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luvidzy · 3 years

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☆ genre: fluff

☆ pairing: hwang yeji x reader

☆ summary: it’s the day of your first art exhibition and yeji isn’t there to hold your hand

☆ word count: 1.8k

Your fork clattered onto your plate, your hand trembling as you took in the news that your girlfriend, Yeji, wouldn’t be able to make it to your art exhibition tomorrow. You had been so excited and proud to share your artwork with her, having spent a long time on the specific piece being displayed. The display that she would never see.

She stared at you with eyes full of sadness, moving to take your hand in hers. You were still frozen, your lips shaking as you tried to stop the oncoming tears that were making their way to the corners of your eyes.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry. I really did everything I could, but we are just so close to our comeback that I can’t miss anything.” Yeji’s voice was soft, almost as if she was afraid you might break if she raised her tone. You squeezed your eyes shut, begging yourself to get a grip on your emotions. You needed to calm down, afterall this really wasn’t that big of a deal.

“No…. No, it’s fine. I promise. Sorry, I guess it’s just been a weird day.” That was a lie. Your day had actually been really good (up until now), but Yeji didn’t need to know that. If lying was what it took for her to feel a little less guilty about the situation, then you would lie until the sun began to rise in the morning.

“Will you take pictures? I still want to see everything, and I want to hear about everything. I promise, the minute I come home, I’m all yours,” Yeji said, giving you the smile that always managed to warm your heart and bring you a little bit of solace.

“Won’t you be tired from practice?”

“Too tired for my beautifully talented partner? Never.” You giggled weakly at that comment, feeling a small smile make its way onto your face. You were still upset, still cursing the fact that you couldn’t have Yeji there for something so important, but you knew that she meant every word she said about staying up to listen to you recall your experience.

“Okay. I love you.” Yeji lifted your hand and pressed the smallest kiss onto the back of it. You felt your face heat up as she smiled at you, continuing to hold your hand while grabbing her silverware with the other one, determined to give you comfort in her touch, even if it was only the smallest sliver of happiness.

The next morning, after a quick breakfast with Yeji, she headed off to do some outfit fittings while you headed out to do last minute checks on your art before it was taken to the small gallery the event was taking place at. Your teacher was already waiting in the classroom, your canvas sitting on an easel.

You took one last look at the piece in front of you, of the watercolors that splashed together on the canvas to create the perfect image, before you let the black cloth drop over it. Your teacher gave you a smile as she patted you on the back.

“It’s going to look great at the exhibit tonight, Y/N. Just you wait,” she reassured. You gave her a soft smile, though you couldn’t get rid of the pit that sat in your stomach. After all, the one person who you wanted to see the piece most wouldn’t be able to make it.

You knew that it wasn’t Yeji’s fault; that it was the price that you paid for dating an idol. You would simply have to get used to the fact that she wouldn’t be available all the time, and that you would simply have to do certain things alone, even if you wanted nothing more than to hold her hand while doing them.

Upon leaving your classroom, you headed straight to your apartment. As much as you would have loved to sit and mope around til the time came for the exhibit, you knew that getting ready would take much longer than you wanted. Afterall, this wasn’t a simple class gathering, this was a public art exhibition, and you wanted to look your best for the masses.

After showering and spending about half an hour wrapped in a towel looking at your phone, you finally decided to get ready. You sent a quick text to Yeji, wishing her luck on their practice tonight, before throwing your phone gently onto your bed and focusing on getting yourself presentable.

It wasn’t until you were on the way to the exhibit that the nerves began to set in. This was your first time showing art to such a big group of people, and you hoped that they would find it as beautiful as you did. Despite the reassurance from Yeji and your teacher prior to this moment, you still found your finger nervously tapping the steering wheel as you tried to get your heart to stop pounding.

This was right about the time that you would have loved to have Yeji’s hand to hold, to squeeze, to ground you and let you know that everything was okay. But unfortunately, it was just you.

Your anxiety only worsened as you walked into the gallery. It wasn’t your first time here, and you usually loved visiting, but for some reason you couldn’t find it in you to step into the gallery knowing that your art was on the wall, waiting to be seen and critiqued.

You squeezed your eyes and pretended that Yeji was beside you, calming you down. You imagined her hand gently rubbing circles on your back, and it felt so real that you almost got chills as her hands moved from your back down to your hands. You could practically feel the weight of her palm in yours, and you squeezed lightly. You felt your eyes shoot open in surprise as her hand squeezed back, except it was too real to be just in your head.

You turned your head quickly, your breath catching as Yeji smiled from beside you. She looked gorgeous, in a simple skirt and a nice blouse, but she looked so much more magical to you. Your mouth opened in surprise as she smiled giddily at you, pulling you into her embrace. In no time, your hands were wrapped around her petite waist, holding her close as you felt the urge to cry again, this time with happiness.

“I thought you said that you couldn’t make it,” you said, pulling back to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Her laugh filled your ears and you were certain that, no you weren’t dreaming, you were just dating the most perfect girl to ever exist.

“I managed to talk my way out of practice. I owe our choreographer dinner, but it was more than worth it to be here.”

“But, you shouldn’t miss practice! Your comeback is soon and this is something so small, it really doesn’t matter that much.” Your voice trailed off as Yeji squeezed your hands again. You looked at her, your heart melting at the soft smile that was on her face, along with the look of complete adoration in her eyes.

“But it matters to you. If it matters to you, then it is the most important thing in the world. I know that you were looking forward to showing me your art, and you support me all the time, it’s my job to do the same for you,” she explained, her voice warm and steady. Your arguments died in your throat as you let your joy spread to your face, a smile breaking onto your features. You hugged her again, quicker this time, before pulling her into the exhibit.

You walked around, observing the art and talking about the different artists and techniques used, until finally you came to your piece. Yeji let go of your hand, her eyes wide as she walked closer to it, as if in a trance, while you watched from the sidelines with a smile on your face.

Splashes of neutral colors were painted onto the canvas, the watercolor causing the paint to flow from one color to the other. A large tree stood in the background, the brown standing out against the black and gray night sky. Warm white lights were painting along the branches of the tree, the watercolor allowing them to look as though they were truly glowing steady and bright. In the middle of it all was a beautiful girl, your muse. She looked off into the distance, her sweater pulled up above her palms as she held them to her face for warmth. Her brown hair flowed around her shoulders, perfectly messy in the way that only the girl could pull off.

To anyone else, the painting might have looked simple: a girl by a tree at night. But Yeji instantly recognized the photo. It was one of your favorite photos that you had taken a few months into your relationship with Yeji. You had it as your phone wallpaper, and you always gushed about how the picture captured Yeji’s subtle beauty in the best way; you even said this was the night that you knew you truly and wholeheartedly loved Yeji.

Yeji turned to you, tears in her eyes as she looked back at the portrait, and then back at you. She rushed to you, pressing her lips to yours as she tried to convey all the love that she held for you. You kissed back, your own way of letting her know that you loved her too, and that this picture was just one way of how you showed that.

When she pulled away, she was giggling happily, a single tear streaking down her skin. You brushed it away with your thumb, smiling at her fondly.

“It’s me. You painted me,” Yeji said, her voice trembling as she smiled that smile that made her look just like a little kitten. You kissed her nose, nodding as you pulled back.

“Of course I did. You’re a work of art. I’m glad you think I captured your essence. I was worried you’d think I didn’t do you justice.” Yeji scoffed at your statement, rolling her eyes playfully.

“Didn’t do me justice? Y/N, you’ve painted me like an angel. You’ve done me the most justice than anyone could ever do,” she rambled, which caused you to laugh. She turned back to look it over again, before pulling out her phone to take a picture. Soon, she was typing away furiously, a mischievous smirk on her face. You raised an eyebrow as she tucked her phone back into her purse, a satisfied grin replacing the smirk as she took your hand again.

“What did you do?”

“I sent it to the Itzy groupchat. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t rub it in their faces that my partner made a masterpiece of me?” You laughed at her statement as she chuckled along with you.

“Now come on, I want to see the other art. Though, I doubt anything is gonna top yours.” You rolled your eyes softly, but couldn’t help but smile as she pulled you along gently, her hand in yours.

Just the way it was meant to be.

#hwang yeji #itzy yeji #yeji imagines #hwang yeji x reader #yeji x reader #itzy #itzy imagines #itzy x reader #iitzy scenarios #itzy oneshot #itzy fluff #yeji fluff #hwang yeji fluff #hwang yeji imagines #itzy yeji imagines #itzy yeji fluff

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alby-rei · 3 years

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Paint My World in Shades of You (Vincent x MC)

a/n: Happy birthday Vincent <3

[Characters]: MC, Vincent, Theo

[Genre]: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

[Warning]: None

{Paint my World in Shades of You}

I was sitting in Vincent’s room on his couch while he painted. His eyes were trained on the beautiful arrangement of flowers that rested against the window.

My eyes were trained on him; I was obsessed with his side profile. I loved the way his eyes shone with concentration, and his jaw relaxed and tensed as he worked. Suddenly, his serious expression lit up in laughter.

“When you look at me like that, I can’t help but lose focus.”

“Ah—I’m so sorry! I just—” My face heated up considerably, I must be a roasted tomato by now, “I really like watching you paint. It fascinates me so much how you create such wonderful paintings, and I was… taking mental notes of your technique,” and your face, and your arms, and your fingers, and-

“Have you painted, too, in your time?”

“Mmhm,” I nodded with enthusiasm, “though I’m still very much a beginner. I enjoy painting with a friend more than I do when I’m alone.”

“Oh?” Vincent set his palette down and faced me fully, “I can get you a canvas if you want to paint with me.”

“Right now?? I mean I’ve never worked with oil paints before… just acrylic and watercolor.”

Vincent rummaged through his supplies behind his desk, taking out a case full of paint tubes.

“I’ve got watercolors right here,” he shot me an excited smile, and my heart fluttered. How was I so lucky to have such an adorable boyfriend?

I wasn’t used to painting on large canvases— though it was still small compared to his— so I felt pretty intimidated just staring at the blank white abyss in front of me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… don’t know where to start,” I looked back at him sheepishly.

I waved my paint-less brush on the canvas, shifting my gaze between the flower bouquet and the canvas to make a mental sketch. I caught sight of Vincent’s work in progress, and I had an idea.

“Hey Vincent, do you mind if I… copy you?”

“Hm?” He quirked his head to the side.

“I want to learn how to paint like you, that’s how I’ve always learned actually— by watching others.”

His eyes widened, and he stuttered uncharacteristically. His gaze softened, as a small blush crept up his cheeks, and he looked back at his own unfinished work.

“Well, if that’s what you want to do, then I’m all for it.”

“Yay!” I clapped my hands in excitement.

Vincent didn’t have an extra easel, so he suggested I use his. But I insisted that I can work without one. I brought a stool and dragged it close to his and started watching his every move.

“So first, I mixed these colors…” he stretched his arm out to display his color palette. It was a beautiful mess of oil paints, with a large white spot in one corner.

Time flew as we enjoyed the moment in each other’s company doing what we both love.

“I’m not sure how to make this shade…” I pouted, staring at my messy palette.

“The trick is to get a bit of ochre yellow in the mix, and then…”

We talked on and on as we painted together. I tried to keep my focus on the bouquet, but I always ended up leaning over to see Vincent’s own painting.

“Your painting should capture how you see the world, MC.”

“I know… but I can’t get it to stand out the same way yours does,” I confessed.

Vincent’s soft laughter eased my anxiety. I mixed some colors together blindly to try to create the right shade I’m looking for.

“Hey! That’s a great shade of purple you got. How did you make it?” He asked me with child-like curiosity and excitement.

I told him honestly that I didn’t know how, and we sat and experimented together. In a way, it gave me a confidence boost to see him try so hard to replicate the shade that I accidentally made.

Clearly, I had lost track of time because the sun was gone, and the lamp in Vincent’s room was the only source of light left. I didn’t even notice the change, so when I looked up from my work, I had to rub my eyes to adjust.

“Oh boy, I didn’t realize I was so focused. I think I got a small headache…” I brought a hand up to apply pressure on my forehead.

“Are you ok, MC?” Instantly, Vincent was by my side, one hand caressing my arm as I sat on his couch to regain my bearings.

It took a second, but the world stopped spinning. I took a deep breath and looked up, smiling to reassure Vincent. Worry was written all over his face, bordering guilt.

“Don’t look so down, Vinnie~ It’s nothing serious,” I giggled, scratching the back of my head.

I looked between my canvas and his. I was really proud of how it turned out! His painting definitely had better defined lines and clearer contrasts in all the right places. Mine was less impressive in my eyes, but still a full image of the bouquet, no less.

“What do you think of my painting?” I nodded towards my canvas.

“It’s beautiful just like its artist,” he brought my paint-stained hand up to his lips and gently kissed my knuckles.

“Oh you…!” I punched him jokingly with my free hand.

“Mm… I meant it,” he laughed along, shielding his arm from further assault, “I’m a lucky man to be able to share my passion with my sweetheart.”

“Vincent, you’re too sweet.” I wrapped my arms around him, hiding my tomato-red face in his chest.

I felt his arms wrap around me, too, and we sat there in comfortable silence. The smell of oil paints and flowers wafted in the air around us, as his arms squeezed me securely. It was like we were left in our own bubble and time itself had stopped for us to enjoy this moment. I pulled away eventually, needing to wash my hands and help Sebastian with dinner. Looking outside again, I realized I was already late… woops.

“I have to go prepare dinner with Sebas soon, so I’ll see you later?”

I reached up to plant a kiss on his cheek. He turned his head and captured my lips with his. How am I supposed to say goodbye like this? The thought of leaving this room, this bubble of ours, felt like I was leaving a paradise behind.

“Don’t go just yet…” He pleaded with his eyes shimmering under the glow of the lone lamp.

“How about this: I’ll go wash my hands, then come back to clean up with you. Then, we’ll walk together to the kitchen, deal?”

He nodded, “Deal.”

I went to the guest bathroom room across the hallway. Paint was a lot harder to wash off than I thought. I scrubbed at it with soap, making sure not to damage my skin in the process.

It took a solid while, so I hurriedly dried my hands and made my way back to Vincent’s room. I was standing outside when I heard—

“…and what do we have here?” A chuckle, “Were you teaching a kid how to paint?” It was Theo.

Theo and I… didn’t get along. Maybe our humor just didn’t align, maybe he didn’t appreciate walking in on us that one time when he… shouldn’t have. And maybe I was too sensitive for his bluntness. But we made an unspoken truce to avoid conflict with each other for Vincent’s sake. At least, I thought we did.

Before Vincent got a chance to speak, Theo was already inspecting the foreign painting in art-dealer mode.

“Hmm… the colors are dull, and the strokes are uneven. If they thought they could imitate you, they’ve clearly got a long way to go,” he scoffed.

“Theo, that’s not—”

“And who asked you, huh?” I couldn’t stand aside and let him talk about me or my painting like that. It meant a lot to me; it embodied my precious time with Vincent.

“So the pup wanted to paint, eh? I guess I shouldn’t have expected much, then.”

I was about to give him an earful, but Vincent stepped in.

“That’s enough, Theo! MC and I painted this together. So, if you think it looks like a child’s work, then you’re saying that about me, too.”

“What…? No! I didn’t mean—” He shook his head, choosing to stare at the wall instead. He sighed, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, “I’m sorry I said those things, hondje. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Well, that was fast. At least he’s being civil about it.

“I-it’s fine… I’m just an amateur anyway,” I hugged my arms, looking away as I tried to calm myself. I was shaking, whether it was from anger or embarrasment, I didn’t know.

The silence was killing me, so I made to start tidying up my station. I blinked away the oncoming tears—I had nothing to cry about! I enjoyed painting with my boyfriend, and Theo apologized.

So, I kept blinking. Discretely.

Or at least as discretely as I thought I was.

Theo dropped the supplies he brought in for Vincent, talked to him for a bit, and left. I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation.

“MC…”

Vincent’s voice broke me out of my thoughts. I sensed the guilt rising in his voice, so I rushed back to hug him in reassurance.

“…don’t worry, Vinnie,” I nuzzled my head into his chest, not realizing my tears had spilled onto his apron, “it’s not like I’m a professional artist anyway, he was just stating his opinion.”

His strong arms wrapped around me firmly, rocking me back and forth as he spoke.

“You are an artist just like me, with your own unique view. That, in itself, is a valuable treasure that no one can take from you,” he pulled away to stare into my tear-streaked eyes with his own saddened cerulean eyes.

Then he smiled gently, soothingly, “Art isn’t about perfection, it’s about self-expression… about sharing your world on a canvas. Today, you shared a piece of your world on my canvas, and it is my greatest honor.”

I was speechless, I couldn’t find the words to express the pride, the elation, the utter admiration I had for Vincent and his ability to always say the right things to cheer me up.

“…Thank you, Vincent. I-I really appreciate it,” I smiled brightly up to him, and my tears flowed freely down my cheeks.

He brought his right hand up to wipe away the tears, using his thumb to caress the side of my face. Try as I might, I couldn’t blink back the tears fast enough before they spilled silently down my face. I wasn’t mad, or sad even. I was just really extremely happy. It’s hard for me to explain though, and Vincent held my face in his strong hands and kissed every tear as they fell.

“We should do this again,” he declared, his hold on me never faltering, “I want to display your paintings all over my room until every part of it is immersed in the world you create.”

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY VINCENT #ikemen vampire #ikevamp vincent #vincent x mc #ikemen vampire vincent #Birthday fic #best boy #also FIGHT ME THEO #side note: I don't hate Theo #I just think we'd butt heads all the time xD #ikevamp theo #ikemen vampire theo #alby one-shots

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

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one night stand au for the ask game! (if ur still playing lols)

Yes I most definitely am! (Sorry this took us a sec, I had to consult with my better half 💕 )

This one has been unintentionally underwraps for months, but we work on it pretty much every night. This is a HotchReid roleplay fic, set in an AU where Reid doesn't join the BAU until season 3. And ends up meeting/sleeping with Hotch literally the night before his first day. But they don't know they will be working together when they do, not until Reid is walking into Hotch's office the next morning. And as hard as they try to have that be the end of it -- Hotch is his boss after all, they just can't be doing this -- they find themselves breaking the rules they set down for themselves. Again, and again, and again.

There's so much sex in this, we've already written at least 250k words and we're still going. It's so good. But it is... a lot of sex.

The lovely @spencehotchner writes for Hotch, and I'm writing for Spencer.

With +250k in my docs I feel like I kind of have to include a snippet, so it's below the cut. It's safe for work, sorry folks, just super long. Because I ramble like a mofo so my entries are so, so long. We still need to edit/beta everything but we do plan to post it at some point. Some day. It's too good to keep to ourselves.

Aaron smiles up at him goofily as Spencer tugs him up. "Mm, I'm coming, I'm coming." He scrambles up and follows him.

He would make breakfast if he could. He would make it so good, and kiss Spencer over coffee, and get to know him all day. He’d ask all the questions he wants to ask-- what makes him tick. What puts that beautiful smile on his face. What makes his brain whir, and his heart spin, and his body go electric. He wants to know all of the things that turn Spencer on, even outside of sex. He wants to know what he wakes up for in the morning. What he tastes like after a good cup of coffee.

Fuck work.

"What time do you get off work?" he asks.

Spencer turns to him, eyes wide and... hopeful. Fuck. Aaron is watching him, with this content and appraising look, like he's thinking of things they don't have time for -- not just the sexy things, but other things. He'd said something about coffee the night before, and for the first time since Spencer got word he'd been offered the position at the BAU, he really wished he didn't have to start today. He'd been looking forward to it for weeks.

But all he wants right now is to drink coffee with Aaron in his kitchen.

"Um, well -- first day and all. New team, new boss. Usually I'm nine to five, normal hours, but I don't know how late I'll be there or... if I'll be off early," he glances at Aaron from beneath his lashes, fingers still tangled together, shower beating against the tile behind them and steaming up the room. He pulls the man with him beneath the spray, straight into a kiss that's wet and slick as the shower warms them and sluices down their skin.

He tries to pretend he isn't still shaking a little, aftershock tremors of their morning sex, and nerves about what Aaron is going to ask him. If he's going to ask him.

"Did you have something in mind?" he dares to ask, and it's quiet and barely heard over the shower, but Spencer does ask it. He's proud of himself for that. The affect Aaron is already having on him is palpable, and Spencer likes it -- likes the way Aaron makes him feel. In general, and about himself.

Aaron hums, placing a small kiss on his lips, hiding a smile. "Yeah, well. There's this thing called dinner that people often do at night. I was planning on having it. Was wondering if you'd maybe join me."

It’s not subtle, not in the slightest, but Aaron is through with subtle for the moment. He’s ready to lay it out on the line, here. I want you, I know you want me.

Spencer's heart is about to beat out of his throat, and he smiles so wide he's all teeth and upturned lips and a deluge of pecks to Aaron's own smile that he tries to hide from him. They're basically the same height, the man can't hide a thing from Spencer when they are pressed this close.

"I'd love to," he beams, kissing him again a little deeper, a little more playful, and he's going to make them both late at this rate. But God, does Spencer love kissing Aaron. "I'd love nothing more."

Aaron smiles, pinching his side playfully. "Yeah? Well, I guess that means I'll have to get your number."

Aaron can imagine it now-- being on a case, seeing Spencer’s number on the device in his hand as he texts him good night. Them talking throughout the day today, in the future, little check ins on each other, because Aaron is sure he’s not going to be able to get this boy off his mind. It’ll be a struggle to do anything but text him all day.

He runs a hand through Spencer’s wet curls, playing with the ends of the strands, trying to memorize the way the shower’s steam paints a blush on Spencer’s cheekbones. Watercolor. Aaron could see him as a work of art.

God, he had to be crazy. But going home at night with a random stranger was crazy for him. Standing in his shower the next morning was crazy for him. Asking for his number was crazy for him.

Crazy felt good.

"Play your cards right, you might even get my last name," Spencer says cheekily, giggling and dodging out of the way as Aaron tries to pinch his side again.

