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onyourhyuck · 10 months

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The Tattoo Artist. | L.MK

— Prologue: “Since when did i get this tattoo?”

— Summary: Where one late night visit to your shop with a drunk man asking you to do his tattoo turns to an one night stand at your shop.

— Genre: Smut. Dom!mark. One night stand type of trope. Y/n!tattoo artist. Mark loves tattoos. Mention of alcohol use. Sex in a tattoo store. Mark hitting it from behind. Overstimulation. Unprotected sex. Squirting. Ass play. Mark really loves Y/n’s ass. lip ring MARK LEE. Plot twist at the end / Cliff Hanger.

— Notes:

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The night out was Mark’s typical routine. He leaves his apartment block and gets picked up by his two friends who accompany him to go out drinking and partying like every other night. Yuta and Johnny. These two boys are like glued on to Mark’s hips. However tonight it seems like they found themselves ladies and happen to be swooned.

Typical Yuta and Johnny, Mark thought.

They said it’s ‘boy’s night’ yet they always find themselves ladies to get distracted by and Mark was left either third wheeling or led to be alone drinking his single sorrows away.

Honestly Mark prefers it that way, being single. Less hassle to be dealing with relationships and the breakup that comes with it too. Mark can’t be dealing with a girl who complains about his lifestyle choices either. He’s too caught up in the present moment and he’s never thinking about the future. The man is doing what most men in their adulthood years do — drink, party, maybe get high or something along the way.

Then wake up the next day absolutely hungover to the point your memory couldn’t even remember what you ate yesterday. And then try to recount the times you drank last night because you’re grieving how bad the headache is. The cycle continues the following night on the same day. Your friends ask you to go out and Mark accepts because he cannot say no to free drinks.

It’s a struggle. It’s a blessing but a struggle. The idea feels good and then when the happy hours pass Mark feels completely utterly shit.

Mark tells himself ‘I quit drinking. It’s the last time I’m drinking this much’ and then? Contradicted his own statement. He gets drunk, drinks past the limits maybe even more than he drank last time.

Another thing Mark has a hard time saying no to?

Tattoos.

The one thing that Mark cannot say no to other than free alcohol would be tattoos. He already has four on his body and Mark finds them so fascinating. It’s like a way to express himself.

Guilty pleasure would be the best way to describe his relationship with the needing urging to cover all of his body in tattoos. However he knows he cannot do that. At least not unless he has the money to get every part of his body covered in ink.

The man dips the glass of cola and the whiskey he managed to mix together, and then Mark found himself watching his two friends flirt away and dance with the two ladies they found to be attracted to. He can’t believe he’s the one who got asked out by then and now he’s left alone to his own company. These two surely never understand what the bro code is. Mark found himself growing slightly eager so he spiced the drinks concentration up and decided to go for the heavier beverages now.

That night if you asked Mark how much he drank he couldn’t answer you clearly, because he drank a lot more. Mark managed to woo some people himself in the crowd whenever he dances and joins the huddle however the drunk he got the more indescribable feeling of the high notes Mark was feeling began to rub off on him. The man himself wasn’t anymore as sober as he wanted to be this night but, he was still able to walk a little and manage to speak.

You can say he build up the tolerance due to his alcoholic tendencies. Mark isn’t proud of it but he’s definitely grateful otherwise Mark would have passed out by now.

Passed out somewhere on the road, or maybe a bench at a park and slept there all through the night until the morning which is even scarier to Mark. Thankfully though he has a high tolerance and so his awareness was better than most.

The nightclub itself was getting too overwhelming for Mark and he managed to slip out and sent a text to Johnny and Yuta in their following group chat that he’s going to go home.

Or at least Mark said he was, that was until he got tired of waiting and then his eyes pitch on a white paper hung up on those wooden lamp street lights. The cab wasn’t going to get here anytime soon considering the night hours are always filled with other party wild animals that are booking them. Mark’s eyes were now glued tight on that paper with the large letters to him ‘Neo’s tattoo’s!’

He squints his eyes to get a better glance, the alcohol was really getting to his poor eye sight. He’s already half blind as a bat but with the alcohol doing it’s job, it’s safe to say Mark’s sight is equal to his own grandfather now.

But that paper got him intrigued and it spoke one word and one word only to convince Mark: He needs to get a new tattoo.

It might not be the time for that but who’s going to stop him? No one. Not even his friends could do that even if they were here in the moment with him Mark would not be able to budge away from his decision to change his mind. Mark was suddenly overlapping with curiosity and excitement, he wonders what tattoos do you make? And he wonders if your shop is nearby. When he looks back at that poster he checks the address and he realised the street; it’s in the same city he was in. Mark thought it’s destiny. What are the coincidences that the same shop he wants to find and get to is on the same area as the nightclub he was in right now?

Mark doesn’t believe in coincidences so that alone makes him a believer of fate, and fate alone. When the feet take steps forward now walking down the streets that are half empty filled with wind breeze and dusts of leaves panning over the roads, cars passing by especially taxis dropping off other people ready to go on the night out; it takes a long minute of Mark looking from each street to street determined in finding this tattoo shop.

It says the opening hours are until 3am. Mark has at least an hour to spare. He cannot be wasting any longer so Mark was quick on his feet running from direction to another space until,

The same building has appeared in front of him. The same exact place on the sheet of paper he found. Mark takes a quick glance from the paper to the real life building with the signs of neon green ‘NEO’S TATTOOS.’ And he found himself growing warm and excited. Mark drunk out of his mind now though and it seems like this made him even more delusional to think getting a tattoo whilst drunk was a brilliant idea.

“So this is the place?” Mark quips under the breath before reaching the palm on the doorknob opening the door. When entering a small ‘ring ring’ was heard by the bell clinking. It alerts a figure to walk in to greet him.

When the figure approached he looks slightly mesmerised by the young woman ahead of him. You look beautiful, which was a high compliment considering he doesn’t say it to anyone often.

Your eyebrows raise up at the man that looks like trouble and definitely smells like trouble; from one glance you can tell this man was absolutely steaming from head to toe, he was definitely drunk, it was very obvious in his eyes and how he lets them wander around your tattoo store. He saw the chairs, the tattoo sketches and designs hung up on the wall, as well as your equipment in the far back. It looks like you were about to close down but now that he’s arrived you look like you could use an extra customer for tonight. Because he’s not leaving until he gets a tattoo from you.

At this point it’s an addiction, a worse addiction than his love for alcohol. He’s obsessed with them.

You now spoke with a working smile. “What can i do for you? I was just about to close but i guess I can do a small tattoo if you’d want a quick one.” It could definitely help with the extra money so you’re thinking why not.

He comes forward as he sits down nodding. “Great, what do you usually draw? Can I see a sketch book if you have one?”

Your eyes turn to the back as you grab over a thick book full of your sketches and you hand it to him hoping he finds something he takes a liking to. You don’t have much time anyways so he’s going to have to be quick and snappy. Mark flips through pages checking the sketches meanwhile you’re here checking him out from head to toe, it’s not like you wanted to, but you can’t help but notice he has like four other tattoos already.

Mark wore a loose polo-sweatshirt over a white tee. The black hair loosely curled and messy it looks like the wind made it slightly more naturally lifted, it makes him look ten times more boyish in your opinion. The two ears were all pierced with earrings that dangle around it caught your eye the moment he stepped inside your store too, they shine and blind anyone that stares. Adding on the piercings he has, Mark happens to have a lip ring piercing on top of his lips. The right side was pierced and it made him even more attractive and unreal to you. What was happening to you? And who was this drunk guy wanting a tattoo from you?

It looks like he had quite a bit to drink too. It’s not a first time since you had a customer who came asking for a tattoo but it’s definitely a first time when that customer is drunk out of his brain.

But you can’t change that. You can’t even stop your customers if they want something because it’s up to them and their will alone.

Mark lifts his head up trailing as he was watching your sketch book with observant eyes, Mark has a sharp eye attention to detail and your work was truly remarkable. It captures certain emotions.

He looks at you now almost In admiration. “Your work is amazing. I must say I’m impressed with every one.” He then lifts the sketch book up and pints to the two wings that come along from two branch leaves. “But this one looks good. I want this one.” Mark said now as he treads his index finger on it pointing at the sketch picture.

Anyone could tell his words meant a lot to you because you gave him a humble smile but then you grab the sketch book looking at the tattoo. You wonder where he wants it tattooed now.

“Okay I can do this. Where do you want it tattooed?” Your question was heard when Mark laid down at the chair and gets himself comfortable while you grab your equipment. The ink pen was lifted and you push yourself on a red stool chair spinning yourself round to where Mark was laying on the salon chair.

He looks comfortable now on the salon chair and Mark looks over at you now that you got everything and your own tattoo table was prepared with the remaining ink and colours if he wanted any to the tattoo. It’s all up to him.

“I was thinking my neck?” Mark retorts back and you find yourself watching now the Adam’s apple and neck area of his. Your hands that are wearing gloves reach out to rub and feel it as you hum thinking.

You thought maybe it wasn’t a good idea but the tattoo would really compliment him if he had it there. You can’t help but think; Mark has a really good sense of position and where it can look the best. It’s something not many people who you tattooed for have. Mark has a strong sense of attention to detail you feel and you’re right.

“You have a keen eye. Okay I can do it but you’re going to have to be very still.” You warn now sternly and Mark can’t help but look away as you start to stick the sketch on his neck so you can copy the same picture on his skin with the following ink later on. The way you feel his neck tense up while you do this. It’s not even that you’re just too close up and Mark’s drunk mind was doing a lot more than just being patient to get the tattoo done.

Usually Mark was quiet. He doesn’t really speak or make any small conversations with other tattoo artists.

But he has the urge to start one now. Might be the alcohol making him want to speak or something. Or maybe he’s curious about you.

The store was rather quiet and because of the late hours it makes sense why it was so empty and isolated. It was just the two of you in a half dimly lit store with the tattoo artist so close to his neck sketching it with the running tattoo pen that’s now buzzing against his neck sending tiny electric vibrations through his body. It was a rather stingy pain but the pain was what made this all a running fun cycle for Mark, because it was something that he feels and Mark’s addicted to it.

In a way it was because of the process too. Mark just loves to see people be able to draw such a thing on human skin.

The quiet place grew even more dark but the dimly lit fairy lights made this store a little more appealing and refreshing. It felt like you’re so focused you couldn’t see Mark’s eyes on the side watching you. With the corner of his eye Mark saw your concentration mode on. The way your eyes were never blinking or batting an eye away. Your nose long and still, your eyebrows arched forward as you’re bend down over to the neck area tattooing with the ink gun sketching it out. It leaves you in your own thoughts and the man in front of you wonders what you’re thinking of? Silence is a fine tailor and it suits you perfectly because you’re a tailor threading every bit of ink on his beautiful soft neck.

It didn’t help because Mark wasn’t the only one that’s been stunned because he was checking you out. Not sure if it was because of how drunk he was but maybe also considering the closeness between you two.

His eyes were looking down at your cleavage. You wore this white tank top on which leaves certain parts of you exposed. And your beautiful hair tucked into a messy-ish bun. Your appearance was slightly rough but very artistic because you had tattoos yourself around your arm and fingers. They were small tattoos but Mark loved them on you.

He’s always loved tattoos on other people too. He wonders if there’s any meanings for you behind them?

“I notice you have tattoos, what’s the meaning behind them?” Mark now acquired to know because he wishes to get to know you some more and might as well right?

It’s just the two of you alone in your tattoo shop. And Mark was feeling like a chatter box. This might just be because he’s drunk or perhaps he’s curious about you and the silence was killing him.

Your eyebrows rose up as you heard the silence break between the two and you were not expecting him to go suddenly all asking questions on you. He looks like the silent type. Mark usually never really speaks during getting tattoos or anything like that but with you? Mark feels like he has to ask otherwise his curiosity will be killing him all night and he won’t be able to sleep afterwards.

You bring your face back up away from his neck. Your eyes meet his and you watch him waiting for your answer. Honestly you found your meaning to the tattoos not be as interesting to share so you always found it unnecessary to bring out their meaning. Afterall to you it’s just ink on your body and there wasn’t a whole deep thinking process behind it like Mark is thinking of.

In a way the meaning behind your tattoos it’s kinda silly.

“The one on my fingers is a tiny heart matching with my friend who has the other half of the heart.” When you reveal it Mark’s eyes light up. That was cute, you’re matching with a friend.

Mark found himself liking the idea honestly. He always wanted to match a tattoo with someone from his friends but no one wanted a tattoo and he’s the only guy who actually has a tattoos. Mark asked Yuta once but Yuta said he might do it. Though that’s been a year now and it looks like the idea left his friend’s mind.

Mark chuckles. “I’m jealous. I’ve always wanted to match tattoos with someone.” You smirk and raise an eyebrow. “How come you don’t match with anyone?”

Your eyes make eye contact as you ask. Mark trials softly in a slight sarcastic way. “Well I think it’s quite obvious but because none of my friends really like tattoos.”

‘Oh so he can be sarcastic too?’ You find his words to be amusing because they’re all out of a bantering gesture and so you don’t pay much mind to the words and just take it all in. You nod at him chuckling back now as your head leans forward to now tattoo the rest of it.

Your fingers brush along the tattoo bow and you feel like this was all coming along now definitely. The tattoo was done nearly but all you have to do is tidy the edges up and do more polishing, which won’t take a while. The tattoo is pretty simple and clean. And Mark looks amazing with it so far. Your eyes can’t help but shake the feeling that he gets more attractive.

Mark’s voice comes out now again, he asked another question. “So why did you become a tattoo artist?” And you suck in a little breath. He really likes to ask deep questions doesn’t he?

You completely dodge the question by countering it.

“Are you always this talkative with your other tattoo artists?” You point out as you’re trying to concentrate on finishing this up, you really don’t have much time until you gotta close down the shop and everything.

Mark was himself not knowing why he’s so talkative with you because usually he was the quiet type during the tattoo appointments and what not. In a way he doesn’t speak unless the other person was carrying the conversation.

Mark smirks a little. “Only with you actually.”

You scoff not believing that considering how many times he wants to speak to you. You finish the last moments of the tattoo and look back at the handsome man who sits up on the salon chair checking the mirror.

“You like it?” You ask when he’s watching the tattoo in the mirror as you’re trying to read his facial expression for a way to know if he likes the tattoo or if he doesn’t perhaps. You pray that he does because you cannot go back to fix it either.

Mark turns to you now as the mirror in his hand was dropping back down and the upside face he had on turns to a smile.

“Answer my question first and I’ll answer yours if i like it or not.” He now said and you find yourself becoming cornered.

Was he really that into the idea of getting to know you? Not as a tattoo artist only but as a person as well? You’re left here wondering why he’s so curious about you.

Mark’s eyes were deeply staring into you which never leave your face the moment he walked into the store anyways and he found himself completely mesmerised. You look boyish and rough out but he likes how it suits you and your alternative style almost.

He whispers in a taunting gaze on his face. “So what will it be darling?” Mark waits for your reply and you let out a little frown stepping forward closing your gap only a little. There was still a bit of space between the both of you from where he sat and where you stood in front of Mark.

“It’s fine you don’t have to tell me how you feel, i can just read your expression and know you like it very much. I don’t leave my customers unsatisfied anyways.” You now point out smartly but in a very arrogant speaking way and Mark smirks hearing your words. You never leave a customer unsatisfied?

“Well I’m a very unsatisfied customer right now.” He tells you with emphasis on the specific wordings now as he stares into your beautiful eyes.

Well he’s now going to push his luck with you that’s for sure. The flirty expression you’re giving him as him thinking you’re definitely now flirting and giving Mark an opening block to take.

“Oh? Why don’t you show me with what.” Your lips pucker into a little amused grin. “Perhaps I can help you out…”

And he did take the opportunity. He seized the opportunity when you said those words out of your loving mouth as his hands around your waist slither round like a fashionable belt.

Oh how good it felt to be pulled closer by the waist to the drunken stranger you just met and you’re now closing the space when you feel how hot his intoxicated breath feels on top of your nose and cheekbones. You find yourself imagining just how good it must be to kiss Mark and the boy read your mind because the next minute he leans down to capture a kiss together.

You found yourself groaning the minute he kissed you with his belting tongue.

The kiss was a mixture between two beverages; to Mark you’re like wine. You’re strong and you knew what you want from the get-go. And he’s like whiskey unpredictable and intense. Mark defeats your groans with his own as he kissed you with more tugging force than before as his palms on the sides of your face go reach to deepen the kiss making it much more steamy and aggressive.

Groans of your voice muffled as if they were buried by sand underneath it. Your lips gracefully touch between Mark’s sharp teeth grazing at the bottom lip he pulls on it which made you moan as your eyes squint forward.

Saliva connects the both of you which drove Mark over the edge and so did the boner between his pants very much so, he had that for over an hour with you. You’re just too attractive and the closeness earlier had him itching to get his hands on you.

Mark doesn’t usually sleep around with people but when he does it’s always a good time, it has to be someone he finds a connection with and you happen to be one of those very few people.

It wasn’t just because of your attractiveness but also because of how well your conversations bounce back. Mark knew you were a little stubborn because when he lifts you up to switch the position between you both your voice comes out as a groan and it seems like you were playing hard to get knowing your hands were teasing the hem of his boxers under the lower clothing.

“Take them off, darling.” Mark said demanding to you smirking as he feels your fingers play between the boxers now. You look up sheepishly.

You’re enjoying how needy this drunk man was, you can’t even remember if he said his name to you but you enjoy seeing his reactions to your difficult self and your teasing tactics. “What if i refuse?”

You saw how his expression falters into a scared one when you said that you’ll refuse to take off his clothing and he leans closer to kiss your neck, practically whining now.

“Please… Y/n… be good to me.”

‘Oh god he’s whining… that’s hot.’ You can’t help but fall for the idea even more, maybe it doesn’t hurt to continue a little bit more. You tell yourself this but you knew it’s risky. But you’re so tempted to take that risk and continue this. Even if you’re the sober one you’re so swayed by this man in front of you.

The moment you heard his pleading words, only directed to you, it makes your body act on its own and so your lips reconnect with Mark’s and your hands find themselves slipping off his shirt and then the oversized black cargos he wore. The boxers playfully rubbed by your fingertips around made Mark so peevish because you heard the querulous words that are nothing but needy whines to your ears telling you to take them off. Your eyes met his words coming out his mouth as you let your mouths connect into another hungry kiss while slipping your hand into his boxers to feel how harden his wood was and you’re left gasping when Mark grabs your hips and starts to work his way around your own clothing now. You feel your cheeks expand as the kiss goes on and on. Mark was an amazing kisser, you have to admit. He knows exactly how to get you going.

At once your nudity became a blessing to Mark as he feels himself growing even more greedy. Having you look so good and untouched by him was temptation in disguise. You feel your breasts fondled with roughly by a tight and firm squeeze from his hands. The lips around your neck marvel at your glowing skin. The simply stunning eyes of yours close and open at each pleasuring angle when he kissed you even lower than before.

“Please don’t keep me waiting.” You sigh into the air as your head flung back. You don’t want to wait as much as you wanted to anymore.

Your body was just growing to want him.

Mark stood with his furtive body when you said this and the playful eyebrows raise up at you enjoying how vocal you’re becoming. Now look where the table’s turned? You’re the one begging him now. He enjoys it much more than he thought he would so he runs along his hand by your silhouette until they met your hips and he slowly moves them around.

Twisting you around he saw you gandering your face in the behind direction where he stood now towering you leaving no space and your ass rubbing on his erected boner. Mark rubs them between your ass cheeks as his wispy groan reaches your ears. You bite your bottom lip. “Shit… please fuck me already.”

You’re lacking the patience. This man needs to be inside you or else you’re going to have a breakdown.

Mark smirks leaning closer with his nipping voice that cuts you open like scissors across light paper. “I think we should introduce ourselves before you say that don’t you think?”

He was right but now picking a time to introduce yourselves? He knew what he was doing he’s just making you wait a little longer.

Your face diminished and broke down in to a hefty storm. Mark purposely rubs his cock’s tip between your entrance to tease you while waiting for you to start. “Fine…My name is Y/n… what’s yours?” Your voice came off much short because he made your own sound of your voice to differ when the tip rubs the top of your ass.

“Mark… Mark Lee.” He whispers now and he’s satisfied. He gotta know who he is going to fuck after all and he wants you to know what name you’re going to scream all night.

Your leering eyes went down when a prod between your walls now sips on a long thick shaft deeply inside you. Your voice cuts off by a palm on top of your mouth and you’re muffling your sudden jolting voice because of how intensely he has you stretching. You’ve never been this surprised by how thick he was. Mark was making you wistfully begging to have more.

“Oh fuck… please Mark… just fuck my brains out.” You’re not able to calm the storm before anything else you’re just begging the guy you met in your tattoo storm a hour ago to fuck the shit out of you.

It’s so unlike your character, but Mark had you twisted.

He paced forward rutting the hips against your round beautifully shaped ass he couldn’t get enough of, heck, he was so obsessed with it especially when you’re forced into a behind position over the salon chair to get your back blown out by him. It was a sight that made his night more memorable even if he was slightly intoxicated he found himself becoming drunk off you now.

