#it's been done a hundred times before but i think about this scene every day

[tardxsblues]

Wow! We're doing charm as well now, are we? Which one of us is dying?

[utahimeow]

even death will not do us part — satoru gojo

summary — your wedding day with satoru gojo is not exactly conventional.

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — slightly suggestive beginning, pure fluff, established relationship

word count — 3.9k

author’s note — for satoru’s birthday ♡ i put my heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears into this and i hope u can tell. it may be the best writing i’ve ever done, so if u read it, thank u and i love u. also it’s like extremely sappy so pls keep that in mind lol

After a seemingly endless night, tendrils of golden sunlight come crawling through the blinds. They dance over your flesh that’s dotted with soft bites from your lover, and warm it like soft kisses until your eyes peel open.

Satoru’s already awake, ocean eyes gazing at you. A wave of memories of how he touched you so ardently the night before comes washing over you. After it, a wave of heat, his lustful poetry echoing in your mind until it pools between your thighs. Finally, the heat subsides into something warm, a gentle glow which settles within your ribs.

“Good morning,” your lover rasps, voice heavy with sleep. 

You reach out to him until your hand finds his face, your fingers grazing over soft pink skin, your thumb tracing the ridge of his cheekbone. He’s slightly puffy, eyes still ever so slightly droopy, but slumber is not the only thing that simmers in them.

“Good morning,” you reply, your words hoarse yet covered in honey.

For a while, neither one of you says anything, instead basking in one another. Satoru drinks in the sight of you laying next to him, gulps and gulps and gulps it down like it’s red wine, until he’s drunk. 

“Marry me,” he says. Time stops moving and your heart stops beating momentarily. Your mouth tries to move, tries to give a response, but every word you’ve ever learned suddenly abandons your memory. 

He laughs, so obnoxiously beautiful, but within his eyes that carry a millennium of history there is only pure sincerity.

It shouldn’t surprise you this much—his question—not when Satoru had long since carved a space inside your heart, and you in his. You’d been together so long that sometimes you both forgot you weren’t married, and Satoru had a habit of casually stating things like “when I make you my wife”, because it was undisputed that he would marry you.

Still, somehow you didn’t see it coming, and not like this. Satoru Gojo was a man of grandeur–always dramatic, always making a scene, always showing off in some shape or form, whether it was you or his cursed technique. The last place you would expect him to propose was in bed at ten a.m. after a night where he made you see God himself. Although, the more you think about it, this is where he is home. Where he bears the deepest parts of his being to you and where he may shed the weight of a society that idolises him as a god. Where he can ask you to marry him as just Satoru.

“Don’t go shy on me,” he says, still amused by your disbelief. 

“I-yes. Yes, I’ll marry you,” you say, sobbing out a laugh, launching yourself into his embrace and burying your face into his bare chest. 

“What if we did it today?” he asks, his voice reverberating through you until it almost puts you back to sleep.

“Did what?” you ask.

“Got married.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes flitting rapidly over each of his nonchalant features. Once more, you don’t find a single hint that he’s kidding. “You’re insane.”

“You love me for it,” he says, his face like a mischievous cat’s. “And I can’t spend another minute without you being my wife, so please, elope with me.”

Unlike Satoru, you were never exactly one for grand gestures. He knew you never had dreams of a big fairytale wedding with hundreds of guests or a giant hall, and it’s precisely one of the reasons why he’s asking this of you.

“The higher-ups are going to be pissed,” you say, leaning in close to his face until there’s hardly a hair’s width between your noses. 

“That’s the point,” he tells you. “Is that another yes, then?”

You stare into the depths of his irises, the ones that are swimming with adoration, the ones that have never changed how they stare at you, even after all these years. Not that you had any doubts before, but suddenly you’ve never wanted anything more. The feeling settles into your bloodstream, to your bones, to the very core of your being–certainty.

“Yes, Satoru, I’ll elope with you,” you say, and then your lips are on his. There’s a million words in the way he kisses you, ones that he would never be able to speak even if he tried, so he kisses you and kisses you in hopes that you’ll understand them. He kisses you like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. It is.

You part, sorrowfully, heads spinning, but then you remember you have things to do. 

“I need to start getting ready,” you say, and you already know exactly what his response will be–a groan, a whine, and him begging you to stay in his arms for a little while longer. 

He does just that. 

“Satoruuu,” you say, mimicking the way he whines your name. “The sooner I get ready the sooner we’ll be married. Isn’t that what you want?”

He pouts for the sake of pouting, then his arms loosen around your waist and you leave him with a peck upon his lips before tossing yourself out of bed. 

You spend the next hour and something at your vanity, having never imagined that your wedding day would leave you doing your own hair and makeup.

After Satoru brings you a cup of coffee and plants a chaste kiss to your temple, he heads to the bathroom to shower, leaving you to finish getting yourself ready. When he returns twenty minutes later, he finds you standing in your walk-in closet in only your bra and underwear, looking terribly focused. You don’t need to be a mind-reader to know he wants to tell you to go as you are—he refrains, however. It’s a miracle that he’s able to.

“You should wear that white dress you have. The one with the sleeves,” he suggests, flapping his arms and immediately you know which one he’s talking about. A plain white minidress with flared mesh sleeves and sweetheart neckline that you wore to a fancy dinner once. You fish it out, and Satoru approaches you as you step into it and pull it up your hips. Wordlessly, he zips the back up, holding his breath as he does. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see me yet,” you quip, giggling when you turn to face him. 

“Baby, there’s nothing conventional about how we’re getting married,” he grins, giving your ass a tap as you walk past him to pick out your jewellery. 

Of course, he insists on putting your necklace on for you too, a dainty Tiffany chain with a diamond sun pendant that he gifted you for your birthday years back because he liked to call you his sun. Again, the feather-light brush of his fingers over your skin sends bolts of lightning shooting to your fingertips. It’s reminiscent of the way he made you feel a decade ago, before he had even kissed you for the first time, when his cheesy, cat-like smile would send your heart racing and heat rushing to your face. When butterflies would erupt in your belly and you felt like you were floating. For some reason you found it hard to believe that feelings like that would persist, but it is in Satoru’s blood to prove you wrong, and he did, and he does still.

You decide on a pair of glimmering white Jimmy Choo heels, but before you can even think to put them on, Satoru is on his knees, softly grasping each leg of yours so he can slip the shoes on and carefully tighten the straps one by one. It’s something that never fails to make you giddy–to make you question if you’re even worthy of this man (you know you are, after all he’d spent the last few years doing everything in his power to prove to you that he’s the lucky one between you). Still, you think it’s perfectly valid to wonder what you’ve done to deserve someone like this.

Satoru stands then, a perpetual smile upon his glossy pink lips. He’s in a pair of pressed black slacks that hug his thick, toned legs, and a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons left open (because you always tell him you like how good he looks) and nothing to cover his eyes. You’re the only person he’ll be looking at today, after all. He’d die before letting anything obscure his view of you.

He takes your hand and raises it into the air and twirls you around, his eyes drinking in every detail of you, inhaling your sweet, angelic scent, and now it’s his turn to wonder how he managed to get so lucky, as if it doesn’t occupy his mind from the very second he wakes up to the moment he falls asleep. 

He’s still unlearning the idea that he’s alone because it was all that he ever knew from the day that he was born. He’s always had friends and caretakers and people who admired him and who depended on him and who worshipped him, but he was always there at the top, the closest thing to a god that a human could be—by himself. No one could possibly understand him enough to be by his side, not really. Then one day you came along and you slithered your way into the cracks and crevices of his very being and refused to budge, and you showed him that he’s not alone, that there are people who he can trust and depend on and people who he can love. 

He never lets go of your hand, pulling you close to his chest and grinning down at you. His eyes gleam with a mischief that’s all too familiar, one that’s got you instantly suspicious.

“Please don’t hate me,” he says but it’s without any real concern. 

You have an inkling as to what he’s planning, but you don’t even get the chance to open your mouth to question him because one moment you’re standing in the foyer of your home and the next you’re outside of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. 

He predicts the way you smack his chest and whine out a mildly irritated “Satoru!”–it only makes him grin harder, because he knows how much you hate when he teleports you without warning, but right now he just can’t wait another moment (and neither can you) so you don’t have it in you to be genuinely displeased.

As he makes his way to the entrance, you tug on his arm suddenly to stop him after a certain realisation hits you. 

“Satoru, don’t we need a witness?” you ask. 

His eyes narrow in thought and he looks around, cartoon-like, before his face fills with resolution and he’s strolling away from the building with you in tow. 

“Excuse me,” he exclaims, and you follow his gaze to where an older couple are walking by, hands intertwined. They turn to him inquisitively, so he continues. “My gorgeous fiancée here and I are about to be wed. All of our friends were too busy today, so we don’t have any witnesses. Would you spare a moment of time for a young, smitten couple?”

You roll your eyes, but the grin smirk your lips betrays you. “We’re sincerely sorry for interrupting your day. What my insufferable fiancé here means to say is we would appreciate it greatly if you would be our witnesses.”

The couple take a glance at one another, silently communicating before they face you and Satoru once more, nodding their heads.

“It’s our day off, we were just going to walk around the city anyway,” the lady explains, her pale, weathered lips stretching into a gentle smile.

Thus, you waltz into the city hall altogether, and only now does it begin to settle in that you’re about to marry Satoru Gojo. The morning had gone by so quickly– you’d only been awake less than four hours, and during that time you never once stopped to let any of it sink in.

Now, it sinks in. All the way to your core, to the fibres and cells that make up your being. Inside your ribs your heart is swollen, filled to the brim with scarlet red until it overflows and paints everything around it, until every part of you, every seam that holds you together has been altered, touched by something that Satoru gifted you on the first day you met him.

Your lover seems to move in slow motion. Your breath is caught in your throat. It’s a dream, you’re sure of it. Then Satoru squeezes your hand, ever perceptive of your thoughts, and reminds you that it’s not. 

After gathering a pile of documents, a man in a suit takes you to a room that’s a smaller version of a court and begins to lay out the papers, simultaneously explaining each one’s purpose and indicating what you and Satoru must fill out. You provide him with your own documents–birth certificates and proof of residence, and then the two strangers who had offered themselves to you as witnesses give their signatures. 

Your officiant makes his speech in a professional language, far from the flowery words given by priests or family friends in churches or venues adorned with flowers and ribbons along every wall.

Lack of preparation means your vows are a repetition of a script written decades ago: you take Satoru to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

During Satoru’s turn, he hesitates. His eyes shine with a strange epiphany as he stares down at you. 

“...From this day forward, until the end of time. Even death will not do us part.”

There are no words in any language, dead or alive, that are adequate enough to describe the elation you experience. There is no concept, idea, or theory that would truly reveal the way that you are consumed by love for him. It runs through your bloodstream, intrinsic to your very being. 

The officiant announces that you and Satoru are husband and wife. Now you are one flesh and bone. He leans forward, kisses you, and it’s a promise of eternal devotion.

Outside of the city hall, where time no longer stands still but you still feel as though you are not inside of your body, your husband Satoru Gojo bows to the man and woman who made your marriage possible. 

Satoru Gojo does not bow. And while it is easy to attribute it to some god complex, to the product of his upbringing, as many do, those to whom Satoru has shown his soul know that it is rebellion. It is the denial of a convention he refuses to assimilate with, one he does not believe in, one which begs children to be grateful to those who have sown them as though they had the choice to be sown.

When Satoru Gojo does bow, it is not without good reason. Most often it is only when he owes someone his life—so he bows to the two strangers, whose signatures on a piece of paper mean that he is eternally yours.

Beside him, you bow too.

“Thank you,” Satoru says, then both of you straighten up to find the couple smiling before you. There is kindness etched into every line on their face, a fondness simmering in their eyes. Their arms are linked, and all of a sudden you’re looking in a mirror.

“Congratulations on your marriage,” the woman says. “I’m certain you will flourish together.”

“You know, young people are always getting into relationships, but seeing true love like what you have with one another… It’s a rare thing nowadays. Please cherish that,” the man says.

“We’ll be forever grateful for you,” you say. “Thank you.”

The four of you part, but the couple, whose names you do not know, now lives in a part of your mind that can never be erased.

The first thing Satoru does as your husband, as you walk down the streets of Tokyo with your hands laced together, is suddenly disappear into a flower shop as you pass by it, before emerging once more and handing you a bouquet of crimson carnations and white roses with a cheshire cat smile on his face.

“Your wedding bouquet,” he says.

“Oh, Satoru, they’re beautiful,” you muse, allowing your nose to absorb their earthy scent. “Thank you.”

You tug him by the hand that’s woven with yours, pulling him down to plant a kiss upon his cheek.

The next stop is a jewellery store, and you yelp as Satoru pulls you inside with him this time. 

“Pick whatever ring you like, baby,” he tells you as you stand before the glass case where thousands of crystals glimmer back at you, splayed out on a bed of white. “Just to wear until you pick your actual one.”

Blood warms your face. It’s not meant to be a brag. Even if he didn’t have generations of wealth in his bank account, he’d buy you as many rings as you wanted until you found the perfect one. For you, he would find a way.

Your eyes wander over every diamond, over gold and silver and platinum, and it’s not long at all before they all start to look the same. Not wanting to spend your entire wedding day inside a jewellery store, you land on a simple diamond-studded silver band and point it out to Satoru.

“That one?” he asks. 

You nod, a satisfied smile making your lips curl.

Satoru flags down the jeweller, a thin woman with shiny skin, requesting the ring you want. She tells him each of the five diamonds weighs 0.2 carats, making the ring a total of one carat, as if it’ll make a difference to either of you. He doesn’t ask her for the price, but she tells him it’s 550,000 yen—practically theft for someone from the Gojo clan. 

After picking out a matching plain silver band for himself, you and Satoru leave the store and continue strolling through the city. To everyone else, you look like no more than an enamoured couple like the millions of others in Tokyo, and while a part of Satoru feels like he wants to wander up to random strangers to brag to them that you’re his wife, another part cherishes this little secret between you two.

From the day he was born, Satoru Gojo’s wedding was to be a grand affair. Sorcerers from far and wide would gather to witness the expansion of the Gojo clan. It was to be a several day-long event, planned intricately by the higher ups without room for any say from the bride and groom. Satoru did not want that—not for himself, but especially not for you.

Now he laughs as he imagines the higher ups’ faces when they realise he has not only married but eloped behind their backs. Though he thinks he’ll keep his left hand in his pocket the next few times he pays them a visit, at least for a few weeks.

“What?” you ask. His grin spreads from his face to yours.

“Nothing. Are you hungry?” 

“Ugh, yes,” you say. Suddenly your empty stomach becomes even emptier, howling agonisingly loudly.

“Sushi Go?” 

“Please.” 

The nearest one is ten minutes away. When you get there, you sit in a booth next to the conveyor belt, with Satoru insisting on shoving himself into the seat next to you rather than across from you. As soon as his heat radiates into you, however, you feel like melting into him.

After ordering almost the entire menu despite your scolding, Satoru finds the ring boxes and pulls them out of the ribbon-tied bag from the jeweller. He takes your left hand, gently, as though you’re made of glass, and slides the glittering ring onto your fourth finger. He brings it to his lips, then his velvety lips kiss just above where the ring rests.

“Beautiful,” he says. He’s looking at your eyes, not the ring.

You twist it around your finger, lungs empty as it catches every ray of light that comes its way and tosses it back at your eyes. 

“It’s a little big, but I love it.”

“I’ll get you the perfect one, don’t worry,” he says. “To make up for no engagement ring.”

“You make me sound so materialistic,” you quip, taking his hand into yours and slipping the matching silver band onto his bony finger.

“Just spoiled,” he corrects.

You narrow your eyes at him, but it turns into hearts not a moment later. He makes it impossible.

“I love you, Satoru Gojo,” you say, holding up your hands as you lace your fingers together with his.

“I love you,” he says, and the smug, cocky front vanishes, and he bares himself, his true self, to you. “More than anything in this world. I’m gonna prove it to you every single day from now on.”

Your giggle is drenched in fondness. “You already do that.”

“Then I’ll do it even better. This is a promise of that,” he says, thumb stroking over the ring he put on your finger.

His eyes don’t hold an ounce of hesitation, of questioning, of doubt. Only truth.

Your food arrives, and you wish you could say you feel bad about how overtly gross you and Satoru are being, feeding sushi rolls to each other with twinkling eyes, but everything inside you is screaming with euphoria that you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You wipe a drop of soy sauce from the corner of his lips, and he stares at you like you put the sun and the stars and the moon in the sky.

Not to your surprise, you and Satoru don’t finish all of the food he ordered. One of the waiters offers to box up the leftovers, then returns with two paper bags and hands them to your husband, whose unoccupied hand takes yours once more.

He decides he wants to take you to the park. He’s not sure why. It just feels right, and all you want is to spend time with him, so you tell him the park sounds perfect. It’s only another fifteen minute walk, anyway.

When you get there, the emerald lawns are teeming with families, couples, friends. Children run as if they can fly, dogs chase after tennis balls like it is their life mission. Satoru whisks you away from it all however, taking you into the trees.

Nestled amongst the Japanese chinquapin and zelkovas, a cherry blossom spreads its branches out like arms, its blossoms like pink fingertips that flutter as the wind swims through them. Satoru sinks into the cushion of grass at the base of the tree, leaning his broad back against the trunk. Like a cat, you find your way into his lap and rest your head upon his chest, next to his heart. The way his arms wrap around you is instinct.

Sparrows and finches flit about the branches, dancing as they move from one tree to another. Two turtle doves perch together, huddling into the other even though the air is warm.

Even if you and Satoru do not stay bound together in this life, if death takes you or him early, one thing you know for certain—you’ll find him again in another life. Right now, however, you have him in this life, and nothing else matters.

dedicated to @ushiwhacka and @tetsuskei <3 i love u both

[daceydeath]

What Happens Backstage....

Pairing: Jeongin x reader Word Count: 2.8k Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends to Lovers Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, swearing, unprotected sex (Don't be a fuckwit), fingering, mentions of oral sex,

Jeongin is your best friend, you adore him and nothing can change that but you probably are just a little too close.

You had heard the phrase what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas but you didn't realize how many different ways it could apply until you and your best friend Jeongin got a little closer than you expected. What happens when the others are asleep, what happens when you are alone in the car, what happens when its late at night and no one is around he had a hundred different ways to use it. You had been best friends for as long as you could remember and you had remained so even after he debuted despite the fact that he could hardly ever seen you due to his busy schedule you spoke on the phone every day and face timed as often as you could. That changed a little when you moved to Seoul for work because at least in the same city you could see each other a couple of times a month but it was still sporadic, not that you cared you knew he was always going to be there for you and you there for him. The first time you had hung out in a month you had decided a movie night was the way to unwind after he had been filming for four days and needed some rest. Cuddled up on the couch together surrounded by blankets and snacks he had dropped his head to your shoulder breathing out almost resentfully as a kissing scene played out on the screen in front of you.

"Sometimes I think I would like that" he sighed blinking slowly.

"What's stopping you?" you smiled his hair tickling your cheek and he nuzzled his face against your neck.

"When would I even have time to find someone I could trust like that?" he grumbled "The only women who I trust are you, my mum and out staff".

"What? you don't have any cute make up noona's?" you teased as he huffed before he softly pressed his lips to your pulse point chastely making you gasp.

"Innie" you warned softly your voice not as threatening as you would have liked.

"Hmm?" he hummed kissing your neck again with a little more force his lips lingering against the skin making you shiver before turning back to the screen.

The following time you hung out you hadn't really spoken about the kisses he had placed on your neck because once the moment ended you both returned to normal. You had gone to dinner with him and he was driving you home since he had an early start the following day, his hand somehow ended up on your thigh squeezing and massaging lightly as his fingers crept further up until you were squirming against his touch. When you arrived home he smiled his normal sweet smile as you got out of the car waiting until you had gotten into the building before driving back to the dorms. You had been confused for about three days but you had decided to drop it after everything returned to normal just chalking it up as his being touchy because he had missed you.

This time however was very different, he had invited you to come watch them perform on Music Core since he knew you were a fan of the show not just a stay. You were excited as he slipped the guest pass lanyard over your head and led you to their dressing room where the other members were all either getting their make up done or were getting changed.

"Hey there you are" Chan grinned as you walked in making you smile, they had known you for so long through Jeongin it felt like you were their friends too.

"Hi guys, how are you feeling?" you chirped back as Felix gave you a quick side hug and Lee Know shouted hello to you.

"Good, it's going to be good to finally perform this new track" Chan continued as Innie pushed you through the room with his hands securely on your hips.

"I'm so excited to see it" you beamed "It's so different to just watching you in rehearsal".

"Well we can't disappoint you then princess" Han flirted cheekily making you roll your eyes.

"You know he hates when you do that" Hyunjin whisper shouted dramatically as Seungmin laughed loudly flopping down next to him while you tilted you head confused as to what they were talking about.

"Anyway did you want to get something to eat after I've gotten changed?" Jeongin interrupted your thoughts.

"Sure, that sounds great" you smiled back at him again and he motioned for you to sit near Chan and Felix. You waited for Jeongin talking to Chan about what their promo schedule was going to be since they always worked hard for their comebacks trying hard to ignore the looks and whispers coming from Han, Hyunjin and Seungmin.

"They are trying to annoy Innie" Felix explained as you furrowed your brows.

"I don't get it" you bit your lip still frowning slightly.

"You are Innnie's best friend" Chan chuckled "They know it drives him up the wall if they say you're cute, flit with you or whatever other stupid thing they might do".

"Oh, right that would explain the 'not' whispering from earlier" you nodded rolling your eyes.

"Exactly" Chan smiled "So they will continue just to wind him up, they don't mean anything by it, even though I have mentioned once or twice to leave our youngest alone" his volume increasing and making them stop talking immediately.

"Ready?" Jeongin asked brightly as he walked back from the changing room.

"Absolutely" You grinned as you stood up and followed him from the room.

The hallways were busy since it was halfway through soundcheck so Jeongin took hold of your hand and kept you close to him so you didn't get separated as you wound your way through the hallways to the cafeteria. Picking up a tray he grabbed you both something then sat tucked away in a corner of the room with you so he could talk to you without too much interruption.