But he's... so happy, so delirious with it, that nothing could ruin his day now. Because he was going to have dinner with Aaron after his first day at work for the BAU, which he'd been dreaming about since Jason Gideon used it a lure to recruit him into the FBI just after his second Ph.D.

For the first time, in a long time, his life felt pretty perfect.

Aaron grins and steals another long, slow kiss from him, feeling light and airy and good.

Fucking hell, does he feel good.

They get out of the shower and Aaron dresses as quickly as he can, because he really does need to go. As soon as he's dressed, though, he's pulling a half dressed Spencer into his arms to kiss him again.

Spencer manages to get into briefs and slacks and is trying to color coordinate some kind of dress shirt and sweater combination with a tie (literally everything is clean, this shouldn't be this hard) when Aaron is there pulling him into a searing kiss. Still damp from the shower, dressed in his clothes from last night, smiling against his mouth and Spencer can't help how he huffs out a laugh and kisses back with just as much enthusiasm.

He really didn't want the man to go. But it was quickly approaching 7:00a.m. and D.C. traffic had to be hell, even with a cab. Spencer had always taken the train when he was at MIT, the East coast had a well established system. So he'd decided the week prior he would just do the same here and save himself the daily morning anxiety attack of trying to make it to work on time on his own. That's what public transportation was for. Regulated, mass transit. Set arrival and departure times. A soothing balm if there ever was one.

"Give me your phone," he says with a smile, still so close he basically speaks against Aaron's mouth. He takes the offered iPhone and puts his number in under his name, just his first name. Ready to make the man earn the rest of his personal information.

Maybe, if dinner went well, they'd have... all night to get to know each other. Was it too much to hope Aaron would stay the night again? Probably, but Spencer was in a dreaming mood. Reach for the stars, might as well. With everything going so well, it was only a matter of time before something happened to interfere.

God, he hoped they didn't catch a case on his first day.

Aaron smiles down at the name on his screen. Spencer. He pulls him into one more final kiss, his head spinning pleasantly. There will be more where that came from, he reminds himself. Prays hard in that moment to whoever is listening that he’ll be able to make it to...

"Tonight," he promises. "I'll see you then."

The BAU Section Chief, SES Erin Strauss, is the one to greet Spencer when he arrives at the FBI building in Quantico. She's a stern woman, but friendly enough for someone in such a position of authority, and she seems very pleased that Spencer is there to join the team. Calls him 'Dr. Reid' often enough he knows either Gideon or his former team leader had mentioned it was something he was particular about -- or she was more concerned about his appeal politically than what he can do for the team.

He didn't let it sour his mood, though, because the morning had just been... too good to be ruined by something as trivial as that. Spencer had gotten the job, he was there in the building, had just received his badge and his gun and his ID card for the key-padded doors and a whole slew of other orientation day milestones.

And now he was on the seventh floor, about to walk into the Behavior Analysis Unit, where he can see people milling about busy as worker bees and his chest swells with nervousness and excitement and too many emotions to name.

If not for Aaron, and their amazing night and morning together, Spencer would be all nerves and worry -- but the morning sex alone was enough to knock a lot of that tension out of his spine and shoulders. He was ready for today, more ready than he'd ever thought he'd be.

Chief Strauss leads him into the 'bullpen', as she calls it, a lower level agent holding the door open for both of them, and then she's leading him to a cluster of desks that must be part of the new team he's joining.

"Good morning," she says, startling a trio that was talking animatedly over coffee -- and then all eyes are on Spencer. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid, I'm sure you were expecting him. Is Agent Hotchner in, yet?"

The three standing there very obviously fight rolling their eyes, and Spencer gets the feeling it's not about him or his title as 'Dr. Reid' -- or he hopes not anyway. His hopes are confirmed when a pretty, petite blonde smiles sweetly and sincerely at him and introduces herself as "Jennifer Jareau, but call me JJ", the communication liaison for the unit. A position Spencer wasn't aware existed, but he could definitely see the merits of it. Then, she addressed Chief Strauss.

"Hotch is always here by 8:00 a.m." she says, in a way that was somehow not condescending, but probably should have been. "He'll be up in his office waiting for you, ma'am."

"Thank you. Agent Morgan. Agent Prentiss." She nods to the others, and Spencer merely waves and grimaces a smile, wanting to actually introduce himself and hoping the others understand at least a little bit. He isn't sure he can actually say no to the woman who was his boss's boss.

"Erin, are you going to let him meet anyone?" says a voice from above them, just a half a level above the bullpen where offices line the walls -- and it's fucking David Rossi. Standing there, in the flesh, and Spencer is actually a little starstruck. Since when had David Rossi come out of retirement? He knows he's gaping a little bit, mouth parted on a million and one questions to ask the man, but at Chief Strauss's huff of indignation, he lets his jaw snap shut.

Later. He can ask later.

"Is Agent Hotcher ready for Dr. Reid? I'm sure you all have a case to go over," she says in a drone, and Spencer's stomach drops at that. Fuck, he hopes they don't have a case. He... has a date. That would probably be a bad excuse.

"I don't know," David Rossi says in a teasing lilt, then merely turns to the side and speaks into an open office door. "Hotch, you ready for Dr. Reid."

Spencer is blushing down to his roots, and Rossi merely winks at him to show he's joking. Apparently, Chief Strauss was being over the top and not just like this all the time. That kind of makes the situation worse, in his opinion.

Strauss doesn't wait for an answer, and starts up the stairs with Spencer following and trying to get used to the team dynamic. David Rossi actually pats him on the shoulder as he tries to slip by. "Don't worry, he's all bark and only a little bite. And I'm pretty sure he still hasn't read your file yet."

Well, that's not exactly promising.

Aaron still manages to show up about 15 minutes earlier than he had planned on. He had an extra suit at the locker in the office, and just went straight there to get dressed.

Which, of course, meant he had to run into David.

"So," David says, a shit-eating grin on his face. "Someone didn't need a ride home last night."

Aaron keeps his face stoic as he adjusts his tie, sitting down at his desk. "Do you need something, Dave?"

"Who was she?" David just barrels on, raising an eyebrow. "I wasn't under the impression that you were on the prowl last night, but I was apparently wrong."

Aaron stares him down.

"That good, huh?" Dave just grins, and grins and grins, and Aaron doesn't let the fact that he's had the most amazing morning in years show through on his face. Nothing can take away the fact that, on his phone, there's a number with the name Spencer beside it.

"I'm an adult," Aaron says, simple as that. "Now, can you leave? I still have to go over the--"

"Oh, he's here!" Dave says, looking out the door. Aaron's blinds are closed, and he raises an eyebrow. "Oh, he's young. Erin are you going to let him meet anyone?" David says as he steps out of the door.

Aaron laughs to himself, straightens his tie again, prepares himself to meet the newest team member. He hopes whoever this is will be good for him-- good for the team. He's nervous. He loves his team, thinks they have a great dynamic. Change is... different. After Elle had left, things had been rocky. No one could replace her, but this new kid was supposed to be something special.

Aaron would just have to see about that.

"Come in," he says, busying himself with some files to look like he isn't anticipating the worst, when a knock rasps at his door.

Chief Strauss knocks at the Unit Chief's door, the team leader that Spencer would be directly under for the foreseeable future, and just walks on in -- in fact, the knock seems a little last second. Like she doesn't usually announce herself when she comes in, and is on her best behavior in front of Spencer.

He's not sure why, it's not like he wouldn't find out how everything works around here eventually. He isn't going anywhere.

"Aar- ahem, Agent Hotchner," again, with the hesitation, acting formal. Spencer looks around the dark wooded office lined with books on Law and sadism and serial killers alike, until he turns to the desk against the wall. "This is Dr. Spencer Reid, your newest team member."

Sitting there is a man in a dark suit, broad shouldered, black hair, bent over some files spread on his desk and seemingly very intent on his work. Finishing whatever he was making note of before looking up at them.

Dark eyes. Darker lashes. Tunnel vision stare that pierces through Spencer, and all the breath escapes his lungs.

No.

Strauss turns back to him with a tight, friendly smile; unaware of the bomb that has just gone off inside Spencer's head.

"Dr. Reid, meet your new Unit Chief: Supervisory Special Agent, Aaron Hotchner."

#god please let this formatting work #everyone form a prayer circle that this super duper long snippet isn't all out of order #did i need to post a 2k snippet?#no i did not #but i wanted to because i love this rp so damn much #this is unedited and subject to change but i honestly feel like it's perfect #asks #ask game #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

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acaseforpencils · 3 years

Text

Amy Kurzweil.

I am a Boston born, currently California-dwelling, temporarily Berlin-bound, New Yorker, which is to say I lived in New York for eleven years and there I left my heart. I studied writing, and I feel I'm still learning to draw. My first book is a graphic memoir called Flying Couch published with Catapult, and I'm working on my second, called Artificial: a love story. My comics and writing have been published in The Believer Magazine, Literary Hub, Longreads, forthcoming in The New York Times Book Review, and elsewhere. In addition to The New Yorker, my cartoons have appeared in Alta, Wired, Airmail, and Narrative Magazine. When I'm not making comics, I also spend a lot of my time teaching (take a class with me on Patreon!).

Find this print here!

See the Caterpillar grow:

Here's a picture of the book I'm working on. 340 penciled pages that somehow need to be inked!! Note all the used up Blackwing pencils.

Tools of choice: Someone at a comics festival once handed me a Blackwing pencil and little did she know I'd be shelling out $2 a pencil for the rest of my life. Or maybe she did know. Probably she was a plant. Blackwing pencils are so smooth and beautiful. I also feel proud to have used the same Pentel brush pen for the last seven or eight years. I inked my whole first book with it, and every cartoon I've ever drawn. I'm wondering if I'm supposed to buy another one before inking my next book, or if I should put myself in the running for some kind of record. Brush pens are great because there's no dipping, but you get dynamic line variation. My Pentel has refillable, non-messy cartridges. I'm also obsessed with watercolor. I recently did an experiment where I tested out all of Daniel Smith and Winsor Newton's black and grey watercolors (there are more than you think) and I learned that Lamp Black is the best if you're looking for rich black that doesn't granulate. I like watercolor better than ink wash because it's more forgiving. Watercolor doesn't set right away so you can kind of move it around the paper and get more even washes.

I also love Neutral Tint. Such a pretty almost-purple.

Tool I wish I could use better: Probably everyone says this, but I'd like to learn to use nib/dip pens better. I use a Copic Multiliner for fine line work, in addition to the Pentel, and I suspect it would be more natural and sophisticated to make all my lines with one tool that offers maximum line variation. Oh and anything to do with a computer. I don't really want to draw digitally, but I think being able to do some part of my process (sketching? roughs?) on the computer or ipad might help me be more productive and organized.

Tool I wish existed: I would like a very good eraser that doesn't leave eraser shavings all over your desk, bed, floor, skin, brain, everywhere. I know about those kneaded erasers, but they really aren't as good.

Tricks: I love graph paper, especially Bienfang in non-photo blue. It helps me with layout, especially for sequential comic pages. I use the grid behind the page to help me orchestrate natural flow even if I'm not panelling traditionally. I also find a blank white page very scary.

Misc: Lately I've been telling people that I think writing is harder than drawing. Or maybe what I mean is... I find it interesting to think about the different ways in which they are hard. I think to draw well requires a kind of letting go. Beautiful lines come from natural, unlabored gestures. To write well requires, in my experience, lots and lots of editing and extreme brain-squeezing. The perfect cartoonist is someone who is both obsessively precise and effortlessly expressive. It's a tall order.

Website, etc. You can order my book, Flying Couch, wherever, I recommend Bookshop.org. You can follow me on instagram @amykurzweil Join me on Patreon! At the $10 level, I offer monthly classes and host a Slack channel where people share work and support each other, or for $2 you can subscribe to my weekly Ramble where I share cartoons, tips, and art-life updates. Check out ToonStack and subscribe for extra New Yorker cartoonist cartoons every Sunday.

—–

If you enjoy this blog, and would like to contribute to labor and maintenance costs, there is a Patreon, and if you’d like to buy me a cup of coffee, there is a Ko-Fi account as well! I do this blog for free because accessible arts education is important to me, and your support helps a lot! You can also find more posts about art supplies on Case’s Instagram and Twitter! Thank you!

#amy kurzweil #how to draw new yorker cartoons

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justcallmefox89 · 4 years

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Truth or Dare Part 9 - Diavolo’s Ending

The Demon Lord’s castle is in an uproar and Mammon steps up to hold things together. The Devildom gets a visit from two unforeseen visitors who have the ability to change the course of fate.

Written from the perspective of a female OC

NSFW - threesome, guy on guy, penetrative sex, anal sex, unprotected sex, shower sex.........filth. It’s just smutty, smutty filth.

TWs - discussions of death and dying

Mood List:

Jonathan Young - A Whole New World (cover) Max - Lights Down Low Jarryd James - Do You Remember The Killers - Smile Like You Mean It Hozier - Almost

I feel nauseous and my head is pounding.

Too much Demonus, not enough water. I am never going to The Fall with Asmo ever again. Never.

A strong pair of arms surround me, holding me up.

“Fuck off Asmo.....this is all your fault,” I say, slurring.

“I assure you my darling, I am not Asmodeus and this situation is in no way his fault,” a voice behind me says, light and airy, tinkling like wind chimes swaying in the breeze.

I recognize that voice.

“She’s right,” another voice chimes in. “This is a situation borne of your own stupidity.” A pause. “Took courage though. You must have a pair of brass balls on you, human. You get that from my side I’m sure.”

A sardonic chuckle.

Low and husky, this voice sounds a lot like mine. But there’s something else.....something darker, dangerous. Something that brings to mind prey running through a forest at twilight, being pursued by something shadowy and quick and ominous, leaves and grass rustling as something runs for its life.

I blink, blearily trying to focus, when a face pops up right in front of mine.

“Holy motherfucking fucking fuck!” I yelp and stumble back.

The face frowns, and when I look a little closer I realize I’m gazing into a pair of green eyes that look startlingly like my own. I don’t know the owner though. This woman’s long chestnut hair is held back from her face in a series of braids, her skin streaked with decorative lines that have been painted on by something chalky and blue.

“Language,” the voice from behind reprimands me softly.

“Sorry,” I say automatically, turning around.

I know you.

Her skin is pale, like mine, but she has soft, dove grey eyes and flowing white hair. White hair like........ like Mammon’s.

“Where’s Mammon? Where’s Diavolo?” I ask, whipping my head around, realizing I’m in Diavolo’s study.

Everything looks hazy and out of focus, like a soft watercolor painting. I see a group of men huddled around something on the floor, and breathe out a small sigh of relief when I hear Mammon and Diavolo speaking, although I can’t make out what they’re saying.

I face the pale woman again as the dark haired woman looks on impassively.

“Lilith why are you here? Is it safe for you to be here?”

The other woman snorts. “We’re not in the Devildom, child.”

“Then where are we?” I ask, panicky.

“A....purgatory of sorts,” Lilith answers carefully.

Purgatory? But that’s for .................flames.....Mammon screaming. Blood. Skin burning. Pain, so much pain. Oh shit.

“I died?” I swallow hard. “Then the ritual didn’t work.”

The dark haired woman scowls. “You’re not too far gone for us to help you, but you’ve sure pushed the limit of what we can do.”

“Oh fuc-”

“Arianthi!” Lilith fixes me with a stern look.

“Sorry,” I mumble, avoiding her eyes. “So I’m just a little bit dead?”

Lilith nods. “There’s still enough time to for us to send you back.”

A sound from far off in the distance drifts towards us. Something that sounds like wood creaking and groaning, waves pounding against rocks. And an unearthly haunting melody, underscored with eldritch screams. It’s beautiful and terrible all at once, and I fight the urge to clap my hands over my ears. My eyes dart around the room, searching for the origin of the noise.

“We don’t have any more time Lilith, we have to go. NOW!” The other woman hisses.

“I know Morrigan, I know.” Lilith grabs my shoulders and bends down so we’re eye to eye. “We can’t help you anymore after this. The Demon King is powerful, but he isn’t invincible. And soon, even he won’t be able to deny your place in the Devildom hierarchy.”

She flashes me a secretive smile.

“You’ve drawn attention from other powerful beings though, so be on your guard. Mammon will protect you, stay close to him.” She kisses my forehead and gives me another smile. “I’m proud of you. Both of you. Tell him that.”

I nod and she moves away, Morrigan stepping into her place. She cocks her head to the side and looks at me curiously.

“We don’t know each other, but you’ll learn of me soon enough. You’ve always been one of my favorites; the first one of mine to wreak such chaos in hundreds of generations.” She smirks at me. “You’re entertaining, I’ll give you that.”

The noise from earlier sounds like it’s getting closer. She takes my hands in her own. “Diavolo is a fine demon and he will be a wonderful ruler. You chose well. Be good to each other.”

She presses a her lips to my forehead then roughly shoves me back.

WHUMP.

Shiiiiiiit. Pain. So much pain. All the pain.

“No, no, no, no,.......not again baby, please not again. Come back....” Mammon

“Solomon do something!” Diavolo.

“I’m trying, I’m trying!”

My eyes don’t want to open and my body is sore and stiff. I’m restricted, feeling claustrophobic. I jerk and try to struggle free of whatever is holding me.

“Oi!”

I try to stretch and blink my eyes rapidly until they stay open. My clothes are in tatters, and the smell of fire and ashes surrounds me. I try to breathe in but my chest constricts, my lungs unwilling to take in oxygen.

“Arianthi?!”

Two pairs of arms tightly wrap around me, sandwiching me between two powerful bodies. I can see Barbatos and Solomon over Mammon’s shoulder, their eyes wide.

I heave to one side, breaking the boys’ hold on me, and roll up onto my knees. My back and legs feel leaden, and it takes all my effort to stay upright. I try to say something, but end up coughing, trying to force stale smoke from my lungs.

Diavolo drapes his coat over me and Mammon rubs my back soothingly, urging me to relax.

“I got ya baby,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Get it all out.”

Diavolo motions for Barbatos and gives him a series of whispered instructions. Barbatos nods several times, then rushes out of the study, turning back to look at me one last time.

I let out another harsh, hacking cough.

“The fuck did you do to me Solomon?” I mutter.

Diavolo kneels and pulls my hair back from my face, easing some on my claustrophobia.

Solomon barks out a surprised laugh. “It really is you,” he says delightedly.

“Of course it’s me, you fucking cut rate Harry Potter.” I’m swaying on my hands and knees, exhausted. “What happened? Why is everything so heavy?”

Mammon helps me up to my knees and leans me against his chest.

“Are you real? You’re really back?” he whispers, hesitant and hopefully.

I nod, grateful to have him holding me upright.

He stays silent. Uncertain.

“I was the one who kissed you, our very first time,” I begin, speaking slowly. “We sneaked out after Lucifer did his room inspections that night. We started at The Fall but we wound up at Hell’s Kitchen so you could play cards.”

Mammon’s heart is pounding in his chest, getting faster and faster with my every word.

“We had been there forever. I was ready to go home. But you were drinking and you were winning so you wanted to stay. We made a bet on the next game. If you win, we stay and you get a kiss. If you lose, we go home and I got to pick a movie for us to watch together on our next movie night.”

Mammon’s fingers are stroking my cheek, listening intently to each low, labored word. Diavolo kneeling next to me fades away; it’s just us two in this moment.

“You lost. It was raining outside and we had to run back to the House of Lamentation..... you were bitching and moaning the whole time.” I grin at the memory. “We couldn’t get in when we got home. Lucifer figured out we were gone and locked us out. I was cold and wet and tired of you bitching so I finally asked....”

I stop to cough.

“Ya asked me if I would shut the hell up if ya gave me that kiss I was asking for earlier,” Mammon picks up the story.

“And you looked at me and said, “Maybe”.” I croak out a laugh. “So I pushed you against the door and kissed you. We just stayed out there, kissing for I don’t even know how long. Until Lucifer let us in.”

Mammon looks down at me, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “It really is you,” he whispers.

“Told you so.”

He gives me a soft kiss. “Don’t ya dare ever do somethin’ like that again. Ya ain’t allowed to leave me ever again.”

“How long was I out?” I ask.

“You weren’t out baby.” His voice breaks. “You were gone.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I saw you. I was here. I - AH!”

A blinding pain sears up my spine and it feels like someone has stuck their finger into a bundle of raw nerves.

I look over my shoulder and see Diavolo touching my back delicately with one finger. “Dia stop!”

The pain is so intense that the corners of my vision start to go dark. I feel a heavy weight pulling me backwards, and something soft and fluttery tickles the back of my neck and waist, while something muscular and thick wraps around my left leg.

I’m panting, on my hands and knees, waiting as the pain starts to level out. “What was that? What just happened?”

Diavolo and Mammon snap to attention, Diavolo helping me up and Mammon arranging his coat so all my important bits are covered up. The minute Diavolo lets go of my arm I start to fall, dragged backwards by an unfamiliar weight.

“I got you princess.” Diavolo picks me up and I cling to him like a baby koala as he strides out of the study and up to our bedroom, Mammon following us.

“Solomon, go ahead and stay in your usual room for the time being. We’ll need to talk after we help Arianthi get cleaned up and we all get some rest,” Diavolo orders him.

Diavolo is moving so quickly I can’t catch Solomon’s reply. He doesn’t stop until we’re standing in front of the full length mirror in our bedroom. I slide down to the floor and turn to face the mirror, Mammon on my right and Diavolo on my left.

“Oh my dark lord,” I breathe.

Mammon and Diavolo are grinning like idiots.

“Hang on baby, we got ya,” Mammon says. He gently presses his hands between my should blades and massages softly while Diavolo bends down and carefully unwinds something from around my leg.

Large, black feathered wings fan out behind me, matted and bloody, and a long tail coils behind me, thick and muscular, covered by black leathery skin. My green eyes have taken on a golden sheen, mirroring Diavolo’s. Mammon and Diavolo stand and return to my side.

“We did it,” I whisper.

“You did it princess,” Diavolo murmurs. “You came back all on your own.”

He pulls me into a hug, careful of my new wings and the tender skin of my back.

“l thought I lost you,” he whispers, kissing my forehead.

“I told you a long time ago that I was tough,” I whisper back.

“I’ll never doubt you again princess,” he says with a low chuckle.

