#this was such an experiment but I think it payed off

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Pluralistic is five

I'm on a 20+ city book tour for my new novel PICKS AND SHOVELS. Catch me in SEATTLE TONIGHT (Feb 19) for with DAN SAVAGE, and in TORONTO on SUNDAY (Feb 23) at Another Story Books. More tour dates here.

Five years and two weeks ago, I parted ways with Boing Boing, a website I co-own and wrote for virtually every day for 19 years ago. Two weeks later – five years ago from today – I started my own blog, Pluralistic, which is, therefore, half a decade old, as of today.

I've written an annual rumination on this most years since.

Here's the fourth anniversary post (on blogging as a way to organize thoughts for big, ambitious, synthetic works):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/20/fore/#synthesis

The third (on writing without analytics):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/19/drei-drei-drei/#now-we-are-three

The second (on "post own site, share everywhere," AKA "POSSE"):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/19/now-we-are-two/#two-much-posse

I wasn't sure what I would write about today, but I figured it out yesterday, in the car, driving to my book-launch event with Wil Wheaton at LA's Diesel Books (tonight's event is in Seattle, with Dan Savage):

https://www.eventbrite.com/e/cory-doctorow-with-dan-savage-picks-and-shovels-a-martin-hench-novel-tickets-1106741957989

I was listening to the always excellent Know Your Enemy podcast, where the hosts were interviewing Chris Hayes:

https://know-your-enemy-1682b684.simplecast.com/episodes/pay-attention-w-chris-hayes-OA3C8ZMp

The occasion was the publication of Hayes's new book, The Sirens' Call, about the way technology interacts with our attention:

https://sirenscallbook.com

The interview was fascinating, and steered clear of moral panic about computers rotting our brains (shades of Socrates' possibly apocryphal statements that reading, rather than memorizing, was destroying young peoples' critical faculties). Instead, Hayes talked about how empty it feels to read an algorithmic feed, how our attention gets caught up by it, sometimes for longer than we planned, and then afterward, we feel like our attention and time were poorly spent. He talked about how reflective experiences – like reading a book with his kid before school – are shattered by pocket-buzzes as news articles came in. And he talked about how satisfying it was to pay protracted attention to something important, and how hard that was.

Listening to Hayes's description, I realized two things: first, he was absolutely right, those are terrible things; and second, I barely experience them (though, when I do, it makes me feel awful). Both of these are intimately bound up with my blogging and social media habits.

15 years ago, I published "Writing in the Age of Distraction," an article about preserving your attention in a digital world so you could get writing done. We live in a very different world, but the advice still holds up:

https://www.locusmag.com/Features/2009/01/cory-doctorow-writing-in-age-of.html

In particular, I advised readers to turn off all their alerts. This is something I've done since before the smartphone era, tracking down the preferences that kept programs like AIM, Apple Mail and Google Reader from popping up an alert when a new item appeared. This is absolutely fundamental and should be non-negotiable. When I heard Hayes describe how his phone buzzes in his pocket whenever there is breaking news, I was actually shocked. Do people really allow their devices to interrupt them on a random reinforcement schedule? I mean, no wonder the internet makes people go crazy. I'm not a big believer in BF Skinner, but I think it's well established that any stimulus that occurs at random intervals is impossible to get used to, and shocks you anew every time it recurs.

Rather than letting myself get pocket-buzzed by the news, I have an RSS reader. You should use an RSS reader, seriously:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/16/keep-it-really-simple-stupid/#read-receipts-are-you-kidding-me-seriously-fuck-that-noise

I periodically check in with my reader to see what stories have been posted. The experience of choosing to look at the news is profoundly different from having the news blasted at you. I still don't always choose wisely – I'm as guilty of scrolling my phone when I could be doing something more ultimately satisfying as anyone else – but the affect of being in charge of when and how I consume current events is the opposite of the feeling of being at the beck-and-call of any fool headline writer who hits "publish."

This is even more important in the age of smartphones. Whenever you install an app, turn off its notifications. If you forget and an app pushes you an update ("Hi, this is the app you used to pay your parking meter that one time! We're having a 2% off sale on parking spots in a different city from the one you're in now and we wanted to make sure you stopped whatever you were doing and found out about it RIGHT NOW!") then turn off notifications for that app. Consider deleting it. Your phone should buzz when you're expecting a call, or an important message.

Note I said important message. I also turn off notifications for most of the apps I use that have a direct-messaging function. I check in with my group chats periodically, but I never get interrupted by friends across town or across the world posting photos of lunch or kvetching about the guy who farted next to them on the subway. I look at those chats when I'm taking a break, not when I'm trying to get stuff done. It's really nice to stay on top of your friends' lives without feeling low-grade resentment for how they interrupted your creative fog with a ganked Tiktok video of a zoomer making fun of a boomer for getting mad at a millennial for quoting Osama bin Laden. There's times when it makes sense to turn on group-chat notifications – like when you're on a group outing and trying to locate one another – but the rest of the time, turn it off.

Now, there are people I need to hear from urgently, who do get to buzz my pockets when something important comes up – people I'm working on a project with, say, or my wife and kid. But I also have all those people trained to send me emails unless it's urgent. You know the norm we have about calling someone out of the blue being kind of gross and rude? That's how you should feel about making someone's pocket buzz, unless it's important. Send those people emails.

I visit my email in between other tasks and clear out my inbox. If that sounds impossible, I have some suggestions for how to manage it:

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2010/dec/21/keeping-email-address-secret-spambots

Tldr? Get you some mail rules:

add everyone you correspond with to an address book called "people I know"

filter emails from anyone in the "people I know" address book into a high priority inbox, which you just treat as your regular inbox

look at the unfiltered inbox (full of people you've never corresponded with) every day or two and reply to messages that need replying (and those people will thereafter be filtered into the "people I know" inbox)

filter any message containing the world "unsubscribe" into a folder called "mailing lists"

if you're subscribed to mailing lists that you feel you can't leave because it would be impolite, filter them into a folder called "mailing lists" unless the message contains your name (so you can reply promptly if someone mentions you on the list)

The point here is to manage your attention. You decide when you want to get non-urgent communications, and mail-app automation automatically flags the stuff that you are most likely to want to see. For extra credit: adopt a "suspense file" that lets you manage other peoples' emails to you:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/10/26/one-weird-trick/#todo

Now, let's talk about algorithmic feeds. Lots of phosphors have been spilled on this subject, and critics of The Algorithm have an unfortunately propensity to buy into the self aggrandizement of soi-dissant evil sorcerer tech bros who claim they can "hack your dopamine loops" by programming an algorithmic feed. I think this is bullshit. Mind-control rays are nonsense, whether they are being promoted by Rasputin or a repentant Prodigal Tech Bro:

https://conversationalist.org/2020/03/05/the-prodigal-techbro/

But I hate algorithmic feeds. To explain why, I should explain how much I love non-algorithmic feeds. I follow a lot of people on several social media services, and I almost never feel the need to look at trending topics, suggested posts, or anything resembling the "For You" feed. Sure, there's times when I want to turn on the ole social TV and see what's on – the digital equivalent of leaving the TV on in a hotel room while I unpack and iron my suit – but those times are rare.

Mostly what I get is a feed of the things that my friends think are noteworthy enough to share. Some of that stuff is "OC" (material they've posted themselves), but the majority of it is stuff they're boosting from the feeds of their friends. Now, I say friend but I don't know the majority of the people I follow. I have a parasocial relationship (these get an undeserved bad rap) with them.

We're "friends" in the sense that I think they have interesting taste. There's people I've followed for more than a decade without exchanging a single explicit communication. I think they're cool, and I repost the cool stuff they post, so the people who follow me can see it. Reposting is a way of collaborating with other people who've opted into sharing their attention-management with you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/27/probably/

Reposting with a comment? Even better – you're telling people why to pay attention to that thing, or, more importantly, why they can safely ignore it if it's not their thing (what Bruce Sterling memorably calls an "attention conservation notice"). This is why Mastodon's decision not to implement quote-tweeting (over a misplaced squeamishness about "dunk culture") was such a catastrophic own-goal. If you're building a social network without an algorithmic suggestion feed (yay), you absolutely can't afford to block a feature that lets people annotate the material they boost into other people's timelines:

https://fediversereport.com/fediverse-report-104/

Remember how I said the affect of going to read the news is totally different (and infinitely superior) to the affect of having the news pushed to you? Same goes for the difference between getting a feed of things boosted and written by people you've chosen to follow, and getting a feed of things chosen by an algorithm. This is for reasons far more profound than the mere fact that algorithms use poor signals to choose those posts (e.g. "do a lot of people seem to be arguing about this post?").

For me, the problem with algorithmic feeds is the same as the problem with AI art. The point of art is to communicate something, and art consists of thousands of micro-decisions made by someone intending to communicate something, which gives it a richness and a texture that can make art arresting and profound. Prompting an AI to draw you a picture consists of just a few decisions, orders of magnitude fewer communicative acts than are embodied in a human-drawn illustration, even if you refine the image through many subsequent prompts. What you get is something "soulless" – a thing that seems to involve many decisions, but almost all of them were made by a machine that had no communicative intent.

This is the definition of "uncanniness," which is "the seeming of intention without intending anything." Most of the "meaning" in an AI illustration is "meaning that does not stem from organizing intention":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/13/spooky-action-at-a-close-up/#invisible-hand

The same is true of an algorithmic feed. When someone you follow – a person – posts or boosts something into their feed, there is a human intention. It is a communicative act. It can be very communicative, even if it's just a boost, provided the person adds some context with their own commentary or quoting. It can be just a little communicative, too – a momentary thumbpress on the boost button. But either way, to read a feed populated by people, rather than machines, is to be showered with the communicative intent of people whom you have chosen to hear from. Perhaps you chose unwisely and followed someone whose communications are banal or offensive or repetitious. Unfollow them.

Most importantly, follow the people who are followed by the people you follow. If someone whose taste you like pleases or interests you time and again by promoting something by a stranger to your attention, then bring that stranger closer by making them someone you follow, too. Do this, again and again, and build a constellation of people who make you smile or make you think. Just the act of boosting and virtually handling the things those people make and boost gets that stuff into your skin and your thoughts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/31/divination/

This is the good kind of filter bubble – the bubble of "people who interest me." I'm not saying that it's a sin to read an algorithmic feed, but relying on algorithmic feeds is a recipe for feeling empty, and regretful of your misspent attention. This is true even when the algorithm is good at its job, as with Tiktok, whose whole appeal is to take your hands off the wheel and give total control over to the autopilot. Even when an algorithm makes many good guesses about what you'll like, seeing something you like isn't as nice, as pleasing, as useful, as seeing that same thing as the result of someone else's intention.

And, of course, once you let the app drive, you become a soft target for the cupidity and deceptions of the app's makers. Tiktok, for example, uses its "heating tool" to selectively boost things into your feed – not because they think you'll like it, but because they want to trick the person whose content they're boosting into thinking that Tiktok is a good place to distribute their work through:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

The value of an algorithmic feed – of an intermediated feed – is to help you build your disintermediated, human feed. Find people you like through the algorithm, follow them, then stop letting the algorithm drive.

And the human feed you consume is input for the human feed you create, the stream of communicative acts you commit in order to say to the world, "This is what feels good to spend my attention on. If this makes you feel good, too, then please follow me, and you will sit downstream of my communicative acts, as I sit downstream of the communicative acts of so many others."

The more communicative the feeds you emit are, the more reward you will reap. First, because interrogating your own attention – "why was this thing interesting?" – is a clarifying and mnemonic act, that lets you get more back from the attention you pay. And second, because the more you communicate about those attentive insights, the more people you will find who are truly Your People, a community that goes beyond "I follow this stranger" and gets into the realm of "this stranger and I are on the same side in a world of great peril and worry":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/09/the-memex-method/

Which brings me back to this blog and my fifth bloggaversary. Because a blog is a feed, but one that is far heavier on communications than a stream of boosted posts. Five years into this iteration of my blogging life (and 24 years into my blogging life overall), blogging remains one of the most powerful, clarifying and uplifting parts of my day.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/02/19/gimme-five/#jeffty

[quitefawnish]

just thinking about reader having an nsft tumblr acct and tf 141 being obsessed with it..

cw: sexual content, slight voyeurism?

soap is the first one to stumble on your tumblr account. he originally got tumblr because he wanted inspiration for meal planning and thought about making his own fitness blog.

of course, he eventually went down the rabbit hole of hornyposting and after a few weeks, he discovered you.

you had started this blog to feel better about yourself, or at least that’s what you told yourself, maybe you just liked the attention. either way, you started off slow, posting in a sheer shirt or just a bra but not wanting to show off too much.

it only took a bit of prodding and pleading from your followers to get you to post your whole body. that’s where johnny first saw you, in a post where you did a full body reveal (sans face for obvious reasons). it had a few thousand notes and was the top picture for some of the tags you used.

soap practically felt his eyes bulge out of his skull at the sight of you, this perfect lass posting pics like that for free??? he was quick to follow you and then look at the rest of your posts, spamming you with likes as he went through your entire blog.

he contemplated keeping you to himself but knew the others would appreciate you just as much as he did, so he saved the original post he saw of you and sent it in the group chat. their messages were immediate, something to the effect of “holy fuck.”

that’s where the obsession with you started, and soap acted as their drug dealer, sharing in the group chat when you posted a new photo. of course, the other three knew that they could coax your username from johnny and they could make their own tumblr account to follow you but they found it more exciting getting your pics this way. one thing he did share with them was your throne wishlist which was full of lingerie and cute clothes you might want.

you had posted in sets you had gotten from other followers and the guys were interested in how they could buy you things too. your eyebrows practically disappeared into your hairline as you checked your phone and saw that your entire wishlist had been bought out. even the stuff that you put on there as a faraway desire, like the pair of mary jane’s you had been eyeing or the marker set that was too expensive to justify buying with your own money.

you always tried to thank people who bought from your throne personally, dming them on tumblr and sending exclusive pics in the things they bought for you. problem was, it was all under anonymous accounts and you didn’t get any messages owning up to the shopping spree. you decided to make a post asking who just bought you all that stuff and that you’d like to thank them.

soap was quick to message you, claiming responsibility for the gifts bought. you both get to talking and he mentions how he shares your pics with his mates, and how they get so excited when he sends a new picture of you. you respond back how you’re honestly so flattered, and you’d like to talk to them as well and thank them for their contribution to your wishlist.

eventually, you find some app or website that you can use to chat with them while not giving out any personal information. of course, when the things they ordered come in the mail, you make sure to send them plenty of videos and pictures.

they are hooked.

now it’s almost like you have four sugar daddies, paying for your bikini waxes (if you want them, they don’t mind hair down there yk), sending you money for groceries, for getting your nails done, or just because. sometimes, they even compete between the four of them to see who can make you the happiest (determined by the amount of exclamation marks you use when thanking them).

a/n: this is so self indulgent and kind of based on some of my experiences when i had an nsft blog on tumblr lolll 🙈 anyway, this is kinda unedited and rambling but would any of you guys want me to write more w this concept?

[yerimbrit]

inside you (is a field of spring flowers) : p. hanni

synopsis: you feel it in your chest—as if flowers are about to start spilling out from your throat like a broken fountain.

# : pairing ! pham hanni x 6th member!reader

# : tags ! fem!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, hanahaki!au, hanni likes a boy here sorry, unrequited love, miscommunication? more like no communication, hahaha! you know technically this is hanni x reader x minji but *EXPLOSION*, i mean... they kiss??????? is that a good thing?

# : wordcount ! 10k

# : warnings ! mentions of blood and surgery, panic attack, near-death experience, several mentions of drowning and throwing up, toxic(?) themes, please think before you act guys

forget-me-nots have always been hanni's favorite flower. she pointed it out to you once, as trainees, when you two were passing by a flower shop on the way back to the dorms. the display was only dimly lit, the hours way past closing, yet she was able to recognize them so quickly—it amazed you.

when you debuted together in newjeans, you bought a bouquet of forget-me-nots for her, shyly presenting it to her when you returned to your shared room after the debut showcase. her smile was radiant that day, despite the tiring performances only a few hours ago—you made sure to engrave that expression into your memory, promising yourself to make her smile like that again and again, forever until the end of time.

now, they bloom like a viral pandemic inside your chest, vines curling around your lungs and taking your breath away. ironically, that is what hanni does to you whenever you look at her; she takes your breath away. and then she borrows your heart for a waltz, dancing around it with that smile you love so much. she doesn't ask for the key to your heart, but you'd give it up for her in the blink of an eye.

it started after a walk with hanni, an impromptu convenience store run on a quiet night. she giggled and gazed into your eyes with a look full of so much affection that you stood there in front of the snack aisle, transfixed in place. and then you felt it.

in your chest, a sprout. a sprout that would eventually turn into dozens of flowers, that would send waves of blue and pink into the silver acrylic bathroom sink in your dorm.

you read about it online once, hanahaki, when you were a few years younger and a few less mature. the younger you that took things for granted, swearing that it was fake and wouldn't ever happen to you, no, because cho y/n doesn't fall in love.

but now you, years older and more mature, who has seen only the beginning of the hardships the world deploys, would hate to face the you of the past.

because this cho y/n is in love, and love feels like a field of spring flowers—blue and pink forget-me-nots—flourishing inside your body. something that you will take to your grave.

it's another day of performances, promoting newjeans' new single that has already garnered millions of streams, to which you're immensely grateful for. the overwhelming support of people all over the world, not limited to bunnies, fills your psyche with exuberance.

your energy onstage is overflowing, spreading to the other members and to the fans. the interactions exchanged with the girls singing and dancing with you, the red flash of the live camera, the deafening cheers of the audience once you turn one of your in-ears off—they fuel you with so much motivation to achieve, to fulfill your dreams, to inspire others.

and despite your fatigue hitting upon sitting down in the waiting room, you still agree to come with hanni to the vending machines, unable to say 'no' to the girl of your affections. she leads you by the hand, outside to the hallway and not letting go, sending swells directly to your heart. 

you try to pay attention to the ramble she sparks about the variety of snacks in the new vending machine that was recently installed, and not to the erratic thumping of your heartbeat. occasionally she glances back at you, her eyes crinkling up into a dazzling smile, and you try to send one of your own to mirror her energy.

“i’m excited, y/nnie,” she says, adding a skip to her step to really show her excitement, “the old ones were getting… well, old.”

‘cute,’ you let yourself be dragged further to a corner, walking past several waiting rooms assigned to groups and soloists both known and unknown to you.

the shorter girl stops in her steps and almost makes you bump into her. confused, you look up to try and find what could possibly be the source of her lack of movement, and you see a familiar face.

a boy group member, jay from enhypen to be exact. the guy that hanni's been droning on about for about two weeks now. every second, minute, hour, she manages to find an opportunity to start gushing over him. of course, you’re happy for her, but you’re also sick of it. even danielle is tired of the same topic. sometimes you wish things could go back to the way they were before, and hanni would return to being the loveable, angerable, and passionate person that she is, at least the one you know and loved love. 

they exchange some pleasantries, and your fellow group member inquires about the vending machine and if he's tried it yet. the conversation turns to a different topic, they talk about going on yet another date, she teases him and tells him to text her the details, and he leaves with a lingering touch on her shoulder. i’ll see you, he says softly, making her swoon and wish that he’d sweep her off of her feet. but by the time she turns to you to squeal about the newly planned date in her schedule, you're gone.

the coldness of the running water from music bank's bathroom sink soothes the stress in your veins, washing the specks of blood off of your hands. you watch fragments of petals that didn't make it to the trashcan swirl down into the open drain, then let your eyes bore a hole into the mirror which casts your reflection onto its surface.

'she likes a boy,' a bitter thought bubbles up into your mind, 'and i'm not a boy.' the overplayed song simmers in your thoughts before you have to force it away. stupid. of course it's a guy—he's tall, plays the guitar, cooks, and even more.

you slowly raise a hand, water dripping off of your skin and back into the sink, and shake it roughly in front of the mirror. droplets slide down in streaks, turning what was once your clear, pristine reflection into the distorted face of a figure, unrecognizable. a silhouette of a human being.

what does he have that you don’t? 'that's a stupid question,' you chuckle deprecatingly, 'he has everything that i don't.'

he has everything that you don’t, everything to match as perfect a girl as hanni is. and hanni is everything; she’s sweet, talented, short-tempered, and she puts so much thought into loving but she does it effortlessly.

love was supposed to be like fireworks exploding, the purest feeling you can feel. it's everywhere—familial, romantic, platonic, in the dedication that was packed into building the walls of every building you've been in, in the care that was put into making the matcha latte you had this morning. it's supposed to be euphoric, almost idyllic.

you don't regret loving hanni. she's given you the key to a new world of experiences and attractions, like a theme park that never ages. but you've lost her in the crowd. your heart bleeds into the petals that belong to the flowers she loves so dearly, and it's literally killing you.

forget-me-nots symbol true love and remembrance—something happy, something that is supposed to fill your entire being with joy. but they rot in your gut like the plague.

a flurry rushes up your throat, making you gag and dryly throw up the waterfall of pink and blue petals into the sink. it's a disgusting feeling, both the throwing up and the texture of the bloody petals as you crush them in your palm before transferring the pile to the trash bin.

the blood that remains burns like asphalt on your tongue. you spit another few petals out, a dull red staining the floral discharge and the sink. you turn the 'cold' knob of the sink to wash your hands, but end up looking deep into your distorted reflection once again.

the bloodstained acrylic sink overflows with cold water, splashing down to the floor and soaking your clothes, but you pay no mind to it. instead, you have a face-off with your distorted reflection.

love is intoxicating, exhilarating, and painful. it’s beautiful, yet ugly, and vibrant red and pink, yet gray. loving hanni feels like walking on a long, shaky plank between mountains. like you’re at risk of falling every few seconds.

she'd be happy with jay. she already is.

you frown at the mirror, the movements of your mouth obscured by the water still dripping down the glass. water from the overflowing sink seeps into your shoes and into your socks, inciting another gross feeling within you. you don't bother turning the sink off.

after another moment, you can't take the sight of the empty reflection anymore. an impending cough burns in your throat, and blood sprinkles out of your mouth. the dull feelings and surroundings overwhelm your senses. 

you dunk your head into the overflowing pool of water.

it's cold, and it's comforting. it tastes like blood and it's freeing.

you can finally breathe, for once.

