#it's quite simple to be part just comment or reblog what you're doing at the wedding or make art or a fic idk go wild :DD

[vettelsvee]

YOU'RE NOT HANNA, AND NEVER WILL BE HER | Sebastian Vettel

history series main masterlist | requests here!

red bull sebastian vettel x reader, nico rosberg x reader

word count: 6588

summary: 2010 german gp post race party has many things in store for seb and y/n, who finally do what they both been willing to do for a long time even they're dating hanna prater and nico rosberg

warnings: everything related to gender-based violence (main trigger warning to physical and mental abuse) from nico to y/n (reminder that everything you read on my blog is fiction), curse words, "cheating", mentions of suicide and cancer

a/n: i'm quite scared and happy at the same time to be posting this fic because it's one of my favourite parts ever on history series, but still has me so worried you might not like it because of all the topics (and because history series was originally posted on wattpad and not many people liked it but don't let anyone know that pls). anyways, let me know your thoughts on this one and request anything you might like if you want pls! i'll probably be posting tomorrow another part since my town is currently on high risk alert of floods and we've been told not to leave home. let me remind you that comments and reblogs are truly appreciated! thank you so much <3

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

2010 Hockenheim   German Grand Prix  

You paused for a moment in front of the bathroom mirror as Valentina finished your makeup. You leaned forward to get a better look, but the your woman followed your movements with perfect synchronization and, surprisingly, without messing it all up.

Your own reflection was completely unrecognizable to you. In front of you stood a beautiful, self-assured Y/N, looking like someone who possibly had a life that, while not perfect, seemed enviable.

You feared that a simple layer of makeup could make you feel completely different from reality. It was as if all your problems had suddenly vanished, and instead had in front of you a superwoman admired by everyone, not a twenty-something whose life was falling apart.

Valentina Martínez, the girl standing beside you with whom you’d had the opportunity to become closer, was one of the Mercedes catering managers and, also, exactly the complete opposite of you. Valentina had a beauty that everyone could admire and a confidence that many, including yourself, would love to have. She could lift others' spirits with just a smile and a few words that, while not wise, were good enough to make sense.

The Argentine radiated the kind of magic you felt you lacked.

So, when Valentina’s gaze fell on yours as you continued to admire how beautiful you felt.

“Come on, Y/N!” Valentina shouted, stepping away from you and starting to bounce on her feet. “I know this isn’t your thing, but I swear you look incredibly hot.”

“Valentina…”

“None of that,” she interrupted, “you need a bit more confidence. I don’t know how you don’t have it with Nico already. He’s totally worth it!”

As Valentina’s smile grew wider, you sighed and lowered your head. You thanked her as calmly as you could for trying to transfer some of her positivity, though you knew it was somewhat of a show Valentina put on for everyone and wasn’t doing anything particularly special for you.

That was what you liked least about her: Valentina was so well-liked and appreciated by everyone that, somehow, she always played the same role, regardless of who she was with.

“I don’t know why I’m going to a party I definitely don’t want to go to,” you confessed with honesty.

Today’s race had been quite tough, and although the strategies were solid, they didn’t seem to deliver the expected results when Seb only managed to get bronze in his home race. That’s why all you wanted to do at that moment was order a good room-service dinner and eat it under the bed sheets while watching some low-budget TV show before trying to get some sleep.

"You know that stepping out of our comfort zone is the best thing," Valentina said, moving closer to you and gently taking your hands. "Besides, you're doing this for Nico," she insisted. "Remember: he's your boyfriend, and it's your duty to make him happy."

You smiled shyly even though, deep down, you shivered a bit at the tone Valentina seemed to be using with you. It was as if she wanted those last words, it's your duty to make him happy, to penetrate your mind and stay there. You tried to ignore it, as it was probably your own insecurities taking over. And, in some way, you knew Valentina wasn’t wrong. She was aware that you needed to stop being so perfectionistic and rigid, and maybe start letting yourself go a little bit more.

"You're right, yeah," you finally said. "Thanks for everything."

Without saying anything else, you left Valentina’s room to head back to your own, just a couple of doors away, not without first gathering the clothes you had been wearing earlier while your friend continued getting ready.

As you took out your room card from the small purse hanging from your shoulder and swiped it to enter, you started feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. However, the moment Nico Rosberg, your boyfriend, came out to greet you and looked you up and down, hands on his hips, all of it disappeared.

"Are you seriously going out dressed like that?" he asked, completely incredulous, pointing at your dress. "You look like a slut."

You were speechless, though part of you wanted to say everything she was feeling. Once again, fear caused you to shrink back, cautious about your actions and the possible consequences. The tone he had used on you was filled with anger and, above all, disappointment. You knew that nothing good would come from answering, so instead you held back everything you wanted to say to him.

“Nico, it's just a dress…” you tried to explain as calmly as possible, not really knowing how to make him see reason without losing your composure.

He stepped closer, and his eyes filled you with nothing but fear. You could swear that, in his fury, the bluish hue of his eyes had turned an orange-red, like fire; his pupils, fully dilated, were what sent you into internal panic.

“I don’t give a damn fuck if it’s just a dress,” he mocked you. “I don’t want you going out like that. You know there’ll be consequences.”

Be careful how you act with me, he had told you one day when you said you weren't in the mood to go out to have dinner. Since then, though you had realized many things he did to you, you’d also started to act with caution and rationality, knowing that blows could come at any moment.

You’d even considered that there was a remote possibility that you might be the one to end things, especially every time you recalled every single insult he used to hurl at you whenever you misbehaved, which had only increased in frequency in recent weeks, following your father’s death and your trip with Seb to your hometown for the funeral.

But, most especially, when the Red Bull Racing driver stayed a few days with you because he was absolutely worried about your mental health getting worse.

A lump formed in you throat as a few tears began to fall freely down your face, ruining the makeup your friend had taken so much time to apply and had turned out so well.

“If you don’t change your clothes right now and put on something that makes you look like a decent person…” He threatened, moving closer with his hand raised. “Think carefully, Y/N: I don’t want to go crazy, but I think you're forcing me to.”

You couldn’t let fear paralyze you at least, not now, as you felt his hand inching closer to your body. Another physical mark that would eventually fade, but another one that would leave a psychological one permanently.

"Please, Nico, don’t do this…” you begged, completely desperate by this point, but trying not to show it. “You said you loved me just the way I am and…”

“I just can’t believe you’re so stubborn! Don’t you get that I don’t want you going out dressed like some desperate girl who clearly wants to fuck with everyone?!” he yelled, filled with rage.

You backed up as much as you could until your back hit one of the surrounding walls. You had encountered this version of Nico before: no matter how hard you tried to reason with him, he would manipulate you until you ended up thinking it was entirely your own fault.

“Please, Nico, don’t shout. I don’t want anyone to hear us…”

“They’ll hear us if that’s what you deserve for wanting to embarrass me,” he shouted again, even more furious.

You knew the tension had reached its peak and that, from there, things would only worsen. 

Nico kept yelling at you. With your eyes squeezed shut and your hands pressed over your ears, waited for the familiar sensation of one of his limbs landing on any part of your body he fancied at that moment.

“Oh, so now you have the nerve to ignore me?”

When you heard him clearly again and saw his hand raise, you somehow found the courage to turn away and quickly slip into the bathroom, forgetting to lock the door in your haste.

“Open up right now!” he screamed.

While he pounded on the door, his yelling relentless, you leaned against the farthest wall, as if he might burst in at any moment. 

It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened. 

You gasped for air in a place where there seemed to be none, your hand instinctively clutching your chest as if to shield your heart, which felt like it might burst out at any moment. You had learned to live with anxiety and panic, and both emotions had reached a point where they didn’t control each other but had fused, learning to coexist together with you.

“Nico… I’ll change my clothes,” you said, still crying, your voice choking. “I’m sorry, really,” you lied, trying to sound as convincingly as you could. “But please… don’t hurt me.”

Not again.

Your whispers seemed to have reached him because his pounding and labored breathing quieted. You hoped that the situation had calmed, and it seemed like it had.

He didn’t answer immediately, instead giving you enough time to remove the ruined makeup from your face and apply just a little mascara. A few minutes passed, enough time for you to relax and consider the possible outcomes of what might happen next, before he coldly demanded that you open the door.

You emerged and collided with his chest. Forcing yourself to look up at him, all you could see was contempt.

“Once again, you’ve disappointed me,” he stated without a hint of hesitation. “No wonder why lots of shit happens to you and people treat you so poorly. I was wrong to judge Vettel: he was right to treat you that way, and he should’ve done even more to you.”

All you could do was lower your gaze and head toward your suitcase on the floor, trying to pick something that would be ok with Rosberg’s dress code while reminding yourself that Seb did things quite bad, but he seemed to be truly sorry and apologized many times to you. The beautiful red dress, strapless and embellished across the chest, falling just above your knees, had to be replaced by another dress of the same color, but one that reached your ankles, with a much higher neckline and looser fit, so as not to highlight your nearly nonexistent curves.

“Happy now?” you asked, with as much disdain as you dared, even knowing he might match your face to her outfit.

“If you behaved like a responsible adult, yes,” he muttered as he opened the door and took your hand forcefully. “Sometimes I forget you’re only twenty-two and you have a lot to learn about life.”

Did he really know more about life than you did after all you had to go through?

That thought lingered in your mind throughout the journey, from their floor’s hallway to where the party was held, including the elevator ride where they encountered Mark Webber and a journalist from Sky Sports Germany, Eloise Schimdt. During the conversation between the four of them, though you remained silent, you had to pretend that everything was fine, even as your insides felt like they were shattering further.

As they entered the venue, the music, louder than she liked, started to throb in your ears. Your eyes opened wide to adjust to the dim lights from the spotlights, and, as you always did when in a public place with Nico, you began scanning the scene in detail.

There were more people than the space could comfortably hold. The dance floor was packed with people moving energetically, glasses in hand with the sole mission of keeping the alcohol from spilling. The bar was just as crowded, and in the center, across from shelves stocked with every type of liquor imaginable, she spotted Kimi, Fernando and Jenson with their respective partners, chatting animatedly.

But your eyes didn’t seem to waste any time and ended up settling on the guy standing a bit farther away from the others.

Sebastian was leaning back against the bar, tapping his left hand on it to match the rhythm of the song playing. In his other hand he held a glass of what she assumed was, possibly, a Jägerbomb, his favorite drink and, to him, a must-have for parties like this. He was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans with those Geox trainers he always wore, and his hair was completely tousled.

In that moment, you felt utterly captivated by him, and you were sure you would have dared to talk to him if his eyes hadn’t been fixed on Hanna. The blonde girl was a few steps in front of him, dancing seductively without caring where she was or who might be watching her.

You couldn’t help but wish, at that moment, to be her.

You shook off those conflicting thoughts as soon as Nico grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you, snapping you out of your trance, to head toward the bar.

"Give me a Martini," he said abruptly to the bartender, "and some water for her. She’s a bit dizzy," he lied to stop you from drinking, as he often did every time you went out.

"A Jägerbomb if you can, please," you ended up telling the guy behind the bar with your best smile.

You completely ignored the words and looks Nico was giving you. Instead, you just flashed your best smile at the bartender, who kept looking at you with concern, along with the rest of the people who weren’t too intoxicated yet and had overheard your boyfriend’s words.

"I can’t believe you’re drinking again… Can’t you control yourself or what?" he snapped.

He pulled you aggressively close, and you tried you best to ignore his words, spoken in a threatening tone directly into your ear, while you took your drink from the bar, along with his, and offered it to him.

Surrounded by people, you felt a bit safer than usual. He wouldn’t be able to hurt you, at least not physically, in front of everyone here… His reputation would be ruined, and Nico Rosberg was too proud to allow that.

So you didn’t stay silent.

"Nico, leave me alone for a few hours, please," you replied, ignoring his comments. "I’m here to enjoy the party you were so insistent on coming to, not to get scolded for wanting to have fun with you."

"Damn it, Y/N!" he expressed in frustration. "Do you always have to ruin everything or what?"

You just lifted your glass to avoid spilling your drink and walked towards the dance floor, leaving Rosberg behind, hurling insults you decided to ignore.

As soon as you found yourself among the crowd, greeting familiar faces with a friendly smile, you let yourself get carried away by the rhythm of the music. Tonight your shyness seemed nonexistent, and you could only thank the alcohol for giving you the confidence you had lost. You started to lose track of time as you danced, and though you didn’t know how, each move helped free you from the intrusive thoughts of loneliness and worthlessness, of feeling like nothing more than a mere object, which had crowded your mind at a dizzying speed.

You knew that mixing liquor with the energy drink that funded your lifestyle was only a temporary fix and that, once the effects wore off, your life would return to the completely chaotic state you had come to deserve.

Suddenly, the music stopped, as did the bodies moving on the dance floor. A spotlight focused on the stage, where Seb stood, microphone in hand and swaying. There was no doubt that he was drunk.

His swaying body made it clear that he had no idea what he was doing and that, at some point, he would end up regretting something.

"Sorry, sorry!" he said into the microphone. "But I feel like making a little pause in this party we’ve got going tonight because I want to sing a song to someone I care about a lot."

You began to feel terrible as Vettel gestured to the DJ for the music he wanted. A few seconds later, the first chords of Just the Way You Are by Bruno Mars was the only sound echoing in the room.

"Babe, this song is for you, and I want you to know how much you mean to me!"

You could see Hanna smiling broadly and shrugging. You wanted to leave to cry again at the beautiful scene unfolding in front of you, of which you definitely weren’t the main character.

Was it too soon to say that the boy you were in love with dedicating a song to his girlfriend hurt worse than any blow your current boyfriend had ever given you?

Yes, it was clear. Possibly, the alcohol had already taken too strong a hold, and you could no longer control what you said or thought.

You know I'd never ask you to change  

If perfect's what you're searching for  

Then just stay the same  

So don't even bother asking if you look okay

You felt confused and didn’t know what to do, but Sebastian’s voice, trembling and making his English accent sound more German than usual, had you completely captivated.

So did Prater's reaction when the German shifted his gaze from her to you.

“This is for you,” he said, sweeping his gaze across the crowd. “I know you know who you are, and I want you to know it’s all for you, and that you deserve the absolute best.”

When I see your face  

There is not a thing that I would change  

'Cause you're amazing  

Just the way you are  

And when you smile  

The whole world stops and stares for a while  

'Cause, girl, you're amazing  

Just the way you are

You noticed Hanna moving to your side, visibly confused and clearly uncomfortable with what was happening.

“Y/N…”

She couldn’t say anything else, nor could you to her. As much as you wished to be Hanna, you couldn’t help feeling sorry for her at the strong possibility that her boyfriend was confessing his feelings to another girl right in front of her.

Or, at least, that’s what the alcohol led you to believe.

“I want you to know that, from the first moment I saw you, you’ve been in my heart,” Seb admitted, his words drawn out, uncaring about the reactions of those around them, especially his girlfriend’s or yours. “Right now, I can’t have what I want most, but I want you to know that being with you is the only wish I’ve made, and the one I’ll keep making on my birthday, until we can finally be together.”

That was the last straw. As quickly as she could, trying in vain to hold back tears and avoid drawing attention, Hanna left, thoroughly embarrassed, muttering something you couldn’t catch. Seb's voice still echoed in your ears, but you tried to ignore it because you couldn’t believe what had just happened.

Lost in thoughts, you moved as far away as you could, trying not to stumble. Then, you made your way to the bar to order another drink, as if that might somehow make you forget what had just happened.

Just before you could exchange words with the bartender who had already served you so many drinks that night, you felt someone take your wrist, though this time much more gently. You knew it wouldn’t be Nico; when you turned around and saw Seb, however, you were even more surprised.

Your eyes met, and butterflies began to flutter in your stomach. Once again, you felt at home and safe, though deep down, you were only afraid.

Without saying a word, he took your face in his hands and pressed his lips to yours.

In that moment, you felt everything fade away. You let yourself go, unafraid of who might be watching or what might happen next. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss… your first kiss. 

Slowly, calmly, and, as you felt, full of affection, you stayed that way until you both needed air.

You felt that you had both been waiting for this moment for so long and, in a way, you deserved it, turning a simple gesture of affection into something unique and special, caring little about your partners or your sobriety.

Seb pulled back, his hands still resting on you, and your gazes shared in complicity about what had just happened. You knew he was happy but confused, just as you were. You didn’t know what to say, and knowing he didn’t either, you simply gave him a shy smile to let him know everything was okay, that he could do that a thousand times more from now on.

“Y/N…”

“What is it, Seb?”

You wanted him to tell you he loved you, that he’d left Hanna, and that he wanted you to be his new girlfriend, the love of his life.

But, instead, Seb looked at you and left you, once again, speechless:

“You’re not Hanna… and never will be her...”

After he said that, you felt nothing but your breath slipping away and the sensation of fainting.

You wanted to tell him everything you felt at that moment, but his words had hit you so hard that they only increased your confusion and pain.

All you could do was stare at him, likely making a fool of yourself with the amount of tears clouding your vision. Silence took over, and when you finally found the strength to speak, trying to hide the pain you knew your voice would show, he turned away without even saying goodbye.

"How the hell could you do that, Y/N?! You have no shame! You humiliated me in front of everyone. Kissing Sebastian like you don't care about your boyfriend... now I see what you're really up to."

You didn't have time to say anything or leave because Rosberg came running towards you, grabbing your arm with a force you'd never seen in him. It hurt, and your scream, which was more of a complaint from the pain than a surprise, was a way of expressing how much you were hurting, not just from the tight grip, but also from the shake he'd just given you.

"Nico, please, calm down..." you tried to calm him, not wanting to embarrass yourself. Some people were already looking at you, and you wished Earth would swallow you up. "It was just..."

"Don't play innocent!" he shouted too loudly. "You thought I wouldn't find out?! I saw you kissing that piece of shit who only wants to fuck you until he's bored of you," he said, referring to Seb. "Now everyone here knows what you really are: a whore! And I'm glad, Y/N… You have no idea how glad I am."

The music suddenly stopped blasting, but your boyfriend's anger didn’t.

"Nico... I love you, really," you tried to speak. "It was just a moment of weakness..."

The moment of weakness was exactly what you were feeling now, making him believe you were truly in love with him when, in fact, you were only staying in the relationship because you were afraid your reputation wouldn’t make it out alive. 

"You say you love me? Don't make me laugh! If you really loved me, you wouldn’t act like this."

You wanted to tell him that you thought the same about him, but you held back, paralyzed again by the fear that your mind was processing all the bad things that could happen.

"Nico, come on. You don’t have to act like this. We can talk about this civilly."

As you saw Edward, Vettel’s personal trainer, appear, and pull Nico a bit away from you, a little peace returned to your body. You gave him a grateful look, to which he just answered by nodding.

"You don’t have to get involved, Eddie!" your boyfriend shouted. "Stay out of our fucking business!"

"You know you don’t have to treat her like this," he said seriously.

"She’s a whore, can't you see it?" Nico spat, pointing at you. "Disgusting little girl..."

"Nico, I understand you're angry," Patterson spoke again, after the German’s words, "but neither of you is in a state to talk about this, and this is not the right place," he said, referring to the curious looks around them.

You could only constantly whisper for them not to fight anymore, while deep down you prayed to take you away from all of this and bring you back to the hotel.

"I don’t care what you say," Eddie started. "I'm taking Y/N. I don’t think being here is the best thing for her."

After saying that, he stood behind you and guided you, putting his hand on your back, toward his car. At that moment, your desperation was so great that you didn’t even think about whether he was in any condition to drive.

The way back to the hotel, less than ten minutes away, felt eternal.You hadn’t drunk much because you didn’t like it, but not being used to it was enough for a couple of curves and a badly taken roundabout to make you gag and feel like vomiting.

Slowly, the shock began to set in, and you started to act on autopilot mode, following the directions of the man accompanying you, except when he told you it would be best for you to sleep in his room that night.

You didn’t know why, but that set off alarms in your confused brain. The last thing you wanted was to add fuel to the fire by sleeping with another man who wasn’t your boyfriend just to protect you.

"Thanks for everything, Eddie, really, but I think it would be best if I went back to my room to sort things out with Nico."

The Brit didn’t seem to agree with you.

"Y/N, I know it’s hard, but I don’t think it’s best for you to share space with him tonight," he was honest.

"I just want to talk to him and try to put an end to this," you insisted, still knowing you weren't right.

"And I understand you, really, but right now everything is too fresh, and the best thing is for you to rest and let the drunkenness wear off," he said, placing one of your arms over his shoulders. "Come on, I’ll take you to my room."

You decided not to argue anymore because it would be in vain, so you let yourself be guided while he lectured you about how you shouldn’t be intimidated by Nico and how you deserved someone better than him after what had happened at the club that night.

"Edward, Y/N. Good night, guys."

You lifted your gaze and saw another Brit. Jenson was standing in front of you, coming out of the elevator you were about to take. You were greatly surprised that he wasn’t with his girlfriend, but didn’t want to get involved; your alcohol-soaked self, however, wanted to gossip.

"Where are you two going?" he asked, crossing his arms and blocking the elevator doors so they couldn’t pass.

"I’m... taking Y/N to my room," Eddie revealed, stammering a bit for no clear reason. "She’s had a rough time, and it’s best that she doesn’t see Nico’s face tonight."

"And you think the best thing is that you take her to your room?"

Button’s features went from relaxed to a kind of aggression you had never seen in him. It’s not like you had spent much time or had many conversations together, but you knew the situation you were now involved in wasn’t what you had thought it was.

Edward Patterson stayed completely silent.

"Do you want me to call someone to be with you?" Jenson asked you directly, giving you no other option. "Y/N," he insisted again, "who do you want me to call to stay with you tonight?"

"Britta… please," you said as best as you could despite your discomfort.

To your surprise, while Jenson dialed the phone number of the woman you now considered your friend, Eddie let go of you and reluctantly pushed the driver, still leaning against the elevator frame, to leave. He didn’t even take the time to say goodbye to you, something that seemed to upset Button quite a bit.

"Hello, is this Britta?" Jenson began, speaking into the phone. "Great, yes. It’s Jenson. I’m with Y/N, and she asked if you could help her," he started explaining. "I don’t know much about what happened, except that she’s not feeling well and needs help from someone she really trusts," he clarified.

After exchanging a few more words, Jenson led you back to the lobby, where Britta appeared just a few minutes later in a bathrobe, espadrilles, and her hair tied up in a completely unusual way. You had never seen Roeske like that, and all you could do was laugh.

"Come on, let’s go already," Britta said, linking her arm with yours as if you were two old ladies heading to bingo. "This is how I want to see you: laughing, not crying."

When Britta opened the door to her room, you immediately ran and threw yourself onto the bed. Your whole body hurt, and you weren’t sure if it was from the emotions of the night or because the alcohol was hitting its peak.

Whatever it was, you knew perfectly well that lying completely still, face up, and counting the total number of tiles on the ceiling, pointing at them one by one with one eye closed and your tongue sticking out was what was making your hostess laugh.

"Come on, Y/N, get up," Britta asked gently. "Do you mind if I help you get changed? It’s time to put on your pajamas."

You nodded as you sat up and moved to the foot of the bed.

Next, Britta unzipped the dress, and you noticed how she averted her gaze to give you some privacy while offering a nightgown.

"Right now, I’d love for Seb to be the one undressing me to fuck me. God... how I’d love Seb to make me scream now..."

Had you said that out loud?

"What did you just say?"

Britta’s muffled shout and the tone in which she asked, while turning her back without caring whether you had already put the garment on, making you realize that yes, you had said that out loud.

Your first time being drunk was going to be, definitely, a night to remember. Now, you just felt like saying those kinds of things, and you didn’t care at all about having a boyfriend… if he could even be called that.

"Oh…" you said, stretching the last syllable. "Didn’t you know it?"

"Know what?"

By the tone of voice, it seemed Britta thought it was related to the sudden thing you had said.

"Seb and I kissed," you told her, starting to laugh like a lovesick teen.

"This is the alcohol on you, I’m sure of it," Britta said, running to get a wet towel and starting to wipe it across your face. "You mean you and Nico kissed," she tried to correct you. "Seb is dating Hanna, and you’re dating Nico, remember?"

You started shaking your head constantly, about to collapse to the floor. A laugh started escaping you as you couldn’t control it.

"No, no, no, no," you denied while also wagging your finger. "Seb and I kissed. Nico’s an asshole."

"Y/N, you really should go to sleep, you’re not..."

"Of course I’m fine!" you said enthusiastically, getting up from the bed and standing in front of Britta.

The truth was that you only felt fine because of the effect alcohol was having on you. If it wasn’t for that, you would be crawling on the floor crying because you knew you had reached a point where you couldn’t pretend your life was perfect anymore.

"Do you really not believe me when I say that not only did Seb kiss me, but it was the best kiss of my life?"

You knew you were putting Britta in a tough spot, especially considering that the woman was probably closer friends with Hanna than with you.

"And Hanna?" Britta demanded to know. "Was she there, or had she left?"

"Oh, she was there?" you tried to pretend the best you could, using expressions that clearly showed otherwise. "I didn’t know..."

Before you could continue speaking, Britta ran to grab her phone and started making calls. You sat back down, crossing your legs and swaying while watching the blonde desperately cursing in German, since none of the contacts she called were answering.

It was possible that Seb and Hanna were busy, probably having sex. Your drunk self only wished she was in Hanna’s place.

"The only ones who tell the truth are kids and drunks, you know?"

Britta stared at you after those words. It seemed like you needed to say that phrase to make her believe you.

"Are you serious...?" Britta asked.

"What, Britta?" you insisted, urging her to speak.

"Did you really kiss Sebastian?"

You nodded.

"Yes," you confirmed. "Well, I mean, he was the one who took my face and kissed me," you corrected yourself. "Do I owe anyone something, like he owes Hanna?"

