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ptergwen · 3 years

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smoke and mirrors

⇢ richkid!tom x richkid!reader ⇠

w/c: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, drinking, light angst, and implied smut

summary: because of your mother’s insistence on a pristine family image and tom’s messy one, you deny your true feelings for him

a/n: ok ok ok the pics of tom in monaco really made me think and i had to get everything out of my system so here we are! thank you and enjoy x

your living room is engulfed by a hushed chatter that comes from far too many guests. half the people, you hardly know. it’s overcrowded, superficial, and the last place you want to be. it’s one of your mother’s get-togethers, as she likes to call them. these things are always far from the casual affairs they sound like.

weeks go into planning, caterers and decorators making themselves at home in yours. the family’s image is everything to your mom, so being a good hostess is her top priority. ironically, she’s more concerned with throwing her gatherings than raising you. so much for family, huh?

the only reason you agreed to make an appearance tonight is that tom might do the same. he’s a really good friend, someone you’ve been able to count on through all the mess that is your lives. you met in high school, when he moved from london to the states. his dad was offered a job promotion he couldn’t pass up. plus, tom and his brothers would be receiving a stellar private education here in america.

it was a win for everyone, especially you. the freckle faced boy who got lost on his way to english class became your closest confidant. tom’s company is such a sweet escape. he’s not interested in opera or the stock market like most people you meet are. he sneaks you out to go on walks at dawn and does shots with you until you can’t stand straight.

as you two continue to grow together, revelations about yourselves have come to light. what you want beyond your inheritances, who you want beyond friendship. you figured out the second part on a faithful night recently. tom showed up to your place with a bottle of tequila. after you drank it down through lots of lime chasers and giggles, he kissed you. you didn’t kiss back.

your heart said to go for it, but your mind pulled you back in. you were so shocked and overcome with new feelings, you froze up. that, and you’d infuriate your mother. although she cares about tom a great deal, she loathes his public figure. he’s always getting papped in places and with people he shouldn’t be. the two of you together would just destroy her.

you still want to please your mom at the end of the day, no matter how deep under your skin she gets.

tom immediately apologized and tried play it off as him being drunk. you grew up with him, became part of each other’s families, which means you know him well enough to know he was lying. he meant every second his lips were on yours.

what you need to do now is something you’ve meant to for a while. the only problem is that you’re stuck at your mother’s party, and tom hasn’t shown up yet.

“y/n, darling,” your mom calls for your attention. she’s dragged you into a conversation with some bloggers, but you haven’t spoken a word. “why don’t you tell us about your trip to spain last summer?” she plasters on her award winning grin and squeezes your shoulder. it’s time to play along.

“oh, it was beautiful,” you halfheartedly reply, more to the bloggers than her. they nod in clear interest. one jots down notes. “we went for a few weeks and visited a bunch of different cities. i’d love to go back sometime.” the typical press formatted answer earns your mom’s approval. you’re off the hook. your eyes start to wander around the room, hoping to set on tom.

“we?” the woman taking notes asks. must everyone pry? “my friend and i,” you shortly reply. you’re standing up on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. you’d think six inch heels would do the trick. “i’m actually looking for him right now, so if you’ll excuse me,” you offer a polite smile and silently pray they won’t ask who. unfortunately, your wishes don’t come true.

the other blogger, a short and stubborn man, speaks up. “just a friend you say? come on, tell us. who’s the lucky fella?” he inquires. your mother raises a firm eyebrow, signaling for you not to.

tom has a reputation for his reckless behavior. it’s your mom’s worst nightmare when the media associates your names under most circumstances. you’re representing her, so she does whatever she can to control how you’re seen. you’re constantly in the papers, being a young socialite and all. it sucks.

“he’d like to stay out of the tabloids, sorry,” you cover for tom, on your mom’s behalf. “i should really go. it was nice meeting you.” the bloggers don’t bother to hide their disappointment as you shake their hands. your mother rubs your back in approval. “thank you for doing that. we’ll talk later,” she speaks lowly. “bye, mom!” you practically make a run for it.

weaving through the sea of people, you end up by the main entrance. it’s hard not to get lost even though it’s your house. the place is packed with girls just a couple years older than you, wearing pearls around their necks. men’s strong colognes flow through the air. you’re in a form fitting red slip dress and louboutins yourself.

smoke and mirrors is what they call it. you show the pretty parts to distract from your ugly ones.

harrison suddenly comes waltzing in with a lady on either of his arms. you’d expect nothing less. he’s tom’s best friend besides you, considering the failed kiss attempt didn’t change that. their parents worked at the london branch of the same company. they each came to the states and met you. you happily introduced them to your world, helping to make it theirs as well.

“haz!” you meet him at the front door. he’s smirking while he leads the women inside. “fancy seeing you here, isn’t it?” he jokes. “very funny. i died laughing,” you deadpan, curiously eyeing harrison’s plus two. they merely giggle. “listen, have you seen tom anywhere? if he’s coming.” you’re fighting back a frown. “why wouldn’t he be?” harrison questions in a more serious tone this time.

“long story. you have guests to entertain, so i won’t get into it now,” you decide and manage a small smile instead. he perks up. “right. i’ll let you know if i see him?” nodding, you give him a wave goodbye. “enjoy yourself.” “you too, love. cheers!” the girls lean into him, harrison wiggling his eyebrows at you. he’s ridiculous.

hours pass by without word of tom. it isn’t like him to miss an event, especially if you’re in attendance. you despise these exhausting nights, and he’s supposed to be your rock during them. he should have his arm draped around your shoulders, whispering silly remarks to you while you hide out somewhere. you miss him more than you thought possible.

you’re just about to give up when you spot nikki ushering her husband inside. behind them follows tom, clad in a grey checkered suit with his locks perfectly tousled. he’s here. you waited the whole night, and he finally came.

tom kisses his mom on the cheek before strutting over to the drink table, not without a few reporters hassling him. they’re probably looking for another holland scandal to break. he declines their requests for comments on this and opinions on that, instead pulling up a chair next to harrison. the two exchange hugs and fix themselves glasses of champagne, you watching their encounter.

harrison fills tom in on the drama he’s missed tonight while they sip their drinks. tom keeps forcing smiles that don’t reach his eyes. he’s fiddling with his fingers, leg bouncing up and down steadily. those are the telltale signs he needs saving. however awkward it may be, you’re going to have to break your silence. it was bound to happen eventually.

“mate, i’m telling you. she fit her entire first right up her-“ “boys,” you cut into harrison’s story, greeting him and tom. his face tints deep pink upon your arrival. “don’t let me stop you. finish your charming anecdote,” you encourage him and subtly glance over at tom. he’s biting back a grin as he sets his elbows on the table.

“not with a lady present. let’s just… pretend you didn’t hear that,” harrison chuckles nervously and hops to his feet. “i’m gonna leave you two to chat.” humming, you move to take his chair. tom sucks in a breath. “what happened to the girls you brought?” you wonder. “they left. said they got bored,” harrison admits, tom stifling laughter. he elbows his friend for that.

“oh, fuck off. i’ll see you later,” he mopes, flicking your arm for good measure. tom salutes him and grabs his nearly empty champagne. “so long, bruv.”

it’s just you and tom now, seated side by side, silently so. he has no intentions of speaking first. he’s too embarrassed, and you don’t blame him. this is on you. you clear your throat before starting the conversation.

“can i top you off?” you tap the bottom of his glass with a tiny smile. tom shakes his head. “i’m alright, thanks.” he finishes the last sip and sets it down, turning to face you. your smile has vanished. “wasn’t sure you were gonna make it. i’m glad you did,” you change the subject. as if he’s considering the sincerity behind your words, tom furrows his eyebrows.

“mum wanted us to. she dragged me and dad straight off the golf course,” he explains and clasps his hands in his lap. his fingers interlock with each other. you fight off the urge to replace them with yours. “we would’ve been here sooner, but the paps are camped outside.” the hint of a smile forms on his lips, at last. “guess it’s not often you get the town’s finest under one roof.”

“you think i’m one of the town’s finest?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm. something flashes behind tom’s eyes. he looks right into yours, scooting closer. “absolutely. you’re the most eligible bachelorette in this whole building.” you allow a toothy grin to spread across your face. “tommy, stop it. you’re too nice to me.”

the nickname is music to his ears. tom looks you up and down, licking his lips simultaneously. “no, seriously. you look gorgeous,” he muses, you pushing at his chest. he exhales a breathy laugh, and you giggle yourself. “red’s definitely your color.” “reverse card. you wear it way better than i do,” you insist. your fingers tug at the collar of his suit. “too bad you didn’t match me.”

you’re relieved you two can talk like you usually do, light flirting and good vibes. it might not be so hard to put the kiss behind you. well, you can’t go on pretending it didn’t happen. you have to at least discuss the fiasco. tom should know why you didn’t reciprocate, then you can take it from there. whether he still has feelings for you, assuming he ever did, will depend on how that turns out.

“not to ruin the fun, but we still have to talk,” you murmur, tom’s body stiffening across from yours. he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss that. “can it wait? we’re at a party,” tom reminds you, running a hand through his styled locks. “yeah, my mother’s. don’t tell me you’re having a good time,” you playfully chastise him. he simply shrugs. “hardly. you’re the best part.”

you ignore the butterflies roaming about your body.

“you won’t mind a quick convo, then. it is with me,” you attempt to persuade him and place a hand on his knee. tom coughs a bit too loudly, the contact surprising him. “you know what? i think i’ll take you up on that drink first,” he decides with a mustered up smile. “coming right up.” you pat his leg before taking his glass. he chews on his lower lip while you poor the bubbling liquid. that was certainly… odd.

you slide tom his champagne back with an exaggerated wink. tom scoffs at this. “mm, thanks. care to join me?” he brings the alcohol to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. your mother specifically said no drinking tonight, since the press would be here. screw your mother, though. “please. could you hand me a glass?” you eagerly grab the champagne bottle. tom searches for an empty cup next to him.

you two are unspoken drinking buddies at this point.

“here you are, darling,” tom drawls, holding out the glass for you. every time he calls you that, you completely melt. “thanks, tommy,” you purr in response. you’re finally pouring your own drink when someone taps you on the shoulder, and hard. you look behind you to find your mother standing with her hands on her hips, less than thrilled. speak of the devil.

“hello, mother. can i help you?” you make sure to ask rudely. she responds with a smile that’s obviously fake. if tom weren’t here, you’d be getting scolded. “yes, my darling. those bloggers from earlier were hoping you’d finish your interview.” your mom shakes your shoulder in a motherly way. you squint up at her. “didn’t they leave hours ago-“ “they’re back,” she sharply informs you.

she’s lying, and you have a hunch as to why.

frowning, you hold tom’s hand in both of yours. “sorry, this won’t take long. why don’t you go find tuwaine?” you suggest instead. “he’s around here somewhere.” tom gives you an understanding nod and laces your fingers together, even if it’s only for a moment. “must be chatting up some producers or whatnot. i’ll see if i can help.” he’s such an incredible friend to everyone. he deserves the same from you.

“thomas, so lovely to see you,” your mom interrupts. tom stands up, kissing both her cheeks out of courtesy. “you, too. what a wonderful party. thank you for having us.” despite what the rest of the world believes, his manners are impeccable. “of course. give nikki my best, will you?” your mom puts her hands on his shoulders. he grins at her. “definitely. take care, mrs. y/l/n.” “always a pleasure,” she states, nudging you to come along with her.

you shoot tom one last apologetic look as your mother pulls you along and towards the crowd.

tom is no idiot. he’s well aware how she really feels about him.

when a swarm of guests is surrounding you, your mom lets go. you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “why would you do that? i haven’t seen tom in days.” she sighs without a care. “isn’t it time you branch out? expand your social circle?” her manicured fingers ruffle your hair. you push away her touch. “i’m social enough. we were in the middle of something really important.”

you begin to walk away, but your mother takes your arm. “whatever you’re about to do, it’s a mistake. he’ll make a fool of you,” she practically spits. yanking your arm from her grasp, you laugh bitterly. “of me, or of the family name? look around, mom.” you gesture to the spot beside her where your dad should be. “as far as i’m concerned, i have no family except tom. i’m gonna go check on him.”

you’re gone before your mom can stop you. she simply stands there, utterly mortified by what you said.

you run around the house to find tom, stumbling in your heels and not giving a fuck. you’d truly meant the part about him being your family. all the holland’s, honestly. they’re the most genuine and caring souls, and you don’t want to lose the one you’re closest to because of your mother’s delusions.

tom is in a circle with harrison and tuwaine, the three of them chuckling amongst themselves. you’d hate to bug him, but this can’t wait anymore.

“uh, tom?” you mumble his name, appearing behind him. he steps away with another quiet laugh. “hey, y/n/n. that was quick, hm?” your face gives away your distress. his whole demeanor shifting, tom reaches for your hands. “what is it, love? is something the matter?” “just… come with me,” you croak out.

you manage to smile at harrison and tuwaine, dropping one of tom’s hands so you can lead him upstairs. they each return the smile and share curious looks.

following behind you, tom keeps your hand tight in his own. he’d thought you were going to grill him about the kiss that barely happened. it seems like this is a much more pressing matter. his outburst of emotions can be discussed another time. now, it’s time to deal with yours.

you drag tom into the first room on the second floor, which is your dad’s study. he’s away on business this weekend, so he luckily couldn’t make the party. tom sits down in the office chair. you sit up on the desk, in front of him. your lip quivers the second his worried features come into view.

“y/n/n, what’s going on? why are we in here?” tom wonders, his tone soft. your heart clenches. “i- i wanted us to have some privacy when i told you this,” you sniffle out and blink back the tears forming. you’re sort of shaken from the conversation with your mother, and mostly because you have no idea how tom will react to your confession.

his hands come to stay on your thighs, right below your dress. they feel warm against your bare skin.

“tell me what? i’m listening, yeah?” tom gazes up at you with so much love. “lay it all out for me.” god, he’s fucking amazing. if only you knew where to start. “do you, um…” you trail off, letting your tears subside and words settle. “do you remember when your family made your big debut in town?”

a grin replaces tom’s frown, painting his beautiful face. “how could i forget? you made it quite memorable.” he traces circles on your thigh and elicits a giggle from you. “i spilled a whole thing of soda on your white fucking button down,” you recount with a lighthearted sigh. “right before your dad was supposed to introduce you to everyone, too.”

tom presses his tongue into his cheek to hold back another grin. “took ages to get it out. dad went mad when i didn’t show.” he cocks his head to the side, you leaning back on your hands. “you held me hostage in the laundry room so you could do that bloody stain stick.” your mouth drops open in mock offense. “i had to clean up my mess! i wasn’t gonna let the world meet you covered in pepsi.”

that was one of your earliest memories together. the holland’s threw a party and invited everyone who was willing to attend. they had been hoping to properly introduce themselves to the town, and this was their way of doing so. although yours and tom’s friendship was fairly new, you spent all night together because you had experience with such events.

tom’s dad was making a speech to thank the guests for coming. you and him listened from the snack table, until his name was called. he rushed to go up there while you were pouring yourself a drink. he’d bumped into you, and the bottle ended up all over him. you snuck tom right off to his laundry room.

you’d felt terrible as he stood there shirtless and blushing, you aggressively swiping his button down with a stain stick.

“why do you bring that up?” tom questions and continues circling your skin. you purse your lips. “i dunno. it was the last party i actually enjoyed,” you admit, putting your hand over his that rests on your thigh. “like to reminisce when i’m suffering through one of my mother’s.” his eyes shift to where your hands are laced. “i see,” he affirms. “so, is that… all you wanted to talk about?” “not even close,” you laugh out.

a burst of courage coursing through your body, you say it. “when you kissed me the other night-“ “i won’t do it again,” tom cuts in, trying to avoid the rejection he thinks you’ll give him. “it was a mistake, and i’m so sorry. our friendship is more important than my feelings.” you seem excited to hear that, though it’s not for the reason tom expects. “you do have feelings for me?”

he’d forgotten about his i was drunk excuse.

“um, yeah. i do,” he admits, cheeks rosy and lip caught in his teeth. “but, i’ll learn to put them aside, if that’s what’s best.” “no, no. it isn’t,” you dismiss him and put your free hand on his chest. “i love you, tom. that’s what i was really trying to tell you.” your words bring an instant grin to his face. he chuckles in disbelief, standing from the chair.

“fuck, thank god. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to hear.” he’s between your legs now, his hands moving up to your hips. you’re beaming at him as your arms snake around his neck. a burning question comes to tom’s mind. “hang on. why didn’t you kiss me back, then?” he almost whispers, thumb brushing over your hipbone. “this is gonna sound weird, but… my mom,” you reluctantly let out.

“you’re gonna have to elaborate,” tom prompts you and raises an eyebrow. you can’t hold back your eye roll. “she’s never been a fan of the person you are in the media.” his lips form a line. “i gathered.” your fingers tangle in his curls at the nape of his neck reassuringly. “i was subconsciously scared i would be letting her down in some way, if we were together.”

tom allows your hands to work their way up to his scalp. he exhales contentedly as you play with his ever so soft hair. “i understand, she’s intimidating. what’s changed that brilliant mind of yours about coming clean?” your nose scrunches up when he pokes one of your temples. “oh, yeah. i yelled at her earlier ‘cuz she stole me away from you.” his face lights up. “sexy.” “shut up,” you groan. “someone had to tell her off.”

“good thing it got to be you,” tom agrees with a squeeze at your hip. “‘m proud of you, y/n/n. it’s not easy, standing up to mummy dearest.” you tug on his hair. “like you’d know. nikki is a saint.” “that’s what she’ll have you believe,” he says under his breath, you gasping. his lips turn up in a smirk. “on that note… i love you, too.”

“would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t say it back,” you acknowledge with a cheesy smile. tom dips his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “yeah, yeah. save the attitude for your mum.” your legs easily wrap around his waist, tom’s breath hot as it hits your face. “let’s give that kiss another go,” you mewl. he doesn’t hesitate to reply. “with pleasure.”

tom’s lips land on yours, you kissing back right away. he smiles into it as your lips gently move together. “about fucking time,” he grumbles, your hands situating in his chocolate curls once again. he’s savoring every second you touch him, kiss him, love him. the taste of your mouth is one he’s craved for longer than you could imagine.

it doesn’t take long for things to heat up, you messing with tom’s hair and tom rubbing your hips. you lay back on the desk as his tongue enters your mouth. holding you by your waist, tom hovers over you. his tongue tangles with yours in a deep kiss. between that and his fingers beginning to massage your thigh, you’re done for. you’re ready to take this a step further by the time he’s kissing down your neck.

“tommy?” you grab onto his shoulders, your head back. his lips detach from your skin with a grin. “yeah, love? ‘s everything okay?” he coos, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. “more than.” you tilt his chin up to peck his lips. “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you? just thinking ahead.” he laughs breathlessly, reaching into his suit pocket.

“conveniently enough, i do. not sure your dad would like me fucking you on his desk, though.” tom sets his hand on your leg that’s still hooked around his waist. “my room’s always available. carry me?” you make grabby hands and bat your lashes. he hoists you up by your waist, not lifting you just yet. “that would break the news of us, no? your mum’s gonna go apeshit.” he keeps his arms around you, chuckling.

“let her. besides, i know a couple of bloggers that would love to announce our status update.” you peck tom’s lips, grinning as you do. you’re suddenly in the air and being picked up by tom. the surprise of it makes you squeal, clutching onto his broad shoulders instinctively. he gives you the look of adoration that’s reserved for you only.

“we’ll go pop a few bottles with everyone, then we’re celebrating on our own.”

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nejibaby · 3 years

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Deja Vu

Pairing: Neji x Fem!Uchiha Reader

Summary: Hyuga Hiashi does not approve of your relationship with Neji.

implied established relationship. implied that neji has plans marrying.

Word Count: 2.8k

Memories - Part 1 | Deja Vu - Part 2

A/N: gotta say it started out cute but then bam angst sjdjdens i’m sorry i’m dramatic sumtyms 🤧 please let me know your thoughts 🥺

The Sharingan never forgets.

That’s among one of the few things that’s drilled into your mind as a child born in the Uchiha clan. Before you had even awakened your Sharingan, your late brother, Shishui, had already taught you this.

At a young age, you’ve always thought it was a blessing, especially to a shinobi like you. With the ability of the Sharingan to discern movements and to retain its information better than any other dojutsu, it enables you to progress faster than children your age.

Outside the shinobi life, however, it’s not really that useful, so it’s expected for you not to activate it at all. You don’t need to remember minor details of everyday life after all. But on some of your days off — on special days — although very rarely, you unconsciously activate your Sharingan when you’re with Neji.

It goes without saying that before the war, you’ve already gained quite a bit of control over the use of the Sharingan. You’re able to activate and deactivate it at will, although sometimes your emotions get the better of you and it messes your control. After the war, however, you’ve become adept at controlling both your emotions and your Sharingan, maybe even better than Sasuke.

But whenever Neji surprises you with affectionate gestures, you get so overwhelmed that you just can't control your body, and by extension, your dojutsu too.

No matter how hard you try, you’re unable to stop the blood rushing to your face. You’re unable to calm the violent thumping of your heart. You’re unable to get rid of the fluttering feeling in your stomach. You’re unable to prevent the Sharingan from activating. Especially on the rare occasions that he kisses the back of your hand tenderly after he walks you home, or when he kisses your lips before he leaves for a mission.

Neji isn’t good at romantic gestures, and so he keeps it to a bare minimum. But when he does these things, it always takes you by surprise.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he likes your cute reactions to his unpredictable acts. There’s always this short moment where your mind goes blank and your Sharingan manifests itself. This reassures him of your feelings for him because he knows he’s the only one who’ll be able to pull such a reaction from you. Not that he’s ever doubted you. You’ve always been so vocal about your feelings for him, after all.

On the flip side, while it embarrasses you that you can’t control your Sharingan when you’re with Neji, you like the way they activate themselves at those moments, as they’re able to help you remember the details of its aftermath — like the way Neji would always look down on the floor first before he meets your eyes, his cheeks tinted pink, and with the slightest upturn of his lips, almost as if he, himself, wasn’t expecting the onslaught of emotions that was brought about by his own actions. In mere seconds, you have all these memorized before he pulls away, and you play it over and over again in your mind until you’re branded with a new memory.

But the Sharingan is a curse as much as it is a blessing.

It’s a curse because it reminds you of the cruelty of the world. It doesn’t allow you to forget the scene of the Uchiha clan district after the massacre, even after knowing the true reason why it had to be done. It lets you remember the way you almost lost Neji from the Ten Tails’ attack during the war in his attempt to protect Naruto and Hinata.

And when Sasuke implanted Shisui’s eye to you, which he retrieved from Danzo before he annihilated him, the Sharingan lets you relive all his memories and experiences, and it paints you a picture of how unfair the world actually is, even more so to an Uchiha like you.

The unfair reality is further proven by an unexpected knock on your door a couple of weeks ago.

Hiashi. Hyuga Hiashi. The head of the Hyuga clan. Neji’s uncle.

He came to you with a deal, a proposition of sorts, but really it was just a threat in disguise as an offer.

“Leave Neji or else I’ll make sure he won’t be able to break free from his cage” is what he basically implied.

But to be precise, his words were, “The Hyuga clan is considering Neji to be the next heir, which would result in abolition of the main and branch family system altogether. Naturally, if he becomes the head of the clan, his curse seal will be removed, along with all the other branch family members’. However, there’s no telling if there’s going to be a change if he doesn’t get the position.

“You might have been keeping your relationship with him on the down-low, but the elders of the Hyuga clan know of it.

“To put it bluntly, we do not wish to be associated with the Uchiha in any way — so much that even disowning Neji has been put out there as an option, just in case — especially after what Sasuke pulled off after defeating the goddess.

“Moreover, if you were to bear a child together, there’s no telling what will happen to their kekkei genkai. It would be ideal to have him marry into the clan and follow tradition in order to preserve the Byakugan.

“I suppose you know where I’m going with this. It would be in his best interest if you call off whatever you have with him. Although this wouldn’t be a deal if there is nothing in it for you, right? Supposing Neji’s bright future is not enough for you, we are willing to arrange allowances of sorts.”

But before he could spout anything more, you cut him off by asking, “Does he know about this?”

“Not yet. But we’ll let him know soon enough.”

“Don’t. Keep it that way. I’ll handle this,” you told him, not caring if you didn’t sound respectful to a prominent figure such as himself. “I don’t need anything from your clan. All I want and need is for Neji to live a life that he deserves; a life that he was robbed off.”

Hiashi glared at you, offended by your words, but he didn't comment on it. Rather, he stared you down. His hardened expression morphing into suspicion the longer he looked at you; clearly he didn’t trust you. “How will you handle it?”

The only response he got from you is an intense stare with your Sharingan, and that alone was enough for him.

It’s frustrating to not have a choice, even when it comes to love, but in hindsight, you should’ve expected this. For all the troubles your ancestors caused in the past, it’s only natural for you to be this unfortunate.

Whatever blessing the Uchihas receive, it’s always paired with some type of misery. That’s just how it is, that’s how it would probably always be.

There’s no denying that in the end, it always, always hurts. But then again, you’re no stranger to pain and loss. And so is Neji. So surely, this would be for the best, at least that’s what you tell yourself over and over again in hopes that it will strengthen your resolve.

After all, Neji deserves a life where he doesn’t have to fear dying by the hands of the main branch family. He deserves a life where he can make choices of his own, without being tied down by his curse seal or his clan in general. And if leaving him means he’ll have all this and more, so be it.

As much as it is painful, it is hard, partly because of your waning resolve but especially because it’s Neji, who’s known for being an awfully perceptive shinobi. He’s almost never caught off guard, all the more when he’s with you, as he’s always keen on keeping you safe. Hence, you have to be meticulous and methodical.

The Sharingan’s ability to cast genjutsu is particularly harder to use against Hyugas due to their ability to see and sense the chakra concentrating by the eyes, enabling them to counter or avoid it entirely. Shisui’s Kotoamatsukami technique would’ve been quite useful, except you’re unable to use it yet because of the events prior to the war. Thus, you’ll have to rely on your own skills.

If timed right and casted properly, the genjutsu of the Sharingan has the ability to remove memories. To be precise, it can trick his mind into “forgetting” memories. But with years and years of memories between you and Neji, you know that you’ll have to cast it over and over again before everything will be completely wiped out.

You take advantage of the moments where Neji gives you affection, as you deem it the most subtle way to cast genjutsu on him without suspicion.

Although you have to admit, in the beginning you’ve been selfish, only removing memories of you and him that weren’t important — like the times he would accompany you in doing mundane tasks, or the times you both just lounge around after tiring missions. And because those are only minor memories, Neji is oblivious to the loss.

It gets exceptionally harder to cast the genjutsu once you’ve started erasing the major events in your relationship — the first date, the first kiss, the first time he held your hand, and the first time he introduced you as the love of his life. Until eventually, the affectionate acts dwindle down, and the only way you can use the Sharingan around him is when you ask him to train with you.

It’s only natural that the longer this goes on, the further you drift apart, and the more you lose him.

And it’s scary and painful because unlike Sasuke, Konoha has always been your home, but more specifically because of Neji. In fact, you can argue that Neji has always felt like home more than the village itself. You can walk the streets of Konoha but all it will ever scream is Neji’s name, and all it will ever show you is the memories you shared with him on every corner of the place.

The fact that you have to walk the streets without him is terrifying and foreign, and the only way you can avoid it altogether is by taking more and more missions, either the ones involving far away places or high rank missions that require every single bit of your concentration. Sometimes you even tag along to Sasuke’s expeditions to escape not only Neji’s overwhelming presence in the village, but also the thoughts of him.

It’s tiring and it’s heavy. But you’ve accepted the fact that you’re going to carry alone the memories for the two of you.