"I'm guessing Chan told you about the guys teasing me?" he sighed poking at his food.

"Yeah but they are almost your brothers aren't you meant to tease each other?" you giggled sipping your iced coffee.

"I guess but I don't like it when they flirt with you" he grumbled cutely pouting as he looked at the rice bowl sitting in front of you.

"I don't care, I know they have no interest in me, they don't mean it" you shrugged stealing a piece of meat from his plate.

"But what if they did?" he mumbled almost inaudibly making you narrow your eyes slightly.

"What was that Innie?" you prodded swinging your foot to brush his leg.

"What is one of them was interested in you?" he repeated flushing pink under your surprised gaze.

"It wouldn't matter I haven't ever thought of any of them like that" you muttered feeling embarrassed that you even had to explain it to him. You knew they were all gorgeous but you had known them so long that you also knew relationships with idols was so difficult especially since you barely got time to see him let alone anyone else. The look he gave you just screamed 'but you might' and you had to look away as he took your trays and got rid of your rubbish before taking you back towards the dressing room for them to start their soundcheck. When you got back the kids were once again being the loudest people you had ever met singing way off key to annoy each other while Seungmin warmed up his voice and Lee Know went over his lines again. When they were eventually called to the stage you were happy your were going to get peace and quiet if only for the length of one song.

"See you when we get back princess" Hyunjin smiled sweetly his fingers dragging along your arm as he walked from the room.

"Yeah don't get too lonely without us" Changbin winked making your eyes widen and Jeongin glare as he followed the others out.

Sitting and playing on your phone you waited until they actually would begin then you would monitor them on the large television screen in the corner of the room. You could hear the stylists and make up artists chattering among themselves about how the comeback was going to be well received since the concept was sexier than what they had done before, making you curious since you had seen the choreography before but you knew what they practiced and what they actually performed was always vastly different. The intro started and your eyes flicked to the screen as they began looking gorgeous and sounding amazing you were quickly sucked into the performance and found yourself physically reacting to every body roll and hip thrust than you would have even anticipated. Jeongin had told you that this comeback would be a big deal but you had thought that was because the song was such a banging track not that it was because the choreography was going to make your mouth go dry. You felt your face heat up as you sat yourself back down needing a moment to collect yourself before they all returned.

"Did you like it?" Jeongin asked flopping next to you his portable fan pointed at his painfully exposed and obvious throat collar bones as he had taking his jacket off as soon as he let the stage.

"Yeah you were incredible, I understand why you were so excited about this comeback" you replied poking his cheek as you spoke "Is the entire point to drive poor stay insane?"

"I mean not the entire point Chan cut in scratching the back of his neck shyly.

"Oh so the incredibly sexy choreography was an accident?" you teased him noticing his neck was flushing with blush.

"I told you he would get shy about it" Felix teased laughing loudly.

"Wow you are going to be all sorts of shy come the next Chan's Room" you giggled absentmindedly stroking Jeongin's hair when he had slid down the couch and laid his head in your lap.

"Oh that I didn't think of" he pouted looking down at his phone awkwardly.

"So you thought it was sexy did you?" Lee Know smirked at you making you swallow hard.

"Compared to your last one yeah" you nodded slowly "I mean this is much more in the league of Red Lights and Taste rather than Maniac".

"Well we're very happy you liked it" Hyunjin purred making you look own at the boy laying in your lap who had turned his head to glare at Hyunjin.

"Innie" you warned softly touching his shoulder "don't start a fight with your brothers" he huffed getting up and striding from the room not looking back at you or the members.

"Too far Hyunjin" Chan sighed.

"I didn't mean to actually upset him" Hyunjin defended looking slightly panicked.

"I'll go find him" you mumbled standing up and making your way into the hallway to follow him looking left and right trying to pick which way he would go. You knew the stage was to the right so you figured left would be a better option, more likely to be quieter than closer to the stage. Passing a few others in the hallway you walked past a few empty dressing rooms until you saw him sitting in a darkened one pausing before you entered you heard a soft whimper before you stepped inside to see if he was ok.

"Innie?" you spoke softly in case he wanted you to leave, his eyes shot up to meet yours and seeing you were alone he half smiled at you before his eyes widened and he turned away. You shut the door behind you thinking of he was crying he would want privacy and walked across the room to him.

"I didn't want you to see me like this you should probably go" he mumbled his voice shaking slightly.

"Innie if you are upset I want to help" you soothed wrapping your arms around him from behind you fingers splayed across his stomach making him groan.

"I'm not upset and you shouldn't be here, not now, I'll come back in a little bit" He swallowed hard as you squeezed his middle again.

"Well if you're not upset why are you hiding in an empty dressing room?" you retorted letting go of him and stepping back feeling a little stung by his rejection of you.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable so it would be best if you just go back to the others" he pleaded with you still facing the wall.

"Jeongin you are my best friend, nothing you do could make me uncomfortable, nothing would make me leave you" You whispered dejectedly "But if you want me gone I'll go".

The last part of your sentence was so soft you weren't even sure you said it aloud but you didn't have time to think about it when Jeongin's lips crashed into yours kissing you messily and desperately, his tongue running along your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth nibbling at it as his hands came up to cup your face stealing your breath and making you dizzy.

"I'm sorry" he muttered against your lips when he broke away from you "please, don't hate me".

"Innie..." you softly panted his lips connected to yours again only this time you reciprocated allowing his tongue to slide against yours while he moaned into your mouth. Backing you up against the empty makeup counter top his hands moved across your body cupping and fondling your breasts, squeezing your hips and finally creeping under your skirt to slip inside your underwear.

"I want you so bad, I don't want you falling for one of the others I want you for myself" He groaned stroking your slit teasingly before slipping between your folds to circle your clit.

"Jeongin" you gasped not even able to tell which way was up with how breathless he had gotten you in such a small space of time, you hips bucking against him slightly while he kissed his way down your neck pushing your top aside with his mouth to suck small marks onto your collarbone.

"I wish we had more time before we had to go on stage" he grunted pulling his fingers from you and tasting them before opening your mouth with his thumb and pushing them into your mouth for you to suck clean "Fuck, later I'm going to fuck that perfect mouth of yours".

Your head was spinning as you wrapped your tongue around his fingers pretending it was his cock letting them go from your mouth with a lewd pop as he stared at you with lust filled hooded eyes. pushing himself between your thighs he slid his hands under your thighs helping you onto the counter and pushed your underwear aside again.

"I promise I'll make this better next time" we breathed against your lips sinking his length into your core hissing as he bottomed out.

"Fuck Innie" you groaned feeling yourself stretching around him as he slowly pulled his hips back and thrust into you again. Leaning back onto you hands you let him set the pace as he stared at where you were connected, watching his cock sinking into you only to pull back and be covered in your juices, speeding up every time you sighed or gasped.

"Shit" he grunted his jaw clenched "You gonna let me cum inside you baby?" he asked finally looking up at you as you nodded mutely the pleasure he was giving you too much for you to speak through. You could feel his thrusts getting sloppier before he swelled inside you painting your walls with his release.

"Fuck" he panted harshly moving to cup your face his soft gesture completely jarring from the way he had just fucked you.

"We need to get back" you whimpered as he slowly pulled out of you not to mess up either of your outfits before tucking himself back into his pants.

"I know" he smiled kissing your lips softly and helping you from the counter "I'll just tell them your my girlfriend now and they need to stop trying to wind me up" you giggled letting him lead you back to the dressing room where the other members were waiting for you both to return.

"Innie, were so sorry" Hyunjin started looking genuinely remorseful as Jeongin sat on the sofa the pair of you had previously been sitting on "we didn't mean to upset you it was just stupid jokes"

"Yeah man we didn't mean any harm it was just to wind you up and maybe get you to figure stuff out and hold up your holding hands" Han babbled.

"Yeah, you jerks should probably apologize to my girlfriend too" Jeongin grinned pulling you into his lap and kissing your cheek.

"Girlfriend hey?" Lee Know smirked.

"Yeah what of it?" Jeongin challenged his arms wrapped around you.

"About fucking time" Felix chimed in.

"You little shits owe me money I knew it was going to be this month" Chan crowed as you hid your face in Jeongin's neck.

a/n: As always thank you for reading I adore you all more than you know. All comments, reblogs and likes are like little pieces of stardust lighting up my life xx

Taglist (open): @christopher-bangnaldoskzz, @armystay89, @damnyouficc, @roamingpolar, @tara-skyhold, @bakedlilgoonie, @krishastumblernow, @mrsseals16, @fawnpeaks,

[formulaforza]

oh, simple thing— c.sainz

"the earth laughs in flowers" pairing: carlos sainz x female reader wc: 4.1k notes: guys remember when i used to write? back in january? crazy times. anyways.

You were five years old the first time you proclaimed that you were going to marry Carlos. It came, of course, after the implication that you would also be marrying Prince Charming (as long as he didn’t keep your glass slipper–shoes are a woman’s best friend, your mom had told you once and you never forgot it) and the gym teacher at your primary school, whose crush you’d never admit to anyone but your mom. Can you imagine the teasing? Thinking a grown-up is cute? It’s completely preposterous… or, when you were five, super-duper silly. 

All three of the loves of your life were completely coincidental, coming to your brain while your mom read you a bedtime story completely coincidentally. You’d had gym class that day, of course. Played with the rolling scooters and argued with the older kids about getting a turn on the tube slide. Scooter day was always your favorite, so it was no surprise your teacher was in your good graces that evening. A

After dinner, while flipping lazily through channels on the big square television in the family room, your dad had clicked on the Disney Channel by mistake. Cinderella was halfway through and you threw a fit every time he tried to change the channel. You just thought she looked so pretty, in her big princess dress dancing at the ball. 

Carlos, what had Carlos done to be in your good graces that day…? He wasn’t in your class, so you couldn’t enlist him in the war of the slides or crash into him on the scooters. He definitely wasn’t running around your house after dinner. If he was, your Mom would still be cleaning up after him somewhere in the house. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos… what had he–oh! That’s right! The flower on the way home from school. How could you ever forget the first flower? He’ll give you shit for it later. 

Your mom and Carlos’ mom had been best friends long before you and Carlos burst into the scene. They liked each other more than just about anyone, and you never did understand how Reyes never tired of your Mother’s antics. She was always bossing you around, forcing you to clean up your toys and read your books. Carlos got away with whatever he wanted, his parents would even lie for him on his reading logs. Anyways, stay focused. Because your parents were such good friends, you and Carlos grew up side by side. Parallel play or bust, since neither of you were particularly apt at sharing. Everyday on the walk home from school, your moms would catch up on the gossip from the night before while you and Carlos tried to kill each other with various objects found on the sidewalk. This day, there had been eleven pebbles, two rocks, a stick, and Carlos’ metal water bottle (the one with the HotWheels logo on the side). Now, Carlos was charging at you with… a flower? A bluebell, one he’d picked straight from the ground, root and all hanging from his fist. When he held it out to you, you scowled. There wasn’t anything wrong with it. In fact, it was about as perfect as a bluebell from the sidewalk can get, but, you’re a little shit. 

“It’s dead,” you said, took it from him and tossed it aside. “It’s not nice to pick flowers, Carlito. It kills them.” He burst into tears and your mother scolded you the rest of the way home, even though it was her who always told you to leave the wildflowers wild. After some time and consideration (a plate of dinosaur nuggets, half of Cinderella, and a bedtime story) you’d decided maybe Carlos was right to cry about the dead flower. 

Carlos, it seemed, had gotten over the dead flower incident pretty quickly because, the very next day, he was already making a joke of it. He’d held up the walk home for fifteen minutes while he searched through a field in the park. Both of your mothers and Blanca had already shown him what had to be a hundred or so healthy, perky flowers. Carlos shook his head at each one of them, typical. You sat on the curb of the garden and played with the ants that had built a sandy hill beside your foot. You resisted the urge to stomp it, only because you knew you’d be lectured about leaving the bugs alone in the same way you were about leaving the flowers alone. After a lifetime–or enough time to have an after school snack–Carlos finally settled on the ugliest, most wilted flower you’d ever laid your eyes on. He presented it to you with a laugh and, because you’re just as stubborn as he is, you accepted the gift graciously and let it sit vaseless on your dresser for three days before someone threw it away. 

Truthfully, though, the real reason you probably proclaimed your intent to marry him that night wasn’t some flower. It was that Blanca had defended you from his water bottle strike with a pebble to the back of his head, and you thought that would be a good kind of person to have as a sister. 

Carlos was seventeen when he figured he’d probably end up with you eventually for the first time. There wasn’t anything romantic about it. It was more of an ah, fuck. It’s gonna be her, isn’t it? 

Your families were in Mallorca, touring some vineyard–well, your parents were touring the vineyard. You, Carlos, and all of the siblings had snuck off from the group one by one and met up in the grove just outside the property. Carlos was bumming a cigarette from Blana when Ana finally turned up, stomping her way through the grass and wildflowers annoyedly. Carlos takes a puff of the cigarette and passes it over to you. 

“You’re going to start a wildfire, you know?” Ana says, crosses her arms over her chest and pops out a hip all bratty. 

“Ana,” Carlos groans, “shut the fuck up.” You exhale a puff of smoke through a laugh. 

“If you’re going to be mean, I’m going back to Mom and Dad.”

“Okay,” he says, “have fun.”

“I will,” she proclaims, visibly annoyed that she isn’t drawing a reaction from her big brother. She loves to piss him off, everyone does, because it’s just so easy. “I’ll have sooo much fun telling them about how you’re all in the woods smoking. I’m sure Dad will love that, don’t you think, Carlos?” Blanca rolls her eyes. Sometimes it’s fun to mess with Ana, and sometimes keeping her humble becomes more of a chore than anything else. 

Ana stomps away, her whole sneaky journey wasted, the group’s entire smoke session ruined by the pesky baby sister who can’t decide if she wants more to be included or to be a tattletale. “Don’t kill any more flowers on the way back!” Carlos calls after her, passes the cigarette to you again for one last puff before the lot of you have to make your way back to the winery, to the bathroom you’d all claimed to need to use over the past hour. Ana turns on her heels to make sure Carlos can see her eye roll. He just smiles, and you think if Carlos was your brother you probably would have killed him with your bare hands a long time ago. 

You squat down to put the cigarette out in the dirt and Carlos digs a hole with his heel for you to drop it into, kicks the dirt back over it and stomps on it a couple times. “Fuckin’ snitch,” he mutters under his breath. 

He snatches up one of the stomped on flowers, pulls it from the ground–root and all–and presents it to you. “You really are such an ass,” you say, take the flower and link your arm through his for the remainder of the walk back. “I love you,” you add, “but you’re an ass.”

You were twenty the first time your friendship with Carlos became a threat to one of your relationships. It wouldn’t be the last time. You’d been together for seven months, you and Mateo, Mateo and you. Met at a club in Barcelona and the rest was history. It was a simple conflict of interest, a scheduling woe. You were forced to make a decision. Your boyfriend’s grandma’s birthday party… or Carlos’ debut in Australia. To you, it seemed like the easiest decision in the world. His grandmother isn’t even that old–she’s got plenty of birthdays ahead of her, ones that you’d be happy to celebrate. But Carlos’ debut? Really? That’s once in a lifetime. It’s the shit you just don’t miss, even if you’re in the hospital or literally on your deathbed (which Mateo’s grandma is NOT, by the way. She lived seven more years according to recent Facebook posts). 

“You’re going to Australia?” He’d scoffed when you told him, mentioned it so nonchalantly over dinner. When I’m in Australia, don’t forget to water the plants, or something along those trivial lines. He was just as offended as you were utterly confused. There’s no way he thought– “What about my abuela’s birthday?”

You’d laughed. The wrong thing to do, you know, but it was an action done without thought, without intention. “What about it?”

“You’re supposed to come with me.”

“I never said that,” you shake your head and he pulls a face. You set your silverware down and prepare for the coming argument. Normally, you’d just back down, but this is Carlos we’re talking about. Carlos, and his dream. Carlos, and his reality. “I didn’t,” you reaffirm. 

He leans forward onto the table, elbows shaking the entire thing, rattling the wine glasses and ceramic against the wood. “I assumed you–”

“–I don’t know why you would assume I‘d be doing anything except supporting Carlos,” you say, more defensive than you intend to be. It’s just, you can already see where this is going, even if it’s never gone there before. You’ve watched the girls Carlos brings home look at him the same way Mateo is looking at you right now, or more importantly, how he doesn’t look at you. 

“You know, I don’t either.” He nods, but it’s more of a full body movement, like he’s rocking forward, lips pursed and jaw tight. His eyebrows raise like he’s going to shrug, like he’s surprised with himself. You doubt you read the emotion right. “It’s always about Carlos, isn’t it?”

You lean back in your seat, cross your arms over your chest, close your eyes just long enough to hide the eye roll, and then you’re piling the silverware and the napkin onto the plate and moving the party to the kitchen sink. “I’m not doing this right now,” you say when you grab the wine glass carelessly. 

“Oh, so you know what this is about, then?” He calls after you, gathers his things sloppily and follows you into the kitchen. 

“You just said it’s about Carlos,” you say, slamming the sink on and clattering the plates into the bowl. Carlos had told you about these fights, about the ones he’s had with his girlfriends. You’d laughed about them, always thought it was so funny–the idea of someone left fuming by your friendship. The crazy assumptions, they couldn’t be more wrong if they tried. You and Carlos are nothing but platonic, you’ve always been platonic, you’ll always be platonic. When you know someone as long as you’ve known Carlos, they just become a part of you, build this little home in your soul that blends in so perfectly you could never cut it out with clean margins. It’s not just Carlos, either. It’s Blanca and Ana, too. Hell, it’s even Carlos Sr. and Reyes, but nobody ever seems to understand that. 

“It’s my Abuela,” he says, like you’re supposed to be moved or something, and he sets his dishes in the sink on top of yours. “It’s her birthday, and you’re supposed to come with me. I told my family you were coming.”

“I don’t understand why you would do that,” you start scrubbing the first plate with far more aggression than required. You’re not a good fighter, you get mean, and you get mean quick. “I was never not going to Australia.”

He laughs, leans against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at the ground, at the crumbs waiting to be swept up. “Because you’re never going to choose me over Carlos, right?”

“Mateo.”

“Answer the question.”

You freeze, squeeze the soapy sponge in a fist until there’s nothing left to ring out of it. “I’m certainly not going to choose your Abuela over my friend. Over my brother.”

“He’s not your brother.”

You sigh, go back to cleaning. “He’s like my brother.”

“Yeah, if you wanted to fuck your brother,” he says, and meets your eyes with wide, proud eyes like he’d done something, caught you in some illicit love affair. You resist the urge to grab the wand from the sink and spray him with a jet of water. 

Instead, coldly, you’d replied, “get out,” and pointed to the door. 

His hands shot up in some great defense. Or maybe it was offense, you really never could read him that well. “I see how you look at him.”

In. Out. In, and then out. Deep breaths. “I said leave, Mateo.”

“Because you know I’m right.” In, then out. “You know how fucked up it is that there’s three people in our relationship,” in, out. “Four, if you count Carlos’ girlfriend! What do you think she thinks about all this? You looking at her boyfriend like your favorite candy?” In, then. In, then–in, and then you slap him with a wet hand, the contact reverberating into a splash, coating the walls and the ceiling and the entire fucking room in anger. Anger, and dirty dish water. 

The anger is deafening, the room so quiet that the sink makes the kitchen sound like it’s directly behind a waterfall. 

He storms off into the living room. You return to the dishes, hear the jingle of his keys, the door opening. “Fuck you!” You call after him, but what you really mean is Fuck Carlos. 

When you get the breakup text a few days later, you’re not surprised. You put on your best face and pretend you never read it because while your boyfriend did just break up with you in a seven word text, you’re sitting out the back of the Toro Rosso motorhome watching Carlos pace.

You’ll tell him later, you think, after the race. And then, you don’t dare ruin the celebration, ride the high out until it can’t be ridden any longer. By the time you do get around to telling him, you’re all but moved on, mentioning it nonchalantly amongst the chaos of his first season. It falls away to the backburner, into irrelevancy, and Carlos never does ask what happened to sour the relationship. He does, however, have a wilted arrangement of flowers delivered to your front door with a handwritten note–ugly and dead, just like your relationship. You’d laughed for maybe twenty straight minutes. 

Carlos was twenty-four when he realized he was in love with you, that maybe he always had been. He’d just broken up with a girlfriend, one whose name he hardly remembers now. Alessandra… Alena… Adrianna–oh, screw it. It was definitely an “A,” and if it wasn’t, he’s sure it was a vowel. Not the point. He was twenty-four and had just dumped whatever her name was because it just didn’t feel right. (What does right feel like at twenty-four? And how do you know it when you see it? The world may never know). 

It was three races into the 2019 season, and he’d been having a particularly unlucky start with his new team. He’d spent the offseason relatively alone in Woking, finding his footing in a new place, a new team, a new car. Everything is gray, you’d told him the night he announced his impending move, scrolling through your phone at Google search results for the town. “It’s not gray,” he said, and without needing to say anything or flash him a look, he backtracked. “Okay, it’s a little gray.”

Three races in–an engine fire and two first lap collisions–in, and everything is feeling pretty gray, not just his rainy apartment (flat, he’s been taught to call it) in Woking. The cards felt stacked against him, and reluctantly, he’d called in reinforcements to Baku, a couple of good luck charms in the form of the people he loved. You, Ana, and Blanca flew in together and made Carlos come pick you up from the airport himself. 

You climbed into the backseat and were anything but gray. You were glowing, completely and utterly sunkissed, and your hair was messy from travel but it reminded him of what you’re like after a good nap. Groggy and sleepy and desperate to stretch out like a cat. He hates that he knows how you like to stretch after a nap, the exact pattern of movements you do. Do you know how much time you have to spend with someone to memorize their post-nap stretch routine? Too much time, that’s how much. 