And the paces was so eager and quick your insides feel like you’re being roughly pushed through a moving platform in and out. It feels so good when his length kisses each of your sweet sensitive spots inside and then finds places you never knew someone could reach so deep inside you. It made you even closer because Mark had a hand under your stomach area holding you even closer than before, it’s like this man wants you to be a part of him at this point. He’s a wild animal, and he’s definitely treating you like one because he’s doing exactly as you told him to do: to fuck your brains out.

Colliding with the movements between your two asscheeks Mark follows his eyes down and slams his hands on your beautiful skin giving you spanks with each incoming shift his thrusts make. You feel yourself seeping out your moans and the tattoo store was echoing all your body parts slapping together. You feel him being so deeply inside you that your lower stomach with his hand on felt the imprinting cock in your guts and that your arms were folded forward in a weak lowering form over the salon chair. He keeps fucking you so hard you’re struggling to stand still. He made your legs so weak you found yourself only moaning out to the top of your lungs and Mark had you exactly how he wanted, a mess.

His eyes burned with lust watching over your expression seeing how your eyebrows were fluttering and your eyes were watering with how good and intense he was fucking you from behind, you’re bend over for a customer you just met for the first time and you feel so sheepishly embarrassed but at the same time; why was it such a turn on?

“Is this what you wanted on a Friday night?” Mark whispers dangerously on top of your earlobe as you find a shudder across your spine, Mark’s hands brush alongside your silhouette arching for him, bending for him and only him.

You feel your lips pucker out and the condescending tone Mark spoke with to you makes your stomach flutter. “You’re such a whore Y/n… I bet you’d fuck any of your customers if they got their hands on you.” He threads like a champ he was, because he had you wrapped around his finger.

“N-no… that’s not true.” You said embarrassed because it was definitely easy to tease you in this position and situation.

Mark laughs a little darkly behind and you feel the thrusts increase even more, he was literally ramming inside you and your voice cuts off with a jolting sound. Your body pressed so deeply on the salon chair you feel the metallic parts of the arms stand coldly pressing against your body full of heat.

“I don’t believe that.” He croaks out leaning down to press a kiss against your spine while the lower body of his was jabbing the pleasuring thrusts and the hand down at your stomach holding you moves even lower to touch on your clit.

The nub down below becomes easily swollen with how his fast two middle fingers press and flick it as he’s thrusting you. Your voice became even more loud now because the overstimulated hand on your clit was pleasuring you there but so was his hard cock deeply buried to kiss the top of your womb.

“Pretty whores listen to me, will you be good and do the same?” He now asked you while his hands was abusing your down regional and you grab the salon chair feeling so weak to the pleasure your mind went poof and became blank.

Your hips stutter and so did your legs that resemble jello and it makes Mark smirk. The sight of you pressed in her own store while getting her back blown out by a customer she met, it definitely was something he’s never going to let go off.

“Y-yeah… hhgh I can’t last like this Mark…” You nod your head frantically but the way you’re literally holding on to your last strand because the orgasm was reaching you so quickly.

You’re not going to last much, Mark knows it.

The hand speeds up the movements however, he wants you to finish and see you come undone to the too overlapping pleasures between your hole and your clit getting abused out by him. You firmly shut your eyes.

“Cum darling, you’ve been good so far.” Mark sternly said while he awaits you to reach your end. The world stops for you in that moment.

When he gave you the permission to come undone on his hand and cock at the same time, you found yourself ascending and your head hung low as your body pushed out your liquid down on the ground dripping. You’re soaking if anything. Mark had a proud wide grin on his face now and goes behind to kiss your droopy mouth panting. The lip ring touched your mouth as the kiss was sloppy from behind.

You moan when Mark pulls away from the kiss and his hand leaves your clit alone. Your own orgasm pushed him very close to his own high. He just needs to have a few more thrusts and Mark feels himself becoming done too.

It’s the way your body was making him feel so good too. It’s no doubt your bodies are compatible.

“Hmm… you’re a squirter? That’s so hot.” He jeers at you with both devastated degradation and flirtation behind that tone.

You roll your eyes back in the aftermath of the pleasure. This was probably your first time ever having this much of an orgasm. You don’t remember ever squirting before.

“Fuck…” You whisper under your breath when Mark pulls your hips forward and makes your body stand up straight again because you’re now becoming too weak to even make yourself stand up in this behind position, your orgasm had your legs turning into weak muscles.

Mark whispers now warningly. “Now let me cum yeah? Be good and let me pump you up full of my load.”

You feel your eyes igniting like big red flames at the idea. When Mark starts to thrust again your body starts to break down even more down to the pleasure.

It was all too much but you can tell from how deep he’s reaching you this man won’t be able to last very long. Your walls squeezing him around the shape we’re making it so hard.

Mark was pumping himself until he can feel his cock literally tremble to continue anymore. And you feel the salon chair shake with each rough patching movement against your body rocking it forwards.

The store lets the body slapping between your sweating bodies to continue as you’re in your own world together. Mark had you pulling up against him as he lets your breasts flow with the rough movements of rocking you forward until he has his own orgasm itching at the door.

You feel your heart pace up when you heard Mark groan softly against your back. “Fuck fuck fuck…” and you just knew he was so close now, because his voice felt like a mixture of a whine and a groan.

The silky velvet walls of yours had him begging to pump you full of his cum and have you dripping out only of him. To have you ooze only him out and that’s exactly what he wants.

He wants you full and stuffed of him.

“So… so close, Y/n… fuck…” Mark’s whiny whispers were caught off at the end a little as he takes a deep breath in and within the same moment he kept up the thrusts.

Even if it was so difficult to continue to stimulate himself until he’s reaching his end, Mark finds himself addicted to the way your womb welcomes him. It feels so good, so much he couldn’t shake the feeling of it away.

Mark jerks forward and then suddenly a cry out was heard with Mark burying his head between your nape and shoulder area, he squeezed himself around your walls so deep you feel the load practically injected inside you. You let out a soft groan at the feeling that you’re being held so tight as Mark slips himself inside you even more to fuck a little bit of his own cum in you to ensure it won’t all fall out.

You feel like your body was melting when Mark huffs out a few burning words from his lips. You find yourself stuck with this man all night…

You wonder if he’s going to remember anything in the morning. Or if he won’t?

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The next morning Mark woke up in his bed completely wrecked and exhausted. Unaware of what’s happened last night it’s like deja vu to him.

Whenever he drinks alcohol he cannot remember a single freaking thing and Mark was in the cycle where he’s telling himself off for drinking way too much.

“I should really stop with the alcohol…” Mark equips with disappointment in his voice, he really should stop.

Walking across the room he was shirtless wearing only grey sweatpants and he slowly moves out of his room to see his roommate Donghyuck already up in the kitchen.

They lived together for nearly a year now. Donghyuck was a year younger than Mark but they’re pretty close now.

Although sometimes they fight, they both really feel like they’re close like brothers. Mark with his tired expression and groggy eyes opens the fridge and yawns into his hand.

“You’re up?” Donghyuck smirks as he saw how hungover his friend was, god he always looks like a mess when he goes out with Johnny and Yuta.

Mark hums grabbing the bottle of milk and pours himself a glass. “God you look like shit.” Donghyuck said now with a little laugh.

The boy wanted to roll his eyes and say how nice of you but instead Mark just drank the glass of milk to neutralise hopefully his stomach otherwise he will be having a hard day ahead.

Hungovers are so bad. He just wished he didn’t drink so much last night but he’s always like this. Mark has no self control at all.

What’s worse?

Mark can’t even remember what happened at all last night. He’s just a blank canvas now. Everytime he drinks Mark couldn’t remember anything even if he tried to remember and make himself forced to see what happened last night he just can’t.

So not only was he left feeling utterly crap. Mark was also having a hard time what happened.

“I’m never drinking again.” Mark said with a sigh out once he finally finished drinking the glass of milk. He puts it down in the sink and Donghyuck knows Mark won’t keep to those words.

He wants to tell Mark he needs to stop lying to himself but he doesn’t say anything because his eyes caught on Mark’s neck something.

Donghyuck comes a closer to Mark now with squinting eyes. He recognised something different about him. “Hey Mark did you get a new tattoo last night?”

“What? No…” Mark said with a soft rejection because he certainly doesn’t remember getting one. He slowly moves to his room opening the closet to look in a mirror and when he saw that Donghyuck was actually right…

His eyes widen and he runs his hands over the tattoo that stings a little at the same time, he wonders when did he get this tattoo?

The tattoo was beautiful and it was delicately done. It was two wings crossing together and Mark wonders if he got this done when he was absolutely hammered because if that’s the case, Mark feels so dumb. He can’t even remember the night or anything like that.

Mark whispers in disbelief. “Since when did i get this tattoo?”

He’s a little determined to know who did this work, but he cannot remember anything, the next thing he knew he saw his phone buzz open with messages from late night.

One that came from the contact name: The Tattoo Artist.

The Tattoo Artist: Hey Mark had fun last night. I hope you like your tattoo and you can come by round the shop sometime! :) -Y/n

One thing he knows for sure, he had your number and he now knows your name which rings a bell to him. It’s like his body remembers you but his brain cannot. It’s like he knows you guys did something more than just a tattoo because the text messages says it all.

Mark is definitely meeting you again, to get a new tattoo, or to end up drunk at your store again.

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@onyourhyuck please refer from translating copyrighting and plagiarising my work thank youu! Reblog this fic and follow me for more updates it helps a girl out. <3

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idlerin · 1 year

Text

nonsense — 25. wish you were sober

“fuck you,” you shout into the phone, arm stretched out to display your middle finger to the air. you stumbled your way to the bathroom to puke your guts out and ended up slumped on the floor, breathing heavily out of exhaustion.

“hello to you too,” oikawa’s voice was husky, you’ve woken him up from much needed sleep.

“i hate you so much,” you clench your phone, it was an automatic response whenever you were around him, it was usually contained in your head, but your mouth was looser now than ever.

“i’m guessing you’re drunk,” oikawa mumbles, rising groggily from his bed. he situates into trying to find his slippers.

“fuck off,” you didn’t even know what you were saying anymore. you were too disoriented to be reasoned with.

“you’re the one who called me,” oikawa defends himself without much bite. he knew some of the crew were going out tonight since his makeup artist was telling him about it earlier, even tried inviting him, but he knew it wasn’t his place to go, he would only make things awkward for everyone, and he wouldn’t want to see himself in the headlines the next morning, “hm, where are the people you came with?”

“uhm…” you genuinely start thinking about it, the last you saw of them, akane was talking amongst herself in a corner and riseki was trying to make sure the other people you knew were still standing, but that was thirty minutes ago, “i dunno.”

“…” oikawa rubbed the sleepiness away from his eyes, it was time to focus, “okay… where are you?”

“in the bathroom,” you say in a ‘duh’ tone, although he couldn’t possibly know that.

“make it less specific, darling,” he urges, standing up and walking out of his room to make his way towards his kitchen, he needs a glass of water.

“uhmmmm a club,” you bob your head to the side, one of your hands fiddling with the shirt you were wearing because you were bored.

“which club specifically?” oikawa asks again, it ticks you off.

“you want it specific then you don’t want it specific! ugh! make up your mind!” you get angry, flinging your hands all over the place, just then a random person walks in, looks at you, then warily goes to a stall while you glare at them.

“shh, [name],” oikawa says your name in a gentle tone only he could muster up, “calm down, i’m sorry, can you please answer my question? which club are you in?”

“[club name],” you grumble, he was asking so nicely, it was horrible, so you had no choice but to answer, truly.

“you need to get home, have you contacted your friends?” oikawa runs a hand through his hair.

“no… and the dorms are closed now,” you murmur, nodding off a little, you think that you should get up, it was kind of cold in here, but you were too tired to get up.

“can you go ahead and call your friends?”

“no,” you refuse.

“why not?”

“because you’re ordering me around!” you shout in anger through the phone once again.

“i’m not, darling, it’s for your sake, please go ahead and call your friends,” oikawa tries to reason, but again, you were too past the point of reasoning.

“i don’t want to listen to you!” tears were starting to develop, and oikawa noticed it with the way your voice strained.

“okay…alright, i’m on my way, don’t hang up,” he goes ahead and puts on a hoodie and a cap, grabbing his keys and leaving his penthouse.

“what?” his words finally registered after a few minutes.

“darling, you’re so drunk you’re calling me again, you need to be around someone sober,” oikawa says as he’s walking through the parking lot.

“i’m not drunk!” you were defensive.

“mhm,” oikawa gets in the driver’s seat of his car.

“you don’t believe me! i’m not! i’m not drunk!” you stand up out of exasperation, still on the brink of tears.

“i believe you, darling,” oikawa places his phone on his phone holder and puts you on speaker.

“you told me i needed someone sober! i am sober!” you argue, a tear finally falling down as you sniffle.

“yes, yes, you’re very sober darling. i’m sorry, don’t cry, please, and don’t go anywhere, wait for me there okay?” oikawa starts the engine.

“don’t tell me what. to. do!” you whine.

oikawa really really hopes you’re going to listen to him and won’t be wandering around in the next… 30 minutes, the time displayed on maps from his apartment to your location.

“i want to go home,” you, the drunkard, whined. oikawa managed to sneak himself inside without anyone recognizing him. luckily, you did stay in the bathroom, but once he found you, you defensively shouted, ‘i only stayed because i’m too tired to get up!’

that was good enough for him.

oikawa took it upon himself to lift you off the ground despite your protests and led you outside and onto a corner where the two of you could be alone despite the loud music in the background. a corner where you also end up slumped on.

“drink this first,” he crouches and hands you a bottle of water he bought.

“what’s that? tequila?” your eyes narrow.

oikawa laughs, “it’s water, silly.”

“i’m not silly!” you point at him angrily. oikawa just smiles, holding in more laughter as he opens the bottle and assists you in drinking it. holding your chin up with his finger so you could swallow it down properly without it spilling everywhere, all the while you glare at him.

“i’ll try to call akaashi-san,” oikawa said once he was done.

“how do you know him?” your glare didn’t rest.

“because you kept calling me whenever you’re super wasted, darling,” oikawa had the nerve to wink while closing the bottle. he sets it aside as he stands up and opens up his phone.

“i don’t do that!” your forehead knots.

oikawa ignores you as he brings his phone to his ear, but he was left with a, “heya heya hey! you’re calling kaashi’s phone but this is his boyfriend speaking! keiji can’t answer his phone right now, sorry, try again later, for now why don’t you leave a message after the beep. beep.”

oikawa silently cursed, it was 3 in the morning.

“what are we going to do now?” oikawa looks down at the inebriated you and thinks he’s going to have a headache, he can only act casual with you right now because you weren’t your usual self, and he’s warily looking to the sides if someone were to approach.

“can’t i just go home with you?” you groan out, wanting to be on a bed right at this second. you really didn’t quite care whose bed it is right now. you were lucky it was oikawa in this situation with you right now or else you’d really have been possibly found dead in a ditch somewhere in the morning.

oikawa gets all flustered and red at your drunk comment, something you definitely wouldn’t have said if you were 10 something shots less of alcohol.

“that can’t happen, darling,” he replies while pulling you up on your feet, you were still weak in the knees so he had to place your arms on his shoulders and his on your waist so you wouldn’t go straight tumbling down.

“why not?” you say it so innocently and with a slight pout, the only thing oikawa could think was that your actions would horrify you if you were sober. perhaps it would make you hate him even more.

“because you hate me,” he mumbles, it was barely spoken but since you were in this situation you can definitely still hear.

“i don’t hate you,” you fiddle with the fabric of oikawa’s shirt on his shoulder, face flushed with drunkenness and words full of honesty. the truth you wouldn’t even admit to yourself.

oikawa felt as if you took his breath away, “you really need to stop calling me when you’re drunk.”

that ruins the moment, because you become angry again, “i told you i don’t do that!”

oikawa grins, one hand leaving your waist to put it on your forehead and erase the signs of your irritation, “and stop forgetting about doing it after.”

it works, somehow, and you’ve calmed down. you were staring at the ground, distracted. oikawa was still thinking of what to do when you spoke up again, “you were really great today.”

“hm?” you caught his attention once more.

“earlier, at the shoot, you were great,” your head stayed down and you were leaning on his chest.

oikawa’s heart beat faster, maybe you’re hearing it too, “you saying that means a lot to me,” he says.

“i kind of…” you pause, “i miss you,” you say in one breath.

the moment was heartwarming, sentimental. something that never would have happened under normal circumstances. something you refuse to ever say out loud. something that would have stayed in the back of your mind, the only escape being when you’re alone and thinking and your mind wanders off to him again.

and then you passed out.

“i miss you too, [name]. [name]?” oikawa was flabbergasted when you became limp in his arms.

masterlist — previous | next

✦ fun facts !

bokuto changes akaashi’s voicemail every few months (when he remembers) a tiny new variation every time. last time it was “hello this is akaashi’s phone and this is bokuto speaking, my keiji can’t come to the phone right now! why? cause he’s busy! why don’t you leave a message after the beep. beep!”

you calling oikawa whenever you were super intoxicated happened very rarely, around 5 times throughout the years and none of your friends knew.

akaashi only knew about you calling oikawa whenever you were super wasted after like, the second time it happened, on the fourth time oikawa finally got his contacts.

you never look at your call history.

nonsense ! an oikawa tooru social media au

synopsis. you were oikawa tooru’s #1 fan, until you became his #1 hater. you hated him so much you went viral on twitter (accidentally) and literally became known as “the oikawa tooru hater”, doesn’t help that he keeps fueling the fire by subtweeting you. everyone is all in for this new drama. what isn’t known to the public, is that this particular drama’s been on hold for three years (him being your ex and all).

a/n — akaashi as ur voice of reason fr fr also this encounter makes sm sense when u look at the playlist bc i spoil stuff in the songs i put there but not every song means smth so ur left guessing lmao idk if its just me who never looks at their call history but its fine reader does it too (i think this makes me sound insane)

taglist is open ! + (1/2) @kawaii-angelanne @ceneridiankaa @kittycasie @rukia-uchiha-98 @polish-cereal @kellesvt @rockleeisbaeeee @kashxyou @imsoluvly @jjulliette @tooruchiiscribs @littlefreakjulia @gomjohs @qualitygiantshoepsychic @mellowknightcolorfarm @konzumeken @migosple @kuroogguk @sangwooooo @katsu-shi @wolffmaiden @rijhi @2baddies-1porsche @yeehawcity @aishkaaa @crueldinasty @renardiererin @yyuiz @epeec28 @llamakenma @penguinlovestowrite @princelingperfect @hearts4faey @yoonabeo @pantherhappy @julia-1901 @godsbiggestmenace @angel-luv-04 @noideawhothatis @bethbat @natsvmie @luna-mothii @lylovw @apinu @leave-rae-alone @kamikokii @bananasquash @eitaababe @minimari415 @hanabihwa

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photoboothphotos · 2 years

Text

Honest Character

Jake Peralta x Reader - Dating the Captain's daughter [1.2K Words]

The Brooklyn summer heat had taken a toll on the city. Everyone at the office was dripping through their shirts this morning due to the absence of air conditioning, courtesy of a broken fuse that impacted all of New York City. The entire squad was forced to dress summer casual, looking like a bunch of vacationers that had washed up into the precinct, with only Capitan Holt abiding to the work-place dress code.

So, when you walked into the police station with your yellow sundress swaying up your thighs, Jake Peralta had no choice but to look you up and down like a tall glass of water. With sunglasses adorning your head like a crown, you walked straight into the Captain’s office without saying a single word. The Captain had shut his office door behind you, forbidding any eavesdropping of the conversation.

“Jake, stop staring down the new sketch artist,” Terry commanded from his desk, “You’re going to scare her away before she even starts.”

The detective turned towards Terry, confusion running through his brows, “We hired a new sketch artist? How come I was never told this?”

“Because you always hit on the new hires,” Rosa chimed in dropping off a shared file onto Jakes desk, “Holt asked us all to keep her transfer a secret until she got here.”

With genuine hurt, Jake shot his friends an accusing look, “That’s crazy. I am a delight to meet, I can keep this profresh. It’s all of you making this unprofresh.” He huffed with frustration earning sympathetic gazes from the rest of the squad. Before anyone had the chance to add to the conversation, the room went quiet with Holt calling Jake towards his office before closing the door once more. Standing up, Peralta turned to the sargent with a smirk, “See! I am a delight.” With determination he marched to the Captain’s office, smoothing out his short-sleeved flannel.

“Jake, I’d like to meet (Y/N) H.C.” The Captain introduced the two of you with a gesturing hand.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Jake Peralta. You must be the new sketch artist,” Jake stated proudly reaching for your hand and giving Holt a smug look, “What does the H.C. stand for, Honest Character? We sure need more of that around here.” The detective gave his superior another annoyed look, still frustrated from being kept out of the loop.

You looked between the officers, clearly you had stepped into a separate argument. Deciding to ignore the unknown elephant in the room you took Jake’s hand, giving him a shake. “No, it’s short for Holt-Cozner. I’m from the Seven-Three’s forensics division, my dad said you needed some help with the Davidson murder.” You clarified, with question taking over your voice. The silence ran thick throughout the office, both Holt and yourself confused beyond belief. You slowly retrieved your hand away from Jake’s when it was evident that he’d been shocked frozen.