But this doesn’t go unnoticed by your friends, though they were quick to assume that things just didn’t work out between the two of you, and that you called your relationship off.

Ino is the first person to voice out her concern and her curiosity as she claimed it’s weird not seeing you hang out with Neji anymore.

“That’s just how it is, I suppose,” you shrug, trying to act nonchalant about everything despite the ache in your chest and the slight quiver of your voice.

She doesn’t comment further, thinking you probably didn’t want to talk about it.

But one day, when the whole clique — except for you and Sasuke — was hanging out, Ino can tell there was something wrong when Sakura asked if Neji remembered the time when you almost fell off a tree but he was there to catch you, and he furrowed his brows, saying he doesn’t recall that at all.

Break up or not, it’s highly unlikely for Neji to forget. Regardless of how minor something is, he always seems to remember them, especially when it involves you. And while he could’ve just been deflecting, there would’ve been no point in him denying that he remembers that occasion. Besides, Neji is blatantly honest, it’s one thing that you can count on when it comes to him, so really, how come he couldn’t remember that scenario at all?

This prompted Ino to observe Neji further out of concern and suspicion. She’d often find herself casually mentioning you and the feats you’ve both been through, but time and time again, Neji would tell her he has no recollection of those.

Ino wants to do something, anything really, just to clear her mind of suspicions, but she’s afraid she’s overstepping and interfering.

Neji takes notice of this. But even before that, he feels as though there’s something wrong, like something’s missing, but he doesn’t know what it is, and he doesn’t know what to do about it.

After all, genjutsu might’ve tricked his mind, but his heart is an entirely different case.

It comes as a surprise to Ino when Neji comes to visit her in Yamanaka’s flower shop, looking at your favorite flowers without a clue why.

With Ino being the only one who seems to be willing to talk about you with him, it’s her who he seeks out. That, and he thinks the Yamanaka’s mind jutsus could be of help.

Ino doesn’t hesitate to help after Neji asks for it. When she goes to explore Neji’s consciousness, the first thing that she senses is your chakra. The further she prods, the more she realizes that it’s you who have been tampering with his memories. Then she realizes that it’s genjutsu that you’ve used on him, and she quickly breaks him out of it.

You know instantly when the jutsu breaks, feeling as if there was a string that snapped, and it immediately renders you frozen.

Fear grips you as you think about how Neji would feel after his memories come back. Will he be able to tell it was you who did it? Will he be mad at you? Will you tell him the reason why you did it? Will he even listen?

But if he’d stop talking to you altogether… then that would still be a win, right? Because that’s what Hiashi wants, that’s what his clan wants. That’s the only condition for them to give back Neji’s freedom.

But is it worth it?

Is this what you want?

Is this what Neji would want?

You’d like to believe so. And that’s the last thought you have as the rogue shinobi you’re supposed to capture stabs a kunai deep into your gut.

Of all the times the genjutsu could have broken, it just had to be when you were facing a highly skilled ninja. It’s once again a reminder that life is unfair, but this time, it’s your choices that lead you to this.

Deja vu. That’s how you feel when you wake up after escaping death’s clutches once again.

You blink once, twice, and then you look around your surroundings. You’re back in Konoha’s hospital, but this time you don’t wake up to a sleeping Neji by your bed.

You’re alone, and you feel hollow.

But then the door to your room opens abruptly and you almost jump in surprise.

Your breath hitches as you find the familiar lavender eyes staring back at you.

He calls your name to you softly, as if in a trance, and you feel your heart stutter at how perfect your name sounds on his lips.

Before you know it, he’s by your side, gently holding your hands. With an untrained eye, it would seem that his face is void of any emotion, but from your years of experience with him, you can clearly point out the sadness in his eyes.

You break the silence by saying, “I’m sorry, Neji.”

“For what exactly?”

You look away in shame. “For trying to erase your memories of us.”

“Why’d you do it then?”

“Because…” you bite your lip. “That’s what’s best for you,” your voice cracks. “I’m not… We couldn’t— no — we shouldn’t be together.”

Neji gathers his thoughts, and it takes a couple of minutes before he speaks up. “The Sharingan may not be able to forget, but the Byakugan sees everything.”

And you understand what he’s trying to say: he can see through the lies you feed yourself.

Neji sighs, and it gets your attention. You peek at him, and only then have you noticed the bags under his eyes and the way his shoulders are slightly slumped.

He has always looked composed no matter the situation, but now he’s different.

“You used to tell me everything,” he says dejectedly.

The way he says it and the way he pleads with his eyes breaks something in you and you spill everything to him.

You’re crying and stuttering and you aren’t sure if you’re making sense. But Neji always, always understands you.

And by the end of your piece, you’re wrapped securely in his arms.

“You’re alright,” he comforts you. “We’re alright.”

“But Hiashi—”

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

here’s some really good ideas sent on anon for part 3!

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

Note

half-spider half-human yandere with a darling who has arachnophobia

I think I’ve just been in a Yandere!Monster mood this week - I don’t know how else to explain what I’ve been posting, recently. Can you blame me, though? They’re so easy to run from, so easy to be afraid of… It’s only natural that they make good Yanderes.

Title: Arachnophobia.

TW: Spiders, Dehumanization, Mentions of Injury, and Mentions of Death.

It’d always been the legs, for you.

You weren’t squeamish. If it hadn’t been for the legs, you wouldn’t mind spiders at all. The uncharacteristic fuzz that coated their bodies, those unblinking eyes that were too big and too small at the same time, their distorted proportions and awful fangs and general wrongness, you could take all of that, even if you didn’t care for it. Their legs were the only thing that got to you, the only thing that made you fear the tiny, harmless creatures beyond all reason. You weren’t blind, you knew there were much worse things to be scared of, and yet, nothing sent a chill up your spine like the thought of an insect no bigger than your thumb crawling up the back of your leg or finding its way into your hair, its steps so light and silent, you wouldn’t know its there, not until it’s already made its fangs at home under your skin. It’s irrational, or, it was irrational, at least. It used to be.

Ikto wasn’t harmless. You didn’t have to tell yourself not to be afraid of him.

If anything, you should be more afraid than you’ve ever been. It wasn’t like he hadn’t given you a reason to be.

You cried out as you collapsed, the noise somewhere between a defeated sigh and a desperate scream, too quiet to do you any good but too loud to go unnoticed in the stillness of the darkened forest. It’d been childish to go into the woods alone, it’d been stupid, and you’d known that when you came up with the idea. Still, you hadn’t thought it’d been stupid enough to get you killed. The legends told of a creature who spun web like rope, who could string up a group of hunters in translucent silk so quickly, they wouldn’t have time to notice they were being trapped, not before it was too late to get away. You weren’t a hunter, though, and you didn’t mean him any harm. You’d told yourself that a glimpse would be enough for you to overcome your fear, all you needed to do was look at him, and you’d never think twice about the spiders in your garden or the dark corners of your home again. But, you’d tripped, made a mistake, stepped on the wrong branch at the wrong time and earned a throbbing ankle and the attention of a monster for your efforts. It was so hard to navigate through cobwebs when you were running. It was so hard to navigate at all when you were crying.

And, as you collapsed to the dirt, weak sobs still racking over your chest as pain shot from your heel to your knee like hot trails of pure fire, you began to wish he’d just killed you when you interrupted his meal. That would’ve been kinder than letting you think you might’ve had a chance.

After a moment, you forced yourself to grit your teeth, moving to push yourself up, but it was already a moment too late. Without warning, without sound, something tapered and unyielding dug into the space between your shoulder blades, pushing you flat against the ground and giving you a minute to fight back, only pulling away then you failed to struggle against its strength. You already knew what it was, what it had to be, but you still found yourself holding back a gasp as you were unceremoniously dragged onto your back, clenching your eyes shut in an effort to delay the inevitable. It was an exercise in futility, but you didn’t open them again.

Not until something soft and familiar brushed against your cheek, and your entire body jerked up involuntarily. You had to fight not to scream, the awareness of just how dead you were making the pangs of your injury pale, in comparison.

If Ikto had any intention of making your slaughter swift, though, you couldn’t tell. He simply towered above you, watching with four pairs of eyes as you scrambled back, using what was less of your courage to put an arm’s length of distance between you and your hunter. You had to wonder why you’d ever thought you stood a chance against him. Standing, you would’ve only come to his waist, to the junction where his grey, thick flesh faded into a black exoskeleton, so sleek and so impenetrable, you knew the tiny dagger you’d brought for your protection would be useless before it was even in your hand. You could barely see his face, but you didn’t have to. Everything, from the mocking tilt of his head to the way his shoulders tensed and bounced upward in a stifled laugh, made his amusement clear. His tone did little to aid your blossoming humiliation, the heavy drawl only making you bow your head, your fear nearly overpowered by misplaced embarrassment. “I thought you’d be faster, human.”

You bit the side of your tongue, but you were speaking before you could stop yourself. More to quell your own nerves than to get on his. “I thought you’d be a better hunter, beast.”

That earned a breath of a chuckle, so airy and so dry, you might’ve missed it if he had anything to compete with. Unfortunately, no animals skittered from tree to tree to distract you, no birds sang to divert your attention. You couldn’t blame the woodland creatures for making themselves scarce. You’d avoid Ikto too, if you had a choice. “Awfully brave for someone who just stumbled into my web,” He started, bringing a hand - a human hand, thankfully - up to his chest, pouting in an exaggerated show of his offense. Despite his size, he moved soundlessly, stepping between dead leaves and over obstacles in a slow, seamless circle around you as he continued. Evaluating you, only speaking to keep himself entertained. “I was having such a nice night, too. No heroes come to slay me, no champions shouting to face me to prove their worth, no interruptions. Just me and my prey.” This time, you got a sigh. A shake of his head. A step too close, a spindly leg coming just a breath too near, leaving you shaking and digging your nails into the dirt, trembling as he looked on. “And then you came along and ruined it.”

“I’m lost.” The lie was spat hastily, forced out too quickly to be believable. This time, when he edged closer, you brought your knees up to your chest, curling into yourself defensively. “I didn’t mean to bother you. I don’t want to be here, I’m just… I can’t find my way home. I don’t know what to do. If you let me go--”

“If I let you go, you’ll get stuck in one of my webs and I’ll find you weeks later, starved and dehydrated and begging for my help.” He paused, pursing his lips, settling in front of you. When he crouched, his knees bending into jagged points and his arachnid stomach nearly brushing against the ground, you went tense, but you didn’t dare to move. You didn’t dare to look at him. You didn’t dare to think, not when it felt like he was prying into your mind a little more with every second he spent staring you down. “It might be nice. I’ve never heard someone plead for my help rather than my mercy. I try not to play with my food, but I wasn’t expecting something so small and so tempting to stumble into my territory. Certainly not something with the nerve to expect me to believe such a boring excuse.” A growl seemed to edge its way into his voice, absent of the primal reverberation it should’ve contained, full of something manufactured, painfully learned. You might’ve felt sorry for him, if he hadn’t been close enough for you to see the dozens of harsh, pointed teeth that prevented him from bridging the gap. “Are you that eager to get this over with, human? Do you want to die?”

You didn’t hesitate, shaking your head furiously as his smile returned. Unconsciously, your fingers twitched, ready to search the satchel strapped to your side for any weapon you could find, but in the blink of an eye, the burlap sack was speared through, flicked to the side with little more than a tear of fabric and the rattle of its content. “Please, I didn’t mean to--”

“I’ll compromise.” Again, he cut you off, standing to his full height, taking your wrist as he did so and dragging you to your feet, his grip not loosening when you winced, attempting to favor the foot that wasn’t trying to detach itself from your body. “I won’t kill you. I’ll take you back to my den, make sure you’re attended to, but you have to come with me willingly. Say you’ll behave, and I’ll make sure you don’t have to limp your way into the loving jaws of the nearest wolf.”

You didn’t respond, but you flinched, and that was enough of an answer for Ikto. With a sharp, sudden pull, you were off of your feet entirely, dragged against him and held there with one arm, his free hand pressing against the back of your head, encouraging you to lean into him, to be affectionate. You wanted to push yourself away, to tell him you didn’t need his pity, that you’d rather take your chances with the most rabid of dogs than with try your luck with him, but your ankle pulsed and your body ached and you needed his help more than you wanted not to. And when Ikto began to walk, when you caught a glimpse of a long, inhumane leg moving easily over the uneven terrain, you weren’t sure if you could even move.

You weren’t sure if running was an option, not if he’d be the one chasing you.

“It gets lonely, occasionally,” He admitted, his voice so soft, you almost didn’t hear him. You almost wished you hadn’t been listening, by the time he thought to go on.

“And I’ve always liked the idea of keeping a pet.”

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honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: fanboy!taehyung x artist!reader

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 13.7k

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: still bitter about a scandal that ruined your painting career, you’re recommended a getaway by your therapist to a small island off the coast of seoul. expecting a tranquil location to wallow in self-pity, you’re startled when on your first night, you encounter an avid fan of your work. instead of annoying you for an autograph, kim taehyung ends up being the very thing you need to fall in love with art again.

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: sexually explicit content, reader suffers from poor mental health but nothing serious, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, praise, that’s kinda it, it’s pretty soft tbh

The breeze is light here, broken by the gentle rise of the sand dunes behind you. It runs over your skin like water, a warm current that lasts long after the sun slips below the horizon line.

You sit for hours watching it, the tail of pinks and oranges and ochres that reflect thickly on the top of the water, the shallow crests of low tide. There’s a pull in your heart, a twitch at your fingers. The you a year ago would’ve had her paints out already, an easel with legs precariously shoved in the dry sand. The you a year ago would have been tossing up whether cadmium yellow or cadmium orange would suit the last slip of sun above the water, and whether you should wait til it was gone entirely to save making the decision.

Then again, the you a year ago would never have needed to come here.

The you today just waits, silently, you don’t even know what for. You’d been told this was a getaway. That you just needed some time to recover your muse, or some bullshit like that. But the more time you sit in silence and watch the sky blacken to navy and the stars prick the darkness with dazzling clarity, you think your therapist was wrong. How was this a getaway when all your problems were still festering inside you?

“Oh my god, Y/n L/n?”

You groan and sink back into the sand, head cushioned on the warm piles. Just your fucking luck. “You’ve got the wrong person,” you call out with eyes squeezed shut, praying the stranger will leave you alone. The last thing you needed was a green reporter or psycho fan to spill your location to the rest of the world. You can only imagine the headline. Disgraced painter Y/n L/n found hiding away on a tropical island eight months after she ruined the Met Gala.

“Oh my god, it is you! I’m a massive fan, wow!”

Fuck. At least there was a chance they’d keep quiet. You crack open an eye, staring up at the figure beside you, cast in shadow. From the glint of moonlight, you can see a crown of ruffled hair that’s a faded teal. It reminds you of the impressionist painting of a mountain lake that threw your work into the public eye. Just as faded as the dye on his hair, that time feels worn and aged, like from another life. A reminder of how far you’d fallen. “Look,” you confess lowly to the silhouette, “I just wanna be left alone, I’m not- I’m just here for a break from...everything.”

The figure shifts his weight in the sand, raising an arm to scratch at the back of his neck shyly. “I don’t mean to disturb you,” he apologises. With the slight breeze, his baggy clothes buffet around his lean figure and in the darkness he looks like some vengeful angel, towering over you with the moon behind him. But his voice is so soft, so genuine, so- so warm. Perhaps not vengeful, then, but definitely an angel. “You’re a hero of mine, I wanted to thank you for how much you’ve inspired me, saved me. Gosh, it’s crazy that you’re even here, I-”

“I’m sorry,” you force out, sitting up, wincing as grains of sand work their way down the nape of your neck, “really, I am. But I’m not the person you’re thinking of. Not anymore, at least.” You hate the way your voice rings out so thinly in the night air, nothing like the deep honey of his. You hate the way you sound broken.

He senses it too; he takes a step back, turns towards the dunes. “I should be going, I guess,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I hope I see you around. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

You don’t respond, wrapping your arms around your hunched knees and staring at the silver ocean until you can no longer see him in your peripheral vision.

—

It’s over a week before you see him again. Though you’d never admit it to anyone, you keep an eye out for the boy with the teal hair. There wasn’t enough light that day to make out his face but still, with hardly any people for miles, you hadn’t anticipated he’d be all that difficult to find.

Truth be told, there had been a deep curl of regret and dissatisfaction that took root inside you shortly after you left. He was just trying to be nice, and you could use a friend. Could use someone.

You had asked for privacy when your therapist began recommending a break, a getaway, but you hadn’t expected it to this degree. The place you were staying at was a rundown bungalow just behind the dunes, tucked away in a sliver of land where sand met forest, rising up into hills. The only people you saw were the employees that ran it: a maid that stopped by every day at 1pm, even though you had already made the bed and cleaned up after yourself; an older gentleman that delivered you fresh groceries every couple of days in his ancient-looking four wheel drive; and finally, the electrician you’d had to call out a few nights prior after the power went out.

The mysterious fan hadn’t been dressed like an employee; then again, it was long past the workday when he’d approached you. Mulishly, you find yourself lugging a picnic blanket and a pillow down to the beachfront every evening, monitoring every inch of the coastline that stretches around this edge of the peninsula.

It’s only on the ninth night, when you’re folding up your rough blanket with a disappointed grumble, that a sudden yap catches your attention. You whirl around, toes sinking deeper into the light sand, and gasp as a familiar silhouette approaches, stumbling down a sand dune to your left.

He hasn’t seen you yet; so focused on the tiny fluffball that tugs restlessly at its leash. It’s a lot earlier tonight than the last time you’d seen him, and there’s enough remnants of sunlight in the sky to cast him in a warm golden glow.

He’s in baggy clothes like last time, a long-sleeved white t-shirt with a v in the center, unbuttoned and sagging over the shoulder of the arm that’s getting yanked along, and some tan linen shorts. It’s hard to tell with how he sinks to his ankles in sand with every step, but he’s barefoot, almost sliding down the steep dune more so than walking.

You can’t hear him at this distance, but his lips are moving, parted in a boxy grin as he responds to the constant yipping of the tiny dog at his feet. He’s gorgeous, tanned skin to fit the honey of his voice - the voice you’ve been unable to shake from your head - and the roots of his hair are the colour of brown sugar, lightening into the dyed teal ends, whipping over his cheeks and neck in the seabreeze.

He turns off when he reaches the base, following his dog, who pulls in your direction, short bursts of energy that get cut off by the length of the leash. Your heart jumps, and you find yourself waiting in anticipation, breath caught in your throat.

But the moment he glances up and sees you, he halts in his tracks. Stepping back, his smile falls, bowing his head to you apologetically and pulling on the leash so that the small black-and-tan puppy at his feet turns around with him.

They start walking away from you, and you don't have time to think before you're calling out to him, jogging over with your blanket and pillow forgotten behind you.

He stops walking, though he doesn't turn, and when you finally come to a stop beside him, he keeps his head down.

"Look, I'm sorry about yesterday," you rush out, slightly out of breath, "I was in a really shitty mood, and I had kinda come here to get away from...everything in the first place. I wasn't expecting a fan, and I reacted badly. I'm sorry."

Even after standing still, you can't seem to catch your breath. You haven't seen him this close, in this much detail, and it makes the air catch in your lungs. His eyes are an intense burnt umber, dancing over your face with an unreadable depth to them. He's taller than you, but not bulky. Though his shoulders are wide, he's lean, with a narrow nose and soft cheeks. The wind plays with the ends of his hair, revealing glimpses of a strong brow. He's beautiful.

"I didn't mean to bother you," he says after a moment, and you almost jump at the timbre of his voice so close to you, "I should be the one apologising. I'll leave you alone, honestly. I can find another place to go for a walk, or go at a different time-"

"Do you walk here a lot at this time?" you interrupt, the euphoria of finally holding a conversation after so long loosening your tongue. "You haven't been back since that night."

He tips his head to the side, shoulder jerking when his dog impatiently tugs at the leash, quiet snuffles and yips of disapproval ignored in the air between you. There's a flicker of something in his eyes - surprise? Amusement? "You were looking for me?"

"I-" Your voice fails you, and you realise how pathetic you must look. Your shoulders sink. "I was... I wanted to apologise," you land on finally.

That strange flicker in his eyes settles into a grateful warmth. "I normally do, yeah, but I had to go back to the mainland to pick up this guy." With a genuine smile, he glances down to the ball of fluff that's now lying over his bare foot. "I stayed there while he got his first lot of vaccinations. You can pat him, if you want."

You can recognise that offer for what it really is; an olive branch. In other words, he's apparently not holding a grudge against you for being an asshole. You smile gratefully, crouching down to pat the tiny animal. "What's his name?"

"Yeontan," he answers cheerily. "he's nine weeks old!"

You coo, chuckling at the soft fur wriggling beneath your fingertips, at the wet nose prodding at your palm for more pats. "Yeontan..." you muse. "Why does that name sound familiar?"

You hear a sheepish laugh from above. "Your, um, your painting of the old barn in Icheon? There's a kennel that's beside it in shadow, but you can just make out the name Yeontan painted on the front. I-" He breaks off awkwardly, falling silent.

Your hand freezes, and you feel yourself slump from a crouch to sitting fully on the sand, still hot from the afternoon sun. Yeontan. A detail you couldn't even remember painting, yet he'd named his dog after it. The dog continues to cover your hands in slobber and stray fur, but you just stare at it blankly.

"I'm sorry," the man winces, tone low with defeat. "You probably think it's stupid. I swear I'm not one of those crazy obsessed fans! There was just..." His voice changes then, closes up to cut off any emotion. "I shouldn't say. Sorry."

Your shoulders slacken. "You don't have to keep apologising," you say softly. After a moment's thought, you push up off the sand to stand up again, grains clinging to the skin that's damp from the dog's affections. The handsome stranger's face is stricken, reluctant as he watches you get up. You miss the boxy smile he'd held when he made his way down the dunes. You wonder if he'll ever smile that way at you. "I wanna hear. What you have to say."

Hand flexing on the leash, he looks down at Yeontan and back up at you, eyes squinted slightly as the sun glares onto his face; a radiant, sharp orange. "One of the reasons I'm such a fan of your work is the emotion you can actually see on the canvas. I don't even know how to explain it, but I feel it. And with the Icheon barn painting - I actually saved up for years to buy the original - there's something so sad and lonely about that kennel, that patch of shadow. The rest of the scene is so bright and open, it feels like a party that the kennel wasn't invited to. I don't know, it's stupid. But I thought if I ever bought a dog, I'd name it Yeontan so that it wouldn't feel so alone." He faces the horizon as he speaks, wincing into the light, and a broken laugh bubbles out of his throat once he's done. "Like I said; it's stupid."

But you don't think it's stupid at all. "Did it work?" you ask instead, nose prickling as tears build behind your eyes. The more he spoke, the more you remember the painting. It was your last work before the Met Gala disaster, and after everything went down in flames, desperate online tabloids went back to it, citing it as a 'cry for help'. You hadn't really painted it like that though, not really. You'd seen that beautifully painted barn in the countryside when you were driving between cities to visit your parents, and was taken by the dilapidated dog kennel tucked just beside it. Painting it wasn't some sort of clue to your nosedive, but more like a solidarity with that kennel, the dog that once lived there. The story that had been forgotten. And to hear this man had seen it, had wanted to ease the suffering just like you had... The emotions inside you, ones that had felt so dull and monochrome, now churn inside you in indecipherable technicolour, too many to count. But you think one of them might just be hope. "Did- did getting Yeontan work?"

He's looking at you now. He stays silent for a moment, the softest smile tugging at your lips, and it takes your breath away, watching the colours of sunset play across his skin while his brown eyes seek yours out intensely. "Yeah, it did," he answers eventually, his voice almost a whisper. It's only once he starts speaking that you realise the two of you have moved closer inwards without realising, so that it would only take a half step forward to be pressed against him. "But I think talking with you has helped more."

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. The whirlpool inside you settles, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in years. You don't know what it is about this man that makes you feel...sane again, but you want more of it. "I think talking with you has helped me too," you confess, voice lilting in uncertainty. "Can... can I see you again? I don't even know your name, but-"

"Taehyung," he answers immediately, and even with the fall of night, the sun well and truly gone, his eyes are bright. "I could come back tomorrow?"

Your toes flex in the sand fighting the urge to jump in relief. "Yes! Yes, I'd like that," you chime, a smile tugging at your lips. "It was nice to meet you, Taehyung."

"The pleasure is all mine."

You sleep well that night. You can’t remember the last time the peaceful rays of sun have woken you so gently, but you certainly aren’t complaining.

You’d spent the past week or so moping in your cabin until late afternoon and then moping on the beach. Only now, after finally meeting the boy again - Taehyung - you realise how much you’ve been wasting your time buried in your own thoughts. Now all you want to do is explore. You’d been told on the ferry over here that the island was only a few hours’ walk around the coastline, and that your cabin, a street of shops and a small village of houses were the only signs of life. No bar to drown your sorrows at. No club for finding faceless strangers to make you forget who you were for a few hours. All your coping vices had been replaced with open stretches of nature in all its colours; the cool grey rocky beaches on the southern shore, the lush greens of the hilly forests, the glinting turquoise of the sea, and open plains of pastel sky for miles and miles.

The walk isn’t particularly intensive, but it’s long, and your feet ache in their sandals by the time you reach the docks again, having marked a full loop around the island. The dock, empty this late in the morning, leads directly to the main street via a cobblestone path that weaves between dunes, flax bushes, fields and a skinny stretch of trees, and you follow it to the center of the island, resting in a small cafe.

There’s no free WiFi here, so you sip at a tall glass of homemade strawberry lemonade and watch the streets through the storefront window. From your seat, you can see the people wander back and forth, the odd few with kids, but almost all are retirement age. Slow-moving couples with walkers and canes, elderly men jangling the keys to their vintage cars (that surely didn’t have much road to drive on), women with age-spotted skin and heavy beaded jewellery.

You can’t work out how Taehyung fits in this picture. It’s almost impossible to picture him walking down the same street as everyone else; his dyed hair, clothes two sizes too big, tall and slender frame hurrying down with a dog leash in one hand and a grocery bag in the other-

Wait.

You straighten up, eyes widening as you watch the man himself pauses to let Yeontan cock his leg on a patch of grass by the intersection. Physically, he’s entirely incongruous with the rest of the villagers, but he looks entirely at home, glancing up to smile in recognition at every figure that passes by him. One goes so far as to reach up and ruffle his hair playfully as she talks, and his face brightens with crinkled eyes and a boxy grin, greeting her warmly.

The same feeling of longing and dissatisfaction stirs you from the other time you saw that smile. You want to be the one that makes him so happy. You frown, unconsciously chewing on the end of the paper straw. It’s too hot in here. There’s not enough ventilation, and with the sun streaming in, the heat just pools inside, sticking to your thighs and arms. That’s why you leave the cafe before finishing your drink. The heat.

The lady has left by the time you cross the street, and you fake a cough noisily as you pass him, eyes cast away but face turned so he’d easily recognise you.

“Y/n!” Your heart warms, keens at the calling of your name, and you turn to him, smiling broadly. Taehyung grins when Yeontan rushes over to greet you too, whole body rocking with the force of his tail wagging. “Fancy seeing you here,” he remarks, and you take in a deep breath of air, feeling lightheaded with his attention back on you.

“I decided to explore a bit,” you answer, eyes dropping down to the supermarket bag in his hands, white plastic taut and digging red lines into his palm with the weight of it. “Retail therapy?”