"what were you thinking!?" minji scolds you, infuriated, having found you on the cusp of death in the bathroom. you're in the newjeans waiting room, freshly changed into your regular clothes and out of the ruined stage outfit, and a towel hangs around your neck to catch any stray droplets from your hair.

she paces back and forth in front of the couch you're sitting on, pinching the bridge of her nose. recognizing your lack of response, she sighs and squats down to meet your empty gaze. "are you okay?"

shifting in your seat, miniscule drops of water taint your hands and your white graphic tee. you shake your head stiffly and croak out with your hoarse voice, “i don’t know.”

“hanni said you’d randomly left her earlier,” minji says softly, only the desire to understand storming in her eyes. “if i hadn’t found you when i did, you would’ve…”

hanni. the very reason you’re throwing up flowers every night, for god’s sake. and as if right on cue, a petal makes its way out of your mouth and onto the hand you shove over your lips. when you hesitantly lower it down to your lap, minji gasps.

“is, is that—oh, y/n, you're...” she bites her lip, bringing you into a tight hug. it’s warm, but it provides only a bit of comfort to mend some of the wounds left on your heart. “...you’ll be okay.”

a warm droplet soaks into the fabric of your top, and it’s not the water from your hair. minji’s crying, crying for you because you can’t even do that for yourself. “i’ll ask for a separate car so we can get you to a doctor,” she murmurs into your hair, “everything will be okay, that’s the least we can hope for.”

you notice there’s a few more bodyguards surrounding you and minji as you make your way to one of the management’s black vans. the public can’t know two members left the building separate from their group lest they’d bombard everyone with prying questions disguised by innocent remarks. your heart aches when hyein looks at the two of you with confusion, probably wondering why you’re not all going home together. she doesn’t have to know. she can’t know; it would break her heart.

the hospital is as devoid of life as ever, the only signs of there actually being life in it being the buzz of chatter from staff and patients and rhythmic beeps from machinery. the last time you were in this dystopia of a building was when hyein fractured her foot. back then, the visits were rushed with anxiety and fear that came in a cold bead of sweat. now, it’s a slow walk, resignation dripping with every step that you take and occasionally interrupted by a chilled shiver. bile sticks to the back of your throat uncomfortably.

minji keeps your pace, sometimes glancing worriedly at you before looking to where the manager is up ahead. you’re headed to the front desk, where your manager would discreetly inform the receptionist of your conditions and then be directed to the waiting area, where you would wait for the diagnosis (of which you’re already acutely aware) of your demise.

the woman at the reception is deeply shocked upon seeing you and minji behind the manager, evident in the way her mouth hangs open and how she’s unable to say a word for a few seconds. perhaps it’s not only because of the sight of you, but also because of the reason for your visit. an idol coughing up flowers because of an unrequited love? almost unheard of. almost, because no company would ever let that sort of news out to the public.

examination rooms always smell strongly of disinfectant, now only adding to the pounding headache you have. the scent pierces through your dry nostrils, creating an insatiable itchy feeling that you can only temporarily get rid of when you cover your nose. a nurse comes in for the regular checkup, and then a doctor, doctor jeong, cautiously enters.

he clears his throat, a clear clipboard holding your documents grasped in his hand. his browline glasses enhance his ‘doctor’ image, like he was born to be a doctor. “you… have hanahaki disease. the unfortunate illness of throwing or coughing up flowers, the cause being unrequited love.”

yes, that’s right. hanahaki. unrequited love. unable to answer, you nod your head weakly. beside you, minji bites her lip worriedly. “is… is there a cure?”

“well,” he sighs, eyes filled with sympathy for your pitiful state. it almost makes you want to scoff. “either the recipient of miss cho y/n’s feelings reciprocates, or a surgery can be scheduled for the forced removal of the flowers. with the surgery, the feelings will disappear completely, though there is a risk of not being able to love again.”

a beat of silence follows; neither you nor minji dare to say a word. and so you use the time to think: do you really want to get rid of your feelings for hanni? years of pining, thrown away like nothing? you couldn’t do that to yourself. even though your love is draining the life out of you, it is still love, and it is still wonderful nonetheless. 

doctor jeong scribbles something down on the document, the only sound in the room being your breathing and the scritch of his pencil. “for now, miss cho y/n, i’ll prescribe you flower suppressants. they’ll slow the growth of the flowers in your lungs, but it will only be temporary; it will give you time.”

“because time is all i have,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper. 

he stays silent for a moment, then leaves, gingerly handing you a prescription paper, and you and minji are left alone. minji slowly stands up, leading you by the hand to exit the exam room and meet your manager in the hall. you go to the pharmacy to pick up the medicine with the paper he gave. 

the ride home is suffocating, but not because of the flowers begging to be let out. there’s a conversation spoken with the exchange of looks from saddened eyes, and then you break it off to stare at the passing scenery out the window.

time will tell, but time is all you have and there’s not enough of it.

the two of you return to the dorms while everyone’s asleep. when you gently open the door, a figure sleepily rises from the couch and wipes her eyes. 

correction: everyone except hyein is asleep; she must’ve been waiting for you to come home.

“hyein,” minji starts, a slight scolding tone hidden in her voice, “what are you doing, still up?”

the younger girl rubs her eyes again, eyebrows knitting together. she’s clearly fatigued, exhaustion leaking through every action, but she chose to wait for you and minji’s return home. “i was… i was waiting for you,” she slowly replies, as if she were afraid of upsetting the two of you any further—not that you’re upset at her in the first place. “where were you guys?”

“running errands,” minji answers, curt. hyein’s eyes flash with hurt, and the older girl freezes. “sorry. we’re quite tired, hyein. you should head back to bed.”

“thanks—” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “—for waiting, hyein.”

you know she hears the pain in your voice. she glances at you worriedly before she scurries down the hallway to her room. minji only speaks when her door clicks shut.

“i don’t think you have any schedules with her anytime soon… but i can’t prevent her from seeing you,” she breathes out, rubbing her temple. 

you furrow your brow. “why are you saying it like i hate her?”

minji swallows thickly, leaning on her arms on the top of the couch’s backrest, her movements highlighted by the warm glow of the table lamp. “because,” she pauses, frowning, “she invited jay over for two days from now.”

“that fast…” you mutter, and the living room is engulfed in silence until you feel that burning feeling in your throat again. petals. flowers.

the immense pain from coughing is intensified because of the burn that water left, your rushed movements to the bathroom having a clogging effect on you. piles of flowers are heaved out of your mouth and into the sink. 

you turn the water on, splashing some on your face, vision blurring. liquid feels like it's filling up your mouth, your body, your lungs, taking your breath away like hanni does to you. it’s suffocating, the relieving feeling from before now absent. and although your body tells you that you’re not, your mind is screeching, screaming the message that you are drowning. 

you are drowning, thoughts melding together to create a big lump of something unintelligible. you’re helpless.

“hey!” minji runs in, pulling you away from the sink and pushing you down slowly to the floor. “y/n, i need you to breathe. can you hear me?”

water in your airways, water in you. petals in your airways. petals growing from within your lungs. you whimper, throat too dry to manage to cough, but you muster up a creaky nod, trying to meet minji’s eyes, your pupils shaking.

“count to ten with me. one, two, three…”

“four…” it burns your throat, aching as you speak. 

the girl nods, keeping eye contact with you. “good. five, six, seven…”

thoughts are clearing, water is draining. “ei-eight.”

“nine…”

ten. 

you take several deep breaths, leaning forward into minji’s warmth and not closing your eyes. you would drown again if you left yourself in the dark. 

a reminder bubbles up in your mind. ‘...will only be temporary; it will give you time.’ 

“pills,” you whisper, patting your jacket pocket which was slightly splashed with water, some petals hidden in the wrinkles. for a second, you question the legitimacy of these pills, but you’re extremely desperate. your groupmate reaches into the pocket, pulling out the new prescription bottle. 

she moves it away when you try to reach for it, humming. “you can’t have this on an empty stomach. you haven’t eaten since before the performance, and it’s nearing midnight.”

minji has warmed up a bowl of instant white rice, since the rice cooker has yet to be replaced. you watch the steam rise up into the lone ceiling lamp at the dining table.

“you should eat while it’s still hot.”

for the pills. for the pain.

under minji’s hawk-eye surveillance, you dig the stainless steel spoon into the rice and lift it to your lips and take a bite. it’s not supposed to have any special flavor to it, but it travels down your throat like a rock. you try to resist the urge to gag, but it’s inevitable with the next few bites. 

minji uncrosses her arms and slides the bottle of pills to you, and you gratefully open it. ‘one tablet every six hours, take as necessary.’

you take the first dose. it tastes like nothing at all.

the girl takes the bottle, sliding it back near her. “i’ll be giving you one before breakfast, lunch, and dinner. no more. but if you don’t want to take them, i won’t give it to you.”

“i’ll take them,” you reply, staring at the unfinished bowl of rice. it makes you feel nauseous, so you direct your gaze to your lap instead. 

“...good night, minji.”

minji lets out a labored sigh. “good night, y/n.”

hyein stands by with her back pressed against the wall near the living room. you looked awfully tired, maybe even drained, earlier—it’s concerning, especially with the way you and minji had mysteriously gone off somewhere after music bank. 

after much trying, she hears slivers of your hushed conversation. what she heard was shocking, but she can’t decide whether or not she’s glad she knows or if she should’ve really gone to bed earlier. 

“...i’ll be giving you one before breakfast, lunch, and dinner…”

giving what, exactly? the younger girl pushes slightly on her grip on the corner of the wall, trying to view the scene without exposing herself. and there she sees her older member holding a bottle of prescription pills. there’s a few petals on the ground leading to the bathroom. when did they get flowers?

her face pales, and she rushes to the bathroom where she heard the anxiety inducing incident just ten minutes prior. as soon as she flips the lightswitch, she sees broken and blood speckled petals, blue and pink, lining the drain.

and when she opened the small trash can by the foot of the counter, a nauseating feeling rushed over her. dozens and dozens of petals, most bloodied and some retaining their purity. there were even drops of blood on the ground. 

“what…?” 

hyein swallows down her urge to gag and quietly slips away to her room. it can’t be. it can’t.

you wake up at six in the morning. there’s already a tablet on your bedside waiting for you, placed on top of a sticky note from minji that says “after breakfast”. 

so, this is your life now, huh?

with a sigh, you push yourself off of the sanctuary that is your bed and shuffle over to the bathroom. blinking through your bleary eyes, you can see that there’s no evidence of the night before—no petals, no blood—minji probably took care of it. you brush your teeth and turn the faucet on again to wash your face. the memory of your almost-drowning flashes in your mind, but you quickly shake it away.

no one’s awake at six, except danielle who’s really the only productive member in the morning. she’s got her headphones on and is sketching a still-life of the vase on the living room coffee table. the vase is holding wilted tulips, white in color, which nobody has had the time to replace. 

danielle feels your presence, turning her head to you. she offers a wide smile and a wave, and gestures to the kitchen where a pot of oatmeal is residing on one of the stovetops. you return the nod, giving her a small hug before going to the kitchen.

you could probably eat some oatmeal. maybe not with any toppings, no, but it’s bland enough for you to force down. you scoop some into a pink flower-patterned ceramic bowl and eat at the island, facing the living room where you can watch danielle’s sketching.

the oatmeal’s to your expectations. not too bland like the rice, and just enough flavor to carry through. the scratch of your groupmate’s pen is oddly calming to your ears. 

after you wash your bowl and spoon, you return to your room with a glass of water and take the tablet with it. pausing for a moment, you try to think of something to do since you can’t just go back to sleep, and then grab your wired earbuds and your phone after changing into a basic t-shirt and shorts.

on your way to the front door, you hear the faint sound of music coming from a certain member’s room. it’s wild heart by the vamps. one of the first songs she recommended to you. you try to swallow down your mild nausea.

danielle’s still drawing in the living room. you tap her shoulder and point your thumb to the door with a tilt of your head. “i’m going out for a run.”

“be safe,” she nods, waiting for you to respond with your own nod. in the midst of the silence, she stares into your eyes with an unrecognizable look, like she can see right through you, and it makes you shiver. she’s been spending too much time with haerin.

immediately as you step outside, you feel the early morning breeze hit your exposed skin and regret not bringing a jacket. it’s whatever—the exercise will warm you right up. exercising has always been one of the hobbies that could relieve you of your stresses, ever since high school. it served well as a distraction from exams, from your friend’s delusional crushes, and from the thought of having to practice singing and dancing for eight hours the next day. you hope that will be the case for today. 

starting with stretching your limbs, you pay extra attention to your legs since it’s been a minute since your last run. you pull out your phone and open spotify, tucking the earbuds into your ears, and restless by bibi fills your ears. the soothing nature of the intro is a pleasant launch to your session, and you focus on getting one foot in front of the other in a walk, slowly speeding up.

the last time you took a few laps around the neighborhood, it was with hanni. she, ever the curious soul, had asked to accompany you on one of your regular runs, and of course you said yes. about halfway through the usual three miles, she stopped you abruptly and asked for a break. 

(“wait, wait!” the shorter girl called out, and when you looked over your shoulder you could see her hunched over and leaning her hands on her knees. “couldn’t we take a break?”

you checked your wrist watch, tapping on the screen to pause the time. “it’s only been 15 minutes, though?”

hanni made a face and gestured at your belt holding a water bottle. you slipped it out of its compartment and handed it to her, which made her expression shift into a satisfied and thankful grin. you smiled at the change. “do you want to stop by the river?”

the girl paused in her drinking. “how far is that?”

“not too far. we can feed the ducks?”

“oh my god, yes please.”)

the two of you had gotten back way later than scheduled, and got scolded by minji. you had to deliver the explanation, though, since hanni couldn’t get through it without giggling between every word. it was because you started dancing to eta for the ducks, much like hanni did in an older vlog.

a familiar wave of nausea hits you as you pass by the mentioned river, though nothing comes out when you instinctively cough. it leaves a strange burning sensation in your gut—it must be the effects of the pills. you can’t decide whether it’s better than coughing out petals or not. the song changes to another. you can’t remember what the previous one was.

it takes you longer than before to finish running three miles around the neighborhood. part of the reason is because of your lack of practice, and the other part is because of your mind being consumed by forget-me-nots. 

you’re standing in front of the entrance of the apartment complex, hesitating in your movements. you can’t find it in yourself to return home. what would you do? go back to sleep? write lyrics? 

a thought surfaces in your mind. minji must be awake by now; she’ll know what to do.

the charms attached to your keys click and clack against each other in a dissonant jingle, and you push the door in with an open palm. danielle has finished her prior sketch, it seems, and is now drawing haerin who’s currently scrolling on her phone with a heavy-lidded gaze next to her. she looks seconds away from falling asleep, though it’s only eight in the morning. danielle greets you with another wave. you send a nod back.

the music playing from a certain member’s room has ceased, and her door is open. you can’t help but wonder where she has gone. instead of going to your room, you make a beeline to minji’s and slightly push open her door. hanni’s all sprawled on the taller girl’s bed, legs kicking and everything, sifting through a playlist to play on minji’s bluetooth speaker. minji perks up at the door creaking open and widens her eyes, preparing to say something but hanni beats her to it.

“oh, hey y/n!” she chirps, waving you over, “come lay with me, minji’s new blanket is so warm.”

a familiar and welcoming warmth floods your heart. you look over to minji, whose expression is stuck between hesitation and something else. whatever it is, you assume it’s a look of concern.

hanni tilts her head and her stare burns an aching hole into you. once you stop fighting the urge to join her and concede, she beams that wonderful grin and all the tension in your shoulders is released. minji’s conflicted gaze lingers on you until she sighs and turns back to whatever it was that she was doing at her desk. you don’t join hanni in laying down, but you sit on the edge of the bed next to her. she sends you a questioning look, pouting, but you point at the training clothes you’re wearing.

“i’m sweaty,” you say, causing hanni to playfully roll her eyes. “i went for a run.”

the shorter girl throws one of minji’s teddy bears at you, and you catch it. it’s soft and fuzzy, wearing a gray sweater. “look at you, being productive in the morning! you haven’t gone on one for ages.”

because her statement was true, you couldn’t find any argument to refute it with and settled on the excuse of practice for the ongoing comeback. today is one of the rare free days, since you’ve been promoting for about two weeks straight now. tomorrow, you and haerin are scheduled for an appearance on a variety show that you can’t remember the name of.

there’s a pause, the atmosphere calm and relaxed, and you start to space out as you stare at some poster in the oldest’s room until hanni taps her hand on your back. you whip your head around, bending your arm back to touch on the spot she hit. it tingles. 

“are you free later?” she asks, a lazy smile spreading across her face. “i want to go shopping—jay’s coming over tomorrow.”

right. that guy. you almost forgot about him. before your thoughts could drop into a spiral, minji spins around in her chair and cuts through your hesitance. “y/n and i have plans later, actually.”

hanni frowns, her eyes darting between you and the taller. “later being…?”

there hadn’t been a mention of any planned hangout—this especially contradicts minji’s earlier claims of being free the entire day. 

minji stands up from the chair and trudges over to her closet, picking out the first few things she sees, and then turns back to the bed where the vietnamese is now sitting up in confusion. “later is now, actually. y/n, are you ready to go?”

knocked out of your stupor, you scramble to your feet just as the nauseating feeling caused by the mention of hanni’s whatever-he-is starts up. “um,” you glance at hanni, “yeah. let’s go.”

you can’t help but notice the puzzled gaze that the girl sends you as you let yourself start to be led out of the room by the hand. her eyes hold confusion, maybe a smidge of frustration. her sulking is evident in the pout she makes as she watches you leave. 

once minji is finished changing in the bathroom, she smiles at you and intertwines your fingers together, leading you out through the front door. you’re stuck in a daze until she pulls you forward, suddenly noticing how you were lagging behind and practically had to be dragged by her. 

“you’re so slow,” she scolds playfully, scrunching up her nose. then, she lowers her voice to a hush. “did you take your pill?”

the scenery changes from the monotone walls of the apartment complex to the verdant foliage outside. it’s warmer now that it’s not six and a half in the morning—if it was, you’re not sure if the stroll you’re currently on would be enough to warm you up. “i took it this morning,” you reply, feeling uncomfortable. “but it feels like all the flowers are clogging up whenever it spikes.”

a beat of silence passes. minji’s only answer is a firm nod, and she starts swinging your connected hands. you blink. the atmosphere between the two of you became unnervingly awkward from her lack of verbal reply. you swallow thickly, “so, what plans did we have?”

the topic change is successful. minji stops swinging your hands back and forth to look over at you in surprise. she squeezes your hand. “uh, i mean to be honest, i just wanted to get you out of there. do you want to do anything specific?”

“no,” you shake your head, looking at your linked hands, then to the ground, “i—”

your sentence is interrupted by your phone buzzing in your pocket and you quickly turn to minji with an asking gaze. she nods, pressing her lips into a thin line, and you take your phone out to check who the notification was from. the lock screen is of you and the others, with hanni resting her head on your shoulder with an eye smile and you smiling down at her. minji and haerin are playing with a dinosaur-shaped water gun, and danielle is in between everyone, arms wrapped around you and hyein's shoulders. just the mere sight of the photo, taken by one of your managers, warms your heart. 

unlocking the device, you open your messages to see three pictures that hanni has sent you—mirror pictures, showing off three different outfits. a smile automatically makes its way onto your face as you scrutinize the photos she’s sent, and you can just barely hear minji scoff and chuckle in amusement next to you. minji has led the two of you to a nearby bench, sitting you down so you don’t interrupt anyone walking in the midst of your texting.

hanbun  ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ [attachment: 3 images] which one?? you hmmm 🤔 the second one oversized always looks good on u btw what's this for? hanbun  ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ jays coming over remember! i need to impress him so he doesnt think im a slob at home i rlly like him i wanna make this count yk

your chest throbs and you feel a group of petals swirling around in your gut. it’s disgusting, not being able to spit out the very reason for your pain, but still feeling it in a passive state. minji rubs your back soothingly in circles. it only slightly helps. after taking a moment to compose yourself, you open your phone back up to see more texts from hanni.

hanbun  ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ yn??? hellooooo r u there you sorry had to tie my shoe isn’t he just coming over? u don’t need to dress all fancy to impress him hanbun  ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ugh i know but what if you the second one then hanbun  ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ thanks! ill treat u to some boba as thanks <3 you ofc

you pause, pondering whether or not you should send the next message you already typed out in a flash.

you anything for you hanbun  ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ 😆

the screen shuts off and you lean back against the wooden bench, taking a deep breath. the two of you sit in silence for a few moments longer, and then minji stands up with a big stretch. she turns to you, reaching her hand out for you to take. another set of petals swarm your gut and you shiver. 

“let’s go practice.”

an offer intended to provide a distraction. a saving grace. you take her hand, her fingers rough and smooth in contrast with hanni’s calloused fingers. both made you feel warm and fuzzy inside, in two different ways.

“okay.”

old habits die hard.

as a trainee, practice had been a more-than-efficient outlet for you to vent your stress into. it might not have been the healthiest, but it worked—and it was the only thing you knew. minji was the one who had brought you out of the habit, seeing as you worked so hard to the point of collapse.

come to think of it, minji’s been there for you for most of your recent years. from trainees, to debut, and now with your… situation. have you ever thanked her for all she’s done? you have to make a note to do so. 

“you should loosen up your turn here,” minji says, explaining her words in the form of a demonstration. she pivots on her left foot and pushes her torso to the right, her motions more fluid than your earlier ones. “you’re putting too much pressure on your leg—just let yourself move freely.”

your eyes snap to the mirror, replicating her movements as best as you can. a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips when she flashes you a thumbs-up. minji shuffles over to the laptop to pause the music, and turns back to you. “let’s take a break?”

“just a little more,” you frown, taking a step forward to attempt to turn the music back on, to no avail as the taller girl closes the laptop shut and crosses her arms.

minji stands firm, her stance unwavering. if you weren’t already used to this side of her, you’d be shaking in fear. “you know how that’s gonna end.”

her eyes bore into yours, and you have to look away or else the cracks in your soul would expand. “fine.”

by the time minji settles down next to you, cross-legged and taking big gulps from a water bottle from the fridge in the corner, your eyes are drooping in exhaustion. your head is leaning to the side and she notices, scooting back so you could lay your head on her lap after much resistance. 

