#and there are also days when i get back from school and i do feel somehow hungry

[cheftsunoda]

it’s only been 2 days but it feels like a lifetime, i simply can’t stay away.

ollie bearman x antonelli! law student! reader

ollie and kimi’s list of crimes grows by the week it seems and that has moved me so now we’re here. It just makes sense that kimis older sister is a law student who falls for oliver “can’t stop confessing to crimes” bearman.

i’m gonna have to start a notes app of the ideas i have for you, i’m starting to lose track.

(also i changed my picture, tell me im pretty (despite the obvious lack of mascara))

love you❤️

in the name of the law — ob87

smau + blurbs

ollie bearman x !law student antonelli reader

kimi antonelli x !sister reader

being kimi antonelli’s older sister was always a full time job. add law school and two races a month into the mix? you are stuck somewhere between impossible and unhinged. but kimi was in his rookie F1 season, hopelessly attached to you, and you had structured your third year of law school to be mostly remote — which meant that you were always in that monaco apartment. and then there was ollie. oliver bearman— kimi’s best friend, haas’ new golden boy, and human liability. he had a talent for racking up speeding tickets in different countries, for accidentally live streaming things that should’ve stayed private, and for looking at you like you are the only person in the paddock that mattered. you tried to focus on torts and case law, on keeping your little brother grounded in the most high pressure season of his life, but ollie kept showing up — in the kitchen, on your phone, in your head. somehow, between championship points and legal deadlines, you were falling for the one man who couldn’t stop confessing to crimes.

fc : ashton wood

(a/n) : omg hey my angellllll<3 you look absolutely stunning like i would marry you rn on the spot. like soooooo fucking good. barking. growling. on my knees. PICK ME PLEASE. and i get so sad if you’re not in my inbox for more than like two days… im just like does she not love me no more??? where is my WIFEEE?? but i love u sm and this idea was so cute and i had so much fun.

also i saw an interview where ollie said kimi was moving in with him after he graduates so i made that a thing in this fic so yayyyy:)

—

yn_antonelli

liked by kimi.antonelli, olliebearman, franciscagomes and 725,075 others.

yn_antonelli : officially back in monaco and i have two things to say. 1. i am in love with simba gasly 2. this picture of maggie refusing to let me go at the airport is precious and will forever be etched the back of my brain. that is all. goodnight x

tagged : kimi.antonelli and babickovaeli

—

view 87,005 other comments.

pierregasly : the real question is when are you babysitting again bc he cried as soon as you left

liked by yn_antonelli and franciscagomes

↳ yn_antonelli : do NOT tell me that. i will dognap him rn 😭

liked by pierregasly and franciscagomes

↳ franciscagomes : pretty sure he likes you more than us anyways🤷🏻‍♀️

liked by yn_antonelli

babickovaeli : i missed you so so much! we def need to go out again and make kimi pay 😌

liked by yn_antonelli and kimi.antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : i missed you even more 😚 dinner and drinks taste much better on kimi’s card.

liked by babickovaeli and kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : isn’t the older sibling supposed to pay for everything?

↳ yn_antonelli : 🍅🍅

↳ yn_antonelli : the older sibling in this case is broke from law school and flying around the world to comfort her little brother.

liked by babickovaeli and kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : fair. take my card anytime you want

liked by yn_antonelli and babickovaeli

kimi.antonelli : mia bella sorella, sono così felice di riaverti. (my beautiful sister, so happy to have you back.)

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : what do you want

↳ yn_antonelli : you are only nice like this when you want something

liked by kimi.antonelli

↳ kimi.antonelli : not true. SLANDER.

↳ yn_antonelli : you are using that wrong.

↳ yn_antonelli : anyways. get to it. what do you want?

↳ kimi.antonelli : just really grateful to have such a supportive sister (i need you to make sure what im signing is legit)

↳ yn_antonelli : there it is. be home soon.

↳ kimi.antonelli : also maggie never looked that happy to see me.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : u just aren’t the fave

↳ username000 : the antonelli sibs are so special to me

maxverstappen1 : Glad you are back. Kimi has been rude since you left.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : andrea. is this true?

↳ lando : oh she first named you bro.

↳ kimi.antonelli : MAX!!!! stop. yn he is just trying to get me in trouble. i have been an angel the entire time.

liked by yn_antonelli, maxverstappen1 and lando

↳ kimi.antonelli : slander. AGAIN. i need a lawyer.

↳ yn_antonelli : cannot be part of this case as it is conflict of interest srry

liked by maxverstappen1 and lando

olliebearman : you say goodnight and then proceed to send me 17 simba pictures

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : unappreciative 🤧 never texting you ever again

liked by olliebearman

↳ olliebearman : noooooo yn. i didn’t mean it!! how can i ever make it up to you??? 🧎‍♂️

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : send me a shirtless selfie xx

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : OLLIE DO NOT. YN BAD. NO.

liked by olliebearman, yn_antonelli, and lando

↳ olliebearman : too late

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : licking my phone screen rn

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : ugh gross 🤮

—

You barely get the door open before Kimi’s voice rings out from somewhere inside the apartment.

“Took you long enough. Did you adopt Simba or something?”

You laugh, toeing off your sneakers and dropping your bag near the couch. “Honestly? I wouldn’t have said no. That dog has better manners than you.”

Kimi pokes his head out of the kitchen with a dramatic eye roll. “He also tried to eat my sock last time I visited. We’re not pretending he’s innocent.”

You make your way into the kitchen, still sun-kissed from your weekend at Pierre and Kika’s place. “Okay but he is the love of my life. It’s Simba’s world and we’re all just living in it.”

Kimi snorts. “God help us all.”

You pull open the fridge, immediately grimacing. “Why is there nothing in here except Gatorade, one sad orange, and what looks like leftover fries in a coffee filter?”

“That’s Ollie’s attempt at dinner,” Kimi says, wandering in behind you. “He said he was ‘too tired use a plate’ like that explains anything.”

“You both need supervision.”

“Yeah, well,” Kimi shrugs. “That’s why you’re here.”

Right on cue, the front door opens and Ollie strolls in, kicking it shut behind him. He’s still in his team polo, curls slightly windswept, a grin spreading across his face the second he spots you.

“Well, well, well,” he says. “Monaco just got a little prettier.”

You shoot him a look, trying not to smile. “Did you practice that?”

“Nope,” he says, dropping his keys in the bowl by the door. “You just have that effect on me.”

Kimi groans. Loudly. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I’m just being polite,” Ollie says, walking into the kitchen. “Besides, I haven’t seen her in, what, three days? I think that earns me at least one compliment.”

“She doesn’t want your compliments,” Kimi mutters.

“I actually don’t mind them,” you say casually, pulling out a glass.

Kimi nearly chokes on air. “You’re both dead to me.”

Ollie leans against the counter next to you, close enough that you feel his shoulder brush yours. “So how was Simba? Did he try to come home with you?”

You grin. “Almost. Kika caught him trying to sneak into my suitcase.”

“Smart dog,” he says, then adds under his breath, “Same strategy I was gonna try.”

Kimi flings a kitchen towel at his face. “NO. No flirting with my sister! That is a rule. A written rule!”

“I’ve never seen this in writing,” Ollie grins, pulling the towel off his head.

“Do I need to draft a contract?” Kimi snaps.

“Boys,” you say, sipping your water with mock serenity, “I’ve literally passed two tort exams this week. I could sue both of you for emotional distress and win.”

Ollie leans in a little closer. “I’d represent myself. Just to sit across from you in court.”

Kimi makes a strangled noise. “I’m moving out. I’m going to Max’s.”

“Go ahead,” you and Ollie say in unison.

Kimi turns on his heel and disappears down the hallway, muttering about betrayal and restraining orders. You glance at Ollie, who’s still watching you with a soft, smug smile.

“Welcome home,” he says, a little quieter this time.

You shake your head, fighting the blush. “Shut up.”

But you’re smiling too.

—

The sun is high, the Mediterranean is sparkling in the distance, and your torts textbook is open in front of you, pages fluttering slightly in the breeze. You’ve managed two whole hours of peace — no noise, no distractions, just iced coffee, highlighters, and the faint hum of waves below. For once, it feels like law school might not destroy you. Naturally, the universe doesn’t let that last.

“OI, PROFESSOR,” Kimi’s voice echoes from inside the apartment. “DO WE GET EXTRA CREDIT IF WE BRING SNACKS?”

You don’t even look up. “Not if they’re flaming hot Cheetos again.”

A beat.

“What if it’s Oreos?” Ollie asks, suddenly appearing beside you with a grin and a very suspicious looking plate of cookies.

You blink at him. “You didn’t make these, did you?”

“I assembled them,” he offers proudly.

“You stacked them, didn’t you?”

“Triple decker,” he confirms.

Kimi barrels onto the balcony a second later with a half-full Gatorade and no sense of spatial awareness. “Move your highlighters. I need space.”

“You’re not studying,” you say flatly.

“I’m auditing.”

“This is not a seminar.”

“Yet.”

You sigh and scoot your books over slightly to make room, though it feels more like you’re giving your sanity away inch by inch.

Ollie plops down beside you, his knee bumping yours like it’s muscle memory. He rests his chin in his hand and squints at your open notes. “Okay, explain this bit to me. What’s ‘negligence per se’?”

You pause. “It’s when someone breaks a law that’s specifically meant to prevent the kind of harm that occurred. So the violation itself proves negligence.”

Ollie nods solemnly. “Right, like when Kimi—”

“Don’t.” Kimi warns.

“No, no, I need this for context,” you say, half-laughing, half-afraid. “What did he do?”

Ollie leans in, voice lowered like he’s telling you a secret. “Okay so last winter, Kimi tried to ‘drift’ a golf cart through a snow-covered paddock in Austria—”

“OLLIE.”

“—and he may have taken out a VIP lounge tent.”

“It was poorly placed!” Kimi argues, flailing one hand while sipping Gatorade with the other.

You stare at them. “That’s—okay, yeah, that’s textbook negligence. Possibly even reckless endangerment. You’re lucky no one sued.”

Kimi pouts. “You say that like it wasn’t sick.”

“It was impressively dumb,” you reply. “Which is different.”

Ollie grins, shameless. “Okay, what about unauthorized use of a vehicle?”

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you asking that?”

“No reason.”

“Ollie.”

“Well—hypothetically,” he says, drawing the word out, “if someone borrowed a security buggy in Baku because they were late for curfew—”

“OH MY GOD.”

“—and accidentally drove it onto pit lane—”

“KIMI,” you hiss, looking at your brother, who’s pointedly not making eye contact.

Kimi shrugs. “It was dark.”

“You two are a liability.”

“We’re a team,” Ollie corrects. “A chaotic, well-fed team.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am going to need my own legal insurance policy just knowing you two.”

Ollie leans closer, nudging your elbow until you peek at him through your fingers.

“If you ever get tired of civil law,” he says with a smirk, “you could always defend me full-time. I promise to make it worth your while.”

You stare. “Are you flirting while listing things I could put you in prison for?”

“Gotta keep you engaged,” he says innocently. “This is interactive learning.”

“Interactive insanity.”

Kimi snorts. “I should charge tuition just for having to listen to this.”

“Or therapy,” you mutter, scribbling unauthorized vehicle use into the margin of your notebook.

Ollie leans back in his chair, stealing one of your sticky notes and doodling a heart on it.

“C’mon, counselor,” he says with a lazy grin, “you love us.”

You roll your eyes. “I deal with knowing you.”

“Same thing,” Kimi mumbles around an Oreo.

You look between the two of them — one covered in cookie crumbs, the other still grinning like he’s the protagonist in a romcom. Your study session is in shambles, your textbook is now decorated with cartoon smiley faces, and you’re weirdly okay with all of it. Against your better judgment, you smile. “God help me.”

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : Kimi Antonelli went on a podcast and casually admitted to credit card fraud because he and ollie bearman “stole Ollie’s trainers credit card and bought a ton of stuff” — and his sister, who is literally in law school, interrupted the interview just to say, “As Kimi’s legal counsel, I strongly advise him to shut the fuck up.” no like this family is unhinged 😭😭😭😭

view 75,025 other replies.

username00 : i need to hear ollie’s side of the story rn

username0 : yn is so iconic. she was just there scolding kimi and those interviewers were dying laughing.

username1 : not kimi casually stealing a card and calling it “a misunderstanding” 💀

username5 : no but imagine yn just trying to finish her reading and kimi’s like “is stealing really stealing if it was an accident?”

username7 : yn antonelli is only 3rd year law student and she is already getting a taste of the real world trying to defend ollie and her brother 😭

—

The living room is deceptively calm. You’re planted on the floor with your back against the couch, surrounded by an explosion of law textbooks, color coded notes, and the faint hum of lo-fi study music playing from your headphones. You’ve got a midterm next week, a case brief due tomorrow, and maybe three functioning brain cells left. Kimi, meanwhile, is perched at the kitchen counter behind you, deep into a Zoom podcast interview with his mic clipped to his hoodie and zero adult supervision.

You’re not paying attention. You should’ve been. “Yeah, so we did actually steal his credit card.”

Your head jerks up so fast you pull a muscle in your neck. “Ollie dared me to do it, and I figured, you know, he probably deserved it after that one gym session where he made me run stairs for 45 minutes. So I just… took it.”

You freeze, blinking at the wall like it’ll provide answers. “We ordered like… a beanbag, noise-cancelling headphones, five boxes of protein bars, a punching bag — which is still in the hallway, by the way — and I think we accidentally subscribed him to like a fruit of the month thing.”

You slam your torts textbook shut and turn around slowly.

“Kimi. What the actual hell did you just say?”

He half-glances at you over his shoulder. “Huh?”

“You just confessed. To intentional credit card fraud. On camera.”

One of the podcast hosts snorts. “Wait, is that your sister?”

Kimi lights up like he’s proud. “Yeah, that’s her! She’s in law school.”

You march straight into frame, highlighter still in hand, and give the camera your most professional death glare.

“Hi, yes, as Kimi’s legal counsel — and unfortunately, his sister — I would just like to advise Kimi to shut the fuck up.”

The podcast hosts lose it. One of them chokes on their drink. Another is wheezing.

Kimi grins. “She’s mad because I wouldn’t let her eat the protein bars.”

“I’m mad because you’re out here building a felony portfolio and dragging me down with you!”

From down the hall, Ollie calls out helpfully, “Don’t forget the disco light!”

“YOU ORDERED A DISCO LIGHT?!”

“I thought it would help morale!”

“Oh my god.”

You drag a hand down your face, muttering to yourself about future bar applications and how early is too early to start drinking.

“Kimi,” you say slowly, “you knew it wasn’t your card?”

“Yeah, obviously. His last name is literally on it.”

You stare at him. The hosts are still dying.

“I hate this family,” you mutter, storming off screen.

In the distance, you hear Ollie yell, “Wait, do you know where the disco light went?”

You yell back, “INTO THE EVIDENCE BIN. NEITHER OF YOU GET IT BACK.”

—

Kimi left an hour ago for some cardio session you’re 90% sure he’s going to complain about in thirty minutes. He’d barely made it to the elevator before turning back to shout, “Don’t let Ollie set anything on fire while I’m gone!”

You’d saluted. Ollie had bowed. Now, the sun is casting golden light through the windows, and the chaos has settled into something soft and warm. You’re curled up on the couch, laptop back open, textbook balanced on the armrest beside you, highlighter clutched loosely in one hand. Your coffee’s gone cold, but you’re too lazy to care. Ollie’s across from you at the kitchen island, scrolling on his phone, chewing idly on a granola bar. He’s unusually quiet, for once not throwing a stress ball or trying to balance a fork on his nose. You catch him sneaking glances at you every few seconds.

You raise an eyebrow. “You good?”

He pauses, like he’s debating something. Then he sets his phone down and stands up, wiping his hands on his hoodie like he’s nervous. Which is weird. Ollie is never nervous.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, walking over to you, “you know between your legal intervention and Kimi admitting to credit card fraud on both of our behalf…it’s been a chaotic day.”

You smirk. “That’s what happens when you two share a frontal lobe.”

He grins but doesn’t take the bait. Instead, he leans his hip against the back of the couch, voice soft now. “You’re always dealing with us, huh? Cleaning up our messes, reading law books while we’re over here planning our next felony.”

You tilt your head. “It’s not technically felony-level. Yet.”

“Still,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “You do a lot. For Kimi. For me.”

You blink, heart doing that annoying fluttery thing it does whenever he gets like this — a little too sincere, a little too close.

He hesitates, then finally blurts, “So I figured maybe it was time I took you out. On a real date.”

You freeze. “A real date?”

He nods, eyes on yours. “Yeah. Not a team dinner. Not a group movie night where Kimi insists on sitting between us like a human traffic cone. Just me and you. Somewhere nice.”

You blink again.

“You’re serious.”

“I’m very serious,” he says. “I even googled romantic restaurants in Monaco, which is something I thought only Charles would do. So that’s how committed I am.”

Your cheeks are warm. “Did you really?”

“I did,” he says proudly. “I also accidentally made a reservation under the name ‘Oliver Bearclaw’ because I was on voice text and sneezed halfway through.”

You laugh, pressing your hand over your mouth. “That’s so stupid.”

He grins. “Yeah, but you’re smiling. So I’m calling it a win.”

You look at him for a moment — all sunlit curls and hopeful eyes and way too much heart in his stupid little grin — and it hits you that he’s not just asking you on a date. He’s been falling for you this whole time. The flirting, the teasing, the way he always walks into a room and makes sure to say hi to you first — it wasn’t just a joke. It was real. And maybe… you’ve been falling, too. You set your laptop aside and stand up slowly, facing him.

“Okay,” you say softly. “Take me out, Bearclaw.”

His grin widens like the sun just came up.

“For real?”

“For real,” you nod. “But only if you promise not to commit any crimes between now and then.”

He places a hand over his heart. “No felonies, I swear.”

“Misdemeanors?”

“Minor ones.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile’s too wide to hide.

—

The restaurant is tucked away on a quiet corner near the Port, a place you’ve passed a hundred times but never stepped inside. It’s warm and golden inside, all low lighting and tall windows that overlook the water. The kind of place where time feels like it stretches and softens around the edges. And Ollie — Ollie is waiting at the table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, curls a little too fluffy, smile entirely too wide when he sees you walk in.

He stands up fast, almost knocking into the waiter. “You look—wow.”

You glance down at yourself, at the simple dress and slightly curled hair. “I look what?”

He pulls your chair out for you. “Like you’re about to sue me and steal my heart.”

You laugh as you sit down. “That was tragic. And kind of sweet.”

“Story of my life.”

Dinner is easy — conversation flowing like it always does, but softer somehow. You talk about school, about the things you hate studying, about how you once considered switching to marine biology after a breakdown in year one.

He talks about growing up on tracks, about how surreal it still feels to be in F1. He doesn’t say it out loud, but you know the weight it isn’t always gentle. You reach across the table and touch his hand when his voice gets quiet. He relaxes immediately under your fingers.

Dessert comes and he orders two spoons without even asking. “I’m not letting you eat crème brûlée alone. That’s a crime.”

“You would know.”

He smiles, but there’s a shift — something tender in his eyes, something quieter than the usual chaos he tosses around like confetti. After dinner, you walk along the marina. Monaco glows at night — golden lights reflected in the water, luxury yachts bobbing gently, laughter drifting from balconies. He keeps brushing against your shoulder like he’s testing fate. You stop near the railing, just where the dock curves out toward the sea.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say, glancing up at him. “It was… really good.”

He looks at you like you hung the moon. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”

You smile. “I kind of figured. The flirting during my breakdowns was a giveaway.”

“I had to keep you entertained somehow. Also, I thought maybe you’d be impressed by my criminal record.”

You laugh, leaning into him. “It’s extensive. I might write a dissertation.”

“I’d be honored.”

He takes your hand then — slow, careful, like he’s waited exactly long enough to be sure. And when you look up at him, heart beating a little too fast, he leans in and kisses you. Soft, like a secret. Like a promise.

There’s nothing dramatic about it — no fireworks or cheers or music swelling behind you. Just his hand on your waist, the scent of the sea, and the feeling that maybe, finally, the chaos has led you somewhere you want to stay.

You pull back slightly, smiling against his lips. “So… what’s the verdict?”

He grins. “You’re definitely going to be the smartest person I’ve ever dated.”

“Yeah?”

“And the prettiest.”

Your face warms as you nudge him playfully. “God, Kimi’s gonna hate this.”

“Yeah,” Ollie laughs. “But I don’t really care.”

And neither do you.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : Ollie Bearman went on the same podcast as Kimi Antonelli and not only CONFIRMED the credit card theft story — he added that he once “stole his trainer’s ID so he couldn’t leave the track and I wouldn’t have to do cooldown laps.” To which a poor and tired YN Antonelli yelled at him from behind the camera, “OLIVER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP. TALKING.” 

view 108,004 other replies.

username000 : someone needs to lock these men up and give yn a vacation + a bottle of wine

↳ yn_antonelli : i need it. pls. someone help.

username00 : they’re gonna get her disbarred before she even graduates

username1 : ollie’s smile when she scolded him?? he’s in love.

username5 : her legal career hasn’t even started and she’s already stuck doing crisis PR full time 😭

username7 : oh i love them all so much. give them to me.

—

The door is closed. Your laptop is open. The air conditioning is finally working. For the first time in 48 hours, you feel a tiny hint of peace. You’re curled up on the small couch in Ollie’s driver room, laptop buzzing and an absurdly large iced coffee next to you. There’s just enough WiFi to submit your assignment and watch a torts lecture on double speed. Across the room, Ollie is mid-interview with a podcast crew — his mic clipped to his race suit, feet kicked up on a stool, expression way too relaxed for someone with a camera in his face.

You’re only half-listening until you hear it.

“Yeah, the credit card thing was real.”

Your eyes snap up from your laptop.

The host laughs. “Wait, seriously? You and Kimi actually used your trainer’s card?”

Ollie just grins, dimples out, completely unbothered. “Oh yeah. We found it on the counter before a sim session and decided to test if it worked.”

Your highlighter slips out of your hand.

“It did,” he continues, like he’s talking about the weather. “So we just… kept using it.”

You sit up. “Oliver.”

“We didn’t buy anything crazy,” he says quickly. “Mostly snacks. Gym gear. A massage gun. I think Kimi ordered a beanbag chair. And like, maybe… matching hoodies?”

You slam your laptop shut. “Oliver.”

The host is laughing too hard to ask the next question. Another one goes, “That’s insane. What did your trainer say?”

“Oh, he was chill about it,” Ollie says, waving it off. “I gave the card back eventually. But that’s not even the worst thing I’ve done to him.”

Your head whips around. “Don’t—”

“There was this one time in Silverstone,” Ollie says, leaning back, “where I straight up stole his  ID.”

The room goes silent.

The hosts blink. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Yeah, I took his ID and hid it in my glove box. He couldn’t leave the track because security wouldn’t let him through the gates.”

You stare at him in pure disbelief. “Why?”

He shrugs, totally unapologetic. “Because I didn’t want to do cooldown laps alone and he said he had somewhere to be. So I… created a situation.”

From your corner, you yell without even thinking.

“OLIVER. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD. STOP. TALKING.”

He jumps slightly and turns toward you with a guilty smile. “Oh. Hi.”

You stand up slowly, hands on your hips. “You’re on a recorded podcast. And you just admitted to identity theft.”

“Technically it wasn’t identity theft,” he says innocently. “I didn’t use it. I just… blocked his escape.”

“That’s not better!”

One of the podcast hosts mutters, “This is better than Drive to Survive.”

You walk into frame, highlighter still in hand like a legal weapon. “Hi. Yes. As Oliver Bearman’s unofficial legal counsel and the only sane adult in his orbit, I would like to make a formal statement— he is no longer allowed to speak in public.”

The hosts are crying with laughter now.

Ollie beams at you. “She’s cute when she’s mad, isn’t she?”

You turn slowly toward the camera. “He’s lucky he’s cute or I’d be representing him from a holding cell.”

He winks. “Wouldn’t be the worst date we’ve had.”

You groan, turning away. “I’m going to sue you.”

“Good thing you’re already in law school.”

Behind the camera, someone whispers, “I think they’re in love.”

You grab your laptop and head toward the door before Ollie can start confessing to international crimes.

As you’re halfway out, you hear—

“Wait, can I tell them the story about the golf cart in Barcelona?”

“NO, YOU CANNOT.”

—

yn_antonelli

liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli, lando and 875,130 others.

yn_antonelli : since ollie and kimi insist on admitting their crimes in front of the whole world, i made them take me to brunch and used both of their cards at hermes as payment for my defense.

tagged : olliebearman and kimi.antonelli

—

view 89,000 other comments.

franciscagomes : brunch and birkins… you’ve got a bright future in negotiations mama

liked by yn_antonelli

oscarpiastri : So what I’m hearing is that you extorted your clients?

liked by kimi.antonelli and olliebearman

↳ yn_antonelli : actually mr. piastri, it is considered compensation for emotional damages.

liked by oscarpiastri and olliebearman

kimi.antonelli : STOP SPENDING ALL MY MONEY PLEASEEEE

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : stop confessing to crimes on live podcasts and maybe we can discuss a compromise

liked by olliebearman

↳ kimi.antonelli : honestly fair point tbh.

alexandrasaintmleux : your honor, she’s iconic. sigh.

liked by yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : omg omg i love uuuuu

isackhadjar : that is ollie’s hand. i am not stupid.

liked by olliebearman and yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : look at the big brains on sherlock hadjar.

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↳ kimi.antonelli : wait what

—

The sun is shining, the water is glittering, and Kimi Antonelli looks like he hasn’t slept in 36 hours. Even though he just slept for 14. 

“Why am I here,” he grumbles, slumped in the backseat of the Uber with sunglasses that cover half his face. “I didn’t even confess that many crimes.”

“You admitted to credit card fraud and stealing a man’s identity in the span of twenty-four hours,” you say, scrolling through the brunch menu on your phone. “I deserve eggs. I deserve champagne. I deserve a Birkin.”

“You’re going to steal our money to buy a Birkin.”

“I defended you from public ridicule and potential legal investigation.”

“I don’t even like brunch,” he mutters. “Who eats breakfast at 11:30?”

“People who aren’t under investigation,” you snap.

Ollie, sitting beside you in the Uber, just laughs — far too amused by the whole situation. “I like brunch,” he says, looking down at you with that stupid grin. “Especially when you’re mad. You get all—bossy.”

You glance up, squinting. “Would you like to confess anything else while we’re en route to a public restaurant?”

“Not unless you’re charging me by the hour.”

Kimi groans dramatically. “I hate whatever the fuck this is.” 

—

You’re seated at an outdoor table with a sea view, sunglasses on, napkin in your lap, and a mimosa already in hand. Kimi looks like he’s about to throw himself into the ocean.

Ollie’s watching you over his menu, smirking. “You’re glowing today.”

“That’s what financial revenge and fresh pastries will do to a girl,” you hum.

The waiter returns with your first round of orders — coffee for Kimi, a breakfast burger for Ollie, and a small mountain of avocado toast and poached eggs for you.

“I hope you’re both ready to pay,” you say brightly, stabbing your fork into your toast. “Because I ordered three sides. Out of principle.”

Kimi doesn’t look up. “I’m telling Nonna you bullied me.”

“She’ll be proud I’m finally asserting myself.”

“Does she know you're about to max out my card at Hermès?”

“She would be proud.”

Ollie sips his orange juice, clearly enjoying this too much. “Honestly, watching you argue is kind of hot. Should I confess to tax evasion next?”

You pause, slowly turning toward him. “Don’t. You. Dare.”

He grins, unbothered. “You’d still make me pay for brunch first.”

You tilt your head. “Damn right I would.”

Kimi finally looks up from his phone. “Are you two together or are you just blackmailing him through brunch?”

You and Ollie both respond at the same time—

“None of your business.”

“I think I’m in love with her.”

You nearly choke on your mimosa.

Kimi slaps his credit card on the table. “I’m leaving. I’m paying. I want nothing to do with whatever this is.”

“But we haven’t ordered dessert yet,” you pout.

Kimi glares at you through his sunglasses. “I will throw you into the sea.”

“Please do,” Ollie says, smirking again. “I’ll jump in after her.”

“You’re both sick,” Kimi says, standing and muttering as he walks toward the cashier. “I’m moving out.”

You smile as the waiter returns with a tiny silver bell and a dessert menu.

“Round two?” Ollie asks, reaching for your hand under the table.

You squeeze his fingers. “You’re paying.”

He grins, boyish and hopeless. “Always.”

—

You had planned for Hermes after brunch as Kimi made a comment about how “law students don’t need nice bags” and Ollie laughed, and now here you are, standing outside the most intimidating boutique in all of Monaco — sunglasses on, mimosa still coursing through your veins, and absolutely unhinged on principle.

“YN,” Kimi says warily as the automatic glass doors open, “let’s talk.”

“No,” you say sweetly. “You committed crimes. Now I’m committing retail.”

Ollie follows you in like a golden retriever on a leash made of guilt and admiration. Kimi drags his feet like a hostage.

“Do you need a bag that costs more than your first years tuition?” Kimi hisses as the polished sales assistant greets you like you’re royalty.

“I need financial restitution,” you say calmly, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “And emotional closure.”

The assistant smiles. “Are we shopping for anything in particular today, madam?”

You gesture to Kimi and Ollie, both standing awkwardly behind you like they’re about to be publicly executed. “They’ll be paying.”

The woman beams.

“Excellent. Right this way.”

—

You’re standing in front of a full-length mirror with a black Birkin draped over your forearm. It looks obscene. It looks divine. It looks like justice.

Ollie’s perched on the velvet bench nearby, watching you with the kind of dumb, smitten look that says, I would rob a bank if she asked nicely.

“You like it?” he asks, tipping his head.

You raise a brow. “I love it.”

“Then it’s yours.”

Kimi, from the corner, nearly chokes on the sparkling water the assistant brought him. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“She loves it,” Ollie shrugs, pulling out his card. “She deserves it.”

“She bullied us into a brunch we didn’t want and is now financially blackmailing us in Hermès!”

You smirk as the assistant gently takes the bag from you to box it up.

“You’re the one who said ‘it wasn’t even a big deal’ after admitting to stealing a man’s identity on camera.”

“You didn’t represent me! You just yelled ‘shut the fuck up’ from behind the couch!”

“That was the defense! And it worked!”

Ollie, whispering to the cashier— “Would now be a bad time to mention I also used the trainer’s gym membership without asking?”

“KIMI. HE DID MORE. THAT MEANS I GET SHOES TOO.”