He laughs goodnaturedly, but there’s a flush of pink high on his cheekbones, standing out beside the strands of green that he’s tucked behind his ears. “It’s actually, uh, something for tonight. I didn’t know if you’d- If you still-” He breaks off his stammering with another laugh, this one more self-conscious, and the pink deepens to red. “I thought you and I could paint together. I bought us some materials just in case you didn’t bring your own.” You fall silent, mouth slack and parted in surprise, so he continues on, lifting up his hand for a moment, bag rustling, then changing his mind and letting it fall again. “There isn’t a proper art supplies store here, so it’s just from the toy store. I know you’re probably used to proper stuff, but a bad worker blames his tools, you know! Not that you would- that you’re a bad-”

“You paint?” you ask finally, ending his nervous rambling.

His whole body slackens a bit, like you’ve cut some tension from him, his head dipping down to break eye contact. “Um. I’m- learning,” he answers with an uncertain wobble to his voice.

You tilt your head to the side with an expectant smile. “That’s really cool. How long have you been studying?”

He swallows, looking up to send you a hesitant smile. “I, um, I studied the instructions on the back of a paint-by-numbers kit in the toy store. Just now.” His voice lifts at the end of each sentence like it’s a question, that same bargaining smile plastered on his face.

You let out a genuine laugh, the first one you’ve had in a while. In too long. “Is that so? I better bow down to the maestro then.”

“Hey!” he whines playfully, shoulders rocking forward like a toddler feeling sorry for himself. “I learnt everything I know so far just from your art. And did you hear that speech I gave you about The Barn at Icheon? That was pretty good, right? You have to admit, that was good.”

His hand, the one loosely holding Yeontan’s lead, reaches out to grasp gently just above your elbow as he speaks, rocking you slightly like he’s pleading for you to agree. You find a constant stream of laughter bubbling out of your throat as he does so, feeling so light in the sunny midday breeze. “Okay, okay, that was good,” you confess, “you get a point for that.”

Once your laughter subsides slowly, you find yourself looking up at him with a residual smile, the same of which is spread on his face, eyes glimmering with something fond. He waits for the air between you to fall silent, tongue slipping out just slightly to wet his lips as you hold his gaze. “Y/n,” he asks softly, your name like molten sugar on his tongue, thumb unconsciously rubbing at the sensitive skin in the crook of your arm, “will you paint with me?”

Though the thought of painting still sours inside your chest, with his skin on your skin and his smile just for you, you feel like you could do anything. There’s only one answer. “Yes, I’ll paint with you, Taehyung.”

Painting with Taehyung is less painting with Taehyung and more staring desolately into the middle distance as Taehyung decides to make the clouds purple, bottom lip sucked between his teeth in focus.

“Don’t overthink it,” he stresses for the millionth time, glancing over at your blank canvas, “I’m not judging you.”

But it’s not about him judging you. If it wasn’t for him, you don’t think a paintbrush would have ever found its way into your hands again, certainly not so soon. It’s just that- you feel an overwhelming burden, a historical pressure of all your mistakes before. If you put brush to canvas now and create a work of art, then was your complete mindblank for the Met Gala all for nothing? Though your therapist advised against it, you had rather become attached to the idea that you’d somehow gotten artistically injured somewhere, and that eventually you’d broken completely, irreparable. It made the constant white void easier. Your first death.

“Happy little accidents,” Taehyung says lightly, dipping heavily into orange and catching a dollop on his wide-leg jeans. Not noticing it, or not caring, he swipes the orange into the canvas in a wonky line down past the horizon line, forming the neck and body of what looks vaguely like a giraffe. “And, um, happy little- happy little trees. If you want we could turn around and face the forest?”

Though a glum cloud is settling in your stomach you flick him a soft smile. “So you watch Bob Ross too? I thought you said you learnt everything from me.”

Using the same brush, he scoops out some black, using a pinkie finger to mix the colours together inside the bristles, a murky brown. “Maybe just a little,” he admits, daubing rough patches onto the giraffe, half of them overlapping the edges of its body. There’s an endearing quality to his carefree worksmanship, and you can’t deny that his painting looks good, wonky lines and all. “But don’t worry, you’ll always be my first,” Taehyung adds, not looking at you but smirking all the same.

The double entendre isn’t missed on you, but still, as you sit on a picnic table right on the edge of the village, blank canvas in front of you, you can’t bring yourself to laugh at it. All you can see is the paint drying on the tip of Taehyung’s finger, the messy pots of basic acrylics, and the warm smile that doesn’t leave his face.

He’s having fun. How long has it been since painting has been fun for you? Annoyed, you grab the clear green plastic brush from the set, dipping it into black. Muscle memory tingles across your knuckles and down the muscles of your wrist, an instinct to hold the brush in a certain way, tap off the excess, but your frustration overrides it, and you take the paintladen brush and smear it directly across the center of the canvas, a gaping maw of glossy shadow that bulges on the lower edges, gravity pulling at the thick stripe. You go completely still once it’s done. Staring.

Taehyung looks over after a moment, watching you carefully. “Is everything alright? If you didn’t want to paint, we didn’t have to-”

“It’s terrible,” you interrupt, a frown marring your face. “I fucked it up.”

“You didn’t,” he chastises softly, pushing his canvas to the side and leaning over your shoulder. “It’s a promising start. Maybe the duck pond is black in your world.”

Your eyes slide lower, unfocused. “Maybe the whole ocean is black in my world,” you murmur.

He’s silent for a moment, unsure what to say. “Then how will the fish see?” he asks in a light tone, bumping your shoulder gently with his, but you just let out a broken sob, tears spilling over your cheeks like they’d been triggered by his contact. Taehyung’s mouth opens in a rounded o, eyes wide, and as the dam breaks, you feel an arm find your back, rubbing soothingly, and long, warm fingers wrap around the hand that holds the brush limply, cradling it. “We can fix it, it’s okay,” he soothes in a kind whisper, “here; it’s that mailbox now, yeah? And behind it is the candy shop-” His voice cuts off while he guides your shaking hand to the green, mixing it with white in the plastic pottle to make a pale pastel. You feel the pressure of the brush in your hand shift as he moves the bristles over the canvas in a roughly rectangular shape, but you’re unseeing, crying tears that sting like turpentine into that black ocean behind your eyelids, letting him move you.

The two of you stay like that for what feels like an eternity, you curled in his embrace as he quietly paints for you, commenting on each step of the process so you know what he’s doing, even with your eyes closed. At one point, your energy leaves you, and you collapse into him, pressing your cheek against the stable warmth of his chest, heartbeat audible through his thin t-shirt. He doesn’t complain, just adjusting his stance to better support you and resting his chin on your head.

“I’m sorry,” you blubber thickly at one point, tasting salt.

“You don’t have to be,” he assures, “just keep breathing. Look; let’s put some trees in, hm? One for you and one for me.”

You open your eyes with a sniffle, feeling your hand lower in his secure hold, and you twist around your head to watch him dip the filthy brush in a green which has already been tainted by white and red in places. Your eyes follow it up again, until he fearlessly swipes in the graceful branches of the fir trees which cover the highest points of the island. You look at the rest of the painting, and a disbelieving giggle bubbles out of you, a smile across your face despite everything.

Unlike the mental image you’d been plotting in your head with the narration, this square of canvas has a line of slightly leaning buildings stacked beside each other tightly, colours smearing on the borders. In the middle of the uneven grey strip of cement down the middle to mark out the road, two trees stand proud, mostly green but with bleeding patches of muddy purple and brown too. Entire drops of paint spatter and run, creating a chaotic but vivid daydream of the end of the street in front of you.

“A lot better in your head, wasn’t it?” Taehyung asks knowingly. You laugh again, the last few tears pressed out of the corners of your wet eyes. “It’s okay,” he replies easily, “it was better in my head too. But the one in our heads is boring, don’t you think? If I wanted to see the street in front of me exactly, I’d just look up. Or take a photo. But nobody can visit this place we’ve painted. It’s just here, brand new because of us. I think I like that more.”

You sit up, wiping your eyes with a tired smile. “There’s no way you learnt all that from me,” you deflect, voice still raw from crying. “But yeah. I think I like this one more too.”

“I’m glad,” he answers softly, letting go of your hand and removing his hand from your back at the same time. You suppress a shiver at the sudden absence of heat. “I’ll let this dry and hang it up right beside The Barn at Icheon.”

You laugh again, sniffing away the last dregs of self-pity. “You better not,” you warn playfully, “as semantically poignant as it is, it’s an awful paintjob.”

When Taehyung smiles, it’s bright and boxy. And it’s just for you.

Time passes, but not like in the real world. Out here on this island, you start counting the passage of time by how many occasions you’d met Taehyung. Then, once you’ve seen him too often to count, you let yourself lose track of time completely, remembering only the moments spent with him like vignettes on a fragile chain.

The two of you always meet in the town or on the beach, speaking about everything and nothing. One day, while waiting beside the blue metal mailbox for Yeontan to pee (though Taehyung still insisted it looked better black) you tell him of the time you accidentally turned all your clothes yellowy-green after accidentally putting an apron in the wash that had an opened sampler of chartruese in the pocket. On a rainy afternoon when you’d gotten caught in the downfall walking through the forest, Taehyung told you, while wringing out rainwater from his rumpled maroon sweater, that he was meant to be studying agricultural sciences on the mainland, but his grandmother was sick and so he bought a place nearby to care for her.

“One good thing about being on the island,” he’d chimed cheerily, dark teal and brown plastered to his cheeks and forehead, “is that property is super cheap here. My grandma paid half and I paid half, and now the one-bedroom I live in is all mine.”

“But isn’t that sad?” you’d questioned, feeling the ground turn to mud beneath your shoes. “Living on the island, I mean? You should be in a big city, partying with your friends, living life. This place is like one massive retirement village.”

Taehyung had just shrugged. “My grandma likes it. And I like living for someone else, you know? Makes me feel good.”

Long after you’d gone home, warming up by the radiator in your beachside bungalow, those words had stuck with you. You wonder if, with all this time he’s been spending with you, he’s starting to live for you, too. You wonder if maybe that’s a bad thing.

But still, time passes in this hazy, episodic way. Money continues to filter out of your bank account each week you stay, but you hadn’t worried about your finances for years now, enough successful exhibits from your productive days keeping a healthy sum.

Though he never pushes as much as last time at the picnic table, Taehyung keeps you creating. Backs of napkins, tourism pamphlets, the kids colouring sets at the local diner. No matter how scrawled or indecipherable, the soft-hearted boy compliments your work all the same, slipping the scraps into his pocket with a joking promise that he’s going to frame them. Somehow, every unthought, unplanned line of ink or lead or pigment that lights the page feels like one less needle buried deep inside your heart, one small salve to ease the burden. You don’t know if Taehyung knows it, but in all the ways that count he’s a better artist than you.

When he’s around you, the world is lusher, more vibrant. Your time alone is grey and muted; a dull beach, an empty bungalow. With him, you feel like the sky is bluer and the trees are greener. The bonfire you sit in front of now casts an intense orange glow on everything around it, including Taehyung’s hands as he deftly impales marshmallows onto a skewer.

It’s cooler at nighttime these days. At some point, you’d both exchanged sandals for sneakers, t-shirts for sweaters. Taehyung seems to fancy heavy cable knits and thick trousers even in mild weather, and you wonder if he’d still wear clothing typical of an elderly gentleman even if he was on the mainland in a modern city instead of around the older generation on the island.

Tonight, you’d tried and failed a traditional Korean barbecue over the open flame. While Taehyung had shoved his cut of pork right into the fire, ending up with a charred outside and raw inner, you’d diligently held yours above the flames, turning and turning until the muscles in your arm screamed and you had to give up and admit perhaps the meat from the local butcher was cut too thick, and that a bonfire was good for nothing more than toasted marshmallows.

“This is where it’s at, this is it,” the young man enthuses confidently, each skewer laden with four or five marshmallows, bunched together, “dessert for dinner. The way it should be.”

You’re content to sit back and let him work excitedly, wrapping the edges of the picnic blanket low over your shoulders and lap. Though Taehyung is always devastatingly handsome, he’s the most gorgeous like this: focused in his element and surrounded by all the colours and textures of nature, a painting come to life. The heat of the flames is curling his hair lightly, making teal ends flick at his temples and the nape of his neck. His hair was growing out steadily, but still he chose not to cut it, and you can’t deny the length suits him.

“There’s more brown than green now,” you mention softly. “Soon it’ll look like dip-dye.”

Taehyung glances back at you over his shoulder with a rougish grin, shuffling around so he faces you fully. “What; is this your way of saying it looks bad?”

“No,” you defend with a pout, reaching for the near-full packet of marshmallows. “I’m just curious if you’re gonna leave it like that.”

Taehyung hums like he doesn’t fully believe you, and he leans over to shove his hand in the packet at the same time that you’re rummaging for the soft sweets, your knuckles brushing together. You shiver at the contact. Somehow, that’s been the first time you’ve shared skin contact since that day at the picnic table. Wide-eyed, you wait til he’s grabbed a bunch and pull your own hand away, empty and white with powder.

“Sorry,” he adds reflexively, but you just shake your head. How are you supposed to tell him that you liked the feeling of his skin on yours? Taehyung pops a pink marshmallow into his left cheek, letting it bulge and slur his speech as he gives you a broad grin. “You could dye it for me! My hair, I mean. Pick a colour.”

Against your will, you smile back, cheeks puffing at the thought. “I have no idea how to dye hair, Tae.”

Something flickers in his eyes when you say that, or maybe it’s the dancing flames reflected in them. He chews quickly, swallowing with a jerk of his jaw, and licks the rest of the white powder off his lips. “I bet it’s a whole lot easier than painting a picture.”

You scoff, but there’s no bite to it. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to paint one of my works on your hair, then? Don’t fancy Jeju Dusk on your scalp?”

Taehyung grins at the name, recognising the title of one of your earlier paintings - one that had been relentlessly criticised for its blending of techniques, something that later became your signature. “That’s my second favorite piece, you know? I have a print of it at home, and I saw the original in the Leeum Museum last year.”

You remember the director of the Leeum fondly. In your beginning years, he’d fought for your works to be shown in some of the frequent exhibitions they held. Even though you’d barely made a name for yourself, and had only recently moved to Seoul, Director Kim Namjoon took you in like a mentee and gave you a job himself as his PA. The experience you’d gotten there, as well as that vital exposure, had kept you business-savvy throughout your career, and once you were in a position to give back, you donated almost all of your original canvases to the museum in his name. Maybe one day you’d return home to Seoul and tell Namjoon of the boy who lived on a faraway island, the boy who taught you to open up again. Would Taehyung still be with you then? Though it hasn’t been long, it’s hard to comprehend a life without Taehyung. All you can visualise is a great absence, a lack. You banish the thought from your mind with a shake of your head, glancing back up to see the boy himself boldly setting a skewer of marshmallows on fire in the orange heat. “I hope that’s your one,” you joke weakly as he puffs out the blue and orange that lick at the blackening lumps.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what my favorite work is?” he asks instead, ignoring your statement.

You stay silent for a moment, observing the way he discards the charred skewer in his lap and delicately toasts the other one, swivelling the base so that each side of the marshmallow stack warms to a golden brown. Once he pulls it out, he hands it to you with an expectant quirk of his brow. You take the stick with a slightly suspicious smile. “What’s your favorite, Taehyung?”

“Your next one,” he answers immediately, gaze locked on yours.

You blame the heat radiating off the bonfire for the warmth in your cheeks as you suppress a smile. “Alright then,” you say decisively.

“Alright what?”

“Alright, I’ll dye your hair for you.”

He grins broadly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons as he starts eating his thoroughly-burnt marshmallows. “Tomorrow,” he announces, melted strings of pink and white pooling in the corner of his lips. “Let’s meet at the convenience store and you can pick the colour.”

You smirk at the way he devours the toasted marshmallows with childish glee. “You’ll regret that when you come out of this with highlighter orange hair.”

He chucks his leftover stick into the grocery bag you brought your supplies in, letting himself collapse backwards onto the heated sand. “I think I could pull it off,” he deflects calmly. “Just you see.”

Breath taken away by the peace on his face as he closes his eyes, your mind works dizzily, desperate to find something to keep him talking, to keep this moment between you alive. “Maybe you could get a job as air traffic control. Or a streetlight. Just you wait; it’ll be orange orange.”

Taehyung’s face warms in a lazy smile as he hums. He looks so peaceful lying there that you’re tempted to join him, but you choose instead to shuffle back from the fire so that you can see his face better. His hair’s splayed out over the sand, and you can see the warm flickers from the bonfire play over his neck, his jaw, and the tip of his nose. Taehyung’s right; orange does suit him. “I had a dream, you know. Last night.”

You feel - with the gentle breeze and the silence of the sea surrounding you - that perhaps you’re in a dream right now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his low voice hushes, barely louder than the popping of wood on the fire. “We weren’t on the island, we were in Seoul. Your wing of the Leeum Museum.”

You laugh shallowly, not wanting to make much noise for a reason you couldn’t quite pinprick. “I don’t have a wing at the Leeum.”

“You did in my dream,” he defends resolutely, the beginnings of a boxy smile tugging at his lips. “Anyway, we were in your wing, and I remember being so confused because I didn’t recognise any of them. But you told me they were all new. They were paintings of m-” he cuts himself off a beat too late, lips pressed together.

Your heart falters, a rush of adrenaline that flows to the ends of your fingers and toes. You fight to keeo your voice steady. “Maybe it was a premonition.”

Resting on his stomach, Taehyung’s hands twitch, his fingers twisting together. His smile flattens into a tense line and his eyelids squeeze shut tightly. “I don’t wanna get my hopes up,” he admits quietly after a short pause of thought.

Looking back, you can’t remember your thought process, or where your boldness comes from. Maybe something about the way the moment felt detached from reality, a timeless bubble of the two of you that sat adjacent to your real life, separate from consequence. Maybe it was the brief glimpse of pink as he wets the inner seam of his lips. Maybe you’ve just wanted this for too long to think rationally anymore.

Whatever it is, you swallow past the dryness in your mouth, bend down, and press a kiss to his lips.

Taehyung goes completely still at first. You’re cross-legged on the sand, knees faced to his side, and when you kiss him, it’s on enough of an angle that you feel his nose brushing your cheekbone, and you can feel your hair falling down either side of your face like silken rain. He stays still, though, and you press a little harder, just for a moment, before his lack of response shatters your streak of confidence.

With a minute sigh of regret, you lift off of him, ready to sit up again and apologise profoundly. But before there’s more than a few centimeters of air between you, his hand is suddenly snaking around the nape of your neck, fingers slipping up into your hair as he pulls you back down.

When you collide again with a gasp, his mouth is parted, and his teeth scrape against your bottom lip with his urgency. Losing your balance, you throw your outside arm over him, palm plunging into the sand just beside his head, and let your upper torso rest on his his.

“Taehyung,” you sigh onto his lips, shivering when his free hand rests hotly on your waist, thumb slipping under the hem of your shirt to rub maddenly over the sensitive skin of your stomach. “Oh, Taehyung.”

His lips are sticky with the remains of the toasted marshmallows, and tentatively you seek out that sweetness, kissing deeper, letting your tongue slide over the pinkened skin. He holds you so gently, like you’re made of glass, yet his mouth on yours is pure fire, and your breath comes in little gasps, bursts of oxygen that only fan the flames higher. It takes you a few moments to realise the humming in his throat and the motion of his lips are words, so softly spoken, but once you do you slow your movements to a languid stream to better hear them.

“...so beautiful, I’ve wanted to do this for so long, I must be dreaming…” He speaks with his eyes half-lidded, like he doesn’t want to fully lose sight of you, uttering words between sweet kisses, strong hands cradling you so carefully. He presses his lips against yours one last time and moves his hand from your neck to your face, thumbing tenderly at your cheekbone. “God, I’m so lucky to be by your side,” he gasps. “And when you paint new works and attend exhibits, I’ll still be by your side.”

His words are sweet, but something about them strikes an odd note in your chest, and you pull back slightly, shaking off his hands.

He looks at you with wide eyes and swollen lips which are parted in a confused pout. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s my paintings,” you whisper disbelievingly, “isn’t it? That’s why you think you like me. You like my paintings, and you think it’s somehow the same thing.”

He frowns, shuffling back to sit up, further apart from you than you’d been all night. “No,” he says automatically, “I like you, I just… I think you’re talented, and I want to help you-”

“It’s not your place to help me,” you snap back, and Taehyung flinches. “I’m not some- some out-of-order printer that just needs some TLC to start pumping out pages again. You’re a fan, Taehyung, not a fucking therapist.”

He lets those words sit in the air until they sour, staring at you with eyes shiny and lips trembling. “I know that,” he says, voice cracking, “I know that. I just- Just because you had issues with the Met Gala exhibit doesn’t mean you have to run away and hide, you know?”

Your mouth falls open. “I… I didn’t have issues with the Met Gala, okay, Taehyung? I blanked. Every time I tried to paint something for the exhibit, it sucked. I hated it. And then, eventually, I stopped being able to paint anything at all. It was like I just- I just couldn’t. And the Director kept calling, but I couldn’t answer him because I was so fucking humiliated, and you get the day of the Met and the walls are empty because Y/n L/n is a fucking failure. So it’s not- You can’t fix me, Taehyung. I’m just broken.”

The fire spits, crackles, as it smoulders down, nothing more than hot coals that barely light the surroundings. Taehyung, face slowly darkening to shadow, doesn’t say anything. Just sits. Waits.

You sniff, looking down at your hands. “My point is, Tae-” and you scoff at yourself for using a nickname at a time like this, “You shouldn’t like me. I have nothing to give you anymore.”

Sand sticks to your bare legs when you stand, but you make no attempt to brush it off. Though it’s nearly complete darkness, you see Taehyung’s hair shift as he tips his head up to watch you. Rather than speak back, he waits in the pitch black of the extinguished bonfire and lets you go.

Later, in the unforgiving silence of your bungalow, you find yourself gravitating not towards your bed but towards your suitcase, to the small wooden chest of travel paints you had brought never expecting to use.

It’s easier to paint than to think on your regrets and mistakes, and so you let your mind go black, your palette filling with shades of brown, ochre and beige, as well as a single swatch of teal.

The entire next day sees you in a sleep-deprived fervour, the entire main room of your bungalow cleared out and transformed into a makeshift studio, paintings drying on emptied bookshelves, sheets of old newspaper covering the carpet covered in stray spots of colour, the kitchen bench housing your mismatched array of paints and tools.

After finishing your first painting, you’d collapsed onto your bed as the sun began to rise, too exhausted to wash the dried paint off your hands and brow. But it only took a few moments of rest before you felt yourself sinking into a glum quicksand, sucked in by all the emotions swirling in your chest. Suffocated by the sole image of Taehyung, sitting alone on the sand in the dark as you walked away.

So, you’d gotten up, fed the itch in your hands and picked up a brush once more, and let yourself be taken by the mindless haze of work, of colours and angles and perspectives, starting to paint the knuckles on one canvas while you waited for the eyes to dry on another.

Just after 10am, your housekeeper had knocked on the door, and you’d had to play sick so that she wouldn’t come inside. If they kept your deposit or charged you damages for a stray lick of paint on some surface, what did it matter?

You threw yourself so intensely into these paintings, that weren’t art so much as sighs of relief, or buoys in a churning sea. It was all too easy to let your mind latch onto the task of mixing colours, of choosing techniques, of mastering proportions. Normally, you’d work in front of a landscape, or take a photo and paint it later, wanting to get things right, but Taehyung comes to mind with startling clarity.

Soon, your bungalow fills with artworks - some painted on newspaper, or pages of a book when you run out of canvases. Vistas of those moments with him like clustered vignettes: his eyes with orange glints reflected in them from that night with the bonfire; his hands wringing his sodden sweater the day you got caught in the rain; a boxy smile, the first time he ever grinned at you like that; and finally, just as your hands begin to shake too much to hold the brush steady, a lone silhouette walking down a dune, tiny dog tugging at the leash in his hand. The memories flow in reverse, like some sort of undoing, a wish to go back in time and do things right, to be better for him, to do right by him.

When you set the brush down one final time, fingers trembling with exhaustion, it’s nearly midnight. You realise with a dull pang that you’d forgotten to go down to the township to buy Taehyung hair dye. You realise he probably wouldn’t have come down either.

Your face is stiff in places where swipes of paint have dried, and your hair is tangled, thrown up a half-hearted ponytail that keeps threatening to slip, but as you stare around the chaos of the room, at the fevered paintings of him, only him, always him, your heart knows what to do. Whether you like it or not, you can’t go back in time and start new, start fresh. But you can go forward, and you know exactly where your feet will take you.

Well, maybe not exactly, because you’ve never been to Taehyung’s house. But shoving on some sneakers and wrappin yourself up in a jacket, you figure you can find it. The island’s population was barely fifty, and all the houses were in the same sleepy neighborhood behind the main street.

It’s after knocking on exactly twenty-six doors that you realise maybe you should just ask if the stranger knew Taehyung’s address, rather than leaving when somebody unfamiliar answered the door. Shivering, even with the thick padded jacket you’re bundled in, you decide that the next house better be the last. If they didn’t know where Tae was, you could just come back and pick up where you left off tomorrow.

The street is so silent that your sneaker soles on the gravel fill the void entirely, amplified in the chilled night air. As you went on, and the moon passed the center of the sky, less and less people even opened their doors, some that did scolding you for waking them at such an hour. You’d feel bad, only your mind’s entirely locked on one single person.

The next house you reach is small, like most of them, but looks particularly well-groomed compared to most. A gleaming white postbox with the number 13B rests beside the driveway and footpath, both of which are bordered by lush, freshly-mowed grass, almost black in the darkness. Like a beacon, a single lamplight shines white-yellow above the front door, and your eyes ache with the warm brightness as you knock.

After fifteen or so seconds, you hear muffled movement inside, and straighten your back expectantly, mentally running through your speech. A light turns on behind lacy curtains to the left, and eventually a blurred silhouette approaches in the foyer, unlocking the door.

You put on your most sympathetic smile and take in a breath when it cracks, revealing an older woman in mismatching winter pyjamas. “I’m so sorry to wake you, ma’am, but I was wondering if you knew a boy called-” As your eyes search the old woman’s face, you freeze. You know those eyes. “K-Kim Taehyung?” you finish, blinking widely at the woman who somehow looks so familiar.

Rather than grumble about the time or huff, she smiles broadly, lips tugging up in a boxy smile. “Well, of course, he’s my grandson!” The smile drops, brows furrowing in concern. “Is he alright?”

You suck in a breath through your teeth, eyes widening. “I- oh my goodness, I’ve heard so much about you,” you gush, her eyes crinkling fondly at your words. “Sorry, uh- yes, Taehyung is okay, I just-” You stop yourself, trying to steady your racing heart. “Mrs. Kim, you probably don’t even know me, but I did something bad and I need to make it right with him and I just… I think I’m in love with your grandson.” The moment you finish, something in your heart settles at the sound of the words lingering in the air.

She takes her time to reply, letting the words sink into her with a thoughtful sigh. “Darling, am I right in assuming your name is Y/n?”

You swallow quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

She nods with a fond smile, a glimmer in her eye. “Then I think there’s something you should come see.”

“Inside?” After she waves you in and guides you to slip off your shoes and step into some house slippers instead, you find yourself awkwardly following her down a homely, perfumed hallway. “By the way, I’m so sorry for waking you.”

She waves it off before you even finish your sentence, sending you a kind wink. “No bother to me, lovie. I’m just glad you didn’t wake the dog.”

“The dog?” you mumble to yourself, before halting suddenly as Mrs. Kim pauses in front of a door, hand resting on the glass knob.

“My grandson’s been visiting me more lately, you see,” she explains, turning the knob to reveal a room in complete darkness, nothing inside visible. “He had so much to tell me and so much to do, became as hyper as a boy on Christmas morning! He told me not to go in here, but I couldn’t help myself.”

