#not to mention art blocks been a pain in the ass

[rickyrooh]

right it’s still christmas eve for me but MERRY XMAS EVERYONE TO THOSE WHO CELEBRATE IT also heard that hanukkah starts tomorrow so if anyone celebrates it then HAPPY HANUKKAH

i promise to post more art soon i’ve got some ideas cooked up but i’ve been busy this month so i haven’t had the time 🙏🙏 BUT YEAH MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE

[bluesidez]

Gym Rat Miguel Part 12

content warning: Miguel is very dramatic in this one, mentions of food

word count: 4k (SHOUTOUT TO MY BETA!! @slushycoookie 🩵)

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DISCLAIMER: This story is not canonical. 😒 Most, if not all, of the characters used are OOC. I literally can not stress this enough.

GymRat!Miguel who tries not to dwell on the fact that it’s been just about a month since he’s seen you. It’s the middle of the week and if he thinks about it too much, he’s going to go crazy.

It feels odd because you’re on the same campus as him. You’re not across the country. You’re not out of the country. You’re literally a short walk or drive away and neither of you have time to see each other.

He’s considering printing your pictures out and walking around with them like a forlorn lover looking for his lost soulmate. It feels like he’s back in his bedroom staring at your pictures for hours like a man at war aching for home.

He’s exhausted all of his options.

The couple-lunches have all been rain-checked, the weight of your workload trapping you in the Art building.

Your sleep schedule was terrible, if the late night TikToks and reels were anything to go by. He knew you had morning classes too so he could only assume you’ve had a few hours of sleep during the weeknights.

The weekends were for rest and he didn’t want to disrupt yours.

Your dorm tracked visitors which means he’d only have a few hours with you before curfew if you were even there.

GymRat!Miguel who misses you so bad he’s temporarily replaced his gym playlist for the one you gifted him.

His face is set hard, feet heavy as he sprints over a curved treadmill. After a few minutes he stops, takes a small break, and runs again.

Even the melodic and somber voice playing over a groovy piano couldn’t soothe his thoughts.

His heart rammed in his chest as sweat trickled down his face, his tank drenched and clinging to his chest.

Just a few more sprints to go.

GymRat!Miguel who slides the ear of his headphone off because Xina is standing in front of him, blocking his path.

“Anymore sprints and you’re going to pass out,” she hands him a towel.

“Maybe I want to,” Miguel grumbles, nabbing the towel and rubbing his face like someone spit on it.

Xina grabbed her ponytail and pinned it up, loose hair sticking to her neck. “Don’t say that. It’s not funny. I can only manage pulling your body to the entrance to the gym.”

Miguel snorted.

GymRat!Miguel who fills up the time that he used to spend with you to get to know his friends and meet others.

This meant having game nights with Peter and Ben. They were so close, not really, to convincing him to join their DND parties.

If he wasn’t with them, he was occasionally calling The Geek Squad and catching up. A Friendsgiving date was now tentatively on his calendar because of it.

Of course, his robotics team was still going steady. Aaron was interesting, if nothing else, and Margo was like the little sister he never had.

Then, there was checking up on Gabriel like a Tamagotchi. Was he eating ok? Did he need some money? Is he trapped in the subway? Did a rat eat him?

Gabriel had sent him a screenshot of his contact with his name being changed to “Mom #2.”

Miguel only scoffed and told Gabriel his name was going to get changed to “pain in my ass.”

The newest development, however, was Xina. Her transferring here felt like middle school when they used to be attached at the hip.

They had their programming class together two days out of the week, biweekly study sessions, and the occasional late night excursion.

It also explains why she’s eyeing him from the stairmaster while he heaves over the handles of the treadmill.

GymRat!Miguel who thanked Xina as she handed him his jug of water. He sat up from the bench to let her take a seat.

“So,” she started.

“I’m not helping you hack your professor’s dashboard. While you could do it, it’s not a good idea and quantum physics isn’t that-“

“It’s not that, you dick,” Xina pinched his side. “It’s you. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing is up with me.”

“Miguel.”

“Xina.”

“Now, you’re being a brat. Something is definitely wrong.”

Miguel picked at the peeling Game Over sticker on his bottle. He needed to tape it down or he’d lose it.

“I miss her.”

“Miss who? Your mom?”

“What? No. I miss my girlfriend.”

It was quiet between them, the sound of chatter and the clanking of equipment filled the white noise.

Xina tilted her head, “That bad?”

Miguel nods.

“When’s the last time you saw her?”

He takes a dramatic breath, “Our anniversary date. Last month. I feel…”

“Like you can’t function? Like it’s hard to think?”

“Is that pathetic?” Miguel winces. “I have a feeling you’re going to say that it is.”

“No, I don’t think that.”

Miguel pouts as he looks up. Xina shrugs and slides her hands on down her leggings.

“Remember the times I went boy crazy? All the times I came crying to you after they screwed me over, even when you already warned me they weren’t good guys? I think you deserve to be crazy about your girlfriend.”

“Thanks,” Miguel blinked. “You were way too nice to those first guys.”

“I learned though, didn’t I? I know a good guy when I see him, now,” Xina pushed at Miguel’s shoulders with hers.

“And now those self-defense lessons won’t go to waste, right?”

Xina snorted as she recalled the time she managed to flip Winston on his back at Miguel’s instruction.

GymRat!Miguel who watches Xina’s eyes grow in shock when he tells her how long he’s been dating you.

“Dang,” Xina stops in her tracks. “A year?”

Miguel puffs up his chest and stands a little straighter, a confident stride in his step, “One year and counting.”

“That’s,” Xina turns and waits for a car to go by. She readjusts her gym bag. “That’s awesome, Hare-Hare.”

GymRat!Miguel who feels the mood shift by the time he drops Xina back off. He’s not sure what’s brought it up, but now he’s nervous about upsetting her more.

He taps on the wheel, after he pulls into a park.

“You sure you don’t want me to get you anything? You don’t need to go anywhere?”

Xina unbuckles her seatbelt, “Nope. All good. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he watches her close the door before he can even finish. “See you.”

GymRat!Miguel who obliges when Xina texts him the next day to switch up their study session location.

Miguel wanted to keep the busy calm of the 1st floor of the library but Xina insisted on giving him a change of scenery.

“It’s good for you! You stare at the screen all day when you’re coding,” Xina slams Miguel’s car door to which he sneer at her for. “You need to look up and smell the coffee sometimes.”

“You just want a reason to not do your work.”

Xina turns around and walks backwards in front of Miguel, “And that’s completely fine. We should live a little.”

She trips over the edge of the sidewalk with a yelp and Miguel is quick to catch her, the panic on his face evident.

“See,” she grins as she pulls herself up by Miguel’s shoulders. “Living!”

GymRat!Miguel who lets Xina order for him while he finds a table.

The cafe was bright, white wood accenting the walls with vines and plants adorning the area. Salmon pink brought a pop of color to the sandy-looking tables and fairy lights hung in the corners of the room.

Miguel’s eyes grew as he saw the variety of desserts on display, his mouth itching to take a bite.

“No, no, no. Go away. I’ll pick something you’ll like,” Xina blocks Miguel’s lingering eyes.

Miguel clicks his teeth, “If it’s not good, I’m going to be really upset.”

“I doubt it.”

GymRat!Miguel who walks deeper into the cafe. He’s dodging ceiling plants left and right, but he’s sure that the best seats are in the furthest of the building.

He shuffles around a corner, eyes adjusting to the sun coming through window.

He blinks a few times and takes in the spacious area.

That’s when he sees you.

He walks fast, the strides of his steps wide.

The closer he gets, the stronger the smell of peaches builds. The sun was shining down like it granted Miguel one the greatest gifts of his life. Its rays danced across the spot that you're in.

He gets to your chair and pulled it out with ease, the sound disrupting the hushed corner.

A pen falls to the floor, voices are cut short, and arms are flailing but Miguel’s nose is buried deep into your neck.

Your arms tighten around his neck and your voice skips across his ears.

“I-” a kiss across your face, “missed you so much.” Miguel looks at you like you hold the stars in the sky within your palm.

“You scared the shit out of me, Miguel,” you say with no really malice in your voice. Your thumbs run across his cheeks, watching as he beams at you. You kiss him once or twice, heart fluttering as your feet dangle in the air.

“I hope there aren’t many people picking you up in the middle of establishments,” Miguel mumbled across your lips.

“Guys, there’s people staring at us,” a voice creeps in from the side of Miguel.

Miguel’s eyes follow it to see a deer-looking kid with hoodie pulled up over his ears.

“Who is this?”

GymRat!Miguel who is introduced to Miles, your freshman classmate that you’ve taken in.

He’s sitting across the table nodding along to you as you rave about Miles’ work. The entire time, his right hand didn’t leave your left one.

“So,” Miguel chimes in when there’s a pause. “Have you both been coming here a while?”

“Nah, I just dragged her out here recently. She never leaves the art building when a deadline is near. It’s kind of depressing-“

“You know, Miles.” You're holding back an eye roll. “There are times when you could just not talk.”

“No, actually tell me more,” Miguel insisted, attentive.

GymRat!Miguel who hurries to help a struggling Xina when she rounds the corner with a tray full of goodies.

A cinnamon roll, a lemon tart, a tall purple drink, and some warm tea is placed on the table while you and Miles clear the area.

You sit up straighter to watch Miguel pick up the tea cup and blow over it. “Tea? No milk with a pinch of coffee?”

“Amor…”

Xina looks over to his cup, “Did you want something else?”

“No, this is good, I haven’t had this in a while,” he takes a sip and hums while explaining to you. “I’ve been on this sweet drink kick since she let me try her frappe last year.”

“That’s rich because you always hated it when I got those.”

“To be fair, you downed like four of those in one day. I’m surprised your body didn’t go into shock.”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Four in one day must have meant you were going through it.”

Xina smiles and nods her head, “Exactly. And I told him-”

“We’re not doing this,” Miguel grumbled and stabbed his fork into his roll. “Four was way too much and she was bouncing off the walls all day just to crash and throw up on my shoes.”

“I said I was sorry about that!”

GymRat!Miguel who cuts pieces of his dessert to feed to you. You look at him incredulously as he insists on giving you bite after bite.

“Is it good?” Miguel asks chewing his own piece. You nod and he grins, happy in the bubble he’s created.

When Xina reaches for his plate for a piece he slides it away with ease, a move he knows too well.

“Why can’t I have some? I bought it.”

“You didn’t even ask!”

“Neither did she!”

Miles leans over to you, “I feel like I’m watching a fight between me and my baby sister.”

Miguel is pushing Xina’s hands away from his plate while she laughs up a storm. You think that it does mirror something like Gabriel and Miguel’s relationship, but something about Miguel isn’t the same.

GymRat!Miguel who continues his Tom and Jerry act with Xina even when the food is gone.

They were bickering over some formula that you couldn’t begin to figure out by yourself. To Miguel, it’s easy. To Xina, the setup makes no sense.

“How did you survive Ivy League without me?” Miguel asks as he reaches over and erases an error on her page.

“Like I do anything else, with peace.”

“So what you’re saying is,” Miguel points his pencil at Xina, “you hate me and I am not needed for problems 4 through 10.”

“No!” she panics, pushing his pen back to the paper. “I need you to start this one. I don’t understand it.”

“We just did one like this, though. It’s just the imaginary number all over again.”

Xina groaned and slumped in her chair while Miguel just turned back to his on work.

GymRat!Miguel who peers up from his computer to watch you work. You eyebrows pinch as your wrist moves across the large sketchpad in front of you. Your hand is moving fast and you’re so focused. Miguel hasn’t seen you like this before. In your element.

He leans his head on his hand, cheek squished and staring at you like he’s never seen you, like you were something to be admired.

You were pretty today, a sweater with some cartoon on it and some jeans that flared out at the bottom. Your bunny necklace was dangling around your neck and your glasses were falling down your nose.

You push them back and a smudge of charcoal from moving Miles’ artwork gets on your cheek.

“Stare at her any harder and she might grow something freaky,” Miles whispers.

Miguel falters and grabs a napkin, leaning to wipe your cheek, “She has something on her face.”

GymRat!Miguel who tries to be even more discreet as he watches you fill up the page. It’s mesmerizing seeing what you come up with.

He’ll type a little bit then look at your sketches, he’ll click a few links then look at your face. Sometimes, you would catch him looking and smile at resulting in his heart picking up.

Occasionally, Miles would ask your opinion on something and you would give him pointers, the two of you discussing something about focal points and rule of threes.

Miguel just wanted to put his stuff up and listen to you all day.

“What are you working on?” Xina asks, her voice breaking the silence. She’s staring directly at your drawings, fingers tapping against her notebook.

You perk up and flip your pad around, “It’s some ideas for one of our bigger projects! The theme is reinventing a classic, so I’m thinking something like a spin on Lady Godiva with a haunted theme and darker palette. Or The Fallen Angel with a bird’s eye perspective of him on the ground.”

You took a breath and flipped the page, “And then there’s The Kiss which I wanted to actually do a glaze to really give it that ‘mosaic’ look.”

Miguel leaned in with Xina to take a closer look.

The sketch was exceptional to say the least. Miguel wasn’t too sure how the original painting looked, but your drawing detailed a woman wrapped in these angular, moving shapes. Her face was angled up and a far-off look adorned her features. To her right sat a man whose lips were on her neck and his attention solely on her.

It was soft, yet strong. How you managed to put so much intimacy onto a single page was beyond him.

The feeling of it was familiar and when he looked up at you, he knew.

Miguel opens his mouth, “It’s..”

“Boring.”

“Beautiful.”

He turns to Xina with a frown on his face as she flips back to the front page.

“I mean, I think one of the other two is better, you know? More of a twist on the originals. The last one feels safe.”

The table is quiet as Xina’s comment marinates. She’s flipping further into your book and Miguel promptly snatches it from her and closes it a bit harder than he needs to. Miles shifts in his seat, chewing on the straw of his drink.

“Can you explain why it feels safe to you?” your fingers pick at a nail.

She looks up, “Well, don’t you want to stand out? Out of the others, I don’t think this one is that unique.”

“The point isn’t to stand out,” Miles chimes in. “The assignment is about remixing a classic and all three of these do that pretty well.”

Your smile is small, “Thanks, Miles.”

“So which one do you think is better?” Xina asks.

“The last one,” both Miles and Miguel say.

“It carries the emotion of the original while also bringing more focus to couple rather than the abstracted cloth. You can see the love between them in a way that the original doesn’t have and it’s not even painted yet,” Miles talks with ease. “But! That’s just my opinion.”

“I think it’s powerful,” Miguel hums. “You should go with that one.”

You nod, thumbing over the corner of the pages.

GymRat!Miguel who watches Miles nearly fly out of the cafe.

Something about catching the bus to go see a friend perform.

“Poor thing,” you mumble. “He didn’t even buy the tickets yet.”

GymRat!Miguel who can almost see the stress coming off of you in waves the later it gets in the evening.

“Are you alright?” Miguel places his hand over yours.

“Yeah, I think I need a nap.”

“Need me to drive you back?”

“No, it’s fine. You need to drive Xina back.” You start to pack up. “I brought my car anyways.”

Miguel follows your movements, hands putting his laptop up as well.

He hurries to pull your chair out and you thank him with a quiet voice. He follows you from the table to the door to your car. The scene is almost comical the way he’s in your peripheral.

“Will I see you again soon?” Miguel leans on the hood of your car, body practically falling onto you in the driver’s seat. “We gotta set up a date.”

“I’ll see what I can do, baby,” you rub his face and kiss the kicked-puppy look off of his face. “I’ll text you once I get back.”

“Please.”

GymRat!Miguel who throws his backpack in the backseat and slumps over the wheel once he’s certain your car was down the road.

“What now?” Xina patted Miguel’s back. “You miss her again?”

Miguel just dug his head onto the horn, the effect alerting anyone within 50ft radius.

“Ok, ok,” Xina yanked him up by his shoulders only for him to drop back down again. She sighs and grabs the back of his head with a slight yank to his hair.

Miguel swats her hand away with a grit to his teeth and a pinch to his brows.

Xina only holds her hands up with a grin lining her lips, “Calm down.”

“You’re really annoying me today.”

Xina drops her hands and her smile falters. Miguel straightens up with an apology on the roof of his mouth before Xina picks back up with joy.

“What I think you need is an awesome rager for your birthday.”

“No.”

“Why not? It could be fun!”

“I’m all partied out until next year.”

“Not even with your friends? People from your department? A couple of classmates? The robo nerds?”

“That’s robo rockstars to you.”

Xina laughed and buckled her seatbelt.

“I think it could be great, seriously. We’re doing it.”

Miguel only groaned and turned on the ignition.

GymRat!Miguel who wanted to use his Sunday for relaxation, a cheat day, maybe a game or two with Gabriel, Peter, and Winston.

Instead, he’s lying on his bed listening to Xina rant about one of her roommates using the sink as a trash can.

“Like we have a ridiculously expensive trash can that’s less than a foot away from the sink. It’s a simple spin and drop.”

“Ok, I get this is really gross, but don’t you have other friends you could bother?”

Xina pauses, and points her finger at him, “Hey, I’m here to help you out. If I wasn’t here, who knows how down in the dumps you’d be.”

“This isn’t helping me.”

GymRat!Miguel who answers his phone while Xina has managed to pull Peter into a game of Overcooked on his Switch.

“Hey, Ma.”

“Miguel! How do I connect your father’s computer to the TV? He found a movie that we could watch but the screen is so small.”

“He found a movie but can’t connect cords?”

“Just answer the question, mijo.”

Miguel sits up, prepared to spend at least forty minutes trying to explain what an HDMI cord is.

“Yeah.”

Xina gasps, pauses the game leaving a displeased Peter, and hops into the corner of Miguel’s phone.

“Hi, Mrs. O’Hara!”

“Hola, mi dulce niña! Hace mucho que no te veo. ¿Que tal te ha ido?“ (Hello, my sweet girl! I haven’t seen you in a long time. How have you been?)

“Más o menos, pero me alegro de verte.” (So-so, but I’m happy to see you.)

“No, Xina! ¿Qué tienes?” (What’s wrong?)

Miguel just plopped the device in Xina’s hand, “I like how you both started a conversation on my phone.”

“We’ve got important things to discuss,” Xina waved him off while she and his mother continued to fawn over each other.

Miguel just slid off the bed and joined Peter.

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t get his phone back until curfew hours are around the corner.

Xina and his mom discussed everything from reality TV to recipes to her time up north. Xina left happier than when she came in which Miguel didn’t mind. He just wished he could have had the room to himself.

GymRat!Miguel who doesn’t see your message until he’s about to go to sleep.

“Baby”

“Let’s do something together on your bday”

Miguel unpeeled his eyes and typed swiftly.

“YES”

“YEESSSS”

“Best birthday ever already”

“Someone’s excited”

“I haven’t even said what we’re doing yet”

“What are we doing”

“Tell me please”

“Pleasepleasepleaseplease”

“Mmm”

“No”

“It’s a secret 🙂‍↔️”

“I can wait”

“That you are”

“Sometimes”

“😗”

“But mi luz I think Xina is trying to plan something too”

“Oh”

“Should we raincheck then?”

“NOOOOOO!”

“I can do both”

“I’ll literally split myself in two”

“You don’t have to choose”

“My gift is small”

“I want you to have fun on your special day”

“Can you come to the party?”

“I don’t want to miss it but I’ll have to see”

“If anything it’ll be much later”

“As long as I get to see you I’ll be happy”

“Good night bebé”

“Night!”

"Love you"

“Love you more"

divider by: @plutism 🩵

a/n: I have no notes other than school is starting back up so my posting schedule will be even more irregular. 🤠 Please bear with me.

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[blvdheart]

THE ART OF SHARING A COWBOY HAT

⇢ arthur morgan x gn!reader + leon kennedy (rdr2 au) x gn!reader

cw: fluff, lighthearted smut, drinking + implications of throwing up, confessions, mentions of children but it’s still gn friendly, prone to typos

note: um i originally wrote this with only arthur in mind but lowkey think it could apply to leon as well, i thought this was a super cute idea !! these are just rambles and written for fun, so excuse any typos eee (⩾﹏⩽)

i. A GENTLEMANLY ACT

you’ve lost count of how many hats you’ve lost over the years — it wasn’t your fault! just a small bicker with a tiny group of o’driscolls usually resulted in your hat being knocked off while you rode your horse and shot at them.

was buying a new one even worth it? with dutch on everyone’s ass about contributing money, not really. as if the bastard actually helped out.

plus…you’d grown to rely on a certain man who always shared his hat with you as if it were co-owned.

amidst a camp out in the open with the sun pouring in through the leaves of the tall trees that surrounded, your eyes were often squinting. everytime you sat in the shade, it moved over within a couple minutes and left you back in the sun. how frustrating.

“you’ll burn to the crisp by letting the sun beam on ya like that.”

before you could look up to face the familiar voice, the bottom of a hat blocked your view and was placed on you. okay, that felt real nice.

or maybe that one time you stumbled out of the saloon, clutching your stomach with your cheeks all puffed, awaiting the harsh liquor that was begging to be thrown out of your system.

it was night time, the dusty dirt paths were still lively with people walking past. but you needed fresh air, so it would have to do.

being the secret softie that he was, he followed you when he noticed that you had practically limped your way out. geez, he’d been in your position too many times — throwing his guts up with his mind swirling.

“lightweight.” he teased, laughing a bit, placing a hand on your back and rubbing it to comfort you.