“Your dad?” Jake quipped, bewildered by the fact.

“Yes,” Holt confirmed hesitantly, unsure of what had taken over his subordinate. “I had Santiago inform the team that my daughter would be visiting and helping you with the case.”

With twisted lips Jake shot a look at his desk, now crowded with snickering friends and an apologetic looking Boyle. Peralta knew this was payback for when he embarrassed his co-worker during last week’s briefing. In an awkward haste, Jake led you a spare room leaving you with no choice but to mumble a quiet “I’ll see you at dinner” to Holt before exiting.

You reviewed the photos and DNA evidence quietly, unsure of what was going through the detective’s mind. With a slight cough you cleared your throat before speaking, “It’s odd that there aren’t any fingerprints around the apartment that match the ones on the weapon,” you started “How did they enter the apartment in the first place? And even then, why not take the same precautions with handling the weapon. It’s like they’re a ghost and only moralized to kill the victim.”

Jake looked at you excitedly, a lightbulb illuminating in his head. “Because they were framed!” He yelled excitedly shuffling through the files bringing your attention to a picture of the apartment owner, “We dismissed this guy’s prints because it’s his apartment, but he must’ve blackmailed our suspect into putting his prints on the weapon – the suspect kept on saying he was there returning a favor, and that’s it.” The detective shook his head in disbelief, already over the embarrassing moment from earlier, “You’re a genius.”

“It was your solve detective, I’m just happy to help.” You smiled, getting ready to show yourself out.

“Wait, don’t you want to stay for the interrogation?” Jake asked, hoping he would have the opportunity to make up for his horrible first impression, “Or at least long enough for me to take you out for lunch?” He could tell that the latter offer took you by surprise. So, he offered you a welcoming arm, inviting you to link with it, “Do you like Pizza?”

The awkwardness from earlier had washed away as the two of you shared a laugh over two slices of New York’s finest pizza and ice-cold orange sodas. Jake had explained the entire situation from this morning and in return you had described to him your life with your dads: Raymond Holt and Kevin Cozner.

“You have the coolest dads ever,” Jake exclaimed taking another slice of pepperoni pizza. The cheese stretched as he placed the slice back down, “I can’t believe that this is the first time I’ve heard of you.”

You shook your head, laughing at the hanging cheese string dangling from Jake’s lips. You were thankful for the bright sun leaving a pink tint on your skin, effectively hiding your growing blush. Your dad had told you many stories about the detective. Nights of going on and on about his awful handwriting, his silliness during Halloween, and how he had set every precinct record since Holt had taken command. You had been curious about Peralta, but you would have never thought he’d be this charming. Maybe it was the romantic pop song playing on the radio, or the heat coming from the kitchen, but desire had bubbled in your heart, and you were itching for more time with him.

With his permission, you wiped off the extra sauce and cheese off the corner of Jake’s mouth, making you suddenly shy. “Yeah, and yet I’ve already learnt so much about you.”

Jake’s smile grew bigger, happy that he’d manage to turn the situation around. The way your sundress hiked up your legs had not left his mind since this morning. Though he felt himself enchanted to meet you, he knew with certainty that he wanted to go about this spontaneous date correctly – with you being the Captain’s daughter and all. He felt it in his gut that you were going to be a forever thing, and his gut feelings were always right. “To even it out, maybe I can learn more about you over drinks tomorrow at the bar?”

You leaned in gifting the detective a light kiss on his cheek, unable to resist those dimples for any longer than you already have, “It’s a date.”

And it was one of the best dates both of you had been on. From that day forward, Jake no longer wanted or needed to hit on other new hires, not with you and your sundresses frequenting the precinct. The squad had grown fond of your budding relationship, with even the Captain showing signs of enthusiasm. As Jake meet you downstairs for another summer night of exploring the city, he thought to himself about how lucky he was to have been pranked by his friends that morning.

#jake peralta blurb #jake peralta imagine #jake peralta x reader #jake peralta x y/n #jake peralta #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn nine nine imagine #brooklyn 99 #jake peralta fanfic #jake peralta oneshot #jake peralta drabble #jake peralta fiction #jake peralta fluff

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prismatic-bell · 1 year

Text

Anti-Racism in Glass Onion: It's A Whole Thing, Part Two

Picking up from here.

We’ll pick up this part with, finally: Helen herself. The heroine of the piece. When we first meet her she has natural hair, a sort of Southern/AAVE-mix accent, and she. Is. PISSED. I think this is the most important part, frankly--the heart of the glass onion of racism deconstruction in this movie, to just pile more burden on this poor overworked metaphor (it deserves a raise, frankly). I'm 34 years old and trying to remember a single other movie I've seen in my entire life where a Black woman is not just angry but enraged, furious, livid, seething, and isn't An Angry Black Woman. Helen is raging--and so are we. Helen is fuming--and so is Blanc. Helen is as angry as it's possible for one person to be--and the narrative says she should be, that we should be, that her anger is normal and natural and any person put in her situation would feel this way. Helen is destructive—and we relish and celebrate her acts of destruction. Black anger in movies usually comes in two forms: either it's carefully modulated so a white audience can take it seriously, or it's over the top and you're meant to either laugh at it or feel threatened by it. Helen is damned near homicidal--and the narrative is firmly in her corner. Helen is a Black woman and she is angry. She is not An Angry Black Woman. And that anger is shown through multiple lenses! We see her pour out her heart to Benoit, who she (correctly) trusts not to judge her; we see it cold, calculated, carefully modulated so as to not look like An Angry Black Woman to "the disrupters;" and we finally see it completely unleashed in a literal glass-smashing fire-setting explosive rage--that ends in her destroying an icon of Western white beauty standards. That picture didn't have to be the Mona Lisa. If the point was "Klear destroyed an extremely famous painting," it could as easily have been Starry Night. Or a Picasso. The choice of Mona Lisa was deliberate--not just the most famous painting of all time, but the most famous white woman. Also worth noting here is that there’s a theory that actually isn’t entirely crackpot (unlikely but possible, in other words) that the Mona Lisa is actually a self-portrait of da Vinci. (This theory posits that he painted himself as a woman as a way to express his sexual orientation, based upon the not-100%-but-pretty-solid theory that he was gay.) Add that in, and you’ve got Helen destroying the-man-Miles-wants-to-believe-he-is (artist, inventor, philosopher, legend). It’s white hegemony all the way down.

Now that we've looked at how Miles uses Black imagery, how the Black characters use Black imagery, and at Helen (who we'll come back to), I want to go back to "the disrupters" and not just who they are, but what they did to Andi.

Duke speaks for himself. He's racist, sexist, chauvinist, repeatedly attempts blackmail, and carries a gun like he thinks it's a way to advertise his dick size. We all know who Duke is. We've seen people just like him all over YouTube. We also see him get in "Andi's" face, basically telling her she's worthless--openly stating what I said above about the mammy, that she was worth something until she wouldn't feed them their pap anymore and then she was scum. He has no problem supporting the narrative that Andi was an ignorant hanger-on and (white, male) Miles the true genius.

Whiskey says she's on Andi's side, but we quickly see her fall into stereotype--she tells "Andi" she's going to leave Duke, she says "I just left him" while crying, "Andi" says "Duke got what he deserved!" (meaning: he deserved to get dumped), and Whiskey immediately goes full-blown "holy shit homicidal crazy Black lady, she's violent she's psycho she's dangerous." Yes, I realize Whiskey is deeply emotional at the moment and thinking more about what’s just happened than a conversation she had a few hours previously, but she instantly assumes "Andi" murdered Duke and is going to kill her. She's an ally until she's not, and it doesn't take long to scratch the surface.

And then we get to Claire. She casts herself as a progressive politician in the Independent party, but we see her first perjure herself on the stand against Andi, and then do it again after Miles burns the napkin (albeit not under oath at the time). She will not actually stand up to protect the name, life, livelihood of not just one but two Black women. Oh, sure, she looks ashamed. But what good is silent guilt to Andi’s work, Andi’s legacy, Andi’s life, Andi’s justice? No good. No fucking good at all. If she’d spoken truth to power, Andi might still be alive. If she’d done the job she swore an oath to do in upholding the law of the United States, Andi might still be alive. Her silence didn’t just let Miles get away with grand larceny and character assassination; her silence killed.

Aaaand Birdie. Birdie is white-weaponized-womanhood writ large. Birdie is the victim because her phone was taken after she said something godawful. Birdie is the victim because people don't understand her blackface was a tribute. Birdie is the victim because she compared herself to Harriet Tubman and nobody understood she meant "in spirit" (or, frankly, probably what the hell she meant by "in spirit," because I see about as much similarity between Birdie and Harriet Tubman as I do between an apple and a seahorse). Birdie is the victim because nobody explained to a grownass woman that "sweatshop" means "factory built out of spit and human rights violations" instead of "place you make sweatpants." Never attribute to malice what can be adequately explained by stupidity, but to an extent there absolutely is malice in Birdie's actions. She never bothers to stop and ask why people are so damned mad at her, or why her career has taken two separate nosedives over antiblack statements. She never bothers to learn what "antiblack" means. And when confronted with the evidence Miles murdered Andi, she quickly pretends she didn't see it.

Finally, for living members, we’ve got Lionel. And he’s interesting because we see so little of him, but what we do see is Miles threatening him. Almost every time he’s got a speaking line, he’s trying to be a voice of reason, and every time, Miles shuts him down. This is part of the meta-narrative—Lionel isn’t a real person, he’s a person Rian Johnson dreamed up. Lionel could be any color. Lionel could be white, he could be Native, he could be Indian or Chinese or Slav. But he’s Black, and that’s on purpose, because he’s the only person in the movie Miles threatens onscreen. Duke gets killed, but Lionel is kept around even over strenuous objection—why? Because when Klear fails—and I think Miles knew it would fail—Miles will sail off into the sunset with the bankruptcy money and leave a Black man to take the fall.

And finally: Andi. We know, from seeing Helen at Benoit and Phillip’s, what Andi-not-glammed-up looks like. But now think of how she presents herself: straightened, dyed-blonde hair in the most I’m-not-just-a-white-woman-I’m-a-WHITE-woman haircut there is; Helen notes that Andi has schooled herself into a white-socialite “rich bitch” accent, even saying “who you fooling, girl? Not me”. Andi has lightened herself, whitened herself. And is it a surprise? She’s entered two fields that are notoriously white: STEM and business. She can’t have natural hair. It’s “unprofessional”. She can’t have a Black accent. It’s “ignorant” and “unschooled”. She can’t shed her skin to fit into a world that wants to put her “in her place,” but she certainly tried.

As an addendum to Andi—since it’s her wardrobe Helen is wearing—there’s some amazing color symbolism going on there, and I don’t mean the children’s hospital kind. When we meet “Andi,” she’s wearing a dress that’s mostly red and reminiscent of a blood splatter, with a tiny amount of brown near the hem. The rest of it is black and white, and the design of the bodice makes it such that the black and white are laying right against each other in opposition. Later that night, she’s in all white—and this is what she’s wearing when she’s shot and then comes back “bloodstained” with a red sauce Miles gave to Benoit. White hands put that “blood” on her, white hands created the opportunity for it to happen, and now there’s metaphorical blood on white—Andi’s blood, on Miles’ white hands. (There’s an additional bit of this in alive!Andi’s clothing, by the way, if you’re not convinced. When we see her in the Glass Onion bar she has straightened black hair and is wearing mostly black with just white cuffs and collar. When we see her in her office at Alpha she’s in dark gray, and in court, she’s in light gray. She dies in a pink sweater—the color of a scratch, before it turns into a bloody cut. Her wardrobe lightens as she tries to make herself better fit into the white ideal of what a businesswoman should look like...but it still ends in blood.)

Now let’s talk about Benoit Blanc.

What little we know of Benoit is that his family was probably either French or Cajun, based on how he pronounces his own name; that he’s a gay man with a husband; that he’s “the last gentleman detective” (if you watched Knives Out); that he’s apparently a bit of a comics fan; and, famously or infamously, that he’s Southern. So white Southern man in his mid-fifties—what do you assume you know of Benoit Blanc, if you don’t actually know him? I think it’s safe to say there’d be an assumption of antiblack racism. And yet—remember that pin I told you to stick in Kareem Abdul-Jabbar? We’re back there now—the first thing we see of him in Glass Onion involves him getting told off by a Black man and not only taking it with grace, but accepting that he needs to open up about his problems because of said Black man. He’s not threatened, nor does he feel the need to assert some kind of superiority or dominance—he just goes “okay, you’re right” and spills. And from there we jump immediately (timeline-wise, not movie-wise) to him listening to Helen’s story and agreeing to help her. Now this does not mean he’s some kind of perfect beneficent dude with no problems; he did something pretty shitty with the way he handled the whole “you have to go with me or it can’t be done” thing, and the narrative wants us to forgive him for it because he’s the protagonist. It serves the story, I realize that’s the point, but I do think it’s worth noting simply because if he falls victim to prejudice or stereotype at any point in the movie, it’s right here, with the idea that Helen is A Strong Black Woman—he absolutely could have used more delicacy handling this, given this woman’s twin sister was just killed. A positive stereotype is still a stereotype.

With that said, I feel like his own momentary dip into bias is actually what gives him the idea that really helps him spring the case open—as he realizes what he assumed, he also realizes he’s walking in as a white Southern man in his fifties. He, too, can be the victim of stereotype, but in this case he decides to weaponize those biases and prejudices among Miles and “the disrupters,” explicitly telling Helen he’ll “turn up the Southern hokum.” They want to be biased rich people relying on stereotypes? Oh, he’ll show them stereotypes. They’ll think he’s an idiot because of how he talks; they’ll assume he’ll take their side over Andi’s because of his origin. And they do! They confide in him openly about what Miles did to Andi, because he’s a white Southern yokel, right? He’ll assume Andi deserved it.

Except he doesn’t, because he’s bettered himself from that. Is he perfect? No. We see he’s not perfect. But he’s putting in the effort “the disrupters” don’t or won’t. And being willing to face that legacy and reputation is how he solves the case. It’s the tool in his arsenal that makes Miles underestimate him.

And finally, let’s go back to Banksy, who you may remember I initially ignored. There are two reasons for this, and both tie into the “is the Mona Lisa real?” thing.

First, Banksy is pretty famously anonymous. A single interviewer has met him and given us a gender (male), rough age (late 20s at time of interview), and race (white), but that’s all we’ve got. Miles didn’t commission Banksy because Banksy can’t be commissioned, and the kind of work he does suggests he’d tell Miles to shove his money up his ass. On top of which, Banksy is a graffiti artist, not a glassworker.

But more importantly, we’re never told it’s actually Banksy.

Someone on the boat says “Is that a Banksy?”, but this is never confirmed. And here’s where it gets interesting and is about to tie into the Mona Lisa: it can’t be a Banksy. Because, and this is a thing you probably wouldn’t know if you never got bored enough to do a Wikipedia deep dive (thanks, ADHD!), the reason Banksy works with stencils and flat colors is that by his own admission, he’s not actually a very good artist. He’s too slow to do the kind of work he wants to do without the aid of stencils. I’m not slagging off on Banksy, here, good on him for finding a way to do what he wanted to do anyway, but the point is you have to be fast to work in glass. He gets name-dropped specifically so someone can look bougie. That’s it.

But even without knowing that extra detail about why Banksy can’t do glass sculpture, we know he doesn’t. And this makes all of Miles’ art immediately suspect, and it’s supposed to be. I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to teeter back and forth for most of the movie on whether the Mona Lisa is real. But it’s important to note the callousness Miles treats it with, because it’s an early clue as to him being the murderer. To wit, the Mona Lisa is deeply fragile. We literally can’t clean it to see what it’s supposed to look like because the way da Vinci painted it made it inherently unstable (if you want to see what a truer-to-color version would have looked like, one of da Vinci’s students painted alongside him a piece now known as the Prado Mona Lisa that we’ve been able to clean because it doesn’t have that same instability). When it travels—which is basically “when the Louvre has to put it in storage for awhile” and that’s it—there’s an insurance policy on it bigger than the GDP of some countries. It literally makes the news when it’s moved. And it doesn’t actually go anywhere! It doesn’t join traveling exhibits, it doesn’t get shuttled around for tests, if you want to do work on the Mona Lisa you go to the Mona Lisa. It does not come to you.

Knowing all of this, if for some reason the curators at the Louvre came to you and said “hey, you’re in charge of the Mona Lisa for awhile,” what would you do? Put it in a case you perpetually keep open to humidity and corrosive salt air (remember, they’re on an island), with a hidden switch inside a badly-painted figurine? Like regardless of whether you think the safety measures around the painting in real life are excessive, you’d probably show it at least a bare minimum of respect and not needlessly expose it to potential severe damage. And if you loved it the way Miles claims to love it, would you even accept charge of the painting? Or would you be like “dude no, you have the experts and the resources, leave it there, you can take way better care of it than me”? (It’s not even in my top ten favorite paintings, possibly not even in my top fifty, but I sure as hell wouldn’t take it. I can’t even imagine what I’d do if the MoMA handed me The Persistence of Memory and said “take care of this for awhile.” I sure as hell would not have it in an open case in my dining room.)

And this is why 1) the Mona Lisa is real and 2) you’re supposed to go back and forth on whether it is or not. Because…surely he’s not that callous? Surely he understands the concept of respecting other people’s things, especially other people’s priceless property? Yes, he can certainly afford to damage the Mona Lisa, but—he wouldn’t, would he? Ah—but here’s the genius, the vacillation on whether it’s real tells us he’s the murderer, because one of two things is true. If it’s a copy, then he’s a compulsive liar. Plenty of people, including very wealthy people, the world over own high-quality replicas of extremely famous works, and it’s not seen as shameful or embarrassing—being able to say “this is as close as anyone will ever get to owning the original” is a kind of clout all its own. Miles would have no reason to lie about owning a spectacular replica except extreme self-aggrandizement. And if it’s real, then we know that no, actually, he doesn’t love it as much as he says—it’s a trinket to make him look good, and if the Mona fucking Lisa is nothing but a trinket, then what are the people around him? The ones he claims to love so much? It must be real for the ending to make sense—losing his own copy wouldn’t be “the end of Miles Bron”—but long before we come to that conclusion, there is literally no way for his treatment of the painting to come off as anything but borderline deranged.

And here’s where we get back to “this whole thing is literally just a takedown of racism”: the last time the Mona Lisa was appraised, estimates put it at several hundred million dollars—but adjusted for inflation, the estimated value in 2020 would be about one billion, and appraisers agreed when they valuated it that any price they put on it would almost certainly be surpassed at auction.

And the movie ends with a final explosive “and it’s not worth shit compared to a Black woman’s life.”

It’s not just about “a life is worth more than even the most precious piece of art.” It’s a takedown of racism all the way through.

#glass onion #racism #media analysis

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luvxiem · 2 years

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pink camellias

word count ! ~3.3k pairing ! luxiem x gn!reader (separately) genre ! fluff summary ! flower shop/tattoo parlor au (alternates between reader & the boys bc i want cute flower boys too) song ! whereabouts of the bouquet | kanae

.｡.:*☆ IKE EVELAND !

occasionally on mornings where you're arranging flowers outside the shop, you would spot the handsome stranger across the street opening up for the day. sometimes, the two of you would make eye contact and he would shoot you a pleasant smile before slipping past the parlor door. you never spoke to him—never even got within six feet of him, in fact—but your curiosity was piqued by this pretty boy with fishnet gloves and wire-frame glasses.

your thoughts couldn't help but stray to him—the quiet, mysterious tattoo shop owner across the street. what you didn't know, however, was that he's noticed you too. to him, you're the gorgeous florist with a dazzling smile, and his mood always seems to lift after meeting your eyes. when he gets a particularly difficult client, his gaze will shift from them and out the windows, ultimately landing on your colorful form. the image of you grinning and laughing with one of your regulars shoots a burst of energy in his veins, letting him survive the day with his sanity thankfully intact.

it was a quiet wednesday morning when you finally met.

you were once again arranging a new arrangement of spring flowers out on your shops windowsill, humming a soft tune under your breath. you didn't notice him slowly approaching until he was right behind you, yelping in surprise when you spun around and saw him so close. he let out a soft laugh as you placed your hand on your chest, playfully scowling at him.

"god, you scared me!" you breathed. "how are you so quiet? i didn't even hear you come up." the stranger gave you a knowing smile.

"it seems to be a talent of mine. my friends complain about it quite often as well," he says, cocking his head to the side ever so slightly. taking his hand out of his pocket, he reaches out to shake your own.

"it's nice to finally meet you," he starts. "my name is ike. i work at the tattoo parlor just over there." he points over his shoulder to the shop in question. funnily enough, you swear you can see a figure in the window giving the two of you a big thumbs up. he seemed to be wearing a fedora?

returning your gaze to ike, you smile and introduce yourself in turn. he was much more beautiful in person, you thought. and maybe it was the soft sunlight dancing across his features, or the gentle breeze ruffling his hair in a way that felt criminal, but you felt emboldened by the tranquility of the moment and spoke before you could chicken out.

"would you like to come inside for tea?" you ask, biting your lower lip slightly. ike's gaze softens at your words.