You step inside on her indication, breath caught in your throat as your eyes struggle to adjust. “I don’t understand…”

“Lovie, don’t worry about whatever went wrong with you two. You love him and… Maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic, but it’s clear he loves you too.” And with that, she flicks the light on and the room comes into focus.

A barn. That’s the first thing you see. A painting of a bright, sprawling barn with a tiny dilapidated kennel in its shadow, wobbly letters spelling out YEONTAN. On the wall directly across from the door rests the original painting of The Barn at Icheon, close to a meter wide and half a metre high. The question of why he’d keep this prized possession of his in a random room barely bigger than a closet dies on your tongue as you turn, seeing the other walls.

A sketch of a bird you’d seen and wanted to show him, clumsily sketched on the back of a receipt with a pen from the lady at the grocery store checkout; a smudged map of your old neighborhood in Seoul that he’d made you draw on a napkin when you were explaining to him how far away the art supply store was; a tourism pamphlet that you and Taehyung had found on a park bench, drawing little Bigfoot silhouettes on the pictures of mountains and mermaids on the beaches. Every one of these thoughtless scrawls, careless scribbles and hurried drawings are here, each one framed or mounted like in a gallery, in order of the time they were made. You turn around slowly, barely noticing Taehyung’s grandmother in the doorway, giving you a knowing look. Finally, on the last wall, the trail of pieces disappear with a final creation, a canvas.

Feeling tears gather in your eyes, you look at the black smear of a mailbox, the wonky shops, the two tall trees incongruously planted in the middle of the street. And, in the bottom right corner painted meticulously in teal, the same teal as his hair, Y/n and Taehyung.

You let out a sob, turning back to Mrs. Kim. “Thank you for showing me this,” you make out in a voice thickened with tears, “but I really need to see him. Can you please give me his address?”

With a look of warm empathy, she steps forward to clasp your shoulders gently, maternally. “He told me about what happened, luvie. He doesn’t blame you.”

Trembling, you wipe the wetness from your cheeks and sniff. “He should,” you admit sullenly, “he’s too good for me. He’s been nothing but kind and patient and caring and all I’ve done is let him down.” Something occurs to you, and you frown in confusion. “Wait… Did he stop by and tell you?”

Her hands squeeze your upper arms comfortingly before dropping them and stepping back. “Oh honey,” she coos, and your heart stops as she steps aside out of the doorway, letting another, taller figure enter the room.

“Taehyung,” you whisper in shock, but before you can even comprehend his presence, his arms are around you, pulling you against his chest in a tight hug. You feel thick layers of pressure and worry evaporate off of you with a single moment, lungs filling with the familiar scent of him, body relaxing with his chin resting on your head and his arms cradling you. For what feels like a small eternity, you let yourself be fully enveloped in him, an indescribable catharsis of finally being in his arms once more. As your tears dry on the soft flanelette of his pyjama shirt and your fingers clutch at his back, you feel a thought transform into a certainty. “I love you, Taehyung,” you confess quietly, and his whole body shudders with a sob, arms tightening around you even more.

“I love you so much,” he confesses lowly, chest rumbling against your ear as he speaks. “And please don’t ever call yourself broken. You’re not. I didn’t love the art, I loved you. Because the art is a part of you Y/n, whether it’s perfect or not.”

“Tae,” you breathe shakily, his name the only word on your lips.

A soft voice comes from the hallway, Taehyung’s grandmother quietly excusing herself to “leave the two lovebirds alone.” You barely notice, lost in the way Taehyung gently rocks you back and forth in his arms, soothing you.

“I missed you,” you hear Taehyung whisper into your hair, nuzzling his nose gently.

Though you shiver at the feeling, you let out a teary laugh. “I saw you a day ago.”

“But it wasn’t the same then,” he insists softly, and a slow breath escapes you weakly. “It’s okay; you’re here now. You-” he breaks off to swallow, and when he speaks again his voice is much quieter, paper thin. “You won’t walk away again, will you?”

You answer by tipping your head up to look him in the eyes warmly, rising onto the tips of your toes so that you can reach his mouth, pressing a kiss against it tenderly. “Never,” you answer surely, “I promise.”

When he smiles, it’s beautiful - that big, boxy grin you saw that day on the dunes, that day you agreed to paint with him, and so many times since. But it never fails to make you melt, lips automatically returning the gesture. “Now,” he announces with a bemused lilt in his voice. “As much as I love this makeout session in my grandma’s closet, it is 2am. Shall we go get some rest?”

Sleep comes quickly once you have Taehyung’s arm around you and your face in the crook of his neck, and you let it take you, knowing you’ll have time to savor the feeling of sleeping beside him for many days to come.

You take him home the next day.

He hadn’t ever been to the bungalow before, but now there was something you desperately wanted him to see. You hadn’t cleaned up before you’d suddenly began roaming the streets of the island, and as he stares around at the chaos, you kind of wish you had. “It’s pretty messy, but…”

“No,” he deflects, mouth parted and eyes wide in wonder, “don’t apologise, this is- wow.” He steps further into the room, stepping over discarded paint tubes, dried canvases and uncleaned brushes. He takes a moment to take in each work. Every single one of them a snapshot of him. “How- When did you do all this?”

You bite your lip, loitering in the entryway. “From when I got back that night until I decided to come looking for you.”

He furrows his brow, fingers gently skimming the top edge of the painting that rests on the easel in the center of the room, the first one you’d painted. His teal growouts, his uneven eyes, the moles dotted so intricately on his face. Your Tae. “You haven’t been able to pick up a brush in months, and then...all this?”

“This was easy,” you say with a shake of your head, “it was easy because it was you.”

He turns, then, glancing at you over his shoulder with eyes brimming with affection. “You really love me.”

A disbelieving grin stretches across your lips. “The midnight confession didn’t make it clear enough?”

“It’s not that, I- I can read it,” he explains, stepping back over to you. “The Barn at Icheon is filled with loneliness, and a lot of your other works talk about fear or curiosity or patience. But this is all love. And it’s me.”

“It’s you,” you confirm with a soft smile, “I love you, Taehyung. So much.”

His eyes light up, then, a cheeky glimmer as his hand reaches out, gripping your elbow and giving it a playful shake. “If I’m your mojo then, you should paint something else today,” he bargains, “I wanna see your genius in action. The black mailbox sadly doesn’t qualify.”

Your mouth drops open in mock outrage, shoving his chest with a whine. “That’s not fair! You said you liked it better black.” Looking around at the disaster zone of the bungalow, you sigh. “I also don’t think I have any paintable surfaces left. I missed the housekeeper so I’ll probably get a fine as it is.”

“Use me, then.”

“Haven’t I painted you enough?” you fire back, but Taehyung just shakes his head emphatically.

“Paint on me. Here,” he says, and his hands leave yours in order to find the hem of his shirt, peeling his shirt off and tossing it into a far end of the room. “A big old waterfall, right down the middle. Rock pool at the bottom.”

“Stop it!” You blush fiercely, hands coming up to cover your cheeks as your eyes feast on his chest, the smooth planes and taut skin, a beautiful golden bronze. “Taehyung…”

For the first time, he doesn't press further. Instead, his shoulders sag, teasing facade slipping. "I'm sorry, you don't have to. I'll stop."

Inexplicably, you find yourself wanting to prove you aren't fragile anymore, unbroken just as he'd insisted you were last night. "I can do it," you protest, stepping away from him to fossick for some usable brushes. "Lie down, then."

Taehyung freezes. "Uh. Yeah, yeah, okay, gimme one sec, I'll just-" With the enthusiasm of a boy having his first kiss, Taehyung hunkers down on the newspaper-covered carpet, shuffling some tools and tubes and palettes out of the way. He looks beautiful like that, chest rising and falling shakily with anticipation, warm brown eyes widened on you. "You don't have to paint a waterfall, you know," he assures hurriedly. "Whatever you do will be perfect."

Heart leaping at his words, you feel a streak of confidence deep inside you, and instead of sitting beside him, you straddle his hips with a newly-filled palette in one hand and a brush in the other. "I want you to guess," you announce from above him, eying his chest and wondering how the colours might fill the space. "Guess what I'm painting. It'll be fun!"

Taehyung's throat bobs with a harsh swallow, nodding quickly. "O-okay, yeah, let's do that," he agrees weakly.

You smile warmly, and begin dipping into a forest green, coating the tips of the bristles. Bending down, you mark a single point of green on the top of his chest, just below his collarbone. The moment the cool paint touches his skin, Taehyung shudders, eyes falling shut. "Okay?" you check. He nods again, chest heaving, and so you continue tracking colour, gradual swoops downwards. Each drag of the brush makes Taehyung's breath catch, and you watch as goosebumps break out on his bare arms.

"Feels nice," he mumbles, lips barely moving like he didn't even intend to speak.

Your lip twitches, but still you focus, topping up the brush whenever the lines became too spotty. After trailing down to just above the level of his belly button, you raise the brush again, starting a new form on the other side of his chest, this one smaller. "Any idea what it is?" you question, but Taehyung just sighs airily.

Once you're finished with the forest green, you wipe your brush off on the edge of your palette and go for a deeper shade, pressing in shadows under each swipe of green. It's once you're working on the bottom half of the second structure that you begin to feel a hardness between your legs, the point where you're straddling him. Shocked, you look up, but Taehyung's covered his eyes with the back of his hand, face turned to the side with reddened cheeks.

"I'm sorry," he croaks out once he feels you stop. "Didn't mean to."

With a fond smile, you lean down, careful not to smudge the wet paint, and gently kiss the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch and his lips part in surprise, but he otherwise stays still. "It's okay," you soothe, "if it's any consolation, I feel the same way right now."

Like a switch is flipped, Taehyung lifts his hand and tucks his chin, looking down at where the two of you are pressed together, then back up at your face. "Seriously?"

You laugh warmly. "Taehyung, I love you and you're currently lying beneath me, half-naked, writhing every time the brush touches you. Of course I'm turned on."

His cheeks flush hotter and he bites his lip. "You can- you can keep going. Keep painting."

Obediently continuing to fill in the shadow across his stomach, you grin. "Still no guesses on what I'm painting? I'm almost done, you know."

He cranes his neck down further, but the angle prevents him from seeing much. "Some-something green? I'll be honest with you, my focus really isn't-fuck!"

You suppress a laugh as he shudders, hands reaching out to clutch at your pants. Having finished the shadow, you'd mixed a paler green to add some light points on the tops, and one of those swipes had just happened to land across the top of one of his nipples, already stiff from arousal. You continue dipping colour here and there, smirking at the paint that covers the dark brown of his right nipple.

"You tease," Taehyung complains with furrowed brows. "Fuck, that felt good. Please tell me you need to paint the other one too."

You hum in mock thought, transferring your brush to the hand with the palette so that you can reach out, swiping a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Taehyung's whole body jerks, his hips beginning to grind under you, the dull friction pulling a pleasured sigh from your lips that's blessedly drowned by his drawn-out moan. "Why the pout, Tae? This was your idea."

"Next time I'm holding the paintbrush," he promises, hips moving slowly beneath you, eyes lidded as they focus on you, "then you won't be so cocky."

His words send a hot rush of arousal through you, and you rock your hips unconsciously, swallowing a moan. "Next time," you repeat breathily, "but for now I'm almost done."

It only takes a few more touches of pale green, followed by two vertical strokes of brown, before you're putting your tools aside, and standing up off of him.

Taehyung groans in complaint when your hips leave him, his casual grey sweatpants tented and a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. "Where are you going?"

"Come see," you guide, tugging at his hand. "I have a mirror in my room."

He gets up, palming himself with a pout before following you down the hall, pulled along by your interlocked hands. Once in front of the mirror, Taehyung lifts his eyebrows at just how wrecked he looks. Bottom lip swollen from biting at it, hair mussed and sticking up, and a burst of green slowly drying on his torso. "It's...trees?"

"It's us," you explain softly, "like that painting we did together the first time." From beside him, you reach around to gently tap each figure, two tall fir trees, the one on his right taller than the one on his left. "One for you and one for me."

Before you can pull your arm back, his hand comes up to flatten yours against his chest, hands going cold where the paint is still wet in places.

"Tae, you'll smudge it."

"Y/n," he said slowly, head turning to look at you, eyes brimming with affection, "will you let me make love to you?"

Your breath catches, and rather than trusting your voice, you nod wordlessly.

With a deep exhale, he bends down and joins your lips with his, a hand coming up to bury itself in your hair, keeping you close. His lips are hot against yours, passionate and wanting, and your stomach warms with desire. Clumsily, your fingers find the hem of your shirt, lifting it as far as you can before you have to break apart from him, flinging it away once it clears your head.

"The bed?" Taehyung pants in the moments his mouth is free, and you nod, shucking off your jeans before getting onto the mattress in just your bra and panties. "God, you're beautiful," he chants, "how did I get so lucky?"

He slips out of his sweatpants and joins you sitting on the edge, but your eyes linger on his face, the way his eyes soften and crinkle when they meet yours. "I'm the lucky one," you reply simply.

You shiver when a large palm runs up your bare thigh, warm and grounding. "Can I go down on your first?" he asks with a pleading gaze.

You laugh weakly. "I'm definitely the lucky one." In confirmation, you lie yourself back, scooting so your head rests on the pillows.

Hand now having slid down your leg to rest over your ankle, he wraps his fingers around and lifts it off the bed delicately, your knee crooking and legs parting. Smoothly, he slips himself in the gap, lying on his stomach and letting your raised leg rest on his shoulders. With eyes heavy on you, he leans forward slowly and licks a strip over your clothed pussy, a dull kiss of friction across your clit. You groan, head lolling back, and he takes it as his initiative to continue, sucking at the juices that have dampened your panties until the whole crotch is wet, your thighs shaking slightly with your increased sensitivity.

"Tae, please," you breath out, "I wan' more."

A finger slips below the hem of your panties, just over your hipbone. "Should we take these off?" You nod with a needy whimper, lifting your hips to give him easier access.

He sits up to slide them down your legs, calmly spreading your thighs again when you get the self-conscious urge to close them. With only your bra on, you feel so vulnerable, but rather than scaring you, you feel at peace, so happy to be having this moment with Taehyung.

When he shuffles back into place again, he takes his time, his warm breath tickling your inner thighs. At your needy wiggle of your hips, he chuckles and rubs soothingly at the top of your leg where it's crooked over his shoulder, finally dipping his head again to lick at you.

He starts out maddeningly light, the very tip of his tongue flicking slowly over your clit, tentatively venturing out to dip between your folds. You reach out for his hand, needing something to anchor you, and he smiles against you as he interlocks your fingers, keeping you grounded.

"So good, Tae," you encourage, moaning openly when his tongue trails lower and dips between your folds, over your entrance. "Fuck, so good."

Rather than answer verbally, Taehyung doubles his efforts and begins to speed up, lapping at your core and suckling your clit.

Every breath is a moan or a whimper, overtaken by pleasure, but you let yourself drown in it, letting Taehyung eat you out like a man starved. With one hand on your upper thigh and one entwined with yours, he's got no fingers free to play with you, but expertly he brings you to your peak with just his tongue, thrusting it inside you as his nose nudges at your clit.

When you feel your orgasm quickly approaching, your moans heighten and your back begins to arch, hips grinding against him desperately. Taehyung chuckles, the sound vibrating against you and making you shudder, and his hand slips high to press against your waist instead, holding you in place for him. Your thighs tense around him, praises and curses and his name spilling from your lips incoherently.

It's one last nibble at your clit, pulling it into his mouth and dragging his tongue over it, your vision whites out with the force of your orgasm, jerking beneath him and crying out wantonly, overcome with pleasure. He works you through it diligently, groaning as you come down from your high with weak shivers, his tongue never ceasing until you push at his head from oversensitivity.

He lets your leg down carefully, kissing his way up your bare stomach, the swells of your breasts and your throat until his lips are on yours and you can taste yourself on him, feel the ends of his hair tickling against your cheeks.

"That was incredible, Tae," you pant out, feeling boneless beneath him as he takes charge of the kiss, tugging at your lips and licking into your mouth. "I need you," he gasps, and you moan throatily when his clothed crotch grinds against your bare core, the fabric of his underwear catching on your sensitive clit. He's hard, probably painfully so, and all you want is to feel him inside you.

Desperate, your fingers slip behind you, arching your back so that you can deftly release the clasp of your bra, pulling it off hastily before reaching for his underwear. "I need you too, Tae," you plea, "please hurry."

His fingers, slightly cool from the air, slide down your stomach and between your thighs, making you jump as he slips two inside, thrusting them slowly. You're still sensitive, and his mouth falls to your ear, hushing you and pressing encouraging kisses to your temple as you whimper. "Doing so well for me," he praises, "just gotta make sure you're ready, okay?"

"O-okay," you make out, sucking in a breath when he pulls out and presses a third finger inside you, picking up his pace. Gradually, the prickling overstimulation warms into pleasure again, and you rock your hips to seek more friction, free hand coming up to wrap around his neck and shoulders, holding him close.

With no bra on, your full chest is flat against his, and as the paint dries it drags over your nipples, making you arch your back, seeking out the friction.

The warmth between your legs tightens with the extra stimulation, and your breath begins to catch, feeling another orgasm oncoming.

"Close?" Taehyung murmurs in your ear as he widens the gaps between his fingers inside you, scissoring to stretch you even more. You nod hastily, moans getting stuck in your throat, pushed out with every gasped breath. Taehyung hums in response, and you whimper when you feel his fingers slipping out of you completely. Before you can protest, the blunt head of his cock slips between your sopping folds, Taehyung running it up and down to coat himself in your slick.

"Fuck, yes, please Tae, I'm ready," you babble, legs lifting to wrap around his hips, attempting to pull him in closer.

He chuckles, but it's cut off prematurely by a hissed breath of pleasure as he lines up and begins to sink his length into you, a delicious feeling of fullness after his fingers left you so empty. Taehyung enters you slowly, letting you adjust, and you feel completely enveloped by him; his voice in your ear, his hand in yours, his cock inside you.

"Need you, Tae," you whine once he stills, bottomed out, "please move."

"Are you ready?" You wiggle your hips with a groaned yes, arm tightening around him as he pulls back. He stops when just his head still rests inside you, pauses for a moment with a moan as you clench around him, and then plunges back in with one slick thrust.

You cry out, satisfied smile stretching tiredly across your face as he finally begins a steady rhythm, favoring deeper thrusts that make your toes curl. "Yes, Tae, so good!"

"God, you're still so tight," he groans throatily, "so good for me."

On the edge before, you find yourself close after only a few minutes, and you tell him with a shaky breath. Taehyung lets out a relieved exhale as he continues to thrust into you. "Thank fuck," he huffs out, panting a word at a time, "I'm not gonna last, you drive me crazy."

You press your head against his, nuzzling at it as you unwrap your arm from around his shoulders, instead seeking out your clit for the needed friction to push you over the edge. The added stimulation has you clenching, and Taehyung swears desperately, his pace picking up but shuddering as he gets close.

The two of you pant loudly into the otherwise silent room, filling each others' ears with whimpered moans and slurred praises, until you finally catch the tip of your peak, and with one final drag of his cock inside you, you're falling apart, not suddenly and violently like the first time, but rather a slow, hot wave of pleasure that works its way out from your core, down to your toes and fingertips, clenching tightly around Taehyung until he curses and spills inside you, shuddering through his release.

"I love you so much," you whisper once you come down from your high, a contented exhaustion seeping into your bones.

"I love you too," Taehyung says with a final press of his lips on your temple.

---

"This one's gorgeous. I love the broad lines on the ocean compared to the texture of rocks on the shore. This is at the island, you say?"

You hum in confirmation, smiling at your old friend. "You should see, it, Joonie. There's this little cluster of houses and shops right in the middle but the rest is just open nature. Forests, beaches, everything in the middle. I go there every year."

Kim Namjoon, Director at the Leeum Museum in Seoul and avid nature buff, takes one last look at the landscape canvas and grins. "Ah, twist my arm..." You follow him as he moves down the line of mounted canvases, stopping at a familiar portrait. He furrows his brows and cocks his head. "I feel like I've seen this guy before, something about the face... He didn't have green in his hair though, I must be confused."

You laugh at your friend, spying a shock of red through the swathes of people. "You have seen him before," you explain, catching the figure's eye, "you would have seen him here tonight."

In front of you, Namjoon raises his brows. "Oh, really? Who is he, then?"

Over Namjoon's shoulder, you watch Taehyung approach, turning heads with his scarlet dye. He gives you a wink, and you grin back. "He's my husband."

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cicissketchbook · 3 years

Text

Y’all wanna read my Apritello story?

So sometimes when my artistic drive is down, the writing bug will come bite me. I’ve been working on an Apritello story for awhile that currently has three chapters that are up on my Patreon. Eventually I’ll post it publicly, but I want my patrons to have early access. Anyway here’s an excerpt from the first chapter.

It’s kind of angsty.

The summary is, April invites Donnie to join her for a long weekend at the farmhouse, which sounds romantic until you consider that she’s been plagued with visions of his accidental death and is desperate to stop it from happening.

To say there was tension in the air was a drastic understatement. Truthfully, things had been tense for a while. Blame it on cabin fever, or perhaps they were outgrowing their sewer lair, but the brothers had been quick to jump down each other’s throats.

Leo was especially on edge, and not unlike how it had been since they were kids, his mood had set the tone for everyone else. One thing that differed from childhood though, was that he had been butting heads with Donnie, while Raph remained a mostly neutral third party.

There was the knowledge that they were getting older and they all had desires to get out there and live their own lives, and then the realization that doing so wasn’t really possible for them in the world they lived in. They wanted what any young adults would want, but they were mutants. The world still saw them as freaks. They couldn’t lead normal lives the way they wanted to. They knew this, they had known this all their lives. They had all been on the same page about it. They realized that living their lives in the sewer, at least most of it, was probably in the cards. April had always contested this idea, believing that the world would accept them in time. It’s not like people didn’t know mutants existed, but the turtles weren’t willing to take the risk. It’s not like they couldn’t go out and do things like they always had, but leaving the nest for good just wasn’t feasible. And they were content with this. The sewer was all they’d ever known. They’d always been together and they were happy to always be together.

But like all families, arguments were inevitable. Familiarity breeds contempt, after all. And they were accustom to bickering. But… it was different now. Leo seemed ready to explode at the drop of a pen, Raph never seemed to be able to find enough alone time, Donnie felt like he brought more to the table than the other three combined, and Mikey… sweet Mikey was such an incurable optimist that he sought to find the positive in every situation, but they knew he did this to mask his depression.

If asked what they were arguing about today, the simple answer would be that they were all just getting on each other’s nerves. Donnie couldn’t even remember how the argument started because they fought about trivial things so frequently, but he remembered the thing that Leo said that set him off.

“God, why is it so hard for you to just do your part? Why do we have to pick up your slack?”

Donnie was silent for a moment, almost unsure he’d heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you never fucking help out with anything!” Leo’s tone implied that there was something else he was upset about that he wasn’t speaking of.

Donnie, by his best effort, kept his voice calm and composed. “I’m sorry, are you referring to three days ago when I didn’t help clean up the disaster in the kitchen because I was literally putting the microwave back together? Or perhaps last week when you left a mess for me to clean up that you all made while I wasn’t even here? And then you got mad when I didn’t?”

Leo seemed to get more aggravated at the mention of Donnie not being there, but continued on. “C’mon man, there are four of us that live here, it’s really not asking too much for everyone to help clean up around here.”

“Dude, I clean up after myself more than anyone. The difference is, when I make a mess, it’s in my lab rather than communal space and-“

“Oh, right, I forgot. The huge space you have that’s your’s. That none of us have.” Leo turned to their other brothers who sat near by. “Hey Raph, other than your tiny bedroom, do you have your own creative space that you can do whatever you want in? Mikey, how about you?”

Raph hadn’t spoken, but seemed invested in the exchange his brothers were having. It was impossible to tell who’s side he was on. Before Mikey could speak, Raph stopped him and said firmly, “Leave us out of this, man.”

“So now your mad at me… because of my lab?”

Leo paused, not making eye contact, before he huffed. “No.” He admitted quietly.

Normally, Donnie was used to these arguments making little or no sense, but Leo seemed genuinely angry and he couldn’t understand why.

“Bro, what is up?” He demanded. “Why are you actually so upset?”

“I just…” Leo started. Donnie could tell there was something he didn’t want to say. Leo crossed his arms and turned away from his brother. “I just want to know… where your priorities are.”

“My priorities?” Donnie was trying not to lose his patience. He had no idea where this was coming from nor where it was going. Which meant one of two things. Either there was something his brother wasn’t telling him, or this was in fact going no where. Like, this had started out a fight about cleaning duties, and now he’s talking about priorities. If Leo did have a point, he wanted him to hurry up and make it because this argument seemed like a waste of time.

“It just…” Leo blew another huff through his nose. “It just seems like… you are… distancing yourself from us, Donnie.”

This statement completely threw Don for a loop. He hadn’t expected that at all. “What in the world are you talking about?” He asked, truly bewildered by the turn in conversation. “Because I don’t want to clean up messes that aren’t mine? Like what the hell-?”

“No, obviously it’s not that. It’s alot of things.” Leo spoke quieter now, not as impassioned.

“Well, I would love to know what those things are, because I am completely lost here.”

“You never want to hang out with us anymore, and when you do, you act like you’d rather be doing anything else-“

Donnie cut him off with a humorless chuckle. “We’re brothers, we all get on each other’s nerves.”

“And I get that, but we do all still live together and we all need to contribute to the household chores, and you’ve just been acting like you are so far above doing any type of housework that doesn’t directly effect you.”

“Well, excuse me Leo, sorry if when it rains and the power get knocked out and I have to go topside by myself in the cold pouring rain to fix the power line, I don’t also want to have to mop up the leak in the kitchen when none of you did anything to help!”

“Okay, you keep bring up specific instances, but I’m talking about in general-“

“No, you’re talking alot of nonsense is what you’re doing!” Donnie’s lack of patience was starting to show. “First you’re mad that you think I don’t clean enough, then you’re mad that I have a lab and you don’t? Then you say I’m distancing myself from you all…?” Donnie stood and made a move like he was going to walk away. “If you have something to say, Leo, you better just say it because this whole conversation seems like a waste of time to me. It’s late and I’m tired, so make your point, or I’m going to bed.”

“Are you distancing yourself from us because of April?”

Donnie had already started walking away, as he didn’t expect Leo to actually have a point, so he was halted to a standstill at his words. “What does she have to do with anything?”

Leo looked away again, like he didn’t actually want to have this conversation. After a moment, he sighed and continued without making eye contact. “It just seems like… I mean… I thought we were all on the same page here. We’ve had this discussion, a long time ago. We aren’t…. Human. We’re getting older and it makes sense that we’d want to start living our own lives, but… we can’t. Not really. The world doesn’t accept us, so staying down here is just how it has to be. I thought we had agreed on that. That no matter what the world thought of us, no matter that we can’t lead normal lives, at least we all had each other. But… now it seems like you have other plans, Donnie.”

He finally looked at his brother and Donnie could see the emotions in his eyes. Nothing of what he said had been new information, of course. Donnie knew, painfully well, that the world saw them as freaks and being “normal” was not a luxury they’d ever be able to have. Alot of their friends were at the point where they were starting to branch off, which didn’t help. Karai and Shinigami were currently back in Japan. It was just a visit, but the kind of visit that lasted for a month or two. Casey had gotten a hockey scholarship for a different school than the one April attended. He was trying to go pro, so he poured all his time and attention into practicing. He still came around, but not like he used to. Mona Lisa had left Earth awhile ago, also with promise to return, but they hadn’t heard from her in a few weeks. They were sure it was just a new mission she had, but that didn’t make Raph feel any better. April was the only one who still came around all the time. With most of their enemies gone, everyone was moving on and it felt like the world didn’t need them anymore.

