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luvring · 7 months

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UNIVERSITY WITH BOKUTO

gn!reader | late bokuto birthday post. kyaaa.. sorry for using sociology btw. i’m coping

university student!bokuto who you meet the first day of classes. it was hard not to notice him on the train, nor how you seemed to be taking the same path. you’re speed-walking down a pedway—just a few minutes from being late—when his eyes flicker over to you. “we were on the train together, right? i thought it was funny we started walking the same way. what class are you going to?” he asks with a smile.

and it’s a cute smile, but you wish it wasn’t because you’re starting to run out of breath and you don’t think the one you flash back is anywhere near as easy. “sociology with, uh, philip.”

your new-found acquaintance lights up. “really? me too!”

“yeah, i had him last year and he was really good,” you reply. and maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the way he seems so friendly despite how little you’ve spoken, but you decide to introduce yourself first.

the stranger grins again. “it’s nice to meet you,” he says your name hesitantly, as if testing it out for the first time. “i’m kotaro!”

university student!bokuto who has an impressive skill for keeping small talk going in a way that isn’t awkward or miserable. he sits across from you on the train every morning you have class—taking the side that keeps you from squinting at the sun, which, of course, garners a thank you—and talks about anything and everything. he tells you about his other courses, asks for yours, what you had for breakfast, whether you prefer pancakes or waffles, and even describes how he likes to drizzle on designs with his syrup. (one of his favourites was a wonky little owl, and kotaro swears he managed to draw mario once—or at least his long-lost twin.)

it’s easy talking with him, and even when you want to skip and sleep in, you find yourself getting ready, just in hopes of seeing him again.

university student!bokuto who has a pad of sticky notes in his backpack, filled with reminders and drawings and scribbles from testing if a pen has ink left. the professor is going over the syllabus when you turn to see his brows furrowed, pen doing something on the paper. you have to stop yourself from smiling too big when kotaro passes you a note—a little doodle of the you holding hands and cheering, “SOCIOLOGISTS! >:)” written in block letters above. you have a collection growing by the end of the first two weeks.

bokuto who offers to hang out with you while you wait for your next class, and even walks you there when you’re ready. forty minutes—it’s an awkward amount of time where you can’t really do anything, or sit outside the room to wait, so having someone with you is always nice. you’ve just sat down when you remind him again, “you could just go home, kotaro. you don’t have to wait for me.” and kotaro shakes his head, taking a sip of his drink before replying. “you can’t get rid of me that easy. i like spending time with you, anyway, so don’t worry about me.”

bokuto who stops mid-bite of his lunch when you use his nickname for the first time. “kou, did you get napkins?” you try to ask casually, ignoring how foreign the name feels on your tongue. kotaro stares, cheeks filled on one side with rice. “…kou?” “huh? oh, yeah! uhm.” he fumbles, but manages to hand them over. you thank him quietly and he smiles. he considers himself lucky that you’re looking down at your food, and can’t see how he’s holding back what could possibly be the biggest grin of his life.

bokuto who casually mentions his birthday is coming up, much sooner than you’d expect, and much sooner than you’d hope considering you wanted to get a gift. you lightly hit him on the shoulder. “why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“aw, you don’t need to get me a gift. but if you’re free, i was gonna have dinner with some friends,” he offers. “which probably sounds awkward because you don’t really know them, but i told them about you and they’re really nice, and i’d be there so i don’t think it’d be too bad? and it’s after your assignment is due for your other class, i think. or we could do something another day? if you wanted to.”

your ears heat up when he says he’s talked about you, the rest of your face following suit when you realize he's been paying attention to your schedule, but you bite the inside of your cheek and say nothing. “no, it’s okay, i’ll come to dinner, if that’d be okay with them.”

any nervousness that was building inside him evaporates, and kotaro is suddenly back to his usual grinning self. “awesome! it’s my birthday so they’ll be fine, promise!”

bokuto who, himself, is not fine when the day comes—who starts shaking akaashi’s shoulder when you text to say you’ll be there soon. he’s barely paying attention to how his other friends are snickering, or even to akaashi’s reassurance that yes, bokuto, your outfit looks nice, and yes, he’s sure you’d have mentioned any allergies to his cake and no, he doesn’t think he’ll need an epipen by the end of the night.

bokuto who had no idea you managed to text akaashi and the others privately to figure out what the best short-notice gift would be. they told you that kotaro would appreciate anything you bought or made, even if it was just a simple card. they’re all a little surprised when you show up with not just a card, but also a sweater, owl plushie, and collection of sticky notes.

“i mean, i just thought the sweater was pretty soft and the owl was cute. but the sticky notes are ‘cause you always draw on them during class. so i sort of…made you little drawings? of you, stuff you like…they aren’t the best since i had to make them fast, but...” you trail off as he flips through each one.

one of his friends—kuroo, you think—looks over kotaro’s shoulder and snickers. “huh? i don’t know what you’re talking about, i’m pretty sure i’ve seen him make that exact face before. are you considering going into the art industry?”

you smile as everyone else looks over your gift, but your eyes are fixed on the birthday boy himself. he’s smiling widely as he takes in each sticky note, making comments and laughing when he reads an inside joke you have from class.

bokuto who takes you to the side while everyone else is talking amongst themselves, surprising you with a hug. “oh!” you take a second to process the fact that there’s arms wrapped around you, but eventually wrap yourself around him in return.

he says your name, dragging out the last syllable as he squeezes you tighter, moving you side to side. “thank you for the present!”

you snort and pat his back. “i’m glad you liked it, some of those sticky notes took a few tries to not look like shit.” you joke.

when he finally lets go, kotaro has a look of determination on his face. “i’ll be sure to make a birthday present just as good as yours, or even better! i didn’t miss it, did i? is it close? i should have asked earlier,” he panics. “well, even if it’s tomorrow, i’ll make sure it’s super good. it isn’t tomorrow, is it? or are new year’s presents a thing?”

bokuto who’s already planning what to do for a gift after you’ve all left, wearing the sweater and holding the plush, with the drawings on his desk, waiting to be put up in the morning.

#haikyuu x reader #bokuto x reader #bokuto fluff #happy belated birthday...#sorry taglist friends . i do not have the energy right neow

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standfucker · 8 months

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Engravings

inspired by the following comment on my last SH fic:

Couldn't stop thinking about it, which eventually led to this.

Characters: Sanji

Reader: GN, they/them

Word Count: 6.2k

CW: Hurt/Comfort, SH, SH scars, auditory hallucinations, PTSD, mental institution-related trauma. No shipping, ace-friendly

Summary: It’s Sanji. You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

AO3 Link

"I’m listening to everything / please, tell me everything"

Nothing’s happened.

The sea is calm, the sun is shining, and the breeze is strong. All in all, a great day for sailing.

Nothing’s happened…

No recent squabbles among the crew, no surprises from sea beasts, no battles with pirates or Marines.

There’s no reason to feel the way you do. No trigger or logic to it. But you feel it anyway.

It’s like there’s an invisible filter over everything. Nothing looks different. Things sound different, though. The sounds of the waves and wind, the snapping of sailcloth and rope, the din of the crew’s voices. All of it wavers, like someone has their hand on a universal volume dial, yanking it back and forth at random. Sometimes the sounds are piercingly loud, like they’re right next to your ears, making you resist the urge to cover them. Sometimes the sounds blend into the background of everything else in a low, dull hum–so distorted that you have to focus to parse what’s being said to you.

The sound issue is your second tip-off that you’re having that kind of day. The first is the sense that the Sunny feels too small. And, crushingly, overwhelmingly, it feels like your fault. Irrational, but you can’t shake it. Really, it’s stupid: On the outside, it just looks like you’re hanging out next to your crewmates, making idle conversation. Inwardly, there’s such a deep feeling of guilt for just being there that you’re ready to throw yourself overboard.

You try to cope. You really do. You make an effort, mentally talking yourself through it.

I am allowed to take up space. I am allowed to exist.

You want to cry. You want to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t make sense, and there’s no cause you can identify. You feel like you’re going to throw up.

No one notices. How could they? Your mask is calm smiles and practiced eye contact, formed with easy jokes and interest in what the others say. Your mask is years in the making, thick with each layer you’ve added to seal in the cracks. It’s heavy and ugly, but it keeps you safe.

I am allowed to exist.

There’s no danger. You can’t explain why your fight-or-flight response is going off. There’s something wrong with you, and no one can see it because the problem is deep in the wiring. You can’t even see it. But you can feel it, and it feels so god-awful you don’t know how to endure it.

You feel yourself shaking from head to toe, so much so that it’s hard to keep your balance. But when you look down, your body is completely still. The noise around you blends together and buzzes like static, harsh on your ears. Then it gets louder.

I am allowed to exist.

You want to crawl in a hole and hide.

I am…

You excuse yourself–casually, collectedly–and head for the ship’s interior. You know what you’re going to do before you even start moving, like the decision’s already been made for you. A certainty that settles in your system, something to hold onto. The background noise grows even louder.

You stumble into the bathroom. As soon as you shut the door, all sound cuts out.

You can’t hear anything. Not even the sea, nor the creaking wood of the ship. The room shifts, draws away from you until you have tunnel vision. Your vision warps, then focuses on the cabinet above the sink until you can see nothing else. Just like before.

It’s been a few weeks since the last time.

The background noise slowly picks up, but it’s distant, like you’re hearing it coming from a different ship. You reach for the cabinet.

What are you doing?

You open the cabinet. It’s organized so each crewmate’s stuff is clustered together, with the common items at the bottom. Your gaze passes over your deodorant, your nail clippers, your toothbrush, and settles on your straight razor.

Aren’t you too old for this?

You take your razor. From the common items, you take a bottle of alcohol. You fold up some tissue paper.

What would the crew think?

It’s hard to ignore the thoughts. But like any bully, they usually go away if you don’t give them energy. Usually.

The razor’s weight in your hand is comforting. It shouldn’t be, but it is. You unfold it, wipe down the blade with some alcohol. Then you lift up your sleeve and slide it over your shoulder.

This stretch of sea has been balmy. With the pleasant weather, you’ve worn a t-shirt, the short sleeves going just less than halfway down your arm. Underneath them, high up on your shoulder, are the scars. Faint and healed, a few shades lighter than your skin tone. Noticeable in the light, but that’s why you don’t participate in the group baths.

The background noise gets louder again. You think you hear shouting, faintly, but that’s normal for the crew. It barely registers over your heartbeat.

Your heart is beating harder than before, dull thumps in your chest that seem to echo. Anticipating, ready.

Everything is going to be okay.

Finally. Finally. A hurt you can make sense of. Small, controlled. Yours.

There’s supposed to be a rush, you’ve heard. You don’t feel one. But there is a difference. The tunnel vision stops, the filter lifts. The world snaps back into place, the sound goes back to normal.

That’s when you really notice the shouting, no longer muffled by brain static. Something’s off. You focus. It doesn’t sound argumentative, like Zoro and Sanji. Nor is it playful, like Luffy or Franky’s might be. It’s startled and panicky, immediately grabbing your attention and making your adrenaline surge.

A second later, you hear an echoing BOOM, followed by an ear-splitting crunching of wood. It’s a sound you recognize, one you’ve heard before–a cannonball tearing into the ship.

You’re under attack.

For just a moment, you stare at your equipment, caught off guard. Then you pull yourself together–take your feelings and compartmentalize them for later dealing with–and tear out of the bathroom, dropping the tissue in the process. Your pistols are in their case, in the sleeping quarters. You need to get to them before you can join the fight…

The enemy pirates are strong–for a New World crew. Unfortunately for them, they’re completely outclassed by Luffy alone, much less the combined strength of the Straw Hats. Still, the numbers favor the enemy, and the battle is tiring enough to be distracting. Enough so that you forgot about what you were doing before it started. It’s only an hour into helping Franky patch up the ship, when you feel your shirt sleeve catch on your scabs, that you remember.

Then you realize you left your equipment out in the bathroom.

The razor. The alcohol. The bloody tissue paper.

Panic floods your system. You drop your tools and jump up as if electrocuted, all but flying to the bathroom. Has anyone used it since the fight?

Please no, please please please be wrong.

You kick the door open. It bangs harshly against the wall.

The equipment is gone. Your stomach sinks.

No no no no no.

You open the cabinet. Everything’s been returned to its place. Your straight razor has been folded and put away, as has the alcohol. The used tissue paper is gone. Not in the trash, either. Whoever it was must have discarded it in the toilet.

No no no no no!

Who?

Who was it? You run through the possibilities in your head. Zoro? No, he wouldn’t clean up after someone else’s mess. Neither would Nami. At least, not for free. And what about the rest of the crew?

Whoever it was, would they even know what they saw? Surely they’d just think you cut yourself shaving. That was the only explanation, right? Even if the patterns on the tissue paper were distinct, the stains shaped into blurry, beaded lines–unless they had done it before, there’s no way they’d know. Right?

This time, when you shiver, it’s for real, not just a figment of your imagination. What would happen if you were found out? At best you’d be kicked out of the crew. At worst…

I’ll get locked up again.

You feel ill. Dizzy and nauseated with the prospect. You try not to spiral, try to get a grip before panic can take hold. The best you can do is to close the door behind you, sit on the floor, and take deep breaths.

You’re not sure how long you’re there–minutes, hours–but you don’t get up until someone knocks on the door.

“You almost done?” Usopp calls from the other side.

Swallowing hard, you find your voice. “Yeah. Just a sec.”

Usopp doesn’t so much as give you a second glance when you pass him. It’s not him.

You’re hypervigilant the rest of the day, scrutinizing every action, every word from your crewmates. Nothing seems different, but that only makes you more paranoid.

Nami offers you a tangerine. The simple action sets off a cascade of racing thoughts: Is she trying to make you feel better? Because she knows? Did she tell anyone? Did she tell Chopper? Luffy?

Every interaction is like that–an innocuous action that makes you flip out internally.

Franky gives you a gift: A cute little wind-up frog toy, made from scrap metal. He says it's to thank you for helping with repairs. You scan his face, but he’s only grinning proudly. Not Franky, either.

Zoro invites you to drink with him. Brook plays a song you like. Robin hands you a book she’s just finished, saying it might suit your tastes. Nothing unusual, but enough to make you second guess everything. Each time, you cling to your mask, holding it so tightly to your face that you can barely breathe.