"i'd love to, älskling."

.｡.:*☆ LUCA KANESHIRO !

luca loved his job. it was clear to see his adoration for tattoos considering the swirling forms of ink adorning his chest, back and arm, and he had the reputation to back it up; great skills, excellent service, and a wonderful conversationalist. the blonde's shop is a popular choice for first-timers thanks to his bubbly attitude and easy-going personality, and he had a way of making you feel comfortable in the chair even with a needle buzzing away and leaving permanent marks on your skin. he knew why he was popular; luca has high emotional intelligence after all. how else could he make his clients feel so at ease as he does? this reputation was what drew you to his shop in the first place.

immediately you felt out of place in your pastel yellow cardigan and white linen trousers. when you called on the phone, the woman you spoke to was enthusiastic about your idea and understood your request for the "nice artist that everybody goes to for their first tattoo". you assume the turquoise-haired receptionist sitting behind the counter was her, and you mustered up the courage to approach at her kind smile.

"hi! did you have an appointment?" she asked. you nodded and gave her your information as she clicked through the files on her computer. turning back to you, she gave you another grin in an attempt to ease your obvious nerves.

"luca's just cleaning up his equipment from his last appointment, he should be ready in five to ten minutes," she says. nodding and shooting her a quick thank you, you go sit down on one of the plush couches as you wait to be called in.

it feels like no time has passed at all before a head of blonde hair pokes out from behind a door, violet eyes sweeping across the lobby before landing on you. suddenly, a bright smile adorns the man's face as recognition flickers in his eyes.

"hey!" he calls, approaching you quickly. your eyes quickly drop to his rather large chest—how are his tits so big? what the fuck. that button is fighting for its life right now. oh god the way his shirt stretches as he moves. is he talking right now? oh fuck i'm staring aren't i shit oh god fuck-

you quickly snap your gaze back to his face, praying to any god out there that he didn't notice your painful obvious staring. lucky for you, luca is the textbook definition of himbo. while he did notice, he thought it was for a completely different reason.

"oh shit, is there something on my shirt?" he asks, looking down to check.

"ah, no, there was a fly but it's gone now," you quickly say, trying to salvage the situation and save your hide. the receptionist is watching the exchange with stifled laughter.

"oh pog, that's fine then," the blonde says. "anyways, as i was saying. it's super cool to finally meet you in person! i'm luca, you own the flower shop across the street right?" you nod, fiddling with your sleeves. he leads you into the studio with a smile, plopping down onto the swivel chair and flipping through a black binder that presumably held your design.

"it's super cool that you're getting a tattoo," luca starts, removing a few sheets of paper from the binder. "i'm honored to design your first one. i know it's a big deal and you might be scared, but there's nothing to be nervous about! here's some of the designs i came up with for your idea, by the way. don't worry if you don't like any of them, we wanna make sure you're a hundred percent satisfied with the design before we start inking!" he finishes. luckily for the both of you, you fell in love with a version on the second page.

luca grins, and soon enough the high buzzing of the tattoo needle fills the room. seeing that you're still a bit fidgety, he racks his brain for a way to calm you down while he sanitizes your skin with an alcohol wipe.

"hey, uh…" he pauses. you look up and meet his eyes. luca bites his lip for a moment before continuing with a small smile.

"how about we make a deal?" you lift an eyebrow showing that you're interested.

"if i can get this session done without any tears or panic attacks, will you go on a date with me?"

.｡.:*☆ MYSTA RIAS !

tucked away in a hidden corner of central london was a quaint little street filled with cute little shops and flowering trees. string lights hung across the buildings while vines crept up the red brick giving it a cozy atmosphere. passerby can be seen browsing the many stores and chatting with each other outside cafes, sipping on their tea and snacking on pastries. overall, it was a popular area for locals and a hidden gem for tourists.

there was one store in particular that got a bit more foot traffic than the others, and that was the flower shop. run by a mother and her son, you could always see at least one patron scanning the many bouquets or discussing events with either of the two florists. they were well known for their great color combinations and meaningful consultations, and the two had a solid group of regulars coming back every week.

one of those regulars was you.

your coworkers can find you at the florists every tuesday morning to pick up your usual order of carnations to decorate the reception desk of your tattoo parlor. they were your favorite flower and there was always a bouquet set aside and ready for you to pick up when you inevitably dropped by.

today, however, you were met with the son instead of the matron who normally worked tuesday mornings.

walking inside, the tinkling of a bell signaled your arrival in the shop. there was one other person here this early in the morning—an old man you see every week picking up flowers for his husband. you shoot him a quick hello and a smile before you turn to the front counter. you saw the carnations wrapped up and ready on the shelf behind the counter, but no florist to be seen. since you were in no rush, you decided to just wait and look out the window, watching a rather amusing dispute between a squirrel and a bird.

about five minutes had passed before you hear a door open. looking over your shoulder, the first thing you notice is his orange shirt, and the rather large basket of peonies in his arms. closing the door behind him with his foot, the man turns around and jumps slightly at the sight of you.

"oh shit!" he yelps, fumbling the flowers in his arms. you laugh a little under your breath at how cute he is before you walk over to him.

"do you need help?" you giggle, reaching out an arm in case the basket fell. he waves a hand signaling that he's fine before sliding past you and gently setting the flowers down onto the counter. briefly, memories of the matron retelling various stories and gushing over her son flash in your mind. he's a lot more handsome than you thought, based off her descriptions of him alone.

"you own that tattoo parlor down the street, right?" the man asks, turning around to face you. "my mum told me you would be coming to pick up the flowers. i'm mysta, by the way." walking around the counter to pick up the bouquet of carnations, he turns back to you and inputs the price into the register. you swipe your card and quickly thank him as he hands them off to you with a grin. you're about to push open the door to leave when you pause, biting your lip. fuck it, you think, turning back around.

"mysta," you call. the florist looks up from where he was arranging another bouquet.

"yeah?" he responds, quirking an eyebrow. taking a deep breath, you smile.

"would you be interested in grabbing a bite to eat later?"

.｡.:*☆ SHU YAMINO !

it only appears when you need it most. at least, that was how the rumor goes. it was hard the believe that the run down building across the street was home to a magical flower shop, but there were too many people who swore they’ve met the sorcerer to brush it off completely.

it was quite an old building—vines crawled up the decrepit brick and weeds sprouted in large clumps in the cracked sidewalk. the archway leading to it was rusted and the gate itself was hanging precariously by its hinges.

you refused to believe it at first. after all, magic wasn’t real, right? but the number of clients gushing to you about the pretty florist kept increasing. it spread to your actual work as well with many of them requesting to get their flower permanently inked onto their bodies.

every morning now when you’re opening up the shop, you find yourself looking over your shoulder to stare at the old building, wondering if you would ever be able to see it like so many others have.

the answer to your question showed itself almost a month later.

when a rather scathing review of your shop appeared on yelp, you couldn’t help but feel insecure of your work and your place in this profession. despite what your coworkers and fellow artists have said in an attempt to reassure you, you couldn’t get that nagging feeling out of the back of your mind.

now, you find yourself locking up the parlor for the day when you hear a faint tinkling. it sounded like wind chimes, but as far as you knew, nobody on this street had any hanging outside. curious, you strained your ears to see if you could determine where the sound was coming from. it was almost enchanting, and you couldn’t stop yourself from walking toward its melody. your feet take you to the rusted gates across the street, and taking a brief look around, nobody else was outside at the moment. it almost seemed as if the world went quiet. pushing past the worn gates, you gasped at the sight.

instead of the dilapidated old building you thought you would see, your eyes are met with a warm brick shop with smoke gently puffing out its chimney. flowers you’ve never even seen before were on display in the windowsills, and the dainty cobblestone path was lined with little orbs of light. for a lack of a better word, it was magical.

pushing open the wooden door, you hear the tinkling of the wind chime that drew you to the shop in the first place. taking a quick glance around, you see various flowers and plants tastefully decorated around the room. the muted purple walls seemed to hum with energy—in fact, the whole place did.

you took careful steps around the displays when you hear the wind chime’s melody once again. this time, it takes you toward the back of the shop where you find a small pot housing what looked to be daisies. you let your fingers brush against the petals lightly, breathing in its pleasant aroma. taking a closer look, however, you see a little label next to the pot that said ‘chamomile.’

“it means strength in adversity,” a voice says behind you. spinning on your heel, you’re met with striking violet eyes and a mischievous smile. the man—who you’re going to assume is the florist/sorcerer everybody has been talking about—is leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. you stare at him for a moment. he really is pretty, you thought.

kicking off from the wall, he walks up to you and caresses the chamomiles with a soft look on his face. turning to you, he grins.

"it's nice to finally meet you, neighbor. i was wondering when you would show up,” he says. “i’m shu; i’m the owner of the shop.” you reach out to shake his hand as you introduce yourself in turn. looking back at the white flowers, you bite your lip. opening your mouth, you ask him how much they cost. shu shakes his head with a knowing smile.

"i don't take mortal money,” he starts. “all my customers pay me with memories or feelings instead. they’re much more valuable to me and my work.”

soon enough, you find yourself sitting on a plush chair with a bowl of swirling pink mist sitting in front of you—mist that was supposed to be your emotions. shu dips his hand into the bowl briefly before he jerks it back with a blush on his face. he coughs awkwardly, unable to meet your eyes. the sorcerer rubs the back of his head before taking the bowl and pouring its contents into a flask he seemed to pull out of thin air.

right when you’re about to leave the shop with your chamomiles in hand, the violet eyed man stops you with a hand gripping your elbow. you raise your eyebrow at him in question.

"um…" shu starts. he takes a deep breath before continuing. “would you be interested in coming back? you don’t need to buy anything, it’s just…” he bites his lip. “i’d like to see you again, if that’s ok.”

six months later, you shrug off your jacket and place it on shu’s chair revealing fresh ink on your shoulder. he grins at the sight.

.｡.:*☆ VOX AKUMA !

AKUMA FLOWERS was well known for its handsome florist. extremely well known. you can often find handfuls of people trailing into the store as if they were hypnotized, an excited smile gracing their face as they greet the man. it's obvious to see that many of these patrons aren't exactly interested in the flowers but vox instead, and despite this he always welcomes them in with a warm hello and an attractive grin. however, it was because of these types of customers that the demon tends to appreciate those with a genuine interest in his work.

vox takes a lot of pride in his arrangements—many nights have been spent memorizing different flower meanings and experimenting with color combos—and the demon knows his regulars appreciate his efforts. the florist lets his familiar smirk soften into a more sincere smile whenever a regular comes in to the store, welcoming them by name.

yes, vox loves flowers. how ironic that a fearsome demon such as he now wears soft cardigans and tenderly cares for roses. but despite this stark contrast in his nature and his job, he doesn’t regret choosing this path. after all, it led him to you.

vox wasn't ignorant of your lingering glances. when you park your motorcycle and tug off your helmet, your eyes automatically land on his store across the street. it’s hard to ignore your presence when more than a few of his patrons have complained about the noise of your bike, but all he can think about is how breathtaking you look every day.

the demon puffs out his chest a little bit more, stands a little taller every time he feels your gaze on him. yes, he preens at your attention. sue him. on more than one occasion he’s considered walking inside your parlor for a tattoo just so that he could have an excuse to talk to you. luckily, he didn’t have to resort to that.

one late afternoon after the last customer for the day left, vox heard the small tinkling of a bell signaling an arrival. he poked his head out from behind a display, the words ‘i’m so sorry, but i’m afraid we’re closed for today’ on his lips when his eyes landed on your form. vox’s mouth formed a small ‘o’ in surprise, before he stood up straight and dusted his apron.

"oh, um, hello there,” he stuttered. internally, vox cursed himself. where did the suave voice demon go?

"hey yourself, handsome,” you purred, sliding up next to him. from this close, vox could smell your perfume and gods was it simply alluring.

"it's nice to finally put a voice to your face,” you say, cocking your head to the side.

"don't you mean, putting a name to my face?” he asks, sure that that was how the saying usually goes. you let out a melodic laugh at his question and vox was sure he couldn’t fall any harder.

"oh, i know your name, vox akuma,” you declare. “my coworkers go on and on about the handsome florist across the street.” the demon feels his face flush at your words, and curses himself for doing so once again. putting on a brave front, he smirked.

"this is a bit unfair then, no? i should get to know your name as well,” he bargains, leaning over slightly. his eyes widen in surprise when you lean closer as well, your eyes darting down to his lips before you meet your gaze again.

"i'll tell you if you agree to grab dinner with me?” you propose. vox doesn’t even have to think before he replies.

"let me close up the shop real quick and we can go. i know a great pizza place down the road.”

WRITTEN ! 081122

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kithtaehyung · 1 year

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racchanel (m) (teaser) | kth

but the thing about vengeance is...

title: racchanel (m) | ⟶ small teaser for tae day 2022! pairing: fashion ceo!taehyung x ex-photographer!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; fashion au , ? to lovers summary: you were shut out from the industry before. so when an ex-classmate surprises you with another way in, you have no choice but to accept. determined to destroy the one that took everything, you’ll do whatever it takes - even if that means starting over and knowing nothing. warnings: none for teaser except taehyung being.. well, tae. full list will include explicit scenes, angst but are we shocked?, language, revenge, sexual themes, angst, this tae in general tbh, did i mention angst?, warnings will be posted with each chapter. note: so this is the secret wip that i had been holding onto for the entire year!! hope you all enjoy the snippet i have prepared for tae day 2022 because it’s but a taste of what’s to come. definitely one of the pieces i’m super excited to release in 2023! note 2: this teaser drops you in the middle of the first part! teaser word count: 2.3k | est. word count: 100k est. drop date: ongoing series in 2023! 18+ taglist link: HERE

The trek to the front entrance remains uneventful.

Respecting Taehyung’s space, you release your arm from his suit just as the elevator kisses the ground floor. You don’t want anyone starting rumors about you messing around with the CEO before you even launch your career here.

Career.

Quite a bold word for you to throw around already. After all, the contract Taehyung offered is only temporary, not to mention strapped with an early termination clause.

Essentially, you could be dropped at any point without so much as a warning.

And you don’t expect anything less brutal than that.

When you pass reception, you spare the boys from earlier a glance—much against your better judgment.

They promptly avert their gazes. Typical.

A huff leaves you before your eyes focus back on the glass doors.

“What did you do to them,” your ex-classmate questions before the panels slide open.

“They were incredibly rude, Taehyung,” you inform, trailing behind and struggling to keep up with his strides. “I just told them to think about how they represented this company. You never know who’ll be walking through those doors.”

The man abruptly stops in front of you, causing you to physically halt on a tiptoe to save yourself from smacking into his back. Swiftly, you find your balance right as he pins you with… a leer?

“I don’t remember you being this nice,” is all he has to say.

“Ah, well, nice is relative.” You look off into the property gardens, not wanting to face those feline eyes a second longer. “I don’t think your employees would exactly call me a saint.”

A rueful laugh pops out of your chest, and you turn to look Taehyung dead in the eye.

“And besides, we went to art school. When was anyone ever nice without some hidden motive?”

Your former classmate can only blink.

And blink again.

“...We’re all screwed up in the head, aren’t we?”

You offer him a tight smile in agreement before peering off again, taking in the immaculate way everything is laid out in front of Racchanel’s headquarters.

The gardens could be an exhibition of their own.

“Undoubtedly,” you finally respond. “But at least you made something of yourself. Most of us are starving artists, or bartenders at jazz joints.”

The breeze cuts right through your sweats. Quickly slipping on your hood, you wonder if Taehyung really doesn’t care about being seen with you looking like this. His single spritz of cologne probably costs more than everything you’re wearing combined.

You should head out now.

In the distance, you spot a long black limo rolling up to the sidewalk.

“I think that’s you, Mr. CEO.”

Taehyung looks at you a beat longer before turning to see his ride.

When you expect him to leave without a goodbye, you stand there in confusion when he doesn’t budge.

What’s he doing? There’s no way he’s not already late for that appearance.

“Tae—”

Huh? Why’s he looking at you like that?

…What storm do you see brewing on his horizon?

“Come with me.”

“What?”

Immediately, your brows furrow impossibly close as he repeats himself,

“To the press conference. Come with me.”

“I look like a hot pile of garbage—”

“It’s fine—”

“No. No way. Find someone else—”

“I don’t have anyone else.”

You still.

“At least,” he weakly clarifies. “Not right now.”

Before you can wholeheartedly shut him down a final time, you take in his appearance—actually take it all in.

You aren’t in a dimly lit bar, or frantically thinking your contract offer was a mistake, so you’re finally seeing him with a clear head.

And what you see is frankly alarming.

Used to seeing this man radiating confidence on anything from cereal boxes to billboards across the globe, you’re suddenly dialed into the changes in his demeanor. Taehyung’s shoulders droop just enough, the spaces under his lashes hollow just enough.

Why didn’t you see any of this before?

Reddened eyes from the bar on Christmas Eve come back to you, causing your mountain of excuses to crumble.

He’s obviously under a lot of pressure from the recent changes in his life. And while change for you means a temporary six-month modeling contract, change to Taehyung means inheriting a multi-million dollar company—seemingly by himself.

There’s nothing else but a desk. In his entire office.

He may feel… So alone.

You remember that feeling. Loneliness. It’s dark, and cold, and in the end, you have to pull yourself out of its clutches all on your own.

Maybe Taehyung can benefit from an extra set of hands.

“Okay,” you agree, startling him out of a stupor. “I’ll go with you. I can hang in the back, or a hallway, or something.”

A little flame flickers to life in his eyes as he offers a close-lipped smile.

“Thank you,” is all he says in return.

And you don’t make him say anything more than that.

“Shit.”

You stop playing with the leather surface of the space next to you. “What.”

It’s been like this the whole ride. Even though Taehyung begged you to accompany him, as soon as you were both settled in the back of the limousine, he seemed to be regretting the impulsive choice.

As if the multiple times he rakes a hand through his hair aren’t enough of an indication, his chin rubs add on to your own anxiousness.

He’s clearly uncomfortable with something. But what the hell is up?

Now his nerves seem to jump out in the form of another curse instead of clarification. Which annoys the heck out of you.

“Taehyung, what’s wrong?”

The man still doesn’t reply, let alone look your way.

Maybe he’s not answering because the answer is way too obvious.

Arriving at a press conference with some random woman in a bunny hoodie and sweats? Yeah. That would make any self-respecting person in fashion shake in their Chelsea boots.

This was a mistake.

What was he thinking? What were you thinking!

The trip to Racchanel was supposed to be a one and done! Tell Taehyung he made an error in the applications, have him verify it, and make your escape.

But ending up in a limo on the way to a media event? You wouldn’t have been able to write this outcome if you tried.

Sparing another glance at Taehyung, you realize he’s starting to get downright antsy.

So you offer to help. “Hey. If you don’t want to be seen with me, I get it. Tell your driver to pull over before we get there and I can get out—”

“Stop,” Taehyung bites, his expression hard. “Just…” He lowers his head in between his legs, large, ring-studded hands shielding the top of it from the world. His houndstooth coat cascades down his sides, and you want to save him from drowning in those black and white waterfalls.

You didn’t really hang with him in university, but you always remembered him as the guy that didn’t have to try hard to succeed. He was never under any pressure, academically.

Really, the only time you remember seeing him upset was when he went through a breakup one year. Kim Taehyung apparently held a grudge as well as he held a pose.

Reaching out, you lay a hand on his shoulder. After his initial tense, he doesn’t shake you off, so you comfort the model superstar the only way you can think of.

Tiny circles. Comforting, warm, tiny circles.

You don’t know if they will work. But it’s something.

Slowly, Taehyung comes back to life like a plant sprouting from a seed. You retract your arm as he straightens against his seat, watching as he rolls his shoulders and tilts his head to stretch.

From this close, you get to see the skin of his neck.

And wonder how even that part of him is beautiful.

Turning to you, he scoots closer to tug your hood off in a rush.

What—

“Shh,” he hushes, proceeding to fix your head to the best of his ability.

Your eyes roam his face as you stare in shock, wondering why the hell he’s committing to having you here and why he’s styling you himself.

When was the last time someone else even touched your head? This determined yet this tender, at that? You can’t believe this is happening.

Never mind that. You can’t believe you’re here with him at all. His famous fingers sliding through your strands; his perfect eyelashes brushing his cheeks with every solid blink of his eyes.

While he’s trying to salvage the mess that’s your head, his hair’s appropriately slicked with just the right amount of product and flawless styling—

That’s when you realize.

Oh, fuck.

Taehyung’s getting you ready for the onslaught of cameras.

Shit, shit shit.

Being judged by two cowardly receptionists is one thing. But being judged, photographed, and written about by a swath of Kim Taehyung paparazzi?

That’s a thousand times worse.

Barefaced and carrying evidence of the sleepless night you had yesterday, you’re suddenly grossly self-conscious about your entire appearance.

The gap between your statuses, experience, and overall lifestyle suddenly resembles a canyon. One so wide you can’t even see him on the other side.

Taehyung’s right there.

And yet you feel the furthest you’ve ever felt.

There’s no way you belong in his world.

What the fuck are you even doing here?