“oh gimme a break.” you slurred back, already hunched over. “and stay away…’m bout to burst.”

you weren’t kidding.

he placed his hat on you, keeping your face hidden from any passerby’s. because what kind of man would he be if he just let everyone see your pained face? a foolish one, that’s what.

everyone knew he was sweet on you, it was painfully obvious.

ii. SILENT CONFESSION

the air felt still as the two of you stood beside each other, each leaning against the balcony of a hotel. you guys were close, a little too much to be considered just friends.

his elbow was touching yours, and his gaze didn’t stray from you even once. you captivated his entire attention, more so than the clear stars glimmering in the moonlit sky hanging above.

he couldn’t hide his feelings for you, he couldn’t afford to with how unpredictable life was. he didn’t think much of himself, but he’d be damned if he let some other fella swoop in and woo you.

you didn’t need to be helped. there was no sun in your eyes, or rain pouring onto your face, nor was there any need to hide your face.

his eyes strayed to your lips once before looking back into your eyes, trying to read you. the fondness you held gave him some courage.

he took his hat off, his tousled hair now on display, maybe you could run your fingers through it later.

no words were spoken.

he placed his hat on your head, hoping that would convey his message: he wanted to be yours, and for you to be his.

iii. EASING ALL DISTRESSES

having a lover who’s constantly away isn’t for the weak. it has you feeling like a character out of a book who’s described as melancholic, solemnly gazing out into the distance, awaiting the person who sets your soul ablaze and gives you that fuzzy feeling in your stomach.

him.

but he always spends time with you before he leaves, duh.

after he preps his horse for another long journey away, he makes his way over to your worried form. whether you act nonchalant or downright show how concerned you are, it doesn’t matter, he treats you the same, not wanting you to sulk.

“c’mon love, don’t give me that look. i always come back relatively unscathed, don’t i? you’ve got nothing to worry yer pretty little head about.”

you purse your lips. yeah, he was strong and mighty, but you couldn’t get rid of all the thoughts in your head. “yeah, but being worried ain’t a crime.”

with an amused smile, he takes the adornment perched on his head off and puts it atop your own, adjusting it so it fits more properly. “there ya go.”

he always thought you looked awfully beautiful wearing something of his, his hat had always been dear to him, having scratches and flaws here and there from the encounters he faced. it looked perfect on you, and it felt accomplishing, like if the hat itself was some sort of wedding ring.

he cups the side of your face, using his pinky to lift your jaw while his thumb caresses your cheek. “hold onto this for me, okay? keep it on yer head all the time.”

the act alone had you smiling, returning the adoring gaze he looked at you with. he leaned in closer, pressing his lips against yours for a sweet and temporary goodbye.

iv. TANGLED UNDER THE SHEETS

the chilliness of the harsh winter weather seeped through the wood of the cabin. there were plans to get moving somewhere warmer, but it would be a rough journey. maybe you should be resting instead, but you weren’t.

labored breaths and grunts emanated from the room, accompanied by occasional fits of laughter and whispered words. the two of you were going at it like rabbits on your cot, making the room heat up — no chance you were shivering even with the way it was pouring outside.

his hips were snuggled between yours, his cock slowly pumping into you inch by inch. he was going slowly, trying to make the most of the time you guys had here at this cabin.

“i’m getting a cramp, hold on.” you whine the complaint out, needing to get in a different position.

he laughed, peeling himself off you and laying on his back, his chest heaving heavily.

“what are ya laughing at? you try having your legs up in the air for that long.” you huff as you moved over to straddle him.

“i think i’ll pass on that.”

he always thought you looked amazing on top of him, his eyes sparkling with utmost devotion. naked, vulnerable, so willing to show him every part of you. he loved it.

“ya gonna ride me? i think you’re missing something.” without missing a beat, he reached up for his hat, taking it off and sitting up to place it on you. his free hand snaked down to your ass, giving it a couple pats. “that’s better, now you’re ready.”

you grinned, pressing your hands against his chest to push him back down towards the surface of the cot.

he held onto the back of one of your hands, his other one reaching to hold his cock, letting you sink down onto him. he couldn’t take his eyes off your face though, watching as it contorted into one of pure ecstasy.

v. FAMILY HEIRLOOM

he’s a romantic at heart, he liked the idea of having a hat just for the two of you. he has plenty of others though, that can be passed onto any children you two have or take in as a part of your family — ones they could grow into.

that longing came into fruition. his arm was wrapped around your waist, pulling you close. your eyes were trained on your two children, just a couple years apart, running around aimlessly because the hats their pops put on them were so big it covered their eyes.

“careful…” you mumbled under your breath, not wanting them to fall on any branches or injure themselves. not like they heard you, obviously, but your lover did.

“they’re tough as nails already, jus’ like us..” he reassured you, but it was met by a skeptical glance from you, rightfully so.

“i know, i know…they’re so tiny though, i don’t wanna see even a small scrape on them.”

“worrywart.”

[sweetsummercourier]

Wings of Icarus

But he told him, "Beware

Do not fly too close to the sun

The blaze will surely melt those wings."

But alas, he fell

His cries swallowed by the sea...

Synopsis: Saoirse's final memory of Eren. Their goodbye, a memory unlocked after the Rumbling ends.

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x Saoirse Wolford-Blackwell (oc)

Content: angst, cursing, pregnancy, mentions of pregnancy / child, teenage / young adult pregnancy, season 4 characters are 18+

Word count: 4k

A/N: not gonna lie... got teary eyed writing this. like the teary eyed where your throat begins to hurt. I proofread and used Grammarly just to make sure, but sorry for any minor mistakes myself or the software missed :) wings in art,,, symbolism,,, not real lol

Borders by @tsunami-of-tears + @saradika-graphics

Remember me, though I have to say "goodbye,"

Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be...

Until you're in my arms again,

Remember me...

/ / /

Saoirse gasped for air, her back arching slightly as she felt her neck. It felt like a fist had been stuffed into the center of her throat, adrenaline pumping through her veins like broken ice in a thawing river. 

Where was she? Where were the screams, the deafening drum of the colossal footsteps? Where were her comrades? Why wasn’t she looking through the eye of her Titan?

Ah, she thought. I’m dead.

That was the only logical explanation. Why else would she be lying in soft grass, staring up at the leafy branches of a towering oak tree? Dappled sunlight peered through the leaves as the wind wove through the branches, carrying the sounds of cheerful birds. The dampened sunlight felt warm on her pale skin. 

Through her one eye, everything was beautiful and vibrant – so much more vibrant than it had been in years. She could see each leaf on the branches above, and all the grooves in the tree bark. When she looked to her right, she could see rolling hills and wildflowers. Houses were sprinkled here and there, some together and some far apart. She could see a farm, the paddock filled with cows and goats that were just little forms in the distance.

“Beautiful…” she whispered. If this was heaven, she didn’t want to leave. She wondered who else she would find here. Marco? Sasha? Hange? A sense of calm washed over her at the thought of reuniting with the friends and comrades she lost… those she always believed she could have saved, and had horribly failed.

Something touched her left cheek, something she couldn’t see. It was a gentle touch, warm and comforting. The touch made her feel like she was a flower, and someone had reached out to touch and admire her soft petals.

“You’re awake. About time.”

Saoirse turned her head to find Eren sitting next to her, leaning against the trunk. His head was cocked to the side as he stared down at her, resting his cheek on his shoulder. His eyes remained on her face as a small yet fond smile graced his lips. His hair was short and trimmed. She could see his face. His eyes were so clear… a light shone in them that hadn’t been there before.

Her body moved by itself, twisting as she sat up and latching onto him with intense ferocity. Her nails dug into the fabric of his shirt, her face pressed against his chest. He was warm. Warm and safe and real and beside her. Like it should have been all along. 

“You ass… how many times have I told you not to stand on my left!” Saoirse huffed as she pulled away, moving onto her knees and gripping the collar of his shirt with his hands, shaking him slightly. “You’re such a pain!” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he smiled. “I just wanted to admire you. Had I been on your right, you would have noticed me. And besides, I woulda blocked your view.”

Saoirse huffed and sat on the heels of her feet. She couldn’t stay mad at him. Not now, at least. She sighed and looked down at her hands.

A heavy weight fell on her shoulders, blanketing her. A deep sorrow sat in her chest. As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, self-awareness was a curse. 

“This is another one of your tricks,” she surmised. “We’re not really under this tree outside of Shiganshina. The Rumbling’s still happening.”

“... yes,” Eren said. “I was… hoping you wouldn’t have noticed. You’re too clever for your own good.”

Eren slowly stood up and turned to her, offering to help her stand. He latched onto her hand, holding it tightly like he was afraid she’d disappear. 

“Come with me… I want to show you something,” he said. “I know we’ve talked about the future we wanted, the future we could have. Let me dream with you a while longer.”

A lump formed in her throat. She had a million thoughts flooding her mind at that moment, everything she wanted to say was a swirling whirlpool. Eren’s eyes softened and pulled her closer to his side.

“Later… for now, just… let’s just be.”

Eren led her down the hill, keeping pace with her. The crisp grass swayed as they passed, flowers in full bloom reaching their leaves to the sky. People and horse-drawn carts dotted the dirt road leading to Shiganshina. Destroyed and desolate houses had been transformed into abodes filled with life. Children were playing in the streets, and mothers called for them to come inside for lunch. A dog chased a ball. A cat startled a flock of chickens. A man on horseback tipped his hat towards them and bid them a good day.

The Wall was no longer there. 

They entered the city where the gate once was. The infamous gate, where both had seen the Armored Titan smash through nine years ago. There were no traces of it now. It was as if the walls and gate itself had never been.

Saoirse paused and pulled Eren to the side of the road, and just stared. There were no soldiers. There wasn’t a massive structure blocking her view. She was standing where the Wall and gate had been, right where they stood that separated the Shiganshina District from the interior of Wall Maria. 

Saoirse wanted to stand there and watch the people and carts go by. To see the merchants come with their wares to set up shop. To see the weary farmer head to town to wind down at a tavern. To see the young women return to their homes with arms full of groceries. To see the children run to the river to play, dogs nipping at their heels. To see what she would be going back to once the Rumbling was over.

Life looked so… normal. Plain. Boring.

Eren squeezed her hand and coaxed her along, pulling her to continue walking. As they entered the teeming streets, what once would have been overwhelming brought comfort. The noise that would have given her a panic attack and ringing ears soothed her. Maybe it was because, after nine years of hell, everything was okay. All traces of Titans and soldiers and humanity struggling behind walls had vanished. 

The couple maneuvered through the bustling streets, wandering throughout the district. The smell of fresh bread and spices wafted into Saoirse’s nose. Rowdy music and patrons were singing in one of the city’s taverns. A heated argument had broken out between a merchant and a consumer over a poor barter.

A child ran into Eren’s leg while chasing a ball. The young boy looked up bashfully and apologized, hanging his head as if he were to be scolded. Eren laid a gentle hand on the boy’s head and ruffled his hair. 

“Don’t worry about it, sport,” Eren replied, very much like a dad. “No harm done.” 

Saoirse smirked and snorted, looking away. She began to chuckle softly. Eren gave her a quizzical look.

“What? What’d I say?”

“Nothing… you just sounded like such a dad.”

Eren laughed softly and pressed a warm kiss to the top of her head. He laced their fingers together and gently rubbed his thumb against her skin. He was being so tender with her, which wasn’t a bad thing, but it certainly hadn’t been a common thing, especially in public. Yet in the back of Saoirse’s mind, if this was their final moment together, it made sense he was being so affectionate.

No, she thought. This isn’t the end, everything’s going to be fine. This is all just leading up to Eren telling me that everything will be okay.

Eren led her down the bustling streets to the town square. There was a large fountain, decorated with flowers and surrounded by benches. Slanted plaques lay on the edges of the fountain. There were names etched into each plaque in neat rows, displaying the names of every person – civilian or soldier – who died when Wall Maria fell, who died when they were forced to be sent back, and those who died after reclaiming the Wall. 

Saoirse traced her fingers over the names, feeling the grooves of the etchings. She felt Eren pull away and move over to another plaque. His face grew somber and his heart seemed to sink to the pit of his stomach.

She moved over and stood by his side, her eye flitting over the names. Carla Jaeger stuck out like a sore thumb, and her blood ran cold. She leaned against Eren and sighed gently.

“She would’ve liked you,” Eren sighed. “I can almost picture how happy she would have been to hear she was going to be a grandma.”

“Don’t beat yourself up over what happened,” Saoirse replied. “You were ten.”

Eren remained silent for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. He passed his thumb over his mother’s name and heaved a shaky sigh. He grabbed Saoirse’s hand and gently pulled her away from the fountain and down another street.

“That fountain… this whole city… is this how the city looks or did you make this up?”

“A little bit of both,” Eren replied, not looking at her. “This is how the city looks in my memory and how it looks now that it’s been repopulated. But the memorial fountain? I made that up. It doesn’t exist.”

“Well, maybe it should,” Saoirse said. “It’s beautiful.”

Eren led her through the streets and up some paths in silence. He looked like a man on a mission, with a soft, somber expression on his face. He looked like he was half excited, half dreading to reach the destination.

He led her to a house and nodded in its direction. As they stood back, Saoirse turned her gaze up at him. She gently nudged his shoulder, yet he wouldn’t budge. He swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. He sounded slightly hoarse like he was parched.

“It looks different… without the giant boulder on top.”

His home. His childhood home. It did indeed look so different. She hadn’t been present when they went into the basement, but Eren had brought her by to at least show her the home he lost… where he lost his mother.

Suddenly, a small child of about four years ran out of the front door. Saoirse couldn’t determine if the child was a boy or a girl, but something about the child caused butterflies in the pit of her stomach. The child laughed and called for their mother, gripping a red ball in their hands.

“... That’s me.”

Saoirse’s eye widened as she watched a slightly older version of herself step out of the house. She held a large basket of laundry at her hip, donning a white blouse and yellow skirt, a red apron wrapped around her waist. She made a gesture to the child that said “one minute!” as she began to hang the laundry on a clothesline. She had even grown her hair back, and it looked soft and fluffy. 

“Is that how you picture me?” *Saoirse asked.

“Yeah,” Eren said softly. “Why? Have I offended you?”

“Not at all… just never saw myself in skirts and dresses.”

“I think you look beautiful in everything.”

“Shut up.”

They observed the pair as the child played with the ball, shouting at their mother to come play. They watched as the other Saoirse tied up her skirt to form makeshift shorts and began to kick the ball around with the child, laughing as the wind pushed up her hair. 

Someone called out in the distance. It sounded like a man. They turned toward the voice and the child yelled out “Daddy!” The child abandoned the ball and raced towards another Eren, who was dressed sharply. He beamed as he picked up the child, spinning them around before pressing a kiss to their cheek. When the other Saoirse approached, they seemed like a big happy family as Eren held her close in his other arm, kissing her lips.

“... we look happy.”

“Yeah… we do…”

Eren turned to her, his jade eyes soft and sad.

“Close your eyes for me. Don’t open until I tell you to.”

/ / /

Solid stone gave way to soft sand. Ocean water lapped at her feet and the urge to take off her boots was undeniable.

When Saoirse turned to look at Eren, his appearance returned to the now. His hair was pulled back in a messy bun, eyes devoid of light. He breathed a sigh and looked at her, his frame bathed in the red light of the setting sun.

“I think back to this time a lot,” he said. “How you looked standing here, in the water. It was the first time I ever saw you smile, I think. Truly smile,” he started. “I remember thinking to myself how beautiful it was. I wanted to protect it. I wanted to see it again.” 

Eren sighed softly and looked over at Saoirse. His eyes were at half mast, and his eyes just seemed so dead. So still and so dark. 

“Saoirse, be honest with me. When you look at me as I am now, what do you see?”

Saoirse knew what he expected her to say. A monster. A murderer. A demon. No — the Devil. Yet while she did agree that his actions were monstrous, she did not see him as a monster.  

Saoirse sighed and combed her fingers through her short hair before slowly shaking her head.

“I won’t say you’re a monster. I don’t see you as such. I’m… disappointed, and I’m mad, but when I look at you I see the man I love… and the father of my child.”

His expression softened and he reached for her hands, gently holding her fingers. He ran his thumbs over her knuckles, and for a time that felt like an eternity, there was only the sound of this imagined ocean.

“You’re going to live a long life,” he said calmly, his tone soft and low. “I want you to live a good, fulfilling life.”

“I will. With you, of course,” she replied, her tone slightly forceful with determination.

Eren hesitated and sighed softly, averting his gaze. Saoirse tugged on his hands a little as if trying to coax him into agreement. That somehow this whole disaster would end in a fairytale ending. That somehow, they would both walk away from this alive and live that life they talked about — that he had the gall to show her. 

He wouldn’t have conjured that up if it wasn’t going to be true… right? He wouldn’t dangle that in front of her like a carrot… right? Right? Right?

“Where you are going, I can’t follow,” he replied. “I’m sorry…”

His hold on her fingers tightened and he clenched his teeth, a tch emitting from his throat. Emotions overwhelmed him and he huffed,

“Shit… I don’t want this at all. I want to be here with you. I want to be close to you and grow old with you. I want to see your smile every day. I want to know what it’s like to live a boring life. I want to hold our baby, I want to be there when he or she is born… I want to be a dad…”

He closed his eyes and set his jaw, tears wetting his lashes. He opened his eyes and looked at her, his voice filled with regret.

“I want to be happy… I want to be happy with you. I don’t want anyone else to be by your side but me. I want to be your one and only. I want to raise our kid together… the idea of another man raising them, calling them “dad,” witnessing all those milestones… shit!!”

Eren shook his head and inhaled sharply, trying to control his emotions. It was clear he was in a tumultuous storm, battling with his emotions and the icy mask he had created. He was battling with his resolve, the older one wanting to be free and avenging his mother and the newer one wanting a clean slate for himself and his fellow Paradisians.

“Ah… I’m sorry,” he breathed slowly, the mask settling back over his face.

“No.”

Eren blinked at her comment. Something in her stomach churned angrily, and a white-hot marble of frustration and hurt boiled within.

Saoirse pulled her hands from his and began to wring them together, pacing. It was a feeble attempt to calm her. The more she paced, the angrier she got. Maybe it was because Eren had his eyes on her. Maybe it was his presence. Maybe it was his words. Maybe all three.

“Dammit, Eren… Dammit all!” She yelled as she turned to face him. “You selfish bastard! You don’t think, do you! You think you can just say that shit to me after everything!?”

She picked up a small rock from the wet sand and chucked it as far as she could, watching it splash and sink into the lapping waves.

“You didn’t have to do any of this! This whole “it’s the memories, it’s the future” — cut the bullshit! Destiny, predetermined fate… bullshit! You didn’t have to do any of this! We could’ve lived the life we wanted! But you decided it was more important to — to end the world? And for what? For what, Eren! Tell me! How many people have died for your — your stupid “memories!” Tell me!”

“...eighty percent.”

“Eighty perc — Eren!”

Saoirse held her head in her hands and exhaled sharply, her one eye rolling around. Eighty percent. How many lives was that? How many human lives was that? How many generations had he snuffed out? How much hatred had he sown into the hearts of survivors? How many survived who believed that, through Eren’s actions, all Eldians were devils?

“I’ve redone this over and over again… all with unsatisfactory results.”

“And this is the best case scenario? Slaughtering millions? Forcing us to go to war against you? Ostracizing your friends — do not give me that look, Eren Jaeger, I cannot believe the shit you said to Mikasa and did to Armin! They have known you forever! And this is how you treat them! And me! What about me! What about the kid!”

Eren grabbed her and pulled her to his chest. She beat her fists against him. She battled and screamed, but he held her. He didn’t speak, just held her and let her get all her frustrations out. He knew that if he tried to speak to her, to calm her, she’d only freak out more.

Saoirse wept, the rhythmic drumming of her fists stilling. Instead, she gripped his shirt, feeling the fabric against his skin. He gently pressed his nose to her shoulder, breathing deeply and closing his eyes.

“Was all of this a lie?” she whimpered. “Was I just… some pawn? Was I just a puppet with a role to play…”

“No,” he responded immediately. “No, you were never a pawn or a plaything. Never once have I seen you as such… but there is one thing.”

Saoirse rested her cheek against his chest, swallowing thickly. Her chest and shoulders heaved as she stuttered, gasping for air to calm herself and regulate her breathing. Eren gently pressed his hand to her back and rubbed small circles against her, his fingers brushing against her spine.

“I cannot change the past,” he continued, “but through the Founding Titan, I can influence thoughts and memories of the past… my father never saw you in the future memories of me, therefore I originally never paid you any mind… but I did.”

Saoirse looked up at him, stunned. Eren held her shoulders gently, searching her face. She opened her mouth a few times, but no words came out at first.

“... did you alter me?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I… primarily intervened in your thoughts to ensure your survival. At first, my intentions were purely selfish: your Titan abilities were useful, and I determined they would make the events leading up to now more achievable. But I certainly didn’t think I would fall in love with you as a result.”

“And the baby?”

“... no, that was a surprise,” he replied. “Again, in ensuring your survival, I never imagined falling in love with you. I suppose I… could’ve prevented it but can’t imagine why I would. In the end, I got to be with you, even if there was an unexpected result."

Eren paused and gently took her face in his hands, tilting her head up. Tears continued to pour down from Saoirse’s one eye, liquid pearls rolling down her cheeks and onto his thumb. 

“I have been a terribly selfish lover,” he continued, “but I love you. Truly, honestly, deeply. I want you to be happy. I don’t want you to be alone. I don’t want our child to be raised without a father… I want you and our child to thrive. To live peacefully and happily in this new world. My biggest regret is that I won’t be by your side.”