Kimi is now fully slumped into the armchair, sunglasses on, mouthing prayers to the ceiling.

The assistant hands you the receipt with a reverent smile and says, “We’ve added a small gift for your troubles.”

You nod graciously. “As you should.”

As you walk out, massive shopping bag in one hand and Ollie’s hand in the other, you turn back and call. 

“Thanks for brunch! Thanks for the bag! Try not to commit any more felonies this week!”

Kimi doesn’t respond. He’s already Googling how to block you from his bank account.

—

The apartment is quiet. Sunlight pours through the windows, casting golden light across the hardwood floors. For once, there’s no podcast playing, no shoes being thrown, no one dramatically announcing a new crime. Just you and Ollie in the kitchen.

You’re leaned against the counter, his hands on either side of your hips, your fingers tangled in the soft collar of his hoodie. He’s smiling against your mouth — all warm lips, soft touches, and stolen breaths like this has been a long time coming. Because it has.

“I really like you,” he murmurs, nudging your nose with his.

“Even though I made you pay for the Birkin?”

“Especially because you made me pay for the Birkin.”

You laugh, tugging him closer by his hoodie strings, just as he leans in again — lips brushing yours, his thumb ghosting along your neck. It’s soft, easy, a little reckless.

And then— The front door bursts open.

“WHY IS THERE A PARKING TICKET WITH MY NAME ON IT?!”

You and Ollie freeze mid-kiss like two teenagers caught making out by a high school principal. Except the principal is your younger brother and he’s holding a crumpled parking citation and an espresso.

“OH MY GOD,” Kimi screams. “ARE YOU—ARE YOU KISSING?!”

Ollie pulls back slowly. “Hey, mate—”

“NO. NO HEY MATE. WHAT IS THIS?!”

You blink. “…Kimi, we’ve been soft launching for a month.”

“I THOUGHT THAT WAS A BIT,” he shrieks, tossing the parking ticket into the air like confetti. “I thought you were gaslighting me!”

“We literally held hands in front of you—”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES.”

Ollie steps back with his hands up. “Look, we weren’t hiding it—”

“YOU,” Kimi snarls, pointing at him. “I LET YOU LIVE HERE. I LET YOU EAT MY CEREAL. I TRUSTED YOU.”

“To be fair, it’s my cereal, and my apartment.” Ollie mumbles. 

“IRRELEVANT.”

Kimi storms toward the kitchen, righteous fury in his socks. “Ollie, I swear to god, if you hurt her—if you so much as misplace a single hair on her law school head—I will run you over exactly 8 times.” 

“Okay,” Ollie says nervously, backing into the island. “That seems extreme—”

“You’re lucky you have dimples or I’d kill you right now.”

You step in between them, putting your hand on Kimi’s chest like a bodyguard. “Relax. He’s not hurting me.”

Kimi narrows his eyes. “Are you sure he didn’t put something in that mimosa?”

“Kimi.”

“I’m just asking!”

“I’m literally holding his hand.”

Ollie gives Kimi a little wave. “Hi.”

“I’M GOING TO MURDER YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS.”

You sigh, reaching over to grab the espresso out of his hand. “You need to calm down and hydrate before you combust.”

Kimi glares at both of you. “You owe me emotional damages. And a new box of cereal.”

Ollie shrugs. “Want me to buy you Hermès socks?”

“I DON’T WANT YOUR GUILT SOCKS.”

Kimi storms off to his room, slamming the door dramatically behind him. There’s a beat of silence. Then from inside his room,

“IF I HEAR KISSING SO HELP ME GOD—”

You burst out laughing and lean back into Ollie’s arms, grinning. “Well. That went well.”

Ollie kisses your temple. “Honestly, better than expected.”

—

olliebearman

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, lando and 1,810,001 others.

olliebearman : she loves me and my extensive list of crimes.

tagged : yn_antonelli

—

view 152,000 other comments.

yn_antonelli : this is legally admissible. delete immediately.

liked by olliebearman

↳ olliebearman : how romantic 🥰

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kimi.antonelli : I WILL BE PRESSING CHARGES. against both of you.

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↳ olliebearman : good luck. i have the best lawyer in the world.

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georgerussell63 : something tells me the legal expert was not consulted prior to making this caption

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↳ yn_antonelli : def not but im used to it

estebanocon : ohhhh this is why kimi was pacing in front of the garage yesterday. happy for you both !! ❤️

liked by yn_antonelli and olliebearman

—

redbullracing

liked by maxverstappen1, kimi.antonelli, yn_antonelli and 3,720,005 others.

redbullracing : @/yn_antonelli please come get your menace. he has been caught in the act again.

—

view 235,007 other comments.

yn_antonelli : he does not belong to me. i have never ever seen that man in my life. i wish him the best of luck.

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, redbullracing, olliebearman and lando

kimi.antonelli : I TOLD HIM TO STOP DOING THIS. TOO MANY CAMERAS.

↳ yn_antonelli : oh so you’ve done it too?

↳ kimi.antonelli : no…

↳ redbullracing : yes. check dm’s

↳ yn_antonelli : GOD DAMNIT ANDREA

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oscarpiastri : He does this at Mclaren too. Took my smoothie out of my hands. Said absolutely nothing and walked out.

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, lando and olliebearman

charles_leclerc : he stole like 5 coconut waters from me in the matter of a month

liked by yn_antonelli, kimi.antonelli, olliebearman and lando

olliebearman : ALL OF THIS IS SLANDER. I DO NOT SPEAK UNTIL MY LEGAL COUNSEL IS PRESENT. YNNNNNNN!!!!

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, lando, oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc and yn_antonelli

↳ yn_antonelli : i do not know you. stop bothering me. i will get a restraining order if necessary

liked by kimi.antonelli, maxverstappen1, lando, oscarpiastri, olliebearman and charles_leclerc

—

[krahanele]

"You don't get it? You really don't get it?"

You sit at the kitchen table, lit only by the dim light from the streetlamp outside, watching the horror as it paces the linoleum floor frantically. The weird static that surrounds its head and doesn't seem to possess any substance but which makes you feel more unmoored from reality the longer you look at it gives the appearance of standing on end in a messy sort of way. You wish that you could fix it, make it look a little neater.

"Well, I mean, there's just a lot going on, you know?" You offer, after an awkward pause. "I mean, okay, you've got this yawning pit of nothingness where your abdomen should be, which is fine, but then there's also writhing intestines like right next to it, which is like 'okay, where am I looking?', you know? It's just a bit busy. And…and the bird feet, what's with the bird feet?"

It looks down at the offending feet. "They're supposed to look like whatever your greatest fear is."

"Oh. Well, okay, I don't like birds, sure. But I feel like the feet aren't the part that-"

"Look, I know it's dumb having it be on the feet, but I didn't have room anywhere else!" It snarls, before deflating. It leans against a counter in apparent defeat.

"I put so much work into this, you know. I dropped out of college to do this. I had a full-ride scholarship at a nice state school and everything, and my parents were really excited for me. But I gave it up. I told them it was all gonna be okay, I could pay off my student loans with all the souls I would reap and then I could even help them with their mortgage. But you're like the fifth person tonight whose mind I've tried to eviscerate beyond recognition and just look at you! You've got a glass of water! The last guy just went back to bed, he didn't even acknowledge I was there! He just assumed he was sleep-walking!"

You wince in sympathy. "Aw, that sucks."

"Don't 'aw' at me!" The horror lifts itself from the counter to tower over you menacingly. You watch out of the corner of your eye as the shadows in the dark kitchen begin to shift and jerk. The voice that emanates from the horror has multiple layers of different pitches, as though a tortured chorus spoke from somewhere within its sick form.

"I am beyond your pathetic mortal comprehension! I am a being which possesses more power than you could even begin to understand, you whelp! Give up, give in, let your mind be dismantled from the- what is that face you're making, what are you doing."

"What face?" You relax your features and look at the horror innocently.

"That face, you looked like…you looked like you were about to yawn," it accused.

"No I wasn't!"

"Yes you were, I saw it, you were going to bring your hand up to your face to yawn!"

"Well it's just…" You look down at the glass of water between your hands. You feel bad.

"Just what?"

"Like, when you're saying the words it doesn't feel like you mean them, you know?"

"What?"

"Like, it doesn't feel authentic. It feels like you're saying them because you think you're supposed to be saying them because it's what horrors beyond human comprehension say, but it doesn't feel like you."

The horror just stands there. If it had eyes, you imagine they would be staring off into space.

"What do I do?" It says, just above a whisper. "What in Cthulhu's name do I do? I don't know what to do. I've given up everything to do this and it's just become this huge, stupid mess."

"Hey." You get up and take a step toward it. As you do, a cacophony of wild, incomprehensible screams begins to fill your ears, so you quickly take a step back until the sound fades. You stand at an awkward distance from the horror.

"It's part of the journey, messing up," you say. "You can't be expected to get it right the first time, or even the second or third time. Making mistakes is how you learn. You think Cthulhu just popped into existence and knew how to completely upend the cosmos as we know it on day one? Or do you think it took a few thousand years for it to get a good routine going?"

The horror looks at you. You think. Again, no eyes.

"Look," you continue, "I'm in my late twenties, and I have no idea what I'm doing. I keep trying out these different careers and nothing seems to fit. I'm getting my masters online, and I don't even know what I'm going to do with it. I think I thought it would solve all my problems, but I don't think it will. I'm just stumbling around trying to figure it out, but I'll get there one day. I just have to trust the process, and trust myself. And when I mess up, instead of freaking out or calling it quits like I want to, I just make a note of how I can do better in the future, and I move on. I don't know where I'm headed, but I'm just trusting myself to do my best, one day at a time."

"…you think so?" The horror's voice is quiet, hesitating.

"Yeah I think so! That's life! And I'm just a human with a human life span. You've got, what, millennia to go or something?"

The horror nods its head.

"There, you see? You'll get there. Don't give up just because five people's minds didn't melt immediately. Just get back out there and keep adjusting your strategy until you find something that works."

The horror brings a twisting dark appendage to its face(?), as though it were wiping away a tear.

"Thank you. I really needed to hear that," it says. It takes what seems like a deep breath and draws itself up to full height. Its form begins to go liquid at the edges.

"Okay, I'm gonna go back to the drawing board now. But I will return for you and your insignificant soul. Your face will melt from your skull when you next behold me, so great will be your terror!"

"I sure hope so," you say with a smile, as the horror bubbles and stretches and morphs until it becomes a great, twisting orb of black, dripping limbs and screaming mouths, which swiftly flies out of the open window through which it had initially entered.

You stand there for a moment before downing the rest of your glass of water.

"Okay, cool," you say aloud to the empty room, and then you head back to bed.

You bear witness to a horror beyond your comprehension. However, because you don't comprehend it, you....just don't get it. The horror in question is terrified by this.

[ce1estiall]

make me go

summary dallas!paige x hispanic!reader spicy game with paige. masterlist.

warnings not really smut but suggestive sexual thoughts. hickeys, finger sucking

celestial notes thought of this after seeing a tiktok. chapter 3 of taste of love will be released tmr! i promise!

“yeah, you make me go

love me, love me now, love me, love me good

don’t need nobody else when it feels this good

ain’t nobody around, do it like you should.” twice - make me go

her keys jangled from her hands as she walked through the door, paige was carrying a target bag. “babe!” she shouted.

you placed the curling iron down. “in here!“ you yelled, loud enough hopefully for her to hear. paige had an off day, and she wanted to spend it with you since they were occasional. you both didn’t want to go anywhere, just wanted to spend time in your apartment together and soak up each other’s presence.

paige playing her first rookie season was chaotic. multiple games a week, flying to and from different cities, her being jet lagged, and she didn’t have enough time to see you or spend with you. however, you grateful for this one day of rest she got.

you heard footsteps coming from the hallway, her valentino cologne tingling by. paige paused and leaned on the doorway, “whats the occasion?” paige whistled, admiring you.

you smirked, “you.” paige gave a peck on your lips as you curled another piece of you hair. you noticed the bag in her hand. “what’cha get?”

she paused, opening the bag and pulling out a box, showing it off like a prized possession. “found this game, wanna try it later tonight?”

you placed down a can of hairspray and grabbed the box. “rizzy games? really?” you rolled your eyes, unsurprised. this was definitely a game paige would pick out, as she called herself the “ultimate rizzler.”

you studied the box carefully, pointing your finger to read out the small text. “a spicy date game for…” you rolled your eyes, handing her back the box towards her chest.

she smiled, pointing to herself “what can i say? its something thats in you, not on you.”

“you’re so corny!” you teased, pushing her away from you.

paige moved closer, hands on your waist, practically feeling her breathing on your skin. “you know you love it.” she said, kissing your cheek afterwards.

-

after dinner, you sat down on the carpet, leaning against the coffee table. paige placed her empty dish in the sink. “you always make the best fucking food, i swear.” you smiled from her compliment, glancing at her from across the living room. “i’m glad you liked it.”

paige bent down to a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of tequila. this tex-mex was really rubbing off on her ever since she got drafted. “since when do you know tequila?” you joked.

paige smiled. “since i was at the store. also this game requires drinking, if you don’t want to we don’t ha-.”

you cut her off immediately. “babe, i am always up for reconnecting with my people. dame la botella.”

growing up hispanic, drinking was not a surprise. it was at every family gathering or party. you sometimes occasionally snuck sips before 21.

she was puzzled, her eyebrows shooting up as she was grabbing shot glasses. you reached your hand out. “give me the bottle. didn’t you take spanish in high school?”

she sat walked to the coffee table and sat down, carrying the card game under her arm, tequilla in one hand, shot glasses in another. “that was like 8-9 years ago.” paige spoke, handing you the tequila.

“it should ring a bell by now with me occasionally talk to you.” you opened the bottle and poured some in your glass, then in paige’s. you both grabbed the glasss, saying cheers as they clanked together, gulping yours down like it was nothing.

you looked at paige, seeing her face after drinking it all. “how was it?”

her face puckered. “it was okay, props to you for having this growing up.” you laughed. “you get used to it paige.”

“alright.” paige spoke, rubbing her hands together. she grabbed the back of the box, reading the directions. “shuffle the cards and place the cards face down in the center. on your turn draw your card…blah blah blah.”

“that wasn’t helpful.” you joked. paige didn’t like instructions most of the time.

she rolled her eyes. “such a princess. basically pick a card, say it out loud and do what it says. the more intense the card is the more points its worth, first to 29 points wins.”

“why 29?” you asked.

paige shrugged. “i don’t know, its just what the game says.”

you grabbed the cards out of the box and shuffled them on the table as paige watched you in awe. there was the reason why you always were the shuffler in games. “rock paper scissors who goes first.”

she got her hands ready. “out of 3?”

you smiled, picking rock as she chose scissors. “okay i win!” you grabbed a card from the deck.

“try not to smooch 1 inch away from your partner for 60 seconds. fail? sip simp.” you grabbed your phone and put a time on for a minute. “ready?”

“born ready.” paige shot back.

you and paige both moved closer to each other, face to face. you looked at her blue ocean eyes, instantly dilating from the look of you. you can see a wave of blush hitting her cheeks. “its my challenge and you’re the one flustered over me.” you teased.

“well how can i stop myself when this view in front of me is all mine?” paige’s eyes darted to your lips, and you noticed. before you crashed onto hers, the timer rang. +1 for you. “you’re impossible” you told paige.

“i guess you can say you’re fallin’, hard.” paige spoke, attempting to be nonchalant. she grabbed a card from the deck. paige started smiling, you knew this was bad.

“blindfold your partner and sneak a kiss somewhere they wouldn’t expect.”

“but what if i expect it everywhere?” you questioned. paige laughed, covering your eyes with her hands. she whispered in your ear, “someone’s a little too confident.”

paige grabbed the neckline of your top, moving it towards your shoulders. she placed a kiss on the side of your neck, then more upwards towards your jaw. once she started, she couldn’t stop. paige started sucking and biting, strings of saliva connecting from her lips to you neck. a soft moan escaped you as she placed a hickey on you neck, claiming you were hers.

she uncovered your eyes, a grin escaping her. “expecting that?”

you heartbeat became faster. “no.”

“good.” +2 for paige. you grabbed another card. “‘what’s something your partner does thats lowkey a turn-on but not meant to be?’ oh definitely when you’re mad.”

she sat straight up. “really?”

you nodded. “its hot, coming from you.”

“next time i’m mad, i’m coming to you. i’m surprised no one has drank yet.” it was paige’s turn. “‘do a squat with your partner on your back.” paige stood up in a flash. “easy.”

paige reached for your hand to bring you up. you sat down on paige’s shoulders, then she started to squat down. “paige if you drop me i’m gonna kill you!” you shouted

“i got you. baby you’re like 100 pounds. i could do this all day.” you hands found her hair, trying to purposefully mess it up. she put you down and sat down once again. “how many do i have?” she asked, handing you her cards.

you analyzed the points at the bottom. “3.”

“only that many?” she asked, confused.

“well, if you get pink its 3 and if you get purple its 4.” you gave her back her cards, picking a card now that it was your turn.

“suck your partners fingers seductively.” you started smiling, then looked at paige.

paige looked ready. “you’re not gonna drink for this you, are you?”

you grabbed her wrist. “nope.” she placed her fingers in your mouth. you licked all around, placing a thick coat of spit. paige’s body became hot. your head bobbled, sucking her fingers like she ordered you to do before. you both were enjoying this deep down, getting turned on by the minute.

once you finished, her fingers released from your mouth. she turned to look at you with lust, placing her fingers in her mouth and licking off your flavor. “god you’re fucking killing me here.”

paige reached out and grabbed a card. “‘drink if you want to have sex right now.’ man give me the fucking bottle.”

she drank her shot then looked at you for approval. it was the look that made your legs feel like jello. you both smiled, as if you could read each others minds of what you both wanted in that moment, pleasure.

she grabbed your wrist with anticipation and headed upstairs towards the bedroom with one thing in mind, making you feel good.

[friskalicousbiscuits]

Neglected The Mask!reader x platonic Yan!Batfam

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, its “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Four

6:13pm

Today marked the fourth day you possessed the mask. As of now, you were doing your usual jog home. It was about six, which was about as late as you dared to get out of school. Your particular jog this evening was a little closer to a run due to the second newest rogue in Gotham.

The Shadow Thief.

No, no, not that one Hawkman villain who can turn into a shadow and steals from museums and stuff. This Shadow Thief actually steals shadows.

Since yesterday night, a little bit after you retired from being a rogue and singing at the Penguin’s club, multiple people have reported their shadows being stolen. It was all over the news! A mother, a husband, a child, whoever this was clearly had no discrimination. Heck, they’ve even successfully hit Mr Freeze! One of the biggest rogues in Gotham! It was apparently in the middle of a fight with Batman too. According to witnesses, Robin also got his shadow stolen as well, but the Bats left before it could actually be confirmed.

Now as for you? Like mentioned before, you were just running, and praying that this guy doesn’t steal your shadow too.

You were almost home free too. Then, you just happened to turn the corner just as some guy was getting his shadow stolen.

Crappy luck, am I right?

You skid to a stop, wide-eyed as the man thrashed and tried to punch at the shadow thing swarming him.

“Get offa me!” He yelled gruffly before the living shadow’s hands grabbed onto his own shadow. The sound of it peeling away from the man was similar to a shriek. The man’s shadow also clawed at the thing trying to steal it away before it stuffed it into a sack. The man dropped to the ground, arms going around himself. “Cold… fuck, it’s freezing.”

Okay, you need to leave. Now.

You took a step back as quietly as you could. That didn’t stop the shadow from whipping its head towards you. It… stared? It didn’t have a face so you couldn’t really tell, but you got the distinct feeling that it was in fact, staring at you. It fell into a crouch. You thought it was about to lunge at you, but then it jumped. High into the sky until something else, a blur of green and blue could be seen locking elbows with it. They spawn in the air together slowly falling to the ground. It reminded you of leaves.

“What? What’s got you so riled up?” You could now see that the blue and green blur…

…was a kid?

He looked to be around Damian’s age, and while shorter height-wise than your brother, the kid’s hair, that was sticking almost straight up, would’ve surpassed Damian. Speaking of his hair it was a dark blue with whitish streaks.

Almost like he-who-shall-not-be-named.

Though, the kid had two white streaks instead of one. His skin was blue too, lighter than his hair and he was dressed like, well, the closest thing you could compare it to was an edgy Peter Pan, minus the hat. And judging by the way he and, what you’re assuming is his, shadow fell so gracefully? He probably had some fairy dust on him too.

You noticed the shadow start pointing at you, and jumping a little bit as if excited. Oh right. The kid was talking to it.

Could it not talk back?

You watched the kid’s eyes land on you. They very visibly brightened and the next thing you knew, you were being almost tackled by both the kid and his shadow. The kids arms were around your neck, so was the shadow’s but you couldn’t really feel them. The momentum from them running at you and jumping on you caused you to spin for a little bit while they still both held onto you. When you eventually stopped both the spinning and feeling the dizziness from said spinning, you tensed, waiting for it the try and peel your shadow away like plaster.

But nothing came.

“There you are! Marked by the mask! Oh buddy oh pal, it’s so good to see you again!” The kid said with a grin as both he and his shadow let go and dropped back to the ground.

“What?!”

Both the weird, little, blue-skinned child and its shadow started circling you, looking you over. “So what’s the deal this time? You a warlord again?”

“No?”

“Outlaw?”

“No!” You exclaimed, though that one was technically true.

“Tyrant?”

“N—”

The kid held up a hand. “No. I get it.” He and his shadow stopped circling to stand in front of you. “So then what’s your deal now? You’re a little younger than the previous times but…”

“But what? Who even are you?!” You were extremely confused. You were also a little stuck on the marked by the mask thing.

Did that mean what you think it meant?

The kid stared a little dumbly before letting out an “Ooooooooh.” He let out a little laugh. “Right. You’re not Masky right now, that’s my bad. Skillet’s the name and stealing shadows is my game.” Skillet put a hand out for a shake.

You very hesitantly shook it. “You’re the shadow thief?” You asked as you also shook the shadow’s hand. It felt more like shaking air, but you supposed it was the thought that counted.

“Correct-o! Keeps me young. I don’t look a day over 12, do I?” Skillet bragged.

“Not at all.” You said, a little dumbly, still confused. He really did look twelve, but if that was the case… “How old are you then?”

“Four thousand.”

A small silence pooled between you both.

“Four thousand?” You repeated, tone incredulous.

“A shocker, I know.” The kid said with a proud grin as both he and his shadow twin started to float.

He didn’t even sprinkle some fairy dust on himself. Wow.

“Listen Masky, I got places to be shadows to steal, and you can’t become my Masky until nightfall. So…” Skillet spun around until he stopped and pointed at Gotham’s Clocktower. “Ooh! Meet me over there when you put the mask on.”

“Okay?” Wow, you were actually agreeing to this. Meeting up with this random magical kid who steals shadows.

Was this your first villain connection as a rogue?

Was that also appropriate to be happy about if that was the case?

“Great! We’re gonna have so much fun together again! Just you and me! Torturing the innocents!”

“I’m sorry, what?!”

Skillet and the shadow waved in sync. “See ya later!” With that, they flew off, leaving you to watch them go in utter confusion.

Bruce Wayne - Batman POV

10:28pm

Constantine was back in the cave again. After his incoherent rant from yesterday that involved the words mask and Loki, he’d left and said he’d be back the next day to “further ingrain how bloody bad this is”. The aforementioned next day has finally rolled around and here he was acting like a drill sergeant, pacing around the room while Bruce’s family watched the man in all his brilliance, he’d even taken Bruce’s bat-pointer (a laser pointer but instead of a red dot it’s a red bat) so he could point to the screen.

“Okay, so we know of this individual, yes?” The blonde man asked as he circled the newest rogue’s face a couple times with Bruce’s bat-pointer.

Everyone nodded.

“Well, you see, this bloke is someone not to be fucked around with. Do you understand me?” The man said with a serious face.

Tim raised his hand. Constantine sighed in response. “You don’t have to raise your hand, kid. What is it?”

Tim put his hand back down. “What about this guy is so bad exactly? I mean, yeah, their powers are kind of crazy, but all they’ve really done is steal and destroy property.”

That seemed to make Constantine pause. “Really?”

“…yeah?” Tim rose a brow. It wasn’t visible from under his mask.

“Huh.” Constantine turned around to start muttering to himself. Bruce heard the words good and thank the gods.

“What was that? I’d like to know how big of a threat the being in my city that you claim to be dangerous is.” Bruce spoke.

The man turned back around. “Right. So we might’ve just gotten extremely lucky.”

Bruce’s eyes, and by extension his mask’s white eye slits, narrowed. “Explained.”

“If you’re right and the mask has shown no desire to torture, maim, kill, etcetera… a good person might’ve gotten the mask.”

“A good person?”

“Yes, a good person. And if that’s the case, we can ignore them until they do try and kill a man.”

“Wait, ignore them? While they haven’t killed anyone, they’re still a criminal.” Jason spoke up from where he was leant against a desk.

“Yes, but, be that as it may, there’s a bigger threat coming if the Mask of Loki is in Gotham.” Constantine sighed putting the bat-pointer down. “The Prince of Shadowland should be coming any day now.”

“Who?” Stephanie piped up.

“The Prince of Shadowland. He’s, as his name suggests, the Prince of Shadowland, a land of eternal night. The last record of him is from 1880 when Billy the Kid possessed it.”

“Billy the Kid had the same powers as our guy?” Tim asked.

“Yes. And the wizards and witches of that time also recorded him to be a blue-skinned child, bestowed the name Skillet by the outlaw in question. The child went around stealing shadows which resulted in rapid aging of its victims and then death. That’s why he’s the bigger threat. We have to prepare if he comes to Gotham.” The man paced back and forth with a grave expression.

Duke’s phone chiming interrupted the silence after Constantine’s words. “Uh… Constantine?”

“Yes?”

“I think this Skillet guy is already here.” Duke said as he turned the phone around, so the blonde man could see. It was a news report titled Shadow Thief: Gotham’s Second Newest Rogue. “And our mask person might not be so good if they’re hanging around him.” The photo was a picture of The Mask, Bruce supposed he’d just call them that, and this new character, Skillet, eating ice cream on a bench together.

“Fuck me.” Constantine groaned.

Skillet - The Shadow Thief POV

9:42pm

Skillet was waiting, patiently anticipating, the arrival of one of his bestest friends in the whole wide world.

Masky!

He was sitting atop the Clocktower, playing patty cake with his shadow, when finally, finally Masky came. It had been so long since he’d seen his friend! He hasn’t seen his friend since Billy, and who knows how long that’s been in the human world! So that’s why when Masky finally showed up, he was ecstatic. He didn’t even have to run over to hug them either! They came to him!

“Ah! Skillet! Buddy-oh-pal-oh-friend! It’s been so long! I swear, stewing at the bottom of a lake really does suck. So, what’re we gonna do, bud?” Masky picked Skillet up and spun him around a bit before doing the same to Skillet’s shadow. His friend was wearing a black suit with little cartoony ghosts on it. Cool…

“Oh! Well, I was thinking we could go pick up a bunch of innocent people and then torture them together like old times!” Skillet said, his shadow hopping in agreement.

That seemed to make Masky falter. “Eh… Sorry, bud but I don’t think I can do that.”

“Wha— Why? But we always do that together! Well, besides the time you were Honest Abe, but…”

“And that’s my point! It seems that this body also has…” Masky made a show of gagging. “…morals!”

Skillet couldn’t stop the gasp from leaving him. “No!”

“I know. I know.” Masky nodded solemnly. “But don’t fret too much, my young-looking friend. For you see, they aren’t as strong as our old buddy Abe’s.” Masky grinned. “We just have to pick some bad people.”

“Eh... But it’s always more fun inflicting on the innocents. They always go on screaming why why why but…” Skillet trailed off. He did wanna spend his time torturing people with Masky. And sure, it’d be a little harder to weed out the bad apples, but he still wants to spend time with his friend. “I suppose that could do.” He grumbled after his shadow nudged him to answer.

“Great, and we can get ice cream afterwards!” With that, Masky took a few steps back before doing a running jump and swan dive off the Clocktower.

That got both Skillet and his shadow to perk up and jump down after him. “Heck yeah!”

Richard “Dick” Grayson - POV

6:12am - the next day

Patrol was a bust. Well, not entirely. Two-Face tried to rob a bank and he went straight back to Arkham. But… no other information on the Mask and Shadow Thief other than the fact that they might be best friends, spanning, literal generations of mask users.

Dick just hoped this morning wouldn’t be a bust either? Why? Well, he was going to talk to [Name] about their little… talking to themselves problem. He overheard them again last night in their room, and when he cracked the door open to take a peek, he saw you staring at the ceiling, having a conversation with both Ace and someone who definitely wasn’t there. (The Mask would translate for Ace, so it was a respectable three-way conversation.)

He entered the kitchen on a mission. To confront you. Instead, he was confronted himself with a rather cute sight in his opinion. Bruce, you, and Tim, in that order were taking up the seats on the kitchen island. All sleepy-eyed with bed-head and sipping coffee in synchronicity. Bruce and Tim were having a conversation about the case while you were almost nodding off at the table.

…Dick would ask about your mental state another day.

Extra Info:

1.) Skillet is in fact a canon character, though because he doesn’t exactly have much information on him. I added some stuff. Like for example, here’s this, skillet’s name isn’t skillet. He’s 4000 years old, his original language has died out by now. His name will literally be whatever the closest thing to cooking stuff on is. Like in ancient Babylonia, he was called Babylonian for pot. 2.) The scene where the mask and Skillet reunite could be seen through the lens of a divorced dad coming to pick up his kids. 3.) Hi, this is me halfway through the story. His name is Skillit. Not Skillet. I’ll fix it the next chapter. 4.) Next chapter you’ll finally get yandere stuff! Yay!