You were getting a bit defensive, and you knew it was making Britta nervous.

"Yes! You owe Nico, your boyfriend," Britta replied, giving you a harsh dose of reality.

"I don’t want Nico," you confessed. "At least, not in the way I think I should. He... I don’t know, Britta. I think he’s what I deserve. I try to understand why, but I know that his insults and those things he says to me make me a better person somehow."

You could see Britta go pale. Also, you were starting to feel worse; after all, it was the first time you had opened up about your feelings to someone since the journal Seb gifted you for your birthday last didn’t count as a personal therapist.

Britta usually had words for everything, but that day, you seemed to have left her speechless.

"Y/N..." Britta began, carefully choosing her words. "You’re a good person. You’re just scared."

"Maybe," you replied, trying not to make it a big deal. "And you, are you scared?"

"Of course. Everyone’s afraid of something."

"I’m afraid of being alone," you admitted, lowering your head because you were starting to cry again for the umpteenth time that day. "And I’m afraid of losing Nico. I know no one will ever love me, not better or worse, than he does."

Britta didn’t know what to say, and you felt bad for having to be in her room, drunk, sad, while your “friend” was putting up with you, possibly mediating between her client and her client’s partner.

That’s why you made a move to leave. Fortunately, Britta wouldn’t let you.

"Sit down, Y/N, and let it all out," Britta demanded.

And that’s exactly what you did. You told Britta everything, not just about what had happened since you started dating your current boyfriend, but about your entire life. Living with a mentally sick mother after her accident, her subsequent suicide, their move to Barcelona. Her father’s cancer and how it had worsened in less than two years. All the things Rosberg had said and done to you, even forcing you to do certain stuff you were clearly uncomfortable with.

You cried like you never had before when you told Britta about your first time, reluctantly, on a luxury yacht in Monaco’s seas, and how it gave you nightmares almost every night to the point where she was scared to fall asleep.

You could tell that Britta was truly worried when you started biting your lower lip, and a little tic appeared in your right eye.

"Have you talked to anyone about this?"

"Do you know I’m not Hanna, and I’ll never be her?"

You were fully aware that you had just avoided answering a crucial question, but you didn’t care at all. You were tired of talking about your burdens and your current life; from now on, you would focus entirely on your future and try to solve and finish once and for all all the problems that made your life a mess.

"But what are you saying, Y/N?" Britta asked, desperate.

"That’s exactly what I would have liked to ask Seb, but he left and Nico messed things up," you revealed, stretching your arms out and pointing to the marks, now red, that were the same shape and size as Mercedes’ driver’s fingers. "Great, yeah," you said ironically.

"But..."

"Do you think if I’m not Hanna, and I’ll never be her, I might have a chance to date Seb?"

Your question left Britta speechless again, unable to find the words. As Britta struggled to speak, you started playing with your fingers. Giving up, you laid on the bed, your back to Britta, clutching a pillow with the clear intention of falling asleep.

"Why are you telling me this?" Britta asked in a whisper, almost with... pity.

"Because I want Seb," you revealed, letting out a sob because, at last, you had been able to confront and reveal your confusing feelings for a guy who didn’t love you, and never would. "I’m in love with Seb, and it hurts knowing he’ll never love me back, and I know I’ll have to move on sooner or later."

Britta was about to speak, but you took the words from her before she could.

"Before you say anything else, take advantage of me and ask me anything you want: I’m a bit drunk because I’m not used to drinking."

You could tell Britta sighed, likely having lost all patience with you.

"You know... you know that Seb...?"

But then Britta stopped talking. You stood there for a while, staring at the red curtains that covered the window, waiting for the woman to continue. When she didn’t, you turned around:

"You know exactly what about Seb, Britta?" you asked, adjusting yourself on the bed, still hugging the pillow.

"Seb and you need to talk," Britta told you, leaving you speechless. "And when you do that, I’m convinced that you’re going to live the life you both deserve."

"But..."

Britta started to lie you down on the bed again, tucking you in under the linen sheets. Your yawns became more frequent, and after she kissed your forehead just like her mother used to do before your life was destroyed, your eyelids grew heavy.

"I know you won’t remember this tomorrow," Britta’s voice flooded your ears as you curled up into yourself. "But, to Seb, it’s more than obvious that you’re not Hanna and you’ll never be… And that’s exactly why that stupid, but incredible guy, has fallen truly, madly, deeply, in love with you."

You couldn’t tell if Britta’s words were already a dream, or if Morpheus was pulling you into his arms. 

"The day you stop doubting your worth, the world will be at your feet, Y/N. Sebastian has been telling me that and his closest people since you two spent the night together the day before his maiden win in Monza."

[twst-beam]

You have received an invitation!

What: The Wedding of @officialdaydreamer00 Irene, @identity-theft-101 Identity, Jade, and Floyd Leech

When: July 30, 2023

Where: Coral Beach (chairs and picnic blankets will be provided, but feel free to bring your own!)

What to Wear: sea foam green with white accents for the bridesmaids, red with yellow accents for the groomsmen

Wedding Officiator: @siren-serenity

Best Women: @harper-lemonorange and @azulashengrottospiano Auburn Ashengrotto

Bridesmaids: @shinysparklesapphires Sapph, @valerie-leech Valerie,

Best Men: Azul Ashengrotto and [?]

Flower Boy(s): Cater Diamond,

Official Cake Decorator: @cecilebutcher Cecile

Usher(s): @honkai-freak

Guests: @ryker-writes, @dove-da-birb,

Hope to see you there!

[veltana]

Stranded - 1

✦ Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~1,3 k

✦ Rating: Mature

✦ Warnings/tags: Grumpy mountain man!Bucky, don't ask me about US geography just go with it, eventual relationship/romance/smut.

✦ Summary: Bucky's solitude is disrupted when you show up at his cabin.

✦ Note: You decided you wanted Bucky's POV so here it is! Next poll will be up tomorrow! Stranded is an interactive story were you the reader gets to vote on what happens in the next chapter. You're also welcome to send in suggestions on what you want to happen in future parts! Everything is tagged with #stranded series. Please take a moment to reblog this fic if you liked it! Comments and asks are always welcome ❤️

Series Masterlist

Masterlist | AO3

The knock startles Bucky. He's about to eat dinner and not expecting any company. From the simple kitchen he can see through the window out to the porch, but the fading daylight makes it hard to make out more than a shape.

His first thought is to ignore whoever is out there, but if someone is lost they'll leave quicker if he helps.

Just in case he places his wood-cutting ax beside the door, out of sight from the visitor.

It's what he least expects out there. A woman. You smile brightly at him and introduce yourself. Before Bucky can ask you to leave you’re launching into a speech about your car. 

When you're done he can't do more than stare. He's not out in his cabin because he wants company, quite the opposite.

He thinks about sending you on your way, but then the wind blows freezing air into his face and he's not heartless after all.

Introducing himself with a grunt he invites you in. Grateful, you thank him and step inside.

All the serenity he previously felt is erased with your presence, even if you're doing nothing more than taking off your boots and jacket. To think about what he's going to do next he goes over to the stove and continues with his meal.

“So, eh… do you have a phone that works?” your gentle voice is like a bellow to him. Instantly he's annoyed. At you, at himself, at the world.

“I have a sat phone,” he explains without turning around, continuing to stir his pot. “But nothing is open right now, better wait till morning.”

As the words leave his mouth he understands the implications. You're going to have to stay the night. Fuck his life. Bucky wishes to turn back time and never open the door. How could he be this stupid?

“Oh, okay, so I can stay here?”

Fuck no, Bucky wants to respond. But he's made his bed and now he needs to lie in it.

“I guess. The couch’s a pull-out.”

He pulls the pot from the stove and finds two bowls before placing the steaming pot on the small table.

“You can have some if you want,” he gestures and looks at you properly for the first time since letting you inside. Now that you're out of your thick outerwear his mouth goes dry. Not only are you invading his space, but you're beautiful too.

“It smells delicious,” you smile and Bucky’s treacherous heart jumps. Fuck it all to hell. He quickly averts his eyes and sits down to eat. The sound of the chair opposite him being pulled out makes his pulse quicken. It's been a long time since he had company, and then it's been old friends or people from the community, never anyone this pretty.

Instead of making polite small talk, Bucky stares into his bowl as he eats. At first, you try to ask him questions about the cabin, if he built it himself, and such. He makes it his mission to answer as shortly as possible and you quickly understand he's not interested in talking. But it makes him proud when you tell him it feels cozy.

When the bowls are empty, you stand up.

“I'll wash up,” you say quickly and your tone makes it obvious that you're not taking no for an answer.

Before Bucky can warn you, you turn on the faucet. It's a little tricky and he's been meaning to fix it but never gotten around to doing it. The water sprays you right in the face and on your clothes.

With a yelp you turn it off and stand still for a second, then turn towards Bucky.

“Sorry,” he says and gets up to help you. “It's a little leaky.”

“A little,” you mutter before grabbing a towel and getting down to wipe up the water off the floor.

The sight of you, on your knees, dripping wet has Bucky's mind reeling in uncomfortable directions. With an irritated sigh he reaches down and janks the cloth out of your hand.

“The bathroom is down the hall, there are spare towels in the cupboards so you can dry off and change,” he says.

Slowly you get off the floor, looking crestfallen and apprehensive. Bucky knows it's because of him and he hates it, at the same time, he hates that he hates it. He doesn't know you. You don't mean anything to him. Everything you've done so far has only made him realize why he needs this time away from people.

“I didn't bring a change of clothes with me, everything is in my car,” you look down and wrap your arms around yourself, obviously uncomfortable.

It dawns on Bucky what he's going to have to do and he looks up towards the ceiling and says, “Un-fucking-beliveable.” Then he stomps off towards his bedroom to find you something to wear.

He rummages through the meager choices of clothing he has at the cabin, managing to find a t-shirt and a hoodie. It's just luck you don't need pants too. He deposits them on top of the toilet seat in the bathroom before going back to the kitchen.

While he's been gone you've cleaned up the water anyway and figured out the trick to not get drenched. When you hear him approach you dry off your hands.

“Clothes are in the bathroom, you can hang yours in front of the fire to dry,” he jerks his head, indicating for you to go and he doesn't turn to watch as you scurry away. 

He washes the rest of the dishes, puts them to dry, and then heads across the open room to the wood stove, throwing in a couple more logs before starting to make space for the pull-out.

“I can just sleep on the couch, you don't have to make the bed,” your soft voice startles him. Instead of answering he ignores you.

When it's done and he turns towards you he almost groans out loud. The hoodie is big on you and you look adorable. An image of the two of you curled up together in front of the crackling fireplace enters his mind.

Without another word, he retrieves a pillow, and a thick blanket and throws them on the bed together with the linen, then says “Good night,” and heads down the hall towards the bedroom.

“Thank you, good night,” your sweet voice calls after him and he bangs the door shut for good measure before leaning his back against it, and letting out a deep sigh.

He has half a mind to go back out and apologize but it will probably make everything worse so instead he pushes off and goes into the small on-suite bathroom to brush his teeth and think about his life choices.

He’s never had a visitor in his cabin that he didn’t invite himself, the few friends he has know not to come over uninvited. And over the years and a few relationships, he’s never taken anyone with him to the cabin. And now, you’re in it.

The sheets are cold and he usually leaves the door open to let in the warmth but that's not an option right now. He refuses to think about how warm and cozy it would be under the cover with you. How your soft skin would feel against his rough palms.

Irriterad he shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts before they stray even further.

Tomorrow he'll call the local mechanic to have your car fixed and you can be on your way. Why the thought of never seeing you again bothers him is confusing, since he does not know you at all, but it's for the best.

[justwonder113]

Head over heels - Lee Know

part 2

Warning: Mentions of drinking, Minho is a bit tipsy but he's sober by the end of it. Rader is getting hit on by some weird dude. Slightly suggestive at the end. Minho is staring at the reader's chest. GN reader. Not proofread. Please tell me if I missed anything

Word count -1.8k

Masterlist

A/N- I'm finally back!! Thankfully I got over the virus and more than dedicated to write as much as I can. I have many ideas and can't wait to write all of them. Thank you for all the love and support you've given me it truly means the world to me. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. If you have any requests too feel free to do so. Take care of yourselves, love you all❤️

When is the right time to say that you're head over heels in love with someone? Perhaps when they do something really romantic and/or selfless. Something probably really kind and generous, something really cool... Probably not when they are dazed from having a bit too much to drink and look like they are about to fall asleep any given second now, right? Yup, you were definitely weird, probably the main reason you and Minho clicked this well. Okay in your defense you knew you were smitten with him for a while obviously, who wouldn't fall for him? it just downed on you though how down bad you actually were.

Really though. To think that you would realize that you're in love with your best friend when his like anywhere but this world is beyond crazy, even for you.

"Pretty boy do you want me to bring you some water?" You asked after seeing him blink slowly yet another time. You were at this club Hyunjin had invited you at. The music was blasting on the full volume and everyone was having the time of their life, well maybe except you and Minho. Normally you would be also be having fun with your friends but now everything felt a bit dull. Maybe because you didn't drink anything. You had bad flu earlier and you just didn't feel like drinking today. As for Minho, normally the drinks didn't get to him that easily, but he wad been overworking himself a lot lately and due to the fatigue even such small amount of alcohol as two or three shots got to him pretty easily.

Minho looked at you with dazed eyes for a second or two, as if trying to gather his thoughts. Something glimmered in his already sparkly eyes and he gave you a small smile. God, he looked so squishy and cute like this you wanted to pinch his cheeks. Not that you would, he had this tough persona to keep. Also not to sound weird but you didn't want others to notice how cute he was. Let's just say you wanted to gatekeep him for yourself.

After Minho gave you a small nod you got up and headed to the bar. There were a lot of people in line so you would probably have to wait quite a while to get something as simple as glass of water. You texted Minho that this could take a minute or two and started waiting for your turn. Meanwhile from the corner of your eye you saw someone shamelessly check you out, like, could they be any more obvious about it? You prayed that he wouldn't approach you while you also crossed your fingers for the bartender to hurry up. You decided to ignore it. You didn't see anything.

Unfortunately your prayers hadn't been answered, the sleazy man decided to approach you, honestly the audacity some people had. You tried to keep your distance but it was all in vain. The man stood in front of you now. He even made a show of slowly checking you out. God what a pig. You really tried your best to compose yourself, you really didn't need to make a scene now.

"Hello. Gorgeous can I buy you a drink?" God even his voice was so annoying. You reminded yourself that you needed to keep calm. With the most polite voice you could muster you answered that you were good and that you were with someone. But the dude still kept pestering, making your blood boil even more. Who the hell did he think he was? You had enough of this, you were about to warn him that you would call the security on him, when hands wrapped around you. You stiffened for a second, but relaxed when you noticed that it was Minho. The strange man grumbled. "Shit, boyfriend of yours?"

Minho answered before you could, his hands tight around your waist, his glare cold as ice. "Yes, now fuck off." The man was about to argue but Minho's death glare shut him up quickly. The man slithered away to disturb someone else you guessed. You noticed to yourself to nitify security about him. He seemed shady.

You turned your full attention to Minho, who kept hugging you and now had rested his head on your shoulder. He still felt sleepy you guessed. "You took too long." He grumbled after a few seconds of silence. You turned your head and kissed the top oh his head. Minho grunted again. "Sorry pretty boy. Let's get you that water." You took a step towards the bar but Minho stopped you.

"Don't want it anymore."

You fully turned to Minho and started closely examining him, his face was unreadable though.

"Hey, how are you? Are you okay?"

"Just tired. Can I stay at yours?" You thought for a minute jokingly which Minho didn't really appreciate which he showed by softly pinching your side. Really, what was up with him being all cute today? You couldn't help yourself and you gave him a little peck on his cheek.

"Sure." Minho didn't say something, and you couldn't read anything on his face. He held his hand towards you and after you held it he started leading you to others so that you could say your goodbyes.

The walk to your house wasn't long. You appreciated the comfortable silence between you two. It was peaceful. You also loved how extra protective Minho was over you, he didn't let go of your hand whole way. Your heart felt like it would burst from joy.

You sighed in relief once you walked into the safehold of your house. It felt so good to be home. Like the two youthful people you were you immediately started getting ready for bed. You of course on top that pestered Minho to drink plenty of water before going to sleep. You didn't want him to wake up with a hangover. Surprisingly he was being obedient. You also couldn't help but admit that sleepy Minho was absolutely adorable. To you he just looked so soft and squishy all you wanted to do was to cover his whole face with kisses. And from the way how whiny he was, telling you that you should hurry up already and come to him he would most likely let you.

You didn't know when you crossed the boundary between being friends and well something more, but here you were now. You were always touchy with each other and flirting was a regular occurrence too, you didn't know when these playful banters became meaningful and made your heart flutter, you didn't really know when did you get so extra affectionate but you loved it if it meant that maybe you two could become something more.

You tried to get ready for bed as fast as possible, but the chains you had worn today didn't really let you. They managed to get stuck and you didn't really feel like going to sleep in them. So you turned to Minho who laid across on your bed. Diagonally like a sweet person he was. He had changed into the sweats and oversized shirt he had left at your house, but as it seemed he got lazy to get under the covers. "Min can you help me with these?" You asked sweetly as possible. Minho didn't answer and you thought that he fell asleep again laying diagonally on your bed, but he got up after a couple of seconds. He looked at you with unimpressed eyes waiting for you to ask what you wanted. You motioned towards your bundled up chains. Minho grumbled again but immediately started working on it.

The chains were more tangled up than you could imagine. Minho kept grumbling about how he should just snap them but still kept diligently working through every knot. You had no idea how did they get so tangled up on your neck. You got curious on what was taking so long and looked down and only when did you notice that upper buttons were open and you were showing quite a decent amount of cleavage. You felt shy for a second but then as if on cue you noticed how Minho's eyes kept shifting down towards your exposed skin. Let's just say it was a nice ego boost. Subtly as possible you even straightened up a little so you could show off your assets better. You didn't know if Minho knew you did that on purpose but his eyes sure did appreciate the sight. You didn't even realize you were staring at him, before he looked up and your eyes met. Suddenly you felt lost at words. How was he so gorgeous? You could use every word in dictionary and still it wouldn't be able to fully express his beauty. You wondered for a second if he was aware just what he did to you. God, you could just stare at him for hours.

"I did it." He spoke calmly as he placed your chain on your hands. "I think I know how you should thank me." Was it you or was he really close? You could even feel his breath on your skin. Your eyes couldn't help but shift from his eyes down to his pretty lips. What were you even doing? Minho noticed your wandering eyes, his gaze also shifted down to your lips.

His finger touched under your chin and slowly lifted your face so that you were eye to eye again.

"What do you have in mind?" You found your voice after a few long seconds of being rendered speechless.

"I want to kiss you so bad." Minho's confession sent shivers down your spine. Good thing that you were sitting on your bed, you felt like you would fall otherwise. You felt like fanning yourself, your whole body felt so hot.

"What's stopping you then?" You quipped back, he was so close now with each breath your lips slightly grazed each other.

"Nothing." His voice was raw with emotion. You didn't even get to say anything, his lips were on you in matter of milliseconds. The kiss was raw, passionate. It ignited you, you felt alive now that you had the taste of his lips. It was everything and so much more, it was like he tried to convey his feelings with this kiss.

Guess you were not the only one head over heels for the other.

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 20

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n this is dedicated to the three readers who left such lovely messages after the last chapter, particularly the one who left a long list of tags when reblogging the masterlist yesterday. just a reminder that i love and appreciate you, and your comments mean the world <3

previous | masterlist | next

---

You're sitting in a small, empty waiting room, away from the hustle and noise of the main room, when I.N flies through the open doorway and straight across the room, his feet moving so fast that you swear he almost crashes into the wall on the other side.

"Hide me," he says, sliding onto the floor on the far side of your seat.

You blink in confusion, frowning as you look down at him. "What?" 

"From Changbin," he says, his breath hitching in his throat like he's been running for miles, and aggressively waves a hand towards the door. "Don't look down here. Hide me."

"I.N-AH!" Changbin's voice cries in the hallway as if summoned by the very mention of his name, the final syllable drawn out long and loud. The sound, and the grimace that covers I.N's face in response as he sits there curled against the wall makes you crack a smile, your eyes tearing away from him and back to your phone screen just in time to feign innocence as Changbin appears in the open doorway, a wide grin on his face as his eyes search the visible parts of the room.

"I.N-ah~," he calls, cajolingly now, and leans through the door as if that will be enough to entice the younger boy out, to make him forget about the deranged yelling that had followed him down the hallway just a moment before. "Come on, I.N-ah. I just want to give you my love."

From behind him, you spy Hyunjin with a camera in one hand, hovering over Changbin's shoulder as he hesitates to come into the room. His other hand is covering his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh. "He's not in here," you tell them, resisting every urge to look down at the boy hiding behind your chair - or to break, a laugh trying its hardest to bubble up to the surface of your lips no matter how hard you shove it down. "He ran past going that way." You point out to the hall again, in the direction Changbin had been heading.

Changbin stares at you for a moment, eyes narrowed like he's trying to figure out if you're lying or not. "I saw him come in here," he says, but only like he's testing the waters - not like he's sure of the fact, or willing to defend it with his life.

A smile creeps across your face. "You're seeing things again," you say, and watch him scoff and bluster, withdrawing from the doorway. 

"Our noona is lying to me," he says to the camera, and then giggles when he looks back to see the look on your face before he leaves, saying something to Hyunjin that you can't quite hear when their voices fade down the hallway, following their footsteps.

Several seconds later, I.N climbs out of hiding, circling around you to slump onto the other end of the couch in a sigh of relief. "I knew I could trust you," he says, a hand tossing his hair away from his forehead and then reaching to drag his own phone out of his pocket.

"Is this what you usually do for your vlogs?" you ask in return, your phone sinking into your lap. "A lot of screaming and running around?"

A wry smile crosses I.N's face. "Changbin does that anyway. Hyunjin just happened to be holding the camera when he grabbed me." He pauses, and then adds, "Isn't this how every practice goes too?"

You shrug. "There's usually less chasing. Maybe it's just because the practice rooms are smaller."

"And they can lock the zoo animals in with us." You snort a laugh and lift your phone again, your restless scroll continuing. Several seconds of silence stretch between you before I.N comes up with another question. "What are you doing in here alone?"

"Nothing," you sigh, and the phone drops away from your field of vision again, replaced with the sight of the other side of the room. White walls, folding tables covered in mess, abandoned chairs. Boring. Thoughtless. "Trying to find something to do that isn't thinking about tomorrow. I don't know, nothing important."

"You could always poke Changbin into tackling you," I.N suggests lightly. "Usually when that happens to me, I can't even remember what I was doing before."

You wince at the thought of it; so far, you've stayed away from the roughhousing that occasionally breaks out and you'd not intended to get involved in the future. Not as a victim, anyway. "I'm good, thanks," you reply wryly, making light of the curl of anxiety that rattles at your ribcage for no particular reason. "It was really loud up there earlier, so I came down here."

"I should have come with you," he sighs. "I didn't know we were being nervous in peace down here."

The way you look at him, head turning sharply and eyes narrowing as your thoughts race to catch up, makes him do a double take, confusion clouding his eyes. "You're nervous?" you ask; and sure, it's not so strange when you think about it and remember the jitter of nerves that crawls up and down your spine every time you go near that stage, but for him to feel like that too, a whole day before you go out there and do the job you came here to do? Surely, after three years, it got easier than that. Surely he couldn't be that nervous.

"Probably not as much as you are," he tells you, "but yeah. It's a big stage, and there's a new song-"

He stops like he is going to say more and then drops it, the end of his sentence hanging unfinished in the air. "I thought you'd be more...used to it, by now," you say, a hand waving in the air vaguely like that will help to explain your case. "Not that you wouldn't be nervous at all, but..."

"I think the others are," I.N says, leaning back into the cushions of the couch with a shrug that slumps his shoulders downward. His hands fiddle idly with his phone in his lap, snapping the case on and off as he thinks. "I feel like I'm still learning though, like you. That's why Lee Know teaches me a lot."

You're aware that you're staring at him like he's crazy, but he takes it in stride, not even flinching under your scrutiny. "If you're this good and still learning, I've got no hope," you tell him, and then you slump back too, one leg sliding up under you so that you can lean on your shoulder.

He openly scoffs at you. "You're just as good as me. And you came in here and just started...fitting in and working."

"That's a lie," you insist, but the absurdity of it all makes a breathy laugh bubble up from inside your chest, easing the tension that keeps building there. "I don't think I fitted in at all when I started. Sometimes I still can't believe that I'm actually going to make it to debut; or that I even belong here."

I.N's lips twist, his eyes softening. "Sometimes I don't either," he admits.

You laugh again, this noise far more undignified than the last one. "Wild thing to say when you've been in a successful group for three years."

The look he gives you is cutting, his eyebrows raised high. "Yeah?" he questions. "And you saying you're not going to debut is any different?"

"I haven't debuted yet, global idol," you point out. 

"Because tomorrow is so far away," he says with a roll of his eyes.

"Technically, I don't debut until an official comeback," you argue.

"You think you're just going to leave after performing with us tomorrow?" he scoffs. "Be more serious. It's embarrassing for you."

"I am being serious!"

"You're being ridiculous."

"I'm calling Changbin to come and get you."

"Not if I leave first."

You stare at each other for several seconds, your phone raised in the air between you like a threat. I.N is the first to break, lips pinching together tight in an effort to swallow the smile that eventually breaks them, the giggle that bubbles up at how stupid an argument this is. "Don't call Changbin," he says, breaking about as fast as you'd expected him to. "I'll break your phone."