“Eren… please…” Saoirse pleaded quietly, her lower lip quivering. “Don’t go where I can’t follow… if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have ever dreamed of the life I want now…”

Eren’s breathing was shaky, and tears pricked his eyes once more. He leaned forward and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead, his thumbs gently stroking her cheeks. His lips were so soft in the moment, the kiss so tender and soft and loving.

“I know I’ll be going to Hell,” he whispered against her skin. “Never doubt that I’m not watching over you, though. I promise I’ll be all around you. I’ll always be with you.”

“Where you go, I go too,” she replied quietly. “In death, be it Heaven or Hell, I want to be with you again. I would happily give up Heaven’s gates to be with the man who showed me love, who saw past my cynicism and cared for me anyway… I will shoulder your sins, too.”

Eren laughed softly and pressed his forehead to hers. He commented on how that was “pretty selfless” of her, and that he admired her resolve to abandon a peaceful afterlife for someone who didn’t deserve it. 

“Raise our child well,” he whispered, brushing his nose against hers. “Make them better than me. Show them that the world has so much beauty in it — so much more beauty than cruelty. Give them and yourself a normal life, free of the Walls and Titans.”

He tilted her head up a bit more and pressed his lips to hers. Saoirse moved her hands from his abdomen up to his chest, pressing herself closer to him. Even in this dream-like memory, she wanted to savor every little thing: the way he smelled, the way his chest rose and fell, the softness and warmth of his lips and how they moved against hers… how when she pulled back for a breath, he pulled her back in, a little tighter and more earnest. 

“I’ll be waiting for you,” he whispered. “When your time comes, I’ll be there. I will see you again. We will meet and be together again… and I look forward to hearing all the stories you’ll have to tell me.”

“Don’t go… ”

Eren finally broke away and embraced Saoirse tightly, resting his chin on the top of her head. Saoirse nestled her head against his neck. As tears dripped down her face, he rubbed her back and pet her hair tenderly. His tears began to slip down his face, knowing when they saw each other again, she’d be fighting him… she wouldn’t even remember this conversation until his head left his neck.

“Take care, Saoirse… I love you. Always and forever, and even after that… I love you. Goodbye, my love… thank you for everything.”

[theotherluxray]

May I ask you how you plan out you panels and compositions for your amazing comic pages?

Haha thank you for the compliments!

I'm not the best at this, I'm rather messy, so take my advice with a grain of salt. You'd probably get some better advice from more professional comic artists. Nevertheless, here's what I can say!

1st) I often study and reference how my favorite manga and comics do it. How to block out a page, what amount of detail to include, what needs to be the center of focus, what corners need to be cut... This comic is my first time making a comic, so studying those that did it successfully has been hugely important. My role models for this have been Hiromu Arakawa (Fullmetal Alchemist), Kentaro Muira (Berserk), and recently @do9bessa (artist who makes PMD Rescue Rangers, and recently made a really good Avatar comic). Hiromu Arakawa and FMA in particular have been good teachers for how I should lay out and pace pages.

2) Planning the flow of the panels. Personally I think I still need to work on this, but the most important thing for any page and story is pacing, and making sure each panel of a comic guides smoothly to the next panel and thus keep the readers eyes following along. Kentaro Muira does this pretty well (as does Arakawa too), but I think the best artist who did this in a "simple yet impressive" way was Akira Toriyama (Dragon Ball).

3) Thumb-nailing and Scripting! I do scripting kind of ad-hoc, but I always do thumb-nailing... even if I kinda hate it. Thumb-nailing, for those who don't know, is basically a pre-sketch of the art you wanna make but in a really tiny canvas space, typically 1x1 inch or 2.5x2.5 cm (adjust as needed to properly scale to a full page of course). Doing it this way forces me to focus more on how the page will be laid out and flow than anything else, and gives me a blue print to improve from when i actually start sketching. it's hard to draw in tiny spaces, so I need to get the most important details put down for the thumbnails to even make sense (and thus, for my pages to make sense). Scripting helps make the thumb-nailing process easier, though sometimes I combine the steps and do them at the same time.

4) Practice and f*cking up. The big one, the one that haunts all artists. You just gotta do it. You just gotta put the time in and make bad art sometimes to "git gud". Half of the first chapter of my story is kind of painful to read because of poor art and messy page layouts (not to mention how long that first chapter got). At the end of the day, this is a fancomic; who cares if the art is bad or the pages aren't well laid out at first, or even every now and then? Or if you decide you can't keep up with it due to life issues or new passions? It's very low stakes, and though I take it seriously because I want the comic to be good, it's freeing to know "I can just take a break, half ass a page sometimes, or even quit if I don't like this" because this sort of thing happens all the time with fancomics. If I was making an entirely new comic for a new IP, the stakes would be higher, because I would need to bring in trust and fight for the merit of the IP, but not so with a fancomic. It's the perfect project to practice, put out bad art sometimes, and have fun without high stakes.

tl;dr: Look at your favorite manga and how they do it, practice and use thumb-nails to plan pages, and be comfortable with fucking up or half-assing sometimes.

[hyunnieshannie]

Too Drunk For This | Y.J

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x Reader Word Count: 10,655 Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, mutual pining, there's not much going on but consent is implied for the things that DO happen. PDA. THERE IS PDA. (kissing, public area my bad... but i'll fokn do it again) A/N: I wrote this during a break from my EX series, because man am I on a writers block to end one of the chapters, but I think this helped and It will be coming soon I swear so pls accept this little Jeongin fic as a peace offering dfgvbskjbg

And just like that, everything you had built up came crumbling down. Every wall you had built up was being torn away by the wrecking ball that was Yang Jeongin. 

The night had started off fine, your friend Momo had begged you to join her at a party she barely wanted to go to, and after asking a million and one times why not just stay in instead; you had been thoroughly convinced that a party would be just what the two of you needed. 

A break from the studying, and pain in the ass that was college life. 

“I still don’t get why we’re here.” you complained as the two of you walked up the steps of the home the party was being hosted in, the music blaring through the closed door; only to be made louder as you made your way inside. “You didn’t even want to come.” 

“I know but,-” she paused as someone caught her eye, and it hit you. The real reason she pulled herself out of the dorm room to venture out into an unforgiving territory. 

College parties are fun, but they are (in your mind) truly unforgiving. One mistake, one little thing to embarrass yourself and the entire campus will know before you even have a chance to wake up and process the excruciating pain of a hangover migraine. 

“Got it,” you huff as the two of you push past the crowd of people all mingling, dancing, and clearly drunk out of their minds; all letting themselves forget that it's a Thursday night and you all have classes in the morning, because whoever had the bright idea to host a rager on a weekday clearly had the right idea in most people's eyes because FUCK exams right? 

You had made the conscious decision not to drink tonight, because you truly didn’t want to attend tomorrow morning's lecture with a killer headache, unable to eat, and feeling like death incarnated. So instead you followed Momo around as she said hello to all her classmates, ones you barely knew. 

You and Momo may be friends, but you don’t share the same major. While she focused on the dramatic arts, you focused on architectural design. Most of the people attending this party happened to be in the arts and so you felt mostly left out. 

“Y/N?” a voice sounds from behind you, you turn to see your classmate walking towards you with a wide grin plastered on his face, “Y/N what are you doing here,” he laughed,

“Oh I came with- '' you turned to point out Momo who had disappeared in the three seconds it took to acknowledge Jeongin. “Momo, but it seems I may have lost her.” Jeongin let out a laugh as you looked around the room, trying your hardest to find your friend. 

“Makes sense, you don’t really seem like the party type of person,” he smirks as he takes a drink from his cup. In all honesty, you aren’t a party person. Big crowds of people isn’t really your thing, and you’d much rather have a few drinks at home with a few of your close friends around. One it’s just more fun to have people you trust around you while you’re drunk, and two it lessens the risk of anything going wrong, but Jeongin didn’t need to know that. 

“Bold of you to assume I don’t like parties.” you scoff. It was a mistake saying that, and you knew that clearly as the smirk returned to Jeongin’s face only this time, with a hint of mischief in it. Within a split second the boy had your wrist in his hand, as he dragged you through the home and to the kitchen, smiling as he pushed a bottle of soju your way. 

“Prove it. Y/L/N,” 

“I don’t have to prove anything to you Yang Jeongin.” you rolled your eyes, ready to walk away. You weren’t drinking tonight. 

Until you were.

 Six shots in and laughing loudly as Jeongin entertained you, pouring the both of you another one.  

“Seriously Y/N, I didn’t think you’d actually give in,” he laughs, “You looked like you were going to punch me earlier,” you quickly take back your shot, the taste of the soju had begun to ease from the harsh perfumy alcohol to an easily taken sweet drink. Your mind was hazing, and the room spinning, but yet everything was warm and Jeongin was funnier now that you’d had more to drink. Of course you’d always thought of him as funny, and maybe kind of cute. But you never really spoke to him until now. Maybe in passing a few times during one of your shared classes but you never spent time with him outside of class. So when he took your hand and dragged you outside to the backyard to sit and talk, it took you a bit by surprise. Sure there was an initial shock of him dragging you to drink with him, but you’d assumed it was because it was only the two of you from your major at this party, so you just thought he wanted some sort of familiarity. 

Until every person that came through the kitchen stopped to say hi to him, and he’d have to introduce you to them. 

Everyone knows Jeongin. 

Jeongin sat beside you as the two of you spoke about yourselves, getting to know one another outside your class. It was weird talking to him for something other than a project or homework, but it was nice. The alcohol giving both of you the boost of confidence to speak to one another, because despite barely knowing him you couldn’t deny he was good looking, easy to speak to and of course funny. You couldn’t help but have a small crush on him, even though he’d probably never think of you in that way. 

Except he did. 

The moment Jeongin had seen you at the party, his mind already hazed from the drinks he’d already had, he knew it was his chance to try and get to know you. He wanted to know the person he’d catch himself staring at in the middle of a lecture, the person who sat in the row in front of him. The person who’s designs would surely make the next big thing in the architectural world. He was fascinated by you.

You didn’t often speak to a lot of people, and mostly kept to the few friends you already had. You did your work quietly, and diligently. You were passionate about the subject and he truly admired it. Though he had only found a few excuses to talk to you, by using the class assignments; he knew in the first few interactions he needed to know more. And so when you walked in, and decided to drink with him, he took that chance to try and get to know you better. 

He listened as you spoke about yourself, about your interests and dislikes; and he couldn’t help but think to himself I’m fucked. Because he was truly and deeply starting to fall for you. It wasn’t his fault you were so god damn smart, and it wasn’t his fault you always looked so fucking good. How was anyone expected to not have some sort of crush on you when you walked around so confidently, so sure of yourself, so perfectly? 

He couldn’t help but let his thoughts wander as you spoke, your lips just looked so soft, and his eyes kept wandering to them, quickly snapping back up every time he realized he was staring. But you didn’t notice, he was still safe. But the alcohol kept pushing him, and pushing him. 

“Jeongin?” You asked as he shook his head, trying to clear his mind as if it worked like an etch-sketch. “You okay?” 

“Uh, yeah sorry. Just thinking about something, sorry.” His face burnt into a light pink blush, 

“What about?” he didn’t offer an answer, only stared at you, and down at your lips. 

“Fuck.” He breathed out, before cupping your face and softly kissing you. Is this okay? Fuck. I shouldn’t have done that. He thought as you pulled away, eyes softly fluttering back open as he looked at you, i’m about to get fucking slapped. He thought, as he mentally prepared for the inevitable. But you didn’t. You just looked at him, with softness in your eyes, as if you’d just been waiting for him to make some sort of move. “Sorry,” he whispered as he looked to his hands, fiddling with the cup he held. 

A minute of silence passed before he looked back up at you, still you looked at him with soft eyes. Maybe it was a bad idea, maybe it wasn’t but fuck did he want to do it again, but this time you beat him to it, closing the gap between the two of you kissing him softly, and almost needily. He set his cup down as gracefully as he could before turning a bit to be able to wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you into him as much as he could without you literally being on top of him on the patio set outside the party. People opened the door only to close it when they saw the two of you but neither of you cared, both of you too distracted in the warmth of the other to even consider what you were doing and where. 

What started as a soft kiss quickly became a very heated makeout session, and you were ready to just get on him, let him have you in any way he wanted. But with the slightest move he pulled back, “Not here.” he mumbled as he grabbed your hand pulling you back into the house, bringing you into the closest washroom. Once the door was shut he was back on you kissing you like he’d never get the chance to again. You reached your hand up his shirt, as he shuddered at the sensation of your touch, as he pulled you tightly against his body. 

And just like that, everything you had built up came crumbling down.

Every wall you had built up was being torn away by the wrecking ball that was Yang Jeongin. You had spent most of your time in college so focused on just getting through it. After your first failed relationship, and then your second you’d decided that maybe just focusing on your work would do you better. Who needs a boyfriend when school life fucks you everyday right?

Wrong because what you felt, that need to be touched. And specifically by him, was taking over every cell within your body. Part of it may have been the fact that you were quite touch starved, the other part may have been the alcohol but everything felt right with him. He knew how to kiss you, where to touch to get the reaction he wanted out of you. As if he’d known your body for years and knew just exactly what it needed. 

“Fuck you don’t know how bad I’ve wanted to do this,” he sighs, kissing you harshly again. 

A knock on the bathroom door sends the both of you out of your heated daze, your makeup smudged, and lipstick staining his lips from the kiss. 

“Y/N?” Momo called from outside the door, “Hurry up I wanna go home,” she sighed, 

“Yeah coming!” you said shakily as Jeongin heald in a laugh, 

“Not yet, but I mean-” He joked, 

“Fuck, we are too drunk for this.” You sigh, Jeongin smiles running his hand through your hair before kissing you again, 

“We are,” he whispers, “So maybe next time.” he reaches for the door handle slowly opening it as you look to him, 

“You sure that’s not the alcohol talking?” you ask, 

“Not at all love.” he smiles before exiting, leaving you there to wonder what ‘Next time’ meant. 

Your walk back to your dorm with Momo was a blur, both of you too drunk to really be walking home alone, but somehow you managed to make it home safely. Momo crashing on her bed as you took your severely messed up makeup off in the washroom. 

Your phone buzzes, and you quickly glance at it,

Jeongin; dinner? Sunday? With me… you know so I Can properly confess, and not in some washroom drunk at a random party?

[partynoobvanii]

Small Important Update :

Hello there! It's Ethanvanii here, posting a small update cause I've been inactive on Tumblr lately, and I wanted to clean stuff up.

I will be on a break now, I won't be online so much and I'll be working on homework, and other art projects/series.

Where i have been in life 📣

So far, i have been behind on homework, so much that the homework line on my computer is RED. And not completed, behind even. But yeah, aside from that.. Life has been a bit boring and honestly sad. I've been worried for my online son, Ryker since they have been going through a lot of mood swings, terrible shit happening to them and all. I hope they'll try to stay safe and healthy while I'm gone for a bit.

About Sickpants Lullaby ☎

As you can see, Sickpants Lullaby has been on hiatus for like... I dunno... SINCE LIKE OCTOBER... But the question is, WHY was it on hiatus?

Homework aside, the reason why i haven't worked on it was because of my motivation dying down for the series, without Cobalt/Natt here... I feel very unmotivated to work on it at the moment, he is my beautiful and silly online son, he is like a whole ray of sunshine even. It was fun to hang out with him, before he left to China... I'm honestly lucky to have him in my horrible ass life. Not having him here can be really lonely honestly, even he had that problem while working on Parodies College House (A Spongebob Parodies Fangame he made) To the point he had to put it on hiatus till Benjamin and Juan were back. (Since they are needed, cause they're voice actors in that. And also cause of the fact Cobalt misses them.)

HOWEVER....

Not to worry, cause Sickpants Lullaby will continue once he comes back! Hopefully, if I don't get art block...

ALSO...

Please do NOT slide into my DMS just to ask me when I'm gonna work on Sickpants Lullaby, or if im working on a drawing of your character. It just makes it annoying and makes me not wanna complete it anymore, I hope you understand that.

Another mention though, I have a second reason for having no motivation for working on Sickpants Lullaby as i used to.

The second reason why Sickpants Lullaby is on Hiatus ☎

The SECOND reason why the series is on hiatus, is just because I've been working on another series which is called "Ethan's Void Life (EVL for short)" more. I've lost some interest in working on Sickpants Lullaby now that Cobalt/Natt is gone, it just doesn't feel the same anymore without him... I don't feel the same joy i get while drawing Sickpants Lullaby frames for my audience as i used to.........

....But besides that, look at the bright side. At least i get a break from the Internet for a bit..? Yes, I'll be checking my Tumblr Inbox in a while, just in case to answer questions.

Anyways, time for more fun stuff.

NEW INTERESTS!! YIPPEEE- 📣

So far, I've gotten around.... Well I don't know, 3 INTERESTS?? MAYBE EVEN 5???

But yeah, I'll try my best to remember most despite my poor memory.

1. PHIGHTING! (Roblox Game)

2. Item Asylum (Also Roblox Game)

3. Guts & Blackpowder. Again, another roblox game. But this time Cobalt got me into it in the first place. I don't regret playing it.

4. Regretevator.... HOLSLSYY FUCKKKK I LOVE THIS GAME 😭😭 IT'S THE WHOLE REASON WHY MY TUMBLR USER IS NAMED AFTER PARTYNOOB NOW 💔💔💔

Stimming aside, it's a pretty cool and fun game. I liked the voice acting, fun stages, and the characters are pretty creative to be honest!

5. Dayshift At Freddy's. Despite the... Ahem... Problematic parts due to it being made in like 2018.... It's a really goofy and silly game! I honestly love it despite me still trying to get all the way to DSAF 3... DSAF 1 was a pain in the ass to play, hopefully I'll skip it and just see if DSAF 2 is easier. (Because my dumbass can't press the springlocks fast enough in the first game lmao, but don't worry i still love the game anyways)

6. Dialtown. Made by the same creator of DSAF. I really enjoyed Dialtown honestly, the dialogue, the story, and the characters! They even added some phone guy characters from DSAF into it. Maybe as a Easter egg? I don't know. Either way Dialtown was still fun. Not to mention the creator is really nice, bless their heart. :)

Interests i MIGHT stream 📣

1. PHIGHTING

NO. As much as i love it, i am ass at playing on computer, I'll most likely make a video of me playing it on phone instead of streaming.

2. Item Asylum

Possible? I haven't tested it on computer for lag, so it's a maybe for now....

3. Guts & Blackpowd-

NO. I've tested it on my laptop before, believe me. It's laggy for my small ass laptop. I'll be posting videos of me playing it on mobile instead, thank you very much... It may be less laggy on your laptop, but mine? Nah.

4. Regretevator

Yes. It's still fun either way if i die to lag, one death isn't gonna hurt my soul. ^_^

5. Dayshift at Freddy's

Maybe?? It's if I DON'T GET SPRINGLOCKED A BUNCH OF TIMES DUE TO FAILING... but yeah, it is possible, I'll be streaming myself watching DSAF 1 gameplay on youtube, and then the next streams will be me playing DSAF 2 and DSAF 3 (that's IF they don't springlock me again... It sucks tbh but it's still a loveable game)

6. Dialtown

Yes! Though I'll have to add some warnings before people watch it, since i don't want my viewers getting uncomfortable due to the themes in it.

Thats all for now, I hope the news up there was useful.

No, not the interests, the Sickpants Lullaby part.

Anyways, bye for real! :3

[goddamnosamu]

Two Ghosts Falling

Part 2 of [12:49am]: Writing songs is not easy

Pairing: idol!Asahi x reader 

Word count: 1373

Warning: alcohol mention but nothing too serious

A/N: This was so long overdue, and I’m really sorry for that. It’s just been pretty hectic with stuff that’s going on in my life but I decided to at least make a part 2 of the story that I first wrote and posted in this account. I’m thankful for all the hearts and reblogs, it truly makes me happy that people continue to like my work even if I’m gone for a long time. I’ll try to post once things start to look up for me, but for now please enjoy this. I apologize for the pain LMAO I love angst <3 leave a comment, reblog, or heart if you enjoyed it.

“In short, I screwed up,” 

Of course, the shock that his members had on their faces was enough to tell that they were disappointed in him, albeit won’t really say it to his face. It was painfully obvious; who was even to blame for a relationship that felt one-sided despite the two loving each other? Asahi doesn’t even know what time it was when he finished telling his break-up story to the members. Without hearing a word from them, he left the room trying to calm himself down because he never really learned how to cope with the pain that he caused to both of you. Writing his thoughts didn’t help anymore, bottling up his feelings will only leave him crying for hours, and painting will only end up with art that resonates with his agony from both the stress of being an idol and losing you. Thinking back, he never really knew how to cope because he was always met with your comfort when he was stressed. 

It’s been months and he still can’t bring himself to go out. The only time he does go out is when he has a schedule for the day or one of the members promised free coffee. Anything other than that, he only checks the lives of other people on social media. Surprisingly, you didn’t block him in your account and you retained your account for the public to see. He could see you succeed in the stories you told him about, and even the little celebration posts. Asahi continues to see you striving in your own life without him, yet he is still miserable the day you left him. He wanted to patch things up with you; try to tell you that he needs you and he regrets his actions. But when that time does come, he’s afraid he’ll run out of things he can say to bring you back. 