You got into his car, all bright and sunny, and sure, his sisters were there and he loves them so much. But, you’re here, and you’re bright and sunny and everything feels just a little less gray. He pulls out from the airport and while he doesn’t realize that he loves you just yet, he knows something in him has been chemically altered by your smile, irrevocably so.

It’s Sunday when he realizes, somewhere between the checkered flag and the team debrief when you and the girls appear, practically crash into him like you’d been dropped down into the garage right from the sky. He hugs you, and you smell like sunshine. He wants to bash his head into the wall of his driver's room, to lay in front of Lando’s car and ask him to run him over because he’s not supposed to take note of the way you smell (unless it’s to call you out for smelling like shit). 

You kiss his cheek and shove his shoulder because you’re so happy for him, because you’re always so happy for him. He doesn’t think it’s fair for someone like him to always have someone this happy for him. He loves that about you. He loves everything about you. He loves you. Fuck, he’s in love with you. 

Lando nearly pees his pants over a tweet the next day. Carlos has reached a new level of Carlos-ing, it read, with a picture of him visibility distracted while being fed to the media pen. He can’t tell his teammate that the reason he’s so distracted is because he’s internally debating the pros and cons of ruining your friendship forever. 

You’re twenty-four when you and Carlos start dating. The two of you drag it out for as long as humanly possible, stretch the patience of everyone around you so thin they won’t be surprised (or concerned) at the idea of you and him getting together. It’s scary. Really, really scary to admit your feelings for each other, to tell the rest of the world about it, but Carlos keeps bringing you these mis-shapen flowers, ones where the dye is soaked up poorly or they’re a couple days too wilted. It’s our thing, he would always say, and kiss you while you cut the stems to fit in your favorite vase. 

He was right, it was something that was just yours. There was nobody else actively searching out dying flowers in the shops or carefully picking the dirtiest wildflower from its root on an evening walk through the city. That was just the two of you, and nobody else understood it. 

“It’s gross,” a friend told you, twiddling one of the half-dead flower stems between her fingers while you shared gossip over glasses of wine. “You got these today and they’re ready to be thrown in the bin.”

“You don’t get it,” you’d swatted her words away. The dead flowers weren’t understood, and they didn’t need to be. They were special to you and Carlos, and when it came down to it, nothing else mattered to you. 

“Seriously, though,” she’d continued, “It’s… I don’t know. Dead flowers, it’s just weird.”

Carlos is twenty-six when you break up. It’s mutual, it is. Even when it doesn’t feel like it’s mutual, when either one of you desperately searches to blame the other for the pitfalls, it’s still mutual, still two people who love each other. Who just aren’t in love with each other anymore. 

There’s a lot of reasons if you want to get into it, but his new drive is the catalyst for pretty much all of them. Carlos is with Ferrari now, which is the dream, but it's also the nightmare. McLaren is iconic and historic but Ferrari… well. Everyone knows the Vettel quote, everyone knows the kid’s car is red. Ferrari’s Ferrari and you’re just… you. Time runs out, patience runs thin, and that’s the end of it. 

You’re twenty-seven when you see him for the first time post-breakup. It’s a setup by your parents. Mallorca and the vineyard, again. You don’t think anything of it, so much has happened in the last decade and Mallorca is half of Spain’s favorite vacation destination. 

He’s sitting with his family at the bar, the whole clan of them sipping from a wine-tasting tray. His eyes shoot up to meet yours with the loud creak of the old, heavy doors. He does a double take, and your stomach turns into a ball of knotted necklaces. 

During the same tour you’d been on all those years ago, you sneak off with the same excuse you’d used. Blanca and Ana don’t follow after you to debate the environmental damages of bumming a cigarette in the grove or to threaten to snitch on you to your parents. They stay behind and listen and you stomp through the wildflowers to get some air. You’re already outside, Carlos would say if he were there. You’re my dirty air, you’d tell him, and he would roll his eyes, shove his hands deep in his pockets and rock on his heels. 

He knows you’re not in the bathroom, there isn’t a single nerve in your mind that thinks he doesn’t know exactly where you are. He doesn’t sneak off behind you. You gather your thoughts in the grove by yourself, leant against a tree older than you’ll dream of being. You pick a wildflower, one that looks picture perfect, snap it carefully from the root and stick the stem behind your ear. 

When you return to your party, they don’t notice you’ve been gone for far too long to use the bathroom or that you’ve got a flower in your hair. Well, all of them except Carlos, who slows his walking pace to drop to the back of the group next to you. “Nice flower,” he comments quietly. 

You nod, watch your feet as they move in synchronized steps with him on the grassy path. “Thanks.”

“It’s dead,” he adds, and you smile dimly. “It’s not nice to kill the flowers.”

Carlos is twenty-eight when he’s perusing the birthday card section at the local gift shop. He’s trying to find one that perfectly sums up his birthday wishes for you. It has to be sunny and happy and so, so sorry for everything (even when it’s nobody’s fault). It has to say, I’ll always love you without saying I am still terribly in love with you. It has to be subtle and obvious and endearing and serious and funny. It has to be everything his words can’t be. 

He eventually settles on one, tucks it into the yellow envelope and licks it shut. He handwrites your name on it messily, like you could get confused about who it’s for and need a label, or like he has a stack of yellow envelopes for dozens of other people sitting sealed on his kitchen counter. He goes to the florist next, picks out a stock arrangement from the fridge and a package of flower seeds. The final stop on his city tour is your apartment. Three knocks on your door, and then you’re undoing the deadbolt. 

“Hi,” you say, confused by his presence on your welcome mat. 

“Happy Birthday,” he smiles. “This is the last time I get you dead flowers.”

You and Carlos are thirty at your wedding. He cries when you walk down the aisle and there isn’t a single real flower in your bouquet. It’s all fake, and one of your friends asks if you’re worried it might look tacky or cheap. Anyone who thinks that shouldn’t be at our wedding, you’d told them. 

[hope-drunk]

SO HOT YOU'RE HURTING MY FEELINGS

| you and abby broke up a month ago, she creates a plan to get you back.

| wc: 3.5k

| content warnings: 18+ MDNI! set in modern day, alcohol, f!reader, strap usage (reader receiving), oral (reader receiving), pet names, abby's a little mean if you squint, a bit angsty, barely proofread.

| a/n: inspired by the song 'so hot you're hurting my feelings' by caroline polachek

You didn’t know much, but you did know one thing; Abby Anderson shouldn’t be messed with. You two had broken it off over a slight argument, you didn’t understand why she couldn’t see your side of the story and accept that you weren’t flirting back with her teammate. When you two had the argument over it, the floodgates opened, and you and Abby had laid it all out on the table. By the end of it, you had stormed out of her apartment and went back to yours, finalizing the breakup with a text. You hadn’t talked to her since. The ‘we’re over’ text had been left on read for over a month.

It didn’t stop the hurt though, you looked back through the messages everyday, even though they made you slightly cringe now. It had all been so simple. You spent every second together, and when you weren’t together, there were hundreds of texts to make up for it. You honestly didn’t know how you were still breathing, you missed her more than anything. The rage wore off after the first week, and you haven’t been able to bounce back. But tonight you were dragged to a party by your roommate, and you figured, why not, it was fine to get a little drunk to deal with your feelings every once in a while. 

The idea was that you’d be set free by the alcohol; to let loose a little. And you did! You had fun for a solid forty-seven minutes before the fun was disrupted. The second your and Abby’s song turned onto the loud speakers, you were done for. You walk off into the open bathroom and sit down onto the closed lid of the toilet. Your head falls into your hands. The song had sobered you up quick. You take your phone out of your skirt pocket to do what you usually do when you get reminded of Abby, ready to open the instagram app and scroll along her profile, and you would’ve been content doing that, until your phone lights up with a text from her. You open it immediately. 

“What the fuck?” You mumble. 

You scroll through the multiple photos she’s sent you; all of her at the gym, flexing her muscles. She starts typing, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach.

sorry, wrong person.

You can’t help the scoff that comes out of your mouth. “Seriously?” You say, again, only to yourself.

You don’t give her a response, simply setting your phone on the sink and rubbing a hand over your face. It’s like she knew. She knew you were tipsy and about to stalk her. She knew that you heard the stupid song that you danced around her apartment to. You swear it was a secret sense of hers. 

After about ten minutes, you go back out into the party; beelining for the alcohol table. You pour the liquid into a plastic red cup, estimating what you think would be a shot, and send it down the hatch. You were entirely too sober to deal with this situation.

“Hey there, you alright?” Your roommate yells over the loud music.

“She fucking sent me pictures, of her– of her muscles.” You say, now that you were standing, the alcohol started to have its effects again. 

“What? Seriously? I’m sorry. Why, exactly?”

“I don’t know, she said wrong person.” you try not to let the tears escape your eyes, not wanting to cause a scene.

“Okay, well, fuck. That’s kind of worse. Did you text her back?” She says, giving you a panicked look.

“Of course not, what am I supposed to say?”

“It’s gonna be alright, let’s just have fun, okay?” She smiles at you, trying to reassure you of her words.

You nod your head and she moves you back onto the dance floor. Again, with the alcohol in your system, you start to have a good time again. You dance and laugh and have fun; you don’t even check your phone. You don’t keep track of how much you keep drinking, but you’re sporting a hefty buzz by the time you sit down on the couch for a break. Your head spins as you pull out your phone to check the time. The bright 2:13 stares back at you, and then your attention is caught by a notification on your phone, Abby has refollowed you on instagram. You groan, hadn’t she done enough tonight? 

Suddenly, you felt the overwhelming urge to call her, even though you know you shouldn’t. You were doing so good, so good! And a few pictures and an instagram notification were enough to convince drunk-you that calling her was a good idea. You walk down the staircase of the apartment complex and go outside to the picnic table that sits in front of the building. You recognize some people from the party smoking, but you don’t pay them any mind. You open Abby’s contact on your phone. Your finger hovers over the call button. Should you really do this? Should you reopen this wound that you were working so hard to close? But on the otherhand, should Abby be allowed to fuck with you like this? No, no. She had to know that she needed to stop. You press the call button and bring your phone to your ear, listening to it ring.

She picks up after the third ring, “Um, hello?”

“Yeah, hi. I need you to stop. I don’t want to see pictures of you being hot at the gym and I don’t want you to follow me on instagram. We’re done, so I don’t know why you’d send me pictures and when I don’t respond you follow me again. I really– I can’t do this, okay?” You ramble into the phone, the alcohol gives you more courage than you would’ve had sober.

“Okay, well, the photos were an accident–”

“Bullshit,” you cut her off. “That’s bullshit. And I know it is, because I know you.”

“Are you drunk right now?

“I’m at a party, yeah. That’s why I need you to stop. I’m having fun.”

“I’m coming to get you.” You hear a muffled noise of bed sheets being pushed off her body.

“No, you’re not. You don’t know where I am.” You say smugly.

“You think I don’t get invited to the same parties that you do, sweetheart? I’m on my way.” Abby says, she hangs up the phone directly after so you can’t talk back.

You feel hot all over. The anger and the alcohol heat you up. You already regret the call, and now you have to deal with telling your roommate that Abby is coming to get you. You decide to text her instead of telling her to her face. The alcohol gave you confidence, but not enough to tell her that you were being picked up by the girl who’d left you bedridden for two days.

so, funny story, abby is on her way to pick me up, sorry. see u later ok?

You put your phone back into your pocket after sending the message, not daring to pull it back out once it starts vibrating. You sit on the table and wait for Abby’s car to pull up in front of the building. You will yourself to sober up before seeing her. You know that your mouth will betray you if you try to speak to her while you’re drunk. You also know that you won’t be as brave as you were over the phone. Talking shit behind the screen is one thing, but being face to face with Abby is another. She’s so intimidating, even now. Her height and her build, the calm expression she has on her face at all times. The most you could get out of her was a jaw twitch, and that was only if you had been arguing for a few hours. 

You hear her car before you see it; her brakes have always been squeaky. She pulls up fast, having to slam on the brakes to fully stop in front of you. It seems like she hasn’t forgotten her manners, because before you can open the door of her car, she’s getting out of the driver’s seat and opening it for you. Once you sit down, she even buckles your seatbelt. Honestly, she was making it really hard to stay mad. The action almost makes you cry again. 

She walks back to her side and gets in, putting the car in drive and speeding off. You turn your legs towards the door and put your chin in your hand. Abby scoffs at the childish action, but doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have music playing on the radio, so all you hear is the wind rustling through the open windows. Your hair flies back and forth, and you make a big display of trying to smooth it down. Abby's hair is always in a braid, so she doesn’t see a problem with driving like this.

Before you know it, you’re pulling into a parking spot at Abby’s apartment complex. This time you’re quicker than her, unbuckling the seatbelt and opening the car door. 

“I don’t want to come in.” You say. “I thought you were taking me to my place.” A lie, you figured she would bring you here, but you were scared to go in; scared of the memories it would bring up.

“You’re coming inside, so…” She trails off, waving her hand towards the door.

Your eyes well up, you look down at your feet so she doesn’t see. “Can you just take me home, please?” 

“No, get inside. We need to talk.” The voice she uses sobers you up quicker than anything else ever could.

When you walk into her apartment, you take a seat on her dark brown couch. She walks to the kitchen and gets you a bottle of water, taking the lid off and handing it to you once she’s back into the living room. She sits on a chair across from you, putting her elbows onto her thighs and watching you greedily gulp down the water. 

It does help your head feel a bit clearer, “Thank you.” You say to her.

“Let’s talk,” she says.

“About what, Abby?”

“About why we should get back together.”

You laugh at her, it’s loud and obnoxious; one only she could pull from you. “Why would we do that?”

“Because I know you, and I know you miss me. I miss you too. I miss having you here every second and I miss texting you when you’re not here.”

“Okay, so, that’s not how this is going to work. You can’t just say you miss me without addressing why we broke up in the first place.”

She moves her chair closer to you. “And why did we break up in the first place?”

You scoff, “Because you’re possessive, and you have a jealousy issue. I talked to Mara for three seconds and we had a three hour long argument over it.”

“You used to like how possessive I was, you said it was one of your favorite things about me.”

“I did like it, I liked it when you were subtle with it. What I don’t like is getting crucified for speaking to another girl.”

“Crucified, really? God, you’re fucking dramatic.”

You huff; take another sip of your water. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to come in.” You mumble.

“Speak up for me, please. Y’know I hate it when you mumble.” Abby says, her patience running thin.

“I said that this is why I didn’t want to come in. I knew it would just be the fight all over again. I didn’t do anything wrong. She asked me how my classes were going, Abby.”

“Yeah, she also asked other girls on the team how serious we were, because she was trying to get in your fucking pants.” Abby snips, getting up out of the chair so that she can pace around.

Your mouth opens and closes. You hadn’t known that Mara was talking about you like that. She had flirted with you in the past. She was in your major, so you saw her around your lecture halls and at various parties hosted by other people you had in common. You had flirted back a few times, but it was nothing serious, just some fun banter at a few parties. She had stopped once you and Abby became official, so you thought that was the end of it. Obviously, it wasn’t.

You clear your throat, “Okay, I didn’t know that.”

“But you knew that she tried to before.”

“Abby, I’m serious when I say that nothing ever happened between us, and especially not when we were together. Do you actually believe I would cheat on you?”

Abby puts her hands on her hips and lets out a sigh, “No, I don’t.”

“So why did you fight with me over someone else’s actions?”

She sits back down in the chair. “I don’t know.”

You go and stand in front of her, she doesn’t look up at you, so you crouch down on the floor.

After a while, she speaks, “Maybe I do have a jealousy problem.”

You laugh, and she cracks a smile. “Yeah, I think you do.”

“I’m sorry, really.” She says, making sure to look directly into your eyes. “I mean it. I fucked up, but I wanna fix it. I do miss you, a lot.”

“I miss you too.” You admit. It’s quiet again, Abby brushes your hair off of your face. You can’t help but lean into her touch, her large palm is warm; it feels familiar, it feels like home. You blink up at her, “Are you going to admit that the photos were for me?”

She laughs and sniffles, you hadn’t even realized she had started crying. “Yeah, whatever. They were for you.”

You look down and laugh again. “God, I missed that sound.” Abby says.

She pulls you off the ground and places you in her lap. You touch your forehead to hers, staring intently into her eyes, her pupils seem to have expanded since earlier this evening, and you’re sure yours were just as large. You brush your nose against hers and lean your face down. If either of you were to twitch, your lips would touch.

“We gonna do this?” Abby says, barely above a whisper. Scared that if she talked louder you’d get spooked and run away.

“Make up sex sounds good to me.” You agree.

It feels like there’s a different Abby now. A hungry wolf that’s been waiting to be set free. She kisses you with such force that you move back on her lap. If she didn’t have her hands holding you up, you might’ve fallen off. Your hips grind down into her by instinct, trying to search for some friction to soothe the ache between your legs. Abby pushes your hips down onto her thigh and rolls them, forcing you to grind on the strong muscle. She doesn’t stop kissing you even for a second. You think if Abby had a superpower, it would be sex. 

Suddenly she’s standing, you wrap your legs around her waist and your arms around her neck; she still doesn’t break the kiss. She brings you into her bedroom, and you feel your eyes well up with tears. The wave of relief it sends through you is insane. You didn’t know if you’d ever be back in this room, under Abby. You didn’t know if you’d ever see her pillows or her closet again. It sounds silly, but you’ve truly missed everything about her.

She pulls away panting, “Why y’crying, baby?”

“I don’t know. Missed you; missed this room.”

She smiles and leans back down for a kiss, it’s less heated; more loving. She pushes the shirt you’re wearing up and places kisses down your stomach. You gasp as she lightly drags her tongue right above where your skirt starts. Your hips lift, urging her to take it off; urging her to get closer to where you need her.

“Gonna make it up to you, okay? Gonna make you feel so fucking good, not even gonna remember why we broke up.”

“Okay, please.” You say back to her. You place your hand on the top of her head, slowly unraveling the tight braid she has in. 

She doesn’t even take the time to take off the black maxi skirt you have on, just pushes it up your legs and takes off your panties. She stares at your cunt for a few seconds. You can feel her hot breath fanning over it. A whine falls from your lips; and suddenly she’s licking a stripe up your slit.

A moan comes from your chest. You haven’t been touched the whole month, not even by yourself. Every time you tried to masturbate, you just thought about sex with Abby, which only made you upset. You snap out of your thoughts when you feel Abby suck on your clit, it sends you reeling. You push her face further into you, and your thighs close in on her head. The noises you’re making are absurd. You’re sure her neighbors are going to leave a note on the door, but at this moment you couldn’t care less.

It’s embarrassing how fast the coil gets tight in your stomach.

“Fuck– Abby, think I’m gonna–” you can’t get a full sentence out. The words begin and end on your tongue.

She pulls her mouth away and presses her fingers into your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. “Already, bunny? Just got started.”

“I know.” It comes out whiner than you wanted it to. “I know, I’m sorry. Just feels so good.” 

“That’s alright, sweetheart. Come when you wanna, I’ll be right here.” Her mouth reconnects with your cunt.

You think it’s about ten seconds before you’re coming. You let the tears fall freely for the first time tonight. You feel so happy, your chest gets tight. Your hips grind into Abby’s mouth. She’s always been like this; staying latched onto your cunt until your orgasm is done. You cry out at the overstimulation once you’re back on Earth. She removes her mouth to shush you, pressing more kisses to your neck and moving your hair off of your sweaty forehead. Your head is reeling, your vision is blurry. 

Abby comes up and kisses you on your cheek. “You want the strap?”

A wave of arousal flows through you at the mention of it, “Would it be make up sex without it?” 

She laughs and gets off the bed, going to her closet to retrieve the box where it’s stored. She strips while she’s over there, and puts her clothes in the dirty laundry. Always so neat, can never have anything out of place. Once she gets it settled on her waist, she comes back over to you. 

“You ready, baby?”

You nod your head.

“Words, please.” She gives you a soft smile. “You forget your manners?”

“No,” you say, voice hoarse from the moaning. “I’m ready, Abby.”

She lines up the strap with your hole, and gently eases it in. You pant. You didn’t forget your manners, but you did forget how good the stretch feels. She bottoms out; the strap kisses the sweet spot inside of you.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

“Is this okay?” She asks. She’s staring down at where her hips meet yours and you can tell she’s fighting off the urge to thrust into you until you answer her.

“Yes, can you just– please move.” 

Abby doesn’t need to be asked twice. Her hips grind into yours with all the force in the world. You can tell that the strap is hitting her clit because of the grunts she’s letting out. The room feels humid at this point, and you’re sure it stinks of sex.

“You’re mine, yeah? No one else can ever have you.”

“You have–” you’re interrupted by a moan as she starts rubbing at your clit again. “You have a jealousy problem.”

Abby scoffs, “Gonna give me fucking attitude right now? When I’ve got my cock buried in this pretty little pussy?” 

You whimper at your words. You always get off on Abby telling you off. You love how dominating she is. You love watching her brows raise when you say something questionable. You can’t help but rile her up.

“You do, it’s bad. You need to work on it.”

“Stop being a brat and come on my fucking cock.”

Her words send you over the edge, this time further than you think you’ve ever been. She follows you soon after, keeping the strap buried in you while her orgasm washes over her. When you both come back, she’s fallen beside you, the silicone lays on the floor. She breathes deeply beside you. 

“So…” You say.

“So what, baby?” Abby says. She decides you’re too far away and pulls you into her chest.

“Are we back together?”

She laughs at you, really laughs. Like you’ve just said the funniest thing in the world. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

You start laughing too, “Well, I don’t know!”

“Yeah, we’re back together.”

Your smile widens and you hide your face in her chest, suddenly embarrassed by the question that slipped out. 

“Okay, well good.” You say.

You drift off like that, content to be back in Abby’s arms. Happy to be home.