"Who are you, Seungmin?" you question; your phone moves out of his reach anyway, just in case. "You spend too much time together."

"Only since you came," I.N throws out carelessly. "He won't leave me alone." The way he says it is innocuous, like he truly doesn't mean anything by the words, and you believe it; but still, it sticks in your mind.

"No one leaves you alone," you point out, carefully stepping around the implication that Seungmin likes hanging out with you. Or taking care of you. Or something. "You're too cute to ignore."

The face I.N pulls is disgusted, the mirror image of the expression he gives the other boys when they start paying him too much attention. "Maybe you spend too much time with Changbin," he suggests.

The dryness of his tone is funny enough to make you laugh, the noise bursting unbidden from your mouth. "I'm just stating a fact," you assure him. "You're cursed with that face. There's nothing you can do about it now."

"Have you ever toured in Australia?" you ask some time after Chan has taken over the laptop again, your career as Stray Kids' producer as short lived as it was spontaneous. You're sitting now in one of the armchairs from across the room, dragged over next to the table in the pretense of having any kind of input in whatever he is doing as he fiddles endlessly with the details of Han's song.

"We went last year," Chan says, glancing up at you. "Why?"

You shrug carelessly, leaning back in your chair. "Just wondering. I haven't been back in a while. It'd be nice to go one day."

He pauses a moment longer, his hands on the keyboard. "How long is 'a while'?"

You realise you might have made a mistake when your lips press together around the answer, reluctant to give it. "Since I came to Korea?" you spit out eventually, when the tension in the air reaches the breaking point between too late to answer and not saying anything at all. 

The look he gives you says everything he needs to, though his mouth opens to back it up anyway. "You haven't been home in - six years?"

"Sixish," you confirm. "Something like that."

"Why?" he presses. "You've never had a holiday?"

"I've never had time," you say defensively. "Every time my holidays came up, I was working on evaluations or something, so I just never got there."

He shakes his head, returning to his work. "We'll tour in Australia," he says, like it's a promise that is his to keep, not some employee of the company whose name you don't know. "And you'll get a holiday before that."

"Why do I feel like you're going to force me to take a holiday?" you ask, drawing your legs up underneath you.

The look that he shoots at you between edits on his computer screen is withering enough to belong on Minho's face - and without words attached, his gaze saying what it wants all by itself. "Did you take every holiday you had as a trainee?" you ask. 

"Most of them," he answers primly. "And I went home a couple of times too. Like a normal trainee."

"Don't call me weird," you say, but there's no heat behind your voice - only the weakness, maybe, when the realisation of how much time and distance has stretched between you and a place you keep calling home, brushes up against your mind. You hold it at arm's length rather than embracing it, unwilling to sit here and cry about it on a night like this. 

"You're not weird," he answers. "Just unsocialised."

"Unsocialised?"

The incredulous look you give him is met with a laugh, the sound of it high and infectious as it invades the room. "No one ever taught you how to do anything except work," he explains. 

"Hey," you say, as if you're offended. "I'm fun. I know how to have fun."

"How to have fun at work," he insists. 

"Are we not having fun right now?" you question.

"And what are we doing right now?" he fires back, pointing at his laptop.

It takes you several seconds to realise the corner he's backed you into, your eyes tracking from the laptop to him several times. "Working," you sigh in defeat and wrap your arms around your knee, drawing it up towards your chest like a shield as you sag into the back of your seat.

"It's okay," Chan says smugly. "At least you are fun to hang out with. Some people don't even have that going for them."

"I'm so fun," you insist, knowingly doubling down to avoid having to accept the compliment. "Companies can't resist me. Teachers never want me to debut and leave their classes. I'm the most fun person in the world."

"Everything you just said was about work," he points out with a wolfish grin.

You sigh again, loud enough that he can't miss it. "Maybe it's all I think about," you allow. "Maybe after this and comeback, I could make time for something else."

"After comeback?" he echoes. "That's another month away."

"And yet, it haunts me."

A smile pulls at his lips, but he doesn't reply, distracted by whatever he's fixing on his laptop. You wait as he listens to the song, running one part over and over again and fiddling with a fine detail you can't see or hear, even if you were the one looking at it. 

His voice catches you by surprise when he speaks a minute or so later, your ears just grown used to the comfortable silence that had fallen over the room. "I never asked why they took you out of Midnight."

"Oh." You sit back, rubbing at your tired eyes. "I didn't 'fit the image they had for the group'. Not pretty enough."

"I'm sure that wasn't exactly what they meant," Chan says slowly.

An acerbic smile twists at your mouth. "Maybe," you allow. "I don't know. It's the obvious answer - have you seen Midnight? They're all insanely beautiful, and I'm just - okay, I guess."

You have a feeling, as you watch Chan's brow furrow and his eyes narrow in thought, that you might have revealed your thoughts to the wrong boy first. Maybe you should have told Minho instead, or Seungmin or Jeongin, friends that would tell you you're wrong at an arm's length. Chan is a fixer, on top of everything else that he does, and that look in his eyes is only an indication that he's finally narrowed in on his next project.

"Well, you're a better visual than all of us in SKZ," he says, the firm tone of his voice only confirming your suspicions. "And I don't mind if we never look as good as Midnight."

"Lying is such a bad habit, Bang Chan," you say lightly, trying to lift the suffocating, sombre blanket of air that has fallen over the room. "I look at you guys every day. I know how pretty you are."

"You lied first," he scoffs. "Saying you're ugly. You can't just go around spreading rumours like that."

"I didn't say ugly," you argue. "I just said I don't stand a chance next to those other girls."

"Liar," he insists, and struggles to swallow a grin.

"I'm not!" You sit up straight in your chair, the energy that suddenly rushes to your voice unexpected. You realise only a moment later that you've spoken too loud for a hotel room in the middle of the night and swallow down the way that your heart picks up pace and a smile fights for control of your face, lowering your volume before you continue. "I'm telling you, the bar is so high. I waited four years for that debut, and some of those girls just walked in and got a place. Not that they didn't deserve it, but like..."

"Lee Know did that," Chan points out. "Debuted in six months."

"Do you know Ellie?" you ask; and to your surprise, he nods. "I think she was here for weeks before they added her to the predebut lineup. I feel like I don't even really know her, she's been here for so short a time. And she knows idols from all kinds of groups already - the more I think about it, the more I'm like...how did I even think I had a chance? Maybe I should have just known I wouldn't debut."

"Maybe you were just always meant to be here with us," Chan offers before you can spiral any further down that particular rabbit hole - pulling you out into the light, shovel and all, like it is nothing to him. "Lee Know nearly got taken out of the group too, you know. Maybe the people making these decisions just don't know what they're doing."

Your eyebrows raise in surprise. "Really?" you ask, distracted by this new piece of information. "I need to watch your survival show. I've missed so many key points."

"No," he groans again, burying his head in his hands. "We're not watching that. Forget anyone ever mentioned it."

"All of you need to get your story straight," you tell him. "Seungmin says I need to watch every piece of content ever filmed, you tell me not to watch any of it; how am I supposed to know what to do?"

"You should know not to listen to Seungmin by now," Chan says. 

"I think we should watch it," you counter just as quickly. "I think it's a great idea."

"No," he insists. "It's four AM. Go to bed. Don't watch bad TV shows."

"You just told me I need a new hobby."

"Get a normal hobby."

"Watching reality TV is a normal hobby."

"Don't watch the show."

You swallow a smile, struggling to keep a straight face as you stand and stretch, your feet wandering one step at a time towards the door. "I'm going to watch the show," you tell him, deadpan. "I'll tell you all about it in the morning."

"No," he complains again, like if he says it enough he'll be able to stop you. He makes no effort to do anything else though; just sits there and looks pathetic, weighing up whether whining is worth it or not. "Go to sleep."

"Are you going to sleep?" you ask pointedly, taking in the sight of him sitting there at the table, his work still open on his laptop.

The moment that he notices, he closes the laptop, dragging himself out of his own chair. "Yes," he claims, too bold for someone who is always up at this hour. "You know what I'm not doing?"

"What?"

"Watching that show in the middle of the night."

The way he says it makes you crack, a laugh huffing from your throat just before you choke on it and the effort of holding it down. It makes him laugh too, the sound escaping all too easily from his mouth. "Goodnight," you say before he can celebrate his victory, backing towards the door. 

"Goodnight," he echoes, his smile softening his voice and lighting up his face in a familiar, joyous way. Your feet don't hesitate at the sound of it, but your heart does, your chest aching for something you don't think you've ever had, but maybe you have found - your spine crawling at the thought of it being over, even though you will wake up in the morning and he will still be here, and all the others will be around you too, and-

And you will debut, on that stage, in front of the thousands of people that love them even more than you do.

You try to leave the thought behind you as you close the door, back there with Chan, who will have the sense to throw it in the trash where it belongs, but it sticks to you, echoing in the hallway as you take the short walk back to your own quiet room, slinking around incessantly in the shadows when you turn off the lights and slide underneath the covers of your bed, resolving to at least lie here until the alarm goes off in the morning.

Tomorrow, you will debut.

Tomorrow, you will debut.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[whipped-for-kpop-fics]

Session Two; Secret's Out - L.JH

🎙Who; Lee Jihoon (Seventeen) x reader 🎙What; smut, fwb, producer/idol Jihoon 🎙Wordcount; 3.8k 🎙Warnings; profanity, high heel kink, dick stepping(light), marks, slight pain kink, manhandling, fingering, penetrative sex, protected sex, dirty talk

Summary; "Everyone knows that Jihoon does not like high heels. Everyone assumes it's because he's insecure about his height. Everyone happens to be very fucking wrong."

Minors do NOT interact, which means liking/reblogging/commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in the bio.

-2024 Masterlist- 🎙 In The Studio Masterlist 🎙

Part 2/? of In The Studio; a series of Jihoon fucking in his studio.

Jihoon doesn't like it when you wear high heels. You've always assumed it's because of the added height and he's never really given you or anyone reason to think otherwise. When the guys teased him about it in the past, Jihoon never corrected them and just made vague sounds in response, if he even responded because he often ignored the jabs. So it makes logical sense that his aversion to you in high heels is because he's sensitive about his height and heels always make you much taller than him. And being a good friend, you take that at face value and refrain from wearing any heels around him, not wanting to make your precious friend feel insecure in any way.

The plan on this day isn't to make him insecure either, you'd genuinely never want that. But you know that even though you two have plans, he'll still be working for quite some time once you arrive at his studio because he always fucking does that. Which means he'll be busy and you'll both be seated in different places so taking the chance to break in the heels you just bought won't cause any problems, right?

"What are you doing?" Jihoon asks as soon as you sit on the couch and open the shoe box, revealing the brand new sleek black stilettos inside. He isn't even back in his chair from letting you into the studio. "You know I don't like you wearing heels."

"I've got to break them in and it's not like I've got anything else to do while you spend the next hour telling me you'll be done in a minute." You point out. "And we're both going to be sat down the whole time, you won't even notice the height."

"The height doesn't bother me." He informs, making you look up at him questioningly.

"It doesn't?"

Jihoon scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. "No, I've told you assholes, I'm not insecure about my height."

"Then why are you against heels?" You raise an eyebrow in intrigue, trying to figure it out yourself. But Jihoon gives you no assistance in any way and simply sits down and turns back to his desk with clearly zero intention of answering. You stare at the back of his head for a second then give in trying to magically understand and go back to taking your brand-new shoes out and slipping them onto your feet. Of course, you already tried them on in the store so you know you like them quite a lot; they're simple but elegant with a little dainty silver chain around your ankle. "Will you take a picture for me?" You ask as you take your phone from your pocket and extend your legs out, already pretty sure he will refuse.

As expected, Jihoon's response is simple. "No."

"Fine," You try to get a good picture of your new shoes to send to your friend but the angles are quite frankly put, shit. So you get up and move aside to prop your phone up on the floor on selfie mode and set a timer. You quickly shuffle back just enough to get a decent view of the lower half of your legs.

You don't notice because you're busy trying to take a photo that really shows off the shoes, but Jihoon looks over the second he hears you move. Though he's not really paying attention to you but your feet. He keeps trying to look away and finish his work but he's so distracted. You're driving him insane and you don't even notice.

"Okay, I can't decide which one is better." Your sudden voice jolts Jihoon back to reality and he looks up at you to see that you're now just standing there with your phone in your hands, flicking between two photos. "Will you pick for me?" He doesn't have the chance to respond before you turn and approach him. Jihoon's gaze drops back to your shoes and he swallows hard. That you notice. "Ji?" You wonder, stopping at his side and offering your phone. He makes a vague grunt of a sound in response. "Will you pick for me?"

It takes a few seconds for Jihoon to force his eyes to focus on the little screen held out to him. He just stares as you flick between the two photos slow enough that he can get a good view of them both and compare them mentally. At least that's what you hope he's doing. Really, he's just dumbly staring with slightly widened eyes, no thoughts in his head.

"Which one?" You prompt when he remains silent for too long.

"Ei-" He starts but his voice cracks so he quickly clears his throat. "Either."

"Either?"

"Either."

"Right." You mutter, looking at him suspiciously and locking your phone blindly while lowering it. Jihoon lets out a relieved little exhale. "What's going on with you?"

His head darts up to look at you. He looks very caught out, eyes big and cheeks tinted a soft pink. "What? Me? Nothing." He tries to turn back to his computer but you grab the back of his chair and pull it away from the desk. Jihoon yelps and tries to catch the edge of the desk but he doesn't react fast enough, giving you space to nudge him further back and move over to stand right in the way of his computer. "I need to-"

"What's going on?" You demand, crossing your arms over your chest. It feels oddly reminiscent of the very first time your relationship turned from platonic to sexual those months back. You've had an awful lot of sexual encounters since watching him jerk off in that very chair, but you can never forget that first one. Your eyes drop down to his crotch, you're pretty sure he'd be honest if you had disturbed him when he was in the middle of masturbating, in fact, he's told you as much multiple times before and it always ended with you both getting off in some way together. And there's no bulge in his sweatpants, so clearly, that's not the issue here anyway.

"Nothing, let me-" He tries to scoot forward, one hand reaching forward to urge you aside but you lift your foot to put it on the edge of the chair between his thighs to stop it moving. Jihoon immediately freezes, eyes blown wide and glued to your foot a handful of inches away from his crotch. "Fuck," He whispers, slowly leaning back in his seat until his back is pressed against the backrest while his hands grip the armrests.

You stare at him consideringly for a moment, trying to decipher what the fuck is going on here and the whole time, Jihoon's wide eyes remain on your heeled foot. You adjust it a little as you lean back against the desk for balance, you don't intentionally move your foot closer to his crotch, the flat of your shoe more firmly pressed to the seat between his thighs, yet it happens and Jihoon swallows thickly.

It's now that you notice the subtle change in his sweatpants, a sign that Lee Jihoon is getting hard. And suddenly, it all makes an awful lot of sense. Why Jihoon doesn't like it when you wear high heels. Why he's been looking at your feet darkly in what you had initially assumed was hatred. Why he can't seem to remove his gaze from your heeled foot now it's so close to his hardening dick. Lee Jihoon has a high heel kink.

An amused smirk tilts your lips up as you unfold your arms and rest your palms on the desk either side of your ass. "Oh, I see what this is." You muse, tone a little teasing. You know from experience that Jihoon can handle a little teasing where his kinks are concerned, he does the same to you too, but you both never push too far, still walk carefully along that edge ready to pull back in a second if you notice the other getting uncomfortable. Without hesitation, you lift your foot and lightly press it against that rapidly swelling bulge. Jihoon's head immediately tips back and he lets out a broken little moan. "You've got a high heel kink, don't you, babyboy?" You coo, applying a little more pressure and grinning in satisfaction at the moan it pulls from Jihoon's chest. He doesn't even try to respond, just grips the armrests harder and subtly rolls his hips up to press his cock harder against the underside of your shoe. "Cute,"

Jihoon always looks so fucking beautiful like this, when he's focused on his pleasure and moving his hips to search for it without a care in the world, no shame in his veins just pure arousal. You truly do wish you could have him like this always; keep him to yourself selfishly and allow no one else the pleasure of this sight. But you can't, you both may only be seeing each other sexually but you also have agreed that it doesn't have to remain that way at all. Still, it doesn't stop you from wishing this moment could last.

Unfortunately, your legs have other thoughts and the position soon grows uncomfortable and unsteady for you. Jihoon's head jolts up when you remove your foot. His eyes are so heavy-lidded when they land on you and full of betrayal at you removing the source of his pleasure.

"Just give me a second." You giggle amusedly and slide yourself up onto the desk after moving aside his keyboard to give yourself space. "Come here." You encourage, motioning him closer with a curl of your finger. Jihoon immediately rolls over in his chair between your spread thighs and grabs your right leg himself to lift back up and put your foot back against his aching erection.

He doesn't even say anything, just holds your ankle in his left hand and uses his right to press down on the top of your foot and keep the pressure how he wants it while he essentially humps your sole. It's both entertaining and pretty arousing. Seeing Jihoon be so utterly shameless always does something to you, always makes you throb with need for him.

You can't help but wonder how far this kink of his goes, if he just wants to rub against the flat of your shoe, or whether the heel itself plays a part, though you can't imagine it would do much but hurt in a non-pleasurable kind of way if he rutted against the thin stiletto heel. Still, he has a high heel kink, not a regular shoe kink, so the heel has to be important, right?

Curiously, you lift your left foot and place it flat on his right thigh. Jihoon's closed eyes snap open and look at your left foot, his hips slowing down a little now that you have pulled his attention elsewhere. You're very aware of the fact that Jihoon does like some pain during sex, you're not sure of the extent but you're confident enough to not worry here, knowing that he can handle it. You adjust your footing a little then tilt your foot back, digging the thin heel into his thick thigh. Instantly, Jihoon moans, thick and needy as his head tilts back and he goes back to rutting up desperately against your shoe.

"Oh, baby," You hum appreciatively. "Gonna make yourself cum like this, hm?"

"C-can't," It's the first thing he's said in a little while, the first attempt he's even made to utter a single syllable. His voice is deep in the way it gets when he's so full of arousal that he can't think straight. It's truly one of your favourite sounds and always sends a shiver down your spine.

"Can't?" You repeat, adjusting your left foot so it's higher up and angled so that when you press your heel back down against him, it's on his inner thigh. His back arches as he gasps and moans, much higher in pitch than his speaking voice in a contradiction that would make you giggle if you weren't too focused on the arousal simmering in your stomach.

"Can't," He confirms then grips both of your ankles hard to still both feet and give him enough mental clarity to open his eyes and land his dangerously dark gaze on you. You're pretty sure you know what this means and feel yourself clench on nothing in anticipation. Jihoon's jaw flexes a little as he clenches it, and then he's up, kicking his chair away carelessly to grip your thighs and pull you right to the edge of the desk while his lips crash onto yours with burning desperation, tongue quickly darting into your mouth to find your own. "Need you," He informs breathlessly when he pulls back far too quickly for your liking but his hands are working on the fastening of your jeans so you really don't have it in you to complain. Jihoon is about to fuck you and based on how he's acting and the pure need in his eyes, he's going to fuck you so good.

"You need to move so I can take these off." You remind, nudging at his firm stomach to try and get him to back up, but Jihoon refuses. "Ji,"

"No," He answers, moving just enough to pull open the top drawer on his right and grab a condom, one of many he keeps in that drawer so that he can fuck you whenever the mood strikes you both. Admittedly, it's a lot.

"What? How else-" You yelp when he wraps an arm around your waist to lift you enough that he can roughly try and tug your jeans and underwear down. He only manhandles you when he's turned on so much that he can't even think rationally and the only thought on his mind is burying his cock as deep into you as humanly possible. And knowing that, being manhandled by Jihoon only turns you on more than the show of strength itself. You brace yourself with one hand and help him with the other quickly.

Together, you work the clothing down to your mid-thigh and then Jihoon puts you down and forces his hand into the gap between your thighs and the clothes.

"Ji," You gasp as he plunges two fingers right into you, the jeans around your thighs make it hard to spread your legs so you're kind of tight like this, but Jihoon knows you, knows you can take it, especially when you're wet like this. Plus, he already fucked you this morning in your bed so he is certain you can handle this rough behaviour right now.

"Get me ready," He grunts, tracing his lips over your jaw and bullying a third finger into you to curl and stretch them. He can't really thrust them at this angle, he's got very limited space but he does what he can to make you gasp and get wetter by the second.

You reach aside blindly until you find the condom on the desk to grab before your hands find his waistband and yank open the tie to loosen them. You don't even push down his sweats that far, you both can't reach and don't fucking care, just want to get his cock out and in you. Quickly, you shove down his boxers a little and pull his erection out so that as soon as you've got the condom out of the wrapper, you can roll it onto him.

"Hands on the desk." He orders, pulling his fingers from you to grab your thighs and push them up, making your body naturally lean backwards; so you plant your palms on the desk behind you for support and watch as he lifts your legs to his shoulders, resting your calves there before reaching down to grab his erection and line up with you.

Jihoon only glances up at you to check in quickly and noticing that you're more than okay with all of this, he wastes no time burying his hard cock in you right to the hilt. It's another thing he doesn't do unless he's insanely turned on and desperate to cum, go fast from the get-go, he'll usually ease into you to allow you both to savour the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls. But when he's like this, he doesn't have the patience for that, he just wants to cum with your pussy hugging him tight.

You both moan at the feeling of getting what you both so desperately want. Jihoon takes a second, then another, squeezing your thighs appreciatively like he always does when he's buried in you, and then he pulls back and starts to fuck into you in short powerful thrusts aimed right at your most sensitive spots. Your head drops back as you moan with every thrust, little ah-ah-ahs that give him all the information he needs to know that he's fucking you right.

As much as Jihoon is desperate to cum, he will never pick his pleasure over your own. Without fail, he'll always make sure you orgasm before him even like this. Though he doesn't have the patience for multiple when he's in this state like he usually gives you before allowing himself to fall over the edge with you. Today is no different, Jihoon wants you to cum first and soon, he can feel himself hurting towards his end. You're so fucking tight like this and he can see those fucking heels in his peripheral and feel the blooming bruises on this thigh from you digging them into his delicate skin. So he slides one hand down from your thigh to force its way between them and thumb at your clit harshly, it's messy and not very coordinated for a usually very coordinated man but there's not much else he can do like this. There's not much else he needs to do. He feels you tightening up around him and groans, hand on your thigh squeezing encouragingly and hips keeping the exact same pace and angle to not risk ruining your impending orgasm.

"Ji," You warn, voice getting higher.

"I-I know," He replies and squeezes again. "Cum for me, baby,"

It's a few more rough presses of his thumb against your clit and then you're tensing up a split second before your back bows and you let out strings of moans and curses mixed with variations of his name in a combination that is pure music to his ears. There's a fraction of a moment here where he regrets not pressing record on the room mic so that he can listen back on this session like he has many of them before, but he doesn't have the brain power to consider it for long.

Jihoon knows you don't need him to keep playing with your clit or fucking the same way to ride through your orgasm so he moves both hands to press against the back of your thighs, folding you up. He hadn't intended for your heels to wind up pressed to his chest, it's just a real fucking happy accident that causes him to rapidly piston his hips, fucking his cock into you with nothing but the intention to cum.

You whine at the fast stimulation, it's teetering on the brink of making you too sensitive as the dregs of your orgasm trickle through your system, and feeling so fucking good that you never want him to stop. It feels good, perhaps too good even but you just take it, eyes rolled back and head lolled back on your shoulders.

After a moment or two, you have enough presence of mind to lift your head and look at Jihoon; his eyes are closed tight, eyebrows furrowed with utter desperate concentration as he chases his high and sweat dappling his forehead. Without thought, you press both heels into his chest and just like that, Jihoon's hips slap harshly against you a few times as his orgasm racks through his body while he chokes out gasping moans and digs his fingers into your thighs tightly. You don't bruise quite as easily as him but you're pretty sure he's going to create at least a few faint ones with how hard he's holding you. Not that you mind.

Slowly, Jihoon falls still and then loosens his hold though he doesn't open his eyes yet as he pants and tries to suck in some air.

You know he's feeling much more like himself again when his hands slide up to lift your legs by the back of your ankles so that he can press a soft, grateful kiss to the exposed skin on the top of each foot. And then he carefully pulls out of you with one hand holding the condom in place and the other supporting your ankles in one hand. He gently helps you lower your legs down before he moves aside to dispose of the condom and grab the wipes from the drawer.

"So," You start when he's back in front of you and doing his best to wipe at your sticky thighs. He looks at you and notices your grin. "High heel kink, huh?"

"Shut up." He scoffs, though there's a twitch to his lips giving away his little smile when he turns to clean himself up too then throws out the wipes.

"What?" You giggle and slide off the desk carefully to pull your underwear and jeans back up and fasten them into place. "It's cute."

"Seriously, babe, shut up."

"No." You giggle and tottle over to throw your arms around him from behind. He sighs and finishes tying up his sweatpants back in place before turning to face you, naturally putting his hands on your waist.

"Hm, maybe you can wear heels around me more." He muses, realising your modest cleavage is right in his face. He leans in and doesn't hesitate to suction onto the skin he can access like this.

"Shall we go now?" You suggest, running your fingers through his hair. He hums against your skin then smooths a hand down to your ass to slap it quickly. "Asshole."

"Mm," He agrees and steps back to eye the growing bruise then lowers his gaze to your feet. "You need to change those though, I can't be seen with my dick hard in public."

"Spoilsport."

"I'm a fucking idol, I can't risk that shit." He scoffs and moves to save his work and turn off everything while you remove the high heels and pack them neatly back into the box they came in.

"Yeah, whatever, they're off. Now let's go get take out and fuck in the backseat."

"Sounds good to me, baby."