At an early night, Asahi reluctantly agrees to spend a night in a bar with the other members. The members were pestering him about it and he only went just to get them off his back. He has been stressed enough already, but he really didn’t think that alcohol will solve his problems. Arriving at the local bar, Asahi was immediately welcomed by the strong scent of alcohol and the blaring music coming from the speakers around the bar. He was immediately dragged by Jihoon to the bartender and ordered a drink for the both of them. As soon as they got their drinks, where Asahi doesn’t even know what Jihoon got for him, he was left alone to ponder his thoughts and alcohol ready for his escape. 

Asahi doesn’t know how long they’ve been in here, but all he knows is he’s at his 4th cocktail. He was tipsy, but he manages to get a hold of himself for the time being in case the other members needed help going home. He admits to himself that the alcohol has helped a bit in forgetting; his mind is more focused on the music and seeing some of the members laugh their asses off on the dance floor. 

“Hamada Asahi. Here I thought you completely locked yourself up in the studio.”

It can’t be. 

“(y/n)?” Asahi said shakily, his eyes immediately filled with remorse. He knew it was inevitable that you’d meet each other, but he doesn’t expect it to be this early – denying the fact that he was just afraid to see you while he was still at his lowest. 

“How have you been?” you answered, completely unfazed by his heavy demeanor while you sat beside him. 

“Still locked in the studio, the others just dragged me here.” Asahi recovered from his shock, grabbing confidence from the alcohol he has. 

“How about you?’

“Oh, you know – same old, same old. Finally getting on track with my life and what I wanted to do,”

Asahi knew what you were talking about – of course, he does. The achievements on your social media, the updates about your life he hears when the others talk about you; you were practically there in every corner he looks. He looks at you as you waved to a person he’s unfamiliar with, probably a colleague you met from your now successful life. He’d wish for you to elaborate more, even if the stories were already told by you or others. It was too selfish for him to think of wanting to get back with you but needs to hear it from you, even if it meant that he was going to hurt again in the next couple of months.

“You know, I never wanted things to end,” he whispered, although you completely heard him. “All I ever wanted was to be by your side. I never knew how to write songs anymore because I lost all my inspiration for it. I’m sorry, but I can’t deal with the fact that you probably won’t talk about me to anyone or someone you wouldn’t want around or –”

“You are so fucking selfish.”

He looked at you in shock. Tears well up in your eyes as you bite your lip to prevent yourself from breaking down right then and there.

“You don’t get to decide what should I be in the relationship. You don’t even have the right to say that I’m the reason you’re miserable. How about me, Asahi? Did you ever stop and consider how I was feeling? The whole time in that relationship, I never even felt the love you bragged to others or the songs you wrote about me.” you stared at him while he can’t even bring himself to look at you. He knew you were right. This was what he wanted, right? For you to say what you’ve always wanted to say after the breakup. He looked at you as you continued. 

“And the worst part of all of that was that I still loved you.”

“I’m sorry.” pathetic, he thinks about himself.

“It’s already too late for that,” you murmured as you stared at your half-empty glass. 

“Look, I know I broke a lot of what I promised you when I dated you–”

“You didn’t just break promises, Asahi. You broke me, and honestly, I don’t know why I even continue to sit beside you right now and explain yourself.” you spat at him while paying for your drink. You were about to walk away when I suddenly grabbed your hand.

“Please don’t leave. I don’t know what I am now without you,” his tears were falling at this point. You both were probably getting stares but Asahi didn’t care. All he wanted was you, even if it meant that you both will try to remember how it feels to be one again.

“Let go, Asahi.”

“No, I don’t want to. Please just hear me out, I’ll–”

“And why the fuck should I listen to you? I said let go.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you” his voice quivered, full of hurt and despair. He didn’t know what else to say other than apologies and desperation. 

“But you fucking did, didn’t you? You fucking did,” you scowled at him as your tears were now running down your cheeks.

You removed his hand from your arm and immediately left. He continues to kneel on the floor, trying to process everything that happened while his hands were on his head. His head was pounding and his body felt like giving up, but his chest was the most painful of all. It was like his heart was breaking again after it was pieced together forcefully. He gets the feeling that you’ll never need him again – he knew you didn’t but what other choice did he have to at least get through the day? He continued to hope before today, but tonight and the days to come will definitely feel like falling into a hole of despair where he won’t know how to save himself anymore. When he looks up, he never saw you again. All he heard was one of the members trying to get him to come back to his senses but his mind was too focused on remembering how his heart was supposed to beat without you, forever.

[nightmare-foundation]

I keep seeing and impulsively checking the blog of an old fairly toxic friend of mine n I just.

Man. Why do YOU have to be doing well. Why am I the only one who looks back and ends up feeling awful.

Not that I want him to suffer. It's better he doesn't. But like,, I'm always the one on the chopping block between the two of us. It's been 4 YEARS and one month since we've completely ceased contact. Yet my dumb ass STILL can't not think abt him at random

Like,, I'm sure I wasn't completely innocent. I was a really weird 13 year old who never had a genuine friend before, not to mention my mental illness and trauma I had yet to uncover. Yet the only person who never communicated nor seemed to care about our friendship was him. I could be pushy at times, yeah, but I always backed down if told no and whatnot.

Not only that, but I'm still annoyed that he straight up LIED about me and what I was like. One of his (ADULT) friends had contacted me in late 2018, claiming I was, and I quote, "manipulative, misgendered him, and used him as an emotional dump truck". I was 13 years old, and my only friend besides one other person had blocked me for no reason.

Literally for that WHOLE month, I was terrified. I had panic attacks and was anxious as hell. And I'll admit I was a little dependent on him, but I was still fucked from that experience.

Once we started talking again and boundaries set up. He SORT of apologized, but always insisted he was an awful friend, so I ended up having to comfort him instead. I always made excuses and everything for him, convinced that I was awful. And literally like,, there was no effort put in from his side after that. Aaaand then April 2019, I was suddenly messaged and blocked, and that was the last time we talked.

I was hurt obv but like. After that. I kept on being targeted by his adult friends (we were both 14, the friends were at LEAST 23+). Deadass I still don't know what the hell was said abt me but I KNOW it wasn't good. Bc before I knew it I had someone call me a pathetic bitch while I was having a panic attack over feeling guilty for shit I didn't do, then I was banned from like 3 system servers for "interacting inappropriately with a minor". Cue me literally being 14 at the time, a csa survivor, with no evidence even when I asked repeatedly for it, with literally no access to anyone younger than me bc of discords TOS.

The stress from that LITERALLY made us split several times and caused us to switch hosts. Sammy, the alter who was host at the time, is likely STILL dormant. All of that happened in practically the same year.

I'm still fucking baffled by it, angry, and hurt. It's been 4 damn years and I'm 90% sure he doesn't even remember us now.

Like,, christ I still can't interact with the undertale fandom for long bc it makes me remember him. I can't even look at art styles resembling his bc it makes me sick! I am TERRIFIED of venting bc I'm scared someone will lash out at me or accuse me of dumping all of my trauma on them. I'm scared I'm doing something wrong without knowing it and that tomorrow I'll wake up to having no friends bc they all blocked me.

Hell, I have issues trusting people who use the same name as him! I avoid a whole GROUP of people because I'm terrified they'll recognize me and start drama with false claims. Anyone who may have been so much as NEAR him I can't completely interact with besides a couple reblogs here and there.

And like,, I'm sure he's doing completely fine. That he's entirely unaware of the damage he caused. And, yeah, good for him, he's not suffering like I am. But also,, I'm painfully envious. I wish I was left pain free.

It's so stupid. It was 4 years ago. I really need to get over it.

[semisgroupie]

Part 1: The Disruption

wc: 1.4k

general warnings: murder, kidnapping, stalking, assault, dark themes revolving around murder, sexual content, unhealthy relationship dynamics, possessive themes, delusional themes, minor character deaths, warnings will be provided on each chapter, NOT FOR MINORS or ANTI-DC

chapter warnings: brief mention of toxic household (abusive parent), Chifuyu being pretty delusional, suggestive comments, that’s pretty much it!

synopsis: Chifuyu Matsuno was a normal guy. He lived in his books and had a day to day routine of simplicity. Then you come along and completely disrupt the cycle. How can you blame him for being completely obsessed enamored with you? Don’t you worry, he’ll do whatever it takes to show you how devoted he is to you, go the greatest lengths and distances to prove his love and you my dear, don’t need to move a muscle. You’re already his, even if you don’t know it yet.

a/n: this is the first part of the series! I’m very excited to write more and I hope y’all enjoy! Also, everything is in Chifuyu’s pov (1st person) so you’ll see a lot of personal thoughts!

next part | series masterlist | taglist form (open)

I live a pretty simple life. Wake up, go to work, go back home and repeat the cycle. Some consider it boring but I consider it normal.

Normal, isn’t that a funny word. What even is normal nowadays? It’s used to describe so much but still so ambiguous enough for no definite answer to what it truly is. It’s weird if you really think about it.

Normal

Hm. Anyways back to me, I live in one of the biggest cities in the world but that doesn’t mean much to me. I stay in my area and I don’t venture far. It’s my routine, stay close to home and work, there’s nothing really interesting past that.

I had a shitty childhood and a shitty upbringing but through that I found something I truly love.

Books

During my wonderful teenage years I was taken under the wing of a bookshop owner, Mr. Mooney. He treated me well, besides the fact I spent a lot of time in a glass box. He taught me the magic of books. Taught me the fine art of book repair, the delicacy that is needed and how steady your hands have to be and how you need to remember each meticulous step or else you’d ruin the masterpiece forever.

That is what led me to where I am today. What led me to owning Mooney’s Book Shop. Mr. Mooney was the closest thing I had to family. My actual family was a complete shit show. Abusive father and a mother who had abandoned me after I helped save her life. That was what I knew as family but enough of that sap story. There’s more trauma to unpack but there’s another time and place for that.

Today was just supposed to be a regular day, I got ready for work and greeted Toby on the steps. Toby is my downstairs neighbor, he reminds me of myself when I was younger, poor kid. I always make sure to greet him and I give him books to read so he has some form of escape. I also keep my conversation with his shitty alcoholic stepdad to a low because he is just a ticking time bomb and I am not dealing with someone like that. I went downstairs and left my building to walk a few blocks down to the shop and walked in to set things up for the day.

I always like going in early, it's nice to just be surrounded by something you love and escape from the hustle of New York City. I set up the new books on display and was surrounded by the peaceful silence of the empty store, only my footsteps and the tearing of boxes being the only sounds to break the silence. Then the door opened and my moment of peace was ripped from me.

“Chifuyu! Hope you didn’t miss me too much, I know it’s only been 10 hours but I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I also bought bagels.”

Kazutora Hanemiya aka the king of being a pain in my ass and my closest friend. Well, my only friend. Don’t get me wrong he’s a great guy but he was just so lively.

It’s like you’re trying to read or enjoy the sun and there’s a fly that is right at your ear. Just the incessant buzzing that pulls you away from your state of pure bliss and no matter how many times you swat at it and no matter how close you get to killing it, it still comes back. You can get up and move to a different spot but it just comes back. All you hear is buzzing so you just get used to it and learn to live with it.

Yeah, that’s Kazutora.

While I finished putting the rest of the display books he took his spot behind the cash register and took the bagels out for us. I walked over to him and grabbed my bagel from him.

“Thank you for the bagel and no, I didn’t but you probably figured that out already.”

I was met with a frown from him that he tried to cover up with his bagel, “yeah yeah keep lying to yourself. Anyways, how was your weekend? Did you find a special lady to hook up with? Or man? You know I don’t judge.”

Ah dating and hookups, it’s been a while since I’ve dated someone but I’m not one of those people who hop from one relationship to another or someone that searches for a relationship to find true happiness. I don’t get how society expects us to always want a relationship and if we’re not in one then we’re expected to always be on the lookout for one. Makes no sense. Then there’s hookups, I’m not on those sites to find someone to hook up with and I’m definitely not part of the bar scene. There’s so many dangers with it. There’s that catfishing nonsense. You could hook up with someone and they could become obsessed with you and then you’ll have a stalker on your hands and no one wants that, including me. I’m fine with my books. But it doesn’t mean I don’t have hope, I still have that hope I’ll find the one for me. Someone perfect for me.

The day went by slowly and smoothly, we helped whatever customers needed help and it seemed like it was going to be a normal day. I dealt with the regulars and the kids that needed to do readings for school, just like every other day. Nothing was out of the ordinary, well seemingly so.

The bell of the shop chimed and I was going to ignore it. I was going to continue restocking the books and was going to let Kazutora handle it but something in my gut, something in my bones told me to stay and help. I turned around and then I saw what I have been looking for all my life.

I saw you

I can’t put it into words but when I saw you it was like everything went in slow motion. You greeted me with a warm smile and when you got even closer I could smell warm vanilla. Did you choose that perfume scent just for me? Did you choose it because you knew it was my favorite scent? Or that dress you’re wearing, just the perfect length how it cuts right above your knee. You know you have beautiful legs, you know how this dress affects those around you or was this also intentional for me? Do you always dress like this when you go to a bookstore? Or are you wearing this just for me? You little minx, I like that. Do you have more dresses that you reserve just for me? You must, you probably have a section in your closet reserved just for me. Maybe even some panties that you want me to rip off of you.

No, come on I wouldn’t know that. Well, not yet and I have my methods of finding out. For now I just need to handle you right here and right now, I can’t do too much and push you away. I have to keep you on this line before I start reeling you in, I need to be patient. I need to be methodical, I can't act carelessly. You’re right here, right in front of me I need to savor this moment. I have to milk it as much as I can until I can get to you again. Which wouldn’t be too long from now, can’t have you forget about me.

Then you spoke, your voice the perfect harmony to my lonely song.

“Hi, do you have books by Sylvia Plath or a collection of poetry by John Milton?”

Ah a woman of taste, of course. How could I expect anything less from you? Beautiful, smells great, a perfect taste in books, I just have to know more about you. You’re everything I could ever want and I cannot let you go. I have to know more about you, I have to see you more. I have to know all your little quirks, I need to know you. You came at the perfect time, perfectly shaking up my boring, normal life. The perfect disruption I needed.

I’ll do whatever it takes to do so and nothing and no one will get in my way.

You are mine now. I will never let you leave my grasp, you’re stuck with me. But don’t worry I won’t hurt you and I will never let anything or anyone go near you with any malicious intentions. I’ll be watching you, very closely.

taglist: @sunshinedragonofthewest @honeyspalette @devilkou @messofavs @thevoidwriting @rinrinfoxy @bajisbabe @buozxc @baalstan @dodjo @bokuroskitten @izukine @mianavs @brivetaroundtown (strike through means I can’t tag you)

[99zmist]

07:10 — choi san.

pairing: choi san x fem!reader

au: college!au, roommates!au (fine arts student!san & medical student!reader)

wordcount: 2.2k

notes: this is a little something i wrote for my best friend, sieghrae, where she gave me prompts from this list. i decided to just post this on tumblr because this is the first fic i wrote after my terrible writer's block, and i'm pretty proud of my writing here so :3

just a little side note, this unedited and doesn't have much of a concrete plot but go ahead if you'd want to read! i'll appreciate it ♡

genre: fluff — this is just honestly the characters' emotions being focused on, fluff, comforting the other, fluff, being whipped for each other, and even more fluff. just fluffy san and fluffy reader.

oh and there's mentions of another minor character that's san's sister. but nothing important.

enjoy reading!

having choi san as your roommate was either a grace or a sin.

you both shared an apartment near seoul university where you’re taking up your third year in medical technology and he’s in his 4th year of fine arts. you weren’t particularly close with him, but he was your best friend’s older brother and lia was kind enough to let you move in their family-owned apartment for the time-being while you search for other apartments to rent in. (not that she minded anyways, she loved having you around.)

in a logical sense, lia and san were living together but lia was barely home for you to conclude that the two of you were more considered as roommates than the siblings themselves. unlike you and her brother, she was in Yongin most of the time because she moved to Dankook University when she failed her medical-surgical nursing subject last semester at SNU.

san, on most days, actually chose to ignore you. you weren’t sure why, and it wasn’t like this actually bothered you—but you just hoped to at least have one decent chat with him knowing he was lia’s brother and you were technically under the same roof as him. although, as if there was actually time for you to talk anyways. you were too busy cooped up inside your room studying for whatever upcoming tests you had, and if he wasn’t reviewing for his tests, he’d have his group of friends over in the living room for drinking sessions or playing video games.

the moments you consider where he’d be a pain in the ass are those times where you’d be cleaning the mess after wooyoung and the other boys leave. yunho, being the good boy that he was, would push his drunk friends out of the door while muttering his apologies to you for the trouble. he’d tell you he can help clean up, but you’d reject his offer by giving him a small smile and tell him you can handle it. once they leave, you’d continue to clean up the alcohol-filled aroma living room where san’s already passed out drunk on the couch, or he’d just be heavily asleep due to tiredness.

you’d pick up the bottles scattered on the floor, arrange the furniture and curtains because god knows what the 99z have been doing for them to rowdy up a place like this. eventually, you’d find yourself bringing a clean blanket and tuck san in while he sleeps on the couch. he’d shift slightly upon feeling your movement, and you’d stare at him, frozen on the spot while praying to the eternal beings above for him not to suddenly open his eyes and make a scene where you’d want to dig up a hole and bury yourself alive.

however, there would be times where his actions would surprise you. that one time you were locked up in your room studying—(yes, again, it was no surprise considering that you were in med school)—for your midterms that you forgot eating your breakfast and lunch. when you walked out of your room at past 4 in the afternoon, the apartment was quiet and the silence was enough to tell you that san was out.

what caught you off guard the moment you walked in the mini kitchen, though, was the cooked food on the table neatly placed for you to eat—and the note beside it.

eat up, the note said. that big brain of yours wouldn’t be put to good use if you’ve got an empty stomach.

you’d find yourself smiling softly at that, and that lingering feeling would remain fluttering in your chest while you ate.

while sitting there, you found yourself thinking that maybe the two of you did care for each other even in the subtlest ways. it wasn’t always the grand gestures; you didn’t need to be talking every minute of the day to see that san appreciated you, but it was the gentle gazes every time one of you comes home, it was the soft “good mornings” and “good nights” when passing by each other in the hall, it was cooking the other person food when they were busy, it was san’s glares at his friends when they try to shoot their shot at you—and it was tucking him in every time he falls asleep on the couch.

maybe being with him wasn’t so bad afterall.

when nighttime came and your thoughts were gathered, you heard the main door opening and closing afterwards. this time, unlike before, you felt your heart jump and stomach churn.

what the fuck, you thought to yourself, why am i like this?

but san was home after a long day, and this was the first time you were actually relieved and filled with excitement that he was. you push your books aside and get up from your bed, before making your way outside your room quietly. from there, you see san placing his backpack down on the couch before running his hands through his newly dyed hair. this caught you in surprise, eyes widening slightly in awe and you couldn’t stop yourself from approaching him.

“that color suits you.” the words roll off your tongue smoothly, and you try to stop your cheeks from burning when he turns his head to where you stood. he doesn’t answer for a few moments, making your palms sweat slightly as your mind blares out alarms that you were making a fool out of yourself.

shit, shit, shit—

“thanks,” san says, a small smile tugging at the end of his lips. you feel your panicking insides deflate in relief at his response. he glances back at the mirror hanging on the wall, tilting his head to the side slightly as he looks over at his pink hair. “isn’t it too bright?”

“it will be too bright for the dean,” you remark, making him laugh. fuck. you chuckle, “no, i’m being serious. she might try to shave your head off.”

san snorts, rolling his eyes. “i’m an arts student. this—” he gestures, turning to you and pointing at his hair. “—is art.”

“go try telling her that,” you giggle. san smiles at you again, and it lingers for a while before you clear your throat and point towards the kitchen. “have you eaten dinner? i can cook for you if you haven’t yet.”

“oh, that’s fine! i already ate with the rest of the boys,” he politely declines your offer, and you nod your head. it didn’t take long until his gaze softened, before speaking up. “what about you? did you eat already?”

there was a tinge of hesitancy flashing in your eyes for a moment, weighing your options if you’d just tell him you already did for you to stop bothering him, or tell him that you haven’t yet but you were about to cook so he shouldn't worry. 

san was quick to figure out the answer though, as he placed his hands on your shoulders—startling you to the core. he then gives you a dimpled-smile, making you weak to your knees.

“y/n.”

you were shaken at the way he says your name.

jesus christ—he’s so pretty. he always has been.

“i’m too burned out to cook for you,” san continues, but before you can protest that it was alright, he cuts you off. “but, we can just order online. i’m sure that thai restaurant nearby could offer you a much delicious meal. what do you think?”

you smile back at him this time, nodding slightly. “yeah, sure.”

this was actually the first proper conversation you had with san, and the way he talked to you comfortably immediately shut down every negative thing you thought about him in the past. back then, you always thought he was too rowdy especially if he was with the rest of the 99z; you thought he was too intimidating and that he fit that asshole ‘brother’s best friend’ persona you see in those cliches. obviously, you were wrong to think about him like that, but it’s all disregarded now.

the two of you sit on the couch chatting endlessly about college while waiting for the food to arrive. the sparkle in san’s eyes as he talked about his excitement and passion for arts—mainly singing and dancing—was so breathtaking and adorable that you couldn’t hide that goofy smile on your face while listening to him. he mentions how he wanted to debut as an idol after he graduates college, but he takes it back with a shy gaze, telling you he sounded ‘childish’.