Taglist: @yourtypicalhuman09 @cupid73 @yhin-gg @galaxypurplerose @xxgrimripp3rxx @hai-there-how-are-you @suckmyballzfr @yarn-mony @patatasolitaria @deathbynarcisstick @depressed--therapist @eyeless-kun @mary-jinx @natllo @d4rkf10w3er @mintynilla @whognuthis @bat1212 @blapbloep @vanessa-boo @randomlyappearingartist @otakusimp1 @iansimpsforeveryone @like-thechocolate @cruzerforce4256

[yunalinwrites]

one-on-one dance practice with abby + confession | abs saja/ur fav x idol!reader

scene summary: abby catches you late at night in the studio and helps you master your choreo. as he watches you move, he can't help but be moved himself--enough so that he can't hide his feelings for you anymore (based on this req for my ohshc-inspired series described below but can pretty much be read as a standalone. also think this could b read with any of the guys in mind, esp jinu ^o^)

series summary - saja boys' sixth member is... a girl?: in this story, you are pretending to be a boy. not just any boy--a saja boy. but what will you do when not even your fellow members--the ones you now share a dorm with--can find out you're actually a girl? stay tuned for more!! (heavily based on you're beautiful kdrama + ouran high school host club)

It was sometime in the evening, and Abs had forgotten his water bottle in the dance studio. He planned to just swing by and head back to the dorm to relax, but he was curious to find the lights to the studio still on, the floor thumping with bass notes, and the sound of rubber soles squeaking against the floor.

Pushing open the door, he found you in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, snapping your body to the song you had all been practicing earlier that day. Other than morning rehearsal, it was supposed to be your guys’ day off. But, based on your disheveled hair and empty water bottle next to his, he could tell you'd been here for hours since.

Your work seemed to have paid off; you looked amazing, hitting every move powerfully yet gracefully. Well, for the most part. The second you heard the beat signifying Abs’ verse, your foot gets caught on your other ankle, causing you to lose balance and land flat on your ass with a thud.

“Dammit,” you mutter, lying back on the floor and spreading your limbs like a starfish. 

You take in the cool feeling of the lacquered wood panels against your sweaty skin, using one of your forearms to shield your eyes from the fluorescent lights above you.

“Still here?” a familiar deep voice asks you.

You laugh, exasperated, lifting your arm to peek at the familiar head of pink hair hovering over you before covering your face back up out of shame. “Please tell me you didn't see that.”

“Oh, don't worry, I didn't,” he jokes. “Definitely didn't see you put our choreographer to shame. All I saw was the part where you ate total shit.”

You roll over onto your stomach, smushing your cheek on the floor. “Ugh…” you groan.

“Hey, come on, the floor's dirty,” he scolds.

“Whatever. My shirt’s holding more sweat and stink than this floor has ever felt,” you contest.

“I ever tell you about the time Derpy pissed on my sneakers right before I walked in here?”

You shoot up immediately. “Abby! Gross!”

“I’m just playing with you,” he chuckles, crouching next to you. He unscrews his water bottle and passes it to you. “Here, since you lost so much sweating.”

You grab the bottle with a smirk and take a sip. When you wipe your mouth, he extends out his hand. 

“What’s got you--the second verse?” he asks, his speech not even the slightest bit strained as he pulls you up with ease.

ou brush yourself off. “Yeah, I don't know. The footwork is tripping me up. Literally. Keep mixing it up with the sequence at the beginning…”

“Maybe get some rest,” he suggests. “You seem tired. There’s always tomorrow.”

“No!” you refuse sharply, not meaning to sound so harsh. “It's gonna keep me up if I don't get this right.”

“Plus,” you add, less bite this time, “Gwi-Ma's gonna, like, trap me in here if he sees me mess it up tomorrow morning.”

It's supposed to be funny, but even you have to force a smile at what is, at the end of the day, the truth. He knows this too, and his signature smirk is nowhere to be found. His brows furrow at the thought of you overexerting yourself.

“Fine,” he concedes, patting your shoulder. “But you're gonna let me help you.”

The next hour proves to be unexpectedly tense. It's quiet; instead of playing the track on the speaker, he sings it for you at a slower tempo, allowing you to break down the moves while he emphasizes the syllables on the downbeats. 

Occasionally, he’ll stop to demonstrate the moves. Other times, it'll be to adjust your body. “It's more like this,” he'll say, gently pulling your arms or pushing your legs into place.

Soon enough, he goes from clapping the beat to keep you on tempo to applauding you with a spreading smile on his face.

“There you go,” he praises. Crossing his arms, he lets out another praise under his breath: "That's my girl..."

You're too busy celebrating to catch that last part.

“Ugh, yes! Finally” you cheer, jumping up and down. “W-woah…”

On your way down from another celebratory hop, you had landed weirdly and lost your balance. Before you can reconvene with the ground, you feel something--someone--sturdy wrap around you. 

Abby was a good few feet beside you with his arms crossed, so you don't even register that he's behind you until you see him holding you up by your underarms, his forearms bulging in the mirror as they cross over your chest.

You laugh nervously. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells you, taking a step back after helping you to your feet. “I'm… really proud of you.”

“Thanks,” you reply sheepishly, staring at your sneakers to try and hide your blush.

A large outstretched palm enters your vision. You look up at him.

“Call it a night?” he offers, his eyes seeming to plead with you.

You bite your cheek, considering it for a moment--not so much tempted by relaxation as you are by the opportunity to walk home with him. 

“I…”

But, before you can surrender, you hear the echo of Gwi-Ma's voice in your head.

“I should probably try it to the music…”

You don't mention his name, but Abby acknowledges what you really mean with a solemn expression.

“You don't have to wait up on me,” you assure him.

“No,” he says firmly. “I'm staying.”

You smile. “Suit yourself.”

With a stretch of your back towards the ceiling and a long yawn, you turn on the speaker.

You've barely even gotten into position, but Abby is already watching you with awe. As the music crescendos, you're moving in time with the music with a confidence he couldn't even dream of. Your productless hair is sticking to itself and flopping everywhere, your stupid Saja Boys T-Shirt drowns your body, and you're covered in so much sweat that if it weren't for the smell, it was as if you'd just showered. But to Abby, it's the most beautiful show he's ever seen. It's a thousand times more elegant than any show of tutus and tippy toes you could offer him, and he never wants anyone else to see it.

When the song comes to a quiet, you're panting like a dog, but Abby is completely breathless. Not just in wonder, but something else--something unexpectedly bitter against the sweetness of the sight that puts a pit in his stomach.

You find his eyes in the reflection of the mirror and wait for him to say something, but he doesn't. He just stares at you with an expression you can't quite place–something between admiration and devastation. 

“Abby…?”

You had shown him a perfect demonstration of muscle memory. It made sense–he'd seen the effort to build those reflexes with his very own eyes. But the way he approaches you–the way he grabs you by your waist and turns you to face him–has no such business feeling as familiar as it does. Even so, it can't help but come so naturally to lean into each other.

“Should--Should I do it again…?” you stutter, feeling yourself heat up underneath his touch.

He shakes his head, but there's still something sad in his eyes.

“Did I… do something… wrong?” you ask him.

“No, you… you're perfect. Just… keeping looking at me…”

His hands move upward, cradling your jaw as he leans his face closer to yours. His eyes flicker to your lips--his own just centimeters away–silently asking, begging for permission.

Even when you feel his warm breath ghost over you, your body shows no signs of protest; your eyelids are already drifting shut in expectation. But, albeit weakly, you still resist, not out of aversion but disbelief. “This isn't part of the choreo…”

"It's not,” he affirms.

“Then… what are you…”

His whole career flashes before his eyes–a career that he'd been able to keep because of his precise control over his muscles. The entirety of this painstaking job relied on his ability to puppet every part of himself like a marionette, pulling the strings of his calves to the beat, sucking in his six-pack for the camera, making his vocal cords hit frequencies with all but the mercy of a lozenge. But right now, in this moment, he can't maneuver even a single cell in his body to stop himself--not even the parts of him that know it's selfish, that it's rumors and scandals with your career on the line, too.

That withstanding, “I'm sorry,” is all he can whisper in reparations before he's crashing his lips onto yours.

It's so hungry--so depraved; you're melding against each other so desperately. It's the first time between the two of you, but the way you're pulling him closer by his shirt and he's backing you up against the mirror with his arms around the small of your back--you're savoring each other like it's your last; there's a mutual understanding that it very well could be.

There's another mutual understanding: the both of you have decided there's no need for air or water or food--just the other needing you. Nothing–not even your own lungs’ urgency for oxygen–can separate the two of you. Though, gravity makes a good attempt at it.

Just before you reach the wall with your back, you feel something round underneath your heel. You quickly pull away from him, almost slipping on the plastic crunching beneath you. Instinctively, you throw your hands around his neck as he tightens his hold around your waist.

The both of you catch your breath in heavy synchronised pants. You're still staring at the ground, where the empty plastic bottle had so rudely interrupted you. 

“Look at me,” he tells you.

You realize you've spent the last few hours doing everything he said and wanted and yet, now that you were out of the moment, you couldn't bring yourself to do even that. Not with the way your cheeks were burning.

He grabs your chin and forces your gaze towards him. “Y/N.”

“We'll get in trouble if we're not back at the dorm soon,” you utter, but it's not necessarily a contest–it’s really nothing more than a statement with the way you're staring at his lips.

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. “Y/N, if you’d let me–”

“Yes. Whatever it is, yes. Just do it. Make it quick,” you interject eagerly, pulling him closer.

He can't help but laugh, sending a rumble through both of you. “No, really, listen–Hear me out.”

“What is there to hear out about you?” you try joking, but your smile drops a bit at his uncharacteristic seriousness.

Gazing deeply into your eyes, he reaches around his neck and grabs your hand, holding it to his beating heart. 

“I… I promise to protect you,” he tells you earnestly. “I don’t care about the fans. I don't care about any other godforsaken demon in the underworld. I don't even care what Gwi-Ma might do.”

He squeezes your hand tighter. “If anything--anyone tries to hurt you…”

“I promise I…” 

He trails off, not even wanting to fathom the thought of something happening to you. Your eyes soften. He never finishes his sentence, but it isn't any less convincing. He pulls you closer into a hug, his mouth right by your ear.

“I know you don't need me. But I…”

He takes a shuddered deep breath.

“I need to be by your side…”

Pulling back, he holds your face and brings your foreheads together.

“Please. Let me be the one to catch you when you fall,” he whispers.

You bring your hands to cup his jaw. “Abby, that’s…”

Just as quickly, though, one of them leaves to cup your mouth. “...that's so corny,” you laugh.

He smirks. “Yeah, but it's working. I can feel you falling for me right now.”

He tries pulling you up towards him, but you push his face away playfully. “That's me slumping because I'm so tired of you.”

“Ah! Abby!” You swat at his chest as, before you know it, he's lifting you bridal-style.

He gives you a swift peck. “You don't mean that.”

“I don't,” you giggle.

As he carries you out through the door, you let your head rest on his shoulder, giving him the perfect position to plant another quick kiss on your forehead. It's the first time you're seeing outside of the dance studio in more than eight hours, an unfortunate reality for the both of you.

Placing your hand back on his heart, you say one more thing before letting your exhaustion take over.

“Abby?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I promise to protect you, too.”

***

this pacing kinda stinks now that i read it all together im sorry im a first draft warrior always </3

i have other ideas in mind for one-on-one rehearsal + confession for the other guys but i thought id upload this one first to give myself a bit of time cuz i can already feel myself burning out LMAO

but can u tell abs is a veryyyy close second fav to jinu :3 sometimes I think I like him better...

masterlist

tags (open ^o^): @hornehlittleweeblet2 @foxta1l @prettylittlelavvy @ch1cky-093 @thoughtsfrom1985 @feelya @doodle-with-rhy @fries11 @katzline @iivantablackii @mysteris-things @maybeethan69

[nikknamed-ink]

What helps me in life, or rather the thing I struggle with most, is pressure.

I had a time during my school days, when I didn't write at all. I only noticed this like a year in, but I simply had no time due to the school pressure and having to learn, and stuff.

I also had a time, maybe it was even the same timeframe but I don't remember fully, when I decided that if I can't finish anything I start I can't start anything new.

This pressure led to me not writing at all for that time.

Maybe situation A caused B, maybe the other way around, but I spent a long long while not writing.

I think what helped me out of it, ultimately,was a) to give it time. And b) to take all the pressure out. Or, as much as I could.

That could look like: only writing down ideas (a habit I rly rly encourage. Write down your ideas every time you get them bc that means you'll get more and it's generally a lot of fun to look at later on). Or... Only writing dialogue. Or something that might help you: if you wanna get back, but you can't get far, set yourself the goal of writing one (1) word per day. Just one. If you feel like more you can write more. But just write one. That's all it takes.

Because I generally find that putting pressure on myself to do it all always super well it... Leads to disappointment and pain when I get a bad day and I get rly hard on myself about it.

Which, also, I wanna talk about: be kind to yourself. Focus on what you did do, not what you didn't.

When you said you managed to write 2 sentences and then faltered, that's two entire sentences! That's amazing. Like, you went from not using those muscles to two sentences. That's infinite improvement.

But I think, what's most important, is listen to your body and brain. If something doesn't work it usually is a clue for the fact that you're going at it wrong. Find different routes. If you wrote a lot of prose (novel-like text for example), then try poetry. If you can't get descriptions down, try dialogue only. Or the reverse. How about movie scripts? Comics? See what strikes your fancy!

I'm currently in a phase where I don't really write much in the "the story moves forward" sense, but I plan a lot. I think about the stories, I try to figure out where the story goes and what the problems are and why this character does that.

Lean into what works, and ignore what doesn’t for now. And look at that in a week or so and try to figure out why.

Also, best tip of mine: grab yourself a buddy and talk with them about your ideas. Brainstorm together. Create ideas that aren't intended to be written down. There's lots of games for this. (or if you don't know any, plushies or making an audio to yourself are great ways to just talk out loud to yourself about the story or characters or whatever it is that actually drives you to the stories you wanna tell.

See what works. Celebrate it. And be proud of what you're doing. Pressure is the enemy of creativity. At least it is for me.

Hi! Lately, I've been trying real hard to start writing again after a break of a couple of years, and it's simply not happening. I took the break to begin with because I figured that I could pick up writing fic again easily when I felt less burned out. But each time I've tried since 2025 started I can barely get the words out. I keep telling myself I need to go slow and build up to it, but my brain blanks after a sentence or two, with or without an outline. I can force myself into a drabble or two, or even a flashfic, but it feels like pulling teeth the entire time. I even tried going back to old drafts and adding to them (unsuccessfully). Nothing works! I'm getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself for taking this long of a break from being creative. Do you have any concrete recommendations for what to do when the ideas/words/characters/whatever just aren't coming? My brain is mush.

(I love this blog. So excited to see you back.)

I'll tell you what I do, but I also want to encourage folks to add their thoughts on the notes. This is very much a situation that can be worked on in a million different ways, so any one particular take might or might not work. Often, frankensteining a bunch together is the better route.

I've currently got two creative hobbies: writing fic and making site skins for AO3. When a site skin isn't working, I just have to drop it. I've been attempting to redo my glowy blue Tron skin from like 4 years ago and every time I go back to it, I just get frustrated and need to stop. I don't have a clear idea of where I want to take it, and so nothing looks "right" because everything feels wrong. For site skins, I need to have a solid idea to latch onto in order to get anywhere with them.

For writing, it's kind of similar. It's a LOT easier to write when I have an idea that really lights a fire under me. However, I've found that I can write even if I just know what the end goal of the story is. Even if my ending is just "and then they bone" at least I know where I need to get my characters in the end, and that guiding principle is really helpful because most of what my characters do in the fic is going to be aimed at that end point.

I don't know if it's just the way that you've phrased it in this ask, but it seems like you can't see the story for the words. If you're focused too much on the act of writing then you might need to back away from that for now and work on just imagining the story first. Spend more time daydreaming or lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and picturing your blorbo in situations. Get into the habit of thinking about the story before you start writing the story. Then the writing part is just transcribing the picture that's already clear in your head.

I well understand the frustration that comes when you've got something in you and no way to get it out. Whatever else is happening, the way you used to go about writing fic doesn't work for you anymore and now you need to discover a new method. Maybe it's handwriting in a notebook instead of typing on a screen. Maybe it's dictating into your notes app. Maybe it's chatting it out with a bestie over coffee or in a DM. Maybe it's something else.

Let's see what other people suggest for you, and then you can cobble together a method of your very own. Good luck, anon! I'm rooting for you ❤️

[yushi-ni]

can you do a riku nsfw alphabet like you did with yushi? please and ty^^

ෆ MAEDA RIKU ෆ 𝗇𝗌𝖿𝗐 𝖺𝖻𝖼

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ masterlist

summary; nsfw abc with (bf) riku

genre; obviously suggestive, nsfw

warnings; mentions of lots of suggestive things. breeding kink, unprotected sexual activities, pda, kisses.

notes; IT’ S HERE!!! the (much) requested riku version!!!! thanks for liking my yusion versions so much, i hope this ones to your liking as well hihihi ly, sorry i was so busy with work the last few days so it took a little longer than i wanted but i hope you like this one!!!!

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A = aftercare (what he’s like after sex)

riku is a big aftercare person. super cuddly, lovey and affectionate, always making sure that you’re ok and feeling good. it depends on the impact (hihi) of your previous gymnastics routine what kind of aftercare is needed. if it was a simple, good game, he’ll clean you up, give you a warm towel, new underwear, maybe some comfy shorts if you feel like it and then he’ll jump back in bed and cuddle you the rest of the night. if it was a little more intense, it requires a little more care (in his opinion) double checking if you’re not sore or bruised or if you need something else to maybe ease your muscles. loves loves loves after sex showers together. the warm water is perfect and the both of you can clean yourself up properly before a cuddle session. both after care routines are obviously full of sweet talk and lots of ‘i love you’s’

B = body part (his fav body part of himself and yours)

on you? what’s not to love? he loves every single inch of your body but if you put a gun to his head and make him choose, he would go for your legs. his hands will be on your thighs at any given moment. sitting next to each other on the couch, dining table, car, bed, you call it: his hands will have a fixed spot on your legs like it’s magnetic. he thinks your legs are super sex-c. short, skirts, leggings; he loves it all. oh and also likes your boobs. no further explanation needed. on him, he likes his upper body. he always wears tank tops and such clothes. always showing off his arms and shoulders. he’s not buff but he’s definitely lean and he knows you like it too, a win is a win

C = cum (anything to do with cum)

he doesn’t like the whole hassle of cleaning up a mess. but he’s also not one to hold back when the moment is ripe. so for the convenience of the two, he definitely likes to cum in you. and you can definitely tell when he’s getting closer, he’s a moaner for sure, very vocal when he comes. not really the type of guy to cum on your stomach or back, depending on your position, because like i said he just doesn’t feel like cleaning up a mess. he likes messy sex just not a messy clean up, you get me? so if he can’t come downstairs, he’d go on hand and knees to beg you to come in your mouth

D = dirty secret (yes.)

he’s a horny guy ngl. can flip a coin and go with whatever it lands on. he can be so dominant, no room for sweet talk and mercy but when his subby side takes over, he’s in your control, completely. he doesn’t believe in the idea of a man being in power all the time. he can dominate you like there’s no tomorrow but if you’re the one pulling the strings he is on cloud nine fr. he just enjoys the whole ride, whether that’s you taking the lead or him. he’s just happy to be there haha. (ps. if he can go raw. he’ll be unstoppable. he’s obsessed) (p.ps. only if you’re on birth control and there’s no risks of little riku’s joining the club)

E = experience (how experienced is he?)

probably has quite a bit of experience. he was popular back in high school and he knows he looks good so i’m sure he had his practice here and there. he’s not necessarily the type of guy to go for one nighters since he does like the feeling of a connection with the other person but he’s not one to back off from the idea of being friends with an extra advantage, if you get what i mean

F = fav position (self explanatory hihi)

he’s not picky, whether he’s taking the lead or letting you take care of him he enjoys every position (doggy) would gladly go for the classic missionary and have a more affectionate - gentle round (ahum doggy) but he’d also love having you on top of him, riding him while he sits back and watches you (d o g g y) whatever you enjoy he enjoys too. (he loves taking you from behind. amen)

G = goofy and giggles (is he serious or goofy)

both. depends on your vibe as well. there’s nights (or mornings or afternoons hehe) with gentle - sweet - goofy moments but there’s also the really intense love making. so there’s definitely giggles shared here and there but that depends on the day!!! but he won’t crack a joke like he’s a stand up comedian yk? just light teasing, whatever fits the moment and atmosphere!!!

H = hair (how does it look downstairs?)

very well trimmed and taken care of. he likes to keep it clean, not just for you but also for himself. he thinks it’s a part of proper self care and hygiene so he’ll never walk around wild and free yk

I = intimacy (how intimate is he during the game)

eye contact - intertwined hands - deep kisses - sweet talking; he loves it all. he’s a lover boy, he loves to feel you close to him. he can get completely lost in the moment, completely lost in your eyes and touch. he loves a deep connection when it comes to sex but he also likes a good rough play. there’s lot so in betweens yet there’s none. he can go both ways, all possible ways. he’s a jack of all trades

J = jack off (his 1-1 playtime with his lil friend)

yes and no, definitely prefers having you take care of him rather than doing it himself. i just don’t see him enjoying his own pleasuring that much, especially not since he knows he has you to do it. if he’s really desperate he will definitely satisfy his own needs but if you’re close by, there’s no need to do it himself. he still does it tho, a man gotta do what a man gotta do yk

K = kink (no need for further explanation)

orgasm control (on him. yes) loves to give himself fully over to you every now and then, more than happy to lay back and let you take complete control. get him off, or don’t, he’s so into it. so so so into it. oh and ngl, he goes wild for a little breeding kink. but you didn’t hear that from me!

L = location (his fav places to play card games)

his own home, or yours, are definitely his #1 pick, ofc. doesn’t feel limited to the bedroom, as long as there’s a surface or whatever, he’s good to go. definitely not one to shy away from a little more funky places in your homes. he definitely prefers knowing that there’s no one else to interrupt the two of you BUT if he’s really in need, he might just pull you in the nearest changing room and take you right there and then (after double checking the lock ofc because we don’t want visitors!)

M = motivation (what turns him on?)

pretty clothes; dresses, tight tops, crop tops, skirts (!!!!) he thinks you look pretty in everything but he LOVES when you dress up a little and put some ‘effort’ into your looks (for him hehe). he’s very visually motivated. &&&&& stimulated. he’s a big fan of sexy clothing and he doesn’t hide it at all. his eyes speak more than his words. get a bucket because he might start drooling too. but tbh it doesn’t take a lot to get him going, he loves the idea of pleasuring you and making love with you so he can go at any time

N = no no no (something he wouldn’t do - turn offs)

he will never ever do something that can cause actual harm or pain. no pain kinks or any other thing that could potentially hurt you. he’s open to try hand cuffs and such but if you show up with a whip or anything, he might as well whoop your ass to get some sense back into your brain because why on earth would he want to hurt you when he can make love? no, don’t even bother bringing that up because he’ll genuinely put you in time out

O = oral (is he a receiver or giver)

he’s an enjoyer (hehe) giving - receiving - sharing (oop-) he loves it all and wants it all. he’s a big foreplay person so there will always be some sort of oral happening, sometimes it’s him, other times it’s you, preferably it’s both. man he just loves having his face between your legs, takes his time, knows what he’s doing, knows what you love and will always get you done. sometimes, rarely but it happens, there’s either no time or no possibility to go full base so he’ll be content with just pleasuring you instead of himself. he loves the way you react to his touch and it honestly satisfies him enough in those moments. but your mouth around his member takes him straight to heaven, every time. he’ll never turn down a good offer. he can get a little bit lost in the moment itself tho, will buckle his hips up, lowkey fuck your mouth when he gets too into it. but if that’s what you’re into as well, you’re in for a treat

P = pace (fast? - slow? - rough?)

mmh depends on the day. he can go rough, quick and definitely chase his own pleasure with very little room for cuteness and sweet talking but then there’s his other side that is so soft spoken, gentle, slow and deep. if you were hanging out with your friends and you purposely rilled him up the whole night, he’ll go hard on you and make sure you know he’s not playing. but if he’s been away for a couple days or if he’s just craving your warmth and affection, he’ll be the sweetest ever. hands intertwined, long lingering kisses, soft touches, sweet praises etc etc. he’s a man with many trades

Q = quickie (his view on quickies)

quickies - slowies - in betweenies; hell yeah. give him a time and place and he’s there. his fav are definitely morning quickies before work, it’s the best way to start his day

R = risk (does he take risks??)

risks go as far as pushing him outside of his comfort zone, place wise and experimenting with different things in general. he’s willing to try things with you as long as it’s ‘safe’, like i said he’s not into pain and extreme stuff but other than that he’s down as long as you yourself are a 100% sure you’re comfortable and ok with it. as far as places, he will definitely push both of your limits and get you both off in a changing room or toilet. anything that has a door and preferably a lock is fine for him when he needs it

S = stamina (how many rounds etc how long)

he has stamina but if he goes all out in the first round he won’t be hopping around like a bunny to pin you down for a second one. if it’s a long play and you got him all over the edge, he will be out for a while ngl. but if it’s a vanilla - sweet - gentle night, he could definitely saddle back up and go for another run!!! tbh, if you’re still wanting more and give him a little more attention and teasing, let’s say you’re washing up in the shower together, it’s only a matter of catching his breath and he’s down to play again. his stamina is kinda matched up with whatever you’re giving him. you want a round two? you’ll get a round two sooner or later

T = toys (is he team yes or no)

has toys, not always in the mood to use them tho. but if you are then he won’t turn down the offer. prefers using toys on you but he’s definitely curious to male receiving ones. he will just need some time to figure out what he likes and what he’s comfortable with but the fact that you’re encouraging him to explore his own ideas and needs definitely helps him expanding his range of options haha

U = unfair (is he into teasing?)

he can be a tease, for sure!!! but he can also be teased, easily. he loves working you up, testing your limits and pushing every possible button and then pull back, leaving you on edge for hours. stretching the moment of you guys actually getting down to business. lowkey a sucker for a little teasing in public, he loves the push and pull game that’s going on between the two of you. gets wild over the idea of having you long for him but having to wait till you two are alone, so definitely expect some sort of teasing when you’re out and about

V = volume (is he vocal or quiet)

he can be all over the place; whimpers - moans - groans etc etc. he’s not afraid to be vocal, he knows it gets you off too so he’ll definitely won’t hold back when it comes to moaning and such. he’s not a crier but once you get him going his sighs will be so deep and low it’s literally impossible to keep them in. even if he tried, it rolls off his lips before he even realises

W = wild card (random thought)

ok hear me out but he’s so into sex-y pics. in his own words he just needs something to get him going whenever he’s away from you. has a private album, only for his eyes ofc, with pics of you. he loves lingerie, in all colors and shapes, so those are definitely his all time favs. will look at the pics when he misses you or when he’s longing for your touch and also occasionally asks for new ones because he’s seen the rest of it so much he literally memorised all the details haha

X = x-ray (what does his lil friend look like?)

not big.. not small. average? on the thicker side? yk? but he knows what to do with it so even if he had a small little peewy, he would still get the job done. he’s skilled with what he has

Y = yearning (how high is his sex drive)

if he got a dollar for every time he’s feeling funky and bunky. mans was a billionaire. literally, get him on a horse because he really does need to blow off some steam at this point. he’s a horny boy, but he can easily hide it for others around you. not for you tho, yk him and yk his tactics. and even if he’s not necessarily feeling it in the moment, he’ll do it for you and along the way his ‘laid back chill vibe’ is long forgotten

Z = zzz (does he fall asleep afterwards)

mhhh he’s not falling asleep immediately afterwards, he’s dedicated to the aftercare part so there’s no time to close his eyes (yet) a sucker for some cuddles and sweet treats after such intense work out. cuddled up, legs tangled together, just being close to each other, holding you, feeling you, warmth etc etc. and then it’s only a matter of time before his eyes get drowsy and he falls asleep. peacefully and happily, in your arms.

[illum1z]

Merlot Canvases

paint instructor! seonghwa x f!reader

summary: You feel like you're lacking that artistic flair in your life. Everyone you've met who dabbles in the arts just has this twinge of light in their eyes that you feel like you're missing. So, taking a paint class might ignite that light in you, or maybe it'll ignite something else.

tracklist: hello?, overstimulated, professional,

tags: strangers to lovers, reader is overworked, seonghwa is whipped, reader is also whipped, unprotected sex(you know the drill), oral (f!recieving), fingering, tension tension TENSION, on a desk, mentions of voyeurism, petnames (baby, princess, honey, etc), soft/mean mdom, fsub, seonghwa needs you to breathe, not proofread

wc: 10.1k

notes: wrote this in one session. jeez, sorry guys. i have not read this through, its 11pm. i have work in the morning. there will be spelling mistakes. fuck it we ball

When you ask someone what motivates them, you get a wide array of answers. Some say their job, or their family. Others say their hobbies or their pets. And some people say nothing in particular, they just have a strong drive for life.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you’re depressed. It's not like you hate life and you want it to come to an end. But you could say you feel like you’re watching it fly by like a movie reel. You stand on the sidewalk as you watch yourself walk into your mundane office job 5 days out of the week. Sit in a cubicle for 8 hours before leaving, walking back home, having dinner, and going to bed.

Since graduating from high school, friends have been hard to come by. Making friends as an adult without being a college student or frequenting bars and clubs proves to be a challenge. You wouldn’t say you’re lonely either. You like your quiet life, but it just feels like something is missing. Like you could be doing more besides the repetitive schedule you’ve been following for the past 3 years. 

You sat on your couch, a few candles lit here and there as the rain pattered against your window. Your townhouse was dark, no sign of life other than you, and the flicker of candlelight on the dark brown walls. You leaned your head back on the couch, eyes closed, as you listened to the rain beat down like TV static. Cars whirred past the window of your home, rushing to or from work. To or from events. Busy, with things to keep them occupied.

You let out a deep breath, directing your attention to the flyer on your coffee table. Surrounded by unread books and worn-down pencils, a piece of paper you picked up from a pole plastered down the street on your way home from work a few days ago.

A flyer for a painter’s class. 

You hadn’t picked up a paintbrush in your whole life. At least not since grade school. You don’t think you’re the most artistic either. Yes, you have ideas and you have inspirations, but you could never put pen to paper. It's always come out janky, or just simply not how you envisioned it. The small town you lived in didn’t have many excursions to do.

You lived on a bustling street, lined with townhouses and little shops. Speakeasy-style bars littered here and there with live music and whatnot, but going out for a drink with the slim chance of getting drunk enough to hook up with some random who will leave you high and dry by morning was less than appealing to you.

You had been in every shop, every library, every single place this shit town had to offer, or so you thought.

Art Workshop

Every Sunday, 7 pm to 9 pm

Supplies provided for newcomers, the instructor will offer a list after the first session, given that you would like to return

Ages 18 and up

We look forward to seeing you there!