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

You're the Only Girl for Me - Chapter 10

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE

All OC Characters belong to me

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @christinabae @southerngirl41 @reci1996 @jeyusos-girl @jeyusosgirl @melaninsugababy @bemybabiibish @jstarr86 @baconeggndcheez @nbanenefrmdao @purplehairgawdess @arination99 @alyyaanna @m3llowww @gomussy @harmshake @jeysbae @empressdede @theninthwonder @badbitchcentralinc @romansnumberonegirl @bluesole16 @bebesobrielo @venusesworld @babysyhsyh

if your name is bold, tumblr won’t let me tag you

JANUARY 1st 2021 - Tropicana Field

Airielle was in hell. There was quite literally no other way to put it. Kayla had gone home before the special taping of Talking Smack and guess who had to fill in for her. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was sitting across from her, glaring while she tried to ask him questions. 

“Be professional” She heard Heyman whisper. She didn’t know if he was talking to her or Josh but she nodded anyway. Clearing her throat, she looked down at her notes before looking back at Josh who was still glaring at her. 

“Okay um- so Jey. My first question is, Everytime Roman Reigns has successfully defended his universal title it’s because you interfered - you’ve gotten involved.”  Jey and Heyman shared a look of amusement. “So Roman’s tenure as Universal Champion, do you think the credit belongs to Roman Reigns or does the credit belong to you?”  

“You know what. It’s a real simple question for me to answer. - ” Jey started still glaring but more so in character now and not glaring at Airielle because he was pissed of with her. 

“Hold on, I-In all candor and I’m just a co-host here.” Heyman cut Jey off and Airielle sucked her teeth quietly and rolled her eyes. 

“Mr. Heyman -” 

“Now I do not serve as special counsel to Mr. Uso.” He cut her off. “I serve as counsel to Mr Uso’s cousin Roman Reigns. However, I have been associated and friends with Mr Uso’s entire family since I was fifteen years old.”  Airielle huffed and started at Heyman with a stoic expression.  She cut her eyes over at Josh who wasn’t glaring anymore but now he was just staring. She took in a deep breath before turning her attention back to Heyman. 

“I’ve known his family longer than he’s known his family. “ 

“Facts” Jey cut in with a smirk and Airielle rolled her eyes again. Heyman then turned to Jey

“If I were you I would invoke my fifth amendment right against self incrimination” Airielle groaned and palmed her forehead.  And that’s how the rest of the interview went, Airielle asked Jey questions only for them to be answered by Paul in a condensing way. Every single question. Towards the end of the interview Airielle was kind of getting mad for real just by the way this man kept glaring and rolling his eyes at her. 

Airielle let out a sigh of relief once the show was over. She smiled and thanked Heyman before jumping up from the table and making a beeline towards the empty women’s locker room to wait for her uber. 

As soon as she stood from the table Josh was hot on her heels. She had tried to shut the door in his face but he easily pushed it open. 

“Can we not do whatever this is tonight?” She huffed and motioned between the two of them. “I’m tired and I have a plane to catch.”  Josh crossed his arms over his chest and bit the inside of his lip as he stared at her. She narrowed her eyes at him once he started laughing at her. “What the hell is so funny?” 

“Man, you!” He exclaimed. “You keep pushing me away and I don’t understand why.” 

“I'm not pushing-” 

“You are,”  He cut her off. “You pushed me away when you realized you was feeling me and now you pushing me away cause I mentioned that my kids want to meet you.” He sighed and walked closer to her. “How we supposed to build up to a relationship if you keep running away?” Airielle stared at him with wide eyes. Her mouth kept opening and closing but nothing was coming out. 

She knew why she was running away from Josh; she just couldn’t tell him why. Just thinking about Christopher made her want to throw up. When she didn’t say  anything, he sighed and backed away from her. 

“You gotta grow up and get your shit together Airielle. You can’t keep living in the past.” He shook his head at her before turning and walking out of the locker room. 

JANUARY 2ND 2021 - Pensacola FL

Airielle & Yasmine’s Apartment

Yasmine’s left eye twitched as she looked at Airielle. “I’ve been telling you for the past 2 years that you gon wind up missing out on a good ass man  because you can’t seem to let go of the past and now look. I was right.” Airielle rolled her eyes. 

“This is not an ‘i told you so’ moment Yas.” Airielle huffed as she sunk lower into the couch. 

“No, this is an ‘i told you so moment’ because you fucked up. Did you know this man was learning Haitian Creole so he could communicate with granmè?”  No she did not know that. “Yeah, Jon caught him using duolingo to learn creole. to communicate. with our grandmother. For you.” 

Airielle huffed again and crossed her arms. “So what am I supposed to do now?” 

“Girl,” Yasmine huffed and reached over to doink her cousin on her forehead. “Use your big brain.” When Airielle just stared over at her, Yas rolled her eyes. “Go apologize to him.” Yas stood up and grabbed Airi’s hands, pulling her up too and pushing her towards the door. “Go tell him why you keep ghosting him and then let him know whether or not you want to continue to build a relationship with him. You can’t keep stringing him along.” 

Sighing, Airielle nodded her head and slipped her feet into her shoes and grabbed her car keys, before leaving the apartment. 

Airielle wiped her sweaty hands on her legging before ringing the doorbell at Jon and Trinity’s house. She had gone over what she wanted to say to Josh five times before actually getting the courage to get out of her car and knock on the door. 

“Airielle?” Trinity actually looked surprised to see her there. “Wassup?” 

Airielle gave her a nervous smile. “Is Josh here? I just wanted to talk to him.” Airielle bit her lip and shuffled from foot to foot as she waited for Trinity’s response. Now, Trinity being the good sister-in-law that she is was not going to let Airielle in. Not after she done ghosted Josh two times. 

But, the fact that Airielle had driven all the way over there to speak to him instead of just texting or calling Josh kind of warmed her heart. 

“He’s not here. But he should be back soon, you wanna come in?” Airielle gave her a tight-lipped smile and nodded before following Trinity into the house and shutting the door behind her.

Josh scoffed as he pulled into the driveway and seen Airielle’s Jeep parked on the street in front of the house. 

“Um, whose car is that?” Jon asked, limping towards it, to peep into the windows. 

“It’s Rih’s.” Josh responded back, grabbing the groceries out of the trunk. “Aye man, yo knee is fucked up, not your arms, come get some of these bags.” Jon flipped him off before limping back over and grabbing one back causing Josh to glare at him. 

“She looks like the type to drive a Jeep.” Josh stopped walking and stared at his twin brother. 

“What the hell does that even mean?” 

“Shit, I don’t know. I was just tryna make conversation.” Josh sucked in a deep breath and rolled his eyes. “What you think she here for?” Josh shrugged. He hoped she was there to apologize for ghosting his ass, but he wasn’t holding his breath. If he was being honest, she  probably wasn’t even there for him, she probably came over to hang out with Trinity. 

Airielle felt her heart rate kick into overdrive when she heard the front door open. She smiled at Jon when he limped into the room and plopped down on the couch next to Trinity and across from her. 

She stood up when Josh entered the living room. “Hey.” She whispered and gave him a small wave. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes when he gave her a head nod in response.

“Can we talk?” She asked and rolled her eyes when nodded his head over to the kitchen and turned to walk away without saying a word. Once his back was turned she stuck her tongue out at him causing Jon to snicker at her. 

When she walked into the kitchen he was already sitting at the table, so she walked over and sat in the chair across from him. “Whatchu’ wanna talk to me about?” He asked, staring at her with a stoic expression. 

“I wanted to apologize,” She said, staring right back at him. “For ghosting you once you brought up your kids.” She tried to reach across the table to grab his hand but he moved them and placed them on his lap. 

“You knew I had kids.” He stated and she nodded. “So what was the problem? Everything was fine until I said my kids wanted to meet you.” 

“Your kids are not the problem. I promise.” He narrowed his eyes at her. 

“So what’s the pro-” 

“I’m scared of going to that next step with you.” She cut him off.  “The last relationship I was in started off just like this. I didn’t want to date him. I wanted to focus on graduating and starting my career but after getting to know him I gave in.” She sighed and looked down at her hands.  “In the beginning Chris was so nice and sweet. He would bring me flowers every time he saw me, he would run across campus after his class was over just so he could be waiting outside of my lecture for me.” She stopped talking and took a deep breath, trying her hardest not to cry. “Just like how you would bring me flowers and how you would wait outside of the meeting rooms for me at the arena.”

He opened his mouth to say something to her but quickly shut it and let her continue. 

“He met my family and I met his and I even met his two-year-old son.” She dared to look up at him and saw that he was now staring at her intently, she cleared her throat and looked back down at her hands, wringing them together. “After he asked me to be his girlfriend everything changed, it was like his niceness was a ruse. He led me into this ​​false sense of security. I believed everything he ever told me about taking care of me and being just about me. One day he just snapped, going out with friends was a problem, going to a study group that had boys was a problem. I guess he felt like he needed to prove that he was the alpha male and he put his hands on me.” She took a deep breath and shrugged. 

“You already know about the last time cause Josiah told you but, the first time he put his hands on me,it didn’t feel real. Just thinking about it now it’s like damn what did I do that made him that damn mad at me.” The tears she was trying to hold back fell as she remembered what her life was like a couple of years ago. Josh sighed and stood up from his chair and crouched down beside her, grabbing her hands. 

“Airielle, look at me.” When she didn’t he gently grabbed her chin and made her look at him, with his other hand he wiped away her tears. “You know I ain’t like that. You know that whatever we got goin on ain’t nothing like what you had with him.” 

“All my brain knows is that this situation seems familiar and I need to get out of it.”

“So, is that what you want to do Rih? You wanna just go back to being friends?” When she shook her head he sighed. “So whatchu wanna do Airielle?”

“I don’t know.” She whispered, looking into his eyes. “I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be with you but I also don’t want to keep putting you through this. Everytime something serious comes up I run and that’s something I can’t help.” 

Josh sighed and stood up, pulling Airielle to her feet as well. He pulled her into his arms and wrapped her in a tight hug. “I wanna be witchu too. But I need you to understand that I'm not him.” He pulled away from the hug just enough so they could look each other in the eye. “And stop running from me man, I’m tryna love on you and shit.”  He smiled at her once she laughed. 

“Ok, nomore running. I promise.” She stood on her tippy toes and placed a soft kiss on his lips, letting out an unexpected moan when he grabbed the back of her head, deepening the kiss. 

“And I promise imma treat you right.” He whispered once they broke the kiss, his forehead resting on hers. “I got you, Aight?” He asked and she nodded before placing another kiss on his lips.

Whew! They're finally together!!!

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

[coff33notforme]

Housewife!Ghostface

A/n: I decided to write this impulsively at 2am because I've been holding onto this idea for a while now. If you guys like it I'd be happy to do a part two of these headcannons or even a full fic, just let me know!

Synopsis: Modern Au with Danny Johnson where Danny has made himself comfortable as your full time housewife!

Pairing: Housewife! Danny and Gn! Reader

Housewife! Danny who wakes up before you, so that he can breakfast for you before you go to work

Danny knows all of your favorites by heart so whatever you want to eat, he’s got it down, he’s already accustomed to what you prefer to have 

Danny melts whenever you give him the slightest bit of validation or approval for his hard work, you know how hard he works to please you 

Housewife Danny spends most of his day cleaning up around the house, doing simple chores like vacuuming, doing the dishes, making the beds, sweeping ect. 

Tidying up the house for when you return home, he only wants the best for his lover of course 

Though he also leaves occasionally to run errands, grocery shopping, picking up orders from around town, among other things 

But he makes sure to keep track of time so he can come home before you so that he can cook your favorite as well as wash the blood down the drain

When you return home from your long day at work Danny is there waiting to greet you with a welcoming hug, and after a tiring day Danny's strong arms embracing you against his soft, plush chest is the closest to heaven you think you’ll ever get

He’s already set the table of course with your favorite meal hand prepared by Danny himself

Over dinner Danny’s very inquisitive about your day, he’ll listen to you ramble on and on about one specific coworker whos been bothering you lately, or how you got there exactly on time, or maybe even a compliment your boss gave you

Whatever you want to talk about he’s all ears, or maybe you had an exhausting day and all you want to do is relax 

He’s got you, he’ll offer to give you a message, or start up a bath for you, maybe if your feeling up for you and him could watch some TV in the bedroom, anything you want to watch  

God forbid anything happens to you, if you ever come to Danny even slightly distraught he’s engulfed with rage and this is one of the only times you’ll see Danny's face shift from the warm smile he offers you to something cold, something dangerous that you can’t quite read

Though he’ll assure you he’s not upset that way his eyes show a glimmer of fury you doubt his words though you never say this to his face

He’ll never pressure you to talk about anything but he is pushy for names, if you're hesitant about giving in to his requests he’ll start sweet talking you until you give in 

“Please my dear, I won’t do anything without your say so, but I need to know who brought my angle to tears, just let me fix it love.”  

Though you do find it strange how seemingly out of nowhere the co-worker who had been bothering you stopped coming into work only a day after Danny had interrogated you

You’ve only know Danny to be a sweet, charming, man who wants nothing but the best for you and he’s given you no reason not to trust him, so how could you think anything of it but a coincidence 

Though you never know what Danny really gets up to when he does his errands, what you don’t know won’t hurt you right?

After all he’s grown attached to the role he’s been given as your Housewife <3 

Comments and Reblogs are appreciated!

[void-ink-studios]

Myth of the Wishmasters - Part 2

Alright, here we go Part 2 babyyyyyyy!

And thus, we've reached the ending of Wrath of the Wishmaster, at least for now. 50,000 words, 164 pages, and 20 chapters. Damn.

I hope this is an ending y'all can be pleased with. Your kind words, comments, and reblogs have honestly meant the world to me,

Thanks for getting me to accidentally participating in NaNoWriMo, ya hecks.

If you started following me for this fic, I hope you stick around. I do some other pretty neat stuff, writing included.

So, without further ado, here we go. Enjoy, y'all.

*psssst*

Hey!

There's also art under the cut!

Word Count: 3,300

Scarab carefully watched Prismo's face flip through... several colorful emotions.

Confusion, shock, befuddlement, all within a beat of very loud silence.

"...Wh-What...?"

Scarab tried to stand up a little straighter. He could do this. He had to do this.

"I asked... What would you wish for?"

"...Like, hypothetically?"

Scarab huffed, gracefully resisting the urge to facepalm. Glob, his love was a bit dense sometimes, wasn't he? "Prismo... I want to grant you a wish."

That just seemed to further baffle the Wishmaster, looking at Scarab like he'd grown a second head.

"But... what? Scarab, you know you can't grant my wish, right?"

Now it was Scarab's turn to look confused. He tilted his head at Prismo. "And why not?"

"Well... Wishmasters don't get wishes? Like, I can't just grant my own wish, I thought that was kind of obvious."

Scarab chirped, considering. "Well, sure, you cannot grant your own wishes. But... well, I'm not you, am I? There has never been two Wishmasters before."

Prismo blinked dumbly at him, like Scarab might as well be talking gibberish.

"Scrabby, Lovebug, I get what you're trying to do but... I don't think that's how this works...? I don't get to... y'know want things? I grant wishes for others!"

He laughed nervously, looking at almost anything in the Time Room other than Scarab. Until the beetle took his hand into his talons, giving his hand a tender squeeze.

"Prismo... You know you're allowed to want things, yes? I though you were finally... realizing that." Scarab gestured around the Time Room.

Prismo made an uncomfortable noise, looking at the floor.

"Not really...? Well, I mean, it's different. It's... It's one thing to, like, decorate the Time Room. It's simple. It doesn't... I dunno, rewrite reality. Me wishing for something could... could...."

"Could what?"

"I don't know Scarab! Break the multiverse?!"

"Prismo. You exist outside of time. Outside of most of reality itself. It's true, we don't know what might happen if you wish for something... But..."

Scarab made his way up Prismo's arm, onto his shoulder, to nuzzle his face sweetly.

"...You have done... so much for me, Prismo. You've done everything. My life, my eternity, is infinitely better with you in it. So... I'd be honored to do this for you. Let me have the honor of being the one to grant you your wish."

Prismo sputtered for a second, Scarab could see his brain stalling for a moment.

"I-I dunno, Scarab... It could just... not work. I wouldn't want your first granted wish to be a dud. And... what if this wish... takes us away from each other...?"

"If it does, then..." Scarab hesitated. "Then... I'm am thankful for being at least a part of your eternity. I would be happy, knowing I gave you something no one else could."

Prismo sniffled, shaking his head. He let his head fall into Scarab's side as he thought.

"...I..."

Prismo started and stopped a few times, trying to find the words. Scarab lets his talons run through the Wishmaster's curly hair.

"...Can I... think about it?"

"Of course, love. Take all the time you need."

Prismo gave his side a kiss, Scarab relishing in the close contact. He knew his Wishmaster had... quite a bit to think about. And that was okay.

It was a big shift for Prismo, him wanting things.

The two returned to a comfortable routine, thankfully in an unusual doldrum of Wish Makers. Prismo spent a lot of time staring at a blank lap top screen, thinking quite loudly.

Scarab made no attempt to ask again. He knew Prismo. He'd come forward when he was ready. If he was ever ready.

"...Scarab...?"

Prismo broke the silence one day, hesitant and unsure.

"Yes love?"

"...I think... I think there's one thing I could wish for..."

"Oh?"

Scarab put the book he was reading down, giving the Wishmaster his full attention.

"It's just... I like my life. A lot. I don't want what pretty much everyone who comes here would wish you. More responsibility would give me headache. I don't want money or wealth. I have you, and the life we built here, and that's perfect for me. But..."

"But...?"

"I've just been thinking... What happens when your... tenure here is over? We don't know when or if the Organizer might pull you back as an Auditor, and... well... I... I don't think I could stand it if I couldn't... If I couldn't be with you. But, I'm here, on the wall, except for extremely specific circumstances. It's never... bothered me before. But... Well, I wouldn't be able to hug you. Or kiss you. Or even just touch you."

Scarab listened, intensely.

He'd admit it, he didn't consider what would happen if he was ever called back. If he was ever made Auditor again, even if it was only part of the time, what would happen to his contact with Prismo...?

"So... I think I've got my wish, Scarab."

Scarab nodded, standing up, ready to listen. "Go ahead, love."

Prismo closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, steadying himself. Scarab could only imagine how strange it must've been to be on this side of the transaction for the Wishmaster.

Prismo mouthed something to himself, possibly double checking his wording. Now or never.

"I wish... I wish for those who hold the title of Wishmaster, as granted by the Dreamer... to have the ability to choose the form they take while in the Time Room."

Scarab felt the magic wash over him. It felt like it his body was emptied and refilled with something wild, chaotic. His thoughts raced, trying to fill in the gaps, just like how Prismo said. He looked at his partner, bracing himself, taking a breath.

"...Wish granted."

At first, nothing happened. A few beats passed, and nothing happened.

At least the multiverse didn't instantly delete itself!

Prismo blinked, looking at his hands, hesitant.

And then he reached forward.

The two sat in stunned silence as... a hand emerged from the wall.

Neither breathed for a long moment.

Prismo experimentally flexed... his hand. That was his hand. The fingers twitched as he turned it in all directions. It looked almost like it was made of gas, something fluid and constantly moving. It shimmered a deep, rosy pink, flecks of sparkling stars scattered across the knuckles.

The Wishmaster pushed further. A hand, then an arm, then a shoulder. A gradient from rose to his signature light pin, the flecks of stars traveling up the arm like freckles.

"S-Scarab...?"

"It's okay, love. Come on out."

Prismo took a deep breath, closing his eyes tight before stepping out.

Scarab felt his breath hitch. Oh dear Glob... Prismo was beautiful. So, so beautiful. His skin swirled and shimmered like a pool of water, looking far more ethereal than the beetle was expecting. Sitting in his chest was a glowing star, it's gravity holding the body together. Two shooting stars orbited around his chest, one a bright gold, the other a deep blackish-purple.

He was still mostly human shaped but... there was still something surreal about him. Alien. Otherworldly.

Prismo shook his head, seemingly getting used to the sensations of his own body.

"S... Scarab...?"

"Oh, my love... How do you manage to look more gorgeous every form you take?"

Prismo gave him a shaky smile, standing on shaky, uncertain legs. He looked at himself, really looked at himself, in wonder.

And then let out an undignified squeak at the realization that he was nude. He dove into the blanket pile, emerging with a pout as Scarab had himself a hearty laugh.

"Oh ha-ha, yeah, laugh it up." The pout wasn't serious, Prismo seemed far too enthralled with the prospect of his new dimension.

"Scarab! Scarab, come join me!"

"Me?"

"Yeah! I did say "anyone with the title of Wishmaster" didn't I? That's you too!"

Scarab seemed to only just register that that now applied to him. He made an excited chittering sound, hesitantly emerging from the wall. He felt odd, like he was on the verge of floating away, yet distinctly there. He was the same pale blue as his projection, but otherwise resembled his physical body pretty closely, just with the same swirling cloud appearance to his shell.

Scarab eagerly dove in to join the blanket pile, holding Prismo close, nuzzling and kissing him sweetly, lovingly.

"This is wild, man... Like... I'm sitting. Sitting in the Time Room."

"Right... quick point about that..."

Prismo cocked his head as Scarab climbed up to the entrance to the Time Roon and tried to stick his arm out. The gas that seemed to compose their bodies dissipated and faded up until his elbow.

"These forms extend only within the confines of the Time Room."

Prismo thought for a moment, but nodded. That was fine. He could requisition a body if he ever needed to leave the Time Room.

"Lovebug. Thank you... Thank you so much."

Scarab smiled, quick to rejoin his beautiful Wishmaster.

The two fell into a new routine soon after. Prismo found out pretty quickly he could dive in and out of the wall as he wished, change sizes, and float around the Time Room. He took a delightful amount of glee in dressing himself, finding himself a collection of loose robes, ones that hung off his shoulders lazily. Scarab was honestly a little surprised at the how conservative Prismo decided to approach jewelry. Unlike his usual routine of making himself sparkle like a treasure chest, he opted instead for simple earrings, a necklace, and arm bands.

He looked like something truly divine. Something awe inspiring.

And Scarab, of course, took to making some new additions to the Time Room. Specifically, a designated seating area, a luxurious spread of couches with pillows and blankets.

And boy were the looks they got from Cos and Death something else.

The Organizer seemed to pause for the first time in the eons Scarab knew her.

"...Hey Scarab?"

The beetle chirped, cracking an eye open to look at the Wishmaster. They were piled onto the couch, Scarab lounging on Prismo's chest, content.

"Yes, love?"

Prismo adjusted the hold he had on Scarab, nuzzling his neck. "I was wondering something."

"That's often worrying."

"Hey" Prismo scolded, unserious.

"Fine, fine. Carry on."

"...What would you wish for?"

Scarab froze for a second, thinking. It's not like he hadn't thought about it before. He's thought about it for centuries. Obsessed over it, even.

But that was before he would ever go to Prismo for help.

And... when he did finally understand that Prismo was someone he could trust... he shoved that wish down into his gut. He would never want Prismo to think he only got close for a wish...

"...I've thought about it before..."

"Really? How come you never made a wish then?"

Scarab made an uncomfortable chirping sound. He head swirled. He... he felt pathetic for feeling this way, but... he didn't feel he deserved it.

Not after this long...

"...It's... complicated."

Prismo hummed, rubbing Scarab's back softly. "...Would you want to make a wish?"

"...I don't know. I..."

Scarab sat up, sighing softly. Prismo followed him up, cupping his cheek reassuringly.

"...For... for the longest time, I had... convinced myself I didn't deserve it..."

"...Deserve what, Lovebug?"

Scarab nuzzled into Prismo's hand as he sighed.

"...My wings and antenna."

Prismo nodded in solum understanding.

"I... I spent so long convincing myself that I deserved what happened to me. That... I broke the rules, so it was the natural and deserved outcome. I used... so much reasoning to try and make it stick. That... that it was better that that had happened, since no one liked bugs. So, the less I looked like a bug, the better... I told myself if I couldn't remember the homeland, who was I to demand my heritage back. I told myself it made me stronger..."

Scarab blinked a few times, willing away the tears.

"But... Glob, Prismo, you've been tearing it all down. You made me realize how... terrible what happened to me was. You like my... less conventional features. You made me remember my home more in the past year than in the last hundred thousand. But..."

"But?"

"But... I don't want to... erase what happened. As much as I hate it, it shaped me into the person I am now. And that's the person who loves you, who has this life. If I knew this was waiting for me at the end, I'd do it all over again."

Prismo nodded, pulling Scarab into a soft hug. "...Regardless of the decision you make... If you want to make a wish, I would be honored to grant it for you."

Prismo kissed his neck, making Scarab chirp happily. He purred for a long time, taking the moment to think. To process.

"Prismo."

Scarab sat up, looking the Wishmaster in the eye.

"I wish... without altering my history, and without depriving anyone else of their body or body parts... to restore my wings and antenna in a way I can control, dismiss, and alter."

Prismo seemed to take a moment to think. Then he smiled.

"Wish granted."

Scarab felt his back tingle. His head itch. The torn ends of his wings felt... ticklish almost. The beetle took a moment to examine the feeling, taking a few steps back from Prismo to kneel.

"Go for it, Scarab. You can do it."

Scarab still hesitated. He'd never felt more scared to open his elytra, not ever since his wings were taken from him.

"You deserve it, Lovebug."

Scarab took a deep breath and let his shell open.

He felt something whoosh across his back. He kept his eyes frozen to the ground. There was something... strange on his back, a strange... heavy weightlessness? He didn't even know if that made sense, but that was the best way the could describe it.

"Lovebug... Look."

Prismo sounded in awe. That probably a good sign, yes?

He turned his head, slowly.

And he felt breathless.

