks. I was going to not only wreck my life but the lives of people I cared about.”

He let out a low shuddering breath. “That maybe I should have listened to my father. To go to college, to get a degree in business, to fly straight.”

“So what changed your mind?” Eddie asked. “Other than Shane wanting everyone to have all the same letter as a middle finger to everyone trying to guess your identities, I guess.”

Steve let out a watery chuckle. “Shane reminded me of the beginning of Icarus’s story. That he had grown up in the labyrinth, never seeing the sky. How could his father had not seen that of course Icarus was going to play the second they were out? That, yes they were fleeing for their lives, but this was the first time his son had seen the sun, felt the breeze on his face and touched the waves on the sea.”

“But if Daedalus had played with Icarus instead of yelling at him, his father would have been able to keep him from getting too close to the things that would have harmed him,” Steve finished. “That he would have been there to catch his son when he began to fall.”

“So what was the lesson?” Eddie prompted.

“I wasn’t Icarus,” Steve said. “I was always free, I might have fallen from grace according to my parents, but that like God in the Christian story, they were cruel and cast me out because what they wanted for me wasn’t what I wanted.”

Eddie smiled. “So you became Abbadon instead. The one that fell but God still relied on to destroy the wicked. The opposite of Steve Harrington. The boy that rose up like a phoenix from the ashes to be better than his parents dreamed.”

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Icarus was the first to fall mythos wise, but Abbadon was the one people fear coming back.”

Eddie pulled him close. “Well, you’re my angel, now. Fallen or not, I’m not giving you up for anything.”

Steve kissed him softly. “I’m putting a lot of trust you, Munson. Don’t fuck this up.”

Eddie laughed and kissed him fiercely. Then he proceeded to show Steve all the ways loved him.

Steve knew he might always have doubts and fears, but now he had the support system he always needed.

It was more than past time to fly and in Eddie’s arms there was no limit to how high he could go now.

And he wouldn’t want it any other way.

~

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @val-from-lawrence

3- @goodolefashionedloverboi @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog @irregular-child @blondie1006

4- @yikes-a-bee @bookworm0690 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten

5- @genderless-spoon @y4r3luv @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

6- @disrespectedgoatman @eyehartart @dawners @thespaceantwhowrites @tinyplanet95

7- @iamthehybrid @croatoan-like-its-hot @papergrenade @cryptid-system @counting-dollars-counting-stars

8- @ravenfrog @w1ll0wtr33 @child-of-cthulhu @kultiras @dreamercec

9- @machete-inventory-manager @useless-nb-bisexual @stripey82 @dotdot-wierdlife @kal-ology

10- @sadisticaltarts @urkadop @chameleonhair @clockworkballerina @garden-of-gay

[juguitodeponche]

Now Mickey!

I’m gonna write some headcanons since I’m not really sure if I want to do some kind of comic with these designs.

📷 Mickey Mouse 📷

• Mickey and Donald had been best friends before high school, but Mickey met Goofy in a photography class during his freshman year, after that Mickey got Donald and Goofy to be friends and they hang out almost every single day ever since.

• Mickey in this universe questions his sexual orientation, he likes Minnie, he thinks she’s the prettiest girl in the whole world, but he also sees Donald as some type of muse to the point he starts questioning why he thinks of his best friend more often than the girl he’s supposed to like.

• Mickey records and takes photos of his friends every chance he gets, he likes making memories and his dream is to make movies when he grows up, Donald and Goofy help with his vision because they always have fun helping their friend. Oswald also helps from time to time but he’s more into robotics and he thinks studying is more important than anything else, that doesn’t mean he cannot have fun from time to time.

• In contrast with Donald and Goofy, Mickey likes more pop music, he likes the popular boy bands some 80’s music, and he secretly listens to Britney Spears (party people, I tried looking up for animals with S names that rhyme with Spears and I gave up after 3 minutes, sorry).

• He likes playing with photoshop, but because is the 90’s it takes him hours to finish or days editing a photo. Oswald hates it since he uses the computer for his research, and viceversa, Mickey hates when Oswald uses the computer for research because the pages/windows take ages to load.

Yay!

[estrellex]

racing hearts #3 - dr 3

summary: as the season comes closer, you and daniel start to realize that something between you two could come together. would you two finally give into what you two started building? until the night before the first race...

part 1 🌱 part 2 🌱 part 3

you met up at a cozy little café tucked away from the main streets, the kind of place you liked to go to when you needed to think. when you arrived, daniel was already there, two drinks in hand.

"figured you’d go for something artsy like a cappuccino," he teased, handing it to you.

you raised an eyebrow. "and if i wanted black coffee?"