With an address printed on the bottom and some cute little drawings strewn about the paper, you couldn’t help but snatch it up in the moment. You weren’t really thinking about it, but at the moment, it seemed plausible. You had just gotten off a pretty rough shift, and a glimmer of possibility that you might do something other than grocery shopping or sitting at home on your weekend was tempting.

But here you are, Sunday, 6 pm, debating if you really should follow through and attend the class. You were reserved, not exactly shy. You spoke when needed to, and you didn't let anyone walk all over you, but you weren't one to randomly engage in conversations at work or on the street. You simply had no need. Like you said, you aren't lonely, just lacking a sort of passion. An urge to create, or the need to have an outlet.

You were so hesitant to go because you truly didn't know what you would make of it. What if it was a waste of time? Or what if it was not what you were looking for? There goes that hope, because this was your last option. That hope that you might finally find something.

So, ultimately, you decided to just go for it, because spending the rest of your life wondering surely won’t do you any good. And that's how you found yourself standing in an alleyway a few blocks away from home, umbrella shielding you from the onslaught of rain.

The streets were dark by now, and the entrance to the class was less than promising. Between two townhomes, illuminated only by a lampost, a staircase led down to a door. It was only a few steps, but the fact that it was somewhat underground raised some questions. You double, no triple, checked the flyer to make sure you were at the right place and the address was indeed correct.

You descended the staircase, the number on the door matching the one on the flyer. You checked your phone. 6:50. You closed your umbrella and shook it out, reaching out a hand and opening the door.

You stepped inside, closing it behind you. It was warm inside, and it smelled like citrus and sandalwood. There was an umbrella basket sitting by the door, with a couple of other umbrellas sitting inside. You set yours in the basket, looking up to take in your surroundings. It was just a hallway, with four doors. Two on one side, one on the other, and a door at the very end, straight across from the entrance.

It was quiet, like nobody was in the building, a yellow light flickered on the ceiling of the cramped hall, giving off a quite eerie glow. The two doors on the left had bathroom markings, one for men and one for women. The lone door on the right did not indicate what was behind; you safely assumed it was storage or for janitorial purposes.

The door at the end of the hall had a sign that simply said, “atelier.” You stepped further into the space, your footsteps quiet as you walked to the door at the end.

You stopped and listened to see if you could hear anything inside. Faint chatter, a couple laughs here and there. When you were sure you did in fact have the right day, you twisted the handle and stepped inside.

Immediately, all eyes were on you. There were about 6 other people in the room, with high ceilings supported by black metal pillars. There were a few large windows that opened to a perfect view of the cobblestone streets, like you could watch the shoes of passersby as they made their daily rounds. The floor was red varnished wood, and the walls matched. There were 10 stools in the room, scattered about randomly, and a canvas sat in front of each one, blank and ready to be painted on. At the front of the room, there was a desk, littered with papers and paint supplies, and a little bit of everything, quite messy.

A larger blank canvas sat in front of the desk, an empty stool beside it where you assumed the instructor would be perched later when class started.

Everyone sat and watched as you walked in, and took a seat farthest from the front, setting your bag on the floor. You directed your attention to the canvas in front of you, and like you never even showed up, everyone continued their conversation. You were just another addition to the class. Nothing special. Nothing notable. They’d forget you were there in 5 minutes.

The conversations around you droned on for another 10 minutes. The instructor was late, but nobody seemed to care. They continued to talk, slowly taking out supplies and setting them around their canvas.

Luckily, the seat you chose was right next to a table of supplies, and you stood and gathered paint palettes of all colors, a wide variety of paintbrushes, a cup of water, and a few pencils. When you had your area set up, you glanced at your phone again. 7:20. You were about to muster up the courage to ask a person nearby about the tardiness of your teacher when the door opened.

The conversations lowered to murmurs before completely dying out as everyone directed their attention to who came in. You looked up from your phone to see who it was, and it was then and there you decided there was no way you could come back to this class.

Sporting a ruffled collared white button-up shirt, black wide-leg slacks, and the most luscious head of hair you had ever seen, you immediately knew this was your instructor. He walked to the desk in front, his back turned, as he set down a bag on the desk. He grabbed a marker from a cup near the corner, uncapped it with a loud pop, and started writing on the whiteboard. Today’s date. And then the words “Impressionism and Perspective.” Neat handwriting, each ending letter had a slight curve akin to once knowing cursive. He capped the marker, threw it on his desk, and turned to face the class.

His face was unreal. Symmetrical, soft skin, plush lips, dark eyes, muse worthy. He was tall, radiant, exuding a calm energy, yet still, his presence had an impact. His eyes moved across the classroom, taking in the faces, bored almost. His eyes landed on you, sitting in the back. Quiet, keeping to yourself, staying out of the way.

He lingered on you for a second longer before looking away again. He smiled, a warm, welcoming smile, and moved to sit on the stool next to his canvas.

“Welcome back to class.” He was soft spoken, with a musical tone to his words. Gentle, he approached, speaking like the words could crack if he enunciated too harshly. A lullaby-worthy voice. His smile was just as smooth; it pulled you in. Your attention was 100% on him. 

And he liked it that way.

“Impressionism.” He stated, he leaned forward on the stool, his foot resting on a bar near the bottom of it, an elbow on his knee, with his hands idly playing with each other as he looked out upon the room as he spoke to the class in its entirety.

“Think Monet, Degas. A French style derived from the 19th century that ties into our second topic of the day, perspective. What can you tell me about it?”

Now you were no artist yourself, but that doesn’t mean you don't like to admire. You frequented museums in the area so often that the employees knew you by name. You had seen every piece, old and new, that they had to offer. Sometimes you’d sit on the benches in front of the displays for 30 minutes to an hour, analyzing brush strokes, memorizing colors, taking the full picture in.

And frankly, nothing could compare to him. You could stare at him for hours.

A student raised their hand. They said something about abstractness. You weren’t really listening. Another response from someone else, mentioning the lacking note of finality in impressionist pieces.

A few more answers here and there, all good ones, you assume, but your focus was completely narrowed in on your instructor.

Their answers fell on deaf ears as they prattled on about the art form. 

“And what about you?” Snapping from your trance, you realize he is staring directly at you. Eyes boring into yours, unrelenting. A question on his brow, the smile missing from his face, his hand stopped fiddling, and they now pointed in your direction, to your secluded island in the back of the studio. You hoped you wouldn’t draw attention, but you suppose your lack of engagement was more noticeable in a class with only 6 other people.

Feeling put on the spot, your back straightened as you locked eyes with the instructor, your knee began to bounce as the other students turned to look in your direction. You did your best to ignore their prying eyes as you cleared your throat.

“Well, like the name suggests, it's an impression. It's loose and undefined, but your mind is well enough off to piece it together. Not quite abstract, because the picture is clear. But it's the bare bones, just enough to create something beautiful…. I think…” You trailed off, nervousness overtaking you. You noticed the student who mentioned abstractness narrowed their eyes at you like you dismissed their answer as bullshit, which wasn’t your intention.

This was the last thing you wanted: all eyes on you, the center of attention. He didn't speak for a second, eyes staying glued on you. You averted your gaze, feeling so seen was not your favorite thing on earth, and his stare was far more than intense. It was exposing, like he could see every part of you.

“Seonghwa, doesn’t it also center around the way the light is painted as well as open composition?” A student chimed in. He didn't look at them; his eyes stayed on you for a few more seconds before ripping away and looking at the student who spoke. His smile returned, and he nodded.

“Everyone has great points. Visible brush strokes and light colors. Most artists completely avoided the color black as well. It was less of artists trying to capture images of real life, but closer to an idea, an impression of a scene.” You could breathe again, attention was drawn from you, and back on your instructor, whose name you just learned was Seonghwa.

He continued to talk, connected different styles and drew correlations, using his paints to demonstrate examples of brushstrokes and things of the sort. Everyone listened carefully. He was so easy to listen to with that soft voice and soothing demeanor.

He would look out at the class every time he made a new point to gauge reactions, and his eyes always fell on you at the end, before continuing the lecture. You were this close to walking out because every time his eyes locked with yours, he raised one eyebrow and almost smirked as if to ask you silently. “Are you listening?”

After a well-informed lesson, Seonghwa decided it was time for some practice.

“Alright, if you will, as simply as you can, don’t make it difficult yourself, paint your own impressionist piece. Paint something that means something to you. Whether that's a scenic spot you keep in your memories, whether it's a person, or an object. Paint it, but paint it like the image is pictured in your mind, but you spilled water over it. It's blurry and smudged; it's a silhouette. Barely there. Put pen to paper for the next hour. Go.”

Everyone immediately began getting to work, dipping brushes and collecting colors. You sat at your canvas, watching as everyone started. Seonghwa moved to sit behind his desk, looking at a stack of papers and organizing paint palettes.

His eyes locked on you again, catching you staring. His eyebrows raised, and he did smile this time, before mouthing the words. ‘Get to work.’

Obeying, you directed your gaze to your empty canvas, and you thought to yourself. Something, or someplace, that means something to you. This was proving to be difficult because that was the entire reason you attended this class in the first place. To find something that meant something to you.

You tapped the end of your paintbrush to your lips, lost in thought about what you should paint. Your job meant nothing, your place was homey but it was just a roof over your head. You didn’t really talk to your family, and you didn’t have any special places.

So, without a plan in mind, you started to paint. Some strokes of green here, smudges of blue there, pluffs of white and shades of red. You just started painting. What were you painting? You had no clue, not yet at least.

 The world drowned out the light chatter from classmates as you painted, like you were on autopilot, your hand simply moved on its own.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but suddenly you blinked, and actually looked at your canvas.

There were shapes, forms, something was there, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. You tilted your head, moved from side to side to try and get an angle where you could decipher what you just made, but it was useless.

You frowned and went to set your brush down when a large, slender hand gently covered yours, gripping your hand softly and guiding your hand back up. A firm chest pressed against your back, and locks of hair tickled your neck.

“Here, like this.” The soft voice against your ear nearly made you shiver as you let Seonghwa control the way you paint. He lifted your wrist to wash the brush in the cup of water, then dipped it into a dark green on the palette.

He guided your hand to sweep the paintbrush across the canvas, adding bits of depth and shadow to the strokes, a few here, some there. The carefulness of his hand holding yours made your heart flutter. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel his steady breaths, smell him, sense him hovering over you.

He continued to paint while holding your hand, and you let him, feeling the warmth of his fingertips, the calluses of his skin.

Before long, he moved to have you set the paintbrush down and then let go of your wrist, his fingers gently caressing, a ghost of a touch as he pulled away.

“Now look at it.” He mumbled, only to you, like the rest of the class didn’t exist.

You squinted your eyes, tilted your head, and there it was.

Strokes of green that formed into a field. A silhouette of clouds against a powder blue sky. A form of a child, which strangely resembled you. The field was vast, and the sky was open. But far from the child was another form. A body, older. Standing under a tree, the leaves fell over her like a canopy. An adult, who once again, oddly resembled you. The child was staring at the sky, back turned toward the canvas, while the other stared directly out at the artist, watching.

In the far upper corner of the canvas, the blue sky faded into grey storms, angry and waiting far off in the distance. The child watched the clouds as the inevitable storm rumbled in from the east, while the older one simply stood in the distance, safe from the clouds but unable to scoop up the child and bring her underneath the canopy.

The paint smudged, and the forms barely even took place. But you could see them with your own eyes. Decipher your work.

Your breath hitched, and you turned to look at your instructor, who now stood off next to another student, helping them with their piece, back turned fully to you. You opened your mouth to speak, but shut it just as quickly. Turning back to your canvas, you stared at it. Not daring to ruin what you had made, you set down the brush and patiently waited for the rest of your classmates to finish.

Your chest bloomed, but your heart withered. How did your brain conjure this up? Sure, it wasn't professional and not even display worthy, but it made you feel something. Something familiar.

You must have zoned out, a loud clap snapping you from the trance as you looked up at the source. Seonghwa stood near the front of the class again, gathering his students’ attention once more.

“Our time is almost up, as always. Great work today. Even if it was just a stickman, your creations will always be beautiful. You can leave your pieces where they are, and when we come back, we can varnish them, and then you’re welcome to explain your piece if you’d like. Until then, have a great night, be safe. See you next week.” Seonghwa smiled that charming, warm smile again, before beginning to clean his desk.

Everyone gathered their supplies and packed their bags, one by one heading out the door as they talked idly with one another.

You stayed in your seat, eyes glued to your piece. It was time to leave.

When you finally stood to gather your things and clean your area, there were only two other people in the room, standing in front of Seonghwa’s desk and talking to him. Asking questions you assumed. You ignored them, and just as you gathered the rest of your stuff, they filed out the door. Now it was just you and him.

The air was still and the rain pattered softly on the windows.

“Will I see you next week?” His voice cut through the silence, almost startling you. Soft, yet firm. Expecting. You turned his direction, realizing you hadn’t even thought about whether you were going to return or not. He wasn't looking up, busy jotting down something in a notebook.

“I don’t know.” You answered simply. “Guess we’ll have to see.” You smiled nervously, and then you realized how rude that must have sounded. You scrambled to defend yourself.

“You’re an amazing teacher, and you really helped me understand what I was doing… I think. It just depends on how the week treats me, I guess.” He lifted his eyes finally, pressing the tip of his pen against his soft bottom lip. His eyes trailed up, then down, before landing back on your face.

“I look forward to seeing you next week, Ms…?” Dumbfounded to say the least at his confidence in the idea you’d come back. You were caught off guard, stuttering out your name in response.

“(Name)..” he stated quietly, like he was taste testing the syllables. He smiled again and set his pen down on his mess of a desk, folding his hands and resting his chin on them.

He nodded his head down at his desk, urging you to come forward. “Your list of supplies is on my desk. Come pick them up before you go, please.”

You hesitated, feet glued to your spot. Before you forced your legs to move and carry you to his desk. He watches you with every step, eyes never leaving you once.

You stopped in front of him, picked up the paper, and glanced down at it. Necessities, with recommended brands, ranging from the most expensive to budget-friendly. Locations of nearby art stores and QR codes to videos in case you’d like to practice on your own time. Thorough. His full name was scrawled at the bottom. Park Seonghwa.

When you looked back up, he was standing behind the desk, eye level with you, as his hands rested on the surface, palms flat, hunched over the papers.

A strange heat flushed your neck as his stare pinned you down, his fingers tapping against the desk in a slow rhythm like he was pacing himself.

Then he straightened, sat back down, and looked back down at the notebook. “That's all.” 

What.

You turned stiffly and hurried out the door before anything else weird could happen. You forgot your umbrella and walked out into the street, the rain soaking your clothes as you began walking back home hurriedly.

What the fuck.

There was no way you could go back.

A few days had passed, and work came and went. Draining as always. And even though you weren't even sure if you’d go back to the paint class, it was all you could think about. But was it the painting… or the painter that drew you in?

You found yourself standing in front of a crafts shop, the paper he gave you in your hand as you stared through the glass windows into the store. Were you really going to buy this stuff? Does this solidify your return? Guess you’ll find out.

Stepping into the store, you were met with silence. Like nobody was there/ Maybe one person browsing the paint section, one or two at customer service, other than that it was a ghost town. You looked down at your list and nodded to yourself, stepping further into the store to find the supplies you needed.

Some basic paint palette, an array of brushes, canvases, small and large. The store was homey, stone floors and wood walls, soft music played from the intercom as you meandered about the building, browsing different sections.

You were near the back of the store, in front of a canvas display. They had black canvases, white ones, canvases so large they could probably cover your bedroom floor. You grabbed a couple of 9x12s in case you wanted to practice at home.

You turned to go see what paints they had when you saw him.

Your instructor was across the aisle, looking at stencils and rulers. He hadn’t noticed you yet, and as quickly as you could, you walked the opposite direction, further towards the back of the store.

You could not handle him right now, the intense stares, the strange tension between you two. You pretended to look at the scissors on the wall, taking great interest in the different colors and sizes.

You waited there a few minutes in hopes that he had moved on.

“Need help choosing a pair of scissors? Contrary to popular belief, they are not all the same thing.”

Fuck.

You craned your head up to see the man of the hour standing behind you, a smile on his face and a shopping basket in his hand. Wearing a plain black V-neck that hugged his chest just a little too tightly, and some wide-leg blue jeans. You let your eyes wander for just a second before answering him.

“I’m okay, thank you, though.” He nodded in acknowledgment before raising an eyebrow in question.

“Coulda swore I saw you come in earlier, but I wasn’t sure if it was you or not.” So you were screwed from the beginning he had seen you walk into the store. He nodded down at the list in your hand, his smile widening as his gaze fell over the almost full shopping basket in your hand.

“I see you’re stocking up for upcoming classes. I’m happy to see that.” He stepped closer into your space. You needed to leave before you jumped his bones.

What no. Why would you think that? What's wrong with you?

“Well, I’m still deciding, y’know, I'm so busy with work and whatnot,  I have to make sure I have time..” You smiled nervously, trying to sound as believable as possible. Seonghwa cocked his head to the side in confusion, his tongue poking out to swipe across his bottom lip. He bobbed his head, and a small laugh slipped from him, like he was in disbelief.

“That's funny. From what I could tell, you really enjoyed my class. You came in all tense and closed up, but by the end, though you seemed like you really let yourself enjoy something.” Now you were somewhat offended. You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

“And what do you think you know about me? I was trying something for the hell of it. I wasn’t searching for something.” Lying through your teeth. And he seemed to sense that.

His smile only widened at your response, his hand coming up and raking through his long hair.

“Anyone with eyes could look at you and tell there's more to you than you’re letting on, and that's okay. We’re strangers, I don't need to know everything about you. But if you don’t like my assumptions about you, you can fix it by telling me about yourself.”

This asshat.

“I’m glad you’re so sure of yourself, Mr. Park.” You sneered, turning to walk towards the cash register, so you could check out and leave. “But I know what I want, and right now I want to go home. It was nice seeing you, but you are slowly losing me. Sunday might be reserved for nights at home again if this attitude of yours is something I’ll have to deal with every week.”

They pulled a deep laugh from him, one that stopped you in your tracks. “Well, you’re still buying the supplies, baby, so I’m assuming that you’ll be seeing my face sooner than you’d like to let on.”

 The stupid pet name made your stomach flip and your cheeks heat. Unfortunately, it was more teasing than in an endearing way, which made you want to put him in his place even more. But before you could retort, Seonghwa took a peek into your basket before looking back up at you.

 “Looks like you’re missing just a few more things. Here, c'mon." He placed his palm against the small of your back, urging you to walk with him. You followed without much objection, mumbling curses quietly to yourself as he guided your body to walk to the other side of the store.

You stopped in front of a display of gloss varnish and some easels. Along with a couple gold gold-framed mirrors on the top shelf. He leaned over your shoulder, his lips close to your ear again. “See here.” He whispered, “Some varnish if you’d like to preserve the paintings. And an easel so you can paint without hunching the whole time. I promise you it’ll do your back wonders.”

While he spoke, one hand reached forward and grabbed a bottle of varnish, dropping it into your basket, while the other traced a feather-light trail down your spine. You shivered at the touch, his smile widening at your reaction.

For a moment, it was just you two again. Your eyes met in one of the mirrors. Seonghwa’s gaze was low, calm, but there was a twinge of something else in it. Like a barely controlled sense of need. Want. His eyes were half lidded as he watched your brows furrow at the feeling of his touch along your back. His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth. He hummed against your ear quietly, his hand twitched, like he wanted to hold more of your body. Like he wanted to touch you like you were his.

Or maybe you were crazy, lack of sleep. You barely knew him. Maybe you needed to get laid.

He pulled away and grabbed a couple of bottles of varnish for himself, dropping them in his basket. 

“Looks like you got it all, sweetheart,” he smiled, and you turned, ripping your eyes from the mirror and directing your attention up at him. His hand reached forward and held a lock of your hair between his fingers, letting the strands dance between his knuckles.

Seonghwa’s eyes roved all over your face, taking you in, like he was trying to memorize everything about you. “I’d love to paint you someday, beautiful. Would you let me?” It took everything in your power not to let your mouth fall open in shock at his words.

“Me..?” you swallowed, fingers fiddling nervously as your gaze fell to your feet.

“You.” He stated simply, like he was talking about the least intimate thing in the world. His finger pinched your chin gently and tilted your head up to look at him. He tilted your head to the right, then to the left, up, and then down, like he was mapping your face. Trying to figure out what colors would work, what shading to use, and what brushes would perfectly encapsulate the acne scars and the texture of your skin. What brush would perfectly capture the slope of your nose, and what colors would mix for that beautiful shade of your iris. 

“Think about it.” He said, leaving no room for argument, before letting go of your chin and turning to walk away. 

‘‘See you next Sunday, love.” And he was gone.  The fucking audacity. And guess what.

Sunday came faster than you would have liked. And you were in your mirror, touching up your hair. A tote bag filled with art supplies, as you prepared to head to your second class.

The fucker had you. Had you wrapped around his finger. He was alluring, annoying, beautiful, and you didn’t want to give him credit for it. But he was right. You enjoyed the class, and you liked that he was able to pull that creativity out of you. And you liked looking at him. And hearing his voice.

It was raining again today. You decided that being early wasn’t important today. So you left your house at 6:50, showing up at 7:15. Make him think you weren’t coming, but unfortunately, your punctual nature wouldn’t allow you to be any later than that. You did your best.

You walked into the building, stood in front of the door for a second, gathering your bearings. You twisted the knob and walked inside, more confidence in your walk than your first day.

Once again, heads turned to look at you, the same 6 students in their respective spots. However, your seat in the back was gone. And the only empty chair was the one closest to Seonghwa’s desk. He was sitting on his stool, a finished painting on the easel, a wide paintbrush in hand as he demonstrated varnishing the artwork.

His eyes locked with yours, only for a second before looking back at his task. “Nice of you to join us (Name.) Have a seat, we’re just varnishing.” Slowly, you made your way to the empty seat by his desk, sitting down and setting your supplies out.

“While most artists didn’t varnish impressionism pieces, we are for the sake of preservation. They preferred the matte, rough look. But they lived in Europe, where the sun didn’t shine. Your art kind of needs the varnish now more than ever. We're using a satin varnish that keeps the natural look, but offers a bit of protection. So don’t worry, they won’t be ruined.”

He clapped his hands and set down the brush, standing from his stool. “You can come up and grab your pieces from the drying rack and begin varnishing. I’ll walk around, and just let me know if you have any questions.” Everyone stood to grab their pieces, you following suit.

Seonghwa stood by the rack, watching as each individual picked up their pieces. You were last, his eyes following your every move. Pretending you didn’t see him, you grabbed your piece and walked back to your seat.

If he wants to play games, you simply won’t give him the satisfaction. You pulled the varnish that you bought from your bag and a large brush, setting your canvas on your easel. You gave the painting a once-over, still somewhat astounded that you could create something so pretty.

You opened the bottle and poured it into a cup, dipping the brush and beginning. The rain fell steadily as the students' idle chatter once again faded into background noise as you focused on your task.

Carefully as you could, you spread the varnish about your work, admiring as the soft sheen coated the colors and made them more vibrant. Stroke by stroke, you were evening out the gloss, and soon enough, the whole canvas was covered.

You were so lost in your work that you hadn’t noticed that Seonghwa was not in fact walking around the room, but standing at the back of the studio. Back against the wall, arms crossed, head tilted lazily to the side. His eyes were trained directly on the back of your neck. 

His gaze followed the curve where your neck met your shoulder, how your shoulder blades poked only slightly through your shirt, down and aligning your waist, admiring your attentiveness. Oh, how he’d love to capture every part of your body and hang it on his wall proudly. He didn’t know what it was about you.

You were nothing special, another young girl finding her way through life, discovering her passions. But there was just something. He couldn't place his finger on it. But he wanted to find out as soon as possible.

He walked back towards the front, striding towards your seat. But just as he was about to speak, some varnish dribbled down the brush onto your hands. Immediately, Seonghwa was at your side, grabbing your wrist, making you drop the brush.

Surprised, you yelled quietly at the contact. “What the hell, what did I do?” Not giving you time to object, he lifted you by your arm, urging you to follow him. However, in his frantic movement, his face and voice remained calm as he walked you both to the door.

“Varnish can irritate if it gets on the skin.” He spoke as he led you into the hall. The other students paid you no mind as he led you to the bathroom.

“It's best to rinse the area for about 15 minutes, because it could cause a burn.” He turned on the light and switched on the faucet, dragging your wrist under the cold faucet water.

“I can do it myself.” You groaned. The bathroom was cramped, his chest pressed against your back as you looked into the mirror. He let go of your wrist, a little too slowly, as you left your hand under the running water. He physically couldn’t step back in the confined space.

He remained behind you, watching you in the mirror. Your gaze stayed on your hand as you twisted your wrist to get the water all over your hand. The bathroom was silent, despite the rush of water and the hum of the air vent.

The air. Stagnant. The tension. Thick.

“Do you need to hover?” You asked, your voice smaller than you had liked. “I’m not 5, I don't need adult supervision, Sir.” You hissed around the last word, but Seonghwa’s breath caught in his chest so quickly you hadn’t caught it. 

He was so close, and refused to admit it was driving you mad. You could smell him, and you wouldn’t dare look in the mirror, because if you met his gaze, you just might snap. He was too much. He dripped sex appeal. Control. Authority. But it was gentle. Suggestive, like he would never do anything unless you got on your knees and begged for him. Like if your body cried for him.

 You turned off the faucet when you were sure the area was clean, and you were about to turn and walk out of the bathroom.

A hand, slender, large, and firm. With the softness of a mother’s touch, it slipped around the front of your throat, grounding you. His chest pressed harder against your back, almost pushing you against the sink. Your hands gripped the bowl of the sink, holding your upper body up as you felt him against you.

Seonghwa leaned his head down, pressing his lips against your ear. His breath tickled the shell, and your breath quickened.

“What is it about you?” He murmured against your ear. His breathing was heavier, his chest rising and falling against your back. “It's irking me so fucking bad.” His nose dipped into that soft spot between your neck and shoulder, inhaling softly.

Whimpering was your first mistake. His whole body shivered as he placed the softest of kisses on the nape of your neck. “Tell me no.” He whispered. His free hand came up and gripped your jaw lightly, directing your gaze to the mirror.

You locked eyes with him in the reflective glass, your knees going weak at the primal look he was giving you. “Look at me and tell me you don’t want this.”

Your lips remained glued shut. Your eyelids fluttered, and Seonghwa's hand rested on your jaw, his thumb rubbing your cheek coaxingly. You leaned back into his touch, a question in your eyes.”

“Ask.” He demanded, already sensing you had something to say.

“Are you playing with me?” You mumbled, your lips slightly slurred with the hold he had on your jaw.

“No playing. No games, darling. I promise I’ll be as gentle as I can.” There was a false promise in his tone, and he could barely hide the smile that tried to creep onto his lips.

The hand on your throat tilted your head up, craning your neck as his neck tilted down, his nose brushing yours, and his breath fanning against your lips. You were hesitant. But only because you were afraid that if you let him, you might become addicted. Then you’ll come crawling back by the end of it.

But that filthy, shameful dark corner in your mind couldn’t resist him. Your stomach clenched, and your heart battered in your ribcage. Suddenly, the bathroom was too hot, and the tension was so thick you couldn’t breathe. You needed to breathe. You needed Seonghwa to give you air.

So with the last bit of oxygen in your lungs, you parted your lips and whimpered out the softest, most pliant, “Please.” And that was all he needed.

Like he was savoring it, he brushed the skin of his lips against yours, back and forth, before opening his mouth and swallowing your lips. The slowest, most sensual rhythm of lips against lips. And you could breathe again.

You sighed into his mouth, and the sound only spurred him further. His lips moved away, but only for a second, before he turned you around and pressed your back against the sink. His hand around your throat again as he pressed his body into yours, melding with you like he belonged there. His mouth moved against you like you were the most flavorful thing he had ever had the pleasure of tasting, his thumb rubbing the side of your throat, his other hand gripping your hip, pulling you closer to him as he devoured you. Your hands lifted and gripped his hair at the scalp, dragging a groan from his throat, his lips smiling against yours at the feeling of your hands.

“So soft..” he moaned into your mouth, barely giving you time to think as your head spun at the pure intensity of the kiss. “So fucking sweet.” 

Your eyes were shut, but his were open, watching himself in the mirror as the hand on your throat moved to grip the back of your neck. He watched his flex tendons flex as he held your neck possessively, like he owned you. The way your back arched and your body trembled. 

“Seonghwa…” You whined into his mouth. He almost growled, pushing his tongue into your mouth and drinking the pretty sounds you made.

“Again.” He groaned like it hurt, his eyebrows furrowed, and the grip on your waist tightened. “Say it again.”

You obeyed. “Seonghwa…” His kisses were rougher, claiming and violent. Like he wanted to eat you alive. You were lost in him, his roaming hands, and the way his body kept trying to push itself into you as if you both could even possibly physically be any closer.

“Fucking beautiful.” He pulled from your lips, littering kisses along your neck, both hands sliding up your shirt and tickling the sides of your waist. “Making the most lovely sounds. I’d pick you up and fuck you against this wall if I you’d let me. Would you let me, huh, pretty girl?”

You nodded frantically, thighs clenching at the mere thought.

And suddenly you remember this was your instructor. There were students in the other room. They were bound to wonder where you two were soon.

“W-we have to go back…” You whispered, his large hands kneading the flesh of your waist, like the thought of letting you go might just kill him. He groaned, pressing one last, claiming kiss on your shoulder. He pulled back and let his hands fall from your body, and suddenly you were cold.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, calming himself. He looked at you, pupils dilated and lips flushed. “Stay here. Leave in 10 minutes. Class is almost over. Once everyone leaves, come back to the studio.”

Leaving no room for debate, he opened the door and left. Your back still against the sink, hair disheveled, and lips kiss-swollen. Did that really just happen? Silence enveloped you as you leaned against the wall, waiting.

What must have been the longest ten minutes of your fucking life, the anticipation swirling in your gut. You had never been so soaked.

Seonghwa left so quickly. If he had stayed any longer, he for sure would have had his way with you regardless of whether anyone was in the other room. He’d make you scream just so they could hear. But he had manners, ones that he was slowly forgetting more and more each time he laid eyes on you. He sat in the front of the class behind his desk, eyes void as he tried his best not to think of how pretty you looked, arched over the sink. Hair a hot mess, body trembling, taking what he gave you like a good girl.

His foot tapped against the ground impatiently, and finally. 9 pm. The students gathered their things, waved their goodbyes, and slowly filed out of the studio. The lights were turned off, and the rain beat against the windows harder.