The pain in Leo’s voice would’ve normal made Donnie want to hug him, but it was the accusation that he couldn’t get over.

“Leo…” He gestured non threateningly with his hands. “Why are you acting like I’m not literally living down here in the sewers right along with you? And I still don’t see what April has to do with anything-”

“Okay, I’m going to jump in here.” Raph said unexpectedly. “Look, Dude, I know we don’t… we don’t say it enough but… we would be up schitts creek without a paddle without you.” He crossed the room to give Leo a lighthearted punch in the arm. “Wouldn’t we, Leo?”

“…Yeah.”

“So because of that, the idea of you leaving is…. It’s scary.” Raph admitted. He was going to say something else, but Donnie interrupted.

“I’m not going anywhere! What in the actually hell are you guys talking about?!”

Leo rolled his eyes, apparently getting annoyed again. “Don, can we please stop pretending like you’re not going to marry April and then move in with her?”

Donnie froze. To say they touched a nerve was an understatement. April was his best friend, but truthfully, it was very painful to be her friend sometimes. His feelings for her were still just as intense as ever, but for different reason now. In his youth, he’d maintained a kind of innocent hopefulness that they would someday be together, and he never even really thought of the details of how. He knew, even back then, that it wasn’t that simple and when he really thought about it, nothing about it made sense. Which is why he didn’t think about it. Now though, after some soul searching and dropping into a deep depression which he was starting to get better from, he’d resigned himself to the reality that she would never be with him. He’d accepted it, and told himself that it was enough to just be her friend. But the truth was, that pain never went away. They had such a close friendship, they had developed such a level of comfort with each other, but he knew it would never be enough. The idea of never seeing her again was unbearable, but to be so close to her, knowing that it was as close as he would ever get… it was torture. He didn’t care though, he just couldn’t let her go.

What really hurt was when she would talk about the next stage in her life. She was in school now, but with her grades and what she was studying, she could go anywhere. She wanted to travel, she spoke of it often. She never made any committal remarks about moving away, other than when she talked about the farmhouse and saying how expensive it is to live in the city. Her dad had signed the property over to her for tax reasons, and she would’ve inherited it anyway. She wanted to renovate it.

He was only vaguely aware that Raph and Leo were still talking.

“It’s not like we’re mad at you for finding love, that’s not it at all!” Raph was saying, obviously more concerned than Leo about ruffling his brother’s feathers. “It’s just, we need to be realistic about what would happen if you weren’t here.”

“Yeah, and the reality is, frankly, I think we all feel left behind by our friends, but we didn’t think our clan would be breaking up as well!” Leo threw his hands up, finally letting his true feelings out. “I mean, all we have is each other, we’re the last of the Hamato clan! I can’t let this clan die, I just can’t.”

“Why do you guys feel the need to do that?”

They stopped, taken aback by how low and serious Donnie’s voice was. He was done barking, he looked ready to bite.

“Do what?”

Donnie’s chest felt tight and he had to taken in a sharp breath through his nose to keep his cool. “Why do you guys feel the need to not only remind me of my unrequited feelings for my… our best friend… but now, you’re holding it against me?”

Raph looked concerned at first, but then sighed. “Donnie, c’mon, don’t act like you wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to get out of here. April isn’t going to stay in New York forever.”

The statement, while probably true, hurt to hear. “What does that have to do with me?” He said, quieter this time. “I can’t help what April does.”

“Dude, she is literally planning her future with you in it. Have you not noticed that?” Leo nearly screamed. “You have the opportunity to get out of here and do something with your life, and we’ll be-“

“No she’s not!” Donnie shouted back. “Are you guys smoking crack or something? Don’t say that shit to me! April doesn’t…” He paused, his words getting caught in his throat. “April doesn’t want me. I thought we’d been over this.”

Mikey, who hadn’t yet spoke, immediately picked up on how much pain Donnie was in. “Hey guys, let’s just drop it, yeah?”

Leo pressed on as if his youngest brother hadn’t spoken. “Maybe she didn’t five years ago, but she sure as shit does now.” He didn’t seem bothered by Donnie visible cringe. “I mean, dude, you’ve spent the night, alone at her house.”

“So has Mikey. And Raph once, I think.” Donnie said quietly, and Raph nodded in confirmation. “And she’s spent the night here a billion times, that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Mikey and Raph didn’t sleep in her bed.” Leo said accusingly.

“I did.”

They all paused and turned to the youngest brother. Raph spoke. “You did?”

“Every time I go over there, I sleep in her bed.” Mikey said matter-o-factly. “Whenever… whenever I’m sad, she let’s me come over and… she’ll listen. She doesn’t try to offer solutions, she doesn’t try and tell me things to make me feel better, she just… listens. And that’s what helps me the most. Then we watch funny videos.”

None of them commented at first. They all knew Mikey struggled with depression, but he rarely, if ever, talked about it. They all had told him at some point that they were there if he needed to talk, but he never came to any of them. One might of thought that hearing that his brother shared a bed with April might make Donnie jealous, but quite the opposite, it made him very happy and appreciative to hear about it. It made sense that Mikey would be more comfortable talking to April than to any of them, and to know that she had been there for him was comforting. Donnie wanted that for his brother.

“See?” He said finally, more to Leo than anyone else. “April… she’s there for all of us. She cares about all of us… I’m not special.”

“Donnie, don’t say that.” Mikey offered and rose from his seat to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Donnie placed his own hand over Mikey’s and squeezed it, staring at the floor. “She cares about you the most. More than you know.”

“Mikey, please, please don’t.” He said through his teeth. “I can’t… I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation right now. You know how long it took me to accept the fact that I was kidding myself by thinking there could ever be something between us? Of course you guys know, which is why it is so baffling to me that you feel the need to do this.”

“So if April wanted you to move away with her, you wouldn’t do it?”

Raph punched Leo in the arm again. It was a strange thing, to see Raph scold Leo for being insensitive. Donnie had had enough though.

“I’m out of here.” He turned on his heel and heading towards the turnstiles.

...............

Yes, it’s NSFW, of course it is.

#TMNT 2012 #apritello #donatello #leonardo #raphael #michelangelo #mikey #raph #leo #donnie #apriltello #tmnt #fanfiction

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inkandpen22 · 3 years

Text

Beautiful Angel of Darkness

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: brief mentions of death, dark humor

Word Count: 1k

A/N: as always, thank you for reading! If you guys have any suggestions or requests you’d like to see, let me know! I’m down for anything rn :)

p.s. do I make this a series?????

Masterlist

The sunsets over the familiar cemetery, a sense of numbness consumes my body and soul. The feeling greets me like an old friend. No matter how many times I come here, I find myself wishing I had never at all. Yet, I find myself here regularly. Is it wrong of me to feel at ease in such a gloomy place? In my defense, I have a lot of families here, dating back generations. More recently, my dad.

As I walk back to the gate, I hear a branch crunch behind me, causing me to whip around.

A man smirks at me with a raised brow, his hair white as snow. “What’s your name, Pet?” He moves in closer, his leather coat blowing in the night’s breeze.

“Y/N,” I answer softly, not out of fear, but curiosity.

“Y/N,” he repeats and makes it sound angelic. “What are you doing here all alone at this time of night?” The stranger asks, circling me smoothly like a snake.

“I was... ” I pause, the answer not exactly pleasant. “I was making a visit,” I finally state, meeting his gaze.

“Oh.” He stops in front of me. His mysterious facade wavering as he rocks on heels awkwardly. “I’m uh I’m sorry for loss.”

I shrug, “it’s okay, it was a long time ago. Oh! Thank you, by the way,” I add nervously at the end, having forgotten the courtesy. Narrowing my eyes, I remember an important point. “What are you doing here exactly?”

He raises his brows, eyes-wide as if we just got caught. “I was... I was just... I was on a walk,” he stammers, pointing over to the paved path behind him.

“You walk alone in cemeteries... in the middle of the night?” I ask to clarify, not convinced by his word.

“Doesn’t everyone?” He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

“Those who are up to no good,” I claim calmly.

The gentleman tilts his head to the side with a pleasing snicker, “and is that what you think I’m up to?”

“Perhaps,” I answer, not afraid of him.

“You could be right. Does that frighten you?” He smirks mischievously, biting down on his lips.

“Not necessarily,” I confess, much to his surprise.

“You scare easily do you?” His smile grows as he steps closer.

I shake my head, “no.”

After all the death I’ve experienced thus far in my life, very little scares me anymore. Most people are afraid of death, I’m afraid of living. I’m afraid of what other tragedies will come, perhaps death would be less painless.

“Do you have a death wish?” He inquires, not sound rhetoric.

“Most days,” I admit rather darkly.

He snickers, “I appreciate your honesty, it’s... refreshing.”

“Are you who I saw before?” I gesture over to the crypt a few yards away. “ Isaw someone that crypt, but when I looked again they were gone. I thought I was imagining things.”

“Perhaps...” he repeats my previous answer, his tone eerie.

“Have you been following me?” I question, starting to piece everything together.

“Most days...” he mimicked again with a smirk.

“Most days?” I repeat, growing uneasy as the man stares into my eyes wickedly.

“But that’s not what you really want to ask though is it?” He predicts correctly. Leaning forward, he whispers in my ear, “ask what you really want to know.”

He towers over me again, a smirk of pleasure across his lips. I should be afraid, stranger-danger and what not. Yet, I can’t find the means to be frightened. He doesn’t appear threatening. In fact, if anything, he’s alluring. The man awaits my question.

“We’ve met before haven’t we?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yes,” he grins, starting to circle me again.

“We met at The Bronze,” I recall, remember the occurrence perfectly. “You were watching me from the balcony.”

“Yes,” he whispers in my ear as he stands behind me. I can feel his warm breath against my neck as well as his chest against my back.

My breathing shaky and I fear my voice will break. “Have you been following me since then?”

“Yes,” he whispers in the other ear.

Slowly, he gathers strands of my hair, moving them back over my shoulder and out of the way. A chill forms across my skin at the feeling of his fingertips brushing against my neck.

I swallow hard, “why?”

“You know why,” he mumbles, pressing against my shoulder for me to turn around. I meet his emerald eyes directly without fear. “You figured that out the moment you saw me just now,” he claims. “Better yet, you knew when you saw earlier on your way to pay your respects.”

Tilting my head to the side, I come to realize he’s right. I do know why. I suppose I’ve been pushing the signs aside because logically it never made sense. I never knew it to be possible.

“You’re a vampire...” I mutter, it sounds more like an accusation.

“Bingo,” he drags out softly under his breath, followed by an evil snicker.

I frown, “that doesn’t explain why you’re following me.”

“Sure it does,” he argues, visibly waiting for me to come to the right conclusion.

I do so quickly, “you’ve been hunting me, waiting for the most opportune moment to kill me.”

He sways his head from side to side, “well yes, but there’s more.”

“Such as?” I lead him along.

More? What more is there for his kind? Logically, I should’ve run off ages ago. Then again, could I really outrun a vampire? Fight off a vampire? Probably not, so I might as well save my breath and earn some answers.

“I do want to kill you,” he purrs, reaching out to cup my face. His thumb runs across my cheek. “But not in the way you’re thinking. I want to bite you and bring you back to be like me.” His eyes fall to my mouth, then flicker back up to my eyes as he glides his tongue across his lips.

My heart pounds in my chest rapidly. “Why?”

“Because I want you, Love... forever,” he confesses smoothly, so much so that I would’ve missed it if I weren’t hanging on his every word. He awaits my response patiently, crossing his arms over his chest slowly. How could someone ever deny him? He’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.

“Okay,” I whisper breathlessly.

#spike x reader #spikexreader #spike fanfic #spike #buffy summers #buffy the vampire slayer imagine #buffy the vampire slayer #btvs fanfic #fanfic #btvs imagine #spike imagine #imagine

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kyberphilosopher · 4 years

Text

ᴊᴀʏᴜꜱ

Following the retaking of Trost, Eren has an interaction with an undefined relation, leading to the resurfacing of the memory.

Word Count: 1564

Jayus- (n.) a joke so poorly told and anti-comedic you can’t help but to laugh.

You really had thought he had died.

In defense of yourself, most people had. It wasn’t as if Eren had made any particular effort to keep in contact. Not that you were blaming him. You probably wouldn’t have either, if it were anybody else.

You used to see Eren around Shiganshina. Armin and Mikasa were never too far behind, and so you saw at an early age that he was simply the leader of the pack. Admirable, if not for the hard headedness that came with it. Eren seemed to lead in that area as well.

You didn’t talk to him before that. Saw him, noted him- but never spoke. It wasn’t until you’d joined the cadets of the same class that interactions actually involved communication.

First, you hung around Ymir and Krista silently. Krista introduced you to Sasha and Connie, who called you to sit over with the rest of the inner circle at lunch. From there on out you were typically associated with Annie, who you didn’t actually talk to as much as other people assumed. You were quiet, but accepted, and Eren finally got to put a name to the face, which was nice.

He asked if you had any tips on using the ODM gear, to which you admitted to being little help on the matter. You weren’t bad by any means, but you weren’t sure how to give advice on something that had come naturally. Luckily, Eren was understanding. He had, however, scrunched up his nose at your suggestion of, “Jean might be able to give you better advice”.

“Right. Like that clown would know about anything besides eating grass...”

And that was the first time he made you smile.

It was the first time you’d smiled since the Titans arrival. It was one of the few things that had given Eren a sense of warmth in his stomach. There was a click.

After that, Eren had questioned you about your homeland. You answered, not even phased that he hadn’t remembered you from childhood. You had teased him about it at least, but he was quick to apologize. Nothing serious. You barely even had a paranoia attack from remembering that day.

There was really never a lot of words exchanged between the two of you. But there was a certain connection.

Eren was just as hot headed as you’d observed him to be. He was loud spoken and brash, and certainly didn’t think things through as much as he should’ve. He had tendency to be the center of attention, it turned out. This was a stark contrast to yourself, who was silently wise and calculating. Eren was upfront about himself and what anyone could expect from him. You were more of a mystery. But you couldn’t blame Eren for acting out when and how he did. He had something he felt he had to prove. He had an intense anger. And while you may not have possessed as much as he did, you liked the character it gave him.

You would’ve never said it- and nobody would ever have asked- but Eren was your favorite. You’d had a crush on him, though you hadn’t given it much thought or validation. And Eren had a crush on you, but his mind wasn’t one to linger on one specific person against the grand scheme of things.

But then Eren had died at Trost. Armin confirmed it. Mikasa confirmed Armin. What was done was done.

So what kind of joke was this?

Why was Eren Jaeger watching at you from across the room now? It’s not a clone- his eyes are far too pure and raw for it to be an illusion of any kind. They shone in the light like planets that Armin would go on about. His hair was dark as ever. A little long, but you hadn’t any mind. His skin was roughed up, with markings around his eyes that reminded you of war paint. The only thing that had could remind you that the boy had once indeed died was the ripped sleeve on his left side, from the day a titan had bitten through it in Armin’s stead.

You’d heard about what happened. How Eren was a titan. How he had sealed Trost in his titan form. You hadn’t believed it much. It was hard to get behind, in all fairness. But you hadn’t been present at the time of all the announcements. You had been assigned to a small group of cadets going behind wall Maria after the official retreat in order to get more gas. You’d remember feeling especially bitter towards the end of that assignment, as Mikasa had directly referred to you as a coward.

You’d made it back in time to help in the defense of Eren sealing the wall again, killing a total of five titans that day. Still, the damage between you and Mikasa had been done. Annie was right about her being pretentious, anyway.

But you hadn’t believed that Eren was really alive.

So that brings you to reality. The one where Eren watches you from across the dimly lit mess hall as everyone else files out. You’re not sure whether to break contact or not. You’re sure, at least, that you missed him. But your relationship wasn’t forward enough or labeled enough for you to audibly or physically express that.

Once everyone is gone, Erens eyes narrow slightly. They’re just as colorful as you remember.

“I thought you would’ve been happy to see me,” he calls out to you, though it’s low and somewhat reminds you of a threat.

You shift your feet so that your shoulders are fully facing him, square. There’s a clay cup in your hands. You put that down on the table in any attempt to give Eren as much of your attention as possible, but your brain is cloudy from thinking of him too much at this point.

“I thought you were dead,” you call back. “You hadn’t contacted me for three days. I started to think the rumors weren’t true.”

Eren doesn’t say anything. He has dark rings under his eyes that tell you he’s tired. Bruises cover his skin. There’s the corner of a white bandage peaking out from under the collar of his shirt. There is nothing about the boys appearance to suggest that he is a titan. In fact, he looks more vulnerable and human than most anyone you know.

“No. I’m alive,” Eren states.

“Yeah. Clearly.”

Silence.

You and Eren aren’t friends. It’s just not the right word. But you do share a bond through the common denominator of trauma. Lovers? The passion was there. The courage and capability, however, was somewhat lacking. Companions? Closer.

“I’d thought it was a joke,” you admit. Your tone comes off more bitter than you’d intended. Eren will assume you’re angry with him if you’re not careful. Maybe he already does.

“Not a funny one, I’m assuming,” Eren returns. The look in his eyes tells you that your suspicion of his feelings may be correct. If Eren continues on in believing that you have ill will towards him, he won’t hesitate to act in kind. You doubt he cares what your relationship towards him will be then. A hot headed man is a hot headed man.

Another moment of silence goes by. Your hands are getting sweaty as you look at him. You scuff them against your trousers in an attempt to dry them. You’re trying to stay frozen, which isn’t easy as you think of all the things you could say to him.

Eren isn’t moving. He is still and strong, with steady eyes and furrowed brows. If you don’t apologize, his brain will have no choice but to resent you. It’s just how his works. So with a slight trembling in your voice, you speak out: “I’m not angry with you, Eren.”

Eren’s shoulders drop slightly as a thin layer of stress leaves. At this, your own tension threatens to sink away. You’re certain you’re in love with him at that very moment, but the specific words don’t come directly to mind.

You don’t know how the specific memory continued from there. But you do know that there would be a repeat. A repeat you’re living again.

But this time you’re at the edge of the world. Right where the earth touches the sea, between the exact edges of heaven and hell.

He’s beside you. He hasn’t left.

But he won’t meet your eyes either.

Eren’s hair is longer this time. You don’t mind. It suits him, and so is yours. His muscles have toned out by now. He’s more intelligent and mature. Eren won’t be angry if you’re angry with him first, this time. And while there is a certain rage that’s bubbled under your skin over the years, it’s still not worth mentioning to him.

It’s now, however, as you look over at the man, that you are sure that this is all just one big, unfunny, poorly thought out joke. Especially now that you’ve come to terms with your own, unfunny, poorly thought out, version of love.

This, the punchline of the joke, is the moment that you are sure you miss him. You will have little shame in expressing it this time.

___________ _______ ____

This character belongs to the Attack on Titan (Shingeki no Kyojin) universe. I’ll be branching out to this one and Harry Potter, alongside Star Wars. Just wanted to put something out so everyone’s aware I’m still writing.

Please be patient as I continue with requests.

#eren yeager #eren #aot #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren fanfiction #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #eren jaeger imagines #eren yeager imagines #imagines #fanfiction #x reader

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agentjx7 · 3 years

Text

SO I wrote this massive post in the BCB discord explaining why I still like Paulo/Lucy, and at some urging I’ve edited it for tumblr!

Now, I could start off with a lot of talking about Paulo and Lucy’s personalities and why I think they’d mesh well together, but you’ve probably read the comic. You know the characters. I don’t think the argument “they don’t have chemistry” is even on the table. Instead, I feel like most people’s arguments about the ship are either “there are healthier/better ships for both of them” or “the Ferris Wheel scene and chapter 100 sink it.” So let’s talk about these arguments.

I am not going to be able to convince anyone who thinks that their ship is “better” than paulucy to switch sides, so let’s talk about healthier for a second. Paulo’s relationship with Daisy as it stands at the moment would doubtless get mired down by Daisy’s jealousy of Lucy. I’m not saying it couldn’t be good in the future, and both of them are developing in the directions that would make that easier, but at the moment I don’t think it’d be good. And as for Lucy? The number of healthy ships for Lucy is vanishingly small. I think it’s possible that her relationship with Paulo, if it started in the next chapter, would be healthy, but I also think they both need a little more work— and I think that they’re more likely to develop in positive ways together than apart!

Now, as for their recent arguments. I do not think Lucy is telling the truth during After You on the Ferris Wheel— at least, not the whole truth. She doesn’t feel like she can do a relationship at the moment, and she’s tired of watching Paulo (who she cares about deeply) hurt himself by waiting for her. This is compounded by the things she’s internalized from December and after: she feels like all she CAN do is hurt Paulo more, and that even if she starts dating him he’s only going to be doing it because he likes her appearance. Paulo might have proved MULTIPLE times that this isn’t the case, but she’s dealing with quite a bit right now and it’s very hard for her to see the positives in any of her relationships— Augustus excluded.

During the Ferris wheel ride she never actually can bring herself to tell Paulo outright that she doesn’t love him and that she’s incapable of loving him in the future. She does say that she’s sorry they couldn’t have been more in the past, but that’s because of her crush on Mike, a crush she’s slowly getting over. When he flat out asks her if there’s no way for her to love him she gives a non-answer and then changes the subject to the time they slept together, which she argues she only did because she thought she’d never see him again. I think this is true (and it was kind of a shitty thing to do), but Lucy isn’t giving herself enough credit OR Paulo enough agency here. Her goal during this whole conversation is to convince Paulo to move on from her, so she says a LOT of stuff that’s fairly hurtful. From her own admission, though, the reason she’s saying it all is because she thinks Paulo should move on, and that she’s not worth waiting for. That’s not her call to make. Unfortunately, as we see from their next conversation, all she really accomplished was ruining Paulo’s evening.

So now the big one, High Expectations. Paulo absolutely BLOWS UP at Lucy here, and a lot of people signaled it as the death knell for the ship. It definitely wasn’t our finest hour, but I maintain that there’s a couple little things in the scene that show that it’s still got stuff going for it. FIRST of all, Paulo flat-out says he loves Lucy. This one should’ve put the nail in the coffin of “ah Paulo doesn’t care about her because of the fair” argument, but on the NEXT page we get to the big one. Lucy says she didn’t come back for any of them, and Paulo asks the armor-piercing question: “Then why the fuck did you come back?”

This scene, this panel, is the FIRST time since Love Again that we see Lucy taken off guard by one of the members of the gang. It’s the only time her “I’m a cold hearted bitch now and I hate all of you” act really drops before she has her conversation with Sue a couple chapters later (It’s All in the Mind).

Paulo is the first person to REALLY get under her skin after she returns, and it’s pretty clear the things he says in this chapter stick with her. I could talk more about that, but for now let’s talk about Paulo and why he doesn’t mean the shit he says right here about how he’s Done With Lucy for real this time™️. First of all, Paulo is right up there with Mike and Lucy in terms of emotional outbursts— the main difference is that when he attacks people he just straight-up physically attacks them instead of tearing them down emotionally, and that it’s a coin flip whether he’s going to get angry with someone else or burst into emotional tears and start hating himself (because he’s one of the most empathetic emotional characters in the comic but I digress). He’s just seen Lucy, who’s keeping up the “I actually hate ALL of you now” act, with AUGUSTUS, who to his knowledge is the guy who tried to molest Daisy and nothing else. Robbed of the context of the situation, he feels like Lucy really hates them all so much that she’d rather hang out with the creep than them— than HIM— and that shit hurts. Why? Because he absolutely still loves her.

Paulo has also had an EXTREMELY rough day. One of his best friends just slammed his face into a lunch table. He’s still on rough terms with Abbey, even if Daisy’s party has assuaged some of these fears. He’s ALREADY ready to fall apart, and then THIS hits him like a train. It HURTS, so he lashes out and storms off.

Lucy realizes that she’s hurt him, bad, and that hurts her— but we don’t get to see that because Paulo and Mike are the focus of the chapter so we’re MOVING ON now, I’ll explain in a minute.

SO! During All in the Mind Lucy has another confrontation with her friends, leading to her blow-up with Daisy. BUT CRUCIALLY she’s on good terms with Sue again, and she starts to realize that she can’t keep hurting her old friends like this. This leads directly into her behavior in Witch Hunt, which is the next time we see the two of them interact. All she does is apologize to Paulo for potentially hurting him again with the dress— but this is a bigger moment than it might seem. In the earlier chapters after her return, Lucy would’ve pretended not to care that her actions could have hurt Paulo, but this time things are different! This is her reaching the olive branch out to him, as well as her genuine fear that she’s just hurt him again. Paulo assures her it’s no big deal, and then resumes casually flirting with her (in a friendly way!), something that she laughs with and clearly enjoys. When Daisy interrupts them they BOTH start blushing.

SINCE THAT POINT, the only chapter to feature the two of them significantly interacting is Unwanted Gift. Paulo happily takes part in the celebrations of Lucy’s birthday, which he DEFINITELY would not have done if he was still in the same mindset from High Expectations. Now, I can’t claim to know what’s going to happen after the most recent emotional missile salvo of a chapter, but I truly do believe the two of them are in a much better place than when Lucy first returned.

NOW, what evidence do I have that they really do still love each other? Admittedly, some of it is just my own gut feeling about the characters. Lucy leaving for the better part of a year didn’t put a damper on Paulo’s feelings. Being told “stop caring about me before you get hurt,” ESPECIALLY since Lucy can’t (or won’t) say “I don’t love you,” is not going to stop him.

As for Lucy? Well, there’s the inherent fact that Lucy didn’t just come out and say she didn’t like him and he had no chance. Lucy is often brutally honest, and she still chose to dodge the question when he asked. But Lucy still can’t bring herself to say she does love him, so if she’s so brutally honest, she must not, right? Well, no! One of Lucy’s major character flaws is that she can’t be fully honest with people, even when it would benefit them both. Admitting her true feelings is a specific area where that’s a problem— Lucy confessed she loves someone once before, and look how THAT went. Also on the BCB ship chart she’s still listed as having a crush on him and the chart came out in *checks notes* after Lucy came back so I’m hanging onto that for dear life

So, there you have it! My overdrawn explanation of why paulucy good, actually. Thank you so much for reading if you got this far! God I really love this comic waaay too much.

#bittersweet candy bowl #BCB #paulo #lucy #paulucy #hahahahahahhahaahahaahhahahaahhaa hahah hahah ahah #i am going to explode #writing #ship analysis

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noonmutter · 3 years

Text

Introductions

Daily Writing Challenge 2021 Day 12: Ball/Gravestone

"It's gonna be a quiet meetin'. They're not...th' most talkative people, these days."

"No, I know, love, of course. I absolutely still want to do this. You're so brave for this and I'm so proud of you."

Leon couldn't hold in a chuckle at that. Valarin's open, whole-hearted support of him for what was, admittedly, a trip that Leon had made dozens of times by now was all but impossible to ignore. The reassurance wasn’t necessary, but he wasn’t about to ruin Val’s fun. He simply set a hand on his wee love's shoulder to momentarily silence him, and bent to kiss his forehead.

"Thank you, love. It's okay. I'm not gonna collapse, it's just...a li'l tense, sometimes. Bringin' somebody new..." He let himself trail off as he inspected the kit they'd brought with them. Valarin had brought the supplies for their lunch, and he'd brought a bag of gardening tools, along with a couple bouquets of marigolds at Val's insistence. Asking about the marigolds had opened up the floodgates, not that he minded; listening to Valarin get himself going about something he was passionate about was one of Leon’s favorite things.

"The marigolds are traditionally very important! You see, the land of the living can be confusing and difficult to navigate for spirits. We try to help them by providing strong sensory things to guide them. The marigolds have a strong smell, but I think their color is quite strong too! And the candles are a little lighthouse..."