[zeroeightzeroone]

your heart and my anchor - han jisung

love collection

genre: hurt? comfort?

pairing: fem!reader (infp) x idol!han jisung (intp)

warnings: descriptions of anxiety and of a panic attack

wc ~2.6k | moodboard

notes: if this looks familiar, it was originally posted to my secondary blog @zerothreetwentyfive so i'm republishing everything here on my main blog.

originally requested by @pcchacoseung

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ｡ ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:

sometimes, you wonder why you decided to work and be a university student at the same time, that is until you remember the money that goes into tuition fees and the fact that you needed to move out in order to attend school. you're privileged enough that your parents are able to help pay your tuition whilst you pay for your rent and the other necessities you need to live in the city but that doesn't lessen the amount of stress that plagues you on and off again throughout the semesters. especially at the end of the year when exams are creeping up on you, figuring out how to move your schedule around to accommodate studying, working and finding the time to take a breather and relax; the latter option is usually dropped from the equation. 

when you aren't on campus or at work, you've locked yourself up in your room. sitting behind your desk and stuck to your laptop, your textbooks and notebooks sprawled and spread over the surface, multiple pens around the area. sometimes you lose all sense of time when you're so hyper-focused on the task at hand that you only get a couple hours of sleep before you rush to get ready for work. you're done work when the sun goes down and once you get home you're back behind your desk, working till the sun comes up. the routine only repeats whether you like it or not. 

jisung has been pretty busy as well. behind-the-scenes work with writing, producing and directing songs that may or may not end up on the next album, attending schedules and practicing day in and day out. it's been a while since you've been able to see each other, the both of you exchanging a few texts here and there.

j.one<3: i miss you baby i wrote some lyrics today thinking about you

you: i miss you too :,) a lot, a lot a lot

j.one<3: how have you been love? school and all?

you: it's been good

whenever he asked how you were doing, you'd always tell him that things were going fine, that it's okay, that you've got everything under control; acting like everything is a hundred and ten percent fine and dandy and you aren't on the verge of a breakdown every couple of hours. you didn't want him to worry about you. you didn't want to add to jisung's own current struggles, not wanting to burden him with your own.

j.one<3: hmm ok love you know i'm here right whenever you need me

you: of course and i love you for that

j.one<3: i love you more you got this, i believe in you baby

after your short text conversations, you'd turn on 'do not disturb' mode and a little message would pop up on jisung's side that you've switched it on.

j's one and only has their notifications silenced

a little signal for both you and him to get back to work. 

…

j.one<;3: hey love i'm gonna be in the studio all day working you wanna come by and do your work here too?

and that's how you ended up sitting on the couch inside the studio. your laptop rests on your thighs, two browser windows opened up alongside each other on the screen with a notebook and pen sitting next to you. across the room, jisung sits at the recording desk in front of the computer with the program opened up on the screen, a headset over his ears and a notebook sitting in front of him, twiddling a pencil between his fingers.

although, the longer you're seated inside the studio, with your laptop displaying your calendar on one side and schedule on the other; showing off tasks that need to be finished today whilst the other side shows off the tasks and events coming up in the week.

the more you're convinced that you're going to have a mental breakdown with each passing minute. 

you thought that maybe, just maybe, being in the same room as jisung would help as motivation, as comfort. having your person in the same room might hold you back from taking cover inside a hole, alone, curled up into a ball and ignoring the stresses life's currently throwing at you. 

but instead, as the time passes you feel deep envy growing for your boyfriend who is seated at the recording desk. you find yourself envying the way jisung is twirling his pencil, bopping his head to whatever track is playing through the headset and the way he is able to—unlike you—focus on the tasks at hand.

how were you supposed to focus on anything when your mind continues to relentlessly remind you of all the work that needs to be done today? that you'll wake up tomorrow, only to repeat the process of slaving to get the work done.

how could you even try to focus when that tightening sensation in your chest, the one that restricts your airflow, only gets worse as the time passes?

you couldn't—you can't and you hate it.

you absolutely hate how you feel right now.

how you're mentally and emotionally trying to calm yourself down. trying to talk yourself back onto the ground and out of your frantic mind to breathe.

your heart's racing, the pulse only picks up as the time passes. it beats so loudly you can't seem to hear anything other than your own heartbeat, your hearing completely zeroed in on it. 

your chest not only feels heavy but it starts to hurt, a throbbing sensation begins to come and go. it's like there is someone sitting on your chest and no matter how hard you try to get them off, you just can't. the harder you struggle, the more you feel suffocated, as if the air inside this vast recording studio only occupied by you and jisung is being sucked out, the walls closing in on you.

that painful feeling of your breath caught in your throat only leads to your heart rate picking up double time, your body feels restless while your mind repeats the same shit over and over again. the angel on one shoulder tries to calm you down, telling you to take a breather, take a break but the devil on the other only talks over her. overpowering her completely, as she reminds you that you aren't deserving of a break or a breather right now; seeing as you haven't completed any significant amount of work since entering the studio. 

unbeknownst to you, your body trembles as your hands come together in front of you, fingers fiddling and picking at the skin on the opposite hand. 

y/n, you think to yourself, come on, pull on your big girl panties and get on with it.

you're distracted trying to calm yourself down.

trying to bring yourself back down to earth instead of currently being inside your own head, you feel like you've lost any semblance of control you once had. god, you hate this feeling, you absolutely loathe how your heart quickly palpitates beneath your heavy chest, gradually getting dizzy as your restlessness only builds. however, no matter how anxious you feel, your body is nailed to the couch—you're frozen and unable to will yourself to get up on your feet.

it's like everything around you is speeding up and leaving you behind. they're leaving you behind in a state where your self-control slips away and causes your fear to grow tenfold. 

you're scared. you're terrified that you won't come down from this— that you don't know how to come down from this, how to regulate everything inside you. the dread slowly sinks in as you slowly convince yourself that you will never be free from this state of overwhelming emotion that consumes you as the minutes pass. 

jisung's hands move to adjust the headset, moving one cup away from his ear as the track has finished playing a moment ago. initially, he wanted to note something down in the notebook in front of him but the moment that one cup is off, he completely removes the headset and places it down in front of him on the desk. for a moment, he stills, listening to the room:

the echos of you clicking around on your laptop isn't heard.

this leads jisung to wonder if you've dozed off in the middle of working prompting him to spin around in the rolling chair, only to be met with you sitting on the couch wide awake. 

when his brown eyes are laid on your figure, jisung's heart drops at the sight; you gnawing at your bottom lip, your chest trembling as it heaves, your whole face is flushed and your eyes are the slightest bit blown. 

jisung immediately knows what's going on, he knows it all too well.

your boyfriend rushes to his feet and towards you, shutting your laptop and moving it on the couch beside you. slowly, jisung is kneeling in front of you as he gently encapsulates your hands in his.

he can feel the way your body trembles beneath his touch.

"y/n, baby, my love," jisung calls for you softly, his chocolate brown eyes sparkle as they gaze up at you, "you're okay, you're safe."

his eyes scan over your face, watching as your own slowly meet his. there's a dullness to your eyes, a sense of apprehension laced in your features as your thoughts plague your body and mind.

"hey, love," he smiles and lightly caresses your hands with the pad of his thumbs, "just keep your eyes on me, i'm here. i'm not going anywhere, okay? just focus on my voice, love."

you fight your own body to regain control, to regain the strength to regulate your own emotions. you've grit your teeth in an effort to stay focused on your boyfriend's voice.

"hey, hey… you're safe love. i'm gonna move beside you, okay baby?" he moves slowly to sit next to you on the couch, careful not to startle you with any quick or sudden movements. 

one of his hands move to your cheek gently caressing you there as well. a feeling of delight washes through his body at the sight of you instinctively leaning into his touch. 

"you're okay. i know it feels scary right now but you're going to be okay. you're going to get through this, yeah?"

the hand on your cheek moves to pat your hair down gently. jisung's gentle touch moves around your body as a physical reminder that you aren't alone and that he is here with you. 

"just keep focusing on my voice."

jisung continues to look over you, observing your current state and identifying how else he could help.

"i'm proud of you, you know?" he says fondly, "i know things get hard and it's scary sometimes but you always find a way to get through it. you're always doing such an amazing job."

a deep, unstable breath leaves your lips. 

"good girl! you're doing great. breathe, breathe with me okay?" he inhales deeply and you attempt to follow him. then he exhales, "...one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

your exhales are shaky, your control not totally regained as you're fighting to get yourself out of your own head. but you feel the tension slowly dissipating from your body.

"one more time with me. concentrate on your breathing, okay?" this time jisung shuts his eyes as he inhales, hearing you take in a breath as well, before letting the air out slowly, "one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten..."

jisung notices your previously blown-out eyes have softened, he then decides to move on another strategy to further help you anchor yourself back down into the present.

"that's my girl, i'm so proud of you," he pats your hair once again, "does my y/n need anything right now?"

your voice is incredibly hushed and strained when you squeak out the next two words, "hold me."

jisung scoots even closer to you. adjusting himself so one arm is around your shoulders, wanting to hold you close to him. his other arm moves your head to rest on his chest and he gives you a moment to adjust as he whispers reassurances that you're okay, that you're safe and that he's here. 

your ear presses up against his clothing as his hand rests on your jaw, caressing your skin with his palm. the warmth radiating off of jisung's body has your body reacting the way it usually does, melting into him as a wave of comfort washes over you. another deep breath leaving your lips, still a bit shaky but an improvement nonetheless. 

"what are three things you can hear right now?"

your eyes flutter close as you try your best to tune into your surroundings, trying to identify noises inside the quiet room.

you hum, "your heartbeat… the vent… your breathing."

"how 'bout three things you can smell?"

"your cologne… coffee… brownies."

"now, can you tell me three things you can see?"

your eyes open slowly with blinks as you adjust to the light before you scan around the room.

"recording desk… microphone… computer."

jisung's hand moves to wrap around your wrist, gradually lifting your hand up in the air in front of you both.

"wiggle your fingers for me," your fingers wiggle, "kick your leg up for me," you kick your leg up slowly, "roll your ankle around." you roll your ankle around, "good job my love, i'm so proud."

your arm moves to wrap around jisung's body, pulling yourself closer to him. a breath of relief leaves your lips at the sense of ease that comes with the action, how you're able to grip onto the fabric of his shirt and nuzzle your face further into his chest.

"inhale," he sucks in a breath and you follow suit, "exhale... one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. do you need anything else, y/n baby?"

you shake your head, melting into his side as you feel your pulse and breathing regulate to a normal pace. you feel like your feet are back on solid ground, in control and in the centre of your mind instead of backed into a corner hiding away from it.

"i'm here," he coos, swaying your bodies back and forth, "you're not alone. never. i'm here. i'm right here with you."

when you shut your eyes, tears fall down your flushed cheeks-- tears that had welled up due to stress and overwhelming bursts of emotions you weren't able to control--but now they fall with a sense of relief.

"i love you," your voice is quiet, trembling the slightest bit, "thank you… thank you for being here. i love you so much."

jisung hushes you, his hands gently running up and down your back, "it's the least i can do. I'm always gonna be here, y/n, always."

you nod, your eyes still closed as you take a couple of moments to yourself in jisung's arms. this time you're trying your best to anchor yourself back down to earth by thinking of what you love, what relaxes you, reminding yourself of the light and the good.

you know this isn't going to be the last panic attack you're going to have but at least you know that you aren't alone, there's always someone willing to help. jisung continues to remind you of that, that he'll be there for you no matter what, in any way he possibly can. at the same time, jisung knows that you'd do the same for him as you've done it time and time again. 

jisung has told you multiple times that he doesn't know how he'd function without you, feeling like he would be completely lost without you. 

you are his heart. 

meanwhile, jisung is your anchor.

in the middle of an uncontrollable storm, when the harsh waves rock the boat every which way, an anchor is vital to stay strong and controlled during such conditions. an anchor is a symbol of stability, a symbol of strength; a person you can rely on to support you to stay strong, to hold on even during the toughest of storms.

you found that person in jisung.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Action! Chapter 1

Having just graduated from Iacon's acting academy, Orion Pax is beyond excited to begin hunting for his first big role. And after vorns of doing nothing but play extras, a position has finally opened to play a part in not just any media, but his favorite novel of all things. No, he's going to play the role of Optimus Prime! A tyrannical ruler in a fantasy novel that he lived and breathed during his studies.

Unbeknownst to Orion Pax, he isn't going to be part of a high quality production. Instead, everything he is going to experience will be one hundred percent real.

(Yet another Au for yall. This one I have been sitting on thinking about endlessly for MONTHS.)

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Orion didn't like to come off as ungrateful, but he had expected acting to be a more… open field of work.

He had at one point considered taking on an archival role, but that went flying out the window the moment he saw the stars work on screen for the first time. Part of him regretted walking away from the Archives that cycle, but Ratchet, a notorious old school actor, was his original inspiration. He had been lucky enough to go to one of the elder mech’s interviews and heard all about how Ratchet walked to Iacon and dragged himself to stardome. It was inspiring to hear of the tales of struggle and strife, the corruption behind the sets, and ultimately the satisfaction of a job well done and a character perfectly played. 

One thing led to another, and before long, what really got him interested in the career path was when he began meeting other stars in person. That interview had him tumbling down a rabbit hole, and from there he used his meager paycheck working at the docks to get close enough to the big names to ask them a few questions, or at least observe from a distance. Starscream broke any and all stereotypes with his unusual tendency to play both femmes and mechs in film. The advice Orion received when he asked how to become a great actor was simple.

“Kid, if you want to get big, be DRAMATIC! No one wants to spend hard earned shanix to watch a mech look bored.”

It was sound advice, and that day, Orion made the decision to understand the craft of acting. He got a chance to attend several meet and greets for other big stars such as Megatronus, a world renown actor applauded for both his heroic and villainous roles. The elder mech had smiled kindly when Orion held up his datapad for a signature and asked how to become an actor. His advice was promptly engraved into Orion’s mind alongside Starscream’s.

“Don’t just pretend when you are playing a character. You need to become the character in mind, body, and spark as much as possible. The audience knows when a performance is forced.”

Shortly afterwards, he was lucky enough to run into Arcee and Cliffjumper, a stunt double duo whose advice amounted to a simple statement. Arcee, had touched him on the arm with a knowing smile and chuckled.

“Be authentic! Do your own moves as much as you can. You want to sell the scene no matter what, even if it gets you a few cuts and dents.”

Clffjumper on the other servo had patted Orion on the shoulder with a lopsided grin and given far more… eccentric advice.

“If you can jump off a cliff, JUMP OFF THAT CLIFF!” 

Orion wasn’t totally sure if it was meant to be a joke or not. 

Whatever the case, he added their wisdom to his long term memory files and continued his hunt for further inspiration, a goal forming in his spark. He spoke with Soundwave, a famous actor known for his monster roles. The mech was known to be of the type to never speak on set, and his advice was grim, but undoubtedly rational.

“To act, you must know every facet of the being you are to depict. You must feel their pain, know their burdens. Only then can the weariness of their sparks show clearly in your optics through the screen.”

Ultra Magnus, a fantastic director, offered him a nugget of wisdom as well when he managed to harass the office the mech worked at enough to get his email responded to.

“Look, acting isn’t just using your vocalizer and manipulating body language. You need skills, actual abilities to compensate for anything you end up missing. The audience is far more forgiving toward an actor who gives it their all.” 

Bulkhead and Wheeljack, special effects masters at the top of their field, had not so subtly given him a datapad on the production of explosives and other such materials before flicking his audial and offering their advice. Bulkhead was the most rational. 

“The acting is only half the battle kiddo. You need to make a statement, preferably with explosives and a dramatic stride out of a burning building.”

Wheeljack suggested arson, and honestly upon seeing a video of some of the special effects master’s work, Orion couldn’t help but find himself pretty much sold on the concept. Wheeljack’s words were cause for concern, but they were undeniably correct when the results were in front of his optics.

“If you need to blow it up to make it look good, then by all means BLOW IT UP!”

Knockout, a makeup artist hired on every big set for his miraculous transformations, had been the most difficult to get a meeting with. But through pestering Starscream, one of Knockout’ usual clients, and through a few underhanded online transactions, Orion got the chance to ask the artist his usual question. Knockout’s advice was… interesting to say the least. Interesting, but much like all the other nuggets of wisdom, it happened to be fully applicable in light of the results.

“Darling, you have already proven to be as determined as the press. You don’t need to worry about becoming a fabulous actor. What you should worry about is getting a camera! Gigs don’t come easy, and looking as stunning as possible is the best way to get attention!” 

Breakdown thankfully was not nearly as hard to track down as his partner. After having harassed Knockout, Breakdown seemed to almost sense his arrival at his next meet and greet. It wasn’t often a behind the scenes mechanic got recognized enough to have fans, but Knockout never shut up about how well Breakdown handled the lights during filming. Fans were inevitable, and Orion abused that fact to get into the rather niche interest group and meet the mech. His wisdom was much like his partner’s in rationality. 

“A lot of people overlook the lighting on screen, but lighting is essential to a good production. Lighting sets the mood and adds subtle emotion to the scene. Too much, too dark, or the wrong color destroys the atmosphere. If you are ever in doubt, keep it simple and do a classic overhead light.” 

With his shanix running low, Orion was unable to get in with any more big names. However, by pure chance, he won a raffle and managed to get a question in with two famous sparkling actors turned drama T.V specialists. Bumblebee and Smokescreen were beloved by audiences across Cybertron, and the former’s advice was quickly burned into Orion’s mind.

“It doesn’t matter who you are playing. Give that character justice through their connections. You must feel the bonds your character has as if they were your own. I know I cried more than once when co-stars who played a parental role in different films had to leave for another set.”

Smokescreen’s wisdom received similar treatment as he smiled widely and promptly forced himself to cry with such gusto that Orion was genuinely scared until the actor laughed it off as a joke.

“Don’t just feel it buddy! SHOW it! Every connection your character has should be plain to see on your face through their emotions! If they have any that is. Just, keep in character. Oh, and a little tip, learn to cry on the spot. It will save you so much trouble with the special effects team.”

Orion hoarded everything he learned like a drake, and despite being dirt poor by the time he sold half his spark to get in to meet a mech going by the working title of “Predaking”, he was excited to hear what the master puppeteer and monster designer had to say. He never expected to get close, but Predaking saw him amidst the crowd and called him over gleefully.

“Here’s a little secret of the trade. I am not joking when I say that accent and presence matter, even in monsters. If you are working with a character, you should know how to pronounce and announce yourself like them. If you are a beast, growl. If you are a King, dominate.”

Finally, bankrupt and with only a feeble dream, Orion held his poor financial decisions wearily in his spark and sat out on the streets, unable to pay his rent after so long chasing idols. His obsession had gone too far and he was paying the price for it. But it seemed Primus had taken pity, perhaps due to his stupidity. And on that grim cycle an umbrella had been held over his helm as he huddled, trying to escape the acid rain.

Ratchet, the mech who originally sent him spiraling down his path of poor life decisions, stood over him with a raised optical ridge. Orion had been too tired to be fully awed at the time, but when Ratchet had offered him some shanix and a hotel room for a week, Orion had listened closely to the advice the elder mech had to offer.

“Kid, your dedication is impressive, but you need to always have a backup plan. Throwing everything into your goals is admirable, but by the Allspark, make sure there is always a little something left over for you, for your survival. On set, on the streets. It doesn’t matter. You are a living being and your life comes first.”

It had been a harsh wakeup call, but it had been what Orion needed. He stopped chasing stars for a while and instead moved on to saving up, one shanix at a time to get into the most reputable acting academy he could feasibly afford. He’d learned all he could from watching with starstruck optics, and he wasn’t going to test Primus’s patience more than he already had.

And so began his journey. It was rough. He did what he could to prepare for a rainy cycle, and Ratchet’s advice did indeed save him from going without fuel more than a few times, but there were still instances where he had to cut corners. Many long cycles were spent living off cheap rations worse than the stuff given to military personnel. He had to turn off the electricity in his small apartment several times in order to avoid the bill, and he still almost cried every time he remembered the prices for the textbooks he needed once he finally got into the academy. 

But vorns of hard work later, he got in and graduated in one piece. Now a certified and newly graduated actor, he was over the moon and more than ready to hunt for his first big gig. Things had been tight for a very long time, but in his mind, he was finally free of those constraints.

He found out that assumption was wrong very quickly. 

Knockout hadn’t been kidding when he said getting a camera would be the hardest part of his career. Why did no sets accept graduates? Even when he applied as an extra, he usually found himself rejected because he was ‘too bright’ or ‘too distracting’. By the Primes all he’d done for one audition was lift some datapads but that had apparently been too much. They said he was too energetic for his place, too… 

Enthusiastic. 

He got odd jobs, worked a few small sets as a minute background character, an extra passing in the hall more often than not. But he kept up a smile, just waiting for the big gig that would shoot him into stardom just like all the actors and specialists he looked up to. He never forgot the cycle when he finally got his wish.

It had been an inconspicuous thing at first. A small advertisement online for a film production based on a fantasy series that was neither particularly popular nor necessarily unknown. Orion had read his fair share of novels over the course of his life, and while he wasn’t exactly proud to admit it, he’d gone down the rabbit hole of poorly written or otherwise unknown works of fiction to make his life more bearable when things got tough. As such, while it took him a moment, he quickly recognized the series being turned into film.

It was a simple fantasy series set in an alternate version of Cybertron, one where the Primes of old still reigned. It was a historical piece in a sense, in large part due to the inclusion of actual practices and traditions from the past ages of Cybertron, before the Quintessons arrived and were promptly driven back. The main character of the series wasn’t exactly static, often jumping between the sons of the Prime, Smokescreen and Bumblebee, and the Lord High Protector, Megatron of Kaon. Looking back it was rather odd that they were named after the actors, or the actors after them. But Orion didn’t linger on that fact.

The series was a dramatic revolution. Optimus Prime, the last reigning Prime, was a tyrant who ruled with cruel disregard for the lives of others. His inner circle planned to assassinate and ultimately did kill him later on in the novel after a series of puzzles, political schemes, and secrets being brought to light. It was a fascinating book, one that Orion was rather fond of and would even consider his favorite. So while it was certainly odd for a film company to turn such a series into anything meant for the holoscreen considering its lack of popularity, Orion said a quiet prayer and sent in an application to the studio.