“you didn’t sound childish at all,” you’d say, leaning against the couch while keeping your gaze at him still. “no one talking about their dreams is childish.”

san smiles at that, and the blush that was creeping on his cheeks were about the same tint of pink that was on his hair.

“thanks, y/n,” he says. “what about you? you still have 1 year left to go in med school. what are your plans?”

“at the moment i just want to finish the semester,” you say bluntly, a bit of humor rolling at the ends of your tongue making him chuckle. “but if all things go well—in which i’m hoping it would—i’ll proceed with general medicine.”

“that’s actually nice. the world needs a lot of good doctors like you.”

you let out a humorless laugh, sinking deeper into the armrest of the couch as you huff out a breath—and your feelings come crashing down on you all at once, and you were so over flooded with emotions that you can’t help but blink your tears away before turning to the side.

“that’s kind of tough to think,” you blurt out, san still being oblivious to your propensity. “everything’s just so hard right now. i keep studying my ass off for these tests and i still fail most of them,” your emotions were now harder to suppress, and san could finally notice the way your voice shook with audible fear and anxiety. “—i’m just trying to make it out okay.”

“hey,” san reaches forward and holds your arm gently, before pulling you back up to face him. he gently brushes some of your hair back, smiling at you softly. “listen, it’s okay to feel that way, but you shouldn’t let it push you down. you’ve got a long way to go and i know you have so much potential. you can do this. if it all gets too tough, you can always seek comfort from the people around you. i’m sure my sister would love to keep you company,” he advises. “or, you can even talk to me.”

you sniffle slightly, and you suddenly felt a tinge of embarrassment when you realized you were practically opening up to choi san—your best friend’s brother, your roommate for almost a year. you rub your eye slightly, and san notices your tear-stained glasses. he reaches forward slightly, doing his best not to startle you, before taking your glasses off so he can wipe off the tear-stains.

this startles you, but it startles him more when he looks back up and sees you. you didn’t look any different when you wore glasses, but the way your eyes shone and lashes curled seemed to be more evident now than before, and god—were you breath-taking and beautiful in his eyes. he didn’t mind the dark circles under your eyes due to the excessive studying and all-nighters, nor did he mind the imperfections like the acne scars on some sides of your cheeks.

it didn’t matter to him, because all he saw was you as a whole.

“thank you, san,” your voice snaps him back to reality, and he blinks slightly—dumbfounded that he had been staring for quite awhile. “thank you for listening… and for the advice.”

“of course,” he says softly. “i never want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”

this sets off a certain blaze within you, and you move so swiftly that the next thing you knew was the feelings of your lips against his. it startles him, but he responded so quickly that the two of you were kissing. you had one hand on his cheek and the other at the back of his neck, pulling him closely to you as if you didn’t want to let go. san chuckles lightly between your lips, hands on your waist as he guides you into straddling his lap for a more comfortable position. there was a certain passion into the kiss—mixed with longing, want, and desire as both your eyes fluttered shut. san’s lips were soft against yours, and you could smell his intoxicating cologne as you breathe in. he nibbles on your bottom lip slightly, making you let out a small whine. he smirks, but continues to kiss you so fervently, his larger hands finding its way to cup your cheeks.

the kiss, however, was interrupted when your doorbell rings. san was the first to pull away, breathless and lips swollen before pressing his forehead against yours.

“must be the food we ordered,” you stated. “go get it.”

“or my sister.” san replies, earning a light slap on the arm as you stare at him, horrified when the realization dawns to you that you kissed her brother. he laughs loudly, leaving a quick kiss on your lips before standing up to get the door. “relax, baby.”

he makes his way to open the door and it was indeed the delivery guy with your food. san pays and thanks him politely, before closing it back as he makes his way to you.

while you were helping him take the food out from the paper bags, you couldn’t help but chuckle slightly as you looked back at him.

“this was certainly not on my plans this friday night.”

— © 99zmist.

[wolveria]

Inside Your Wires - Ch 6

Pairing: Human!Connor x Android!Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, slow burn, fantasy bigotry, violence, brief noncon elements, angst with a happy ending

Chapter summary: Connor gets his new assignment. He's not thrilled.

AO3

Story moodboard by @uh-kitty-got-wet​

Chapter 5 art by @semains​ (18+ only)

November 6th, 2038

Saturday 09:56AM

There was a time when Connor didn’t have to come in on Saturdays. He remembered the days when mandatory overtime was few and far between.

Not anymore. 2038 seemed to be the year shit just kept happening, and now that he thought about it, quite a few of it seemed to be because of androids. Ones gone missing. Disobeying orders. And now, homicidal.

Connor rubbed the bridge of his nose after putting his car into park, regretting how enthusiastically he’d hit the bottle last night. It wasn’t too bad this time, just an annoying throbbing behind his eyes, but it made it more difficult to see and he’d had to squint through his windshield.

Whatever. The reason for his shame-drinking was no longer relevant. Connor just had to survive until lunchtime, and if he were lucky, Hank would let him go early. He tried not to itch at the butterfly bandages on his cheek, applied himself after he’d woken up in a haze with blood on his pillow having completely forgotten the injury existed.

Connor kept his head down as he walked through the lobby of the station and through the security checkpoint to the bullpen proper. He tried not to be completely antisocial, however, and sent weak smiles at the coworkers who bothered to notice he was there.

Helen, Alexander, and Rupert all acknowledged him with various degrees of warmth, some colder than others, and all pretty much deserved. Ralph gave Connor a nervous smile from his chair, though it quickly faded as his eyes flickered to something across the room.

Frowning, he followed Ralph’s eye line across the bullpen and scowled when he spotted Colin leaning casually against Connor’s desk, talking to… someone. He couldn’t see who, Colin’s figure blocking them from view.

Against his better judgement, Connor drew closer, pressure building at the back of his neck, an uneasy feeling of dread that increased with each step.

“Con’s just gonna love this. But seriously, if he bitches about it too much, or gives you a hard time, you can always partner up with me. I won’t mind one bit, promise.”

Connor would have rolled his eyes at his brother’s typical cocksure demeanor, but instead, he went stock still at the familiar voice that answered.

“While the offer is appreciated, Lieutenant, my instructions stipulate that I must assist Detective Anderson with his new, specialized caseload. I’m sure you can understand that CyberLife only wishes to cooperate with the DPD and does not want to interfere with police procedure—“

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The YN800 model blinked and turned its head to meet Connor’s eye, its little blue light blinking for a moment before solidifying again.

It was sitting in Connor’s chair.

“It’s good to see you again, Detective,” it answered, chipper as ever as a fake smile graced its features.

Connor looked the prototype over, his nose crinkling at its appearance. The suit must have been brand new, there were no stains or bullet holes, and her—its hair was once again pinned upwards into a perfect knot.

He felt his insides churn at the near slip, at thinking for even a split second that this thing was a person. Shoving down the crude thoughts of the night before, Connor gave the order through gritted teeth.

“Get. Up.”

The prototype did as it was told, for once. It rose out of his chair, not even having the decency to look chagrined as it straightened its jacket of nonexistent wrinkles.

“I’m sorry, Detective, but I tried to call your phone and left you a message. It was not my intention to surprise you—“

“Oh, no, it’s never your intention to do anything, is it?” Connor snarled back. His headache was in full force now, and he swore he could see the bright lights of the station brighten in time with his heartbeat.

“Aw, c’mon!” Colin slapped him on the shoulder. “Be nice to the temp.”

“Temp?” Connor answered, voice pulled as taut as a wire.

“Yeah, you know. The temporary assistant. The new girl. The—“

He shoved Colin’s hand off his shoulder, leveling a glare at both of them. Colin merely shot him a shit-eating grin while the YN800 stood there, hands clasped behind its back at parade rest, polite and perfect as ever.

“Connor!”

All three of them turned toward the voice booming across the room.

“Get in here!”

Connor glared at the android, as if Hank’s shouting were its fault, which was probably the case.

He turned without a word and stalked to the captain’s office, shoulders hunched as his heart raced and his hands shook at his sides. He let the glass door fall shut behind him, but when he didn’t hear the whoosh of it close, he glanced over his shoulder to see the YN800 had followed him inside.

Great.

Connor stood in front of the desk with his arms crossed.

Hank sat down in his chair, pointedly looking at the chairs in front of his desk. Connor remained standing.

The older man glared, answering Connor’s attitude with a look and a heavy sigh.

“Bet you’re wondering what that’s about.” Hank jerked his chin over Connor’s shoulder. The prototype had taken a spot at the back of the office, observing politely with its hands clasped in front of its hips.

“Yeah, I am.” Connor was a little too cranky this morning to try a more diplomatic approach. “What the hell is it doing here?”

“I’ll get to that. First on the docket, I got a shit ton of android-related cases filling up our database every day and I’m at wit’s end.” Hank took a deep breath, bracing himself as he met Connor’s eye. “Which is why I’m assigning all of these cases to you.”

“You’re what?”

Connor stared at him, dumbfounded.

“You think that case last night was a one-off? We’ve got more android-related crimes rolling in, including assaults and homicides just as bad as the Ortiz case, and right now, you’re the one with the most experience.” Hank leaned his elbows on his desk as he leveled a formidable glare his way. “Is that going to be a problem, Connor?”

 “Yeah, it is a problem, Hank! Why the hell do I have to do this? What about Colin? He was with me at the crime scene and was there for the interrogation!” Connor shoved a finger at the glass wall to prove his point.

Hank’s jaw tightened. Connor had seen that behavior enough times to recognize how he was pushing his luck.

“CyberLife asked for you specifically.”

“What?” Connor blinked, dumbfounded once again, racking his brain but coming up empty. “Why?”

“The hell if I know!” Hank barked back, rising to his feet as he pointed a finger at Connor, “and frankly, I don’t give a damn. Colin’s got enough on his plate—“

“—and I don’t?” Connor interrupted, scowling. Hank sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, and Connor almost felt guilty for his outburst.

Almost.

“That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you implied.” He tried not to sound like a hurt child, but, well, that’s exactly what he sounded like.

“For fuck’s sake, Connor! There are more people that are gonna start dying from this!”

“Yeah, I know, but—“

Hank lifted his hand, palm forward, effectively shutting Connor up.

“You saw what one of those deviants was capable of last night, and that was with three of you and another android trying to get it under control! You think the average person stands a chance against one of these fucks? That a little ol’ grandma can defend herself against the murderous robot gardener coming at her with a pair of shears? What the hell happens when a nanny bot decides to take a human kid for itself? Oh, wait, that’s already happened, and you would know that if you checked the goddamn case files I sent you!”

Connor was silent as Hank deflated. The older man leaned back against his desk as he looked through his glass wall out over the bullpen. His voice was rough but much quieter for the next round.

“We’re totally in the dark, Connor. We don’t know how bad this is gonna get and how many androids we’re dealing with. This has the potential to turn into a fucking nightmare with Detroit as ground zero.” Hank’s gaze drifted over Connor’s shoulder to the elephant, or the machine, in the room. “CyberLife was gracious enough to send us a state-of-the-art prototype until this issue is contained. It’s gonna be your partner until such a time that these androids are no longer a threat, and then you’re free to go back to being a misanthropic son-of-a-bitch as much as you like.”

Connor was thoroughly shamed by the end of Hank’s speech, that old familiar feeling of disappointment making his gut roil with nausea, but his anger hadn’t entirely flagged. He clenched his hands tightly to his thighs, fingers desperate for either his coin or his cigarettes.

Connor hadn’t felt the need for one in months. This was bad.

“Hank,” he tried again, his voice soft and pleading in that way he knew Hank couldn’t ignore. “I’m not saying this just to be a pain in your ass. I understand the stakes, but I genuinely believe I’m not qualified for these types of cases. I’m not a CyberLife technician, or an AI specialist, or a computer engineer. I’ve never even owned an android.”

That last one was technically true but only in the barest sense, and Hank gave him a knowing look. It wasn’t without sympathy, and his own answer was given with more kindness than he probably deserved.

“I know, Connor. I also know you’re the sharpest pair of eyes on the force, not to mention the quickest brain and the best instinct. You see shit other people don’t, even Colin, and you’ve got this creepy knack for taking one look at a person and knowing what makes ‘em tick. I’d say you’re almost like an android yourself, but I know how much that’d piss you off.”

Connor gave him another narrow-eyed scowl, and Hank immediately put up his hands as a sign of surrender even as a smirk played on his lips.

“My point is, I need you on this, son. I know it’s not ideal, hell, it downright sucks, but I know you can do this. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

And there it was. As effective as Connor’s pleading expressions could be, they were nothing in comparison to his need for Hank’s praise. The old geezer knew it, too.

And throwing a “son” into the mix was a goddamn dirty move, but Connor couldn’t even muster up annoyance. He just sighed, gave Hank the smallest hint of a smile, and said, “All right. But only until these cases are solved. Once the deviancy issue is addressed, the prototype is going back to CyberLife and you never give me an android case again.”

“I’ll pay for the postage to ship it back myself,” Hank said, smile wide and pleased as he patted Connor on the shoulder before returning to his desk. “And I want daily reports on the progress you and your new partner are making. Gotta make sure CyberLife’s best is pulling its weight.”

“I can assure you, Captain Anderson, I am worth every penny. And considering it took a small fortune to build me, I—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Hank interrupted the prototype, using that catchphrase that Connor and all of his brothers had picked up years ago. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The android blinked almost comically before giving a slow nod. It then turned to face Connor, straightening its back at attention, and he rolled his eyes. He was still being handed the shit end of the stick, but he couldn’t deny that the cases were piling up and Hank really did need the extra help.

But why, out of all the androids in the world, did it have to be one like that.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Connor turned and left Hank’s office, not waiting to see if the android would follow, knowing with a sinking feeling, it would.

Next Chapter

[saessenach]

Hi! For the ask thing, top 5 missmungoe's fics and top 5 One Piece villains?

Love your art!

Hi, nonnie!!

I'm afraid it's been a minute since I've been up to date with One Piece, so both questions will be more or less based around @missmungoe and her incredible, swashbuckling Odyssey-retelling (although let's be real, Odysseus could never) honest-to-god multi-verse Shanties 😊

Top 5 OP Villains

1. Blackbeard (love him, love the parallels to Luffy and Shanks, love his ominous intro and the way he's thematically relevant to a T)

2. Akainu (love to hate him, he is terrible, I hope he gets w r e c k e d, and that whoever takes him down has a marvellous time while at it)

3. That one guy from Film Gold bc he was hella compelling and he had style, but I forget his name. He was extra gaudy and that wins points from me

4. Gold Lion Shiki (I think??? From Strong World, because the last few films have been really good - worldbuilding-wise and narratively speaking, and it's been fun to dip my toes back into the story without having to tackle several hundred chapters)

5. TBH I've only rewatched properly up until Arabasta, so the villains I have Opinions on are Arlong, Croc, Captain Kuro and mayyyybe Rob Lucci and his gang, but I have no idea what's happened with them since, if they've gotten their own arcs like Buggy, or whether we're friends with them or not, so I'll leave it at that.

(An honorary mention to the slavemonger Celestial Dragon from the latest chapter of Mnemosyne, because he was awful, incredibly well-written and made me want to hurl my phone against the wall)

(So now onto the fun part)

Top 5 missmungoe fics

1. Heed the Siren's Call and Sailor's Folly (technically cheating as they are separate stories, yes, but when I reread one, I also immediately reread the other, so imo, it's only fair. Siren was a favourite I first read years ago on ff.net while it was being written, and which I happened across again in 2017 on ao3, and it's never been the same!! When I say it's life-changing literature, I mean it, because how many stories can claim to grow up and change right alongside you? I just have a lot of love for it, and I am this 🤏 close to taking a bookbinding class and having my way with it)

2. Penelope (the amount of times I've read and reread this is truly embarrassing, and that number has more digits than I care to admit - but I am a sucker for weddings which tell tradition to f right off, tiny brides giving voice to their anger at the world and bridegrooms smitten straight out of their ugly ass sandals. This is my comfort read.)

3. Mnemosyne (is the herculean, show-stopping, incredible slow-burn of my dreams and just - wow, it literally takes Oda's worldbuilding and makes it immeasurably richer and better. If for nothing else, then read it for Hancock and her friendship to Makino, for the INTRICACY given to the Amazons, for the way it breathes life into every single place the cast visits, and ties in over-arching themes from canon with details so fucking brilliant, you just sort of stare dumbly at your screen because of course they should be there. There are so many different POVs, and so many intersecting threads that make up this huge-ass tapestry I am continuously in awe of, because it's not just the HEART-ACHE INDUCING marvel of a love story, it's the Red-Hair crew's shenanigans, and the Straw-Hats' incapacity to stay put, it's Rowan's adventure, it's Hancock and her people getting the quality writing they DESERVE, it's the ASL reunion which made me cry, and a found family which spans oceans and realms of existence and everything in-between)

4. Andromeda Unbound (the SWASHBUCKLING UNDERCOVER EXTRAVAGANZA! The one where everyone and their mother separately shows up to crash Shanks' execution, complete with narrow misses, over-the-top banquets, Leverage heist music and so many good reunions. A big, fat and incredibly Extra(tm) middle-finger to propriety and saintly lawful systems, and just, so much fun to read)

5. Time for the ties lol - I still can't believe the Unspeakable 30 year fic and the subsequent AU in which Shanks crashes Makino's wedding are a thing, but I just love that miniseries a lot. Somewhere on this spot are also Moon and Her Maiden (for being ridiculously atmospheric), Bind me to the Tide (uhh, the coolest and also most painful soulmate AU for them, with Makino being very much against her intended, Shanks dealing with period cramps from Hell and just overall being Very Good for my Heart) and, of course Peony and Silver (ROGER. Shakky sweeping Rayleigh off his feet. ROGER. More over-arching themes, as usual. Have I mentioned, perhaps, ROGER? Just to be safe.)

Oh, and an honourable mention for Charybdis as it single-handedly (😌) dragged me out of the biggest art-block I've ever had, and I've rarely cried this much when reading fic.

Hope these answers are satisfying, nonnie!! Thank you for the lovely compliment, and for giving me an opportunity to gush about one of my favourite series ♡

[sarahjkl82-blog]

Artistic Instinct Chapter Nine

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 6500

Warnings: Language as always, warning of racist language (Nush talking about her mother's experiences), yearning, fluff to second base (yes, my darlings- IT IS ON!), alcohol is mentioned, food, anxiety attacks.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something. This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

People often think artists

Create with their hands

But really they create

with their hearts

So please be gentle

For we wear our vulnerability

On our sleeves

And freely give all we have

Hoping someone will fall

In love with the parts we offer

R. Evelyn

Chapter Nine

The sharp buzz of the door startles you out of your daydream. Laden with roughly the entire contents of your spice cupboard, vegetables, meat and prawns, your hands are crisscrossed with creases from where the weight of the totes has gouged at your skin. A smart-looking kindly gentleman greets you, “You must be Ms Pierce. Mr Pike has asked for you to wait here for him.”

Wow! Marcus’ place has a concierge - who did he have to blow to get a place like this?!

Throwing the bags onto one of the hotel lounge-like chairs, you slump into another as you rub soreness from your hands. A small ping tells you that the lift has arrived - you look over in the direction of the noise, a tremor of excitement rippling through you. An adorably scruffy Marcus, wearing old jeans and a t-shirt, steps out - his face utterly beaming on seeing you. “Hey! How are you doing?” he leans in to kiss your cheek twice - hang on, when did this start being a thing?

“Why didn’t you let me pick you up? You’ve carried so much over- lemme see your hands,” his brow knits on seeing the rapidly reddening welts as he takes your hands in his, brushing his thumbs gently across your palms.

“You live four roads away from me - they’re not that bad! And anyway, you can help me now- which floor do you live on?” You outwardly roll your eyes at the sweetness Marcus shows you, secretly enjoying the stroke of his fingers and the ghostly press of his lips still burning a hole in your cheek.

Marcus takes all of the bags from the chair, refusing point blank to entertain you helping him to take them upstairs - you watch as his arms twitch under the weight, enjoying the mixture of confusion and shock at your strength across his face, “you carried all of this?”

Nodding at him, you try to take a bag again, but he dangles it just out of reach, “Watch it - you do realise that I have two other brothers apart from Ads? I will think nothing of rugby tackling you to the floor and pinning you down,” you warn, enjoying the flush brought to his cheeks.

“You’ll be the death of me,” Marcus flusters as he calls the lift, handing you the smallest, lightest bag.

✪✪✪✪✪

Exiting at the top floor, you’re taken aback by the amount of light and quiet that washes throughout the building. Feeling so removed from the shadows cast from the tower blocks and the hustle and bustle of the streets below, the broad daylight offers a sense of serenity, a peace that invites itself into the soul and makes itself at home. As Marcus unlocks the door to his flat, you kick off your shoes at the entrance, “You don’t have to do that,” he offers through the keys in his mouth, holding the door open with his elbow, still refusing any help from you.

“Oh believe me, if I didn’t, my mum’s radar would go off and I would be cruising for a bruising,” you giggle, taking in the glorious spaciousness of his apartment, “I promise my feet aren’t too stinky and that I put on clean socks.”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Marcus’ eyes crinkle at you, “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

“A coffee would be ace - strong and black please,” you reply, your gaze drinking in the details of his home. Books line the shelves along one wall - such a mixture of titles ranging from airport bestsellers to obscure art catalogues - the relief to see actual paper and hardbacks adorning the shelves rather than trinkets and plants when so many keep their books electronically in their pockets.