The flowers had been a bit of a trick to avoid crushing once they'd left the road that would've led them across the border into Stranglethorn, but they'd managed. He still wasn't sure if mum and dad would actually like the marigolds, but he understood the importance of it being this specific kind of flower, now. It was both like and unlike the little ceremonies the Gilnean was familiar with.

"This is such a lovely area, too. I’m honestly so excited to see where your parents rest. I’ve not really seen many human gravesites. I’m interested to see how similar they are. I’d like to learn about Gilnean customs regarding it. I know that the Day of the Dead is more widespread now, so I’m sure your parents will enjoy the offerings all the same. And--Hey, are you doing okay? You’ve been a little quiet."

Leon paused, then gave a short shake of his head. "Just tryna make sure we don't get lost, hey?" It was a lame excuse for letting his mind wander, but Val let it pass, since they were tromping through an awful lot of dense foliage. Valarin was aware there was a moonwell not all that far from where they wandered, and though there was a ceasefire, it was still Alliance territory and he was still visibly not a night elf. The tension wasn't really there like it'd been during their trip to Aerie Peak, though; they were alone and nowhere near a proper settlement.

He almost asked another question before Leon stopped, pointed at a small cluster of bright purple blooms hugging the forest floor, and said, "We're 'ere." It was hard not to get excited all over again, but he wanted to be respectful of Leon's feelings, so he kept himself from squeaking and simply gave Leon his best 'I'm here for you' smile. Leon answered it with another kiss on his forehead. Val liked those kisses, even if they were usually Leon filling in a silence when he couldn't figure out what to say.

He watched Leon pull a ton of vines and push a ton of branches aside like a very sturdy set of curtains, and after a moment, rushed to assist. Together, they opened up a relatively worn footpath to a small clearing. Val couldn't help but gasp softly at the sight; it seemed like every square inch of the ground was covered in lilacs! Little purple flowers were everywhere, and the scent was almost overwhelming. Butterflies fluttered from blossom to blossom in every direction, and small clouds of them seemed to erupt every time he or Leon took a step. He found himself tiptoeing to try and avoid crushing anything almost immediately.

"Oh, Light, it's absolutely beautiful, Leon. You did this?" The thought was enough to bring tears to his eyes, but he tried not to let it, at least not yet. He knew he'd do plenty of crying before the day was out and he'd really rather not start again so soon. It was a little embarrassing, even if Leon said it wasn't. Just focus on not snagging your pants on anything, Valarin…

"Well, I mean, th' flowers did it on their own, mostly... flowers do tha'..." Leon looked sheepish as he deflected praise, "All I did was plant a couple an' leave 'em be. Lilacs 're 'ardy, easy thin's. Part o' why mum liked 'em so much." The Gilnean made his way carefully but quickly through the dense growth, well used to the path he took and not worrying overmuch about whether he was stomping flowers or butterflies; the flowers were going to be cut back anyway, and the butterflies were quicker than he was. Reaching the apparent edge of the clearing, Leon bent to set his hand on a particularly tall lilac bush, then abruptly tore away a few branches to reveal the carved wooden grave marker underneath it.

It was not a professional job, this marker, but it had definitely been a work of diligence and a high degree of effort. It was sanded down to a nearly glasslike smoothness, and it would probably shine like it once it was cleaned up. The uneven top edge of it suggested it had originally been a chunk of driftwood, but it’d been stained so dark that it was hard to be sure. Valarin was privately glad he’d gotten better at reading Common lettering; hand-carved stuff like this was a little tricky. “Bettany Marie Ambroce” caught a bit of light and practically glowed.

“Right. ‘Ere we are, then.”

“Oh, Leon,” Valarin said, “This is so lovely. This is your mother?” He knelt down beside the wood and brushed his fingertips over the lettering. “Hello, Missus Ambroce. I’m happy to meet you.”

“Yeah.” Leon didn’t really know how else to answer, but felt like that was woefully insufficient. “This’s mum.” Okay that was almost less helpful. He brushed his fingers along the lettering in much the same way Valarin had, mulling over a few things before he settled on a simple, “...You r’member Val’rin, right? I’ve talked about ‘im b’fore…” He risked a glance at his little love, offering a weak smile. “Only th’ good stuff, though. Promise.”

“It better have been!” Val flashed a playful grin and tossed his hair. “I am a perfect angel, after all.”

Chuckling, Leon set down the bag of tools and took out a pair of hedge trimmers, offering them to Valarin. “I’ll take care o’ th’ bigger messes, you clear out th’ stuff all over th’ ground, okay?”

“Wait, are we doing this entire clearing?”

“Course. Otherwise th’ lilacs’ll grow way too far an’ get completely outta control. It’s already bad enough cuz I waited longer’n I should’ve, I norm’ly come by ev’ry month or so.”

Valarin looked out across the small expanse of purple with a tiny bit less wonderment than he had the first time. This was a bit more work than he’d realized, but, he had to admit to himself, Leon had warned him. And he was bound and determined to help, regardless, so! Nothing for it but to roll up his sleeves and get to work. Leon had to restrain himself from grinning at the look of almost militant determination that Val got before he started clipping away.

“Cheer up, at least y’ don’t ‘ave t’ make it look pretty, too, hey?” He waggled his own pair of much smaller clippers, and gestured toward the high-piled bushes covering the pair of markers. “I’ll prune these down an’ then we’ll both tackle th’ rest of ‘em. It only takes about an hour if there’s two of us.”

“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“‘Ow d’you mean?”

“Well I’m going to end up killing most of these by cutting them back all…all willy-nilly, aren’t I?”

“Sure, but tha’s kinna th’ point. They can’t all keep growin’ or they’ll overtake more’n th’ forest kin afford, see? S’why I come back an’ clean it up at all. Can’t just plant whatever, wherever, or it throws th’ ‘ole balance outta whack. I’d be a worse druid than I already am if I just planted a bush an’ left it.”

“You are not a bad druid!”

Laughing, Leon pruned away, and Valarin attacked the rest of the lilacs with gusto.

Once they were roughly halfway through the clearing as a whole, Leon mercifully called for a break. Valarin was not at all accustomed to Leon in work mode, at least not like this; he knew the man could get lost in his leatherwork for hours, but that wasn’t quite so physically demanding as this. It was impressive, if a bit exhausting to keep up with.

They both sat down with a satisfied sigh, and Leon stretched his legs in the much more visible grass by the cleaned-up gravestones. Once properly polished, the lettering on both gleamed like it had been painted with gold:

Bettany Marie Ambroce Beloved wife and mother I’ll take it from here

Graeme Iain Ambroce Beloved husband and father I’ve got this

“Dad would’ve liked you, y’know.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. Anybody ‘o kin keep up with an Ambroce’s bullshit is worth keepin’ an eye on, somethin’ like that.” Leon chuckled with a subdued smile, thinking back on various times when he’d heard that. Naturally, Graeme had been talking about his own wife, but still. It had merit. “‘Especially th’ wee ones.’ Mum was about yer ‘eight, I think.”

Valarin’s ears went back just a little. “I’m not that wee.” After a moment, though, he let himself chuckle, too. “Although I suppose it’s still a compliment. You said he was a mountain, anyway.”

That made Leon laugh, and he threw his arms out wide. “Oh yeah, an absolute fuckin’ behemoth, was dad. ‘E wrestled with steer at th’ yearly fairs, sometimes, an’...”

As much as Leon enjoyed listening to Valarin give impromptu dissertations, Valarin loved listening to Leon tell stories of his family and his home. Knowing that he’d never get to see either of them the way his boyfriend did, he clung to every word to try his best to imagine it, and let the farmboy ramble as long as he was willing to. He only dared to interrupt long enough to break out their picnic, which thankfully didn’t stop the flood at all.

Once they’d eaten and Leon had run out of tales to tell--some of which Valarin was sure had to be at least exaggerated, if not totally made up, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out which ones--they’d gotten back to work. It was almost agony to start over again, since they’d had enough time for their hands to start hurting. That only seemed to spur them to get done quicker so that they were able to put the tools away after what felt like no time at all.

While Leon was raking the detritus into a corner of the clearing, Valarin set to work by the markers.

First, Valarin set up a small collapsible bed tray in front of the markers themselves, and covered it with a white cloth. He set out a few candles and arranged the marigolds all around what would become their ofrenda. Upon the tray he left portions of the favored foods they had brought; raspberry tarts, beef pasties, fried taters, all sorts of things. Though they had no pictures of the deceased--Leon couldn’t bring himself to risk losing the only image he had of his entire family--it was the thought that counted for this.

Obviously, Leon wanted to help, but he also didn’t want to do things wrong (despite Valarin’s many and constant reminders that there was no wrong way to arrange an ofrenda), so he hung back until it was almost finished. At Valarin’s urging, Leon took up a long match, and they each lit a candle at the same time, one for each parent. Finally, a small bundle of marigold petals was pressed into Leon’s hands, and he awkwardly scattered them in a rough line from the ofrenda to the graves themselves. Valarin had already made one out of the clearing itself, and with Leon’s contribution, there was a complete path.

When he returned to Val’s side, Val immediately curled both arms around his waist and tugged him down till they were both seated in the grass before the ofrenda. There, Val could finally get the cuddles he so cherished. Leon smiled softly and dragged the insistent thing into his lap, the better to hug him close and rest his chin on top of Val’s head.

“So… what ‘appens now?”

“Now, you tell me more stories about them, and cuddle me, and I’ll tell you stories about mine, and cuddle you.”

“All night?”

“All night.”

“I think I kin do tha’.”

Though they couldn’t leave everything behind, the next morning, a pair of marigold-and-lilac wreaths hung from the wooden gravestones.

( @daily-writing-challenge @valarin-sunstorm )

#my writing #leon #valarin #valeon #mum and dad #collab #writing valarin in full Explain Mode is HARD so the mun helped :D #dwc

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rubysunnday · 4 years

Text

No. Six

A/N: i actually wrote something, bloody hell (no, this isn’t Umbrella Academy despite what the title says)

Growing up in Birmingham wasn’t pretty.

Literally and figuratively.

Growing up in a family of six was even worse.

Over her nineteen years of being alive, Y/N Shelby had often wondered who or what she’d wronged in a past life to deserve being the youngest of a family of idiots. When Polly used to make her go to church on Sunday – something she’d stopped doing as soon as she could because if God was real, why was the world so shite? – she often silently asked what she’d done wrong and how she could fix it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t like her family – love was a very strong word, one that wasn’t said… at all, really – they just drove her up the wall.

Ada was the one sibling who rarely managed to annoy her - the two only succeeding in driving each other insane twice and, even then, it wasn’t for long.

Her twin brother, Finn (who was only ten minutes older but seemed to think he was a whole year older), was the main culprit behind her exasperation. He wasn’t the brightest tool in the toolbox and it often led Y/N to wonder how on earth he’d survived nineteen years on the planet without even coming close to dying.

“I didn’t mean to stab myself,” Finn muttered as Ada prodded the stab wound, he’d somehow given himself whilst chopping carrots. “I thought it was the carrot.”

“Well, they do have a similar resemblance,” Y/N replied. She was sitting on the kitchen table, legs swinging back and forth, as she tried not to enjoy her brother’s pain too much.

Finn turned his head to glare at her sister, regretting it almost instantly when he accidentally looked at his very bloody hand. “Oh, fuck.”

Arthur sighed and handed Finn a bucket, begrudgingly rubbing his back as he threw up. “Alright, you’re fine.”

“Somewhere out there a tree is working very hard to replace the oxygen you consume,” Y/N said, scooting across the table, away from Finn. “Now go apologise to it.”

“You’re one too talk,” Finn groaned, head in the bucket.

“Finn, love, everything that comes out of my mouth is pure gold,” Y/N replied, picking up a piece of chicken from the plate next to her. “You lot just never fucking listen.”

“Y/N, you’re not helping,” Ada snapped, taking a moment to glare at her sister.

Y/N licked her fingers and sighed. “I know… I’ve just got nothing better to do than annoy you lot.”

When Finn wasn’t causing complete havoc in the household, it was usually John.

Despite being married – twice – and a father to far, far too many children, John still acted as if he was a child. Y/N had lost count of the amount of times she’d been woken up by John falling down the stairs because he was too drunk to remember that they went around a corner.

Out of all four of her brothers, however, John was – not that she would ever admit aloud to anyone – her favourite. He always seemed to know when she needed cheering up or when she need someone to take her mind of things.

As a rule, the Shelby’s were not a very affectionate family, but John was the exception to that rule. He gave the best hugs – the one’s that could almost piece every broken part of you back together again – and he wasn’t afraid to show his soft side to his siblings.

That didn’t stop him from being a complete twat, however.

“I was going to ask how, but then I remembered I don’t care,” Y/N said, frowning at John who had, somehow, managed to get his car wedged between a wall and tree.

John sighed, hanging his head. “Y/N, for once in your fucking life, can you just help and not make a sarcastic comment?”

“John, you’re the one who taught me to be that way,” Y/N replied, jumping down from her car and walking over to him. “Besides, what exactly do you want me to do about it?”

“I don’t know!” John yelled, throwing his hands up. “Fucking fix it?”

Y/N sighed, leaning on the bonnet of her car, crossing her arms. “Have you tried pushing it out?”

“Yes.”

“Driving it forward?”

“Yes.”

“Moved the branches?”

“Yes.”

“Have you tried reversing it out?”

John paused, frowning slightly. “Ah, fucking hell.”

“You’re welcome,” Y/N called, jumping back into her car. She reversed it back far enough for John to reverse his car out – albeit with a lot of screeching and swearing from both him and the car.

Tommy and Arthur never, usually, caused an issue.

Well, for Y/N, anyway.

The age gap between her and her two oldest brothers meant they’d never really gotten close or had a chance to actually be siblings. Y/N rarely talked to them since neither one was around much, both off running the company.

She saw more of Arthur than she did Tommy. She normally saw him at the Garrison when she was working – because god forbid a woman who wasn’t married be allowed to work for the Shelby Company – and she was often the one to kick him out and send him home.

Arthur was more of a parental figure in her life than a brother. Y/N didn’t remember her mother and had no recollection of their father ever being in their lives – all she remember was Arthur being the one to look out for her.

“Evening,” Y/N said as Arthur sat down at the bar, taking his hat off and burying his head in his hands.

“Mmhm,” Arthur muttered, his head dropping onto the counter with a loud thud.

Y/N turned around, setting aside the glasses she was drying, and grabbed a fresh bottle of whiskey and two glass. She placed them down and poured the whiskey out.

“On the house,” Y/N said, sliding the glass over to her brother. “Well, since you own it, it’s your own shit so who cares.”

She reached over and clinked her glass with his as Arthur looked up at her, a puzzled expression on his face. Y/N looked at him and raised an eyebrow as she swallowed the sip of whiskey she’d taken.

“Oh, what?” Y/N asked, knowing the look on her brother’s face never meant anything good.

“You’re not usually this nice,” Arthur said, picking up his glass.

“Well, I am to Polly and Ada.”

“My fucking point.”

Y/N smiled, chuckling as she finished her drink. “Well, being the youngest of six does mean all concept of ‘nice’ goes out the fucking window.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head as he downed his drink in one, slamming the glass back on to the table. “You know, it’s still weird seeing you in here, working… living. I keep thinking you should be back at the house, in bed or getting ready for school. Yet, here you are, wearing John’s old shirt and trousers –“

“Nah, this is your shirt,” Y/N corrected.

Despite what many people thought, Y/N wasn’t opposed to the skirts and dresses her aunt and sister wore. She just didn’t like them as much. It made running and breaking up bar fights considerably harder.

Y/N had realised that Tommy and Arthur never really bothered to mend the shirts and trousers that got holes in them. They just threw them out because they had the money to just buy new ones. Y/N – who had never quite gotten to grips with the fact they had money now – always rescued the clothes from the bin or pile of scraps and mended them enough to let her wear them.

They were always far too big, but she just rolled the waist band up or wore a belt with them and it tended to do the job.

Y/N slid the bottle of whiskey over to Arthur and nudged his hand. “Don’t seem so surprised. I never quite got over the fact we don’t have to be frugal anymore, so I took your old clothes – and Tommy’s, too – and mended them up and wore them myself. Besides, I look a lot hotter in these than I do a dress. I think it’s the waist band, it does wonders for my hips.”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head as he poured himself another dink. “Y/N Shelby, you are a fucking wonder to me.”

“Why, because I’m nothing like you or Tommy?” Y/N asked, drying another glass. “You don’t see it, Arthur, but I’m a lot more like the both of you than you think. I can just hide my hatred of the world.”

Tommy was, if Y/N had to say, the sibling she had the worse relationship with. Over the years she’d realised that she was far too like her brother for them to ever get along because Tommy just constantly saw himself in her. She would’ve loved to have a better relationship with him – she was always envious of how close Ada was with him – but eventually just realised it would never happen.

Because Y/N was the spitting image of her brother, she just hid it all better.

The one and only time Y/N and Tommy had a meaningful sibling moment that didn’t involve yelling and screaming at one another was shortly after Grace had died. Y/N hadn’t seen him in weeks – he’d disappeared off the face of the earth entirely without a word – but she’d found him one night, sitting on a hill, by himself.

She’d been out riding, gotten lost and – long story short – had somehow found herself at Tommy’s house despite starting out over ten miles away.

Tommy had looked up as she rode up to him and had frowned slightly, looking around to check that it was, indeed, night time.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asked as she walked up to him.

Y/N waved a hand. “Got lost, long story. More importantly,” she said, kneeling down opposite him and warming her hands in front of the fire, “why are you moping up here in the cold?”

“Doubt you’d understand, Y/N,” Tommy muttered, taking a sip of his flask.

Y/N sighed to herself, sitting cross-legged on the cold grass and leaning back on her hands. She looked up at Tommy, eyes scanning him. “Tommy, you’ve probably heard the same fucking apology speech a dozen times this past week from a dozen different people. None have helped because you blame yourself for what happened.

“Our family isn’t one for affection and, well, for being nice to each other. We never used to even be able to have a conversation without screaming at one another so, whilst I’m almost certain you are high, I’m going to add this one to the list of successful conversations.

“Tommy, look. Life is… shit. But we all knew that already. It doesn’t get any easier. It gets a whole lot worse. Losing Grace will be one of the hardest things you’ll have to live with, and you will always run that moment over in your head, wondering ‘what if?’. But, what’s the point in dwelling in the past so much you forget what a gift the present is.”

“And what fucking gift is the present gonna give me, eh?” Tommy asked, glancing at his sister, his tone cold. “My wife is dead, because of me.”

“Yet your son is still alive.”

Tommy’s cold eyes flicked up to look at Y/N. His brow furrowed slightly as he took in her words. He raised his cigarette to his lips and took a long drag of it.

“Tommy, we don’t get to decide who lives and who dies, despite what you think,” Y/N said quietly, leaning forward, her face being lit up by the fire in front of her. “Nor do we get to decide who tells our story. But, your son, is still alive and breathing. If anyone is going to tell your story and be the one to continue on your legacy, it will be him.”

Y/N stood up, dusting the leaves off the bottom of her jacket. She gave Tommy a small smile and turned around, walking back to her horse.

Tommy watched his sister as she rode off without another word, leaving him and his thoughts alone once more.

#peaky blinder fanfic #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders imagines #shelby sis #shelby sister #sister!reader

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

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Fluff alphabet for Tadashi Hamada if you're stil writing for him, please. B, c,s w?

Indeed, I do still write for the lovely lad. Stuff is below the cut

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?):

Oh, most definitely. Tadashi is a very family-oriented man. Always has been, always will be. So it’s no surprise that he looks forward to the day he can start his own little branch of the Hamada family tree. We’ve already seen how he is with Hiro: He’s protective, he’s encouraging, he’s inspiring, he’s good at getting him to do things he may not want to do even if it’s for his own benefit -- imagine what wonders he could do if those traits were applied to a little mini-him or mini-you or mini-you-both!

Honestly, the subject goes more or less unspoken between you two because it’s kind of a given that Tadashi wants kids. You two would be taking a walk in the park or going to the mall and the moment a stroller passes by, he’s barely playing off how much he’s trying to crane his neck to gaze upon the chubby wonder resting inside. You can see the disappointment in his eyes when he fails. Some days when you’re just at the Lucky Cat trying to get some homework done, you’ll glance up and see him at a table with a baby at it, speaking all kinds of sweet words to them. You’ve seen his favorites playlist on Youtube -- it has a decade-old commercial for Legal Zoom on it. When you questioned why it was there in the first place, you had to witness your adoring boyfriend sheepishly admit that the baby in it was just too cute. And also he liked the pale purple walls and thought it’d make for good inspiration.

“Good inspiration for . . .?” you led, knowing exactly where it was headed. You watched at Tadashi’s eyes wandered and his cheeks and ears reddened.

“For . . . a nursery . . .” he responded. It was a mumble, but you heard everything you needed to know loud and clear.

Well, not everything, of course: You asked him what exactly he envisioned for the future.

He admitted he wasn’t exactly particular about whether he wanted a boy or a girl, let alone first or second -- he just knew he would like at least two children so neither one would be lonely. Corny and cheesy as it was, he would’ve preferred to live somewhere a little closer to the suburbs (“Hey, at least I don’t expect a white picket fence!” he justified). His reasoning being that he’d like a nice, quiet area in which many parks and libraries and schools can be accessible, and so any children of yours have room to grow. However, given the structure of the area, he knew that this was going to be a tough call for a multitude of reasons.

Bottom line, though, he’d be okay with living in the city if it meant he could still provide for you and your hypothetical kids the best he could. He just wants to make sure everyone is happy and healthy. But for now, he’s content with it just being the two of you . . . Emphasis on “for now.”

C = Cuddles (How do they cuddle?):

Usually with a prayer that Hiro doesn’t barge in. No, seriously: That bedroom of theirs offers only the most courteous of privacies by way of a tasteful but otherwise unpersuasive shoji. You want Hiro to see you guys trying to get cozy about as much as Hiro does -- which is not at all, given how he pretends to throw up every time he’s walked in on you two. And how he’s voiced his dislike of it.

Given that Tadashi is ever the caring brother and roommate, he can only get away with so many dry, “You don’t have to be here”s before he just feels bad about it. As a result, the two of you have actually had to create a cuddling schedule built with Hiro’s course times, your availability, and Tadashi’s availability in mind. And God forbid Hiro ever finds out about that schedule because all he needs is one more reason to call the both of you Ultra Nerds.

Worse-case scenario, you two get booted out and have to make do with the couch in the garage, cramped as it is. But you don’t mind: Usually, the reason you two are cuddling is because you’re so butt-tired from coursework that you need to relax and zonk out for a couple hours. Besides, for as lanky and more muscle-based as a guy like Tadashi is, his arm wrapped around you is unfairly warm and comforting. You’re bound to be conked out before you can even utter a complaint, or at the very least you’re way too relaxed to register the fact that you’re both awkwardly strewn about the furniture.

So if it had to be put in a different way (and less about worrying somebody might barge in), you supposed you could describe your cuddling as being the snug equivalent to how a college student eats, sleeps, or lives altogether: You both take what you can get when you can get it and try to enjoy it before it’s time to go to your next “adult obligation.”

S = Sad (How do they cheer themselves/others up?):

Tadashi is a pretty optimistic person so it’s actually hard to get him completely down, let alone long enough for him to actually require a pick-me-up bigger than a brief inner pep talk. Normally all he needs to do is have a quiet moment to himself, some time to cool down, maybe remind himself that things can and will get better. But in the odd moment where this isn’t enough, Tadashi will often turn to his interests.

However, don’t assume this means he’ll hunker down in his lab and focus on one of his projects: He’s long since learned that it’s best to not robotically engineer with sad or frustrated -- way too many power outages have occurred from that.

Instead, he turns to his other hobbies: Living with Aunt Cass means he’s been knowing how to bake for years, albeit the baked fruits of his labors don’t always come out prettily; depending on how free his schedule is (read: not very at all anymore), he may go find a location to go surfing; or he goes to a park to get, like, a cart crepe. Usually being outside in a sunny place (with plenty of puppies and babies around) zaps him back to normal.

Which leaves him with plenty of time to figure out how to cheer you up!

Given his nature, Tadashi has become a wiz at cheering others up. He’s just got this nearly contagious brightness about him. And even if you don’t find yourself as readily bright as he, don’t worry: He’s not afraid to pull old tried-and-trues on you. Being an older brother/almost fatherly figure has allowed him the perfect position to perfect his trade: That is, the art of being goofy for the sake of cheering up his loved ones. He will easily pick you up and jump around with you, hollering about how he’s going to “turn that frown upside-down” -- by actually holding you upside-down.

Not your cup of tea? Then be prepared to witness the most tragic case of Dad Dancing ever recorded in a man below the age of 30, complete with cheesy disco music. You will be forced to witness his arms flailing, head bopping, mouth performing what you had once heard being referred to as “The White Man’s Overbite”. You will beg that he stop “for the love of Mochi.” You will try to have your pleas be heard over the speaker blaring “Got to Be Real” by Cheryl Lynn, only to be further drowned out by your boyfriend’s tone-deaf singing.

But the man will not stop: He must dance in your honor.

And once you’re done wiping away the tears left from cackling, he’ll treat you to some froyo.

If this still doesn’t work, there’s the slightest chance he might pull out the big guns: Tickling. It’s reserved strictly as a worst-case scenario, but he’s going to dance until his feet bleed if he can help it before he has to do that again. The last time he resorted to tickling a little too eagerly, it . . . didn’t end well.

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?):

When? A balmy evening in May. How? With a bit of difficulty. Mind you, Tadashi is a generally organized man on the average day. But on the day he proposes to you – heck, the days leading up to it? He’s a bit of a mess. And it’s in no small part due to how incredibly involved his friends and family had tried to be the entire time.

Make no mistake, he’s very glad that he has such supportive loved ones. However, he found himself constantly fighting off a heart attack every time one of them treaded the line a little too closely for his comfort. (Sure, there’s little suspicion in Honey gushing over wedding magazines with you or Aunt Cass asking you to sample a “brand new wedding cake flavor” she was planning to use for some pastries, but Wasabi asking about your ring size and Fred talking about how kaiju costumes were better than tuxes until GoGo had to slam him down really wasn’t exactly inconspicuous.)

Hiro might’ve been the closest thing to normal throughout it all, much to the elder Hamada brother’s surprise. But even then, he was more of less gesturing for Tadashi to just go ahead and pop the question – albeit, at the most inopportune times in the latter’s honest opinion.

“I can’t propose to my girlfriend in the campus library!” Tadashi rejected Monday.

“There’s nothing romantic about being in the middle of a pizzeria and going, ‘Hey, will you marry me?’” he scoffed on Wednesday.

“Hiro, if you ever propose to somebody in front of a mall fountain, then I’ve failed you,” came his dry response Saturday. He knew his younger brother meant no harm by applying the lightest of pressures; he just wanted all the anxieties over with! But this was you Tadashi was proposing to: You deserved only the best. Only the most heartfelt . . . Which was why, in the end, the where of it all was the Lucky Cat Café. Was it the fanciest establishment he could have done it in? Not really. Thankfully, Aunt Cass was all too eager to oblige his request to have the café to yourselves one evening; it allowed him to properly decorate your favorite table with a tablecloth and a bouquet of your favorite flowers. It was admittedly a tad cheesy, but you certainly didn’t mind it.

But this was where Tadashi had grown up. It was where his family – the core of his being – was, where his friends congregated to relax. This was his home in so many ways and if he was to invite you into his family, he wanted it to be done here. Even if it meant Aunt Cass and Hiro were not too discreetly peeking out from the back. Or that the entire time Tadashi was trying to recite his proposal speech, he kept getting distracted by your friends, whose faces were mashed against a window behind you, waiting to bear witness to this milestone.