I look back into the mirror and wince. I’m covered in blood, ashes, and various other substances I don’t care to think about.

Mammon’s arms snake around my waist and he kisses my cheek.

“Don’t worry baby, we can stay here and clean ya up right. Love on ya some. Take all the time in the world,” he murmurs suggestively, smirking over at Diavolo.

“Wait! They were there!” I grab Diavolo’s arm. “Did you guys see them?”

“Hey, breathe princess. Breathe for me.” Diavolo rubs my shoulders, large hands warm and comforting. “Who are ‘they’?”

I look back and forth between Mammon and Diavolo. “Lilith and this other woman. They sent me back.”

Mammon goes rigid at the mention of his sister. “Lilith was there?”

I nod rapidly. “She said I was in some sort of purgatory and I was only a little bit dead, but there was enough time for them to send me back. I could see you in the study but it was all fuzzy. She said that Diavolo’s dad was ‘powerful but not invincible’.”

I stop to suck in some air. Diavolo looks troubled and Mammon looks gobsmacked.

I take Mammon’s hand. “She said you would always protect me. And that she was proud of you. She wanted me to tell you that. That she was proud of you.”

He tears up, carefully folding me into his embrace. He sniffles a little as I hug him tightly.

“Arianthi?” Diavolo asks quietly. “Who else was there? You said two women were there. Who was there besides Lilith?”

I twist in Mammon’s arms to face Diavolo, staying firmly in Mammon’s embrace. “I didn’t know her. Her name was Morrigan. I’ve never seen her before.”

“You’re sure her name was Morrigan?” Diavolo asks, studying me carefully.

“That’s what Lilith called her. Do you know her Dia?”

“I never knew her. She’s older than my father even. I wasn’t even sure she existed to be perfectly honest,” Diavolo says, baffled. “I’ll have to go through some books in the library tomorrow to make sure, but from what I remember of the old stories she was a very powerful demon. The ancient Celts worshiped her as their goddess of destruction and war. There’s been no mention of anyone seeing her in...............forever.”

“So sayin’ this Morrigan was the one with Lilith, why would she care about our girl?” I can hear the confusion in Mammon’s voice.

“She said I was one of her’s. She said that more than once Dia.”

Surprise spreads over Diavolo’s features. “What else did she say?”

I close my eyes, trying to think back to Morrigan’s exact words.

“She said I was entertaining and the first one of her’s to cause so much chaos in generations. She said I was one of her favorites. That you were a fine demon and you’ll be a great ruler.” I smile. “She said I chose well. And that we need to be good to each other.”

When I open my eyes I see Diavolo staring at me intently. He starts to laugh, tears forming at the corner of his eyes.

“What’re ya laughing at?” Mammon sounds irritated.

“If she truly is one of Morrigan’s it means that Arianthi is descended from a demon as well as an angel.”

“What?!”

“Ow Mammon,” I frown, rubbing my ear. “Too loud.”

“Sorry baby.” He gives my ear a soft kiss. “Ok, so our girl has demon and angel blood. So what?”

I chew on my lower lip, thinking. “Do you think she might have been lying about who she was? Lilith would have known if she was lying right?”

Diavolo frowns and scrubs his hands over his face. “I don’t know princess. I really don’t know. We’ll figure it though, I promise.”

I shuffle from side to side, itchy and ready to be clean again. I don’t know what else to say.

“Alright. That’s enough. We’ve been awake for too damn long and Arianthi needs a shower. Hell, we all do,” Mammon says, taking charge. “C’mon. Inta the shower with both of ya.”

Mammon leads us into the bathroom, shutting the door softly. He gathers me close and kisses me, gently pulling Diavolo’s coat and what’s left of my clothes away from my body.

I hear Diavolo turning on the shower behind us, warm steam and the scent of vanilla wafting towards us, and the sound of his clothes softly hitting the tile floor. Mammon puts his hands on my hips, backing me towards the shower, lips never leaving mine.

I stop moving when I feel Diavolo’s body at my back and his hands run over Mammon’s on my hips. Mammon breaks our kiss long enough to shuck off his clothes, then gently urges Diavolo and I into the shower.

This shower is now officially as close to heaven as I’m ever going to get.

A glorious artwork of glass and tile, with multiple shower heads, and more than large enough to fit all of us comfortably.........perfection.

I stand under the spray of water for a few minutes in silence, rinsing the worst of the blood and vomit from myself.

“Who’s going to tell me what happened after everything went dark?” I finally ask, as gently as I can.

Mammon and Diavolo switch places, Mammon moving behind me while Diavolo faces me.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Diavolo asks, pouring some body wash into his hands, and then passing the bottle over my head to Mammon.

“Fire. You two in front of me. My skin was......burning.”

He stays silent as he runs soapy hands over my arms and chest. “We tried to get to you but the fire kept us back. It wasn’t natural.....it burned us when we tried to get through.”

I jump as I feel Mammon’s hands on my wings, long dexterous fingers cleaning and smoothing feathers, tucking them into place.

“Shhhh baby,” he says quietly. “I’ll have ya all clean and feelin’ better in no time.”

“By the time the fire was low enough for us to get to you,” Diavolo pauses, his jaw clenched. “You weren’t breathing but you were......”

“Lookin’ normal again. Not burned. Like nothin’ had happened,” Mammon says curtly, finishing for him. His touch becomes rough for a second, and he immediately softens as I flinch. “Sorry baby.”

I look down at my arms and legs; my skin is unmarked, not even a scratch. I look back up at Diavolo in confusion.

“Barbatos heard the screams. Solomon started looking for another ritual, one to bring you back.......” Diavolo trail offs.

“How long was I gone? It couldn’t have been that long.”

“Too goddamn long,” Mammon grunts behind me as Diavolo answers, “About twenty minutes.”

I start gnawing on my thumbnail anxiously.

Dying twice in one year isn’t a good track record.

A tapping sound echoes against the tile drumming in beat with the thoughts running though my mind.

“Arianthi?” Diavolo holds my face in his hands. “Calm down. You need to breathe princess.”

“I’m calm, I’m totally calm,” I respond quickly.

“Baby?” Mammon rubs my shoulder and then points down. My tail is tapping out a staccato beat on the tile floor of the shower.

“Oh.” I make a conscious effort to slow my breathing and relax my body. My tail - god how fucking weird is that - slows, then finally stills. “Is that how it always is?”

“Yeah,” Mammon answers, continuing to preen my wings. “It’s just another body part ya learn how to control. Ya get used to it after a while.”

“How do I put them back?”

Diavolo shrugs. “It’s not hard. Relax and try to clear your mind from everything else. Then just picture your human form.”

“Give me a few more seconds back here.” Mammon tucks the last few feathers into place, smoothing the barbs down. “Alright, give it a try baby.”

I close my eyes, concentrating on the steam and the noise of water hitting tile. I picture myself like I was before the ritual, when I was truly happy, tucked safely in bed between Mammon and Diavolo. There’s a moment of sharp pain, and then the extra weight on my back and shoulders vanishes.

“Ya did it!” Mammon says proudly, kissing my neck.

I turn in his arms, lacing my hands behind his neck. He surges forward and presses his lips to mine. He licks along my lower lip, then gives it a harsh nip. I open my mouth, eagerly allowing him access. His tongue strokes mine and his hands slide over my waist and down my hips, moving to caress my ass.

Maybe it’s the rush of being a newly turned demon, or maybe I’m just happy to not be dead, but I need to feel his body against mine. His warmth makes me feel alive, his mouth against mine sparking a familiar heat low in my core. I just need.

Diavolo presses against my back, cock hard and firm against my ass. His hands run over my sides, reaching forward to stroke Mammon’s cock. Mammon moans into my mouth, his hips rutting forward against Diavolo’s hand. I card my hands through his hair, tugging his head to the side and kissing his neck.

We spent a few minutes teasing and touching, reaffirming our connection to each other. Reassuring each other that we’re all together and safe. Diavolo suddenly pulls back, surprising me and Mammon.

I feel Diavolo’s eyes on me and I turn around to face him. “What are you thinking about Dia?”

His eyes cloud over and he flushes with shame, looking guilty.

“I should never have pushed you to do that,” he whispers. “I was so afraid of losing you that I didn’t think about anything else and you......” He chokes up. “You died. That was my fault. I was so sure I was right that I willingly put you in danger. I killed you.”

“Oh Dia, no. Don’t do that.” I step into his arms, wrapping my arms around his waist and laying my head against his chest. “I agreed to it. I took that risk. And it worked out. I’m here and I’m fine,” I try to reassure him.

“Because someone else interfered and brought you back,” Diavolo challenges me.

I stay silent, unable to argue. Mammon hugs Diavolo, leaning his head against his shoulder, offering silent comfort.

“If that hadn’t happened and Solomon couldn’t figure out a way to bring you back.............” Diavolo’s voice is bitter and filled with self-loathing.

I don’t know what to say. What he’s saying is true but oddly, I’m not angry about it.

I’m not dead, I’m strong enough to live through whatever his father may throw at us, and I get to stay with Diavolo and Mammon without worrying about old age, or any of the other dangers that come with being human in the Devildom.

“Diavolo. Shut up,” Mammon commands. Diavolo looks down at him in confusion, stunned into obedience. “I’m still not happy about the heavy handed way ya went about it, but it ended up bein’ the best decision. Arianthi’s here and she’s fine. Better than fine. I just wanna enjoy the fact that our girl is safe and she’s here. And she’s like us now.....We don’t have to worry about losin’ her ever again.”

Mammon sounds exhausted. “I just wanna enjoy havin’ both of ya with me. We can figure everything else out later. Can we just focus on lovin’ each other for a few hours instead of all this other bullshit? Get some damn rest?”

I’m very conscious of the fact that we’re all still naked, slick with water and steam from the shower, and I’m eager to forget the last 12 hours.

Is that all it’s been? This night has gone on forever.

“Mammon’s right Dia,” I murmur, running my hands over his chest and down his stomach.

“We just pulled off something totally insane.” My hand strays even lower, stroking his cock. “Let’s celebrate a little bit, show how much we love each other.”

“Fuck princess.” Diavolo chuckles, moving his hands under my thighs, lifting me up and pressing my back against the wall of the shower. The cool tile is soothing against the tender skin of my back, and Diavolo is careful to not be too rough with me.

“You two present a very powerful argument,” Diavolo says, smirking at me.

I wrap my legs around his waist and wiggle against him. “Wasting time Dia.”

The head of his cock brushes against my clit, and I buck my hips against him, urging him to hurry. He gives a low grunt and slowly lowers me onto his cock. I’m slick with arousal, ready for him without any of our usual prep. I moan as his cock stretches me, burying my face into his neck.

Encouraged by my noises of enjoyment Diavolo thrusts up into me, eager but cautious, not wanting to hurt me. I snake a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair, giving it a sharp yank.

“Faster,” I whisper into his ear, softly biting his earlobe.

I look over Diavolo’s shoulder and see Mammon standing behind him, running his hands and mouth over Diavolo’s back. He marks him with love bites, lowering his hands to massage Diavolo’s thighs.

Diavolo shudders at his touch and moves his hips faster, rutting up into me hard when Mammon slips a slender finger in his ass, teasing and stretching, preparing Diavolo for what’s coming next.

Diavolo groans with lust. “Mammon.........Arianthi....” he pants.

Mammon sinks his teeth into Diavolo’s shoulder, adding a second finger, never losing his rhythm. “Better fuck our girl a little harder than that, she’s not making enough noise.”

Diavolo obeys his command and I cry out, the sound echoing off the tile of the shower.

“Fuck!” I whimper, clinging tight to his shoulders, as his cock pounds into my pussy at the perfect angle.

My legs tighten around his waist as I cum, pussy clenching around his thick cock, urging him to cum with me as Mammon finger fucks his ass.

“Nah,” Mammon teases, stilling the motions of his hand. “You’re not cummin’ yet Diavolo.”

Diavolo whimpers, rutting into me. “Please....please don’t stop now.”

“Let’s move to the bed,” I murmur, kissing him and biting at his lower lip. “Let us take care of you Dia.”

Diavolo reluctantly releases me while Mammon turns off the shower. The short trip to the bed seems to take forever; Diavolo is tense with lust and the stress of the past day, and he keeps sneaking touches and kisses from us until Mammon slaps his hand away. He pushes Diavolo onto the bed, keeping me by his side.

“Bend over,” he growls, pushing me forwards a little. “Hands on the mattress.”

I obey while Diavolo looks on in confusion. Mammon runs his hands down my spine, stroking slowly, before moving his hands a little lower to arch my hips until they’re just so. Diavolo looks on, biting his lip, while Mammon slowly thrusts his cock into my pussy, inch by inch. His makes a small whining noise, watching Mammon fuck me, eyes dark with lust and impatience.

“You think he’s waited long enough baby?” Mammon mutters, his hips moving excruciatingly slowly.

I consider Diavolo, taking my time and smirking, while I enjoy the feeling of Mammon’s cock. “Yeah.....yeah I think so.”

Mammon slowly pulls out, caressing my ass. “Give me a kiss then get up there with him,” he demands playfully.

I turn and give him a deep kiss, teasing him with my tongue.

“So bossy tonight baby,” I murmur against his lips. “I didn’t know you had in you,” I tease.

“Neither did I,” Mammon chuckles darkly. “But I’m gettin’ into it.”

I climb up next to Diavolo and we both restlessly wait for Mammon’s next commands.

Mammon tosses Diavolo a pillow. “Put that under your hips,” he says, moving between Diavolo’s legs and hooking them over his thighs. Mammon looks at me and jerks his head towards Diavolo.

“Ride,” he says with a smirk.

I giggle and move to straddle Diavolo.

I like this side of Mammon. Really, really like it.

“Holy fuck,” Diavolo whispers as I sink down on his cock.

I start to move my hips, pulling off of him completely, then slowly taking his thick cock all the way back in my pussy. He moans, then jerks suddenly, and I look over my shoulder to see Mammon, stroking his cock while he finger fucks Diavolo’s ass.

“I wanna fuck ya Diavolo,” he growls. “Only if you want it.”

Diavolo nods helplessly, throwing his head back against the pillows as his large hands grip my hips.

“Words Dia,” I tell him playfully. “Use your words.”

I tease his nipples with my fingertips while I ride him, relishing his eyes on me.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, I want you to fuck me Mammon.”

Mammon makes an intelligible noise deep in his throat. I look back again, watching him remove his fingers from Diavolo’s ass, then gently thrust his cock into Diavolo’s hole, stretching him slowly and thoroughly. Once he bottoms out, he holds himself still, giving Diavolo time to adjust.

“This ok?” Mammon asks, waiting for a signal to move.

“Fuck yes,” Diavolo hisses between his teeth; torn between moving his hips up to meet my mine as I ride him, or pushing them down to meet Mammon’s thrusts.

Seeing him so uncertain, a writhing, whimpering mess, and feeling the aftershocks of Mammon’s rough thrusts and his harsh breathing against my back as he fucks Diavolo drives me closer to my second orgasm.

Mammon’s hand comes down hard on my shoulder, limiting my movement, and forcing me to grind down against Diavolo, taking his cock even deeper in my pussy.

Diavolo’s hand slides down his stomach to the point where our bodies meet, and he uses two calloused fingers to tease and rub my clit. I moan and bite my lip, rolling my hips faster. Diavolo thrusts up into me sloppily, close to his own orgasm.

Mammon gives a low laugh, still fucking Diavolo while he watches both of us come undone.

“That’s right baby...... I wanna watch you cum while you ride him. Diavolo I wanna feel ya cum inside our girl, feel this tight little hole of yours clench down on my cock while I got it buried deep in your ass.”

His words push me over the edge and I cum, taking Diavolo deep for the last time, my pussy twitching and spasming around his thick cock as I cry out his name.

I feel Diavolo shudder, warm cum spurting into my pussy over and over. I fall forward, bracing myself against his chest while I give him a deep kiss. I hear Mammon let out a guttural moan, and feel the telltale tremors of his hips moving roughly and slamming his cock into Diavolo’s ass one last time as he cums.

Diavolo whines in protest when Mammon and I finally move off of him, making grabby motions at us. “Come here.”

We lay down on each side of him, cuddling into him, and he wraps an arm around each of us, pulling us as close as possible.

“That was a fantastic suggestion Mammon,” Diavolo sighs, kissing him softly on the lips before turning his head and kissing me as well.

Mammon and I rest our heads on each side of Diavolo’s chest, smiling gently at each other.

I love you, he mouths at me.

I love you too, I mouth back.

“Let’s get a few hours of rest,” Diavolo murmurs, already sounding sleepy. “We are going to have one hell of a conversation with Solomon and Barbatos when we wake up.”

Mammon and I mumble our agreement, eyelids already fluttering with exhaustion.

“I love you Arianthi,” Diavolo whispers.

“I love you too Dia.”

“Mammon?” he says hesitantly.

“Mmmm?’

“You’re very special to me.”

The last thing I see before I drift off to sleep is Mammon’s shy smile as he responds. “You’re special to me too Diavolo.”

Something rouses me from a deep sleep. I look around the bedroom blearily; it’s completely dark. Diavolo is still sleeping next to me, Mammon snoring softly beside him.

I sit up and tilt my head to the side, listening carefully. I hear a raised voice from the lower floor of the castle and the sound of several pairs of feet thudding up the stairs.

“Dia!” I start shaking his shoulder. “Dia wake up! Someone’s here and I heard Barbatos shouting.”

“Barbatos doesn’t shout,” Diavolo mutters, pulling a pillow over his head, never even opening his eyes.

“Dia wake up and listen!” I snatch the pillow away.

He blinks, giving me a dirty look before hearing the footsteps. They’ve reached the top of the staircase now. He props himself up on one forearm, reaching back to shake Mammon.

“Whaddaya want?” Mammon grumbles, his head popping up over Diavolo’s shoulder. His messy hair is haloed around his head and his eyes are barely open.

“Listen!” I whisper.

“That’s not Barbatos,” he says, eyes widening as he hears the commotion in the hallway now.

“Definitely not.” Diavolo looks serious. “Out of bed. Get dressed quickly. Whoever it is I’d rather meet them when we’re not naked.”

I pull back the blankets, ready to get out of bed, when the door to our bedroom flies open, slamming loudly against the wall. I throw a hand up in self-defense, scooting back towards Diavolo.

Diavolo throws one arm around me, pulling me to him and pushing my head into his chest, his other hand reaching out for Mammon. After a moment he gives a loud roar of outrage that vibrates in his chest, quickly followed by Mammon yelling, “Oi! The fuck are you doing here?!”

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lutrain2020 · 4 years

Text

Meet the Creator!

Introducing: Squido!

Commission: I haven't and don't really intend to. I don't want to take anyone's hard-earned money. Just ask me to draw things and there's a good chance I will.

Social Media: Tumblr: @sky-squido AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido/pseuds/sky_squido

Tell us a little bit about yourself!

Call me Squido! I love to draw and write but I'm also super extraverted and I love interacting with humans so always feel free to chat with me! Aside from drawing and writing, I just love being outside and have a tumblr sideblog dedicated exclusively to nature photos I take. I love mountains, the ocean, the sky, and just about everything else in this beautiful world of ours! If you ever feel like having an internet stranger give you a thousand word rant, ask me why my favorite color is blue and you will not be disappointed!

What got you into creating? what inspires you to keep creating?

I've been drawing for as long as I can remember and can't seem to stop, though I take long breaks sometimes I always seem to come back to it again. I try not to have anything in mind when I draw, but to start sketching and let the drawing happen. Sometimes I find that what I'm trying to draw is not what my drawing wants to be (if that makes any sense) and change what I'm making halfway through. It makes drawing a really relaxing and carefree therapeutic experience! Writing is different. I've always enjoyed writing, but I didn't write much and never shared my writing with anyone because I thought it was super pretentious. It wasn't until entering High School and joining the literature club and making a deal with a friend that we'd share our writing with each other that I actually gained any sort of confidence in my ability and sought to improve it. Being in that club and sharing my pieces at the open mics was a really encouraging experience! I invite everyone to share their writing, even if it's with some random internet stranger (I'm open anytime!) if they're unsure of their abilities. A little encouragement goes a long way! Now that I'm on Discord, ao3, and tumblr, I receive so much more feedback than I ever have before! It's been super encouraging! What inspires me most is definitely nature. Even if my ideas aren't directly related to the outdoors, I get my best ideas there. Fandoms are also a great idea generator. The sheer volume of headcanons and prompts is enough to make me dizzy with ideas!

What's your creative process like?

I love sketching. My favorite thing about drawing digitally is that I can sketch as much as I like and never worry about wasting materials! Often times my sketches turn themselves into drawings without permission and other times they stubbornly remain sketches for all eternity. I always dive right in because I have no patience and the idea I started out with generally isn't that great but in the process of pursuing it, it spirals out of control and sometimes the idea gets better and sometimes it gets worse but I just kinda roll with it. Creating is a really chill process for me and while I regularly scream stuff like "I'M DRAWING ON THE WRONG LAYER NONONONONONO" or "NO HECK FRICK SHOOT IT SMUDGED HECK HECK GET THE ERASER QUICK," the creative process is a great way for me to unwind. I'm the same way about writing. I never plan or outline and just kind of roll with things. I mean I generally have the basic jist in mind, but I try to not have a plan so I can keep the story driven by the characters and not force them into acting the way I wanted them to in the outline I made hours or even days ago. Creating is my opportunity to break free so I don't really see what good a plan or outline does me. I'm a pretty spontaneous person!

What kind of mediums do you like to use?

I like to take pictures, but it's not really my main focus. I've been mostly digitally drawing—I use my iPad Pro and Procreate—but lately I've been pencil sketching with just your average everyday mechanical pencil (I'd forgotten how nice the texture of paper was! Clearly I spent too much time drawing on my iPad!). I have these Stabilio chalk pastels I love to pieces, but have also spent a great deal of time with watercolors. Digital is my primary medium currently, though.

Is there a specific scene wrote that you are particularly proud of?