The next day, Sanji cooks your favorite meal for dinner. That wouldn’t be too weird, except you know for a fact that your favorite involves pricy ingredients that he prefers to save. You know this because he mentioned it, years ago, when he was teaching you how to make the dish.

You and Sanji had joined the Straw Hats at the same time. Two weeks before Luffy had shown up, you had tried and failed to dine-and-dash from Baratie. Zeff forced you to work to pay it off, plus an extra week to “teach you a lesson.” That was when you got to know Sanji. Unlike the rest of the chefs, he wasn’t mad at you for what you did. He even taught you some of the basics of cooking. As the only soft presence on the floating restaurant, you grew attached, and that feeling of reliance never really left since then. You were drawn to his air of confidence and self-assuredness, but mostly to the fact that he never hid who he was, even when who he was could be straight-up idiotic at times. But you still respected that about him.

You always liked to hang out around the cook, helping him prepare meals with what you learned at Baratie. You both fought well together, having each others’ backs in battle despite your different fighting styles. It was safe to say that he was your favorite crewmate, and though you weren’t sure what he thought of you, you viewed him as your closest friend.

So you really, really don’t want it to be Sanji.

You appraise his expression, his movement, his actions. It all seems normal, on the surface. And yet, it feels off somehow, but you can’t tell if that’s just the paranoia speaking.

“How is it?” Sanji inquires.

You stare for a second. It’s not a question he usually asks–he knows it’s your favorite and he knows you think it’s amazing. Maybe it’s just your imagination, but the smile doesn’t seem to reach his eyes.

“Delicious, as always,” you say. Your own smile lights up your face, the way you’ve carefully practiced. “What’s the occasion?”

He pauses, rubs the back of his neck. “No reason, really. I just thought that it’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

That evening, you’re alone at the port side of the ship, leaning against the railing and looking out at the night sea. Sometimes it helps with your racing thoughts. This time, it does nothing. Nothing keeps you from fixating on the situation. You feel like you’re hanging by a thread, like at any moment you’ll get kicked off the crew, and then your whole world will unravel. And it’s entirely your fault.

The questions won’t stop repeating themselves: Who was it? Did they know?

Behind you, someone clears their throat. You whirl around a bit too quickly and steady yourself with a hand on the railing. Sanji’s standing there with his hands in his pockets. Something about his posture sets alarm bells off in your head. He’s too stiff, trying too hard to appear composed.

“Hey, Y/n,” Sanji says gently, “can I talk to you about something?”

It’s Sanji.

You’re immediately, wholeheartedly certain. It’s Sanji, and he knows.

You gape at him for a moment, then collect yourself. The mask comes back on.

“Actually, I’m pretty tired. Gonna turn in for the night. Tomorrow, okay?” you dismiss, and go to walk past him.

“Wait a second, Y/n,” he reaches to grab your wrist, but you yank it away before he can.

“Don’t!” you snap, stepping back, then quickly correct yourself. “I mean–don’t surprise me like that! We’ll talk tomorrow. I really should sleep...”

Sanji frowns, hand slowly lowering, and you make a hasty retreat.

The rest of the week is torture. You’re constantly avoiding Sanji wherever possible. He doesn’t strike up conversation when the others are around, which only makes you more certain that he knows. You ensure that you’re never alone with him, and if he does approach you by himself, you make yourself scarce. It becomes harder and harder to hide that you’re avoiding him. The crew takes notice–it’s not difficult considering you and Sanji are normally close.

Zoro’s the first to say something.

“Oi, Y/n. Did you have a fight with the cook or something?” he asks bluntly.

“No, we didn’t,” you reply.

Zoro’s eyes narrow slightly. “Well, you’re both acting weird.”

Some of the others are looking your way, now. Anxiety sours your stomach. You hold your mask steady as he continues.

“You’ve been kind of flighty lately. And he’s oddly subdued,” Zoro says, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, since he’s finally quiet for once, but it’s annoying. Would you just talk to him?”

“Uh…yeah, sure thing.”

Obviously, you don’t talk to Sanji. You keep evading him at every turn, only growing more distressed with each passing day. You know you can’t dodge the issue forever, but the moment you stop is the moment you’ll get kicked off the crew or worse, and that thought makes you want to die.

But the Sunny is only so large, and eventually, Sanji manages to corner you one night at the bow of the ship. You have your back to the figurehead, throat dry as you face him. Brook is up in the crow’s nest, keeping watch. Everyone else is asleep. It’s just you two, and you know you’ve run out of luck.

“We need to talk, Y/n,” Sanji says firmly.

Your throat goes dry. “Now?”

“Right now. No more running,” he says, taking a few steps closer. “I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly.”

There’s no getting out of it anymore. “...Alright.” you say. Your heart pounds harder, palms growing damp.

Sanji takes a long drag off his cigarette, then stubs it out–that’s when your adrenaline really spikes, when you know you’re in for it. He looks you in the eye.

“Should you have access to firearms?”

The question hits you like a brick, stunning you into wide-eyed silence. You open your mouth, then close it, unable to respond for a second.

“...What are you talking about?” you try.

“Given how you’ve been avoiding me,” he says coolly, “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“I’m–I’m not following.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Y/n!” he snaps, and you cringe. “Of everything you’re hiding, this is the one thing I’m going to find out. I’m not asking. You’re going to tell me or I’m going to tell Chopper. So answer me, right now: Are you safe around guns?”

You can’t take another step back, but you instinctively try anyway, your heel scraping the wood of the ship. But there’s nothing you can do. The mask crumbles, years and years of desperate crafting turning to dust in an instant.

“God, Sanji,” you respond, “what am I supposed to say to that?”

“The truth,” he says.

“And if you didn’t like my answer, what would you do? Take them away from me?”

“Yes.” His tone is unyielding, his eyes hard.

Yours start to sting at the corners. “And what after that? You’ll have me–” you bite your tongue to keep the tears from forming, “–you’ll have me kicked off the crew?”

“I never said that,” he says stiffly, “you don’t get it–”

“You don’t get it!” you bite back, voice rising. You lower it before continuing, “you don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re cutting.”

You flinch. The words sting. It’s not a pleasant sting this time. You turn your head, unable to look him in the eye.

“It’s just…” Sanji says, and there’s a touch of hurt in his voice, “after everything we’ve been through, I thought you trusted me.”

“I do,” you say automatically.

“You have a funny way of showing it.”

That stings even deeper. You shake your head. “I do, Sanji, but this is different.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business!” you bite. Bile rises in your throat at your venom; you hate being callous.

“My friend’s hurting themselves,” Sanji replies thinly, “that makes it my business.”

“That isn’t how this works!” you argue. “You don’t get to know everything about me just because you don’t like this!”

“Don’t I?”

“No!”

“You don’t feel safe with me.”

That one’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t tell what’s worse, the words themselves or the way he’s looking at you. That one hurts the most, because it’s true.

“...No,” you say after a moment, then steel yourself. “You’re right. I don’t. I can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji, please.”

“Don’t you plead now,” Sanji says, his tone hardening. “Don’t you put me in this position, Y/n.”

“I don’t have a choice, Sanji. I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why?”

“Sanji!”

“Why?!”

“Because last time I trusted someone with this, I lost everything!” you blurt out. “I was institutionalized, okay?! Locked up! Is that what you wanted to know? Are you satisfied now?”

Your words echo in the silence that follows. He stares, jaw dropped slightly. You’re shaking, for real this time, and the words pour from you like a dam unblocked.

“You don’t know how humiliating it is, Sanji, to have the strings on all your clothes cut off, to be given only felt tip pens to write with, to not have doors, to have a scheduled bed time. To have all your choices taken away.” Your vision blurs as you continue. “I couldn’t do anything. It was like a prison. The other patients didn’t give a shit. The staff definitely didn’t give a shit. And all the while, they drained me of all my savings, until I didn’t have a single berri to my name. Then they kicked me to the curb. The one who reported me didn’t want to be associated with a crazy person. Neither did the rest of my friends. I was homeless. I had no one and nothing! That’s why I fled my home island, and that’s why I tried to dine and dash at Baratie.”

Sanji looks taken aback. He blinks quickly, then stares down at the deck. “What would you have me do, then?”

“This is supposed to be private!” You cover your face, fighting back tears. “You need–you need to keep your mouth shut and mind your business! I don't want anyone’s ‘support.’ You were never supposed to know.” You take a shaky breath and lower your hands. “If you really care, you’ll keep it to yourself, you’ll forget what you saw, and if you tell anyone…I won’t stick around to make the same mistake twice.”

Despite what you say, you already know it’s too late. There’s no going back, and now that he knows, it’s only a matter of time until you’re left behind. You bite your tongue to keep from crying at the thought, but you have to bite harder this time. The tears keep threatening to spill anyway, until you’re tasting iron.

Sanji is quiet. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one, not speaking until after he takes a drag. “…Do you regret joining the crew?”

“Joining the Straw Hats was the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” you say honestly. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But you aren’t happy, are you?”

“Multiply something by zero and you get zero, right?” You look away, guilt eating at you. Experience tells you that no one wants to hear this. “I’m not trying to sound dramatic. I just… I don’t work right.”

“I don’t think you’re being dramatic.”

For some reason, that, more than anything else, breaks you. The first tears slip past your defense. You say nothing, lower lip trembling.

Sanji takes another slow drag of his cig and exhales away from your direction. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

“I do,” you say. “At the hospital, they…” the words die in your throat as the memories surge forward. “They…they…” You can’t finish, but tears begin streaming down your cheeks. You shake your head. “Let’s just say, after that, I learned not to ever give anything away. Never again.”

“They did something to you.”

You barely nod. Already you feel yourself slipping into a flashback, feel the nurses holding you down and the needle jabbing into your flesh.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji says, taking a step toward you, and then another, until he can reach out and gently touch your forearm. The touch brings you back, grounding you so that you’re back in the present. But the gentle action, and Sanji’s soft expression, only makes the tears flow faster, makes your nose run. You shrug.

“It must have been scary.”

Slowly, you nod again.

“Will you answer my question, Y/n? Please?” Sanji asks. “Please, I need to know you’re safe around guns. Will you at least tell me that much?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and wipe your face. When you answer, you look him in the eye so he knows you’re telling the truth. “Yeah. I’m… Yeah.”

Sanji sighs, his shoulders sagging with relief. “Thank goodness. Okay. Can I ask you something else?” At your nod, he goes on. “How long have you been feeling like this? Before the hospital, I mean.”

“...Since I was young,” you sniff. “I’ve been ‘coping’ on and off for years.”

Sanji sticks his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Can I see?”

“What?” The question catches you so off-guard that you stop crying. “I’m–I’m sorry?”

“You’re not going to show Chopper, right?” Sanji says. “So–”

“You’re not gonna tell him?” you cut him off, surprised.

“I haven't decided yet,” he admits. “I don’t want to go against your wishes, Y/n. But I don’t know the extent of the damage. Just… Just, let me see?”

“No.” You’re shocked at his audacity. What’s he thinking? Of course you can’t do that.

“I won’t judge. I swear, I just want to know you’re okay,” Sanji says.

“You can say that, but…” you rub your arm. “Be real. You’ll never look at me the same way again.”

“It won’t change how I think of you.”

“It will!” you shout, then lower your voice. “It will, forever. There’s no going back once that line is crossed and you see me for what I really am.”

He frowns. “Which is?”

“A freak!”

Neither of you say anything for a moment. Then you shake your head again. “I’m sorry, Sanji. But a guy like you–strong, handsome, confident–you wouldn’t understand.”

Sanji gets a weird look on his face, one you’ve never seen in all the years you’ve sailed with him. He looks to the side, then down, then up. His drags on his cigarette become long and harsh, finishing it in three breaths. He lights another, making a face. Then he nods to himself, like he’s decided something.

“Okay,” Sanji says. “There’s something I want you to see.”

You frown. When Sanji puts his hands on the hem of his pants, you frown deeper. He pauses.

“Um. Just trust me, okay? I promise I’m not doing anything weird–just wait a sec.”

He slides down his pants, and you have no idea what’s going through his head until his pale upper thighs are exposed. Then, finally, you understand, and you cover your mouth in shock.

Both of his upper thighs are covered in a myriad of scars. There must be over a hundred, clustered just above where shorts would hide them. Most of them are big, inches long and criss-crossed with each other. A few are keloid scars, thick and raised above the skin.

Your stare could burn a hole through his flesh. Slowly, you look up at him. Sanji has a faint blush on his face, looking sheepish.

“Guys like me can be freaks too,” he says simply.

You’re in complete disbelief. You keep looking back from the scars to his face. It’s too much to process–where would you even begin? Sanji, of everyone on the crew–Sanji’s like you? Brave, unwavering, gallant Sanji? Of everyone? When you don’t respond, he speaks again.

“See, Y/n? You’re not alone.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes again. You find your voice. “Yours are old.”

“Yeah. I got lucky. Had someone’s support.” Sanji smiles slightly, in a way that he only does when thinking of…

“Zeff?”

“Yeah. He eventually found out.” Sanji laughs nervously. “At first he freaked out. Thought I was using kitchen knives. After he calmed down, he told me…he told me he wouldn’t abandon me over that, because what kind of parent would that make him?” His expression wavers like he’s trying not to cry.

You, on the other hand, start crying again the moment you hear the word “abandoned.” You realize that’s precisely how you felt back then.

Sanji grabs your shoulders so you look up at him. “You’re not getting kicked off of the crew.”

“...I’m not?” you ask, voice small and pathetic.

“No. I promise.” Sanji squeezes your shoulders reassuringly. “No one else needs to know. But, Y/n, I’m not going to leave you to deal with this alone. So, will you show me?”

“...You won’t tell anyone?”

“I won’t. I swear on my honor. This stays between us.” He lowers his arms.

You bite your lip, sniffing. You shut your eyes, mustering up your courage, and nod. Sanji waits patiently as you breathe slowly to steady yourself. You hesitate before peeling back your sleeve, exposing your upper arm.

He’s quiet as he inspects the damage. Unlike his old scars, yours have yet to finish healing, still in the scabbing stage. A ladder of thin, dark red lines decorate your upper arm and shoulder. You look between your cuts and his scars. Yours aren’t as deep as what Sanji had done, which you feel weirdly ashamed about.