“Taehyung,” you hiccup, quickly interrupted by the shouts of people outside as the limo approaches the conference building. Rattling erupts and rings from inside your skin, and you stare back at him with equally trembling eyes. “I can’t do this—”

“You can.”

“Please—”

Unfazed, he simply asks,

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

Why did you say that so confidently? Why was that so easy to decide?

Do you really?

“Of course you do,” he sighs before pulling you in for a forehead kiss that catapults your heart into your throat.

But you don’t get to question it before your hood is tugged over your head, dark sunglasses shoved onto your face right as camera flashes and jumbled yells spill into the opened car door.

People. Hands. Phones. Multiple camera snaps and lights and voices bombard your senses, and you’re grateful for the shades over your eyes as you hoist yourself out of the vehicle.

Taehyung exits right after and blazes a trail for you to walk.

“Excuse me, miss—”

“Who is she?”

“Taehyung, who is the mystery girl!”

Through the whirlwind of paparazzi, your thoughts only convene on the cold spot where he kissed you. The freezing wind only makes it more prominent, and you barely even register that you’re walking by yourself as you follow right after him.

It’s only after you get through the heavy doors that your surroundings snap back into focus.

Wait. What?

How long were you out in the crowd? How did you even get here in one piece?

The sounds outside muffle as the entrance bangs shut, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were hiding.

“This way,” Taehyung directs to both you and the security detail that materializes behind you, striding heavily to the right.

When did these guys…?

Whoa.

You have no clue where you are, but you are miles away from your apartment block.

Taking in the expansive building, you see that it’s a true conference center, with a grand, open lobby and square footage for days. The right wing looks to house large event rooms, judging by its wide hall and the multiple sets of towering double-doors.

Scampering after Taehyung, you make sure to stay behind but as close as possible.

Which makes you almost collide when he stops on a dime. Again.

You have got to stop walking behind him.

Face scrunched in annoyance, you’re about to tell the man off—security be damned—before he blurts,

“When we get in there, just relax and follow my lead, okay?”

“Oh, I can wait out here,” you reply, more than happy to leave him to the masses now that you’ve got a taste of them outside. “I don’t mind.”

Hands set in his trousers, Taehyung peers down at the floor before regarding you with what looks like…

An apology.

There’s dread in your veins.

“I wasn’t planning on putting you through a press conference this soon, but you can do this.”

And it seeps right into your bones.

“What?”

His palms land on your shoulders before you can flee.

“Look. The Board isn’t giving me a lot of time to introduce Astral, even though I told them that’s the only thing I need right now. I just…” Running a hand through his hair, Taehyung looks years older and yet years younger all the same. “I need a familiar face.”

Hell no.

There’s no way you can do this.

Going with him and braving the paparazzi was horrid enough. But a press conference?

What the fuck are you supposed to say? You aren’t even dressed.

“Taehyung. Look at me.” You gesture to your entire wreck of an ensemble, fingers trembling. “I’m gonna make Racchanel look like a fucking joke.”

“I don’t care. This new project is going to work.”

What? How is this possibly going to work? What single thing about this is gonna go well?

Has he lost his mind?

“What do you mean?”

Instead of responding to your question, Taehyung only gives directions,

“When we go in there, just keep your face neutral and your back and neck straight. If anyone asks you a question, just say you’re grateful for this opportunity. Understand?”

“Tae—”

“I’ll owe you.”

You clamp your jaw shut, eyes unblinking as you drink in your former classmate’s entire expression.

“I’ll owe you. Big.” He breathes in deep before looking at the doors, then back to you. “Just do this one thing. For me.”

What is he thinking?

You pause for eternity before closing your eyes, wondering if he can even see how uncertain they are behind your dark shades.

“Fine. I will.”

What are you thinking?

“That’s a good girl,” he sighs in relief, embracing you fully before planting another quick peck on your temple. As he pulls away, your hand is clutched before you’re led right up to a set of imposing doors.

To give a press conference.

What are either of you even remotely thinking?

tbc. :)

how do we feel! | taglist + extra optional teaser

a/n: ahhhh it may not make much sense now since this is dropping everyone in the middle of the first part, but i wanted there to be some mystery to everything that’s about to happen! hope you’re all ready to see what’s on the horizon for this tae and reader<33

other links: masterlist | permanent taglist (i check each entry so have your age displayed somewhere in your profile!)

#ahhhh wanted to get something out for today!#hope you enjoy :D #bts #taehyung #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #taehyung fic #bts fanfic #taehyung x you #bangtanarmynet #*latest #ryenwrites #racchanel #*ryenfictalk #happytaeday22!#taehyung smut #taehyung angst

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cryxtal-moon · 2 years

Text

hey stranger | knj

Summary: It would be nice to know his name.

Genre/warnings: writer!Namjoon, editor!reader, slice of life au, strangers to lovers, fluff, set on a train, no dialogue

Word count: 1k

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

Author’s note: Inspired by a song by Madds Buckley titled Hey Stranger. It’s amazing; I highly encourage listening to it here (time stamp, 00:00). Namjoon's name isn't mentioned, but the stranger is him, as you can tell. I hope you like it >_<

Autumn.

It was the season of change, blazing maple leaves painted in fiery tones cascading off a nearby tree branch with one sweep of a gentle breeze. Some drifted to your feet, pausing only for a moment in their pirouettes across the floor before the wind picked up again, bringing about not only a new destination for the vibrant foliage, but also a stranger whom you had been seeing over the last couple of weeks.

Hey stranger.

His brown hair was a shade lighter than that of the falling maple, styled and flopping gently against dark lashes while revealing quite a bit of his sun-kissed forehead. You stood on one side of a door, and he stood at another, the same positions you had always taken as though you were going to perform a dance with the platform as your stage.

But never once did you move, nor say a single word.

It’d be nice to know your name.

You could only watch out of the corner of your eyes the way his tan coat fluttered about in the air while the desire to say something burned with an ever-present desperation in your chest. A swatch of sapphire blue peeked out around its edges, coating the entirety of a button down he paired with black jeans falling loosely around his ankles. The beret he tugged over his head only made him look like that much more of an artist, not a writer like you knew him to be.

Waiting on our nightly train, we trade glances everyday,

His briefcase gave him away, gold letters inscribed on brown leather reading Mono Publishings which was undoubtedly custom-made. It blended seamlessly against the neutral pastels of his ensemble, briefly admiring the glint of light off those words till you realised you were now gazing at him fully.

And apparently, when you looked up, so was he.

You ignored the heat searing your cheeks as you swiftly turned away.

And I can’t help but imagine how I’d mess it up if I said “hey”,

The train pulled to a smooth stop in front of you just then, and you hated your mind for excitedly noting his gentlemanly gesture of letting you on board first, hanging back despite no one alighting.

But I wanna know you all the same.

Hey stranger, it’d be nice to know your name.

⊱✿⊰

Hey stranger,

I notice every book you read.

Three seats down was where he sat.

The clasps of his briefcase snapping open, you marvelled at the metallic clicks echoing off the walls a notch louder than the mechanical hum of the wheels against the tracks. In the reflection of his figure on glass windows, he removed a book, one you instantly recognised to be a personal favourite, pristine and bookmarked on your shelf at home.

You finish them so fast,

I could never match that speed.

Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. Just another volume in his seemingly endless collection of stories. You could only aimlessly guess where he was at, a gap within the pages that just surpassed the halfway mark.

The Little Prince was yesterday’s choice. Tomorrow would be different, too.

So I can’t even find a way,

To start a conversation with “hey, I’ve read that one too!”

Was it fate? Or coincidence? These things were all a mystery, identical to his name, and the place your courage hurried off to.

But I wanna know you all the same,

Hey stranger, it’d be nice to know your name.

⊱✿⊰

I’m a coward in sheep’s clothing,

Cause I watch, and wait, and hope, and pray.

You could have found a distraction in the fading light of sunset shining out across the city ahead of you, a shimmering gold brightening the tips of rooftops and the horizon line threatening to be overcome by azure. You could have watched the moving shadows disappear each time the train dashed past a skyscraping building, the sun vanishing and reappearing like it stopped to blink for a fleeting moment. And you most definitely could have pulled out your earphones to listen to some piano songs, rather than the peaceful silence enveloping the carriage with its warm embrace.

But the auric glow was the same one illuminating his silhouette, his slanted stature cast against the opposite row of cushioned seats nearly melding with yours. Music, well, that was relative; the soothing tunes of paper rustling was enough of a melody, indicating each turn of a page and occasionally paired with a chuckle in accordance to the beat of the train’s consistent rhythm.

None of which you would have caught by being uselessly distracted.

All the hours we’ve spent seats apart,

I could have tested fate.

⊱✿⊰

I’m a fool,

Who watches you,

Get off at the stop before mine.

It was so painful how you claimed to know this stop better than you knew him, only because it was his.

Clematis Avenue, those gorgeous purple blooms decorating the edges of the platform benches, were a beautiful yet heart wrenching sight. You were powerless to stop him, and even more so to hope he wouldn’t recognise the familiarity this station brought him. Because he did, every time.

I’ll see you tomorrow…

You bid your first goodbye to the book he placed back inside his briefcase. There was no way you’d see it again – he would have finished it before the strike of midnight – but you knew the same couldn’t be said about him, and that gave you the confidence to look at his retreating figure.

Precisely when he looked back.

…but as you go, we catch each other’s eyes.

⊱✿⊰

Hey stranger,

Before you hopped off the train…

A hand clasped itself over your heart…

…why’d you wave, why’d you wave at me,

With a smile on your face?

…the image of him smiling as he offered a wave of goodbye forever ingrained in your mind.

My heart is doing cartwheels,

And there’s a fuzzy feeling in my brain.

You didn’t glance elsewhere, even as the train began to move, afraid that if you did, the moment would have been ruined and faded with the final descent of the sun behind a vast ocean.

I wanna know you all the same,

Tomorrow, it’d be nice to catch your name.

Tomorrow, you decided.

I wanna know you all the same,

Tomorrow, you’d find out his name.

Hey stranger, it’d be nice to know your name.

#bts #bts fluff #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts reactions #kim namjoon #namjoon #kim namjoon imagine #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon x reader #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon fluff #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon scenarios #namjoon scenarios

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unluckyhoneybee · 2 years

Text

The Handsome Artist. 7. (Daniel Ricciardo)

A nice dinner. Abigail and Daniel have their first date. Or is it the second? Fluff.

MASTERLIST. Moodboards and Playlist.

Previous part: Beers and music.

Note: Abigail's outfit. Also, Charlotte is finally making her first appearance! Kind of.

Warning: hospital; stitches.

"Get dressed nicely. You need to feel good with yourself if you want to have fun. It's a date. You don't have to marry him. Just test the waters, enjoy and then you decide what you want to do next."

That's what Jennifer had told me on our last session. And there I was, dressed on a pretty dress.

I had chosen it carefully from my wardrobe. I had bought it long ago. So long ago. When I was dating Arnie. But he didn't like it. He hated it.

Molly had told me to wear it. "Arnie was a dick. He was a cunt. Like for real. He fucked everything. He hurt you. Just be like Diana. Let this be your revenge dredd"

And here I was, with the soft blue dress hanging nicely around me and feeling pretty. Really pretty.

Daniel hadn't told me where he was taking me. He just said I know a place. So I was nervous, a bit anxious even. It was a weird feeling. I was really really impaciente for the message. I just wanted him to arrive already. And at the same time I was terrified because I didn't want it go wrong. He was so nice that sometimes it seemed unreal.

Bing!

"Shit"

I ran around the house looking for my phone. I found it in the bathroom.

The Handsome Artist: hey, I'm here.

I bit my lip and another message came.

The Handsome Artist: I'm nervous.

I chuckled a bit and ran to grab my bag. I had never gone down those stairs so fast.

When I found him outside, he was looking inside the shop through the glass.

Daniel was looking so good. He was wearing a denim jacket over some t-shirt, tight black jeans and some vans. On his neck, not one but three chains adorned his caramel skin.

"Hey" I said.

He turned to me and both of us smiled. His checks got pink and he stretched his hands nervously, looking at me with a smile and checking my outfit.

I bit my lip and waited for some reaction.

"Hey..." He breathed out. "You look so so pretty"

Oh nice. Niiice. Super nice. Don't laugh like a kid, please.

"T-thank you" I walked a bit closer and clasped my hands together.

"You look so nice two." I took a better look now that I was closer and yes. He was one of the most handsome men I had ever seen. "I like the chains"

Yep. Nervous Abi, didn't had a filter.

"Do you?"

I nodded.

"I'm glad. I carefully chose them for the occasion"

I laughed.

"Good choice."

Daniel took a step closer.

"A hug?"

I laughed nervously when he opened his arms.

Fuck it.

"Of course"

He gave me a tight hug that ended way to soon, leaving me with a tingle on my back where his hands had fallen.

"Let's go. I got my bike with me" He said moving his eyebrows and picking two helmets from the floor.

"Bike? As a motor bike"

He nodded.

I was wearing a dress. A short short dress.

"Are you scared?" Daniel asked worried.

"Um...no. But..." I picked the edge of my dress and moved it a bit. "Not the best outfit, right?"

"Oh Shit! I should have warned you"

"I can go and change." I suggested picking the keys. I didn't want to fuck his plans. I didn't want to start like this.

His hand grabbed mine.

"You look way too pretty. I can't let you do that"

I blushed.

"I won't look." He said. "Plus. We won't go too fast"

I nodded.

"Okay."

Without letting my hand go, he took me to the other side of the corner. There was a huge black bike. Huge. One of those that pass you on the road way too fast.

"Um... Maybe I'm a little scared" I said looking at that thing.

He laughed.

"How can you be scared of the cutest bike in the whole city"

"That's not..."

He pulled a bit more and we passed the big bike and a car.

"Oh"

A mint green vespa with a Ric sticker on the front was parked there.

"Okay, it's the cutest bike in Los Angeles."

He laughed proud of his little vespa.

"Well. What do you say?"

I smiled. It was so cute, so tiny. I wouldn't have imagined he would come to pick me on a vespa.

"Let's go"

"Cheers"

He passed me a helmet and put his on. He secured it under his chin.

"Let me"

He did mine and smiled. I was blushing hard.

"You look cute" He said.

"Shut up..." I whispered turning a bit. I heard his soft laugh.

Daniel sat in the vespa.

"Okay, hands on my shoulders and hop on the back."

I swallowed. I did as he told me, feeling his strong shoulders under my hands. I sat carefully and fixed my dress.

"Okay. Grab into me. Wherever you want but my arms."

"Um. Okay"

Slowly, I slide my hands around his waist. He was strong. Not only his shoulders. I could feel how toned he was, how hard his muscles were and I found myself wondering how they would look like.

The vespa's sound pulled me out of my thoughts. We started moving and I grabbed him tighter.

"Don't worry, Abi. You won't fall" He said turning his face to me.

"Look in front of you, Danny. Eyes on the road."

He laughed.

"I'm good at this. Just enjoy!"

He was driving down in Venice direction, I didn't even know were. The soft sea breeze was relaxing and it brought Danny's perfume to my nose, which was delicious. It felt good to be this close to him.

"Where are we going?"

"I know a place!"

"What place?"

"You will like it!"

I bit my lip and looked over his shoulder. It didn't took us long to arrive, Daniel was gracely avoiding the traffic.

He parked in one of Venice Beach parkings.

He climbed down and gave me a helping hand. I jumped down.

"Welcome to Venice Beach"

I chuckled.

"I live in Santa Monica. I have grown in there"

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't ruin the mood, Abi."

We took the helmets off and he put them on the box.

"Okay, ready?"

"For what?"

"For a nice dinner in the most beautiful place in Venice"

I smiled while my heart beat faster.

"I am"

"Perfect. Follow me then"

We walked around the first streets, loosing the sea view soon. There was a lot of people, usual for a Friday night. There was music and everyone seemed happy. But the crowd got bigger as we walked.

Not wanting to get lost in the middle of this mess, and feeling slightly overwhelmed by the people, I reached foward. Gently and feeling more brave than I'd ever did, I brushed my fingers with his. Daniel took the hint quite fast and opened his hand. His long fingers moved over mine. I looked down at our hands. His fingers were so much longer, his palm wider. Mine looked smaller and my skin was less cared. It was funny how in those books and films the guy always had more worked hands and the girl always had the soft ones. Somehow, tables were turned now.

Maybe he doesn't like them.

But he threaded his fingers with mine and ran his thumb over my skin. It wasn't even the first time we holded hands. My breath got caught in my throat even though.

"You are cute" He said pulling me closer.

He only made me blush with that.

"Pretty"

"Shut up..."

Daniel was cheeky and flirty. He had carisma and a huge personality. He was maybe too much for me.

"Ah here we are." He pulled me out of my thoughts by gently tugging my hand.

"What is this?"

The place was grey. It wasn't really inviting.

"You brought me to a meth lab?"

He laughed hard. So hard. His free hand was on his chest and he had tears on his eyes.

"OH, Abi. Shit. I wasn't expecting that."

It made me laugh to. Laugh and blush like mad. I had made him laugh like that.

"You'll like it. I promise. Don't judge a book by the cover"

I followed him to the inside and the moment we crossed the door I let a gasp out. The restaurant was perfect. There were plants everywhere. Real plants. Tropical plants. The walls were painted in bright colors and everything was so packed with things. Little sculptures, paintings, lots of lamps... The place was truly beautiful.

I was so stunned by the decoration, that I hadn't notice how Daniel had left my hand go and grabbed my waist instead. It made me dizzy. It felt good. Correct.

"I told you" He whispered on my ear and I shivered.

"I-it's perfect."

"Daniel!"

We looked to the side. A man, Pierre I think, was coming to us.

"Hey mate!"

Daniel gave him a side hug, not letting me go.

"She is Abigail" Daniel introduced me with a smile.

I reached my hand to the guy and he gave me a little kiss in the knuckles.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Pierre"

"Nice to meet you too"

When Pierre, who was obviously French, let my hand go, he gave Danny a look and a side smile.

"You have a reservation, I suppose."

"Obviously. I called last week."

"Come with me. I already know which table you have"

Pierre guided us to some metallic stairs. Danny took my hand and helped me so I wouldn't fall.

I was nervous as hell.

Pierre opened a door and I gasped. There was a beautiful terrace in there. It was also full of plants. It was so perfect. The chairs were made of wicker and the tables were wooden. Some things were unmatched but it was beautiful anyway.

Daniel looked down at me.

"Nice?"

"Perfect." I answered smiling like a kid.

Pierre took us to our table, a little separated from the others and almost completely surrounded by plants. You could tell we were close to the sea by the salty breeze and we had a beautiful view of the sunset sky.

"A special one?" I heard Pierre whisper. Probably he didn't want me to hear.

"The special one" Daniel answered in a low voice.

I turned my back to them so they wouldn't see me blush. I was burning, my heart was beating so hard and I felt dizzy.

The special one. What did he even meant? How could he say something like that when we had just met? How could he when I wasn't special?

"Here, the menu. I will come back with your drinks"

I turned.

"Drinks?"

Daniel gave me a weird look as Pierre left.

"Where were you, Abi? I ordered a couple of beers. A mate of my has a brewery and they sell it here."

I blushed.

"It's okay." He shrugged. "The place it's beautiful, isn't it?"

He moved my chair and I sat.

"Thanks. It's perfect. It's like the most beautiful restaurant I've been at."

"I knew it. They did a good job here" He sat in front of me "And thinking about how you are a botanist and plant doctor and all... It was the place"

I smiled.

"People don't think about that usually." I said.

"How could they not? You scream I work between plants."

I chuckled.

"Do I?"

"You do. When you told me? It made sense. I really thougt it was a hobby. You were a plant mum. Turns out that you are a plant doctor. And creator."

He made me laugh.

"Well, yes."

"You have a cool aura."

"OH wow, thank you. So do you"

He smiled.

"What aura do I have?"

I took a deep breath and pinched my lips.

"Well, you are very calming. I don't know how to explain. You are happy, right? You always seem happy. And you are always smiling. That's calming. And really, you are cool. You seem cool. Like this cool tattoo artist from West Hollywood with bunch of friends. And a cool bike"

He had a huge smile on his face.

"Well, thank you. But I'm not really that cool." He shrugged off.

"You are." I insisted with a low voice and looking down at my beer. "You really are. Much cooler than me."

His hand fell in front of me.

"How is that?"

"I only have one- sorry, two friends." I said remembering our conversation on the beach. "I have two friends and live on a plant store."

He sighed and grabbed my hand.

Why was I even getting like this?

"Let me tell you that you are really really cool and to only have two friends means nothing. You are your own person. And I like that. I like your rings and the way you do you hair. And your clothes. And you little card with instructions for Elisa"

Don't cry. Don't cry, please.

"You are really cool. I only date cool people" He winked at me and I laughed. "There are so many different ways of being cool. And I like you way."

Oh fuck. He is awesome. He has to be. How the fuck am I gonna do this?

His fingers moved over mine and let myself reach my other hand to touch the rose. I ran the tip of my finger over the shapes and felt how he was looking at me.

I swallowed and looked up. I met his brown warm eyes.

"I should have a vespa to be that cool." I whispered and he chuckled.

"Well. Yeah, you may buy a vespa, but it won't be as cute as mine"

I laughed.