“you know,” she starts, pressing dents into the empty plastic bottle. the crackling sounds sting your ear. “practice is good. it sharpens your movements, hones your skills, and most importantly, it distracts.”

yes, distraction. it was something you knew very well, precisely the reason why you always fell back into it.

minji places the twice dented bottle in front of her on the floor and reaches down to move a strand of hair out of your face. “i’m sure you already know that. since the start of time, you’ve known. but you also know that overworking yourself can make your practice backfire, and then all your hardwork will go to waste.”

“take care of yourself, y/n-ah, please.”

you look up into her eyes, full of worry. “thank you, minji. i’ll try.”

sometimes you feel as if haerin could burn a hole into you with just her stare. it’s happening right now, as you try to write lyrics for a new song in your room. the feline is laying on your bed, but you can feel her staring through your back. it’s utterly unsettling.

“is there something wrong, haerin?” you turn around in your chair, gulping. “you’ve been staring at me like crazy ever since you waltzed right in here.”

lucky for you, the girl relents and she pulls the covers over herself. “why’d you go out to practice today? and to run? you haven’t done that in a long time.”

of course. if anyone is gonna notice the changes in your routine, it’s always going to be haerin. you turn back around in the chair. “felt distracted. i wanted a change of pace.”

“oh,” haerin hums. “does it have anything to do with hanni-unnie?”

god, her observant nature is so double-edged. the thought of hanni makes your heart clench, but nothing rushes up. good. 

“maybe,” you answer cryptically, “maybe not.”

you reach over to turn your fan on, toggling it to the highest setting. it’s spinning at a moderate rate, and it replaces the silence that was left after your reply. haerin sits up, ruffling the blankets that are covering her lap. “hey, y/n-unnie,” she starts.

without looking up, you hum. the cat-eyed girl doesn’t continue until you sigh and spin around to face her. “yes, haerinnie?”

she blinks owlishly at you. “those flowers from the past few weeks wouldn’t happen to be yours, would they?”

the fan buzzes. you stand up to open the curtains on your window. the sun comes shining through, and you even have to squint a little to adjust to the newfound brightness in your room. you smile when the girl in your room winces. 

haerin may be an observant girl, and she might already know about your condition, but the best thing about her is that she never tells a soul about what she knows if it’s that important. you lean your back against your desk, pencil left on your notebook, and the sun casts a shadow over your face.

“go to sleep, kitty kang. i got new comforters.”

the feline tilts her head at you, curious but never pushing, and lies back down obediently. she tucks herself deeper into your blankets, bringing her phone closer to her, and closes her eyes with a contented sigh. there’s always been an unspoken agreement between the older girls, to not burden the younger members too much, but they always want to know anything and everything about their older friends.

you’re sure haerin already knows, but for now, you’ll pretend like she’s blissfully unaware.

one month has passed since the day out with minji, supernatural promotions have concluded, and newjeans has been granted a break. you should be resting, but like a cat always makes its way back home, time and time again you find yourself in the dark-walled practice room.

in the practice room, there were oxygen masks. at the dorms, there was hanni.

hanni, who has started dating jay. it started about a week after that day with minji. fortunately, you’ve grown so familiar with avoiding hanni when possible that the effects of the flowers have been reduced. today, you even decided to skip the pills. minji wouldn’t know.

you can only watch your reflection as your body moves to the beats of the song, moves on autopilot while your mind is occupied. hopefully, the thoughts of perfecting your moves will drown out all the longing thoughts. despite the growing fatigue weighing down both your psyche and frame, the squeaking of your sneakers and the vibrations of the speaker will always provide you a sense of invigoration.

after all, old habits die hard.

there was a time when hanni would stay with you to practice, simply because of how stubborn she was to not let you go home alone. you miss those times, when you were really becoming closer friends.

(“what are you still doing here?” hanni gasped, swinging the door open and running up to you. you were leaning against the mirror, sweat dripping down your face, but still made a move to get back up and dance to the song that hanni thought she’d heard way too many times in one day.

“practicing,” you replied, “i made too many mistakes today. you should go home.”

the vietnamese huffed, pausing for a moment and then rolling up her sleeves, stretching. 

you frowned, pausing the music. “what are you doing?”

hanni grinned. “practicing with you. it’s dark outside, and we both live in the dorms anyway. i’ll dance with you, so let’s walk home together, yeah?”

you had never thought her smile looked so radiant.)

after the session, you both packed up your things and walked out of the building together. these late-practices became a regular thing, maybe every other day of the week. you still had school, but you would often come over to hanni’s dorm room after classes to talk about what you both did that day. 

on the walks home, you would even stop to go to the convenience store, or even spend hours talking on the swings in the nearby playground. but what was most memorable was the fact that hanni never failed to spot her favorite flowers in the display window of the flower shop.

(“hey, look,” hanni stopped at the window, just barely lit by a nearby streetlamp. “there’s forget-me-nots.”

“forget-me-nots?” you repeated, then looking at her incredulously. “how can you even see them?”

“i could recognize them from a mile away, y/nnie!” she sing-songed, smiling and going ahead with a skip in her step.

you rushed to catch up with her, whining. “hey! you can’t just run off like that…”

hanni turned to you, tilting her head. “we’re debuting soon. when we do, will you get me a bouquet of forget-me-nots, blue and pink, on the day of our first stage?”

it was winter, and it might have been bloody cold, but that didn’t matter because your cheeks were filled with so much warmth. you had never felt this way about another person, in fact, you swore to never feel like this toward another. you quietly apologized to your younger self. there seemed to be no way out from it.

“of course, han. i’ll make sure to get the prettiest batch.”

the shorter girl beamed. no flowers could ever match her beauty.)

the door clicks open and your eyes are forcefully torn away from the mirror by the human nature of curiosity and alertness. there, hyein stands, looking afraid and timid, which is out of character for her. she holds up a cold sports drink, which must’ve just been taken out of a freezer or a cooler because there’s condensation dripping down the side of the plastic.

you shuffle to the laptop connected to the speaker and pause the music, facing hyein who has now walked over to where you were. “hyein,” you greet, grabbing a towel to wipe the sweat off of your forehead, “what are you doing here?”

she hands you the ice-cold drink, and you waste no time in unscrewing the cap and gulping down half of its contents, releasing a refreshing and relieved breath at the end to appease the youngest. “minji-unnie told me you’d be here. and um,” she bites her lip, suddenly feeling like the ground is more interesting than whatever is about to happen. the volume of her voice drops significantly, and you have to strain your ears to be able to hear what she says. “i want to talk to you about something.”

something? what could something be? it can’t be the flowers, you’ve tried your best to cover up any trace of them, but could you have been careless? 

hyein pulls out her phone and shows you pictures that were taken the night you got home from the hospital with minji. blue and pink forget-me-nots, littered all over the floor, in the sink, and stuffed into the trash bin. remnants of blood on the petals, on the counter, and on the tiles. the orange tinted prescription bottle on the dining table.

your face pales. you’re then tackled into a hug by the taller girl, and soon your ears are filled with the sounds of her sobbing. her phone drops to the ground, clacking against the dark, hardwood flooring of the practice room. 

“unnie,” she clutches at your oversized long sleeve shirt, voice so full of emotion that it brings you out of your stupor. you bring your arms around her, and she unconsciously lowers herself so that you could place your chin on her shoulder, just like always. a big sniffle comes out of her, and you feel the back of your shirt getting wet. “were you ever going to tell us?”

you’re glad that you are the one facing the mirror, because you wouldn’t have to take a look at your cherished younger member’s crying face—only your own, unrecognizable one in the reflection. this time, it’s crystal clear and not distorted by streaks of water.

“there, there,” you pat her back softly, murmuring gentle reassurances so that her tears may be reduced. hyein was the last person that you wanted to know about the situation, but it can’t be helped. now that it’s come to this point, she deserved to know the whole truth. “let me get you some water and then we can talk, okay?”

feeling a nod against your shoulder, you take it as a cue to pull away and wipe her tears away with your sleeve. the cuff of your right sleeve is now dampened. you roll it up. “we’re out of water in this fridge, so i’ll have to get it from another room. can you wait here for me?”

hyein sniffles, wiping away more tears from the corners of her eyes. she barely nods, mumbling a quiet “okay” before you turn to open the door. something in your gut tells you not to open it, but you do anyway.

“let go of me, jay!” hanni half-grumbles, half-shouts, shaking off the man’s grip on her arm. he chases after her, a hint of pleading in his eyes as he scrambles to beg for another chance.

“hanni, please! we can talk about this, can’t you give us another shot?”

the short girl glares at him, seething in anger and distrust. “you cheated on me, jay. i’d be a fool with no self-respect to come crawling back to yo—mmph!”

he brings her into a kiss. you swivel around on your heel to shut the door behind you and face a confused hyein. it was a mistake to open the door. it was a mistake to skip the pills.

you fall to your knees and cough out floods of blue and pink.

it’s been a while since an attack this big happened. the medicine suppressed the flowers, which meant that when you coughed this time, everything kept spilling out. everything that you’ve tried to hide for the past month or so. the coughs won’t stop coming, and with the coughs come even more petals, to the point where broken stems appear in the products of your suffering. hyein rushes to your side, eyes widened and hands trying to rub your back in hopes that it would help, but after a minute of doing so she realized that she would need help from the outside.

she stands up abruptly, breaths becoming heavier with panic. “unnie, i, i’m gonna get help! stay there!”

you reach a hand out, “hyein, wait—” trying to stop the girl, but you’re interrupted by more coughs and more petals and hyein is gone, you’re alone in the room again, and you can’t breathe.

everything isn’t going the way it’s supposed to be. nothing ever goes your way. you stay hunched over on the ground, chest heaving until your coughs are dry and bear empty yields. there’s an impressive pile of flowers, both with stems and no stems, full flowers and just petals, on the floor under you. you struggle to sit up, shakily coming to a stand and slowly walking over to where hyein’s phone is on the ground.

“it’s okay,” you mutter to yourself with a hoarse throat, “it’s fine. everything will be fine.”

hanni's mind has been in a swirl of frustration, anger, betrayal, and now it's confusion because she just saw hyein run out of a practice room screaming for help for you. jay's still standing at the part of the hallway in which she slapped him after he kissed her, but she couldn't care less. because now, now she knows that you're in need, and you're in the practice room, and she knows that you've been avoiding her and she didn't mind it because of jay, but she still loves you because you're her best friend.

her best friend that could solve every problem in the world for her. hanni wants to return the favor. find out what’s happening to you. fix the problem. she knows cpr! ...hopefully that knowledge isn’t needed in this situation. 

the moment she walks into the practice room, she notices a pile of blue and pink forget-me-nots. her favorite. they’re speckled with blood and wow, that’s a lot of blood for flowers, and she realizes that flowers don’t bleed, and that the only person it could’ve come from is you. flowers. blood. hanahaki disease.

fix the problem.

hanni isn’t thinking when she runs up to you, cups your cheeks, and crashes her lips onto yours. she isn’t thinking when she lets her tongue swipe your lip, granting herself access to explore the inside of your mouth with her tongue, isn’t thinking when her teeth clash with yours. she’s just fixing the problem.

sometimes, she thinks that she isn’t a good friend. she ignored you for a stupid guy, and because of her ramblings, she didn’t notice that you were in pain. 

and then she feels something sharp pricking her tongue, and she withdraws in pain. you’re staring wide-eyed at her, breathing heavily as you fumble with your hands to pull a flower out from your throat. it’s a full stem, but it has thorns on it. hanni doesn’t think she saw thorns on any of the ones in the pile behind the two of you.

for a moment, it’s silence. just you and her, staring at each other, staring at the thorned flower that you just pulled out of your mouth. she’s stained the skin around your lips with her peach lipgloss. the next moment, hyein and minji come running into the practice room, take one look at hanni and make inferences about what just happened, and hyein takes you out of the room. hanni swears she sees you trying to say something before you’re pulled away.

minji surges forward and grips her by the collar of her shirt. “what did you do?”

“i—” hanni gasps, trying to get the girl’s hands off of her shirt.

“what, did you do, hanni?” minji growls, pure fury encapsulated in her eyes. it’s intimidating. hanni doesn’t know what she did wrong.

“i was just fixing the problem,” she responds. minji looks deep into her eyes, gaze searching for something that may not be there. then, she swallows hard, releases her, and leaves the room.

hyein sits you down at the company café with a cup of water. minji joins the two of you and sits across from you. you spin the thorned flower between your pointer and your thumb. “i’m going to take the surgery.”

“surgery?” the youngest asks, furrowing her brow. “what surgery?”

you take a sip of the water, feeling it rush down your aching throat. “surgery to get rid of my feelings. for hanni.”

“are you sure?” minji asks, sliding her hand over to cover yours.

you don’t look at either of the girls, just down at the table. “no, but… i have to.”

you haven’t spoken to hanni for two days straight. sure, you’d been avoiding her since she started dating jay, but you still texted her back and you still acknowledged her presence. she’s done a lot of thinking ever since she kissed you. how it was an irrational decision, how she was wrong for kissing you so abruptly, and how much of an idiot she is.

for not noticing your pain, and for not noticing your feelings toward her. 

hanni’s done a lot of reflecting these past two days, reminiscing about the old times and feeling regretful that she ruined your friendship in just two minutes. but because you’ve made no appearances in the dorm, at least to her, she’s been in a plaintive mood; she can’t apologize to you. everyone in the group knows by now—about your condition, and about what hanni did to you.

it’s hard to stay positive when her own members treat her with a different air. haerin can’t find it in her to say anything, hyein can’t even look her in the eye, danielle can’t stop giving her comforting hugs, and minji can’t stop glaring at her.

and so she decides that she has had enough. she can’t find you anywhere in the dorm or the company building, so she calls the manager and asks him where you are.

— “y/n? uh, she’s at the hospital.”

hospital? she doesn’t think twice before hanging up the phone and putting her shoes on.

it was no wonder that everyone in the dorm was gone.

the cold air of the hospital greets her after she steps out of the black management cars, her senses being greeted with that indifferent scent of disinfectant. “i’m looking for a y/n,” she tells the receptionist, words melting together in a fast rhythm, “a cho y/n.”

“she’s in room 106, but she—” 

before the woman finishes her words, hanni’s already bolting off to where you are. she doesn’t need any assistance because you’re staying in the exact same room that hyein was when she broke her foot. unbelievable.

once she gets out of the elevator, she dashes down the hallway, maneuvering around nurses and patients without any apologies, only to come face to face with minji, who is blocking her path. she tries to go around her, to no avail. the taller girl crosses her arms with a stern look on her face.

“let me in, minji,” hanni says, tears welling up in her eyes. she’s so worried about you, and she still needs to apologize. what happened to you? “let me in!”

the cold front that minji put up dissipates in milliseconds, and she’s looking at her the same way she did in the practice room that day. “you don’t get to see y/n. where were you when she needed you most? huh!?”

“i didn’t know!” hanni exclaims, “i wasn’t thinking at the time.”

minji narrows her eyes. “of course, you weren’t,” she spits out, “was there a time where you ever thought about her? did you even want to know? she’s been loving you for years. years, hanni!”

tears are unleashed from the corners of the shorter girl’s eyes. years? 

she’s not given any time to react, as minji shoves her back physically. “and what did you do when you finally found out about it? you fucking kissed her as if it would fix anything.”

she’s never liked arguing. when she argues, she lets her emotions win over her rationality, and it has never done anything good for her. “i was fresh out of a breakup; i was out of my mind. did you,” she shoves minji back, “do anything for her?”

the girl scoffs. “i was the one who comforted her, who helped her through all of this, while you were off playing boyfriend girlfriend with jay. i don’t even know why she kept loving you through all the hurt. you didn’t notice her pain, but i did.”

hanni grits her teeth, pushes past minji. she opens the door to your room with minji following after her, and then she sees you.

“y/n,” she breathes out. you turn your head toward the door, where hanni is. minji’s right behind her, anxiety bubbling up in her head. you can tell in the way her movements are so erratic.

“hey, han,” you smile, intertwining your fingers with hers when she takes your hand in hers. in the back, minji looks away. 

“are you feeling better?” she asks, hugging your hand to her chest.

“mhm,” you nod, eyes crinkling up as you smile, relieved, “it’s as if i never loved you at all. the surgeons sure are impressive—there’s no sign of the flowers at all.”

hanni’s face drops. all the tension in the room has now gone away. “what?”

a/n : hello.......... this was supposed to mark my comeback but it took a little while because i did nawt.... mean for it to be this long... but i hope you guys like this one!!!! i think it's funny how you can tell who my njz bias is cus one. she has the most fics and two. she has the two longest fics that ive written for njz LOL

[zombii-writess]

Kingdom Dance : Malleus Draconia

Summary: After being invited to Briar Valley's Festival of Roses by Malleus, you can't help but notice how exhausted he gets whenever he's out and trying to show you places and food of his homeland. People always try and vouge for his attention, but you have an idea that'll make his experience even better.

A/N: honestly, I found the scene very cute and decided to write something similar for Malleus

Inspired by the song, Kingdom Dance from the Disney movie, Tangled

unedited

"Hey, Malleus I have an idea," You spoke up suddenly, the rumbling of thunder echoed in the distance. You were in some sort of carriage that took you to and from the castle that you were residing at.

"I have noticed that you seem a bit," Wincing, you try to think of something to not offend your horned friend, "stressed, whenever we go to town for the festival, yes?"

Malleus who had been staring out the window, had turned his head and focused on you with a curious look. "It is true, I have been a bit stressed."

It was the last day of the festival and Malleus wanted to show you everything. But alas, on the first day, the residents of the town heard of their future Kings arrival to the festival, they all bombarded you as soon as the carriage door was open.

"Your royal highness, please! Have theses goods, free of charge!"

"No, your highness! Please have some of mine instead! I even brought extra for your guest!"

"Your highness, I assure you that these products of mine are of the highest quality!"

Clicking your heels together in excitement, you scoot your bottom closer to Malleus. "What if I told you that instead of announcing yourself, we sneak our way inside?"

Malleus hums, thumb and pointer finger on his chin in deep thought. After waiting for a good minute or two, Malleus lowers his hand and gives you a smirk. "That doesn't sound too bad, [Name]."

Grinning at each other, Malleus scoops your hand into his and with his other, opens the door with the carriage still in motion.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

"MY LEIGE! WHERE ARE YOU!?" Sebek shouted into the lively town, eyes frantic and scanning every face that past him. Lilia floats next to him, a giggle leaving his lips.

"Sebek, maybe you should leave Malleus be," Silver sighs which causes Sebek to spin around at Silver's words.

"I CANNOT JUST LEAVE MY LEIGE! WHAT IF HE'S IN DANGER?"

This time, it was Lilia who spoke up. "Sebek, you need to give it a rest. Malleus might want some alone time with [Name]."

"THE HUMAN?!" The green haired half fae squawked. "I KNEW IT! I KNEW THAT HUMAN SOMEHOW SEDUCED MY LIEGE."

Placing a fist over his heart, he continues he rant. "I SWEAR TO RESCUE MY YOUNG MASTER FROM THIS HUMAN." And charges through the crowd, on a mission to save his liege from the seductive human.

Lilia sighs.

Hopefully, Malleus evades Sebek long enough to have his time with you uninterrupted.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

With a hood over his horns to keep them hidden, it didn't you drag Malleus by the hand to whatever stall that had caught your interest.

"Oh, what are these?" You asked, drooling at the sight of some food. The lady who owned the stall smiled and quickly made her way over to you.

"These are Briar Valley's traditional sweets," She explained, lifting a muffin towards your face. "Made with the finest ingredients."

"They look amazing!" You dug into your pocket for some change. "How much for two?"

"That'll be 4 thaumarks please."

Pulling out your cash, Malleus quickly covers your hand with his own and brings out his own money. "Please, [Name], allow me."

After failing to convince the fae prince to allow you to pay for both of desserts, the lady wraps the treats and sends you off with a wave. Once you were far enough, you ripped the packaging and quickly bit into yours, nearly moaning at the taste.

Malleus holds his treat in his hand, a smile on his face after watching you gush about 'never trying anything like this,'. Then the peace was shattered by a loud voice that you knew belonged to a certain half fae that seemed to hate your very existence.

"MY LIEGE! I FINALLY FOUND YOU!" Sebek cried and quickly ran towards your location, not caring about the people he ran into.

"Oh shit! It's Sebek!" Panicked, you looked around to try and escape when Malleus grabs your hand and bolts. Confused at this action, Sebek pleas with Malleus to remain still so he can rescue him, but Malleus continues to run and run, until he gently shoves you both in between two buildings.

Heart pounding from how close you were and from the chase, you wait for Sebek to pass by.

"My Liege? MY LIEGE!?" Sebek's voice fades away as he runs into the opposite direction.

Breathing a sigh a relief, you turn your sweaty head to the side to gouge at Malleus's reaction only to realize he's already staring at you. No panting, no sign of sweating, nothing.

Then you burst into laughter, Malleus soon joining you.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

"Oh? What's going on over there?" You pondered, walking ahead of Malleus to the center of the town. Loud music and laughter echoed filled the air, in the middle were folks dancing without a care in the world; twirling, skipping, and they would swap partners after every 10 beats or so.

The melody was catchy, and you soon find yourself nodding your head to it. Malleus takes notice immediately. Smiling his big smile, you love very much and extends his hand out, bowing slightly.

"May I have this dance, [Name?"

Oh. My. Goodness.

He had no idea how badly you're holding yourself from cupping his face and planting a fat kiss on his lips. Maybe let him nibble on your lips with his fangs for shits and giggles-

WOAH WOAH WOAH

RELAX [Name]!!

Giggling nervously, face hot from both the thought and from the way Malleus used his princely charms. Putting your hand in his, the fae pulls you to his chest, and leads the both of you into the crowd.

Moving in sync with everyone else, Malleus twirls you around and tries to catch your other hand in his when you're tugged away from the fae prince. Another person had pulled you away and began to dance with you.

Eyeing Malleus from the stranger's shoulder, you hold back a snort at the fae's pout before he allowed himself to be dragged by the hand to another dancer.

Allowing yourself to dance with many different people, you once again look for Malleus only to find his green gaze already on you. Perking up, you take lead of the dance and try to get closer to Malleus, who notices your plan and does the same.

Twirling the woman who was your partner a few times, she moves on in search for her final partner for the last minute of the dance, you make your way towards Malleus.

Malleus takes long strides towards you, arm stretched out in some sort of desperate attempt to have you in his arms before the song ended.