Sanji’s hand comes up, hovering over your cuts like he’s going to touch them, but then he rests it on your forearm instead. Despite the clear evidence that he won’t judge you, you’re still self-conscious, so you break the silence.

“The scabs catch on my sleeves,” you say awkwardly.

Sanji nods. “I had to bandage my thigh so it wouldn’t bleed through while I was working. It always felt so…”

“Stupid,” you both say. Then you both smile at the unexpected camaraderie.

“What’s really stupid is how long I went thinking I was the only one,” you say, “and all this time, you…” You gesture vaguely.

“Can you do something for me?” Sanji asks. “Whatever you’re using–I’m not going to take anything from you. But in exchange, I want you to talk to me. We can talk in the galley, when it’s just us two.”

“I don’t know how to talk about it.”

How could you, after what had been done to you? After everyone you used to trust turned their backs? Knowing that Sanji understood you couldn’t fix the mental scars left behind by others. You could try to rationalize it, but just thinking about discussing the past made your throat dry up.

“If I told you about mine first, would it make you more comfortable?” Sanji offers.

You balk. “You–you don’t have to do that.”

“I don’t mind, if it means helping you.” Sanji says earnestly. “You can tell me anything. I won’t judge. How could I? We’re the same.”

Something broken inside you changes right then. Deep engravings fill with gold like broken pottery, sealing some of the cracks in your soul. Unmasked and exposed, Sanji sees into you, and he doesn’t waver or turn. He smiles, gently and softly and lovingly. Your eyes fill with fresh tears.

Sanji holds out his pinky finger. “Freaks?”

You smile from ear to ear, even as the tears start flowing again, and lock pinkies with him. “Freaks.”

So caught up in the moment are the two of you that neither one notices when Zoro appears until it’s too late.

He’s further down the deck, but standing right under one of the ship’s lights, so you can see him smile. “Hey, you guys are–” he starts, then notices Sanji’s pants. His smile instantly turns to a look of indignation, then rage. “What the hell?!”

Sanji scrambles to pull up his pants as Zoro charges.

“What the hell are you doing to Y/n, you creep?!” Zoro yells.

You hurriedly pull down your sleeve and move in front of Sanji, holding your arms up. “Wait a sec, Zoro!”

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” Sanji cries.

Zoro screeches to a halt right in front of you, but then stretches over your shoulder to snarl at Sanji. “You better have a good explanation for this, shitty cook!”

You grab Zoro’s arms to hold him back. Not that you could ever hope to overpower him, but you know he’s too brotherly toward you to push you out of the way. “Zoro!”

“What?” Zoro turns his focus on you, “what did he do? I’ll kick his ass for you, Y/n.”

“No, that’s–”

Sanji interjects, “I didn’t–”

“We were…”

Zoro relaxes somewhat, now frowning and looking at both of you weirdly. “What exactly were you guys doing?”

Really, being in the middle of the night, it’s not a good look. You and Sanji are both caught off guard. Fumbling hard, you both speak at once.

“I was looking at a fungal infection!” you say.

“They were removing a tick!” Sanji says at the same time.

Both of you glance at each other.

“Tick,” you correct.

“Fungal,” Sanji says.

Zoro blinks. “A fungal tick?”

You both just nod.

Zoro stares between you two, then relaxes. “Oh... Okay. Good of you to not wake Chopper.” He nods and turns, leaving the two of you to it.

So flooded with relief are you that it’s staggering. You mentally thank the stars that Zoro is a simple and straightforward type of guy.

You and Sanji watch Zoro walk away. Once he’s out of earshot, you both look at each other.

Then you both burst out laughing.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, clutching your chest.

Sanji wipes away a tear. “That was close, huh?”

The laughter dies down into giggles before you calm yourselves, grinning at each other. Then you’re both throwing your arms around the other in a tight embrace, squeezing like you’ve never been hugged before in your lives. You bury your face in Sanji’s chest, he rests his head on yours. Your fingers dig into the other’s clothing, soaking in the warmth and the comfort that you could only get from someone who truly understood. You stay like that for a few minutes, quiet, close, and held.

“Are you sure?” you whisper after a minute. “That you want to deal with this? With me? What if I never get better?”

“Nothing’s set in stone but the poneglyphs,” Sanji replies, running a hand over your head so you look up at him. “Our future hasn’t been determined.”

“Our future?”

“You and me and the rest of the crew. There’s still time to grow, and to change.” He holds the back of your head tenderly.

“When does that time run out?” you ask, uncertain.

“It doesn’t.” Sanji smiles down at you. “As long as we’re alive, there’s another chance. That opportunity is always there.”

You smile back, then press your face into his chest again. Sanji squeezes you tighter.

“Tomorrow,” you mumble into his shirt. “Let’s talk tomorrow. I’m tired.”

“I bet.”

“I never want to hide from you again.”

You feel Sanji kiss the top of your head. “And I never want to make you cry again.”

“I want to tell you everything.”

“I’ll listen.”

You both stay like that for a while longer, each second spent there healing something within yourselves.

It will take weeks to figure out how to talk about your troubles. When you’re up for it, you talk in the galley as Sanji cooks, you helping him out as usual with prep and cleanup. It’s even longer before Sanji learns everything. In the interim, you become the only Straw Hat to learn of Sanji’s past before he ever gets a wedding invite.

Like worn muscles rebuilding, like bone regrowing stronger, the scars you’ve revealed to each other, both physical and mental, strengthen your bond more than anything else ever could.

"let it out, let me in, take a hold of my hand / there's nothing like another soul that's been cut up the same" -Handwritten, The Gaslight Anthem

#one piece x reader #sanji x reader #reader insert #one piece imagines #zen writes

146 notes · View notes

cloverdaisies · 3 months

Text

# ART CLASS 𝜗𝜚𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

JI CHANGMIN x reader

˗ˏˋ description:ˎˊ˗જ⁀➴ৎ୭ : your crush on your art professor might be affecting your grades, he was just perfect but you’re just a student. how you accidentally fell in love with art class for the wrong reasons…

˗ˏˋ genre:ˎˊ˗જ⁀➴ৎ୭ : fluff, unrequited to lovers.

˗ˏˋ word count:ˎˊ˗જ⁀➴ৎ୭ : 5.5k+

˗ˏˋ notes:ˎˊ˗જ⁀➴ৎ୭ : this was once 10k+ but oops, is a bit of an indulgent fic i can’t lie, i hope you love it as much as i do, so here’s some changmin brainrot to feed ur delusions, massive thank you to @juyeonszn for helping me get over my plot blocks, ily. proof reading in progress!

Mondays, the worst day of the week. That was for certain, considering you had a two hour class that morning with a professor that would draw over your weeks worth of work with sharpie. Thankfully, he’d already announced his leave and you wouldn’t had to deal with that anymore. Every morning you’d get the bus to university dreading the next class, headphones on trying to drown out thoughts of how you were going to survive your degree in these insufferable conditions.

“Today you have a lesson with your new professor, who’ll be taking over for me. He’s very well educated and I’m sure he will be able to fill in the gap after my leave.” Your old professor rambled on as if his low marking and reckless actions with felt tip pens would be missed.

You weren’t necessarily paying attention, more focused on your pencil work in the sketchbook than you were on the front of the class. Ears suddenly perking up at the voice you heard from the front of the room, it was a cuteish tone, at the same time mellow and calm - a voice that could put you to sleep that sat just on the right octave to make you fall in love with it.

“Hello everyone, I’m professor Ji and will be taking over the introduction to Fine Art module going forward. I look forward to getting to know you all and seeing your work. Today we will be starting a new project for your mid term evaluations, it will be a multimedia piece with a theme of your choice. Make it mean something, do what’s true to you.” Professor Ji stated, already he sounded as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. It was a breath of fresh air and his intellect was almost making you dizzy.

No y/n, you can’t be getting a crush on your professor this can only end in tears if you find out he’s already happily married and settled in life.

“Any questions?” He asked looking around the room with his thick black rimmed glasses, leant against the wall with his hands clasped in his blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“Are you married?” Someone asked from the back of the room triggering a boisterous laugh to break out across the classroom.

Professor Ji sighed and rolled his eyes, clearly contemplating his response a bit taken a back by the question. Especially in a university classroom, where everyone’s an adult, it was such a high school question, but who could blame them for asking?

“Do I look that old to you?” He responded with a chuckle, holding a hand over his chest like wound had opened over his heart. Oh and he’s funny. This literally couldn’t get any worse, he just seemed perfect.

After that the class began to start their projects, however for some reason you just couldn’t overcome the creative block in your mind on what to do. As you were sat twiddling your pencil and scratching out ideas in your planner you felt a presence appear behind you.

“Struggling?” Professor Ji appeared over your shoulder with his hands behind his back, briefly looking down at your empty page before back at your embarrassed expression.

“I guess you could say so.” You laughed as if you were begging for hole in the earth to collapse and swallow you into non existence. You watched as he smiled sympathetically thinking of a way to help you, dragging a stool and bringing it closer to your workspace. He’d done this to every student, going around to check on your progress unlike your previous professor who didn’t really care less.

“Let’s see.” He scratched his head for a moment, tapping his pencil on the table. “What are you interested in?”

You blushed internally, the question on completely professional terms but almost sounded like something someone would ask on a first date - at least in your delusional state of mind.

“Well I usually focus on work that expresses feeling, like this piece I did on stress.” You showed him a previous piece of work you did for the class, the abstract work compelling him to the phone screen.

“This is really creative. I love the way you used colour here, it’s abstract but so detailed. I think you’ve definitely found a style there —” He paused for a moment realising he didn’t know your name.

“Y/n.” You slightly smiled at him, trying to make yourself seem less like an awkward mess in front of him or mask the fact, that you totally weren’t staring at him the entire time he’d been looking at the phone.

“Y/n. I definitely won’t tell you what to do! But something similar will definitely have you sailing through this module.” He smiled, the cute line peaking at his dimples which could of had you squealing right there like some sort of wild animal.

As he walked over to the next table you couldn’t help but wish he’d stayed longer, his presence was unfortunately addicting. It’s the way his eyes lit up seeing your work, his passion for his work, his intellect, his welcoming aura, it had you in some sort of chokehold you hadn’t felt in years.

You took his words on board, an idea suddenly crossing your mind in a quick flash. Sure it wasn’t the best idea considering your current situation, but all the emotions you’d depicted so far were negative. Something within you was scratching at your brain to illustrate the feeling of the fear of love, knowing you were good at painting the feelings you genuinely felt.

Beginning to map out your idea in your planner, the new wave of creativity certainly didn’t go unnoticed by your professor as he looked over at you working away with a smile.

Then you hit a wall. You didn’t like using anything other than acrylic paint, every other form of media just for some reason seemed to irk every single creative bone within you.

“Any progress?” Professor Ji passed your table for the last time, as the lesson would soon be drawing to a close.

“Yeah I have an idea. However, I hate working with anything other than acrylic.” You expressed, your ears turning a bright pink as he grazed your arm to take a look at your planner.

“Well I think this is a great idea.” He laughed politely, readjusting his glasses with a light push. “I’d love to discuss this more thoroughly in office hours with you, if you’d be up for it?”

“Sure. When?” You asked completely composed, your mind rattling through ideas for the piece whilst trying to block out any thoughts of the man next to you. He smiled for a moment, flicking through your scribbled notes with a pen.

“Today, 5-6pm. Think of the things you want to discuss before attending and I’ll be happy to help. It seems you’re a really talented artist. You just need a push in the right direction.” He replied, his friendly register doing nothing to help you out of the sick spiral you were falling down. You smiled as he walked off to the front of the classroom to close the lesson, unable to pay any focus to the words falling from his mouth as you flipped around your ballpoint pen and chewed nervously down on your lip - the venom of adrenaline circulating your body like a wildfire from the interaction.

The class began to pack their things, snapping you out of your silly nightmare daydreams packing your sketchbook and planner. You pushed your pencil behind your ear, planning to pack it away into your pencil case at some point but not necessarily revising that idea. You slung your bag over your shoulder with a sigh, about to leave door without looking back, your bed awaits.

“Don’t forget to sign your attendance guys.” Professor Ji pointed to the clipboard on the back of the door greeting everyone on the way out with a warm smile.

You quickly went to check your bag for the loose pencil you could have sworn you just had, not remembering where you’d placed it, frantically searching the bottom of your bag for it not fussing to open the case of pens in front of you.

“Are you looking for this?” Professor Ji, took the pencil from behind your ear with a chuckle. Thankfully, being the last to leave was on your side today, no one seeing the god awful embarrassment on your face.

“Thank you, that’s so stupid of me. Sorry.” You laughed off the embarrassment, grabbing the pencil from his hand and signing your name on the sheet as he continued to laugh. “Stop laughing.” You looked over to him, holding back your own giggles as he only laughed more.

“Sorry I can’t help it. See you later y/n.” He chuckled as you left the classroom with a idiotic smile glued to your lips, the door closing behind you. You could have screamed right there and then due to the shear torment of embarrassment.

As soon as your head hit your pillowcase, the room felt as if it was spinning, so many thoughts drowning that brain of yours they were turning it into nothing but mush. You felt your eyes shuttering closed, slumber gradually taking over your body.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

The persistent beeping of the alarm on your bedside table triggered you to rise from your nap like something out of the walking dead. You could have used more sleep, but you seriously needed to attend Professor Ji’s office hours otherwise your project was never going to be finished.

You got ready, your head clouded with looking good for your literal university professor. You shook those thoughts out your head fairly quickly before sliding into your boots and setting off out the door. The winter semester brought in dark nights, it was cold outside, so cold you could see your breath in a thin smoke as you waited at the bus stop.

Presenting your pass to the driver, thoughts circulated your head like a manic steam train running a track as if it was the F1 , you can’t fall for your prof, it would only end in tears when he doesn’t reciprocate those feelings. Staring into the steamed windows of the bus out on the dark night, you sighed the faint sound of music playing through your headphones as comfort.

You pressed the stop button, nervously making your way down the bus aisle as it came to a halt. Making your way to the arts building on campus, you inhaled an anxious sharp breath before reaching the hallway of offices. The office still had your old professors name engraved in a silver board on the front of the door, hesitantly you knocked awaiting an answer. The door handle turned, your stomach flipping and performing handstands.