He almost spit out his energon when exactly a cycle later, he got a confirmation message from the studio letting him know he had not only gotten a role in the film, but that he had been given one of the most influential roles in the entire production. He wasn’t going to be the Lord High Protector, nor was he to be either of the Prime’s sons. No, he was to be Optimus Prime himself.

He may or may not have run around his apartment giggling gleefully and giving thanks to Primus while clutching his cracked datapad like his life depended on it. He checked his device again and again, not believing what he was reading until he received a second message from the studio asking him to come in for pre-shoot training and preparation for his role. Orion did not hesitate to gather up his small stash of belongings that he thought he would require and hop onto the nearest train heading west toward the ruins of Crystal City.

Sure, it was really strange that filming preparation was being done in the abandoned Crystal City, but he didn’t feel like judging when he finally had his big gig. Nope, he wasn’t going to question it. Not when he was going to be playing Optimus Prime. The biggest villain of the series. What could be a better debut than that?

“Welcome Orion. I am the director of this set. We already have everything set up so we can begin your preliminary training immediately.”

“Oh! Of course. But may I have your designation Sir?”

“I am Alpha Trion. It is a pleasure to be working with you. Please head over to the tent over there so that you can receive your schedule for the next few stellar cycles.”

It felt rather rushed, being brought onto set and then immediately kicked into an intensive training program. But once again, Orion didn’t want to doubt. Alpha Trion was a nice enough director and took great care to ensure Orion knew all the rules of the set and how filming was going to happen. 

His Co-stars were apparently already on set filming the prologue and backstory sequences. Orion was a late hire since the last mech who signed on as Optimus Prime had apparently been in a bad accident and was no longer able to perform. He was not going to be able to have any behind the scenes meetings with his Co-stars since filming was already in progress. He would need to get to know them on set and while in character. Orion was also explicitly told that filming was going to be done differently than what was typically normal.

Filming would run almost like a reality T.V show. There would be cameras everywhere hidden throughout the set in all public areas. Essentially, Orion would be in character all the time except for when he was in his assigned quarters and perhaps the washracks if there weren’t any extra scenes planned. He didn’t remember there being anything incriminating or… suggestive in the series, but directors were known to adapt novels to their liking. He would have to be careful either way. 

The only other serious thing he was told was somewhat unnerving. He would have no direct contact with the crew, access to stunt doubles, or the ability to speak to the director once he was on set. The reasoning behind it was that they wanted everything to be as realistic and immersive as possible. It seemed a lot like hogwash to Orion, but once they began his preliminary training, he decided to lodge those concerns away and focus on his studies. He wanted to play his role well. If he flopped here, no studio would ever hire him.

Sword training, dueling etiquette, anything relating to politics, royal manners, proper resource management, strategy, warfare, language, literature, history, arts, economy, geography, survival training, public speaking, and so much more were on his todo list. He lost track of the classes and cycles bled into one another. It felt rather silly learning the twenty seven made up languages used in the novels and the similarly intensive made up history of the fantasy world. But he endured it all diligently. It was kind of fun having to memorize the fantasy maps and learn how to sing elegantly so that ancient rites seen in the novel could be replicated.

It was tiring work, and he was fairly certain that a few million shanix had to have gone into the replication of models and teachers that were hired to educate him. The studio must have had high hopes for their film to put so much into him. The director himself didn't seem concerned in the slightest about profits the whole time.  He never even talked to Orion outside of that first instance until he had spent roughly eight stellar cycles studying.

“I believe you are ready to head to the set and meet the makeup team. Do not be alarmed at any frame augmentations. They are all perfectly natural. A chip will be inserted into your processors to feed you information on set, largely so that you need never break character.” 

Alpha Trion looked like he would rather be chewing on rocks as he spat out the information. Orion was rightfully suspicious in his opinion. But after almost a full vorn of dedicating his very spark to learning everything under Luna 1 and 2 needed to play the role of Optimus Prime, he would be slagged before he backed out now. Besides, he enjoyed feeling tested and trained cables strain beneath his armor, a side effect of never ending sword training. 

“Thank you Sir! I will be sure to play my part perfectly!” 

Orion assured as he was led to a space bridge and ushered through. He smiled as he passed to the other side, meeting the gazes of over a dozen rather malicious looking mecha who grabbed him and laid him down on a medical berth before he could wheeze out a greeting. Next thing he knew, he was injected with a sedative of some sort and promptly awoke aching absolutely everywhere in a berth that was not his own.

He sat up, rubbing his helm and feeling the definitive change in structure. He frowned and stood up on wobbly pedes, gawking at his newfound height as he shakily made his way toward the only mirror in the room. He gasped when he saw his reflection. The mech in front of him was, by all definitions, gorgeous. Strong and quite clearly made for war, a stunning set of armor adorned him. Gold highlights graced his plating and strong shoulders now guarded him. Blue hips swayed with every step and long strong legs shone in the light, covered in small glyphs he couldn’t even properly read from how well they blended in. His arm guards were equally ornamented, and he hardly had time to process his wide yet sharp optics before the door to his room burst open and a terrified looking servant crashed to the ground.

“Forgive me my Lord!” The servant wept, curling up on the ground as they hurriedly tried to gather up what looked to be a cube of energon. Instinct told Orion to help, but before he could act, a message flashed across his vision.

[[You are on set now. Play your part Orion Pax. From this cycle forward, you are Optimus Prime.]]

Was it highly unorthodox and probably breaking at least a few labor laws? Absolutely. Was Orion backing out now? Not to save his life. 

He took a deep vent, feeling a new weight pulse in his spark chamber. When he refocused, he cleared his mind of distractions and settled himself on one designation. Over and over he repeated it. 

‘I am Optimus Prime, leader of the Cybertronian Empire, and I am a tyrant worthy of death.’ 

He repeated to himself internally as he scowled at the servant, a pleasant frown adorning his seemingly untarnishable face. 

“What is your designation?” He questioned sharply. The servant shook in renewed terror at his words which flowed so smoothly from his glossa that Orion, or rather Optimus, almost choked. The language of the novel came easily to him now, more so than he was otherwise sure it was meant to. But he did not question as he grabbed the servant by the back of their neck guard and threw them out of the door, doing his best to use his training to ensure that his fellow actor wasn’t actually damaged. 

The servant skidded across the ground, slamming into the wall of the hallway with a groan. Orion- Optimus cringed internally. He had limited practical experience. He would need to do better in the future to ensure his fellow actors weren’t damaged. As much as he loved a dramatic role, he didn’t want to make any actual enemies. He would need to find out the actor’s name and give them a gift basket or something when he had a free moment.

But for now, he had a part to play and a landscape to very hastily memorize. 

“How dare you. Insolent whelp. Have you no experience using the frame Primus granted you?” Optimus stalked forward, his voice deep and resonating, yet also surprisingly smooth. Even when portraying anger, his voice still flowed like a perfectly calm stream. Whatever mods the makeup team gave him, he desperately wanted to keep once he finished with this role. 

“Forgive me my Lord! It was an accident! Y-Your presence startled me! You’ve been in stasis for almost a vorn!” Oh? So that was how the director was playing off his absence. Optimus couldn’t help but find it odd that he had been told his co-stars were filming other scenes while apparently the main story was still progressing, but perhaps there were details he was missing. He would have to talk to his co-stars.

“A vorn.” He practically growled, his perfectly modeled frame not even instinctually turning to flared plating to get his point across. By the pits the makeup team had done him up nicely. 

“I’m sorry!” The servant wailed, clutching at their chassis to protect themselves from a potential attack. Optimus internally wanted to praise their acting. It was honestly phenomenal how well they could force their tears and the sheer terror in their optics. He would need to ask for lessons off set sometime. 

“Enough. Cease your pathetic whimpering. I require an immediate update of all that has come to pass during my absence.” The servant scurried to their pedes, weeping even as they shakily bowed and gestured for Optimus to follow. He obliged without question, taking care to stride forward with elegance that had practically been beaten into him during training. He felt stupid walking with a gentle sway of his hips while his shoulders were held back in his old frame. But with these augments, it felt right.

He was going to have so much fun making scenes as the notorious tyrant the people of the novel feared.

“Your office my Lord. W-Would you like me to summon your Council?” He had a Council? Optimus wracked his mind for who the mecha in question could be as he stared at the gaudy doors before him. 

“Who would that entail?” He questioned with authority lacing his tone. The servant shook even harder and again Optimus applauded their acting abilities. True skill from a mere background character. The director had not spared a single detail it seemed. 

“Currently they are scattered, according to your will prior to your fall into stasis. T-The Lord High Protector, the Young Lords, and of course your personal physician can be summoned if you desire. We can also begin summoning your spymaster and anyone else-” Optimus raised a servo, silencing the servant as he opened the office doors and stepped into a room all but drowning in paperwork. He wanted to cry as soon as he witnessed the pile of work to be done. Did the director really have to make things this detailed? It felt overkill really. 

“Summon all of my Council, everyone of importance. I refuse to be left in the dark.” He ordered as he strode forward, calmly and regally taking a seat at his desk. His expression remained perfectly composed as he sifted through the datapads before him, seeing incredibly detailed documents that looked real enough to pass into law if Optimus didn’t know they had to be forged for realism’s sake. 

“By your will Lord Prime.” The servant hurried away, closing the door behind them and leaving Optimus to his monstrous pile of datapads. The director had said there would be cameras in all public areas. Considering this area was not exactly private, Optimus elected to keep in character. This was a good chance to put his training to good use anyway. 

“Primus protect me.” He muttered in the old tongue used in the novel. It felt right strangely enough, but he chalked it up to the thrill of being on set as he picked up the nearest datapad and promptly dug through every conceivable loophole in the document in order to get the best deal. Sure, he was playing the role of tyrant, but these documents were all for show. If he simply took the time to actually make it seem as though he were dutifully working on them, then his task would be complete.

He would rather not sit around being bored for groons on end. So he might as well actually try and make something of the documents for the benefit of the Empire. Would they actually come into law? No. This was all a set after all. But was it rather fun putting together the perfect little documents to improve efficiency as if he were playing a real time strategy game?

Absolutely. 

“My reign shall endure, regardless of the price.” He smiled, taking care to gaze off into the distance in what probably seemed like a really stupid way to an outsider but was sure to appear amazing to any camera. Then, maintaining his new persona, Optimus allowed himself to drift into his work. No use wasting energy until his co-stars arrived. The director had mentioned that the set was rather large and that it was taking place on a whole new colony world to add to the realism. 

He couldn’t wait to see who was playing the roles of the other characters in the novel.

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Hello! I hope your day/night is great!! Can I request for kiribaku with a male reader who they found crying in the bathroom because of stress, it was the first time they saw the reader cry because the reader is the type of person who say to others "I'm fine, nothings wrong" when they're actually not fine Take your time btw! <3

Hey! I know I've got a different ask to work on as well but this one just spoke to me today, and I've never been good at doing things in order haha!

Be warned of strong language (Katsuki's a potty mouth) and implied blood, nothing too serious though.

Let me know what you think!

Dynamight and Red Riot were a sight to behold, stampeding through the city as fast as their legs could carry them, away from the scene now under control.

A villain with an incredibly volatile quirk lost their cool in the middle of a busy shopping mall, he would've brought down the whole building if it wasn't for you.

Dynamight and Red Riot had been doing damage control outside the building, trying to get the hundreds of people to safety, they had no idea what you were dealing with inside.

The villain took a hostage, a little girl. You'd been fighting for her life for the past four hours, and though you'd won, you'd had to use more force than you would have wanted too.

That villain is barely clinging to life, the child now safe with the paramedics looking for her parents, but you, you were nowhere to be found.

It was a gruelling hour, waiting to hear from you, until Red Riot got a call from your secretary at the agency building,

You'd stormed in half an hour ago, and hadn't come out of the bathroom.

Your partners burst into the front door of the agency, checking every bathroom they passed before finding the one on the third floor, locked.

"Oi! Get this damn door open or I'll blast outta the damn wall!"

"Bakugo, chill." Kirishima placated, fighting to catch his breath after the all-out sprint to your side. "He doesn't need you yelling at him right now."

Bakugo forced himself to take a deep breath, forced himself to reign in the fear of whatever could be wrong with you. Images of you sitting at the edge of the sink, trying to stitch up your own wounds flashed through his mind. You'd done it before, and had the gall to smile sheepishly at him the whole time.

Kirishima stepped up to the door, placing a gentle hand on the blonde's shoulder. "Please let us in, baby. We just wanna make sure you're okay. You know he'll do it."

It would not be the first time Katsuki caused property damage for his boyfriends.

Eijirou tenses as he heard footsteps on the other side of the door, the boots you wore for work were sturdy, it amazed him how you could tread so softly in them.

The door eased open, but you remained out of sight until they both stepped through the door, and you slammed it shut and locked it again.

Katsuki audibly gasped at the sight of you, covered in dust and soot, thankfully no blood, but...

Streaks of tears cleaved paths through the dirt caked on your cheeks, your eyes, bloodshot and glassy, continued to pour crystalline tears, sticking to your eyelashes.

For a beat, your boyfriends are frozen. Years, years they've known you, through UA, into the pro-Hero world.

Never, never have you shed a single tear.

Or at least, not in front of them.

"Oh...oh baby." Eijirou is immediately in comfort mode, but he doesn't quite know which approach to take with you. Did you want space, to talk about it?

To your surprise, it's Katsuki who steps up with no hesitation and yanks you into his arms, gauntlets clattering to the floor as he threw his arms around you in a bone crushing hug.

You whined, buried your face in your neck, clinging to the material of his costume. His grip was tight, almost too tight, and exactly what you needed, grounding you in reality, in him, from where you'd been drifting in your worst regrets.

"You did good." He whispered softly, nuzzling into your hair. "You did so good, hero."

You stopped holding back the tremors, and Eijiro was soon at your back, enveloping you both in his big arms, pressing kisses to the back of your neck and whispering sweet nothings to you until the shaking stopped.

You lifted your head, coming face to face with Katsuki's blazing crimson eyes. He tutted at you, painfully gentle as his thumb wiped the tear tracks off your cheek.

"Tch, asshole, even when you're cryin' you're the prettiest son-of-a-bitch I've ever seen."

"Katsuki!" Eijiro chuckled even as he scolded your explosive boyfriend.

"What?" Katsuki huffed at Eijiro, cradling the back of your head and pressing a kiss to your other cheek. "I'm not wrong, see!"

Katsuki spun you around to face your other boyfriend, and you could already feel yourself smiling at their antics. Katsuki has a way of making the worst situation feel...no so bad.

He's obnoxious, but, consistent.

Eijiro, sweet, big teddy bear Eijiro, leaned down to press kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, until he'd kissed away anything remotely resembling tears. "Yup, still handsome."

By now, you can't hold back a smile, and you wouldn't want to anyway. "Thank you."

"What're you thankin' us for? You did the ass kicking!" Katsuki announced proudly, wrapping both arms around you to rest his head on your shoulder. "Seriously, babe, you did good."

You took a deep breath, let yourself lean into him. Eijiro smoothed your hair down, cradling one of your hands to his lips to kiss your bruised knuckles.

It'd take some convincing to get you to let go of the guilt, you held yourself to impossible standards, your boyfriend's know that about you.

Luckily, you're dating the two most determined men on this Earth, determined to love you, tears and all, men who think no less of you whether you announce your feelings to the world, or tuck them away to yourself.

"Let's get you home, hero."

[calaisreno]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by @7-percent, @totallysilvergirl and @gaylilsherlock. Thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 

147. I’ve been here nearly 6 years, some years more prolific than others. 

2. What's your total A03 word count?

Right now, just shy of 2M: 1,937,496, to be exact

3. What fandoms do you write for?

BBC Sherlock and ACD Sherlock

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Synchronicity Date Night A Chronic Condition The Wedding Gift Blank Slate Wooing Sherlock Holmes has recently moved up and is close enough to nudge its way to number 5.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Always, even if it’s just to say thank you. I appreciate comments, often feel humbled by the compliments people give. It just feels right to respond. (Maybe if I were getting hundreds of comments a day, I would have to rethink that.)

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Either Below Zero or The New Gardener. Both have MCD, but sort of a soft landing. Also Learning the Heart and The Real You, but those also have endings that mitigate the angst, a bit.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I write a lot of happy endings; it’s my preferred resolution.  My choice: The Short Tragic Death of John Watson. John does NOT die, but there’s a very cheesy happy ending that made many readers scream.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No. A couple rude comments, but no intentional hatred.

9. Do you write smut?

Not much. I don’t write PWP, but include a sex scene where the plot seems to need it. I'm not opposed; it's just not my usual.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I’ve written two GO/Sherlock stories: Limbo and Hell and Back. I’ve written stories that borrow from other fandoms, but are not exactly crossovers. The closest to a crossover would be Serendipity, which borrows plot from the movie. I’ve borrowed from movie and book universes to make an original story (Eye of the Storm, A Chamber to be Haunted, Do No Harm), and I’ve borrowed premises (The Real You)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

About 60 of my fics have been translated, most of them into Russian, a couple into Chinese, on into Spanish. 

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. 

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Sherlock Holmes/John Watson

15. What's the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

The Secret of Agra: a post-Reichenbach fic that I started in 2020. It has been through several transformations. I rarely give up permanently on a story, though. A few have grown into something new that I ended up posting. I expect I'll finish this when inspiration strikes me.

16. What are your writing strengths?

The things readers most often compliment me on: 

Character voice and emotions.  

World building. 

Versatility: historical fiction, case fics, science fiction, fantasy, rom-coms, etc.

Making readers cry.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action scenes. In Greek tragedy you simply have a character enter and describe the murder that’s just occurred offstage. In fanfiction, that’s a nope. And you have to think out every move, make the scene visual. I admire writers who make this seem effortless. (That's you, @discordantwords !!!) Description: finding non-cliche ways to describe things/people without making it weird and overly fussy.  Being too minimal: I am not a wordy writer; minimalism was how I was taught, but sometimes I need to be wordier.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’ve done bits of this, but only in languages I’ve studied. I have a degree in Latin, and have used that in couple stories: A Demon's Tale, Accidental Magic. 

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The first and only fandom I’ve posted in is Sherlock Holmes (ACD and BBC). I don’t have any plans to move. I used to write original fiction, but have found fanfiction so much more rewarding.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

This is hard to answer. Last Envoy is the story I’m most proud of.  I write the stories I want to read, and I do re-read a number of them, some more than others. My favorite fic written in 2023 is The Traveller.

Has everybody been tagged? How about @mydogwatson @lisbeth-kk @discordantwords @copperplatebeech @keirgreeneyes @meetinginsamarra @bertytravelsfar @jrow @thegildedbee @helloliriels @gregorovitchworld ???

[lunawho47]

Hold Me Like You'll Never Let Me Go -- a Fourteen and Rose One Shot

A/N: Okay, so for the first time in actual years, I was bitten by the writing bug. And, as I should have expected, it was Doctor Who (and specifically the possibility, however small, that I may get a Doctor and Rose Tyler scene at some point) that nipped me. I am firmly on the Metacrisis Ten and Rose lived happily ever after train, but this is a scene between the Fourteenth Doctor and Rose and is canonically how I think a scene between them would play out. Spoilers for what we know about the upcoming episode of The Giggle and a lot of supposition based on what I remember from the First Doctor story of The Celestial Toymaker. Spoilers also for the Titan Comics story of Empire of the Wolf and the short stories about the Metacrisis Doctor done by Big Finish Audio. The only thing that's not canon is that rubbish short story Jenny Colgan wrote for Target Books.

Give it a read and let me know what you think!

<0>

The Doctor could feel the buzzing starting underneath his skin. Multiple times throughout his battle with the Toymaker, his next self had already come through; in truth, it was only by using the differing skill sets of both incarnations that the Doctor felt he was going to regenerate again and not just simply die. But, oh...he was now so, so tired. The artron energy shot through him again and he watched as reality flickered in and out around him.

The Doctor's legs gave out from under him and he collapsed on the sofa in Donna's house. His best friend and her family were all safe. They weren't unscathed, of course -- that was nigh on impossible when it came to playing inter-dimensional games with a Celestial being -- but they were alive and Donna could remember him. The Doctor even lied to himself for a moment and promised himself that he would come back and visit her with his next face, that a regeneration would not stop him from keeping up his friendship for once. But with the next burst of arton-induced pain, he stopped lying to himself. Donna would need to move on with her life and protect her daughter, Rose. As long as he kept showing up at her doorstep, she would be in danger. And Donna would never turn him away. And one day, she would let him in and it would be the time that would get her or someone close to her killed. No, the Doctor would tell Donna goodbye and then he'd slip away.

After a nap, maybe. Yeah, a nap sounded good.

He lay down on the couch and closed his eyes. Goodness, he was running through regenerations. This most recent one, even though it had been manipulated into its appearance by the Toymaker, had only lasted him a few days. As the Doctor thought about it and remembered that he had no idea how many new regenerations the Time Lords had gifted him with, he mentally schooled his future self to try to live as long as possible. His Thirteenth self had only lasted a few decades, and most of those she had been in prison. No, his next self needed to last at least three hundred years because otherwise he would be really dead before he could find a way to restore what he could of the universe. And he needed to fix what the Flux had destroyed.

When the Doctor coughed, even more energy burst from his lungs. As he lay on the couch in Donna's house, he couldn't help but remember another regeneration with the same face. *His* Rose had sat beside him then, dealing with an alien invasion while he had slept and healed himself. Up until Jackie had made him a nice cup of tea anyway. He had been so hopeful then. With his pink and yellow human beside him, he had felt like he could run forever, and he had foolishly thought that that particular Christmas would be a day that felt like every other day. But Rose was gone and she had been gone for millions of years. However, over the previous few days, the Doctor had seen his old face return, come across one of his oldest enemies he had never thought to see again, had gone on an adventure with his best friend again and seen his old friend Mel working at UNIT. Why couldn't he see the love of his lives show up again, too? The Doctor smiled a bit at the thought.