A couple of large canvases lie propped against another - long hours preventing them from being hung - their bright colours sure to bring joyful hues to quite a stark room. There are a few photo frames dotted around - mostly pictures of a moment in time rather than poses - of people you assume are friends and family from back in the States. Handing you a steaming mug, Marcus looks over your shoulder as you look at a photo of an older couple dancing and laughing at a wedding, “That’s my mamá and papá at my oldest sister’s wedding. It was such a magical day - just so much love in the air.”

“You can feel the joy radiating from them,” you offer, lowering your gaze from him to grab the frame next to the picture of his parents, “Are these your sisters or cousins? You all look very alike.”

“Yeah, my little sisters,” he grins proudly. “This one is Beth - she’s two years younger and is a paediatrician in Texas. Has two kids with her wife, Sophie. And this one is Cat - she’s doing her own thing out on the West Coast as a musician. They definitely inherited all the clever and cool genes.”

“Hah! You’re kinder to your sisters than I am to my brothers,” you grin, “They’re all total idiots but due to some weird genetic and biological insistence, I still love them.”

Taking a gulp of your coffee, you turn back towards him, “Come on you, we’d better get to work if you want a curry this evening.”

He pouts, looking more like a sulky little boy than a middle aged man. You can’t help but laugh at the sad puppy dog eyes he is conjuring at the thought of work, “Oh poppet, what’s wrong?” you teasingly mock.

“I kinda hoped you were a magician who could just magic a curry outta nowhere so we could watch films til the others arrive,” Marcus grumps shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Well, there is UberEats for that but you horrible lot put me up to this so you’re going to help,” you wag your finger at him, “But as you’re the only one here, you get the honour of being the chief taster,” you add, tapping him playfully on the nose.

With a soft huff and a furrow of the brow, Marcus guides you into the kitchen where, whilst he was making your coffee, he has helpfully already put all the fresh produce in his fridge as the sides are delightfully blank apart from the bags of spices.

“What are we making today, Chef?”

“Ok, meat dishes are a spiced yoghurt leg of lamb, a keema - don’t you give me that look, a cardamom butter chicken, and, a prawn and courgette curry,” you turn to Marcus’ fridge to find the lamb, “Needs to come to room temperature before we cook it.”

“My tummy is rumbling already,” Marcus adds, his eyes glinting excitedly as he licks along his lower lip, the skin glistening damply. You have never quite figured out whether your love of his lips is due to their fullness or the association with the kindness of his words.

“Hah- you’re not getting away without having some veggies, too, mister,” you cluck as you hand him a bag of onions and several bulbs of garlic to skin, chop and crush for the various dishes.

“Ok, Moooom,” Marcus dramatically rolls his eyes at your dictate, “I admit, I’d rather eat sugary or salty things over green stuff but I can make an exception for curried veg.”

The arch of your eyebrow virtually reaches your hairline at him teasingly calling you mom, so you reach for the towel, twist it and flick him hard on what you’d hoped would be his hip but catch him square on his arse instead.

A yelp of pain and wide eyes greet your action, “Did you just…? Oh, it is on.! You might think you’re tough from your brothers but my sisters taught me sneaky tactics.”

“Come at me, bro!” you taunt from the other side of the kitchen, putting up a boxing stance.

Brandishing the hand without the paring knife in your general direction, he answers, “Nope, gonna use the element of surprise and attack when you least expect it!”

Tutting your tongue at Marcus’ weak ass response, you grab the spices you need to prepare under the power of your pestle and mortar. With the waft of roasting cumin soaring through the air and your battle with your boss at a supposedly declared ceasefire, everything starts to feel comfortable and easy again. You could be six years old and standing on the chair next to your mum, watching like a hawk as she lovingly prepared meals for your family with an ever burgeoning belly. It was then, during those hours shared in the galley kitchen that became your time with her when normally it felt pretty split between her work as a GP and your brothers.

What the fuck… You jump out of your skin when a warm, solid wall presses you out of your nostalgic reverie, “Hah! Pinned ya! Sneaky tactics- told ya they worked,” a deep, soft voice whispers in your ear.

Your heart flutters like a bird trying to escape its rib cage with the closeness of Marcus, the heat rising through your body from your proximity to him - a visceral response to the glorious cocktail of masculine smell from his aftershave and body wash.

What do I do next?

Why can’t I bloody think straight?

Wiggling yourself around so that you face him, his face now so close that you can feel his warm breath upon your cheeks. Your eyes playfully catch the steady gaze of Marcus’ deep soulful pools. It would only take the smallest of movements to reach forwards and kiss him right on that stupidly gorgeous, plush Cupid’s bow and crease. But… what if he doesn’t want that? He’s my fucking boss - that would be a stellar move to make…

Instead of the tiny incline forwards to press your lips against his as every inch of you screams to do so, you drop to the floor and crawl out from between his legs, “Not pinned well enough it seems,” you tease haltingly as your tongue sticks in your dry throat.

As you check the browning of the cumin seeds, out of the corner of your eye you see Marcus’ head drop sadly, hearing a small sigh - his hands still upon the work surface and feet not having moved from the position he had pinned you in moments earlier.

Did he want to...? No, surely not.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, Nush,” Marcus humbly apologises, pushing himself off the side, “I hope that I haven’t made things awkward.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” you softly say, pouring the roasted cumin into the mortar, ready to be ground, “I was the one who flicked you on your arse - I am the one who should be apologising.”

You beckon gently to Marcus, who has now taken refuge in the furthest corner of the kitchen from you - wringing his hands instead of chopping the onions, “Come over here - I want you to experience one of my most favourite smells of childhood. These are roasted cumin seeds and when you grind them, they release the most heavenly scent.”

After a few grinds, you offer the bowl towards Marcus’ face as he closes the gap between you, “I… Wow! I wouldn’t have thought it would make such a difference but it’s almost like you’ve entirely transformed it. See,” the dimple deepens in that right cheek of his, “you are a magician.”

“I love how spices - a bit like paint - can take on completely different characters depending on how you treat them. Leave the spice whole and you have this mild and fragrant taste. If you crush them, then their attitude comes back tenfold with a vengeance. Toast them, and they may as well be Clark Kent in a phone booth.”

Looking up you see Marcus gazing at you with a sweet half smile on his face - could he like me… like that?

“Sorry, you don’t need to hear me blathering on,” you fluster, waving your hand in a dismissive gesture as the heat rises through your face.

Shaking his head gently without dropping your regard, “No. No, please don’t ever stop. Your passion for things is beautiful.”

“Growing up, I didn’t realise that other people didn’t have whole cupboards filled to the brim with herbs, spices and seasonings. I mean, for all the damage the British Empire reeked, you’d have hoped that the spices would have entered more of their culture, but no! Apparently, my family was the weird one for having food with a flavour,” you shrug your shoulders at some of the ridiculous things you’d heard as a child - accusations of differences you’d never thought to be of note.

Marcus chuckles at your indignance, “It’s funny you should say that. I didn’t realise that my mamá had an accent until it was pointed out to me when I was a kid.”

Noting your slightly confused expression, Marcus explains, “She’s Argentinian- came to the States as a political refugee as she was a journalist following the disappearances during the Dirty War. Met my dad, and I came along very soon after, and the rest is history..”

You can’t help but laugh at the flush on Marcus’ cheeks as he recounts his personal history to you, “Love can’t be held back when it hits and it’s obvious that they’re still crazy about each other now from that photo.”

“Exactly, no point in wasting time when you know what you want,” Marcus grins, looking at his feet.

“My parents have a similar story. My dad is as English as they come - I mean we’re on a freaking island so there’s no true thing as being completely English. My mum is from Pakistan - Karachi - it’s in the South.”

“She came over due to the fighting between East and West Pakistan - the two countries that are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. It kept interrupting her studies to become a doctor so she came to England and restarted her degree here.”

Marcus’ brow creases in thought, “Why did she restart her degree? Could the credits not just be transferred to the college she moved to in the UK?”

“Hah- yeah. It was the seventies, during a time where all Southern Asians were P*kis - no matter where they were from on the Indian subcontinent- and thought of as dirty, lesser beings. There were constant race riots for anyone who wasn’t ethnically white or English. She would never have been taken seriously with her mediocre medical training from some Adobe hut in the middle of a jungle,” you fume, pounding the seeds into fragments. The mortar being threatened with the same fate too.

Marcus’ fingers wrap around your wrist to try and prevent your rage at the ignorance of others from causing you an injury, “I am so sorry,” he pulls you into a warm, tender hug, tucking your head under his chin, “How long before food can take care of itself so we can put a film on? I think we both need a rest.”

“Hmmm, ten minutes and then most things can simmer or be switched off ready for a reheat or proper cook this evening,” you say, leaning reluctantly out of his comforting arms to go check on the bubbling saucepans of food.

“‘K. I’ll go get things set up so you can flop for a bit,” Marcus touches you gently on your shoulder as he goes to set up the front room. You go to squeeze his hand but it’s removed from your shoulder too quickly for your response.

✪✪✪✪✪

“You ready?” Marcus calls through the wall as you turn off the heat from the final pans.

“Mhm,” you mumble in response to his question - double, triple checking that everything is off. Too many fire alarms ruining perfectly lovely meals or moments.

“What did you pick?” You ask, curling up on the other end of the sofa to Marcus, “Do you have no cushions?”

“Shit, no -I’m a guy, what can I say? - lemme grab the pillows from the bed,” Marcus jumps up, calling through from his bedroom, “Bet you have loads on your couch.”

“A fuckload, but, mainly to hide the fact the springs have gone. It’s like a precarious balancing act of comfort on there,” you surreptitiously sniff the pillow, inhaling the smell of Marcus’ shampoo, “Did you give me your pillow?”

A confused look is shot at you from the other end of the sofa, “Whaddya mean?”

“Smells of your hair,” you say as you squish it into the perfect comfy shape, “Like a mixture of lemon and eucalyptus.”

“That’s a sharp nose you’ve got. I gave you the other side though,” Marcus huffs through a chuckles he shakes his head at your somewhat strange comment, “Guess I’ve been sleeping across both sides then.”

“Best thing about sleeping alone- getting to starfish across the bed. Unless of course…”

Marcus can’t help but laugh at your awkward dig to find out whether he’d brought home the goddess from Friday’s antics, “So you wanna know if I brought home Kemi?”

“She was very beautiful. You’d have been mad not to,” you try to school your expression as best you can, keeping your eyes glued to Bing Crosby and Grace Kelly singing about true love, desperate to hide the jealousy coursing through your veins.

“Must be mad then. Didn’t even kiss her,” Marcus honestly answers whilst copying your tactic of staring at the tv, “She could see that there was someone else I liked so it would have been cruel to have done anything.”

You mull this over in silence, trying not to speak, to ask a million questions.

“Nush.”

“Mhm?”

“Can I talk to y…”

You both jump as an alarm goes off on your phone to remind you to turn the lamb down in the oven.

“Oh shit. Hold that thought,” you jump up from the sofa, heading in the direction of the kitchen with zero thought of what the man at the end of the sofa is desperately trying to tell you. Fiddling with Marcus’ ridiculously swanky oven until it looks like it is doing what you want it to do, you walk back in with two ice cold beers from his fridge.

“Raided your fridge,” you cheekily grin, holding one out to Marcus, the condensation running, down your fingers, “Hope you don’t mind!”

“Good thinking, Batman,” Marcus nods in appreciation, “Any more alarms set to scare us both?”

“Only due to go off when the film is done, so…” you yawn widely, “We’ve got a while yet.”

Marcus’ hand that was slung over the back of the sofa, lifts to stroke your shoulder, “You sleepy? C'mere, you.” With a soft tug of your t-shirt sleeve, he pulls you into his side - your willingness to sink into his broad chest very apparent. Your ear is pressed against him, his heartbeat singing a lullaby to you as his fingers stroke and caress the silken waves of your hair. You wonder at how this man - a total stranger a week ago - has seemingly knitted himself into becoming a cocoon of safety for you, his gentleness and calm offering a haven of tranquility in your otherwise cacophonous world, as the light in the room slowly fades to black.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Uh oh.”

“Hey, welcome back, sunshine!” a gentle pair of fingers stroke back the hair that had drifted into your face as you dozed.

“Sorry for falling asleep. Again,” trying to finesse your way through the heat flaming your cheeks, you offer an awkward grin towards your chuckling pillow, “Guess we’d better start getting things finished as we’ve only got a couple of hours until everyone arrives.

“Oh, don’t give me that look, Marcus! I don’t want to move either but this curry won’t finish cooking itself.”

“Spit spot, there’s work to be done,” Marcus trills as he adopts his best attempt at a British accent.

“What the fuck was that? Did you just turn into Dick Van Dyke or something?” You tease mercilessly at the appalling sound coming from those lips, choking back laughter at his mock offended face.

“C’mon, you’re right. We’d better get moving,” Marcus stands with a stretch and a creak before reaching back to tug you to your feet.

Back under the glowing lights of Marcus’ kitchen, his presence is now constantly close to yours as you glide together around the space - stirring, chopping and checking. Every time he passes, above the general aroma of cumin and coriander, the onions and garlic, you can smell the cedar and amber upon his skin- a deliciously masculine scent that only seeks to entangle your senses further.

“Here, try this,” you hold out a heaped teaspoon of mince curry to Marcus, “This is the keema - I promise that I only put in the two chillies you chopped for me, this time.”

“Mmm, that’s so good,” he says thickly between chews, stealing the spoon from you as he dives in for a second, third, fourth spoonful.

“Hahaha! Leave some for the others- and you need to try it with some raita and fried onions too,” you check through your dog-eared, yellowed and slightly sticky recipe book that your mum had handed you the day you’d left home at eighteen - a memo of all the times you had cooked them together.

“Shit, I’d better start the chicken,” going through the spices in front of you, you search for the cardamoms that would make the butter chicken sing, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Marcus’ head snaps up from the green beans he was preparing towards you, “What’s up, sweetheart?”

“I can’t find the cardamoms for the butter chicken - gah I knew I’d fuck this up!” you cry, scraping your trembling hands through your hair, eyes flashing around the room wildly as your cortisol rises, making you want to run and scream at your failure to feed your friends.

“Whoa - where’s this coming from? C’mon, look at me. Look at me, Nush,” Marcus has his hands on either side of your shoulders, squeezing them gently, “There’s enough here to feed our whole office for the week with the daals you prepared yesterday, the vegetables we’re about to make and the meats that we’ve cooked up already here. Andy is bringing all the rice and naan, Kiri is bringing beers and Dian is on gin and tonic duty. You have done more than enough and I will not allow you to get this upset over one missing ingredient especially when there is a small store downstairs that I’m sure will have it, if we cannot find it after we look for it together.”

After seeing your numb nod as an agreement, Marcus moves his hands to the side of your head to focus your gaze on him rather than the panic seeping through you. As he strokes his thumbs across your cheeks, you allow your eyes to close and your breathing to regain a normal pattern.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologising?” Marcus searches your now open eyes.

“My reactions are ridiculous. Most people tell me to stop being so stupid and that just whips the storm inside my head even more,” you whisper, “But you. You know how to slow everything down and stop the spinning.”

The corner of Marcus’ mouth twitches, “D’ya wanna know a secret?” You nod at him, “As you know, I was married before. When it ended, I totally spiralled. The world kept spinning too fast and I experienced constant anxiety, very nearly burning out of my role.

“I was lucky. My boss was understanding but made me promise to get some support. He knew of someone mental health trained within the FBI who was there for mainly hostage negotiations - not part of the true psych team but someone who could help without it turning up on your record.

“Kwame worked with me for almost a year - pretty much to the point my decree absolute came through. Our sessions were done on a track - by running with me, he was teaching me the skills I needed to control my fears. By my feet hitting the tarmac, he was grounding me. By going over running techniques, he was teaching me how to control my breathing- taking longer and deeper breaths. And running is just repetition. A mindful repetition that allows your brain to have a bit of a break.

“So when I see you start to spiral, I try to give you the same steps he taught me. Get you grounded, opposite me so you copy my breathing and hope that gets you on the right track.”

“Thank you,” you drop your head forwards, relaxing onto his chest. He feels so - safe.

“You don’t need to thank me. Well, okay maybe you do as look what I’ve just spotted,” Marcus holds the offending spice aloft.

“Oh my god, I could fucking kiss you. You have just saved the curry,” you dramatically declare, clutching the cardamom jar to your heart before placing it next to the other ingredients on the counter.

“Go on then.”

What?

His comment makes you snap your head over to catch Marcus’ tremulous gaze, his eyes darting between the floor and your lips. He takes a small step, closing the small distance between the two of you, threading his fingers between yours. Each slow movement offers an unspoken opportunity for you to step away. To tease him and move on with the day.

But why on Earth would you?

With your heart racing faster and faster, you lure him ever closer with your eyes, soft but absolute in their conviction of what was about to pass between you. A small part of you understands that when you kiss him, something will change forever. That within his lips you may find the place to call home - the aching in your stomach may cease and life could start to make sense again. The anxieties of the week washing away, the pain of your collective pasts and the hint of a brighter, happier future before you.

When he doesn’t move again, you seize the moment. Pushing up onto your socked tiptoes, you tilt your chin, inclining your face until your lips come to rest upon his in the sweetest, chastest kiss. Drawing back slightly to check that Marcus is okay with a raise of your eyebrows and widened eyes, he holds your gaze steadily, similarly stunned - a mirror of each other with racing hearts and slightly parted lips. It’s like in that moment everything around you ceases to exist as anything other than extraneous nonsense - all the noise inside your head silenced by that one touch.

A small dumbstruck smile creeps across Marcus’ lips before he lowers his head to press another gentle kiss upon you. Then another. Then another. Each press of your lips a little longer. A little deeper. Your lips part to allow his tongue entry as every single thought is quietened by the taste of him. Dropping hands for his to cradle your face and yours to thread through his hair as your bodies press together tightly.

Oh the taste of him is utterly exquisite! From where you’ve been using him as chief curry taster, there’s an element of spices with the tiniest hint of mint. And how you have missed having that beautifully solid warmth of his body next to yours. Inhaling his breaths that fall upon you, your hearts match each other’s rhythms as your lips explore each other, every sensation drawing together to create a humming ball of energy, like you are standing at the point where lightning strikes the Earth.

✪✪✪✪✪

Hands fisted tightly in each other’s clothing - both stuck in the quandary of wanting to tear the fabric from your bodies but also frightened of pushing the other too far. Finally pulling apart, you gaze upon Marcus - all lust blown pupils and dopey smiles. Your foreheads come back to rest against each other, unable to quite let go just yet, not wanting to break the spell and return to reality.

“I have wanted to kiss you since perhaps the first time I met you,” Marcus murmurs as his lips gently ghost over your cheeks, “Maybe even from seeing the photo in your file when Andy drove me here from the airport.”

“Was the person, me?” You quietly ask, finally with the confidence to finish that conversation, “The reason you didn’t kiss or sleep with the goddess?”

He drops his eyes as he gives you a small nod, “Normally, I’d have just asked you out but I was scared of fucking up. It’s been a long time since I felt a spark with anyone.

“You’ve entered my life in this whirlwind of intelligence, beauty and tenderness - I didn’t want to frighten you or make you feel uncomfortable if you didn’t reciprocate.”

A thousand thoughts flood your mind as Marcus says those words. All at once, you want to tell him how safe he makes you feel. How much now that you’ve started kissing him, you never want to stop. How the cruel critics of slumber, silence themselves when you feel his heartbeat against your cheek.

Instead you stand there, silent.

Trying to stroke out the creases you’ve created in his t-shirt as you attempt to find words to put into a logical order, you notice his face twitching when the material under your fingers makes contact with his sides, “Oh Marcus, are you ticklish?”

“Um, no,” Marcus tries to deny breezily as he takes a small, hesitant step back from you, pretending to steady himself.

Making a small movement towards him, your hands at the same level as the point of the bunched fabric - you ask, “Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Marcus is now eyeing you suspiciously - desperate to kiss you again but also a little worried as to what havoc your fingers might reek.

“Then, why are you moving away from me?”

“No reason…” his usually deep voice now a little tighter and higher, “Nush… What are you about to ARGH!”

His knees crumble beneath him as you attack his sensitive sides, “Gah! Quit it, woman,” he weakly commands between wheezes and hoots of laughter.

Taking full advantage of Marcus’ prone and vulnerable position, you take the opportunity to straddle him - effectively pinning him to the floor, “This is how you pin someone.”

“I let you pin me,” Marcus corrects you with a wink.

“Oh really?” you contest, entirely unconvinced by his bravado.

“Yeah,” he says with a small wiggle, bringing his hands to the back of your head, “Cos y’see, I can flip our positions quite easily.”

Suddenly, you find yourself flat on your back in Marcus’ kitchen with zero air in your lungs to form any sensible thought other than to kiss him hard. His large hands cradle your head as he props himself gently above you on his elbows. You feel his entire body covering yours. Deliciously pressing against every single inch of you and oh how it takes every bit of the minutismal amount of self control you have to not beg him to fuck you senseless into that floor.

✪✪✪✪✪

“Shit, is that your door?”

“Fuck,” Marcus pushes himself up to kneeling between your legs, “Can we pretend we’re not in?”

The harsh realisation of an evening with your colleagues, albeit lovely people, sinks in to you both.

“Nope,” you groan, popping the p with a deflated gusto, “Hang on, don’t buzz them up until I’ve tucked my boobs back into my bra.”

“I dunno, makes for easier access,” Marcus lopsidedly grins with a wink as he heads for the door.

“You certainly didn’t seem to make hard work of it earlier,” you mumble at him, before you affix a smile to your face, “Hey! How are you all doing?”