“Y/n, come in.” Professor Ji smiled, walking into the office with a confident stride, the place littered with boxes seemingly needing to be unpacked. The office was lit warmly with a lamp stood in the corner behind the desk. He sat in a spinning chair at the polished desk nearly placed towards the centre of the room.

“So explain your plan.” He leant forward as you sat in one of the chairs opposite him, you pulled out your portfolio the chunky folder highlighting a collection of your previous projects.

“So, since I’ve done a lot of work on emotion, I thought I’d tackle something more complicated. So I wanted to do the fear of falling in love.” You explained showing him a colour palette you put together in class, it showed colours from a deep scarlett red to a sapphire blue. “The only issue is I don’t know how to use any other media than acrylic.”

“Hmm. So you’re a painter?” He asked watching you nod before beginning to speak again. “Have you ever tried oil paint?”

“Only briefly, I don’t really have the funds to buy oil paints though.” You laughed, thinking the suggestion was silly considering how expensive oil paints could be on your student funds.

“Thought so, that’s why I’m offering you use my resources for this project. Here.” He pushed a set of untouched oil paints across the table, as if they’d just been bought. You looked at him with confusion, you thought this had to be too generous, you’d never had any teacher care so much about their students.

“I mean thank you so much but why?” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the gift, it wasn’t necessarily too expensive nor was it meant anything but a professional proposal.

“I know what it’s like to be a student. Plus, someone like you could really benefit from it, your work with acrylic is to not be transitioned into oil paint.” He passed on a genuine smile, a smile that radiated a positive energy you’d never felt. You looked down at them, still in a state of shock he’d go out of his way to buy such a thing for you. “I was also thinking, since 1 to 1 mentoring is setting back up with the new semester, would that be something you’d be interested in? I happened to stumble across your notes from your old professor and he noted you seemed very stressed with your work load.”

“Yeah that’s true, but I can handle it!” You tried to smile, however upon hearing the comments you couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed in front of the likes of Professor Ji and his intellectual level in art. It felt as if you were being told you were slacking or left behind. “I don’t think I need any extra help.”

“Are you sure? I mean when I was in your year I also went through 1 to 1 mentoring for the same issue. I wasn’t always at the level I am now.” He sympathised with you, trying to catch eye contact as you looked down at the table.

“Okay. I guess it can’t hurt.” You sighed, still avoiding the glare of his brown eyes across the table, a silence lingering as the grandfather clock ticked on in the background.

“That’s great to hear. So it will be out of university grounds. Purely because the university won’t let me book a space in the week, I was thinking maybe a café? Of course on a completely professional basis, there’s a few other students needing the extra help too. I’ve got one more slot, are you free Wednesday at 10am?” He rambled on slightly, the thin biro in his hand hovering over the page beneath him. He pushed up his glasses and looked at you expectantly, your many thoughts being interrupted by his gaze.

“Uh, yeah that’s my day off so I guess.” You replied with a shrug, sitting back in the chair as you watched him messily scribble in his planner. “Do you have any pieces you’re working on at the minute?” You had no idea why you asked him, however something in you was desperate to ask.

“I’m just doing research at the moment into the baroque period, I would love to have the time do a piece of my own. It’s been a while.” Prof Ji seemed happy you asked, a small grin lighting up his cheeks as he spoke about it.

“Hopefully you can clear some time soon, I’d love to see what you make yourself.” You laughed, almost forgetting you were in a professional space as you let the words slip from your lips.

“Agreed. You’re free to go, see you on Wednesday morning.” He concluded the meeting politely, seeing you out the warm lit room through the tall chestnut door.

“See you then.” You replied, feeling heat rising to your cheeks as you noticed his arm over you keeping the door open, thoughts spinning through your dizzy head feeding your delusions like a sickly candy.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

After then, every other class had you spacing out with a mind full of Professor Ji, thoughts of his paint covered glasses, rolled up shirt sleeves, sweet smile and messy short hair. You often smiled to yourself, the words of every other prof passing through one ear and out the other - drowning softly into the background of your daydreams.

Wednesday seemed like a century away, you found your weekend dragging by Monday felt like an entire week and so did Tuesday. The night before, you’re sat planning your outfit as if you were going somewhere incredibly important the next day. Scrolling tiktok to cancel out your nerves for the next day, although it wasn’t a date, it was a completely professional meeting. You couldn’t shake the thought of it being a café setting, somewhere where you’d get to know someone for the first time, somewhere where you’d ask someone their hobbies, stare at each other across the table- you were getting carried away, but how couldn’t you?

The weather was on your side the next morning, the sun shining through your small apartment building window, the temperature outside not too warm but not too cold either. You carefully got dressed into the clothes you picked the night before, fixing your appearance in the mirror with a smile. Hopefully the effort wouldn’t look strange to him, after all you weren’t trying to look like the weird student with the crush on the teacher, nooooo that’s not you! It was and you couldn’t deny it.

You couldn’t help but twiddle your thumbs on the bus towards campus, palms coating themselves in a thin layer of sweat, your stomach churning in anticipation. You thanked the driver, walking towards one of the many on campus café where you’d agreed on meeting. It was a sunny day, therefore a considerable amount of people had taken to having picnics on the campus green, most opting to sit outside the café with their iced drinks and books.

You spotted him immediately, sat on one of the small tables with his laptop, scrolling away through his laptop and sipping at his iced latte with pouty lips.

"Hey." You smiled walking up to the chair in front of him with a smile, he returned the smile closing his laptop and putting his drink aside on the table.

"Y/n, lovely to see you. How are things coming alone? Do you want a coffee?" He asked picking up his wallet and signalling towards inside of the cafe.

"I can get my own! And I can't say I've done much, I've been pretty distracted the past few days." You laughed, trying not to be too suspicious or act embarrassing in anyway. He looked at you momentarily, eyes wavering across your outfit and perfectly styled hair.

"You look nice, are you going somewhere after this?" He asked, for the second time heat flooded your cheeks, your ears probably lighting up bright pink.

"No." You didn't know how to respond, if anything you were too stunned to speak, trying to gargle up words out of the jungle rattling in your brain. "I just had some extra time to get ready this morning."

"Glad I'm not keeping you from getting anywhere." He chuckled a mischevious smile on his lips, "I'll get the coffee, what are you wanting?"

"An iced matcha would be nice." You blushed, your voice barely coming out above a whisper as all your dreams of a man all seemed to be coming true. He was so mature but at the same time had a man-child charm, he believed in chivalry and was always there to give you everything you needed. In your sick fantasy, he was your prince, the older man that would save you from the horror of the boys your own age.

As he nodded, politely exusing himself to get your drink, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, reaching to grab it, a text from your roommate lit up the screen. 'Wanna go to the bar tonight?' You hadn't been out in a long time, too busy in work and exams to dare leave your mess of a bedroom: seemingly procastinating work was always more important than your own happiness and social life. 'Sure' You replied, after all you deserved some fun after everything.

Professor Ji returned with your drink, you graciously thanked him and slid your phone back into your pocket. He turned the pages of his planner to the notes about your project he'd written earlier.

"So have you started sketching out your linework yet?" He asked, repeating his little habit where he pushes up the middle of his glasses to the top og his nose since they always slid down slightly everytime he loked down.

"No... Sorry, its been a hard few days. I'm not even sure where to begin." You replied awkwardly, with all the thoughts of him you'd completely forgotten all aspects of the project or the fact it was due sooner than anticipated.

"That's okay, we can always start now, that's if you brought your sketchbook." He laughed lightly, not trying to put you in some pit of self doubt when you were already struggling to hit a pencil to paper.

"Yeah I did actually." You reach to grab your large portfolio bag, grabbing your sketchbook and opening it to the page where your moodboard for the piece was. You had practiced some sketching, feathered lines and doodles scattered across one of the pages. He reached across the table, looking at the drawings with a keen eye.

"Pass me a pencil." He asked, holding out his hand as you gave him one of yours, watching as he began to draw in the corner. "Instead of feathering your lines so much, try to get a firmer line like this so its easier for you to follow the precision of the paint."

He drew the heart balloon you'd drew in the corner, of course in a much nicer way which was soul crushing for you, but you followed his guidance and he nodded in approval. Of course, he could'nt admit it, but Ji himself was feeling some sort of gut feeling, perhaps guilt as he felt himself begin to get nervous around you. He thought it was endearing, the way you followed his movements and laughed nervously when you accidentally made a mistake quicly erasing it. However, he would absolutely never, his self control was a much tougher obstacle to tackle and he wouldn't let it fall for anyone.

You carried on discussing placement and ideas, not long until you had an minitaure layout of the page for your project all sketched out. The hour had flew by, and you almost forgot about your drink, too focused on him and his words to comprehend the time.

"Thanks for today, oh, and the drink, Professor Ji." You began to pack up your things, your pencils going neatly slotting into their case.

"Of course, just call me Changmin by the way, the professor thing is too formal even for a classroom." He felt himself cringing, why would he say that? He did mean it but, it felt even weirder that it was you saying it and not the other students.

As you left, he took off his glasses for a moment palms flattened over his face as his thoughts ran over all the events of the past hour, raking his fingers through his hair. Although he did think everything you did was in some way magical, he understood that he could not loosen the boundary between him being your tutor and you being his student. It simply couldn't happen. Ever. That thought would torment him until you either went away or he had to leave himself.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

For the next few hours, your daydreams had become an even more delusional hell than before. Your memory floated over the fact his hand had touched yours briefly as you handed him the pencil, the warmth of his fingertips lingering over your knuckles. As you grabbed your bag, getting ready to meet your friends you simple’s could not shake the thought of today, the chemistry between you both, the tension. It was all a bit much to handle.

You met your friends at the bar, regardless of the messy state of mind you were in. You got a break from work conversations for once, being able to stay up late and drink as much as you wanted as the sports played in the background of the bar. For the first time you felt as if this was normal university life you were living, however the huge disadvantage of not drinking in a long time is that after a couple of drinks you were irresponsibly and irrevocably drunk.

“Get home safe y/n.” You friend smiled, you two bring the last people in the bar as your roommate and her boyfriend had already left much earlier.

“You too.” You smiled before turning around and trying to walk in a straight line, the narrow alley of the street proving difficult as you accidentally wandered into the wall.

On a late night convenience store trip, trying to shake his irreplaceable thoughts. Changmin couldn’t get a wink of sleep with the pool of guilt sitting in the pit of his stomach at the idea of you. He left the store with a few snacks, figuring if he couldn’t sleep he may as well watch a movie or something to pass the time.

As if the world was against him, he noticed a familiar figure stumbling down the street, sighing as he recognised you, clearly not being in a state where you can get home safe unless you lived extremely nearby.

“Y/n?” Your ears perked up at the familiarly sweet voice. A voice of concern as you looked up to see your professor, Changmin stood in front of you with a glint of worry in his eyes.

“Oh…. hiiiii…. Sorry I must look like a mess right now.” Barely able to string out a sentence you giggled and hiccuped pushing a strand of hair behind your ear. Oh goodness… how you’d regret this in the morning.

“Can you get home safely? How much did you have to drink?” He asked frantically, gasping as you almost stumbled over his palms landing on either arm to support your body.

“Yes. You’re so funny…. I just need to get the bus.” You slurred your words going to walk past him, before you were stopped by him blocking your path.

“There’s no buses from here at this hour it’s 3am! I can’t take you home because I’ve drank myself. You can sleep on my couch if you want but if you go to walk home, I’m walking all the way with you.” Changmin stated, watching your eyes light up all giddily as you began jumping up and down.

“OOOO, What does your place look like?!” You squealed the curiosity getting you way too overexcited in the drunken state you were in

“Come on then, you had lectures in the morning you need be more careful.” Changmin let you link your arm into his, despite the berry pink shade rising in his cheeks he hoped you’d wake up in the morning and forget all about the way you were acting towards him for your own sake.

His apartment was a humble excuse for a studio, not too big but not inconveniently small either. There were band posters and some of his original art work hung on the walls across the room where there was space. It was lit warmly, he seemed to hate fluorescence of ceiling lights and much preferred dotting smaller lights with thrifted lampshades around the room.

“You have the bed, I’m gonna stay awake for a while.” He pointed to across the room where his neatly made bed was just waiting to canon balled, the mountain of pillows looking so unrightfully comfortable. You collapsed into the sheets without any arguments, failing to see the relieved smile as he sat down in front of the television.

You soon drifted off to sleep, every little mumble, little breath was heard across the room by him. He struggled to shake the thoughts of you, after all that’s what was keeping him up in the first place. He’d only made his situation worse, he couldn’t fall in love with you no matter how attractive he thought you were. Every time he shut his eyes he saw you, and now you were across the room the thought was haunting him. So he laid across the sofa awake, into the hours of the early morning until he just couldn’t keep them open anymore. Even in his dreams, the pictures of you danced like paintings across his brain.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

Of course leaving your professors house hungover at 8am on a Thursday morning, wasn’t the proudest moment of your life, it certainly was an experience. You’d never been mortified of your own actions, god knows what you said to him, you couldn’t remember blurting anything you shouldn’t of. However as you showed up to your lectures for the next 3 weeks he didn’t talk to you, nor did he help you with your project or take you to any cafés for your mentoring.

Your one to one sessions now took place in his office, to him it was easier to make the difference between love interest and student in there. You could tell the difference, he wasn’t as friendly, he was ice cold and this only made you more embarrassed.

After a few weeks you finally mustered up the courage to ask him.

“Why are you being so different with me?” You asked confidently, watching him avoid making eye contact and ignore the question as if he never heard it. “You owe me an explanation.”

“Do I? I’m just trying to maintain a professional relationship with you.” He shrugged continuing to check through your sketchbook, you couldn’t look at him without beginning to shake, the confidence in your voice wavering.

“What do you mean by that?” You retorted, confused to why that was suddenly so serious, when had HE ever been unprofessional, after all weren’t you the problem?

“I mean what happened those few weeks ago, was wrong. I’m your lecturer nothing more.” He placed his palm on the desk looking at you with a serious glare, eyes wavering suspiciously.

“Changmin?” You were hesitant to ask, “Do you have feelings for me?”

There was silence, you wished you could swallow your words back into your head but you were too late. He stared at you with a panicked expression, then one of disappointment before beginning to speak.