Suffice to say, it was a very group-oriented situation. But neither you nor Tadashi would have had anything less.

Thank you for your patience!

#tadashi hamada #tadashi hamada x reader #tadashi hamada imagine #big hero 6 imagine #big hero 6 imagines #tadashi hamada headcanons #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons

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dindjarinbae · 4 years

Text

Safe and Sound (Kylo Ren x Reader)

request from @thefandomnetworkingchannel-32 : Can I have a request for Kylo Ren where the reader is dating him and is being trained by him? One day as they are training in the snowy forest, disaster strikes as an avalanche occurs. Kylo was able to escape it while the reader got trapped under the snow. When he goes looking for her, he digs her out just in time as she was running out of oxygen. He than takes her back to base and takes care of her, making sure she was okay.

okay hi, first of all, it took me nearly twenty minutes to decide on this dumb title, and second: i loved this so much. protective and soft kylo>>>>> thank you so much for the request, i hope i didn’t run too far with it. <3 also just a reminder that requests are open and i would adore to get some more! i’ll literally write whatever you want.

TW: none really

WC: 2240

“Again.”

You let out an indignant breath and looked at Kylo, sweat beading along your hairline, “What do you mean ‘again’?” You asked and ran the back of your arm over your forehead.

Even though it was freezing and snowing outside, Kylo had insisted that you allow him to take you out to the forest to train. You loved him, you really did, but he was a beast when it came to your training. A few years ago, he had found you on Tatooine on one of his missions, and it almost seemed like fate drew him to you. Life wasn’t easy for you by any means before he had found you. You had made a living on your own working on ship repairs after your parents had died and you had led a fairly lonely life until you met Kylo. He had sensed The Force within you and was quick to pluck you right off of your home planet, offering to teach you how to use the power you hadn’t even known you had. After that, falling in love was inevitable for both of you.

The two of you were practically inseparable, walking the halls of the Starkiller Base hand in hand, and it was learned by each and every man, woman, and stormtrooper that you were not to be touched or disrespected in any way whatsoever. Kylo made that very clear and was sure to exemplify his acts of violence against anyone that even looked at you wrong to everyone as a warning. Though you were capable of taking care of yourself, Kylo seemed to take pride in being your protector, and this certainly reflected in his training with you. He seldom took it easy on you, insisting that you needed to be able to defend yourself if there was ever a situation where you needed to. Thus why he always had you out in the cold of the ice planet that the First Order called their base, training until your legs wanted to give out and your arms wanted to fall off.

“I mean exactly what I said. That wasn’t right, your footing is off. Plus, you almost slipped on the snow. I told you that your balance needs to be better. So do better,” he explained and watched you, motioning for you to lunge at him again as he raised his crackling lightsaber.

You groaned and activated your small training saber and rolled your head a few times before finding your footing to lunge at him. You clenched your jaw and pounced, striking your saber downwards onto his. Expecting him to swing back or even fight you off, you quickly jumped to the side. But instead, all he did was laugh, his snow-dampened hair falling around his face, sticking to his cheeks.

You furrowed your brows together and shook your head, stepping back, “What are you laughing at, Kylo?” You asked, not amused.

He clicked his saber off and hooked it securely on his belt before he shook his head, his laugh fading into a soft chuckle, “You just look unbelievably cute when you’re so determined. I couldn’t help but laugh a bit,” he admitted and placed his gloved hands down on your waist.

Moments like this were rare with Kylo, and you made sure to cherish them, because he wasn’t really a laughing type. Or an emotion-showing type in general. You shivered a bit and took note that you were very underdressed in your simple long sleeved tunic and tight black pants compared to Kylo in his full black outfit and cape. You absentmindedly holstered the saber hilt on your belt and leaned against Kylo, your head resting against his chest, trying to warm your nose and cheeks. He hummed and wrapped his arms around you, drawing you in closer.

You slid your arms behind him and shivered just a bit, trying to warm them in his cape. He shifted just enough so that the thick, dark fabric of his cape draped over your shoulders just slightly and he clicked his tongue, “What have I told you about dressing warmly?” He asked and looked down at you.

You smiled sheepishly and shrugged, “Only that it was important that I did.”

“Mhm. Do you want me to go get your coat for you?” He asked and looked down at you, his pale face showing no signs of the cold. You really wondered if he was human sometimes.

You nodded and he slowly pulled away from you, “Stay put. Work on your balance while I’m gone. I’ll be right back,” he pointed towards the tall metal structure of the base, “Five minutes.” He promised, and you nodded. Kylo was very punctual, so you didn’t fret about him not being back a second later than five minutes.

He kissed your cheek, and you sighed in relief at the feeling of his warm lips against your cold skin. He nodded towards you and began to briskly walk back towards the base, black fabric billowing in his wake.

You looked around yourself at the snowy forest. Snow fell from the sky and there were dead trees which the snow stacked on, weighing the branches down. The fading sunset made the snow up on the large mountain which you stood at the base of glow a soft shade of orange, and all you could do was stare in awe. You turned away from the mountain and reached down to cup some snow in your hand and pack it into a round ball, with the intention of maybe starting a good natured fight with Kylo when he came back.

A loud rumbling from behind you was enough to make you jump a bit and you dropped the half made snowball onto the ground beneath you while you snapped your head over your shoulder just in time to see a wave of snow cascading dangerously fast down the mountain side.

You gasped and began to run away from the impossibly quick river of snow behind you, trying to make your way to the base as fast as you could. You remembered in your panicked state about Kylo telling you of the avalanches that often occurred upon ice planets such as this one and how deadly they were, and the memory alone was enough to make you run faster, your chest burning for a proper breath of air. At this point, the cold was the least of your worries as you trampled your way through the deep snow. And just as you had gotten nearly to the base of the hill that would’ve saved you from the raging avalanche behind you, your boot found no traction on a thick patch of ice beneath your feet, and you fell backwards, your head smacking the ice with a sickening crack, and the last thing you saw was a blanket of white settling down upon you heavily.

—

Kylo carried your coat over his arm as he walked down the main hallway to the airtight metal door outside when he heard yelling behind him. He looked over his shoulder and rolled his eyes as a handful of men in uniforms ran towards him, followed by Hux walking haughtily behind them. Once they were a respective seven feet away from Kylo, he raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the door.

“Hux, have your men open this door immediately. y/n is outside waiting for me,” he commanded and Hux’s face flushed itself of all color, and this did not go unnoticed by Kylo, “What? Why do you look like you’ve just seen a ghost? Open the door immediately,” He spat snappily and Hux shook his head speechlessly.

“Ren, The eastern peak just had the largest avalanche we’ve seen since landing, there’s- there’s no possible way she is still... out there,” he explained, his tone thick with nervousness.

Kylo’s eyes widened and he dropped the thick black coat that was draped over his arm, “Open the door. Now! And assemble a search team!” He commanded, his hands balling into fists. Fear crackled through his stomach like lightning, the fear that you were hurt, the fear of losing you. Hux complied reluctantly and the door opened, and no sooner as it was it possible to exit, Kylo was out the door, marching through the cold. He walked up over the steep hill prefacing the deep valley at the base of the mountain and he looked down at the deep ocean of snow. You could’ve been absolutely anywhere.

He closed his eyes and tried to reach out to you. He knew you weren’t dead... yet at least. Time wasn’t a luxury he could afford he found out, as he could feel your energy lessen more and more by the second. In a frenzy, he dashed down the hillside and waded out into the deep snow up to his waist, calling your name as if it would help.

He grew more and more desperate to find you as he could feel you barely there in the back of his mind, and he tried to reach out to you with the Force. But this turned out to be useless, because you couldn’t respond. Hux’s men filled the hillside behind him and were making their way through the deep snow as well, searching for you. Kylo walked along the edge of the hillside, and his boot hit something hard. Anxiously, he reached down and grabbed it, pulling your saber up out of the snow. His heart raced in his chest and he began to dig around himself in every direction that he could. He snarled angrily as the snow seemed to be only regenerating where he dug it away, and he could sense that you had mere seconds left to live. Those seconds seemed to tick down painfully slowly until he saw the bare skin of your hand. He quickly grabbed it and yanked your unconscious body up, gathering you into his arms.

He looked down at you and leaned down to press his ear against your chest, and was relieved when he heard your weak heartbeat. As quickly as Kylo had come down the hillside, he was trudging his way back up. He reached behind himself and yanked his cape away from his tunic and he draped it over your body as he walked inside of the base, paying no mind to the bewildered General Hux calling for his men to get back inside of the base.

Kylo practically ran with you through the winding halls to the infirmary, clutching your body close to his chest, his hair a soaking mess on his head. He walked into the medbay and he angrily grunted, “Get her help! Now! She’s dying!” He yelled and a few medics scuttled toward him as he laid you down on a table. He didn’t move once as they worked to get you hooked up to oxygen and cut your cold, wet clothes away from your body. He slapped their hands away from you as they tried to redress you, and insisted that he could do it himself, muttering something about no one else laying their hands on you when you were unclothed.

He was uncharacteristically gentle as he slid the warm, dry, loose fitting clothes on your body, and once you were clothed, he sat down by your bedside and held your hand gently with one of his hands, using the other to carefully push your wet hair away from your forehead, sighing, “My sweet girl, I’m sorry,” he mumbled and leaned over your bed to place a small kiss to your temple. He got up and located a blanket before returning to you and laying it out across your body. He stayed by your bedside through the night, and it wasn’t until morning that you were able to find yourself slowly entering consciousness.

Kylo had stayed awake all night watching you, keeping you warm, keeping your hair away from your face, and when your eyelids fluttered open, he let out a long sigh of relief.

“Kylo? Where are we?” You asked hoarsely and he frowned, shaking his head.

“Don’t speak. Just rest please. You’re at the medbay because you got caught up in an avalanche,” he explained and squeezed your hand gently, “I should’ve stayed out there with you. I’m so sorry,” he breathed and frowned, regret painting his pale face.

You shook your head weakly and chuckled, “No, it was my fault. You said it yourself, my balance needs to be better,” you said playfully, trying to get him to crack at least a small smile.

He scoffed and shook his head, “Oh, shut up,” he dismissed and turned his head away, but he certainly wasn’t angry.

“I mean, I guess it doesn’t matter though, because as long as I’ve got you, I’m as good as immortal,” you teased and squeezed his hand a few times.

He looked back at you and rolled his eyes, leaning down to peck your lips, “Something like that,” he muttered and rested his forehead against yours, “why don’t we train inside next time, yeah?” He asked and pulled away to look down at you.

You nodded and smiled up at him, “And it only took an avalanche for you to finally let me train somewhere other than a snowy forest,” you laughed.

And as Kylo turned his head, you swore you saw the smallest smile begin to form on his lips.

#kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #kylo imagine #kylo ren imagine #ben solo imagine #ben solo x reader #ben solo #star wars #star wars imagine #fanfiction #fanfic

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Bully Part 2 (Bakugou x Reader)

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Genre: Crack, fluff, slight angst, Baku-having-feelings-and-being-soft (bc that's totally a genre)

Sequel to Bully (part 1)

Word count: 2,319

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog

a/n: This ended up being longer and slightly more emotional than I expected. Seems like I’m following the trend of getting the BNHA boys to say what’s really on their minds (I’ve already done this for Todoroki in case you were wondering), so Baku will be ooc and soft here.

This came out later than I intended because...let’s just say I was having a mental breakdown over a really long and really naughty Todo fic here and I ended up calling my little cousin and crying and laugh-crying and shaking and losing my collective mind because none of my friends would know what I was going through. And I was in no headspace to write fluff afterwards, she had to force fluff headcanons into me to go back to normal. Yall should thank her. Enjoy~

None of us had any idea how or why Bakugou suddenly started acting this way. Apparently, he was completely normal until I walked in. All I did was open the door to the classroom, my gaze just so happened to land on Bakugou, and suddenly I heard loud stomps towards me.

I held out a defensive hand, ready to shoot out branches at him if he got too close. "Bakugou-" I threatened. And he did the unthinkable. He gripped me in a choke hold around my shoulders and neck.

Actually, no. He...hugged me?

My clenched fists and the hush that fell over the rest of the students told me this is the first time all day he's done something out of character, something I definitely wasn't expecting. We hadn't talked since I almost jumped out of a window last week. This entire week, he was ignoring me. I was preparing for the day he would finally confront me, and I pictured it would be an aggressive encounter.

This is far from anything I'd imagined.

I never ever thought this porcupine-head could even show affection, that he even has a single gene of softness in him. Yet he was embracing me tightly, nuzzling his face in my neck. The shock of it all made me freeze up and cast a sideways glance at Midoriya, who was just as freaked and confused.

"Get off, Bakugou, what are you-"

The boy lifted his head up, his scarlet eyes softened into fondness and a gentle smile on his lips made the rest of my words catch in my throat. This entire expression was foreign to all of us. His face can look like that?

"I missed you over the weekend."

My jaw dropped. HIS VOICE CAN SOUND LIKE THAT?? The smooth and sweet honey tone was way out of character for him.

But like hell I trusted any of this.

I wiggled my arms up to push his weight off me. "I don't know how you managed to become such a great actor," I succeeded in separating from his vice grip, "But if you think disorienting me like this can be some sort of revenge, you're sorely mistaken."

Bakugou tilted his head, resembling a sad puppy. "What do you mean?"

I straightened my uniform. "Nice try, I know you're just acting so you can, like, throw me off the building or something."

That seemed to hurt him, his jaw gaping open before holding my face in his calloused hands. "I'd never do that to you."

I quickly swatted his hands away, wary that he was about to blow my face off. "Don't. Touch. Me."

The boy froze in place, then rubbed the back of his neck. Regret seeped through his eyes as he stared at the ground. "I'm sorry, about everything."

A strange warmth rushed through me. Something about how genuinely vulnerable he looked shook my entire being.

"I just...really wanted you to give me a chance all this time, but I went about it the wrong way." He encased me into another bone-crushing hug. "But I want to make up for it."

I felt a thud in my chest, probably from fear that he might hurt me.

At that moment, the teacher walked in. "Alright everyone, take your seats." He noticed Bakugou's position, gawked for a second, and cleared his throat. "Uh, Bakugou, let go of (L/n) and take your seat."

"I dare any of you extras to yank me off, I'll blast you into next week!"

He's back, kind of?

Nobody made a move to do anything, they were all frozen by the sight of Bakugou clamped onto me like a koala.

"I'll survive...somehow," I assured them, unsure myself how exactly I would do that.

For the entire rest of class, the boy clung onto me. He had taken over the seat of the person who normally sat on my left and scooted the chair over so he can stay attached to me. Though I reasoned for him to hold onto just my arm (since he wouldn't let go no matter how many times I asked), he hugged my waist with both of his arms, face buried in my neck. I was just glad he left one arm for me to write notes with.

If this was just an act, he did a splendid job of keeping it up. I thought he would've given up after an hour or two, but he stayed like that even after lunch until the end of the day. Anytime anyone would even walk past us, he would glare at them until they scurried off.

It was super weird at first, but I got used to the arrangement somehow. I hate to admit it, but I even felt comfort by his warmth. His breath tickled my neck as his solid arms held me in a vice grip. I found myself hoping this wasn't acting, and thanking whatever miracle made this happen. This was never going to happen again, I might as well enjoy it for now.

"Back off, you damn Deku!" He bares his teeth at the cowering Midoriya, still attached to me at the hip.

I sigh, finally fed up with this whole ordeal. "Midoriya, I'll handle this, I'll call later."

The poor broccoli boy nods and scampers away from us. Bakugou insists on not letting go until I'm home safe, even when I repeated that I live in the opposite direction as him. He won't even let Midoriya near me.

I lead us both over to a bench outside of school. I'm still not convinced that this isn't an act, but I might as well try to talk to him after the incident last week. "Get off," I order, scooting over to one side of the bench. When he doesn't obey, I add, "I wanna talk, so I need to see your face."

After a brief moment of hesitation, he eases off my body, rolling up to sit facing me with a leg propped up on the seat. A dumb smile is on his face.

God, that still freaks me out. I stare at him calculatingly. He hasn't said a word to me the whole day, only barking at other students as he holds onto me. I want answers. "You're sure this isn't some stupid revenge plot to get back at me?"

He shakes his head, propping his arm up on the seat and resting his head there. His wordless, lovestruck stare probing me.

I sputter, "Why are you acting this way then?"

"I like you."

I almost choke at his quick response, my chest throbbing again. "S-Stop looking at me that way, I can't take you seriously! I admit, it's freaking me out!"

"My feelings freak you out?" he says sweetly, brushing the side of my face softly.

I slap his hand away, "You don't have feelings for me, just drop the act already!"

His smile disappears. "It's not an act, I'm being serious." Hurt laces his voice.

I cross my arms over my chest. "Yeah, well, it's very hard to take you seriously when you've been a heartless, pompous, mean jerk for all of middle school."

Bakugou's eyes downcast and his arm falls into his lap. "I...I don't know how else to show how I feel." Raw emotion drips from his eyes as he bites his lip, almost like he's gathering his thoughts. "I act like a jerk because... I just feel so pressured. Everyone expects so much of me just because my quirk is so strong." A dark chuckle emits from him, "Even my mom has ingrained it in me that I need to be strong so I don't burden anyone with being weak. So I've been projecting my frustrations onto everyone else. Deku is just the easiest person to pick on because he's the weakest person, he has no quirk! And I'm just self-centered because I have to tell myself that I'm strong or else...I might slip. Call it an inferiority complex, I guess."

I won't lie, I didn't go into this expecting a therapy session. Part of me does sympathize with him, but the rational side of me is still skeptical of this entire monologue being an act. I wouldn't put it past him for thinking up such an elaborate plan in a week. And none of it excuses him for telling Midoriya to kill himself. "Not that I don't believe you, but so what?" I blurt out.

He grabs my hand in both of his, eyes fully emotional and staring into mine. "I like you, (Y/n). I see how kind you are to everyone else, how you've stayed by Deku and supported him this entire time. I admire you. You're the kind of person who I know would become a great hero because you always know just what to say to people to make them feel better, not to mention you're so badass too. And...in a way, there's something in me that wants you to care about an idiot like me, too."

Tightness tugs in my chest. Damn it, he needs to stop being so emotional, I can't handle it. "I want to help you, Katsuki, but what you said to Midoriya crossed a line. I can't overlook that."

His head drops onto our joined hands and his body starts shaking. "Damnit!" he grits out, "I can't believe I've done so much wrong that the person I like can't even forgive me."

I shut my eyes, not wanting to see him cry. "Katsuki-"

Bakugou's head snaps up and takes my head between his hands. "Do you even have the smallest feeling for me?" His red orbs swim in tears.

A soft spot in my heart persuades me to gently rub the wet trails off his cheeks. "I'm...not sure." I won't lead him on, I really don't know how I feel anymore. It's that I hate him, I don't like the things he says or does.

"Help me, (Y/n)," he practically begs, "I'll become a better person, I promise, but I need you to guide me, please."

This sudden magnitude of emotion other than anger disorients me. Is this something he's kept locked away somewhere in the recesses of his mind? I absently nod in agreement against some of my better judgement.

His shaking form steadies as he stares me down quietly. "Can I...kiss you?" he whispers out of the blue.

My lips slightly part and my eyes widen as he leans into me, softly pressing his mouth against mine. Our kiss is innocent, as if time just stood still and washed a warm glow on us. My stomach flips weightlessly, and I gently grip one of his wrists to ground me. He pulls away just for a moment, letting us linger in the moment and sensation of one another.

His eyes flutter open, facing me with the same loveliness he's showed me all day, before confusion suddenly dawns on him, and then his cheeks color red and he pulls away, almost retreating to the other edge of the bench.

I blink, not sure what just happened, but the tumbling in my abdomen still present. "Uh...Bakugou...?"

The boy doesn't even want to face me. "Did I really just do that?" he mutters to himself, the raspy growl that's more characteristic of him returning.

My heart sinks. "Do you-?"

"Hey, don't look so upset," he glares at me before flushing again. "I...somehow...know everything I did... It was me...but it wasn't...really me."

"But everything you said-"

He growls and crosses his arms over his chest, looking away from me. "Everything I said was true! I just... I'm surprised I did it, and I was such a pansy about it."

I roll my eyes. He's back, for real this time. "Well, if that's the case, I won't hold you accountable-"

"Wait," Bakugou sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I stand by everything I said, even the whole...thing...about you helping me." It almost hurts him to say it.

I fold my arms over my chest and stand up. "You don't have to force yourself to be good if you don't want to. Things can go back to the way they were."

"I don't want it to!" he yells. "I'll work at being less of an idiot if it means...that you'll...go out with me."

I examine him, all red-faced and uncomfortable, unable to look me in the eyes. "I'm not gonna go easy on you."

He stands up and finally garners the courage to look at me again. "I'm willing. I'll try hard, I promise."

After thinking it over a moment, I relax my figure and place a kiss on his cheek. "That's your reward for consciously admitting that you have a problem."

Bakugou's eyes bulge out of his head and I have to suppress my chuckles. "Will there be more rewards?" he mumbles.

"Only if you really try." I lean forward, catching him off guard and finally letting out a small fit of laughter. "You know for most of the day, you were hanging onto me like I was you handbag, now you're shying away from me."

He scratches his burning neck. "Hey, that wasn't me."

"It was a you that probably showed your deepest darkest wants," I tease, a smirk playing on my lips.

"Sh-Shut up, don't be so smug about it!" He lightly shoves me away, digging his hands into his uniform pants pocket. "You're the one asking for it because you liked it, stupid."

"Ah-ah," I hold up a finger like a teacher reprimanding a kindergardener. "First thing is for you to stop calling people names."

He groans. "Fine. (Y-Y/n)." His cheeks color all over again.

I slip my hand in his and his blush intensifies. "Was that so hard to do?"

"Shut up," he mumbles softer this time.

He's a fixer-upper, he's still got a lot to learn, but hopefully, he'll get there eventually.

#Bakugou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugou fluff #bakugou katsuki #angst #crack #bakugou imagine #bakugou scenario #gender neutral reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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hopelikethemoon · 4 years

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Title: ballet practice Rating: PG Length: 2,200 Warnings: None. All fluff. Notes: Please note that we’ve encountered a time jump. This ficlet is set in 1996 when Josie is 3 years old. You can follow the timeline of Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Also, can I just how freaking hard it is to write them being genuienly happy? Not that it’ll last for long. Summary: I don’t know how to summarize this because it’s just fluff and amusement. Taglist: @grapemama @seawhisperer @huliabitch @pedropascalito @rogrsnbarnes@thewallpapergoesorido @twomoonstwosuns @gooddaykate @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow@hiscyarika @plexflexico @readsalot73 @hdlynn @lokiaddicted @randomness501@fioccodineveautunnale @roxypeanut @just-add-butter @snivellusim

“Mommy, my hair’s falling down.” Josie pouted as she tugged at the loose strands that she’d slowly worked out of her bun over the course of the fifteen-minute car ride to the dance studio. You sighed heavily, gesturing for her to come closer. “Thank you mommy.”

“Of course, baby doll.” You said affectionately, pulling a bobby pin loose and tucking it between your lips as you started to pull apart your efforts. Whoever thought getting a three year old to sit still long enough to get their hair slicked back into a bun had lost their damn mind.

“You good?” Javier questioned, running his hand over the length of your back as he settled into the seat beside you.

“Yeah.” You nodded with a smile. “Hun, you’ve got to hold still.”

Josie stiffened at your words, “I’m sorry mommy.”

“It’s okay sweetheart.” You offered, tucking another bobby pin between your lips. Javier gave your shoulder three little squeezes — a gesture that never failed to make your heart flutter. It had been years since the first time he silently reminded you of his love with the subtlest of touches. Something that used to get you through the hardest days of work when Josie hadn’t even been born yet.

“I’m gonna hit the restroom,” Javier told you, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before he headed down the hallway to the bathroom. You were keenly aware of the way the other mothers in the room watched him leave. You had to admit, the jeans made his ass look great. But they were also relentless women, despite the fact you were sitting right there.

And it wasn’t as though Javier didn’t make it known that he was with you. If he didn’t have his arm slung around your shoulders, he had his hand on your knee, or his fingers interlaced with yours. Javi took full advantage of the fact that nothing about your relationship had to be kept under wraps anymore.

“Hold still.” You reminded Josie as she started wiggling — never able to stay in one spot for very long. “Almost done.” You mumbled through the bobby pins as you peeled the hairnet off, resting it on your leg as you pinned her hair back down.

When Javier returned from the bathroom the seat beside him was no longer vacant. One of the mothers — Missy — had uprooted her belongings across the room to slide into the spot next to him. You had met her husband once, at one of the girls’ recitals. Typical military type, and easy on the eyes himself. You had no idea why she was constantly in hot pursuit of Javi, except for the fact that Javi was… well, aloof was the best word for it.

You didn’t know anything for certain, but you sometimes wondered if the other mothers had some unspoken bet in place. Which one of them would manage to snatch up the Hot Dad at their daughter's dance class? A couple of them had caught you off-guard a few months back at the cookie table during one of the in-class recitals. They wanted to know all about why the pair of you weren’t married. Was there trouble? All sorts of bullshit no one had any right to ask another person when they just wanted to enjoy their Snickerdoodles.

“Don’t you look pretty,” Javier told Josie as she showed off her new bun. “Now don’t you pull it down again. You’re driving mommy crazy.” He gave her cheek a playful pinch and she giggled and hugged at his legs.

“Remember to work on your balance like we practiced.” You reminded her, leaning forward to press a kiss to the top of her head. She scampered off towards the studio with two of the other little girls that had been waiting for her.

Javier leaned back in the chair, resting his foot on the top of his thigh as he crossed his legs. “I can’t believe how big she’s getting.” He remarked, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at you. “Feels like just yesterday I was holding her in my arms.”

You nudged at his arm, “It probably was just yesterday. You’re always carrying her around.”

“Touché.” He chuckled, rubbing his thumb over his bottom lip before he reached over and rested his hand on your thigh, giving it a squeeze.

“I think it’s just darling how you are with her,” Missy remarked, but Javier didn’t seem to realize she was talking at him just yet. “It’s just so important for little girls to have bonds with their daddys like that.”

You covered your mouth as you stifled a laugh, rubbing your lips together as you met Javier’s gaze. Your brows rose upwards as you nodded your head towards Missy. “She’s talking to you.” You whispered.

Javier glanced over his shoulder at Missy, his shoulders growing tense as he turned to speak to her. “Yeah, it is. She makes it easy though.”

“She’s just the sweetest little girl.” Missy seemed elated to have his attention. “My Lily has been dying to have her over. Maybe you could bring her over for lunch one day.” She looked at you then, “Such a shame you work. I’d invite you, but I guess Javi will just have to bring her himself.”

“Actually,” He slid his hand up your leg to grab ahold of your hand, interlacing your fingers as he turned to meet your gaze. “You're free this Wednesday aren’t you, baby?”

“Yeah.” You grinned at him, before regarding Missy. “I actually only work a couple days a week, Missy. I’d love to bring Josie over.”

“Oh,” She pursed her lips, folding her arms across her chest. “I’ll have to see if I’m free on Wednesday. How does Thursday look for you, Javier?”

Javi squeezed your hand, looking back at you again. “You’re off then, aren’t you?”

“I am.” You rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand. “Missy, give me a call on Sunday and we’ll set the playdate up.”

Missy frowned before quickly plastering on a fake smile, “Sounds like a plan.”

———

“Are they all that bad?” Javier questioned once Josie was loaded into the backseat and he started down the road towards home.

“Hmm?”

“The moms.”

You snorted, “Oh, they’re ruthless.”

“Jesus Christ.” He shook his head slowly.