"then i’d seriously have to rethink everything i thought i knew about you."

you laughed, taking a sip. "lucky for you, this is perfect."

the conversation was as effortless in person as it was over text. you talked about your favorite photography spots, and he told you ridiculous stories from his travels. the teasing never stopped, but there was a warmth beneath it, something unspoken but undeniably present.

“so are you planning on attending any of the races or do i have to drag you to one?” he asked, leaning back, studying you.

“you wouldn’t be the first one trying to make me go,” you said, drinking your coffee. “Carlos has been asking me for months to go this year.”

he looked at you and asked, “and are you?”

you hesitated to answer because you weren’t sure if you wanted to. “maybe…”

“is that a yes maybe or a no maybe?” he asked.

“it’s just a maybe, ricciardo. i don’t know, you might see me at the first race,” you chuckled.

he chuckled along. “well, i could talk to my team to give you a pass in my garage.”

you looked at him questioningly. “and not go in the Ferrari garage? not too sure about that.”

yourinstagram has made a post

tagged: maya.ya, danielricciardo

liked by carlossainz55, danielricciardo, maya.ya, and others

yourinstagram: little glimpse of life

user 1: maya and y/n r back !!!

user 2: danny ric? what r you doing here?

maya.ya: that was a fun night 😜

⤷ yourinstagram: very fun 🙂‍↕️

danielricciardo: i made the cut??😦

⤷ yourinstagram: surprise

⤷ danielricciardo: made my whole day 🫂

over the next few weeks, you and daniel continued to meet up, each hangout blurring the line between friendship and something more. late-night walks after dinner, museum visits where he pretended to be an art critic, and even a casual game night with carlos and rebecca—it all felt effortless. but with every lingering glance and every text that made your heart race, you couldn’t ignore the shift.

daniel took you out for a drive one evening, ending up at a quiet overlook where the city lights stretched endlessly below. he had picked up takeout from a small, hole-in-the-wall restaurant he claimed had the best seafood, and you both sat on the hood of his car, eating straight from the containers.

“you know,” he mused, pausing between bites, “for someone who claims they don’t know if they’ll go to a race, you sure do talk about formula 1 a lot.”

you rolled your eyes. “i talk about carlos a lot. big difference.”

daniel smirked. “mhm. sure.”

the teasing was familiar, comfortable, but as he glanced over at you, the playful glint in his eyes softened. “i like this. us, hanging out.”

you exhaled, staring out at the skyline. “yeah. me too.”

he nudged your knee with his. “so what’s stopping you?”

you turned to him, brows furrowing. “stopping me from what?”

“from just… letting it happen.”

you hesitated, your heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest. “i don’t know.”

daniel nodded, as if he understood. “well, just so you know, I’m not going anywhere. i like spending time with you.”

you swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle between you. “i like spending time with you too.”

yourinstagram posted a story & danielricciardo posted a story

maya.ya replies to your story: ok soft launch 😜😍

⤷ yourusername: not a soft launch 🙄

⤷ maya.ya: wtv you say

carlossainz55 replies to daniel's story: oh?

⤷ danielricciardo: not what you're thinking

⤷ carlossainz55: which is? cause you've been closer than ever

⤷ danielricciardo: and? we can't enjoy being together?

few days later..

as you sat across from Maya, absentmindedly stirring your tea, she smirked. “alright, spill. what’s going on with you and daniel?”

you sighed, leaning back. “i don’t know. we’ve been hanging out a lot. it’s fun. easy.”

maya raised an eyebrow. “but?”

“but i don’t know if i’m overthinking it. what if this is just how he is with everyone?”

she gave you a pointed look. “do you think he texts and calls everyone at midnight to talk about the meaning of life? or insists on buying their coffee because ‘a gentleman never lets a lady pay’? because that sounds like someone who’s into you.”

you bit your lip. “i just don’t want to assume.”

maya shook her head. “you’re scared. but i think you already know how you feel.”

meanwhile, daniel had his own conversation with carlos. they were hanging out at his place, sprawled across the couch with a race playing in the background. daniel had barely been paying attention, scrolling through his phone absentmindedly. carlos noticed immediately.

“mate, you’ve been distracted for weeks,” carlos said, nudging him. “this wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain someone, would it?”

daniel sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s your friend.”

carlos grinned. “which one?”

daniel gave him a look. “you know which one.”

carlos leaned back. “so, what about her?”

daniel exhaled. “i like her. i mean, really like her. but i don’t want to mess this up. what if she doesn’t feel the same?”

carlos shook his head, laughing. “are you blind? she likes you too. she just doesn’t want to admit it.”

daniel considered that for a moment. “so, what do i do?”

carlos clapped a hand on his shoulder. “you tell her before the season starts. before you get so busy that she convinces herself it was nothing.”

night before the bahrain race..

you were both sitting by the waterfront, the city lights reflecting off the water. Daniel turned to you, his expression more serious than usual.