He tried to picture what his Rose would be like now. He imagined his Metacrisis self would look a lot like his fully Time Lord self currently did. He would be thinner in the face, a bit more salt and pepper in his hair, and he would probably have to wear glasses because he needed them and not just to look clever. Rose, he was sure, would be beautiful. He hoped she would have laughter lines around her mouth and crow's feet at her eyes. He also hoped that by this point in their lives, Rose would have a couple of rings on her finger. Maybe they even had children together! The more he thought about it, the more clear the image became in his mind. He was sure that if he thought about it long enough, he'd even be able to hear her voice.

Even sooner than he could have hoped, his imagination provided him with a crystal clear rendition of an older Rose Tyler's voice.

"Yes, Mia, you can stay the night at Yvonne's. Just don't...I know you get tired of me telling you to stay away from the Cybus kiosks, but it's better than listening to your dad tell you the entirety of that adventure over again, isn't it? And it's definitely better than having to listen to your Granddad's rendition of the tale... Yes. Yes, I will tell your father you love him. Yep. Yep. Be good and I'll see you tomorrow. Love you, darlin'. Goodnight, sweetheart."

The Doctor kept his eyes closed. He had pictured his former love's voice many times over the centuries and this was as clear as it had ever been. Her voice was a bit scratchier than he remembered, and she spoke with a much more cultured tone than she'd had at 19 years old. His mind had even taken the motherly tone he'd heard Donna use with her daughter and molded it on to Rose's and it melted his heart completely. If his imagination was right and Rose was a mother, then Rose was a remarkable one he was sure. Definitely a better mother than he was a father.

"Oi! Sleepy head, it's time to get up! Aliens to battle and young, teenage girls to raise. Though you get a bit of a break on that one this evening. Lucky you."

The Doctor felt Donna nudge his foot. He tried to raise his head, but felt no desire to open his eyes. Donna's words could match Rose's voice if he kept his eyes closed. But if he opened them, then the fantasy was over and his regeneration would knock away all the happiness he had brought back to himself over the previous few days.

"Doctor! Wake up, you numpty!"

"Sorry, Donna, I just really wanted to rest my eyes."

"Donna? Have you been dreaming again, Doctor?"

The Doctor forced his eyes open. His imagination had done a very good job constructing a realistic fantasy. The Doctor's eyes were looking up at a pair of honey brown eyes framed by light brown hair and a face that was rounder than he last remembered seeing it four lifetimes previously, and a body that possessed less curves than he remembered, but that looked healthy and warm.

The Time Lord then moved his eyes around the room as much as he could without moving his head. He was no longer in Donna's house. Instead, he was in a living room painted a dark blue and in the window over Rose's shoulder, he could just glimpse a zeppelin floating across the London skyline. As with his best friend's home, fantasy Rose's house looked lived in and comfortable, with various knick knacks spread across the coffee table adjacent to the couch and what the Doctor guessed was a television mounted on the wall. It looked like the flat screen he was familiar with in the 21st century, but was see through instead of black.

The Doctor praised his clear memory of everything Rose Tyler related because he adored that the fantasy version of her managed to raise her eyebrows at him exactly the way her real counterpart had always done. He had often feared that his memory of her was fading, but everything about her at this moment was in high definition visual and stereo sound. He theorised that maybe his regeneration sickness was helping to make his illusions more detailed.

"You feeling okay, love? You're staring at me like I've grown another head. And of the two of us, I'm the one least likely to do that."

"Rose," he muttered. It was a name he'd said multiple times over the previous few days, and after centuries of not saying it at all if he (or she) could help it, it felt like a revelation to be saying it to the face that word always conjured to mind. Without warning, he was seized with pain again and he saw the regeneration energy encircle his hand.

His illusory Rose stood up, her eyes going wide as she stared down at him.

"Oh my god, you're regenerating! How are you regenerating? I thought you couldn't regenerate! Does this mean Mia can regenerate? Wait, why are you regenerating? You didn't even go into Big Ben today! I know you didn't because Mum was complaining that you weren't around to stop Melvin disrespecting her when he came through the canteen earlier today. What did you do? Pick a fight with a Weevil? No, you couldn't have done. No bite marks or anything. Doctor, answer me. What's happened? What do I tell Mia when she asks me why her father looks like a completely different person when she gets home tomorrow? Oh god, what happens if you go full alien?"

The Doctor wanted to answer her, but in addition to not being left any room or space to throw his voice into the ring, he was also taken aback by how detailed his mind was being about the kinds of questions a parent version of Rose would ask. As he breathed out more energy, he saw the room and Rose flicker in and out, the flashes interspersed with Donna's living room.

"Wait," Rose said, her voice slowing down and getting softer as she sat down on the edge of the couch next to the Doctor's torso, her hand reaching out to grab the Doctor's own. The Doctor held his breath as he felt two warm fingers reach down to his wrist and put themselves against his pulse. The Doctor allowed his dark brown eyes to meet the lighter brown of Rose's as she then put both her palms against the two sides of the Doctor's chest and felt his heartsbeat. "Doctor," she muttered softly.

"Hello, Rose Tyler," he whispered. Rose took in a shaky breath as the Doctor let out another cloud of energy. The room flickered again, but the Doctor noted that the warmth of Rose's skin was still present against his own body. The Doctor couldn't help but acknowledge the truth then. His imagination was good, but it wasn't as flawless as what his senses were telling him now. He didn't understand fully how it had happened -- doubtless the Celestial Toymaker's machinations with dimensions had thrown things briefly out of whack at the quantum mechanical level and the Doctor was reaping the most unbelievable benefits from it. He may be regenerating, but he was getting one last wish out of the bargain. Oh, if his Tenth self could see him now. His tired, regeneration sick mind couldn't quite work out all the whys and wherefores, but he knew a gift from the universe when he saw it, and damn it, he was going to take advantage of it.

"I should have known it was you and not my husband. You have a slightly different dress sense than he does. Oh, and the wedding ring is missing, of course."

"Of course," the Doctor agreed. His eyes went down to her hand and he smiled to see that his Metacrisis had done what the Time Lord had always dreamed of doing and made a full life with his favorite human woman.

"So, I take it you were with Donna still when you found yourself here. Is that why you thought I was her?"

"Well, more like with Donna again. It's complicated."

"Oh, of course it is. Wouldn't be you if it was simple."

The Doctor watched Rose as she took in his ensemble and his face after all their years of separation.

"Wow. You and my husband look exactly the same in the face. I mean, I know you did last time we saw each other, but I didn't think you'd age. God, how many years has it been? I mean, it has to have been awhile because you've changed your outfit a bit and I didn't think you did that very often."

"Oh, I'm not the same incarnation you remember. I've regenerated a few times since we last met. Ended up with this face again earlier this week, but it turned out the fact that I came back with this face was a bit of a setup from an old enemy. It was more like I got paused mid-regeneration and I can feel the next one fighting to come through."

Rose and the Doctor both looked down as he said this and saw his hand pulse with energy and shift to a black hand and back to white again.

"Okay, so you obviously don't have long. I won't ask how you ended up here because I don't think we have time for that explanation, but...how are you? All these years, that's the main thing I've worried about. I knew one day you would regenerate and I'd never know, and I worried you'd be alone."

"Sometimes I have been. I've lost people. I've lost a lot of people. I found out I saved Gallifrey." The Doctor almost laughed at how wide Rose's eyes got at that point. "And then I lost it again two lifetimes later when the Master -- I'm guessing I've told you about him -- destroyed it when he discovered that the Time Lords had lied to us. We didn't get our regeneration gift naturally. They got it from me and then they scrubbed my memories -- whole lifetimes I may never remember -- and then they destroyed over half of the universe to cover up their mistake. I've blown up the TARDIS numerous times. Fell in love a couple of times..." The Doctor sheepishly looked up at Rose's face as he squeezed her hand. He was happy to see that she only smiled softly, squeezed his hand back with her right hand and used her left hand to brush his hair back from his forehead.

"What were your incarnations like? The ones after I last saw you, I mean?"

"Well, there was one who looked like a twenty year old professor who liked to wear tweed. You actually met him once -- he came to tutor you in maths back when you were in year 4 and I was so proud of how quickly you learned what you claimed made no sense -- and then I became an angry, white haired Scotsman, and then a young, blonde Yorkshire woman. And then I got this face again."

"You were a woman?"

"Yep!"

"Bet you were a babe."

"Oh, I'm always a dish, Rose Tyler." He paused. "I take it that is still your name, isn't it? I didn't make you Rose Smith or something when I married you, did I? Because that would be absolute rubbish! To work so hard to make you fall in love with me and save you from marrying Mickey Smith, only to saddle you with the same name."

"When you married me, you said, and I quote, 'You have always been and will always be Rose Tyler,' and then you asked if you could take my name. You had been going by John Noble on legal documents up until then, but you didn't have any sentimentality for the name, outside of your connection with Donna, so you didn't mind giving it up. I agreed that you could take my name as long as we could remember Donna through at least one of our children, if we ever had any."

"And then came Mia?"

"And then came Mia Donna Tyler."

"It's a shame this dimensional breakdown is only working with me because Mia has a cousin who I know would really love to meet her. I've spent the last few days getting to know Rose Noble and she is so much like you. One of the first things I heard her do was ask about an alien's pronouns. You would have loved her."

"I already do. Just listening to the way you talk about her."

"What's Mia like? Is she more like you or me? Just whatever you do, don't say she's like Jackie."

Rose laughed the loud belly laugh that always made the Doctor smile in response.

"Well, she's too smart for her own good, like you. She's more than a bit rude, like you. And she has a tendency to wander off, like me. She also cares about everyone and everything, like you."

"Oh no, Rose Tyler. That kind of caring isn't from me. That's all you."

"Agree to disagree on that one, love."

The Doctor seized again. He could feel his insides morphing, the change becoming insistent.

"What can I do, Doctor? What do you need?"

"Nothing. I just needed to see you. I need to tell you something. This particular incarnation has one thing about it that's very different from my previous self. I'm not afraid to say things anymore. I've lost too much now for it to scare me. I know now that not saying things doesn't help me let them go. I spent days wondering why this face came back. And I kept thinking I had figured it out and then I would be proved wrong. But I understand now.

"The last time I had this face, I didn't want to let go of it. And it made me a vengeful, frightening, reckless god and other people paid the price for it. But I didn't want to let go because I was terrified of what person I would become without you there. Because you had been there for me before I had even met you -- it's a long story, don't worry about it -- and I held on to you, to the memory of you and all the things I wanted to say that I was too afraid to, and as long as I had this face, I thought there was the possibility I would see you again. And then I saw you for the last time, do you remember?"

Rose furrowed her brow and tilted her head to the side in question.

"2005. January the First. I told you that you were going to have a really great year."

"Cognitive dissonance most likely. You weren't thinking at the time about the fact that one day I'd be without you, so why would it occur to you that I would ever go back in time to see you?

"Oh my god. I held on to that message from what I assumed was a drunk for months. Until I met you in Henrik's. Of course that was you. I can't believe I never put that together before. That was your voice. How did I never recognize it when you first changed?"

"Anyway, within hours of getting this face again, I found myself face to face with Donna, and then I met her daughter, Rose (whose name nearly gave me a hearts attack at first, let me tell you), and then I came across an enemy I haven't seen since just after I first left Gallifrey! But in these last few days, everything my Tenth self was terrified to say has come pouring out of my mouth. Any person I find attractive -- male or female -- I say it! The love I've always felt for Donna and her family? I've admitted it to them. The feelings I had for the wife I had after you -- River -- and for my friend, Yaz -- I've talked about them with other people and without having to be prompted!

"The one thing I haven't done is tell you -- my greatest love -- how I feel about you."

"Doctor, you don't have to ---"

"And I know you know. I know the version of me that is your husband tells you every day. I know because I would have even then, if I wasn't so afraid of what losing you a second time would inevitably do to me. But I need to say it. Not because I think you need to hear it. But because I need to say it for me. I need the memory of having the words come from my lips just one time."

Rose leaned over the Doctor's prostrate body. Her right hand disentangled itself from his and reached down over his face to caress his cheek. It was at that moment that the Doctor realised, much to his embarrassment, that he was crying.

"Then say it."

"I love you, Rose Tyler. I always have. And I always will."

"Quite right, too."

"I guess I deserve that one."

"Damn right, you do. But I love you, too, you daft alien."

The Doctor felt the heat under his skin start to itch the familiar tones away. Despite the pain, he was soothed by the briefest touch of Rose's lips against his own. It wasn't the passionate kiss he'd witnessed between she and his Metacrisis all those years before, and it wasn't what he had fantasized about for many a lonely night on the TARDIS, but it comforted him. This was the kiss from someone he loved and who loved him and he felt the warmth of it through every inch of his body and soul.

"Y'know, Rose Tyler...For the first time ever, I think I'm ready to go."

"Then I guess this is goodbye."

Rose's voice broke and the Doctor noted for the first time that she was crying. And oh, how that hurt him. Every time they said goodbye, she was crying for him. He just wished he could find some way to stop breaking her heart.

"Oh, it's never goodbye for you. This face will be coming through that door to greet you before you know it. It's never over for you. You get my forever, lucky girl."

"I am a lucky girl. Because you loved me enough to make sure I would get a happy ending you couldn't get. Know this, Doctor. I love you. All your friends love you. We will always love you and if you ever need any of us, no matter what face you wear or what trouble you bring to our door, you are always welcome. I may not have met all of your friends. But I know what kind of people you take with you, and I can guarantee you, you never have to miss any of us.

"Until we meet again. Goodbye, Doctor."

"Goodbye, my Rose."

The Doctor closed his eyes and felt Rose's lips once again chastely embrace his own. After a few moments, the warmth of her mouth faded, along with the solid build of her body. When the Doctor opened his eyes, he once again saw the familiar surroundings of Donna's living room. He still was not entirely positive if he had really slipped through dimensions or if he had merely fallen asleep, but the tingling in his lips from Rose's kiss made him inclined to believe the happier of the two options. After all, the Toymaker had shown him twice in his lifetime that reality is shaped by how people perceive it, and the Doctor's desire and will to see his former companion had been the strongest thing he had ever known.

In the quiet hours of the early morning, the Doctor slipped out of Donna's house and took the TARDIS to an isolated beach. As he stood outside, watching a sunrise in this too short regeneration for the last time, he smiled. As he had told Rose, for the first time that he could remember, he was ready to go.

[anachronistic-falsehood]

Ok before I answer any more asks, I feel like I need to get my full thoughts out there. This might be a bit long, but I have a lot to say.

First off: I am very impressionable. I always have been and I always will be. I am well aware of this. When people tell me things, I often believe them at face value. I’m trying to get better at that, which is why I tried to stay neutral this time around when everything first came out. Then I removed myself from the situation for a couple days, came back to it today, forgot to beat my hyper empathy into submission for ten minutes, and found myself almost believing him one hundred percent. I almost forgot about his first response, where he lashed out and threatened to sue people over this. I also tend not to focus on situations like this often because it’s really bad for my POCD. I am bad at this. I need to preface this post by saying that.

I don’t support Forever anymore. I can’t, not after everything that’s happened over the past few days, especially after seeing his original reaction, which was to get mad and threaten to sue and to brush it all off as just twitter drama. And he still brushed it all off as twitter drama in this most recent stream. He didn’t even acknowledge how old the alleged victim was, which means a lot of people who only knew of this through his streams don’t know that he flirted with multiple girls as young as 13. He said it was just jokes, but he did privately message at least one of these girls and meet her in real life, even if it was within a group of people. Things can happen even within a crowd.

There had to have been more things that happened behind the scenes for all of his friends to suddenly drop him. Whether it was some kind of proof that he was aware this was wrong as he did it, or if he lashed out at the other ccs for initially unfollowing him when this all came out, I don’t know. But he handled this very immaturely in his first response without even looking into the issue, and I don’t feel right supporting him anymore.

Still, and hate me for this if you want, I can’t help but sympathize with him a little bit. I know, I know, but I was a shitty person when I was a teenager, and I’m constantly paranoid that things I’ve done or said will stick with me forever or come back around to bite me in the ass. Hell, I have done and said things when I was 17 that would get me dogpiled on twitter if I was a cc. I do understand why he was upset. Knowing that he has mental health issues because of repeated twitter hate mobs does make me feel sorry for him in that regard. Just because being exposed for past actions may have been deserved this time doesn’t mean that excessive hate was deserved every single time, nor is it deserved for every cc who has fucked up in the past.

However, he was very immature with his initial response, and him pushing this off as just a twitter cancellation is enough to tell me that he does not quite see that he was in the wrong. He keeps saying that he’s matured and that he’s better now, as if that alone is supposed to absolve him of any kind of responsibility. I think he handled this wrong, and I don’t want to support him anymore.

As for q!Forever, I know he has a lot of similarities to the cc. That will be too hard to look past for a lot of people, and if you don’t want to engage in content that includes him anymore, that’s well within your rights. I still love q!Forever despite that, and I personally will still consume content that includes him, and I don’t want to write him out of the story of the smp. We can do the same thing we did for c!Dream and basically adopt him as our own oc. q!Forever can be our character now if we want him to be, and we can still acknowledge that Forever put a lot of work and thought into his character and appreciate what he did for the smp while not supporting him as a creator anymore.

And finally, I also don’t like the way that this entire situation was handled in general by the fanbase. The person who did this (as far as I’m aware) was dedicated to going after ccs for generally trivial things. If they wanted justice for this, why not bring it up before now? Why not before he joined the smp? And the victim didn’t want any part in this as far as I know, and yet people went after her demanding comments on the situation. Twitter kept celebrating the ccs dropping Forever like it was some fun party, just like people have been doing for the whole Dream situation. Twitter hasn’t handled this with any sort of tact whatsoever, and many of us here on tumblr (myself included) have been more invested in arguing and over correcting our own actions and phrasing when some biased people bring up invalid points to actually step back and take a break.

We’ve all been on the defence from each other. People on here have criticized each other’s views, invalidated other people’s experiences, and thrown insults and names at each other like this is a playground fight instead of a serious situation. The situation is over. Let’s just breathe.

[wytchsbrew]

For my dearest iHolli. Thank you for always being on my side, and encouraging me every day to be the worst version of myself, amen.

When Luigi suggested the idea, he'd really been joking. Truly! He had! It was just... The night before, he somehow ended up roped into movie night with Mario and Peach, and usually he enjoyed those nights, but they'd decided to pick a ghost movie - of all things. Some new, popular movie showing all over the kingdoms.

Luigi frowned and refused.

Peach handed him food.

Luigi relented.

He'd barely been paying attention to most of the plot, focused on snacking and wondering if King Boo would pick up his phone if he texted him right now, when he heard Peach gasp beside him and glanced upwards at the glowing television set in front of them.

A rather horrendous sight befell the main character as Luigi took stock of the scene. The ghostly, ethereal visage of a ghost stood in front of her, hands holding her against the wall, effectively trapping her, as it leaned forward and licked along the breadth of her milky white neck.

Luigi gulped.

And excused himself.

Then had the terrible, horrible idea to quickly write out a rather frantic text to Boo that explained exactly what he'd just seen, laughing quietly to himself and thinking Boo would certainly laugh along with him at the silly ghost movie - even if Luigi felt a little... flushed each time he thought of it.

Regardless, he turned his phone off for the night, and fell asleep without further incidence.

Imagine his surprise when he woke up to only one single response to his storytelling:

Come to the mansion. Tonight. Prepare yourself, my precious little fool.

So, he did. He dressed in his usual outfit, geared up with all his ghost hunting gear, and set out for King Boo's mansion like he'd done a hundred times since they became a... thing together. A thing without a title, but a thing Luigi found immense pride, and excitement, in.

When he entered, things looked as they usually did. Nothing out of the ordinary, save the dinging of his phone with a new text message.

You will not see me. Go about your business.

Muscle memory kicked in and Luigi went about his business, as Boo instructed. Moving this way and that through the entryway and into the first hall, swinging his flashlight around in the utter silence, which struck him immediately as...

Strange.

Typically, he heard the chatty little sounds of tiny Boos creating havoc through the rooms and around the corners, different ghosts laughing and cackling and throwing things to spook him, but today, he heard nothing. Today was different.

Luigi felt a little chill course through his spine.

Just as he felt cold, humid breath puff along the back of his neck.

He twisted fast on his heel, and reared around, terrified for a split second, but he found nothing - only an empty hallway staring back at him. No sign of his Possibly Sort Of Ghost Boyfriend, and certainly no one else, either.

"Okay," he whispered, and slowly turned back in the direction he planned on walking. His heart thudded against his ribcage with fear, but it quickly hit him how unfounded that fear was.

This was not like the other times, after all.

He had nothing to fear.

The only thing chasing him, was someone who looked at him like he hung the moon.

That calmed his shaking fingers just a tad, enough for him to smile around at the empty hallway, and shout, "Oh, no! I really hope a big, handsome ghost doesn't catch me!"

And he laughed to himself, taking a step forward.

A gust of cold wind flushed through the hallway around him, and on the wind, he heard it.

The sound of Boo's voice.

"Then you better run, my sweet little prey."

With a shiver that hit directly in his crotch, he forced himself to continue into the next hallway.

Halfway through this one, he hears something behind him, and feels the snap of one overall strap popping open and falling off his shoulder. 

Again, he finds nothing but empty space, dust, and cobwebs lurching around in the air beyond him, but nothing more. Nothing but the remaining feeling of coolness on the corner of his shoulder where King Boo, invisible, had no doubt touched him.

At this point, Luigi had a sneaking suspicion of what the ghost he liked had in store for him, but he continued on through the hallways, allowing him to continue his little perfectly laid out plan, smiling to himself the entire time.

The teasing went on for quite a long while, King Boo obviously enjoying himself immensely. He never quite touched Luigi enough to make a difference, but he bothered him and teased him enough that the denim of his outfit tightened along his crotch, in ways that proved to be quite successful in the past.

A long, languid lick along the shell of Luigi's ear.

Breathing hot and heavy down his neck.

A quick touch along his clothed behind.

A whisper on the wind, gruff and threatening. "Oh, my precious little fool."

By the fifth hallway, Luigi is breathing deep and hard, hands shaking on his flashlight, sweat gathering in the crook of his collarbone as he looked desperately around for his boyfriend. His entire body thrummed with Boo's small bits of attention, his erection embarrassing as if pressed hard against the denim of his overalls.