“I personally don’t get the appeal.” You quipped, leaning across the center console to steal his aviators off his shirt and putting them on. The evening sun was catching you right in the eyes through the passenger window.

“Of me?”

“Mhm.” You smirked at him. “I mean, have you seen Missy’s husband?”

“Baby.” He huffed.

You let his aviator’s slide down the bridge of your nose, peering over the top at him as he stopped at a light. “What?”

“That’s not fair.”

“I’m just saying.” You shrugged a shoulder, barely able to keep from laughing. “And Tonya’s husband,” You pretended to fan yourself. “Yet she was all over me for information about you last week.” You cleared your throat, before imitating the woman’s nasally voice, “Where does Javi work? How did you meet Javi?”

“I get it.”

“Oh, wait.” You held up a hand. “What was it she said? It’s so nice of you to care for Javier’s daughter like she’s yours.” You gave him a droll expression. “As if that head didn’t come out of me.” You pushed the aviators back up to the bridge of your nose, looking between Javier and Josie, who had already fallen dead asleep in her carseat. “I mean she does look a lot like you.”

“Nah, she’s got all her mama’s good looks.” Javier drawled out, glancing back in the rearview window. “Let’s rewind to what you were saying about Missy’s husband.”

You laughed, sinking back in your seat. “He’s not really my type.”

“What’s your type?”

You tapped your finger against your chin as you thought for a long moment. “I’m a sucker for dark hair and dark eyes.” You mused, chewing at the inside of your bottom lip. “A little grey is nice too.” You glanced over at him, a grin spreading over your lips. “A mustache. Very kissable lips.”

“Sounds like a lucky guy.”

“Just as lucky as I am.”

———

You leaned against the threshold of Josie’s bedroom, watching as Javier laid beside Josie on her little twin bed, reading her a bedtime story. You had been insistent that she still needed a toddler bed, but Javier had convinced you that she was ready for a “big girl bed” Mostly so he could lay in bed with her and read to her.

Don Quixote had proven to be a little daunting for a three-year-old, so he’d recently branched out into Read Along books — mostly Lion King, which Josie had recently become obsessed with. You had to admit, Javier did a killer Scar impersonation that would’ve put Jeremy Irons to shame. He did anything he could to keep Josie entertained and he was fortunate because everything he did became her new favorite thing.

“You know, I was thinking...” You whispered as he closed Josie’s door shut behind him, lingering in the hallway in front of you.

“Yeah?” His brows drew together.

“I think I’m ready.”

“For?”

You sighed softly, “To try to have another baby.”

“Is this because Tonya thought Josie wasn’t yours?” He questioned, folding his arms across his chest.

You had both discussed the potential of having another kid in roundabout ways over the years. Steve and Connie had adopted another little girl from Colombia last year — which had sparked a quiet desire to have two of your own. To have it all; the doting partner, the adoring father, the baby showers, the doctor’s visits. All the little things your pregnancy with Josie had been robbed of.

You shook your head. “No, it’s not. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile.”

“So have I.” He admitted, pushing his fingers through his hair and curling his hand around the back of his neck. “I think we could handle a four-year-old and a newborn.”

A laugh escaped you, “Yeah. I think we could too.”

“And you promise this isn’t because of those dumbass women at ballet?”

“Oh, I mean…” You shrugged your shoulders. “I fully intend to flaunt it.” You gave him a sweeping look, “Because you’re all mine to have a family with.” You reached out and traced your fingers over the exposed skin where his shirt was partially buttoned.

Javier let out a slow and shaky breath, one that seemed like he’d been holding it in for a while. “So this is happening?”

You nodded. “I’d like to try.”

“Me too.” He looped his fingers into your belt loops, pulling you in to him so he could plant a kiss on your lips. “It’s going to be so different.”

“I know.” You brushed your fingers along the column of his throat, leaning up to kiss him again. “I can’t wait to see how absolutely atrocious you’re going to be in public.”

“Oh, it’s going to be bad.” He drawled out with a grin, bumping his nose against yours. “I’m going to drive you crazy, baby.”

“I expect nothing less.” You kissed him once more, letting your lips linger against his. “I bet you’re excited that you can talk to Steve about everything this time.”

“Best damn part of this.” He teased, his hands curling around your hips. “Aside from the baby part.”

“Just when I finally get back into shape.” You huffed, draping your arms over his shoulders.

“You’re not going to hear any complaints from me.” Javier quipped, looking down at you. “I thought you were gorgeous when you were pregnant with Josie. Think you’re gorgeous all the time.”

You ran your hand up the back of his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Josie’s going to be so excited when it happens.”

“You think?” Javier chuckled. “Though she might lose her mind over the thought of not being daddy’s only little girl.”

“It might be a boy.” You pointed out.

“Steve will expect us to name him after him. It’s got to be a girl.” Javier made a disgruntled face.

You laughed, slowly winding your arms around him and pressing your face into his chest. “I’ll stop taking my birth control tomorrow. It’ll take a couple weeks for the hormones to clear out of my system and then…”

Javier wrapped his arms around you tightly, leaning down to press his face into the crook of your neck. Who would’ve thought, way back when, that this was the man that would change your life forever. That made every day an adventure. Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t an absolute asshole somedays, but you were well aware of the fact that you could also drive him up the wall too. You were perfect counterweights to one another.

It was crazy to think that in just ten months you might have another baby in the house.

Colombia felt like a lifetime ago already. The trauma of Josie’s birth — simply a whisper of the past. It wouldn’t be like that this time. This new baby would proudly be a Peña from the moment he or she was born. Javier wouldn’t have to hide his elation, miss out on the sonograms or the heartbeats. He wouldn’t have to slide out of your bed and leave you in the mornings or come home to you late at night.

You were stuck with him. Right where you wanted him.

#javier pena x reader #javier pena #pedro pascal x reader

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asterekmess · 3 years

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S3A - E8

I’m realizing just how damn far behind I am on working on season 3, but I don’t wanna skip any episodes of the rewatch, so let’s get to it! Double time, double time!

Content warnings for discussion of cannibalism.

Forewarning, this one is a doozy, so be prepared to Read More:

Lesgo!:

First thing’s first, Derek has experience with those awful sound thingies? Can you imagine how freaked he must’ve been seeing Chris bring those out when they were tracking Boyd and Erica?

Also, Chris Argent has been hunting Derek one way or another since he was a child. Even BEFORE Kate. Why the hell do we have a Derek & Chris broness in the later seasons? This kind of shit doesn’t just go away. I can’t believe I forgot about it.

I love how awkward sweet bby Derek is trying to run through the trees and tripping on branches everywhere. It’s honestly so much more realistic for a teenager than just the crazy cgi stuff. Also, since we know Derek is comfortable in the woods, it really gives you a hint as to how truly messed up he is from fear right now. He’s off balance in a dozen ways.

DEREK HAS BEEN WATCHING PEOPLE DIE IN FRONT OF HIM SINCE HE WAS 15. I’m gonna CRY. If I wanna hurt myself even More, you could argue that the Random Beta (RB) got shot bc he stopped to talk to Derek. So...guilty minds would assume Derek has been watching people die because of him since 15. I hate everything.

PETER comin’ in clutch. Also, hilarious that they use that arrow catching move so much.

I almost like how they tried to make Gerard look younger by just having him wear a douchey leather jacket instead of the serious grandpa one he wears in S2. He swaggers over to the body of RB, and it’s hilarious.

Okay, what is this bullshit about “Bring them back alive, we go by the code?” If you were going by the code then you wouldn’t be fucking hunting them AT ALL. They’re innocent! Why the fuck are you ‘bringing them back’ in the first place? Chris, you piece of shit. This is supposed to demonstrate that you’ve always been a stickler for the code, but all it does is emphasize how little that code actually means. “We hunt those who hunt us.” Fuck off, you hunt anything you deem ‘dangerous’ and find excuses to kill them so you can feel righteous.

Gonna casually note that RB was shot in the Throat with an arrow, but bc of makeup necessities they moved the arrow down to his chest when he’s shown on the ground. It’s funny. :)

It’s seriously so hard to hate Peter, do the writers realize that? Like, yes, he did horrible shit and I’m not denying that, but when you show him running into the hunter-filled woods to save his nephew’s life at 24 years old, then hiding with him in a cellar for two fucking days when he could probably have escaped on his own, it’s hard to see him as a heartless bastard.

I’m almost afraid to find out why Cora knows the details. Can you imagine? She would’ve been, what, 9-10? Her big brother and uncle both go missing for two days after a hunt and she had to stay at home waiting for someone to say they’d found their bodies. God, the lives of the Hales are so fucked up.

The rain is really making the mood here.

I gotta say, I’m confused about this initial Cora-Stiles interaction. He goes on about everyone who’s died or nearly died, but then Cora assumes he wants Derek to do something about the deaths, and Stiles agrees? Except that Derek currently fits the COD that all the other sacrifices have hit. Missing for about two days. Everything Stiles has said implies that he’s worried Derek is also dead. I don’t get why they go with ‘I’m worried about the missing man that I’ve been helping for the last four months because I blame him for the Alphas even coming to town”?

One thing they got on point here is just how disgusting they made Gerard. The slime and the spitting and ugh *shudders* it’s just so gross.

I’m also...I think intrigued is the right word--that they shoved this whole story into the episode without ever addressing the fact that Derek IS missing and they should go looking for him or something. It starts with Stiles asking where the hell he is, but then everything else is about this past moment. Talk about going off on a tangent. I mean, I don’t blame them, but if I shoved this much character background into one chapter people would call me out for the infodump that it is.

Which is all this episode is. Info-dumped exposition. Here’s how werewolves were made. Here’s why Derek’s cranky. Here’s why Duke’s an asshole. Here’s why the Hales are ‘special’

Again, I don’t blame them. It’s just...a lot.

Just a tiny thing: Why do they both roll up their sleeves when Scott only has to touch Gerard’s hand?

It is also very hard to believe that either Allison or Scott are remotely good people when they’re both lying to everyone about Gerard’s existence.

*finger guns, bc now i have to use the tag* I think this is the longest I’ve ever gotten before using it.

Another thing: Why does Gerard make the gross noises like he’s in pain, when we know it doesn’t hurt to get the pain taken away from him? It certainly didn’t hurt that lady in the ER.

I know this is a weird thing to notice, but I find it interesting that Paige is wearing actual makeup. Not just the ‘natural’ look, but eyeshadow that’s visibly dark. *shrug*

Is she Actually playing the cello? The notes Don’t look like they match up with her bowing and fingerings.

HA that music cut in is fucking Hilarious. Derek turns around like he’s in a teen rom-com, with that casual “I never stop smiling all the way bc I’m the coolest guy around” grin and the music just WHAM. That’s right, Derek Hale used to be a JOCK. He didn’t used to be ‘a lot like Scott.’ He was a lot like JACKSON.

So, this group of cronies Derek has. What is that about? He’s gotta have that posse just like Jackson did in S1? Unnamed people to cackle at his jokes.

Paige’s face, right there? That is the SHIT for me. That’s not hidden attraction, that’s genuinely “What the fuck is my life, why are you so lame?” and I am LIVING for it.

Derek peacocking is also hilarious. Peacocking so hard he (THE WEREWOLF) didn’t notice that she’d left the hall, is even more so.

I hate to tell you this Paige, but THAT is where I could tell you liked him. Giving in to his bullshit offer was the first step, that look on your face when he said, “Hold on” was Blatant “Holy shit, my crush wants to talk to me” but then all you idiots did was make eye contact. Paige, if you’re trying to get the ball, try looking away from those pretty eyes, okay?

Derek, you always go too far. You can see Paige lose interest when she realizes that he’s not actually into Her, he’s into showing off.

OOOF, i guess they weren’t such good friends after all, cus’ they left when Paige did.

I also feel the need to point out Derek is WEARING A CHECKERED SHIRT. *inarticulate screaming* Everyone who makes jokes about him thinking plaid is disgusting owes me five bucks bc he CLEARLY didn’t think checkers/plaid were that bad when he was in high school.

I’ll admit...the instant sorry is like...really good. If they’d had him come in and be More of a dick and then end up together, I’d be a lot more bugged. But his First real introduction to her is an apology.

THEN he goes back to being a dick. But at least this time it’s not about him, he wants to know about Her.

And I LOVE the turnaround! THIS is flirting. THIS is cute teasing. She plays his game Back at him, shows her own skill and forces him to get on her level. Then he weasels out of it, but in a Cute Way.

If there’s one thing that I’m routinely impressed by in TW it’s the scoring. They’re Really good with music to fit the moods and the vibes of the whole episode. For instance, all the transition music in this episode is Cello, bc it’s about Paige.

I hate agreeing with Gerard on Anything, but he makes a good point about the Dark Druid taking and killing someone else right alongside Deaton. Why would she take 4 people when she only needed three? She wouldn’t know that Deaton got a message out or that Scott would save Deaton. Plus the addition of the mountain ash circle is kind of weird, don’t you think?

Yah, I have no clue why your body is producing anything Either. You literally make no sense and you shouldn’t be alive. Period. Bringing you back was a lazy way to have someone who could be a sub-sub plot and hand out exposition and red herrings that are totally useless.

HOW DO YOU KNOW THAT GERARD? You weren’t There when Deucalion found out he could still see with his Alpha Eyes (Which makes no sense btw, he doesn’t have TWO sets of eyes???) and if you’d interacted with Deuc since then he’d have ripped you to shreds.

SERIOUSLY people, why the FUCK are we getting this information from Gerard when it makes WAY more sense for Deaton to tell them this? He was THERE for the whole thing!

I get that the point of the episode is supposed to be “Unreliable Narrators” (The whole show has an unreliable narrator.) but you had that covered with Peter’s story. You could’ve Instilled TRUST in Deaton by making a contrast and having Deaton TELL THEM THE TRUTH. Show the difference between reliable and unreliable. Gerard doesn’t need to be here!

Stiles, asking the real questions.

AND GETTING THE MOST BULLSHIT ANSWER IN THE UNIVERSE.

Could these writers GET any lazier? Put some fucking effort in and give us some information about Werewolves IN YOUR WEREWOLF TV SHOW.

What the fuck were Paige and Derek into that they knew where an abandoned distillery was when it wasn’t even in TOWN? And you’re telling me they left town every time they wanted to make out? Even worse, are you implying they had SEX in that distillery? And then trying to tell me that none of the fucking Alphas and their packs noticed the smell of Derek and his girlfriend all over the building?

...what...do people seriously not remember being teenagers? What the fuck Peter? In what fucking universe is “one minute it’s ‘i hate you, don’t talk to me’ the next it’s frantic groping in any dark corner’ remotely accurate to real life?

Teenagers in the majority don’t DO that. I really fucking hate that all teenagers are made out to be like this. Like they’re “run by their hormones” and “everything is sex to you” STOP. Seriously, STOP. Saying shit like that completely negates the fact that Teenagers are Real fucking People. They’re not just buckets of hormones and sweat that need to be shaped into an adult. They’re fucking PEOPLE and reducing them to sex-crazed idiots is lazy and stupid.

Are you ALSO telling me that the hunters dragged RB’s DEad Body to an abandoned building, then strung the corpse up and cut it in half? AND that someone happened to go the abandoned building and found the body and called the cops, or that they MOVEd the two halves somewhere they would be found, Or that They were the ones to call and report the body?

Has teen wolf got even a Single brain cell?

ALSO, what the fuck is this timeline? Derek and Peter went missing for two days after RB was killed, but the packs don’t get together to discuss RB’s death until After Derek has run out of the building with Paige because he could smell blood from RB being hemisected. So, they waited at Least two days before talking to each other about RB’s death? And Derek apparently recovered Instantaneously from his two day nightmare and went right back to macking on his girlfriend and laughing freely the Day he was found? Or did they wait even longer? I’m so fucking confused!

Okay, you tell me that this place is their favorite makeout/groping spot, but they seriously just walk in the door and start kissing in the middle of the room? You guys didn’t bring some blankets and pillows here? You’re gonna stand there the whole time?

WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU MAKING PETER A PERVERT? He was fucking watching his nephew make out with his girlfriend through the wall??? WHat is WRONG with you?

ALSO, Cora was alive and active in Derek’s life at that point. She wasn’t That young. She could easily point out that Peter being Derek’s best friend is total bullshit if it weren’t actually true. Which means Peter is telling the TRUTH here. Hell, she doesn’t call out his heartbeat for lies the entire time, and while they imply at the end of the episode that Really Good Liars can just force their heart to be steady while lying so they don’t get caught, that isn’t a thing for the entire rest of the show. Derek trusts KATE when she says she’s not lying. So the evidence actually points toward Peter telling the TRUTH in this entire episode.

THAT is accurate to teenagers. Using the word “like” and “liking” so many times in a conversation that it doesn’t even sound like a word anymore.

Paige...dude, I’m so torn. Like I’m glad you’re being honest with Derek about your worries, but also it’s a complete dick move to just Assume that he’s gonna bail? To say to his face that you Know he’s leaving you and you’re just waiting for it? Fucking rude.

Ennis...bro...how exactly did your Beta “Accidentally” kill a hunter? How would that happen?

AGAIN WITH THE TIMELINE. If the packs only CAME to beacon hills because of Ennis issue with the hunters, why was RB running through beacon hills when he was killed?

Also, side note: Where are all of these werewolves staying? Are they territorial so they like, all claimed different hotels to take over? Or do they not mind, and THAT’S why the Hale house is so big for such a small family? Because they had a ton of guest rooms for packs that visited to get that sweet, sweet Hale Wisdom?

I firmly believe that werewolves are clothing-optional people. Talia straight shifts into a naked human form in front of over a dozen other wolves.

Also, where the hell is the Hale pack here? Some random chick comes up and gives Talia a robe, but that person is standing with Deuc’s pack. So....what?

I’m so curious about the formation the wolves make when they hear Talia coming. Everybody backs away, except Deucalion. And they do this weird focus on his face as he watches her come in. And her eye contact is JUST with him.

OH GROSS. DID DEUC HAVE A THING FOR DEREK’S MOM????

I will admit that watching things with subtitles sometimes ruins the surprise. There’s that little pause before “I’m just a deputy” like it was supposed to be shocking to the audience, but the subtitle on Amazon Prime just Pops up right away and it kind of ruins the effect.

Here we go! The one piece of concrete information on “Packs” and “pack members” that we’re given in the whole fucking show. Word for Word. “Losing a member of your pack isn’t like losing family, it’s like you lose a limb.”

That is....severe. Now imagine that your entire family IS your pack. And losing almost every one of them. Is it any wonder that Cora, Peter, and Derek are so messed up? That they’re so dark and wounded looking?

I s2g sometimes Peter literally just sounds like he’s a self-insert for the writers. He explains shit that the writer’s are showing Really Badly as if to wave away the fact that the Ennis flashback is pretty much Completely unnecessary. “You just don’t understand my artistic genius, it’s never just a single moment, it’s a confluence of events. I have to show you all these random flashbacks because you need to understand why Derek is soaked in MANPAIN all the time. Which is totally relevant to the current plot bc....bc....bc ART (and also Tyler Hoechlin was busy so we could only get one shot of him for the entire episode)”

That is just the cutest shit oh my god. Derek listens to Paige’s music while he’s in class and doing homework. THAT is love, you realize? He doesn’t just deal with her dedication to her music, he loves it.

THat little wince when he says “Are you sure about that?” Paige knows he’s gonna screw with her.

THAT IS A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP. He gives her space! She likes studying during lunch so he Leaves her Alone. I LIKE IT.

What do you mean “Laura told you about the packs being here.” Derek KNOWS they’re here because he watched RB DIE IN THE WOODS. Seriously, I”M SO CONFUSED.

FUN FACT (that I might’ve already shared) Oak wood was liked by the Celts because it was really sturdy and hardy and bore food, but it wasn’t their favorite type of wood! Rowan was the favorite, and Irish pagan practitioners used to sleep in rowan trees so they could have prophetic dreams. After that, it was Hazelwood. :P

I...do not enjoy when they bring up the Celtic Druids. *Scuttles to get my textbook bc this is my nerd shit*

“We’re in a Nemeton” This is the correct wording, actually! A “Nemeton” isn’t a thing, it’s a “sacred meeting place” as Chris calls it. Go chris! Nemeton refers to the entire grove/area around the main tree.

I can’t speak to whether they chose a ‘Large, older tree in a grove” but it does make sense bc if we’re talking about Oaks they were a symbol of food and safety (acorns were a staple to Celtic diets) so choosing an older tree would not only look more impressive, but it would probably bear more acorns for the clan.

“It would represent the center of the world” *Puts on vine voice* THat is NOt Correct! The tree at the center of the Nemeton was called a “crann bethadh” or “Tree of Life” and it was essentially a Totem that marked the center of the tribe’s territory. It was not ‘the center of the world’ it was the center of THEIR world. Their land.

“There was a belief that cutting or harming the tree would cause serious problems for the surrounding villages” Not sure if ‘villages’ is the correct term for the era, but the rest of it sounds like a close mistranslation. See, in Ireland there were raids people would do against other clans where the SOLE PURPOSE was to destroy their crann bethadh, because it was demoralizing. It’s like graffiti-ing the front of a church. But technically, it WAS severely frowned upon to harm the tree in any way.

This is mostly because in most Celtic areas, Oak trees were considered symbols of the “Father of the Sky” or the “God of Thunder.” Of course you don’t wanna piss off Thunder man.

Also, you notice how I’m saying CELTS and not DRUIDS. It’s because DRUID isn’t a cultural label, it’s a SOCIAL CLASS. It’s like saying “The Educated”

Okay, back to the--OH WAIT. Before anyone gets any ideas, the blood on the crann bethadh isn’t human. Estonian Celts smeared animal blood on the tree roots as an assurance for rain and good harvests. This is the same concept as TONS of other religions, including Christianity. (Abraham was supposed to sacrifice his son, Isaac, to God, but God stopped him and had him sacrifice a Ram instead. So, Yes. Christians used to perform animal sacrifices.)

NOW back to the show.

THe fact that gerard doesn’t know this stuff implies that Chris is the nerd of the family.

I LIKE THIS. I hate that I like it bc it’s Gerard, but I LIKE IT. Gerard gets up from his wheelchair. He doesn’t need it All the Time.

I’ve never seen another show that bothered to have a wheelchair user who wasn’t wheelchair-bound, which is stupid because it’s Very Common for people using wheelchairs to not need them all the time.

though it does beg the question of why he’s sitting in a wheelchair when he’s in his own bedroom? Was he going somewhere? Or did he know he wouldn’t have enough chairs and didn’t want Allison or Scott to sit in his chair?

The story of Lycaon, who was considered a savage ruler of Arcadia and Zeus went to his house disguised as a human (this is v common in myth) to find out if he was batshit. Lycaon and his FIFTY SONS (he also had one daughter) wanted to know if the stranger was a human or a mortal, so they fed him human flesh in stew. Zeus flipped shit and blasted the room with thunderbolts, murdering all but one of Lycaon’s sons, and then turned Lycaon into a wolf.

So...this whole ‘myth of lycaon’ is totally fucked up when it didn’t need to be? Like, they didn’t NEED to change it to make it a messed up origin story of wolves. It already was.

There’s three major versions to choose from

Lycaon was a pius man who founded the city of Lycosura on Mount Lycaeus and used a child as a sacrifice to Zeus, thinking it would please him. Zeus flips shit and turns Lycaon into a wolf. FROM THEN ON; at every sacrifice made to zeus a man was transformed into a wolf and if he managed to restrain himself from eating human flesh for 8-9 years, he would be turned human again.

The same story as the first, except Lycaon Knew Zeus was in disguise and the child he fed him was Zeus’ own son, and it was revenge for seducing his only daughter Callisto.

If you want to make it match what you’ve already said about wolves in the show, they could’ve used the last one and it would’ve demonstrated how Ingrained the concept of vendetta/revenge is for wolves.

If you wanted to focus on the Turning Human part and working with Celtic Druids to learn to become werewolves, you could’ve used the second one.

there was no reason to add in the bullshit about Prometheus except as an excuse to make Deucalion look like he picked his name to be an asshole, which he fucking didn’t.

I’m so sorry about all the classical shit (i’m really not) but I studied it in college and I can’t just let this bullshit stand.

I’ll give them a pass on the ‘the lesser known part’ bc it’s technically plausible for the wolves to have run north to the Celts and beg for help, And the Druids (those who’s education was specifically in magic, not all of them) were known for shapeshifting (though not usually into animals. They did that to Other people, not themselves)

I cannot believe this is so long, i’m so sorry.

But WHY tho, Cora? How is an Emissary supposed to keep you connected to humanity if No ONe KNows Who They Are?? How are they supposed to do their job??

Yeah, well now Deaton is a sour bitch who has a chip on his shoulder against the Hale pack so like...fuck his advice.

I will say though! Pre-fire Deaton doesn’t give me the heebies like post-fire Deaton. He’s much more clear about the advice he’s giving, and it’s actually helpful! He still has a dumb little anecdote/parable about the scorpion and the frog (which...in most circumstances I hate. It doesn’t even match what happens) but he gives Real Advice instead of vague asshole nonsense.

“I’m an Alpha, I never walk alone.” I have an inordinate affection for this line.

Paige is clearly some kinda bad bitch if she thought nothing of going to hang out in the school in the middle of the night with Derek.

Okay, but like...why would he attack Ennis like that if he was the one who asked him to bite Paige? And why is the moment played up “A fifteen-year-old boy against a giant” Derek was literally swatted to the side while Ennis walked out of the building. this wasn’t some big showdown.

If she’d already been bitten, why was Ennis still grabbing at her??

....seriously? Peter is literally right there? And no one noticed?

Again with the “Scott is a genius now” LIsten, bro, why the fuck would Scott know a sanskrit fable? If he Did know a story like that, it would be bc Deaton taught him. In which case he would know the FROG and the scorpion. Come on, guys.

OH MY GOD GERARD DOES IT TOO. GERARD, PETER, AND DEUC all have a CHRONIC case of verbal diarrhea when they’re trying to be intimidating.

I do NOT understand this warehouse scene. It’s a GAS gerard, if you stabbed yourself with some sort of...antidote or whatever it wouldn’t save you from the GAS you’re inhaling. At the very least you would be shouting like everyone else because it HURTS going in.

why did it take so long for Talia to come? It’s implied that Peter left to get her, so why did it take so long? Even PAST peter looks fucked up at seeing that Paige is dying, it’s not like he would wait.

I’ll be real, i get weepy so i’m skipping the actual death. Just know that it hurts me. Severely.

Y’all know how much I hate this ‘innocent life’ bullshit for blue eyes. It’s very True Alpha-y in that it’s impossible to pin down the specifics. What constitutes an ‘innocent life’? What constitutes taking it? With wolf claws? With a gun? What counts and what doesn’t count? Ugh.

Eyyy, so I’m exhausted and this is so long that my computer is fritzing. There are five minutes left and nothing happens in them at all. Just Scott pointing out the heartbeat thing and threatening to kill Gerard (so he’s still fine with murder at this point in time. Good to know). Stiles telling Cora that he doesn’t think Peter was telling the truth (which she would Know if he wasn’t) and that he’s gonna ask Derek about it (which we never got to see). And Deucalion murdering his own Beta (who, tbf, tried to kill him first. Which, again, what the fuck is up with Deaton’s office that wolves are able to rip each other apart in it, but it’s still ‘hard for someone like Scott to cause me any trouble.’ I’m just so confused

Final Thoughts: This episode actually had some interesting stuff in it, which is kind of sad considering there was no PLOT, just Exposition. I look forward to tweezing the bits out that I want and dumping the rest in the garbage where it belongs. Oh, and like I said, the music was on Point.

#personal #anti-Scott McCall #TeenWolf-Rewatch #long post

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