You were sure it had been 10 minutes. Slowly, you opened the door and peeked into the hall. Silence. Shutting the bathroom door, you turned the corner and began walking to the studio entrance. You hesitated, just a moment. Preparing yourself.

You placed your hand on the knob, twisted it, and pushed it open. You got one foot through the door when Seonghwa grabbed your wrist and yanked you inside, shutting the door and shoving you against it. Like an animal, he gave you no time to react, burying his hands in your hair and slotting his lips with yours.

“Finally..” he moaned, pressing his body against yours, rendering you helpless against the wall. You kissed back with just as much fervor, free to be as loud as you want. 

“Not enough,” he snarled, hands holding your waist as he picked you up, your legs wrapping around him as he carried you to his desk. Carelessly swiping the papers and such off as he set on the surface, his lips not once parting from yours. His hand slipped between our bodies, tracing down your stomach and landing on the button of your pants.

“Want these off, honey?” He whispered into your mouth, laughing softly at your frantic nods.

“Please, yes please…” His fingers danced along the hem, unbuttoning them slowly, slipping them down and off your legs. His kisses moved lower, mapping a trail down your body until he had sunk onto his knees, dragging his lips along the insides of your thighs. 

You looked down at him, his eyes never leaving yours and he placed a soft kiss against your clit through the thin lace of your panties. Your thighs shook, and his big hands spread them open for him, keeping them open with a strong grip.

“Hwa… please…. No more teasing.” He smiled and placed a rougher kiss against your clothed cunt. 

“I’ll tease you all I want, sweetheart, if you keep giving me such cute reactions.” His tongue fell out of his mouth, flattening against you as he dragged a long, stripe up your cunt, smiling when your whole body shivered at his touch.

“Such a responsive baby. I knew you’d be so good for me. Want these off too? Want to feel my tongue against that pretty pussy huh?” You were so fogged in the head, shame way past, with the only feeling you had was needed. Pure and unbridled need for him to fuck you stupid.

“Yes, fuck Seonghwa please!” His thumb hooked along the waistband, dragging your underwear down your legs and stuffing them in his pocket. The cold hit your cunt, soaked and throbbing for him.

“Uh huh.” His own voice shook with need, unable to pull his eyes away from you. “Don’t worry, I got you. I’ll take care of you.” Seonghwa’s hands curled around your thighs, keeping them steady as he kissed your clit, so softly, then wrapping his lips around it and sucking.

Immediately, your body pulled taught and your brain felt like it had been shocked, a deep, guttural moan escaping. His hands dug into your thighs like he was holding himself back, losing himself in your taste, drowning between your thighs.

“Fuck baby.” His tongue drew impossible patterns around your clit, one hand moving from your thighs to trace a finger up your soaked slit, gathering your wetness and teasing.

“I’ll fuck you open on my fingers and you’ll take it like a perfect slut right? You’re gonna take it for me?” You nodded, words fleeting and hard to grasp as you focused on the way he touched you. Like he’s known your body for eternity, knowing what buttons to press and what words to say to get your stomach fluttering.

With ease that should have been embarrassing, he slipped his fingers inside your warm cunt, immediately curling them to press against that spot that made your vision go white and your breath catch, all the while his mouth was relentless on your clit.

“Don’t talk, honey, just feel. Moan nice and loud, let me know I’m doing a good job, okay?” He hummed around your clit, sending pleasure ridden vibrations though you that made your back arch and your fists clench. Your hands flew forward and gripped his hair, grinding themselves against his mouth as his fingers dragged in and out of you so delicately, slowly, applying just enough pressure to have you tumbling towards your orgasm fast.

Your head fell back, biting your bottom lip as you continued to grind against his face. “Fuck, cummng Seonghwa…” His tongue only licked faster, his fingers pressing harder inside of you.

Suddenly, his fingers slowed and he pulled off of your clit, a depraved groan slipping from him. You whined in disappointment, so close to falling off the edge.

“Why…?” You whined, desperation lining your voice. He only smiled and placed gentle kisses on your inner thighs. 

“Beg,” Seonghwa stated simply, his voice breathless. “If you want it so fucking bad then beg for it princess.” Suddenly, the humiliation was setting in, but not enough for you to not beg.

He rested his cheek against your thighs lazily, looking up at you like you were the most stunning thing he had ever laid eyes on. “Nice and loud. Let me hear you. Beg like if I don’t let you cum you’ll die. Let me know how badly you need it.”

And you did. “Please Seonghwa, please I need you to fucking ruin me. Please, I’ll do anything. Please make me feel so good that I die, please.” So pathetic. So whiny and so desperate, exactly how Seonghwa liked it. Before you could continue he buried his face inbwtewen your thighs again, this time slipping his surprisingly longue tongue inside of you, fucking you eith his tongue. His fingers pinched your clit, rubbing it between his fingers and making noises so sinful, the sound of his voice was almost enough to make you shatter into a million pieces.

“You beg so beautifully for me, baby, cmon. Fall apart. Cum for me. You’ve earned it.” Your whole body shook as your orgasm overtook you, the grip on his hair impossibly tight. He groaned into your cunt from the pain in his scalp, which only spurred him on further. He wasn't stopping until he was done.

He continued to eat you like a man starved, even as overstimulation throbbed in your cunt. 

“Fuck Hwa, let up, too much!” he laughed at your pleas, kissing your clit one last time before standing, his tongue coming out to clean you off his lips. He brought his fingers to his mouth, his tongue delving between and licking your slick off himself. Dragging his tongue from the bottom of his wrist and up to his fingertips, eyes boring into yours.

Pulling off his fingers with a loud pop, he ripped his shirt off his body, his pants following right behind. His chest was beautifully toned, a honey gold that was good enough to eat. The dips and shadows in his abs that were so smooth you had the urge to sit on his stomach and grind against it.

But he didn’t give you time, before he grabbed your thighs pulling you to the edge of the desk, slotting himself between your legs and pulling his cock from his boxers, letting them fall to the floor and kicking them off his legs.

Teasingly, he slipped your shirt off your body, hands squeezing your waist, swallowing your lips in slow, deep kisses. 

He slid his cock through your soaked cunt, slicking the length of it up with your wetness. “Oh baby can’t wait to have you go dumb on my dick. Want me inside?’

Your arms circled around his back, nails dragging angry red stripes along his shoulder blades. 

“Yes Seonghwa, I’m all yours fuck me stupid, please you’re all I can think about…” Of course this only stirred his ego up more, his cock jumping in response to the pure need in your tone.

“Alright, baby, you’ll get what you want. Relax, loosen up for me and just feel…” 

He pulled his hips back, pressing his tip against your entrance. “Nice and slow, baby…” He pressed inside, and inch by inch, sinking into your cunt. He groaned, savoiring the feeling, wanting to drag it out for as long as possible before he lost himself and fucked you like he’d never fuck again.

Full was an understatement. You could feel every vein, the heat was burning inside of you, igniting a fire in your stomach that made your hips move on their own, rolling forward to take him deeper. He moans, unfiltered and dripping with want.

“That's it, love, that's it right there. Feeling full?” You moan into his mouth, he sucking your bottom lips into his mouth and savoring your warmth. When he bottomed out, he didn’t move, just feeling you clench and pulse around him.

“Such a creature of wonder you are, gorgeous.” He whispered, words waxing poetic, your head swimming at his praise. “I love the way you shake, the way you cry…” He pulled his hips back slowly, the slick sound vile…

And with a deep thrust, he knocked the wind from your lungs. Your back arched, and your nails bit into his skin harder. “Like it when I take you slow honey? Like it sensual, deep, all-consuming, huh?” 

You moaned in response as he found a rhythm, rolling his hips into you, dragging perfectly against your G-spot in a way that could have you passing out at any moment.

“Oh.. fuck Hwa….” your brows furrowed feeling so full each time he slipped out of you and thrusted right back in like he couldn’t stand being anywhere except inside of you.

“You…fuck..” He groaned, feeling himself losing it. “You minx. Look what you do to me.” A thrust so hard it shook the desk, you yelped, throwing your head back. Seonghwa took this opportunity to attach his lips to your exposed throat, no doubt littering you with dark, possessive marks,

“Mine, mine mine all fucking mine. R-right? You all mine, baby?”  Seonghwa's hips rolled into you deeper, like a second too long away from you would kill him.

“Yes Seonghwa yours, fuck, yours..”  His hands enveloped your waist, so big and so rough, feeling your stretch marks, his tongue tracing your collar bone, his thick cock sliding in and out so smoothly. 

“Wet little slut, all for me. Can’t get enough. Lean back, cmon.” You leaned back on the desk, elbows propped so you could keep your eyes on him. His hands holding your waist, his thumbs pressing into your abdomen as he rolled his hips in that delicious way again that made your thighs tremble.

“Gonna fuck you like I hate you mkay?” He whined, rubbing your stomach softly. “Take it.” And with a tough snap of his hips, he kept true to his words,

Seonghwa bullied his cock into your guts like he wanted to hurt you. Rough, sloppy, deep. And you took it.

“Look at you, take what I give you like it's all you deserve. Fucking beautiful.” He let his head fall back as he fucked you, your moans sweet music to his ears. Your broken sounds alternate between gasps for breath and whines of his name.

Relentless, feral, mean. He fucked you like your moans were a drug, hs greatest addiction.

“Fuck Seonghwa, gonna cum.” He laughed, your pathetic whines spurring him on to push you off that cliff, ruin you for any other man. He wants you crawling back to him. Begging him to mold you, to put you on your knees and show you just what it means to belong to someone. Belong to him.

“Dumb baby, gonna cum for me again?” Seonghwa pouted faxuly. You nod, mouth open, only staggering breaths and quiet whines coming out. Your eyelids fluttered and your stomach clenched as you approached that inevitable edge. He pulled you back up by your throat, crashing his lips into yours, nipping at your tongue, and moaning into your mouth. When he pulled from your lips, he pressed them against your ear, blowing air on the shell and nipping at the lobe.

“Then fucking cum (Name.).” Seonghwa moaned, the words traveling straight to your cunt. “Cum on my cock and scream like I’m God.” 

Your legs twitched, your eyes tunneled, and you came hard. Seonghwa did not let up, in fact he fucked you harder, dragging you through your orgasm like it didn’t just nearly knock you out.

“Fuck!” you squealed, legs going limp as he held you against his body, still fucking you without abandon.

“Good job baby, good fucking girl.” He praised you, soft like his cock wasn’t turning you inside out. “Gonna cum inside of this pretty cunt. Take it, take it like you’ve been taking me so good all night.”

His hips stuttered and with a final, deep thrust, he groaned, kissing you like you might disappear, as he slowly fucking his cum deep inside of you, being sure not a single drop went to waste.

You both stayed like that for a long while, savoring each other's pleasure and letting your breaths mingle in tandem, existing in each other’s presence. His hands gently caressed your waist, soothing your body and just feeling your skin.

“Still with me?” He mumbled, pressing gentle kisses along your shoulder and massaging your body like you might break in his hold.

“Yeah..” You croaked, voice strained and body exhausted. He smiled against your neck and breathed you in. 

“Could you go for one more?” Seonghwa teased.

“Are you insane? I think you broke me.” He laughed, kissing your lips slowly, smiling against you, and caressing your neck gently, rubbing the tension out of it. 

Reluctantly, he slipped out of you, groaning and the loss of your warmth. “Cmon, let's get you dressed and I’ll take you home.” His voice soft and alluring, he helped you stand and cleaned you up, kissing up your legs as he wiped you clean and, like the gentleman he was, slipping your clothes back on and pampering you like you deserved.

“You’re dangerous,” Seonghwa whispered as he walked you down the sidewalk back to your townhome, hand interlaced with yours while the other held an umbrella over both of you.

The streets were quiet, well into the night, as he walked you home, his thumb rubbing your hand soothingly.

“You too.” You teased me. “But trust, I'll be in class next Sunday.” His smile widened at your words, stopping in front of your home and turning to face you.

“I do hope I’ll see you sooner, though. Dinner sometime, maybe?” Your cheeks flushed, and suddenly you were shyer than you had been all night.

“How could I say no to such a face?” You embraced, sharing one last kiss, before he walked you to your door.

“Catch you later, teach.” You stood in your doorway, heart fluttering as he looked at you with pure adoration.

“See you soon, (Name),” Seonghwa replied, eyes soft, placing a gentle kiss on the back of your hand, before turning and descending the steps back out into the rain. And your door shut, signifying the beginning to that passion you’ve been craving oh so badly.

[jaeyundazed]

k. seungmin — cinema.

SUMMARY: after a long night of attending your first baseball game, you take a tranquil walk back to your hotel alongside your favorite ball fan and closest friend. introduced to you by your older brother chris, kim seungmin also happens to be the owner of your heart, and you soon discover that there's a lot more beneath the surface of his feelings.

TLDR: kim seungmin confesses his feelings for you in the only way he knows how.

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

ꨄ︎: yeah so i finally saw stray kids in toronto and cinema inspired me so hard. y'all don't understand that song is my SHIT. anyway seungmin is literally my baby and he's so sweet and adorable and i love him so bad. for the record here i had to modify the timeline of dominATE a little bit to fit the storyline & the song which you'll understand later on. anyway enjoy, and happy reading! xo

NO WARNINGS

You love Chris.

He’s the best brother you could ever ask for. Warm, caring, sweet, and incredibly funny all at the same time. You can see why his fans love him so dearly. He’s always been there for you, and even now, as an adult, he wants nothing more than for you to be happy. Because of his constant love and support, you are.

You’ve always loved everything to do with photography. It always called to you, pulling you deeper into its grasp every day. As a little girl, you were so enamored by the idea of capturing life through photographs. You wanted it to be your craft, and that is exactly what you achieved, through long hours in high school and college. Chris couldn’t be any prouder of you.

That being said, it’s easy to see why you love joining your brother and his brothers (or kids, rather) when they tour around the world. Being their personal photographer comes with countless new experiences at each tour stop. To post and publish the frozen moments in time for the whole world to see, and give people a glimpse into your life and theirs. To show them how the smallest of interactions can symbolize something bigger. Telling a story through photos comes so naturally to you after many years of perfecting your style. As wild as their lifestyle can get with so many crazed fans and experiences, you love watching it all unfold. It’s your version of perfect.

On top of that, his bandmates are the sweetest people you’ve ever met.

When you first met the guys, you were shy. Reserved. Typical photographer, right? With all of their boisterous personalities and outgoing tendencies, you often felt cornered. And as much as Chris tried to include you, it was difficult. You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themself, and for a while, that reigned true. You were trapped inside the shell of yourself. Until you finally got to know Seungmin, who would take you by surprise and become the best unexpected plot twist.

You discovered that he isn’t all that different from you. Every time you’re with him, he feels like a breath of fresh air. His smile lights up every room, contrary to the opinions of the individuals who have ever told him otherwise. He’s kind and caring, and so dedicated to his aspirations. He reaches for the sky with each passing moment on his journey, and he brings you along with him, holding your hand so you don’t miss a single second. He understands you in a way no one else does, or even comes close. He is, in essence, your perfect other half.

In more ways than one.

When you first locked eyes, you felt it: the spark. The undeniable silent exchange of glances that spoke a thousand words and formed the thickest tension you’ve ever felt. The way his hand felt in yours when he shook it, the size rivaling yours yet enveloping it perfectly, its warmth giving you a level of comfort you didn’t know to be possible. How his eyes explored your whole being, not the slightest hint of lust, but in pure awe. Yours did the same, and although both of you noticed what the other was doing, sizing the other up, you remained quiet.

He’s your older brother’s bandmate, you always tell yourself. It’s wrong.

But when you’re with him, everything feels right. Like nothing in this world can sour your mood, and if anyone tried, he’d shield you like it was the last thing he’d ever do. You’re on cloud 9, and Seungmin is below you, keeping you stable and making sure you never fall off. So you maintain the close bond you formed with him, keeping it platonic and holding out hope that one day, it can be more.

He’s introduced you to so many things—the beauty of life itself, nature, and especially film, where he takes you to at least one theater at every tour stop. You don’t even have to watch a movie to get the full experience, because now, you’ve begun to understand their importance and symbolism. How gorgeous a film can be, all because of him. And with that, you teach him everything there is to know about photography, your craft, even letting him give it a hand, oftentimes. When you’re stuck, he’s always quick to offer himself as a subject, and you never decline, excited for the blooming opportunities and the moments that come with it. You’ll focus the camera on him, taking stills from various angles and capturing his natural beauty in such a touching way. He’ll huddle close to you afterward to look through your work, your shoulders brushing against one another, the act so intimate, yet neither will acknowledge it. It’s the perfect way to learn the little things about him that most people don’t know, and without hesitation, he lets you in.

With him, you’re bound to feel something. Always.

What recently weaseled its way into the picture is baseball—his first love. The other guys, including your brother, aren’t interested in it, and for years, the sport’s light within him began to dim. With open arms, you welcomed it into your life, letting him ramble on about things you would have no understanding of, but loved to listen to his passion for. Gradually, that passion would seep into you, and now, it’s yours. Reserved for only him and you, and nobody else.

The light eventually flickered back on, and now, it shines even brighter than before. Even in your lowest, darkest moments, he’s the light that awaits.

Seungmin makes every moment of your time important, worthwhile, and not a second passes without meaning. He’s special, not just to you, but to everyone, bringing light and love to the world that challenges anyone else’s, although many people can’t see it. You wish more did, because they would love him if they let themselves. He’s more artistic than meets the eye, and it’s your favorite trait of his. That, and his smile, which you hold so dearly in your heart. It repeatedly brings you joy, even if he doesn’t realize it.

For the first time, he brings you to a baseball game with him when he’s visiting New York for promotions. With so much stress and anxiety from the upcoming U.S. leg of their largest-scale world tour, it’s easy to become overwhelmed, and nothing brings him more joy than entering a stadium without worry. Not a chance of being recognized, and that’s perfectly fine. On these nights, he wants to be regular, just Seungmin, and not Kim Seungmin.

Only two circumstances exist where that’s possible: baseball games and being with you.

“Are you ready?” he asks as he takes his seat in the navy blue chair, property of Yankee Stadium.

You smile, admiring how sweet he looks in his outfit—a white Fried jersey adorning his torso with a matching navy blue Yankees cap, a small portion of his dark brown hair poking out from behind it. A light blue wristband sits around his left wrist like a bracelet. He’s quiet as he sits, relaxed, which most, at a glance, would assume is glum, but you attribute it to something entirely different—he’s happy.

“Ready as ever,” you giggle, taking a bite from your hot dog. “I feel very in my element here,” you note as you scan the large stadium, admiring the large crowd, together creating a sea of midnight blue. “Very American.”

Seungmin laughs. “With that accent?”

“Sorry for being Australian and not having a perfect accent like you, Seungmin,” you roll your eyes. You don’t have time to react further, for the game begins, and you’re in awe. Your seats provide a flawless view of home plate, courtesy of Seungmin and the riches he happily spends on you, which you reluctantly accept. You’re thankful because you’re sure that the night can’t get any more perfect, even if it tries to (and spoiler alert, it does).

You spend your time watching the game intently, flagging down the concession workers for various food and drinks, all for the experience, and going for walks to explore the concourse between innings, not caring to miss a pitch or two. With a lemonade in one hand and your phone in the other, you add hundreds of items to your gallery, and without a doubt, your camera app will have the most screen time by the end of the night. As you return to your seats, you stop to take photos for his Instagram, beaming at him from behind the camera and snapping more pictures than you likely needed to, making them look as perfect as possible. It isn’t difficult, for in your eyes, he’s a natural model. Yet still, being a photographer does come with its perks.

“Smile,” you say, and he shakes his head.

“No.”

“Smile, Min,” you demand through a chuckle, “it’s pretty.”

You watch the shift in his eyes, how a fraction of life returns to them, and he obeys, softly flashing the smile you know and love to the camera. You snap a few pictures and return his phone to him, walking down the shallow stairs back to him.

“You don’t have to post them,” you say. “Just don’t be ashamed.”

He lets your words sink in before meeting you back at the seats. He takes a handful more of photos with his phone once he’s comfortable, some of the large, glowing Yankee Stadium sign, others of the batters and fielders. He opts to take a few selfies and motions you to come closer, keeping these for himself, knowing he can’t post them. To commemorate the moment, even if the images are limited to his camera roll. He wants to remember it forever.

Once the game comes to an end, you walk back to the hotel from the stadium, a common occurrence when you spend time with him, whether it’s during a tour or not. It’s peaceful and often offers a relaxing alternative to taking transportation, especially after a long night like this, when winding down is much-needed. You’ll talk about various insignificant things, admiring the scenery around you, the area being foreign, and it all contributes to its tranquility.

But tonight, it’s different.

He’s different.

Stealing glances when he thinks you’re not looking, only for you to notice within seconds. Fumbling with his hands quietly beside you, his fingers toying with the plastic wristband. He tends to scratch the back of his neck just where the hair ends. You notice him looking at the selfies from earlier, watching as he suppresses a smile. A ball of nerves, he’s still flawless. It’s now, in this moment, that you finally make sense of your feelings for him. Watching as he walks, listening to him so attentively while he speaks, like you’ll never hear his voice again, and you want to savor it. What started as a simple attraction, easy to bottle up, bloomed into something far stronger as you came to know the side of Kim Seungmin that he lets only you see.

“You okay?” you ask, raising a brow as you look toward him, the somber look on his face worrying you.

“Mm,” he nods, “just thinking.”

“What about?”

“How much this means to me,” he says and turns to you, his hands shoved in his pockets. “I’m…usually alone when I attend these. Having you here is…wonderful,” he pauses, “yeah.”

Frowning, you swallow. “Not to be dramatic, but this was the best night I’ve ever had,” you reassure him, smiling when he chuckles under his breath, eyes trained on the ground below him. “I’m serious.”

“Can I show you something?” he asks, still staring at the concrete, illuminated only by the spread out street lights it sits between, and you cock a brow as a silent inquiry. He pulls out his phone and scrolls, letting you watch, trusting that you won’t pry. He taps the screen, and an unfamiliar drum beat begins to wisp into the air, wafting around you and ringing gently in your ears. You don’t know what it is, for he’s never mentioned it before, but it’s beautiful. You can’t explain it, but the emotion it conveys is so heavy.

You gradually come to a stop, your smile slowly dissolving and eventually leaving no remnant. You can’t read him like you typically can, but you know he’s thinking again, about something more specific, something deeper, yet you don’t know what. It resonates in your stomach, producing an uneasy feeling. It’s as if he’s waiting for you, watching your reaction and gauging it, wordlessly asking for your opinion. And you don’t know why.

…When this light goes down, story starts to rise up…

“When we started to write this,” he mumbles, and you cock your head, “me and Minho—I wanted to capture moments like today.”

…This is our CINEMA…

“Show life through shared experience,” he says, his voice bordering on a whisper. “Doing our best and savoring moments like this…everything between serving as a scene in a movie.”

What he means immediately registers as you listen to the lyrics—small fragments of your life, seemingly meaningless, coming together to form a story. The way he explains it is so personal, like you’re part of it. Like it’s not just a song, and he’s showing you that through it, rather than words. You figure it’s one of the duets that Chris briefly mentioned once before. But when he and Minho began the project, Seungmin didn’t tell you. Yet now, it makes sense as he has you listening to it, the song’s melody and lyrics forcing you to feel how important the song is to him. How much emotion, how much of his soul he poured into it. How much deeper the meaning is than it seems at first glance. And you just listen, not saying anything, letting the music speak for itself as he stands before you, staring.

…Everyone’s shouting, everyone’s clapping…

“Min,” you breathe, “this is gorgeous.”

“It’s for you,” he says, looking up, wearing an expression you’ve never, in all the time you’ve known him, seen.

That’s all he says. And it stuns you, catching you off guard in the most intense way possible. Your lips part, numb from the shock, exhaling warm breaths through them. His words linger in the air. Like they’re suspended. And you try so hard to process them, your senses so overwhelmed with emotion that thinking straight is no longer an option. It starts to make sense—the lyrics and how they tell a story of two souls creating their cinema, their life, together. The little instances that contribute to a bigger whole. Every moment with you holds so much meaning, and he wrote about it—how lively he becomes, his version of staying strong until the end. The final curtain call. The music, his sole means of expression, is about you, for millions of people to hear. He doesn’t speak. He only looks back at you, vulnerability flashing in his eyes, face laced with contemplation.

It’s you. You’re his muse.

…Yeah, you need me, stay.

The absence of words is deafening, so loud that you can hear your heartbeat in your head. His eyebrows twitch slightly, just enough for you to notice, and he steps closer. Your body is stiff, a combination of shock and something else you can’t quite place. His hand hangs at his side, gripping the phone as the music still emanates softly from it, filling the void.

…Here the light shines again, ending credits going up…

You swallow. This is it.

…You and my name, together on it with the final curtain call…

He takes another tentative step, leaving him inches away, the proximity making your heart race faster. Your eyes flicker down, his knuckles white from their tight grip on the phone, and as they refocus, the wristbanded arm raises. His hand gently takes yours, offering the same warmth it wielded the day you first met him. Oddly, you do recognize his expression—the same look in his eyes that he had that day.

And here, now, you finally have closure as the song ends.

…Welcome to our CINEMA.

Silence. Pure and dripping with tension, almost tangible.

The kiss is soft, his lips brushing gently against yours. Sweet and tender and warm, loving—everything you’ve ever wanted. His hand gently squeezes yours, thumb brushing the back of it. As the other finally comes up and holds your face, you rise to your toes to reach him properly. You can feel the hesitation in his caress, his actions fueled by nerves, yet so deliberate. He smiles, your hand squeezing his back, and you feel the stretch of his lips against yours.

So many things have brought you together. The undeniable pull you always feel when he’s around. Your brother, who first introduced you to him. Film, the first thing you ever bonded over. All contributing to this moment, where you finally shatter the wall that once existed between you, letting yourselves finally admit to the feelings you’ve bottled up for years. And baseball, which you credit for showing you the version of Seungmin that predates his career, the carefree, young, and darling version of himself still buried inside. Who you fell for, who you love, in every sense of the word.

Baseball—his first love. And you’ll be his last.

“I didn’t think you felt the same,” you whisper when you finally pull away.

And he laughs. “I knew you did.”

“How?” you question with soft eyes that completely melt his reserve.

“Because I know you,” he responds, leaving no further explanation. And you know, from seeing him like this, that he felt it that day, too—the same spark you did. All along, he felt the energy shift when you were alone together. The unspoken feelings that constantly threatened to break loose, but never did, in fear of rejection and wrongfulness. Brown eyes wander across your face, flitting back and forth as if studying the pages of a book, soft and glowing, full of adoration. Teeth on display when his lips pull into a grin, so natural, wide and unapologetically his, unashamed when he’s with you.

He’s never looked so perfect.

If you had your camera, you’d capture him a thousand times, committing every inch of him to memory. But in its absence, you kiss him again, intimate and slow, savoring the moment and accepting the piece of his heart he’s offering to you. This time, he’s not so nervous—he’s comfortable. Happy, with your arms wrapped around his neck as they pull him impossibly closer, just wanting the comfort of being so close to him. You don’t need a camera to remember this—it’s something you will never, in your whole life ahead, forget. It symbolizes the end of the friendship and the beginning of something more. Cements the moment, him—your endless pillar of support, in your life to look back on for years to come. Weaves him into your story.

Your cinema.

[staravyz]

︖﹖ㅤㅤRandom Oddly Specific HCs

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ❕️ㅤclick 4rules—4masterlist

ㅤㅤ🔭ㅤㅤ—ㅤ(dr. stone) ishigami senkuu x reader

ㅤ﹑tags ... x reader/headcanons/super ranom/odd/lowk procrastinating everything else so pls take this/platonic or romantic/may make a continuation... maybe/short

ㅤ౨ৎㅤ—ㅤa/n﹕where did everyone in the dr stone fandom go.... it's so quiet and lonely and i feel embarrassed being like one of the only x reader writers left........😰😰😣😣😣

dates are usually never planned, senku just coincidentally accidentally surprisingly leads you to the arcade or a restaurant while you're on a walk together

study dates feel like a tutoring lesson except the tutor (senku) is a college level professor

OR he's rambling and info dumping while you sit and look pretty 👅

he's actually allergic to verbally apologizing yeah

type of person to bring you apology fruit if he knows he actually messed up

if not, he's gonna be stubborn and dismiss the situation entirely so he isn't distracted by something irrelevant

went through a multilingualism phase and randomly knows how to speak decently in foreign languages because he studied how some of them work (if you're multilingual, he definitely studied yours (also this is self projection because i'm a linguistics nerd))

probably dreams about numbers idk

walked around the playground when he was a kid memorizing his times tables up to 24 instead of socializing (me too)

has complex math techniques he made up that actually work

has 16 different emails

always has gum in his backpack

abacus warrior

made his own cypher for fun one time

watches scientists do experiments on youtube or minecraft while he eats

would be one of those build a boat engineers on roblox

a fan of thrill and the feeling of adrenaline

will go on amusement park rides with you and joke about loose screws and the probability of dying (he's lying)

i think it's canon he's a freak.

over a hundred items in his amazon wishlist

"is it legal to ____" several times in his search history

has a poster of the periodic table on his wall

pulls up with a thick winter coat on the first day of autumn i'm joking

enjoys sunsets

probably really wants a 3d printer or he already has one

not financially aware at all

clarifies with you that if he ever upsets you, just tell him straight up, it's troublesome to keep quiet about your problems

his brain multitasks. that's canon from how he counted the seconds for 3700 years. meaning, he probably listened to gossip all the time in school

"and after i literally told her about our whole argument, she hooked up with him the next day."

*gasp* "no way..."

"yeah, and she had the AUDACITY to keep calling and texting me acting like she didn't just seduce my now-ex-boyfriend." from a conversation two girls were having across the classroom.

you poked senku and whispered, "senku, senku! did you hear tha—?"

"shhh—shut up, they might notice us."

remembers every little thing about you and pretends not to

likes to play dumb around you because you make him comfortable. will shrug at "senku, what's 7 times 9?"

and because you make him laugh

lowk cannot lock in on school because of his side projects and scientific hustles

boxes of books under his bed and in his closet

cereal, then milk like a normal person

likes to travel but then takes like 3 good pictures (foreshadowing for a fic i'm working on)

takes random part-time jobs

partly because byakuya gets mad at him for spending too much money sometimes

partly because he wants the experience

#overachiever

heavily hc that he wrote a few books of important information in the stone world, like making a stone world library of alexandria

was saliva conscious in the old world

yeah idk what else to add i'll get back to writing my actual projects and requests.....😣

©️ staravyzㅤ(¬_¬") do not steal, translate, or repost.