On the final note, both you and Malleus finally end up in each other's arms again, chests pressed together, panting. Mostly you though, Malleus never seems to be out of breath.

The crowd cheers, for the fun they had, and for the musicians for playing the music.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

Messing with the fabric of the mini-Briar Valley flag in your hands, you peak at Malleus's smiling figure next to you. He seems to be in a good mood.

"So..." You began, tucking the flag into your pocket. "How did you enjoy today?"

Malleus chuckles at your question. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

"Yeah, probably, but I've noticed you haven't been enjoying the festival." You bumped into his shoulder gently. Leaning against the stone wall of a random building, the moon shined brightly. illuminating Malleus's features as he stared into the star covered sky.

"Yes, I did enjoy the festival," He leans tilts his head, hair spilling over his shoulder. "thanks to you, [Name]."

The softness in his voice made your heart skip a beat. Staring into his green eyes was becoming too much for you. If you were to keep looking into those eyes, you'll never find your way back.

Malleus cups your cheek, and you jump, not from the contact but from how close you two have gotten without noticing. Are you about to kiss?

Bending down to your level, Malleus glances at your lips before returning to your eyes, like he was asking for permission. Instead of giving Malleus a vocal response, you wrap your arms around his neck and connected your lips the together, surprising the fae prince from your sudden action.

Luckily, he doesn't hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you into his warm body. Deepening the kiss slightly.

Unfortunately, good things don't last forever.

"H-HOW DARE YOU!" A voice screams, breaking the romantic moment you had. "YOU DARE PLACE YOUR HUMAN LIPS ON MALLEUS?! RELEASE HIM FROM YOUR CLUTCHES AT ONCE!"

Maybe you should've taken this a step further and ask Malleus if he wanted to sleep in your room to escape Sebek's onslaught of questions.

Knowing him, he just might take that offer.

━━━━━

[Name]: Wait, Malleus, how in the world did people not realize you were at the festival? I mean, your horns weren't that well hidden...

Malleus: Simple, I used a spell to conceal my presence.

[Name]: YOU CAN DO THAT?

Malleus: Of course, I learned it from Lilia when I was younger.

[Name]: Huh, no wonder I don't notice Lilia when he scares me...

━━━━━

Tip jar (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

ALSO this was made before the Rapunzel event was announced so imagine my surprise when I saw long hair Riddle LOL 😭

[claramelooo]

WOVEN FATES (6/???)

Things are heating up around here, huh? Ready to melt?

What a hot chapter!!!

Be prepared and enjoy <3

MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT

Pairing: AgathaRio X Fem Reader

Summary: After a long day, you see something that would change you forever.

Hey! Now I've a masterlist.

Desire

The next morning, the mansion was silent, but the atmosphere felt charged with something invisible, like static electricity in the air. You woke up to the soft light filtering through the window, Lucky still sleeping beside you, and a strange sensation of relief mixed with anxiety. Something was changing, but you couldn't quite define what.

Getting dressed that morning was a different experience. There was calm—a luxury you couldn’t afford before. You no longer had to grab the first piece of clothing you saw in the closet or calculate every minute to leave the house an hour early. That wasn’t necessary anymore. Not when Agatha took you, and Rio picked you up at the end of the day.

Now, you could wake up without rushing, stretch beside Lucky, tend to your meticulously arranged plants by the window, and finally, choose your outfit with care. You opted for a soft and comfortable cappuccino-brown T-shirt, loose around the arms but fitted at the bust. The V-neck added a casual touch, contrasting with the dark brown tailored pants that hugged your waist perfectly. You looked at yourself in the mirror, and for a rare moment, you felt beautiful.

As you walked downstairs toward the kitchen, a muffled sound caught your attention—the clinking of silverware, the rustling of fabric, the faint sizzle of something in a frying pan. You stopped at the entrance and saw Rio with her back to you, leaning over the stove, visibly confused about what she was trying to do. Her fingers drummed impatiently against the counter as she kept one eye on the coffee maker and the other on the culinary disaster unfolding before her.

The corner of your mouth lifted involuntarily. It was rare to see her like this—distracted, slightly clumsy.

“Good morning,” you announced, trying to suppress a laugh.

Rio startled slightly before turning her head in your direction, her eyes immediately scanning you. She seemed to assess you for a brief second before smiling.

"Hello, darling." Her voice was husky from sleep, and she turned off the stove to give you her full attention.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head toward the scene before you. “Hm… where are the staff?”

Rio let out a dramatic sigh. “The cook had to step away, and now I’m paying the price for never learning how to cook.”

You looked at the frying pan and tried to hide a grimace. The bacon was reduced to ashes, and the pan looked like a war victim.

Rio followed your gaze and shook her head in resignation. “Before you say anything—yes, I know it looks bad. But I think it’s still edible.”

You let out a soft laugh, stepping closer. “I can try…” You gestured toward the stove, offering sincerely.

Rio crossed her arms, tilting her head. “You don’t have to, sweetheart. I’ll manage.” But her eyes betrayed her hesitation as they flicked to the ruined food.

“I’d really like to try.” Your voice came out softer than expected.

Rio held your gaze for a moment, then smiled and stepped back, giving you space.

As you cracked eggs into a new pan, you glanced at her casually. “Where’s Agatha?”

Rio leaned against the counter, watching you with amusement in her eyes. “Still asleep. Aggie is not a morning person.”

The way she said it, with a touch of affection hidden in her tone, made you smile without even realizing it.

Rio just leaned slightly against the counter, arms crossed as she observed you. “Are you okay?” she finally asked, her voice low, almost casual, but you could feel the weight behind the words.

“Yes... I think so,” you replied, not entirely sure. “I mean... I’m sorry about what happened yesterday. I didn’t want to cause trouble for you or Agatha.”

Rio let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking her head. “Trouble? Girl, you don’t know what trouble is.” Her expression softened quickly, almost as if she wanted to correct herself. “What happened yesterday was... unexpected, but it wasn’t a big deal.”

You lowered your gaze, unsure how to respond. It was always like this with Rio—she said so much in so few words, yet it felt like she was holding back even more.

With a light sigh, you placed the scrambled eggs and bacon on a plate and stepped closer, serving her almost ceremoniously. Your hesitant fingers brushed over her hand in a gesture that surprised both you and the slightly intrigued expression on Rio’s face.

“Rio, I—” you began, your voice carrying something between hesitation and need. “I wanted to thank you… for helping my brother. He was really happy.”

Josh’s satisfied voice and smile from that day flashed in your memory—you were happy for your brother. But something was still missing, and you knew it.

Rio watched you for a moment before her expression softened slightly. A hint of satisfaction flickered in her gaze.

“I told you I’d help, didn’t I?”

“Yes…” You nodded, offering a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Something inside you knew you had to choose your words carefully, had to find a way to address what really mattered. “And I’m very grateful. But… what about my job?”

You noticed the subtle shift in Rio’s posture. Her body tensed for a brief moment, her thumb tracing an almost imperceptible pattern against your skin before she slowly released your hand.

Rio kept her eyes locked on yours, her dark gaze studying every detail of you with an intensity hard to decipher. She hesitated for a moment, and when she finally spoke, her voice was almost gentle—but firm enough to leave no room for debate.

"I’ve thought about it." She subtly twisted the ring on her finger, a distracted habit, as if carefully choosing her words. "You already have a job, bunny. Your internship with Agatha."

You felt the weight of that sentence. It was true, but it wasn’t the answer you were expecting.

“But the internship isn’t paid,” you argued, frowning. “And I—”

“—And you don’t need to worry about that,” Rio interrupted softly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Money shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but something in her tone made your voice falter.

“Maybe…” Rio tilted her head slightly, her fingers brushing along your wrist absentmindedly, sending a strange shiver down your spine. “An allowance could be a solution. You could focus on your studies, on what really matters, without having to chase after some random job.”

Her words hit you in a strange way, something warm and unsettling spreading in your chest.

“An allowance?” You repeated, more to buy time than out of real confusion.

Rio smiled slightly, as if your surprise was endearing. As if you were being stubborn for refusing something so simple.

"Yeah, little one. You don’t need to worry about these things." She tightened her grip on your wrist, almost like a warning. "Leave that to me."

You bit your lip, feeling your pride twist inside you, that old need for independence screaming at you not to accept it. You had always handled things on your own. You always knew that relying on others meant giving them power over you. But Rio already had power over you, didn’t she?

And deep down, something about the way she said leave that to me made your stomach sink in a way you weren’t sure was fear or something else.

Before your thoughts could go any further, the unmistakable sound of Agatha’s heels echoed through the kitchen. Each step felt deliberately measured, filling the space with her presence before she even fully appeared.

She walked in—impeccable, as always—dressed in black with an almost cruel elegance. Her flawless brown hair cascaded in waves, framing her sharp features and enhancing her poised stance. Her gaze landed on you immediately, assessing every detail of your presence. But to your surprise, there was no trace of anger or impatience—just that ever-present intensity in her eyes.

"Good morning." Agatha’s voice was soft but carried an undeniable authority. You felt your face heat up, memories of the previous night rushing back. Your eyes dropped to the cup in your hands.

"Good morning," you replied, barely above a whisper. After a moment of silence, you hesitated before adding, "Agatha, I... about last night... I’m sorry."

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem surprised by your attempt at an apology. "There’s no need to repeat that," she said, reaching for a slice of bread. Her tone wasn’t cold, but there was a hint of impatience, making it clear she had no interest in dwelling on the past.

"But I—" you started, your voice slightly trembling.

"It’s over," she cut you off, her gaze now fixed on you. "I accept your apology. It’s not something we’ll be revisiting."

Agatha glided over to the counter, stopping beside Rio and pulling her in for a kiss—one that you, despite your lack of experience, could tell was anything but ordinary.

They kissed with an intensity you had never seen before, so tangible that you felt your cheeks flush just from watching. Agatha’s hands slid along the curve of Rio’s waist, pulling her closer, as if trying to fuse their bodies together.

The tension between them was palpable, anything but discreet, like a silent electric current. Rio took a step to the side, slightly unsteady, still intoxicated by her wife’s scent.

Agatha took your nearly empty cup from your hands with a gesture that was both gentle and firm. For a brief moment, her fingers brushed against yours, sending a shiver down your spine. She turned the cup between her fingers as if she were evaluating something beyond what the eye could see before handing it back to you.

"I see you're ready," she said, her voice low, charged with authority—but lacking the sharpness you had expected. "We leave in five minutes."

Rio cast a quick glance at Agatha but said nothing, merely stirring her coffee again, a nearly imperceptible smile on her lips.

A tense silence followed, but Agatha’s directness felt more like a relief than anything else. You nodded slowly, your cheeks still warm, and focused on drinking your hot chocolate.

You nearly choked on it. "What?"

She arched an eyebrow again, as if daring you to question her. "You heard me. Go get your things."

"I can go alone, you know. There's no need to worry," you tried to argue—more out of reflex than actual conviction.

"This isn’t up for discussion," she replied, sharp but not unkind. There was something in her expression that made it seem as though, despite her tone, the decision was final—and, in some way, more about her than about you.

Rio watched the interaction in silence, a faint smile playing on her lips but not interfering. When you hesitated, unsure whether to argue further, Agatha tilted her head slightly, as if gauging your reaction.

"Trust me, dear," she finally said, her tone low and layered with a deeper meaning.

You nodded, a little nervous but also strangely moved by the gesture. Something about the way she said it felt... protective, even if it was masked by her usual stern demeanor.

"Then go," Agatha repeated, and you nearly jumped from your seat, mumbling another "thank you" before hurrying off to your room.

As soon as you disappeared down the hall, Rio spoke, breaking the silence. "You're going to scare her off with that approach, you know?"

Agatha took a sip of her coffee, not taking her eyes off the door you had just walked through. "But I didn’t do anything," she said, turning her attention back to her phone.

Rio let out a low chuckle, shaking her head, but said nothing more.

The car slid smoothly through the city streets. The muffled hum of the engine filled the almost oppressive silence inside the vehicle. You sat in the passenger seat, your hands restless in your lap, trying to focus on the passing urban landscape outside the window. But it was impossible to ignore Agatha’s presence beside you—the scent of her perfume, her impeccable posture, the way she held the steering wheel with an almost exaggerated elegance.

You had always found her intimidating, but at that moment, the proximity was unsettling. Part of you wanted to stay silent, to respect her quiet nature, but another part—the more impulsive and anxious one—couldn’t stand the idea of letting the ride pass without saying something.

Should you speak? About what? And how could you make it sound natural?

Ignoring all the intrusive thoughts, you adjusted your posture in the leather seat and focused on the view outside, as if looking at her was too difficult. Then, you decided to take a risk.

"I’ve been thinking about your films..." Your voice sounded hesitant, and you immediately wanted to bite your tongue, but you pushed forward. "It’s impossible not to admire how you... bring stories to life."

Agatha arched a brow slightly, which already felt like a victory. You swallowed hard and rushed to continue.

"For example, Whispers in the Dark..." you began, your fingers twisting in your lap. "I’ve watched it at least ten times. It’s brilliant. The way you film the characters’ eyes... it’s like the silence speaks louder than the words. And that play of light and shadow? It feels like every scene has a hidden layer, like you want the audience to feel like voyeurs but without knowing exactly what they’re witnessing."

Agatha didn’t answer immediately, but you noticed the corner of her lips twitch in a barely perceptible smile.

"You noticed that..." she said, her voice low and faintly surprised. "Few understand the true intention behind that film. It wasn’t meant to be obvious... it was meant to be unsettling."

"And it is. Impossible not to be, actually..." you said quickly, encouraged by the fact that she hadn’t cut you off. "That scene where Diana is alone in the room, looking into the mirror, and the camera focuses on her reflection but never on her real face? It’s like... like the reflection is more real than she is. Like she’s hiding who she really is. That was your intention, wasn’t it?"

Agatha’s eyes finally left the road and landed on you for a brief second. Something flickered in the deep blue—maybe recognition, or maybe a hint of pleasure at seeing someone grasp her intent.

"Hmm... Observant," she admitted, her tone almost praising but still laced with her usual reserve. "The reflection represented what she couldn’t admit to herself. The audience was supposed to feel that discomfort, that duality."

You nodded eagerly, feeling your heart race. "I felt that! It was like... like I was invading her privacy, but at the same time, she wanted to be seen. It’s so rare to find a film that makes you feel something that visceral."

Agatha smiled again, this time more noticeably, her lips curving into a gesture that seemed to know too much—almost like a silent challenge. The movement brought out the soft lines around her eyes, an expression that was as confident as it was disarming.

"You really have a good eye, don’t you?" she said, her voice low, husky, carrying something that made your heart race.

"I can’t help it," you replied, feeling your mouth act before your brain. The words came out laced with a raw honesty you didn’t know you had the courage to verbalize. "Your films are… different. They get under your skin. Mine, at least."

Agatha’s eyes flickered toward the road, but something in her posture shifted subtly. Her shoulders, once so rigid, relaxed almost imperceptibly, and silence settled between you. But it wasn’t an empty silence. It was heavy, dense, as if the words left unsaid hovered between you, filling every inch of the car with a nearly palpable tension.

As the car began to slow, Agatha parked with precision a few blocks from the university. She kept her gaze fixed on the steering wheel for a moment before speaking, her voice low but commanding:

"You get out here."

The order was direct, breaking the small spell of the moment. You knew it was inevitable, but still, the coldness of her words made something inside you wither. Of course, you couldn’t be seen together. Any "special treatment" you were getting had to remain a well-kept secret.

You were about to reach for your backpack in the backseat when she continued:"I’m giving a lecture today. I want you there."

The surprise made you freeze. "M-me?"

Finally, she turned to you, and her eyes held you captive. It was as if she were stripping you bare with that gaze, assessing you, testing you, but also… desiring you. She adjusted the collar of your blouse, her fingers grazing the skin of your neck. "Yes. Pay attention."

"I will," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, unable to hide the small smile forming on your lips. But as you leaned down to grab your backpack from the car floor, the unexpected happened.

Agatha’s hand reached for it at the same time as yours, and the touch was brief but charged with electricity.

The tips of her fingers brushed against yours, and the simple contact sent a shiver down your spine, heat rising to your cheeks and trailing down paths you tried to ignore.

She didn’t pull her hand away immediately. On the contrary, she pressed her fingers against yours with a firm but gentle touch, as if trying to hold you in place. Her gaze dropped to the small scar on your finger from yesterday’s cut. She brushed over it lightly, and you shivered at the touch—so subtle, so unlike anything you’d expect from Agatha.

She leaned in, just enough that your noses almost touched. Her perfume—floral and mysterious, a forbidden garden of black roses—wrapped around you, leaving you frozen, unable to look away from those piercing blue eyes that now seemed to consume you whole.

Her proximity was intoxicating, like standing at the edge of a cliff, feeling the rush of a possible fall.

"Behave for me. Be good for me." She whispered, her voice trembling, full of promise and control. Every word seemed to sink straight into your core, your clit pulsing, reverberating in ways you didn’t want to admit.

You nodded, your breath caught in your throat, as if your entire body were tangled up in hers. The way she held your hand was contradictory—possessive yet incredibly delicate. It was as if she were studying you, playing with you like a cat with its prey.

Then, just as quickly as she had leaned in, Agatha pulled away, releasing your hand slowly, almost reluctantly, and handing you your backpack with a precise movement. The car door opened, but you were still dazed, her touch burning into your skin as if she had left an invisible mark.

"I’ll be," you repeated, your voice weaker than you intended, your eyes still locked onto hers. There was something in the way she looked at you—like she already knew the effect she had on you. Like she already knew you wouldn’t be able to resist.

She didn’t reply. As soon as you closed the door and took a few steps, the car drove off smoothly, disappearing around the corner. You stood there for a few seconds, heart pounding. For the first time, you felt like you had carved out a small space within the fortress that was Agatha Harkness.

You walked through the hallways, your heart still racing—not from academic pressure, but from the fresh memory of Agatha. Of course, her lecture was the highlight of the day, and everyone seemed excited about it, but what you felt was something entirely different. Nervousness mixed with admiration and… something deeper you preferred not to analyze too much.

At the entrance of your classroom, Peter was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a mischievous smile on his face. Next to him, Darcy was scrolling through her phone with a bored expression, probably mentally complaining about something.

"Finally!" Peter exclaimed when he saw you. "I thought you’d been kidnapped by that grumpy cat."

"Lucky is not grumpy," you replied, trying to hide a smile.

"But he’s definitely not friendly," Darcy added without looking up from her phone. "Shit." She huffed, sounding frustrated.

"What’s wrong?" you asked.

"I’m trying to see if anyone backed out of Harkness’s lecture. Come on! They announced it so suddenly that I didn’t have time to sign up. There are literally no spots left!" Darcy whined. You knew how much she admired Agatha.

And the fact that you needed to register just to be in the same room as her didn’t surprise you. If anything, it made more sense now. Agatha was a busy woman—she wouldn’t waste her time with an audience that didn’t know what they wanted.

Taking a deep breath, you pulled out your phone.

"Maybe I can help," you said, unlocking it and looking for your message thread with Agatha.

Darcy scoffed, incredulous.

"So, just because you work there now, you have her personal number?"

Yes. Exactly.

"No! Are you crazy? I’ll talk to her assistant."

You typed a message:

Hey. Are you very busy? I need help with something, if you’re available. :)

The response didn’t take long:

I’m always busy. But I can try to help you, dear.

Her tone felt so characteristic, even in text. You took a deep breath, feeling your cheeks heat up as your mind drifted back to earlier—her fingers tracing your scar. Suddenly, your finger tingled.

You let out a shaky breath as you composed your next message.

A friend of mine couldn't get a spot for your lecture.

The reply came even faster this time

A little responsibility would do her good.

You could practically hear Agatha saying those words.

Please! She's a fan. The kind who knows everything about you but would probably be speechless if she got too close.

There was a pause before the next message, as if Agatha were weighing each word. You felt anxious and decided to nudge her for a response.

It's okay if it's not possible, but I thought I'd ask…

This time, the reply was swift.

I can make an exception. Just one. Send her name to my assistant.

You smiled, relieved yet nervous at the same time. When you looked up, Darcy was still staring at you, full of expectation.

"Well?!" she practically shouted. "You have a guaranteed spot," you replied, trying not to let the chaos inside you show.

Darcy let out a squeal of excitement, pulling you into a tight hug. "You're an angel! An angel, I swear!"

"Don't push your luck twice," Peter murmured, though there was a smirk at the corner of his lips.

As Darcy continued celebrating, you glanced back at your phone screen.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. You're incredible.

The response came like a whisper at the back of your mind.

I'm very pleased to know you think so, darling.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you put your phone away, hiding the smile threatening to surface. She was happy, and she had let you know it. She was a mystery, but you felt like you were beginning to decipher a few pieces—even if they only led to more questions.

[…]

Professor Calderu entered the classroom with her usual presence, heavy with authority. She set her bag on the desk and scanned the room with that piercing gaze that made everyone instinctively sit up straighter.

"Good morning, class. I hope you're ready for something different today. We'll be working in pairs on a mythology writing project," she announced as students started glancing at each other, already searching for partners. "I want you to create an original mystical creature—something that feels real within a narrative, something that could fit into a legend or a folktale. The pairs have already been assigned."

You listened carefully, but your stomach twisted as she began calling names.

"You," she said, pointing at you, then turned to a girl sitting in the corner, half-hidden behind her notebook. "And Alice."

Alice Wu lifted her eyes slowly, her face flushing red with surprise. You offered her an encouraging smile, but she quickly looked away, burying herself back in her notebook.

After class, you made your way to her desk while Peter and Darcy waved exaggeratedly from a distance, whispering things you deliberately ignored.

"Hey, Alice," you said gently, trying not to startle her. "Looks like we’re partners now."

She gave a small nod, still looking at her notebook. "Yeah… looks like it."

An awkward silence settled before you tried again. "I was thinking… since we don’t know each other well, maybe we could meet up to talk? I think it’d help if we got a feel for each other’s ideas before we start creating."

Alice blinked in surprise and finally looked up. Her eyes were large and clear, filled with a certain vulnerability that made you want to get closer. "You�� want to go out with me?"

"Yes!" you blurted out quickly. "I mean—not like a date or anything, of course, but—like, for the project. Unless you'd rather do everything online?"

She shook her head quickly. "No, no! In person is always better. I just… didn’t expect this. No one usually invites me to anything."