A sea of never ending hugs envelopes and separates you from Marcus as everyone piles into his apartment. The stupid grin still firmly in place on your face since you’d first kissed, you find that every time you look over at him, he’s gazing right back, mirroring that lovestruck smile.

“Oh my god, it all smells so amazing,” Dian waxes lyrical, squeezing you tightly as she inhales a lungful of exotically scented air, “What’ve we got?”

You take her by the hand into the kitchen to show all the different things you had bubbling away. Andy ducks into the kitchen behind you, laden with bags filled with pilau rice, naan and chapatis, and a beautiful small bunch of spring flowers in his other hand - tiny tête-à-tête daffodils with multiple heads along each stalk, brilliant yellow and red tulips standing like soldiers and the otherworldly looking stems of hyacinth, wickedly scenting the air under your nose as he thrusts them under there.

“Hey pretty girl, here’s all the bits you asked for. You deserve a much bigger bunch for what I’ve roped you into but I know you love the early blooms,” he offers by way of apology, sticking a kiss to the side of your forehead, “Smells fucking good though as ever. Hope you don’t mind but I’ve brought a box to take some home for Greg - he was a jealous arse this evening so I suppose I should share.”

“You know the way I cook, enough for several small armies,” you wonkily grin at him, truly thankful for the part he’d had to play, “‘Fraid there’s no easy way to say this and you will have to be the one to break it to Greg, but there’s no butter chicken tonight.”

“You’d better have a damn good excuse for this slatternly behaviour, madam,” Andy gives you a serious side eye for this infraction.

“Well…”

“Initially Nush couldn’t find the cardamoms but then we ran out of time. Plenty of food here, though,” Marcus answers for you, his hand gently holding your hip as he reaches around you to grab a couple of beers from the fridge.

You see Andy catch Marcus’ hand lightly stroking your side as he walks back to Kiritopa, but are entirely grateful when his expression and mouth say nothing. The light chatter in the kitchen, whilst Dian dips a teaspoon into all the pots, is interrupted by a small knock at the door. Sticking your head around the kitchen door, you spot Marcus opening the door to a nervous-looking Harper. Andy sidles past you, to pull her into the main room, rather than her previous position of standing on the doorstep, utterly awkward and obviously feeling quite out of place.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind me coming. I know I wasn’t there Friday but I don’t really do large crowds and drinking.”

You walk over to her amidst the chorus of “not to worry”s and “lovely to see you”s, “Fancy something to drink now? Got plenty of soft options and I think I’ll stick alongside you as I’ve got to make sure I don’t burn stuff.”

“Including yourself, this time,” Harper retorts quickly with a small smile and a raise of her eyebrows.

“Hah, chance’d be a fine thing,” Andy laughs, slapping your shoulder before turning back to clink bottles and talk with Kiri and Marcus.

✪✪✪✪✪

Through the full length doors of Marcus’ balcony, evening spring sunshine streams through, bathing the group of your co-workers in a gentle, diffused light that flows around the room coating you in a golden glow. You all eat your fill and then some, with full tummies and tired eyes - the kitchen still full of half eaten dishes.

“Can we make this a weekly thing?” Kiritopa asks through a mouthful of food, hopefully.

“Not unless we take it in turns or get a take away - I don’t have the physical or emotional energy to make this level of curry every weekend,” you pointedly remark, looking up from your coke to meet Marcus’ eyes.

You’ve spent the evening barely speaking to each other for fear of alerting the others but surreptitiously brushing past so that you can sneak touches. Tender hidden strokes that feel like the kindest stitches on hidden, gaping wounds.

Marcus stands up to help usher the evening to an end and get you to himself again, “I have some boxes for y’all to take food home as otherwise, I’ll be eating this for weeks - delicious as it is.”

Everyone thankfully takes their boss’ hint and head into the kitchen to grab platefuls to reheat after long days. Slowly saying their goodbyes, your friends drift off in the direction of their homes as you throw yourself in an exhausted heap of bones on his sofa. Two strong hands grip you under your arms, to drape your torso across his lap.

“Hey tired girl,” you slightly open your eyes to spy a smiling Marcus gazing down at you. His fingers draw lazy patterns over the sensitive skin of your neck.

“I’d like to take you on a proper date this week. Wanna do this properly. Make a bit of a fuss.”

“Yeah? Not just pin me down and ravish me on the kitchen floor?” you grin widely at him.

“Well, I’d hardly call that a ravishing…” your eyes widen, eyebrows raising at Marcus’ comment, excitement pooling in your tummy, “Yeah, I saw there’s an Argentinian restaurant in Blackheath so how about steak, Malbec and homemade ice cream before I bring you back to either yours, or mine, for another, even better ravishing?”

“That sounds amazing, although with the amount of food in my belly, I may never have to eat again,” you give your stomach a rub, “But the ravishing…”

Hauling you up to sitting across his lap, you protest loudly, “I am going to crush your legs.”

“Stop making ridiculous comments and c’mere,” Marcus demands as he gently turns your head towards him, stealing a delicate kiss from you.

“I...should… - argh! Stop kissing me for a second,” you beg halfheartedly, “I should go home.”

“Stay.”

“Please stay,” Marcus desperately entreats you, “I’m not expecting anything but I’d love it if you stayed. I know you’ve got nothing here but give me two minutes and I can have a spare toothbrush for you. I’ll drop you home early tomorrow morning so you can grab some clothes and then we can go into work together?”

It feels as though the wind is knocked out of your lungs with the depth of Marcus’ need to be around you.

How does he do it?

“There’s no games with you, are there?” you twist in Marcus’ lap so that you now straddle his thighs, placing your hands on either side of his ridiculously handsome face.

“No,” he shakes head slowly, all the while holding eye contact with you, “I’m too old and I know what I want.”

“What’s that?”

Stroking his hands up and down your sides as he nuzzles your neck, he clearly and confidently declares,

“You.”

Tag list of glory (as ever, please ask to be put on or dropped from the list): @astroboots @silverwolf319@sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @bison-writes @the-ginger-hedge-witch @danniburgh @sugarontherims @green-socks @tardisfangurl @absurdthirst @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @mouthymandalorian @mrsparknuts @zukoyonce @agirllovespancakes @yespolkadotkitty @lunaserenade @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

[ataraxystar]

I don’t really talk about my feelings/experiences publicly.

I have a lot to get off my chest about something that was a traumatic and upsetting experience. (cw: mentions of sexual assault, emotional distress, depression, etc.)

I recently had a deeply painful experience. I don’t really know how to describe it other than just that: excruciatingly painful. It involves two people here on tumblr who, at a time, I thought were good friends and people who at least cared about me. I need to be forward in saying that these people are not going to be named. I didn’t acquire screencaps or any other kinds of proof for what I’m saying, and that’s my fault. I should have, because this kind of thing shouldn’t happen to others and if I had recorded this when it happened I might be able to stop that. I just wanted it to be over when it was happening, and that’s my fault for not having the foresight. Without that proof, I don’t feel it’s right to name the people involved. Maybe that’s part of me clinging to the idea of them as friends, even if that’s all down the drain now. The first part of this began in Spring 2021. I had had a close relationship with two art friends. If you know me, you know I can be affectionate and often even tell my friends I love them or about how beautiful they are and how I want to hug them etc., since I do feel that way. The first friend (he/him) and the second friend (they/them) were apparently talking about how “flirty” I was one night together in a DM (based on screencaps from friend #1). Friend #1 saw this as a good reason to send me very explicit messages with his dick pic totally unprompted by me. I need to be clear when I say that these messages alluded very plainly to he and the other friend raping me, that they’d “take it” by force. I don’t really consider this threat to be credible to this day, but as someone who has experienced rape in real life I can tell you it is *very* serious to me and I think anyone would be upset by it. In his mind, he was flirting or joking or something, I do not know. When I told him that this upset me and it isn’t okay he simply doubled down on the threat. At this point I had to block him. I was talking with the second friend about it, and initially they excused the behaviour as simply being part of his “wild ass act, taken too far”. It ate at me for the whole day and into the night, when I told them that they were excusing and defending him for what he had done. They admitted they were wrong, and after some communication with the first friend through the second friend it was clear he wasn’t going to learn or grow from this. He was going to guilt trip us into feeling bad for him, as if me blocking him and saying I was disgusted is some over-reaction. My second friend said they would block him, and that was their idea. This honestly came as such a relief to me. Despite the fact that I could never be friends with someone who said something like what he said to me, I was worried this second friend would still remain close to the person who had just threatened to rape me. This was because friend #2 had said they had a crush on friend #1 during this discussion.  But my fears were proven wrong, they were going to make the tough call and remove that person from their life for the threats and comments they made to me. Because of this, we grew closer and I felt a special kind of appreciation for them. I was both proud of them for doing that and honestly just so happy that they were willing to let go of someone they were very close to over something awful they did to me. Many times in the past I’ve been in similar situations where I’ve been the one dropped, and had to deal with all of the self-worth issues and depressive episodes that result from having a group of people you considered friends deciding it would be easier to ditch you then address one of the member’s toxic behaviour. As it turns out, that friend #2 lied to me. A few days ago, I found out that friend #2 was still in regular contact with friend #1. That at the same time, over the course of almost a year, they were accepting support and love from me and telling me that they loved me and all kinds of moments with jokes and stories we shared, and at the same time they were lying to me and still talking to friend #1. Someone who had graphically described how he and my other friend would rape me. When I confronted friend #2, they were honest about how they had been talking to friend #1 and that there was no excuse for their behaviour. In their own words friend #1 was a “vile, evil, and mean” person who they spent “half of every month” angry at. Despite that, they still chose to be with him.  I had to cut them out of my life. I gave them a pretty serious chewing out over it, but I was never over the line, that I feel genuinely confident about. I know I can’t accept them back no matter what, because they could just pull the same trick again. This is the part that makes it sting all the more. This person who I was so close to and genuinely loved so much did this to me. The next time I have to trust someone again, I know this is going to come to mind. The next time I try to feel like I have self worth, I’ll remember that for a year someone abused my trust and love so cheaply. This whole thing is going to run through my head on repeat as part of the troop of ugly nightmares that come to me on nights when I just can’t sleep.  I don’t know where to go from here to get better, but I know with time and support from my friends I can maybe find where I was before after this setback. This might affect my output, I don’t know, I’m kind of a workaholic so making things I love is my life, but I also feel like there’s such a whole in my creative life where two people I looked up to as artists could do this to me. 

[tobesobri]

Bust | Part One: Chisel (7.8k)

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

In which Y/N is an annoyance in Harry’s sculpting class.

story masterlist | my masterlist

It’s not her forte. Her hands don’t know how to hold onto things. They tremble under pressure. They mess things up no matter how hard she tries.

Not that she had really tried very hard to begin with.

Sculpting was just not something she saw herself doing. Ever. Not with her lack of agility and poor attention to detail. But to appease her whining best friend… she’d do just about anything.

The class was held in a little art studio with large windows for ventilation and tall ceilings to display the mass amounts of student artwork on butcher block shelves. She never thought she’d be back in a classroom type setting after graduating college, but here she was.

Learning, what she proclaimed as, a useless skill.

The studio was smack dab in the middle of an inclined street. Little quaint buildings that sat on an angle because why not pour foundations on a hill and make her weekly walks to the studio a little sweatier than she would have preferred. Even if it was winter in their little beach village town. Sweat still happened. It just happened underneath a scarf and a hand-knitted beanie from the sewing shop next door.

She could not deny, however, that the late afternoon classes every Wednesday and Saturday brought her way more joy than she’d anticipated. She looked forward to meeting up with Rose at the bottom-of-the-hill cafe, sharing the daily special with her before making their way up to the studio. It was calm in the middle and end of her hectic weeks that she most definitely needed.

What she didn’t need, however, what she most certainly did not look forward to, what she could have done without, what took her joy and smashed it against a wall was him.

The instructor.

Harry ‘I have nice hands and a misleading smile’ Styles.

It had only been two weeks into their classes and he had already told her one of her bowls was garbage. That the way she sculpted a face was terrifying. That she couldn’t draw for shit and that made her attempts at sculpting even worse.

So by Saturday of their second week, she didn't care anymore. He was a jerk and she would be the best pain in his ass she knew how to be.

While everyone called him Harry, like he’d asked them to the very first day, she called him Mr. Styles. Just to see the way his eyes rolled back into his head and his nostrils flared. While everyone asked him insightful questions, like what glaze was best to use or what tool sculpted eyes most efficiently, she asked him if she could use the bathroom.

She got a fucking kick out of irritating him. Knowing he went home after their classes just as irritated as she’d been. With clenched fists and a pounding headache.

It helped that he was insanely too attractive to be teaching a bunch of millennials about sculpting in his free time.

“You should really leave him alone, he might kick us out, you know,” Rose said on their first third week walk up Justice Hill. There was no justice in walking uphill, and most fucking certainly not in the humidity-ridden beachside town. She found the street name personally offensive.

“Oh fuck him. If he kicks us out, he’ll have to refund us.” Y/N did not, even for a second, bother to lower her voice as they neared the studio, knowing any one of the other students could hear her if they were to walk by.

“Refund us what? We got the class for free, remember?”

Y/N racked her brain like she’d completely forgotten that little detail before shrugging it off. “Whatever. He won’t kick us out.”

“How do you know for sure?”

Before she could make some stupid remark about how Harry secretly liked her pestering him or about how much he seemed much too impressed by Rose’s progress to ever get rid of them, the devil himself turned the corner in front of them.

He came out from an alleyway that connected the street to a tiny parking lot. And while they were going uphill, he was coming down. He was hard to miss and so were they, but still he attempted to not see them.

“What a prick,” Y/N mumbled under her breath as they got closer to each other. And almost as if he could read her lips, he rolled his eyes so fucking hard she thought maybe they’d finally pop right out of his head this time.

“Shush,” Rose warned as the three of them finally met in the middle, at the door to the studio that was decorated with a bright yellow ‘Open’ sign, children’s drawings, hand-painted hours of operation, and one too many polaroids of past students and their sculpting creations.

They all stood and stared at each other for a moment before he opened the door first, holding it as, to Y/N’s surprise, he let them go in first. And while she was still in shock at the gesture, his body language said it all. Like he was forcing himself to be nice to the dynamic duo, to the bane of his existence. While she was too distracted by Harry and his clay-stained trousers and cable-knit sweater with a cartoon deer embroidered on it, Rose walked into the studio first. Giving Harry a polite smile that he returned almost… genuinely.

And right when Y/N made a move to follow, Harry stepped in front of her. She jolted back as he just about let the door slam her in the face.

Today was going to be fantastic.

*                                              *                                 *

“Right, so,” Harry began, clapping his dry hands together as he took a seat behind his messy table at the front of the studio. “I know some of you haven’t finished your heads yet, but our focus today will still be on the bodies. We’ll have a catch up on Saturday to make up for it.”

Y/N sought out her head on the wall where she’d placed it last week beside Rose’s, realizing for the first time just how ugly it really was. And to think she’d been trying to sculpt Harry’s annoying face. Even more annoying that no matter what she did, he was always a lot more handsome than her hunk of polymer clay.

“... because, like I mentioned, we have special guests today who will be modeling for you.” Harry stood again while two very thin and very conventionally perfect people came out in white robes. Y/N couldn’t help but gag.

“This is Hope and Jordan.” Harry motioned as he introduced them, not getting any further in his instructions before Y/N raised her hand in the back of the class.

Rose attempted to get her to put it down, too, because Harry was clearly in the middle of something, but it didn’t really work out so well. Y/N was a stubborn son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” He pointed at her, sighing while planting his hands on his hips. He knew nothing she had to ask was going to be at all beneficial to the group.

She cleared her throat and just from the smirk on her face, he braced for impact. “Are they going to be modeling nude?”

She made just about everyone blush, except for Harry. He hated how she never took anything seriously. That the art he’d spent years perfecting enough to teach meant nothing to her. It was all just a primary school joke in her eyes.

“Yes, actually,” he answered bluntly and then returned to what he was going to say before Y/N’s interruption. “So I want everyone to get a piece of paper and while they’re modeling, do a rough sketch of what you might want the body of your sculpture to look like. The importance is to get the proportions down so that when you use the clay, you’ll know how much you’ll need for each part. Just like we did for the heads.”

Harry walked around the class once the models were stripped and the sketching began. Rose started immediately, concentration on her face as she flipped between the female model and her piece of sketchbook paper.

All Y/N had was a scratch piece of grey-toned mixed media paper she’d found laying on their table. And absolutely no clue where to even begin.

She stared at Harry instead of the naked models, watching as he helped others around the room, pointing at their sketches and where they could improve. His other hand behind his back that gave her perfect access to stare at his rings. Remembering how he’d taken them off guide their first few sculpting lessons. Remembering how his hands had so gently but so fucking firmly caressed the mound of clay into the exact shapes he wanted like he knew exactly what to do with those things.

“See it’s going just as I expected back here.” When his voice was at her ear, she jumped out of her skin and out of her daydreams. Twisting her head around to him as he stood behind her, she found him staring over her shoulder at her blank piece of paper.

She narrowed her eyes at him once she’d fully processed what he said. “Sorry I’m trying to figure out the best way to scale up that dude’s micro-cock, proportionally, if you don’t mind.”

He just about choked on his own spit, and rightfully so. But when he glanced to her eyes instead of her disappointing blank canvas, with his eyebrows furrowed and his cute little nostrils flared just the way she liked them, it was clear his reaction wasn’t for the reasons she’d intended.

He was quiet. Lips pursed, mind completely empty apart from hearing her say cock over and over again. Echoing against his skull. Making a home for itself in his hippocampus for later purposes. When he was not in a class full of students with their eyes on him, watching him get hard at the fucking way she said cock.

“Leave you to it then,” he cleared his throat and continued on.

“He may not kick us out, but killing you is still an option,” Rose whispered once Harry was a safe distance away from them.

Y/N leaned back in her seat to watch him walk down the rest of their row. His hands behind his back again, eyes wandering over shoulders.

As long as he had those rings on while he choked her out, she was okay with that.

*                                              *                                 *

Everyone had moved on to their bodies. Gathering the clay they needed from the front and using their sketches as guidelines to build around the pre-made wire and aluminum foil armature. Most everyone had some sort of a form being attached to the heads of their sculptures by the time Y/N even got started.

Because she decided on using Harry as reference after all and he would just not stand still.

With the models gone, they were on their own, with help from Harry of course. He played several videos and gave various demonstrations to aide them. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, but after she gave it her all for about ten minutes, she was ready to give up. Her body looked like a very lumpy, very deformed version of Shrek.

She took a break again, watching Rose sculpt for a while instead. She watched Harry sometimes too as he walked around the class again in gloves this time. Smoothing out features and picking up tools to aid in the process of forming collarbones and wrinkles.

The studio was in its typical state of disarray. Random cups of milky water on every table, pieces of clay smushed into the tile floor, tools and used gloves strewn about with no rhyme or reason. Harry thrived in that kind of environment while Y/N well… she hated it.

She wanted organization and cleanliness. Her nine-to-five called for that kind of thing. But she was slowly getting used to it. To letting go and embracing the mess while she was here. She wasn’t the one that had to clean it all up anyways.

The only time she wasn’t daydreaming was when Harry started up their aisle again, walking in front of their table this time however. He helped a couple others at the end of their row, watched some of them work before eventually landing right in front of Rose’s station.

He cocked his head to the side while he watched her struggle to form an even pair of breasts on her headless lady. And even though Y/N was trying her best to look busy, she just couldn’t help it.

Rose handed her work in progress over to him with a frustrated huff after he offered his assistance. And like… no way was Y/N missing out on Mr. Harry fucking Styles fingering some clay into the perfect set of boobs. No way.

Especially fucking not when he removed his gloves and used those fingers in their bare glory the way she wished he’d use them someplace else. She watched while he slapped some more clay on Rose’s poor flat-chested model and proceeded to smooth it out with his expert fingertips. She watched the clay melt under his touch, watching him dip into their shared cup of water to aid the process. She looked away long enough to admire the concentration on his face, the way he bit down on his lip and furrowed his brows the way she was used to. She watched again while he fixed all of Rose’s mistakes just by gliding his thumbs over the two perfect little lumps on her sculpture that sure as hell hadn’t started out so perfectly.

She had no idea why Harry sculpting a tiny set of breasts on what would eventually become a mermaid got her so hot and bothered but… it did. It did so fucking much, she was almost salivating like a dog by the end of it, thinking about what his hands could do with the real deal. But then he handed it back to Rose with a content smile on his face and burst Y/N’s little bubble.

“Might be better,” he said softly and Rose nodded in agreement. She hadn't noticed before, but when he stood to his full height it was clear he’d been leaning over on their table. Closer to the both of them than he’d ever really been before. And she knew he was tall, taller than Rose, who was five foot seven inches herself. And not just that but his shoulders were broad and his arms were a humble amount of muscular. Almost like he was a sculptor that kneaded clay a hundred hours a week. Maybe that was why she was a soaking wet mess.

He stretched his gloves back onto his hands and glanced Y/N’s direction. Eyes going straight from her disaster of an art piece to her flushed face and back.

“Don’t even know where to start to fix yours up,” he commented while moving slightly to his right until he stood directly in front of Y/N this time.

She looked at her abomination, wondering if it would be her worst idea to push more of his buttons or not. But, she went for it anyways. Her lack of impulse control would definitely come back to bite her in the ass one day.

“It’s the penis. Still haven’t gotten that down yet.”