He could see where his real wings ended and these new ones began. They were detached almost, floating an inch or two off the tattered ends. He gave them an experimental flap, chittering in delight as the motion flowed nearly seamlessly.

They looked gorgeous. They weren't his wings, but that was okay with him. They reminded him a bit of the false wings he made for the Gala, with the hand and eye patterns, now with the addition of star motifs.

He took a moment to experiment. He could summon and dismiss them. His fingers could trace the edges, but phase through the membranes.

He took a long look at Prismo before bursting into happy sobs. The Wishmaster was quick to scoop him up and hold him close, running a gentle hand between the base of his wings.

"P-Prismo..."

"I know Lovebug. I know. They're so gorgeous. You're so gorgeous. I'm... sorry they're not attached, or that they don't look like yours but... I dunno, think of them like prosthetics."

"They're perfect, Prismo. You're perfect. Wait, hold on, I need to try something..."

Scarab followed the tingling itch on his head, feeling a ghostly pair of antenna uncurling over his head. Again, they didn't quite feel right, that same heavy weightlessness, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the smack in the face the smells of the Time Room hit him with. The perfume of the flowers, the vinegar of pickle brine, and...

Oh.

Oh.

That was Prismo's smell. Scarab dove his face right into Prismo's cheek, nuzzling, antenna finally able to card through his hair and touch his skin. And he could smell him, he could smell Prismo, a combination of spice and ozone, and he could smell himself all over the Wishmaster's skin.

There was something intoxicating about that, something that made Scarab not pick his head up again for quite a while. Prismo held him all the way through it, humming and rubbing.

"Prismo...?"

"Yeah, Lovebug?"

"...Thank you. For everything."

Prismo hugged him tightly.

"You can thank me" he started, kissing his neck and jaw sweetly, "by being mine. For the next eternity."

Scarab's face flushed blue, but he nodded eagerly.

"Yes. Yes, I am yours. You are mine. For the next eternity, my love."

Prismo nodded back. "For the next eternity."

-------------------------

They speak in legends, in tomes, in myths, of the Wishmasters.

At the beginning of it all, in the Age After Nothing, there emerged the one called the Wishmaster.

In the center of everything, in the center of nothing, there is the Time Room, domain of the Wishmasters.

In a place at the center of time, in a place where time cannot touch, there is the one called the Wishmaster.

It is a god of no equal. It is a god of many names, in many forms. But it is always the one called the Wishmaster.

And in this era, the one called Wishmaster is of two beings.

How one meets the Wishmasters may very. It takes something powerful, something capable of building a bridge into the void. But all require a piece of the Eternal Dream, for it is the Dream that is the threads of the Void. Objects with fragments of the Dream are the most reliable vector to crossing into the Void.

It is two beings one might be greeted with.

The Living Dream known as Prismo, and his protector The Star Auditor known as Scarab.

Prismo is always there. He is aloof, but a comfortable being. He is a creature of comfort, lounging in a self made sanctuary of pillows and blankets, surrounded by perfumes of the Dream Lilies hanging from above. Leaving him gifts of crystals and jewelry may earn you his favor, although even then, that is not given liberally.

The Time Room is his Domain. He can freely move between and from the walls, for the walls are at his command.

Scarab is a feature only on occasion. One should rejoice if they commune with the two Great Wishmasters. He is orderly, precise. One might think this sparks conflict between the two, but instead it brings harmony. He is a god of intimidating disposition, but reasonable if approached without fear. He is even less liberal with favor than the Almighty Prismo, but offerings of fruits and rare teas may give you a chance.

The Scarab and Prismo are protective of each other. When approaching, do not offend either. Do not disparage the other. They are a pair, equal in all things.

The Almighty Prismo and Scarab, the ones called Wishmasters, offer the same bargain to any who find his domain, his domain of the Time Room.

One wish, anything your heart desires, you may ask of him. And he will make it so.

But do beware, wish makers.

Realities may warp or split or merge, people and objects may shuffle through time and space, memories, lifetimes, erased or rewritten forever. But they will make it so.

For the Almighty Prismo is not cruel, he is a tricky one. For the Almighty Scarab is not deceptive, he is percise.

Any wish lacking detail, they will fill the gaps. And lapse in thinking, and forgotten factor, and unforeseen consequence, they shall consider. To those they favor, they may advise. To those they don't?

Well, you will receive what you wish for.

Whether or not you can live with that is not a trouble for the Almighty Prismo and Scarab.

They are the crossroads, the boundary, the space between it all.

If one is lucky, they might hear the song of the Wishmasters. One might bare witness to the great wings of the Almighty Scarab, as they two circle each other in a cosmic dance. Do not disturb them if you find this majesty. Consider yourself blessed, and listen to the strange song of the divine.

For this is the nature of the Wishmasters.

Mismatched, yet incomplete without each other.

Together for eternity.

Thus is the myth of the Wishmasters.

[alearicci]

“just you and your seb” – SV5

reblogs and comments pls

pairings: sebastian vettel x girlfriend!you; sebastian vettel x girlfriend!reader

summary: your boyfriend is the famous f1 driver Sebastian Vettel. one day, he decided to come after a long separation and spend time with you.

theme: soft, romantic, healthy relationships, quite a bit of dirty talk, marriage proposal

dedicated to: my my my V.

note: sorry if there are mistakes, english can be too difficult. and I didn't specifically indicate the city, so you can imagine your dream city.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ♡ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The silence in the hotel room was abruptly interrupted by the sound of an incoming notification. Then another one. And another one. You were sitting at the dressing table and doing yourself a light makeup so that you could go out completely confident in yourself and your beauty. Of course you were already beautiful, especially in the shower, but makeup is an important part of any appearance.

As soon as you heard this ringing "ding", you even flinched, because it was too loud and unexpected. In general, you had a silent mode turned on so that intrusive people and employees would not interfere with your enjoyment of your life, but some contacts avoided such a restriction. It was your best friend Adele, Mom and Sebastian, your favorite person.

Yes, you're dating Sebastian Vettel, the famous Formula 1 racer. But you fell in love with him not for his status, money or position in society, but for what he really is, for what he was next to you.

Love is often described as a wonderful adventure full of twists and turns that captivate our hearts and souls. You could feel it and feel someone's sincere love only with him.

He was very sensitive, attentive to you. I always asked about your well-being, how your day went, whether you ate. When you are forced to be far from each other, the only thing that allows you to keep positive is video calls.

Sometimes, because of the big difference in time zones, it happens that he calls you early in the morning when it's already late at night. It makes you laugh and joke about the fact that he still doesn't let you sleep at night.

He had a way of making you feel special, loved and protected. Whether it's a surprise visit with your favorite sweets when he's not riding around the world because of his racing career or a simple message to wish you a good day. He's always tried to let you know that you're important. That you're the most important person in his life.

His sense of humor was another aspect you treasured. His ability to make you laugh until your cheeks hurt was one of the things you treasured the most. It is rare now to meet someone who is able to keep a smile on his face and cause it on the face of others. And Sebastian was such a rare person. He was the one and only for you.

His special intelligence and playful banter made your relationship carefree and fun even in the most difficult times. You complemented each other perfectly, when Seb faced setbacks on the track, he always knew that he could share his stamp with you and get effective support. He himself has repeatedly claimed that your hugs and kisses cure all ailments. When you had problems with your work or with these elementary complexes about your appearance, he always found the right words and hurried to remind you that you are already the most beautiful for him, and that physical beauty is not the main thing at all. There are a lot of beautiful and sexy models in the whole world, but you will meet a really "person" less often. You will meet your man less often.

But not only his character traits and ability to support captivated you. You were constantly lost in thoughts of his physical presence. The way his eyes twinkled when he smiled and was happy, the way his strong arms hugged you during a long separation. To feel the warmth of his touch, to be with him and not let go anywhere else — everything you craved when you were apart.

Sometimes, of course, where without it, you wondered if you really deserve his love and whether you can meet his expectations. These doubts were fleeting, they were quickly replaced by the realization that your love is built on a solid foundation — on trust, respect and mutual support.

In your thoughts, you often imagined a future with him. You imagined how finally, after all these races and training, you could be together like the most ordinary couple in love. It's hard to say that it will work out, because it's unlikely that the famous Sebastian Vettel can afford the life of the most ordinary person. But deep down you knew that he really wanted to live in peace and tranquility for a very short time.

You imagined coming home after a long day at work, immediately falling into his warm and familiar embrace. After kissing you on the forehead, he helps you take off your coat and hangs it on a hanger while you go to wash your hands. Later, you cook dinner for yourself, telling about the past day and your impressions. Isn't this a wonderful life?

You loved to indulge in dreams about how you travel together, experiencing new adventures hand in hand. Maybe you'll even have a baby who will be as curly as his super dad.

But all these dreams were replaced by a harsh reality. Sebastian is a racer, it is impossible to imagine him not driving a car, which means that racing obviously will not be able to leave his life so easily. You sincerely supported the hobby of your beloved and in your free time, you always attended the Grand Prix.

Every race brings with it a sense of excitement, an exciting ride that reflects the roller coaster of emotions that you experience when you watch him go on the track. He immediately looks for you with his eyes and smiles with his special smile, intended only for you. You know he's a little worried, and he knows you're very worried. This shared excitement strengthens the deep bond between you.

Behind the roaring engines and incredible speed is an unwavering dedication. From the countless hours spent honing his skills on the track to the meticulous attention paid to every aspect of his car, your boyfriend's drive for perfection never falters. This devotion extends to your relationship as well.

You experience every victory, every defeat together, always knowing that after every sorrow the long-awaited joy will come. Not every couple can boast of such a connection and passion that you have.

You couldn't help but smile, remembering every rare moment you spent with him. His presence has become an integral part of your life. It was as if he was the missing piece of a puzzle that finally found its place.

In your thoughts, you admire his strength and resilience, admiring how he meets difficulties face to face. He motivates you to be the best version of yourself, encouraging you to achieve your goals and believe in your abilities. It gives you a sense of security and stability, assuring you that you will never have to face the world alone. That he will always be there, even when he is not.

Sitting at the table, still lost in your thoughts, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the amazing person he was, and gratitude for the love you shared.

Suddenly, the thought popped into my head that you still haven't read the message. Frowning, you put your makeup in a special purse and go to the table where your phone was charging.

Two messages from Mom and one from Sebastian.

mom ❤️

«daughter, we will be waiting for you and Sebastian at dinner next weekend»

«Daddy will cook your favorite turkey, so you won't have a chance to refuse 😘😘💓»

s💋

«get ready, in five minutes I'll come for a suitcase»

As soon as you read the message from Sebastian, your heart started beating faster.

This can't be happening. This is a prank. He's thousands of miles away right now, getting ready for the upcoming race. No, no, no.

You blinked a few times to make yourself understand what you thought, but no. The message remained in the same place.

«what do you mean, Seb?»

The answer came immediately.

«I mean what I said»

«check-in for the flight closes in two hours»

Great. In five minutes, the most you can do is just get a travel suitcase out of the closet.

Sometimes Sebastian's passion for speed was mesmerizing. But, unfortunately, you didn't have the speed he had. And therefore, I had to speed up in order not to miss the opportunity to meet my beloved. It was still very strange. Sebastian really should be far away now, and here he writes that he will come for you. Even no, not for you, but for your suitcase. What a fool.

You started running around the room and throwing things into a suitcase. You reminded yourself of a massive car that has already passed the warm-up lap and is ready to take p1. But as soon as you zipped up the suitcase, there was a knock on the door. Or is it already knocking in your head?

"Hey, y/n, it's me, Sebastian."

When you heard your native voice, you screamed with happiness and rushed to the door. Opening it and seeing Seb standing, you jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly around the neck.

He laughed velvety and pulled you closer to him.

"Did my girl miss me?"

"Hell yeah. Vettel, I've missed you like hell."

"Well, well, watch your tongue, or I'll have to teach you a lesson in good behavior." he whispered in your ear, then reluctantly lowered it down.

Seb smirked as soon as he saw your flushed cheeks.

"Is the suitcase ready?"

"Yes, there it is."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'll just wear a shirt over my top, and that's it. Seb..." you asked him when he went to the room to take your suitcase.

"Mmm?"

"I have too many questions."

"I promise I will answer them, but let's get on the plane. We're terribly late, let's go, liebe (love)"

♡♡♡

As it turned out, Seb had been planning to "kidnap" his y/n. for a long time. He admitted it by accident when you asked him about how he was able to be around. At that time, Vettel had recently woken up from a dream and was not yet fully aware of the seriousness of the situation. But he also said that she wouldn't even need a suitcase, it was just a little joke. For this, he was lightly hit on the head.

You couldn't believe that here he is, smiling at you not from the smartphone screen. That you could touch him, kiss his beloved lips, the taste of which was sweeter than honey for you. Everything inside you was blooming and singing. Everything was too perfect.

The flight was quite long, but together with it it seemed very short and it was not enough. It wasn't enough. Your Sebastian. In your heart, you knew that he would leave soon and the happiness would last a maximum of two days. But I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to at all.

The flight ended and you had to leave the cozy business class seats. Of course, there were autographs and photos with fans that forced you to stand aside so as not to interfere with Seb's communication with his fans. This was a frequent occurrence, so you treated it with a smile on your face and rejoiced that your boyfriend had such support.

When that was over, Vettel gently but firmly took you by the hand and led you to the car already waiting for you at the entrance to the airport. A friendly little man handed the car keys to the champion and helped to load your small luggage into the trunk. After that, Seb opened the passenger seat door, helping you to take your seat. Then, leaving a quick kiss on your lips, I hurried to get behind the wheel and take you away from the crowd of fans rushing to take pictures of you and your little date.

Seb moved cautiously along the winding coastal road. His skill was mesmerizing not only on the track, but also off it. You couldn't help but look at his concentration, at his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, a slight smile, tousled curls. He really resembled a god.

It was already evening and the only source of light was the weak sun and the headlights of the car, but you still couldn't take your eyes off Sebastian. But he, the impudent one, saw that you were looking at him.

"Am I that handsome? You've been looking at me since the beginning of the trip." He asked, letting out a soft chuckle.

"Yes." you answered shortly and smiled. "The most handsome man in the world. My most handsome man."

"Yours." Seb agreed and nodded his head. Then, seizing the moment when you turned away in embarrassment, I put my hand free from the steering wheel on your thigh and squeezed it slightly, but noticeably, causing your body to be covered with goosebumps.

"Almost there." he whispered and, after a quick glance at you, immediately returned his gaze to the road.

The rhythmic sound of crashing waves grew louder as you approached your destination. You haven't been here before, and therefore, curiosity took its toll.

Seb was hoping he could get you to the right place by sunset. After all, it is then that the sun can be seen at arm's length. He knew how much you love sunsets and beautiful places. Therefore, I decided to share my special place with you.

In the end, he drove up to a viewing platform hidden from the eyes of others, located at a decent distance and high above the fascinating landscape of a busy city.

He found this place after one of his not very successful Grand Prix and liked to come here to think about everything that had been stored in his soul for so long. He could scream in pain for a long time without being afraid that he would be considered crazy or something like that. He could talk to himself, blame himself for failures, praise himself for success. He could be in harmony with himself and spend multiple hours alone. Anyone, the most famous people, sometimes need to be alone. But nowhere was he calmer than with you.

That's why he decided to share with you a piece of his soul, to share his secret place. Even earlier, he made a serious decision to share his last name with you and legitimize your love, which was eloquently evidenced by a small red box in his pants pocket. You didn't know about it and thought only about what awaits you next.

"We're here, baby." Seb said when he parked the rented car in a special place for her.

You smiled enthusiastically and quickly unbuckled your seat belt. As soon as you got out of the car, an admiring sigh escaped from your chest. The view here was beautiful. That was putting it mildly. It was really great.

But it was even more beautiful to have Sebastian around. You were standing a little apart from him and the car, and did not notice how he came up from behind and put his arm around your waist, hugging you tightly. Burying his nose in your neck, he exhaled noisily.

"I missed you, y/n. My career doesn't allow us to spend more time together and it makes my heart ache for you."

"I missed you a lot too, Seb. I miss you too much." you whispered, feeling moisture appear in the corners of your eyes. No, no, no, not tears.

"I know, honey, I know. But let's enjoy this rare moment when we're together. When I can do like this." Sebastian brazenly bit you on the neck, making you flinch and jokingly pull away. But he knew that it brought you pleasure. "Or like this."

The man abruptly turned you around and lifted you in his arms, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist.

"Oh my God, Sebastian, you're going to drop me!"

"I will never drop you, my girl." he murmured and carefully arranged you on the blanket that he had prepared when you were admiring the sunset.

"Oh. And when did you have time to prepare everything?" while you were getting comfortable on the bedspread, Sebastian had already managed to take a seat next to you.

"I'm very fast." He answered with a shrug and took out a bottle of wine, also prepared in advance.

"Yes, especially in..." You didn't finish the sentence and grinned, forcing Sebastian to grin and lean so close to you that you could clearly feel his breath on your lips.

"In what?"

His voice took your breath away.

"Racing, honey."

"Right answer." He said, and taking advantage of how dangerously close to him you are, he rarely shortened the remaining distance and covered your lips with his.

This kiss was unlike any of your past. He skillfully combined all the pain of separation and the joy of a long-awaited reunion, all the tenderness and warmth that he felt for you, all the affection and unwillingness to part anymore. Of course, no one can compare with Sebastian at all, it's impossible to deny.

From such a kiss, you felt dizzy and once again you were convinced that this man would still show himself. You have been together for several years, but every kiss was like the first, every look he directed at you made you kneel.

When Vettel pulled away, he immediately handed you a glass of your favorite wine.

"You're the perfect man." You said and drank some of the liquid with pleasure, which immediately burned your throat.

"And you're the perfect girl." He answered and sat down in such a way as to embrace you and enclose you in the ring of his arms.

You have been sitting like this for an uncounted amount of time, sharing your memories and places for the future. Sometimes you stopped just to drink wine or kiss. The kisses became deeper and greedier.

It was comfortable and calm in his arms.

He was your everything.

"Oh, right, honey. Come on, let me get up." Sebastian suddenly said and gently lowered you out of his arms. Rising to his feet, he held out his hand to you, helping you to get up too.

"W-what's the matter, Seb?..." you asked, not understanding and a little scared, and looked at your boyfriend.

The sun has almost completely disappeared below the horizon, flooding the sky with golden, orange and pink shades. The atmosphere was saturated with anticipation, as if nature itself had planned to create the most enchanting evening in your life.

Sebastian's voice trembled slightly as he began to speak, drawing your attention. He got down on one knee in front of her, and their eyes met. He looked at her with special tenderness, and she was ready to cry right now.

With every word he poured out his heart, his voice filled with vulnerability and love.

"Oh no no no, please don't cry from the very beginning, I've been planning this moment for a very long time and you cry with happiness only at the end and in one of the best scenarios."

Sebastian hastened to say and took a velvet box out of his pocket. He twisted it in his hands and tried to collect his thoughts and remember the speech he had prepared the day before.

You could only nod and put your hands to your mouth, trying to restrain your emotions. The love of your life seems to be proposing to you right now.

"y/n, from the moment I met you, my life has completely changed. I didn't know that I would love someone so much." Sebastian began in an even but emotional voice. "You have been my rock, my confidant and my greatest support. I can't imagine my life without you by my side."

Your breath caught in your throat as Sebastian continued, his voice growing more fervent with every word. "You make me better. Every day you inspire me to reach new heights and enjoy the beauty of life. I am constantly amazed by your strength, your kindness and your unwavering love."

His hands trembled slightly as he opened it, revealing a sparkling diamond ring. When the sunlight caught the shining gemstone, it seemed to reflect the brilliance in their eyes.

"My beloved, you make me the happiest person on earth. Oooh. it's harder than I thought. But. Will you marry me?" muttered Sebastian, his voice filled with anticipation, love and vulnerability. A part of his soul was afraid of being rejected. What if you're not ready for such a serious step in their relationship yet?

When you heard the cherished words, you could no longer restrain yourself and burst into tears. Tears of immeasurable happiness flowed down your face when you passionately nodded your head and managed to whisper soulfully: "Yes, Sebastian. Yes!"

At that moment, time stopped, the world around them receded into the background when he heard her consent. Sebastian put the ring on the trembling finger of his future wife, and his heart beat with a radiant joy that he had never experienced before.

[lesuccube]

➚ 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐊 𝐃 : ᴀᴜ-ᴄᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ᴍɪɴᴇ

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — he's gotten awfully close , thank god you didn't know much better . at least , that was good news to him .

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 — dark trojan [ read at your own risk ! ]

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 — not beta'd, constructive criticism is welcomed . comments and reblogs are appreciated .

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 — 0.7k

you've been working with steven at the museum for quite a while now. him, still a gift shop-ist and you a new guide for the greek exhibit. at first steven was jealous how they easily gave away the position of tour guide but when he passed by your group during your first month when donna made him do inventory, he was hooked.

you were smart and passionate, fun and easygoing. plenty of the people you guided had questions to ask that you readily answered, both from adults and children. usually the former are quiet, uninterested in the old history but you had a way to charm people, steven was no exception.

so he made the effort to befriend you. approaching you more until it was you who would seek him out during lunch. on days you were able to leave early, you'd join steven doing inventory because donna got mad at him again for being late. as per usual.

"you don't have to stick around f'me love, i'm used to it." earthy browns would look at yours through curly bangs, sheepish at having held you back from going home early. "i know i don't... but i want to."

and that was when he had truly fallen in love with you. if you can even call that love. steven was obsessed, he was obsessed with your kindness, with your knowledge. he wanted that all to himself. how can he not when you readily give it when he comes by to ask for your time. you were so nice, so good, so beautiful... he hopes you like what he has planned for you.

he began following you in and out of work, uncaring he loses sleep. not that he gets that many hours in anyways. he followed you for months until he has learned your routine outside your house, after that he learned how to break into your place and get to know you even better in the comforts of your home. he steals a few things, a spoon you used that day, a shirt buried underneath your laundry, a pair of panties from your freshly folded ones... some he returns and others, well let's just say they became a permanent part of his collection of you.

he worships the things you own, treats them like fine china. most of the time that is. he uses them to his pleasure other times, unable to hold back. your smell would linger on the items he'd steal and he'd sniff it until it disappears, replaced by his own. then he'll clean them up (he bought the same laundry detergent just for this case) and return them. most of them.

nearly a year into your friendship, steven asked you out for a simple hang out at the park, saying he found a nice spot for a picnic just you and him. unaware of his true intentions, you had agreed.

at first it had gone well, you and steven chatted and chatted, eating the sandwiches you had prepared until he handed you a glass of lemonade did it start going downhill. half an hour after your brunch you started feeling sluggish, your mind hazy and muddled. you don't notice steven grinning in joy, knowing that his plans were finally coming into fruition. he had drugged your drink, enough to weaken your muscles for you to go down without a fight and then... light's out.

oh how long did he wait for this moment.

"oh love, i've wanted you for so long... ever since i passed by your first tour i've been madly in love with you d'you know that? of course you didn't silly me." he circles your weakening body, struggling to stay awake, struggling to hear him. "w-why?" was the only thing your lips were able to get out in your fight to stay conscious, alarm bells ringing in your head at steven's approaching figure.

he grins a cruel, wicked grin when you're finally unable to hold yourself up, lying limply on the blanket he had all but spread out and you looked like a masterpiece to him at that moment. like a fallen angel in your pretty white dress, hair spread out before you like a beautiful halo. like a painting, like art had come to life, you were so, so beautiful. you were gorgeous in his eyes and you always will be.

"why? well... i can't stop thinking how perfect we would be together."

[deejadabbles]

Songs in the Kitchen (Bad Batch fluff)

Summary: You're appalled when you find out about your new team's lack of nutrition and...well, what fun is cooking without a little dancing? Hunter x GN Reader and (platonic) Omega and Reader. No warnings, just cute domestic fluff.

A.N: Got this idea while making dinner last night and listening to Temuera Morrison's cover of Can't Take My Eyes off You. So, you have Clone Daddy to thank for this XD Also!! I have a bone to pick with this song! All my life I thought the lyrics were "I would walk 500 miles" but it's not?? It's "roll"??? My whole life is a lie. Anyway, I hope you guys like this, reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

"If they ever upgrade this ship, you'll help me convince them to invest in an actual kitchen, right?"

For possibly the fifth time you had rammed your foot into Gonky as he, you, and Omega shuffled around the pitiful table that the soldiers insisted was 'fine enough' for food provisions.

Omega chuckled as she climbed onto said droid to give you some more room. "You got it! I think cooking will be really fun in a real kitchen!"

You smiled down at her, the light in her eyes instantly alleviating any annoyance your stubbed foot may have caused you. You still couldn't believe that you only just discovered last week that Omega, nor any of her clone siblings, had ever learned the basics of cooking. Wrecker insisted that shooting wildlife and spit-roasting them counted...you did not. There was a difference between survival hunting and actual cooking!

In fact, the batch had been quite unphased when you observed the fact that they only ever seemed to eat ration bars and whatever slop they got from local cantinas. That caused a whole uproar on your part, scolding all of them for not caring more about their health. Yes, eating ration bars during the war was...unfortunate, but a harsh necessity. Eating them while away on whatever job they took was...acceptable, you supposed. But when they spent days on a reasonable planet with plenty of resources?! You couldn't believe they thought it was rational to still only eat those dry, tasteless bricks!

So now, here you were carving out the tiniest space available on the ship in an effort to cook your friends a somewhat decent home-cooked meal. Omega, always the bright-eyed wonderer, was eager to help while her brothers were in town for supplies.

Right now 'helping' was mostly just learning, since there honestly wasn't much room for her to do much. But you appreciated the company.