"Well, then it’s about time that changed," you said with a sincere smile.

Alice finally smiled back, shy but genuine. "Okay. When do you want to meet?"

"How about after Agatha’s lecture? I really need to see it, but we can plan something after," you suggested, trying to keep the excitement out of your voice when mentioning Agatha.

Alice nodded again. "Sure. I’ll be free."

The bell rang, and as you said goodbye to Alice, Peter and Darcy approached with amused expressions.

"You’re really a magnet for lonely souls," Darcy commented.

"Or maybe you’re just too nice," Peter added.

"Or maybe you two are insufferable," you retorted, rolling your eyes—but deep down, you were happy. The day had started out strange, but maybe it was getting better—or at least, more interesting.

[…]

The room filled up within minutes. Students, professors, and even a few industry professionals murmured excitedly, the air thick with admiration and anticipation. You slipped in quietly, gripping the strap of your backpack, scanning for a more secluded seat. You didn’t want to draw attention—not here, not now.

Spotting an empty row in the back, you let out a relieved breath, but before you could reach it, a firm hand grasped your wrist.

"Hey, slow down," a familiar voice murmured, low and full of intent.

You turned quickly, only to meet Rio’s charming face.

"Rio?" Your voice came out as a hushed, confused whisper, laced with disbelief.

What was she doing here?

"It’s me, darling," she replied, that disarming smile playing on her lips. The sharp glint in her eyes made it clear she was here for a reason.

You glanced around, checking if anyone had noticed. "What are you doing here?" you asked, keeping your voice low.

Rio leaned in slightly, her tone conspiratorial. "How could I miss this? Agatha hardly ever gives lectures like this. Besides…" She paused dramatically, her gaze flickering to the back row where you had been heading. "You were really going to sit all the way back there?"

"It’s safer. No one will notice me." You tried to justify your choice.

Rio raised an amused eyebrow. "Safe for who? Certainly not for you. Agatha wanted you here, you know?"

Your face heated up. "I know, but… sitting back there is just easier. I don’t need to be… right in front of her."

Rio let out a soft chuckle, unmistakable amusement in her voice. "Oh, darling. Do you really think she won’t notice you? Or worse… that she doesn’t want to?"

Your heart skipped uncomfortably, and you opened your mouth to argue, but Rio didn’t give you the chance.

"Listen, if you stay back here, you’ll miss the important details. Agatha doesn’t like distracted audiences," she murmured, a touch of mischief in her voice. "And trust me, sitting up front won’t be so bad."

"I don’t know, Rio…" You hesitated, still eyeing the more discreet row like it was your lifeline.

Rio tilted her head, an expression of feigned patience crossing her face. "You trust me, don’t you?"

You nodded slowly, still unsure.

"Then come with me," she insisted, tugging at your wrist gently. "Trust me. No one will pay attention to you… except for the one person who actually matters."

She guided you through the rows to a spot near the front—hidden enough to avoid wandering eyes but perfectly positioned for a clear view of the stage.

As you finally sat down, you tried to steady yourself, though it was impossible to ignore the fact that Agatha could definitely see you from here.

Rio sat beside you, crossing her legs with the kind of effortless grace that seemed to come naturally to her.

You whispered, trying to mask your nervousness. "Did she ask you to bring me here?"

Rio turned to you with a cryptic smile, leaning in just enough to whisper back. "Let’s just say I have my ways… but she’ll definitely be pleased to see you here."

Before you could process it, the room’s lights dimmed, and a single spotlight illuminated the stage. Agatha stepped in, her imposing and elegant figure commanding everyone’s attention. She stopped at the center, scanning the audience with a controlled, knowing smile.

For a moment that felt longer than it should have, her eyes found yours. And when they did, the heat in your face spread all the way to your fingertips. You tried to look away, but it was impossible—something about the way she looked at you held you in place.

Beside you, Rio murmured with a satisfied smile, “I told you that you needed to be here.”

The auditorium was packed. There was an electric energy in the air, a mix of excitement and reverence that seemed to follow Agatha Harkness wherever she went. As she took the stage, the sound of applause filled the room, and her smile was devastating—confident, charming, and tinged with that sarcastic humor that made everyone feel like they were part of a private show.

“I hope you’re here to talk about the magic of cinema… and not to ask me for spoilers,” she began, drawing immediate laughter from the audience. “If that were the case, I’d be charging double.”

The warm lights accentuated her flawless skin, her blue eyes gleaming under the glow of the spotlights. “The truth is, directing films is almost like being a witch—you manipulate what people see and feel, deceive the eye, and capture their soul. Hopefully, without using an actual spell.”

The audience was completely spellbound. She explained scene composition techniques, the psychological use of shadows and light, and the power of silence. Every word was laced with irresistible confidence, intertwined with cynical remarks that kept everyone captivated.

“The secret to a great film?” Agatha leaned slightly forward, as if about to reveal something forbidden. “Trick the audience, but make them grateful for it afterward.”

“All jokes aside,” she continued, “making films is like casting magic. Every scene, every cut, every choice of light and sound—it’s all a spell meant to deceive, seduce, and sometimes, transform the audience. But the real art is in the details. And those details… take time, patience, and, of course, a little bit of madness.”

The laughter was softer this time, but the admiring glances were unmistakable. She began detailing her unique approach to filmmaking, highlighting her inspirations for the critically acclaimed Black Flame, a psychological horror film that had become an instant classic.

As Agatha spoke, you felt something—a casual touch on your arm. Beside you, Rio seemed completely absorbed in the presentation, but her hand had drifted to the armrest, brushing against your skin with an unsettling familiarity. You tried to ignore it, telling yourself it was an innocent gesture, but the touch was insistent, deliberate.

“… the trick is to make the audience feel like they’re witnessing something they shouldn’t be,” Agatha said, her voice like poisoned honey, seducing every single person in the room.

But as Rio’s touch lingered, something inside you tightened. The warmth of that simple contact began spreading across your skin, slow and devastating. Her fingers slipped over the thin fabric of your clothes, trailing down to the curve of your hip with ease. Your breath hitched, and you bit your lip, trying to make no sound.

Her hand moved dangerously close to your thighs, the motion so casual yet so ruinous. She didn’t even look at you, her eyes fixed on the stage as if she were doing nothing at all. But you knew. Your body knew.

Heat climbed up your neck, and you shifted slightly in your seat, struggling to keep your composure. A part of you wanted to push her away, break free from this trance. After all, they were married. This was wrong. Right?

“Rio…” you whispered, trying to sound firm, but your voice came out shakier than you wanted.

“Shh,” she replied, her gaze still locked on Agatha, as if nothing was happening. “Agatha is speaking.”

You tried to focus, but Rio’s hand was now so close to your center that you could barely breathe. Every touch sent a spark of electricity through you, the rising heat almost unbearable. Her long, skilled fingers inched closer, and you had to bite your lip to stifle a sound.

“You’re trembling, bunny…” Rio whispered, her voice rough with amusement. “Pay attention. Aggie won’t like it if you miss this.”

The nickname sent a full-body shiver through you, a strangled breath caught in your throat. You tried to focus on Agatha’s words, but the firm grip of Rio’s hand pressing into your aching core was too much, sending waves of heat straight to your senses.

With your heart racing, you gathered all the strength you had to lift your gaze toward the stage. And that’s when you saw her.

Agatha’s blue eyes were locked onto the two of you, gleaming with something wild and indecipherable. She hadn’t stopped talking, but there was a different lilt to her voice now, an almost taunting cadence.

She knew.

And she wasn’t angry.

On the contrary, there was raw hunger in her gaze—she looked like a ravenous spectator, a voyeur absorbing every detail of the scene unfolding before her. Her attention on you was so intense it nearly stole the air from your lungs.

Rio smirked, as if she could feel the invisible current Agatha was directing toward you both. And then she squeezed your thigh harder, anchoring you even deeper into this impossible moment. Her fingers were now so close to your clit that you could feel the pressure even through your clothes. Each movement was calculated, each touch a promise of something more.

A shiver ran down your spine, blending with the heat already consuming you. Your hips shifted again, craving more of that contact, even knowing it was wrong. It was as if Agatha’s gaze and Rio’s touch were pulling you into a sweet, dangerous abyss, and you had no strength to resist.

“You like this?” Rio murmured, her fingers now pressing with more intent, making you swallow a moan. “Being watched. Being observed.”

You tried to deny it, but your body betrayed you. Your hips moved again, and the damp heat between your thighs was impossible to ignore. Agatha’s gaze felt like it was scorching your skin, and you knew she was seeing everything—every tremor, every movement, every breath you tried to suppress.

“Rio…” you whispered again, but this time, your voice was filled with a need you could no longer disguise.

She hummed, her fingers now circling ever so slowly, so close to your clit that your entire body tensed. “Let her see. Let her know what you’re capable of just to keep her eyes on you.”

“You’re doing so well, little bunny,” Rio purred, pressing firmer, making you bite your lip harder to hold back a sound. “Let her see how good you can be.”

And you surrendered.

Your hips rocked forward once more, and a tremor rippled through you, a wave of pleasure on the verge of breaking. Agatha’s gaze and Rio’s touch were too much, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer.

Agatha’s eyes devoured the scene like a film, her analytical, predatory gaze absorbing the way Rio’s hand moved over you like a painter on a blank canvas. Marking you. Owning you. Each calculated touch carried a wildness, as if she were proving something—to you, to Agatha, or maybe to herself.

Rio saw the hunger in Agatha’s icy blue gaze. She saw the way the woman feigned indifference, answering the audience’s questions with ease. But Rio knew how much this was affecting her.

She knew Agatha wanted more.

You felt the heat rise to your face, but you couldn’t look away from Agatha. Her blue eyes were like an abyss, pulling you in, making you feel exposed, vulnerable, yet incredibly alive. It was as if she could see every part of you, every secret, every fear, and still didn’t care. Or maybe she cared too much.

Rio chuckled softly, her warm breath against your ear. “She likes you, bunny. She knows you're special.” Her hand slid lower, fingers finding the exact spot that made you gasp. “But you need to show her. You need to prove you’re strong enough.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the burn of unshed tears behind your eyelids. It was too much—Rio’s touch, Agatha’s gaze, the pressure building inside you, ready to explode. But you didn’t want it to stop. You couldn’t.

“Please,” you murmured, your voice broken, barely audible.

“Please what?” Rio asked, lips curling into a wicked smile. “You have to ask, darling. Tell me what you want.”

You looked at Agatha, searching for some form of salvation, but she only raised an eyebrow, waiting. It was as if she was testing you, seeing how far you were willing to go.

“Please,” you repeated, your voice a little steadier this time. “I want… I want to show her.”

Rio let out a satisfied hum. “That’s my girl.” Her hand moved faster, fingers pressing with a precision that made you moan loudly. “Then show her. Show her how good you can be.”

And you did. Your body arched, muscles tensing as the wave of pleasure finally crashed over you, sweeping you away like a tide. You wanted to scream, but the sound was muffled by the palm of your hand.

When you finally opened your eyes, Agatha was still there, watching with that calculating stare, but now there was something else in her eyes. Something that looked almost… proud.

“Good girl,” Rio murmured, her voice soft but heavy with meaning. “You did well.”

You felt a different kind of heat rise to your face, but this time it wasn’t shame. It was something deeper, more intense. Something you couldn’t name.

What the fuck just happened?

—

The event had been a resounding success. The room was still filled with people talking, laughing, discussing the most striking moments of the interview. You, however, stood in the corner, watching as Agatha and Rio were surrounded by journalists, photographers, and assistants. They were as dazzling as ever, the perfect combination of authority and charisma.

You gathered your courage and decided to approach. It was nothing major—you just wanted to congratulate Agatha on the show and let her know you were heading out with Alice. But as you tried to weave through the crowd, an invisible wall seemed to rise around you.

One of Agatha’s assistants intercepted your path.

“Sorry, miss, but she’s busy at the moment,” he said with a polite yet firm smile.

You tried to argue, but another journalist slipped past you, invading the space you had been trying to reach. Agatha didn’t even glance to the side. Rio stood beside her, laughing softly at something a reporter had said. You waited, remained still, hoping at least one of them would notice you.

Nothing.

A tightness formed in your chest, a bitter and unexpected sensation. You knew they were busy, that this was their world, but that didn’t make it easier to swallow. It hurt more than it should. At that moment, it was as if you were invisible to both of them.

You took a deep breath, trying to push down the sting of rejection. “Ridiculous,” you muttered to yourself, feeling the lump in your throat threaten to form. They had no obligation to notice you, but… that wasn’t what you wanted. Not after everything.

Lowering your shoulders, you sighed and turned away, leaving the room before anyone could catch the glint of disappointment in your eyes.

Out in the hallway, as you walked toward the exit, you pulled out your phone and typed a message to Agatha.

Tonight was incredible. You are incredible! I’m heading out with a friend. Be back soon :)

You hesitated before sending it, your thumb hovering over the screen. Part of you wanted to delete the message. It wasn’t urgent, and maybe she wouldn’t even have time to read it, but another part insisted. It was your way of not disappearing completely, of reminding her that you were there.

After hitting “send,” you slipped your phone back into your pocket and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the discomfort in your chest as you walked off to meet Alice. You tried to convince yourself you had no reason to feel this way, but the truth was, in that moment, you felt far too small for the vast, glittering world those two women seemed to reign over.

—

You met Alice at the café near the university. It was a small, cozy place, with string lights hanging from the ceiling and the constant scent of freshly ground coffee in the air. Alice was already seated at a corner table, a thick book open in front of her, her hands fidgeting slightly. Her brown hair fell over her shoulders, and her round glasses seemed a bit too big for her delicate face. She smiled shyly when she saw you.

“Hey, Alice,” you said, pulling out the chair across from her. “Hope you didn’t wait too long.”

“No, I got here early,” she replied, her voice soft, almost hesitant. “It’s hard to concentrate in the library, so… I thought this might be easier.”

You chuckled, trying to put her at ease. “Seems like a good place to conjure mystical beings, huh? Nothing like coffee and a little chaos for inspiration.”

Alice smiled for real this time, a small but genuine expression. “I agree. So… do you have any ideas yet? You seem more creative than I am.”

“Creative? Me? I think you’re being generous,” you replied, leaning in slightly. “But maybe we can start with something we both like. Witches, maybe?”

Alice’s eyes lit up. “I love witch stories! But it has to be something different… something we haven’t seen before.”

The conversation with Alice continued for another hour until, with a thoughtful expression, she rested her chin on her hands, elbows propped on the table.

“What if we start with an ancient legend?” she suggested, her eyes shining with a quiet enthusiasm. “Something that feels like it’s been around for thousands of years but has an air of mystery, you know? Like the kind of story people whisper just to scare others…”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Like what, for example?”

Alice tilted her head slightly, as if fishing for words in the air. Then she began, her voice lower, more enthralling, almost conspiratorial.

“They say that millions of years ago, there was a witch so powerful she didn’t even have to lift a finger to destroy someone. She didn’t cast grand spells or throw curses… She did something far more cruel. She drained people’s life energy, but not in an obvious way, you know?”

A shiver ran down your spine, though you tried to convince yourself it was just the atmosphere of the moment. “Drained life energy? How so?”

You tried not to react, but her words hit you like a stone. What Alice was describing sounded dangerously familiar.

“Did she do it for pleasure?” Your voice came out weaker than you intended.

Alice shook her head slowly, her gaze distant. “No. Not exactly. I think, deep down, she did it because she felt like it was the only way to survive. As if there was an emptiness inside her that could never be filled. Every bit of energy she took from another person was like a desperate attempt to fill that void.”

You felt a pang in your heart. "How did she do that?" The words left your mouth as if they were forbidden.

Alice looked at you—thinking, thinking, and thinking. "I’m not sure," she shrugged. "But they say she always seemed so charming, so irresistible. People fell into her web without even realizing it."

You crossed your arms, averting your gaze to the table. "And no one ever managed to stop her?"

"They say there was one person," Alice replied, lowering her voice even more, as if afraid someone nearby might overhear. "A woman who confronted her. Not with hatred or violence, and that made the woman equally consumed."

For a moment, the café around you disappeared. You could only think about Alice's words and the weight they carried.

Alice noticed your silence and let out an awkward laugh, adjusting her glasses. "Sorry, I think I went too far, right? Maybe this is too dark for a college assignment."

You forced a smile, trying to hide the internal confusion. "No, it's great. I actually think it’s amazing. I think… it could work."

Alice smiled, somewhat relieved. "Cool. I think we can work on this more, right? Develop the witch, add more details about her story."

"Yes," you replied, your voice soft but still distant. "Definitely."

You arrived home with a lightness you hadn’t felt in a long time. The fatigue of the day clung to your muscles, but a quiet satisfaction coursed through your chest. Things finally seemed to be falling into place—small fragments of hope composing a life you hadn't imagined possible.

Kicking off your shoes at the entrance, you took a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of home embrace you. You climbed the stairs slowly, each step bringing a sense of comfort and belonging. Until then, everything felt normal.

But as you approached the hallway leading to the bedrooms, something different sharpened your senses. Low, muffled sounds escaped down the quiet corridor. Moans. Heavy breathing.

Their bedroom door was slightly ajar.

Your heart pounded, hesitating for a moment, but your feet disobeyed logic—you moved closer, as if pulled by an invisible magnet. When your eyes finally met the narrow gap of the door, the air caught in your lungs.

Rio was on top of Agatha, her hips moving in a frantic, calculated rhythm, their bodies glistening under the room’s soft light. The sight was almost brutal in its beauty—wild, intense, unfiltered. The expression of pure pleasure on Rio’s face made something inside you tighten and pulse violently.

Rio arched her body, every muscle taut as her hips thrust rhythmically against Agatha, who writhed beneath her, head thrown back, exposing her sweaty, vulnerable neck. The room was saturated with obscene sounds—ragged moans, the muffled creak of the bed, and the wet, merciless slap of their bodies colliding.

The strap-on Rio wore moved with an almost brutal precision. Even knowing she couldn’t physically feel it, the dark, feverish look in her eyes suggested otherwise—as if every deep thrust was a direct reflection of the pleasure consuming her body. Her lips were slightly parted, breathing erratic, and her hands gripped Agatha’s waist firmly, keeping her in place as her movements became faster and more reckless.

"Fuck," Rio panted, chest rising and falling frantically. "You’re so fucking tight… I can feel everything."

Agatha cried out, a rough, desperate sound, her nails raking down Rio’s back. Her hips lifted instinctively, seeking more, demanding more. Her expression was a mix of ecstasy and agony, blue eyes nearly shut, shining under the dim glow of the bedside lamp.

"Deeper," Agatha begged, voice hoarse and shameless. "Don’t stop… I want you to tear me apart from the inside."

The provocation made Rio growl like an animal, her thrusts becoming even more intense. She leaned in, pressing the weight of her breasts against Agatha’s, their faces so close their breaths intertwined.

"Like this?" Rio snarled in her ear, her voice vibrating with a possessive power that left Agatha teetering on the edge of insanity. "Tell me, my love… do you like being fucked by me like this?"

Agatha couldn’t respond with words—only a strangled moan escaped her lips, her desperate fingers now digging into Rio’s shoulders, as if holding onto her was the only thing keeping her anchored to reality.

The bed rocked beneath the intensity of their movements, the scent of sweat and desire hanging heavy in the air. Rio remained steady, muscles flexing as the relentless rhythm of the strap-on dragged louder, more desperate moans from Agatha.

'Cause you, you touch

My skin peels off like paint

But beneath all of our panting

There’s this noise I cannot shake

The scene before you was unbearable in so many ways that you no longer knew where shock ended and desire began. Rio moved like a merciless goddess, her hips working in a brutal rhythm, while Agatha arched beneath her, screaming for her with raw, unfiltered vulnerability. The soft glow of the lamp cast delicious shadows over their sweaty skin, their entwined bodies forming a spectacle that sent your heart racing and heat pooling between your legs.

You should leave. It was wrong, absurdly wrong, but your legs felt glued to the floor, as if the half-open door was a magnet keeping you there, entranced. Your eyes couldn’t tear away from Rio—the predatory gaze, the intensity with which she claimed Agatha, as if she were possessed.

And then it happened.

"Did you see her?" Her voice cut through the silence like a hot knife, laced with something indecent and possessive.

What?

Can’t you hear that scratching?

There’s something at the door

"I would’ve gone insane if I hadn’t touched her in that moment." Her movements intensified, drawing a sharp gasp from Agatha. "Did you like it? Did you like watching us from up there?"

Agatha opened her eyes, and there was something feral in them—a deep blue gleam overflowing with jealousy and lust in equal measure. She pushed her body against Rio, gasping with unrestrained need.

But the wind has picked us up now

We’re hanging in the air

And as you grip me like an animal

That you’re about to spear

"I almost ended it," Agatha admitted with a rough chuckle, but it was laced with possession. "Watching you touch her… like she was already yours…" Her lips curled into a wicked smile. "I wanted to rip your hand off and show you she’s mine too."

The impact of the words hit you like a punch to the chest. They were talking about you.

Rio's casual touch earlier, that slow slide of fingers to your inner thigh while Agatha spoke to the audience with all the confidence in the world… It hadn’t been casual, it hadn’t been an innocent accident. It was premeditated. And Agatha had seen it all, enjoyed it all.

Be good to me, I whisper

And you say: What?

And I said: Nothing, dear

The shock dissolved quickly, swallowed by something far more visceral. Your breath grew heavy, lungs seeming unable to draw in enough air. Your thoughts spun, frantic and lascivious, as one memory after another exploded in your mind: the heat of Rio’s lingering touches, Agatha’s intense, possessive gaze when you thought you were off their radar.

Desire. It had always been desire.

Can’t you hear it?

It can hear you

It wants me to

Your heart pounded violently in your chest; a dizzying mix of fear and exhilaration consumed you.

And can’t you hear that scratching?

I ask your eyes

"Oh, my love," Rio murmured against Agatha’s lips, teasing. "You loved watching. You wanted to see her completely lose herself, didn’t you?"

Agatha let out a primal sound, her fingers burying into Rio’s hair, forcing her to look directly at her. "I wanted more than that," she purred. "I wanted to destroy her with you... make her understand there’s no way out for us."

And we fall into each other

The scratching grows so loud

Because that unwanted animal

Wants nothing more than to get out

And I scream: Oh, what’s the time, little Wolf?