"That's better" He said pinching the back of my hand.

Fuck, I love holding hands.

I bit my lip.

"I have questions" He said.

I lift my eyebrows.

"Can I answer them?"

"I hope so"

I smiled. Was I ready to open to him? Maybe, maybe not. But I had to try. I had promised to Jennifer to try.

"Right. You live on the shop. The little apartment. How so? How do you get your boss to let you life there?"

I smiled.

"Charlotte is not only my boss. She is also my aunt. Aunt Charlotte. The only family I have"

His lips opened and his grasp on my hand tightened.

"Fuck. I-I didn't..."

"It's okay"

"Is it? I don't want to bring back bad memories"

I sighed.

"I don't remember much about them" I said referring to my parents. "We lost them when I was two"

"I'm sorry"

"Thank you" I took a deep breath. "But it's okay. It has always been us. And I have been the happiest girl. I had the best childhood and I never felt like there was something missing"

Were those tears on his eyes?

"Did you grow at the shop?"

"I did. We didn't live there, though. She has her own house some streets up. It's pretty similar to the shop. Typical building in Santa Monica. Two floors, she has a cool neighbor who lives on the second. She is happy there."

"Is it too much too ask about yours? I'm intrigued"

"Well, it wasn't an apartment on it's origin. It was empty, Charlotte only kept some materials in there. But when I was probably ten or so she got the idea and she came one day like, this will be yours. And we started buying stuff. Everything is second hand or rescued from the trash."

He gasped.

"Really? You built it?"

"I did not build anything, just saved a few pieces from here and there and fixed them." I shrugged it.

"Mate, you started getting your home ready for you at 10. You made your furniture what it is. That's awesome. How can you say you are not cool?"

I chuckled.

"Have you decided what you want?"

We looked up at Pierre like a deer on a road.

"No?"

"We forgot about that little detail" Daniel said.

I blushed and laughed softly.

"Well, in that case, Yuki wants to choose. He sent me here." Pierre said laughing.

"Okay. I trust the little man"

"Nice. We will bring your food soon"

Pierre left and I looked at Daniel before checking the menu.

"Japanese? I thought it was French?"

"Nah, Pierre is just a pretty face to being people. He owns the half of it or something like that. Yuki is the chef. Japanese blood and a too much culinary talent fitted in a meter and a half tall guy"

"Wow."

"He is good. Trust me."

"I do"

He smiled.

I took a sip of my beer and looked at him.

"More questions?"

He smiled.

"What's your favorite plant? You said Argelian Ivy was your favorite Ivy but not your favorite plant"

My pulse went crazy.

"Ferns. I love ferns. I don't care what kind. I love them all"

"Right. Ferns. Noted"

I blushed like mad. He was really interested in me. He was interested in my plants. Oh Danny.

"A-and you?" I asked all shy.

"Me?"

"Why are you here?"

He sighed.

"A bunch of things."

Was that sadness on his eyes?

"You can tell me other day"

"No. It's just... I'm far from home. I left when I was was barely a teen. I went to Europe and started some courses. I worked a part time job in a bar and another in a studio. I was on reception. I never tattooed there. Then I started with piercings, which I hate. It's so... Ugh"

I chuckled.

"Don't laugh, it's weird to make hole in nipples"

"Sorry, sorry"

Pierre brought the first plate and left. It was delicious.

"And where are you from?"

"Perth" He answered proud. "Beautiful west coast"

"Must be beautiful"

"It is. Los Angeles remind me to what I call home. That's why I love this so much"

"Awesome" I swallowed. "Your family..."

"Dad, Mum, Michelle and I. Dad is Italian actually. And I have a nice and a nephew. Isabelle and Isaac."

His eyes lit up with happiness and I melted only a little bit.

"I missed them so much. It's hard. I have been away for so long and it's not easy."

I wanted to get up and hug him.

"I try to visit as much as possible. And they are visiting soon. So..."

I smiled.

"All of them?"

"Yes. All of them."

"That's fantastic."

"It is. They supported me a lot. And I owe them everything. So whenever I can I try to have them over here. They weren't so sure I could make it good. I wanted to go to Europe because this amazing artist I followed were there. I wanted to learn from them"

"Did you?"

He nodded happily.

"I stayed in Italy for a while, then went to England. I met Lewis there. I made awesome friends. Most of them live also here. I got Mike and Blake. My aussies with me here. They are a part from home."

"Are you happy?"

"I am. So happy. Lewis is truly one of the bests. When he told me to leave the studio I was working on and open Ham&Avo with him I knew I had taken the right decision. I miss home, yes. But I have amazing things here too. I can call this home too."

I smiled.

"I'm happy to hear that."

He played with my fingers.

"I have a good life. I live with Mike in a nice house we rent together. I love my job..."

"And you are really good at it"

He looked down at my chest, where the tattoo peeked out of the dress. The he cleared his throat and looked into my eyes again.

"Thank you"

I smiled.

"It's nothing. I'm only saying the truth."

"Oh stop..." He was blushing.

I bit my lip. I liked him way too much and it felt too early. It felt to soon to be like this. How could I go through it all after what happened? How could I have it all after what happened?

"Hey, are you there?"

I blinked fast.

"Yes, sorry" I cleared my throat and drank some beer.

"Are you liking it?"

"So much, the food is amazing" I said with a smile.

"It really is. So... I got 5 stars for our first date?"

I smiled but... I'm taking the lady on a coffee date!

"First?"

He looked confused.

"Wait..."

I blushed.

"The coffee date" We said at the same time.

"Wait, wait, wait. Did you thought it was a date? You wanted it to be a date?" He asked surprised.

"Well, but... You said it was a coffee date but I didn't know if it was a date date. And... I don't know. I'm sorry"

I was so embarrassed.

"Sorry? No, no, no, baby. Don't be. I was just... I don't want to press things. I didn't want to press you."

He said and grabbed my hand.

"So..."

"You wanted it to be a date?" He asked in a low voice.

I just nodded.

"Fuck yes. I wanted too. A pity Charlotte and the rich woman..."

My phone rang. Unknown number.

"Answer, maybe it's important."

"Abigail Hopper?"

"Yes."

"We call from Marina del Rey Hospital. Are you a familiar of Charlotte Hopper?"

I felt a shiver run down my back.

"Y-yes"

"Abi?"

Daniel looked worriedly at me.

"Charlotte Hopper came to the hospital half an hour ago. She had an accident at home."

"W-what?"

"She called the ambulance because she hitted her head. Right now she is on observation and stable, but she has a concussion and has to spend the night here. We need a familiar to come and pick her tomorrow and..."

"Is she okay?"

"Yes. She..."

"Couldn't have you just started with that? Fuck. Um... Can I go now?"

"Yes you can b-"

"Fine"

I finished the call and got up.

"I-I have to leave. Somehow Charlotte had an accident at home and... Fuck she is in the hospital and..."

He got up and grabbed my shoulders.

"It's okay. Let's go."

"N-no don't..."

"Yes"

He took my hand and we both went downstairs.

"Wow guys, was it that bad?"

"Mate, we have an emergency. I'll come back tomorrow to pay and all."

I felt bad. He had prepared this. He was excited. It was our first-second date and it was ruined.

"Danny..." I tried to stop him when we were outside. I wanted to take a taxi, to go alone. He didn't had to come and pick Charlotte to the hospital. It wasn't fair.

He cupped my cheeks and I panted.

"Abi. It's okay. Let's go. How is she? It's too bad?"

"N-no... She is okay but... She is always like this"

"Okay. Let's go. It will be fine." He kissed my forehead and soon we were on the vespa on our way to the hospital.

Once there, he took my hand on his again. When we arrived to the hall, we went to the nurses.

"I come to see Charlotte Hooper. I'm her niece"

The woman checked the computer.

"Yes. She is on observation but will be out soon. She got examined and has a little concussion. Just go to the waiting room there. The doctor will call you"

Danny and I went and sit there. I couldn't stop tapping my foot on the floor.

"Hey"

I felt his fingers on my hair, tucking a curl behind my ear. I looked at him.

"Thank you..." I whispered.

"It's fine. Really. I owe you a dinner though."

"No. I owe you a dinner. It's my aunt who messed our second date"

"After messing the first" He said smiling. I did too.

"Yeah. Maybe the third..."

He chuckled.

"We should invite her to the third"

I rolled my eyes.

His hands grabbed mine, both.

"I had a really good time. Short but good. I loved talking to you"

I swallowed.

"I-I did too"

The room was cold, but the goosebumps on my skin weren't because of it.

"Don't worry about this. The most important thing is that Charlotte is okay. We can go dinner again whenever you want."

I nodded and a little drop fell down my tear. I cleaned it.

"One of this days she will literally scare me to death" I said half laughing.

"She has accidents often?"

"She is way too hyperactive. She is 68 and broke her hip some years ago. How? Trying to change a light bulb from a booth. The doctor told her to be careful. Only 9 months later she decided to ride the bike she hadn't touched since I left kindergarten."

"A messy woman?"

"Yes. The messiest. Once the ambulance guy joked about how he should park close just in case..."

"Oh jeez."

"She will like you. And you will like her. I'm sure. She is a ray of sunshine" I whispered, suddenly becoming aware of what I had said.

He touched my hair.

"If she is just half amazing as you are I'm sure."

I looked down at my hand. Was it too serious?

"Family of Charlotte Hopper?"

"Me"

I got up.

"Fine, good evening. She is fine, but she has to stay the night. Just in case. She has a concussion, it's not bad. She needed stitches though."

I sighed exasperated.

"You can stay the night here."

I nodded.

"Thank you doctor."

"She is asleep. But we will wake her up each 2 hours to check the symptoms"

I nodded. Long night...

"See you, Ms Hopper."

"Thank you, doctor" I repeated.

He left and soon I felt something fall on my shoulders. Danny's jean jacket.

I turned to him.

"Dan..."

"Keep it for tonight. It's bloody freezing here"

"No I..."

"I'm not fighting. Do you have anyone to pick you tomorrow?"

Molly was out of town visiting her family so that meant no.

"We can take a taxi. Or I will go home to pick the truck. It's okay"

"Nope. Text me when you wake up and I will come"

I looked at him in the eyes. It wasn't worthy fighting, right?.

"If you don't do it, I will get suuuper angry." He said smirking. "I can call the Tickle monster. You won't like it. Isabella and Isaac say he is horrible."

I chuckled.

"Okay."

"Fantastic. Have good night."

He leaned and kissed my forehead. I closed my eyes for as long as it lasted.

"Thank you" I whispered.

"It's nothing."

He walked me to the door and left after kissing my cheek. Somehow, I felt like flying. I felt on the clouds. And the fall was so fucking terrifying.

Aaaaaaaah. I love them so so much. You can't imagine besties.

The idea is to get a shorter and lighter chapter next. We will see.

Next part: Bug Eyes.

#Daniel Ricciardo #Dr #Tattoo artist! Au #The Handsome Artist #Fic

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fyeahiwatarikei · 5 months

Text

Ladies and gentlemen, these are grave times: an exhibition dedicated to a beloved artist is coming up and Satoshi himself has been wearing his most precious outfit in a long time, on its promotional poster. Let’s discuss it for a second! There is so much to say and so very little illustrations to gaze at! (Four, to be more precise, from various sources.)

Let’s begin by the most precious yet not surprising element: this lovely face. We need three different illustrations to fully enjoy the view. See for yourself!

(Naturally, ignore greyed out elements, as they are more than… irrelevant.) This black top hat looks quite interesting, doesn't it? Delicate, ornated with chains that are potentially linked to the glasses on the left side. Its silver decoration finds an obvious echo on the medal pinned to the coat. Symbolism? I wonder~

On another side, have you noticed the different colours between the navy collar and the white of the shirt? Could it be superposition or a single top with several colours? Nothing is certain, especially since this blue returns near the belt, but puffy sleeves look lovely to say the least! As much as what threatens to be a white ribbon tied around the neck! No one can resist a book as a fashion accessory either, right?

These can easily be overshadowed by the heavy coat and its numerous details: chains, rings, ties, metallic pieces resembling mirrors, perhaps a locket. Even a grey ribbon proudly spreading towards the left side of the picture where it's usually hidden by another, forgettable silhouette. A thin stole bears a gradient, from gold to blue, motif and colours that will be repeated in several places.

All these details lead the eye towards an ornate belt, sadly barely visible on the few illustrations teasing its design. Which leads us to…

Have you noticed this detail already? 2024 will be a glorious year!

I sadly cannot detail this pair of boots for now; however, checkered pants can build a daring look despite such a stern colour! But don't they show… something? A bit of knee, perhaps? And garters! Satoshi in short pants…! One cannot imagine the numerous attempts I, as a loving father, dedicated to making him wear cute clothes, always in vain. Yet here we are, at last! These aren't my own choice, but how pleasant to see one's son soaring and finding his own dress style.

I'll be looking forward to learning more about this exhibition, the life size stand, merchandising; in short, seeing more of this unique and lovely design. Shall we meet again then? Don't stare at Satoshi's legs too much at the event, or wait for me to be away — if I can leave at all~

#Sugisaki Yukiru Exhibition 2024 #dnangel #precious #Short pants and garters timeline

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mauvefayette6 · 2 years

Note

hello! i saw requests are open. this is pretty long. can i request a knox overstreet x fem!reader where they are bestfriends along with the dead poets (let's just say welton accepts both gender as their students). reader is an artist and loves to paint. she's been painting knox for a while now and admiring him from afar. then, when he went on a date with chris, knox saw the reader destroying canvasses and sketchbook. chris rejected knox cuz she saw how knox's eyes sparkle whenever he talks about her. angst and fluff pretty please. can you make it a bit of a longer fic? no pressure if you don't want to. but it kinda feels good when you read a one-shot that's not rushed and has a plot. THANKK YOUU SOOOO SOOOO MUCH. still, it's your choice if you want to do this or not. ADVANCED THANKKK YOUUU I LOVE YOU.

DENY || Knox Overstreet x fem!Reader

/// POVS CHANGE///

•

1st POV

I locked myself in my dorm, it was Saturday morning and my roommate was out in the Library studying like she always does.

Welton recently began to accept girls and I was one of the lucky ones to be chosen. I wasn't sure why, academically I wasn't the best.

I was working on a small sketch in my sketch book. Sometimes I just allow my hand to take control. When I open my book I'm never sure what I will be painting or sketching.

But this morning it was different, everything felt different. This morning I knew what I wanted to paint.

I set my sketchbook down as I grabbed one of my bigger canvas and began to do a rough sketch.

I heard a knock on the door 20-minutes after I started my sketch.

"Who?" I shouted.

"Knox!" The voice said. My heart dropped as I quickly put the canvas away, I hid my sketchbook under my bed and cleaned myself up.

"Hey Knox," I smiled when I opened the door. He looked around the room before looking at me.

"What were you doing?" He asked.

"Oh, you know... What's up?" I smiled nervously.

"Well, Neil was invited to a party, we were wondering if maybe you'd like to come with us, we'll be sneaking out tonight. What do you say?" He smiled his usual charming smile. I can never bring myself to say no to him.

"Okay, I'll go. I just have to find a way to sneak out." I laughed and he nodded.

"I'll come get you so be ready," he winked before leaving. I sighed relieved, I took my canvas back out and resumed my sketching. I wanted to capture the beauty of Knox Overstreet.

That was my sketch, Knox Overstreet. He was my muse, my inspiration. I would hate to admit this to the rest of the world but he inspires all of my art.

I smiled as I grabbed my paints, my dad was visiting France and sent me some paint for my art. With special exception from Mr. Nolan, I was able to keep my paints and canvases.

The sun was setting, I wasn't even halfway done with the painting, it was a bigger canvas. I decided to call it a night, I put my canvas away and began to clean up. My roommate joined me a while ago, I hadn't noticed she was here.

"I'm going to shower before bed, want to come?" I asked her. She was laying on her bed with a big book in her hand.

"No, I'm going to sleep early, I have big exam on Monday," she yawned. She took her glasses off before she turned around.

I shrugged and walked to the girls shower, there was about five girls when I arrived.

"Hey (Y/n)!" One of the girls shouted waving at me.

"Hey!" I smiled back, I set my things down before hopping in the shower.

"How's it going with Knox?" She winked at me causing my face to heat up.

"Nothing's going on, we are just friends..." I sighed, I continued my shower as she rambled about a boy she met.

Her name is Cassie, she's extremely smart but can say some of the darnest things. She's very popular in every good way, she's talkative and likes to take on more then she can handle. Sometimes it becomes annoying and other times it's admirable.

I said goodnight to her before heading up to my dorm.

The girls dorm is far from the boys dorm and girls had a stricter curfew then boys, which meant a harsher punishment.

I don't think it's very fair my parents on the other hand think it's amazing that the curfew is strict on girls.

I laid awake on my bed, I was anxious but at the same excited. It was going to be my first high school party. Ever since joining Welton parties and social gatherings were cut to zero.

I heard a soft knock, I tiptoed to the door and opened it. Knox's flashlight hit me straight in the eyes.

"Are you trying to blind me?" I whispered and he chuckled softly.

"Hurry, I was almost caught sneaking here," He rushed me and I followed.

We sped walked out of Welton and towards the gate where the rest were hiding in bushes.

"I swear if I get some sort of rash from these plants I'm taking everyone to court," I heard Charlie angrily yet softly complain.

"I got her, let's hurry before someone catches us," Knox ran first, then Charlie. Neil and Todd ran together and I ran after. Meeks and Pitts were the last to run out of Welton, they were usually the brains of everything we do.

"Did you guys not invite Cameron?" I asked once we were at a good distance away.

"Why? So he can snitch and get us all in trouble?" Charlie said rolling his eyes.

"Charlie convinced us not to invite him," Neil whispered to me with a laugh.

"How far is the party?" Todd asked after a while of silence.

"Just a bit further," Knox told him flashing his light. "It's about twenty or so minutes away from the school.

"Fantastic, we are going to be off our knockers walking back to Welton," Charlie complained.

"Then you shouldn't have come Charles, if all you were going to do is complain," Meeks rolled his eyes. He was carrying a flashlight, one of the three who actually brought one.

It was about 9 o clock when we arrived at their party.

"We met here at 12am," Knox told us before entering.

Neil and Todd went towards two very pretty looking girls. Steven and Pitts went towards the red solo cup table. Charlie disappeared somewhere and Knox, well Knox went towards a girl.

She was very pretty, blonde hair up to her chin, baby blue eyes and a beautiful complexion. She would be anyones dream girl.

I stood there, no cared to introduce me to anyone. That's when a slightly tipsy teen boy walked over to me. I hated the scent of alcohol, I looked at him in disgust before walking away.

I entered the kitchen for a glass of water, "designated driver?" A persons voice asked.

"Huh?" I asked turning to face the stranger. He had slick back brown hair and big brown eyes.

"You're drinking water at a party, the only reason I could come up with is if you're driving your friends home," he chuckled.

"Oh! No just not a fan of drinking," I laughed and he nodded.

"Why so alone?" He asked.

"My friends ditched me," I shrugged.

"Not fun, you go to Ridgeway?" He asked and I shook my head.

"I go to less popular Welton Prep School," I laughed.

"Ouch, how is that like?" We continued our small talk before he said goodbye and left. He was charming and not awful looking.

A tall blonde girl walked over to me with a smile and hugged me.

"Enjoying the party?" She asked, she had a sort of British accent.

"Yes, having a blast," I smiled back.

"I can tell by the look in your face that you're swell," she smiled before leaving.

Meeks then walked up to me with a devastated expression.

"What's wrong?" I asked him and he shrugged.

"Pitts ditched me for some brunette girl," he muttered pouring himself a drink.

I then walked away to find Knox, it was hard to miss him. Tall brunette boy with hazel brown eyes. It was harder to miss when a girl was attached to his lips.

Charlie appeared out of no where next to me, "you'll be okay." That was all he said before bringing me in for a hug.

I was confused at first, why would I not be okay? My best friend and long time crush was just casually Frenching a girl at a high school party.

I pulled away from the hug and looked at him confused.

"Why would I not be okay?" I asked and he looked confused.

"Aren't you in love with him?" He asked and I shook my head. Deny, deny, deny; that's what my dad always told me.

"I'm not, Knox and I are just friends..." Those words hurt me, it hurt to have to say it.

"Oh... then ignore my comment," he shrugged and left.

I felt my heart break, my stomach turned and I felt like throwing up. I walked towards the restroom and did what I had to do.

"Alright in there?" I heard Neil ask.

"Just fantastic Neil!" I shouted. I cleaned myself up before stepping out.

"Too much to drink?" He asked and I shook my head in disgust.

"I wouldn't touch a bottle of alcohol in my life," I told him and he rolled his eyes.

"Was it because you saw Knox Frenching Chris?" He asked.

Chris, so that was the girl he was with.

"No, why does everyone assume I'm in love with Knox?" I asked a bit annoyed. Deny, Deny, Deny.

"Oh, sorry." He mumbled walking away from me. I sat on the couch next to two teens devouring each others face.

The party went by slow as people danced and made out with each other.

Knox sat next to me with a huge smile on his face.

"What's up with you?" I asked him and he just smiled wider.