“I can’t Y/n, you’re just a student. You’re my student, I don’t want to lose my-”

He knew he was hurting himself with his own words, it was so clear he’d been pushing himself away from what he wanted and that was you.

You interrupted him with a kiss, it took a moment before he reciprocated standing up straight and pushing your back into the wall behind you. It was passionate desperate, as if every emotion, anger, frustration, love that was so forbidden - he’d just let it go. He couldn’t fight it anymore.

Pulling his face away from yours, you looked at him with teary eyes, all the emotions bursting out as your own feelings began to conflict.

“I’m sorry. That should have never happened.” He quickly backed away, holding his lips. You shook your head violently not able to produce a coherent sentence.

“No. I’m in… I can’t say it. Don’t hate me.” You still couldn’t think of the words, you didn’t want to frighten him or push him away. You were scared he wouldn’t be able to love you back, he’d hold his career over you.

However that singular tear that fell from your eye, was gently wiped away by his thumb. Wrapping his arms around your head and bringing you to his chest. He sat himself on the desk, lifting you on to his knee to comfort you.

“It’s okay, I’m in love with you too.” He whispered into your ear, only causing you to sob more as his own tears were wiped away by a hearty chuckle. “I guess we’ll have to figure out the work stuff before I can fully be able to love you like I want to though."

You smiled up at him in the ambient lighting, as he rocked you in his arms against the warmth of his chest you were content. The dimples in his cheeks sending your stomach swarming with butterflies, as you pushed your glasses up his nose for him.

That’s how you accidentally fell in love with your art professor.

┈ ・꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ୨୧ ꒱ ・┈

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the-joy-of-knowledge · 2 years

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Writing Therapy

This is will be a guide for you to overcome anxieties, be more courageous, and optimistic. Writing is one of the beautiful ways to express our emotions and have a conversation with ourselves.

Write it down

Take a blank sheet of paper and write down how you feel now. This is not an essay, you should not be concerned about the words. Your thoughts should flow and all you need to do is write out out as it comes out. This can happen at any moment, don’t set a time or a schedule for it.

Weekly letters

Write a letter to yourself every week. I do this and it helps me a lot. Every week I reflect on the previous week and my expectations for the next week. I write my highlights and my low moments and it is such a beautiful emotion to capture. After a while, you will open these letters and reflect on how things changed or lessons you’ve learned.

Confront your inner child/ past

Use writing to confront your inner child. You will have to write like a kindergarten. Don’t overthink it, don’t make it perfect, add some drawings. Sometimes I draw a trash can and write everything habit I needs to get rid off in it. Try to recollect memories of things you were once bad at or good at. Writing isn’t just about following prompts sometimes you’d have to write about something related to you, that only you have experienced. For example:

I remember when I first got my braces, I looked awkward, it’s amazing how much my looks have changed…

I remember when I was 10 and this golden retriever chased me…

My mom didn’t let me go to sleep overs when I was 8, I wonder what it would have felt like…

I first experience bulling in 8th grade, Jessica was really a mean girl, I wonder if bullies eventually change…

I used to be the most popular girl in high school, but in college I feel so overlooked. It’s crazy how things change.

I don’t like how I look in pictures now, I don’t know if it’s just my eyes,

I used to like baking, why did I stop, when did I stop?…

I was mean to the pizza guy, I feel so bad, it was wrong timing, is it possible for the universe to send apologizes on our behalves?…

Be in the present

Being in the present means acknowledging your feelings, processing your emotions as they occur, expressing yourself, being your own cheer leader, and support system.

What was the highlight of my day?

What would I have changed?

What did I procrastinate on?

What am I looking forward to?

What am I grateful for?

Am I better than I was yesterday?

What did I learn today?

Why was I sad/happy?

An optimistic approach

Writing in an optimistic tone will keep you motivated. It will give you the hope you need. You are looking forward to an event, a proposal, an opportunity, or a moment. Optimism gives you enthusiasm to chase your dreams. Examples of writing with optimism includes.

I am looking forward to a great week because…

I can’t wait for Christmas, there’s just so much to celebrate…

I see myself being a successful women even though I’m not sure of my passion…

In the next five years, I want to travel to every state in America.

It only gets better…

Oh, I can’t wait for fall and all the peace it brings…

I’ll be 24 soon, there’s so much to reflect on…

Confronting the elephant in the room

This will be the difficult part of the writing because you will have to be honest with yourself, it’s tough love here, and you’ll have to hold yourself accountable. Here are prompts that can help:

Are you sure you want to accomplish your goals?

Why do you want a change in your life, if you are not willing to improve?

When was the last time to made a to-do list and followed through?

Have you read a book since the last month?

What is your excuse for not doing your self-care routine?

Do you trust yourself?

What have you started but you’re yet to complete?

I’d love to start a writing therapy class, it will be so interesting :)

With love,

Black Pearl

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blainesebastian · 1 year

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birthday (ccg universe)

words: 1,683 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (request from @whoreforbrownies): “luci and austin bake and decorate a cake for ccg's birthday” warnings: none notes: gonna re-open my requests but please be patient with me. i hope ya’ll know i give so much to requests and sometimes i feel overwhelmed. i know waiting is sometimes hard, but i try to put so much into asks and make it worth it! please visit my ‘requests i’m working on page’ for updates. and feel free to leave warm messages of encouragement :) xo tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylespresleyhearted

You've always been a big fan of your birthday—ever since you were little, your parents would make the most effort in celebrating you in a full week. Baking cookies, small trinkets to open up, special breakfasts and dinners, and then of course a big homemade cake with a lot of candles. It's one of your fondest memories of growing up and it's something you couldn't wait to pass on to your own daughter as she got older.

It's not that you wanted to put your own birthday celebrations on the backburner but it's just one of those things that tends to happen when you get caught in the busyness of life. You and Austin are wrapped up passionate projects and raising your daughter. You can't believe how fast time moves anyways, the fact that she's already two and so involved in the world, sponging up anything she can learn. It's pretty incredible to watch.

"She's down for the count." You tell Austin as you wander into your bedroom, your husband stretched out on the mattress. He's flipping through a script as he leans back against some pillows piled against the headboard, setting them down to look over at you. A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth, "Four books tonight."

"Soon we'll be up to ten," He jokes, closing it to set aside on the nightstand.

You hum lightly, moving to crawl into bed next to him. You turn on your side to face him, covering your mouth as a soft yawn leaves your lips, "She's very insistent—or we'll just have to invest in some novels."

He purses his lips, "Sure we could start on Jurassic Park or somethin'."

You let out a soft laugh, "Maybe. She's already naming different dinos out of picture books."

Austin smiles, reaching out to touch your hair. He tucks it behind your ear, fingers trailing down over your shoulder and arm in soft intimacy. There are a few quiet moments shared, just spending time, soaking any time together because sometimes it's far too fleeting. Austin has some time with the script he's just gotten before he has to begin going to table reads, then it's being gone for months at a time. Something you think you're used to until it actually happens.

Austin draws his thumb down your jawline, "Someone's birthday tomorrow."

You raise your eyebrows and let out a soft laugh, leaning back a bit until your back is fully on the bed. You look at the ceiling and run a hand through your hair, "Oh man, I completely forgot." Not on purpose, just...so many other things going on. You love that Austin's remembered but you hope he knows he's not obligated to have a whole day planned out for you or anything.

"Luci's been very serious about bakin' you a cake for the past few days."

You turn your head to look at him, your cheeks warming at the sentiment. Luci is one of the sweetest things, must get that from Austin. Honestly, a day spent at home with cake baking and maybe some sort of blanket fort in the living room sounds like a great birthday well spent—though, knowing Jillian there's probably a 'surprise party' in the works.

Reaching out your hand to touch Austin's chest, your fingers play with the collar of his shirt. "You gonna show her how to bake a cake tomorrow? Because that's pretty cute."

He raises his eyebrows, amused, "Oh really?"

You lean up to press a kiss to his lips, speaking against them, "Really."

Austin steals another kiss as you begin to pull away, nipping at your lower lip, "If that's all it takes to get you wound up, m'gonna have to start bakin' a lot more for you."

You can't help but laugh, Austin resting his body over yours. Your legs open up slightly to accommodate his body and you begin to squirm a little as he places kisses along your jawline and cheeks, any spot he can reach. "Stop," You giggle but you definitely don't want him to.

And he doesn't, cupping your cheek to kiss you deeper.

It’s not like you wake up especially early to spy on your husband and daughter (not exactly). You actually found yourself sleeping in, not waking up to an alarm, your arm stretching across the sheets for Austin but coming up empty. When you manage to lift your head, you can hear the clanking of bowls and silverware and soft music playing from the kitchen. And you already know that Austin is going to tell Luci they can bring you this cake in bed but…you don’t really want to miss out on seeing them bake it either.

You can be totally crafty, just a few moments (minutes) of observation. Your intention is definitely not to get caught because you’re sure Luci wants it to be a surprise.

It’s clear that both Austin and Luci have been up for a decent amount of time because when you peer into the kitchen and lean against the doorframe (luckily it’s behind where both of them are standing at the island counter, so you think you’re safe) you see that Austin’s set a baked chocolate cake in front of Luci. They’re ready to do icing.

Austin turns towards your daughter who’s standing on this platform that’s the height of a high chair, banisters in place so she doesn’t accidently step off the side. “Alright, how should we decorate it?”

“Dino!” Luci exclaims with a soft clap.

He smirks, shaking his head, “You wanna decorate it with a dino theme? What makes you think mama will like that?”

Luci grins this large toothy smile that’s so cheesy that it makes your heart swell—it’s literally one of your most favorite things that she does. “Cause I like dinos.”

Austin laughs, reaching into a nearby cabinet to grab a few things to make an icing, especially green food coloring, “Well, can’t argue with that logic.” He then opens up a drawer, “What kind of sprinkles?” He picks her up into his arms, holding her over the drawer so she can point and reach.

There’s leftover dino sprinkles from cupcakes they made Luci for her second birthday, so she selects those (of course) and, “Heart sprinples!”

“Heart sprinkles are such a good choice,” Austin approves, picking up that bottle to set on the counter, “Cause we love momma a lot, right?”

“Yeah.” Luci agrees and you swear you feel your heart beat right into your throat.

Austin presses a kiss to her temple and sets her down back on the platform, making sure she’s secure and settled before beginning to mix the icing together (with a lot of Luci’s help, obviously). You’re certain that this cake and icing are going to taste extra surgery but, that’s how you know it was made with a lot of love.

You pull away from the kitchen to walk back towards the bedroom once they start decorating the cake, not wanting to get caught. You move into the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face, turning to look over your shoulder as Austin knocks and slips into the space ten minutes later. You look at him through the mirror as he comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

He smells like a bakery mixed with his own familiar scent. You smile, leaning back into him, closing your eyes and breathing him in as he presses a few kisses to your shoulder.

“How long were you watchin’?”

You purse your lips, fixing your gaze on him, “No idea what you’re talking about, I just woke up.”

Austin lets out a soft laugh which is mostly air leaving his nose, “Mhm, right. I hate to break it to you but you are not stealthy.”

“Is that anything to say to your wife on her birthday?” You tease, tipping your head back to rest on his shoulder.

He smiles, turning your body until your facing him, your arms moving to rest on his shoulders. He hums lightly, nuzzling your noses together before he playfully nips at your lower lip,

“You’re right, happy birthday.” Austin cups both sides of your face, pulling you in a kiss, gently pressing your back into the sink. He smiles against your mouth, running his thumb along your jawline, “And you’re not stealthy.”

You laugh, playfully pushing on his chest to get him to back up so you can walk out of the bathroom together. Austin insists on covering your eyes with his hands as you get towards the kitchen. You grin, leaning back against his chest and holding onto his wrists for balance as you walk,

“Mommmeee!” Luci squeals in excitement and you feel a solid, warm weight hit the bottom of your legs. You chuckle, reaching down to brush your hand through her hair.

“Morning—I smell something sweet.”

“Yep, Luc you wanna tell mom what we made for her?” Austin asks as he removes his hands.

“Cake!” Luci exclaims and you gasp at the messily decorated cake. There’s green icing everywhere (all over the cake but mostly staining Luci’s hands and cheeks), and then a spattering of the sprinkles you saw them both pick out. Honestly, it’s one of the best things you’ve ever seen.

“Oh my gosh!” You grin, picking her up into your arms as you approach the counter, “Is this…is this dino themed?” You ask, tickling her side. “This is great, because you know who my favorite dino is? You.”

Luci giggles and squirms as Austin pops some candles into the cake and lights them before she hugs you tightly around your neck. You press a few kisses into her shoulder, squeezing her gently,

“Alright, blow out the candles.” Austin smiles.

“Make a wish!” Your daughter insists, clapping her hands together.

You smirk, curling her hair around her ear before glancing at your husband. He leans over the corner of the counter and presses a kiss to your temple.

How could you possibly wish for anything? You’ve got everything you need right here.

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler imagine #austin butler fic #austin butler drabble #elvis 2022 #mccall writes things #ccg

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starlitangels · 1 year

Text

Art Gallery

A little Jealous!Honey ficlet for your Jealous!Honey ficlet needs. 848 words

—

“Well this is... fun,” I said.

“Isn’t it? I love art galleries!” Guy replied brightly, squeezing my hand and dragging me over to another framed painting. He studied the painting intently before reading the plaque next to it. I looked around. Most of the paintings were abstract. To me, they were just splotches of random color. I liked paintings, but abstract had always been odd to me.

But Guy was having a good time, so I’d stand at his side and listen to him ramble. It was his turn to pick date night—and next week he would sit through whatever thing he couldn’t care less about for my sake. We both tried to choose activities that we both would enjoy, but Guy had really wanted to go to an art gallery I didn’t care much about and had agreed he’d do whatever I wanted to do next week.

Which meant next week we’d be going Frisbee golfing on the university campus.

I let Guy drag me from frame to frame, letting him monologue about the deeper meanings to be gleaned from each of the paintings while I nodded along.

After over an hour, I needed a break. “I’m gonna run to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t wander too far or I won’t be able to find you.”

“Whatever you say, honey,” Guy teased.

I kissed the side of his head before letting go of his hand and wandering off to try and find the bathroom, peering at every facility sign I could see.

Eventually I found it. But it was unnecessarily far away.

—

Guy hummed, bouncing on the balls of his feet, while he read a plaque.