"Sky’s golden scales are glowing with reflected light from the sun while beneath them, the same pulsing blue in her mane runs like a river as her very skin is alive with electricity. The sun’s beginning to dip, fading through the color wheel from yellow to deep orange to scarlet and the world is bathed in watercolor and hue shifted through the rainbow until all that was blue becomes red. This new alien world begins to darken as red fades to deep purple-pink, the clouds catching last vestiges of gold in their pillowy folds, yet Sky continues rippling with lighting, the bright blue flowing like blood through her veins and the gold shimmering in the eerie azure glow. We weave through the winds and zephyrs and I close my eyes and let the breeze caress my hair and when I reopen them, I’m standing back on the ground again in a world long since darkened by night. I place my hand over my beating heart where Sky is still laughing with joy and smile because once you’ve awakened your dragon, you don’t need wings to fly anymore."

Is there someone who inspires you and your writing or art?

Every fanartist and fanfic writer that posts their stuff online is an inspiration to me. Even if their stuff isn't very good—especially if it isn't very good—it's a huge testament to the courage of the creator and their bravery in expressing themself! I sat on fanfic and fanart for years and never shared it and here were kids half my age putting out art that was their first experiment in a new medium and a little shaky but it was still out there and they were still being supported by the community and that really inspired me to reach out and stop lurking in fandom and actually get involved!

is there something that you struggled with that made you grow as a creator?

I feel like everyone has these periods where they were just gaining confidence in their artistic ability but suddenly everything they make is trash and they're not happy with any of it and they feel so down and worthless and "where did all of my hard-earned ability go? Will I ever get it back?" I think this is a pretty common experience and when I find myself there, I find it most helpful to share what I make anyway, even if I hate it, with someone who I know will give it to me straight because they'll point out the deeper problems—the root of the issue—that I hadn't even noticed and I can use that information to grow as an artist. Bad pieces are just as valuable as good ones. There was also a time where I had a lot of trouble developing a style. I did a lot of experimenting and never found anything I liked. What happened is I just kept drawing and whatever popped out eventually evolved into my style. I used to get frustrated that I couldn't draw anything without a reference, but after years and years of using references and drawing some of the same things over and over again, you won't need the references anymore. I mean, they're great and you should always feel free to use them, but over time, you won't need to look up a picture of every little thing you try to doodle.

What got you into writing or art?

My silly twitchy fingers can't ever seem to stop drawing! Same with writing. Words and ideas follow me around, little plot bunnies pestering me until they get written down somewhere. I was greatly inspired by the works of C.S. Lewis in my writing, especially his Cosmic Trilogy. My art style was aided by Hiromu Arakawa's Fullmetal Alchemist, which was a valuable stepping stone in developing my own style. Other than that, it was my own insatiable desire to MAKE THINGS that spurred me onwards. I don't think I could stop if I tried!

What's your favorite part of the creative process?

After you've got that first paragraph and you've found a flow and you've got a topic and you just GO. I get into the zone and the story starts happening on its own and I'm not an author anymore, I'm just a channel between the world of the piece and the page. That's my favorite. I love watching things take shape. I love shading a sketch for these same reasons. The whole drawing comes together and becomes A Thing and it's the most exciting time to be a creator. Something else inside you has taken over and you're just along for the ride. I have no idea if my experiences are common at all but this is what it's like for me!

What's your least favorite part of the creative process?

EDITING. I HAVE ZERO PATIENCE. THE THING IS DONE. WHY DO I HAVE TO KEEP LOOKING AT IT. CAN I POST IT YET. This leaves me with a lot of holes in what I make and I can't do a very clean, super detailed drawing unless it's for an art class and I'm forced to keep working on it. I have a terrible habit of never proofreading my things!

What's your favorite type of scene to write?

AAH hard question! I love writing description and places where I can really let my inner 19th century romantic be unleashed but I also love a good emotional moment between two characters. Something tense. I like fight scenes, but I try to keep them brief and interesting. Sometimes I find scenes where I have no idea what's going on and I try to avoid that, but it's really hard sometimes.

What's the hardest for you to create?

I have so much trouble with endings. I can generally figure something out, but there's always a moment of panic before the end like "heck I wrote everything I wanted how do I wrap this up????" That's probably a byproduct of me planning nothing XD I sometimes have trouble with characterization and making sure everyone acts the way they actually would. The hardest part is continuing after you have an "oh heck what do I do now" moment that breaks you out of your zone and all of your ideas and plot threads turn invisible or evaporate or go wherever it is they go when you're looking for them.

What's your favorite genre to write?

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST. Wellll... scratch that. I love something adventure-y and plot driven with a lot of really meaningful character interactions. I've always had trouble putting my writing into genres, but I guess that kind of speaks for itself in a way.

What fandoms do you enjoy creating for?

Linked Universe is the fandom I have created and posted the most for by a LONG SHOT. I found LU shortly after making my tumblr and I joined the Discord shortly thereafter. Since then, it has been nonstop inspiration and creativity for me! I tend to get sucked into one fandom and it consumes me for a few months before I silently drift out of it and never think about it again. LU is the fandom I've been the most active in EVER though—and it's still going—so there's a good chance I'm never getting off this ride.

What's the work you are most proud of?

AAAAAAAAAAH MY BABIES. okay um here's the first and only fanfic I've ever posted anywhere but I'm really happy with: https://sky-squido.tumblr.com/post/618964544219463680/turn-back-time-a-linked-universe-fanfic I have a lot of other pieces kicking about, but they're not fandom so I haven't shared them yet. I probably will after I touch them up a bit.

Do you have any fics inspired by real life stories?

Not really? I don't really know where my ideas come from to be honest!

Where do you post your finished works?

my tumblr. I tag stuff #squido writes and #squido draws so you can find them easily. I also put them on the discord but they get lost in the stream of other works pretty quickly so stick to my tumblr. I also have an ao3 now! https://archiveofourown.org/users/sky_squido

If you have any fun stories about the pieces you made, please do share!

Turn Back Time was actually live written in the Discord, but entirely unplanned and in the #angst channel! It was just a headcanon but then I started describing it and like 2 hours and 5k words later I'm sitting in the Discord like "what just happened??"

#Meet The Creator #lutrain2020 #linkeduniverse #lu

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forehead-enthusiast · 5 years

Text

Viscaria

Pairing: Crown Prince!Jeno x Reader

Genre: fluuuuuuuuuffffff (my friend described it as cavity inducing sweetness), royalty!au, somewhat a cinderella!au tbh

Word Count: 4.3k

Summary: The prince is throwing a ball, and even commoners like you and Jeno are invited.

A/N: sorry this wasn’t up sooner!! even though its a bit late, i hope you’ll give this a read thank you!! also look up ‘viscaria flower meaning’ if you want

"Have you heard about the ball the prince is throwing?"

Only from every other customer that'd strolled into your store today with their clothes to be mended and gossip to be shared. Still, you could humor your most frequent visitor.

"Oh do tell, Jeno."

The boy leaning across your counter beamed, his handsome features scrunching boyishly. He'd made a habit of dropping by, always with some small request he'd use as an excuse to chat. You never minded, happy for any company, but especially his. He'd energetically tell you about whatever was buzzing about the village, and small stories about his everyday life- that is, when he didn't giggle too much to recount them properly. He’d tell you about his work as a gardener, tending to flowers and befriending ladybugs.

Jeno was not a gardener.

It was the only lie he'd told you. Even that pained him, but it was necessary in order to avoid a commotion every time he snuck away from the castle and his princely duties. Whenever he grew too overwhelmed, too bored, too frustrated, he'd shed his usual clothes and replace them with ones he borrowed from the castle's actual gardener, and head straight for you.

He'd first stumbled into your store without meaning to, dodging a few castle guards coincidentally walking by. Once he'd gathered his bearings, though, and looked around, he knew he'd have to come back again. He'd seen sprawling gardens, majestic paintings, buildings made of gleaming marble, and yet had never seen anything as beautiful as your little store. Vivid scraps of fabric and thread littered the floor, like a patchwork made of other people's lives, with little bits of their memories strewn about. Streaks of light speckled the floor from a window made hazy from dust. Pins and buttons glittered in the blurred sunlight, more dazzling than any jewel. It was breathtaking.

And then he saw you.

Jeno had never believed in love at first sight, or in angels, but you changed both of those beliefs in an instant. He watched as you dusted off your hands and swept your hair back with your palms, your brow furrowed as you focused on your work. He didn't speak a word, too captivated to risk breaking this moment.

"Oh, hello! I'm sorry, I didn't see you. How can I help you?"

"...What?"

You looked at him questioningly. "How can I help you? What do you need repaired?" Your gaze fell upon a large tear in his cloak. "Oh, I see." He looked around, then followed your eyes to the same rip, and realized it must've happened just before.

"A-ah, yes. That."

"Well, I can fix something like that quickly, if you don’t mind waiting a few minutes."

He nodded eagerly at the chance to spend even a second longer with you, and wondered how much clothing he could intentionally tear in the future before you’d realize his true motives.

Now, many months and many visits later, Jeno was perched in your store yet again, eyes alight at the prospect of a ball.

"So it's said to be held at the end of this month, and everyone in the kingdom is invited!"

"Oh, how exciting for them!"

He practically wilted at your response. "Them? What about you?" It's not as though he'd planned this whole thing just to have a chance to dance with you or anything. It's not as though he'd imagined holding you in his arms as you swayed to the dreamlike music in his head countless times.

You laughed. "Jeno, please. What would I do at a ball? Besides, I think they'd take one look at me, all covered in grease and rags and turn me away before I even got inside."

"Well, first of all, you would dance." With me, he yelled internally. "And there'd be delicious food and wonderful music. And even if you just wore what you're wearing now, you'd still look b-beautiful."

You blushed to hear those words from his lips.

"Well, I- thanks." A kind of pink pause hung softly in the air. "B-but still," you composed yourself, "I wouldn't feel comfortable around all the fancily dressed people. I'd just want to curl up and hide."

"So if you had a fancy dress, you'd go?"

"Yeah, sure," you replied casually, expecting this to be the end of the conversation.

"Then I'll get you one!"

"...Does the gardening business pay that much better than I suspected?"

Jeno wracked his brain for an excuse that would soothe your suspicious expression.

"M-my sis-" You already knew he had no siblings. "My mo-" That just seemed weird for some reason. "My, um, my aunt! Has a dress. That she could lend you. Definitely. And if it doesn't fit, you can just tailor it yourself! She won't mind at all, I promise. It'll be perfect!"

You struggled to find an excuse, but despite all his stuttering, it didn't seem like a bad plan. Plus, he was clearly dying for you to go. You wondered if he was just desperate to go himself, and needed another commoner to make him feel at ease, and hesitated to reject his offer.

"You should go, I'll-" his voice caught in his throat as he tried to think of a way to be honest without, you know, giving away his whole identity. "I'll meet you there."

"Jeno…" Not entirely persuaded, you turned to protest, only to look into his expectant eyes and relent. "Fine, I'll go. But if I end up looking awful or spilling something on the royal family, that's on you."

He grinned. "No problem!"

Jeno paced the castle corridors, thinking up ideas for the dress he'd give you. It didn't actually exist, after all. He'd thought up a plan- ask the royal tailor to whip up a dress, slip him a few extra coins for his silence, and sneak it out to you. It felt a bit odd to order anything from a tailor other than you. However, that feeling was greatly overpowered by the fact that he got to choose a dress for you. He didn't know much about clothing, yet infinite ideas filled his head when he pondered about what would bring out your beautiful eyes, what would look nice on your skin tone, what you would like, most of all.

He used every ounce of brain power he had, rainbows of fabrics swimming around within his mind. Eventually, he spat out a haphazard combination of all his ideas to the dressmaker, and just hoped for the best. He flushed when the tailor chuckled at his request, and sighed with relief when the man promised to keep it a secret.

Now all Jeno had to do was wait.

It wasn't as easy as it sounded. He wanted desperately for it to be done, to bring it to you, to know for certain you'd be at the ball. He tried to busy himself with the organization of the event, but could never prevent his mind from wandering to you.

Finally, what felt like decades later, he visited the dressmaker again, anxious with anticipation. With a glint in his eye, the tailor unveiled his creation, and watched with satisfaction as Jeno's eyes widened.

"Y/n! It's been awhile! I brought my…" What had he said again? Oh, right! "My aunt's dress!"

You looked at the bag he held out eagerly, and hesitated to take it. "She's really lending it to me? And letting me alter it if I need to?" You took it gingerly from Jeno, and marveled at the weight of the parcel. "How can she afford things like this?"

"She's, uh… in crippling debt."

"That's terrible!"

"Um, yep! It's so bad. I actually can't stay, but I'll see you at the ball!"

Jeno hurried out the door, with last minute preparations for the ball to complete. Or, as you assumed, incredibly urgent gardening duties.

You felt rather remiss he had to leave so quickly. Of course, you were happy to have the dress and a ball in your future, but you treasured his little chats far more. He seemed busier and busier these days. You missed the idle time you shared with him, and flushed as you wondered when he'd become such an important part in your life.

The morning of the ball arrived. Despite your original reluctance to go, your heart pounded as you washed yourself and combed through your hair. You weren't exactly an expert in the appearance field, but you did your best to make yourself look as high class as you could, and were fairly proud of the results. You slipped into the dress, more luxurious against your skin than anything you'd ever experienced. It luckily hung long enough to cover your shoes, which were simply your own, and desperately outclassed and unfit for a ball. The dress, much more suitable for the occasion, hadn't needed many alterations, but with a little hemming here and there, it truly looked like it was made for you. Which it was, but you never would’ve guessed that.

You looked at your reflection in your dusty mirror, and felt your breath hitch in your throat. Your eyes fell to take in the beauty of the dress directly.

It was a masterpiece. It was like a watercolor painting, with a myriad of colors layered upon one another. The skirt was covered in lace and embroidery of small pink and purple flowers, like a whimsical meadow draping over your legs. You wondered what kind of flowers they were. The fabric was light and airy, and seemed to float on the wind at every movement you made. Words simply couldn't do it justice.

Jeno's aunt had marvelous taste.

You hurried towards the palace, careful not to let your skirt drag on the ground. As you reached the steps, you felt that same reluctance you once had about attending return. The building before you could've fit countless of your stores within it, and its magnificence intimidated you. This wasn’t somewhere that you ever imagined welcoming you. You closed your eyes, and thought of how Jeno's eyes sparkled when you agreed to go. You walked up the steps, your old shoes taking you towards him.

Jeno waited for you inside, licking his lips nervously. What was he even so nervous for? You said you'd come, and he knew you wouldn't go back on your word. Still, it was killing him to sit around and smile at everyone except you. He'd danced with a few others, politely making small talk, all the while wondering what you were doing. His eyes flicked towards the entrance every few seconds, and he was always disappointed when you weren't there.

And then suddenly, without warning, you were.

Jeno’s heart stopped.

He forgot how to breathe when he saw you. He’d seen the dress before, he’d seen you often enough to recall your every detail, and yet, he couldn’t fathom how stunning you were in it. You seemed almost iridescent in the light of the chandeliers- every inch of you glowed as you stepped in. He stared at you unblinkingly, desperate to burn the image of you into his mind. The way the opalescent petals cascaded down on you, the way your hair curved around your cheekbones, the way your star-filled eyes flicked around the room, the way he knew they were looking for him- everything about you made him fall in love all over again.

He knew eyes were following him as he approached you slowly, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Your eyes lit up as they found him, and you hurried over to him. In your carelessness, your heel caught on the bottom of your skirt, and you cursed yourself as you toppled forward. You scrunched your eyes shut and waited for the pain of falling to come, but it didn’t. You cautiously looked up as you recognized the feeling of smooth fabric against your cheek.

Jeno was beaming above you, still a little awestruck. His hold on your shoulders was more tentative than usual. It almost felt as if the whole room was looking at you two together, although you couldn’t imagine why, and you flushed.

“H-hi, Jeno.”

“Hi.”

He helped you straighten up, and you laughed awkwardly, annoyed that you’d embarrassed yourself already. Jeno didn’t seem bothered, and you envied his easygoing nature.

Once you’d gathered your bearings, you took in the ballroom around you. It was truly stunning. You’d never seen anything like it in your life. Everything seemed to sparkle- a far cry from your dust-covered store. Melodies flowed sweetly into your ears. It was as wonderful as Jeno insisted it would be; you couldn’t deny it. Your gaze circled back to Jeno’s smile, the most breathtaking sight in the room, and fell onto his outstretched hands.

“What is it?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Did you forget that you’re meant to dance at these? Or… wait, do you not want to? ‘Cause if that’s the case I won’t make you! I shouldn’t have asked, I-”

Jeno’s mouth clamped shut as you took his hands with a laugh.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to.”

Jeno shoulders relaxed happily, and he led you onto the dance floor. Your skirt just grazed the marble tiles every time he spun you, as if it were dancing too. You wondered where a gardener learned to dance so well. He guided you with unexpected confidence, graceful as a swan gliding across a glossy sheet of water. Your heart had always had a habit of racing around Jeno, but looking at his elegant self now, and feeling his hands firmly holding you, you wondered if you might die from the way it quickened.

The song finished, but Jeno didn’t let go.

His hand pressed against the small of your back, pulling you tighter against his chest.

“Just… a little longer. Please.”

The feeling of your body against his, the rhythm of the music still pounding in his chest, the way your breath tickled his jaw- it was more intoxicating than all of the fantasies that had persuaded him to throw this ball in the first place. He wished the clock would stop ticking, and allow him to just live in this moment for eternity.

He finally let you go, a reluctant smile on his face. You wondered if he’d felt your racing heartbeat through your bodice, and tried not to show how breathlessly enamored with him you were.

With the natural grace you still weren’t used to, he led you outside to a nearby terrace, and grinned as he saw you take in the view from the balcony with wonder.

“Jeno, isn't it just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?”

His eyes followed the moonlight melting on the curve of your nape, the outline of your shoulders.

“...Yes.”

You turned around to see him sitting on a marble bench, watching you blissfully. Lifting your skirt carefully, you hurried over and plopped down next to him. The layers of your gown rippled into a hypnotic melange of hues, and you found yourself admiring it for the thousandth time.

“Thank you for getting me here, Jeno. For the dress, the dance, the persuading,” You laughed, remembering his persistence. “For everything.”

Jeno gazed at you as you dreamily looked off into the distance, and wondered what he should confess first, his feelings or his title.

“Y/n, I… I want to tell you something.” He still hadn’t decided what when the words fell from his lips. Your eyes slid over to him, your head following suit, and you inched closer to him, waiting for him to continue.

“Y/n, I… I’m… I don’t know how to say this, but…” Words like “royalty” or “prince” caught in his throat, and he hesitated, averting his eyes.

“I think I know what you’re trying to say, Jeno, I… feel the same way.”

He stiffened.

“You- you what- wait, that’s not- I was going to- I do, but-”

“Your highness.”

You looked around in confusion until you saw the royal attendant standing a little ways back. He didn’t seem confused, but you certainly were.

“Prince Jeno, the king requests your presence.”

Your eyes widened, and your heart dropped. You stood up, at a loss for words as the pieces began to fall into place. You looked at Jeno’s face for confirmation and got it.

“Y/n, wait!”

“Your highness-”

“Not now!”

Jeno struggled to force his way past the attendant as you ran off. You didn’t know what to think- all you knew was that you wanted to go. To leave, and return to your store and see the gardener you were in love with waiting for you. To forget what you heard, to forget the guilty look in his eyes, to forget the way his hands fit in the angles of your body.

You raced down the steps with all the haste you’d avoided throughout the night, removing your shabby heels the second they caught on the hem of your dress. You left them behind, too desperate to escape all the beauty of the palace. Your carriage raced off at your demand, just as Jeno reached the top of the staircase. He watched as your carriage was lost in the swarm of others just like it, and sighed with frustration, sitting down right where he stood. He huffed, trying to catch his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of slippers laying on their side a few stairs down. They were dull against the polished steps of the castle, and he walked slowly towards them. He picked them up gingerly, and pictured you walking barefoot down the dusty cobblestone road back to your house. He took it with him as he trudged back inside.

“Jeno, your behavior last night was frankly unacceptable.”

Jeno only half listened to his father’s scolding, too depressed to do much of anything.

“Dancing with some unknown girl, leaving with her, and to top it all off, dashing through the ball yelling like some madman? What on earth were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all? Of course you weren’t.”

“...Uh-huh.”

“And that girl, why, she was out of line too, causing that disturbance. I was overjoyed you took the initiative to hold a ball, but why did you bother if you were just going to spend time with one girl?”

“Because she’s the only one that matters.”

The king looked taken aback by Jeno’s answer. His gaze softened as he looked at his son, always so full of energy, slumped over with sadness.

“What happened?”

“She didn’t… she didn’t know. About me, about you, she thought- she thought I was a gardener.”

The king chuckled at the idea, although discovering you were just a peasant wasn’t exactly ideal.

“I love her. I think she loves me too. Loved me, maybe. She found out and-” He buried his face in his hands as he recalled your betrayed expression. “She ran and I ran and she didn’t turn back and she just looked so hurt and I’ve ruined everything. God, I love her so much. I love her.”

“Are you going to go see her?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. She probably doesn’t even want to see my face ever again. I don’t want to just… make things even worse.”

“Knowing you, you probably will.” Jeno finally looked up to see his father grinning, before his features hardened into a serious expression. “But as the future king, you are forbidden from cowardice. You cannot lead people if you yourself are lost, and that is far more inexcusable than running through a ball.”

Jeno’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t exactly expected to be encouraged, even in this stern manner.

“What do I even do? She knows I’m not a gardener now, but she doesn’t know the ‘prince-’”

“Don’t go as a fake gardener, or a guilty prince, just- drop the roles. Go and be honest. Work from there.”

“...Thanks, dad.”

Jeno’s father waved him off nonchalantly and sighed as he left, wondering if he might’ve just lost his heir. So be it, either way. There wasn’t any point, any justice to keeping around his son as just a shell of himself, forever longing for something. He wondered what you were like. He hoped he’d get to meet you some time, and smiled to himself. Not to the him that was a king, but the him that was just a father to one foolish son.