"I just asked out the prettiest girl... ever," he looked at me. I felt my heart ache as I looked away from him. We have been friends for so long and he's had loads of crushes, why do I feel like this now?

"Good on you Knox," I faked a smile.

"We are going on a date Sunday, we are going to this cafe. She says it has really good smoothies." He rambled on but I zoned out.

After a while we met up at the front, Charlie looked sick and pale. Todd looked like he always does, Neil looked a little too happy. Pitts was no where to be found and Steven was asleep in a couch. Knox had to carry him, we weren't able to find Pitts so we left without him.

We sneaked back inside the school,

"See everyone in the morning," I whispered before running towards my dorm. My roommate was still sound asleep, she looks so peaceful.

I fell asleep a while after hitting the bed. The next morning was a Sunday and I decided to sleep in.

I heard a fast knock, my roommate opened it.

"Knox?" She said which made my heart drop, I remembered everything from last night.

"Is (Y/n) (L/n) awake?" He asked, he knows me too well.

"Well, I assume because of your loud and desperate knock she is awake," she laughed. She walked over to me and shook me slightly.

I opened my eyes, "what?" I mumbled.

"Knox Overstreet is here," she whispered. I closed my eyes before getting up.

"(Y/n) I'm in need of a girls assistance," he sounded eager.

What's going on?" I asked walking towards him, "I should change first."

I closed the door and got into some casual clothes. "Okay, what do you need?"

"Remember when I said I'm going on a date with Chris?" He said and I nodded.

"I want to get her a gift and I need your help to find a perfect one, who knows more about girls then another girl?" He smiled. I rolled my eyes and smiled at him.

"Fine. I'll help you, what's the budget?" We began walking towards the exit/entrance of the school.

"I was thinking anything under $10 or so," he nodded. "Depending though, if it's jewelry then maybe $11." He laughed.

We walked in to town as he described what he wanted to get her. He talked about getting her a book but he wasn't sure what genre she liked. Then he wanted to buy her flowers but didn't want to be cliché and get her roses. He ended up buying her a bracelet.

It was a pretty bracelet, I picked it out. He described her as beautiful as a swan would be and that's what he got. A swan themed charm bracelet. It was under budget which was amazing.

We walked to a bookstore, if I traveled all the way here I would like to get something for myself. We entered the store and I began to browse around.

"I've been wanting to red more Walt Whitman, what do you think?" I asked as I looked over the poetry section.

"Hmm, I like Whitman, he has very nice work," he smiled.

"It's decided, I'll get this Whitman book, an Emily Dickenson one and then I'll get this Alice in Wonderland story." I grabbed the books. He smiled at me and my heart fluttered.

"Knox?" A feminine voice called. He turned and smiled, the smile felt different.

I turned and saw Chris walking up to us, "hi!"

I looked at her and then at Knox, "I should go and pay for these." I turned away to the register.

I paid for the items and headed out, I wasn't sure if I should say goodbye or just go. I decided to just walk back to Welton. I felt sad, I thought a lot about it.

I walked over to Charlie's dorm making sure no one saw me before I knocked.

"Come in!" He shouted and I opened the door and walked in. I sat on his bed, thank goodness that Cameron wasn't here.

Other then Knox I was closest to Charlie. We met when he and Knox became friends.

"What's wrong?" He asked facing me. I burst out in tears, he came over and hugged me.

"I love him Charlie, I'm in love with him," I cried hugging him back.

"I know, if hurts," he rubbed my back as I sobbed harder. I never wanted to admit it, I'm in love with my best friend.

"It hurts to see him with her, the way he looks at her," I sobbed louder hugging him tighter.

"Let it all out," he whispered.

"I wish he liked me not Chris, I'm an idiot for not telling him sooner," I silently cried for what seemed like hours. I laid in his bed after no tears came out.

"We should go get dinner," he whispered once he saw the sun was setting.

"I'm not sure if I'm in the mood to eat.." I mumbled sadly.

"Nonsense, let's go. You can't stay in here anyways if Cameron sees you here he'll report you." He chuckled.

We walked towards the dinning hall, girls and boys were separated, they really didn't want us talking to each other.

I sat by my roommate and her friends. I looked off in the distance.

"Someones in love," I heard the annoying voice of Betty Smith giggle. "I bet it's with Knox Overstreet."

"Isn't he going steady with Chris Noel from Ridgeway?" Another girl asked. They began to gossip about the alleged relationship. I had to suffer through it and eat.

After dinner we walked towards our dorm rooms.

"(Y/n) wait up!" Knox called, I turned to my roommate who waved goodbye and continued her walk.

"How was the date?" I asked.

"It was... alright," he shrugged, "you disappeared on me."

"Oh, yeah. I didn't want to interrupt you two on your date," I faked a laugh and smile.

"I was worried," he mumbled. He looked into my eyes and I looked into his. I looked away and up.

"I should go, you should too. If they see us together I might get into some trouble," I smiled.

"Okay, goodnight..." He said sadly before walking away.

I walked towards my dorm, tears threatening to fall. I quickly put my night wear on and climbed into bed. I hugged my pillow and quietly sobbed.

The next morning was Monday, Knox went on and on about Chris. We sat at the study room, the only room girls and boys were allowed to mix.

"She's really pretty," he sighed dreamily. I rolled my eyes as I attempted to concentrate on my book.

"We get it Knox," Charlie snapped. He angrily closed his book and stormed out.

"What's his deal?" Knox mumbled.

"You've been going on and on about Chris since yesterday Knox, it's getting annoying." Pitts mumbled as he too began to pack his things.

"You guys think?" Knox mumbled sadly.

"We get you're deeply and madly in love with her but come on," Meeks too started packing his things.

"I don't think it's annoying," Todd said, "I think it's nice how much you like her."

I began to pack my stuff and without excusing myself I walked out. I couldn't handle it anymore. I wanted to get over him so badly.

I walked to my dorm, luckily my roommate wasn't there.

I grabbed my canvas, the big one I was working on and destroyed it. I grabbed my sketchbooks and ripped out every painting of Knox I ever made, which was almost all of the paintings. I threw them into a trash bag and began sobbing.

"Idiot," I repeated over and over again. The door opened and in came my roommate.

"Are you okay?" She closed the door and sat next to me. I shook my head and continued to sob.

"Is it because of Knox?" She asked and I nodded.

"I think I like him... like in a romantic way?" I whispered wiping away my tears.

"Yeah, I had my suspicions." She hugged me and I hugged back.

"I want to get over him but I just can't? I want to support him and be there for him but it's hard," I cried.

"You need to rest, it's almost lights out for girls dorm," she whispered.

I nodded and climbed into bed, I didn't bother to change into my night wear. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The week went by as normal, I tried to fake my smile any time Knox talked about Chris.

"Let's go into town on Saturday ?" He asked and I shrugged. That was Friday, it's now Saturday and I was getting ready.

I heard a knock and opened it, I smiled when I saw Knox.

"Ready?" He asked and I nodded. We walked out in mostly silence, it's been a while since it was just Knox and I.

"Where should we go first?" He asked and I thought for a second.

"I could go for a smoothie right now," I smiled. We began walking to a smoothie stand and ordered our drinks.

"Do you think I'm annoying?" He asked out of no where.

"Not at all why?" I answered.

"I feel like we've been growing apart, maybe I'm paranoid?" He mumbled.

"I haven't been feeling that at all," I lied with a smile. He shrugged and we continued our walk.

We stopped at a few shops and got ice cream. We laughed and joke, it felt like we were back to normal.

"Knox!" The familiar voice of Chris shouted. We both turned around. He smiled, but yet again his smile felt different.

I've known Knox almost his entire life and I know a lot about him. But I wasn't able to recognize this smile.

The only other time I saw it was when he talked to Betty Smith in 8th when she came up to us. He used that exact smile, a smile that could be described as annoyed, happy and sad.

"Hey Chris!" He said as she walked up to us. She was out with her friends who stood besides her.

"Hey (Y/n)," she smiled.

"Hi Chris," I smiled back.

"What are you doing in town?" Knox asked. They began to chat with each other, I felt ignored and pushed to the side. If I could I would've started crying right there.

Knox glanced at me and then back at Chris and to her friends.

"We should be on our way," he smiled.

"Oh come join us! We are going to this fancy restaurant a few minutes from here," she smiled.

"I'm not in the mood to eat," I lied. "But you can go Knox."

Knox looked at me and then at Chris, he looked a little sad and confused.

"I'll be fine Knox," I whispered faking my smile.

Knox shrugged and I said goodbye to him, I walked back to the school still trying to hold in my tears. I don't want to third wheel Knox and Chris and I don't want to get in the middle of their blossoming relationship.

I sat at the student lounge when Knox entered the room. He immediately saw me, but it felt different.

"Can we talk?" He asked and I raised an eyebrow but followed him anyways.

We were in an empty hallway, the sun was setting and he looked angry.

"What's wrong?" I asked and he shook his head.

"You're becoming distant, at first I thought I was crazy but you are!" He shouted.

"What?" I stuttered confused. I've never seen him this annoyed.

"Yeah! I kept telling myself that we are just growing up," he shook his head. "But no, it's you. You're pulling away from me!"

"It's not my fault entirely though!" I shouted back.

"We are best friends (Y/n)! I know when you're annoyed and sad!" He looked sad.

"I'm sorry Knox..." I whispered tears threatening to fall.

"Sorry?" He whispered back more calm. I nodded and looked away.

"I— I don't know an easier way to say this..." I mumbled.

"Just say it, we are best friends and I want to help you and it's not easy if you won't tell me whats wrong." He looked at me, I could tell.

"Knox. I like you, I like you a lot and seeing you with Chris hurt me. But We are just friends and I tried to be happy and I wanted to be there for you," I whispered the tears now falling. "I wanted to be happy for you, be excited that you're in love with a really beautiful girl."

The silence overcame us, we stood there looking at each other.

"I know, I know you don't feel the same," I cried. "I just really hope we can still be friends... maybe not best friends hut friends..."

Knox looked at me and nodded. I walked away from him and towards the girls dorms.

•Knox's POV•

I watched her walk away, my heart ached and my body shook. All these years of denying and she finally confesses.

The second I start to try and get over her she confesses to me. I was angry, confused and overall upset by this. I couldn't believe she told me and I stood there like an idiot.

I walked up and towards Neil's dorm where Todd was laying on his bed reading a book. I sat by him in silence. He looked at me confused but didn't say anything.

"I'm an idiot," I whispered to him. "She told me she liked me and I stood there like an idiot."

"Chris?" He asked confused.

"No, (Y/n)... She told me she liked me." He was silent and I was too.

"How do you feel about her?" He asked me and I shrugged.

"I've always liked her, as friends and as more. But she's never shown interest in me until now, or maybe I just never seen it before," I mumbled.

"Well... What do you want to do?" He asked patting my shoulder.

"Honestly? I want to hug her and tell her that I love her too, but I'm afraid?" I looked at him and he looked at me.

"Maybe you should go tell her that you like her too?" He laughed and I shook my head.

"I'm not sure it's a good time right now..." I sighed and got up. "Thanks Todd, I'll see you in the morning."

"Maybe we should call for a meeting tomorrow and you can confess then?" He suggested and I thought about it.

"That doesn't sound like such a bad idea," I smiled at him. "I'll ask Charlie to convince her to go."

I walked over to Charlie's dorm and knocked.

"Knox?" He said surprised once he opened the door.

"I wanted to ask you a favor," I sighed. "Can you convince (Y/n) of going to the meeting tomorrow?"

"There's a meeting tomorrow?" Charlie asked confused.

"Yeah, Todd and I decided it would be a great time to have one!" I exclaimed.

"Oh, alright? What did you do to her that I need to convince her?" Charlie asked but I left, I was too ashamed to tell him.

I fell asleep doubting myself and wishing I could've told her I did like her.

I woke up and realized I had agreed to a date with Chris, I facepalmed and forced myself out of bed. First thing I did was tell Todd who agreed to push it back to when I got back.

I rushed into town and saw Chris standing. I walked up to her and took a deep breath.

"I hope I didn't make you wait too long," I chuckled. She just gave me a smile and we began walking.

"I've been thinking, long and hard about this Knox," she came to a stop and looked into my eyes. "I don't think this is going to work out."

"What?" I said taken aback by this. I was relieved but at the same time shocked.

"I know you like her, (Y/n). The way you look at her and talk about her..." She went quiet. "I know, and I want you to be happy."

"Chris..." I whispered and she brought me in for a hug.

"Invite me to the wedding," she laughed. She walked away from me. I smiled and walked back towards the school.

I knocked on Todd's dorm room where he and Neil waited.

Neil smiled and went to gather the rest of the group.

Me, Todd, Neil, Pitts, Meeks and even Cameron walked towards the cave as Charlie had to go get (Y/n).

It looked cloudy and I groaned.

"Should we post pone the meeting?" Neil asked as he noticed the clouds.

"We are already so far it'll be pointless to go..." Pitts mumbled. We sighed and continued our walk there.

I sat by Todd. "Chris and ai broke things off."

"Oh, how do you feel?" He asked and I shrugged.

"I don't think I ever really liked her in any way other than friendship?" I said confused.

"Well, as long as no one was hurt," he smiled.

We waited for what seemed like forever for Charlie and (Y/n) to come.

We began to worry they weren't going to come.

"We are here!" Charlie shouted as he ran inside. "Took a bit of peer pressure and lots of convincing but here she is!"

(Y/n) entered and rolled her eyes, she went inside and we locked eyes. Her eyes were sad, red and puffy like she's been crying. Her roommate stood next to her.

"Of course she wanted to bring her leech so here she is too." Charlie laughed and sat by Neil.

"Thanks stranger I met an hour ago for that lovely introduction," she sarcastically said before sitting down. (Y/n) sat besides her.

"What even is this?" She asked and the cave went silent.

"A secret society," Charlie muttered.

"We read poetry and discus current world problems and the dread of our parents high expectations." Neil began, he stood up in front of us like he usually does.

"My dad has been pressuring me into joining a military school in Alabama," Neil announced. "I convinced him to let me stay here in Welton if I become Valedictorian and a prefect."

"My grandad wants me to go to University in London where he went," Meeks mumbled. "I don't have a choice.

"My parents gave me an option, they said I either go to Yale and graduate as Valedictorian or I get disowned," Pitts laughed.

It went on like this where everyone shared something that was currently happening to them, good or bad.

I stood up which caught their attention.

"I made a mistake yesterday," I announced. "I indirectly rejected the girl of my dreams."

I looked over to (Y/n) with a smile and she shook her head and walked out. That's when I noticed it was raining.

I ran after her, "(Y/n)!" I shouted as I caught up to her. She turned to face me, she had tears falling from her eyes.

"Stop it Knox! You're playing with my emotions!" She shouted angrily.

"I'm not!" I said back. "I like you I do!"

"Why now? Did Chris reject you? Did she break your heart so you come to me?" She asked hurt.

"No! No! Chris and I were never going to work out!" I said back. The rain was making it hard to see.

She went silent and looked away, I brought her in for a hug. She cried onto my shoulder as she hugged back.

"I've liked you for so long, I just wasn't strong enough to tell you," I whispered.

She broke away from the hug and looked into my eyes.

She looked so beautiful, even if she was wet with rain water. Her eyes beautiful and her hair still amazing. I caressed her cheek and smiled.

"Can I kiss you?" I asked her and she looked away.

My heart began to race, maybe I was moving too quick?

"Yeah, I would like that... a lot." She chuckled and looked in my eyes with a smile.

I leaned down and closed my eyes and she did the same. The rain was still falling as I placed my lips on hers. It was beautiful, her lips were soft and smelled wonderfully. She wrapped her arms around my neck as I wrapped mine around her waist.

We stayed that way, kissing, for a few moments before we heard the leaves crunching.

"Knox?!" I heard someone call.

"(Y/n)!" Another voice yelled. We broke away and rested our foreheads on each others. I smiled and she did the same.

"You look beautiful," I whispered.

"And you look handsome," she whispered back.

"There you guys are!" Charlie ran up to us and smirked. "We got worried you guys weren't coming back."

"We see why now," Neil laughed.

"Are you guys... together?" Meeks asked confused.

"I swear I think we are in different universes from our friends," Pitts whispered to Meeks who nodded.

"We should run back or we'll all die," Charlie laughed and we all began walking back.

The rain began to clear up the closer to the school we got. It's a good thing it wasn't the middle of the night.

"What does this mean?" (Y/n) asked me.

"We are a couple now," I smiled.

"Cool," she smiled and looked away. She's so beautiful when she gets shy.

I can proudly now say that (Y/n) and I are a couple, together. Hopefully this lasts forever.

#dps #dead poets society #dead poets society scenarios #neil perry #charlie dalton #knox overstreet #todd anderson #gerard pitts #steven meeks #charlie dalton x reader #knox overstreet x fem!reader #knox overstreet one shot #knox overstreet x reader #mr keating

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cheralith · 3 months

Note

‘vogue’ happened on my ‘for you’ page suddenly yesterday night, but only now i had the time to properly check it out and enjoy it. i’m a big fan of ‘the devil wears Prada’ too, so spotting the details and cameos you added in it was really fun for me, i smiled all the time while reading it! that’s how much i enjoyed reading it! <3

i’m not a person to leave such a long comment on a fic unless it’s ao3, and i didn’t want to cloak in or occupy your comment section with a bulky comment such as this TT so i figured that leaving this message here was the right choice. please bear with me (and you don’t have to answer! i’m already grateful if you read this comment, truly!) because i absolutely loved it. for the sake of being brief, i’ll focus on the last scene but everything of this work was truly a masterpiece that i’ll come back to —i’ll stay tune it since you say it will be a series!

It's so... fresh. Your glasses were hiding such a view, like curtains to a window that unveiled the utmost rare and breathtaking sights. […] Geto studies it like an artist to a blank canvas, devoid of anything yet holding just the perfect amount of space-wanting, waiting to be filled with anything and everything.

omg… the way i absolutely folded! ꒰ᐢ⸝⸝•༝•⸝⸝ᐢ꒱⸒⸒ i loved the way you described here because —and maybe here is my sleepy head talking— the way is written really makes you understand just how focused geto is on y/n. the way he greedily yet patiently takes his time to study the face, the delicate way you described it… weak to my knees ! absolutely weak to my knees !

He eyes how you turn towards the building one more time, doing your usual adjustment of your glasses (it's a habit you often do in times of nervousness, he's picked up) […]

it’s kind of embarrassing how i was smirking here because sir… did you just implicitly affirmed that you do look at y/n?? it was such a nice detail to read because it implies that he does look at her enough time to link the action to a proper feeling, an expression of sorts. but maybe i’m just looking too much into it?? maybe i’m saying nonsense?? i don’t care, i’m delulu and sleepy!! ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

i don’t want to take any more space (it’s just a sentence after all) but i absolutely loved the way you described how geto felt ‘irritated’ from the ‘hauting’ image of y/n’s face in his mind! it was a nice touch! now on my last point —and then i’ll disappear on thin air!

It’s instead, the person that’s wearing it. Because somehow, the eerie sketch of the model's face that he had drawn years ago...... somehow replicates your own face perfectly.

that was a very good cliffhanger. as a (somewhat) writer too i can only imagine and theorize the hard work you’re probably doing for this story —the behind of the scenes basically, and if you wanted readers to stand on their tiptoes and get curious about a possible plot twist (it’s called like this right? my first language isn’t english TT) … let me tell you, you absolutely nailed it! because i’m both standing on my tiptoes with my jaw on the floor.

i can’t wait to see what you have in store for this ff because you got me hooked. and the last part only further points to a possible connection between suguru and y/n which i can’t wait to discover more about! even though they both don’t seem to realize as of now —well, actually now geto does but just to a superficial extent, thanks to that sketch.

i’m sorry for the long comment because sometimes i feel like i’m saying nonsense and repeat myself over and over again so it might come off as annoying or rude TT god or whoever was on charge really didn’t blessed me with the power of synopsis, which i can only apologize for. just thank you for writing this, it was really good and i can’t wait to read more from you! thank you and take care of yourself!! i’ll patiently wait and, once you’ll feel ready to update a second part, i’ll be here reading it and enjoying it! (/genuine, no pressure! in this household we appreciate the hard work writers put in their works and respect their time ofc!)

have a good day/night ! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ 💗

one of the things i absolutely struggle with is just writing too much and on my end, it seems a little tricky and questionable, but for those on the other sides of things, it just means more cake for them and this very much applies to comments as well, so anonnie, NEVER apologize for long comments!!!! it shows your appreciation for the work and as someone who's on the receiving end for it, i hold so much love for comments like these!!! and your english is nothing less of wonderful!!!

i was praying someone would catch the little glasses bit! it's been the little motif i had incorporated in the first chapter as a symbol of the reader's shield from the new world of her work so i was pretty proud of blending it into the chapter. it also ties in with suguru finally noticing our little assistant for more than just a coatrack—just the first stepping stone of what i have planned for these two huehue •̀⩊•́

other than that, thank you again for enjoying my writing and i'll treasure ur kind comments dearly <33!