“i don’t want to dance around this anymore,” he admitted. “i like you. more than just a friend.”

your heart pounded. “daniel…”

he gave you a small, almost nervous smile. “you don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready. but i wanted you to know.”

you swallowed, then reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. “i think i’ve been trying to convince myself that this wasn’t happening. but it is. and i like you too.”

his smile widened. “yeah?”

you nodded, squeezing his hand. “yeah.”

daniel let out a breath of relief before grinning. “so… does this mean i’ve officially earned Leica status?”

you laughed. “i think you might be more than that now.”

as the city buzzed around you, daniel lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “best upgrade i’ve ever gotten.”

yourinstagram has made a post

tagged: danielricciardo

liked by carlossainz55, danielricciardo, maya.ya, and others

yourinstagram: new garage this year 🤍

maya.ya: I’VE BEEN WAIT FOR THIS ONE TURN IT UP 🥳

⤷ yourinstagram: maya 😭

⤷ danielricciardo: so this is the infamous maya that i hear about

danielricciardo: the better garage in my opinion

⤷ carlossainz55: yeah no mate

danielricciardo: where did you even get that last photo?

⤷ yourinstagram: don’t worry about that...

danielricciardo has made a post

tagged: yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, yourusername, lando, and others

danielricciardo: a new start to everything 😁

yourinstagram: way to do me like that

⤷ danielricciardo: what do you mean? you post yourself like that too

⤷ yourinstagram: whatever 🙄

user 1: danny in a relationship 😦

lando: this only took about what a couple months?

⤷ yourinstagram: you shouldn’t be talking??

carlossainz55: i would like to get the credit please

⤷ danielricciardo: but you didn’t put all the work in ☝️

⤷ yourinstagram: carlos you always want the credit

the end.

taglist 🪷: @freyathehuntress

em speaks: so sorry if this feels a bit rushed i was just a bit unsure how to end this and the writer's block was eating me. plus i'm getting towards the end of my winter quarter which equals finals week. i might make little blurbs of the other drivers. i might do little blurbs about their journey and maybe daniel's departure 😔. but please lmk if you guys wanna be on the taglist.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Learn the Hard Way 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Nick Fowler (Professor AU)

Summary: you return to campus is less than glorious.

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

As you watch the man storm off in his wet jacket, you frown. Well, that’s a good way to make friends. Off to a great start, Ash. 

You wince but stop yourself from backing away as a blurry figure hazes in your peripheral. You look over at the girl as she silently holds out a napkin. 

“Oh, jeez, thanks,” you laugh nervously. “Can ya hold this for me?” You hold out your container as you accept the help. She’s the first person who hasn’t looked at your sideways. You keep hold of your coffee and sop up the mess. “I’m fucking idiot sometimes. I was so focused on the noodles.” You glance around at the tables, “shit fuck, this place is crowded, huh?” 

You crumple the napkin and reach for your container. You zero in on the girl. She hasn’t said a word. She looks anxious too. It sort of makes you feel better.  

“Quiet, huh? Well, shit, I just can’t stop talking,” you smirk. 

“Um…” she gulps. “I got a table…” she points over her shoulder.  

You smile, “thanks, that’s nice but… okay. I guess things can’t get any worse.”  

She bounces and turns, guiding you across the caf. You know how she fidgets. Definitely nerves. Maybe a freshman?  

“I’m Ash, by the way,” you introduce yourself as you put your stuff on the table and sit.  

“Auburn,” she replies. 

“Ash and Auburn. One more and we could be musketeers or something,” you joke as you push your cup to the side and open your noodles. 

“Oh, have you read it?” She asks. “The Three Musketeers, that is?” 

“Nah, but I watched the movie. Oh, shit, did you see the real shitty on they made with Orlando Bloom. Fucking loved it. Trash movies, totally my ish,” you yammer as you unwrap the chopsticks. “But maybe I should give the book a try.” 

She nods and taps nervously on her can of diet coke. She wears a gray gap hoodies and her hair is untamed. She’s a bit wild in appearance but you are in spirit. Besides, you don’t have any roomies to latch onto this year. 

“So, Auburn, what do you study?” You ask and shove a buttload of chow mein in your mouth. 

“Erm, computer science.” She answers and curls her shoulders inward. 

“Awesome. I’m doing photography. More of the creatie sort. I’m just tryna push through my degree and decide if I wanna open up my own studio or what,” you shrug. “You know, the computer thing is smart though. No one knows how the fuck to use one.” 

She nods and giggles. You don’t mind doing the yapping. That’s always been your problem but she seems content enough to listen. 

“You live on campus?” You ask. 

She nods. 