“Hi there!” a voice said.

He jolted and whirled.

A girl was standing there, smiling, her hands behind her back while she leaned forward a little. She had on a bright, floral dress and ballet flats.

“Uh... hi,” Guy said.

“I’m Josie!”

“My name’s Guy.”

She stuck out a hand. Guy shook it.

The girl twisted back and forth where she stood. She was probably around his age, maybe a few years younger. “My parents painted most of these,” she said. “They do it together.”

“Oh. That’s so cool. Do you paint too?”

“A little. Nowhere near as good as they do. I’m more of a musician.” She pointed to the one next to the one he’d been reading. “That’s supposed to be me when I was a baby.”

Guy sidestepped over to it and studied it before skimming the plaque. Her name was on it. Our baby girl, Josie. The abstract work had some skin tones, but was mostly a bean-like shape of purples and pinks. If he squinted he could almost see the baby face sticking out of a blanket bundle.

“That’s fun,” Guy said.

“Do... do you like art?” Josie asked.

“As an observer, yeah. I can’t draw or paint to save my life,” he replied. “I just love to admire other people’s skill. And learn everything I can about whatever I can. I’m a writer. I like knowing things. You said you’re a musician?”

“Yeah. Strings, mostly. Violin, viola, cello, guitar, that kind of stuff. But also piano.”

“Oh cool! When did you start?”

“I started piano when I was six.”

“Me too! I didn’t last long, though. I couldn’t sit still to practice.”

Josie laughed.

Guy felt something heavy land on his shoulders and yank him.

—

I planted a firm kiss in Guy’s hair, trying my best not to glower too harshly at the pipsqueak in the dress. “What’d I miss?” I asked lowly.

“Hi honey! This is Josie. Her parents painted most of these!” Guy said.

“Cool,” I deadpanned.

“Josie, this is my partner.”

Josie looked up at me and smiled, but I saw intimidation in her expression. “H-hi,” she greeted.

“Hi.”

She looked back down at Guy. “I’ll let you get back to your... perusal. If you have any questions, feel free to come find me!”

“Thanks Josie!” Guy said brightly. The pixie girl wandered off.

I scoffed once she was out of earshot. “Thank God that’s over with,” I said. “I was getting sick of the flirting.”

“I wasn’t flirting!” Guy protested defensivey. “Honey, I would never—” He started with that voice that said he was gearing up for a monologue.

“I know you weren’t. She was,” I interrupted.

“I mean, I can’t say I blame her. Fine specimen that I am. But I only have eyes for—”

I cut him off by leaning and nibbling softly at his earlobe. “What do you say we go home and I can remind you who you belong to all over our apartment?” I whispered.

His whole body shuddered. “Okay,” he said. “I mean, you know me. I’m never one to pass up any opportunity like that when you make it that open-ended.”

I smirked. “Right answer. Maybe I’ll let you remind me who I belong to too. If you’re good.”

He purred. “Ooh. Say less, honey. Let’s get home!” He grabbed my hand and dragged me out the door.

—

Tag list: @darlin-collins

#Redacted ASMR #ficlet #Redacted Guy #Redacted Honey #Redacted Pizza Guy #Redacted Audio #Starlit Fic

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angel-inrealtime · 1 year

Text

November F1c Prompts Day 18

Day 18 - Equilibrioception (Balance)

“I miss you.” He sounds soft over the phone.

You try not to imagine him tucked up in a hotel bed, rumpled and being swallowed under the too-big doona. He’s a hugger. Always been a hugger (you’ve seen the pictures clustered on the hall table at his parents’ house, now, the little boy with the same big smile clinging to his people, always).

You didn’t realise how starved for touch you get. But it’s been...weeks, maybe. It gets hard to keep track sometimes. Not only his either, just...your job keeps you from regular catch ups with friends, some of them find it hard to understand. Daniel gets it though, has always got it.

Usually you can line your schedule up to match his, so he can stay with you in London or you can stay with him in Monaco. But you feel like this job might be the tipping point. It feels important. It will be worth it, you’re sure. It will pay off.

He’d been so encouraging, too. And it’s not like he has to be, he’s not under any obligation. You’re not dating, that would be saying too much. But friends with benefits doesn’t seem to cover it anymore.

“I miss you too.” You feel like you’ve left it too long to say, the pause stretched paper thin because you’re thinking. Maybe it sounds too absent minded.

“You’re busy.” He sounds disappointed.

“No! No I...I mean yes, I’m busy. Like in general. But I do miss you.”

“You don’t have to say it just ‘cause...”

“Daniel.” You try not to have it sound too much like a warning. He’s not insecure exactly, that doesn’t quite get to the heart of it. “I was just thinking and got distracted. Not too busy to talk to you or to miss you.” It feels like too much, showing your hand or something.

He sighs, and you hear the rustle of the bed covers. “Sorry. I’m...in a mood.”

You make a noise in the back of your throat. “What’s going on sunshine, talk to me.” You settle deeper into your chair, stop looking at the monitor with your work on it.

“M’probably just tired.”

“Danny.”

“You never let me…hide.” He grumbles.

“You brought it up.” You nudge, as gently as you can. “Do you…want me to let you hide?” You ask when he’s not forthcoming with anything more. As soon as it leaves your mouth, barely even thought about, you realise his answer is probably going to have a bearing on where this all goes. (Whatever this is). You don’t want to exist just to stroke his ego and offer reassurance when he needs it.

Daniel huffs through the phone. “No. Of course not. That would be fucked.”

You try not to examine how complete the relief feels. “Alright so what’s...”

“I’m in this like...just working and racing and nothing else groove and it’s making me a grumpy cunt. I’m sorry.” The tone of his next laugh is almost self-deprecating. “I like that you don’t let me get away with shit.”

You feel warmth on top of the relief. Maybe it’s a little that this (whatever this is) isn’t all fruitless. But it’s also that he just gets it. For all you (both of you) might need to work some other bits out...the dynamic between you comes as easily as it always has.

“We’re both a bit shit at balance right now, aren’t we?”

He hums in agreement and draws in a breath like he’s about to speak, before he abandons it.

“What, Daniel?”

It’s almost rueful, when he answers eventually. “It’s easier, when you’re here.” You don’t have a lot of experience with confessional, but you imagine this might be what it sounds like, whispered like if you say it quietly the universe won’t hear. “Like…to make the time to do other shit. And I know...” You get the feeling that now he’s started it’s hard to stop, so you don’t interject even though he rushes on like he’s pre-empting an interruption. “I know you’ll be like why didn’t you say, but like...what you’re doing is important to you. And it’s so...good, and useful, and that’s your career and shit, you know?”

The silence hangs in the air as you try to find the words to answer. “Daniel…”

“Ugh, I know. It’s…that’s too much, probably, I’m sorry.”

“Shut up, Danny. It’s not too much. I get it” You pick at the hem of your jeans. “Two more weeks.” You say decisively. “I’ll meet you in LA, for the break.”

He sounds pleased, when he replies. "...yeah. Yeah okay."

#f1 fanfic #daniel ricciardo fanfic #November f1c prompts #daniel ricciardo x reader #formula 1 imagine #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo x you #daniel ricciardo imagine #f1blr #daniel ricciardo fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 driver x reader #f1 driver x you #formula 1 x reader

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agentplutonium · 8 months

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another WIPW post

I can't remember the last time I did this and PK keeps enabling me SO gonna post this week. Not-so-unfortunately, I don't have anything fandom-related this week however I have been on an absolute bender for original universe content creation and i actually really want to share some of it. So, what I have for ya'll is a story based on how Vampires were created in my universe. It's a bit of a long one, so it will start under the cut. A little bit of information about it before then however: Despite being this world's gods, Terra and Caelus went a concerning amount of time before figuring out that Vampires had accidentally been created. Terra was briefly introduced in this post from a few WIPW ago, if you're interested. Anyway, onto the thing:

Terra never thought that this was possible. Her creatures were never supposed to hurt anybody, that wasn’t why she was making them. But, for some reason, the Strix didn’t conform to what she wanted. Caelus kept bringing up the problem, but Terra could only beg for more time with them.

“I can get through to them, I promise!” She would plead. “They’re just a bit stubborn, that’s all. That’s what happens when you give creatures free will.”

“I don’t know, Love,” Caelus would say, “I’m worried about the Humans. They already don’t like these creatures all that much. What if something were to happen?”

“I can do this,” Terra would insist. “On All Mother’s honor.”

The passionate fire behind Terra’s eyes was usually Caelus’ downfall, giving in to his Love once again.

For the longest time, Terra was making progress. It was slow, painfully slow, but it was progress none the less. Progress that was continuously cited every time she was challenged on the Strix’s existence. Terra was so certain that this would work out in the end, that it even started influencing Caelus’ thoughts on the matter too. They both thought that there was a breakthrough with the creatures just around the corner.

Oh, how they both could be so wrong.

They were quiet at first, the turnings. Nobody knew what was going on until there was an epidemic. Soon, there were Humans dying in every village, fear running rampant. Terra and Caelus were beside themselves trying to figure it out. It wasn’t until Terra witnessed what was going on did they figure it out. Terra was in the forest outside of Valhollow, looking for the Strix that resided there, wanting to warn them that they were to close. However, what she found instead was horrifying.

There was a teenaged girl walking along the path, presumably on her way back home. Terra stayed out of her way and hidden.

There was three whistle notes. A tune that Terra had never heard before. The girl, however, froze in her tracks. She spun around, eyes on the trees, chest rising and falling quickly. The notes again. A warning, it seemed. Or perhaps a call. Terra felt her heart sink in her chest. The girl bolted, tearing down the path as fast as she could. She didn’t get far before a swarm of the Strix flock descended on her. The girl screamed, a scream so visceral it made even Terra’s throat close up. The Strix squawked, their wings beating frantically all as they pecked and clawed at the girl, drawing more sounds of pain from her throat.

Terra cried out, stumbling forward. She slammed her hands into the ground, and it started bending and warping to her will, creating a dome around the girl to protect her. Terra, standing now, outstretched her hands and willed for the birds to disappear. It took more effort than she wanted, but one by one, the birds turned back into clay, before falling to the ground with a muffled whump. The creatures melted together upon impact, leaving a heap of crusty clay on top of Terra’s dome. Terra stumbled forward, hand reaching out and smoothing over her makeshift protection. The soil glowed softly around her fingers and at her touch, responding to her. The dome collapsed next, revealing the girl, sobbing and shivering, curled up on the ground.

Terra knelt down, reaching out and brushing the dirt off of the girl’s face. The girl groaned, but didn’t move away from the touch.

“It’s okay,” Terra whispered, “You’re okay.”

“Who are you?” a voice just beyond the girl said.

Terra’s head snapped up, eyes falling onto someone who she did not recognize. The stranger stared back, curiosity clear in their gaze.

“You’re not from here,” the person continued. “Who are you?”

“Terra,” Terra breathed finally. “What just happened?”

”You’re not human are you?” The person asked instead. “I’ve never seen power like that. Sure, there’s the Firmis, but I’ve never seen one of them exhibit that kind of power. What are you?”

“I can ask you the same thing,” Terra said, trying not to get annoyed at the diversion, “but, please, what just happened?”

“They found another victim,” the stranger said. There was a small puff of air, and suddenly they were on the other side of the girl. Terra blinked, not remembering seeing them move. “The creatures, I mean. I haven’t seen anything like them before I got attacked.”

“Strix,” Terra said, instinctively.

“Sorry?”

“They’re called Strix,” Terra repeated.

“Fascinating,” the person said. They turned their attention to the girl, hands brushing gently along her body. With each discovery of a new wound their expression grew more sour. They clicked their tongue when they came across a smear of gold liquid beside her lip. “That’s what I was afraid of,” they whispered.

“What?” Terra asked, wondering what this stranger meant.

“The blood got into her mouth. It means the change will happen soon.”

“What change?” Terra asked.

“She’ll turn like me,” the stranger gripped, looking back up at Terra, “a blood thirsty monster.”

At that moment, the moon shone down through the trees, illuminating the persons eyes, and Terra thought that she saw a hint of silver around their iris. Terra didn’t see it for long to continue wondering, though.

“Can you help? Reverse it maybe?”

“’Fraid not,” The stranger said. “We don’t die that easily. But, she’s lucky that I found her first. If she was alone, or, gods forbid, she was found by the others? This would be a whole different story.”

They slid their hands under the girl’s shoulders and knees, pulling another groan from her. It was ignored as the person, effortlessly it seemed, lifted her as they got to their feet. Terra followed suit, hands wringing in front of her.

“I’ll take care of her, don’t you worry,” the stranger said, giving Terra a small smile, “It was nice meeting you, Terra.” They turned to leave, but Terra stopped them.

“I didn’t catch your name,” She said. She felt like it was only fair.

“Dr. Farbridge,” The doctor said. They nodded to Terra, and within a blink, they were gone again.

Terra stood there for a moment, staring at the heaps of clay beneath her feet. The events of the night started to catch up, and Terra felt so many emotions coarse through her body. Anger, remorse, shame, grief. She didn’t know what to do with herself.

She had to tell Caelus.

#as always i am always open to questions and my ask box is open #not only because I love talking about my things but also because this is original content #and i understand there are things im purposefully not telling yall #it might get confusing is all im saying #anyways vamps are slowly becoming my favourite #like yeah vampires existed before #but they haven't existed in MY universe until like #idk a week ago?? smth like that #anyway that's all from me #plutonium_rambles #plutonium_WIPW #ocs #original content #oc #original character

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inkkayyy · 1 year

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[ ꜱᴋᴢ ꜱᴜʀᴠɪᴠᴀʟ ꜱʜᴏᴡ: ᴇᴘ.ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ]

> will i still be here tomorrow to say sorry- because autumn is suffocating me with her cold grip and i am bruising blue with morning frost.

The third episode of JYP Entertainment and Mnet’s, 2017 reality show Stray Kids (스트레이 키즈), shows behind the scenes of the trainees very first music video and the announcement of their next mission; a 3-3-3 unit performance.

"I’m sorry, who kissed you?”

“Changbin! I made him kiss me on the cheek because it was either me or Minho and Minho’s death glare was so fucking scary!” Felix screamed down the phone, switching to English mid sentence.

Sunhee sighed, meeting the gaze of a confused Jisung and Jeongin thought he practice room mirror. “I don’t even wanna know what’s happening on your team bonding trip. Maybe I should fear mine.”