Jeno ran down the streets he knew well, clutching what you’d left behind in his hands. He’d only wrapped a cloak around himself, and knew he must be getting recognized by at least a few villagers, but couldn’t worry about anything but you. He burst through the familiar door.

“Y/n!”

“Je… Your highness.”

There you were, your eyes red and shoulders stiff. You hadn’t managed to sleep. You were half expecting he’d come, but prepared for the future where you’d never see him again. Yet, now he was here, gasping for air in your entryway.

“Do you need something?”

Your thoughts spilled out of you, as inappropriate to say to a prince as they were.

“Was it fun? To mess around with a peasant and play pretend? To make me believe even for a second that you, that someone like you would ever care about someone like me? Was it funny to see me get my hopes up, to see them completely dashed, was it funny?”

Jeno didn’t answer, absolutely speechless, and you fought the urge to cry even more.

“Is there something I can do for you, or what?”

Jeno’s heart slowed, and he felt a lump in his throat grow as he looked into your eyes. He took a few deep breaths. Cowardice was not an option. Cowardice, hesitation, that had led him into this crisis in the first place.

“Um, yes. I have these shoes, you see…”

He held up the slippers you’d abandoned, and you reached for them, embarrassed to see them in the hands of royalty. He pulled back just in time, and you only managed to grab air. He smiled, his heart still shaken.

“They belong to a friend of mine. Well, friend is kind of an understatement. They belong to the person who means more to me than anything. They, they belong to the person that I’m in love with, you see,” he gulped, unable to meet your eyes as he spoke, “And I might have screwed up everything with that person, which is, well, it’s devastating to be honest, but I still love them more than they could ever know and I always will, and, and, and, I don’t know what else to say except how much I love them, and how much I love you and-”

“Please stop talking.”

Jeno looked up to see streaks of tears on your cheeks, ever so slightly smearing the remnants of last night’s cosmetics.

“...I’m sorry I lied to you. i’m so sorry. I liked just being Jeno with you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I’m in love with Jeno.”

“W-what?”

“I said I’m in love with Jeno. But you, you’re not Jeno, you’re a prince and one day you’ll be a king and I’ll still be here, sewing up tears and hemming pants and wishing Jeno was here.”

“I’m still me, y/n.”

“I know that, but…”

“I’m Jeno. And I am a prince but if you don’t like that, I can be whatever you want! I don’t care, being a prince means nothing to me. I can be a gardener for real, or I could be a tailor with you, but you’ll have to teach me how to sew. I could be a- a- a butcher, or a cobbler or a baker or anything, I can be anything you want me to be.”

You smiled despite yourself, and tried to keep your voice from quivering.

“...I just want you to be mine, Jeno.”

Your slippers fell from his hands onto the floor as he embraced you. You wrapped your arms around him too, still uncertain about most everything except your feelings for him. The warmth of his hands on you was familiar, unchanged. You breathed in his scent, the one you knew by heart. It was your best friend in your arms, the one you knew all too well and were hopelessly in love with.

“I’m yours.”

His thumb slid under your chin, lifting it slightly so he could press his lips to yours. He held you tightly, the way he had when you spun beneath chandeliers, and you could hear those melodies in your mind as you memorized the shape of his lips. He tasted almost floral, and his breath in your lungs was sweet like dew on petals and fresh air after rainfall. Your hands glided up his arms, then to his shoulders, up his neck, until they touched his windswept hair, still messy from when he’d been running. It was messier now, with your fingers woven into it, and softer than you’d imagined in the times when your mind would drift off.

It was hard to think much as he kissed you, about his hair or anything else for that matter. His lips pressed eagerly against your cheeks, your nose, and you found yourself giggling at the ticklish sensation. He smiled too, his lips returning to yours, and you leaned into his kiss. “I really do love you,” He murmured quietly, as if unaware he was speaking at all. His whispered confessions melted into your skin wherever he kissed you, covering your body in promises of love.

“I love you too.”

Jeno looked at your breathless smile, hugged you tighter, and lifted you off the ground to spin you around with ease. Scraps of fabric were swept into the air, fluttering around in feathers of all colors, falling slowly through the hazy sunshine. He set you down gently, ever so slightly dizzy.

It was a far cry from a ballroom, your cramped little store. Dusty sunlight instead of glowing chandeliers, and no gorgeous gowns or elegant music to be found. Still, Jeno’s arms were around you, and you swayed to the sounds of each other’s blissful sighs.

His hand didn't leave yours as you sat down on the patchwork floor, and you flushed when he squeezed tighter.

"Y-you don't have to hold on so tightly."

"Of course I do." He threw you a sly sidelong smile. "Can't have you running away again."

"I won't!"

"Yeah," he breathed as he leaned against you shoulder, "I know."

1K notes · View notes

ukulelecal · 4 years

Text

Celebrate (Art Major!College!Michael)

In which Michael is hesitant to enter an art show, but he doesn’t regret it when he does.

Pairing: Michael Clifford x Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, smut

a/n: someone sent me an ask about this a looong time ago when we were at the peak of talking about college!sos, and i just thought of it again so i decided to write a full blurb on it!!! this is like 4.3k words lol

“I’m so fucking nervous.”

You sighed and glanced to the side. Michael’s leg was bouncing rapidly, hands wringing in his lap. You took one hand off the steering wheel to grab his trembling one, inviting him to squeeze as hard as he needed to.

“There’s no need to be nervous, babe. You’re so talented. Everyone is going to love your piece, I know it,” you tried to comfort him.

“They’re gonna rip me apart. I don’t why I agreed to this.”

This was the first time Michael had ever entered one of his pieces into an art show. There would be a lot of people there, including judges to give out prizes. It took a lot of convincing from his teachers, peers, and you for him to decide to enter. He constantly received so much praise from everyone, but he was still always insecure about his work, and it broke your heart that he couldn’t see how talented he was.

“They won’t, Mikey. Maybe you’ll get some constructive criticism, and then you learn from it and make your next piece even better. Even if you don’t get a prize, you’ll always be a winner in my eyes.”

He finally smiled, sending it your way.

“Love you, angel.”

“Love you, too.”

Soon enough, you arrived at the building where the art show was being held. Michael’s grip on your hand tightened, and you could hear him take a deep breath. You parked the car - his old, beat up car that you insisted you drove to the show because he was far too distracted to drive - and looked over at him again.

“Ready?” You asked softly, giving his hand a squeeze. His eyes stayed trained on the building in front of him, and his face was even paler than usual. After a moment, he shook his head.

“I don’t think I can do this.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “I’m asking them to take my piece down-”

“Mikey, baby,” you mumbled, reaching over and pushing his hands into his lap. “Don’t back out now. You’ve worked so hard your whole life to be the artist you are today. You’ve accomplished so much and you are amazing. It’s obvious that you’re passionate about what you do and it shows in your work. Wouldn’t it be nice to be recognized?”

He didn’t answer for a few moments, gaze casted downwards at his lap, and you didn’t pester him. You gently rubbed your thumb over the back of his hand to calm him as he thought. You knew he would regret it if he decided to pull his piece. It wasn’t everyday that he got opportunities like this, to have his art seen by professionals outside of school, and you hoped for his own benefit that he decided to take it.

Michael knew you were right. His whole life, he spent any second he could creating art, whether it be full out works or doodling in the margins of his homework. Everyone constantly told him that he should never hide his art, that he should be proud of it, but he always had a hard time seeing it the way others did. He loved art, he loved the creative process, but it was extremely difficult for him to truly be satisfied with his work. He dreamed of pursuing art professionally, and this was a perfect opportunity to make connections and show his art to the world with the promise that there would be more to come. He took another deep breath and nodded.

“Okay,” he whispered, looking up at you. “Let’s go.”

Your smile was bright with pride as you both got out of the car. Michael quickly reached for your hand as you walked inside; he was still nervous, even if he was willing to keep his piece in the show. The judges were sure to be harsh critics, and there was a lingering thought in the back of his mind that they would tell him he wasn’t good enough.

You found the room where the art show was being held, and all of the pieces were already set up. A few people were already there, walking around and looking at the art. You assumed they also had pieces in the show, because the artists were supposed to come early.

“Want to look around before guests come?” You offered, squeezing his hand as you glanced up at him. The nervousness had returned to his face, but he nodded, and you began to slowly walk around the room to see all the art. There was a variety of kinds of art, from paintings to sculptures to photography. You were both quiet as you looked, the only sounds being the soft music that was playing and the distant chattering of other people that were there. You figured Michael wasn’t in the mood to talk. He usually went pretty silent when he was nervous.

“Shit, all these pieces are incredible,” he sighed when you got back to where you started. He was having second thoughts again, you could tell.

“And so is yours,” you assured him, stepping in front of him to grab his other hand. “Don’t let the competition intimidate you. You’re just as good as everyone else here, if not better. I think yours is the best piece here.” He chuckled and shook his head, glancing over at his piece for a moment. He did a painting of a landscape with a night sky, and it was undeniably beautiful.

“You’re just saying that because we’re dating,” he mumbled, meeting your gaze again.

“I am not,” you pouted. “I really think so.”

“Guests will be arriving soon!” A man in a suit announced before Michael could respond. You assumed he was one of the people running the show. “Please head to your piece and stand by it to answer questions and talk to people.”

You followed him to his piece and reached up to put your hands on his shoulders.

“You ready?” You asked, and he nodded.

“As I’ll ever be,” he sighed, his hands finding your waist. You grinned, using the tip of your finger to push his glasses up on his nose.

“You’ll be fine, baby. Just relax and enjoy it, okay? I’m going to walk around some more but I’ll still be here.”

He nodded again, one hand coming up to cup your cheek before he pressed his lips to yours for a soft kiss.

“I love you so much,” he whispered as he pulled away, leaving his hand on your cheek.

“I love you too,” you returned, and you heard the first guests enter the room. “Good luck, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned at you as you walked away, beyond thankful that he had someone as supportive as you to be with him through everything.

You slowly walked around the room, pretending to look at all the art even though you had already seen everything. You didn’t want to stand by Michael the whole time so you wouldn’t crowd him, but you glanced over at him every once in a while. You could tell he was nervous. He was doing a good job at hiding it, but you knew him so well, you could see right through him. He still had a smile on his face as he talked to people about his piece, but the way he couldn’t stand completely still told you that he was freaking out on the inside.

There seemed to always be someone standing by him, looking at his piece. It was a good sign to you, that people seemed to be enjoying it, although you weren’t sure who the judges were. Once the crowd around him dispersed, you quickly scurried over. He almost looked relieved to see you, a familiar, welcomed face among the crowd of strangers.

“How’s it going?” You asked, grinning up at him.

“People seem to like it, they’re saying good things,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Unless they’re just saying that because they don’t want to insult me to my face.”

You sighed and shook your head.

“Mikey. No one is lying to you, okay? Like I said, you are amazing. Just wish you could see it,” you mumbled, and it was Michael’s turn to sigh.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I just hate hearing you tear yourself down.”

He leaned in for another quick kiss, but there was no time for anything more before another guest approached him, and Michael was quick to greet them. You went to walk away again and let him do his thing, but he grabbed your hand before you could get far. You sent him a loving smile but stayed quiet. It was a bit uncomfortable to stand there while he talked about his art, but you didn’t want to walk away from him if he wanted you near.

Soon after, the man in the suit announced that awards were being given out in the next room over, and asked for everyone to make their way there. Michael’s grip on your hand tightened, and you squeezed his back.

“Don’t be nervous,” you whispered to him as you walked. “Everything is going to be fine.”

He nodded, but you knew he didn’t believe you.

You both took seats next to each other as the man began to make a speech. You didn’t fully listen, and neither did Michael.

“We'll now be handing out the prizes our wonderful judges have given. We’ll start with honorable mentions and then move on to the top five winners. Prizes will be cash.”

Nervous energy was radiating off Michael, but there wasn’t much you could do to soothe him at that point. All you could do was wait and see.

The honorable mentions went by quickly, and then they began on the top five. Michael’s grip on your hand was so hard you thought he might break it, but you let him squeeze as hard as he wanted. His leg was back to bouncing quickly, and you were both sending silent prayers to whoever was listening that he would do well.

“And first place goes to Michael Clifford with his watercolor painting, Moonlight!”

You whipped your head to look at him with a bright smile as the crowd began to applaud. He was in shock, clearly not having expected to win anything, let alone first place. Your heart was swelling with pride; you had full faith in him to do extremely well, and you were so glad that he decided to go through with the show.

“Get up there! You won!” You whispered in encouragement, nudging his shoulder. He slowly got up from his chair as a smile began to spread across his face. He couldn’t deny that he was proud of himself, after all the self doubt.

He stepped onto the small raised stage and grabbed his award, consisting of a first place plaque and a certificate. As you watched him shake hands with the announcer and all the judges, you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face. The love and pride you felt for him was immense, and you couldn’t be happier.

You immediately leaned into kiss him as soon as he sat back down, cupping his warm, blushing cheeks in your hands.

“I’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” you whispered. “I’m so glad you decided to do this.”

“Thank you so much for encouraging me, angel. I don’t know how I’d do this without you.”

Soon enough, you found yourselves in the car on the way back to campus after many congratulations from the guests at the art show. A few people slipped him their business cards, too.

He was driving this time, and you took the time to admire him. He was glowing in his win, but you knew that he didn’t care about the money. You knew that he loved what he did, and art was his passion, and that was the most fulfilling thing for him.

“You’re staring,” he suddenly mumbled without even looking over at you, a loving look on his face. A bashful grin took over your features.

“You look so handsome and happy right now. How can I not?”

He chuckled, glancing at you for a moment and reaching over to grab your hand.

“You know,” he began, squeezing your hand. “My oil painting professor gave me the keys to a private studio. Since our roommates are probably at our dorms, want to go there and celebrate? We can stop at the store on the way for some snacks.”

Based on the smirk on his face, you could tell that he had more than just snacks in mind, but you were completely okay with it.

“Sure,” you agreed. “As long as we get French onion dip and chips.”

“What kind of celebration would it be without French onion dip? Of course we’ll get some,” he gasped, mock offended.

After a quick grocery store run to get chips, your favorite dip, and some cookies, you drove back to campus and headed to the private studio that Michael had access to. The building was mostly empty at that time, but Michael’s key let him in whenever he wanted.

Michael pushed open the door to the studio after he unlocked it, and you took a look around. It was small but big enough for the two of you, an abundance of art supplies scattered around the room on shelves with a table and a few chairs in the middle.

“I guess it’s not the most exciting place for a celebration, but at least it’s just us,” he mumbled suggestively, and there was now no doubt in your mind about his intentions. Not that you were complaining.

“Very true.” You pulled out on the chairs, covered in dry paint, and sat down. “Break out the dip, I’m starving.”

Michael joined you at the table and set the bag down, both of you reaching in to pull out your snacks. You chatted as you ate, which didn’t last long before he got bored.

“C’mere, angel,” he mumbled, pushing out his chair and opening his arms to you. You smiled slyly and straddled him, arms going to wrap around his neck. “Thank you so much for supporting me. You’re amazing, you know that?”

Your cheeks heated up slightly as you ran your fingers through his blond hair.

“Of course, baby. I love you so much. I’ll always support you in everything that you do.”

He smiled against your lips when you leaned in to kiss him, his hands finding their way to your waist.

“I love you,” he mumbled as he began to kiss down your neck, your head instinctively tilting back. “Love you so much.”

You hissed when his teeth sank into your collarbone, your grip tightening in his hair.

“Mikey, fuck,” you sighed breathily. He could work wonders on your neck with his mouth, and he knew full well how much it turned you on.

Deciding to waist no time, Michael’s hands tugged at the bottom of your shirt, and you lifted your arms up to let him pull it off. Your bra soon followed, and it only took a few moments for him to have you hoisted onto the table, his hands beginning to work on your pants. He slowly kissed down your stomach, heading closer to the spot where you were getting wetter and wetter by the second, but your hand in his hair stopped him.

“Tonight’s about you, babe,” you mumbled. “Let me-”

“Later, angel,” he argued, voice low. “I want tonight to be about you, too. I wouldn’t have ever had the courage to enter if it weren’t for you. Let me take care of you.”

Any further arguments flew out the window when he tossed his glasses to the side and you felt one calloused finger slowly push into you, a gasp escaping your lips.

“Already so wet,” he grumbled. “Fuck, angel.”

His mouth was on you in no time, slowly continuing to work you up with his tongue on your clit. He knew you so well, he always paid such good attention to your body and your reactions to what he did. It made making love to him perfect, and you always felt amazing.

You let out a long moan, hips bucking closer towards his face. You knew you wouldn’t last long at that rate, with him eating you like you were his last meal.

His tongue made small circles on your clit as he added a second finger to the mix, keeping a steady rhythm that had you trembling. His hands on your hips kept you still as he worked, basking in every whimper and moan you let out.

“Shit, shit, baby!” You shouted, not even thinking about the fact that other people in the building would probably hear you if they walked by. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Oh, angel, cum for me. Cum for me, want it,” he groaned against you, and that was all you needed to hear to send you over the edge. You came with a moan, Michael slowing down his movements as he rode out your orgasm.

He slowly kissed his way back up your body before meeting your lips, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. You whimpered into his mouth and he squeezed your hips.

“Your turn, babe,” you mumbled breathlessly, sitting up. You quickly tugged off his black sweater, one of the few articles of clothing he owned that didn’t have a paint stain on it somewhere. Your hand trailed down to his hard cock and gave it a squeeze.

“Angel, you already got me so hard hearing you moan like that for me. Don’t tease.”

You giggled and slipped off the table, flipping the position so he was leaning against the table and you were kneeling in front of him.

“Fine, just because you won tonight,” you said cheekily, shooting him a smirk. He chuckled and shook his head at you.

“Menace. Know you love to tease me.”

“That I do.”

You quickly worked off his belt and jeans, letting him step out of them. You pressed gentle, open mouthed kisses to his bulge over his boxers, and Michael tangled his hand in your hair.

“Come on, angel,” he groaned, and you giggled again.

“You’re so impatient,” you teased, but gave in and pulled down his boxers.

“It’s your fault. You’re the one who gets me so turned on.”

With that boost of confidence, you licked a bold stripe from the base to tip before taking him into your mouth fully, causing Michael to let out a deep sigh as his grip on your hair tightened. Remembering his request for no teasing, your hand came up to squeeze his balls.

“God, you’ll be the death of me,” he whined, gently bucking his hips into your face. The hand that wasn’t gripping your hair grabbed onto the edge of the table for support, and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Watching you suck him off always brought him that much closer. He could cum just from seeing you stare up at him through your eyelashes with such an innocent look on your face.

Hearing his sexy groans encouraged you further to make him cum, and you picked up the pace a bit. You pumped him quickly in your hand while you do small kitten licks at the tip, something he also loved. He always let out a loud moan when you did that, and his vocalness was one of your favorite things about making love to him. He always let you know when you were making him feel good, which you adored.

“Shit, I’m close,” he grunted. “Keep going, baby, I’m so fucking close.”

You wrapped your fingers about the base of his shift and took all of him into your mouth again, bobbing your head up and down quickly while working your tongue along his length. He pulled on your hair even tighter, which you had learned over time that that was his sign that he was about to finish.

You gladly welcomed his load into your mouth, slowly pumping him through his orgasm. You eagerly swallowed everything he gave you before pulling off of him with a pop, shooting a grin his way. He returned it, removing his hand from your hair as you stood up.

Once you were upright, Michael grabbed you by the hips and pulled you close, giving you a bruising kiss.

“That was so good, angel,” he mumbled against your lips. One hand came up to twist at your nipple, and you could feel him already getting hard again against your leg. Clearly, he wasn’t done with you. “You up for one more round?”

Sucking him off always turned you on. You whimpered against his lips, and he took that as a yes from you.

He flipped you around and hoisted you back onto the table, but he stopped himself short.

“Hang on,” he grumbled, walking away from you as you groaned impatiently.

“What are you doing?” You called as he began to rummage through the art supplies on the selves. What could possibly be in there that was so important for him to attend to right before he was about to fuck you?

When he found what he was looking for, he turned around with a smirk and held up a box.

“Body paint.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion as he walked back over to you, holding it out for you to see.

“Why do we need body paint? What’s it for?”

“Well, we don’t need to use it if you don’t want to. But I’ve seen before where people paint on themselves with body paint and then have sex on a blank canvas, and then afterwards you can see what it looks like. I thought it’d be kind of cool to try, if you want to,” he explained, glancing at you with hope in his pretty green eyes.

You lit up at the idea, nodding your head quickly. You had seen things like that before as well, and some finished products actually looked really nice. Michael was an artist, afterall. Of course this was something he would be into.

“Yeah, I’d love to try it,” you returned with a grin. “Do we have a canvas?”

“I think there’s some cotton ones in here somewhere,” he mumbled, walking away again to find one.

Once he did, he helped you push the table out of the way and lay out the canvas in the middle of the floor. Then, you took turns painting each other with the body paint, making sure to use a variety of colors for a better product.

“Alright, now fuck me,” you whined, wasting now time in laying yourself down on the canvas. It wasn’t the most comfortable place, only a cotton canvas protecting you from the hard floor, but you were sure you wouldn’t even notice once you started.

He chuckled as he positioned himself over you, shaking his head.

“And you call me impatient,” he teased. “You could at least say please.”

You sighed with a grin. Yet another good part about your relationship was that you weren’t afraid to be silly and playfully tease each other, even when having sex.

“Fine,” you sighed dramatically. “Will you please fuck me now?”

“It would be my pleasure.”

With that, he slowly pushed into you, both of you letting out satisfied moans. He always filled you up nicely, and he loved the way you felt around him.

“Fuck, baby,” you moaned as he began to move, eyes fluttering shut. “Feel so good.”

Michael groaned in response, picking up the pace a bit. You were both still fairly sensitive from your previous orgams, and the thought of seeing art you created with your own bodies and love when you were finished turned you on even more, so neither of you were going to last long.

He never stopped fucking into you as you both made sure to move and roll around as much as you could, so the painting would look cooler. When you rolled into a position with you on top of him, you whimpered loudly at the change of angle, hitting you in just the right spot.

“Fuck, Mikey, stay here,” you spat out, bouncing yourself on him faster as his hands came to grip your waist. “Oh, shit, right there!”