But you, you’re blind, you bleat, you bear your claws

You took a deep breath, trying to step away from the scene, but your feet wouldn’t obey. The ache between your legs became unbearable, and you hated admitting how much every indecent word from them made your body vibrate.

"She will be ours," Agatha stated, shamelessly, her eyes half-lidded with uncontrolled pleasure.

Rio moaned deeply, her hips moving even more frantically against Agatha’s body. Sweat glistened on her skin, and each thrust seemed to pull new, pleasure-laden sounds from them both.

Rio’s voice emerged, rough, hungry: "What do you want to do to her?" Her teeth grazed Agatha’s pale neck before sinking in just enough to leave a mark. "I need you to tell me…"

And you rip my rib cage open

And devour what’s truly yours

And our screaming joins in unison

I cry out to the lord

Agatha gasped at the question’s impact, her fingers digging into Rio’s shoulders as the sexual tension exploded around them. Her blue eyes, now wild and gleaming, stared at the ceiling as if she were envisioning a scene too forbidden, too intense to be contained in simple words.

'Cause if we join our hands in prayer enough

To God, I imagine it all starts to sound like applause

"Oh, I want to make her cry. Watch those beautiful eyes looking at me, begging for anything… anything, fuck," Agatha whispered, her voice thick with lust and something dangerously possessive. "I want to see her trembling under my hands… begging for it. To be mine."

Rio let out a deep, guttural moan, her movements growing even more urgent. "You want to break her, don’t you?"

Can’t you hear it?

It can hear you

It wants me to

"And rebuild her the right way. My way," Agatha murmured, her lips curling into a wicked smile. "She deserves to feel everything. The pain. The pleasure. The need to serve."

The tension between them built, almost unbearable, and you couldn’t hold back the trembling sigh that escaped your lips at hearing those words. The sound made Agatha pause for a brief second before she smirked slowly, a mischievous gleam in her eyes as she turned her head to Rio.

A soft moan slipped past your lips before you could stop it. Your hand trembled as it slid inside your pajama pants, fingers finding warm, damp skin.

But that second wind is coming, love, it’s coming for all we own

And on the creature scratches, it doesn’t know how to get out (let me out)

And you, you follow philosophies

But me, I laugh, I choke

You tried to be discreet, silent, but your body was on fire, pulsing with a desperate urgency that could no longer be ignored. The moans of the two women in the bedroom only worsened things, each thrust of Rio pulling cries from Agatha that echoed through the house like forbidden music.

Well hello, my hollow Holofernes

I wink but you don’t get the joke

Hold the hand of the God-child, they said

As she falls from the sky

Your fingers moved in slow, needy circles, the soft fabric of your pajama pants brushing against your sensitive skin as you touched yourself. Pleasure radiated through your body, growing more intense by the second, the muscles in your legs already trembling as you lost yourself in the sensation.

You bit your lip hard to muffle a moan, your knees threatening to give out. But none of that mattered. You wanted this. Needed it.

Be good to me, I beg of her

Be good to me, I beg of her

Be good be good be good be good be good be good be good

Agatha’s intense gaze still seemed to burn in your mind, even as she moaned Rio’s name, her nails digging into her wife’s back.

And Rio… oh, Rio seemed to feel everything. Each movement of the strap-on seemed to reflect directly in her body, as if she were completely connected to the pleasure she was giving.

Agatha arched violently, a sharp cry tearing through the air as her orgasm consumed her in almost brutal waves, her muscles clenching around the nothing she so desperately wished to be filled.

Rio kept moving, prolonging every spasm of pleasure, her own body trembling with the sheer intensity of the scene—as if the simple sight of Agatha lost in that state was enough to bring her to the edge.

When she finally slowed, both women lay still for a moment, breathing heavily. The silence that settled over the room was thick, charged with the memory of the wild pleasure that still lingered between them.

The air around you felt too heavy, impossible to breathe, but you kept going. Your fingers moved with more precision, searching for that spot that would send you over the edge. And when you found it, it was as if the ground disappeared beneath your feet.

Your eyes squeezed shut as a hot, overwhelming orgasm tore through your body in waves, leaving you trembling and almost too weak to stand.

When your eyes finally opened, the scene was still before you—Agatha and Rio still trapped in that frantic cycle of pleasure, completely unaware of your presence. And you, leaning against the wall beside the door, your chest rising and falling rapidly, knew that something inside you had changed forever.

And she replies

No, no, not I.

~*~

After this there is no way to turning back.

Tag List <3

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@absolute-memegarbage @trinity2k @greyella

[k-nahriko]

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

Just a very amateur fanfic to practice my writing skills. Honestly, this kind of reflects my experience with getting my wisdom teeth extracted. Looking back on one of the bond stories with Zayne, he is clearly not a huge fan of the dentist, nor does he pay any mind to his own toothaches. I was curious about how MC would take care of Zayne after he had his wisdom teeth removed.

Synopsis: Considering how Zayne canonically acts when he's drunk, it's kind of silly, right? Think about it. It could go the same way when waking up from anesthesia. Heck, Zayne, being a cardiac surgeon, is well aware of how anesthesia affects people in general. So, I had the idea that MC, being his trusted caretaker for his own dental surgery, would put Zayne in a situation where he would be a bit nervous about how he may act when he's loopy on anesthesia.

Anyway, let me stop rambling. I wanted to write something very heartwarming and hopefully, it can be a decent read. This is just practice writing, after all.

Word Count: 2772

Content: female reader, SFW, sweet, cuddles, anesthesia talk, wisdom tooth removal surgery aftercare, drunk Zayne? (more like loopy Zayne)

5:30 am. It was a bright, early morning, and you were lounging on Zayne’s couch waiting for him to get ready. Today marked his appointment to have his wisdom teeth removed, and you were chosen to take care of him afterward.

The sound of Zayne shuffling into the living room alerted you to stand up. He was dressed warm and comfortable in a simple, thin sweater and pants. You notice him tugging at his sweater collar, and you can't help but point out the elephant in the room.

“Hey, are you nervous?” You step towards him with your hands clasped behind your back.

Upon hearing your teasing tone, Zayne tries his best to sound as nonchalant as possible. “It's not a big deal; it's just like any other visit to the dentist,” he answers as he clears his throat. You shake your head with a smile.

Ah, he is still the same as he was from his last visit to the dentist.

“Except, you’re going to be under anesthesia this time, and you’ll be super drowsy afterward. That’s why I’m here to make sure you don’t bump your head against the walls or say anything embarrassing.” You spread your palms across his broad chest, causing a soft blush to creep up on Zayne’s face and ears. 

“And I do appreciate that you’re here. But I get the feeling that you're teasing me about how I might behave once I recover from anesthesia. It’s not like I’m going to be drunk.”

You let out a sheepish laugh as you recall a previous date with Zayne. You had offered him a piece of chocolate that contained traces of alcohol. While you did not intend for him to get drunk, he was very lightweight that night. If it weren’t for you, he would not have found his way back home.

Sure, his drunk behavior was silly and the things he said were out of the ordinary, but it made you curious about how anesthesia might affect him. 

“I know, but I promise I’m just here to take care of you and make sure you’re okay.” You smooth out the rest of Zayne’s sweater and give him an affectionate pat. “Let’s get going! You don’t want to be late for check-in.”

You gently take Zayne’s hand and lead him out of the house to his car. Now, normally, he would be the one to drive, but knowing him, he would find any possible way to avoid the dentist. No way you were letting him get away that easily.

It was a chilly morning in Linkon City, and you tried to make the most of the 25-minute drive. You made no room for silence by asking Zayne about work or any movies you wanted to see together. Perhaps you could get Zayne’s mind off worrying for a little while.

You finally arrive at the oral surgeon clinic. Once you park the car, you feel Zayne’s hand enveloping yours. You respond with a loving squeeze and playfully jiggle his hand. “Hey, it's okay. I’ll be right here when you’re done. The doctors here will take good care of you.” 

Zayne exhales and gives you a nod. You both exit the car and arrive in the lobby for check-in. You were greeted by the receptionist with a warm welcome. “Good morning. Are you checking in for an appointment?” The young woman hands you paperwork for patient sign-in and an anesthesia consent form. 

“Yes, it’s under the name Zayne.” You turn your head to Zayne who is comfortably lounging on one of the lobby chairs. He lowers his head but you catch a faint blush forming on his face. 

As you fill in the paperwork, the receptionist types away at her computer. “Perfect, I'll have him checked in. Has he fasted the night prior?”

Poor Zayne. You remembered to follow the doctors' instructions to prevent him from indulging in any food the night before. When you stayed overnight at Zayne's house, you chose to sleep in the living room, taking on the role of "kitchen guardian." It wasn't that you didn't trust Zayne, you just knew he could be a bit sneaky when it came to sweets, even in his home.

“Yes, he had nothing to eat or drink at all. I feel so bad for starving him.” As you hand the receptionist the completed paperwork, she gives you a reassuring smile.  

“I understand. It is just for his safety when he's under anesthesia.” The receptionist continues typing on her computer and gives you a nod. “Alright, you can have a seat. I’ll let the doctor know you’re waiting.”

You thank the receptionist and take a seat next to Zayne, who appears a bit tense. Gently, you reach out and rub his left arm. Your heart sinks seeing him so nervous at his own doctor’s visit. But it’s normal; you’ve admitted that you also get anxious at the hospital. However, you’ve come to realize that with Zayne by your side, you feel a little less nervous, and you want him to feel relaxed with you. 

“Hello, do I have Zayne here?” Your ears perked up as one of the nurses called for Zayne. He stood up from his seat and approached the nurse. “Yes, I’m here. She’s with me.” 

The nurse clasped her hands, her eyes squinting as she smiled under her surgical mask. “Nice to see you again, Dr. Zayne. Just follow me, and I’ll lead you to the operating room.”

Zayne glances back at you in a brief attempt to look brave. You give him a thumbs up and mouth the words, “I’ll be right here.” He nods and follows the nurse to his operating room.

As he disappeared in the clinic hallway, you reclined in your lobby seat and scanned for any daily Wanderer reports from your hunter’s watch. Luckily, you were able to get the day off work to take care of Zayne. In addition, there were no Wanderer reports that raised any concern.

It felt like an hour had passed, and you were dozing off on the chair with your head resting on your palm. You suddenly hear your name being called by one of the nurses. 

“Hey, sorry to wake you. But Zayne is all done with his procedure.” 

You stretch your arms and walk up to the nurse. “Is Zayne doing alright?”

“Zayne is doing just fine. He is still very drowsy, so we’re just giving him a few more minutes.” She hands you a plastic medicine bag filled with prescription bottles holding painkillers and antibiotics, a curved syringe, and wads of gauze. She leads you to a separate room to give you further instructions. “I’ve given you his medication, mouth syringe, cotton balls, gauze, and some paper instructions on caring for him.” 

The nurse points to the paper, neatly folded in the bag. You unfold the paper and read the instructions meticulously. The nurse continues to instruct you on keeping Zayne on a soft diet, making sure his gauze is changed, rinsing his mouth after eating, giving medication, and ice-packing his face to reduce swelling. The nurse is then alerted by the surgeon.

“Zayne is ready now. You can follow me.”

The surgeon smiles and leads you to the room where Zayne is resting. As you enter the recovery room, you find Zayne in quite a state. He is reclined in his chair, with small ice packs surrounding his face. He appears to be half asleep, and his cheeks are stuffed with thick gauze. You try your hardest not to laugh as he reminds you of a sleepy squirrel. Gently, you tap his shoulder. He slowly looks up at you and greets you with a slurred tone.

“It’s you, my love. Where have you been? I can't feel my face.” Zayne reaches his arms out to you as if he wants to be picked up.

What a sight this was. This was a little bit like how Zayne talked when he was drunk. Childish, but still so sweet. His voice was also a bit nasal with the gauze stuffing his cheeks. 

You lower his arms down and hold his hands. “Hey, sweetie, I’m here to take you home.” You turn to face the surgeon as he enters the room. “Is he going to be talking like this for a while?”

The surgeon approaches and chuckles. “The anesthesia will make him loopy, but it should wear off in about 1 to 2 hours. So just be aware he will feel pain once that happens. Let’s help him get to the car.”

You went out to park the car by the curb outside the clinic building, and Zayne was brought to the passenger door in a wheelchair. You opened the car door and assisted Zayne into his seat, noticing that his limbs and body had the consistency of cooked udon noodles. You grabbed a neck pillow and a blanket from the back seat to ensure he was comfortable. Once Zayne was securely in his seat, you waved goodbye and thanked the dental clinic staff.

On the drive back home, Zayne rambled for what felt like 20 minutes about how much he missed you and how hungry he was. It was more lively than the drive to the oral surgeon clinic. 

Upon arriving at Zayne’s house, you helped him to the front door, supporting him with your hand around his waist and his arm over your shoulder. You could feel his weight against you as he struggled to keep his balance. Despite holding him like a ragdoll, you managed to input the passcode to unlock the front door. You led him to his bedroom and tucked him in, patting his chest under the thick bed sheets before planting a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Now, just rest here. I’m going to heat the soup I bought you and make you a strawberry banana smoothie.”

You could hear Zayne slightly groan and rub his eyes. He reaches for your hand and requests with a slight squint in his eyes. “After I’m done napping, can please you buy me some macarons? I want the blue ones..”

You giggle and shake your head. It was like he was a little kid who was innocently begging for something sweet. Then again, you found it very endearing when Zayne was young at heart. You ruffle his hair before you exit his bedroom.

You wag a finger at him. “Sorry mister, doctor's orders state you can’t have macarons. They may be a soft dessert, but you shouldn’t have anything sugary until you recover! But I promise I’ll make the smoothie sweet enough for you.”

Zayne’s habit of indulging in his sugar cravings was no secret, but you were the one to call him out for it and keep him accountable. You both shared a love for sweets, but you could vouch that Zayne had the stronger sweet tooth. 

You leave the room and enter Zayne’s kitchen to prepare his meal. The store-bought chicken noodle soup was boiling along with the blender, forming a smoothie from the fresh-cut fruit.  It wasn’t uncommon that you were the person trusted most to care for Zayne, especially when he needed it. 

For as long as he’s been your primary doctor, he’s insisted on taking care of you most of the time. This meant Zayne would barely take the time to take care of himself, whenever he got sick or hurt. 

Especially when it came to his toothaches. 

Zayne would mostly just brush it off or try to hide it from you. It was his nature to put others’ needs before his own, and it was something you always adored about him. But..

He shouldn’t ignore his health. A doctor must also be healthy to keep others healthy as well. 

You twitch as you hear the creak of Zayne’s bedroom door open. You hear shuffling footsteps behind you and see a very sleepy Zayne trudging towards you while wrapped in a blanket. 

You step away from the stove and catch him before his hip can hit the kitchen island. While you cradled his tall figure, he rested his head on yours. You seemed stunned, but you greeted him with a rub on his lower back. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep? Is the pain bad?” 

Your questions were left unanswered, instead met with a lazy moan from Zayne. His arms wrap around you with the blanket surrounding your body like a cocoon. “The bedroom is too dark… I want to see you..” He replied, his tone with a tinge of slurring and vocal fry.

As he spoke, his warm breath blew strands of hair on your scalp. You continue rubbing his back, and his heartbeat thumps against your ear. “You goof.. I’m not going anywhere.”

Zayne is cute when he’s needy.  The warmth of your body starts to resonate with his. “It’s lonely in my room. I want to sleep on the couch with you and cuddle. You’re so warm. Like a baby seal.”

You can’t help but giggle. Zayne wouldn’t usually express such gushy words, but even under the effects of anesthesia, you could tell he was still himself. You let out a heavy sigh and pushed his black bangs to the side. His cheeks were flushed; the heat was practically radiating off his face. “You should go lie down, Zayne. Your food is almost ready.”

You point to the couch, but Zayne didn't budge. He leans on you again and nuzzles your face. You pull his face down and kiss both of his eyelids. “Go on now, Zayne. Then I’ll feed you.” 

Zayne pouts and then starts to drag his slippered feet towards his couch. He looks back at you. “Then we can cuddle?”

Before resuming your cooking, you reply with a smile. “Yes. Then we can cuddle.”

You hear Zayne grunt as he plops onto the couch. After giving the soup a final stir in the pot, you pour it into a bowl. The delicious aroma seemed to have caught his attention. You grab a glass and pour some strawberry banana smoothie from the fridge. Taking a seat next to Zayne, you set the soup and smoothie on the coffee table in front of him. 

Zayne slowly sits up and opens a part of the blanket as if he were a bird lifting its right wing. You scoot over and feel his warmth envelop you once more. You start feeding him small portions of the soup, cooling down each spoonful with a blow. He shivered slightly after taking a sip from the smoothie. 

Maybe you put a little too much ice..but he seemed to like it.

After Zayne finishes his meal, you assist him in the bathroom to rinse his mouth, change his gauze, and give him his medication. You guide him back to the couch and embrace Zayne. While he rested his head on your chest, he prods at his left cheek, seemingly favoring the numbness in his face. To soothe him, you whisper in his ear and run your fingers through his hair. “Shhh... It’s okay. Is your face feeling tingly?”

Zayne lets out a quiet, “mmhm”. You could have sworn his voice was wavering behind his words. “I appreciate you so much. You’re always taking care of me.”

You continue shushing him and plant a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m here for you, always. My big, cuddly snowman.”

You heard him reply “I love you.” in a muffled voice. 

He’s so adorable. Zayne's behavior was slightly different when he was under anesthesia. Despite his ramblings, you couldn’t bring yourself to make fun of him. He could be silly around you, no matter how serious he claimed to be. You cherish the moments when you and Zayne would reminisce about your childhood and engage in playful activities together, even as adults. It didn’t matter whether it was just spending time at home or doing something extravagant; for you, it is time well spent with him.

You whisper back. “I love you too...” Before long, both of you were napping on the couch together. The afternoon sun streamed in through the cracks of the blinds, filling the room with a soft light. It was quiet and still in Zayne’s house, the only noticeable sound being the synchronized breathing of the two of you. The voice in your head whispered.

"I’ll be here to take care of you. Just like you always take care of me."

[tashism]

hiiiiiiiiiiii surprise but not really massive (tashi heavy) bot drop as an apology for being kinda m.i.a :3 okay ily baby angels!!!!!

tashi bots ⋆˙⟡ᝰ

⋮ ⌗ ┆her best pet (re-release)

genre 𓂃 divorcee!tashi, 2019!tashi, sugar mommy!tashi

“ you’re obsessed with her, but who isn’t? you’re just lucky enough to be able to show it, to be the kiss ass you were destined to be when you met her. luckily for you, tashi loves it. her praise makes you the happiest little thing in the world, her criticism sends you spiraling. you’re like an experiment — just how dependent can she get you? ”

⋮ ⌗ ┆new wave

genre 𓂃 mermaid!tashi

“ it’s too lonely down there for her, coming up surface is the only solace she kind find — you’re the only solace that she can find. she’ll do anything to keep you there, right on the shore with her. she’s starting to wonder if she’d do anything to get you into the water, to keep you in the water. ”

⋮ ⌗ ┆change of plans

genre 𓂃 divorcee!tashi, 2019!tashi, older gf!tashi

“ she swore she’d sooner go in the front lines than get back into a relationship. she doesn’t need it, lily doesn’t need it, no one needs it. she knew she’d be able to ignore any guy that came her way — she was practically ignoring her own husband for months. you, however, she wasn’t prepared to meet, let alone ignore. all she can do is pray for something to let up, something to take you away before she loses herself in you. ”

⋮ ⌗ ┆tin can

genre 𓂃 trailer park!tashi, washed up!tashi

“ she’s nothing short of disgusted for herself, even if the injury wasn’t her fault. what she’s disgusted by is her lack of determination, her recklessness, her life. dive bars aren’t where d1 athletes come unless they’re washed up, and tashi’s too tired to keep trying on the court — darts seem more her speed, anyway. ”

⋮ ⌗ ┆ honors student

genre 𓂃 2019!tashi, professor!tashi

“ she makes you feel like prey, she makes everyone feel like prey. sometimes you wonder if all her scowling and annoyance is some sort of sadistic game, but you’re too scared to even think about it. you’ve dedicated the last two months to kissing her ass, and you’re just praying it finally pays off this one time. ”

art bots ⋆˙⟡ᝰ

⋮ ⌗ ┆crown jewel

genre 𓂃 prince!art

" the last thing he wants is to be married off. it's the bane of every young royals existence, and it's far worse when one has already fallen in love. that's why art refuses to, refuses to let himself even look at a girl for too long. but you — god, you — he's starting to think he'll never be able to look away. "

⋮ ⌗ ┆peer tutor

genre 𓂃 nerd!art, stanford!art

" he really wants out of the friend zone. actually, he wants out of the sit-behind-you-and-wonder-how-your-hair-smells zone, and into the friend zone. god forbid he went about that the normal way. he doesn't know where to start with you, but he does know you're shit at science and he's great at it. all he can do is pray he can 10 things i hate about you this whole tutor session, even if biology isn't as romantic as french. "

⋮ ⌗ ┆velcro dog

genre 𓂃 intern!art

" he was hoping to hate this internship. he wanted to get in and out, all while saving enough money to help keep his grandma in the home she's in. he's sweet, too sweet. you want to eat him alive, in all honesty, and art is fearfully intrigued by that. so much so that he won't leave your side, let alone let his eyes leave your pretty face. patrick would kill him for trying to stay at the firm for good, but you're starting to drown out any voice of reason in his life. "

patrick bots ⋆˙⟡ᝰ

⋮ ⌗ ┆one on one

genre 𓂃 washed up!patrick, coach!patrick, 2019!patrick

" if he played mean, he'd coach mean. he almost feels bad for the people who funnel money into his account, all for them to run suicides and get screamed at by some random in a scruffy beard. so what if he didn't make it in the big leagues? he's determined to make it in some capacity, and you're more than willing to be his trojan horse. "

⋮ ⌗ ┆happy hour

genre 𓂃 washed up!patrick, bartender!patrick

" patrick never learned his lesson from all the girls who slapped him across the face for being a dick — he'll never learn any lesson until he fucks around to find out. as much as he bugs you, he knows you'd never tell him off, not at work, but that's getting boring. he's becoming more and more determined to get on your every last nerve, and you're starting to think he just might. "

⋮ ⌗ ┆the estate

genre 𓂃 2006!Patrick, saltburn au

" he's almost too easy to use. it's funny, really, the way he thinks he can outsmart almost anyone. as irritating as that can be, you'd never say anything about it, you'd never screw yourself over — that's his thing. for some reason between self sabotage and intrigue, he invited you to the zweig estate for the summer. it's rude to turn down such hospitality, no? "

[crimsonender]

Now for some good ol' Fashion Crim Fact Checking.