[l0sercat]

Mark x Yandere!Reader

Guys I messed up and I thought Viltrumites could sense people, but I didn't want to fix my mistake so just bear with me. And also I hate how it turned out, but I hope you enjoy the porn 🙃

You've been stalking Mark for years, and now that he has his powers he finally notices you.

Cw: Stalking, Parents are platonic yanderes, Major Character death, obsessive behavior, hate fucking, MDNI, Mark heavily dislikes reader, breeding but no pregnancy, Mark is a little mean to reader, yandere stuff but at least the sex is consensual

You don't know why you're like this. Why you're so weird and obsessive. Could it be from birth or from childhood; who knows you certainly don't. Neither did your parents or the doctors they took you to. No one could understand you, no one could help you. You were just broken, and your parents tried to help you. They really did try, they did anything and everything to make you happy. But their efforts were for nothing. You were like a doll, emotionless and unresponsive to most things. You communicate with them, but not like how a normal child should. You just always look so uninterested. You were forced to move and change schools many times. You were just bullied too much especially at the last one. Not like you really cared, but when you came home with a bruised face your parents decided it was for the best. The first day you arrived at the school you had no idea where your classes were at.

So you looked around the hallway, you laid your eyes on a boy. He seemed average but nice, black hair and dark eyes with a big sweater. You made your way over to him, tapping his shoulder. He looked at you with a small smile gracing his lips. "Hello, can you help me find these classes please?” Your voice is flat and monotonous and your eyes are dull. Mark however doesn't even flinch, He Just smiles even bigger. “Sure! You must be new here right?” He looks at the schedule in your hand. “Oh! We have most of these classes together!” He laughs in surprise. You just give a small ‘hm’ and walk with him. “I'm Mark, what's your name?” he asks, you blink at him and for the first time in your life you smile. A small smile but one nonetheless “Y/n” Mark grins “Nice to meet you Y/n, you're going to love Mr.Mandela he's such a laid back teacher”

Mark continues to talk until you've reached your shared class. Your heart races like never before, and your face is heating up. Your thoughts are consumed by Mark and only him. You don't understand what's happening, all you know is that you don't want this feeling to stop. You finally feel what it's like to be normal. This is how everyone feels, right? Mark and you sit down at a table with another guy. But you paid no mind to the dude. Your eyes only focus on Mark, only his voice fills your ears. Only Mark. Someone taps your shoulder and you turn around. You send a chilling, spine rattling stare at the person who disrupts you. They immediately paused and turned around, apologizing and rushing away. The whole day you followed Mark around like a lost puppy. And he doesn't even notice, just happy he made a new friend. When you get home with a smile on your face your parents are shocked. They looked at each other and decided to approach you gently.

When you all gather at the table to eat. You still have the smallest of smiles on your face. “Sweetie, how was school today?” Your mom asked, your eyes twinkle as the day replays in your mind. You start to slowly talk but as you get to talking about Mark. Your smile grows and you talk faster, rambling about Mark. How amazing he is, how cute and smart he is. How you only want him to look at you, only smile and talk to you. You only want Mark and you need Mark to only want you. Your heart races and your face heats up. You craved him, you do anything for him. Your parents listen intently, sparing each other only a glance and a nod of confirmation. In that moment they both decided they would do anything to keep you happy.

“Well Hun do you have a picture of him?” your dad questions, you nod your head excitedly and fast. You pull out dozens of photos of mark. Your parents just smile as you finally show emotion. They don't even see this as weird or creepy. “That's great Sweetie, and remember if you need anything just ask!” you beam at them and grab all your photos and scramble to your room. Your parents hold each other's hands and lean on one another watching you happily scurry to your room. And they meant what they said. They bought you anything you needed. Whether it was a better camera and photo albums. It didn't matter if the things you asked for were for stalking Mark. They didn't even care that you stayed out late stalking him. The smile that you had when you came home just made them so happy. Their baby girl was finally happy and showing emotion.

The shrine you made for him grew so big you asked your parents for either another room or a shed for everything. They bought you a large luxurious shed, costumed to how you wanted it. It was honestly more like a trailer.

You collected anything and everything of Marks. But his figurines and comic books you wouldn't touch out of respect for him. You knew how much they meant so you left them be. But stealing his worn boxers or toothbrush was on the table. When he was at Williams, much to your annoyance, you would lay in his bed and smell his scent. Getting yourself off to his smell, your juices lightly soak his pillow you were riding. The same one he would rest his head on. With how much you stalked him you'd eventually find out that his dad is Omni man. But who cared Mark was all you cared about. The only thing that surprised you was that Nolan didn't know you were stalking Mark. You thought since he was an alien he could sense you. But who cares even if he did know, you would never stop, only death could put an end to your obsession.

—

You tried really hard to continue to be friends with Mark. But it seems like the gods hated you. Mark tried as hard as he could to be nice to you, he really did. But you were rude to William and very creepy towards himself. At first he didn't really notice, he just thought you were shy. Your face is always heating up and you'd have a slight stutter. But then he noticed how obsessive and possessive you sounded. If he mentioned anyone you'd get a scary look on your face. If it was a girl you'd ask who she was and why he would be talking to her. Mark had enough and told you to leave him alone. You felt your heart shatter and that day you came home crying. Your parents were confused and when they learned what happened they were livid. But you told them to leave it be that you were fine. You weren't fine, you started plotting how to take him for only you. You would blend into the background and watch him. Getting rid of any competition that was in your way.

When it was senior year of high school the obsession seemed to be at its peak. You craved Mark like never before. You didn't know how long you could control yourself. You needed Mark so badly, there were nights where you touched yourself for hours thinking about him. Your face buried in his shirt you took, your fingers expertly making you come undone. His name is moaned out loudly as your back arches when you finally reach that sweet release. Your body twitches as it comes down from the sweet sweet high. Dopamine floods your brain as a possible future with Mark presents itself in your mind. You are living happily with Mark and an adorable pet and possibly a child on the way. You grin and start touching yourself again to the thought of him breeding you every single night. Whimpering and chanting in your ear ‘mine’ until he spills his sticky seed inside you. He kisses you passionately and doesn't stop until you cum again.

The next day at school you hummed to yourself when you were on your way to find Mark. Only to immediately frown and have to hold yourself back from raging out. There was Todd harming your Mark. Your eyes darted around and you made the connections. The realization made you livid, your fist clenched and shook. You were going to tear those bitches apart. The bloodlust oozed out of you, you were plotting a thousand ways to torture and kill them. First you'll get rid of Todd for even daring to touch your Mark. Then Amber for causing Todd to hurt Mark. When Todd walked away Mark's eyes briefly met yours, they filled with disgust. Then he looked away, you bit your lip and turned around walking away. That night Todd was locked in your shed, the one where you worshiped Mark. His eyes bulged, not just in fear but shock at what he was seeing. Every square inch of space was dedicated towards Mark. Everything was Mark, he screamed as loud as he could. Not like it would help considering he had a gag in his mouth. He thrashed in the chair he was tied down to. You didn't even find his pathetic self amusing. You just glared at him from across the room. “Oh shut up Todd you piss me off” you spat at him as you made your way towards him.

You clench the small knife in your hand as you trace his throat with it. “You shouldn't have messed with Mark and now you're going to have to pay” you whisper in Todd's ear making him sob, who knew that he had to pay for his actions. He tried to beg, tried to plea for forgiveness, to appeal to your humanity but it was too late. You made up your mind a long time ago that anyone who messed with your Mark would have to die. You would love to torture Todd but you grew bored of his crying. But then again on the other hand the way he hurt your Mark he deserves to hurt for a bit. A small smile quirks upon your lips thinking about Mark and what he would do if he saw you right now. Would he embrace you with a gentle smile or would he look at you with disgust and call the cops on you. You sigh as you already knew the answer but you couldn't help but be delusional even just for a little bit. You're giggling confused and scared Todd as he felt like he was going to piss himself from how terrified he was. That night you spent hours hurting Todd like how he hurt your Mark. But as soon as you saw the sun break out you knew you had to end things, so with a flick of your wrist you slit Todd's throat making him gasp. Blood oozed out of the wound and he started to choke, tears flowing freely from his eyes as he realized he was now dying. He was scared but there was nothing he could do, but just sit there and bleed out to death. Slowly and painfully as his vision faded in and out black spots formed in his vision. If only he decided not to antagonize Amber and not to touch Mark all this could have been avoided. But it was too late for that now what was done is done.

You yawned as you made your way out of the shed reminding yourself to clean up the body later as you had to get ready for school. You grinned at the thought of seeing your handsome Mark again.

—

When you arrived at school you immediately rushed to find Mark. What you didn't expect was for him to be walking down the hallway with Amber by his side, they're both chatting it up like they've known each other for years. You can't believe the sight you see in front of you. Anger clouds your mind and all you can do is just silently stand there and watch them. You want to bash the bitches brains in but you know you couldn't do it here in public. Before she could get any closer to your Mark you would end her life tonight. You couldn't even bear the thought of her being with Mark for just another second, but you'd have to try. You just have to make it through another 7 hours without thinking of how they're joking with each other like how you used to with him.

You smiled to yourself thinking of ways to hurt her, and deciding how to kill her. But for now you have to make it through English first. You sigh as you open your notebook and start to doodle him. Hearts are drawn around him and your initials are written in them. You suppress a giggle thinking about how happy you and Mark are going to be.

—

Amber screamed through her gag, she thrashed about in her restraints. The first thing she saw when she awoke from unconsciousness was Todd's dead body. Then she noticed she was gagged and tied to a chair. Her mind and heart started racing a thousand miles per minute. She looked around the room and noticed how everything was covered in Mark. Tears spilled out of her eyes and she muttered a ‘what the fuck’. She didn't know what the hell was going on and that scared her.

She knew she needed to try to get out of her restraints. So she tried her best to tug and pull on the rope, but it was tight and hurt her everytime she moved. A sound came from the corner of the room making her head snap to face that direction. Her eyes were impossibly wide as she saw your figure stalk towards her. “Stop struggling already, it's pointless, you're not getting out” you spoke in a dull flat voice.

Mark truly seemed to be the only one to spark any kind of emotion out of you. Well except when dumb bitches hurt or mess with your Mark. Then they are able to make you rage like never before. You twirl a knife in your hand, Amber shakes and tries to plead. Of course you don't really care and her pleas are muffled. Making it very hard to understand her, but even if you could it wouldn't change your mind. She was going to die tonight.

—

You sing to yourself a tune that your mother used to sing to you. You cleaned up the trailer and put the bodies in bags. You asked your parents to help you dispose of them which they happily agreed to. You skipped all the way to school that day knowing that another obstacle was gotten rid of.

Mark got to school and was confused when he didn't see Amber. And when he arrived at the place that they were supposed to hang out at and she didn't show. He was sad and tried to call her, but to no avail she didn't answer. She couldn't answer. Mark walked home wondering what happened and what he did wrong. You just stalked him and admired the kicked puppy look on his face.

—

You watched Mark take out the trash and throw it all the way to space. Your eyes widened and you covered your mouth to not let out any sound. You were surprised but excited for him. Although if he had powers now it would make things very difficult to take him.

You watched him run home after his shift and excitedly tell his parents about his powers. And you just giggled as the look on his face just made you so happy. Mark sensed something and he looked towards your direction. You were hiding in the bushes so he couldn't see you, but it felt like he was seeing right through you. Nolan glanced at him and then what he was staring at. Debbie's brows furrowed and she asked what's wrong. Mark's eyes wavered and he turned back with a smile. “Sorry Mom it was nothing” he forced a laugh, you froze in your spot as Nolan was staring right in your direction. But he quickly turned away and faced a confused Debbie. Your body shook in excitement and fear. He sensed you, he finally noticed you. But so did his father, who could so easily kill you. You normally wouldn't mind but you were so close to your goal you didn't want to die now.

—

You watched Mark every day, and he felt your presence every time. But he didn't do anything knowing that you couldn't hurt him. But it was annoying and he quickly grew tired of your stalking.

He talked to his dad about it, and his dad admitted knowing about you. Mark was stunned when Nolan explained how he didn't do anything because you weren't a threat.

The next time Mark caught you following him he decided to do something about it.

—

You were following Mark home as usual, you were in a normal outfit; nothing too suspicious. Mark sensed your presence at once, he turned around before you could hide. He flew so fast to you, you thought he teleported. You gasped and jumped back as his face was inches from yours. Your heartbeat sped up rapidly, skipping a few beats. Mark scrutinized you, he didn't completely hate you, but he didn't like you. “Why do you keep following me?” Your brain fries, you can't believe he is talking to you! You stutter out a few words but then quickly shut your mouth in embarrassment.

You try again as he just looks down at you, “Hi Mark!” You're able to say with a lot of enthusiasm, he sneers “Answer me” you smile “I just want to make sure you get home safely!” he scoffs “Oh cut the shit you know that I'm capable enough to defend myself” you just smile sweetly at him. “What will it take for you to just leave me alone?” your sweet smile forms into a smirk as something mischievous glints in your eyes.

—

You gasp as you're tossed onto his bed, your body is shaking in excitement. Mark tosses his clothes onto the floor, and he scowls at you. “Can't even take off your own clothes?” He grabs your legs and pulls you towards him. His fingers hook underneath your pants and underwear, yanking them down. He tosses them onto the floor, he pulls off your shirt and unclasps your bra. You feel hot all over watching the guy you've had feelings for is about to fuck you.

You let out a small moan as he climbs on top of you. His brown eyes glaring into yours, you bite your lip “Just to let you know Mark I'm a virgin, I've been saving it for you…” you lovingly gaze into his eyes and you notice a slight blush form on his cheeks. “Shut up” you know he also hasn't done anything yet. You made sure you both would be each other's first. Mark pins your wrists by your head and your legs straddle his hips. The tip of his cock slowly prods your entrance. He sucks in a breath and curses “Fuckkk~ you're so wet hah…”

You whine as he slowly sinks into you, your hands curl into fists. Your nails dig into your palm, his grip on you gets tighter. Inch by inch he fills you up, you both moan and he is finally all the way inside you. Your hips squirm as it feels uncomfortable, but you force yourself to relax. At long last Mark was finally inside you, you've been waiting forever for this moment. You wish to kiss him but you're not able to. Your legs wrap around his back, just wanting him to stay for a moment. Mark has to calm his body down before he begins to move. But then your legs wrap around him, and he gets irritated. He doesn't want you to be in control.

So he releases your wrists and grips your thighs, pushing them up towards your chest. You whimper out his name in surprise. “Be quiet I'm in control here” he pulls out leaving only the tip in then slams back in. Your back arches and you toss your head back. You groan and your fingers dig themselves into his biceps. You shut your eyes closed for a brief moment, your body trying to adjust to him. Mark bites back a moan as he feels his tip kissing your cervix. He picks up his pace and slams into you hard, he does his best to ignore you and your sounds. He grits his teeth, he hates how you feel and how you sound. But oh how you feel so good, it makes him want to just fill you up to the brim. He already feels his orgasm coming, your mouth is hung open and his name falls from your lips. Your mind is blank and your seeing stars, your nails drag across his skin.

You keep saying his name like it's a prayer, he's like a gift from God themselves. “You better be able to cum from penetration because I'm not helping you out” Mark growled into your ear. You whined and wanted to plead with him to play with your clit. But you saw the look on his face and decided not too. You were lucky enough he was fucking you. So you snaked your hand around to play with yourself. Mark looked at you mewling as you circle your clit with a finger. He laughs cruelly and sped up his pace. He should swat your hand away but with you getting closer to orgasming, your walls tighten up and clench beautifully around his cock.

His body shudders and he can't hold on any longer. He groans and slams hard into you, his sticky seed shoots deep inside you. You moan out his name and your feet curl, you don't complain as he fills your womb. Your eyes roll back into your skull and you rub your clit harder and faster. You're soon cumming after Mark, he whines as you clench around him and milk his cock for more. He leans over you and his chest heaves up and down. Your body relaxes as you come down from your high. Your mind is foggy, but happy as you can't believe you just had sex with Mark Grayson.

Mark releases your thighs and moves to grip hips, you look at him and tilt your head. His eyes are dark and lust filled all he mumbles is ‘more’. He flips you around so you're laying on your stomach. You lay still wondering what he was planning. He moves his finger and traces your slit, watching how his cum spills out of your puffy lips. You whimper as he stuffs his middle finger inside you, forcing his cum back inside you. He then readjusts you so your ass is in the air.

He presses his tip to your weeping hole, he sinks in easier this time. But he doesn't bother giving you time to readjust, he bottoms out instantly. You bury your head into the sheets and cry out his name. He grips the fat of your ass as he slams in and out of you. He leans down so his chest is on your back, his face buried into your neck. He hisses your name like it's a curse, he bites your neck as he pounds his cock into you. You moan as his cock rubs against your g-spot deliciously, it prods your cervix every thrust.

Mark closes his eyes and focuses on pounding into you, you just feel so good and warm. Mark has felt anything this good and he doesn't want it to end. Your face is hot and you're moaning out Mark's name into the sheets. “Who knew you were such a slut? Haha it's kinda pathetic” he leaned up and stared at your ass that jiggled with each thrust. But his words were sent straight to your pussy, it clenched hard around him “Ohh fuck!-” he almost collapsed on top of you if he had less restraint. He quickened his pace as his peak got closer and closer. The way his cock rubs and slides into you, you think you could just cum from penetration. He moves to grip your hips again, slamming his hips harshly against your ass. The sounds of skin slapping skin echo off the walls. He groans and soon he is shooting another warm sticky load inside of you. Filling you up even more, some starts to leak out of you. You whine out and cum on him again, pussy spasming around him and milking his cock.

He grits his teeth and tosses his head forward, resting it on your back. He thrusts one more time into you, spilling the last of his seed into your greedy cunt. He grabs your waist and flips you over, his cock pulling out of you. Cum spills out of you and he just smirks “Oh we're not done yet, hope you have more energy because we are just getting started” his half hard cock hardens with a few lazy pumps of his hand. You whimper and you think you've reached heaven. You're so happy right now, you never want this to end. Your Mark has finally claimed his stake on(more like in) you, what else could you want. Maybe you don't have to kidnap him anymore…

[yelenas-eyeliner]

chemtrails over the country club

parker robbins/f!reader

when parker loses everything, he turns to he one person he trusts more than anything - his childhood sweetheart who he hasn't spoken to since he got the hood.

cws; IRONHEART SPOILERS (for all six episodes!), brief references of sex, discussions of mental health, friends to lovers to exes to lovers again | 2.2k wc

i finished ironheart like an hour ago... needed to let some feelings out

It was difficult to pinpoint the exact moment that something within him shifted, but you knew that something had. 

It wasn’t as though you were under the impression that things were ever easy for Parker, because you knew that they weren’t. You’d known him for long enough to remember how his life changed after his mother died, how he pulled away from just about everyone to the point that you had to force him to let you stay in his life. Then, one day, he was gone. He was gone from school, gone from the receiving end of your land-line, just… gone. Like he had vanished. 

After about a week, he had turned up on your family porch looking for a place to stay, and it was just his luck that your parents saw a twelve year old boy with no where to go and agreed to let him stay in the spare room. You didn’t bother telling them about some of the more nefarious things that he had been getting into, how he had been getting in trouble at school and around Chicago just because he wanted his father’s attention. You knew that telling them that would only spell trouble, it would make things more difficult. 

You knew Parker Robbins extremely well, because he lived with you for years. He was your best friend, the one person who you could trust with anything. But he was also someone who you experienced a lot of things with, a lot of things that went beyond the bounds of friendship. It was one thing when he held hands with you on rooftops when you were fourteen, and another when he took you to homecoming when you were sixteen. But when you still hadn’t gone on a date at eighteen, when you got no where near kissing anyone, he was the first person do to that for you, too. He kissed you, he took you on a date, and he did a whole lot more than that even though you never put a label on anything.

Realistically, maybe you should have. Maybe it would’ve stopped things from becoming as bad as they had become.

John, his cousin, was the one who found him. You were both old enough that it was about time that your parents wanted Parker to try looking for a place. He was having trouble finding work, and he didn’t know who else to turn to. So, he turned to John. He was making money, but you didn’t know where he was getting it for the longest time. But when you found out, all those conversations ever ended in were arguments. Arguments about how this was a terrible idea, about how he absolutely didn’t need to be doing this. You wanted to help him, you loved him. And maybe if you could ever work up the courage to tell him that second part, he would’ve listened. 

Something went wrong, you knew that.

Coming to his apartment after classes had become normal for you since you entered your second year of grad school. You’d text Parker, let him know you were using his spare key, and surprise him with dinner. If you were in a committed relationship, maybe it would’ve been domestic. But you weren’t. And today, it was anything but domestic. 

He came home incredibly late. Shaken up, wearing some leather-looking cloak with a hood on it. He started by asking you to check out his back, to ask him if there was something on it. Sure enough, there was some sort of road-rash that definitely hadn’t been there the last time that you had seen him without a shirt on. But he also seemed… different, and you didn’t think it had something to do with the wound.

Parker refused medical attention, and he refused to let you even get close to touching his hood. He was almost just keeping you at arm’s length. Insisting to you, over and over again, that things had changed for the better and that he was going to be making a better life for himself, for both of you. 

Admittedly, he had more pep in his step after that. But it only went downhill from there. 

His operations were expanded, his jobs were more dangerous and large-scale. You just couldn’t bring yourself to be a part of it anymore, so you went no-contact with him. You had no real desire to do this, you wanted to keep him in your life, but you couldn’t keep watching him destroy himself. Even with the crimes aside, he was changing. Every aspect of his personality was changing, and you just weren’t sure if it was something that you were even remotely comfortable with. 

That’s how things remained for a while. You stopped speaking to Parker, and after a few months, he stopped reaching out to you. 

It was better for you both. It was easier for you than watching him destroy himself for something that he wouldn’t even open up to you about. 

That’s what made it absolutely baffling to you when you opened the door to your apartment, finding Parker Robbins standing before you with a black hoodie covering his face. He had everything framing his face in a particular way, trying to cover himself. But you could see it. 

He had that veiny looking rash on his face, and a desperate look in his eyes. 

“What have you done to yourself, Parker?” You asked him, your voice almost exasperated as you opened the door. He came in, but he didn’t say anything, he didn’t know what he could possibly say to you. “Let me see.” 

Parker pulled his head back as you tried to push his hood down, his lips parting like he was about to say something. Like he was about to say no. But he stopped himself, letting his face move to where it had been before. “It’s not… it’s not pretty.” 

“Just met me see you.” 

After a moment, you pushed his hood down once he nodded, your fingers pushing his hair behind his ears before your hands cradled his cheeks. The rash was all over his face, covering a bit of those cute freckles that you had always adored. 

“Is it all over?” You asked him, your voice quiet.

“Not my entire body, but most of it.” 

He sounded a bit ashamed, and you hated that. You wanted to help him, but you needed to be sure that he wasn’t going to turn around and refuse any sort of help again, because that wasn’t beneficial for either of you and you knew it. 

“I’m sorry.” He said after a moment, and you were almost sure that you hadn’t heard him right. “I’m sorry for not being honest with you, I’m sorry for cutting you out.”

Even though you had been the one to cut him off, he had been the one who withdrew emotionally. He withdrew, and he put himself in danger, and he wouldn’t listen to reason. You argued, and argued, and then one day you decided that you couldn’t anymore. And now, here he was, telling you that he was sorry. And all you could do was wrap your arms around him, a hand pressing into his curls as his head rested against your shoulder. He seemed so broken, so defeated by something you couldn’t figure out.

“John died.” He mumbled, his voice muffled by your body as he let himself cry. Your arms stayed around him, holding him tighter. “It’s my fault, I put him there. He didn’t want to go on that job, and I made him. He died because of me.” 

Finally, you pulled back from the hug so you could make him look at you. “Hey, you can’t think about that. Okay? Don’t think about that. I’m sorry, Parker, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s all I can think about.” He responded, his voice was quiet and a bit shattered. You helped him sit down with you on the couch, keeping yourself close to him as your fingers brushed delicately through his hair. “I fucked everything up with everyone, with my team, with my own cousin, and with you, and-”

“Parker,” Your voice was firm, forcing him to look over at you as you spoke even without you doing anything physically. You needed him to understand, you needed him to stop spiraling because you knew him well enough to know how these spirals went. “I don’t know what happened to you, and you’re going to need to tell me if you want me to. But I forgive you, so you don’t have to worry about me.” 

“Why? I don’t deserve you, and I definitely don’t deserve you forgiving me.” 

“You do, you made mistakes but you do.” 

Even now, even with him opening up, you still found yourself too scared to tell him that you loved him. Instead, you let him spend hours going into detail about the cape, the cape that you knew from the very beginning had some sort of bad energy. The scars that were now littering his body, that he seemed to wish that he could find a way to remove. The magical element of it, and the man who had taken something from him in exchange for him being able to use the cape for what he wanted. It sounded to you like he was describing the devil himself, but you didn’t want to have to say that to him. 

Your arm wrapped around him after a while, letting him rest his head on you while he spoke. But he seemed to be getting more and more exhausted, maybe it was because he hadn’t been letting himself rest. Maybe it was something else. You couldn’t be too sure. All that you knew that that you needed to be there for him, that he could keep speaking for as long as he wanted and you could listen, even if everything that he was saying sounded insane. Even if you were sure that he had definitely done a lot of things that were messed up. You couldn’t stop it, you could never stop it. 

He was being so honest, so forthright. Everything that he never wanted to tell you before was coming out, and you knew that you had to be honest with him, too when the time felt right, and you knew from the way that this conversation was going that the time would feel right pretty soon. 

“I should go.” Parker said, his head lifting so he could look at you, but you kept your arm around him.

“Where? Where can you go?” You had a point and he knew it. Everywhere he went would be lonely and painful, and he would probably end up staying at a hotel in the state he was in. “You should stay, Parker.” 

“I don’t deserve to stay here, I just told you about all th-”

“Please stay, I don’t care what you did. I mean, I care, but- it’s complicated, and I get that, and we have to work through it. But I’m telling you that I forgive you for what I can forgive you for, okay. What involves me, what’s mine to forgive.” You ran your hand from his cheek to his face, your thumb brushing over his skin. He leaned his cheek into your touch, and a fluttering filled your stomach as you looked at him. “I love you Parker, I’ve loved you for a long time. And I want to be here for you, please let me this time.” 

Parker nodded after a moment, his gaze lingering on your face. “I love you too.” His voice was quiet, like he was afraid of speaking any louder. But you heard him, you understood him. You understood that you needed to give him room and patience, that you couldn’t force him to come out of his shell before he was ready. You needed him to understand that you would be there for him, though, that nothing would change that.

After a brief moment, you let him lean forward to kiss you, his hand coming to rest on the back of your neck. You leaned into him, kissing him back like it was the only thing that mattered to you. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered to you. You wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him, to remind him just how much you cared about him. How much you loved him, how much you would always love him.

Once he pulled back, your forehead was pressed against his as you held him close, your eyes still closed. “How about we get you to bed and talk more about this in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay, yeah. That sounds good.” 

It was difficult getting Parker to sleep that night. But that night, just like every other following, you would be there to help him, to have the relationship that you never had the chance to have before because neither of you wanted to be open with each other, not in any way that counted. Things were far from perfect, but you understood him now, and that was all that mattered.

[simplyhale]

hiii! so i thought of this literally last night and i think you'll be the perfect person for this request!

i was gonna see if you could do a tim bradford x reader like.. high school sweethearts who don't believe in breaking up for any reason and reader taps tim out during graduation day for basic training. if you do this, then perfect thank you so much!

if not then amen respect to you 🙂‍↕️ i hope you have a wonderful day regardless :)

˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧˚ — ˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧*

˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧˚ — ˚ ‧ ⁺ ✧*

When Tim told you that he joined the Army you were happy for him. Every person in your high school had told you that it was the most horrible thing to have ever happened. That he is going to die. If he didn’t die, then he would cheat on you. You shouldn’t be tied down while going to college to get your degree. This time was your prime to explore and date around, meet new people. That being stuck in a long-distance relationship wouldn’t do anything but bring you pain. 

But you didn’t pay any mind to it. Neither one of you ever did.

The two of you are a year apart, meeting after one of his football practices. Giving him a ride after seeing him walking home. A conversation turned into talking in the halls, into sitting together at lunch to continue what topic that they were talking about before they had to leave. Library sessions because as fate would have it, even though you were a year a part, you shared the same AP History class. Not during the same class period, no but the same teacher who was going to give the same final. Late night study sessions turned into more car rides. Even though you swear that no one else was allowed to drive your car other than you, on the nights that you seemed extra tired Tim was the one to drive. 

The moment when things changed was in that car.

During winter break the two of you had met up, parked in a far spot and watched the crazy scene of last-minute holiday shoppers. It was extra cold that day so you two were smushed together and that's when all the feelings that you had tried to push down shot right back up. It also happened for Tim. Except for him all of those feelings and nervous of not wanting anything to go wrong (say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, etc.) had turned into a small amount of adrenaline. Enough to cause him to push his lips against yours. 

From then on you couldn’t see one without the other.

Joint at the hip. 

It annoyed people at the sight. It wasn’t the high school couple that were hanging off each other or trying suck each other’s face off. No, it was the fact that it was a healthy relationship that made them sick.

Waiting for the honeymoon phase to end and the train wreck to start. That the moment that things end they’d be able to swoop in and say ‘i told you so’ along with anything that they had been biting their tongues about. 

But that day never came. 

Instead, you two hit every milestone together. Prom, Tim’s graduation, Tim getting accepted into the Army, your first day of senior year, another prom, your graduation, you getting accepted into college, and Tim finally being told he completed everything to get shipped out to basic training.

Now none of this was the normal happy rainbows and rays of sunshine. They had their ups and downs. Your family wasn’t exactly an easy bunch to deal with, but Tim’s…. Well let’s just say there were a lot of nights spent waking up to him outside your window. Sometimes his sister, Gennifer, would join your slumber party. Tim usually having to take the floor, allowing you and his sister the bed. Letting her tag along a few of y’alls random dates when things were extra dicey at home.

That’s why when Gennifer had told you neither their mom nor dad were coming to Tim’s ceremony you were furious. 

Not completely at his parents, you had already had thoughts that they weren’t going to want anything to do with it. But the fact that they told Gennifer not to go was what really set you off. Coming up with a plan for her to lie and say she was spending the night at a friend's, when in reality you had picked her up down the street and took her with you. Spending the night at y’alls apartment. Even finding the box full of the letters he had sent back to you. Happy that you kept your favorite ones in your nightstand.