As he peered around, he heard wind whistling outside the old windows, the glass panes rattling in their metal frames. He heard the skittering of mice, and his own footsteps, but he didn't hear the approach of his king.

Not until it was too late.

Before the realization struck him, there was another snap of buttons clean off his overalls, and they fell from his body. A cool, vibrant tongue stripped down the side of his neck, as the large, white vision appeared in his peripheral vision.

At long last.

His King.

The beautiful vision shoved him forward, trapping him against the wall of his left, with his cheek pressed against the old, torn, peeling wallpaper. Luigi huffed, as Boo removed his gear, flinging it away across the hall, before ripping the rest of his clothes clean off his body as though they were made of nothing but flimsy sheets of paper.

The cold air hit his newly exposed skin, but only for a second.

In the next breath, Boo's tongue curled around Luigi's entire body, slipping between his thighs, wrapping around his waist, and curling up his chest until the tip slipped along his open mouth.

"Boo!" Luigi opened his mouth to cry out his name in surprise, but, then, the tongue lifted him clean off the ground and twisted him around until he stared into the bright, ghostly eyes of King Boo, at long last.

"Hello, my precious little human. It seems I've finally caught you."

The glowing, purple tongue slipped across Luigi's bottom lip, leaving a tingling, strange feeling in it's wake, like that of cold static. Luigi had grown to love the strange feeling over their brief moments together.

"Hello, my king," Luigi huffed, "it seems you have."

And King Boo made a rather loud, interesting growl of a noise, before lavishing him with the sort of attention Luigi never thought he'd deserve - especially not from a king.

The tip slipped into his mouth and kissed him dizzy, sending static and tingles through his own tongue, his teeth, and his throat, and Luigi found himself moaning through it all.

It always felt nice when they did things like this, but he always thought, perhaps, Boo had been holding back in what he wanted to do, holding back in his true, vicious nature.

Turns out, he'd been right.

This felt beyond what Luigi could compare to basically anything else. It knocked the wind from him, as the tongue wound closer to the back of his throat, and he moaned Boo's name. Loud and unbidden, it echoed through the silent hallway-

And made Boo pause.

After a moment, he pulled the tongue from Luigi's mouth, leaving him breathless and on the verge of orgasm already, and he blearily looked up at his captor

"Mmm," he hummed. "Wonderful. I can't believe my good luck that such a beautiful little fool would stumble into my domain, and leave himself so vulnerable for me."

The rest of the tongue moved to wrap around his erection, standing proud and painful from the last five hallways of teasing and flirting. The immediate feeling of such ministrations to his most sensitive area, somewhere not previously touched by Boo's tongue, had Luigi biting down on his bottom lip and stifling a scream that threatened to rip from his lips.

With a wet, beautiful flick of an expert tip, Boo absolutely devoured Luigi, right there in the empty hallway.

The tip of his tongue flicked along his nipples.

Licked across his pliant mouth.

The tongue around his shaft lifted up and down in a slick, wet slide of movement, before the tip curled around Luigi's body in a full circle, and the tip prodded between his cheeks and along the rim of his entrance.

"Would you like to cum for me, oh, captive of mine?" Boo whispered.

Luigi gasped, and nodded, pleading.

"Then, please. Cum for me."

Luigi's body listened to every word Boo said as though he were being mind controlled, and he shot his spend all along his own stomach in a mess.

Boo licked at him, cleaning him through the last twitches and aftershocks of the first finish of the night, lavishing at his leaking crown until Luigi raised a hand, too sensitive to continue.

Without hesitation, the tongue retreated from all his sensitive parts, and very, very carefully sat him on his feet once more. Luigi stumbled ever so slightly on unsteady legs, reaching out for the wall at his side to keep upright.

But, of course, Boo hovered closer to him, and pressed his face against the side of Luigi's head, rubbing close and giving him something to lean against for support.

He tilted his head, pressing his temple against Boo's soft form.

"Is that what you wanted, my love?" The tongue came around and gave a friendly, happy lick to Luigi's cheek. "I must say, your message to me was... confusing, but I believe I did an adequate job."

Luigi laughed, and turned his face until he pressed his forehead against Boo. His hands came up, too, and cupped either side of his boyfriend's cool, rounded face, rubbing the pads of his thumb along the smooth surface of him. "That was lovely, my king, thank you."

They stayed like for a while, breathing each other in, pressing faces close and planting small kisses, or licks, on each other, allowing Luigi to calm himself and catch his breath.

And he sunk into the soft affection, eyes feeling heavy and sleepy; he thought he could stay like that forever, just the two of them in that silent mansion, and he hummed, happily.

"Will you carry me to the bedroom?" he asked.

"Of course," Boo whispered, and Luigi felt his tongue wrap around his back again, ready to left him and carry him down the hall, but, the movement stopped halfway.

Luigi slowly opened one eye to peer up at the large King holding him close.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, but I do have one question," Boo said, and narrowed his eyes. "Who picked the ghost movie to watch?"

Luigi shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know, Mario maybe?"

"Hmmm." Boo lifted him off the ground and curled him close. "I always wondered if both brothers desired me carnally. Perhaps this is a sign."

With a shout of laughter, Luigi was carried off to the extravagant bedroom down the hallway, Boo humming contently the entire way.

[googleitlol]

It's been awhile but I wanted to post this little blurb to continue my Dove fic posts. I'm almost done with midterms so it felt nice to flesh out pt. 1 of this scene for a little break!

btw… ik this is a wukong x reader but, uh, it takes a while for the whole shipping part to happen… I'm sorry they literally hate each other but I'll get to the actual shipping when it happens, naturally. (It just might take… time) ANYWAY ENJOY–

Dove Masterlist

TW: Gore

Disagreements

The young monk shivers slightly at the chill of an adolescent winter's breeze. Many of the flora along the road that has been so frequently travelled was now coated in a blanket of frost. Snow has yet to fall, though it will no doubt come soon. Clouds cross the sky at a steady pace, the wind encouraging their movement. 

You walk alongside the horse that carries the Tripitaka monk, feeling the need to stretch your legs. The past few days you spent in your dove form were nice, despite having to listen to all of that irritating monkey's exaggerated tales, but sitting on Tripitaka's shoulder for so long began to feel tiring.

The Monkey King walks on the other side of the horse, whether he is unaware of your annoyed glances or just doesn't care is unclear. After spending the entire morning boasting to his master about his many accomplishments, one would think that he'd look your way and catch your glare. Or maybe he just enjoys seeing such a sour look on your face. With him, who knows?

The young master himself also failed to pick up on the annoyance that stems from his trusted ally, too enamoured with his disciple's stories. Wukong has a true sense for theatrics, which made his tall tales all the more entertaining. Even if the monk seemed ever so slightly put off whenever the king explained how he committed some of the atrocities from his past to earn his reputation, Tripitaka kept his small smile from the excitement in the monkey's voice.

Sighing over the tale of how the Great Sage earned his iron staff, Tripitaka turns to you. "What of you, young companion?" The question makes you look up in slight surprise. "You've nearly lived as long as Pilgrim Monkey here, even despite your mortality. Have you any tales as grand as his?"

You hum for a moment, in thought as your memory of every exciting moment from your life fails to recall itself. "None that comes to mind, Great Monk. I spent most of my life in training, which was long and tedious."

The young man frowns. "You've lived over five hundred years, have you not? Surely you have some stories to tell."

His curiosity makes you hum in amusement. The monk is close to you in age, though his wide eyes of wonder fill you with a strange warmth. Many weeks have passed since the start of the journey, and if not for the formalities you attempt to hold yourself to, you might consider the Great Monk a good companion, a friend. But that feels inappropriate to say.

"I suppose there are some, though not all of them are as light-hearted as the supposed Great Sage." You cast another glance to the celestial primate, who now finally looks to you. His expression is neutral, though, from the past few weeks of travel, you feel that the short abrupt flicks from the tip of his tail expose a glimpse at his own irritation.

Maybe he can't handle not having his master's attention. Good. "However, I haven't lived as long as you believe. Those five hundred years were spent in the Jade Palace, where time moves differently. What was centuries on the mortal plain was merely a few years for me."

To your surprise, the monk laughs lightly, eyes shining in delight. "You say you have no stories to tell, yet you lived in the Jade Palace? Never have I heard of a mortal staying in the realm of the celestials." You don't miss the twitch of Sun Wukong's brow, a hint of a smirk creeping its way onto your face. "Tell me, what is it like there?"

"Why ask the measly Dove?" Wukong laughs before you can answer. "I lived up there as well, you know. I've held two separate positions with those heavenly deities! I can tell you of the feasts, how servants waited on me, that I was given my very own office, even!"

You nearly surprise yourself as a cackle escapes your throat. The two men look at you as you cough discreetly into your arm. "Apologies, but you were the stable boy, were you not?" His tail flicks another time, now being accompanied with his ears flattening against his head. The Great Sage really spoke more through his body language than his words, you found.

"My second position was much more important." His eyes roll as his arms cross. "Not that you could understand what it means to be given such responsibilities from the court of heaven."

He's defensive, that's cute. "Maybe not. Although, you didn't seem to last long in either job offer, did you?"

That makes him laugh proudly. "At least I earned my place there by becoming the strongest. What did you do, again? Give Guan Yin some sad eyes until she gave you your little vacation?"

You frown at that, eyes narrowing. "Don't act like your presence was wanted, Ape." Tripitaka gives you a look of surprise at the snap of tone in your voice. "I was there because I had to be, we are not the same. You earned your place by causing so many problems, the Court's only diplomatic option was to keep you entertained!"

"And what do you know of my matters in Heaven?" Sun Wukong barks out another laugh, his tone mocking. You clench your fist as you glare at the being before you. His tail whips wildly now from side to side, his teeth bared with a threatening smile.

His question makes you roll your eyes, as though he had forgotten your very first encounter."Did your time under that mountain make you senile or did you forget I witnessed your rampage firsthand, you idiotic, brainless, stupid and foul—"

"Stop!" Your eyes snap towards the direction of a new voice. Men quickly surround you and the pilgrims, all brandishing weapons against your group. Tripitaka looks between them all with fear as you smile to yourself. It's been too long since there was some action on this trip. 

One of the six blocking your path steps forward, a man holding out his sword as he spoke. “Leave your horse and drop your bags, otherwise us kings of the highway will cut you down where you stand!” You can see he means business, but it only makes you itch to jump into action. It’ll be good to take down such lawless men–

A body hits the ground before you can reach for your weapon.

The bandits fall silent, five pairs of eyes wide with fear as the Pilgrim readjusts the grip of his staff. A steady drip of scarlet liquid falls by his feet. The body before him lays on its side, its head caved in a few paces away. Blood pours from it, pooling over the ground just where some of his insides are now exposed. The man’s eyes are still open, stuck in an expression stricken with terror.

“Whoops.” The monster shrugs. “Sometimes I forget what flimsy bodies you have.”

They all run, screaming as their prosecutor gives chase. Not a single man made it off the road. All you can do is stand amidst it all, the young monk atop the horse mirroring your expression of absolute dread. The men no longer hold life in their eyes, their bodies bent and mangled, spread along the path with their weapons in the now non-existent grasp of their hands. The Monkey King stood between it all, his hand casually wiping away the blood that had splashed onto his face in his swift deliverance of death. He didn’t even bother with the ripples of deep red that now stain his clothing and arms.

You have to fight back the bile that attempts to claw up your throat. While you manage to succeed, Tripitaka fails miserably. The monk fumbles off the horse, nearly losing his footing before you catch and help him to the side of the road where he empties his stomach. You’ve seen horrors, bodies of demons dismembered and bathed in blood. Many fights end in casualties, death is nothing new, but to see the Monkey King wield his staff…

It doesn’t help seeing human bodies discarded in such a way… no matter how many demons you’ve fought, seeing a person mutilated in such a way always leaves a gaping hole in the depths of your stomach and an intense weight holding down your heart.

Sun Wukong looks at the two of you, unbothered by his actions. “That guy has some spare arrows, Dove. You can never have too many, right?”

You can’t manage to say a word before Tripitaka regains his bearings and marches towards his disciple. “What have you done?!”

“Me?” The demon laughs. “Got us some free clothes, and a pretty good travel allowance if these guys were any good at robbing.”

“You killed them! You murdered six men!” The monk shouts, his voice just barely withholding an emotion you have yet to see from the man.

Wukong scoffs at the appalled reaction to his actions. “And you’re welcomed for it.”

“No–” The man sighs. “Sun Wukong, you’re a buddhist now, and we don’t kill people.”

“Pssh– they were asking for it.” The monkey scoffs, crouching down to shake some more of the human remains off his staff.

“No!” You’re surprised to hear such a strong demand from the measly monk, his voice more stern than you’ve ever heard. “You made a deal with the bodhisattva and whether you like it or not you will uphold your part of the bargain. That means not killing people!”

The disciple looks up at that. “You’re really upset? They wanted to rob you.”

“Not even a judge would give a death sentence for that!” He argues, his open glare taking his new student aback.

“Hey, what’s done is done. You can sit here and complain about it or we can keep moving.” He turns to continue west, looking over his shoulder as he does. His expression is more annoyed now, his tail flicking to and fro impatiently, waiting for his Master’s sign to keep moving.

But Tripitaka’s stare bears down on his pupil. “No. I won’t take another step with a murderer claiming to be my disciple.”

“Come on, you’re being ridiculous.” The Monkey King turns back to face us, a frown now hardening over his features.

“A person who murders in cold blood cannot call himself a buddhist.”

The two glare daggers into one another, it almost takes you aback. You didn’t realise the monk could take such a stand, yet here he is. Against the Great Sage, no less. Yet he refuses to back down, even with the demon challenging him. The air between the two feels thick, as though it’s become a semisolid you have to hold your breath in.

After what feels like an eternity, the monkey laughs. “Fine then, I guess I’m no buddhist.” He turns, taking a few steps away before calling back. “Good luck making it to the west, Master.” 

“Wha–” Before Tripitaka is even able to speak, Monkey King hops onto his Somersault Cloud. “Wait, you can’t leave!”

“Watch me.” The demon glances back to the two of you, and you catch his eye for the briefest moment. Before he takes off, you make sure he sees the grin resting on your face. You know that all he’s doing is proving your point, from your talk by the river. He knows it too, and he must hate it.

He’s gone before another second can pass, and all that’s left on the path is you, Tripitaka, the horse, and six dead men.

The monk keeps his eyes on the path the Great Sage took through the sky, his eyes wide with despair. “…What did I just do?”

Slowly, you approach the man, resting a hand on his shoulder. “You scolded a centuries-old demon for good reason, and he went to sulk about it.”

“No… no, no, no, no! This is terrible!” Tripitaka’s hands shoot to his head, eyes wide and panicked. “I’ve lost my first disciple! What am I supposed to do? Where did he even go?! I was angry, I didn’t mean–” 

“Monk, you must calm yourself.” You disrupt the spiral of distress before it can continue any longer. “You did the right thing. Your disciple did something wrong, you confronted him. Look at his actions!”

As the monk turns to glance at the casualties left behind, you quickly stop him. “Actually, don’t. I wouldn’t want you to get sick again.”

“I didn’t mean for him to leave, but I couldn’t just excuse–” The man cuts himself off, his face pale from just the thought of what we had witnessed mere moments ago.

Holding his arms, you offer a comforting smile. “I understand, but there’s no need to worry.”

“No need?” He guffaws. “Sun Wukong is gone!”

You sigh quietly under your breath. “I’m sorry for not saying anything sooner, but I had a feeling something like this would happen. I just didn’t think it’d be this soon.” You do your best to suppress the chuckle that tries to escape your throat.

“Guan Yin has left me with something for a situation like this.”

The slight frown you receive tells you the man’s interest is now piqued. “What?”

You glance back at the road before answering. “Help me with the robbers, and I’ll explain. Your disciple will be back, and we’ll have to be ready when he does.”

“I… I don’t understand.” Tripitaka frowns. “How do you know he’ll return?”

You don’t bother to hide your smirk as you think back to that night by the river.

 “I'll be there to watch the moment you mess up.”

“He’ll want to prove me wrong.”

[beyonddarkness]

SAURON REBUILT

I cracked the code.

Sauron was rebuilt at the end of the first season. But HOW did he rebuild his power?

Think about this:

Who/what brought Sauron low in power?

Did he just wait things out, and let himself naturally rebuild?

What was required for him to rebuild his power?

The same questions may be asked for the Third Age (LOTR).

Why did Sauron have to rebuild his power?

Why was he incapable of naturally rebuilding over time?

What was the one thing he needed in order to rebuild?

First...

TIMELINE

J.D. and Patrick have not changed the timeline as much as so many assume. It is not jumbled, and it is not even compressed in the way that is widely accepted.

"What was important to the Tolkien estate was the principle of the narrative flow and the sequence of events, not the dates. The rings are made here, there's a war between Sauron and the elves after that, a later Sauron is taken to Númenor, Númenor falls, Gondor is established, and you end up with the Battle of the Last Alliance. Does it matter if a hundred or 500 years passed between those events? No" (Patrick McKay).

The "time compression" simply entails shifting the events that Patrick listed to the end of the Second Age, instead of spreading them out over three thousand years. Everything else stays the same. The anchor point is the Forging of the Rings, and every major event (which Patrick mentioned) would naturally follow suit—that is what they compressed. The actual duration of the Age has not changed.

We did not meet Sauron at the beginning of the Second Age, but at the tail end of it. (Sauron did not go sulk on a raft right after saying sorry to Eönwë; that obeisance was thousands of years ago.)

"Year gave way to year. Century gave way to century. And for many Elves, the pain of those days passed out of thought and mind" (Galadriel, 1x01).

"For, though Morgoth fell an age ago, some feared a new evil might arise from his shadow. So, for centuries now, these soldiers have swept across crag and crevice..." (Gil-galad, 1x01).

So, how much time passed between Adar's betrayal in Forodwaith and the raft? Thondir answers this question in the first episode:

"Surely it is lost to the ages now. Whatever happened here was long ago. [...] The mark is centuries old! Whoever left it could be long dead."

Even Charlie specified when Sauron was brought low, in his Deadline interview.

"At the beginning of the Second Age, [Sauron had] been brought low, and he lingered in Middle-earth, and his power then very slowly reemerged."

Sauron's weak and infirm state on the raft had been his lot since the beginning of the Second Age, which was millennia ago. If all he had to do was wait for his power to reload, why did we meet him at the same level to which Adar brought him centuries before? If his power grew naturally, we would have seen a much more powerful Sauron at the beginning of the season. Instead, Galadriel found him at his lowest state. And although he was at rock bottom for so long, he was REBUILT in a matter of months. How?

He was not able to rebuild his power until he met Galadriel, and he was not even fully rebuilt until Eregion. And it could not have been anyone's sheer presence that magically restored his power. He had to actively rebuild. The signs of his rebuilding lie in two scenes that I have talked about before.

But let's jump ahead to a time/story we are more familiar with.

REBUILDING IN THE THIRD AGE

Sauron was "brought low" in the Battle of the Last Alliance. The one thing he needed in order to regain his power in LOTR was the One Ring, which he sought for three thousand years.

"These Rings have a way of being found. In evil hands it might have done great evil. Worst of all, it might have fallen into the hands of the Enemy. Indeed it certainly would; for this is the One, and he is exerting all his power to find it or draw it to himself" (Gandalf, The Lord of the Rings [FOTR]: The Shadow of the Past).

Whoever had it in their possession would cherish it to the point of obsession, but "a Ring of Power looks after itself," Gandalf said. "It was not Gollum, Frodo, but the Ring itself that decided things. The Ring left him." Sauron was "calling" the Ring to him; it wanted to be found and to return to its master. Pretty much all Sauron had to do was touch it, and he would be rebuilt.

Tolkien said in one of his letters:

"While [Sauron] wore [the Ring], his power on earth was actually enhanced. But even if he did not wear it, that power existed and was in 'rapport' with himself: he was not 'diminished.' Unless some other seized it and became possessed of it. If that happened, the new possessor could (if sufficiently strong and heroic by nature) challenge Sauron, become master of all that he had learned or done since the making of the One Ring, and so overthrow him and usurp his place. This was the essential weakness he had introduced into his situation in his effort (largely unsuccessful) to enslave the Elves, and in his desire to establish a control over the minds and wills of his servants."

So, in the event that he retrieved the Ring, he would be able to take it off without losing any of his power. But someone sufficiently strong and heroic by nature could get ahold of it and challenge him.

REBUILDING IN THE SECOND AGE: Power Storage

His attempt at rebuilding his power in the Third Age (though unsuccessful) was exactly the same as his (successful) attempt in the Second Age. Most of his power was in the One Ring, and he needed it back in order to rebuild. That means that in the Second Age, his power was stored somewhere else. He needed his power back, so where was it stored?

Keep in mind what he was doing in the North. He meddled with the powers of the Unseen World, in an attempt to find a way to craft the same power that would later make up the One Ring. He could not find the "shadow of dark knowledge," no matter how much blood he spilt in its pursuit, and Adar betrayed and split him open. (I firmly do not believe Adar killed him/separated his spirit from his physical form. My reasoning for that is on its way.)

If Sauron tried to craft the same power in the North as what he later crafted in Mordor (after finding the shadow of dark knowledge), chances are high that he successfully channeled a portion of his power into whatever he was using. That thing would be MITHRIL (evident by the above depiction of a Balrog, which was shown as Adar spoke of Sauron's experiments). But Sauron was split open by Adar and incapacitated before the work was able to continue, and his plans were forestalled.

In the meantime, he did as Galadriel suspected: "[...] lying in wait, gathering strength, perfecting whatever dark art eluded him here." Mithril did not contain all of his power. There is another object which contained the other portion.

We know with certainty that Sauron had been seeking for this power when Finrod died, long before Morgoth fell.

Galadriel: "No, you died along with countless others because of him." Sauron, as Finrod: "No, Galadriel. He was seeking a power. Not to destroy Middle-earth, but to heal it, just as your fellow-Elves are seeking to do this very moment" (1x08).