He groaned, bucking his hips up to meet your movements. You dropped your head into the crook of his neck, feeling your orgasm creeping up.

“Gonna cum soon, baby,” you sighed, placing your hands on the canvas around his head.

“Me too.”

He fucked up into you faster, and it wasn’t long until you were cumming around him. He held out for another few thrusts before he finished as well, spilling his load into you with a groan.

You both took a few moments to catch your breath before pulling yourselves apart and standing up, eager to see your creation.

“Whoa,” you breathed as you looked at it.

“Agreed.”

While the painting didn’t actually look like anything, the colors somehow mixed together really well to look beautiful. And there was also the knowledge that you and Michael made it together that just made it even better.

“I love it,” you mumbled, looking up at him with a smile. He smiled back, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

“I love it too,” he answered. “You can hang it up in your dorm. Tell your roommate that I made it for you, and she’ll never know that we made it having sex.”

You giggled, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Will do. Now I’m hungry again, let’s whip out the cookies.”

137 notes · View notes

httpjeon · 5 years

Text

❝ tattooed together ❞ jjk ― m.

― summary: you get your first tattoo with your boyfriend jungkook.

jungkook/reader | tattooed!jungkook | smut, light fluff | 3.1k ↬ content warnings: subspace, daddy kink, dumbification, dirty talk, cunnilingus over panties, spanking, tit slapping, hairpulling, creampie, cum eating, cum sharing

a/n: coming in the next installments, we’ll be going back to the start of their relationship!

→ blog masterlist → series masterlist

You stood in front of a familiar tattoo parlor with Jungkook's hand in yours. He smiled, pressing a kiss against your head before speaking.

"Are you sure about this? You don't have to do it, you know," You looked up at him to see his gentle smile.

"It's okay I'm just nervous," You confessed, tugging him towards the entrance of the parlor.

The little bell above the door rang and you smiled at the familiar man sitting behind the counter reading a magazine.

"Sup Jeon," He greeted without looking up.

"Hey Yoongi," Jungkook smiled. "Namjoon set up yet?"

"Yeah head on back," He grunted.

Jungkook tugged your head and nodded towards a doorway, urging you to follow him. As you entered a little room with a man inside wearing thick rimmed glasses, you felt your nerves rise again.

"Hey you two!" Namjoon greeted with his dimpled smile. "Who's going first?"

"I guess I will," Jungkook eagerly took his place on the tattoo chair. "You got the email attachment for the artwork right?"

"Who do you think I am?" Namjoon scoffed, snapping on some black latex gloves.

"Just making sure!" Jungkook giggled, rolling his sleeve up to reveal an already well-filled arm.

Over the course of a year, Jungkook had quickly gotten addicted to tattoos. He got his first one and after that he wanted more and more until he possessed an almost-full sleeve. He had come to get a tattoo to finish up his sleeve today.

Interested in his addiction, you decided to try and get your first tattoo as well. And what better idea than to get tattooed together?

Namjoon began to prepare for the tattoo, cleaning the site where Jungkook would get inked and setting up his tattoo gun. Jungkook was as cool as a cucumber, laughing and joking with the tattoo artist.

“Let’s get this started then,” Namjoon grinned.

The sound of the tattoo gun filled the room and you were surprised by just how loud it was. Neither man seemed to notice it though.

“Does it hurt?” You asked your boyfriend.

“Mmm, I guess it depends,” Jungkook answered, not even wincing as Namjoon began to tattoo him. “Everyone has different pain thresholds,”

“What’s it feel like?” You asked, watching Namjoon wipe at the tattoo site with a cloth.

“It feels hot,” Jungkook explained. “It stings and it feels almost like a burn. But as soon as the gun is off it doesn’t hurt at all. It doesn’t even feel sore,”

“So you basically just have to make it through the process and then it’s all good?” He nodded at your question and then he smiled, taking your hand in his.

“Nervous?”

“A little bit,” You confessed, squeezing his hand.

“You don’t have to get one if you don’t want to,” Jungkook released your hand in favor of stroking your hair.

“I really want to get at least one,” The conviction in your voice made Jungkook grin.

“Alright baby, if you say so,”

You fell into a comfortable silence after that. Just the buzzing of the tattoo gun filled the space mixing with a soft indistinguishable melody floating through the radio. In a short period of time, the tattoo was finished and Namjoon was cleaning off the tattoo site.

“Alright, wanna check it out in the mirror over there?” Namjoon asked, cleaning up his station.

“Absolutely,” Jungkook grinned, hopping down from the chair and waltzing over to the large mirror in the corner of the room. “Holy shit, that’s awesome man!”

“Wow,” You breathed, gazing at the reddened skin now splashed with gorgeous splashes of color in a watercolor style.

“Are you ready for your turn now, ______?” Jungkook asked, a teasing smile on his face as he allowed Namjoon to wrap up his tattoo to keep it protected.

“Yeah let’s do it,” You smiled, taking the still warm spot Jungkook had been sitting in.

The process repeated of Namjoon setting up the tattoo gun and applying a ink print to your skin for him to trace.

“That place good?” He asked, gesturing to where he had placed the lineart on your forearm.

“Perfect,” You nodded, reaching out to take Jungkook’s hand. “I don’t think I can watch,”

“That’s alright I’ll watch for you,” Jungkook leaned forward and chastely kissed your head.

“Alright lovebirds, no smooching in my tattoo chair,” Namjoon teased, making your blush.

Once the tattoo was started, you realized how right Jungkook was. It was a hot, burning sensation. It hurt the most when Namjoon would go over a place he already went over.

In a matter of 30 minutes, the tattoo was finished and you permanently had art embedded in your skin.

As you examined it, you could help but smile. It was just as beautiful as you’d hoped it would be. Namjoon’s minimalistic design style mixed with the pretty cherry reds and blossom pinks was something to worship.

“Thank you so much, Namjoon,” You said as he wrapped yours up just like he did Jungkook.

“No problem at all, you can come back any time,” Namjoon grinned.

“What do you say we get some McDonald's and head home?” Jungkook asked as you exited the tattoo parlor.

“I think that sounds lovely,” You agreed, lacing your fingers between his as you walked down the sidewalk, basking in the cool Seoul night air.

True to your agreement, you stopped by the local McDonald's to pick up some dinner. Jungkook ordered two burgers with a large fry and got you some nuggets, with fries and honey mustard.

"And that was the day I met Namjoon," Jungkook explained as you unlocked the front door to your shared apartment.

"He sounds like a pretty cool guy," You smiled, tossing your shoes off and shutting the door once Jungkook was inside.

"He's honestly awesome," Jungkook gushed, pulling his own shoes off.

You both made your way into the living room to eat your dinner.

"What do you want to watch?" You asked, turning to TV on to the Netflix menu.

"Let's just watch Ghost Whisperer again," Jungkook mumbled through a mouthful of french fries.

"Ghost Whisperer it is," You replied, putting the first episode on before digging into your still warm nuggets.

Before long your bellies were full and you found yourself snuggled into Jungkook's side with his arm wrapped around you. You had watched a couple of episodes when you began to feel tired.

"Are you ready to sleep?" You asked, noticing how tired your own voice sounded.

"I am if you are," He replied, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

You nodded, sitting up and leaning in to kiss your boyfriend's lips.

"Let's go then," He said, pulling your hand to pull you to your feet.

You let out a heavy sigh as your back hit the mattress. Jungkook disappeared in the bathroom and you could hear him rummaging around in the cabinets. A moment later, he came out holding a bottle of lotion.

"Let me see," He held your hand, examining where your forearm was wrapped nicely.

You winced when the tape pulled at your skin as he removed it. You smiled at the ink on your skin, proud of how pretty it looked on you.

Jungkook pumped a bit of lotion into his hand and generously smeared it on your tattoo. You expected it to burn or hurt or something but you felt nothing surprisingly.

"There we go," He smiled, proceeding to do the same to his own fresh tattoo. "That'll keep it moisturized while it heals. It'll start peeling and whatnot -- just don't pick at it and let them fall off on their own, yeah?"

"Whatever you say," You smiled, scooting back in bed and got comfortable in the pillows as Jungkook changed for bed.

"Aren't you gonna get into your PJs?" He asked as he stripped his shirt, showing his now complete sleeve. The way his biceps flexed with every movement had you nearly drooling, unable to break your eyes off of him.

"I was thinking of sleeping in something a little more comfortable tonight," Your words caught his attention and he stood in just his boxers, the legs stretched around his thick thighs.

"Oh?" He smirked, standing taller as he looked down at you on the bed.

Biting your lip, you felt your heart pounding in your chest when he crawled onto the bed -- hovering above your form. His hair tickled your face as he leaned down to kiss you, sliding one hand up your t-shirt. The feeling of his hand on your bare skin had goosebumps arising and you couldn't help but whimper into the kiss.

"Let's get this off, yeah?" He whispered against your lips, tugging your shirt up. You sat up to help him pull it completely off before it was tossed carelessly to the floor.

You didn't bother waiting for him to take your bra off, undoing the hooks and tossing it away as well.

"Fuck, such pretty tits baby," He groaned, cupping your breasts in his hands. He abandoned kissing your lips in favor of enveloping your nipple in his mouth. You whined, tangling your fingers in his hair as he tongued the hardening bud.

It didn't take long for him to begin kissing his way down your stomach, occasionally giving a small nip to the smooth skin. With practiced fingers, he undid the button to your jeans and with your help pulled them off.

"E-Eat me out, Kook," You whispered, tugging his hair to urge him closer to your core.

"Didn't even say please," Jungkook scoffed, kissing your hip. "You're such a brat,"

Suddenly, he licked a fat stripe over your slit through your panties. Your hips arched and you whined, the fleeting pleasure making you twitch.

The material became wetter with a mixture of his saliva and your own arousal making them stick to you. His tongue found your clit, the rough fabric making the stimulation even more intense. Your thighs twitched on either side of his head and he was quick to pin them apart again, leaving you even more open.

The occasionally tug at his hair made him moan against you, edging you closer and closer to orgasm,

"You're so easy." He chuckled, sucking your clit through your panties until your back was arching and you were crying out his name.

He made no move to move your panties aside, continue to run his tongue over your folds through them. The stimulation was teasing, almost fleeting but the texture against your hard bud was just enough to give you what you needed. He was talented with his tongue, knowing exactly what you wanted and when you needed it. Living to make you cum for him, he eagerly sucked your clit over the fabric.

You keened, pulling at his hair as your hips arched up to grind against his godly mouth. He let you, moaning at your eagerness and more than happy to indulge you.

"I'm gonna cum," You whined, tossing your head back into the fluffy pillows beneath you.

"Yeah?" Jungkook chuckled, a cocky put-on sound that made you tremble. "So greedy and easy. I barely have to do anything and you're gushing. Well go one then. Cum for me and ruin these cute little panties,"

Your whole body tensed up as you felt that wave coming over you. Eyes rolling back in your head, you were vaguely aware of the way you whined out your boyfriend's name. Jungkook groaned against your heat, tonguing you softly to ease you through the waves of pleasure. As your limbs finally relaxed on the bed, you blankly stared up at the ceiling while you caught your breath.

"So pretty," Jungkook cooed, sitting up on his knees.

You whined, flinching when he gently supplied 3 soft slaps to your oversensitive folds.

"What do you say?" Jungkook growled.

"Th-Thank you Daddy," You choked out, closing your thighs in case he decided to smack you again.

"That's a good girl," He smiled, leaning over your form to press a kiss to your lips.

The orgasm wasn't enough and both of you knew that. Sharing another soft kiss, Jungkook got up and began to strip himself of his boxers. You took a moment to admire his form, the way the veins in his arms popped as he wrapped a tight fist around his cock. He hissed, jerking himself slowly, smearing precum down his length before looking at you.

"I want you flat on your stomach," He ordered and you scrambled to do as you were told.

You breathed in the floral scent of the fabric softener Jungkook was in love with. He crawled onto the bed behind you, spreading your thighs slightly. Whining, you arched your hips slightly as you felt the blunt head of his cock against your entrance. Hot and wet, he easily slid into you and the two of your groaned in unison as he easily bottomed out.

"Fuckin' made for me," He groaned, not wasting any time before he was fucking you just the way you both liked.

The position made it easy for him to reach deep inside you, filling you up just the way you always craved. He hit your cervix, making you wince and tighten up around him -- the pain adding sparked of pleasure and you tightening walls making him tremble.

"F-Fuck Daddy," You cried, voice muffled in the fabric.

"Dirty mouth," He snapped, pausing to slap your ass so the skin jiggled.

"S-Sorry Daddy," You gasped, raising your hips to grind against his cock buried inside you.

"That's okay baby. Daddy knows you're just a desperate slut who can't help herself huh?" He chuckled, soothing the skin he slapped.

"Y-Yes that's right Daddy. I just love your cock," You sobbed, grinding against him in hopes he would start fucking you again.

"Just a dumb babygirl drunk on cock isn't that right? Your little brain is so cloudy all because your stupid cunt is wet," His filthy words had you trembling and whining.

"Yes Daddy,"

"Tell me what you are," He chuckled, leaning over you and grinding his thick cock into your spasming hole.

"D-Daddy's dumb babygirl," You breathed, feeling your eyes burn in humiliated tears.

"That's right," He chuckled, finally resuming fucking you properly.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as he angled his hips down so he could hit your g-spot with practiced ease. He groaned every time you tightened around him, his cock throbbing inside you.

He smoothed his hand down the length of your spine until he reached your ass. Biting his lip, he couldn't stop himself from slapping your cheeks -- making you gasp dramatically. The pain only added to pleasure and you cried out into the blankets.

"Slut," He snarled, tangling his hand in your hair and yanking you up roughly until you were on your knees with your back against his chest.

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, pressing kisses to his neck and nibbling on the spot you knew was sensitive. As you breath fanned over his ear, you could feel him shiver. He reached around, cupping your breast in his hand rolling your pert nipple between his fingers.

"You're getting so tight, are you going to cum again?" He asked as you panted in his ear.

"Y-Yeah," You gasped as he suddenly landed a heavy hit to your breath.

"What was that?"

"Yes I'm going to cum Daddy," You rushed out, squeezing your eyes shut as he continued to pluck at your sensitive nipple.

"Good girl," He soothed where he had slapped with a gentle hand before the digits sunk to where he was buried, finding your swollen clit easily.

Your eyes rolled back in your head as he circled the bud in time to his thrusts against your g-spot.

"Cum," He ordered, his voice breaking into a groan as you clamped tight around his cock.

You could only cry out and tremble in his arms as he fucked you through your orgasm. Unable to hold yourself up, he let you plant your face in the pillows as you sobbed. He didn't slow, continuing to brutally slam his cock into your creaming hole.

"Fuck!" Jungkook cursed, burying himself deep as he came.

You could feel the way his load filled you up as his cock throbbed. You could feel every flex of his cock and the way his body trembled in the throes of his own pleasure. How you wished you could see his face -- always such a beautiful orgasm face. You could only whine and listen to the way he moaned and cursed until he finally pulled out.

"On your back," He breathed, helping you roll over as your limbs felt like jelly.

Spreading your thighs, he gazed down at your swollen folds and clenching entrance.

"Push my cum out for me," He said and waited until you did as told, a gush of his milky white cum meeting his fingertips. "Open your mouth,"

You eagerly did as you were told, opening your mouth and leaning forward to envelop the soiled fingers in your mouth. Jungkook watched you with dark eyes as you sucked every drop of his cum off and swallowed. Removing his fingers, he reached down the scoop some more up and you eagerly drank that down as well.

He slid his fingers into your cunt but instead of putting them in your mouth, he popped them in his own. Your cunt clenched around nothing at the sight.

Leaning down, he met your lips, easily pushing the cum in his mouth into yours. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you both kissed until there was no more cum to share between the two of you.

You both pulled away, breathless and he rested his forehead against yours.

"You good?" He asked, cupping your cheek and kissing your nose.

"Yeah Daddy," You whispered, biting your lip.

"Hm? Daddy?" He smiled, cupping the back of your head and laying on your side, pulling you close against him. "My little girl's still lost huh?"

"Mhmm," You agreed, hugging him closer against him.

"We'll take a shower soon alright?" He smiled, kissing the top of your head gently. "And then we'll go to bed because I'm pooped,"

Mindlessly, you traced the lines of his tattoos -- avoiding the new one of course.

"Will you get another sleeve?" You asked, throwing your thigh over his.

"Do you think I should get another sleeve?"

"Mm, I think tattoos suit you very nicely," You complimented, making him grin.

"I think they suit you very well as well," His words made you smile, leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw.

"Let's go shower now,"

"Alright...and then we'll put some lotion on your cute little butt because man, I smacked you hard," He smiled as he heard you laugh from the bathroom.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts imagines #jungkook imagines #bts reactions #jungkook reactions #bts preferences #jungkook preferences #bts fanfics #jungkook fanfics

3K notes · View notes

stcygoldensss · 3 years

Text

madison bailey. cis woman. she/her. well, well, well, if it isn’t juniper schuyler. people say the sixteen-year-old junior who is originally from eastwood high reminds them of denim jackets with dresses, a collection of chapstick, & chipped nail polish which makes sense since they’re often described as magnanimous, empowering, & indecisive. i just can’t wait to see the sort of trouble they end up in. dani. 21+. est. she/her.

time to meet the baby! this is a super long post, fyi, but there’s a very short summary bullet list towards the end. birdie, this format is lovely, so i used it...

basics.

full name: juniper auden schuyler

nicknames: june, sassy (family), junebug (family), junie (selected few)

age: 16

date of birth: march 1

birth chart: pisces ☼ cancer ☽ pisces ↑

height/weight: 5′5″, 120 lbs

orientation: homosexual, panromantic

piercings: ears and nose

basic style: jean overalls, skater skirts, vans, jean/cargo jackets, sundresses, oversized flannels, sweaters with too-long sleeves, graphic tees, a simple necklace with the letter j and her birthstone

usual expression: tilted head, soft smile, and curious gaze

traits: +magnanimous, +empowering, -indulgent, -indecisive

fears: failing, being along, rejection

aesthetic: paint-splattered overalls, binge watching netflix while surrounded by snacks, windows filled with plants, a dozen half empty lotion bottles of different scents, warm sweaters from the dryer, sharpie tattoos, wearing vans with a skirt, denim jackets over dresses, a collection of chapstick, chipped nail polish

extracurriculars: art club, astronomy club, softball, soccer

trigger warnings: abandonment (kind of… no real detail)

background & personality.

juniper was born on march 1, 2004, in white lake, ma. she has no knowledge of her birth parents, so i don’t plan to give them identities unless that becomes relevant to her plot. the only interest she has shown in her birth parents has been to figure out where she comes from and particularly because of biology class projects in her freshman year of high school.

(tw: abandonment) her mother gave her up at birth, either because she was ill-equipped to be a mother or because she did not want to be. luckily for june, that left her with the opportunity to join the schuyler family.

vincent (vince) and penelope (penny) schuyler were in the hospital that same day to welcome their son lincoln. having asked about the baby girl in the nursery with no last name, they discovered june’s story and decided their hearts and home were plenty big enough for one more than planned. they planned to name her june after juno, the roman goddess of love and marriage, to celebrate the love of chosen family, but juniper really stuck out to them in the baby name book (plus they still got to use june in a way!). auden was chosen for her middle name after penny’s maiden name.

juniper and lincoln are twins. you cannot convince them otherwise.

halfway through their freshman year of high school, they moved to a bigger house in the next town over, but that meant transferring from white lake high to eastwood high... june didn’t have a problem with it, though. she seemed to have an easier time finding her place at eastwood. now they’re back at white lake because of the fire, though, so...

june has always been drawn to art, and she has tried her hand at many styles, but her favorites are markers and painting (specifically watercolor and oil).

her big passions, though, are astronomy and softball -- she plays soccer, too, as goalie :)

she has a cat named whiskers, who she adopted almost six years ago. whiskers has more followers on instagram than june does, and she’s proud of that.

junebug came out officially about a year ago, but she definitely knew she liked girls from a pretty young age.

she likes to do homework on the bleachers after school, but she won’t deny that she likes watching the cheerleaders practice, too. they’re athletic… really.

tl;dr.

juniper was adopted at birth and named by vincent and penelope schuyler. they gave birth to their son lincoln that same day.

born and raised in white lake, transferred to eastwood high freshman year after moving towns, transferred back after the fire

super into astronomy, softball, soccer, and art

cat named whiskers (see above for link to photo)

she’s been out of the closet for a year but knew she liked girls since she was little

wanted connections.

partner in crime: be gay, do crimes. that’s the motto, is it not? these two don’t necessarily do anything illegal… actually, there’s no necessary about it. juniper is an innocent ray of sunshine. anyway, the pair of them are best friends (not counting lincoln). this person has really helped the “twins” learn how to be independent people. [1/1] antonio logan

universe pairing: hear me out with this one. the universe is trying to get these two together. whether that be a romantic thing or just friends, it’s becoming clear that something is up. they always happen to be in the same line for movie tickets or in the same aisle of the grocery store or parked right beside each other at games/practices/wherever. coincidence? june thinks not. [1/1] rosemary hollingsworth

frenemies: a bit of healthy competition is good for growth, but it’s really hard to tell if these two (or three?) are in friendly competition or downright rivals. it varies day to day, and even june doesn’t know how she feels about them. [0/2]

study group: do they really work on school things? sometimes. do they use it as an excuse to get coffee and goof off? always. [0/?]

the first: this girl is really important to juniper, even if they aren’t together anymore (though it’s totally cool if they are still together). she was june’s first kiss, first relationship, first time… the one who helped her come out to more than just her family and close friends. [1/1] huiyin de luca

others: maybe a bad influence, neighbors, friends that drifted apart, crushes?? i’m up for pretty much anything.

#whitelake.intro #i definitely stole this format from birdie #it's a beautiful setup :D #≡*✦ — muse || juniper auden #≡*✦ — &&. pink flowers grow from my skin

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dangerouscommiesubversive · 4 years

Note

Can you do a , smug and mean character of your choice, Z?