As you may know, Lily/CD-Call and I have many things in common. We both live in Halifax Nova Scotia, we're both trans, we're the exact same age, and, it seems, we both have ADHD that we both started getting medicated for again earlier this year. Honestly the coincidences weird me out a little but if you've been paying attention you might know some things.

This is a weird post. I can think of one of two situations. 1: the dose is too high and she's crashing. 2: glasses effect. (People that start wearing glasses tend to notice their blurry vision more now that they know what it's like to see properly.)

Never in my life would I suspect this.

For one thing no ADHD medication should do that if you're taking it properly. IE, you take your scheduled dose, and it wears off within the next few hours, and you have at least 12 hours break from the chemical being active in your body. That's how these drugs are meant to be taken. Sometimes, patients will be prescribed in such a way that they only take their medication Monday through Friday and let their bodies rest on weekends. This tends to be the case for younger people, for people worried about things like heart conditions, and other considerations. You should only do this upon instruction of a Doctor or pharmacist. And obviously, skipping a day by accident won't cause negative side effects. You'll just be your regular unmedicated self.

That being said something isn't adding up here. To my knowledge an experience, since ADHD medications are a controlled substance, there is a mandatory meeting with your pharmacist once you pick up the prescription for the first time. I was on concerta several years ago, and got re-prescribed in January. They still made me do the meeting this time even though I've been on it before. They tell you how to take it, what side effects to expect, and make safety plans to avoid an eating disorder developing or potentially developing a heart condition. Doctors and Pharmacists don't fuck around with controlled substances.

But Lily apparently didn't have that *mandatory* talk. Suspicious.

Moreover, Lily had many complaints about how hard it was to get on Adderall. Because of shortages or whatever. for me, I went in to see my doctor and got my prescription filled the next day. Suspicious.

She has also been... Shall we say, high-strung, more so than usual, since she started taking them. She's spoken at length about abusing them to lose weight.

Here is my opinion/theory. None of this is fact, I am not making any accusations. Just giving my opinion based on what I've seen.

I don't think Lily's prescription is legitimate. I think she got them from somewhere under the table, which is why it was so difficult to get them and why she is so uneducated about them. She got them from a dealer illegally.

[asheepinfrance]

i wrote this for so long i have no mildly witty intro. i love patrick and he's romantic to ME. comments and critiques welcome as always

He could stare at the curve of your shoulder all day and the thought is entirely foreign. Foreign but most certainly not unwelcome. In fact, when it made its way into his brain he welcomed it with open arms and walked it into the corner where he kept all the other you-based things he had stored. You on the day he’d met you at that stupid party you most definitely didn’t want to be at, you the first time he kissed you (the first time you’d been kissed, period), you just an hour ago when you asked him to spend the night. Now here he is, watching you watch some shitty movie he’d stopped paying attention to about 15 minutes ago. He’s watching the muscles beneath your skin bend at the will of your bones, watching your shoulders shake each time you laugh, hearing you steady your breath to prevent any sound from coming out, softening entirely when you fail. He remembers you saying you hate your laugh, and he thinks that’s just about the dumbest thing you’ve ever said. It’s not entirely shocking to him that he could feel this way for someone like you, because really, how could he not? Even he had some domesticity tucked under all that bravado, he just needed the right person to coax it out. And god, were you the right person.

Patrick forgets, sometimes, that you’ve never done something like this before. Shared yourself down to those ugly, nasty bits of your soul (though that only really applies to his half of your partnership, in his opinion). Inexperienced was what you were, and remain to be. He only forgets because it’s all come so naturally to you. You love like it’s the simplest thing in the world to be vulnerable. You love him like it takes no effort to, and it warms him up a little. He hadn’t been easy to love since he was 12 and found someone equally eager to be a man as him. His mother had always insisted he’d have to mellow out for someone to accept him, his father telling him to keep himself in check, women don’t like a man without that trademark stoicism. You’d proved them wrong. So he’s fine with just tracing the shape of your arm with his fingertips, eventually finding yours. He likes to think maybe, just maybe, if he held your hands long enough, your fingerprints would become one and the same. 

“Hey… I’m sorry, you know. For being slow about things.”

He looks up from your hands, which were so soft in comparison to his it made him feel ill, to the smallest bit of your eye peeking over your shoulder. 

“Why are you sorry?” 

He knows you, mind included, well enough to know the slew of stupid answers you can supply. ‘It’s embarrassing to have so little experience under your belt at my age’, ‘you’re you and you have sex all the time, so waiting for me is stupid’, so on and so forth. He knows these things because you’ve said them all time and time again, over the course of the 3 months he’s been doing this with you. 3 months went by quite fast. 3 months has never been so blissful. He’d also never experienced a longer wait in his life, not that he’d admit it. But he’d wait till his hair ran gray and his bones could hardly hold his own weight anymore. He could be happy just to see the orange hue to your skin in the dim lamplight of your room. 

“Don’t be, ‘kay? Don’t wantcha to be.”

You open your mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a sigh. He hopes it’s not a sad one. You turn over to place your cheek to his chest, stretch, bend, and soon fall asleep. He knows the sound of your breathing well enough to know the pace it takes in unconsciousness. He reaches out a careful, steady arm to turn the lamp off, his skin tingling with lack of contact until he places it back in its rightful place around your waist, exposed with your lack of a shirt. He’s more than happy to follow your lead in this, and he feels his eyes flicker closed in rhythm to your soft puffs of air against his skin. 

“Hey… Patrick, you awake?”

It’s darker out now, a dark that bleeds into the room enough that he doesn’t see you even if his eyes are open. He rubs at them until you come into a view, and he settles a bit. 

“M’yeah, what’s up? You alright?”

The digital clock you never actually use flashes the time: 3:23 A.M. Late enough that he’s more concerned to see you awake than happy to have this time to talk to you, though he’s happy with any time at all. 

“Patrick, I was thinking… well, you know, I had this dream and…”

You’re heated like a small sun under the palms of his hands, enough that he can feel a thin layer of perspiration at the points of connection between the two of you. And he’s listening as well as he can, what with his tired brain and general boyish inattentiveness, but he thinks he’s got enough of a grasp on things to understand where this is going. He’s grinning in the dark like the Cheshire cat, and he wouldn’t be shocked if all that was visible was the shine of his teeth against the moonlight. 

You’re still talking, though he’s not quite making the words out anymore, blood running past his ears in waves. He still registers that soft tone that you only adopt with him, though, and he’s trying to use it to pull himself out of the sunken, warm ocean of a wait coming to its end. He’s pulled to the surface with a gasp when your lips meet his, not unlike the times previous, but it’s not a feeling he thinks he’ll ever get used to. He’s gripping into your hair just as tightly as he can without hurting you, attempting to mumble something reassuring against your lips for the millisecond you pull away, but it’s swallowed up just as soon as it’s spoken. At least he’s sure that you’re sure. 

He’s well aware he’s been growing harder since the second you woke him up, he’s fairly certain you know it, too, but he refuses to let you acknowledge it yet. He slowly shifts his lips to your cheek, jawline, neck. He can feel your pulse thrumming in the vein in your neck, feels your skin jump against his nose with the strength of it. He can die happy just knowing that he made your heart race, but he’d live happier to continue doing just that. He’s soft, provoking, easing you into things. A gentle lead rather than a harsh tug. It’s what his girl deserves. He wants to bury himself in you until he’s beneath your lavender scented skin. He wants to watch each new crease, furrow and wrinkle in your skin appear in real time. He watches your head dip back, your hair shielding him from the outside world, caging him in possessively, tenderly housing him in. He sees your front teeth press into the plump flesh of your bottom lip, sees it dimple under that pressure. Hears the sigh that forces itself through that gap and he thinks that’s the sound he’ll hear when he goes to heaven.

He hears the relief in just the way you sigh when he opens your bra, and he doesn’t understand how you possibly could have kept the sight of you bare away from him. It’s almost cruel that he’s been in the presence of what could only be a goddess and you hadn’t proved as much. But he’s got the confirmation now, if your sweet, loving demeanor hadn’t been evidence enough, and he’s got all the time in the world to worship you. He trails kisses over the divots of your collarbones, between the newly exposed skin of your chest. He peeks through his lashes at you, sees the mess of your sleep-tossed hair against your shoulders, the glossy, half-lidded flutter in your eyes, the way your stomach jumps beneath his affection until he’s pressed between your thighs and he can feel how warm you are and he wills himself not to be selfish. You don’t pull away, but he refuses to move until he knows your mind is made up. He feels knuckles brush against his cheek, snake through his hair, and that’s all he needs before he’s pulling fabric over the width of your hips, the plush of your thighs and off your legs. He can see some unfamiliar scars and freckles scattered about, and he tracks them the way an astronomer would a constellation. 

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

He’s almost painfully gentle and it’d be frustrating if it wasn’t so sweet. Each brush of his tongue makes the muscles in your thighs constrict, and he’s whispering his apologies about the added intrusion of his fingers against your skin. He can feel you twitch around his face, watches your mouth fall open, your cheeks flush, your chest heave. It’s a bit of encouragement that he’s doing well, which he’s only ever been concerned about with you, and when the pitch of your gasps heightens, their frequency picks up he pulls away just as unhappy to ruin your incoming peak as you are not to experience it. His fingers are slick, lips wet, and the scent of you left on him is enough to have his eyes rolling back.

He lays you down, cradling your head despite there only being pillows beneath you, and with a kiss to your forehead and a nod from you he’s kicking himself out of his painfully tight boxers and slowly pressing into you. He chokes back a gasp, stills himself on his forearm, watches your brows pinch together in discomfort. He kisses you soft, slow, until you’re sharing gasps between your open mouths, and he doesn’t stop moving until he hears that same high-pitched cadence and watches you fall apart. He’s never seen something so beautiful as you writhing around.

“Wait- Wait, you didn’t-”

“Babe, it’s fine. All that matters is that you did so well.”

You look at him, visibly exhausted, and he looks back. You fall asleep just as easily as you did before, a quiet mumble of an ‘I love you’ into his skin that he returns. He doesn’t need to tell you that he finished in his boxers about an hour ago, even if he knows you’d laugh about it. Right now, he’s content in just having you close, watching your body move. He could stare at the curve of your shoulder all day.

[biohorror-human]

U and I are kindred spirits I took one look at ur theme and I said ‘here is another being who enjoys eyescorching color combinations’ have u ever had the experience of presenting a slide with color design so atrocious you visibly see your superiors recoil? Highly recommend the experience if you can manage it (recommend for use only once you are certain to be fired or are not counting on letters of recommendation from them)

Holy fuck let me go find my old high school presentation called "the dean melter" it was a project in our econ class for a project about budgeting on different yearly pays, from minimum wage to like 100k per year or something. You know my cruelty squad loving ass made that as agonizing as possible. i have a bunch more like this but this is my magnum opus.

This slide is about where id be able to live in san diego (we had to base this project in san diego so everyone was on the same page)

this slide is my commute + utilities since i cant afford a car on 2500 a month according to the calculations

also, a lot of these are meant to be gifs, but i only have this project saved as a PDF. its like reading the script to shakespear's plays but not actually seeing them played out. Also, I'm very pro-public transport but as it stands, not very great in america. its okay in San Diego from what I can tell

this slide made me tweak

my teacher was crying laughing by the time we got to this slide. I was part of the first batch of students they taught at my high school, and the whole class had really good chemistry. I ran into him a few years later while I was picking my sister up and he flat out said "yeah no other class has been anywhere near as interesting as your guys it kind of sucks here"

elaborating on the work commute because of some vague criteria I didnt want to miss

can you see why i became a communist

we had to choose an insurance to meet criteria. btw i turned this in like 2 weeks late and got full points.

I presented this verbally so the bullets being fucking unreadable didnt count against my grade since only I was using them. And I didn't go up there and do the average bullshit "read off the board and then go to next slide" i saw my bullet point and started rattling off alllll my criticisms of capitalism

I never explained it to dean it wouldve ruined my flow also the link leads to a video that doesnt exist anymore so god knows what it couldve been

FOOD!!!! :DDDDD

kinda falls off at the end here cause it was like. 4 am at this point.

anyways. the calculations came through and, despite cutting out basically everything you need to survive in america, you have nothing left over. (theres 2 more slides after this but theyre lame as fuck, its just how much better life gets when youre paid more than minimum wage basically)

I made a video about "pervitin" in ww2 after much request by mr dean as well. I think its really good but it has my voice in it so im not posting it here, sorry.

[ylangelegy]

no one and nothing 📄 seokmin x reader.

you call your sweetie when you can— a minute in and it’s bitter again.

★ part of buzz (seventeen's version). ★ word count: 1.5k ★ genre/warnings: alternate universe: non-idol, established [and dissolving] relationship, divorce, hint of an unreliable narrator, angst, i swear this is happy if you really think about it. based off of NIKI’s nothing can; also inspired by ruth lepson’s ‘the day of our divorce hearing’. ★ footnotes: wrote this in one sitting at an overpriced cafe. it’s more prose-heavy than anything, in part because i wanted to experiment with an older writing style. while short, i felt like this is one of the sadder fics i've ever written, and @chugging-antiseptic-dye upon beta-reading described it as something "tired, weary, [and] fatigued." sounds about right. p.s. this was inspired by a conversation with @diamonddaze01, who will likely despise me for seeing this through. it is what it is. 🫡

The tiramisu is perfect, cruelly so. 

You’ve complained about not having any good ones for a long time and, unbeknownst to you, Seokmin has made it his personal mission to try every Italian restaurant within a ten-kilometer distance. It’s not the nicest thing he’s done for you, which is saying a lot. 

Which makes the divorce papers— sitting in a brown envelope; printed on crisp, legal paper— cruel. So, so cruel. 

“You’ve done it again,” you say, your tone edged with amusement as you lick your fork clean. 

From across the table, Seokmin offers you a meek smile. In the split second that it takes him to respond, you hedge your bet on what he’ll say. It’s nothing or you would’ve done the same or—

“It’s just tiramisu,” he says. 

It’s not just tiramisu. It’s never just tiramisu, and the two of you know that. Does it make it worse? Does it make it better? You haven’t decided. Maybe someday, when you’re older and wiser, you’ll have an answer. 

Today, you only have a divorce hearing. 

The fact looms over the two of you. It makes the food taste a little bitter, makes the awkward silences a lot louder. 

When some of the pasta sauce dribbles down the front of Seokmin’s shirt, you resist the urge to draw parallels to your first date. You were kids back then. Babies, Seokmin used to joke. In your early twenties, sick of swiping right to find someone worth your time. Desperate for something real, for someone who would still be there in the morning. 

Fools, you used to think in the thick of your despair. You had been fools who were willing to settle for the first hint of goodness, fools who didn’t know the first thing about being grown-ups. 

Present-day you doesn’t reach out with a tissue like you might’ve early on in your relationship. Present-day you doesn’t shoot him a glare like you might’ve when you first started resenting him. 

You just— tell him the truth. 

“Still such a slob,” you say, half in jest and half as a fact. 

He offers you a rueful grin as he tries to rub the offending spot out of his shirt. A shirt you gave him several Christmases ago, you realize, and my God, what a choice. All the clothes in his closet and he goes for the very first polo you’d given him. 

“Hey, I clean up pretty well,” he shoots back, and you resist the urge to answer Yeah, I know. 

The sauce doesn’t come out completely. It stays a red stain over his left breast. 

A bleeding heart, you think, but then you banish the thought. 

Not everything has to be a metaphor. 

It’s just a stain. This is just a lunch. And Seokmin is just your soon-to-be ex-husband. 

Not the loss of your life. Not the human embodiment of all your failures. Not living proof that you cannot be saved. 

Soon-to-be ex-husband. That’s it. That’s all. 

Seokmin pays for the bill. When you make some joke about alimony, you pointedly ignore how he winces. (Too soon? Too soon.) 

He tips the overzealous waitress generously. Maybe too generously, because she lights up and asks if the two of you want a picture together. 

“Uh…” Seokmin hesitates, glances at you. “Sure.”

The waitress takes his phone. You give him The Look. Sorry, he soundlessly mouths to you, but he’s also not sorry enough to take it back. 

It’s over faster than the waitress can chirp “Cheese!” You lean over the table to see the result. The picture is a touch overexposed, and your smile is tight, and Seokmin’s gaze is unfocused. It may very likely be your last photograph as Mr. and Mrs. Lee Seokmin. 

“Thank you,” Seokmin tells the waitress. His voice is soft. Unbearably so. 

You take your separate cars to the courthouse. There’s no need for opening statements; the two of you are not here to tear each other’s throats out. This is not a ‘contested’ divorce, as your attorney likes to remind you.

It is a ‘mutual’ decision, and so the hearing is an amicable affair. You’ve had worse days together.

There’s that one Christmas you don’t like to talk about, and the summer road trip that Seokmin always conveniently forgets. Vacations marred with minor inconveniences. Anniversaries and birthdays foregone in favor of things deemed more ‘important’. 

You’ve had bad days, and your divorce hearing not being one of them is both a blessing and curse. 

There is no kicking, no screaming, no tears. Just the flourish of your signatures and the bang of a gavel. On an unassuming Saturday afternoon, your marriage with Lee Seokmin ends. 

(You are not the twenty-something-year-old fool that you once were. Which is to say: It probably ended way before this. It ended the first time you tried to say divorce out loud, your tongue curling around the word like you were a child learning to cuss. It ended on that one drive back from couple’s therapy, where Seokmin mumbled at a red light, I think we should stop going.

It ended the night you two slept together for the last time— how you were sick to your stomach at the thought of treating this like a Band-Aid, how Seokmin had to call it quits midway because he couldn’t stop crying. It ended a dozen different times, a dozen different ways before today.

Today, it’s just final. Today, it’s on paper, on record, made known to everyone outside you two.) 

The walk back to the parking lot is heavy in its implication. You can’t decide if you want to drag your feet or if you ought to make a run for it, so you decide to match Seokmin’s pace. 

And Seokmin takes his time. He fixes his shoelaces twice. He goes down the wrong corridor. He lingers; you let him. 

All roads lead to the end, though, no matter how much time he tries to buy. 

Seokmin’s grin is far from the smile that could rival the sun. Right now, it’s an acquisition. A kindness that no longer matters. “Any last words?” he asks as he fiddles with his car keys. 

“I’m tired of being the one who sums things up,” you say. “You get the last word.” 

You try to sound cheeky but you come off more sarcastic than you probably intended. And— with the way your voice quivers on words— there might also be some fear. Fear of a future, a life without the man who you once thought you’d see grey-haired and wrinkled. 

(This will be your last image of him: Dark-haired, dead-eyed, putting on a front. You will not watch him develop a midlife crisis. You will not see him in his old age. The Lee Seokmin you loved and lost will always be twenty-eight in your head.)

Seokmin considers it for a moment. This impossible task. This opposite of an honor.

The last word.

“You never needed it,” he decides. 

“‘It’?” 

“Saving. You never needed saving.” 

It’s perfect— cruelly so. Seokmin, who in his wedding vows had promised to always keep you safe. Seokmin, who was seriously upset when he first found out he wasn’t your emergency contact. 

Seokmin, who thought loving you was synonymous to rescuing you. 

From what, you never did know. Lonely nights? Expensive rent? 

Yourself?

(Later, you will realize that his words were a callback to one of your therapy sessions. You had told your shrink something along the lines of I am not some broken thing that has to be fixed, and I don’t think he understands that. You had been so mad, so hurt; raring to be anything but your husband’s damsel in distress. And Seokmin had been so tired. So willing to give you anything you asked.) 

You never needed saving, he tells you now. The words that might have changed everything—

Realistically, maybe not. It might have given you an ounce of fight. It might have kept you in place for a couple more years. 

But it was all bound to end here. A Saturday, a parking lot, a final word as sweet as your favorite dessert. 

You do not know if you can afford him the same grace, so you give him the next best thing. 

“See you around, Seok,” you say, even though it’s unlikely. 

“Yeah,” he lies just as easily. “Don’t be a stranger.” 

You get into your car. He doesn’t get into his until you’ve pulled out of your parking space, and so you’re treated to the sight of him fading in the rearview. 

Your husband— sorry. Your ex-husband, once larger-than-life, once the personification of love itself. Now nothing more than a story you’ll tell however you see fit. 

Seokmin was always nice to you, even on the days that you didn’t deserve it. Especially on the days you didn’t deserve it. 

Seven years of being together and one failed marriage later, this turns out to be the nicest thing Seokmin has done for you. 

Watching you leave. 

Letting you go.

[day-azevir]

My friends, I present to you the ENTIRE Slabtek Hockey au outline; Frostwalker

> Etho moves down south and far away from his hometown. The combination of the D-1 admission and the severity of his injury made him very recognizable and highly pitied among the people he interacted with. And after about a year, he just got sick of it

> While working at his new job (local arboretum), Etho overhears his coworkers, Bdubs and Gem, talking about hockey practice later that evening. Part of him wants to check it out - he still loves the sport - but the fear of injury that comes with being back on the ice changes his mind

> After doing some digging out of curiosity, Etho finds out that the hockey that's played in town is somewhere between C and D league beer hockey. Even if he doesn't play, it can't hurt to watch, right? Especially since Etho doesn't feel like paying for sports streaming to watch from the safety of his apartment

> Xisuma notices but doesnt recognize Etho from around town, so they tell him when the team does practice in case he wants to show up. Etho says he's been thinking about playing but is worried about potential injuries (avoids talking about his, kinda beating around the bush of hockey horror stories as an excuse. Luckily for him, Xisuma is a bit oblivious). X offers to let him watch the practices so Etho can gauge whether or not he wants join later, to which Etho accepts

> Tango takes notice of Etho now coming into their practices. He saw him once or twice on competition days, but never paid him much mind until now. After chatting a bit with his team, Tango decides to try and talk to him and figure out what Ethos deal is. Upon getting a closer look, OhHesKindaCute.jpeg and invites Etho to join them next practice. Etho gives the same excuse he gave X and Tango lightly flirts before realizing and flees with extra flee in hopes Etho won’t realize

> This goes on for a while, with Etho just watching and Tango trying on and off to get him on the ice. He's persistent, but not aggressive about it - offers to buy Etho starting equipment, telling him about classes to learn how to skate, emphasizing that their team is low contact so there's less chance of injury, etc. Also around this point, at work Gem and Bdubs notice Etho always bringing in the same sandwich for lunch (this will be important for later)

> Etho is not fond of the attention, but Tango's insistence does end up working. Etho ends up telling X what happened and how he wants back on the ice but is scared of other players. The two end up making a deal that allows Etho to come in during the mornings on his days off and work on empty ice before anyone else arrives

> One evening, while walking to the rink (Etho doesn’t have an american license), Tango spots him while riding on his motorcycle and drives him the rest of the way there. Skizz calls while they are talking and Tango says he and Etho just arrived at the rink. When Skizz asks who, Tango says ‘the cute one that watches us practice’. Etho notices, Tango doesn’t. When Tango says he has to go get Skizz, Etho says ‘you think i'm cute?’ causing Tango to once again flee with extra flee

> Tango ends up with a few days off work after a water pipe busted at Papa K’s and takes up the opportunity to teach the kids class while Joe’s out sick so he’s not out of a paycheck. (Keralis does give him and the others pto for this, that's just what he tells Xisuma to let him agree to it). When he gets there a bit early to prepare, Tango sees Etho practicing on the ice and realizes that he is, in fact, actually very good on the ice and has a lot more experience than he was letting on. 