The ceremony had finally ended, and they had finally given the families to go ahead to tap out their relatives. 

It didn’t take long to find him. The moment your eyes found him they never left him. 

Nine long months. 

Not being able to see him, to talk to him regularly on the phone, having to wait for letters in the mail. On the days you spent missing him extra more, you’d wear one of his shirts that still smelt like him and listened to the voicemails you had saved.

Finally reaching him, reaching up on the tips of your toes placing your arms on either side of his face. Officially tapping him out. His arms snapped out and quickly wrapped around you. Pulling you close and picking you up. Needing to hold you, to feel you. Setting you back on the ground and looking at you. The same look that made you melt. The same look that made you not have a care in the world. The same look that you had been waiting for what seemed like lifetimes to see again. 

*i got a little carried away with the beginning lol, but this turned out super cute and i hope you enjoy it ! thanks for the request <3

[1un4z]

The Lonely Artist.

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Pairing: Hyunjin x afab!reader  Genre: fluff, mention of abuse and bullying. heavy topics! read at your own discretion.🚫 Summary: Hyunjin was the lonely art kid in the year below you. You noticed him around school constantly. Always alone or getting pushed around the kids who hated his guts. You always pitied him slightly, watching from afar. As you walk home from school, you see him getting beat up once again in an alley way.  Wc: 8.3k  Enjoy reading <33 If you want any specific ideas tell me and I will see what I can do!  A/N: I'm so happy I finally finished this, it was bittersweet writing this, but the ending made me at peace. Also yes this was initially created after I saw Hyunjin's art piece (the banner image). I haven't proof read this fully bc I wrote this at 5am lmaooo, I hope it makes sense lol it is a bit of a longer read too (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) .ᐟ.ᐟ

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This school day was quiet. The day went past quickly. You walk home, putting in your headphones. The rain shatters against the hood of your jacket. The pace you walk at increases as you let your mind wander, half empty, half listening deeply to your music. Unexpectedly, you get pulled out of your aimless thoughts, loud shouting and grunts coming from the view right in front of you in the alley way.

"Fuck get up you freak-" Shouts a random smug teenage boy kicking someone brutally in the stomach. 

The other guy next to him laughs joining in as the boy lays on the floor wincing, trying to cover his face as much as possible. They all are wearing your schools uniform. You sigh finding it unfortunate but more inconvenient for you. You don't seem to recognise any of them until you see a glimpse of his face. Hyunjin's face. There are tears forming at his eyes as his face scrunches, leaving cuts and blood flying across his face. The puddles around him have drenched him completely. Hair soaked, throwing water everywhere as he covers his body. Every time he tried to stand, one of the other guys kicked him down, harder than before. You don't usually care particularly about people, you try to avoid other people's issue as much as you can but it was different this time. This time you felt your heart clench when looking at Hyunjin. You couldn't just leave him. Not like this. You sigh deeply, gaining all your courage and energy to stand up to a bunch of immature boys. 

"Get off of him." You say raising your voice, folding your arms trying your best to seem intimidating. You may have been a year older but you were finding it difficult to look scary. 

You see the boys scoff and turn looking you in the eye directly.

"Don't get involved." One says shoving you. Something snaps in you as you swing without thinking. You punch him so hard that he stumbles back almost slipping on the wet gravel. He stares stunned at first then you can see his face morph with irritation and embarrassment.

"What-the-fuck. are you fucking crazy?" He gets up holding his face as the other guy throws himself against you as you crash into the wet fence, bashing loudly and echoing in the noiseless alley. You wince from the sudden movement. 

"Fuck off or you will regret it" The other much taller guy says scowling down at you. Hyunjin is still on the floor, seemingly scared to move watching you intently, eyes glossy with worry and fear. You roll your eyes, this scrawny lanky boy trying to threaten you would have worked if he was even a little intimidating. You kick him with all the strength you have, as he loses balance groaning in pain as he holds his shin. You see him seething with anger so you kick him again without hesitation, multiple times. Mirroring the motions of what was happening to Hyunjin moments ago.

"It doesn't feel nice does it?" You say calmly as you kick his stomach harshly one last time. You exhale loudly backing up. You glance back at Hyunjin, seeing his head raise, eyebrows churning with sadness. You walk over to Hyunjin, hearing the boys get up silently walking away together awkwardly. You kneel down getting closer to Hyunjin's level. He was hurt badly. Uniform destressed and ripped in places, bag soaked, hair dripping, bruises and cuts decorating his pretty face. His glasses on the floor, somehow not broken. You pick up his abandoned glasses, handing them to him. His hand shivers as he grabs them from you, putting them on quickly standing up trying to seem like he was okay.

"Thank you..no ones ever stood up for me," he instantly says looking directly at you, face filled with empathy.

"Don't thank me."

*Hyunjin is caught off guard by your cold response.*

"O-oh... okay," he says, a little sheepishly. He looks at you, trying to read your expression, but it's difficult for him to understand what you're thinking. You scan over his shivering, hurt body.

"...Are you okay?" You ask responding a bit of a softer tone.

Hyunjin nods quietly, although he looks more shaken than okay. He self-consciously touches his face, wincing as his fingers brush over one of the fresh cuts and bruises.

"I-I'll be fine," he murmurs, avoiding eye contact with you. 

You grab his face gently, groaning under your breath, you tilt his chin up, looking at his cuts on his face carefully. Hyunjin gasps softly as you gently tilt his chin up to examine his face. His eyes dart to the side, clearly embarrassed and feeling vulnerable under your gaze.

Up close, the extent of the damage is even more visible - a deep bruise marring his cheek, a cut above his eyebrow, and a swollen lip. It's clear that the boys weren't holding back when they were hitting him.

"Stop acting like you're not in pain, I can read you well." You mutter at him.

"Do you have a first aid kit?"

"Yeah at my house.." he replies, voice soft.

"Let's go then." You say voice still slightly cold. Hyunjin nods again, slowly pushing himself off the wall with a wince. He starts to walk, and you notice how he's limping slightly, as if his legs are still sore from the beatings.

The walk to his house is made in silence, the only sound being the occasional grunt of pain from Hyunjin when he accidentally bumps into something. The bruises and cuts on his face stand out starkly against his pale skin. After a couple minutes, you reach Hyunjin's house, which looks old and run-down. The paint is peeling and the front lawn is unkempt, clearly neglected for a while. The house seems to mirror Hyunjin's own appearance - beaten up and in need of care and attention. He unlocks the front door, wincing as he moves his bruised body.

"Come on in," he says quietly, holding the door open for you to enter. You step inside, greeted by a musty, stale smell. The inside of the house is even worse off than the outside - paint peeling from the walls, furniture broken and dirty, and the floor creaking loudly with every step. 

Hyunjin gestures for you to sit down on a couch in the living room, while he heads towards the bathroom to look for the first aid kit. You take a seat on the couch, feeling a sense of unease from the state of the house. After a few minutes, Hyunjin returns, holding a small first aid kit in his hands. Carefully, he sits down next to you, wincing as his sore body makes contact with the couch. He starts rummaging through the kit, pulling out some antiseptic, bandages, and cotton pads.*

"Stop." you say firmly. Hyunjin freezes at your firm tone, looking at you with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

"What? Why?" he asks softly, his hands still holding the first aid supplies.

"Put it down and relax." You say harsher than you intended. Hyunjin is taken aback by your command, but slowly tries to relax his body - although the pain from his injuries makes it difficult to truly relax. He looks at you questioningly, waiting for your next instruction.

"I'm going to help you so don't touch anything." You say as your eyes scan his face once more. you grab the supplies off his lap gently. Hyunjin blinks in surprise, not expecting to hear that. But he nods silently, obediently putting his hands in his lap and sitting still. He watches with curiosity and slight nervousness as you take charge of the situation. You flick a little bit of hair out of his face gently, making sure not to hurt him. His hair is still damp, he was so effortlessly pretty. How in god's name was he getting bullied? 

Hyunjin's eyes widen a fraction as you gently brush a loose strand of hair away from his face. His breath hitches softly at the unexpected touch, but he doesn't jerk away. He can't help but feel a strange mix of vulnerability and curiosity at being cared for like this. He keeps his gaze fixed on you, silently watching your every move.

You grab some antiseptic and some bandages from the messy box. His soft but sorrowful eyes never leave your face. Hyunjin continues to sit quietly, his eyes following your every move as you grab the antiseptic and bandages from the first aid kit. He's clearly not used to being pampered or taken care of in this way, and there's an almost childlike look of fascination in his eyes as he watches you work.

"This might sting a little.. i'm sorry" you say making a slight wincing face at him. Hyunjin takes a deep breath as you warn him about the antiseptic, bracing himself for the potential sting.

"It's okay," *he murmurs softly, trying to mentally prepare himself for the pain. His gaze remains fixed on you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of trust and nervousness.*

You carefully clean his wounds gently taking your time. Hyunjin winces involuntarily as you begin cleaning his wounds, the antiseptic making contact with the sensitive injuries and making them sting painfully. Despite his obvious discomfort, he keeps himself still and silent, doing his best to endure the pain. From time to time, a soft gasp or grunt escapes his lips, but he otherwise remains motionless, his gaze still fixed on you. His face looked like a lost hurt ferret, pupils dilated, eyes glazed with a sheen of water. He looked so pitiful. 

"What a way to mess up a pretty face.." you say quietly whilst concentrating on his wounds. 

Hyunjin lets out a soft huff of laughter at your comment, his cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. Despite the pain from his wounds, he can't help but feel strangely pleased at the compliment. Nobody had ever referred to him as "pretty" He glances away, mumbling softly, "It's not pretty.."

"I still think you're pretty, don't worry." You reply, smiling slightly as you re-focus. Hyunjin's cheeks turn an even deeper shade of pink at your words, and he looks a mix of surprised and embarrassed.

"R-really?" he stammers softly, unable to believe that someone finds him pretty when all he sees in the mirror is a bruised and beaten face all the time.

"Yes dummy now, stop moving so much" you say slightly grumbling. You notice a slight smile raise on his face, looking from his lap back to your face watching your eyes move as you clean his wounds.

"Why did you let them do that to you.." you mumble under your breath faintly.

Hyunjin's expression clouds over as you ask why he didn't fight back. He looks down, avoiding eye contact, and shrugs his shoulders.

"They always pick on me... I'm weak, and I can never fight back... I just take it," he whispers sadly, his voice barely above a whisper. There's a sense of resignation in his tone, as if he's accepted his fate as the school's punching bag.

I sigh, shaking my head cleaning his cheek slowly. Hyunjin remains silent as you clean his cheek, wincing slightly as the antiseptic makes contact with the tender flesh. He can see the disappointment in your expression, and it makes him feel even more pathetic.

"Don't look at me like that. I can't help being weak," he mutters softly, his shoulders hunching forward in shame.

"it's not you that I'm disappointed in, it's them. It's everyone.."

Hyunjin blinks, a mixture of surprise and confusion on his face. He had expected you to think badly of him for not standing up for himself, but instead, you were expressing disappointment in those who had hurt him. It was an unfamiliar feeling to have someone take his side like this.

"You... you're not disappointed in me?" he asks quietly, his words tinged with uncertainty and vulnerability.

"No." you say bluntly. Hyunjin's expression softens slightly, and a small, vulnerable smile tugs at the corner of his lips. It's as if your words have lifted a weight off his shoulders, giving him a temporary sense of relief from the constant pain and helplessness he experiences at school and home. He still doesn't quite understand why you're being kind to him, why you care so much about his well-being. But he finds himself craving more of this feeling of being cared for and treated with gentleness.

"Your names Hyunjin right? Class 4B?" 

Hyunjin nods quietly, surprised that you know his name and class. He wasn't used to anyone paying attention to him at school, given that he was always invisible and ignored by his classmates.

"Y-yeah," he murmurs, his voice soft and hesitant. 

"I'm in class 5C" you say focusing on his gaze again.

Hyunjin's eyes widen in surprise at your response. He couldn't believe that a student from a different class knew who he was, especially given how unnoticeable and unremarkable he was. His brows furrow slightly, as if he's trying to figure out why or how you know him.

"You're in 5C?" he asks, still unable to comprehend the situation. "How do you know me? I'm just a nobody to everyone..."

"My names y/n" you smile calmly as you introduce yourself.

*Hyunjin repeats your name softly, as if trying to commit it to memory.*

"y/n," he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his bruised lips. He glances up at you, his gaze a mix of curiosity and wonder. It was strange to have someone, especially a classmate from a higher class, show interest in him and even remember his name.

"I've seen some of your art in the art department."

Hyunjin's cheeks flush a light shade of pink at your confession. He was surprised that you had seen his art, considering he rarely ever showed it to anyone. The fact that someone had actually taken an interest in his artwork was a foreign but nice feeling.

"You... you saw my drawings..?" he asks quietly, a mixture of embarrassment and pride in his voice.

"You paint beautifully." You say smiling back at him.

A small, shy smile graces Hyunjin's lips as you compliment his artwork. It's a rare sight to see him smile, considering how much he's been tormented and bullied at school. Your words have ignited a tiny spark within him, making him feel proud and a little bit more confident in his talents.

"Thank you," he whispers softly, the pain from his wounds momentarily forgotten. "But... why are you being nice to me? Nobody else cares." His voice is tinged with a hint of disbelief.

"Because I'm a human with basic empathy? It feels like no one else is.." you respond slightly scoffing. Hyunjin's expression visibly softens upon hearing your response. It was such a simple, obvious reason, yet it was something he hadn't experienced from his classmates in a long time. He looks at you with a mix of gratitude and relief, as if he can't believe that someone genuinely cares about him.

"Not everyone is like you," he responds, his voice quiet and sincere. "Most people just see me as an outcast. An easy target to torment." He gestures to his bruised face, a silent testament to the abuse he's endured.

"I've seen you in the halls a couple times." you answer softly.

Hyunjin nods silently, his eyes downcast as he remembers the countless times he's been shoved around and intimidated in the school hallways. The hallways, the bathrooms, the locker rooms - he was bullied everywhere he went. He was like a punching bag for the other bullies.

"Yeah, probably just me getting pushed into walls and lockers..." he mutters softly, bitterness and resignation in his voice.

"I saw you sketching once, you were too busy listening to music and sketching to notice me." you explain, recounting the numerous times you watched silently from behind as he sketched calmly. In his own little world. "That was the only time I ever saw you smiling or at peace.." 

Hyunjin pauses, his expression softening as he recollects the memory of that day. He hadn't noticed you, too engrossed in his sketches and music to pay attention to his surroundings. The fact that you had actually witnessed a moment of tranquillity amidst his usual torment made him feel a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability.

"Yeah... I always have my music and sketches to escape into," he murmurs softly, a hint of melancholy in his voice. "It's the only time I don't have to worry about being bullied..."

"I feel the same way, it's a good way to escape" You smile back at him. Hyunjin looks up at you, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. It seemed like you two had more in common than he initially thought. The fact that you felt a similar need to escape into your own world for comfort and solace resonated with him deeply. He hesitates for a moment, debating whether to ask the question that had been on his mind.

"Can... can I ask you something?" He mutters nervously, our faces still close together from me helping his wounds. You nod back. Hyunjin takes a shaky breath, his gaze flickering down to his hands, which are clasped tightly in his lap. It's clear that he's struggling to find the right words, to gather the courage to ask the question that's been weighing on his mind. When he looks back up at you, there's a mixture of vulnerability and hope in his eyes.

"Why... why do you care? You could be spending your time with anyone else doing anything else. But you're... you're here, taking care of me and talking to me. Why?" 

A moment of silence passes as you hear him gulp. You exhale.

To be honest.. you were being hurt and that scared me.. you don't deserve it, I remember the first time I walked past one of your paintings. I fully stopped and just cried in front of it. Yes I know embarrassing I don't even know why I cried but it was so beautiful, I could feel the sadness behind it. 

Hyunjin's eyes widen slightly as he listens to your confession. He hadn't expected his artwork to have such a profound impact on someone, let alone make them cry. Your words make him feel both surprised and bewildered at the same time.

"You... you cried? In front of my painting?" he asks softly, his voice tinged with disbelief and a hint of pride. No one had ever reacted to his art in such a way before.

"Yeah, that painting was truly beautiful, I've never seen anyone paint like you, it had so much emotion." You say nodding as you spoke.

A soft, embarrassed smile tugs at the corners of Hyunjin's lips. He's not used to receiving compliments, especially not about his artwork. The fact that you found his painting so beautiful that it moved you to tears ignites a small flicker of pride within him. It makes him feel seen and understood in a way he had rarely experienced before.

"I... I didn't think anyone would notice my paintings, let alone react like that," he murmurs, his cheeks dusted a light shade of pink.

"I think about that painting whenever I get sad.." You respond smiling softly through your tough words. You never told anyone about these paintings. Every day, you made it your mission to go through the art hallways before class, to see Hyunjin's paintings. They had a ambience of so many emotions that always pulled you back to the same spot and you could never describe why. 

Hyunjin's heart clenches as he hears your words. The thought that his art could bring you comfort, that it could be a source of solace for you when you're sad, fills him with a mixture of emotions. He feels humbled, touched, and even a bit overwhelmed at the thought that his artwork could have such a profound impact on someone else's life. He looks up at you, his expression a mix of vulnerability and sincerity.

"Really? You think about my painting when you're sad?"

"Mhm" you respond nodding again.

Hyunjin is silent for a moment, the weight of your words settling in. It's a stark contrast to the usual torment and mockery he experiences at school, where his work is considered insignificant and his existence invisible.

"That... that means a lot to me," he whispers softly, a trace of emotion in his voice. He hesitates for a moment before continuing. Hyunjin takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself for the question he's about to ask. His heart beats a little faster, as if he's scared of the answer he might receive. He looks up at you, his gaze steady but slightly anxious.

"Can I... trust you with something? Something... kind of heavy?"

You nod scanning his face. It as filled with worry underlying with desperation. It seemed like he needed to get this off his chest. Hyunjin takes another deep breath, his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap. It's clear that he's working up the courage to open up to you, to trust you with a vulnerable part of himself that he has never shared with anyone before. After a pause, he finally speaks, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Promise not to... think differently of me? After I tell you this."

"Of course not Hyunjin, I'm listening." 

Hyunjin studies your face for a moment, searching for any signs of skepticism or judgment. But all he sees is sincerity and empathy in your eyes, which gives him a tiny bit of comfort and reassurance. He takes a shaky breath and begins, his voice wavering slightly as he starts to reveal something deeply personal.

"The... the reason I paint... and why I listen to music so often... It's because..." Hyunjin's gaze drops down to his lap again, his fingers gripping the fabric of his trousers tightly. It's evident that he's struggling to find the right words, to find a way to express the darkness and pain that have caused him to turn to painting and music as a form of escape. He takes a shaky breath, his voice barely above a whisper as he finally speaks.

"It's because..." 

*He pauses, as if he's hesitant to continue, as if he's scared of how you'll react.*

"It's okay I'm listening." you're voice only just above a whisper.

Hyunjin lets out another shaky breath, his grip on his trousers tightening even more. His body is tense, as though bracing for a negative reaction, a rejection. But despite the fear and uncertainty, your reassurances and the gentle tone of your voice encourage him to continue, to trust you with the painful truth that he has been carrying alone. Another pause, and then the words come out, soft, vulnerable and filled with years of trauma and emotion.

"It's because of my father..." 

You nod slowly, eyes never leaving him as he explains slowly at his own pace. Tears start to well up in Hyunjin's eyes as he reveals something he has never talked about before, his voice cracking with emotion as he continues.

"My father... he drinks a lot, he's always drunk. And when he's drunk, he... he gets angry. Very angry. He... he beats me up when he's angry, he..."

Hyunjin's voice trails off, his body shaking with repressed sobs. He clenches his hands into fists, his knuckles turning white.

"it's okay Hyunjin you don't have to explain more.." you reply, voice filled with shared pain. Getting bullied and having a terrible homelife must be so hard on Hyunjin. This poor boy with no one to turn to but his paintings. No wonder everything he paints is filled with so much soul. Tears start to leak from Hyunjin's eyes as you interrupt him, offering him a small reprieve from having to say more. He doesn't want to burden you with the full extent of his pain, but at the same time, he's relieved that you understand and aren't asking him to continue. He sniffles softly, a mix of vulnerability and shame in his voice.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with this..."

"Don't be sorry"  you respond hugging him without hesitation. He seemed so alone and vulnerable. Flashes of his paintings reflect him again reminding you that every time you looked at them, you were also looking at the exposed and unguarded version of Hyunjin.

Hyunjin freezes in surprise as you hug him, his entire body tensing for a moment before melting into your embrace. The unexpected comfort and warmth of your hug seem to break through the walls he's been trying so hard to maintain, and his shoulders start to tremble as fresh sobs wrack through him. He buries his face in your shoulder, his tears soaking through your clothing as he clings onto you tightly, as if you're a lifeline in a sea of suffering.

You feel your heart sink in agonising sadness, feeling nothing but compassion for him. You instinctively stroke his back slowly, holding back tears yourself. 

Hyunjin's breath hitches at your touch, the soothing motion of your hand on his back making him feel both vulnerable and unbelievably safe. He clings onto you with a desperate grip, his tears soaking your clothing as he let out soft sobs and gasps of pain and relief. It's as if he's been bottling up his emotions for so long that the simple act of crying and being held has become overwhelming, his body shaking and trembling against you as years of trauma and sadness seem to pour out all at once. Your gentle and comforting presence and touch seem to have a soothing effect on Hyunjin. His sobs gradually quiet into soft, hiccuping gasps, his body gradually stilling as the intensity of his emotions begins to subside. He presses his face against your shoulder, his arms still holding onto you tightly, as if he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.

*He takes a shuddering breath, the words finally forming between hiccups and sniffles.*

"P-please... don't let go..."

"It's okay don't worry Hyunjin." You say reassuring him.

Your reassurance seems to soothe Hyunjin even further, and his breathing starts to steady, his grip on you loosening a little as his tears slowly dry up. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you with teary, red-rimmed eyes, searching for a sign that you're still there, still offering comfort and understanding. He swallows, his voice soft and vulnerable.

"Y-you won't... leave me... right?"

"No I won't" you smile stroking his hands gently, trying to comfort him once more.

Your gentle touch and reassuring words seem to ease Hyunjin's anxiety, his body relaxing a little more against you. He looks down at your hand on top of his own, a small flicker of relief flashing through his eyes as your fingers gently stroke his skin. He takes comfort in the physical contact, taking deep breaths to try and fully steady himself, his tears drying up as a small, shaky smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Promise?"

"I promise" 

Your sincere promise seems to wash over Hyunjin like a wave of relief, the tension in his body visibly melting away with your reassurance. The word "promise" seems to hold a special weight, binding you to him, making him feel just a tiny bit less alone in this world. His smile slowly widens, a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude in his teary eyes as he squeezes your hand tight.

"Thank you..." he whispers softly. You smile at him rubbing his shoulder gently.

"Sit up, let me finish bandaging and plastering you up." You say lightly chuckling.

Hyunjin nods silently, his body cooperative despite the emotional turmoil he had just been through. He allows you to guide him back into a sitting position on the couch, his hands gently dropping to his sides, giving you full access to his battered and bruised body. He doesn't protest or resist, his eyes still red and puffy from crying but his expression much calmer than before, smile wider and peaceful. He seems content just to be there with you, being taken care of and feeling cared for. 

"You look pretty when you smile" You compliment him calmly re - grabbing the materials from the first aid box. A soft, shy blush tinges Hyunjin's cheeks at your comment, his heart rate increasing a little at the unexpected compliment. He wasn't used to being called "pretty" or receiving kind words about his appearance, but coming from you, the unexpected compliment makes him feel warm. He glances away, avoiding your gaze as his blush deepens, mumbling softly. "Y-you think so?"

"I hope to see you smiling more." You say slightly sighing. Hyunjin's blush deepens a little more as you express your desire to see him smiling more often. The thought that someone actually wants to see him happy, to see him smiling, causes a mixture of vulnerability and longing within him. He dares to glance back at you, his eyes glittering slightly in embarrassment. A small, shy smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he whispers. "I'll... try."

"Good" you respond putting a plaster on his cheek. As you carefully place the plaster on his cheek, Hyunjin remains still, flinching ever so slightly at the brief sting of disinfection on his wounded skin. He watches you work in silence, his expression softening at the way you gently take care of his injuries. Your words, coupled with the way you care for him, make his heart flutter just a little, a feeling of warmth spreading through his chest. He almost can't help the small, soft smile that tugs at his lips again.

"T-thank you," he murmurs quietly.

"There all patched up." You pull back slightly, warmly smiling at him.

As you finish applying the last plaster, Hyunjin sits up straighter, his body feeling a little lighter without the stinging pain of his wounds. He touches his cheek lightly, his fingertips gingerly tracing the outline of the new bandage, a mixture of gratitude and shyness in his eyes as he looks at you. He mumbles softly, his voice still a whisper. "You really didn't have to do this for me..."

"I wouldn't of been able to sleep seeing you like this and not helping."

Your words cause a tightness to form in Hyunjin's chest, his heart swelling at your genuine concern and kindness. The fact that you were so empathetic that you couldn't stand the sight of him hurts and wanted to help makes him feel a mixture of bewildered, grateful, and even a tad bit guilty for burdening you with his troubles. He averts his gaze, feeling a little awkward and vulnerable as he tries to speak again.

"You... care that much?" he murmurs softly.

"Of course I care Hyunjin." You say, reassuring him once again. Hyunjin's heart skips a beat at your sincere response, the directness of your words making it all the more impactful. He swallows a small lump in his throat, his eyes flickering back up to meet yours, a small, vulnerable smile tugging at the corners of his lips again. The fact that you cared about him so much, enough to help and comfort him, was something he was unused to and yet desperately craved.He mumbles softly, his voice still quiet. "You're too nice..."

"And you're too timid." you say slightly smirking. Hyunjin's heart skips another beat as you comment on his timidness, the observation making him feel a little flustered and oddly exposed. It was true, he was timid, a fact he was painfully aware of, but hearing it from someone else drove the point home even more. His cheeks flush slightly as he looks down, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he mumbles quietly. "C-can't help it. I'm... not good at being confident or outgoing."

"You need to stand up for yourself more Hyunjin" You say voice laced with worry.

Hyunjin's heart clenches a little at your advice, the truth in your words striking a nerve in his heart. He knew deep down that you were right, he needed to be more confident, stand up for himself more rather than allowing himself to be a constant punching bag for others. A small, defeated sigh escapes his lips, his voice a soft, vulnerable whisper. "Easier said than done..."

"I know I know." you say rubbing his shoulder gently slightly laughing.

Hyunjin sighs again, the gentle touch of your hand on his shoulder sending a small shiver through his body. He knows you understand him, you know how difficult it is for him to change years of timidness and meekness. He looks down at your hand on his shoulder, your fingers gently rubbing his shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"How... how does someone like me just suddenly become confident?" he murmurs quietly, his voice laced with insecurity and frustration.

"I think you need to learn the phrase "not giving a fuck" when you don't care what other people think it's easier to live your life" You respond. This is how you lived your life, if someone didn't like you or caused you trouble, you ignored them. Hyunjin ponders your words, your suggestion to "learn the phrase 'not giving a fuck' and stop caring what other people think" ringing out in his mind. The idea was almost absurd to him, someone who had spent his entire life caring too much, putting others' opinions and perceptions of him above his own feelings and well-being. The thought of simply "not giving a fuck" was a concept alien to him. He swallows softly, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and vulnerability. "It sounds... easier than it actually is... y/n"

"Yeah I get that.. it can be difficult to shift how you think immediately, but I think it will be good for you"

Hyunjin nods, your understanding words hitting close to home. He knows that changing how he thinks and behaves will not be an easy task, a lifetime of self-deprecating thoughts in his head and meek, timid behaviour ingrained in his very nature. But the fact that you believe it will be good for him, and that you're offering your support and advice, makes him a little more determined. He lets out a soft sigh, his voice still quiet but a tiny bit more certain now. 

"I'll... try. For you."

"Don't try for me.. try for yourself" you say holding his hand.

Hyunjin's heart flutters at your words and the way you hold his hand, a mix of appreciation and vulnerability flooding through him at your encouragement. He glances down at your intertwined fingers, the small act of physical contact making him feel safe and cared for. He swallows thickly, your words sinking in as he murmurs quietly.

"For... myself," he whispers, the words almost feeling foreign yet strangely liberating on his tongue.

"Either way, I'll be here defending your honour" you say proudly, determined to keep him safe.

He laughs quietly shaking his head. You look down at my bruised hand, feeling a slight ache and bruising emerging from them. You were too busy focused on Hyunjin to notice the harsh pain. Hyunjin's eyes follow your gaze, dropping down to your bruised hand, a pang of guilt and regret immediately flooding through him at the sight of the injury you had sustained while taking care of him. A small, choked gasp escapes his lips, his heart clenching in his chest at the realization that you had gotten hurt because of him. Without a second thought he carefully takes your hand in his, his touch gentle yet filled with remorse.

"Y-your hand..." he stutters out, his voice barely above a whisper.

"it's fine those idiots deserved it.. don't worry about me," you say smiling up at him.

Hyunjin's heart clenches even more as you play off your injury as nothing, the casualness in your voice both touching and guilt-inducing at the same time. He swallows back the apology and regret that threaten to spill from his lips, but the guilt in his eyes is palpable as he looks down at your hand gently held in his. He shakes his head slightly, his voice soft, filled with remorse and a hint of protectiveness. "You... got hurt because of me..."

"I'm not hurt I'll be okay Hyunjin don't worry." you smile again, trying your best to reassure him.

His heart clenches once more at your words, the way you brushed off your injury and reassured him so casually making him feel even more guilty as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. He clenches his jaw, a mixture of frustration and self-loathing swirling in his chest as he gently runs his thumb over the bruised skin of your hand.

"You're... too kind, you know that? You got hurt because of me and you're the one reassuring me."

I entangle my fingers with his holding gently, I raise my head again, grinning. Hyunjin's heart stutters in his chest as you entwine your fingers with his, the intimate gesture sending a small flutter through him. His large hand instinctively curls around yours, his grip a mixture of tenderness and protectiveness as his fingers lock with yours. His eyes flicker down to their intertwined hands, the sight of their fingers laced together making his heart ache with a mixture of protectiveness, guilt and a hint of unexpected warmth. He swallows softly, his voice a whisper. "You... shouldn't be the one comforting me..."