[ ep. 2 ] [ ep. 4 ] [ sunhee’s masterlist ]

( wc; 6.1k) (format; english in italics)

They’re given the location a few days before they started filming- some abandoned buildings in Gimcheon. Pictures of it seem vaguely familiar so she ended up reverse image searching it and falling down an internet black hole about the place.

Apparently it was supposed to be a health university but construction had stopped in the late 90’s. Two big circular atriums sat on either side of a standard rectangular school building. Concrete worn down by time and blackened with neglect, it seemed like a ghost story almost. Or at least that was what Sunhee kept babbling excitedly to the other members.

Set up in a side room of one of the atriums was an elevator set, all spray-painted brass and squeaky grid doors. It still stunk like fresh paint but that hardly mattered, because in Jisung’s words, “We aren’t famous enough to film in 4-D yet.”

Sunhee: Yet? Jisung: Well maybe one day, Sunhee: No one needs to smell your lackluster deodorant. Jisung: Lacklustre? *sniff’s shirt collar* I smell fine.

“Exactly, ‘fine’.” Sunhee bit back with a sweet smile that did not match the undertone of her voice. Jisung just frowned in response. “I don’t get it.”

Explaining that girls liked it when boys smelt ‘nice’ not ‘fine’ wasn’t something she’d ever thought needed explaining. Apparently it was new information to him. She’d sighed and given up after four minutes, heading off for the costume change.

The makeup artists said she was their favourite because she didn’t flinch away when they curled her lashes and applied mascara- unlike Yang Jeongin who kept leaning away with a frown whenever they brought the brushes near his face.

The first set of costumes were basically the same as their performance outfits, with just a few basic changes like no more caps and the removal of a couple jackets. And the next set they filmed in was more fun and bright- something about ‘lost kids trying to find their way’, which she supposed was their whole brand but there were just a few items that were notably ridiculous. At least in her opinion. (That weird half flannel stitched onto the bottom of Chan’s jacket? Yeah that should be burnt).

Her outfit, luckily, was humane- a pair of light acid washed jeans and a long sleeved shirt that sat in the questionable zone between pale red or pink, It hung deep on her frame, hem well past her hips and sleeves almost dipping over her palms. She spent far too much time that day waving her arms around to get the sleeves to slide back above her wrists so she was capable of actually holding objects. It pissed her off.

(And maybe Chan wanted to tell her she looked good with the drooping collar that emphasised the sharp angle of her collarbones and pale expanse of skin- but he wouldn’t dare, not if she’d barely spoken to him for a week.)

Sunhee’s favourite part of the day is when they were given spray paint.

Now it’s private property so they couldn’t actually graffiti, but the set designers put up some fake plaster around so they could go crazy. Of course Chan wrote the band name (and 3RACHA on the opposing wall).

The temptation to draw a penis was far too strong for Sunhee who had restrained herself to simply writing her own name, ‘Sunny’ with little sun streaks coming off the top left of the ‘s’. And of course a few of the other members' names who proved to be hopeless with spray paint (namely Hyunjin who’d flinched when the can hissed and just ended up making a dripping line of black. He whined at Sunhee until she’d taken the can and written his name cleanly beneath her’s).

Rain was unexpected but welcomed and Sunhee stood in the centre of the atrium and held her hand out to either side, head turned skywards as thick droplets of water fell on her cheeks. (this clip would later be shown in the bridge during her harmonisation with Jisung- much to the members delight because the production manager had actually scolded her for getting her outfit wet).

The final scene was odd, with the vague instruction of act like you’re friends- you know, teenage delinquents’.

It was a circle of concrete filled with random furniture, one ugly couch that looked like it was from the sixties in the centre. Jisung was seated on it, then Changbin crashed down next to him. Chan dove in next with a little too much enthusiasm and tipped the entire thing over. Sunhee had admittedly bolted in and squished Jisung’s cheeks between her palms as he laughed, pretending to fuss over him to hide her actual worry. Suenmin had stormed in next and dismissed all her worry as he began bashing them with couch cushions, providing adequate distraction.

The day concluded with one last choreography round, in the dark with red washed lights and a spotlight swiping over them occasionally. The lights made her dizzy and Sunhee ended up doing half the dance with her eyes squinted or closed- but it was a fairly cool shot, she deemed it worth the black spots that spiralled though her vision for the next ten minutes.

Deciding on how to tackle their next mission was difficult- far more than Hellevator had been because it was a 3-3-3 challenge.

Each member at risk of elimination, (Minho, Hyunjin and Jeongin) had to be in a different group. They’d tried to divide before digging though the tracks but it was ultimately decided to just split people as they went, so everyone had a track suited to them.

Sunhee didn’t have any particular needs for a performance, she was pretty versatile, with vocal and dance- and no one could hang around 3RACHA as much as she had and not pick up a few rap techniques. But if she was allowed particular wants for the performance? She really wanted to be paired with Jeongin.

It was where she felt she could help the most, she could assist with Dance and vocal- maybe a bit of confidence boosting too. But if she ended up in a group with either Minho or Hyunjin she wouldn’t really help much, their rapping was what put them on the elimination radar, and Minho was a better dancer than her anyway.

Jeongin tended to get caught up in his nerves and let it bleed through into his performance. If she could assist him with the vocal side of things as well as using a more revision based style of dance instruction- rather than the drilling and repetitive style that Chan and Hyunjin favoured (it worked for them but not so much the maknae) then Sunhee really felt she could help him the most.

And when they started going through the tracks, her confidence wavered just the slightest. The first being the backing for an unreleased 3RACHA song, which would be quite stifling to those who’ve heard the finished song, the beat and melody being rather memorable, and in Sunhee’s opinion, would be particularly hard to ignore when writing new lyrics. Jisung backed her up, and Changbin snorted a laugh from beside her and started rapping his own verse- so it was unanimously decided that it wouldn’t be used.

The second tack was slow, in the grey area between ballad and pop. It would need steady and reliable vocals, like the end of a concert as Seungmin pointed out, there were stars in his eyes at the sound of it- it really would suit him, the performances so far (showcase and hellevator) hadn’t done much in terms of promoting vocals so his excitement was understandable.

Track three was even slower, a piano beat with lingering notes. Minho leant into her side, snagging her attention off the soundwaves display on Chan’s computer. “I think this would be good for me, like a melody rap sort of thing, since PD-nim told me not to sing.”

She jutted her food against Changbin shoe, effectively dragging him into their little huddle and Minho repeated his thoughts. Changbin nodded enthusiastically, taking the idea and announcing it to the group. The decision made was that Minho could do something without a beat, which took a lot of the pressure off for fast verses and spat syllables.

It’s laughable how easily the tension and pressure of their decisions was snapped when Chan hit play on track four, the high-pitched buzzing a gold mine of mosquito jokes for Felix’s highly regarded mozzie impression. They made a few jokes about cutting the noise with a well-timed smack of the imaginary mosquito before MNet told them to move along.

Track five was exactly what she’d been hoping for. It was bright, fun and didn't hold the pressure or stress to be serious like the first four had. And it started with a school bell, so naturally everyone screamed out that it was Jeongin’s song.

But really, it had to be. Something that Jeongin often had trouble with was his facial expressions, he’d do fine with bright and upbeat songs but for more intense performances he often struggled with keeping his smile at bay. It was something easily fixed with time and experience as a performer, but Jeongin hadn’t done many proper performances outside evaluations and the showcases- and hellevator of course. If he did this fun, bright song then it gave him one less thing to worry about.

He seemed to like it, and with the steady recommendation from the other members (particularly 3RACHA because everyone trusted their judgement on track arrangements), the fifth track was officially Jeongin’s- Changbin’s assurances of “You’ll go to a confirmed debut member- I’d bet on it.” did wonders for his confidence about the choice.

Next came the question of everyone else’s preferences. It was widely agreed that each group would have a member of the production team- and if not, Sunhee as the very least, she was perfectly capable of writing lyrics and melodies. Admittedly her last melody had been a point of criticism and she still wasn’t comfortable with Chan taking the blame for that (maybe she’d had barely spoken to him all week and it was petty, but after watching him get scolded for her mistakes Sunhee really didn’t feel like dealing with his self-sacrificing tendencies because it would no doubt lead to an argument).

Seungmin was quick to answer, putting dibs on song two, Hyunjin following suit with his own sappy spiel of how, “we’re both high school students and the same age and it’d be nice to work with someone I can relate to.”

“I go to school too.” Changbin was having none of it, posing his so-called ‘appeal’ to Hyunjin but was having none of it, looking away and poorly hiding the smile on his face. “Hyunjin-ah, look at me in the eyes.”

Ultimately he still chose Seungmin. Changbin offered no other argument other than vague threats. (“Hyunjin have you ever been hit with a coca-cola can?”)

They’re put back on track by Chan making Minho and Changbin sit next to each other (meaning Sunhee swapped with Changbin and was stuck next to Chan) as they both wanted song three.

Everyone has a bit of a laugh about how awkward the two are without Sunhee in the middle acting as a bridge. The pair had never really had a lot of one-on-one time and it was funny to watch Minho silently place a coke bottle between the two of them.

Changbin: Why are you building a wall? *moves coke bottle away* Minho: *moves coke bottle back* Changbin: Put it in front of us. *moves coke bottle* Minho: *moves coke bottle back again*

“Personally I’d like to work with Jeongin.” that earned a surprised glance from Chan which she pointedly ignored.

Jeongin on the other hand, lit up. “Really noona?”

(his single person interview with the MNet staff would later show him gushing in excitement about working with her but she wasn’t supposed to know that)

“Yup.” She stood and made a point of planting herself beside him, nudging Jisung aside with a poke of her shoe against his leg.

“Well then I’d like to work with Sunhee and Jeongin!” Jisung declared and dragged a grumbling but compliant Sunhee back into his embrace, his legs on either side of her and his chest against her back, hooking his chin over her shoulder with a pointed look at Chan that was a bit too much to unpack then and there.

Felix stood and announced his allegiance to Changbin and Minho’s group, dropping beside them. It’s briefly debated that they don't have a vocal, but easily bruised off with compliments to Changbin’s singing (who muttered in denial until Sunhee forced the compliment on him with the throw of a half full bottle of coke at his lap. “Oww! Was that necessary?” “Yes- take the compliment you grump.”) and the last team is completed by default, although, Seungmin and Hyunjin didn’t seem displeased at all with having the leader on their team.

“Woah, the vocals are so strong on that team,” Hyunjin pointed out, gesturing to the magnificent trio that would become Jisung, Jeongin and Sunhee. The compliments were quickly lost in the hilarity that was Changbin and Minho’s awkwardness (the coke bottle was still sitting between them).

Lyric writing had to be a team effort. That much was decided by Sunhee because well, as much as Jisung loved to go hide off in some secluded corner and hiss at anyone who dared approach while he was writing, the song itself was titled school life and he didn’t exactly have the standard experience with that. Then again, neither did she, so Jeongin was dragged along too.

The three of them piled into a tiny little studio already half filled by a keyboard. Sunhee was in the corner, back to the door, facing Jeongin who’d sat in the opposite corner. Jisung had taken ownership of the singular chair, hunched over a notebook that was precariously perched atop the keyboard that he’d been using as a desk (every time he put pressure on the paper a crude and ugly set of notes would play through the speakers that he’d forgotten to mute again).

He was wearing that stupid yellow flannel of his again- because all he owned were fucking flannels, which in response to her comment regarding his fashion he’d chose to complain to Sunhee about her ‘stupid combat boots’ She’d frowned. “What’s wrong with my boots?”

“You don't even own any other shoes!”

“Well of course I do. I just choose not to wear them. Back me up Jeongin.” Ever the conflict driving maknae, he hadn't taken her side. It was like he laid eyes on the oldest person in the room and immediately entered fight mode. The argument had quickly been dropped when another mess of piano keys had slammed down, prompting Jeongin to groan in the most aggravated way they’d ever heard from the maknae and just switch the damned instrument off at the power point.

Sunhee had brought some of her notebooks upon special request, ones from her first year in Korea when she’d struggled a lot with school- which of course reflected in her poetry, and the literature notebook she’d used the year prior when they’d done a poetry unit in school.

They were spread out haphazardly around her, pages covered in sticky notes and scrawled over with messy pastels (because of course Jisung didn't use fluorescent highlighters and only kept pale yellow and pink in his pencil case). It truly was a sight to behold and Jeongin had already taken a photo and sent it to the group chat to brag about how great their lyrics would be.

There was an interesting conversation between Seungmin and Hyunjin who were asking if it was ‘too late for a refund’ while actively ignoring Chan’s messages as well as a few declarations of war (in terms of lyric writing at least) from Changbin. Overall, what they should have expected.

But their lyric writing session devolved to an ‘interrogate Jeongin session’ as the youngest had put it.

“What do you think about on the way to school?” Jisung asked, turning to look at Jeongin, who’d sighed in response. “You know you can just ask Sunhee-noona that. She goes to school too.”

“She doesn’t count. All Sunhee thinks about is being a trainee.” He waved a dismissive hand in her direction- she threw her hands up in exasperation because, yes, Sunhee went to school in Korea. Did she pay attention? Not really. And sure she only went a few days a week but that didn’t mean she had no input to offer. Jisung ignored her groan of exasperation though, just continuing with his eyes set on Jeongin. “We’ve done a song about that already. This one's about ‘School life’.”

Jeongin tilted his head back against the wall, staring at the fluorescent white light that occupied the tiny rectangular room with a death glare that probably wasn't great for his eyesight. “I don’t know- I just think about how early it is and that I wanted to sleep not walk to school.”

Jisung nodded thoughtfully and turned back to his notebook. “How about, I wanted to sleep so I tried sleepwalking walking to school? Does that sit right?”

Sunhee hummed in though, face screwed up the slightest while she rolled the line over in her head.

“I think we need to break it up a bit more, try separating it into two likes instead of one big one so it fits better with the flow. Like the first could be “I wanted to sleep so I figured out,” She gave a noticeable pause, snapping the last syllable the way she knew Jisung liked to do, before continuing. “‘How to sleep while walking to school’. I think we want to keep the lines short and snappy, you know, give it that childish and teenage feel.”

“Right, right.” he murmured, scribbling over the top of some of the already written lines.