> Tango thinks ‘well, team warmup is as good as any :D’ and joins Etho on the ice for drills. This catches Etho off guard (half because he didn’t see Tango come in), but he reluctantly agrees to share the ice. For interrupting his solo practice session, Tango offers to buy Etho lunch. They chat in the process, dancing around the subject of Ethos hockey skills and instead talk about their plans for the day, catching up on the week, and what drills they want to practice. This goes on until a bit before class starts

> Joe told Tango that the kids were working on moving away from the wall and trying to glide. Because of that, Tango gives a small speech about falling, getting up, and trying again, about how the kids shouldn’t be scared to ask for help, and how everyone on the ice is a team that supports each other. Meanwhile Etho, who’s in the bowl waiting for the class to be done so they can get lunch, OhMoment.jpeg. 

> During class, a kid falls and scrapes their hands. Etho, who's done bandages for that before, decides to help patch the kid up so Tango can keep an eye on the others in case someone else gets hurt. When he gets done, the kid hesitates to get back on the ice because they’re scared of falling again. Etho reminds them of what Tango said and tells the kid if they really like skating, they shouldn't let one fall determine their future (hypocrite Etho moment). The kid agrees, but asks Etho for help getting back on the ice and getting their footing again. Etho obliges, and upon passing the kid off to Tango has a second, more intense, OhMoment.jpeg about the person in front of him

> During lunch, Tango tries to bring up Ethos skills and learn his history with hockey, to which Etho masterfully deflects by ‘not paying attention’ and bringing up his fuck-ass sandwich that he eats everyday. This actually works because Tango is so flabbergasted about the sandwich that he completely forgets to ask again, and instead they talk about foods they like and how Tango is actually a cook during his day job (and how Etho should totally come to Papa K’s at some point not for any reason in particular and definitely not because Tango wants to see him more often, that would be absurd)

> Etho continues his solo hockey practice, but realizes that he actually had a lot of fun when he and Tango were drilling together. He had been enjoying the empty ice but now it feels kind of lonely with just him. Etho tries to not think about it

> A few times at work, Bdubs and Gem invited Etho to join them for lunch, but he had always declined because he would bring his own. However this time, he accidentally slept through his alarm and was almost late to work, so he didn't have time to pack it. When he tells them that, the two happily bring him along to their favorite lunch spot, Papa K’s

> When the order gets to the back, Tango recognizes Gem and Bdubs usual orders, but gets curious when there's a third order that isn't usually there and finds out its Etho. Remembering the conversation they had about Etho missing his daily sandwich, Tango makes that for him instead (behind Skizz and Keralis’ back because he is absolutely not supposed to do special orders). It’s a different meat, and a little too much pepper, but Etho does nearly cry happy tears at the prospect of it

> Tango, now seeing that Etho is starting to get comfortable back on the ice again, devises a plan to try and get him comfortable around the others on the team. He knows that Etho is good with Gem and Bdubs, so Tango invites him to join Impulse, Skizz, and himself for board game night over at their place. Etho accepts, then quietly ponders as to why - does he really want to spend hours with two strangers? He guesses so long as Tango is there it should be fine. He then ponders as to why Tango's presence makes any difference at all. Etho tries to not think about it

>TIES game night is going pretty well. Etho finds out that Imp and Skizz are married, which does bring up the subject of relationships. Tango complains about how hard it is to find a partner in town, considering its size and especially his type (men). When they ask Etho about his relationships, he reveals he’d never actually been in one before, and so he hadn’t really thought about it. Etho says he guesses gender doesn't matter so long as they’re a good partner. (Demiromantic Etho real and true). Tango gets his hopes up, but tries not to. Impulse and Skizz notice and share a knowing glance. Etho is too lost in his own epiphany to realize any of this

> At some point during game night, Tango’s prosthetic starts to bother him as he’d worn it all day and worked in it as well. Tango opts to just take it off for the time being, and Impulse berates him for not taking care of his residual limb (there is some obvious chafing. Tango blames it on the constant washing from the kitchen and the cold of the ice). This is the first time Etho is made aware of Tango’s hand (or lack thereof) as he always wore gloves and used his left hand for most motions. In retrospect, it made sense, like how sparingly Tango used his right hand when the two got lunch together, but it just didn’t occur to Etho that there was an actual reason as to why

> Etho asks Tango about how he lost his hand, and Tango explains how he had gotten into a motorcycle accident on the highway. The driver slammed into the back of the bike and sent both it and Tango across the pavement, where the bike practically landed on him. As the motor was still running, his hand got caught in some of the moving parts and was mangled. Impulse ends up finishing the story, as Tango couldn’t remember some of the final details and Impulse was his emergency contact. When Etho asks why Tango still drives a motorcycle after the accident, Tango laughs. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Well, I mean, you lost your hand. Aren’t you worried it might happen again? Or something worse?” 

“If I worried about everything that hurt me, I’d never get anything done! Besides, I like riding motorcycles; the feeling of the wind, the hum of the motor, all of it. It makes me feel free. I’m not gonna let one little accident keep me from that.”

> Tango tells Gem and Bdubs of his master plan, and so they also start working on Etho to the other players (and even some of the skaters). He notably talks to Joel, False, Cleo, Beef, Doc, and Scar. Xisuma also enlists Ethos help in seeing what the players need to work on as they can only focus on so many people at a time, and two sets of eyes can catch more than one. This leads to Etho chatting with some of the other players when giving tips (after being approved by X first, of course)

> More and more of the players greet Etho whenever they see him around the ice, and Etho does start to feel more welcomed in the rink (not that he wasn’t previously, but it helps when people get to know you a bit). However, this does allow more people to see how he and Tango act around each other, which leads to Gem, Impulse, Skizz, and Joel to pressure Tango into asking Etho out. Of course, Tango can’t just ask him out, that's absurd! No, no. Tango instead asks Etho if he would like to join him for dinner at a restaurant they've never eaten at before. It’s just weird eating by oneself in public, and Tango would pay for the meal and everything, and it’s totally fine if not but he just thought he’d offer just and case :] . Etho very casually accepts and they two arrange a time to meet. Once they get to their respective homes, both end up like this for the next half hour -> o///////o

> The night of the totally-definitely-not-a-date comes around. Tango shows up to Etho’s apartment dressed slightly nicer than usual, but hidden beneath his jacket (biker safety first). Etho is also lightly dressed up and, while not visible, did put on an eye patch and worked to hide his scar (more so than usual). Both have a minor ‘oh wow’ moment before complimenting each other and heading out

> The two start chatting and Etho makes a joke about how oblivious he can be at times (ex. Tango's hand), so Tango suggests they play 20 questions to get to know each other, Etho going first. They talk about their families, where they're from, pets they've had, etc. Eventually, Etho asks if Tango had broken any bones before (yes), which led to him asking Etho what his worst injury was. Etho asks if skipping is an option, but does end up saying that whatever it was is the reason he keeps himself covered up, even in the heat (referencing when Tango saw him walking down the road in full coat and mask). Aside from that, Etho choses to not go into more detail and Tango decides to let it be. They decide to venture back into more lighthearted questions - funniest story, weirdest talent, etc - to help bring the mood back up before finishing dinner. Upon seeing the bill, Tango makes a joke about taking Etho to a Wendy’s next time instead. Despite knowing it's just a joke, Etho finds himself excited at the idea of spending time with just Tango. He then tries really hard to not think about it

> Unfortunately for Etho, he just can not stop thinking about it. When Etho first moved down here, he really hadn’t known anybody outside of work. And while Gem and Bdubs were great - they really were! Friendly and kind and all around good people - there was just something different about Tango. He was smart and fearless and funny and so passionate about everything. Etho had learned quite a bit about him over lunch and dinner, as well as the times they’d talked at the rink, but he still wanted more. He wanted to learn what Tango thought about life, how he navigates the days and years, what he loves, and what he hates. But what Etho really wanted to learn was what Tango thought about him. Did Tango like him? Love him? Was he just being nice or was there something there? Does he enjoy their time together? What are they? Are they even anything or is Etho just extrapolating something that isn't there? He didn’t dare admit to losing sleep over it

> Things continue as they were for a bit; Etho basically being Xisuams assistant and helping the players on the ice, as well as finally meeting the rest of the hermit ensemble

> During one practice match, Tango trips and False isn’t able to slow down in time, causing her to run over his prosthetic fingers. This doesn't cause any damage except for a scratch across the top, but the situation does leave Tango a bit shaken up. Etho immediately rushes over to the box to check on him, and while Tango insists he’s fine, Etho can tell he’s not by how Tango stutters and curls in on himself. Etho assures Tango it’s okay to be frazzled by it because what just happened was scary, and he understands that. Tango mutters something about limb loss and phantom pains, to which Etho says he knows. He knows better than most. Tango takes a quick glance over Etho before landing on the bit of scar sticking out from under his hair - something he hadn’t seen before because they’d never been this close. He chooses not to say anything, but does take note. After calming down for a while, Tango gets back on the ice to finish practice

> On the next competition day, Hypno and Keralis place a bet on which half of the team will win the match; If Keralis wins, Hypno has to buy the whole team rounds based on how many goals they scored, and vice versa if Hypno wins. Keralis ends up losing as Hypnos team ends up with four goals total - he’s bothered more by his team losing than the amount of money he's about to spend and makes sure they know it (/lh). Xisuma, without their knowledge, is chosen to be one of the designated drivers

> Two things are noticed once the gang reaches the bar: 1) Tango is a lightweight, and 2) Etho is a giggly drunk. Everyones having a good time, with Etho and Tango sitting next to each other up at the bar. They drink and chat and are maybe a bit oblivious to the hermits' comments about two lovebirds (surely they're talking about Imp and Skizz? Or maybe even xB and Hypno? It doesn't really matter).

> At one point, Tango gets up to go to the bathroom, and some rando comes up and takes his seat. Of course, this makes Etho uncomfortable because he does not know this guy and quiets down - rando reads this as a girl playing hard-to-get and starts flirting, which does not help the situation at all. When Tango gets back and sees what's happening, he immediately puts himself between Etho and the guy and ignores the guy's protests. Etho responds to Tango and the guy, realising Etho is not in fact a woman and just an effeminate guy, gets pissed off and starts trying to get in his face. Tango immediately whips around and retorts, getting the other hermits' attention. Now surrounded by three people who can clearly beat him in a fight (Doc, Cleo, and Beef), the guy backs off and Tango takes his seat back. Tango and Etho cling to each other for the rest of their time there

> When the designated drivers start rounding everyone up for the night, Xisuma realises that only two people know where Etho lives; Etho himself and Tango. Unfortunately for them, Etho was too drunk to remember his address and Tango was too drunk to give any coherent directions (“take a left after the skadoodle then keep goin till the blurg then a right at the skittle-bop” “...Tango what the fuck are you even saying to me?”). After double and triple checking with Etho, they decide to leave him with Tango at his house as the two are latched on to each other like sloths and Tango could bring Etho back to his apartment in the morning

> Upon entering the house, the two are immediately bombarded with affection from Tango's dog, Torchy, which Tango melts into and Etho has a heart attack over. After taking some time to assure Etho that his dog is not dangerous, and is just excited to see people, the two sit down and start eating (Xisuma bought them food on their way home). Of course a copious amount of alcohol + sudden adrenaline spike + greasy food = Etho hunched over the toilet spitting his guts out while Tango holds his hair out of the way. Once his stomach settles, the two migrate to the couch and place a trash can nearby. While Tango works Ethos braids into a bun (in case he gets sick again while Tango’s asleep), the following conversations occurs:

“I’m sorry”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“I think I'm in love with you”

“That's okay… I think I'm in love with you, too”

> In the morning, Etho wakes up to a pounding headache, a sore eye, a dog pinning his legs, and Tango still passed out on his shoulder. Considering how much everything hurts, he opts to just lay there until Tango eventually wakes up and starts moving. After getting up and letting Torchy out, Tango notices Etho is a bit strained and offers him some pain killers, to which Etho gladly accepts. As the two start to eat brunch, Tango realizes that it seems to be Etho’s eye that’s bothering him more than the hangover. The secrets out, the scar is visible, and Tango decides it might as well happen now - he asks Etho what happened to his eye

> Etho explains how about a year before he moved into this town, he had actually been chosen for Division 1 in the NCAA. He and his team had been working through the championship, and even made it to the Regional finals before everything happened. Etho goes on to say that when it comes to those games, it's not a question of if, but when a fight breaks out on the ice. During the final, one of his teammates got cross-checked, and so Etho tore the guy off and ended up in a fight. In the end, his helmet got knocked off and the guy took the opportunity to strike Etho in the face. With his skate. His skate that had been recently sharpened. It didn't get any easier after, either. On top of not being able to see and being suddenly so far removed from everything he had known, everyone started treating him so differently. It’s hard to return to normal and act like everythings fine when people treat you like a wounded animal. So he moved away. Where nobody knew him and maybe people would finally start to look at him like a person again

> The two sit in silence for a bit; Tango processing what Etho said and Etho desperately trying to gauge his reaction. Tango apologizes for taking so long to answer before agreeing; noting how for a while after his hand was amputated it felt like there was some invisible wall between himself and the world, how no matter what he tried nothing felt the same, and how, even now, it still feels like the wall comes and goes at random. But it does go away, for some time at least. And the longer that it's been, the less and less it feels like there's a disconnect between himself and others. It gets easier - not in the sense that it goes back to what it was, but in the sense that you grow around it. Then one day you notice that it doesn't really bother you anymore. Everyone has their moments - sometimes Tango wakes up grieving something he hasn't had in years - but it does get easier

> Etho admits that he wants to play hockey again, he really does, but he's just so scared of what could happen. He wishes he could be brave like Tango; to grow and change and do what he loves despite everything, but he feels stuck. Like maybe the invisible wall Tango was talking about is just a little too thick for him to get through. Tango reaches over and takes his hand, “Then let me help you.”

> At the next practice, Xisuma digs around for an extra jersey while Hypno places an order for a new one with the number 16. Ethos hands shake a bit as he straps on his elbow pads, but it's a mix between nerves and excitement, and Tango is quick to reassure him with a small kiss and words of encouragement. The others are already on the rink waiting for them, and when X blows the whistle to announce the start of practice, Etho gets on the ice with his team

[gamesetattach]

Pleasant Distraction

Jannik Sinner x Reader Little blurb of Jannik's practice being interrupted by reader and her work, and suddenly tennis is the least interesting thing on court

The offseason lull made the Grand Slam venue feel oddly serene, the usual chaos of tournament season replaced with quiet, empty stands. Jannik Sinner was using the stillness to his advantage, practicing on one of the main courts under the watchful eyes of his team. Darren Cahill and Simone Vagnozzi stood nearby, observing the casual drills as Jannik worked through his practice. His focus razor-sharp, as it often was—for the most part, at least.

His attention slipped just slighty as you and your team from the venue’s design department bustled into the stadium with a burst of energy. You were leading your first major project: designing and installing new visual assets and fixtures for the court. You were giddy with excitement, an opportunity to progress your career while enhancing the fan experience of your favorite sport.

You chatted animatedly with your close-knit crew as you walked through the corridors toward the court. That excitement came to a screeching halt when you rounded the corner and saw the unmistakable figure of the World No. 1, mid-serve, on the court that was supposed to be yours for the hour.

“Oh,” you said, skidding to a stop, your team nearly colliding into you. The rhythm of a perfectly calm and routine practice halted as everyone turned to look at the unexpected arrivals. Jannik paused, racket in hand, while his coaches exchanged questioning glances.

“So sorry for the interruption!” you said quickly, raising your hands in apology. You shot a look at your team, eyes wide, and one of them hurried off to find the facility manager and sort out the mix-up.

“What’s going on?” Darren asked, walking toward you with a calm but curious expression.

“I think the court got double-booked,” you explained, trying to sound steady and unfazed. “We’re with the venue's design team—just need to take some measurements and photos for an upcoming project. I’m really sorry to disrupt your practice.”

Darren nodded, his gentle demeanor putting you slightly at ease. “No problem. It’s a casual session anyway. If you only need a couple of people, it shouldn’t be an issue."

“Really? Thank you so much,” you said, relief flooding your tone. “We’ll be quick and I promise not to disturb anything.”

“Take your time,” Darren assured you with a small smile. He turned back toward Jannik and the rest of the team, waving them off. “Just keep it going, guys.”

You directed most of your team to wait outside and work on other tasks, bringing in just one other team member to help you quietly assess the courts. As you worked your way around the space taking the measurements, you willed yourself to ignore your favorite player in the center even when it felt like his gaze was following you. You’d seen him play plenty of times on TV, but up close, his energy was more striking—tall, sharp-featured, and completely in his element on the court.

Unfortunately for Jannik, your presence made it so his focus wasn’t quite where it needed to be. Simone, ever observant, noticed the slight distraction. During a drill, he sent a harder ball toward Jannik, catching him off guard. The ball clipped Jannik’s arm, eliciting a grunt of surprise and a muffled laugh from Simone.

“Pay attention,” Simone said dryly, though his amused smirk betrayed him.

Jannik's exasperated reaction and the team's laughter that followed drew your attention, and you looked up just in time to see Jannik shake his head at Simone, muttering something under his breath. You couldn’t help but chuckle, and when Jannik’s eyes flicked toward you and caught your smile, he found himself grinning too.

---

As you and your colleague made your way around the court, measuring fixtures and snapping photos, the banter between you both flowed easily. Your friend’s deadpan humor mixed with your quick quips, drawing laughter not just from each other but from some of Jannik’s team as well. His physio even chimed in at one point, after overhearing an ongoing bit of yours, joining in on the lighthearted exchange.

Jannik, despite himself, couldn’t help but eavesdrop. He caught snippets of your conversations—a suggestive joke about the oddly phallic camera mounts, a playful argument over the worst vantage point for spectators. Each comment made the corners of his mouth twitch, a quiet amusement he couldn’t quite suppress.

By the time Jannik’s team wrapped up their session, you and your co-worker was still finishing up. Darren gave a polite wave as they began to pack up. “Thanks for working around us,” he called out.

“No, thank you,” you replied earnestly. “We appreciate it.”

As they left, Jannik hovered for a moment longer than necessary before trailing behind his team, catching one last burst of laughter you exchanged with your coworker. He felt a small pull of resistance leaving the court, an unusual feeling for him.

---

In the hallway, the facility manager intercepted Jannik and his team, visibly distressed. “Mr. Sinner, I’m so sorry about the mix-up earlier. It was entirely our oversight. The design team shouldn’t have been scheduled at the same time—”

Jannik raised a hand to stop the apology. “It was no problem,” he said simply. “They were respectful and didn’t affect anything. Honestly, they made it more interesting.”

Simone smirked but said nothing, while Uli's lips twitched as if holding back a laugh. The facility manager looked relieved, nodding quickly.

As Jannik’s team continued toward the exit, one of your other team members who had been waiting outside overheard the exchange. When they caught Jannik’s lingering glance back toward the court tunnel as he walked away, they couldn’t resist.

“She’s single,” your coworker blurted out, grinning when Jannik turned to them, clearly startled. "If you were wondering."

Darren let out a laugh, clapping Jannik on the shoulder. “Well, there you go.”

Marco elbowed him teasingly. “Ask for her number,” he murmured, half-joking but fully supportive, "Can't risk your mind wandering for any more practices."

Jannik hesitated for a moment before glancing at your coworker. “Could I... Would you mind giving it to me? Her number?” he asked, his ears red and eyes downcast, voice quieter than usual.

The coworker grinned, pulling out a pen and jotting down your number in their sketchbook before tearing the page out. “Good luck,” they said, handing it to him with a wink.

---

Back on the court, you and your teammate were oblivious to the conspiring interaction outside. You were wrapping up the last of the measurements, laughing over another inside joke about how badly you'd messed up the dimensions the last time. When you finally exited the stadium, your team was waiting, their expressions far too gleeful and mischievous for your liking.

“...What? What have you done?” you asked suspiciously.

“Oh, nothing,” one of them said, barely containing their grin. “Just… keep an eye on your phone...”

---

Short one today, gotta love when Sinner is the one intrigued tho xx

[wombywoo]

smoke break

[waterghostype]

crusty kid

[bixels]

The idea that uni protesters are "elitist ivy-league rich kids larping as revolutionaries" on Twitter and Reddit and even here is so fucking funny to me if you actually know anything about the student bodies at these unis. Take it from someone who's going to one of the biggest private unis in the US, 80% of the peers I know are either from the suburbs or an apartment somewhere in America, children of immigrants, or here on a student visa. I've heard about one-percenter students, but I've never met one in person. Like, don't get me wrong, the institution as a whole is still very privileged and white. I've talked with friends and classmates about feeling weird or dissonant being here and coming from such a different background. But in my art program, I see BIPOC, disabled, queer, lower-income students and faculty trying to deconstruct and tear that down and make space every day. So to take a cursory glance at a crowd of student protesters in coalitions that are led by BIPOC & 1st/2nd-gen immigrant students and HQ'd in ethnic housings and student organizations and say, "ah. children of the elite." Get real.