You rummaged through a box of things Tech had gathered for you; things he said were 'adequate cooking substitutes' in lieu of actual utensils, searching for a pear knife. You managed to dig up a serrated vibro dagger....alright, good enough.

While you chopped away at a strange local fruit, and Omega looked on with rapt interest, you couldn't help but smile. Despite the odd circumstances, the whole setting was quite domestic, and you thought of how happy it made you, that Omega was getting her own version of such an experience. Omega, who, like her brothers, had never had parents to dote on them and teach them, to have simple, warm moments like this with.

You hadn't noticed that you were humming until your hips started moving to the melody in your head. It was such an old song, but one that always made you feel so, whimsical, perhaps?

After scooping the first fruit into the bowl you moved on to the next item, one that Hunter had mentioned trying in the market the other day.

Hunter.

The thought of him made some heat fill your cheeks. You wondered- or rather, hoped, that he would like the meal you were making. The night after you had made such a fuss over their eating, Hunter had mentioned something to you, a far-off look in his eye like usual, as if he had a million things on his mind and that was just the one floating to the surface.

"Meal times weren't exactly a good time for us," he'd mused, not even looking at you, "even during downtime on Kamino, it was just another reminder that we didn't belong, even among clones."

That confession, along with an off-handed comment Omega had once made about no one but her sitting with them in the mess hall made your heartache.

Well, this will just be your chance to make mealtime a good memory for them!

Even more determination swelled in your chest as you moved about the small space, you'd have each of them smiling over your food if it killed you!

In fact, with each in mind, you started portioning off Hunter's plate when it came time to add the seasoning. Couldn't have his enhanced senses going mad with too much spice.

That old melody came floating back to you again, as you thought of the handsome sergeant.

"Pardon the way that I stare There's nothin' else to compare The sight of you leaves me weak There are no words left to speak"

The lyrics came easily as you worked, they were words of something pure, innocent; a rarity in this galaxy. A silly little dance even weaved its way into your movements.

"But if you feel like I feel Please let me know that it's real You're just too good to be true Can't take my eyes off of you"

"What are you doing?"

Omega's sudden question snapped you out of your daze- just in time to ram your foot into Gonky again.

After shaking the limb out with a curse you looked up at the child with a brow raised, "Uh?"

"What was that? That strange talking?"

You tilted your head, "Um... you mean my singing?" Come on, you knew you weren't a concert vocalist or anything, but did she really think you were that bad?

Omega's eyes went wide with excitement, "Oh! That's what singing is?"

"You've never heard singing before?!"

Unabashed, the girl just shook her head, "No, I mean, I've heard music before. Every once in a while Nala Se would play some Kaminoian music while she worked, but it was just sounds, no voices."

You stood there stunned for a moment, unable to think of anything to reply with. Just what else had this poor girl been deprived of in her childhood? Now that you thought about it, you'd never heard the boys play any music either. Maker, you hoped they had at least heard singing before.

"Omega," you started after a moment, "would you like to hear some of my music collection while we cook?"

You honestly had not thought it possible for her eyes to sparkle more, but the little one managed it.

"So you think we got enough?" Wrecker groaned, shifting the crate on his shoulder.

Tech didn't look away from his data pad as he answered, "We acquired everything on the list we were given, I can't fathom there would be any reason for complaint. Even with our friend's sudden, irrational concern for our eating habits."

"Don't mock it like that," Echo chimed in, "I think the change in pace is nice. You can't tell me you actually like those ration bars day in and day out."

"I fail to see how 'like' is of any consequence," was all Tech huffed in response.

Hunter, who was walking ahead of them all, let out a sigh. He wanted to tell them to pick up the pace, but bit back the urge. You had insisted that you could scrape together the first meal with what you had on the ship already, but, if their haul from the market could make your task easier, he wanted to get it to you sooner rather than later.

All of this was just so...sweet of you to begin with. Hunter never wanted to complain about anything regarding their life style, not during the war, not now, it was what it was, and he accepted that. You could have done the same, but instead, you went out of your way to improve things.

Hell, you could have just balked at their lifestyle, and made your own, separate from them, made your own food to eat in your own part of the ship. Instead, you had decided to include them all in your efforts, even putting up with their grumbles and gripes with that cute, bossy attitude you got when you were determined.

Hunter found the whole thing incredibly endearing.

Not to mention your inclusion of Omega. You were giving the little one an experience, a memory that she would carry with her always. The sergeant felt his lips curl up at the thought. You were a good companion for Omega...you were a good companion for all of them.

Unfortunately, his happy little musings were brought to a screeching halt as his hearing picked up on something. His enhanced senses did that a lot, noticing things before his brain could really register them. They were nearing the ship and, had the voices sounded distressed, he would have been on high alert. Instead, they sounded...was that, singing?

"When I go out, yeah I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you When I get drunk, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who gets drunk next to you!"

The sound was almost foreign to Hunter's ears, your's and Omega's voices sounded quite different, but it was definitely your vocals crooning over what he now realized was music.

"What is that sound?" Tech asked behind him. They had gotten close enough now that even his brothers could hear it. Hunter could just imagine the shrugs and confused looks they were giving each other as he opened the door at the top of the loading ramp.

"And I would roll 500 miles And I would roll 500 more Just to be the man who rolls a thousand miles To fall down at your door"

In all the years he'd been aboard the Marauder with his team, he'd never seen something quite like this. Your music blared through the ship's speakers while you and Omega danced in the small space he'd cleared for your make-shift kitchen.

"When I'm working, yes I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who's working hard for you!"

You threw something into the sizzling pan atop the would-be hotplate Echo had improvised for you, before leaning down and taking Omega's hands in a silly little jig of a dance.

"And when the money, comes in for the work I do I'll pass almost every penny on to you"

"Hey hey!" Wrecker cheered, dropping the crate in the doorway, "A dance party!" and just like that he joined the happy fray.

Your eyes lit up upon seeing them, and if he'd thought you would stop, he was wrong.

"When I come home(When I come home), well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the man who comes back home to you!"

Your dance turned into some jabbing motions, aimed at them to go along with the apt lyrics. Hunter was glad you didn't stop, with the delighted look on your face and the squeal of delight from Omega as Wrecker lifted her atop his shoulders, his soft smile was back tenfold.

"Well," Tech began, the smallest traces of amusement in his voice, "things are certainly lively with them around."

Lively indeed, because when the song's chorus picked up again, no one was safe from the infectious, joyous mood. Wrecker lunged forward, leaving Omega to grab hold of both Tech and Echo and drag them to the proverbial dance floor.

In turn, Hunter felt a warm hand grab his, and you pulled him into a bouncing dance that would have been right at home around a bonfire.

His face felt a little hot despite himself, but he looked down at you, a fondness in his eye he didn't even know he was capable of as you sang along with the song.

"When I'm lonely, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the one who's lonely without you"

Hunter couldn't help himself, he tuned out the actual song, focusing wholly on your voice as it wrapped around the words. And, for just a little while, Hunter imagined that you were singing them to him and him alone.

"And when I'm dreaming, well I know I'm gonna dream I'm gonna Dream about the time when I'm with you"

Maybe someday you would sing for him, but for now, he was content with this.

"When I go out, well I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the one who goes along with you"

He took a chance, and pulled you in just a little closer as he tried to keep up with your silly dance.

"And when I come home, yes I know I'm gonna be I'm gonna be the one who comes back home with you"

Yeah, he was more than content with this, for now.

"I'm gonna be the man who's coming home with you"

[icedthoma]

the presence of shadows

pairing: thoma x shuumatsuban!reader

summary: this was just supposed to be a simple, one time food delivery mission. alternatively, in which you catch feelings for the kamisato clan's chief retainer (and hope he at least gets a raise, after all ayato puts him through).

notes: LMAO IM BACK did anyone miss me /hj this was literally supposed to be an ayato fic whups. i wish we got more shuumatsuban lore :(

anyways like/comment/reblog if you enjoyed ^^

"i have a very important mission for you, y/n."

"yes, my lord." you appear on one knee in front of ayato seemingly out of nowhere. "fatui? vagrants? treasure hoarders? say the word, my lord, and i'll eliminate the threat in an instant."

he chuckles quietly. "i admire your enthusiasm. perhaps this is why you are one of my most capable members of the shuumatsuban, and why i am entrusting you with this operation." your gaze is glued to the floor, but you hear a slight rustling of what seems to be some kind of cloth as ayato's well polished shoes turn to face your direction.

chancing a glance up, you're met with that trademark grin that means whatever your boss is planning, it can't be good. beckoning for you to stand, ayato holds out a bag in front of you. "deliver this to thoma, please," he says, the smile never leaving his face. "he should be at the komore teahouse around now. that is all."

you blink rapidly for several seconds, automatically taking the bag into your arms. it's warm. swallowing any questions you have, you bow slightly in acknowledgement. "yes, sir."

you're gone before ayato could say anything more, exiting his office as silently as you had entered.

domestic missions are your least favorite, and this was the first one you’ve had in a while. you love a good challenge, experiencing the thrill of a fight against those that would threaten inazuma's safety being one of the best parts of your job. a task as monotonous as delivering food...definitely couldn't compare.

you huff a sigh as you walk past the large tree in the forefront of the city where many street animals often gather, clutching the bag of food tighter in your hand while you prepare to climb the final obstacle of the many stairs leading to the teahouse. it always feels odd, strolling around in normal clothes instead of your uniform in broad daylight. your discomfort is a constant reminder that your life never was and never would be "normal" ever since the previous kamisato clan head took you in.

children are gathered around the many buildings clustered around the city's rural area, laughing and falling over themselves while they play card games and chase each other around. you can't resist the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth at the sight of them.

the work you and your comrades do is forever shadowed in darkness, your identities and history confidential even in death. none of these people relaxing in ignorant bliss will ever know of the work you do, and perhaps that's a good thing.

you finally arrive at the teahouse and greet taroumaru with a respectful nod as you make your way in. despite you being in civilian clothes, he recognizes you as one of the shuumatsuban immediately. maybe it's the kunai knife hidden in your sleeve.

none of the rooms have the blond haired retainer who's practically famous throughout the yashiro commission. you've never had the chance (or need) to meet him personally, but from what you've heard, he seems to be quite the character. all you know is his rocky history as an outlander getting settled in inazuma as well as him being allowed some level of authority over the shuumatsuban. that was certainly a surprise to you. anyone who earned the trust of ayato to that extent must be truly special.

you enter the only room that appears to have been recently in use, electing to leave the food on the table before using ninjutsu techniques to conceal yourself in a dark corner and make sure the mission is carried out to completion. a few seconds later, the door slides open and thoma walks in with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head as he sits in front of the table. 

“ooh, finally, some food! i’m starving,” he says, cheerfully making to untie the bag. “how did this get in here, anyway?”

from your position blending with the shadows against the wall, your brow furrows in scrutiny as you watch thoma hum to himself about how much he looked forward to lunch today, green eyes sparkling despite the dim ambience of the room.

how come none of the accounts you’d heard mentioned him being such an absolute ray of sunshine? unacceptable. 

the humming abruptly stops, and you’re snapped out of your thoughts as thoma stares down at the food you’d brought him, his mouth hanging slightly open in...disbelief? horror? he looks like he’s going through the five stages of grief all at once. 

stretching up to get a closer look at the table, your eyes widen and you’re barely able to suppress a gag at what you just had the misfortune of seeing. the bag had apparently contained some kind of rice cake soup, but whatever that suspicious dish sitting in front of thoma was definitely did not deserve the title of being associated with rice cake soup. 

thoma finally picks up his chopsticks and pokes at the bowl, coming up with what looks like chunks of sea ganoderma mixed with the fish that’s definitely been overcooked to a crisp. 

ayato may be your boss, but you can’t defend him where his cooking skills are concerned. the scent from the open bowl wafts over to your corner, and there’s no stopping the choking cough that escapes you at the suffocating aroma. you don’t even think you can call this food. 

thoma’s gaze whips over to where you’re hidden, and he blinks in surprise. “...hello?’ he calls. “anyone there?” his eyes glance over what appears to be a bare wall of the teahouse. after a moment, he shrugs and his attention returns to whatever poison you’d just delivered to him. then, for reasons beyond your comprehension, he scoops up a spoonful and brings it up to his mouth.

you may have only just met the man, but you’re pretty sure having “kamisato ayato’s cooking” written on his gravestone as cause of death is a fate too cruel for anyone. “wait--” you cry out, disguise dissipating as you seemingly spring up out of thin air. halfway through lunging towards the table you realize what exactly you’ve just done, but it’s too late now. 

upon your sudden appearance, thoma jerks backward in surprise, the soup in his spoon splashing onto his lap. the two of you lock gazes, eyes wide in shock (thoma) and horror (you). 

great. years of training under the shuumatsuban, and you’re rendered helpless by an awkward situation with the yashiro commission’s best housekeeper.

“i--who--” thoma starts, snapping you out of your stupor. you sprint out of the room before he can get another word out. 

"napkins!” you yell, launching yourself over the counter on your way to the supply room. taroumaru lets out several amused barks at your predicament, much to your annoyance. so much for professionalism...

upon your return, thoma has already taken off the red cloth around his waist that had received the brunt of the soup’s impact. you hand him the napkins silently, face burning. 

there’s no malice in his expression as he takes them from you and wipes down his clothes. “you’re one of the shuumatsuban, aren’t you?”

well, there’s no point hiding it now. “how could you tell?”

“not many people can appear like that out of thin air,” thoma points out matter-of-factly. “i’m somewhat familiar with their ninjutsu techniques myself--or at least, as much as sayu lets slip to me.” he laughs, shaking his head as he gives up on the pungent stain on his garment and setting it to the side. “either way, it’s nice to meet another one of you. i’m thoma, by the way. i’m assuming lord kamisato sent...”

“yeah. he sent the soup, and by extension myself, i guess.” you shoot a narrowed glance at where that gross dish was still sitting on the table, blissfully undisturbed this entire time. “listen, i’m sorry about your clothes. i didn’t mean to reveal myself like that without a warning. i just--uh--didn’t want you to die of food poisoning. or something.”

“oh, don’t worry. this is a...regular occurence. i’m used to it.” with that, he sits back down and goes for another spoonful.

“hold on, didn’t I just say—”

thoma swallows hard, setting the spoon to the side and looking like he’s about to throw up any second. “oh wow. this is. delicious.”

you stare dumbfounded at him. “are you insane?”

“it’s my job,” he says with a pained smile.

throwing your hands up in the air, you storm out of the teahouse is frustration. “I cant watch this anymore.”

unfortunately, luck is not on your side as ayato somehow manages to catch you despite your desperate attempts to evade him, throwing a new bag of poison in your arms and sending you off to deliver it to wherever thoma is at the moment. 

today, you catch him on the outskirts of the city surrounded by what seems to be half the stray dog and cat population in inazuma. humming cheerfully, thoma distributes food among the animals, bending down to rub their soft fur as they feast. 

“hello again!” he says as you approach from behind, purposefully letting your footsteps be heard. “nice day today, isn’t it?” 

you sigh and hand him ayato’s latest concoction. “sorry. it’s about to get worse for the both of us.” it’s admirable how his upbeat expression doesn’t falter in the slightest as he readily takes the bag of food from you and ushers you to a spot of grass that’s not filled by any dogs or cats. 

“i love coming here, you know. isn’t it nice looking at all the animals’ happy faces when i bring them some treats? ahh, i wish i could just take them all home. but i know lord kamisato would never allow it.” thoma sits down cross-legged and takes out a pair of chopsticks from the bag. “thank you for the meal!” 

you watch curiously as he opens up the box inside to reveal the driest looking crystal shrimp you’ve ever seen arranged in a bed of lettuce. you’re no food connoisseur by any means, but just imagining yourself taking a bite out of one already has your mouth parched. 

“lord kamisato’s cooking really sucks...” you mutter under your breath, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by the man at your side. 

one cursed shrimp is already caught between his chopsticks. “i never thought i’d hear one of the shuumatsuban criticizing lord kamisato so openly!” 

“i’ll only be in trouble if you snitch,” you shoot back lightheartedly, resting your chin in your hand. “you know, he didn’t order me to make sure you eat it, just to deliver it to you. why do you insist on subjecting yourself to this...this...”

“this...?” 

“this absolute insult to liyue cuisine!” 

thoma’s laughter is contagious, and despite your attempts to resist you find yourself laughing along at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. “oh man,” thoma says, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “i am so glad you’re the one bringing me all these.” 

you choose to ignore how your heart skipped a beat at his last sentence. “i’m surprised you can still tolerate me after the stunt i pulled when we first met, not to mention how every time we’ve crossed paths has always been accompanied by ayato’s suspicious dishes,” you say instead, fishing out a second pair of chopsticks from the bag. “tell you what. if you’re so dead set on eating this stuff, i’ll eat one too. it’s only fair.”

thoma’s eyes widen as he quickly pulls the box towards him. “h-hold on,” he chuckles, “that’s not necessary—”

“too late,” you say with a grin, leaning back with one piece already between your chopsticks he hadn’t seen you steal. at his surprised expression, your growing smile becomes harder to suppress. “come on. you can’t beat a member of the shuumatsuban when it comes to theft.”

thoma leans forward to rest his chin on his palm. “…okay, you win. you shuumatsuban are really impressive, huh!”

it wasn’t often you got to hear someone other than your coworkers or ayato compliment your skills. after all, the whole point of the shuumatsuban was to remain hidden in the shadows, out of sight for the greater protection of inazuma’s citizens. whenever you completed a job, you were usually out of the scene before anyone could realize what had happened.

but as thoma stares at you with a look that could only be described as awe, you think that being acknowledged every so often maybe isn’t so bad after all.

clearing your throat, you tear your gaze away from his blinding smile and take a bite of the shrimp. “well. bottoms up!” across from you, thoma does the same.

after a solid minute of fighting for your life just to swallow one mouthful, you turn to thoma who’s face looks rather green.

“water—” you cough, rummaging around in the bag, but unfortunately it was devoid of any drinks.

thoma clears his throat several times and the color begins to return to his face. he stands up and offers a hand to you, which you gladly take as you shakily get to your feet.

“that was…”

“interesting,” you finish, attempting to subtly muffle your coughs with your fist. “archons…I think we need to unionize into a Victims of Kamisato Ayato’s Cooking organization or something.”

the two of you head to the komore teahouse, and taroumaru eyes the two of you knowingly upon your entry as he greets you with a teasing bark. “oh, be quiet,” you manage to whisper, before downing several glasses of water like you’ve been stranded in the sumeru desert.

“shall i order us some food?” thoma asks, reaching one hand over to pat taroumaru’s head affectionately. “you certainly deserve to eat a proper meal.”

ignoring how your stomach growls, it takes all your willpower to deny his offer. “thanks, thoma. but i still have a lot of work to do today that i better finish or else lord kamisato will have my head.”

“ah…” he says, the disappointment showing on his face for only a second before his signature smile is back. “i understand. would you be willing to grab dinner with me some other time? it doesn’t have to be today.”

“with you? i mean, of course i wouldn’t mind, if we both aren’t too busy…”

“then it’s a date,” thoma says it so matter of factly you found yourself nodding along before you realize what he just said.

hoping to celestia the heat in your cheeks isn’t visible, you pause on your way out the door and slowly turn back. “what did you say?”

“i, uh. said it’s a date,” he repeats with a nervous laugh. “should i not have said that? i’m sorry—”

“no! no, you’re fine,” you hurriedly interrupt, glaring daggers at where taroumaru has somehow acquired a box of popcorn and is watching this scene play out with glee. “it’s fine. i’d love that, actually..”

“then i look forward to seeing you then,” thoma calls as you exit the teahouse.

for someone who practically lived and worked in the shadows their entire life, perhaps “normalcy” wasn’t so unattainable after all.

you can almost forgive ayato for his terrible cooking. almost.

[aspenwritesstuff]

prev | masterlist | next

warnings: MC was in a car accident, blood (mentioned, not too terribly graphic), surgical scars, broken bones, medical setting, themes of depression throughout (self-neglect, lots of dark thoughts), isolation (self-imposed), threat of institutionalization, ANGST (little to no joy to be found in this chapter, I'm afraid), a lot of background/world building

wc: 10.5k (I'm sorry/You're welcome?)

"You felt your bruised heart crack further and wondered if it, too, had an ugly, angry, puckered scar."

a/n: welcome to the first part of "Desderium." I hope that you enjoy reading, though this part is sorely lacking in the happiness department. I'm a bit nervous, if I'm being completely honest, to share this with anyone. This work has been a driving force for me lately, something I find myself drawn to work on rather than having to drag my feet to do so. I think that's due to how much of myself I'm scattering amongst the words on the page. It's quite a bit darker and wordier than my released works up until now. So, as always, feedback is appreciated. Reblogs and comments are creativity food.

series taglist: @findingjieun permanent taglist: @svintsandghosts

You had never been afraid of the dark.

You struggled to believe anyone truly was, with no true danger coming from the lack of light itself. No, no one is afraid of the dark. They are simply afraid of what lurks within, waiting for the cloak of nightfall to strike. 

So, you supposed, it made perfect sense that you simply felt a sense of foreboding now - plunged entirely into impenetrable blackness. 

You weren’t sure how long it had been dark. You weren’t even sure what the last thing you’d seen had been. Memories lingered just out of reach, teasing you with their reluctance to come any closer despite your desperate beckoning. 

Stubborn things, memories. 

Basic things were easy to recall; your name, your age, your parents. These were simple memories, ingrained into you from the day you were born ‘til now. As important as they were, these memories offered nothing as far as solace went. 

Incheon. You remembered Incheon, the city in which you’d spent the vast majority of your life. You remembered how the scent wafting on the summer breeze from the fish markets would make your nose curl, and how the sand at the beaches held their warmth even after the sun had set. The sound of airplanes arriving and departing from Incheon International seemed to be a perpetual background noise in most every memory, like a white noise you’d grown used to. 

You held onto it, that white noise, for that was a comfort. 

As you explored what you’d managed to recollect, more and more memories were released from their prison - flooding you with an almost overwhelming sense of identity, as though you’d begun to forget who you were.

You remembered your friends. 

You remembered Felix and his brilliant smile against constellation skin. You remembered the way he would celebrate your victories more so than you yourself would. He was light. He was the sunshine. He was warm, he was a comfort. 

You remembered Changbin and the boisterous laugh that came from within his broad chest. You remembered the way he’d choose violence against any who dared to wrong you. He was light, too. He was the streetlamps illuminating the path home. He was safe and he, too, was a comfort. 

They did not coexist with the white noise. They were separate comforts, Felix and Changbin, from a different home. 

Seoul. You remembered Seoul and its towering buildings and they way they made you feel so small - so insignificant - at first glance. You remembered tipping Felix as he danced in the streets of Hongdae, sticking around far longer than you’d intended after he’d shot you a grateful grin. He’d asked if you had plans, and taken you along to a sushi restaurant - where he’d introduced you to Changbin. 

You remembered the two of them showing you around, making entire days of introducing you to the contents of these domineering buildings, giving you advice on good versus bad places to be. They made you feel bigger, even just slightly, equipping you with the knowledge required to no longer fear the overwhelming amount of activity in the city. 

You remembered SeMA, and the way the art there had made you feel small, too - but in a much different way. You remembered the way a particular sculpture brought you to tears and that Changbin had gone on the defensive until you assured him that you were just touched by the piece. You remembered that Felix had asked lots of questions, joking with you that it was your turn now. 

Your turn for what, though?

If you were anywhere but in the dark, you’d have screamed in frustration. Or, maybe, you’d have cried out of guilt. As soon as you woke up, you decided, you’d apologize to Felix and Changbin for forgetting these precious moments. You were sure you’d remember if you went back to that gallery with the two of them.

Gallery. The gallery. SeMA. 

Art. Your art. SeMA. 

The darkness suddenly felt suffocating as you remembered. You remembered that you were an artist, a painter. You remembered submitting your art to be put on display. You remembered the acceptance email. You remembered that you had somewhere to be. 

You were going to be late for your very first showcase because you couldn’t wake up. You were going to miss seeing the looks on patron’s faces - whether pleased or displeased - as they took in the painstaking hours you’d poured onto a canvas. You were going to miss seeing if anyone noticed the finer details of your work, miss any question someone may have, miss any tears one may shed over it.

All because you couldn’t wake up.

Perhaps this was what was lurking in the dark for you, seeing as the nothingness surrounding you was suddenly horrifying.

Beeping. The first sound you’d encountered since finding yourself stuck in the dark. How ironic, having your alarm go off whilst you’re stuck in your own mind, incapable of grasping consciousness. You’d have laughed if you could.

Your mothers voice calling your name frantically, begging you to wake up. You’d have laughed harder, then, seeing as you hadn’t lived with her since you were nineteen. Twenty-three now, you chalked it up to an auditory dream, blaming the fear of missing your big day for bringing her into this.

You remembered getting into a car, your mentor’s car. Ms. Park, a gentle woman around your mothers age. You remembered the pride in her eyes as she asked if you were ready. You remembered her praise as she spoke to you about your piece, expressing admiration that you’d been accepted into a showcase so young.

But that couldn’t be right, could it? 

Anxiety crept into the shadows that swallowed you. If you’d already left for the show, why was your alarm going off? Why were you asleep? Why wasn’t Ms. Park waking you up?

You remembered. You remembered that your alarm was never a steady, repetitive beat, but an upbeat rock song with enough bass to rumble your nightstand. You remembered that you did, truly, get into the car with Ms. Park. You remembered laughing as she reminisced on your early days of painting, teasing you about having threatened to give up when certain shades of blue proved too difficult. 

You remembered, then, arguably the most important thing of all - how to open your eyes. 

Bright, white light flooded your vision as your lids fluttered open weakly. You didn’t want to remember anymore as the reality of the situation began to sink in. But you did. You remembered. You remembered that, just as you were blinded by the light above you now, you were blinded in the car, too. Not one, but two lights, barrelling at full speed towards your seat in the car. 