#✉ ; letters to wonderland #mini series ; vogue

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hostagex · 1 year

Text

Ultra Black

Chapter One

“Fuck that hurts! If you don’t finish up soon I might tap out man. Seriously, we've been going for how many hours and you’re still not done? I swear to God next time I’m gonna sit in Himiko’s chair and not yours!” His client says, pain and something akin to desperation in his voice.

“Oh don’t start with this shit again Jin.” He said with an exasperated tone of voice, doing a quick wipe down of the area before sticking the round liner shading needle into the deep obsidian ink and continuing on. The piece was coming along beautifully. A large shoulder tattoo consisting of an intricate sacred geometry tree of life morphing away into stippled dots.

“We both know you wouldn’t tap and risk me not finishing while I’m ahead. Besides, I’m at least an hour ahead of schedule. And like I said not five minutes ago, we have around thirty more minutes before you’re done.” With a smirk, he sets down the needle for a moment to wet a new piece of paper-towel and clear the ink off more thoroughly than with just applying some vaseline.

“Also you would never be brave enough to sit in Himiko’s chair. You’re way too chicken-shit!” The artist lets out a laugh, tongue piercing glinting under the studio lights.

“Oh fuck off Deku! I will! That’s a damn promise! You hear me?!” In his need to prove his point, he shifted on the table, almost ruining the final bout of shading the artist had to finish up on.

“Jin, I swear to God if you move one more time you’re barred from my table and you’ll have no choice BUT to go to them for the rest of your shit!” He exclaimed, loud enough to be heard by the patrons in the lobby.

“Oh fuck! Sorry Deku!” Jin settled in once more, his face still showing his distaste of his artist's words. “Anyways, like I was saying…I have a plan. It’s foolproof ya hear? It’s a five step plan to get that angel to go out with me and become mine…” Jin trailed off, sighing lovingly. Just as he was about to go into detail about his plan, the buzzing of the needle stopped.

“I’ve heard that a million times dude. Everyone is dying to get in their pants. But just a heads up, it’ll take more than a shoddy plan to get with them I can promise you that” He said, a slight smile on his lips before his tongue poked through and touched the top ball of his vertical labret, a habit he had yet to shake. He wiped down the tattoo and shifted himself off the wheeling stool and stood up, walking over to his designated trash can to chuck his black sterile gloves as well as black surgical mask.

“Alright, we are all done man. Take a look in the mirror and let me know your final thoughts. While you’re at it, go ahead and say hey to Himiko and get that plan you’re so sure about started.” He said with a cheeky grin and wink, adjusting his round glasses and leaning back against the wall next to the sink, his arms and legs crossed, sporting all-black attire with black combat boots to match.

Deku, award winning tattoo artist and owner of Ultra Black Tattoo. Known to the public as an uber-talented artist who got his big break back when he was fresh out of high school, being mentored by none other than world-renowned American traditional-style artist Toshinori Yagi. For five steady years he was apprenticing with Toshinori before eventually deciding to open up his own shop with his specialty being that of fine line black and gray.

That’s the public image he carefully crafted while spending his years apprenticing. The personal image not many get to see is that of Izuku Midoriya. Son of Inko Midoriya, father leaving before he could even utter his first word, which just so happened to be art. Izuku spent his formidable years with his hands constantly on a paintbrush, never leaving the house without some sort of notebook to draw in. Growing up, he always felt like an outcast, what with him not having a father in the house and his mother working two, sometimes three, jobs in order to keep the house up and running. He always happened to be bullied for not having the newest clothes or for wearing his red high-top converse, a thirteenth birthday gift from his mother, so much that they had holes in them. Art ended up being his only solace from all the noise of the crowd.

One day, in his first year of high school, his teacher, Shota Aizawa, told him something he would never forget until the day he died. That magic doesn’t come from talent alone, it comes from pain. That all the pain and suffering he was going through or would experience in life, would turn into something magical and worthwhile. That you don’t get beauty just by being lucky or good at something. That true beauty comes from deep personal emotion. The quote meant so much to him that the moment he was legal, he took some of his savings and took the train to his now mentor and got his first tattoo. The quote his high school teacher had said to him in his time of need atop his chest, right over his heart. The tattoo was the first of many, and Izuku’s first look into the cruel, beautiful, rough, magnificent tattoo industry.

With a grunt from his client, Izuku was brought out of his daze just enough to see him show a particular finger in the air. Jin walked over to the oversized mirror on the other side of the studio, taking in his new piece of art permanently on him. He let out a low whistle and grinned from ear-to-ear.

“Shit Deku you really outdid yourself with this one.” Jin said, looking up and down and from different angles, even taking a few pictures of his new art. Izuku shoved himself off the nearby wall and walked over to his client, putting his hand on the non-tattooed shoulder. “Yeah, yeah you always say that. This is what? The eighth piece you’ve gotten from me? In what? A year? I bet you would break out into hives if you even thought of going to another artist!” Izuku exclaimed, laughing.

Jin blushed softly before shoving the artist's hand away and walking back over to the table, taking a seat. “Just wrap me up will you? I have shit to do and I can’t take all day getting some ink.”

Hearing this, Izuku raised one of his brows coyly and walked back over to his client. He opened up his drawer and put on a fresh set of gloves before taking out the tegaderm and applying an even film over the fresh piece. “You don’t have all day? Jin I’ve heard what you do for work and I know for a fact you have plenty of time on your hands. So spill. What has your dick all in a knot?” Tegaderm applied, Izuku discarded his gloves once more and began the process of disassembling his tattoo gun and throwing away the used needle into the biohazard container.

“First of all, fuck you. Second of all, today is the soft opening of that new flower shop on the other side of town and they have a special where if you buy a bouquet they’ll include a second smaller bouquet for free.” Jin brings his arm up and rubs the back of his head, blushing like a fool in the process. “And I thought it might be nice to get, uh, Himiko some flowers ya know?”

Hearing this, Izuku bent forward and started cackling like a mad man.”Jin you fucking sap! There’s no way in hell you think they’re going to be into all this frilly girly shit? Himiko? The person who on numerous occasions has had to put you in your place because you made some shitty ass ‘that’s what she said’ jokes?” Izuku continued to laugh, causing his other artists and the people in the lobby to look over. His client punched him in the arm, hard.

“I’m being serious asshat! Besides, who doesn’t like flowers? Just because they’re non-binary doesn’t mean they don’t like flowers? I mean, if anything you’re kind of sexist for assuming they wouldn’t…” Jin said, eyebrows raised. Izuku sighed and began walking over to the reception area, signaling his client it was time to pay and to follow in his stead.

“Jin, you know I’m not saying anything like that. I just know them personally. You’ve only known them from seeing quick peaks every now and then when you get some work done. But if you think flowers are the way to their heart then go for it my guy. The stage is all yours. I’ll even send you a text letting you know how the flower-receiving goes.” He said with a genuine smile. Jin broke out in a grin and hugged the artist over the reception counter.

“Thanks man! That means so much! I’ll be sure to let you know the day they’re being delivered too!” He said as he was heading out the door of the shop.

“Wait hold up! I didn’t catch the name of the shop! What was it again so I know what to expect and from where?” Izuku called out across the room.

“Oh shit sorry! The place is called Dynamite Flowers!”

——————

After closing up the shop, Izuku took the train back to his apartment. A spacious two bed, one bath, on the fourth floor with a view overlooking the downtown area. Putting the key into the lock, he turned it and opened the door. Immediately being jumped on by a fellow member of his family.

“Hi there Inky! Did you miss me today girl?” Izuku asked with a big smile on his face. The dog, Inky, a mutt Izuku adopted from the nearest shelter, barked at him. The dog was a rough mixture of Chihuahua, Dachshund, and Maltese. All coming together, she looked to be a small, long, ball of tan fur. The dog barked at her owner once more before running around in the living room as well as the adjoined kitchen.

Izuku laughed and set down his work backpack on the floor and kicked off his boots before setting his keys down on the entryway table. “Yeah yeah I know it was a long day without me huh? Well don’t worry girl tomorrow is my off day and you get me all to yourself! How does that sound?” He said with a bright smile. In return, the dog gave him a bark. The man laughed and walked over to the kitchen, getting food ready for both himself and his companion.

“What are we feelin’ today Inky? Chicken? Beef? Or salmon?” Right as the word slipped his tongue, the fluff all barked. “Alright, alright I hear you! Salmon it is!” Grabbing the corresponding can, he opened it and poured the contents out over a bit of dry pellets. “Now don’t forget to eat your crunchies too. I know you like the wet stuff the most but the crunchies are what’s good for you!” Almost as if the dog could understand him, she let out a huff of disagreement. Izuku laughed and set down the bowl on the floor and let the dog go to town on her nightly meal.

“Alright. Now that that’s all taken care of…” Izuku sighed and padded over to his master bedroom. Opening the closet, he took off his long-sleeved black turtleneck shirt and tight black skinny jeans, leaving him only in his mismatched socks and stark white Calvin Klein briefs. He shoved the days clothes into his laundry basket and decided to wear an old tattoo convention T-shirt for the night.

Walking back into the kitchen, Izuku spotted Inky on top of the couch curled into a ball, content after finishing her meal. Izuku looked down at the food bowl and noticed a substantial amount of pellets left. He smirked and let out a low huff of laughter. “Damn traitor. This is the thanks I get for giving you a 5 star meal?” He smiled and begins the process of getting his own dinner ready. The process takes all of 5 minutes before he realizes there in nothing enticing in either the cabinets or the refrigerator.

“Shit. It looks like tomorrow is grocery day.” Izuku sighs before picking up his front from the counter and setting himself alongside his companion. Scrolling through the food delivery app, he decides on pizza. “Better than a salad, huh Inks?” Izuku asks the sleeping dog, only receiving small sleep noises in return. Izuku smiles and places the order, settling in and putting his phone down.

The man must have fallen asleep because he was woken up by the harsh pounding of his front door. Izuku jolted awake and quickly shuffled his way to the door, nearly taking a face plant in the process. He opened the door and what stood before him was hardly his large cheese pizza. It was a tall, built man with spiky blonde hair and deep ember-colored eyes. Izuku gulped and gave the man a quick look up and down. He happened to be wearing a plain white T-shirt, loose fitting blue jeans, and a black apron. What got him was the wording on the apron. Dynamite Flowers.

“Hey are you going to just stand there or are you going to take these? I don’t have all day, dude.” The blonde gruffly said to him. Izuku was snapped out of his daze and looked into the other man’s eyes again. “Um yeah sure. Um.. take what exactly?”

“Tch. These flowers, dumbass. I have more deliveries to do so I can‘t just stand around here all day.” He said with a harsh tone of voice. Looking down more closely, Izuku noticed there was a bouquet of sunflowers and roses in the man’s hands. The bouquet that was being delivered to him apparently. “Oh shit my bad!” He took hold of the bouquet, hands skimming that of the man in front of him.

“Great. Now that that’s all taken care of…” The man gave a quick two finger salute and spun around, rushing off to the stairwell.

“Wait! I didn’t catch your name!” Izuku shouted out after him.

“…rd.” He heard coming from down the hall. Not sure what he heard, he looked down at the bouquet and took out the attached business card. Dynamite Flowers. Owned and operated by Katsuki Bakugo.

“Katsuki, huh?” He said aloud to himself before closing the front door and setting the flowers down on the entryway table.

If you liked this chapter pls show your support on AO3 ❤️

#anime #manga #bakudeku #my hero academia #Boku no hero academia #Izuku midoriya #bakugo Katsuki #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic #fanfiction

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flowersarefreetherapy · 11 months

Text

Trapped

For @whumpawoman's Whump Girl Summer: Day 7, Trapped

CW: Discussions of BBU system, arguments, brief suggestive dialogue, someone viewing WRU as positive thing, familial conflict

The turkey pops in the oven, drawing Olive’s attention away from the conversation happening in the dining room. Her brother perches on the arm of a chair, glass of wine in hand, talking to her brother-in-law about the latest scandals in the upper classes.

“And I heard that Lucy Den got another Pet,” her brother, Aaron, laughs. “Changing them faster than trends in Hollywood.”

“That's an interesting choice for her,” her brother-in-law responds. “Considering that WRU dropped the sponsorship for her last movie.”

“Olive!” Aaron calls. “What do you think? Gotten any offers from WRU to do those little barcode things? Bet you could make some good money doing that.”

Olive freezes, glancing towards the living room, where the rest of her family sits. Anne is there, talking with her mother about something, hopefully businesses. They both have a good head for it and Anne has been trying to figure out how to expand for the last several months.

“I haven’t got any offers, no,” Olive says, keeping her voice steady. “I don’t think they’re paying attention to little artists like me.”

And I would like to keep it that way.

“Don’t be so humble! You’re the best tattoo artist in this city. They’re stupid to not have you hired. besides”--Aaron lowers his voice with a wink– “Sure they’d let you sample the goods too.”

“Aaron!” Olive throws a pillow at him, nearly knocking the wine out of his hands. “How dare you!”

“It’s the truth! I’ve got some friends who are in that business and the stories they tell . . . Damn, sometimes I think it would be a good idea, just buy one of those instead of settling down.”

“You’re drunk,” Olive mutters. “Shut up.”

Her mind drifts to the men who come to Anne’s shop. They’ve just moved in, down the street, renting an apartment with the barista she used to work with. Nice, quiet, polite. Too polite. The kind of politeness people aren’t born with, but have beaten into them. The shorter of the two watches with a gleam in his eyes that unnerves her every time she sees him. The taller one, the one with a scar across his cheek, smiles and speaks in a soft tone, but he moves with purpose, not a single movement wasted.

Maybe they are, maybe they aren’t, but what Olive knows is that people make mistakes. Things happen. And no one deserves to be talked about like this.

“I’m just telling the truth, Liv,” Aaron says. He turns to their brother-in-law. “What do you think, Henry? Do you think Olive here should get in with WRU?”

Henry shrugs. “I don’t care. She’s going to make money one way or another. She’s good and that means she’ll get a job somewhere.”

Olive swallows hard. Her skin crawls, the sensation of being trapped in a corner washing over her. Anywhere else and she is confident, ready to fight for her and her family, but here she doesn’t want to speak up. Not when it's with her drunk brother. Her eyes burn at the memory of her wedding and the comments he made regarding their relationship.

“I’m gonna go talk to Mom,” she says, pushing herself to her feet. “You don’t care anyway about my job.”

“Don’t say that, Liv. I do care, that’s why I’m offering you better options for pay and a chance to move up in this world. Don’t you want to provide for your wife so she doesn’t have to keep working at the dead-end store?”

“Don’t bring Anne into this,” Olive says, her voice hard. “This conversation has nothing to do with my family. In fact, this is a conversation I didn’t want to be part of in the first place. I’m leaving. Keep an eye on the turkey.”

“Aw, Liv, don’t-”

She leaves the room before Aaron can say anything else. Her eyes burn as she curls on the couch next to her wife. Anne takes her hand without pausing in her conversation. Olive clutches it as a drowning person grabs a lifeline.

“You good?” Anne whispers when there is a break in the conversation.

Olive nods. “I’ll explain later.”

She squeezes her hand and Olive forces herself to relax. They are going to be fine.

#waw2023 #whumpgirlsummer #day 7 #olive my queen #anne my queen #familial conflict #arguments #brief suggestive dialogue #bbu universe #bbu

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mlmxreader · 2 years

Text

I Spoil It All By Saying Somethin' Stupid Like I Love You | Officer K x m!reader

Anonymous asked: Hehe prompt time

"After everything, I don't think I'm ready to be alone again"

Some with Officer K x male reader and Some with Six x male reader maybe through a kenobi x male reader in there if you feel like it. I need more bedtime stories please 🏎

summary: it's a long night, bad shit happens nearly constantly but at least there's always something to look forward to when K comes home.

tws: swearing, smoking, alcohol consumption

Relationships between Humans and Replicants weren’t exactly uncommon, but that still didn’t stop you from sighing and wishing things were different when you came home every day to find the door plastered and painted with some sort of insult; “skinjob fucker” seemed to be the most common of them all. You could have sworn, you spent more time scrubbing the damn door than you did doing anything else when you got home, but when he walked in, it suddenly all became worth it. Tall, blue eyes, quiet, hardly ever smiled, smoked too many cigarettes. KD9-3.7. Officer K. Your K. A blade runner. When he walked in, dishevelled and tired and with holes in his t-shirt, synthetic blood everywhere and cuts littering his skin, suddenly every fucking insult on the door didn’t mean shit, suddenly, you didn’t give a fuck.

Tonight was no different, you were waiting for him to come home, a quick shower and stripping down to just boxers and a shirt had saved you from getting covered in sweat at least, after hours spent scrubbing the front door you were actually surprised you had not ended up passing out; you perked up when you heard the door go, a small smile on your face as you waited eagerly. You couldn’t help but to grin when K came in, shrugging his coat off and hanging it up; he didn’t look too bad this evening, there wasn’t a lot of damage to him or to his shirt. But he looked hanging, he looked like he was absolutely shattered. At least you didn’t need to repair any synthetic flesh, though, and at least you weren’t stuck with spending all night sewing shirts.

He said nothing, coming to sit beside you and putting his feet up on the table, daring to look at you with a slight smile. “How was your night?”

“I had to scrub the door again,” you told him, shaking your head and biting at the inside of your lip. You tilted your head back, and put your hand out, daring to laugh softly when he slapped a packet of cigarettes against your palm. “We had skinner fucker tonight…”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to him. “At least it makes a difference from skinjob fucker, I s’pose… how was work? You retire anyone interesting?”

K shook his head, taking a long drag from the cigarette and sighing heavily. “Just some old models.”

“That all?” You hummed, raising a brow.

K nodded, getting up and fixing himself a glass of whisky, he knocked it back and poured himself another. “Put some music on.”

You nodded, going over to the little console and flicking through what music was available; the choice was between a multitude of genres and artists, but you chose Frank Sinatra, and you smiled when the sound of your favourite song by him echoed throughout the thin walls.

I know I stand in line until you think you have the time to spend an evening with me and if we go someplace to dance, I know that there's a chance you won't be leaving with me, and afterwards we drop into a quiet little place and have a drink or two and then I go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like "I love you". I can see it in your eyes that you despise the same old lies you heard the night before and though it's just a line to you, for me it's true and never seemed so right before.

K smiled a little to himself as he stubbed out his and yours cigarettes, starting to relax as he settled down on the bed, tugging his shirt off and flinging it to the side; he was built to perfection, if you were honest. He had muscle, but he didn't look like the actors you saw in the street when you walked past shops; no six pack, his stomach hung over his belt a little bit; you couldn't help but to look him up and down as you licked your lips. Replicants weren't afforded a lot of memories, especially not in the blade runner profession, but he was allowed to remember when he had met you and he had heard that song playing quietly in the pub.

He was allowed to remember how handsome you had looked, and how he had been so cool and collected when he had asked you if he could buy you a drink; he had never seen a man so fucking handsome as you before, and even now, you were still the most handsome man he had ever laid eyes on. He leaned back a little, spreading his legs and swallowing thickly when you straddled him and traced his stubbled jaw so gently.

“Be careful when you're out there tomorrow,” you whispered softly, the feeling of your breath on his lips making him swallow thickly as you put your hands on his bare shoulders. “After everything, I don't think I'm ready to be alone again.”

Slowly and gently, K wrapped his arms around your waist, nodding slowly as he let out a shaky breath. “I will.”

“You better,” you told him softly. “I didn't scrub that damn door all night just to lose the one goddamn good thing in my life.”

K smiled, closing his eyes when you gently raked your hand through his hair, leaning into the soft touch as he sighed; that's what he always looked forward to about coming home the most, not the Frank Sinatra songs, not the cheap whisky that hit hard and fast, not the comfort, it was the gentle touches of his boyfriend. The gentle touches that made him think, if only for a split second, he might have been more human than he had originally been built.

You smiled, your hand coming to rest at the nape of his neck as you dared to lean in, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss; he felt so real, his grip on your waist tightening as he kissed you back, soon enough reaching up to rest his hand at the base of your throat. You let him take control, let him bring his hand up a little more and let him slip his tongue between your lips. Fuck, he felt so goddamn real. He didn't feel like a synthetic being, he didn't feel like a replicant, he felt human. When he kissed you like that, all you could think of was how you never wanted it to end.

He didn't take long, pushing you onto your back without breaking the kiss, your breath tangling with his as he applied just a little bit of pressure to your throat, just enough to make you moan and shudder as you eagerly tried to pull him closer and closer and closer. It wasn't getting any rougher or quicker, K was a controlled man, and when he kissed you, he managed to keep that control, keeping the pace nice and slow and soft, letting you moan his name under your breath as the kiss became open mouthed and breathy.

He broke away, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead and clearing his throat. “Next time, I'll scrub the door.”

“No, you won't,” you told him softly. “It's my job. You just have to come home.”

K grumbled, licking his lips and getting up, unbuckling his belt and tugging it from the loops before putting it in its rightful place; he undid his trousers, knowing that you were studying him. Checking out his back and the curve of his ass until he turned to you and cleared his throat.

“What next?”

You grinned. “Well, I was about to spoil it all and say somethin' stupid like I love you.”

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #officer k #officer k x reader #officer k imagine #blade runner fanfic #blade runner fanfiction #blade runner 2049 #blade runner #ryan gosling #ryan gosling imagine #ryan gosling x reader

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