Anon, did you want me to write about Sengoku Ryouma? Because this is exactly how you get Sengoku Ryouma. (Kureshima Takatora is in here too, not that he’s at all smug or mean.) Z is my choice, so

C is for colors--and, if you’d also like musical accompaniment, M is for music and “you should see me in a crown,” by Billie Eilish, is available on Spotify and YouTube.

The first time Ryouma agrees to share a meal with Takatora, he brings a sketchbook with him. He’s drawing when Takatora approaches the table, in fact, drink in one hand and pencil in the other, intent on his work until he realizes that he’s not alone. Then the sketchbook closes, but not before Takatora can catch a glimpse of what looks like a cross-section of a plant. “What are you drawing?”

A smile like lightning--Takatora finds himself briefly wondering when the thunder will hit, and what might be burned to ashes in its wake. “Vegetation from Helheim. I’m exercising my botanical illustration muscles. I don’t imagine you’d be much interested, though.”

“No, no, I’m actually very curious. Your scientific work intrigues me as it is; I didn’t know you were also the artistic type. May I take a look?”

Ryouma gives him a look which might be considering or might just be shy; Takatora doesn’t yet know well enough to be able to tell which. “If you’re really interested...” He slides the sketchbook across the table. “Look away.”

They end up losing half of lunch to Ryouma’s drawings, Takatora turning pages in rapt fascination as he examines the fractal layout of crystalline seeds within those ever-dangerous fruits, the labeled diagrams of alien plants, the beautifully watercolored illustration of a Helheim vine overtaking a maple tree. Ryouma is delighted to explain them, his soft voice making it more an intimate conversation than a lecture. One pen sketch is so shockingly realistic that Takatora nearly reaches for it, wanting to see if he might pick a fruit directly from the page, only to pull his hand back before he can risk smudging the ink. “I think these might be almost as dangerous as the real thing, Dr. Sengoku.”

“Oh, please.” The lightning smile comes back, and this time Takatora is certain he can hear the rumble of thunder in the distance. “I may not have a lot of friends, but the ones I do have all call me Ryouma.”

Ryouma’s insouciant smile and elaborate courtesy tend to strike others as at least mildly disrespectful, if not outright rude. Takatora, of course, knows that it’s just how he is, that he doesn’t mean anything by it. The sketching during R&D meetings is a little irritating, but after the first couple of times it comes up he finds that the scratching of the pencil is oddly soothing, enough that finally he gives into the temptation to ask again, “What are you drawing?”

One of the other researchers rolls her eyes when she hears this, but Ryouma just smiles. “Lockseeds, of course.” He holds out his sketchbook for Takatora to take. “I think I’ve designed, hm, at least fifty at this point.”

The sketchbook is open to an exploded mechanical diagram, far more complicated than Takatora is prepared to try to make sense of. He tries anyway, nodding absently as the other researchers start to trickle out of the room, squinting at Ryouma’s tiny labels. “Fifty? Do we need to many?”

“Well, Takatora--” the last researcher heading out the door huffs irritably at Ryouma’s casual tone, “I don’t know about you, but I certainly can’t live on oranges alone. And they’ll do different things, of course, once I’ve perfected the driver designs. What’s your favorite fruit again?”

Takatora blinks. “Melon. I really only eat it at breakfast, but I do like it best.”

Lightning strikes. “Wonderful, I did remember correctly. Turn back a few pages--yes, there.”

“This is...a Melon Lockseed?”

“Yes, do you like it?”

The sketch is colored in with pencils, and it’s--beautiful, in the strange way that all of Ryouma’s creations are beautiful. “It’s lovely.” Takatora reads over the notes along one side. “I...’authorized by providence,’ Ryouma?” He raises his eyebrows. “What is?”

“You are.” Ryouma bows, one hand on his heart and a mocking smile on his face. “You’re the prince, aren’t you? I thought perhaps you deserved the reminder. And I am merely your humble advisor.”

“I don’t think there’s ever been anything humble about you, Ryouma.”

“Maybe not. I am very good at what I do, I don’t see any reason to lie about it.” A pause, and then Ryouma cocks his head to one side and the smile goes from mocking to teasing, sly and friendly. “I may have some melon at home, if you’d like to come over.”

“...for...breakfast?”

“Well, yes, eventually.”

Takatora feels his face go hot, and hopes he hasn’t turned too pink, and then furthermore hopes that no one else is lingering outside the conference room door as he says, “That sounds very nice.”

There are more armor designs than will probably ever get used, and Takatora says so. “Why so many?”

"I enjoy designing them. Although of course most people won't get to see more than the very basic one." Ryouma is settled comfortably against his shoulder, sketchbook balanced on one pulled-up knee. "I'm not going to share my best art with just anyone, you know."

"Oh, no?" Takatora cranes his neck to see the sketchbook over the top of Ryouma's head. "How are you going to manage that?"

"A series of if-then statements in the Sengoku Driver. They have to be able to scan the user's body and brain, you know, to do what they do; I don't see why I shouldn't have them test for particularly desirable personal qualities at the same time." Ryouma's pencil dances over the page. "For example, if it were to detect, say...hm." A sly glance upward at Takatora. "A noble soul, a cutting intellect, clarity of purpose, and oh, let’s say an offensively nice ass, it might produce...something like this."

He holds up the sketchbook, so that Takatora can finally get a proper look at it--a samurai, sleek and elegant but with a science-fiction edge. “This is...armor for me?”

“Roughly, this is a preliminary.”

“It’s beautiful.”

The smugness radiates from the line of Ryouma’s back against Takatora’s arm. “Thank you, I’m very pleased with it.” The sketchbook and pencil go on the bedside table, and then Ryouma turns around looking even more sly. “Of course, I’ll need to tailor the design to suit you better. I think I’ll need to make some figure studies, you’ll have to pose for me.”

Takatora raises an eyebrow. “Naked, I’m sure.”

“Oh, naturally, I’ll want to make a detailed study of your best qualities.”

“I think you said something about an offensively nice ass?”

“I am an artist, I want to display my subject to best effect.”

“So I’m your subject now.”

Lightning-flash smile, and Ryouma runs his fingers down the side of Takatora’s face, tips his chin up as if to study his profile. “No more and no less than I am yours. I ought to draw you with a crown on your head.”

When Takatora wakes from the coma--is woken from the coma, by the grace of a power he suspects he may never entirely understand--it still takes another two weeks before he’s discharged from the hospital and declared fit to go about whatever business he may have, and one of the first tasks that confronts him is the disposition of Ryouma’s notes. He can’t possibly ask Mitsuzane to take care of it, wouldn’t even want to mention the man’s name in his brother’s presence. Ryouma was, in the end, his fault and his responsibility. This is his cleaning up to do.

Mostly it’s straightforward. The laboratory equipment has already mostly been confiscated or destroyed; researchers and technicians have already scoured his computer files. It’s just the actual papers that are left to take care of, organized by some system that only Ryouma himself and perhaps Yoko ever understood, box after box of them. Takatora embarks on the project with four helpers--two from the Ministry of Internal Affairs, one from the Ministry of Health, and a man from the Ministry of Agriculture who seems to have an unwholesome interest in the actual growth capacity of Helheim plants.

“He didn’t go into the most technical details of his work with me,” Takatora says after the third question about what a particular notation might mean. “He was an...idiosyncratic man, to say the least.”

And then, near the back of the room, one of the Internal Affairs people says, “This box seems to be full of artwork.”

Takatora only freezes for a moment before saying, “Yes, Professor Sengoku was very passionate about the design aspects of his work. I’ll come over and take a look through them, there may be sketches of interest to more than one of you.”

Unlike most of the other papers and boxes, the sketchbooks are mostly clearly marked. Lockseeds, Vol. 1, says the label on one; Sengoku Driver Preliminary Sketches, says another. A third is, Armors, and Takatora recognizes its blue cover and thinks, suddenly, I never did ask him how he intended to have the Drivers identify desirable qualities in people, or why. That should have been a warning sign by itself.

Near the bottom of the box, though, is a sketchbook marked, Personal, and Takatora picks it up as quickly as he possibly can while still looking casual. He recognizes that cover too, and would rather not have people from the government seeing some of the drawings in it. “I’d like to keep this one, actually. I assure you, there’s nothing dangerous in it.”

The man from the Ministry of Agriculture says, frowning, “You’re familiar with the contents of this one?”

“I’m familiar with most of them, actually, the professor was very proud of his design work and shared it with me frequently.”

The sketchbook goes into Takatora’s briefcase, and he waits until he’s home and in his own bedroom to open it, because, yes--there, three pages in, is the first of several drawings of him. Most of them, as he flips through, are unremarkable, but a few are of an intimate character that he’s glad he wasn’t forced to share publicly. One in particular brings a blush to Takatora’s cheeks as he remembers the night it was drawn. On the facing page of the sketchbook there are a few lines scrawled in Arabic, a language that Ryouma read excellently and spoke passably, with a translation underneath:

He is a veiled one; but were he to pass in a darkness black as his forelock, his blazing face would suffice him light.

So if I stray for a night in his black locks, his brow’s bright morn will give guidance to my eyes.

Which does nothing but make Takatora’s blush much worse.

Of course, there aren’t only nude drawings of him, which is something of a relief. There’s a self-portrait on one page, a few sketches of Yoko on another, drawings of the various Beat Riders in a set near the back. It almost brings a smile to Takatora’s face, seeing how Ryouma managed to capture Yoko’s solemn resting expression and the angry twist of Kumon Kaito’s mouth. Sketches of animals, of plants, a cartoon of Oren that actually makes Takatora laugh.

Near the middle of the sketchbook, not far past the most memorable “figure study” and its snatch of poetry, is a drawing of the Yggdrasil logo. Or at least, Takatora takes it for that at first, but when he reaches the end of the sketchbook he realizes that something about it bothers him and has to flip back and look more closely. It is the Yggdrasil Corporation tree, but with grasping roots growing down beneath it, crushing something that Takatora realizes after a moment is the Earth.

Beneath it, in Ryouma’s neat, precise handwriting, is a note:

Unfortunately it has become clear that Takatora’s desires and mine are no longer in alignment.

Takatora shudders and closes the sketchbook, and when he finally manages to fall asleep, much later, he dreams of being struck by lightning.

#sengoku ryouma #kureshima takatora #fanfiction #anonamouse

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sweetestrequiems · 4 years

Text

I: Meetings and Photos

Word Count: 3,025

A/N: Hello you lovely people of the Queendom on Tumblr. I’m Kit, and... well, you’ve seen me around enough. I wrote Silence is Never Better, The Tower of London, and maybe a few other things you might have seen around. Anyways... Welcome to the first chapter of Out of a Book! I’m very excited to share this with you all. I truly hope with heart and soul that you all enjoy this. If you ever want to leave any feedback, feel free to message me, or contact me at one of these profiles:

Instagram: @/Reinapuff Twitter: @/Reinapuff

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know! I’m always happy to share my work with others!

––––––––––

A rather early Thursday morning in the city of Syracuse, New York. The time’s about 7:15 in the morning.

The sun was over the horizon, but there was little to no noise inside of the apartment. The birds sang their graces and none of this seemed to be the thing to wake up the sleeping woman. In fact, a little snore escaped from her while she slept. Had her roommate not needed to go to work, she would've turned that against the woman in a heartbeat. But of course, this was not out of malice; the two would see the situation being out of fun. Getting up this early in the morning, however, never came easy for the woman that was still in bed. There were two things able to get her to wake up: the sun hitting her eyes, or an alarm of sorts, whether from a phone or a clock.

On this Thursday morning? It was both of those things that would wake her up.

An aggravated Catherine Parr turned to face away from the sunlight, and to reach for her phone. Forcing herself to sit up to turn the alarm off, Parr set the phone down before stretching her arms up and yawning. She noticed the quiet of the apartment about a few minutes from initially waking up. This meant that she was half asleep for a good little bit. “Ah, Lina went to work. Right, I almost forget she’s a teacher sometimes,” she finishes her sentence with a hum. Catalina Aragón, someone she affectionately called Lina, or even just Aragon. She found it fun to have a Spanish roommate, if she was being honest with herself. Made for a more entertaining time some days.

Parr’s never-resting mind began to try to think as to why she had set an alarm so early in the morning. Was it due to the fact she kept waking up too late? Was it a meeting with her publicist? The woman, for the life of her, could not remember. A hand came up to her forehead, rubbing it a few times before pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is bollocks. I can’t remember why I set my alarms so early,” a groan of frustration comes out under her breath. If she hadn’t turned her alarm off so quickly, she might’ve read the reminder that she had put for it. That didn’t matter much. It would come back to smack her in the face later.

Letting her legs swing over the edge of the bed, Parr pushed herself up and on her feet she landed.

––––––––––

7:45 am.

For Catherine to admit she was ready for the day, she needed one thing, and that one thing was in her hands as she walked back to the small table. Sitting down, the ceramic mug came up to her lips. Coffee. That was the one thing she needed. Her shoulders came up for a moment before they eased up, a smile helping her expression soften up from grumpy-seeming to amused. Opening up her laptop, Catherine softly hummed. A buzz makes her gaze shift from the laptop screen to her phone’s screen, seeing the notification on it. Tapping on it, she allows her phone to open up the email.

From: Cleves, Anna To: Parr, Catherine Subject: Planning for next release

Parr,

Writing a short email to remind you about our 8:00 am meeting for the first steps of getting the announcement of your upcoming book release. If you have any ideas post-conference, be sure to write them down and send me an email with them. We can further discuss those at a later date.

Anna Cleves Media Agent/Public Relations

Bringing her free hand up to her mouth, Catherine Parr forced herself to swallow the mouthful of coffee and then hissed under her breath. “That’s today?! It’s 7:55, I have barely any time to get ready!” Gold star for Cathy Parr. Standing up, the author gave a sigh and quickly disappeared off to the space that was her room in the apartment to at least make herself presentable from the torso up. It did not matter that she was wearing black joggers, so long as she looked like she was ready for a business meeting.

Adjusting her curls so they wouldn’t fall over her face, Catherine paced over to the chair, and sat back down. Now that she had her headset on, and got ready in the nick of time, she patiently waited for the call. There it was. Taking a brief moment to look at herself and adjust her blouse, she answers. “Good morning, Anna.”

“Good morning to you too, Cathy. Glad to see you’re awake at an early time. And you got all dressed up, too! You didn’t have to,” a chuckle. Cleves ran a hand through her hair and gave a smile. “So, we’re looking at what kind of a timeline for the release, exactly?” A slight roll of the eyes, and a shake of the head. “Would’ve been nice to know before I spent the last five minutes panicking over being dressed decently. Anyways, to the main topic. My editor is getting ready to give me the list of revisions made to the draft and then I’m going to once again, go in and edit whatever needs to be changed per her advice. We’re... aiming for maybe... three to six months from now.”

A nod from Anna. Catherine could see the woman looking at a second screen and typing something. Probably notes about all of this. This conversation carried on past 8:30, until it was Anna herself who decided to conclude it. “Sounds wonderful. I’ll be in touch, as per usual. But now that this is over, we can talk about something else, if you’d like.” Although they saw each other maybe once or twice a month in person, Anna and Catherine were quite the close friends–– about as close as Catherine and Catalina, since the two have been roommates since their university days. “Look, I woke up this morning thinking I had nothing to do, and I was just going to text Lina for the grocery list but then your email popped up,” a laugh. The German woman simply shook her head.

“So you got dressed up in a panic, Cathy? I’m shocked.” There was another bout of laughter that interrupted them. Parr found herself nodding. “Of course I did. I’m not going to just answer a conference call from you in a crop top and joggers, and with a messy bun.” The thought of Parr actually having a messy bun made Cleves laugh. “You and messy buns? You’ve got to be kidding me. But good job admitting you’re still halfway in your pajamas.”

Now she rolled her eyes. She rolled them so hard, they could've rolled right off her face.

Catherine shook her head, not being able to help the smile. “Hush. As if you weren't in your own. You’re at home, I know you are!” Her hands went to grab the cup of coffee, and she brought it back up to her lips. She was a bit proud of herself for not having touched it the whole time during the meeting, but now she was craving it. So, she began to drink it, allowing Anna to talk. “Where’s Lina? I’m surprised the woman isn’t around there. Wait, no... never mind, don’t answer that. She’s at work, isn’t she?” A nod. “Yeah, she’s a teacher, Anna. She leaves early. Comes back by dinner time normally.”

It was a safe assumption to say the two were having a fairly good time speaking to each other.

––––––––––

11:11 am.

“Perfect. That’s the shot,” a southern English voice rang out in the studio apartment. That was the voice of the beauty that took the world by storm: Anne Boleyn. “Tu as un bon oeil avec une caméra, Maggie! Ça a l'air super, vraiment. Go on and head on home, you’re good to go. Have fun with the pictures,” the ruby-lipped woman gave a kiss on both cheeks to her photographer friend, who packed up soon after and headed on out. Sitting down on the loveseat, Boleyn ended up getting herself to lay down and hold her phone right above her face.

“Lame.” She scrolls past one post.

“Seen it.” Another.

“What’s this?” A new post from her favorite author. She’d never admit it, but deep down inside, she was a huge nerd. Anne skimmed over the post, her thumb double tapping the screen. Parr’s posts were always inspirational quotes, or some snippets from her works. This one was just an appreciation post. A smile began to form, with it eventually becoming a light laugh. “She’s so kind! It’s amazing how someone so famous has a golden heart. And I’m sure she knows she’s got the fame.”

Most of the remainder of the morning for Anne was spent laying down, on Instagram, with no care in the world. Truly, the woman was one of a rather mellow personality. And in her spare time, she loved a good book. Deciding she’d had enough of Instagram for the time being, she closed out of the app and opened up another one. Probably delivery or something, considering it was approaching the afternoon and she felt her stomach rumble just a little. “Good thing I decided to get food. Has it really been almost five hours since I ate?”

An early riser, she was. On most days, Boleyn woke herself up at around three in the morning to go work out from maybe 3:30 to 4:45 in the morning. Sometimes she’d extend that work out to 5:45 in the morning. Then it was off to come back home, shower and get comfortable to be in the kitchen and cooking food for herself by around the 6:45 mark. She was always eating by seven in the morning, if not ten minutes later. But she was feeling particularly lazy today, so she’d take advantage of the day to just lounge around.

Standing up, Anne left her phone face down on the loveseat. She didn’t need it to get comfortable. And to be fair, it took her maybe about ten minutes, because the majority of it was her washing her face and making sure to take good care of that. She did however, come out of her bedroom with her glasses on. Now that she was alone for the day, she could just be Anne. No contacts, no sunglasses. Just plain Anne Boleyn. She was a huge nerd growing up, and she knew this to be quite true. She loved herself, and she truly did love her modeling career, but she found it odd to be both a nerd and a super famous model at the same time.

So, she’d keep her personal life to herself. Just like that.

––––––––––

1:00 pm.

Having finished her lunch around fifteen minutes ago, and having cleaned everything up, Anne found herself at a crossroads during the day. She could take her glasses off, grab a blanket, and take a nice nap. She could go out to the local shops and peruse their inventories. She could get into the kitchen, and do some meal prepping. She had options, but she just couldn’t quite put her finger on what she wanted to do. Shrugging it off, the woman reached for the bookshelf. One of Parr’s books was in her hands.

Anne couldn’t quite tell what drew her into Catherine’s writings. Her books were not quite memoirs, but not quite fully opinionated pieces either. However, they did fall into the non-fiction category. Think of it as a discourse, kind of–– but one full of opinion, experience, and even proven fact. She was a strong woman, and had morals. Anne Boleyn was drawn to that from the first day she picked up a book by Catherine Parr. Laying back down on the loveseat, she opened up the book with a smile.

“A well deserved following,” she’d softly mutter. Her smile became less and less of one until her face was deadpan; a sign she was focused on reading. Word by word and page by page. Killer looks in front of the camera and the world, but a calm and soft appearance in private. This was something Anne showed maybe once or twice, since she has occasionally posted on her Instagram stories a picture or a video with her in her glasses.

One page became another as the time passed. Page to page, eventually book to book. Anne was in one of her reading holes, humming to herself to add a little more entertainment to her already uplifted mood. What broke her out of the daze was her phone ringing. A phone call. Pulling the phone out from underneath her, Anne answered after reading the caller ID. Maggie. Probably an update about the pictures or something.

“Anne! Bonne nouvelle, mon ami! I’ll have these edited by tonight or tomorrow at best. You’ll be right back on a runway soon enough with these,” Maggie sounded excited. A smile came across Anne’s lips. “Besides, you now have an updated picture for events instead of having to use the one from three years ago! Isn’t that great?” Sitting up, Boleyn set the book down and nodded to herself. “Oui. Merci à vous, comme d'habitude, Maggie. You work miracles,” she chuckles. “We’ll talk later. I might just take a nap or binge some Netflix.”

The conversation carried on for maybe five more minutes before Maggie hung up. Quite literally Anne’s best friend from childhood. Put the two together nowadays, and if Maggie had her camera or Anne’s phone in her hand, it was a photoshoot wherever they went. Safe to say that Maggie was responsible for the solid 90% of Anne’s feed that wasn’t selfies and food posts. Count your blessings, they always say. And despite the overwhelming following, Boleyn truly was grateful for what she had. Every single bit of fame that came her way? She was thankful she managed to get that far.

––––––––––

6:30 pm.

“Cathy? Estoy aquí y traje comida!”

Catalina had shut the door to the apartment as she finished that statement. Catherine peeked from behind the wall, before stepping out into view and smiling. “How was work, Lina?” Setting the food down on the table, one could see Catalina’s eyes roll to the back of her head for a moment. Looks like she had a troublesome day, considering she wasn't too cheery coming in the door. “Don’t get me started on it, Cathy. They were so unruly today for no reason. Part of me wonders if it’s the fact that they’re teenagers or not, but... it was unreal. The few that sit by my desk in the back of the classroom? They kept their cool, and I was glad about that.”

Catalina and Catherine both opened up their respective take out containers.

“Pero, gran y poderoso Señor... it was a nightmare today.”