You remembered, though you wished you wouldn’t. The crunching of metal against metal, the shattering of glass, Ms. Park’s screams cut short by the airbags whooshing into action. The sudden jolt from your face hitting the dashboard, the taste of blood on your tongue, the smell of smoke. 

With the return of vision came pain. 

The pain was not remembered, but experienced. Dreadfully and completely, all at once. 

The right side of your face throbbed painfully with each erratic beat of your heart, your neck completely stiff and limbs feeling as if they were nothing but dead weight at your sides. It hurt to breathe, lungs fighting to expand under swollen flesh. These were minor inconveniences compared to the horror of your next realization.

Your hand.

Your right hand.

The hand with which you painted.

The hand around which you had inadvertently based your entire future. 

The pain was hot and white, brighter than the lights above - brighter than the lights that prefaced its very existence. You couldn’t lift it from your side, couldn’t bend your fingers through the electric shock attacking your nerves with each attempt. 

You screamed, then. A visceral outburst of shock and horror, anguish and hopelessness, and everything that came with and between. Nurses rushed to your side, urgently discussing something involving your morphine dosage as though any drug could dull the torment of what you had lost - what had been taken from you. 

Even as they pushed another dose, spewing empty reassurances from behind blue masks, you screamed. Even as the medication coursed through your veins, though the push back towards the unconsciousness of before brought it down to a pathetic whine, your desperation was not silenced until you found yourself back in the dark. 

You welcomed it, finding solace in its solitude. This time, you prayed that you wouldn’t remember.

Time, it seemed, had little to no effect on anything aside from your exterior. New flowers replaced the old, crimson replacing gold against the otherwise ébauche backdrop of your hospital suite. Faded blue walls - more gray than blue, really - interrupted only by clean white curtains and the dull green of your gown. And the flowers, of course the flowers. 

Felix and Changbin had brought them to you as soon as visitors were allowed, but they also brought questions. Questions that, if you were completely honest, you weren’t ready to answer. Questions like, “How are you feeling?” Questions like, “Do you wanna talk about it?” Questions that a response to would only serve to deepen the wounds that hadn’t healed. The wounds you weren’t sure ever would. The wounds they couldn’t see.

So you hadn’t spoken, allowing them to just sit in your presence despite what terrible company you made. You hadn’t spoken, or even looked up at them. Not because you didn’t want do, though. You just couldn’t. You couldn’t look up and see the pity - the sorry, helpless look - that you were sure they held for you. No, you couldn’t. That would make this real.

You knew that it was wrong to meet their concern with silence, in a way. Yet your heart lacked the heaviness that came with guilt, already carrying far too many burdens to worry about a possible offense.

The nurses came three times a day with meals - though you barely ate, the doctor twice for progress checks - confirming that your body was healing, and a therapist at least once - always asking the same questions that the boys had. You couldn’t answer them for her, either, always resulting in the same heavy sigh before she retreated - defeated completely by your lack of response - back to her office down the hall. 

Perhaps you should feel bad for her, too, being assigned such a non-cooperative patient. Trekking from the psychology wing to the inpatient ICU, just to be met with a brick wall. You wondered if her lack of heels in the last few days was a choice rather than coincidence, saving her feet from your unaccommodating, actively chosen muteness.

Your mother came every day - arguably the one you should have felt the worst for neglecting as she cried at your bedside, holding the hand not in a cast beneath her own as she apologized. For what? You busied your mind with that in her absence. She couldn’t have predicted this, she couldn’t have protected you, and she certainly wasn’t at fault. 

You hated that she apologized. You hated that you knew the answer to your own question. For what? For you. For your hand. For the misfortune that had befallen you. You hated that she apologized. You hated that she made it real. So you didn’t speak to her either - not out of spite, despite the way her remorse affected you. But out of necessity. Talking about it makes it real. Realer than apologies do. 

The sun rose and set, the days came and went, and you did not speak. You picked at your food, stared at the flowers, and you did not speak. The doctor removed your cast, and you wished he hadn’t. Black and blue highlighted the angry, puckered red scar left from the reconstructive surgery on your shattered hand - your shattered instrument - and it taunted you. It taunted you far more than the cast ever had. 

The cast was white. Innocent in both color and appearance as it held your hand still, giving you an excuse for its newfound lack of use. The cast protected you. Both your bones and your mind as it hid away the ugliness beneath. Hid away the evidence that it wasn’t a horrible dream. Hid away the evidence that it was real. 

The scar made it real. 

Rehabilitation was an option. An option you took, despite the doctor telling you that regaining full mobility was highly unlikely. An option you took because you were supposed to - because that’s what people in your situation do. 

You’d be able to write again, he’d said. To use your hand for the things everyone did. To eat, to touch, to hold another’s. You’d be able to draw. To paint, even. He’d said this like it was a miracle, like you should be grateful. 

But it would never be the same. He hadn’t said so, but you knew. 

You knew it would never be the same.

The tedium of your days went undeterred for a while. Sunrise, nurse, doctor, mom, nurse, doctor, therapist, sunset, nurse. Felix and Changbin on Mondays. What was unexpected, though, was a guest after the sunset nurse. A guest you’d not guessed would come - or simply hoped wouldn’t, seeing as she of all people would make this undeniably real. 

Ms. Park. 

Ms. Park with only sickly yellows and greens beneath her eyes to show that she’d been in the same car as you had. Ms. Park who still had full use of both of her hands, all ten of her digits, and the ability to dream. Ms. Park who’d called your name, slowly peeking past the curtain separating you from the world as your blood ran cold. 

Ms. Park who asked if she could sit, to which you nodded. 

“I’ve heard that your painting was well received by the patrons,” she spoke tentatively, as though fully aware of the irony that otherwise wonderful news brought with it. This news, had circumstances been different, would’ve made you happy. Circumstances were not different, though, and you were not happy.

It was a cosmic joke, being given a taste of success in your now-futile dream. A pill most bitter, knowing that you could’ve made a name for yourself with your work had a single red light not been ran. 

You felt your bruised heart crack further and wondered if it, too, had an ugly, angry, puckered scar.

“I’ve heard from your mother,” she interrupted the silence you were content to share with her, earning nothing but a blink in return. You watched as she adjusted the thin wire glasses sitting crookedly on her face before sighing, “She told me. About your hand.”

You clenched your jaw, finding the urge to speak for the first time in weeks for the sole purpose of cursing your mother. You didn’t, though, gritting your teeth and listening to your mentor’s words.

“I proposed an idea to her, and I know it’s not much,” you didn’t even need to listen to the rest of her sentence to know that she was right. It wouldn’t be much, seeing as she couldn’t fix your hand. She couldn’t change your fate.

“Now, you may not be able to do what you’re used to,” you winced at the reminder, unnecessary though not meant to hurt you, “But your wisdom is valuable, kid.” Your brows furrowed then, feeling foreign against your forehead from the weeks of inexpressiveness, “I think you have a lot to offer - to teach, and many people who would love to learn.”

Your fists clenched, the numbness of your right hand only fueling the sudden bout of rage her suggestion had sent through to your very core. Not only did her arrival cement for you what you’d refused to acknowledge was real - that, though you had survived, your dream had not - but she went even further. 

Suggesting that you give the last smoldering embers towards the fire of another’s pursuit of that very same dream made something inside of you snap.

You spoke.

“Get out,” you croaked, neglect having made your whisper come out in broken pieces. Ms. Park murmured your name then, features drooping into a sympathetic frown at the sight of your eyes welling with tears.

“Get out!” you said again, a raspy shout immediately shifting that pitying look into one of shock, “I said get out!” You grew louder as she began trying to backtrack, though the combination of your shouts and the throbbing of your pulse in your ears gave you no chance of understanding her. 

You fervently began to press the nurse-call button as you watched her still moving lips - despite your adamant demand - her hands held out with palms facing you in a gesture of surrender. 

It was too late to wave that white flag, though. The damage had been done. The thread had been snapped. Ms. Park did exactly what you’d feared she would.

She made it real. 

“Get out, get out, get out, get OUT!” you screamed now, voice cracking as it adjusted to it’s utilization, “NOW!” 

As your voice grew in volume, so did the rate at which the monitor at your bedside beeped. So did the pace at which you frantically tapped the button, never ceasing in your outburst until the nurse had arrived, obviously startled by your anger -  hastily escorting Ms. Park and her lingering, remorseful gaze from your room.

This was real.

Even after the monitor at the bedside had returned to a pace acceptable by medical standards, the tears flowing from your eyes did not.

This was real, and things would never be the same.

You pulled the pillow that had been supporting your head from its place, smothering your face into the starchy linen in an attempt to stifle the broken sobs bubbling forth from quivering lips. There was no use trying to stop the tears from flowing, now. Along with your hope that this was a terrible dream, the dam that held back everything you should’ve felt this entire time crumbled into a useless pile. 

Your throat constricted as you pulled the pillow from your face, tossing it aside carelessly to bury your face in your hands - both of them. The realization that your right felt much colder than your left, not circulating properly after the trauma, only served to deepen the grief that you were drowning in - far past the point of being able to tread its surface.

You’d fallen asleep crying that night. Crying each and every tear that you’d refused to allow freedom before. 

Because it would never be the same.

You no longer kept track of the sunrises and sunsets.

So it came as a surprise - though the word may seem misused considering your indifference - when the doctor brought you a thin stack of discharge papers. The flowers were orange today, in your mothers hands rather than atop the table. You didn’t bother to listen to the conversation between the doctor and your mother, nor did you read the paperwork at all before flipping to the last page. 

Never had you considered just how taunting a thin, black line could be until you stared down at the place where you were to sign your name. You were sure the nurse had thought herself helpful when she handed you a pen, likely having assumed that a lack of utensil was the primary source of your apprehension. 

In all honesty, you hadn’t even considered the need for one until she’d presented it to you, politely smiling - blissfully unaware - as you swallowed down a sudden lump in your throat. 

Taking the pen from her outstretched hand wasn’t entirely dissimilar to what prisoners must feel being given their last meal; a courteous act in retrospect, dampened if not completely overshadowed by the promise of doom.

The pen felt foreign in your hand, as though you’d never held one before. Your hand shook as you positioned the pen between your fingers, pressing the tip to the paper unsteadily. Suddenly self-conscious, you looked away from the page to ensure that the doctor was still engaged in conversation with your mother and that the nurse wasn’t looking your way. Relieved by the lack of spectacle, you returned your attention to the intimidating black line.

It was just your name, your signature, something you’d done countless times - so why was your heart racing? Why were your hands growing clammy and your stomach performing an olympic gymnastics routine? It was just your name. It was just your signature.

You used that as a mantra, forcing yourself to move the ink across the paper in flowing strokes, managing to get halfway through your name with no problem - until you felt the pain. Less of a stab than a concentrated burst of flame, directly in the center of your hand. You hissed as the pen jerked alongside your wrist, leaving a sharp, inelegant line of blue ink in its wake. 

You felt an uncomfortable warmth prickle up the back of your neck, sniffling as you readjusted the ball-point to where your signature had been abruptly cut off. You knew there were eyes on you now, as you struggled to complete the simple task through blurred vision.

It was just your name. Just your signature. Something you’d done countless times.

Still, you’d barely managed to complete the task. 

“Honey, I can –” you cut your mother’s well-intentioned offer off before she could finish, ignoring the wetness that trailed down your heated cheek.

“What’s the date?” Despite the external display of turmoil, your voice was steady - flat and businesslike - as you looked up at her face.

“Sweetheart, really, I can –”

“What is the date,” you spoke slower this time, forgoing the respectful manner in which you’d typically address her as you grew annoyed. Annoyed with the sympathetic glimmer in everyone’s eye whenever they’d try to speak with you, annoyed by the way she naturally doted - as many mothers do, annoyed by the sad smile that tugged at only one corner of her mouth.

“The fifteenth of April,” the nurse supplied, visibly stiffened by the sudden animosity that thickened the air between yourself and the matriarch. 

You turned your gaze towards her then, allowing the tear having escaped you earlier to drip from your jaw before thanking her in the same monotone voice you were using with your mother. 

You scrawled the date quickly, sloppy in your haste to complete it before your hand could catch fire once more. You dropped the pen, letting it clatter against the faux-wood of the bedside tray. You met your mothers eyes then, biting back any further aggression at the way her eyes shimmered with her own unshed tears.

“I’d like to leave now.”

Your mom nodded, passing you a plastic grocery bag, “We’ll give you some privacy to change, then.” 

You nodded and watched as she filed out of the room behind the medical staff. A relieved exhale left your lips as the curtain was shut quietly on your behalf.

If there was one thing you could say for your mother, it’s that she always knew the time and place. Now was not the time to scold you for being rude. This was not the place to confront you about your coldness towards her. Now was the time to let you be angry. Now was the time to say nothing outside of necessity. This was the place to leave you be.

At the soft click of your door closing, you tossed the blanket from your legs and threw them over the edge of the mattress, goosebumps rising up your arms as the cold tile met with your bare feet. You emptied the plastic sack’s contents to where you were once sitting, reassured to see a comfortable pair of sweats and a plain gray tee.

You weren’t sure you were quite ready to face buttons just yet.

You undid the bow on the back of your gown with your left hand - purposefully - allowing the gown to flutter to the speckled floor in a heap. You made haste of putting on your undergarments, the chilly air unpleasantly raising every bit of peach fuzz your skin had to offer.

The clothes mom had packed were loose, likely on purpose. You should’ve been thankful that she’d gone so far as to consider things easy to slip into, but you instead found yourself frustrated. Not with her, but with the fact that it was even a precaution that needed to be taken. 

You pushed back against the sudden tightness in your chest, refusing to cry more than once in a half an hour as you stuck your head into the shirt, pushing your arms through with an unneeded amount of force. Determined, you sat on the edge of the bed and kicked your feet into their respective halves of the sweatpants, standing to yank them over your hips with shuddering breaths. 

You didn’t think twice about the drawstrings around your waist, gripping them tightly in both hands before tugging forcefully outwards - stumbling back onto the bed as your right hand tensed - nails this time, nails that had been left in a furnace, hammering directly through the middle - nerves igniting all the way up to your elbow as you cursed under your breath. 

You stared down at the scar atop your hand, now a soft pink rather than violet-red - though, apparently, just as angry. Stupid. Stupid was how you felt. You shouldn’t have hoped that the dwindling of its colors had any correlation to its ability. You shouldn’t have hoped that it was more than just an aesthetic heal. You shouldn’t have hoped.

“Fuck…” you grumbled as you felt your ears grow hot, leaning your head back as though gravity could stop the tears that threatened to fall. 

Deep breath in, and out. Again. Once more. Collect yourself.

Standing from the bed, forgoing tightening the sweatpants, you walked to the door - abandoning the grocery bag and the dull green gown, still in an unkempt pile on the floor. The staff had gone, leaving just your mother waiting outside of your room. She offered you a smile as soon as she heard the creaking of hinges, tiger lilies from Changbin and Felix still in her arms.

You weren’t entirely sure how getting into a vehicle would go until you found yourself standing outside the passenger door of your mother’s sedan, staring at your own reflection in the window. You weren’t afraid, despite the calamity that ensued during your last experience. Perhaps your sense of self-preservation was also a casualty of the accident, feeling nothing at all as you opened the door and slid inside.

The door behind you opened, accompanied by the sweet scent of the bouquet the boys had brought yesterday as your mother carefully set it in the seat before shutting the door with more care than necessary. Was she trying to protect you, even now? Was she worried that the slamming of the door would hurt you? You didn’t know, nor did you particularly value the gesture in spite of her compassionate intent. You were too exhausted.

Maybe exhausted wasn’t the word. This tiredness was deeper, more permanent than simple overexertion. Stronger than simply needing rest. Harder than just sleeping it off. This tiredness radiated throughout your very bones, making a home within you that you doubted it would abandon anytime soon. 

You were moving now, having completely missed your mother getting into the driver’s seat - and unsure of how your seatbelt had made its way snug against your chest. It was safe to assume she’d ensured your safety herself, as she would when you were a child. Patronizing as it may have seemed to be brought back to your adolescence, relief overwhelmed any offense you otherwise held - the potential of a struggle had you done it yourself more than enough to excuse her.

The entire drive seemed to pass in a blur of pale gray sky against asphalt a few shades darker, splashes of color from pedestrians and other vehicles, and the sound of the reliable engine sputtering as it brought you towards your destination. 

Home. 

It wasn’t as comforting as tv dramas had made it seem, arriving home after a prolonged absence. There was no celebration, no warm aura emanating from the windows, no relief. 

Home, as it turned out, was just a more familiar place to face unfamiliar situations.

You declined your mother’s offer to walk you in, leaving her sympathetic smile and lingering words of affection behind as you trudged forth on the concrete walkway. You didn’t turn around as you made your way up the trio of stairs that led to the door. You didn’t need to turn around to know she was watching as you transferred the flowers from your boys to the crook of your elbow to type in the building’s code. You knew she watched as you stepped forward into the musty air that always lingered in old buildings as the door closed behind you.

You felt like an intruder as you stepped into the stagnant air of your neglected apartment, setting the lilies atop the counter before taking it all in. 

It was the same as it had always been, a moment in time that had frozen in your absence. The air carried faint hints of lilac from the long-gone wall plug and the linseed notes of oil paint, the walls carrying the pieces of art you were too fond of to give away. Everywhere you looked there were reminders of your passion - the passion you’d never be able to embrace in the same way again.

This was obviously the home of an artist. The artist Eclipse, whom you no longer were. You were only a person like any other now. You were just…you. At least no one would know why Eclipse had ceased painting, leaving it an intriguing mystery rather than the tragic truth. You supposed that was the bright side of painting under a pseudonym.

You felt like an intruder. 

As you silently pulled the paintings from their long-occupied homes on the walls, you only felt slightly less out of place. One after another, all evidence that you’d ever had the ability to create at all was set gently into the coat closet nearest your front door. You’d worry about your studio later - likely returning it to the spare bedroom it had been originally intended for in the floor plan - though, for now, ignoring it seemed like the best option. 

Little by little, the evidence of the hours of dedication you had hung on your walls was reduced to nothing but nail-holes and rectangular patches that lacked the dust that had accumulated during your absence. Little by little, this apartment felt like it didn’t belong to an artist, but to you. Just you. 

Funny - bitterly so - that being surrounded by emptiness made you feel at home. 

You made your way to bed then, completely spent after a task heavier than the labor required to perform it. A humorless scoff left your lips as you spotted your phone on the bedside table - still connected to its charger - exactly as you’d left it in your rush to get out the door for the exhibit. 

The thought of checking it at all nauseated you. There was absolutely no doubt that it would be filled with consolatory messages, get-well-soon wishes, and questions about your wellbeing. All of those things were nothing more than reminders of what had happened. Nothing more than cold, cruel splashes of reality, regardless of how pure the intention may be.

So you didn’t. You didn’t check your phone. You didn’t call your friends. 

You did remove the easel from your room. You did put it with the paintings in the closet, along with the half finished piece it had held. You’d been proud of that piece before. You’d been eager to complete it before, the final vision clear as day in your mind.

But that was before. Now, it served simply to take up floor space in the entryway closet - fated to live in the dark, incomplete. 

Your bedsheets were even more enticing with the easel out of sight. They were cool against the exposed skin of your arms as you slinked beneath their comfort, closing your eyes as you welcomed sleep to take you back to a world of surrealism. A world in which you didn’t need to acknowledge your hand. A world in which you weren’t lost.

You would’ve been perfectly content to stay put in your bed had it not been for the inconveniences that came with being a human being. Aside from requiring sustenance and use of a restroom, you had additional duties that came with being recently released from the hospital. 

So, you took your meds. You drank some water and used the bathroom, and ate a few crackers. You did precisely enough for your body to be capable of falling right back into the comfortable world of unconsciousness. 

And you would’ve been perfectly content to maintain this new routine, too, had it not been for the inconveniences that came with a worried mother. You still hadn’t touched your phone, missing the fact that she’d been attempting to check in on you several times during the last few weeks. As any parent worth half a damn would be, she was understandably concerned. 

Concerned enough to use her spare key to see how you were doing for herself. 

You’d been woken up by bright light filtering from what had formerly been a curtained window, your mother having pulled the heavy fabric aside to welcome in the harshness of the sun. Squinting, you made out the silhouette of her frame and sat up in bed. 

“Ma, what are you –”

“You’re getting up,” she interrupted, pulling the comforter off of you in a sweeping motion. Your arms sprang to wrap around your torso in a futile attempt to keep yourself warm, “And you’re doing it now.”

“But –”

“Now,” she repeated, her voice carrying a level of authority that - despite having been away from home for four years - you couldn’t refuse. You scooched towards the edge of the bed, placing your feet tentatively on the floor before looking up to meet her eyes.

She was angry, that much was made obvious by the singular raised brow and arms crossed against her chest. Her face held more than that, however. Something akin to relief laced with sadness hid behind the dangerous glint in her eyes.

“You haven’t returned any of my calls.” You averted your gaze as guilt threatened to invade the numbness you’d begun to cherish, “I asked the boys if they’d heard from you, and you haven’t answered them either.”

The boys. Changbin and Felix. They were probably worried, too, you figured. Well, as long as they didn’t lose interest in you whilst you ignored everything aside from your body and your bed.

“As you can see,” you sighed, holding your hands out to your sides, “I’m perfectly fine. So if you’d be so kind as to –”

“You’re not fine, sweetheart,” she interrupted, again. She had a habit of doing that often when she was upset, not wanting to hear the alternative to the thoughts that had driven her to the point of outward irritation, “Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been?”

“I’ve been resting, ma,” you groaned, the attempt to run your hand through your hair cut short by the tangles that had formed from days of neglect.

“No,” she took a shaky inhale, “You were rotting.” 

You couldn’t argue then, simply continuing to stare down at the hardwood floor beneath your bare feet. 

“Get some clothes and take a shower,” she ordered, though her voice sounded more defeated than anything, “I’ll prepare some breakfast, then we’re going to talk.”

The ominous way she ended the sentence didn’t go unnoticed, though you knew better than to ask questions right now. You did as you were instructed, pulling a fresh pair of sweats and a comfortable hoodie from the dresser before forcing your legs to carry you towards the bathroom.

You caught a glimpse of your sorry state in the mirror as you undressed. You couldn’t find it within yourself to be embarrassed as you noticed the lopsided nature the knots had given your hair. Despite doing the bare minimum aside from sleeping, purplish hues filled the space beneath your eyes. Your skin was dull - your expression even moreso - and your lips were chapped and peeling. 

You couldn’t bring yourself to mind, though, looking away to turn the knobs of the shower. The pipes groaned as hot water put them to use for the first time since before the accident, the showerhead sputtering a few times before releasing a steady stream into the tub. 

You looked back towards yourself, watching as the building steam steadily obscured your reflection before finally stepping beneath the water. The warmth against your skin felt foreign, though not entirely unpleasant. It took you a while to reach for the shampoo and lather your hair, already dreading the detangling process you’d need to take just to finish the wash. 

But you did, eventually, massaging the fruity scent against your head in slow circles before pressing harder when you realized just how good it felt.

You didn’t realize just how sore and itchy your scalp had become, the sensation of your fingertips awakening the nerve endings you’d been neglecting. You lathered for much longer than necessary before allowing the foam to rinse down your back, swirling down the drain alongside several bunches of tangled hair.

You filled the entirety of your palm with conditioner, applying it along the ends of your hair before concentrating it within the interwoven knots. You used your fingers to pry apart the stubborn strands slowly, wincing as you inadvertently yanked against the tender skin in the process. 

The sensation of wet hair sliding down your back made you shudder as more strands were added to the ranks of the already concerning amount of hair. Wetness pooled at your feet as the drain struggled to keep up, hindered by the building layer blocking its cover. 

You ignored the prickle at the corner of your eyes, grabbing your body wash with blurred vision. You squeezed a large glob onto the loofah - only to drop the bottle with an echoing thud to the shower floor. 

Though you’d been trying to hide away from reality beneath your bedsheets, your hand remembered. Beneath the scar proving the existence of your tragedy was the pain. The sharp, sudden burning that had led you to drop the bottle. You wanted to cry, to scream, to expel every last bit of frustration that came with the sudden reminder of your circumstances - but you didn’t. 

Instead, you silently picked up the bottle, placing it back onto the shelf before scrubbing the weeks’ worth of wallowing from your skin. From your neck to your toes, you rubbed ferociously. You sloughed away any dead skin roughly, leaving behind a pink hue on every bit of flesh the loofah touched. You scrubbed, as though you could remove your newfound handicap if you pressed hard enough. You scrubbed, as though the pain beneath the surface could be cleansed away by soap alone.

As you scrubbed at the scar on your hand - that vengeful, tangible mark - you knew it would never go away. You knew that it wasn’t as though you’d made a mistake on a sketch. You knew that, for this, there was no eraser. No back button. No reset. You couldn’t simply turn to a new page and start again - every page now had this vengeful, tangible mark.

The water had begun to run cold, yet you still persisted. It wasn’t until your mother called from your kitchen that she’d finished preparing the meal that you were pulled from the trance, staring down at your thoroughly exfoliated hand as you turned the faucet off. 

You quickly dried, pulling on your comfortable clothes before wrapping your hair up into a towel. You couldn’t see your reflection this time, though you were sure that bathing had given it a stark improvement to the zombie from before. 

This suspicion was confirmed as you caught sight of the way your mom’s face softened at your newfound cleanliness. She had set a plate of french toast and fruit at the table for you. The lilies the boys had gotten you were there, too - though they were nearly completely wilted, more of a rust than sunset orange. They’d been fading alongside you, it seemed. 