He nodded, amused rather than his previous reaction to her antics. “Can see that, yeah. He’s got a bit of a crooked willy there.” Harry poked at it with his index finger and she became hyper aware of his closeness this time while he leaned over her tabletop again. Because his hands were right there, almost touching her own. And they were big, bigger than she realized. She could see him perfectly through the transparent gloves, his long fingers with clipped nails at the end that were well taken care of, considering.

She would need to soak herself in holy water for a while after this.

“Oh, is that not what the male anatomy looks like?” She teased, not fully realizing they were getting along for the first time and it was because of dicks. Because she’d put an oddly shaped protrusion on her figure before she’d even done much else with the blob of clay stuck to her form.

“No,” he laughed, shaking his head at her and standing up straight again. “Maybe if you paid attention when the models were out here, you’d know that.”

“Maybe if you hired someone who’s cock I could actually see from all the way back here without a fucking magnifying glass.” She was only slightly aware of how fully immersed she was in the debate over this penis.

But all he heard was cock again. She really needed to stop saying that. Because this time his mind was a little more imaginative while he stared at her lips and thought about the way she might say that on her knees in front of him.

He shook his head clear. She was an insufferable nuisance that he just barely tolerated on a good day. He didn't need her clogging up his brain with her cock talk too.

“Just fix it.” He mumbled.

She huffed when he left her to her own devices, not even bothering to offer his help, but she really shouldn’t expect any less. If he helped her, he would be doing it all for her. And that was hardly the point of taking a class to learn how to sculpt if the hot instructor was just going to do everything for you.

“Is there a reason why you’re arguing with him about penises?” Rose asked, hushing her voice around the apparently taboo word.

“It’s fun. And if I’m going to sit here in this stupid class with you I’m going to have some fun.” Y/N, on the other hand, was not hushed or subtle at all, as she ripped off the phallic piece of clay from her sculpture.

Rose cringed when she glanced past Y/N to find Harry looking right at her. He had been helping someone a few seats down and clearly not far enough away to have missed what Y/N said. All of his features drooped and he looked genuinely upset. Rose wished she could put a filter over Y/N’s mouth to save everyone from her insensitive outbursts. Especially Harry. He always tried so hard and for Y/N to brush everything off and boil it all down to a ‘stupid class’ even broke Rose’s heart a little. So she could only imagine how Harry felt.

After their typical hour and a half was up, once everyone at least had some semblance of a body minus the legs and arms, Harry called the class back to order.

“Alright, that’s time. You can put your armatures back on the shelves, carefully. As always, I’ll be around for a little while after. Have a great rest of your night, I’ll see you all on Saturday.” He finished his spiel, turning away to help clean up before a lightbulb went off in his head and his voice rang through the studio again, “Oh, and make sure you bring your sketches back with you!”

Everyone worked on cleaning up, including Harry. And while Y/N took both her and Rose’s sculptures over to their respective spots on the shelves, Rose walked up to the front of the class without any warning whatsoever.

She tapped Harry’s shoulder and watched while his smile faded just the tiniest bit after he turned to find her. That Rose’s poor face had to be associated with the thunderstorm that was Y/N.

“I just wanted to say sorry… about Y/N.” Both Rose and Harry glanced at the girl in question near the back of the studio, playing with their two sculpted bodies like they were barbie dolls. “I forced her to do this with me so she hasn’t really taken it seriously. But I’m really enjoying the class, you’re a fantastic instructor.”

His smile returned again and if he was being honest with himself, it really did make him feel better to hear her say that. He had some sort of a reasoning for Y/N’s horrible attitude and while he wished it was her apologizing and not Rose, he figured it was good enough.

“Thank you. You’re doing really well so far. I’ll see you on Saturday, yeah?”

She nodded, giving him one last polite smile before trotting back to Y/N and helping her clean up the last bits around their workstation.

“Please do not tell me you were flirting with him.” Y/N gagged, using a ball of clay to gather the little pieces spread across their table like a magnet.

“No, actually, I was apologizing to him for your behavior.”

Y/N snapped her head up, first at Rose and then Harry all the way across the room from them. “You what?”

“He’s just trying to teach and you’ve been a fucking knobhead.”

Y/N gasped in fake offense, which was actually slightly real offense. “Excuse me, he made fun of my bowl the first day, you seem to have forgotten about that.”

“A toddler could have made a better bowl than that, Y/N, and you know it.”

She frowned, grumpily averting her eyes to the table with her arms crossed over her chest like she really was a toddler.

“I’m just saying,” Rose started, a bit calmer this time, “stop pestering him.”

*                                              *                                 *

Y/N thought about everything Rose had said. About how much she wished she could take things seriously and not constantly get on people’s nerves all the time, but she simply did not know how to. Taking the piss out of things and making jokes was how she got through her days.

But she did agree. Harry didn’t deserve her behavior. Maybe he was a bit of a jerk to her to begin with, but insulting his class might’ve been crossing a line.

Because she didn’t actually think it was stupid. She quite enjoyed listening to him. She liked learning something new and following his instructions as he walked them through some of his techniques. She liked being connected to all the people in the little studio, even if only briefly. Complete strangers all shared that one little thing in common and it made her all fuzzy and warm inside each time she met up with Rose at the end of every Wednesday and Saturday.

Hiding behind a bit of humor, however, was a lot more comfortable than admitting she found pleasure in anything as corny as sculpting classes.

On Friday night, boredom got the best of her and she took a chance upon searching Harry’s name on Instagram while she took her weekly bath. It had been Rose’s idea, the bath, not stalking her attractive sculpting instructor online. That decision was completely her own. But the baths at the end of stressful weeks had a little influence from her best friend, as did most aspects of her life. Baths were a waste of time, in her opinion, and she preferred the efficiency of showering. But Rose had given her nice smelling soaps and weird fizzy things for bath time and well… she couldn’t let them go to waste.

So, amid her regularly scheduled, once-a-week bath, she scrolled shamelessly through Harry’s feed. Because he did, in fact, have an instagram. And she only knew it was him because every fourth post was a video and in said videos were his hands. And, fuck, they were just as nice on film as they were in person.

He didn’t post much of his face, which she thought was an actual crime, but there was a lot about him and his sculpting. She found out it had been his sister’s birthday recently, who, when she smiled, looked just like him. He’d also just finished a piece he seemed really proud of, a clay head and bust of a pit bull, to which he linked in the caption about a local shelter who rescued the breed specifically and needed donations. Her heart nearly fucking melted.

Harry wasn’t much of an open book, though, unless he let his art do most of the talking. He seemed to enjoy sculpting women the most, which is probably why he’d been so good at de-lumping the breasts on Rose’s mermaid. But all the female sculptures he made weren’t sexual at all. They had meaning behind them. Like every single clay face she clicked on throughout his photos had a story. Like he was uplifting rather than fetishizing.

And not every single one of them was skinny and had perfect features. She was shocked to see at least half of the creations she’d skimmed through were of larger women with imperfect breasts at times and asymmetrical faces. Not sticking to typical European beauty standards as she may have originally assumed he might.

It made glancing down at her very much imperfect body feel a little less like an attack. Because Harry spent his time putting all his love into his little sculptures with diverse body types that she almost felt ashamed for ever hating hers.

Once she was done clicking on just about every single post he’d ever made, she finally found a selfie. Well… not really a selfie. Someone else had clearly taken it of him candidly while he had been working. But there was an awfully cute smile on his face and very familiar dimples poking into his cheeks that make her heart warm up again.

He wasn’t a damn thing like she’d assumed he was from the beginning. She thought his art centered around the ideal, and that maybe he was a little condescending because of it. But his Instagram told a different story about his art. And she wanted to know so much more about him.

She was completely lost in her dreams about him that just the smidge of distraction led to accidentally liking a photo of his from two years prior.

She’d have to move countries. Change her name. Delete everything. Never look back. Y/N? A distant memory.

Before dropping her phone in the tub and really making a complete ass out of herself, she threw it, instead, onto her furry rug in the middle of the bathroom and sunk herself down into the water. Wondering if it would really be so bad if she just drowned a little bit.

Because she desperately wanted to. There was nothing she could do. Not even unliking the picture would help. He’d still see the notification. Still click onto her page and realize who in the fuck had just liked a two-year-old post of his that he, himself, had probably even forgotten about.

She wanted nothing more than to sink her head under the pink-tinted water and never come back up. Her mind would not stop with the visualizations of what his reaction might be. Things he might be thinking. Like is this that fucking bitch from my sculpting class? Or whether or not she might find herself blocked by morning.

God, just make it stop.

But suddenly her phone buzzed and her heart just about stopped beating. It had to be the notification that Harry blocked her. Was that even a thing? Did Instagram notify you if someone blocked you? And why was her phone on silent? Because her Instagram notifications and her text messages made very different sounds. If it was just a text, she’d consider ignoring it. She’d continue marinating in all her shame a little while longer. But it ate her alive not knowing what the buzzing was from.

So, carefully, she pulled herself upright and reached across the floor until she had her phone in her hand. Before she clicked the screen on, though, she closed her eyes and inhaled a deep breath.

But when she opened her eyes and found out why her phone had buzzed, she let that breath out and settled her ass down again. It was Rose.

Hey, I can’t make it tomorrow for class. Felt like absolute shit at work today and had to go home because as it turns out I have the flu.

“Fuck,” Y/N mumbled to herself. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to go alone because facing Harry after she just did what she did was one thing, but doing it all by herself was another. But a part of her did still want to go tomorrow. The part before her horrific accident when she was full on getting a love boner over Harry. She’d wanted to see him again so fucking bad.

Okay. I probably won’t go too then

Y/N physically frowned at the idea of waiting another five days to see Harry again. Her brain really needed to make its fucking mind up about him. Did she want to see him or not?

No! You have to go and tell me what I missed!

Y/N rolled her eyes, but felt relieved. Even after her embarrassing slip up, her desire to see Harry again still prevailed. And she hated it. How was she even supposed to look him in the eye tomorrow, both of them knowing damn well she’d been stalking his Instagram back to two fucking years ago?

*                                              *                                 *

It was beyond weird sitting in their usual cafe on Justice Hill alone, even without the whole Instagram fiasco of the previous night she was trying everything in her power to forget about.

However all the desperate attempts to bury that awful experience were fruitless when she glanced across the room over her latte and found a very familiar set of grumpy-looking eyes already staring at her. But once she did notice him, he immediately looked away, stepping up to the counter to order his own cup of coffee.

She nearly choked on her drink, having to set it down and wipe what had spilled onto her chin off with a napkin she’d already used to sop up another one of her messes.

Of the three weeks now they’d been going to classes and frequenting the cafe just before, she’d never seen Harry. It was like he didn’t have a life outside being an instructor. He just popped up in the studio and she always left before him so she had no idea what he did after class either.

But seeing him here was like seeing a fucking unicorn in real life.

She couldn’t help watching him either, even if she knew she shouldn't. But, in her defense, he was wearing beautiful wine-colored corduroy pants with a tight white t-shirt tucked into them and a beige coat thrown over his arm to match. And for shoes he had on his usual white vans that had gained a few more scuff marks since the last time she’d seen him. His fashion would look terrible on anyone besides him.

He glanced her way again, briefly, when he left the counter with his cup, fighting his legs from walking in her direction but not exactly winning that battle.

And to her surprise, he stood right in front of her, behind the chair where Rose usually sat.

And when she looked up at him, he completely forgot why he had come over. He had no fucking clue what he was doing there. But it was too late now for him to back away and pretend like it never happened.

“Your friend's not coming?” His voice shook, but she didn’t notice with the way he finally took his fucking eyes off of her and gave her a chance to breathe again. He glanced at his watch just to confirm that it was, in fact, only five minutes until class started and it seemed reasonable to assume Rose wasn’t meeting her before then.

She pulled herself together and pretended like his close presence wasn’t intimidating her in the slightest.

“Disappointed?” She tilted her head, smirking at him. She had no right to think he liked her better than Rose. She, herself, liked Rose better too. So she was sure he had to be at least a little bit sad to see Rose missing.

He smiled and the second she saw those dimples she was reminded of his Instagram all over again.

“A little,” he nodded, pinching his thumb and index finger together in the air and she painfully agreed.

“Well, you get me all by myself tonight.” She didn’t realize how it sounded until it was too late. Until she was cringing at all the sexual insinuations she’d just made for absolutely no reason. She could have said something else that wasn’t laced in an innuendo. But no, of course not. She had to continue her embarrassing streak when it came to Harry.

Instead of being creeped out by her, however, and pulling a confused and slightly terrified face, he laughed. And, on God, his laugh was the most amazing thing she’d ever heard. This wasn’t the first time the sound of his laughter graced her eardrums, but it was the first time he was laughing because of something she said that wasn’t about crooked penises.

“Lucky me.”

He left her so fucking speechless, that after he started backing away from her table, reminding her to not be late, she still ended up being late. Because she sat in her chair for what felt like a century repeating his two words over and over again in her head.

Lucky me.

She knew he was only teasing but the way he’d just gone along with her original joke and how his voice sounded when he said it, she could not believe it. She could also not believe how Harry had some kind of massive hold on her that she sat staring at a wall for ten minutes trying to figure out how to operate properly again just to get up out of her chair.

Lucky fucking me.

She could scream.

If she wasn’t in public.

There was an extra pep in her step as she took Justice Hill alone this time, partially because of how giddy Harry had made her and partially because she was late… right after he told her not to be. But how was she supposed to be on time after what he’d just done to her emotions. And to the throbbing mess between her legs, but that's another story entirely.

Everyone was all over the place when she’d finally arrived, though, so it made slipping in the back that much easier. Not that she got past Harry’s watchful eyes, though, but at least she wasn’t interrupting anything while the class readied their workstations for another full night of going ham on their sculptures.

Harry kept his eyes on her mostly the entire time she did the same at her empty little area, watching as she tucked her purse under the desk for safekeeping and threw a couple tools he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her use onto the table. When she wandered off to the wall of shelves to retrieve her absolutely horrifying work of art, he finally gave her some privacy again. But he couldn’t help the fact that he’d been worried sick when she didn’t show up on time after he’d just seen her at the cafe, thinking something horrible could have happened to her between there and here.

So making sure she was unscathed before he, too, got his area organized was essential.

She sat in her chair and stared at what she had made the past three weeks. They’d started with something simple on the first day, taking a pre-cut slice of clay and free-handing a bowl with a few tips from Harry thrown in here and there. Then they jumped straight in after he showed them a few clips of sculptors working, pausing to explain specific things about creating a head and face. They were given everything they needed to make sculpting a complete figurine of a human body as easy as possible.

And still, she managed to create a combination of Shrek and the abominable snowman.

She huffed, wondering if she asked nicely enough Harry would let her just start all over. But before she could even think to do so, he clapped his hands together and got everyone’s attention for today’s mini-tutorial.

He explained smoothing to them and how there were many different ways of doing it so that your end results weren't littered in fingerprints. He reminded them to use water to smooth out the initial shapes of the clay they wanted and if they were having a really hard time with too much warmth from their fingers to use the gloves.

He ventured a little into detail work of the bust, showing a short clip of another artist forming collar bones with just two tools and her fingers. He explained what tools those were and why they were the most efficient for details and went on some more about other detail tools that were good for different things.

And the entire time she was far too lost in his voice and how his eyes lit up passionately when he rambled to even think about the fact that she wasn’t taking a single note for Rose’s sake.

They’d done a few lessons on details for the face, but they had yet to really get that far, only having put on tentative eyelids, lips and a nose for their heads before he really dove deep into details in what she assumed would be a full class later on.

And when he finally took a break to ask for any questions, she was, of course, the first to raise her hand. He thought about ignoring it, knowing all too well that anytime Y/N raised her hand in the back of his classroom, she was up to no good. But he was too nice to do that to anyone, even her.

So he called on her by nodding his head and she cleared her throat while he grimaced, expecting the worst.

“So, um, for example if we were going to do bigger details like abs on a male figure, what would be the best tool for that?”

He could have sworn he was having a heart attack. He had to blink a few times just to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. She was actually asking him a legitimate question, and a good one at that. He had to repeat what she said in his head first, just to make sure it was real, before he answered, completely unprepared.

“Um… well after you lay out the clay where you want on the body, you can use one of the knives to blend the edges,” he held up an example of one for her, “and then a large ball or oval tool like this,” he held up another, “to smooth everything out. You’d probably want a more blunt pointed end to shape them, though, after you blend the clay in.”

She nodded like she’d been fully absorbing every single word coming out of his mouth and then he watched as she dug around quietly in the tool kit on her desk, in search of the types of tools he’d mentioned.

He could not fucking believe it though. She finally showed a stitch of interest in learning about sculpting. And he had no idea why she decided to right now. Maybe it was because she was without her partner in crime, but either way he was stunned. Absolutely fucking marveled.

After a few more questions and some demonstrations, he let everyone go and continue working on their projects while he circled the room as he normally did. And he found himself glancing at her from time to time, all by herself in the back with a genuine look of concentration on her face as she attempted making her creature a little less loch ness monster and a little more human.

Eventually, after he figured she was giving it enough effort for him to step in and help if she needed, he headed her way. And just as she sensed him walking down her aisle, while she was busy shaving off clay, a piece of it went flying into the air, completely out of control.

He stopped in his tracks after almost being smacked in the face with a chunk of clay and bent over to pick it up before someone squished it into the bottom of their shoes. He leaned over the edge of the table in front of her again, setting the piece of clay down next to her gently while she bit her lips between her teeth and tried to hide her embarrassed red cheeks behind her hands.

“Sorry!” She squealed at him, further digging herself into a hole.

He shook his head, “S’alright. Not the first time that’s happened.”

She laughed at the thought of him actually getting hit in the money maker with a hunk of clay and it eased her worries a little.

“So how are those abs going then?” He asked.

She stared at her sculpture for a moment before she sighed and turned it around to face him. It wasn’t as bad as it had been before, but it was still pretty rough.

“Mind if I…?” He held his hands out and she, without a single hesitation, handed it over to him.

He immediately grabbed the shaving tool she’d been using, and since it still sat next to her where she’d put it down moments ago, his fingers brushed against her hand when he picked it up. Sending every one of her nerves in the general area on a field day to mess with her nether regions again. It’s just… his fucking hands were an art form in and of themselves. His knuckles prominent, stretching soft skin around the bone. His veins protruding every time he made a more delicate move that required precision. Even the ones on his arms underneath the ink when he was a bit more rough with her sculpture sent her over the moon, while he shaved off bits and pieces with firm pressure to define the shape of the body and somehow create a human-like figure from her mess.

Then he started smoothing down the surface with a little water on his fingers and she went batshit. His hands while dry were one thing, but sparkling, wet, slippery fingertips? Lord have mercy.

She watched him spread a chunk of extra clay onto what would be the figure’s chest to build it up a little more with the knowledge of their previous conversations about dicks and abs making it clear she was attempting to make a male figure. She couldn’t help but watch his muscles flex underneath his tight white t-shirt. From far away across the cafe it had caught her attention. And now right here, she was definitely not letting it go unnoticed. It wasn’t too tight that he looked ridiculous, but just the right amount to show off every curve of his biceps and triceps and whatever other -ceps he had hiding underneath the shirt. He was normally in oversized tops so she was taking full advantage while she still had the chance to.

When he handed it back to her, it was like he’d done some kind of magic spell to get it to look so good after what she’d given him to work with. He leaned forward a little more and pointed at the figure’s chest and she was only halfway paying attention to him when he spoke, mostly focusing on how close he was and every single time he accidentally brushed his skin against hers.

“So if you want to make the abs,” he paused to glance over and dig through her pile of tools until he found the one he was looking for. “Use this to kind of sketch out the shape like we did with the faces,” he took the ball tool and rolled it down the middle of the chest, making a short indent to separate where the pectorals might be, “then you can add on the dimension like I was saying earlier.”

She took over the tool when he flipped it around and gave it to her so she could try for herself. And he watched for a short while as she did what he said to do, sketching out tentative abs, but not really knowing exactly what they looked like to come to any sort of realistic end. Her figure started to look like a shirtless Johnny Bravo.

He just giggled and pointed his stupid finger back into her personal space, smoothing down her mistakes until they disappeared, “Have you never seen a six-pack that wasn’t on a cartoon character?”

She racked her brain, trying to say something funny, but once she looked into his eyes, nothing came to mind. “Of course I have. I just don’t know how to make them look realistic.” She couldn’t exactly remember the last time she’d been faced with a naked man’s chest, but she had seen them before.

“Well…” Harry sighed, resting his head on his hand and staring at her sculpture sideways, “he doesn’t have to have abs.”

And then she said it. Something worse than her earlier set of words back at the cafe. She had no clue what was going on with her tonight, but she needed an ass-kicking for it.

“Do you have abs?”

“Me?” His eyes flickered up to hers in shock and it was far too late for her to backtrack, she was here and she had to face what she’d done. Even while he looked at her like she was fucking insane.

“Uh, well. I mean…” She had no fucking clue what she meant. And even if she did, she sure as shit wasn’t telling him.

Then it clicked in his brain. “You’re not using me as reference, are you?”

After a solid three seconds of just staring at him, she laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Hope so after you gave him that wonky penis.”

She sighed once they were through it. Once he’d proved, yet again, that he didn’t make her embarrassing statements feel as bad as they really were. He kind of just... went along with it.

But then she made it even worse.

“So yours isn’t wonky and crooked, then?”

Jesus, fuck Y/N just shut up.

His smile never faded, however, and instead, he leaned close again and whispered, “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to find out.”