“Yeah, I got me an apartment. Couldn’t afford the fees they charge at this place, but it’s nice. You know, I thought I was gonna be sleepin’ with cockroaches,” you shake your head then shudder at the thought. “You ever had a cockroach crawl over you while you’re sleeping?” 

Her eyes widen and you laugh. 

“Don’t ask,” you sniff. “Anyway, Auburn, thanks for letting me crash your party. Hope I’m not annoying you too much. I got a habit of it.” 

“No, no, it’s okay,” she assures you and picks at her fraying cuff. 

“You want some of them? They’re fucking bussin’,” you spiral a wad of noodles around the chopsticks. 

She shakes her head. Well, more for you. 

You sit with Auburn for a while. You only leave as you see the time and realise you need to go to the bookstore before your first class tomorrow. It closes in thirty. 

“Damn, gotta scram,” you say as you pack up what’s left of your noodles. “I’ll text ya.” 

“Sure,” she agrees and gathers up her bag. “Thanks.” 

“Hey, don’t let these other fuckers get to you. They ain’t too cool for school,” you wink and head off. 

You go to the basement and weave through to the bustling bookstore. You stop to search for the course code on your phone and walk blindly down an aisle. As you raise your head to search for 208C, you collide with an unexpected wall, a waft of stale coffee gusting up at you. 

You back up and look at the man as he snaps shut the book in his hand and sighs. It’s that same man from the cafeteria. Oh no. 

“Oh fuck, sorry, bud,” you say. “I was just looking for--” 

“You. Again,” he snarls. 

“Uh, yeah, hi, it’s me,” you confirm. “Look about before--” 

“Do you need glasses or something?” He accuses. 

“Er, no. 20/20 according to my eye doctor.” 

“Not a real question,” he sneers. 

“I said sorry. Really, I didn’t mean too.” 

“You know, it doesn’t matter what you mean, it’s what you do,” he retorts. 

“Wow, are you like a philosophy professor or something?” You ask. 

His nostrils flare, “I’m none of your business, stupid girl.” 

“Well, if I’m so stupid, you shouldn’t get so worked up about a question,” you roll your eyes and turn to the shelves to find your book. “Fuck.” 

“Disgusting,” he remarks. “Someone needs to wash that mouth out.” 

You ignore him. You’ve dealt with idiots before. The stupid frats call you a nerd but this guy wants to call you stupid. Men are too much to deal with so the best course of action is not to. You slide out a text book and double check your phone to match the code.  

The price tag nearly gives you a heart attack. It’s a coursepack. They don’t sell them sued. You resign yourself to the expense.  

The man lingers and you send him a wary look, “were you expecting something else?” 

He glares at you then shakes his head. He shoulders past you, nearly knocking the book from your hands, and you turn to watch him stomp away. Well, what are the odds you run into the same asshole twice? Maybe that means you’re the asshole. 

Big deal. Running into him a third time is a long shot. Besides, you’re less worried about some grumpy stranger and more uptight about the cost of the paper in your hands. You’ll be opting for fifty-cent ramen over the cafeteria special from now on. 

[alien-bluez]

Welcome to Narkmas 2024! 💚❤️

Narkmas is a week long event in december dedicated to creating fanmade content revolving around the romantic relationship between Nick Close/Foster and Lark Oak Garcia. Hosted by me, alien_bluez!

Participants may submit entries based on the different prompts provided for each of the seven days.

Day 1: Campfire / Concert

Day 2: Future / Past

Day 3: Smoke / Reflection

Day 4: Trust / Betrayal

Day 5: Study / Party

Day 6: Song / Bird

Day 7: Birthday / Christmas

Day 8: Free Day

All entries must be tagged with "#narkmas 2024"so it's easy to find and share. Fic writers you can add your entry to the Narkmas2024 Collection.

Please include the day and prompt in your caption (ex. Day 4: Trust)

Don't upload entries early, please wait at least until the day of the prompt to post

Late entries are allowed

This event is SFW for the most part, spicier is okay if tagged properly

Other character ships can be shown but Nark must be the main focus

Entries containing bigoted material or excessive gore are not allowed

All forms of media are allowed! This includes art, writing, cosplay, photography, playlists and videos!

Entries with uncredited, stolen, or plagiarized work are not allowed. Please ask for permission to use someone else's work in your entry

Do I need to do all 7 days to participate?

No! It's perfectly okay to only do days that you want or are able to. The important thing is having fun!

When can I start working on my entries?

Whenever you want! This is not like artfight where you have to wait until the start day, in fact it's okay and encouraged to finish your entries before the event begins! Do whatever is best for you.

If there's any more questions feel free to message me here! Remember, this event is meant to be FUN!!! Thank you for reading and indulging me in creating stuff for my favorite ship (for almost a year now!) if you decide to participate. I can't wait to see what works you all submit!