In Sauron's tower, Finrod and his company were stripped of all their possessions, then thrown into the pits, where Finrod died. Is it not logical, then, that Sauron was aware of the dagger? Sauron didn't know Finrod's identity, but perceived him to be a Noldo of great might and wisdom, "deemed that in him lay the secret of their errand," and purposed to keep him alive longer than the rest. But after Finrod gave his life for Beren, what was Sauron to do?

In order to perfect an art, it must be practiced. If the art he desired to perfect was for the express purpose of enslaving the Elves, he would not leave the dagger of a great and mighty Noldo untouched. If presented with the opportunity, he would want a prototype. When Galadriel first took the dagger, in no world are we to think that the hand of Sauron never touched it, especially since we know that it was he who marked Finrod's flesh—likely with the dagger.

"But Sauron found him first, and marked his flesh with a symbol—one whose meaning even our wisest could not discern."

Long story short, Sauron channeled a portion of his power into the dagger around the time of Finrod's death, as a prototype—a tab to allow him access to the Elves. It so happens that Finrod's sister was the one to receive it, and she immediately became obsessed with finding Sauron. Later, another portion was harnessed in mithril, right before Adar betrayed him. Both circumstances are the first two test runs of channeling his power into an object. He will later succeed in harnessing most of his power in the One Ring.

REBUILDING IN THE SECOND AGE: Power Retrieval

—THE DAGGER—

The Ring was called "mine" at least 9 times in LOTR (excluding "ours" or "my own"), by Frodo, Bilbo, Gollum, and even Boromir. When Galadriel first took the dagger, she said:

"And there, in the darkness, his vow became mine."

That moment, long before Morgoth fell, and literally millennia before she was in Forodwaith, marked the beginning of her obsession, "which character after character in the show tells her is not a good thing," said Patrick McKay. "Is [Sauron] calling her to him?" — YES! ("...he is exerting all his power to find it or draw it to himself.")

------sidenote------

Yes, Galadriel cherished the dagger because it once belonged to her dead brother, but throughout the season, we saw many indications that her attachment was a bit more peculiar—feel free to look back at every scene with the dagger; particularly... - The mutiny scene (1x01) - The Boat scene (1x01) - Galadriel waking up on Elendil's ship (1x03) - "Whose dagger was it, Galadriel?" (1x05) - Galadriel's conversation with Adar (1x06) - Her conversation with Sauron on the log (1x06) - "These lands are dead," with Theo in Mordor (1x07) - The entire Vision Sequence (1x08) - True Creation Requires Sacrifice (1x08).

------

Sauron had many reasons for calling Galadriel to him, but a major reason was obvious: his power had been diminished, and the dagger contained a portion of it. He needed it back, so just like with the Ring, he exerted what power he had to draw the dagger, and its possessor, to himself (see Chapter 4). Sure enough, when Galadriel met him on the raft, he was very run-down.

...then he found the dagger.

The last we saw of him in episode 2, he was resting.

Suddenly, his whole personality, demeanor, energy, physicality—his whole BEING changed in episode 3. He was no longer weak and bitter, but spry and lighthearted. What was behind the sudden rejuvenation?

He got the dagger back.

He retrieved that portion of his power, but the portion was small—only enough for him to get by, and keep Galadriel under his thumb by returning the dagger. Remember, he was able to take the One Ring off without being diminished; he would be able to part with the dagger because the power still existed and "was in 'rapport' with himself." However, if the hands of a naturally strong and heroic person obtained it, he could be challenged. Therefore, before he let go of the dagger, he parted with Galadriel on the following terms:

"And at the very least, do try not to make any new enemies."

—MITHRIL—

Celebrimbor's ambition was pretty strong in the beginning. He desired to craft something of real power, which motivation led him to believe at least two untrustworthy tales. In the same manner that Galadriel's one-track-mindedness was augmented by means of the dagger (especially after Sauron returned it), Celebrimbor was influenced by mithril (especially after Sauron returned it).

Charlie confirmed that Sauron injured himself in order to be taken to Eregion "because he understands that the only way he can be healed is through their power and magic." After the eruption, why would that be the only way for him to get things going?

Because the mithril contained the other portion of his power, and he knew exactly where that scrap was. He touched it, regained the remainder of his power, and gladly returned the scrap to Celebrimbor, saying:

"Call it a gift."

From there, Sauron kept Celebrimbor under his thumb.

Galadriel: "Those words. 'Power over flesh.' Where did you hear them?" Celebrimbor: "Uh... I was conferring with my smiths, I think... No, I believe those are my words." Galadriel: "Was Halbrand with you?" Celebrimbor: "What's it matter? It's over" (1x08).

CONCLUSION

THAT is why those two scenes were so similar.

They were not mere representations of him transferring his power into the objects, like I believed, but rather a sign that he was taking it (of course without removing it from the object). They were signs to the audience of how he was rebuilding his power—a precursor of his attempt to rebuild in the Third Age by means of the One Ring!

Let's answer the questions we asked at the beginning.

In the Third Age (LOTR)...

Why did Sauron have to rebuild his power? - He was "brought low" in the Battle of the Last Alliance.

Why was he not able to rebuild his power naturally? - Most of his power and essence were stored elsewhere.

What was the one thing he needed in order to rebuild? - The One Ring.

In the Second Age (TROP)...

Who/what brought Sauron low in power? - Adar, towards the beginning of the Age.

Did he just wait things out, and let himself naturally rebuild? - No. He had to actively regain his power.

What was required for him to rebuild his power? - The dagger and mithril, in which his power was stored.

The dagger and mithril are inseparably connected because both contained the two required pieces of Sauron's craft. That is why the only thing that could be alloyed with mithril was the dagger. The Three Elven Rings were never touched by the hand of Sauron, but the power within the elements that made them was Sauron's. That is why the Three are subject to the One.

Below are a couple of interesting patterns.

STRENGTH

—After the Dagger—

—After Mithril—

(Notice that after the dagger, having only the smaller portion of his power, he still exerted some effort in subduing four Men (I mean, he still broke an arm in a manner that J.D. suggested was superhuman); whereas after touching the mithril, having all of his power back, he not only effortlessly stopped an Elf, but warped her mind.)

FACE

—After the Dagger— "It's not poison, if that's your concern. Not for humans, anyway."

—After Mithril— "You believed in me. You saw strength in me. You pushed me to heights that no one else could have. I will never forget that. And I'll see to it that no one else does, either."

(Those were the first suspicious smirks he gave to Galadriel after he touched the dagger and mithril.)

(And this is the last smirk we see of him, when he is officially rebuilt.)

[eisforeidolon]

Question: My question is, the three of us [her and her besties] have been watching a certain daytime serial since we were thirteen -

Jared: Lucky Charms? [does a little dance, checks to see if Jensen was watching]

Question: Yes, let's call it Lucky Charms. And I just want to know if you had to do it all over again, would you spend your time on that daytime serial? And is that something you'd recommend to other people trying to break into the industry?

Jensen: One hundred percent.

Question: Because we loved it. Since thirteen, our grandmas were watching!

Jensen: [laughs] Uh, yeah, no, that was really kind of my training ground. I didn't go to a proper film school, or acting school, and I didn't get properly trained - which is clear by, if you watch anything I do -

Jared: Anything he's ever done. Like right now.

Jensen: But there I learned things that I don't even think that they would necessarily teach you in certain acting schools. Which is, you know, hitting your mark, finding your light, understanding how to navigate personalities - which that show had, you know, thirty actors, and every one had a different personality. And you gotta have to, you gotta navigate that if you wanna survive. That was such a valuable experience for me, I've talked about it all the time and it's also such a great gig for so many actors out there. I always - when I left that show in 2000, I think, I always thought to myself, like, if I go out and it doesn't happen, I will one hundred percent come running back to this. Because it was so great. So yeah.

Question: I know in a lot of the other question and answer sessions, a lot of your colleagues have been mentioning community theater and things like that, school plays, but nobody mentioned -

Jensen: A soap opera. Uh, yeah, I think - and look, community theater? You know, going to school? In any kind of -

Jared: Making video and putting it on YouTube or something.

Jensen: Right, any kind of expression of making kind of creative content - whether that's on a stage, whether that's in front of a camera, whether that's in your room with your friends, you know, reading a play, or whatever it is? I think all of that fuels something within you, if that's the kind of thing that you strive to do. And so I know that that experience for me was three years and it was - it was essentially my college. It was my training ground for what I went on to do. And I'm forever thankful for it, and I will always praise it.

Jared: Yeah, it's a, it's yeah - bravo. There's something I think he and I both learned in different ways and different times. And I love theater, I love being in theater, I love going to the theater - you know all this and that? It's different doing the version that we ended up kind of doing? Because if you're doing a play, you get three months to rehearse it. You get to go [gestures] left, right, up, down, center, forward, backward [Jensen nods]. Et cetera, et cetera. Doing something like where he started or where I started? You kinda learn really quickly, like, hey, you ain't got all day. You know? You ain't got all hour. Like, you have five minutes, get it right [snaps]. Like, 'cause we're moving on. And so that really helped when it was necessary, when he and I were working together, the sun was coming up in thirty minutes and we would have loved to have had three hours to get something done, but the sun was gonna come up and then it's not gonna make sense so we're gonna have to cut it anyways. So it's like, okay, we've done this before.

Jensen: I recently did a little part in a film, and it was this big end scene where all the [looks up, bats at air], all the -

Jared: Do you smell toast?

Jensen: [looks around comically] All the major players were in the scene and the sun was going down, but more importantly, [turns to Jared] there was a helicopter [Jared reacts] that was supposed to fly overhead. And the shot had to time out with the helicopter coming and we only had, like, two, two shots at it. And, you know, the sun was going down - so it was like a race to the finish. Well, my coverage was left to the very end. [Jared mouths something I can't make out] And of course everybody was - the director and the camera operator, and the dp - was like, 'We're so sorry, we're only gonna get, like, one or two goes at this.' And I was like, 'That's cool.'

Jared: I only need one.

Jensen: And it was like a full speech that I had [laughs], and I, you know, I tattooed it the first take, and I did it again the second take, and I remember the director, he's like, [emphatically] 'I love television actors.' [both laugh]

[jujumin-translates]

Event | Ayakashi Summer Festival | Chapter 9

Misumi: Thanks for waiting for me, guys~!

Izumi: Ah, you’re finally here, Misumi-kun.

Shift: All the performances from every troupe have been so good so far!

Haruto: But before the results can be announced, MANKAI Company will put on their ayakashi-themed performance.

Guy: It’s almost time for us to begin.

Izumi: Is everyone ready?

Misumi: I’m all good!

Masumi: I’m always ready for you.

Omi: I’m good too, let’s do our best like we always do.

Shift: Next up is MANKAI Company’s performance, so everyone get hyped for it!

*Applause*

Haruto: Good work.

Izumi: Thanks for introducing us, you two.

Shift: No probs!

Haruto: We’ve done our job, so you better give everyone a great performance.

Shift: We’ll be watching from the audience!

Misumi: Leave it to us~!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Cast

Daidarabotchi - Misumi

Human - Azuma

Tanuki - Masumi

Kogitsune - Hisoka

Daija - Guy

Tsuchigumo - Omi

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: (The scene is set thousands of years ago in a countryside forest where many ayakashi live.)

Izumi: (For the past hundred years, humans have steered clear of this forest because some of the ayakashi are mischievous and like to play tricks on the humans.)

Izumi: (A daidarabotchi has been in the forest since that began and has lived there for hundreds of years.)

Daidarabotchi: “Many people used to play in this forest, but now there’s only the stray wanderer every couple of years.”

Daidarabotchi: “Now that I think about it, I wonder how that human child I rescued is doing. He was an interesting one, calling me ‘Onii-chan’ like that.”

Daidarabotchi: “That boy gave me a delicious kind of food as a thank-you, it was some sort of misshapen onigiri.”

Daidarabotchi: “Although, I can no longer remember what it tasted like…”

Human: “…Around here…”

Human: “I feel like I’ve been here before…”

Tanuki: “It’s a human! A human has come into the forest!”

Kogitsune: “Fufu, I’m gonna mess with ‘em.”

Tanuki: “No fair, I’m the one that saw him first. I should get to mess with him first!”

Kogistune: “Doesn’t matter, first one to get to him wins. Alright, I’m going to cast a spell on him so he gets lost and can’t leave the forest.”

Human: “Huh? But I thought I was just here… Am I just going in circles…!?”

Tanuki: “Ahahaha! He’s lost, he’s lost.”

Daidarabotchi: “I thought I just heard a noise, has a human wandered in?”

Daidarabotchi: “…! It’s that human from back then…”

Daidarabotchi: “He’s grown a lot since then…”

Izumi: (When the daidarabotchi realized that he’s the same person he helped back then, he decides to help him sneak out of the forest.)

Human: “Aahgh… when will I ever get out of this woods!? Good God.”

Daidarabotchi: “Hey, come this way…”

Human: “…? I thought I just heard something… No, it must’ve just been my imagination.”

Daija: “It’s rare to see you helping a human.”

Daidarabotchi: “Hmph, you’re attentive.”

Daija: “You haven’t done it since that one time decades ago, have you? I wonder what’s gotten into you.”

Daidarabotchi: “It’s just a whim.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Izumi: (The fun-loving and mischievous ayakashi began to imitate the humans and hold festivals of their own.)

Izumi: (It’s almost time for the summer festival to be held. So the ayakashi of the forest have decided to start preparing for the festival…)

Tsuchigumo: “Hey, Daidarabotchi. I’m supposed to be in charge of the summer festival this time around.”

Tsuchigumo: “You haven’t attended the festival for decades. You should join us this time.”

Daidarabotchi: “I’ll go if I feel like it.”

Tsuchigumo: “Sigh, understood.”

Daidarabotchi: “…During summer festivals, many ayakashi gather from all over. Naturally, those ayakashi are more powerful than I am.”

Daidarabotchi: “It would be dangerous for a human to be around on such a festival day. I hope that human doesn’t come here again…”

Izumi: (But no matter how many times the ayakashi played tricks on him, and no matter how many times the daidarabotchi kicked him out…)

Izumi: (That human began coming to the forest everyday.)

Human: “Alright, and there… It’s a little hard to walk around here.”

Daidarabotchi: “He came again… Why is he so stupid?”

Izumi: (The daidarabotchi puts his head in his hands. He’s too worried about so many things that he’s completely unaware of the human approaching.)

Izumi: (The daidarabotchi finally comes face to face with him after failing to hide.)

Daidarabotchi: “God. I can’t call him stupid, I’m the one that’s stupid…”

Human: “Are you one of the ayakashi I’ve heard so much about? What kind of ayakashi are you? What’s your name?”

Daidarabotchi: “…So you don’t remember me. Well, you were just a kid, so it’s not surprising that you don’t remember me.”

Daidarabotchi: “Perfect. I can just shut up and walk away then.”

*Footsteps*

Human: “Wait a moment! I’m Yuuma. If you won’t tell me your name, I’ll just have to call you by a nickname.”

Yuuma: “I know… you’re a youkai, so you can be Youichi! Nice to meet you, Youichi.”

Daidarabotchi: “Y-Youichi…?”

Yuuma: “Why are you here, Youichi? Are there other ayakashi here?”

Daidarabotchi: “Why are you…?”

Yuuma: “Let’s be friends, Youichi!”

Daidarabotchi: “Hmph, it’s no use.”

Izumi: (He continues to bother the daidarabotchi. Everyday, however, Yuuma searches the forest for the daidarabotchi, calling him by his nickname as he hides in plain sight.)

Izumi: “Unable to ignore the memories of the past, the daidarabotchi has no other choice but to meet with him.)

Yuuma: “Youichi, Youichi!”

Daidarabotchi: “Unbelievable…”

Izumi: (The daidarabotchi gradually opens up to Yuuma, who treats him like a good friend and brother, just like he used to.)

Izumi: (However, tomorrow is finally the day of the ayakashi’s summer festival.)

Yuuma: “Youichi, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

Daidarabotchi: “No, don’t come tomorrow.”

Yuuma: “But tomorrow is…”

Daidarabotchi: “Listen, it’s not safe, you can’t come back tomorrow!”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Tsuchigumo: “Come on, everyone, let’s get excited for today!”

Tanuki: “Festival time, festival time!”

Kogistune: “Hahaha, this is fun, fun!”

Daija: “Daidarabotchi, you were asked to join by Tsuchigumo, right? It’s good for you to have some fun once in a while.”

Daidarabotchi: “I had no choice but to show up for a bit…”

Yuuma: “…”

Daidarabotchi: “Why is he here…!? No, I told him not to come, I must’ve been seeing things.”

Daidarabotchi: “…But… …Ah, come on!”

Daija: “Hey, where are you going?”

Daidarabotchi: “Just enjoy the festival!”

*Footsteps*

Izumi: (The daidarabotchi chased after him and found that Yuuma had also come.)

Daidarabotchi: “Hey, why are you here!?”

Yuuma: “I’m sorry, I know you told me not to come…”

Yuuma: “I saw all of the ayakashi heading towards the woods together, so I thought something was wrong and decided to follow.”

Yuuma: “I took a peek from my hiding place earlier and was surprised to see that there was a festival being held!”

Daidarabotchi: “Why on earth are you like this…?”

Yuuma: “So it’s an ayakashi summer festival. It looks like a lot of fun, I’d love to have a look around.”

Daidarabotchi: “…Since you’ve already come, I guess there’s no helping it.”

Daidarabotchi: “You can have fun for a little bit and then go home. You should be fine as long as you’re with me, even if you are a human…”

Yuuma: “I can really come with you!? Thank you, Youichi!”

Daidarabotchi: “But only for a little bit!”

Daidarabotchi: “But first… you’ll stand out too much in those clothes and they’ll know you’re a human for sure. Go over there and change into this.”

Yuuma: “And this mask?”

Daidarabotchi: “I put a spell on it. As long as you wear it, you’ll be able to blend in with the ayakashi and they’ll be less likely to recognize you as a human.”

Yuuma: “Understood! I’ll change right away.”

Daidarabotchi: “Sigh… I’m being too nice to him…”

Tanuki: “Uuwahh~!”

Kogistune: “Run, run!”

Daidarabotchi: “What are you two doing?”

Kogistune: “We were playing a prank and Daija’s master caught us.”

Tanuki: “He got all angry and now he’s after us. Quick, hide us!”

Daija: “Tanuki and Kitsune, there you are!”

Kogistune: “He found us already!”

Tanuki: “Hiiee, run!”

*Footsteps*

Daija: “Hm? Daidarabotchi…? I was wondering where you went and here you are.”

Daija: “I’d love to stay and talk, but I have to go after those two. See you later.”

*Footsteps*

Daidarabotchi: “Geez, those two really are something…”

Yuuma: “Sorry for making you wait, Youichi! I got changed.”

Daidarabotchi: “Hmm, it kinda suits you.”

Yuuma: “Hehe, thanks! Hey, Youichi, I wanna go see the stalls.”

Daidarabotchi: “You can look around. But all the things they sell are for ayakashi. Don’t eat any of it.”

Yuuma: “Got it, I promise I won’t eat or drink anything.”

Izumi: (The two of them enjoy themselves at stalls where they can play games like goldfish catching.)

Izumi: (However, suddenly a large number of ayakashi wander in, and the two become separated. The daidarabotchi hurriedly searches for him, but Yuuma is nowhere to be found.)

Daidarabotchi: “This is bad, where’d he go…?”

Daidarabotchi: “I beg of you, please stay safe…!”

Daidarabotchi: “I was… happy to see that human again… and I was happy to be able to talk to Yuuma again.”

Izumi: (Huh, this isn’t in the script… Misumi-kun must be ad libbing. It really helps you understand the daidarabotchi’s feelings as he desperately searches for Yuuma.)

Daidarabotchi: “…! That mask in the shadows over there…!”

Yuuma: “Youichi!”

Daidarabotchi: “Ah, I finally found you… I’m glad you’re safe.”

Yuuma: “Thank goodness… I thought I’d never see you again.”

Daidarabotchi: “…I won’t let that happen. Wherever you are, I’ll find you.”

Daidarabotchi: “…I was just happy to be able to see you and talk to you again. I don’t ever want to feel like I did before again.”

Yuuma: “…Eh?”

Daidarabotchi: “…It’s nothing.”

Izumi: (This is an ad lib too… I can still really feel the daidarabotchi’s feelings.)

Yuuma: “…I have to get back soon.”

Daidarabotchi: “Got it. I’ll take you to the forest’s exit.”

Yuuma: “Ah, but I have to change first.”

Daidarabotchi: “Don’t worry about that, that yukata is yours now.”

Yuuma: “Really? Thank you, I’ll always cherish it.”

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Yuuma: “Thank you for showing me the way. It was a pleasure to spend everyday in this forest with you, Youichi.”

Daidarabotchi: “…Yeah, I feel the same way.”

Yuuma: “Fufu, I’m happy to hear that.”

Yuuma: “The reason I came here today despite you telling me not to come was because I really wanted to give you this before I left.”

Daidarabotchi: “…! This is from back then…”

Yuuma: “Yeah, it’s onigiri.”

Yuuma: “I’m a chef now… I thought I could make them much better than I did back then.”

Yuuma: “I’m supposed to be going overseas soon. I’m on my first vacation here in a long time to visit my grandparents’ graves.”

Daidarabotchi: “I see…”

Yuuma: “…Ah, it’s almost time, so I really have to go.”

Yuuma: “…I don’t think I’ll be able to come here again.”

Yuuma: “Take care, and thank you for the wonderful time. It was nice to finally see you again… Onii-chan.”

*Footsteps*

Izumi: (The daidarabotchi, surprised by Yuuma’s words, watches as he leaves.)

Daidarabotchi: “…So you did remember me.”

Izumi: (He eats the onigiri he got from him as he listens to the lively sounds of the summer festival off in the distance…)

Daidarabotchi: “I remember now. It’s… still as good as it was back then.”

Daidarabotchi: “The taste is unforgettable… But I’ll never be able to experience the taste of brotherhood again…”

*Applause*

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