Your mother sat down across the table from you, watching you eat a few small pieces of fruit from your plate between her own bites before speaking up.

“So,” she dabbed at the edge of her lips with a paper towel, removing a stray bit of syrup, “I spoke with Ms. Park.”

You winced, putting a bite of the sickeningly sweet breakfast into your mouth to avoid having to answer. Your last interaction with the woman you once proudly claimed as your mentor was the last thing you wanted to discuss with your mother. 

“She told me about her idea, having you teach,” she paused, taking another bite as she waited for you to say something, anything at all. When you occupied your mouth with another powdered-sugar coated bite, averting your eyes from her expectant expression, she continued.

“I think she’s right, you know.”

You nearly choked, reaching for the glass of orange juice you’d been neglecting to wash down the culprit, balking at your mother as soon as you’d regained composure.

“I really don’t think so, ma,” you mumbled before biting a strawberry in half. 

“I do,” she reiterated, “You need to do something aside from lying around all day. Tell me, sweetheart,” she leaned forward, prompting you to meet her stern gaze, “If I hadn’t come today, when would you have gotten up and taken care of yourself?”

Words escaped you, though you knew the answer. You knew that you would’ve continued to lay in the sheets, hiding from the world. You knew that you wouldn’t smell of fruits and florals, but of your own sweat had she not arrived. You knew that you would’ve continued to sustain yourself off of crackers and stale bottles of water. You knew that she had a point - but you also knew that acknowledging it would do nothing but further her point.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, a flustered exhale coming from her lips as she read your silence perfectly, “You should take her up on her offer, honey. You need to do something,” she took a long sip of her juice, gaze hardening, “Or I will.”

You were taken aback. 

“What? What do you mean, ma?” you spoke slowly, feeling your chest sink at the seriousness in her expression, “What do you mean, you’ll do something?”

“If you can’t take care of yourself, there are places to go,” she stated plainly, crossing her arms against her chest, “If you can’t pull yourself together, there are several facilities that will help you.”

Your blood ran cold. 

“Ma…” you croaked, suddenly feeling sick to your stomach. She couldn’t mean what you thought she did…could she? 

“Try to see it from my perspective, sweetie,” her voice took on a much more soothing tone as she reached a hand across the table, placing it on top of your own, “Your baby was in an accident, recovered and went home. She won’t talk to anybody, she won’t take care of herself…” she trailed off as her eyes welled with tears, “As her mother, even if it feels wrong –” she took a shaky breath, squeezing the top of your hand gently in her grasp, “You do what needs done to help her, right?”

You swallowed hard, once again knowing that she was right. Knowing that she had a point. Knowing that, despite your complete displeasure at the idea, that you - in her shoes - would do the very same. 

For the first time since the accident, your heart ached for someone besides yourself. 

“So,” she continued with a sniffle, blinking hard before wiping her eyes. She was still trying to hold herself together, even now, “I need you to choose for me - to choose for yourself,” she gave your hand a final reassuring squeeze before returning it to her lap, “The mental hospital, or Ms. Park - who are we calling?”

Both of the ideas left a sickening sensation of bile in your throat. On one hand, a psychiatric ward felt like signing away the last remaining bits of yourself that you had - like the pieces of yourself you were left with would cease to be within your control. On the other, the idea of speaking to Ms. Park after the way you’d left off was nothing short of horrifying - you wondered if she’d address it, and how you’d handle it if she did. Neither option felt anything close to appealing.

Either way, you were relinquishing control over your life - control over your choices. One thing stood above the rest, however. 

Privacy. Space to mourn. Space to be alone, unmonitored. 

“Call Ms. Park,” you whispered, vocalizing your decision before you had time to change your mind.

This was the lesser of the two evils - at least, you hoped.

God, you hoped.

The next couple of days passed by in a blur. Your mother had called Ms. Park on your behalf after sensing your hesitation to speak to her following the outburst at the hospital - for that, and that alone, you were grateful. Her voice echoed in your head, “She’ll do it,” she’d said simply, as though you’d accepted a contract - and, in a way, you had. They felt foreboding, those words. An agreement made out of necessity, spoken of in nothing short of businesslike tones as they discussed the details - you were listening, but never interjected. 

It was difficult to have an opinion about something you wanted nothing to do with, it seemed.

They’d decided to have you meet with a student in a few days, giving Ms. Park enough time to find a pupil whilst giving you not nearly enough to prepare. You’d done your best, though, deciding to start with introductions and finding out what they already knew before planning out thorough lessons. 

You’d rejected Ms. Park’s offer of meeting the student beforehand, asking your mother to relay to her that you weren’t looking to make friends - you were doing this out of necessity, and nothing more. Mother, of course, softened your words into something much more palatable, letting Ms. Park know that you’d rather not make two separate trips to the studio. 

She was doing that a lot lately, mother - making you easier to digest. 

You’d like to think that was for your benefit alone, but you knew her. You knew that she was trying to ensure that you hadn’t left yourself isolated when you came out of this - if you came out of this. 

You’d chosen comfort over leaving an impression today, opting for an all black hoodie-and-leggings combo for the third time this week with your hair tied back in an efficient-but-messy bun atop your head. You didn’t bother with any makeup, certain that you wouldn’t seem too terribly disheveled in the presence of exhausted art students. 

You caught the bus to the main campus, doing your best to watch your feet instead of the surroundings of the very place you’d graduated from but a year prior. Forcing your feet forward against the familiar cobbled walkways was giving you enough reason to hesitate as-is, you didn’t want to look at the towering buildings filled with memories of the artist you’d never be again. 

Eclipse learned here, you did not. 

In spite of that, your feet remembered the way towards the studio wing and carried you there dutifully. You easily found studio 6, the room in which you were to meet the person you’d be stuck teaching for the remainder of their semester - the person whose inspired dream would serve only as bitter reminders of your inability to do the same.

At least you weren’t in a padded room, right?

You stepped inside of the room, immediately greeted by the scent most art rooms would tend to carry - earthy and thick, with hints of chemical-laced paints and varnish. You remembered when these smells would make you feel inspired. You remembered the way they’d cling to your clothes and fill your apartment - making sleep impossible as the need to create invaded your psyche.

It wasn’t the same anymore, though, and it never would be. Now, his room smelled like hopelessness. This room smelled like anger. This room smelled like gasoline and smoke and sterile iodine. This room smelled like loss.

Ignoring the way these familiar scents tugged at your heart, you pulled a stool from the corner of the room and took a seat, waiting in absolute silence for the arrival of your forced pupil.

Hwang Hyunjin valued many things - among these was being punctual. So, naturally, when he woke up with ten minutes until he was scheduled to meet with his mysterious new instructor, he was freaking out. 

He’d nearly fallen from his mattress, tripping on the comforter that his legs had become entangled in during sleep. He caught himself last minute on his nightstand, knocking over his lamp in the process. 

Following his far-from-graceful exit out of bed, he pulled a pair of sweatpants on to replace the pajamas he’d worn to bed, tying his hair sloppily behind his ears as she shoved a piece of toast into his mouth - cursing under his breath as he stumbled, half asleep, out of his dorm. 

You’d started to consider leaving when the clock displayed five-past-ten, wondering if your mother would excuse you for not upholding the deal you’d struck with her considering the tardiness of your student - though the fantasy entertaining that thought provided was erased the moment the studio door slammed open.

Standing there was a very disheveled man, panting, with beads of sweat on his brow. Had he…ran here? Was this your student?

Your name spilled from his lips in a breathless inquiry, his eyes wide with what you could only describe as panic as he took in your crossed arms and disinterested demeanor.

“You’re late.”

You watched him gulp at your words, something you may have found humor in if it weren’t for your complete lack of desire to be here at all. Though he definitely beat you out in the height department, the way he shrunk into himself made it seem as though you were much more intimidating. 

“I know, I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened, I swear I set an ala—” he started to ramble, averting his eyes. 

“Sit,” you interrupted with a terse staccato, nodding towards a spare stool. 

He quickly obliged, nearly tripping over his own feet in his rushed attempt to follow your instructions. You allowed yourself to wonder for a moment if you truly were that scary, but you assumed that he was probably just nervous - something you could fully relate to. When you’d first met with Ms. Park - who was arguably much more personable than you were being towards this boy - your hands were so clammy that you struggled to hold your brush.

He sat a respectable distance from you, chewing on his plush lower lip as he studied your face. Of what he was looking for you were uncertain, but if the shell-shocked expression on his face was any indicator? He was likely waiting for you to speak, to assure him that things were fine.

But, you weren’t here to make friends - you weren’t here to make him comfortable.

You met his observational once-over with one of your own; Hyunjin was tall and thin, though not gangly. He held an aura of authority, despite his easygoing expression. Inquisitive eyes framed by well-maintained brows and sculpted cheekbones, a gently sloping nose and full, plush lips the color of peonies. Small indents were visible on his flushed cheeks - likely from the fabric of his pillow. His hair fell messily around his face, tickling the tops of his shoulders - though it was messily tied away, you could tell that it would be like silk to the touch. 

You were suddenly self-conscious. Hyunjin was art.

“My name’s Hyunjin,” he finally spoke, holding eye contact with you despite the nerves you could feel radiating from his perch a few feet away, “And I’m sorry I’m late.”

You watched as he extended his hand towards you, head bowed in apology. You noticed his fingers - slender and steady, despite the way his voice shook. You noticed his eyes - filled with curiosity and eagerness, even in the face of such an off-putting encounter. You noticed his posture - back straight despite the sheepish bow of his head. You noticed him - had you met him on the street, you would’ve still been able to tell. He was more than just art, but an artist, and it was obvious. 

You found it hard to remain stoic then, feeling a pit of something bitter in your gut. It felt like a knife had been lodged beneath your sternum, forcing you to swallow hard before introducing yourself properly. You took his outstretched palm in your own, flecks of paint beneath his otherwise perfectly manicured nails serving to twist the knife and bring a bile to your throat. 

You were jealous. 

You were jealous of Hyunjin and his eager eyes and unsullied hands. 

“I figured we’d start with what you already know,” you said through the growing lump in your throat, allowing your hand to fall limply back to your side, “What mediums do you use most often?”

Hyunjin lit up at the question, smiling broadly as he launched into an explanation, “I think I use watercolor most often,” you could see the brightness in his eyes - the passion - as he spoke, “But, lately, I’ve been dabbling into oils. They’re a lot different than watercolor, though, so it’s been…” his nose scrunched up as he trailed off, in search of the right word, “A learning curve. A difficult learning curve.”

You were jealous of Hyunjin and his desire to learn.

“So, you’re wanting to learn about oils then?” You asked him the questions you needed to in order to plan lessons for him, ignoring the way envy crawled uncomfortably up your spine.

“Mhm! Ms. Park had mentioned you had a lot of knowledge in that area, so I pretty much begged her to choose me for the mentorship!” he laughed - an innocent, embarrassed laugh - as he recounted this to you, “Ms. Park is a really tough critic,” his gaze clouded, reminding you of the same fear the woman had instilled in you when it came to grading your work, “She sang your praises, though! So I’m sure that I’ll learn a lot from you.” The corners of his lips pulled up into a grin then, expectant eyes boring into yours with an intensity you’d only recently found yourself without.

You were jealous of Hyunjin and his ability to focus on the future. 

“That’s the goal, yeah?” you tried to hide the bitterness behind your words as the suppressed emotion clawed at your insides, threatening to spill out if you’d elaborate any further. Hyunjin simply nodded, spurring you to continue, “Let’s see what you do know, today. We’ll go from there.”

Hyunjin rose from his stool to go towards the supply closet, grabbing a small canvas and some supplies; brushes, spatulas, several tubes of paint and an unused palette. He moved gracefully, a stark contrast to the flustered man you’d’ve sworn you met moments ago. This Hyunjin was vastly different. This Hyunjin was confident and calm, flowing even before he held a brush in his hands. 

As he set up his supplies next to an empty easel, you found yourself immobilized. You could do nothing but watch as he pulled his stool closer, opening a few windows to ventilate the toxic paints before taking a seat. You were drawn to the furrow of his concentrated brows, the gentleness of which he squeezed the tubes of paint, the way he’d press his lips together as he thought - releasing them back to their previous fullness only when he’d reached a conclusion he was content with. 

Your interest only grew more difficult to ignore when he put the first splash of color onto the canvas - a smear of daffodil yellow dragged along the otherwise white canvas, much like the golden hues that had once broken the monotony of your hospital room. Bit by bit, little by little, he added more elements, concentration not breaking even once. He’d finished after a half an hour, obvious displeasure on his face as he set the brush he’d been using down with a clatter. 

“I just can’t figure out how to properly blend these…they always end up so muddled…” his face was wrinkled as he stared at the canvas - now a mess of different hues clashing against one another violently. You could see what his intention was, despite his struggle with the delivery. He stepped aside then, allowing you space to appraise the work yourself. 

He’d gone rather abstract, winding bits of color that were intended to blend seamlessly into eachother instead having patches of dull, hospital-gown green separating them. Like walls, you noted, walls that didn’t allow the colors to shine through. 

You felt your eyes begin to sting as you recognized the errors that you, yourself had made in your beginning days with oils - though you chalked it up to the fumes, ignoring the beast growing ravenous in your heart.

“Where do you think you went wrong?” you asked, ripping your gaze away from the canvas to meet with his. 

“I don’t know,” he started, disappointment evident on his face, “I think I noticed it starting to get muddled when I added in that turquoise shade. I tried to fix it with more yellow…” he sighs then, tucking the strands on either side of his face behind his ears as his lips twist into a scowl, “Why can’t I figure this out?”

Though he said this more towards himself than you, you found it necessary to reply.

“Have you ever considered that yellow wasn’t the answer?”

“Huh?” he stepped closer to the canvas, leaning in next to you and squinting as he tried to identify exactly what you meant. He smelled of linseed and cloves. He smelled like the pursuit of dreams. He smelled infuriating. 

“So, with watercolor, you can’t really go back…right? It’s either add, or leave it.” 

He nodded, sliding back onto the stool as he awaited further instruction. He stared up at your serious expression, anticipation obvious in the way his foot bounced against the floor. 

“Oil takes a long time to dry,” you supplied, pointing at the unopened tube of bright white, “Scrape off some of that yellow, and add some of this.”

Hyunjin looked confused, but complied easily. His hand was steady as he gently removed a large glob of sunshine from the canvas, wiping it on the edge of the palette before squeezing some white into an empty indent. 

You watched as he hesitantly dipped a thin brush into the pure white. 

You watched as he dabbed it carefully into the space once stained with that murky green. 

You watched as his face lit up at the vibrance the blue gained, you watched as his strokes became more confident as they met the yellow, and you watched as he blended them together into a brilliant emerald.

You watched, and you were jealous. 

You were jealous of Hyunjin’s hands - Hyunjin’s unscarred, capable hands. 

“Wow! That’s so much better..? I can’t believe it was that simple!” he sounded awestruck, as though you’d handed him the holy grail instead of some offhanded advice. He looked up at you with a bright smile, one that you’d have reciprocated had it not been for the newfound name for the sensation bubbling from within; rage.

You were angry. 

Angry that he seemed so carefree, so unaware of just how blessed he was to still have the capacity for improvement. Angry that he could celebrate a victory as small as learning to blend. Angry that your skill was benefitting him, and would never benefit you again. 

“That’s it for today,” you grumbled, quickly stepping back from the evidence of your knowledge being passed to someone else. Long, rushed strides carried you to the door - your hand trembling as you reached for the handle. 

“So soon?” Hyunjin asked, completely immune to the dark clouds swirling around your head. You could hear the disappointment in his voice, not needing to turn around to know that you’d managed to extinguish his excited spark in a matter of seconds. 

“That’s what I said,” you reiterated, turning the handle and taking a step out the door.

“Thank you!” he shouted after you.

Your rage - simmering and bubbling, lit ablaze with each passing second, and your envy - freezing, harsh and uninhabitable, clashed together then. You froze, feeling your cheeks grow hot as your hands grew cold, slowly turning to face him. 

He had stood to bow, body at what must have been an uncomfortable ninety-degree angle. 

“Whatever,” you mumbled, fighting against the discomfort of the prickling at the base of your neck before spinning on your heel, all but running from the studio in your rush to get away from him - to get away from the feelings that came along with him. 

Hyunjin was art, and an artist. Hyunjin was infuriating. Hyunjin didn’t know what he had and you hated it - you hated him for it.

Hyunjin watched as you fled, the image of your stony glare burned into his eyelids even as the door thudded shut behind you. 

He didn’t understand, how could he? 

He began to clean up after himself, placing the supplies back into their respective places and rinsing the palette out in the sink. Pulling his piece from the easel, he stared at that brilliant shade you’d taught him to create in under five minutes - a shade he’d been struggling with for weeks - and decided. 

Hyunjin would learn everything he could; from you, about you.

He would understand how to make a beautiful work of art with oil paints, and he would understand the storm he’d witnessed behind your eyes. He would understand the way colors interacted together against a canvas, and he would understand what brought emotion forward from your indifference.

He hung his canvas to dry, then, on one of the many pegs sticking out from the walls. He promised himself, then, as he stared at the best piece he’d managed to make using oil as a medium - he promised to be diligent, to pay attention, to absorb all there was to know.

About painting, about you.

You’d made a promise to yourself, too. A promise to lock up that rage, to lock up that envy, to try and outrun the storm that Hyunjin had brought to a head. You had to keep it together, and promised yourself that you’d try. You had to, after all. This was your life now.

It would never be the same.

[sevikasenby]

I didn't mean any harm by the question. I grew up religious in the deep south of America and am part of the LGBTQ community myself. So I understand the struggle, I cut off the majority of my family for similar reasons. I wasn't aware you felt so strongly on the topic. I just wanted to ask why men couldn't interact with you because it seemed extreme. I get you're a lesbian and don't like men romanticly, I was just wondering if the men dni was like, men don't flirt or a "I hate all men" situation for lack of a better term. I just was wondering. I'm sorry the bit thing came off as rude. I just do know some people who don't interact with the opposite gender as a joke. Again, I meant no harm. I just didn't understand why and thought I should ask. Sorry if it came off as blunt. Also, you can't tell tone over text so sorry.

i get you didn’t mean any harm, but maybe you should’ve said it was about my fucking dni instead of saying some insensitive shit, intentional or not, that nearly made me fucking cry.

“wondering if the men dni was like, men don't flirt or a "I hate all men" situation for lack of a better term.” no there is a better term. it’s called the simple dni, do not interact, which means… DO NOT INTERACT. do not like my shit, do not reblog my shit, do not comment on my shit, and certainly don’t try and follow me. it’s very simple actually.

im not telling men to not interact with my shit bc i hate them, it’s bc this blog is not for them. this blog is quite literally about lesbian sex (if you scroll far enough and look at basically anything i’ve written). men interacting with that is fucking weird. and even if this blog wasn’t nsfw, i still wouldn’t allow men onto here. and yeah no shit i don’t want men fucking flirting with me. again. its fucking weird. and tbh i haven’t had that many men on my acc so it’s really just there as a very slight precaution.

i just wanted a safe space for me, other lesbians and anyone else who likes women and just any non man (mainly to talk about a fictional 6 foot tall woman with a mech arm, which is literally the whole reason for this acc) so men do not belong in that space.

also it’s not “extreme”. im not yelling at men to dni, it’s just on a little banner that goes on the bottom of my posts. the most i have to deal with are ageless blogs on my blog not being to respect a very simple dni.

also the dni is not just for men. it’s for minors and ageless blogs as well bc i don’t want literal childern on my blog thats nsfw and majority of the time is me, a whole ass adult, posting about having sex with another whole ass adult.

i, again, get that you didn’t mean any harm by your last ask but it doesn’t change the fact you asked some poorly worded insensitive shit that nearly made me cry. so please, please just look over what you’re asking someone next time before you decide to send it.

[pens-swords-stuff]

hello, i've run into a sort of first-world problem and i'm not sure if you can help but you've posted about taglists before, and i don't know who else i could ask.

on my side blog (@dont-talk-back-to-heapass), i started a project (not writing, unfortunately- it's a picrew) and i made a taglist for people who want updates on it. problem is, it's a very popular fandom and my post got a lot more traction than i thought it would. i now have over 50 people who want to be on the taglist, but that's over tumblr's limit. what should i do?

Fortunately, you're asking the right person: I have experienced the same flattering first world problem. Unfortunately, there's no elegant solution.

As you know, the tag limit for a single post is 50 blogs. My taglist for Always the Bridesmaid was at 161 people (and was still growing) when I was still accepting people for it. Here is everything that I have tried.

Tag them across multiple reblogs

Hypothetically, let's say that you have 60 people on your taglist. One thing that you could do is tag 50 people when you initially post it, and then tag the remaining 10 people in a reblog.

If you have between 50-100 people on your taglist, this is probably the easiest option that I'd recommend because all it takes is one reblog.

But personally, I had to reblog it 4 times just for my ATB taglist alone — and that didn't include my other taglists, such as people who wanted to be tagged for all my writing — and I felt awful about clogging up people's dashes with the same post 4 times. So I continued experimenting.

Pros: + Effective, simple and easy. + Works best if you have between 50-100 people on your taglist. Cons: - If you have 100+ people on your taglist, it takes a lot of reblogging.

Staggering your multiple reblogs

Because I felt really bad for reblogging the same post multiple times, I tried staggering out my reblogs. For example, if I posted at 10AM, I'd reblog with the first part of my taglist at 11AM, second part at 2PM, so on and so forth.

Pros: + People are less likely to see the exact same post on their dash. + You get a guilt-free bump to reblog it for people who may not have seen it the first time.

Cons: - People might think that they're not on the taglist even if they are because you didn't include them in a particular taglist reblog. - You still have to reblog within a relatively short period of time. Not a problem if you have up to 100 people on your taglist, but it can be a problem if you have more than that.

Tag people in the comments

A frequently overlooked place to tag people is in the comments of your post. There's one catch: I believe the tag limit for a single comment is 5 people. (Or at least it was, last I checked. I could be wrong if it's been updated).

Pros: + It solves the problem of clogging up people's dashboards and your own blog. + In my personal experience, it seemed to be more effective at actually notifying people than taglists. Many of the people that I've tagged in my reblogged taglists have said they didn't receive the notification, but a lot more people seemed to have received the notification when I tagged them here.

Cons: - It is a lot more work to tag a large amount of people in the comments due to the smaller limit. Might be a good option if you have 55 people on your taglist (that's only 11 comments), but if you have more it's really tedious. - It inflates your note count by quite a bit.

Make a sideblog and have people turn on blog notifications

This might not be super applicable to your picrew taglist, but I wanted to make sure I included this because this is what I have currently settled on doing. I didn't feel good about everything that I've explained thus far because no matter what, it was either a pain or intrusive on people's dashes.

So I ended up making a sideblog for ATB at @always-the-bridesmaid-wip. When people ask me to put them on the taglist, I let them know that they can follow this sideblog and turn on the option to receive notifications whenever I post something here.

I post my important ABT posts on this blog @pens-swords-stuff, and reblog all the "official" ATB posts (i.e., snippets, excerpts, intros, lore, artwork, etc) that I would've used my taglist for onto this blog. I don't reblog any posts that I don't consider official, since that's how I use my taglists.

If people have turned on notifications for this blog, people should receive a notification that I've posted something onto my sideblog in a very similar manner to tagging them on my taglist.

As for effectiveness, I'm not sure yet! I haven't been super active on writeblr since I created my sideblog. I had intentions to run surveys and such about the experience but alas I got busy and lazy. I'll have to report back later once I post more.

Pros: + You don't have to actually tag anyone, it sends a notification for you automatically so it's less work. + It's less likely to get buried in someone's tumblr notifications because it sends it in a different way. + It's more reliable. Tags sometimes fail, but in my experience, this has yet to fail for me personally. + Solves the problem of having to make several reblogs or comments. + It's a lot more user-friendly. People don't have to ask to be put on taglists, nor do they need to say something to get taken off a taglist. They can follow/turn on notifications and unfollow/turn off notifications whenever they'd like without notifying anyone or having to speak up. + Solves the problem of clogging up dashes/comments.

Cons: - For this to work, you have to make a separate sideblog for your taglist-worthy posts. - It may only work for those using the mobile app? When someone I have notifications turned on for posts, it sends me an app notification, not the notifications that you check on Tumblr. There's an option to turn on notifications for a blog on the desktop version, but I'm not sure if you actually receive them without the app. - You can't see whether people have actually turned on notifications for your sideblog. (You can however, see how many followers you have. And if people follow, I guess it still has the desired effect to some extent). - Going to follow another blog, and then turn notifications on for them is a lot of active steps. You might be losing out on someone who would ask to be put on a taglist, but wouldn't go to a sideblog, follow them, and then turn on notifications for them. - It's easier to ignore a ton of notifications on Tumblr, not so easy to direct notifications on your phone. This method works well for me since I rarely ever post here so I can reassure people that they will hardly ever get notifications from here. However, if you are a frequent poster it will be more annoying to the people who have notifications turned on.

I hope my experimenting proves to be somewhat helpful for you! It is a very fortunate thing to have so many people interested in your work, and it's also probably not a very common issue that people run into. But it can be a logistical nightmare with no easy solution. Congrats on having an eager audience, I hope you're able to figure it out!

(And of course, I am incredibly thankful to every single person who has expressed an interest in being on ATB's taglist. I did a lot of experimentation because I was grateful for the attention (if a little overwhelmed) so that I could try to find the best possible solution for both the people on the taglist, and all my followers who do not want to be on the taglist).

Remember, all advice is subjective! So don’t take this too seriously. This is just one person’s opinion.

If you’d like to ask me for advice on writing or running a writeblr, please check out my Ask Guidelines and FAQ first.

Ask Guidelines | FAQ | Advice Masterlist