A snicker came from Parr. “That’s why I don’t teach English. Could you imagine it? I’d be being told I’m spelling stuff like colour and favourite, or honour wrong! I’m English, we spell it differently than the Americans!” That snicker became a laugh. Catalina couldn’t help but laugh herself. “But truly, I’m so sorry you had to deal with a rowdy bunch today. Maybe they will be more mellow tomorrow. One day is just one day, and you have had one bad day... what... once every few months normally?”

“Yeah, it does happen every few months. So, I guess I won’t worry too much.” Catalina just shrugged it off, stuffing a spoonful of rice into her mouth.

––––––––––

A bite of chicken found itself on Anne’s fork. She was staring at her food, debating whether she should, or should not, post the dinner she so graciously decided to make. One could see the questioning glimmer in her eyes. The voice across the room made her attention snap from the plate to the source of the voice. “Je sais que c'est joli, mais allez, Anne. You haven’t touched your own food!” A bit of a laugh from Maggie. “I know, I know. Look, I just... wonder sometimes, if there’s anything else I can add to it. I always do that after I finish something.”

“I can tell. Just like when we were kids. You ALWAYS wanted to experiment more with your food. It’s almost like you live to be chaos.”

“Well, I mean... have you seen how I look? I’m chaos disguised as a babe. I like to think I’m pretty fit, after all,” there was the laugh from Boleyn. Shrugging it off, she just started to eat. Maggie was the one to continue the conversation. “Speaking of things you like, Anne... has that favorite author of yours posted anything? You always had a bit of a love for books. I saw that appreciation post earlier, and thought that was sweet. Even with the fame she has to her name, she remains humble. D’you know what, Anne? It reminds me of you a little.”

“How so?”

“Because you are the exact same way! Even with this huge following, you... you take the time to reach out and say thank you! You’re quite humble, despite what your looks say about you. I guess that whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing is real. Also, how do you just know how to make chicken taste good? This is amazing! I’m surprised you didn't go to culinary school,” Maggie practically shoved her food into her mouth, knowing that it would make Anne Boleyn laugh.

––––––––––

At the end of the night, both women could be found doing the exact same thing before they made themselves fall asleep:

Scrolling through their social media pages. One admiring the other’s confidence, and one admiring the other’s intelligence. A fair trade off to it all.

And despite the surprisingly good chaos from earlier on in the day, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Parr both could agree on one thing:

That there would be one day that their paths cross.

#Out of a Book #Catherine Parr #Anne Boleyn #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #Parrlyn #six ff #six fanfiction

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vanessaxyvonne · 3 years

Text

Page 58 & Heartbreaks || V + NV

When: April 27th, 2021

Where: Nearby Cafe in Downtown Santa Monica

Warnings: none.

Featuring: @niklausvondra

Nessa was still reeling after running into Nick at La Playa, maybe it was some sort of trippy high or maybe she was drunk. It had to have been fake, right? She sighed, taking a seat at the cafe with her boba tea as she buried herself into her book, basking in the silence until she heard the little bell that someone had walked in which caught her attention, and there he was, walking in...and her heart, sunk.

Nick:

Niklaus still couldn’t gather his mind around how long it has been since he strolled around Santa Monica. Ever since his parents shipped me out of country to visit his grandparents, he’s been struggling with his own demons and while that his father decided to use his journal of poems to publish without his permission to get more money into their bank. He ran a hand through his messy curls and entered the shop, looking around until he saw her again, the feeling in his gut dropping, he knew that if he turned around and right back out that would be a dick move or would it be the best choice? Without a second thought he raised his hand in a small wave.

Their eyes met. He saw her, he waved, she knows he waved, she quickly glanced, there's only one person around and they're asleep. Carefully, Nessa offered a half smile and waved back at him, after all it'd be impolite to if she didn't. Maybe he'd leave...maybe he'd stay. She wasn't banking on him staying to talk to her, after all. She could feel her heart hammering against her chest as her gaze went back to the chapter she was on, but she couldn't focus as her eyes kept glancing over to him.

Nick:

Niklaus chewed on his thumb nail and walked towards the counter, ordering himself a London fog and mentioned that he would be sitting over by where she was sitting. Ever since that incident and him running after Nicole, he knew that hurt her. Hell he hated the fact he let his sister words effect him to agreeing to cut ties off with Vanessa. He strolled up to where she was sitting and chuckled, “fancy seeing you here.”

Nessa took a sip of her tea and tried focusing once more on the pages, her mind was a fog, trying to push the last time she had seen him. The blank stare they both shared before he left...she truly thought it would be the last time she'd see him until a few days ago...until now. At the sound of his voice, her head slowly rose, her eyes meeting his, "Quite fancy," She responded with a light-hearted laugh. "I reckon you're looking for inspiration, yeah?"

Nick:

”Inspiration?” His deep voice rang out, in a questioning manner before laughing, “I’m just grabbing myself a cup of tea, wake myself up of at least attempt to wake up before going to Nikki’s to help with packages.” If his sister knew he was standing here with Vanessa, she would probably be fuming. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from keeping conversations, his heart ached, yearning but now they were two different people. Strangers.

Nessa's eyes slightly widened at Niklaus' voice. It was so deep...the last time she had seen him, there was still that hint of boyishness left in it. God, she missed him--and she hated it. "Ah, that's right, she's got the flower shop that people have been raving about," She added with a genuine smile. As much as Nicole equally broke her heart like Niklaus...she was genuinely happy for both of them. They achieved their dreams, or so she hoped. It was hard, how the person she once loved, was now a stranger. "You've got a lot more tattoos now."

Nick:

”Yeah, she’s pretty proud of the outcome. Ranting and raving about it nonstop, it’s quite tiring to hear,” nick shrugged his shoulders and chuckled, “I did...pretty soon I’m just going to be a walking doodle book, my fathers words not mine, cleaver though, who knew the old man had it in him to make jokes. “I saw that you’re making it big in the fashion world, that’s wonderful to see you making your name known.”

“That’s great!—You know aside the constant ranting and raving. Just so you know the first few years of starting up will be like that,” Nessa warned with a chuckle. She could imagine Nick being driven up the wall. She inspected his tattoos for a while before her eyes met his again, her nose going up in a scrunch as she laughed once more, this time, it was much more, her. “Well in that case you should pitch to your dad about getting washable markers or watercolors to paint yourself, you’d look like a doodle book then, yeah?” At the mention of her making it big, it tugged slightly at her heartstrings, he had always believed in her. “Yeah,” her smile softened. “Thank you. It took a bit, but they couldn’t say no to the world’s prettiest girl, could they?” She teased. Her eyes fell back to his tattoos again, inspecting the newer ones until her eyes fell on the anchor and she purposely pointed it out, “I really like this one.”

Nick:

Nick couldn’t help but to laugh, the thought of telling his dad that is amusing, he knew his mom would find it hilarious but his dad would just simply glare at him. “And even if they did say no, they’re clearly blind.” He said softly, his eyes not wavering from hers until the barista brought his tea, breaking eye contact with Vanessa and flash a smile in thanks to the barista, turning back to Vanessa. The mention of his tattoo, he looked down and chuckled, “ah yes...let me tell you, the pain of getting it was terrible but I think it turned out good.”

And there came that laugh...that laugh that Nessa missed so much, just the thought of it made her heart skip a beat as much as she tried fighting it off, it caused that same curious smile of hers to appear on her face. At his compliment she shook her head with a smile, "You've got me there. Luckily, the odds were in my favor." The way he held each other's gazes practically mirrored every moment they had together in the past. When his gaze drifted over to the barista, she smiled politely at them and closed her book, setting it off to the side to allow more room between them. "I can't even imagine," She said with a curious look. "It's amazing!--Which, I should also say too for the record I got my first one a few months ago. I figured you'd be proud."

Nick:

Niklaus had several tattoos covering his body, most of them were impulses and the others held smaller meanings, most of all he knew that it bothered his parents which was why he got them. "If it's a basic tattoo...I wouldn't be so proud." he jokingly stated, giving her a hard time when in reality, he would be proud, he was proud of whatever she does and maybe that was his downfall. Nick still wanted to know if she craved him as much as he craved her, wanting to reach out to caress her lips and even kiss them, clearing his throat at those thoughts and placing a fake smile upon his features. "I'm glad you're chasing after your dreams. I did tell you that you could make it."

Nessa tried studying some of his other tattoos without making it too obvious that she was staring. When she knew him, his arms were still bare for the most part, but now here he was, all tatted later...and looking incredible. "Well for your information it's a song lyric that goes across my ribcage," She playfully stuck her tongue out at him before chuckling. There was still this lingering ache that Nessa felt, the urge to run her fingers across the ink across his skin, the urge to run into his arms again. She instead opted to take another sip of her tea to calm her thoughts, and gave a half-hearted smile. "Yeah, you did. I just..." wished you were there to celebrate it with me..., she thought to herself. She trailed off and shook her head. "It just took a bit of time, lots of patience, but, it was well worth it.

Nick:

Niklaus nodded his head in understanding, he wondered if life would’ve turned out different if they were honest with Nicole, maybe they would’ve lasted longer. But at least, things were bittersweet and he couldn’t take anything back. “Sounds accurate, life has a way of turning out different.” He took a seat and settled in, bringing his cup of tea to his lips and slowly taking a sip. “How long has it been.”

It was at that moment Nessa wished she had talked to Nicole after everything had gone down. She should've fought harder rather than shy away, heartbroken. At least...to an extent, there wasn't too much bad blood between them. "It certainly does. Sometimes it's ugly and sometimes it turns the ugly into beauty," She smiled. At his question, she nearly froze but took a sip of her own tea to think. "Eight years," She whispered.

Nick:

Nick hummed under his breath, “Seems longer,” he replied back softly, setting the cup down on the table, his long fingers tapping against the mug and looked up at her. “I think you should try and mend things with Nicole, like you said it’s been eight years—I know for a fact she misses you,” I miss you those thoughts dwelling in his head.

"Seems much longer," Nessa nodded in agreement. She rested her chin on the palm of her hand and looked up at him for a moment. "Yeah," She sighed softly. "Eight years is long overdue. I mean we all have had mistakes we've made and all, we were young and dumb, after all," She chuckled lightly. "I miss her...and you," She admitted.

Nick:

Nick chuckled lightly, he knew his twin sister and knew that she was still stubborn and probably need to have a talk with her about learning to forgive and move on. “Right...” he tried not to overthink her words, letting it get the best of him, “but I’m sure you two will have time since we officially moved back, not going to lie, I missed Santa Monica.”

Nessa's smile dropped slightly at Nick's reaction. She had to make it known that she missed him somehow. She missed both her best friend and him...and it was hard. "Yeah...whenever she's free I could always pop by her shop or we could go out for a cuppa," She offered with a smile. "Just...Santa Monica?" She asked curiously.

Nick:

Nick pressed his lips together and nodded his head, not wanting to cross that line again. He was already hurt in the past and he knew his choice over her probably hurt him as well. “Yes, just Santa Monica.” His voice rang out in a dull tone, lifting his cup back up to take a drink.

And there it was, that reassuring moment of heartbreak. She exchanged a half-hearted smile and took a sip of her tea and dragged her book back in front of her. It wasn't just any book...it was poetry. "Well, you best get on your way so you don't miss out on the new sights and sounds of the city."

Nick:

Nick’s eyes drifted down to look at the book, the sharp inhale as he quickly pulled himself together and practice the self restrain, tapping down on the table and stood up. “Yes, sight seeing...very American. I’ll see you around Ness, and I suggest reading page 58.”

Nessa tried not to make eye contact with him for a moment to gather herself, her thoughts, trying to push down every bit of heartbreak. Finally she took a breath, her gaze was emotionless, "I'm sure you'd need it," She suggested. Before he walked off, she breathed out, "Did I really...mean nothing to you, Niklaus?" She asked.

Nick:

He paused, his voice stuck in his throat and looked out the window before glancing over at Vanessa again, giving her a small smile. “I have to get going, after all, it’s a gorgeous day.” Nick avoided the subject and resist the urge to reach out to squeeze her shoulder, taking a step before adding, “page 58.”

Nessa furrowed her brow when he completely avoided the subject which revved her up. Sometimes, Nick was infuriating like that, but she sighed and smiled a rather...poster-like smile. "Right..you're right." Looking back at her book, she was just two pages from page 58 and she huffed, flipping to the two pages until her heart dropped. For a moment she stayed quiet until she said, "And in the end I will seek you out amongst the stars. The space dust of me will whisper I love you into the infinity of the universe."

Nick:

Nick walked out with his cup in hand and left the cafe, smiling as he felt the sun warm him up, something he hasn’t felt in a long while. He started walking towards his sisters and glanced over his shoulder to look at her one last time and out of sight.

Nessa looked up to stop him to see that he had left and she sighed, closing her book and shutting her eyes. This was just another test. He'd always run from her...it was like trying to holding water, always slipping through the cracks of your fingers.

#para #p:Niklaus

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escapingpost · 5 years

Text

The Heartbreak Club (Chapter 4)

Chapter 4: Non-antagonistic Antagonist

previous: chapter 3

The antagonist is just as important to the story as the main lead characters. Not only do they add suspense and an opposing force, they can make or break the story. Sometimes, their mistakes cause a ripple effect to every other character in the story. When you take out the antagonist, what happens to the plot?

More importantly, when the motivation is gone and the secrets are forgotten, what is their end goal?

In the end, you were barely able to convince Seungwoo not to walk you back to the dorms. You dig through your memory to remember the next plot point in the drama:

Devoured by pride from the night of the gathering, Kim Hana, the real one, decides her first phase of creating chaos. Unfortunately, blinded by her rage, she seeks out the wrong person.

Kim Wooseok.

With a sculptured face and eyes like a deer, Kim Wooseok was type of character that attracted with just one minute on screen. He has only had eyes for one girl ever since he met her. Kim Wooseok was the second male lead that would pin for the girl until the very end. In “The Heartbreak Club”, the difference in the main lead and the second lead was not timing. The Wooseok on the inside was different from what you saw on the outside.

You enter the office for your major and sign in to see a counselor to help with your current situation. You are in deep thought of how to tell them you needed to leave the major you were currently in until you feel a light push on your forehead.

“You’ll get wrinkles faster if you always look like your in pain.” Wooseok took a seat next to you and comfortably stretched out his legs.

You look at him in surprised and hold your forehead, “Oh, I was just thinking about something.”

“I’m assuming you got home safely yesterday?” Wooseok asks.

You nod.

Wooseok looks down at you, “Why are you here?”

You shake your head, “I want to change my major.”

Wooseok has a small look of surprise for a few seconds and slowly nods. He glances at you, “Can I ask you why?”

“I want to go for something that I can enjoy. I’m just not cut out for engineering.”

Wooseok mockingly laughs, “Are you being modest or just fishing for compliments? You’re one of the best students in your year.”

And again, you are reminded that you were still Kim Hana. “I might be, but I don’t want to do it anymore.”

Wooseok looks down at his lap and then back at you, “Where do you want to change to?”

“When I lived in the hospital, all I did was sketch for a hobby. I want” You pause your sentence and come to a realization.

“You lived at the hospital?” The features on Woosek’s face gets softer as if he was releasing all tension in his expression.

“It wasn’t for very long.” You quickly answer. “Why are you here, Wooseok-sunbae?”

“For personal reasons." Wooseok answers. His stare lingers on you for a few more seconds until he looks down at his phone.

Talking to a counselor about changing your major with grades like Hana’s was an interesting conversation, but in the end, you could not change your major mid-semester. You agree to stick out in the major, but will comeback towards the end of the semester to change it.

Just like that, a normal week passed. That is, if normal was being completely lost in class and facing an identity crisis.

You slowly change Hana’s dull room into something more lively. Her bare beige walls now had fairy lights illuminating the darkness of the night. You also bought a medium-sized pin board to post up pictures. So far, you only had one picture of a cat that hung around your dorm’s building.

The gray bed sheets and comforters were now changed into a lilac purple, your favorite color. The color gave you a feeling of assurance and warmth.

Throughout the week you noticed Hana’s source of finances came from a joint bank account with her father. Feeling uncomfortable in using her father’s money, you started looking for a part time job.

Speaking of her father, you remember his supporting role in the drama. He was what you would call “a fool for his daughter”. He was Hana’s pillar, her weakness. It seemed like every time she talked to her father, her words were rough, but was filled worry.

He had only sent you one text message ever since you became Kim Hana.

To which, you did not reply to him. You felt uncomfortable fooling Hana’s father. But that same night he sent the message, you turned off your fairy lights in your room and let the moonlight become your source of light. He reminded you of your real mother. And you wished you treated her just a little better.

“Do you want to check it out? Its free.”

You turn around to the source of the angelic and cheerful voice. A petite girl stood behind you carrying a huge canvas.

Her crescent shaped eyes when she smiled finally revealed who she was, Kim Chaewon.

This was the thing about “The Heartbreak Club”. It was not only the main lead’s story, but the college life of several students. Kim Chaewon was a supporting female character. She had befriended Kim Minju because birds of the same feather flock together. Automatically, she was the spunky small bean who would go on to cheer for Minju’s plight for Han Seungwoo. Naturally, Kim Chaewon was pulled in her own small love triangle with two other male supporting leads.

When you did not answer, she smiled, “Don’t just stand outside, the fourth years made some really great pieces for this exhibit.”

Walking down the campus, you had found yourself going inside the Art’s Building for the first time.

You slowly nod, “Do you need some help?”

Chaewon shakes her head, “I look scrawny, but the canvas isn’t that heavy.” she giggles.

“Hey, small fry!” A male voice calls out.

You turn your attention to the person running over, ‘Seungyoun?’

“Hana? What are you doing here?” Seungyoun stands next to Chaewon, grabbing the canvas from her.

“She came to see the exhibit, right?” Chaewon gives you a cheeky smile and locks arms with you, pulling you through the doors of the exhibition room.

As soon as your enter, your mouth gapes open at all of the paintings fitted into the room. Your eyes light up at all the wonderful colors and unique art expressions.

Chaewon has a proud smile on her face and grabs the canvas from Seungyoun, “I’ll be right back.”

You slowly make your way to a particular painting. It was a watercolor painting of a bouquet of lilacs. You stare at the painting and a memory of your mother placing lilacs on your bed side table flashes through your mind.

Aren’t these great?

I guess.

This girl, you’re never going to see the brighter things in life if you choose to gray scale your vision.

I like them a lot. Thank you.

You close your eyes and almost hear your mom say your real name.

You turn your body away from Seungyoun when you feel a drop fall down your cheek, “Wow, these paintings are great.”

However, Seungyoun’s already seen the lone tear that escaped.

Cho Seungyoun was probably one of the very few characters with a more normal backstory. Wearing a heart on his sleeve, he is set to pursue his dream to become a music producer. However, he did not expect it when he slowly became interested in a small girl that was always carrying too much art supplies and that his music take form in the shape of his newly found interest, Kim Chaewon.

“Are you crying?” Just like the straight-forward character that he was, he does not miss a beat to ask you.

“I think its just the fresh paint fumes.” you quickly wipe the tear and sniffle.

“Right.”

“I have to go.” You give him a weak wave and start to leave.

“Hey! Come back again.” Chaewon says from across the room.

You look at Seungyoun, then at Chaewon and nod.

Everything was catching up with you at a fast pace. You wonder what happened to your old life. If this was your second chance, then does this mean you do not exist in your past life?

All the questions floating in your head frustrated you, but you kept calm. Other than completing your bucket list, was this going to last forever? You were in someone else’s life, living their reality.

Another part perplexed you. You knew the background stories of all, if not most, of all the people around you. Were they actually part of your reality?

Deep inside, you were just a weak and sick ridden person with little to no knowledge of life outside your hospital bedroom.

But, little did you know, the story that you once knew was slowly changing its course.

A month passes by as if nothing happened. You were still having trouble in your computer classes, while you were barely surviving general education classes. You got a part time job near your school at a cafe.

You also kept your distance from all the characters you knew about. Yohan was the hardest to keep away from because of his interest toward Kim Hana, but you successfully avoided him. It was the best for them to follow the path they were destined to follow.

Syntax error

You let out deep sigh and lightly slam your fingers on the keyboard. You see a shadow creeping up behind you and you jump in surprise.

Hangyul looked at the screen on your computer and scrolled through the code using the keyboard. “You forgot to define this. It won’t work if you randomly insert it with no formula or integer.”

Opposite of Cho Seungyoun, Lee Hangyul was a student of secrets. Not much was known other than the fact that he was adopted. He was just Cho Seungyoun’s best friend. The love triangle between Seungyoun, Chaewon, and Hangyul was an obvious endgame. If Kim Wooseok’s pain did not cause second male lead syndrome, Lee Hangyul’s did.

You watch him type something and successfully run the program. “Thanks.”

Hangyul takes the computer next to you and leans on the table of the computer, “Don’t take this to offense, but are you sick?”

Wary of his suspicion, you give him a confused expression, “What are you talking about?”

“That day of our midterm, I carried you to the health office.”

You point at him, “It was you?”

“After that happened, you changed.” Hangyul says quietly. “I was just gonna ignore it because we’re not close or anything.”

You wait for him to continue.

“But, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Hangyul pauses, “Because a situation changed.”

The Heartbreak Club Episode 7

“I don’t need this from you, Hana.” Wooseok got up from the chair.

“You like Kim Minju. I know you do.” Hana slowly makes her way closer to him. “I’m just saying we should work together.”

Wooseok scoffed, “You’re a real work of art, you know that?”

“What are you guys doing here?” Seungyoun’s raises his eyebrows.

“We’re on a date.” Hana states. She looks at the petite girl next to Seungyoun.

Chaewon slowly raises her hand, “Hey, I’m Chaewon.”

Seungyoun looks at Wooseok in confusion.

“Lets go, Hana.” Wooseok grabs Hana’s wrist and pulls her out of the exhibit room.

“Chaewon is one of Minju’s closest friends. It won’t be long until she tells her.” Hana tells Wooseok as he pulls her farther from the building.

Wooseok finally stops in his tracks, “So?”

“I’ve known Minju for years and she won’t stand anyone else getting attention other than her.”

Wooseok shakes his head, “That’s what you think.”

#x1 #x1 imagines #x1 scenarios #x1 fanfic

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