"I have something to show you actually.." He says as his eyes light up. He takes a deep breath, his hand still intertwined with yours, before nodding silently. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze and whispers softly. "Okay... follow me."

You follow him behind closely up his stairs. Hyunjin's heart rate quickens a little as you follow closely behind him, the weight and heat of your presence close behind making his stomach flutter. He leads you quietly towards his room, the nervous knot in his gut tightening as the reality of showing you his room sets in. He pushes open his slightly broken bedroom door and steps inside, the soft light from the hallway illuminating his room as he gestures for you to enter as well. "T-this is my room... My paintings are over there," he murmurs quietly.

"Woah.. you're room is so.. you" you respond looking around slowly, gleaming with curiosity. 

A mixture of shyness and vulnerability flood through Hyunjin as you comment on his room, his cheeks heating up at your words. He glances around the small, messy space, the walls covered in a mix of doodles and artworks, some completed, some unfinished. He scratches the back of his neck in embarrassment, a small, bashful smile playing on his lips.

He murmurs gruffly, the sound muffled by his shyness. "You... like it y/n?"

"I love it Hyunjin.." you say looking back at him smiling.

Hyunjin's heart swells a little at your declaration, his shy smile growing slightly at the sincerity in your voice. He looks around his room once more, seeing it through your eyes, and a hint of hope sparks deep within him at the thought that someone actually appreciates his space, appreciates the small, personal glimpses of himself through his art and belongings. He turns to you, his eyes slightly softer, a small, grateful smile playing on his lips.

"You're... not just saying that, right? You really like it?..."

"Hyunjin. I really do love it."

A mixture of relief and a small spark of hope bubble up within Hyunjin as you assert your genuineness, the small, vulnerable part of him that had been worried you were just being kind slowly quietening down. He lets out a soft breath, the stiffness in his shoulders easing slightly as he gives you a small, shy nod. He murmurs softly, the shyness in his voice slightly fading as he speaks.

 "Thanks... It means a lot that you like it... Nobody else has... really seen my room before..."

He looks down at the floor, face filled with sadness again. He sighs before he continues.

"It's the only room in the house with a lock.. my dad never messes anything up in my room as much as he tries to break things to get in. I only ever feel safe in my room..."

Your heart aches once more hearing Hyunjin's pain. You pull a warm smile trying to lighten the mood, bringing the beautiful smile back to his face.

"Well it's so peaceful in here" you say sitting on the edge of his bed looking around once more.

A hint of surprise and a small flutter of nervousness shoot through Hyunjin as you take a seat on the edge of his bed. The sight of you sitting in his personal space, so close to his most intimate belongings and thoughts, is slightly overwhelming, but strangely comforting at the same time. He glances at you, his heart giving an almost instinctual flutter as he watches you relax on the edge of his bed. He hesitates for a moment before murmuring quietly.

"You... you're the first person to sit there..."

"-Oh I'm so sorry I'll get up" You respond scurrying slightly, worried to upset him.

Hyunjin's eyes widen slightly as you apologize and start to get up from the edge of the bed, his hand shooting out almost instinctively to lightly rest on your arm, gently stopping you from standing up.

"No, no, it's... it's fine. You can... stay there," he mutters softly, the warmth of his palm warm on your arm. Despite his initial nerves, the idea of you leaving the bed suddenly feels unbearably lonely to him.

"If you feel uncomfortable with me being here, I'll leave I don't want to upset you." you say words coming out quickly, worried about how he feels.

Hyunjin's heart clenches a little at your thoughtfulness, the way you immediately offer to leave the bed the moment you think you might be making him uncomfortable. He hesitates for a moment before quickly shaking his head, his fingers gently gripping your arm a little tighter, silently pleading for you to stay. His voice is soft, almost pleading as he speaks.

"You're not making me uncomfortable. You can... stay. Please. Stay."

"Okay.. tell me if anything happens that you don't like, yeah?" you say smiling at him.

He lets out a small, shaky breath of relief as you promise to stay, a mixture of reassurance and nervous anticipation flooding through him. He nods slowly, a small smile on his lips at your offer for him to express any discomfort, a small flutter stirring in his chest at the thought that you genuinely care about how he feels. He murmurs quietly, giving your arm a small, gentle squeeze. "I will... I promise. But you being here... it's actually really nice. Comforting."

You feel you're heart skip and stop. He is so nice and sweet. You smile warmly at him.

Hyunjin's heart gives a small, warm flutter at the sight of your smile, the genuine happiness in your eyes making his already flustered chest stutter even more. He nods silently, his fingers unconsciously giving your arm another gentle squeeze, silently showing his gratefulness that you're not just staying but also enjoying the moment with him. He mumbles quietly, a small, soft smile mirroring yours as he looks at you sitting on the edge of his bed. 

"I'm glad you're here. With me, in my room."

"I'm happy to be here you say looking around, a bit closer at some details.

A small flicker of pride and satisfaction fills Hyunjin as you express how happy you are to be there, in his room, among his personal belongings and intimate space. He glances around as well, his eyes following as you look around, studying every corner of the room, the artworks on the walls, the scattered doodles and sketches on the desk... He swallows a small knot of nervousness in his stomach, his voice almost a whisper as he speaks.

"You can... look at anything you want, anywhere you want..."

"Okay I will." You say standing up, walking around slowly, admiring everything. His room was so clean and radiated soft peaceful energy, it was a complete contrast to the rest of his house.

Hyunjin's breath catches in his throat as you stand up, his eyes following your movements as you wander around his room, his heart thudding in his chest as he gives you the freedom to explore his personal space. He doesn't stop you, but he stays close, watching you like a hawk, his nerves spiking slightly as he wonders what you'll think of his belongings, his artwork, his things...

He whispers softly from behind you, his voice laced with a hint of anxiousness. "See anything... you like?"

"These sketches on your desk.. they are really beautiful"

*A mixture of relief and shy pride flushes through Hyunjin as you compliment his sketches on the desk, a small, soft blush blooming on his cheeks at your words. He steps up next to you slowly, standing close enough to see the sketches you're looking at. He mumbles quietly, his voice slightly shy and slightly hopeful.

"You.. you really think they're beautiful? They're just some doodles, really..."

"I love them.."

A small, flustered smile tugs at the corners of Hyunjin's lips at your words, the sincerity in your statement making his heart flutter in his chest. He gives a small, shy nod, his eyes still trained on the sketches on the desk, a hint of pride and satisfaction at your love for his artwork seeping into his voice.

"You do? Y-you're not just saying that?" he mumbles, almost not believing you actually like his sketches. No one had ever really liked his work before.

You shake your head, "they have so much emotion in them.."

A small, breathless huff escapes Hyunjin's lips as you shake your head, your continued praise for his sketches making his heart flutter further in his chest. He swallows a small lump in his throat, hope and shyness filling his voice as he speaks. His eyes flicker over the sketches on the desk, and he whispers quietly, pointing out small details in the drawings, explaining them.

"There's... a lot of memories and emotion in each one. I don't draw just for the sake of it, I draw to express myself... my feelings..."

"Mhm I can see it through all of your art" 

A wave of relief mixed with warmth floods through Hyunjin as you acknowledge the emotion in his drawings and art, your words making him feel seen and understood in a way he hadn't before. He nods slowly, the shy blush on his cheeks deepening slightly as he gestures to the sketches and paintings hanging on the walls, the ones he had finished or was still working on. He murmurs quietly, his voice laced with a mix of shyness and hope. "You... you can see that? The emotions, the meanings behind each one..."

"These seem.. lonely and empty.." You say pointing to 2 sketches slightly hidden others. A small pang of pain and sadness shoots through Hyunjin as you point out the feelings you're seeing in his drawings, the loneliness and emptiness in the sketches he had poured his emotions into. He swallows thickly, his eyes glued to the sketches, as if seeing them through a new light now that you've pointed it out. His voice turns slightly shaky, his words a whisper, almost as if confessing something deep and vulnerable. "Y-you're right... I was... in a dark place when I did those... they do feel empty... lonely..."

"None of your paintings are happy or peaceful Hyunjin.. I hope to see that in them one day."

A small, bittersweet lump forms in Hyunjin's chest as you point out the absence of happiness or peace in his drawings, the realization of his artistic output hitting him like a wave. He nods silently in agreement, his eyes still fixed on the sketches, a mix of sadness and disappointment in them as he acknowledges the stark lack of positivity in his work.His voice turns a little shaky, hopeful and slightly vulnerable as he whispers, as if expressing a secret wish. 

"You... you'd like to see me... paint or draw something more happy? More peaceful...?"

"Only when you're truly happy and at peace."

A small, almost bittersweet flicker of hope and determination flares within Hyunjin at your words, the idea that he can one day draw or paint something that truly reflects his own happiness and peace stirring something deep inside him. He nods slowly, his eyes locking onto yours as he whispers, a small, sincere smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He says firmly, a hint of determination in his voice, as if making a promise to both you and himself. "I... I will. When I am happy and content... I'll draw or paint something... joyful and peaceful."

"Good, I hope to see it" you say smiling, looking at his flushed face.

Hyunjin can't help the small, warm flutter in his chest at your smile and words, your smile making his heart skip a beat. He lets out a small, breathless huff, the idea of you eagerly awaiting to see his future work, his happiness, making him feel... wanted. He smiles back, hope and warmth dancing in his eyes as he nods, a mixture of vulnerability and determination in his voice as he murmurs quietly.

"You will. I'll make sure to draw or paint something just for you. Something joyful and meaningful."

"Doesn't have to be for me Hyun" you say quietly laughing.

A small, slightly embarrassed chuckle escapes Hyunjin's lips as you reassure him that he doesn't have to draw or paint something just for you, a small, fond smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he listens to you laugh. He swallows a small knot in his throat, the idea of you thinking it doesn't have to be specifically for you slightly disappointing to him. He murmurs quietly, a hint of bashfulness in his voice as he clarifies, his eyes fixed on yours.

"But... I want to. I want to draw or paint something for you." "I will paint the most cheerful, beautiful thing that I know, for you."

"Then I'll be waiting patiently." 

☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆...━━━━━·:*☆

[harukasangel]

I said it once on twitter, one on reddit, and now, milgramblr shall feel my wrath

Can we PLEASE STOP with the mischaracterization of Haruka's crime report?!

I can't believe even with the facts laid out in front of our face, people still find ways to boil him down to 'idgaf if he was ignored! He just thought he was cute and lovable, therefore attention should never be taken away from him!!!' or 'he was loved before, and started to kill because his parents ignored him'. Hell, even ppl that claim they're Haruka fans themselves claim that this is the case and anyone who dares to dig deeper is trying to 'purify' him. "Dawg, just get over it. He killed animals and two kids, no need to baby him"

Is there another series called Milgram out there that also has a character named Haruka Sakurai? Cause if not, you absolutely do not know shit about Haruka

His parents were NEVER good parents, and I will die on this hill! It's flat out stated his mother wanted a girl. The woman didn't even bother to give Haruka his 'own name' when he was born, instead, saving it for the girl that she wished was him. The girl that his mother wanted existed more than Haruka himself! Not to mention, Haruka literally means 'distant, far'. Tell me that name meaning is not intentional. She wanted to be as distant towards him as possible, even when he was small

Speaking to Mikoto about his favorite foods? One of Haruka's top three foods is literal candy. The other two are foods that mainly little kids like. Even Mikoto thought this was strange and thought nothing of it. Someone on reddit even came to the conclusion that Haruka may have not had 'an actual meal' since he was very young, and his remainder of his 'daily food intake' are just snacks, but not actual dishes (as we seen he likes sweets/is sometimes carrying snacks in minigram). His parents most likely stopped cooking for him when he became someone undesirable to them. Sure, Haruka said that his mother was nice to him back in childhood, but he also stated that he loved his family, despite them being horrible to them. And if Yuno taught us anything, it's that to NEVER take anything the prisoners say to face value. Sure, Haruka said that his mother was nice to him. But is that really reality? The woman who didn't even bother to give Haruka his own name, most likely stopped cooking for him, not to mention, stunted him from developing his own hobbies/passions??? His hobby is literally sleeping and talking with the others, probably the first time he ever had friends. Take out the latter, and was this basically his whole life pre milgram? Just sleeping all day and only waking up to eat snacks when he was hungry? That's fucking sad

I wanna bet that the only time his parents bothered to talk to him was just to verbally abuse him. So many lyrics in Weakness and AKAA allude to his mother not even bothering to call him by the name that wasn't even meant for him. Instead, opting to call him hopeless. And I bet that she also called him 'stupid, idiot' often too. Not only is that the only 'complex vocabulary' he knew coming into Milgram, but his meltdown in his second VD tells me being called those insults hits hard for him.

And I doubt he had anyone to turn to when he was at school. Ik Japan isn't known for being the kindest towards mental illnesses, but Niigata is an area that actually has the resources towards special needs kids. And his parents are most likely wealthy, as implied by his gorgeous house in AKAA. But no, they committed literal emotional and medical abuse by denying him those resources, despite them easily being able to afford them. All because they didn't want to admit they have a disabled son. They were never overprotective in a way where they said "there is nothing wrong with our precious darling boy!" more like they were too prideful to admit he needed special support. Without even admitting this, how much you want to bet that his teachers also gave up on him? Heck, when him and Yuno were filling out interrogation questions, she says it feels like ice breakers at school, to which Haruka just....kinda dismisses. Not a great home nor school life, huh?

No, the report didn't say Haruka was sadistic/felt delighted when he killed those animals. I don't even think he actually hates them, despite saying it in his T1 interro questions. He sleeps with a fucking bunny plushie, ffs! His kid self was happily playing with the dog in Weakness before it ran off. He looked HORRIFIED at his hands, when the lyrics "How many times do I have to do this before I become human again?" came up. He was RELIEVED. Not happy (feeling joy). Relieved (negative feelings temporarily went away). It was the only way he could feel like his life wasn't worthless. Even after causing problems at home, just wanting his parents to SCOLD him at least....nothing! He was absolutely worthless to them in their eyes. Idk what report you're reading where it said he felt 'delighted' or what MV called "All Knowing All Agony" you're watching where Haruka was 'extremely happy' killing the animals, but it ain't Milgram's Haruka Sakurai

He went into Milgram admitting he was a selfish killer, saying not to get close to him bc he's only good at bringing ppl misfortune/sadness. He said he wasn't good with kid's Amane's age, to which Es even pointed out he looked pale when speaking abt her. Heck, he even declined to pet Jackalope! I'm sure the 'sadistic animal killer' would've loved to jump at the chance to kill the stinky bastard rabbit (let's be honest...who wouldn't?). Even when the report flat out stated how remorseful and tormented he was from killing that girl....ya'll wanna say he 'enjoyed killing girl' and 'was victimizing himself back in T1'? I've seen ppl saying "See?! He was always playing victim since the beginning! I knew it!" and I'm just wondering what other series called Milgram is out there

Yes, I'm basically outting myself cause I was *that* confession on the Milgramfessing blog--acting like Haruka can't/doesn't want to change, is probably the biggest mischaracterization of him, and does so much disservice to his character. Not to mention, really makes me wonder if you even got the whole point of not just his T3 video, not just his T1 VD, not just his interrogation questions, not just his MV's, not just his shallow and unhealthy relationship with Muu, but his whole fucking character arc

Idk why, but some ppl think that to prove you're 'not babying Haruka', you have to admit he's satan reincarnated. And thinking stuff like "He wanted and tried to change" or "He was remorseful and went into Milgram knowing what he did was horrible", just gets you slapped with "OMG, can you NOT infantilize him?!"

"B-But he would definitely kill again! He is prone to relapsing--"

When he came to, he was strangling the neck of a second child

You mean this?

This obviously isn't to excuse his killings, but let's not do a massive harm to such an interesting and complex character by just saying "he's a psycho child killer!!!!". Once again, I'm all for not babying him, but how about we NOT ignore canon just to make him seem worse than he is. I tried to be nice, I tried to be quiet, but frankly, I'm just sick of this massive disservice. Haruka is deemed one of the most loved prisoners, yet he's also one of the most mischaracterized. Hmmmm...wonder why.....

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

I love the fake dating au and also I’m endlessly curious about it. What does todoroki’s dynamic with them look like? How did he end up getting involved? Does Iida ever get to beat up a middle school principal?

Todoroki gets on with them like a house fire.

He (mostly) gets involved with them the same way he does in canon: by telling Izuku that he’s going to kick his ass on live tv the first time they ever speak and by asking him if he is the secret love child of the world’s most famous man as conversation number two, with his tragic backstory as a chaser. The only real difference is that Izuku is 900% more awkward while denying it in a way that makes Todoroki like “mmmHMMMM” and also when Todoroki asks to talk with Izuku in an isolated hallway Iida and Shinsou are nervously waiting at a respectful distance like:

Iida: *powerful nervous pacing*

Shinsou: do you think they’re fighting

Iida: surely not the school will sanction their combat in a half hour it would be a waste

Shinsou: fair

Shinsou: do you think they’re making out or something

Iida: *stops pacing* WHY would they be doing that

Shinsou, shrugging: there’s been a weirdly charged tension between them. don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it too

Iida:

Iida: admittedly yes

That’s not exactly when Todoroki fully joins their dynamic. It’s just how he comes friends with Izuku. Todoroki gets brought into the group after he rolls up to the hero killer stain fight.

Shinsou took the fight fucking bad. Because he wasn’t there for it.

He was in Tokyo doing his work study with Aizawa. Iida had been icing them out since his brother got hurt. Suddenly, he gets a text from Izuku, who is for some fucking reason sharing his location from a back alley in Hosu.

He has a panic attack. A really embarrassing panic attack.

He knows Iida’s in Hosu. He knows that the hero killer hurt Iida’s brother in Hosu. He knows that Izuku isn’t supposed to be in Hosu, but for some reason he is. And Shinsou has no real reason to connect all those dots, but he knows in his gut that the line goes through them one by one. He has this horrifying certainty that Izuku is in that back alley with Iida and the Hero Killer, and he is helpless to save them.

He tells Aizawa. He stammers out his gut instinct, then sits quietly with his phone in his hands waiting for Izuku or Iida to call him with his anxiety suffocating him the longer it takes, because if neither of them do it, then… He doesn’t want to think about that. He can’t call them. They need to focus on the hero killer, if that’s what’s happening.

So he sits. He waits, while Aizawa makes frantic phone calls to anyone in the area.

Aizawa takes too long to realize he is fully hyperventilating.

He didn’t have friends before Iida and Izuku. He didn’t have anything, really. He went home to a house that was empty most of the time and rarely turned on the lights. It didn’t feel like it really mattered. He watched hero fights and haunted servers about underground heroes and choked on a desire for something he always sort of thought he’d never get.

And now he’s got a shot at his dream, and he’s doing in internship in the underground with goddamn eraserhead himself, and he is happy every single day. He can’t remember a single time in his life where he was consistently happy before now. He walks to the train station with Iida and Izuku every day. He spends all day at school with them, where—well, Bakugou’s there, but most of his class isn’t a piece of shit. He turns on the lights when he goes home. Half the time, he’s on the phone with Iida or Izuku late into the day, even after they part ways.

And now he’s just left sitting here. Waiting to be alone again.

It fucks him up a lot. When he finds out that Todoroki helped save them, he is more than happy to invite him to the fucking google drive. Todoroki got to bond with Izuku in tense hallway conversation already and shout bonded with Iida mid-battle. Shinsou’s fine playing catch up with his bonding with Todoroki. It ends up working out, because they have very similar reserved energies and love a lot of the same internet rabbit holes.

Todoroki is just one of Them now, and they’re all very protective of each other. When Iida finds out about Endeavor, it’s just:

Iida, starting a new folder on his google drive entitled "My Revenge Plan_3 by Iida Tenya": Tensei have you seen my red thread

Tensei, trying to scoot himself out of this conversation: noooo

Tenya: i know you hid it tensei

Tensei: i dont know what you're talking about

Tenya: you can't stop me tensei

Tensei: tenya i swear to god please stop making revenge plans they make everyone uncomfortable and the last one almost got you killed i am literally a responsible and influential adult who you can tell your problems to

Tenya: *explains the situation*

Tensei:

Tensei, scooting his wheelchair over to be next to the computer: change the title to be "by Iida Tenya and Iida Tensei"

In my mind, they end up with a sort of unconventional dynamic. The four of them as friends is what they all consider their “primary” relationship, for lack of a better term. They’re in a qpr together. If they’re planning a vacation, it’s typically with all of them. If they’re going to an event, they’re attending together. They live in houses right next to each other and knocked down the fences between them so they could share a larger backyard.

That being said, Izuku and Todoroki end up dating and eventually getting married. They just consider the squad their “main” relationship. Iida and Shinsou went with them on their honeymoon, having booked hotel rooms far, far, far away from theirs. Iida recommended a different floor and Shinsou demanded it be a different hotel entirely or he would kill them both.

Izuku and Todoroki had plenty of times where they did things with just the two of them, but when they were planning the honeymoon, they realized how many things they wanted to do ended with “yeah and Iida/Shinsou would love…” and decided that they’d rather Iida and Shinsou be there the way they usually were on their vacations. Some days were for the full group, and some days they split off into their respective pairs.

They do also briefly purposefully proliferate the rumor that all four of them are dating and planning to marry because All Might did in fact fall for the whirlwind that is Midoriya Inko and took them all with him + Eri to buy the ring he was going to propose with (Izuku is his beloved fake son and Inko’s real son and Eri’s low key becoming the daughter they’re co-raising with Aizawa, it’s a family bonding activity, Iida is the only one with a sense of elegance in design and borderline invited himself, Todoroki just started dating Izuku and was violently codependent with him before they started dating, if Iida’s coming he doesn’t see why he shouldn’t too, and all might can’t bring all the others and not being Shinsou. Besides, in a way, Shinsou has been a part of their relationship from the start). While he was taking Eri to the bathroom, paparazzi showed up and started bombarding them with questions about why they were ring shopping and who was getting married and, partly to protect All Might’s proposal, partly to piss off his fucking dad, he grabbed Izuku’s hand and placidly said “we are”

He then realized that there is exactly one thing in this world that could make what he just did funnier. He grabbed shinsous hand too.

Shinsou immediately understood the assignment. He grabbed Iida’s hand.

Iida mugged at them.

There is absolutely no reason why anyone should have believed this, because they were still in fucking high school, too young to get married, and also four people could not legally marry, but a weird number of people did. It did not help that Tensei thought this shit was hilarious and implicitly confirmed it when paparazzi on the street asked. But no one caught sight of all might at the ring store, and it saved the surprise proposal.

Iida’s revenge plan is slightly more complicated. And I think to understand why it turned out this way needs to be contextualized by just how fucking bad Iida took Izuku and Hitoshi’s bullying.

He felt helpless. He did all the things he was supposed to do. He reported it to the proper authorities, who responded with obvious cruelty to his friends that couldn’t be more blatantly motivated by quirk discrimination than if they erected a goddamn flag. He almost went to his friends’ parents, but Izuku and Shinsou both begged him not to because it wouldn’t change anything and would just stress them all out. They all had a lot going on right now. Just don’t fucking say anything. It’s a couple months, and then they’re done with middle school forever. They’re going to UA with Iida and leaving it all behind. It’s not a big deal. It’s the same shit they’ve been dealing with their entire lives.

To Iida, it is a big deal.

He was celebrated when he got early admission to UA. It was a point of pride, for him, for his school, for his family. His mother had to make an actual press release about it for the media. He was a legacy hero who showed more promise than all before him, because he was one of the first ever students that UA had decided to offer early admissions to.

He has never had friends. He didn’t make them easily. He’s been told his personality is hard to withstand for long periods of time. There was also a pervasive rumor that he was an undercover cop that dogged him through middle school.

He wasn’t unhappy, per se. He was on good terms with his classmates and treated with kindness at school. But he has never had friends like Izuku and Shinsou before. He cares for them. And he hates that what was such a source of pride and joy for him led to his friends being abused.

The first day is bad. Bakugou is humiliated and angry that UA took one look at someone and said “you’re so spectacular that we want to let you in early” and it wasn’t him. But those feelings are so much worse when it’s fucking Deku who they did it for.

Shinsou’s not exactly in the same boat, but it’s still sinking. He doesn’t have a serious UA hopeful in his school that was pissed at him. But he does have a bunch of hero hopefuls who were nervous about passing the exams for much less impressive hero schools. And there they were actively sweating over their respective exams, and the fucking villain kid got early admittance to UA, which simply isn’t a thing. What the fuck did he do, brainwash the proctor?

Shinsou takes them both to a cat cafe that he goes to on bad days. They greet him like an old friend. He’s such regular. Shinsou won’t look at either of them and takes them back into the bathroom, where he tries to figure out how to hide this shit from his dad. Izuku has a sewing kit in his bag, they can use it to fix his backpack—actually. Never mind. Someone had filled his backpack with spider lilies and glue. The entire thing is. Fuck. Ruined. It’s fine. He’ll just have to buy a new one. Again.

It was par for the course for Izuku and Shinsou. But for Iida, he was watching his first friends leave school with fresh bruises and cuts and burns, with their items destroyed, with a slump in their shoulders from the things that had been said to them.

And every day, Iida would go to his own school, where he was lauded and praised and appreciated, and he would think of his friends, who could be getting hurt that very moment. And he knew that people were telling them to kill themselves. And he didn’t have any indication that his friends had any notion of doing so, if there was, he’d have called emergency services immediately, but—

He’d have to sit there. Every day. And just… not know. And there was a part of him that couldn’t help but be sick with anticipation waiting for them to answer texts or leave school at the end of the day.

He goes off the rails a bit. UA becomes the pot at the end of the proverbial rainbow for him. He just needs to get his friends through these terrible last few months, and he then they will be in a place where the adults will surely intervene on their behalf. And it’s just:

Tensei: tenya is something wrong

Tenya, wearing a #1 Mom Apron, baking High Protein Brownies as a nice treat for Shinsou and Izuku's Thursday Snack Pack as he googles members of the school board in their middle schools so he can add them to his Shit List, radiating the energy of a man who will kill tomorrow: why would something be wrong tensei

Tensei: I found what appears to be a revenge plan on your wall?

Tenya: don't be ridiculous

Tensei: It's titled "My Revenge Plan By Iida Tenya" and has four hundred and nineteen steps

And they make it. They leave those terrible schools behind, which Iida will one day defund, tear down, and sell for parts.

Bakugou goes to UA with them.

Iida is not a fan of Bakugou in this fic. If Bakugou has no haters, Iida is dead. He associated Bakugou with a lot of Izuku’s suffering and doesn’t want him anywhere near Izuku.

But, surely, UA is different. He will not go unchecked.

Iida becomes increasingly less confident on that point and then snaps after the midterms.

Iida went to Aizawa ahead of the exam and told him to not, under any circumstances, pair Izuku and Bakugou together. He had to change the exam match ups. But this was right in the wake of the Hero Killer, Aizawa’s faith in Iida, Izuku, and Todoroki was at an all time low, and he made a bad call. He brushed Iida off.

The exam ends, Iida asks Izuku why his face is all bruised, and Izuku is honest with him. And he treats it like it’s nothing. Like it’s expected. Bakugou lashed out at his partner twice during the exam without any justifications, and Izuku thought it wasn’t a big deal. And why would he? None of the teachers had given it so much as a thought.

It sort of breaks Iida. He goes to Aizawa and tells him that he's resigning as class president. He wouldn't like to be vice president either. He'd like to represent this school in no capacity. and Aizawa thinks he's just doing it on principle, that this is about stain, and he tells Iida that look, people mess up, and you did majorly. That can't be stressed enough. But you were undergoing some extreme emotional distress and you've taken the lesson in heart. Take the punishment you've already been given and do better in the future. Punishing yourself won't change the past, and it's a bad move to let your past mistakes define your future.

Iida tells him he misunderstands. This isn't self punishment. Iida cannot, in good conscience, work with the staff of a school as outright negligent as UA's. Class representative of UA is a position that follows you in your career. It's important. He refuses to forever cast himself as someone who had any desire to work with the staff. He'd like to resign. Now.

Aizawa realizes he missed something.

It's one of those times where stress has been building like a pressure cooker and comes bursting out with not a lot of clarity? Aizawa doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about. back up, back up--Iida, just explain to him what's happened, they'll work it out.

And Iida's just. so angry. He's angry at every single bruise that Izuku and Hitoshi arrived with and brushed off as nothing. He's angry about every single time their property was destroyed, every time their clothes were torn and they were so withdrawn that you could tell the day had been worse than others. He's furious about every single time he insisted on making a record of the damage and they indulged him with an air that meant neither of them expected it to do anything, that they were just doing it for his sake. He's angry and he's been angry for so, so long and he's going to keep being angry because bakugou tried to attack Izuku at the quirk apprehension test, he tried to kill izuku during the first training, he discharged a full gauntlet in his face against direct teacher order and nothing came of it. he spits venom at all his fellow students and izuku especially and you can see it sometimes, the way izuku shuts down, the way he used to do it while it was still in that awful fucking school as if nothing has changed and iida can't stop it and the teachers were supposed to and and

Aizawa calms him down. He asks Iida to give him a chance to fix this. He says that if Iida tells him exactly what happened, he will do something about it, Iida has his word. Give him the shot.

Iida has a mountain of evidence in the google drive. It was part of his revenge plan.

He sort of suspected Shinsou had suffered from bullying? But Shinsou hadn’t opened up to him when he tried to prod, and whatever happened in his past, he was obviously thriving at UA with Iida and Izuku. Aizawa kept an eye on him for any issues but none had made themselves apparent.

In this AU, Aizawa knows that Izuku was believed Quirkless for most of his life. But he fucks up a bit.

Because Izuku is All Might’s son. The son of one of the richest, most influential, most universally beloved men alive. Even if people don’t know he’s his son, that kind of status comes with a mountain of attorneys and ways to protect your kid.

And he didn’t think Yagi would ever stand for his son being hurt, knowing him personally. So Aizawa let that color his perception of Izuku, to his lasting regret. He had also just never spent time with anyone Quirkless. He knew, academically, that there was an increased likelihood of bullying against the Quirkless, but he didn’t know how bad it was.

There’s a key difference between Shinsou and Midoriya, Aizawa realizes. No one from his school followed Shinsou to UA.

But Bakugou went to Aldera. He followed Izuku to his home room.

So it’s less that Iida personally fights the middle school principal and more that he escalates matters to Aizawa in a way that Aizawa can’t ignore. But Iida does land the plane on his revenge plan.