“Okay, and do you guys actually wear the uniform so lazily? Like I've seen the two of you in proper formal blazers and stuff but in tv shows they always have other clothes underneath.”

“Well SOPA is a bit more strict in their uniform code…” Jeongin mumbled, still having his staring contest with the light fixture.

“At Bora, lots of kids wear coats and jumpers over their uniform or even underneath sometimes too- if they ditch the tie and leave their shirt unbuttoned.“ Sunhee thought back to the friends she’d made at her school- or well, Changbin’s friend group that she’d been adopted into by force. “I donno. School in Australia was really strict about that stuff. Or at least mine was.”

Jisung sighed and let his head tip forwards and drop against the keyboard. The lack of a mash of ugly notes was the best silence she’d ever heard.

Her assigned job (because apparently they needed those- Jisung was head songwriter, Jeongin was in the research department) was ‘assistant lyricist’ which felt like some kind of jab but she’d ignored that in favour of finishing the chorus- which they had established early on, commenting on the monotony of school life and how it feels like the same day over and over. Not that the three of them could relate- school was at the bottom of their priorities.

This left the second verse and pre chorus left, because Jisung was working though his own rap through brute force and incessant interrogation.

Something hard collided against Sunhee and knocked her forward an inch, enough power behind it to have her whining and rubbing at the back of her head where the door slammed into it. She pivoted to scowl at the offender who dared interrupt their lyric writing.

And of course it was Chan, because when wasn't it him, checking in on the members, giving up his own time to help them. What a stupidly idiotic, self-sacrificing man. Maybe her intense displeasure was evident on her face- it definitely was, because Chan was quick to apologise, reaching his hand down to smooth over her hair but Sunhee dogged it, scooting back further away for the half opened door and scowling at him over the top of her notebook.

“Right,” Chan hesitates, glancing between her and the other two who look as if they know it’s not something for them to watch or comment on, but aren’t making an effort to look away regardless. “Never disturb a writing Sunhee. Should have learnt that one by now.”

His laugh is dry and misses the mark, but he continues on in true Bang Chan fashion, not letting anything faze him. “Did you guys manage to shorten the track alright? No points that need adjusting?”

Jisung gave an uneasy look to Sunhee who scribbled away furiously with a pen before he answered. “No hyung, we got it sorted- but I’ll let you know if we need anything.”

“Sure. Right, okay.” Chan gave a look to Sunhee in the corner, like he wanted to say something, but just sighed instead, heading out the door. “I’ll see you guys back at the dorm then.”

As soon as the door shut Jeongin let out one of his dramatic sighs that she was positive he’d learnt from the trashy American tv shows Felix made him watch, and dropped his head into his hands briefly. Then he decided to glare at Sunhee instead of the light fixture. The maknae’s fury was no joke, they let him prance around and boss them around because none of them really cared, but faced with his frustration, Sunhee may have gone as far to say she was scared- only slightly, but still scared. “When are you going to stop fighting with Chan-hyung?”

Sunhee didn't move for a few seconds, blinking at him with wide eyes as he glared at her. “What?”

“God noona,” Jeongin whined, running a frustrated hand down his face with a heavy sigh.

“We’re not fighting!” Sunhee defended. Then she actually thought about it, a frown appearing on her lips. “Just not talking about the issue.”

“Oh my god- can't you see that not talking is fighting?” Jeongin groaned out, like it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sunhee was a special kind of stupid. But how could you fight if you didn't talk? That was her belief because if she had a conversation with Chan then it would no doubt end up in yelling and tears over both her stubbornness to prove herself and his insistence to protect his friends.

Apparently the others had picked up on this stance though- if Jeongin of all people was losing his cool. The maknae was scowling at her from his seat barely a metre and a half way, the cramped room flooded with his frustration. “He looks like a kicked puppy! Take pity on the man and make up or whatever you old folk do.”

“Old folk- I’m not even two years older than you.” Sunhee sputtered in a poor attempt at a subject change. Again, a failed tactic.

“He’s not wrong though.” The small murmur caught her attention, dragging it away from a fuming Jeongin. It’s the volume that gets her, he sounded so small, and it’s a rare occurrence to see him in such a state. His hands are in his lap, fingers twisting together with downcast eyes. He looked nervous. And Sunhee hadn’t seen him nervous when talking to her in a long time.

“Jisung?” Her voice came out softer than intended, but he glanced up to meet her eye anyway.

“Well you and Chan-hyung- it’s just you guys you know? It makes sense to see you walking side by side or do that stupid shoulder thing. So much changed when you joined the company. Having another Australian around it made him… happier.” He mumbled. It was something she’d been told before that their leader used to be scary but her presence reminded him of home and mellowed him out, made him less grumpy and weighed down- but she’d always taken it with a grain of salt. Who could possibly think Chan was scary?

Jisung sighed again, running a hand through his hair before rumbling his palms against the fabric of his jeans. “It’s not a good time to hang onto grudges noona. Not with all the cameras, and the expectations. I don’t like seeing you guys at odds.”

The look he fixed her with was nothing short of world-ending, those big brown eyes of his staring right at her. Jisung, despite his spitfire tendencies to battle everyone who dared oppose him, was fragile- and at that moment, he looked ready to break.

“Look,” Sunhee sighed, something she seemed to be doing a lot of. “I’ll talk to him soon, but can we keep writing for now? We should really get this done.”

“You promise?”

“Yeah Sung-ah.” She held her hand out for him to take with a weak smile, winding their pinkies together and stamping their thumbs together as she'd learnt to do in Korea. “Promise.”

MNet had once again decided that the sombre mood of teenagers fighting for their career in a very stressful environment was too gloomy. More bonding!

The activities were practically shoved in their face, every group being assigned something to do.

And of course the vocal group was given karaoke. Because what else would they do? Go out to the Han river or bowling like the other groups? Why would they waste possible clips of them slaying at karaoke?

Jokes on them, Jisung and Sunhee were having none of it, singing their absolute worst- not to mention Jeongin’s instance on performing trot.

Overall, it’s probably a good thing the reserved room was so tightly packed, it meant the crew had set up cameras and booked it out so there would actually be room to move.

Sunhee navigating the machine controls is unfairly hilarious, the board of buttons, numbers and flashing lights completely foreign in her hands. She kept accidentally playing Twice’s ‘TT’ because apparently there was a button for that???

She ended up with some ballad that was clearly from the early ninties and thus not within her time-period of existence. The melody came out stressed and jumpy, much to the boys’ delight, who found their noona’s struggles with the song hilarious. (Jisung had shoved the mic into her palms, explaining, “Come on, let us have this one victory. You can go back to day6 once you get through this classic”.)

Safe to say, Kang Sunhee’s rendition of Steel Heart’s ‘She’s gone’ was cut from the episode.

They exhausted their hour of rented karaoke time pretty easily and were left to their own devices by the MNet staff- quite irresponsible really, leaving a few high schoolers alone in the big city (they raided a convenience store).

With Sunhee’s visa card in hand, the three of them spent the allocated 15,000 won- it was her snack budget for the week but she figured it was a good cause. Shitty cup noodles- one each of course, and convenience store soft drinks- Jisung’s Fanta an ever-evolving point of contention. Jeongin buys a can of coke as they pull out the camera for ‘product placement’.

Sunhee replied that she was so proud of him for ‘becoming the proper entertainment industry slave she knew he could be’ with the maknae in a headlock as she messed up his hair. He wasn’t pleased.

But the three of them filmed their walk back to the dorms where the others would be- they’d all filmed in turns that day, Minho’s group in the morning at Han river, Hyunjin’s in the afternoon at some bowling alley, and now Jeongin’s group at night.

There was temptation to steal a traffic cone found on a side street but under Jisung’s scolding and reminders that Koreans took traffic and road regulations very seriously, she relented and kept walking.

It was nice to walk and listen to the pair squabble. They wouldn’t be as energetic the next morning when she forced the choreography down their throats but that was an issue for the next day. Yet as she parted with them at the dorms, insisting she head back to the company- (and Jisung made one sideways comment about how she was “just as bad as Chan-hyung” that left an odd feeling to brew in her stomach) she felt determined to have the choreography finished by the next morning so she’d be able to teach them the full song.

Sunhee was in charge of dance on their team, admittedly it felt good to have such creative control again. She used to help the boys with their dance, being the better dancer in the dance line as well as the eldest- a few months ago she’d conceded the role to Minho, who admittedly suited it very well. She wasn’t bitter about it, despite her complaints about being shipped off to the main vocalist position. (When he’d joined the company the pair had actually spent a significant amount of time together, catching up on all their performance choreography- which he’d picked up alarmingly fast).

But it was nice to take the reins for a bit. She’d worked it through with the choreographer of course, and they agreed on some light foot work and fun slow moves so that it wasn’t too exhausting and vocals would still be stable.

She knew some of the others were poking about the company somewhere but with the track texted to her by Jisung, guide recorded and all, (the chorus pilfered from Sunhee’s notebook and the second verse complete by her amongst the cramped practice room) playing on repeat through the speakers, she didn't have much else to channel her energy into.

Her phone rang through the speakers, pausing her music on the tail end of the performance where she was free-styling to try and fill the awkward void before the track cut. She would have been mad, actually, she was mad. Stomping over to the speaker system to unplug her phone and grumble at whoever dared disturb her, expecting Changbin or even some of the friends she’d made at school.

She was pleasantly surprised.

The plain contact name she used, no images because she had always been too lazy to sort through and find appropriate profile pictures for every contact, came as a curious appearance.

Because it was 3:24am korean time, which meant it was 2:24am in her hometown of Australia. So why on earth was her little brother calling?

“Sunwoo-ya, What the hell are you doing awake?” If the sleep deprivation hadn't been getting to her Sunhee probably would have switched seamlessly back to English the way she always did when speaking to him, instead, she had to suffer through his laughter and teasing for it. “Woah Sunny- look at you, a proper little Kpop idol now aren’t you? Too busy to even speak to your lowly brother?”

“You better give me a good reason that you’re awake at two thirty am or else I’m telling mum.” She grumbled back, leaning against the wall beside the aux cord, taking a quick break, panting into the air as her brother laughed on the phone’s other end.

“Geez calm down,” he teased, an edge of seriousness there with the threat of their mother involved. Kang Minyoung was a terrifying woman when she wanted to be. “I have an English assignment due tomorrow.”

A sigh slipped past her lips, blending in with each heavy breath. “Let me guess- you haven’t started?”

“No! I’m actually nearly finished.” He sounded far too proud about that.

She laughed though, knowing that feeling now more than ever- her assignments were done in school lunch hours, other opportunities stolen by her rigorous schedule. “I’m willing to bet you only started when you got off the bus this afternoon though.”

“You know me so well sister-dearest.” His smile was almost audible, and she could picture it on his face the way his cheeks bunched up under his eyes- a trait they’d both inherited from their father.

“Aish- you cause me so much stress you know that?” She mumbled, digging her notebook out of her backpack, flicking to the last two pages and uncapping the peg with her teeth, spitting it into her lap. “What is it you need help with?”

“My conclusion.”

“The conclusion is just your introduction backwards.” She scolded, knowing that had to be the hundredth time she’d told him that. Sunhee placed her phone on the floor next to her notebook, switching it to speaker. “Read it to me.”

“The introduction?”

“No dummy, your whole thing.” Maybe the interruption was more welcome than she had thought, because Sunhee would never turn down a conversation with her brother, not for the world- not when she missed him as much as she did.

And Sunwoo whined about it but he compiled, Sunhee silently making notes on her paper as he went through, pulling out the relevant points to address and a few mistakes that he could fix.

It only took half an hour, but by the end of it, he’s got a proper conclusion, written mostly by her that probably seemed a bit too advanced for a year seven student so they went through it again and she dumbed down some of the vocabulary. “Send me the document and I’ll proofread it for you tomorrow- When is it due?”

“Three pm, end of the school day.”

She hummed in response, packing up the notebook as Sunwoo spoke up again. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“Nah, I was dancing. We have a big evaluation coming up.” It was easy to dismiss those worries of his, it always had been. The five years between them meant that while he was capable of recognising her stress and worrying about it, without really being able to wrap his head around why she was stressed. It created an odd paradox- one she’s reminded of when he gets like this, worried about her even though she was technically an adult, freshly eighteen.

He perked up a bit though as she talked about what she’d been doing- the way he always did, fascinated by how she spent her days in the bright and bustling country of Korea, wanting to hear all the nuances that differed from their hometown in Australia. “The one mum was talking about- with the groups of three?”

“Yup.”

He paused for a moment, hesitating before he spoke softly. “Sunny, you should go to bed- you sound tired.”

“Says you-” She scoffed playfully in response. “you’re only thirteen and up at three am.”

Sunwoo laughed into the phone. “Touché.”

They bid goodbye under the mutual agreement to not snitch to their mother regarding their horrid sleeping habits and the promise of taking better care in future.

And Sunhee always kept her promises, so as she hung up and shut off the speakers, switching out the lights, she left. Heading back to the dorms huddled up as the chill of changing seasons came to bite through her coat. Mid-September was rolling through and it always seemed strange to her because in her hometown the winter fell from June through August, meaning her birthday in late July was always cold. And, when spring came in, it was with full force, sticky and hot September and beach days spent celebrating her little brother’s birthday that came around at the end of the month.

She wondered how warm it would be back home this year, if the flowers of their pear tree would be in bloom and if he’d spend it at the beach as he usually wished. It wouldn’t be the first one of his birthdays she’d missed- the last one had already gone by without her there to smother him in the affection he pretended to hate.

The first thing she remembered doing when she moved to Korea was buying a coat, a big obnoxious puffer one in power blue, off-put by the cold November that was so different to how it felt back home.

It was that same coat that hung over the end of her bunk that welcomed her home that night, as a strange sense of homesickness pooled in her mind, accompanied by a slow roll of nausea that made her pause in the doorway to chase it away.

Chan wasn’t there to bid her goodnight this time, but she crawled into bed, all the same, breathing deep through her nose and playing the most obnoxious Korean tacks (mainly the trot she’d discovered at karaoke earlier- thank you Jeongin) through her phone that sat stuffed under her pillow. It echoed thought eh cushioning, but thrummed deep in her ears, chasing away the thought of the homely Australian accent she usually sought out at time like those.

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